Now Molly knew what Jack’s problem was, she could help him. Gambling… it was a disease; she’d help him recover and they’d get back their lives and be more solid than ever. They weren’t like Amelia and Tristan; they’d always been enough for each other.
She was debating which part of the country they should move to when she heard a knock on the door. Jack! As fast as she was able, she got to the door, slid back the safety chain and turned the key in the lock. Everything would be all right now.
The clunk of the lock turning was loud, the sound barely faded before the door was pushed open, almost knocking her off her feet. Staggering backwards, she stared at the bedraggled man who came through the door. ‘Jack, where have you been?’
He pushed past her. Shutting and locking the door, she followed him; he was home, safe, suddenly that was all that mattered. He was standing in the middle of the living room when she followed him in, his clothes wrinkled, coat ripped. Had he been mugged?
She went to him, put her arms around his neck and pressed up against him, ignoring the dampness, the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol that came off him in waves. ‘Oh Jack,’ she said, burying her face in his neck. ‘It’s been so awful, and I’ve needed you so desperately.’
‘Awful?’ he said, pushing her away and taking a few steps back. ‘What in your cushy overindulged life, could be classified as awful?’
Shock kept her silent for a few seconds. ‘Of course, you don’t know it all,’ she said slowly, ‘but you do know someone tried to push me under a car.’
Ignoring her, he pulled off his coat, flung it onto the sofa and went to the kitchen to switch on the kettle.
‘It was Charlie,’ she said, waiting for Jack’s shocked reaction, for him to come to her and take her in his arms, for the reassurance, the comfort she needed. Instead, he continued to ignore her, standing and staring at the damn kettle. ‘Did you hear me?’ she said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. ‘Jack… it was Charlie who tried to kill me by pushing me under a car, then last night, he came here and tried again. He tried to kill me again, Jack… for the insurance money. He wanted to kill me so you could get the damn insurance money to pay back the money you owed him.’ She was almost panting by the time she finished. ‘The police arrested him,’ she added quietly.
Finally, Jack turned to stare at her. ‘I wondered what had happened to him,’ he said before spooning coffee into a mug and adding water.
Molly stared at him. Was that all he had to say? Was it shock that was making him behave so oddly or maybe, she hadn’t made it clear? ‘He was going to drown me,’ she said. She was pleased to see this had some effect. Jack lifted his eyes from contemplating the coffee and stared at her.
‘Yes, Charlie went upstairs for those painkillers the hospital gave me. He said you’d mentioned they made me sleepy and he was waiting for them to take effect before putting me into the bath and drowning me. But I fooled him,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘I didn’t take them.’
36
Molly waited for Jack to congratulate her on her cleverness, to voice horror and disbelief at Charlie’s evil game, but he stayed motionless, expressionless, once again staring into his coffee.
‘Jack?’ She moved closer and rested a hand on his shoulder.
‘Charlie, eh?’ he said. ‘Who’d have thought?’
Stunned by his response, the lack of concern for her and for all she’d been through, Molly took her hand away.
‘You were clever not to take those tablets,’ Jack said. ‘They didn’t agree with you anyway. I’ll get rid of them.’
‘No, it’s okay, the police took them. To compare,’ she added, seeing his odd expression.
Anger narrowed his eyes and mouth. ‘The police took them?’
‘To compare,’ she said again, puzzled as to why he was angry. ‘I told the inspector that I wasn’t convinced the two capsules he gave me were the ones the hospital had prescribed.’
Jack ran a hand through his uncombed, greasy hair. ‘I need to get away,’ he said. ‘Money. I need money. Have you any?’
She blinked in confusion. ‘You know I don’t,’ she said, letting her irritation show. ‘You maxed out all our cards, Jack. I’ve sold the car, and that’s freed up money to pay some of the debts.’
He was pacing the floor. Hearing this, he stopped and turned to stare. ‘How much?’
‘Not as much as the car is worth,’ she said. ‘Twenty-five grand.’
Some of the tension left him. ‘Where is it?’
Molly frowned. ‘Pete Randall, remember, we bought the car from him? He’s going to Wandsworth this morning to have a look over it, he said he’d transfer the money to my account as soon as he checked it over and got back to the office.’ Her eyes flicked to the clock. Eleven thirty. ‘It’s possibly there now.’
‘Can you check?’
His voice was overeager. For the first time, Molly noticed his eyes. The pupils were pinpointed. He was unable to stand still for a moment. Horror swept over her. Gambling was bad enough, but it seemed it wasn’t Jack’s only addiction. ‘You’ve taken something,’ she said.
‘Can you check?’ It was more an order than a question this time.
She shook her head. ‘Why do you need money so badly? Please don’t tell me you owe money to some drug dealer?’
