‘And she doesn’t know anyone there?’ DC Allan asked. ‘She doesn’t have friends who run it, or family members?’
‘No,’ Peter said firmly. ‘Why are you asking me this? Is she there? Do you know where she might be?’
DC Allan sighed as if he might have made a mistake calling. ‘I’m not sure I’m supposed to be telling you this,’ he said. ‘We’re still looking into it. It seems that a taxi driver thinks that he picked Mary-Beth up from Chapel Lane on the day she disappeared, and dropped her at Dalton campsite. I’ve called the campsite, and there’s no one booked in any of their caravans under that name or the name she gave the taxi driver.’
‘What name did she give the taxi driver?’ Peter asked.
There was silence on the other end. Peter thought that DC Allan might be regretting this entire phone call.
Eventually, he spoke. ‘She said her name was Erica Spencer.’
Peter cursed. ‘I’m going there.’
DC Allan spoke quickly. ‘You can’t do that, Peter. We are looking into it ourselves. If Mary-Beth is on the campsite, we will find out. We are going to interview everyone staying there, in case she booked in under a different name. We’re taking her picture there right now, in fact. I just thought I might give you the heads-up, and find out if there are any family connections, any reason the owner might be lying to us or protecting her.’
Peter sighed. ‘Nothing I can think of,’ he said. ‘But Mary-Beth has lots of friends, contacts that I might know nothing about. For all I know, one of the mums at the school owns the campsite. I mean, it’s likely to be run by local people, isn’t it? And Mary knows everyone around here.’
‘Okay,’ DC Allan said. ‘We’ll bear that in mind. When we show them the picture, we will be able to tell if the owners are lying about knowing her anyway. Most regular people don’t know how to lie to the police. They might be able to do it on the phone, but in person, it’s a different kettle of fish. I’ll call you as soon as we’ve been there and let you know, okay? In the meantime, have a think about whether your wife has ever mentioned the campsite or the school in Chapel Lane. It was closed on the day she got picked up, so it’s unlikely she has any connection to the school, and her car was found by the weir, which is half an hour’s walk away. It seems quite far to walk to get a taxi for no reason – unless she was trying to throw us off the scent. But then why she would use Erica’s name to get the taxi is beyond me. If she wanted to be completely anonymous, surely she would have used a completely made-up name?’
‘Maggie May,’ Peter breathed.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Maggie May,’ Peter repeated. ‘It’s the name she would have given herself, had she had the choice. She hated the name Mary, she said if her parents were going to give her an old-fashioned name it was just her luck that it wasn’t one that has come back around, you know? Like all the old names are doing now? Florence, Martha, Maggie, they’re all cool again now, but she said Mary would never be cool. She said if she could rename herself, she’d like to be called Maggie May, like the song.’
Peter could almost hear DC Allan processing this information. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘That’s really useful. We’ll keep an eye out on the caravan register for any Maggies.’
‘So you think . . .’ Peter started, but he didn’t know how to finish the sentence. ‘So, do you think she’s still alive then? You think she’s run away, rather than anyone hurting her?’
‘We’re keeping our options open, Mr King. All of them.’
41
Felicity and Karla stood in the Kaplans’ kitchen – the centre of operations for any crisis. They could hear the delighted shrieks of the twins upstairs as Zachary thundered after them, pretending to be some kind of monster, moaning and groaning.
‘He’s so good with them.’ Felicity smiled.
‘It’s nice to actually hear his voice,’ Karla admitted. ‘He’s barely spoken to us since he went back to school – except, of course, to announce over dinner that he knew all about his father being abused when he was younger. Some little shit called Jeremy has apparently read Marcus’s book.’
‘Oh shit.’ Felicity made a sympathetic face. ‘What did Marcus say?’
‘What could he say? It was hardly the time to talk about it. Especially with Brandon so furious, for some reason, that he can’t see his grandmother. I mean, for God’s sake – why would he want to meet a woman who had done those kinds of things to his father? What does he expect? That we’re just going to invite her round for dinner? Marcus acts strong, but he’s not that strong. No way.’
