The Suspects

by Katharine Johnson

  “Oskar Bramley had an ear piercing. Did you know?”

  “I didn’t know him,” I reminded them, relieved to have at least avoided that trap. “But I don’t understand. Lots of people wear ear rings.”

  “They do, don’t they?” he agreed. “But they don’t all look like this.”

  He produced a third exhibit – another clear plastic bag, this time containing a tiny but very distinctive ear ring – a scorpion with a diamond at the centre. I’d never seen one like it before.

  “Does this look familiar to you?”

  I could honestly say that it didn’t. But it had been dark at the party and Oskar had been lying on his side on the basement floor – probably the wrong side for me to spot an ear ring, and it was very small. It must have snagged as we were hoiking him out of the car. A picture crept into my mind of Zak swearing and fumbling in the boot after we’d thrown the body over. I’d asked him hadn’t I what he was looking for? Had he known? My ears roared.

  “I’m going to ask you again,” said the DI. “Were you in Stuart Mountford’s car that night?”

  “No.”

  He watched me as he said, “Really? Zak says you were.”

  Indignation swept through me. I nearly fell for it. I nearly said, “He’s lying.”

  But that was what they wanted. To drive a wedge between us. To get me to say that Zak at least had been in the car. I heard Stuart’s voice in my head. “Don’t believe that any of us have said something about you unless you know for sure it couldn’t have come from any other source. Do not react to slurs.”

  The inspector sat back and crossed his arms. “Why would Zak lie about that?”

  I wanted to throw up but somehow I held his gaze and said, “He wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t have said that because it’s not true.”

  The DS waited for a more satisfactory answer. When it didn’t come he said, “And now you see what I’m wondering is how did this ear ring end up in Stuart Mountford’s car on the same night that Oskar Bramley died?”

  The solicitor reminded me I was free to reply, “No comment” but I didn’t want to appear difficult and as though I had something to hide.

  “I really don’t know. It must have belonged to whoever took the car or someone Stuart had given a lift to - I mean, who says it was that night?”

  All I could think of was that I had to get through this interview at least long enough to see Zak again, long enough to tell him that I hadn’t betrayed him, however it might look if they were playing similar tricks on him.

  “Oh, it could have belonged to someone else, of course,” he said in a tone that was far too agreeable.

  I sensed what was coming.

  “Except that this piece is unique. Oskar Bramley had it made. We’ve had it confirmed by the jeweller. And we know he was wearing it the day before your New Year’s Eve party. You do know he was at your party, don’t you?”

  I swallowed. “Was he? I don’t remember him.”

  They both stared at me, watching my expression. I could only turn up my hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know – there were so many people. Perhaps he was there, and saw the car and came back a few days later and took it.”

  Their faces told me they didn’t believe a word of it. And then a change in direction took me by surprise.

  “How long have you known Mr Mountford?”

  This was easier, at least but my words weren’t coming out as easily as I wanted them to. “About a year – the beginning of the training scheme. We’ve been sharing the house since August.”

  “How would you describe him as a person?”

  I didn’t think I’d better mention Scruples again. “Good. He’s kind, honest, works hard.”

  I talked about Stuart’s consideration for others – how he was scrupulously fair when it came to sharing the bills and other household expenses, the way he took on responsibilities like emptying the bins without making a deal out of it and the way he’d given us lifts when he’d had the car and never quibbled over petrol money.

  I stopped, wishing to hell I hadn’t brought up the car, but the officer motioned for me to go on.

  I recalled the way Stuart cried over Kramer versus Kramer during one of our video nights, how he’d dived across the room to stop Xanthe being electrocuted when she tried to hook her toast out of the toaster with a knife, the way he’d begged Imogen not to lean over the balcony because he thought it was dangerous and the way he’d stayed up all night trying to catch a mouse under a mixing bowl because he refused to set traps.

  Unmoved, the sergeant asked, “Would you say he was easy to live with?”

  “Yes.” Everything was relative, after all. “I mean he’s a bit particular about some things, but we’re used to him.”

  “Does he have a temper?”

  I tried to think what Zak would have already told them. He might have mentioned the episode when Stuart broke the door and bust Zak’s lip. In the end I told them Stuart had fallen out with people a couple of times that I was aware of, but they’d always made it up afterwards. “It’s just that he sets high standards for himself and gets disappointed when other people fall below them.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully. “What do you know about his past?”

  I knew what he was getting at. “Look, I know about his sister,” I said. “It didn’t happen the way people said. It was an accident. She was swept off the rocks.”

  “His sister?”

  An awful feeling curled inside me as I said it. The detective tried to keep his features neutral, but it was clear I’d told him something he hadn’t expected to hear.

  “Are you aware he almost killed his stepfather with a cricket bat?”

  I felt a cold, spreading sensation in the pit of my stomach. I shook my head.

  “Gave him brain damage. Stuart got six months in a nice, comfy detention centre. His stepfather unfortunately wasn’t so lucky – he’ll need care for the rest of his life.”

  It was a shock, but I wasn’t going to let them use it to trip me up. “No, I didn’t know that. But I know his stepfather was a bully.”

