The Adulterer's Handbook

by Sam Anthony

  “Have you met her husband, Mr Joseph Miller?”

  “I think he might have attended the office Christmas party a couple of years ago.”

  “What’s your impression of him?”

  “I can’t remember him to be honest. I don’t recall us saying much to each other at all. He seemed like a nice enough chap, but, as I say, I really don’t know him.”

  “And that’s the only contact you’ve ever had with Mr Miller?”

  “Yes. Until this lunchtime.”

  “What happened at lunchtime?”

  “Joe … Mr Miller rang me at work. He was phoning all the people in Sophia’s contacts to ask if they had any information about her disappearance.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I hadn’t seen her since work on Friday and I had no idea where she could be.”

  “Was he aggressive? Distressed? How would you describe his mood?”

  “He just sounded worried about his wife.”

  DC McBride writes something in her notepad.

  “I see. When’s the last time you saw Mrs Miller?” DS Khan says.

  “Erm, I think it was at about five, maybe five-thirty on Friday, just before I went home.”

  “In the office?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not in the car park?”

  I pretend to be pondering.

  “Actually, you could be right. There’s a good chance we were in the car park at the same time.”

  “Did you speak to her?”

  “Possibly. I may have said ‘Have a good weekend’ or something along those lines.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “As far as I can remember.”

  “Would it surprise you to hear that some of your colleagues have said they saw you and Mrs Miller embracing in the car park at about five-thirty on Friday?”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Gosh. I’d forgotten that. Yes, I think I asked after her cousin, who’s recently been diagnosed with cancer, and Sophia looked a bit emotional, so I gave her a quick hug. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “Possibly the right thing to do if you were close friends, but you said you were just colleagues.”

  “We were… are just colleagues, but I’m a nice guy and I thought she needed a hug.”

  “I understand. And I guess it was also quite enjoyable to be embracing an attractive young lady?”

  “That’s got nothing to do with it.”

  “Are you attracted to Mrs Miller, Lee?”

  “No. I want you to understand that I’m a very happily married man. I guess you could say Sophia is quite pretty in a rather obvious way, but I’m not attracted to her in the slightest. I love my wife.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Sixteen happy years.”

  “And how many unhappy ones?”

  I start to respond, but he interrupts me. “I’m just pulling your leg, Lee.”

  “Funny!” I'm not amused.

  “According to Mr Miller, there is no cousin with cancer.”

  “What?”

  “Mrs Miller doesn’t have a cousin who has cancer.”

  “But that’s what she told everyone at work.”

  “Yes. Several people have said the same thing. It’s something of a mystery at the moment. Are you aware of any other times when Mrs Miller has said things that weren’t true?”

  “No. But, as I said, we weren’t that close. We mainly talked about work.”

  “Yes. You did say that. So, after you embraced, did she say anything else before she drove away?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “She didn’t wind down her window and say anything to you?”

  “Nothing that I can remember.”

  “Two people who were in the car park at the time claim she lowered her window and called out ‘See you tomorrow, Lee’ just before she left the car park.”

  “Is that a question?”

  “Did that happen?”

  “It sounds highly unlikely. As I’ve explained, we don’t socialise and I’ve never seen her at the weekend. Perhaps they misheard, or maybe she was calling to somebody else.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s possible.”

  DC McBride nods in agreement.

  “Is there anything else you want to ask me?”

  “Just a couple more things, Lee, if you don’t mind. It’s important we get a full picture of the car park incident as it appears to be the last time Mrs Miller was observed by anyone before she vanished. One of her neighbours thinks she may have seen Mrs Miller’s car outside their house on Friday evening, but she can’t be sure, so your conversation is the last verified sighting of her we have.”

  “Didn’t her husband see her when he got home?”

  “No actually. Mr Miller says he arrived home at about nine-thirty and there was no sign of her or her car. A neighbour verified his time of arrival.”

  “That seems late to be getting home on a Friday night.”

  “Yes, we thought the same. The neighbours confirmed that his car is usually back on the drive between 7 p.m. and 8 p.m. every day. We’re looking into it.”

  “Is he suspected of something?”

  “Not at all. We’re simply trying to locate Mrs Miller at this stage.” He looks down at his notes and then continues. “Can you describe Mrs Miller’s mood on Friday afternoon?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did she seem upbeat, thoughtful, anxious, depressed?”

  “Just her usual self, really. She’s got quite a bubbly personality, although she’s been a bit subdued lately because of her cousin. Although, you’re now telling me she made that up.”

  “She did, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, something must have been upsetting her. She’s been crying at work a lot recently.”

  “Lee, do you think it’s possible Mrs Miller May have committed suicide?”

  “No way! She’s not the type.”

  “Is there a type?”

  “She’s young, attractive, happy, healthy. Why would she kill herself? She’s got so much to live for.” I pause. “She was healthy, wasn’t she? She hadn’t been diagnosed with cancer or anything?”

  “Not according to her G.P. He describes her as being in rude health.”

  “Well, I really don’t know Sophia that well. I guess it’s possible, but I can’t imagine her committing suicide.”