‘I bet Brandon understands that really,’ Felicity said. ‘He’s a sixteen-year-old boy, which is a hard enough age as it is, without all this stuff going on about Erica. Has he had any stick about that at his school?’
‘How would I know? I’m only his mother. Why would he tell me anything? I don’t know, Fliss, sometimes it feels like I’m in danger of losing him, and anything I do could make the situation worse.’
‘Losing who?’ Marcus came into the kitchen, yawning and stretching. He was wearing a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms and nothing else. Felicity’s face burned at the sight of his muscular physique. Marcus wasn’t ripped – when he was wearing clothes, there was no way you could tell that he was in such good shape.
‘Jesus, Marcus, put some clothes on! Poor Felicity hasn’t had sex in months.’
Felicity grinned and swatted Karla’s arm. ‘Now, now, it’s his house. Honestly, Marcus, you wear as little as you want.’
‘Thanks, Felicity. My wife is just selfish. What are you two witches brewing up now, anyway?’
‘I was just telling her about Bran and his attitude problem.’
Marcus snorted. ‘Gets it from his mum.’
‘Asshole. Listen – are we all getting together Tuesday to listen? I know it didn’t exactly go swimmingly last time . . .’
She side-eyed Marcus, who held up his hands.
‘I know, I know. I’ll be good this time, I promise. Are we going to ask Jack? I know he was pissed off last time about not being invited, but I still think it’s a bit weird to sit there listening to ourselves being accused of murder with the husband of the woman we’re supposed to have murdered.’
‘Think how he must feel,’ Karla murmured.
The doorbell rang.
‘I’ll get it!’ Karla jumped up. ‘You put some clothes on,’ she slapped his bare stomach, ‘it might be my agent.’
But it wasn’t her agent, it was Peter King.
‘Hiya, I, erm . . . just needed to talk to someone . . .’ He looked over Karla’s shoulder as he spoke.
‘Felicity’s inside.’ Karla stepped aside, and Peter didn’t even try to hide his relief.
‘Thanks, Karla.’
‘What is it?’ Felicity asked, jumping to her feet as soon as Peter entered the kitchen.
Karla frowned, but her friend didn’t seem to notice.
‘I’ve just had a call from the police about Mary-Beth. A taxi driver is claiming he picked her up on the day she disappeared.’
‘Where from?’
‘Chapel Lane. I’ve googled it, it’s near the town centre – about half an hour’s walk from where her car was dumped.’
‘Is he sure it was her?’ Felicity demanded. ‘Where did he take her?’
Peter shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make any sense, but he says he dropped her off at Dalton campsite.’
Karla snorted. ‘Well, she’s hardly likely to be there. Can you see Mary-Beth camping?’
Peter shrugged. ‘None of it makes sense.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t her,’ Felicity said. ‘He could be wrong.’
‘She used the name Erica Spencer.’
There was silence.
Eventually, Karla sighed. ‘When will this all end?’
‘Maybe it just has,’ Marcus replied, appearing in the doorway, Alex Davenport at his side. ‘Tell them what you just told me.’
Alex shook his head, like he could
n’t quite believe it himself. ‘I wondered if I could bring the kids over? I’m on my way to the police station now.’
‘Oh God, Alex, of course. Have you reported her missing?’
‘I tried,’ Alex replied. ‘But they know exactly where she is. She’s already there – she’s been there all day. Apparently, she’s confessed to Erica’s murder.’
42
‘So what you’re saying, what you’re telling me, is that you have walked into a police station and confessed to murder when what you really mean is that you got Erica Spencer drunk?’ DS Harvey could barely contain his disgust. He’d waited almost an hour for her lawyer to turn up, the whole time reviewing Erica Spencer’s case notes, wondering how the hell he could have missed the fact that she was murdered by Miranda Davenport. And now this?
‘Well, yes, but that makes it sound so innocent! I don’t mean “got her drunk” like you get your best friend drunk on their twenty-first birthday! I’m telling you I switched her drinks entirely. I suppose you could say I drugged her, although the only drug was alcohol, and I’m not sure whether that’s even classed as a drug . . .’