  The policeman raised his eyebrow.

  “I mean, of course that doesn’t make it all right, I’m not saying that. But Stuart doesn’t lose his temper without a lot of provocation.”

  The sergeant’s expression took me by surprise. It looked like concern.

  “I have daughters the same age as you,” he said. “All I’m saying to you Emily is be careful. I wouldn’t want them sharing a house with Stuart Mountford.” I had no idea if he was genuinely worried or if it was a ploy but he reached inside his jacket. “I’m going to give you my card. If you have any reason to be concerned, give me a call.”

  Something in his tone made my hand shake as I took the card. I couldn’t shift the sick feeling inside me and wondered if I could make it out of there in time to get to the bathroom.

  As I got up to go he said, “Just one final thing about Stuart – you do know Mountford’s not his real surname, don’t you?”

  I couldn’t help myself. “No. What’s his name then?”

  “Fitzwilliam.”

  He must have seen it. However much I tried to control the blush creeping up my face it kept spreading. I stood there uncertainly. He looked surprised. “You’re free to go. Unless there’s anything else you want to tell me?”

  Coming to my senses I told him there wasn’t.

  “Is that it?” I asked the solicitor as we walked down the stairs.

  “It should be,” she said. “It doesn’t look as though they have enough to charge you with anything. But keep yourself available just in case they need to interview you again.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Back at the house recriminations flew. The air was heavy with suspicion. It had been a hot, sticky day and the French windows were open. The setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden light on the upholstery – it was a perfect evening for sitting in the garden with a bottle of crisp dry white but ins
tead we huddled on the sofas with some cans and packets of crisps we’d grabbed at the petrol station. None of us had eaten and we were all ravenous but there had been no time to buy anything to cook. Stuart insisted on a full post mortem, picking over what everyone had said.

  “I can’t believe you thought it was okay to tell them I was having a baby with Zak,” I said to Xanthe.

  She looked anguished. “I’m sorry. But you didn’t have to tell them I kissed Oskar.”

  “That was me,” said Zak. “For your benefit. To explain any trace of him on your clothes. But you didn’t have to mention the dog, did you? You know it was an accident and I told you I was sorry.”

  “Sorry?” She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head as though it was pointless talking to him.

  He turned to me. “And did you really have to tell them about the sect?”

  Xanthe was crying softly, smudging her eyeliner. Imogen just sat quietly in the wing chair, looking perfectly, almost frighteningly, composed. I had no idea what she was thinking – but I knew she wouldn’t take the blame for any of us, not after the way she’d been deceived.

  “Playing with fireworks?” said Stuart. “That has to be one of the stupidest…”

  “I wasn’t playing,” I said, wondering how something I’d done at school had even come up and if I had the energy to go through it all again. “That boy was always laughing at me because of my fits, asking if I was about to throw a wobbly. I’m not proud of what I did but I didn’t think. I didn’t see what it was.”

  His face twisted in incredulity. “But you don’t have fits. And how could you not realise what it was?”

  It was the way I’d always remembered it but hearing Stuart say those words I wondered if maybe I had known all along and just for that microsecond I’d chosen not to know. It made me question a lot of things about myself, about truths I might have created because they made a more comfortable environment.

  “And you two both assured me there’d be no more surprises after the broken light,” said Stuart. “You promised me you’d checked to make sure nothing had been left in the car. But then it turns out not only did you miss one glaring item but two.”

  I’d had enough of questions being thrown at me. “Fine, but why didn’t you tell us your real name?”

  The others rounded on him. “After all you said about mutual trust, and telling each other everything,” said Zak. “The way you lost it when you found out about the traffic ticket – and yet all along you were lying about who you really are. So, tell us – was Oskar Bramley looking for you that night?”

  Stuart gripped the sides of his head. He looked done in after all the police questioning, but I couldn’t feel entirely sorry for him after the way he’d deceived us. There had to be a reason.

  “No, he wasn’t. And Fitzwilliam isn’t my name, it’s my stepdad’s. I didn’t mention it because I knew you’d jump to this conclusion – and it’s the wrong one.”

  “Is it?” Xanthe said. “You’ve been in prison. You didn’t think we had a right to know that?”

  “It wasn’t prison, it was a young offenders institute.”

  “What difference does that make?” Zak checked himself. “No, all right, I mean, what difference does it make to why you lied to us?”

  Stuart threw his hands up. “I didn’t kill Oskar Bramley, all right? For God’s sake, I didn’t know him. I never set eyes on him before that night. Emily, you must remember I spent all night talking to you.”

  I swallowed. “Not all night. Not before midnight.”

  The skin round his eyes looked tauter than ever. “Come on, you can’t think…”

  My chest was tight and painful, but I had to hear his answer.

  He slumped. He was pressing his fist against his mouth as though he was afraid he’d say something he regretted. We waited. “All right,” he said at last. “I changed my name. Or rather I went back to using my own name, the one I was born with – my father’s name. I refused to use my stepfather’s after everything he’d done.”