Instead of answering, Jack stepped up to her and grabbed her by her arm. ‘Do it!’
She picked up her phone and tapped a few keys. ‘Yes, it’s there.’ She thought it might be a good idea to press the speed dial key for Fanshawe, there was something terribly wrong here, but before she could, Jack grabbed the phone from her hand.
He stared at it, then reached into his pocket for his wallet. He opened it, took out a card and handed it to her. ‘Right, transfer it to this card,’ he said, handing her back the phone.
‘What?’ she looked at him in dismay. ‘I need it to pay off the hotel where you ran up that ridiculous bill, and for the arrears on the mortgage.’
‘Transfer the damn money,’ he shouted, startling her.
Throwing the card back at him, she put all the energy she had left into one word. ‘No!’ Desperately, she tried to press the speed dial button for Fanshawe, but as she looked down to see it, she felt a blow to her cheek. It sent her reeling, the phone flying across the floor. Her hand went to her face. ‘Jack! What’s happened to you? To us?’
His laugh was hateful. ‘To us? You didn’t give us much thought when you were coming on to that stranger, did you?’
She shut her eyes. Was this the way it was going to be? He’d put all the blame on her, on that one crazy moment of weakness. How convenient for him. She felt anger bubble and pushed it away; it wasn’t going to help. Reaching a hand towards him, keeping her voice soft, she said, ‘We can get through this, Jack. We’ll get help for your addic–’
‘It’s too late,’ he snapped. ‘I have to get away. Transfer the damn money.’ His mouth contorted with anger when she shook her head. She watched with a dart of fear as his hands curled into fists. Maybe it would be safer to give him the money. But it was too late. With a growl, he grabbed her arm and flung her across the room. She landed hard against the edge of the granite worktop and heard the sickening crack as her arm broke seconds before excruciating pain shot through her. ‘Jack,’ she pleaded, seeing him approach with a raised fist. She was wasting her time, this drug-fuelled person wasn’t her husband.
The pain in her arm was agonising, the edges of her vision going fuzzy, shock trying to bring her down. She fought against it and staggered away from him, one hand clutching her arm, but he was right behind her and grabbed hold of her hair, jerking her back against him. She lay there unmoving, a lover’s embrace from a different time, and moaned from pain and absolute terror. Then she felt his hands around her throat, squeezing.
His drug-fuelled rage had given him strength and taken away any rational thought. She tried to plead with him, but all she could get out was a mangled wheeze. Her broken arm w
as useless, her one good hand making no inroads on prying the tightening fingers. Fighting for breath… for her life… she jabbed her nails into his hands, digging them in, feeling skin break under the force of her desperation. He shoved her away and stared at his bleeding hands in disbelief.
‘You bitch,’ he growled, lifting a clenched fist. She backed away, clutching her bruised throat and gasping as she searched for something she could use to defend herself. Knives were out of reach, there was nothing… as he swung his fist, she ducked away and grabbed the only thing on the counter, a giant Perspex salt cellar, swinging it wildly, aiming for his clenched fist and missing. As he drew his arm back, she swung it again, this time aiming for his body. It hit Jack squarely on the side of his head. She brought her hand back, prepared to strike again, fighting against her body’s desire to shut down.
Jack sneered at her and took a step forward, then without warning, he dropped to the ground.
Panting, she leaned against the worktop. Horror coursed through her as she saw a bloody smear on the end of her makeshift weapon. ‘Jack,’ she whimpered, looking to where he lay on the floor at her feet.
Dropping the salt cellar with a cry of disgust, she hung her head for a moment as a wave of weakness washed over her. When she was sure she wasn’t going to faint, she straightened and looked at the man she loved. He hadn’t moved and a circle of dark-red blood surrounded his head. With a moan of despair, she took a step towards him, letting go of the worktop. She was almost next to him, when his hand snaked out and grabbed her ankle. Screaming, she pulled away and kicked out at his hand, but there was no strength in his grip, and it fell away easily. She leaned against the cupboard and stared at him, tears pouring down her cheeks. When he didn’t move again, she shuffled back, gingerly laid a hand on his wrist, feeling for his pulse, sobbing when she didn’t find one.
Too weak to walk, she slid to the floor and crawled to the living room to find her phone. She could have dialled 999, but she didn’t, she pressed the speed dial for DI Fanshawe. To her relief, it was answered immediately. Words? She couldn’t find any. Dropping the phone into her lap, she sobbed. She could hear the tinny sound of the detective’s voice fading into the distance as she did what she’d wanted to do for several minutes and passed out.
