‘Ms Lane, some new evidence has come to hand that we would like to speak to you about,’ Anita switched from introduction to investigation mode smoothly. Robert sat up.
‘What can you tell me about this?’ Anita asked.
‘For the tape, DI Shan is showing Ms Lane exhibit 37A. A photo of a fishing knife found at Torcross Lake,’ Robert chimed in, voice hoarse.
Anita slid the knife photograph across the table to June.
She started shaking. Her eyes flicked up scanning between Anita and Robert.
‘No comment,’ she whispered.
Robert frowned. That wasn’t good. She always talked.
‘Take a closer look, Ms Lane,’ Anita said firmly, her eyebrows drawn down in a frown.
June’s head was shaking. ‘No comment,’ she repeated. Mr Peters sat forward, suddenly engaged in proceedings.
‘Shall we tell you what we know then?’ Anita continued, conversational. ‘All right. This fishing knife was turned into Kingsbridge Station two days ago. It was found by the lake at Torcross, the one just across from the beach.’
‘Near your house,’ Robert added. June glanced at him, betrayal in her eyes. Robert fought down the shame that surged in his chest at that look. Why do I feel guilty? He wondered. I didn’t lie.
He fought for focus.
‘Some teenagers were rowing on the lake late last year,’ Anita went on. ‘One threw the other’s shoe into the brush on the lake shore. Having a lark. You know teenagers.’ Anita scrunched her nose as if enjoying the thought of cheeky youth. Youth only a few years younger than herself in truth. Robert shifted his weight.
‘The boy who lost his shoe went searching in the brush to find it. Can you guess what he found instead? This knife.’ Anita tapped the photo. ‘But that’s not the really interesting bit. See, the boy noticed the knife looked rusty, but it was in good condition otherwise, good quality. He took it home, planning to clean it up, but well, he forgot about it, got distracted. Then, two days ago, his mother found it while tidying his room, showed her husband, thinking it was junk. Fortunately his dad, ex-army man, knew better. It wasn’t rust on the knife…’ Anita raised her eyebrows at June as if in question.
June had gone completely still. Her face white as a sheet.
‘It was actually old blood. So, the father brought the knife in to the station at Kingsbridge. Thanks to your sister’s lawyer keeping up the questioning over the white car, he’d seen reference to the murder in Torcross only recently. Better to be safe than sorry, he thought. We ran forensics. The results came in today.’ Anita paused, ‘Is there anything you want to tell us about the knife, Ms Lane?’
June didn’t move. Her eyes had gone far away. The only movement of her body was the silent bob of her throat.
Casually, Anita continued, ‘You know, it’s a common misconception that blood will just wash away. It doesn’t. If fact, did you know that metal, like the knife blade, actually takes on blood really well? Better than most other surfaces.’
Enough. Robert leaned forward. ‘Ms Lane, June, forensics found traces of Grant Huxley’s blood on the knife,’ he said, ‘and your blood.’ He paused.
‘But not Eloise’s.’
He stopped, eyes fixed on June. Still she didn’t move. She stared off into space.
‘June,’ he prompted. ‘We need to you tell us how this knife, with your blood and Grant Huxley’s blood on it, came to be in Torcross.’
Slowly, very slowly her eyes moved down to the photo. She started shaking, pressed her eyes closed and breathed out heavily. ‘It’s not,’ she began, choked and swallowed, pushed on, ‘It’s not what you think.’ Her voice was tight, rough.
Robert pushed a plastic cup of water across the table to her. She flicked her eyes to him then took the cup and sipped. Working moisture back into her mouth.
‘Talk us through what it is then, June,’ he said.
She stared at him, eyes panicked. But she nodded.
‘So, after I dropped the car off… no. No, I have to go back a bit further than that. I woke up agitated that morning. Worrying about Eloise and Jacob and Grant’s plan to take my nephew away. And then I saw the knife…’
June had been in a funk all day. No matter what she did: dishes, dusting, a mini yoga flow in front of her laptop, reading to Jacob, nothing helped relieve the tension that was tracing lines of fire across her shoulders. She’d felt like this all week. Ever since Grant’s letter arrived. It wasn’t so much his desire for Jacob that upset her, but the flagrant betrayal. And not just of Eloise… She shook her head. She had no right to feel let down. After all, she was the one having an affair with her sister’s husband. Guilt, hot and veiny, burst up from her belly and filled her chest.