  “Okay. That’s useful information.” He turns to DC McBride. “Colleen, have you got the map?”

  She opens the briefcase at her feet, removes a map and unfolds it on the table between us.

  “Where do you live, Lee?” DC Khan says.

  I study the map, locate my street and point out the general location of my house.

  “Just here.”

  “Ah. That’s a nice part of town. You must be fairly well off. And where does Mrs Miller live?”

  I nearly make a mistake. I’m just about to point at the map when I think better of it and use my pointing finger to scratch my nose instead.

  “I don’t know I’m afraid. I think she’s local, but I don’t have her address.”

  “Indeed. Her house is here.” He points to a spot on the map and he’s slightly off, but close enough.

  “Uh huh.”

  “So, this would probably be her route to and from work.” He takes a highlighter pen and draws on the map.

  “Yes, that looks like the quickest way.”

  “Are you familiar with this road, Lee.” He gestures with his pen.

  “I’ve driven along it a few times, but not often.”

  “There’s a lay-by just here. Do you know it?”

  Here we go. They both study my face intently. They must have found Sophia’s car or obtained her cell phone movements.

  “No. I can’t say I do.”

  “We have reason to believe that Mrs Miller may have been in this area on Friday evening; parked in the lay-by or possibly walking by th
e canal.” He taps his pen on the blue line that represents the waterway.

  “Was she seen there?” I ask.

  “I’m not at liberty to say. Have you ever stopped in this lay-by or walked along this stretch of the canal?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Can you confirm the make and model of your car, Lee?”

  “I can, but why do you need to know?”

  “It’s just routine. We collect all sorts of information at this stage of an enquiry. It all goes into a database and sometimes something useful comes to light. There were several vehicles seen in the lay-by on Friday evening, and we’re trying to identify their owners to find out if they saw anything of interest.”

  “I see.”

  I tell them my car details and DC McBride writes them down in her notebook.

  “One possibility we’re investigating is that Mrs Miller might have fallen or jumped into the canal on Friday evening.”

  “Crikey!”

  “It’s unlikely, but it’s possible. Are you familiar with the process of drowning, Lee? It’s a very unpleasant way to die.”

  “No.” I swallow.

  DS Khan looks at his colleague who nods once, and then he begins a monologue which sounds wooden and rehearsed.

  “Death usually occurs within two minutes, depending on the person’s physical status. Once they’re under the water they hold their breath until they’re forced to inhale. At which point they gulp water. The water causes spasms of the larynx, which then closes off the trachea to protect the lungs.” He points to his neck and then to his chest. “Not much water enters the lungs at this stage though. Once the trachea is closed, no fresh air can enter the lungs and the supply of oxygen begins to fail. This lack of oxygen, or anoxia as it’s known, has a detrimental effect on the brain and within thirty seconds the spasms of the larynx begin to weaken as brain failure becomes imminent. The person then inhales again, this time aspirating water directly into the lungs, before the next spasm closes the trachea again, but for a shorter duration. With each successive inhalation, more water enters the lungs, anoxia increases, the larynx spasms get shorter and shorter until they finally stop and the lungs are filled with water.”

  “Oh my God! That’s horrible.” I’m trying not to imagine Sophia going through this ghastly process in a cold, smelly canal.

  “I agree. That’s why I never go out of my depth in water.”

  “Very sensible,” I say.

  “Lee, you’ve been here quite a while,” DC McBride says, interrupting. “Would you like to take a break?”

  “Aren’t we nearly finished?” I say, hopefully.

  “Yes. We’re almost there,” says DS Khan, resuming control.

  “Let’s just get it over with then.”

  “Good plan, Lee. Would you like a drink or anything? A cup of tea? Coffee?”

  “Actually tea would be nice.”

  DC McBride picks up the telephone on the desk and asks someone to bring three cups of tea.

  After she hangs up the phone, DS Khan isn’t happy. “You should have asked for biscuits.”

  “Sorry. Shall I ring back?” she says.

  “No. Hopefully they’ll take pity on us and bring biscuits anyway. I’m starving! I can’t stop thinking about all that lovely food in Mrs Miller’s fridge.”

  “What’s that?” I say.

  “When Mr Miller got home on Friday night, he found Mrs Miller and her car to be missing. Everything else in the house was exactly as it should be, apart from an unexpected amount of fancy food in the fridge. There was steak, lobster, caviar, champagne, truffles, expensive wine, gourmet cheese ... loads of stuff. Mr Miller had no idea what it was for.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “I know.”

  The tea arrives, complete with a bowl of sugar, a spoon and a plate of biscuits.

  “You’re off the hook, Colleen, but make sure you ask next time.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  I’m able to relax a little as we drink our tea, but I haven’t got the appetite to eat anything.

  “Can you get the laptop out, Colleen,” DS Khan asks DC McBride, his mouth full of biscuit crumbs.

  She complies and takes a slim laptop computer out of her briefcase. I see a police logo on the top. She opens it and powers it on, then slides it across the desk to her colleague. DS Khan presses a few keys until he’s found what he’s looking for.