When she came to, she was lying on a gurney in an ambulance. Twisting her head around, she saw Fanshawe sitting on the seat beside her. ‘I killed him,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But you’ll be okay. We’ll need to go through due process but it’s a clear case of self-defence, Mrs Chatwell. There won’t be any case to answer.’ He sat forward and patted her arm reassuringly. ‘A clear case, Molly. Those capsules that Charlie Forster wanted you to take, they were in fact the ones the hospital gave you, but they’d been opened, emptied and refilled with a very pure grade of heroin. One capsule would probably have killed you, two would certainly have done.’
Molly gulped. ‘Charlie wanted to make certain I died, didn’t he?’
Fanshawe shook his head. ‘Not Forster, Molly. I’d asked for the capsules to be tested as a matter of priority. When I got the results, I immediately spoke to him and he was adamant that he had nothing to do with it.’ Fanshawe patted her arm again, and this time left his hand resting on it. ‘It wasn’t only the two capsules Forster gave you that had been doctored, Molly, it was all of them. They’ve found partial fingerprints on the capsules; I’m guessing we’ll find they’re a match to your husband. That’s why I’m certain it’ll be a clear-cut case of self-defence. It looks like he has been trying to kill you since you came back from the hospital, he probably hoped you’d take the painkillers at least once, and once would have been enough.’
She didn’t have to ask why. There was only one reason, the same reason Charlie had. Both men had wanted to kill her for the money. She remembered Jack’s anger. ‘That was why he went ballistic when I told him you’d taken them,’ she said, shutting her eyes. ‘And of course, it was why he had to get away.’
‘He’d have known the game was up,’ Fanshawe said. ‘I had already issued a warrant for his arrest and sent officers around to warn you. They arrived seconds after your call. I’m afraid, you’re going to need to replace the second lock now too. For the moment, it’s a crime scene.’ He sat back. ‘You’ve a whopping great bruise on the side of your face, bruises to your neck and the paramedics say your arm is broken. At the hospital, they’ll take photographs of all your injuries, okay?’ Carstairs appeared at the open door of the ambulance and stared inside. ‘I need to go,’ Fanshawe said with a look in his direction. ‘There’ll be statements to be made,’ he said. ‘I’ll call in to see you tomorrow.’
Shock had covered everything that had happened in a dense fog. Everything felt distant, numb. She guessed when it wore off, the pain would be unbearable, almost as unbearable as telling Freya and Remi that their father had tried to kill her, and that she had killed him.
‘We’ll be heading off in a sec,’ the paramedic said, scribbling on a clipboard.
‘Would it be possible to make a phone call?’ she asked, her voice thick.
‘Sure, your mobile is here.’ He reached behind, took it from a shelf and held it out. ‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘I can take that off your finger, your Sats are okay.’ He unclipped an oxygen saturation monitor from her finger and handed her the phone.
She could ring one of her friends. Amelia or Petra, she knew, would rush over, they’d be horrified, shocked and saddened and would be there for her. There were tough times ahead, she’d need their support.
A wave of sadness and despair swept over her. She needed more than friends, she needed family or the next best thing. Someone who had been with her through the good times, a woman she had laughed and cried with and who loved Freya and Remi almost as much as she did.
Someone she should never have let go.
With one hand it was awkward, but she managed to scroll through to the number she wanted and tap it before holding the phone to her ear. It was a few seconds before it was answered, but as soon as she heard the woman’s voice, she took a deep breath.
‘Rebecca, how would you like your old job back?’
Acknowledgments
A huge thanks, as ever, to Bloodhound Books, especially Betsy Reavley, Tara Lyons, Heather Fitt, Morgen Bailey and Ian Skewis.
A special thank you to Freya and Remi Guezo for lending me their names – and an extra thank you to Freya for coming up with the name Lucien Pleasant.
There would be no point at all in writing if I didn’t have such wonderful readers – thank you to those who read and to those who review and blog – all much appreciated.
Writing would be a lonely business without writing buddies – as always, grateful thanks to the author Jenny O’Brien who rushes to rescue me from technological disasters and reads an early version of my books to give me honest feedback. My US author friend, Leslie Bratspis, for her ongoing support and editing assistance, and to many others including the authors: Vikki Patis, Rona Halsall, Jim Ody, Pam Lecky, Catherine Kullmann, Kerena Swan, Pat Gitt and Mary Karpin. These and many others make being an author much more fun.
Those readers who read the Dublin Murder Mysteries will notice I’ve used the name Edel in this book too – in every book, if it’s possible, there will be one kind lovely woman called Edel in fond memory of my friend Edel Cunningham who left us in 2019.
And last, but never least, a huge thank you to my amazing family and friends.
If you’d like to contact me – and I love to hear from readers – you can contact me here:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/valeriekeoghnovels
Twitter: @valeriekeogh1
Instagram: valeriekeogh2
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