Chapter 20
TWENTY
GEORGIE
It’s the clink of a coffee cup in a saucer and Nate clearing his throat that has me blinking away the memory of Jonny and everything that came next – squashing it down, hiding it away like it could show on my face.
Because Nate might know Jonny was interested in a married woman, but he doesn’t know that woman was me.
‘Georgie?’ Nate’s prompt causes a squirming in the pit of my stomach. I’m suddenly aware of the silence in the kitchen and the three sets of assessing eyes on me.
‘What was the question?’ I ask.
There’s a pinch to Sató’s brow. ‘I asked if either of you remember anything odd about the night Mr Wilson was killed? A car on the street you didn’t recognise? Even something that seems insignificant could be important.’
I shake my head, force myself not to think about seeing Jonny on my way to set up for the quiz.
The silence in the kitchen presses in on us.
I feel like the detectives are waiting for me to say more.
My fingers twitch against the counter. I fight the instinct to fill the silence with energy and talk and rambling.
It’s the second detective who speaks then, pushing her dark-blonde hair behind her ears.
It’s wispy at the top, how mine gets in the rain.
If she were anyone else, if we were anywhere else, I’d recommend the serum I use to keep my hair looking sleek.
DC McLachlan looks at Nate, and I catch that familiar appraisal all women give him.
‘Nate,’ DC McLachlan starts with a friendly smile, ‘I wanted to check a few details with you. Is that OK? I believe you told PC Henshaw last night that you left with Marc Carter and Alistair Smith at the end of the quiz.’
Nate gives a small nod as he shifts on the stool beside me.
‘Neither of your neighbours mentioned you when giving their version of the evening’s events. And I wondered if you wouldn’t mind confirming what time you left the quiz and who was with you please.’
Nate pulls a face, an exaggerated wince like Oscar when he’s been caught sneaking out of his room after bedtime.
‘I might have left ten minutes before the end. Sorry, I should’ve been honest with the PC.
I didn’t think it was important at the time.
’ He shoots me an apologetic look I haven’t seen for a long time on my husband’s face.
One that’s all for show now, I’m certain.
‘I didn’t want Georgie to know I’d left early.
The PTA is important to her, and I didn’t want to let her down, but I was exhausted and had a full day of meetings the next day. ’
I keep my expression neutral, playing along. Inside, the worry tightens. He left early, and he lied about it.
Sató scribbles something in her notebook, head still lowered. Then it’s McLachlan’s voice cutting through the silence.
‘OK, Nate. Just so we’re all clear, can you tell us your exact movements between the hours of eight p.m. and eleven p.m. last night?’
‘Sure,’ he says, placing his hands on the counter.
The gesture is open and honest, but I’m suddenly not so sure the same can be said for his words.
‘I was at the PTA quiz night until nine. That’s the time it was supposed to end, but the raffle draw was dragging on.
Georgie was the one drawing the raffle, and I knew she wouldn’t notice if I ducked out early. ’
I think back to the quiz night. The evening is a blur.
I was loud and energetic, buoying everyone along, keeping the night running smoothly.
Tasha was managing the kitchen. Making up the cheese boards, bringing out more wine, tidying up.
Beth was carrying it back and forth when she wasn’t in the toilet throwing up – the smell of the cheese triggering her morning sickness.
Nate’s right. I didn’t notice him slip away.
‘I came straight home,’ Nate continues. ‘So that would’ve been by ten past nine. I paid Rosie – Bill and Jean’s daughter next door at number five – she left and I went to bed.’
‘Yes. I spoke to Rosie,’ Sató says. ‘She confirmed you were home around fifteen to twenty minutes before her parents. She also mentioned that, as she left the house, she heard you talking on the phone. She said it sounded like you were arguing with someone.’
Nate frowns. ‘I don’t think so,’ he replies.
Then he snaps his fingers like he’s just remembered.
‘It was probably the TV. I put it on when I got home. It was one of those reality shows Georgie likes. They’re always shouting about something.
Oscar must’ve turned the volume up too loud. That’s what she must’ve heard.’
‘I see,’ Sató says.
I sip my coffee, keeping my gaze on a swirl in the marble countertop.
My husband is still all charm, and yet woven into his recount of the night Jonny was murdered, there are lies.
The thought burrows beneath my skin. Nate doesn’t lie.
His entire career is about following the rules and stopping people who break them.
Before either of the detectives can ask another question, Sató’s phone rings. A sharp trilling that makes me jump. I knock my coffee cup in the saucer, and it clatters on the worktop before I can right it.