For weeks now she had been seeing him, secretly, every Thursday. Living her week in a miasma of self loathing then, for a few blessed hours, enveloping herself in him. His taste, his touch, his scent. She had planned to end it for weeks. But every time she went to say it, the words dried up. She just couldn’t cut herself free of him. Eloise, her dear sweet sister had no idea. She thought he wanted her back. But he was just the same cad he’d always been.
And now, he was going to take the baby.
Her phone alarm sounded, 3:45 p.m. Time to head to Salcombe. Flustered she raced from her home office, calling to Eloise as she strode through the lounge searching for her bag and keys.
‘I’m off Eloise. Taking the car to the garage. I’ll be home for dinner though.’
Bag located she rummaged her hands through its interior. No keys. ‘Shit,’ she breathed, eyes scanning wildly. She pulled a few cushions from the lounge. No joy. Racing to the kitchen she looked over the benches and even checked the fridge; Eloise wasn’t the only one who could be absent minded sometimes. The lack of sleep from caring for Jacob, she presumed. Frustrated, she opened her mouth to call again to Eloise, ask if she had seen her keys, when she spied them sitting innocently on the dining table, by the vase of dried flowers. She stalked over and scooped them up. Stopped in surprise.
There on the table, on the other side of the vase, lay her dad’s old fishing knife. June frowned. Eloise must have been using it to cut the flower stems. Silly girl, she thought. Even more forgetful than me. She snatched up the knife. Dangerous, she worried. Jacob was starting to pull himself up on things. Little, pudgy reaching fingers searching for trouble. She’d have a word with Eloise about it. But not now. No time.
She turned for the kitchen, intending to place the knife safely in a draw, secured by a baby-safe seal, when Eloise appeared in the room.
‘Ok, lasagna sound good?’ she asked.
June looked over at her sister; beautiful, fragile, vulnerable. Her throat constricted. Shame sat hot and heavy on her chest. Eloise had been so happy lately. She didn’t deserve this. Any of this.
She dropped her hand below the table, hiding the knife. Not the time for a confrontation, not when June felt so damn guilty.
Eloise breezed across the room and took June by the shoulders.
‘I know it’s your favourite,’ she smiled.
June’s forehead creased in confusion. ‘Sorry?’
‘Lasagna. I’m going to make grandma’s recipe.’
‘Oh, no need Lou. We have microwave ones in the freezer.’
‘No,’ Eloise chided, ‘I am making a proper lasagna for you.’ She smiled, turned and started back towards her room. Then stopped and faced June. ‘You do so much for me, June. I don’t know where I’d be without you. Where Jacob would be. I can’t repay you, not properly. But I can do this. Ok?’
The guilt cooled, seeping down into June’s gut, turning leaden and solid, a rock of self loathing in her bowel.
‘You owe me nothing,’ she said. ‘But lasagna would be nice.’
Eloise smiled. ‘See you later then.’ She left the room.
June felt her body slump. ‘You selfish piece of shit,’ she breathed to herself. Poor innocent Lou.
She glanced down at the knife in her hand.
She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t. I have to stop it. I will stop it.
She gripped the knife firmly, an idea forming in her mind.
‘Should be ready by lunch tomorrow. But I’ll give you a call. Ok June?’
June turned sharply, ‘Oh, yep, cheers Gary,’ she stammered.
‘You ok, June?’ Gary, short and broad of shoulder, had been her mechanic for over 20 years. You could call their association the longest male relationship in her life. Aside from her father. June surpassed a snort of derision and shook off the silly thought. She’d been miles away.
‘Yes, yes I’m fine Gary. Sorry, it’s been a big day.’
‘Well, you do a lot June. Don’t forget to take some time for you too. Ok?’