DS Harvey was grateful for Miranda’s solicitor clearing his throat to make her stop talking. Even he looked as though he didn’t have a clue what he was doing here. When he’d arrived at the station, he’d informed Harvey that he wasn’t a criminal lawyer and likely wouldn’t be taking the case. Obviously, after speaking to Mrs Davenport, he felt equipped enough to witness her ludicrous ‘confession’.
‘So let me make sure we have this correct. On the night of the 28th of October, while at a Halloween party at the Kaplan residence, Erica Spencer asked you to pour her a drink. You knew the wine she had brought to the party was non-alcoholic, but instead, you poured her an alcoholic version.’
‘And added a shot of vodka.’ Miranda nodded.
‘Right. And you didn’t mention to Mrs Spencer that you’d done this?’
‘No.’
‘Can I ask why you felt the need to get Mrs Spencer drunk?’
Miranda hung her head, her cheeks flushed pink. ‘It was just a bit of, well, I suppose you’d call it revenge. There was this one time, this Bingo night at the school, when I’d had one too many glasses of wine. Erica was serving me, and I’m sure she was pouring more into those white plastic cups than she was giving the other mums. I . . .’ Miranda faltered, as if the memory was painful. ‘I made a bit of a fool of myself. I’d had a row with Alex, my husband, about some comment he’d made about Felicity Goldman, and so I was feeling a bit rubbish anyway, and by the end of the night I, erm, I got into a bit of a situation with Mr Jenkins, the kids’ PE teacher. I suppose – oh God, this is embarrassing – but I suppose I tried to seduce him. Pathetic, I know. He was very good about it, very, um, very gentlemanly, you know, told me that I was a very good-looking lady, but there were rules about him getting involved with the mums and all that . . .
‘Well, I was mortified, of course. And who, somehow, knew about the whole thing? Erica, obviously. She never told anyone else – not that I know of – but she was always mentioning it in this snide way she had. She looked down on all of us, you know? Even when she was drinking, she never got drunk, never made a fool of herself. She was head of the PTA, and on about four charities, she was . . . well, she was bloody perfect, and I was fed up of it.
‘So when I saw she’d brought non-alcoholic wine with her, I decided that it was about time she lost control of herself a bit. I was just hoping that she’d do something a bit embarrassing that I could poke her with for the next twelve bloody months. I never thought—’
‘So it was just one drink?’ DS Harvey interrupted. He thought his head might just explode with all the bloody suburbanness of it all. Drunken fumbles at Bingo nights! He had been employed to deal with criminals, for God’s sake, not PTA mums.
‘Not exactly,’ Miranda mumbled. ‘More like six. Or seven.’
‘And you think Erica didn’t notice she was drinking alcohol? You don’t think she would have been able to tell that she was getting drunk?’
‘Erica hardly drank at all,’ Miranda replied. ‘She’d never have more than one cocktail at any of our gatherings. I think that perhaps, after that first wine and double vodka—’
‘Double?’ DS Harvey raised his eyebrows.
‘Well, I wasn’t exactly using a measuring glass. I think perhaps she was a bit tipsy after that first one and stopped caring enough to question it.’
‘So after you got her drunk, what then? Did you ask her to meet you in the tree house? Was there a fight? She fell, perhaps?’
Miranda looked horrified. ‘God, no, I was nowhere near the tree house when she fell. But it was still my fault, don’t you see? If she hadn’t been drunk, she never would have fallen. I killed her, even though I didn’t mean to. So you can stop investigating now, can’t you? You know who that horrible podcast person is referring to – me. So you can just arrest me and leave the others alone.’
43
Anticipation of the fourth podcast sat between them like a nasty smell no one wanted to admit to causing. Their numbers had dwindled to four. Miranda and Alex had, unsurprisingly, not turned up, and although Felicity had seen Alex’s car pull into the drive she hadn’t been able to see who got out. Alex had texted Karla and asked her to send the kids over but hadn’t elaborated.
‘What, you didn’t ask?’ Marcus had demanded.
