Winding Ed up and getting that row started had been the easiest bit of the lot. He was pissed anyway, which helped, and a few words about what had happened with him and Annette Bailey had been more than enough. He started trying to tell me that it was me and the whole ‘Emma thing’ that was to blame. That was why he’d gone with other women, he said, that was when it had all started to come apart. I told him I was starting to think that maybe he had raped that woman – which, let’s face it, is neither here nor there – and that was when he slapped me. Bingo! A cut lip or something would have been even better, a nice black eye … but it did the job.
He tries to apologise but I bolt for the kitchen and he comes after me.
I grab the knife and he puts out his arms.
He says, ‘Please, darling,’ or something and I bang the knife in …
Not too much else to say, though of course there are always the Angie Finnegans of this world who can’t bear a loose end. The ones who like everything nice and neat. The location of the school on Ed’s sat-nav … well, that’s pretty self-explanatory I would have thought, and a clump of his hair teased out of the shower drain, dried and folded into Samantha Gold’s fist, did the job nicely as far as DNA evidence was concerned. As for what happened in Florida, well, there were clearly things that needed to be done after that initial … rush of blood. Gardner was more or less right about the disposal of Amber-Marie’s body, except that I pushed the kayak, because the water’s no deeper than three feet most of the way. I remembered that from when Ed and I had been there before, as well as where the kayaks were tied up. I got to the tunnels and back in about forty minutes, was out of my swimsuit and back at the resort in another fifteen while Ed was still dead to the world. Because he was a heavy sleeper.
Talking of ‘heavy’, Amber-Marie could certainly have done with losing a few pounds. I’m stronger than I look, so it wasn’t too much trouble getting her bagged up and in the boot of the hire car, but still I was sweating like a pig on the way to that mall. Mind you, even tying your shoelaces gets you hot and bothered in that kind of climate and the air-con soon cools you off.
Oh, and that line I put into Ed’s mouth?
‘Don’t you want to know why ?’
Come on … really? Girls like Amber-Marie Wilson and Samantha Gold walking around. Creatures like that, breathing through their mouths, flapping and grinning, when I know my own girl would have been perfect.
So, in a word: balance.
I was aware of Angie and the others behind me, desperate to get my attention as things were finishing up and turning to look at them I realised I would have a few phone calls and invitations to ignore. They’d all played their part in what had happened, albeit without a clue they were doing any such thing, but I can’t say I was mad keen to stay in touch.
Life’s too short and I’ve got better things to do.
As I was bundled down towards the car, I noticed the BMW on the other side of the road and I recognised the man at the wheel. He slid the window down, as if he wanted me to see him. That inspector I’d met at the house on the night of Ed’s death and at the police station later on. It was a little disconcerting, I’ll admit that, but only for a few seconds.
Him staring across at me like that, like he knew something.
I managed a smile before my solicitor urged me forward and we got into the car. As it drove away, he was asking if I was all right and I probably said that I was, but I was already miles away.
All I really wanted was to get home, to make some tea and get busy.
I was so looking forward to taking Emma’s pictures out of the drawer. To polishing them up until they shone and putting my daughter on display where she belonged.
Acknowledgements
Though Rush of Blood is a very different book to any I have written before, my need for help and support was as great as always and I am hugely grateful to all those who gave generously of their time and expertise and made the novel far better than it otherwise would have been.
Thank you to my new friends in Sarasota, Bob and Marie Black, and to Michael Connelly for the warm welcome, the generosity and, of course, the fishing.
Not for the first time I am grateful to Caroline Haughey for her legal expertise and Wendy Lee for her eagle eye. NH was indispensible and Tony Fuller was, as always, a mine of useful advice and procedural brilliance. At Little, Brown it continues to be an enormous pleasure to work with Tamsin Kitson, Hannah Hargrave, Thalia Proctor, Sean Garrehy and Emma Williams. Rob Manser and the Sales team are workers of wonders when it comes to getting the books out there to as many readers as possible. So, thanks to them.
When a writer steps outside their comfort zone – as they certainly should from time to time – the support and enthusiasm of publisher and agent is more important than ever. In David Shelley at Little, Brown and Sarah Lutyens at Lutyens & Rubinstein, I have the finest editor and agent that any writer could wish for. Simple as that.
And thanks most of all to Claire, of course.
One day we’ll have that view of the water …
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