‘Thanks Gary. See you tomorrow.’
Gary waved a grease-stained hand and lumbered back into the garage.
Out on the street June started for the bus stop. Then stopped. Reaching into her purse she pulled out her mobile phone and dialled a number she never thought she’d dial again.
The bus would take too long.
Ensconced in Helene’s car, June sped through the narrow roads of Devon, heart pounding in her chest. It was just past 5 p.m. Grant would be at the hotel by now. Eloise was expecting her to take the bus, so she had a little over a hour of time to execute her plan. Her plan to stop Grant from destroying Eloise’s world. She glanced at her handbag, swallowed against the lump of fear that surged up into her throat when she thought of the knife within and what she was going to do with it. Her mouth went dry.
The loud blare of a truck horn brought her back into the moment. She looked up and swerved quickly into a hedgerow passing bay. The truck cruised passed, driver lazily giving her the two fingered salute. V Sign. Anger surged up through June, melting away the guilt and apprehension, replacing it with furious fire.
Fucking men! She thought violently. Always think they can have their way. Fucking Grant fucking Huxley!
Not this time, she resolved.
June pulled the little white Kia into the car park at Beesands. The sun had all but set, casting the beach in a orange-tinged darkness. Purse on her lap she reached inside and gripped the fishing knife. Her hands were shaking, her breathing short and shallow. She pressed her eyes together. ‘For Eloise,’ she said and left the car.
The hotel staff were busy in the restaurant, so June slipped in unnoticed. Slowly she crept up the hotel stairs, heading for Grant’s room. She came to his closed door. This time she didn’t knock.
Pulling the knife from her purse she held it by her side and swung the door open…
…and nearly screamed.
On the floor before her lay Grant in a pool of blood. June dropped the knife in shock, hands covering her mouth, as if they could hold in her terror.
She paced across the room, falling to her knees before her lover. ‘Oh no,’ she breathed, taking in the blood, the gash across his throat.
Grant’s eyes fluttered once.
Alive? she thought, hope surging within her
She grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. There, faint. Frantic, she clasped her hands around the jagged slice that had severed his jugular. Blood, hot and slick, pumped out over her hands. Wildly, she scanned his body. More wounds, all over his chest, his stomach. She reached one hand down to press over the wound closest to his heart, then another at his gut. So many.
‘Help,’ she tried to call, but her throat had closed over. ‘Help,’ only a strained whisper escaped her lips.
Grant’s eyes fluttered again, then he went limp beneath her clutching fingers.
‘No,’ she breathed. ‘No.’
She reached into her pocket for her mobile. It slid from her grip, landing softly on the carpeted floor. She snatched it up, wiping her hand on her shirt to try and clear off enough blood to type.
Then she saw them. Laying on the floor just by Grant’s still warm body. Eloise’s crafting scissors.
June went cold. Froze.
‘Oh god,’ she whispered. ‘Oh my god.’
She surged up, stepping over Grant’s now lifeless body and grabbed the scissors. Her hands were shaking violently now. Everything stopped. Like someone had paused time. She stared at the scissors. Somewhere, just outside of her mind, someone was saying something, something important, logical. But June couldn’t hear it. There was just the scissors, the blood, Grant. The voice came again, more insistent.
Then. Move!
Her limbs suddenly animated, shocked into life. She shoved the scissors into her jacket pocket, wiping her hands quickly over her shirt before zipping up the front. Shaking she stepped back over Grant’s body. Her stomach roiled. No, she told herself firmly, fighting back the bile. She pressed her hand to her mouth and paused. Breathing slowly, trying to regain control. She rushed for the door, reaching down as she passed to take up the fishing knife she’d dropped at the door. Her thumb snagged on the sharp blade. She hissed, stuffing her thumb in her mouth and sucking up the blood.
Then she walked.
Out the door, down the stairs and into the dark winter evening.
It was pitch black by the time June pulled up at the beach car park in Torcross. Muscles trembling, she pulled hard on the hand brake and killed the engine. For a moment she didn’t move. Just sat, hands on the steering wheel, eyes staring forward, unseeing.