  “What do you make of this, Lee?” He swings the laptop around so I can see the screen. They both gaze at me attentively.

  There’s a video playing. In the centre of the picture, I can see Sophia. She’s in a dimly lit room, naked, blindfolded and tied with rope to an upright chair. Her hands appear to be secured behind her back. She’s not struggling, but she keeps moving and tilting her head as if she’s trying to pinpoint the location of a sound.

  Nothing happens for a few seconds. Then I see the light change slightly as a shadow moves across the room. There’s someone else there.

  From the right side of the screen a naked man appears, and he goes to stand behind the chair. I can’t make out his face, which is still in shadow, but I can see that he has something in his right hand. It looks like a small clear cube. He holds the cube above Sophia and, after a few seconds, droplets begin to fall from the cube onto Sophia’s right breast. I see her stiffen in the chair and hear the hiss of a quick intake of breath as she arches her back as much as the rope will allow. It must be an ice cube. The man reaches forward and encircles Sophia’s right nipple with the ice cube. Then he transfers it to his left hand and teases her other nipple. When he bends down to kiss her shoulder, his head leaves the safety of the shadow and his face becomes visible. I recognise the man straight away.

  It’s me.

  There can be no doubt.

  I look up at DS Khan and DC McBride in turn. It’s clear from their expressions that they know it’s me too, but DS Khan asks anyway.

  “Is that you, Lee?”

  I don’t say anything.

  He swings the laptop back around to face him, presses a few more keys and then points it back in my direction.

  “What about this one?”

  I glance at the screen for just long enough to see Sophia, on her hands and knees, in the middle of a creaking double bed. She’s looking directly at the camera lens with a big smile on her face, while I pound her from behind, my features contorted in pleasure, oblivious to the camera recording my every move.

  I don’t say anything.

  “Earlier I asked you about the nature of your relationship with Mrs Miller. In the light of what you’ve just seen, would you like to change your answer?”

  “Am I under arrest?” I say.

  “No.”

  “Am I still free to leave at any time?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then I think I’d like to leave now.” I start to get to my feet.

  “Of course. That’s fine. Is there anything else you’d like to tell us before you go?”

  “No.”

  “Very well. We’ll be in touch again soon, so please stay in the area.”

  I don’t reply.

  As I exit the room, I hear DS Khan say, “For the tape, Lee Bolton has terminated the interview at 17:20.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Loft

  I drive home, my head spinning.

  The police know that Sophia’s last location was the lay-by near the canal. They also know I just lied throughout my interview, and they’re in possession of evidence which proves that Sophia and I were lovers.

  If, or should that be when, they find Sophia’s body, the four most likely possibilities will surely be: she committed suicide, she was murdered by her husband, she was murdered by her lover, or death by misadventure.

  Presumably, a Post Mortem examination will be performed due to the suspicious nature of Sophia’s death. The police will discover that she drowned. They’ll find out she was pregnant. They’ll come after Joe and me, the
ir investigation converging on the most likely perpetrator as the evidence accumulates. I’m not going to be able to keep Sophia’s disappearance from Tamsin for much longer.

  As I’m driving, I try to plan what I’m going to tell her, but I’m struggling to come up with an approach that doesn’t result in me being separated from my wedding tackle.

  “Hey, Tam. You know Sophia from work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Apparently she disappeared last Friday and nobody has seen her since.”

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  “I know. Anyway, the police might want to ask me some questions about it.”

  “How come?”

  “I was one of the last people to see her before she … vanished.”

  “Is that all? You had me worried there for a minute.”

  “No. There’s a bit more to it than that.”

  “Go on.”

  “The police have found evidence she was having an affair.”

  “How sordid! With who?”

  “With whom.”

  “With whom?”

  “Me.”

  “Can you pass me the gonad remover ...”

  What if I put off telling Tamsin until Sophia’s body is discovered?

  “Sophia from work has been found dead in the canal.”

  “Oh my God! That’s awful.”

  “I know. It gets worse. They discovered at the Post Mortem that she was pregnant.”

  “No! Her poor husband must be devastated.”

  “I’m sure he is. Anyway, the police might want to ask me some questions about it.”

  “Why?”

  “They found loads of videos on her computer.”

  “Videos of what?”

  “Sophia having sex?”

  “With whom?”

  “Me.”

  “Jesus Christ! ... Are you the father?”

  “I don’t know. I guess my DNA will be examined to find out.”

  “Just put your cock on this chopping board for a sec…”

  ◆◆◆

  I arrive home, have a shower and sit in the living room, waiting for Tamsin to return from work. To pass the time, I do some research into the length of prison sentences for murdering pregnant women. It’s hard to obtain precise figures, but it’s clear that if I’m tried, found guilty and sentenced, I’m likely to spend the remainder of my able-bodied years locked away. My hope is that there’s not enough proof for a jury to convict me. There are no witnesses and there shouldn’t be any physical evidence linking me to a crime. In the absence of proof, it would be hard for any jury to disregard the reasonable doubt that Sophia drowned accidentally or even committed suicide. Surely a jury would have enough uncertainty to not find me guilty.