‘Excuse me,’ Sató says, standing and stepping into the hall to answer.
Barely a moment passes before her head pops back into the room, phone pressed to her ear, and she’s motioning for DC McLachlan to join her. I strain to listen but can’t hear what they’re saying.
I think of those men in white overalls carrying their boxes of evidence out of Jonny’s house, and my stomach churns with that slippery, dark dread. Have they found the photo in Jonny’s house? The copy he said he had.
Nate’s gaze is on me. I can almost hear the questions running through his mind. ‘You’re quiet.’ His tone is probing. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, ignoring the way his eyes flick over my face. It’s the investigator in him. He’s looking for my tells. He opens his mouth, and I can tell he’s going to push again, so I get there first, voice low and fast. ‘I’m not the one lying.’
He lifts his eyebrows in question, gaze flicking briefly to the door and the detectives still talking in the hall.
‘Reality TV?’ I say.
Nate’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t say a word, but I can tell he’s annoyed.
It’s the look he gets when he shuts down, shuts himself away, won’t speak to me for the rest of the day.
I drop my gaze, feeling suddenly lonely.
In that moment, it’s impossible to ignore the truth.
Our marriage might be bright and shiny on the surface.
From the outside, we look polished. But inside?
Inside, it’s something else. Not rotten.
More like… dried up. Disintegrated. Poke too hard and that shiny surface will crumble.
I try to remember the last time I felt truly close to Nate. The last time he didn’t shrink away from my touch. The last time we had sex was… Christmas? Even then, it had been a drunken fumble that I could tell he hadn’t really wanted.
I don’t know how we’ve drifted so far from the people we were at the start. The couple everyone wanted to be. But I know one thing – I will fix this.
Before either of us can say another word, DS Sató and DC McLachlan step back into the room. ‘Sorry about that,’ Sató says.
‘No problem.’ I offer a smile. ‘Can I check how long this is going to take? I’m due at work soon, and I’ll need to let them know if I’m going to be late. I work a few days a week at Benton’s Estate Agent’s on Park Street.’
‘This won’t take long,’ Sató replies, taking her seat once more. ‘Some new information has just come to light that I’d like to ask you about, and then we’ll be on our way.’
They settle back into their seats, Sató with her phone still in her hand.
‘I’m going to show you a photo one of the officers has just sent me,’ she continues, placing her phone on the counter between us.
The fear grabs me – fierce and unrelenting. I swallow, trying to ready myself for the one thing I’ve been working so hard to stop. Sató taps the screen, but the image that appears isn’t of me. It’s the black iron gates of Magnolia Close.
She zooms in slowly, and there – nestled in the upper curve of the scrollwork – is a tiny black circle. No bigger than a coin. Almost invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.
‘It appears there is a small CCTV camera here,’ she says, her voice giving nothing away. ‘We believe it’s motion-activated. As you can see, it’s well hidden inside the ornamental crest.’
I blink, heart hammering against my ribs. A camera. Not watching who is coming into Magnolia Close but watching the houses. Watching us.
How long has it been there? What has it seen?
‘Do you know anything about this?’ Sató asks.
I shake my head. ‘No. I’m on the residents’ association and there’s no way we would’ve allowed this. Who would do this?’
‘That’s something we’re very keen to find out,’ Sató replies as she and McLachlan move to stand. ‘Whoever owns this camera will likely have captured the person who murdered Mr Wilson.’
The detectives thank us for our time, hand us their cards and we show them to the door, promising to be in contact if we think of anything else.
As soon as the front door closes, I’m whirling around to Nate.
‘A hidden camera,’ I breathe out. ‘It has to be one of the residents, doesn’t it? The camera is facing inward. Watching all of us. Why would someone do that?’
Nate doesn’t reply. Doesn’t look at me. Just moves towards the stairs in the direction of his study.
‘Can we talk?’ I call after him.
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t slow. Just disappears like he hasn’t heard me.
I stare after him, my mind racing in a hundred directions. I want to ask him about what he told Sató just now. The TV on loud. A reality show. It sounded plausible, and Sató seemed to buy it.
Except I don’t watch reality TV. So why did he say it? Why did he lie? And who was he arguing with that night?
Then my thoughts drag back to the hidden camera.
Who would secretly watch Magnolia Close?
I think of Nate, checking his phone at odd times of the day and night.
Always with the screen faced away from me.
I think about his desk by the window and that desperate need he has to know everything that’s going on.
What have you been up to, Nate? What did you see?