  He started to describe his stepfather as he’d done for me that time I’d been in his room. Zak gave an impatient snort.

  “You smashed his skull with a cricket bat. How many times did you have to hit him for that to happen?”

  I felt Stuart’s body stiffen beside me and was glad to be surrounded by other people. I shifted in my seat. He’d obviously lost it with his stepdad. I remembered the ferocity with which he’d attacked Zak just for teasing him. He must have done so again with Bob-Oskar. He could do it again at any time.

  He shouted, “I’ve been over and over this with the police. My God, you’re as bad as they are. Emily knows why I did it. She understands, don’t you? Go on, tell them.”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure I’ll get the details right. It might be better if you told them yourself.”

  The look Stuart gave me was one of disgust. I suppose he thought his story had mattered to me so little I’d forgotten it but after all I had promised to do just that, and it was probably better than admitting I hadn’t been listening.

  No one interrupted him this time. He talked a bit about his school, how he’d hated it, how he’d been treated, how he blamed his stepfather for persuading his mother to send him there.

  “I told my mother I wasn’t happy. She didn’t listen. She just said I should stick it out for a bit longer and the “teasing” would stop. At the beginning of my second year she drove me back. I was crying my eyes out, pleading with her to turn round but she was ignoring me, putting her lipstick on in the rearview mirror. She didn’t seem to care that she was delivering me into their hands, she was so determined not to listen she turned the radio up.”

  No one knew what to say so we just let him talk.

  “I thought I’m not having this. She might be happy to let him control her life but he’s not going to dictate mine. So, I kissed her goodbye and went in the front door of the school - and ran out the back. I walked five miles to the station and took the next train back home. I was going to say to her, ‘You can’t make me stay there.’

  “It took ages to get home, but I thought when I did she’d understand that I wasn’t just being difficult. She’d see how determined I was.

  “But as soon as I let myself in the back door I knew at once something was wrong. You could always feel it when Paul was angry. The air was heavy with danger. The downstairs rooms were empty but there was blood on the stairs. Something crashed above my head and I heard her scream.”

  “Your mother?”

  “No, Skye. My sister.”

  “I crept up the stairs. She was cowering in the corner of her bedroom – pleading for her life. He was wielding his belt. I hadn’t realised until then what was going on although I had seen bruises on her arms and there was an occasion when she’d said she’d walked into a door. I suppose he must have timed his attacks for when I was at school.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I only had a split second to think. Her eyes met mine and he turned round. I still had my cricket bat in my hand. I brought it down on his head.”

  I felt cold all the way down to my fingers.

  “Couldn’t you have just shouted at him to stop?” I asked.

  He looked at me disbelievingly. “Don’t you think I haven’t thought of that? I’ve replayed it so many times in my head. But if I hadn’t physically stopped him he’d have done it another time and then another. And I’d have been at school, so I wouldn’t have been there to do anything about it.”

  He crumpled “I didn’t think I’d hit him that hard. But the way he looked at me as he registered what had happened - I could see he was going to get me back. He lunged at me and wrested the bat out of my hands – he did it so easily.

  “He was a strong man and he was furious. He’d hit me enough times in the past. I knew I wouldn’t get away with it now.”

  “And so you hit him again?” prompted Zak.

  Stuart kneaded the skin above his eyebrow with a cr
ooked finger. “No. Skye did to stop him throttling me. I don’t know how many times. I lost count.” He flinched at the memory.

  He stretched his fingers out in front of him. I could imagine he was seeing them covered with blood.

  “After she stopped she dropped the bat. I looked down at it and for a moment I didn’t even know what it was. Skye was screaming. She was drenched in his blood.”

  We were all silent, picturing the scene.

  “I wrapped the duvet around Skye – she was so cold. She didn’t speak, she couldn’t say anything at all. I said, ‘It’s all right now. He won’t hurt either of you anymore.’”

  “At least she knew she was safe,” I said.

  His face twisted into a smile. “But I was wrong you see.”

  His features twisted into an incredulous sneer, as though I hadn’t been paying proper attention. I thought I might be about to be sick.

  “She shrank away from me and whispered, ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I love him, you see. He’s going to marry me.’”

  My hand went to my mouth. “Oh. God.”

  “So of course, she wouldn’t stand up for me in court. She denied he’d done anything wrong and went along with the police’s theory about me freaking out because he’d tried to send me back to school.”

  I was still digesting this. “So, you took the blame? What about your mum? Didn’t she try and stop you?”

  He gave a long, shuddering sigh and made a face that was halfway between a frown and a smile. “She went with Skye’s version. She just kept saying, ‘Why did you have to get involved? You made it so much worse.’ But the truth was, she had to make a choice between me and Skye and I can’t really blame her for that. She knew she was going to lose one of us and Skye needed her more than I did. I think she’d had an idea he was interfering with Skye but hadn’t faced up to it and she felt bad about that.

  “The judge described me as cold and calculating.” Stuart stopped talking but his features kept moving minutely as though he were going over the words in his head, trying to make sense of them.

  “Is that what you think?” he asked at last. “Now you know?”