‘What was I supposed to do, text back and ask if Miranda was in prison for murder?’ she’d hissed back.
Marcus had shrugged. ‘I would have.’
Now they were all assembled – Peter, Felicity, Karla and Marcus – gathered around the breakfast bar, laptop open in front of them, refreshing iTunes and waiting for the next episode of The Truth About Erica to load.
‘It’s eight p.m.,’ Karla said, unnecessarily. None of them had taken their eyes off the time in the corner of the screen.
Marcus clicked ‘refresh’ again.
‘Click there, on “feed”,’ Felicity said, pointing at the screen.
Marcus clicked, as instructed, but that only brought up the three podcasts they had already heard.
‘Okay, give it here.’ She started tapping away at the keyboard, switching windows and running searches.
‘It’s not there. Maybe he’s running late,’ Karla suggested. ‘Check the website.’
‘Maybe he’s given up now the murderer has confessed,’ Peter countered.
‘Oh, come on,’ Karla replied. ‘Do you really think Miranda killed Erica? And then just came back to the party with the rest of us?’
‘Well, whoever killed her did just that,’ Felicity replied.
‘No one killed Erica,’ Karla stated flatly. ‘She climbed up into that stupid tree house, which, to be honest, was a crazy thing to do in the first place, and she fell. End of.’
‘What was she even doing up there?’
‘Maybe she was meeting someone?’ Karla raised her eyebrows. ‘Maybe she was having an affair?’
‘Maybe she was meeting Alex,’ Marcus replied. ‘Perhaps that’s why Miranda shoved her out of the tree house. I don’t know.’
What they did know was that, an hour later, there was still no podcast that night accusing anyone of my murder. Or any other night that week.
It was, it seemed, as Peter had predicted.
It was over.
44
Peter’s foot slipped through the slick mud and he grabbed the edge of a caravan to steady himself, nearly dropping the mobile phone he was using as his only source of light. Where was he now? The darkness was disorientating and he wasn’t sure where the hell he was. Faint lights glowed through the curtains of a few of the caravans; it was almost the end of the holiday season and the park was only half full. A door slammed somewhere, making him start.
Out of nowhere, a voice.
‘Stop right there, this is the police.’
A flashlight shone in Peter’s face, then the beam dropped. Peter could just
about make out the fresh face of DC Allan in the dim light.
‘Peter King?’ DC Allan sighed. He turned and shouted into the darkness. ‘I’ve got him. It’s fine, I’ll meet you at the car.’ DC Allan moved towards him and took him by the arm. ‘Come on, over here.’ He shone the light on the ground until they came across a small children’s playground with a bench. ‘Sit down.’
Peter sat without protest.
‘What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you that we knocked on the door of every caravan here and no one has seen Mary-Beth? We spoke to the owner, who said that they’ve never seen her before either. Even the taxi driver admitted he didn’t actually see her go into the campsite, he just dropped her outside.’
‘It’s been three weeks, and this is the only lead you have to go on,’ Peter snapped. ‘No one else has seen her, it’s like she’s just disappeared off the face of the earth. Do you know what it’s like sitting here not knowing if she’s alive or dead? Not having any idea why she’s walked away from me and our children, or if she’s ever coming back? What do I tell the children?’
DC Allan sighed. ‘I do understand, Peter. It’s why I’m doing everything I can to try and find her, but unfortunately this isn’t my case, and we haven’t got the budget to do any more than we are currently doing. Despite what you think, I’ve been following up leads in my spare time.’
‘What leads?’ Peter asked quickly. ‘You never told me about any other leads.’
DC Allan shook his head. ‘No, because they came to nothing. In a case like this you can get a hundred calls a day with sightings – it would only get your hopes up if I called you every time someone saw a slim, dark-haired woman in a beige mac. But I’ve followed up every single one, I promise. Most of them turned out to be a different woman altogether, the others led us nowhere. Nothing was as concrete as the taxi driver, especially with the name he gave, but we’re starting to think now that he’d heard Erica’s name associated with Mary-Beth’s case and his mind filled in the blanks.’
Someone Is Lying Page 15