Move.
She reached over and grabbed the knife and scissors, her handbag and climbed out of the car. Blood stains presumably from her bloodied hands, caught the car light, shining bright and red across the upholstery of the car’s interior. Tomorrow’s problem, she thought, first things first.
She set off towards home, pacing fast around the rim of Torcross Lake.
The air was thick with coming rain, the wind whipped fast about her body. Night, black and deep, surrounded her, shrouding her passage in darkness. She strode past her street, continuing around the lake until she reached the far end, then she turned in. Clutching the knife in one hand, the scissors in the other, she tramped through the thick overgrown brush heading for the lakeside.
The moon was a thin sliver above her, offering little light. The clouds thick and dark blocked the stars. The first drops of rain began to fall. Soon it would pour.
June held up her hands, ready to heave the two blades into the lake. Then she paused. Detectives always found weapons in lakes and streams. No, this was a bad idea. A panicked idea. She turned briskly, intending to head back home but she caught her foot on a large root in the undergrowth. Crashing down, she tried to brace her fall, but the knife and scissors hampered her. Bracken and wood tore across her wrists. She hit the ground. Smarting from the pain she surged back up. Went to continue. But her left hand was empty. She’d dropped the knife. Shoving the scissors into the loop of her belt, she began frantically feeling through the overgrowth. The dark night offered no help. The rain was falling faster now. Shaking, she grabbed her phone, swiped on the torch function and started sweeping the light through the brush. ‘Come on, come on,’ she hissed, eyes scanning. But she couldn’t see anything.
Thunder cracked overhead, and lightning split the sky. The heavens opened.
Out of time.
Resolving to come back tomorrow, after she’d dealt with the car, June pulled up her hood against the downpour and raced out from the overgrowth. Pacing quickly back to her street and home.
‘From there it’s just like I said originally. I saw blood on the door frame. I rushed in, calling for Eloise. I was worried, panicked. Where was Jacob? Was he safe? Then I realised I was dripping rain water and blood all over the floor. I striped off the jacket and threw it on the dining table. I could hear Eloise singing nursery rhymes: ‘three blind mice, three blind mice’. I raced into Jacob’s room and found them both there. Unharmed.’
She stopped, eyes searching Robert’s face. Realisation dawning across her features. There was no ally there, not anymore. She looked to Anita.
‘It’s the truth!’ she insisted. ‘I didn’t t
ell you before because, well because who would believe me? But, but you found the knife… This time I am telling you everything that happened. I swear it. That’s the story, the whole story.’
Robert sat still. Closed his eyes a moment. Heavy with his own realisation. June was going to prison.
‘Ms Lane. You have lied to us every time you have given a statement. Why would we believe you now?’ Anita said.
June whipped her head back to Robert, eyes pleading. ‘Because,’ she stammered, ‘because it’s the truth. This time. It is. The whole, whole truth. It’s what happened. The next day I took Helene’s car to the drive through in Knightsbridge and cleaned it up. And I searched, searched for that knife, every day I took Jacob for a walk around the lake to look, but I couldn’t find it…’
‘Ms Lane,’ Anita interrupted. ‘You admit to taking a knife to Grant Huxley’s hotel. That you were angry and going to ‘stop him.’’
‘Stop him, yes! Threaten him. Make him leave Jacob and Eloise alone. Not kill him!’
‘Are you sure of that?’ Robert breathed across the table. He looked into June’s face.
She stared at him, silent.
‘When you borrowed her car, Ms Swifter says you told her “he was doing it again” in reference to Grant. Can you tell me what you meant by that?’
June drew back, head shaking. ‘I, I don’t remember…’
‘Shall I tell you what I think, June?’ Anita chimed in, ‘I think you were desperate to stop Grant from taking Jacob away from you. We saw how close you are to the child…’
‘He is my nephew! Of course I’m close to him.’
‘… And you couldn’t face the thought of losing another baby because of Grant.’
The Unsound Sister Page 17