Chapter 18 #2
Mayo winced, then tried to hide it by raising his mug to his face.
‘I told my dad, in a futile attempt to bond with him. Desperate stuff! Didn’t work.
He just sneered and lectured: business as usual for him, showering me with his disapproval.
There was nothing to disapprove of at that point, though, apart from the secrecy.
Marianne and I just met and talked. That was it, all we ever did: long conversations about things that mattered deeply to both of us.
It’s thanks to those chats we had that I decided to train as a therapist, so I have Marianne to thank for that at least. It sounds pathetic, but she was the closest thing I could get to being close to Jemma, which is all I really wanted.
I’ve never stopped wanting it.’ He made this last part sound like a challenge, as if he was daring Simon to object to it.
‘Even though you broke up in 2006,’ said Simon, matter-of-factly.
‘Correct.’ Mayo looked as if he was struggling to maintain his composure.
His Adam’s apple moved up and down. Come on, mate, how bad can it still hurt, seventeen years later?
Would Simon still be ranting about Dooper destroying everything that mattered to him seventeen years from now? Christ, he hoped not.
‘You said there was nothing to disapprove of “at that point”. When was there something to disapprove of?’ he asked. ‘Later?’
Bullseye. Mayo looked scared. He’d revealed more than he’d intended to.
‘What did you and Marianne get up to later that you don’t want to tell me about?’
‘Nothing,’ said Mayo. ‘I didn’t mean to imply what that sounded like.’
‘These deep chats you and Marianne had: they all happened in her study, didn’t they?’
A nod of confirmation from Mayo. He was holding his mug in front of his face, perhaps trying to hide behind it.
‘Her locked room,’ said Simon.
‘Yes.’
‘How come you were allowed in and her family weren’t?’
‘She trusted me,’ said Mayo. ‘There was … some personal stuff in there.’
‘Such as?’
‘Family photos, that kind of thing.’
Simon’s impatience must have been visible, because Mayo started to apologise and say how difficult this all was.
‘Why would anyone want to keep family photographs secret from their family?’ Simon spoke over him. ‘Presumably Jemma Stelling and Gareth Upton were both in some of these photos.’
Mayo nodded. ‘They were in nearly all of them. And Lottie. Look, I’m sorry I’m not able to help you—’
‘I think you’re very able, and I know you’re lying,’ Simon told him.
‘The good news is, you don’t need to. I’m not here officially, as a DC working the case.
Either case: Marianne’s murder yesterday, or the attempt on her life in 2012.
There’s a strong chance I won’t share what you tell me today with anyone, no matter how incriminating it is – especially if you stop bullshitting me and tell me what you know. ’
This produced a suitably puzzled expression from Mayo. Good. Give the shrink something to shrink about. ‘You have a once-in-a-lifetime chance, Dr Mayo, to—’
‘It’s Mister. Therapists aren’t generally Doctor.’
‘… tell me the truth and get it off your chest, consequence free. Did you kill Marianne Upton? Did you try to in 2012?’
‘No. I was with a client, as I’ve already—’
‘Why didn’t you and Marianne continue your secret trysts after she survived the attack in November 2012?’ Simon asked.
‘They weren’t trysts.’ Mayo’s voice had a tremor in it.
‘Look, if you must know, we’d been in touch again more recently.
No contact at all from around … December 2012 until last year and then when we resumed, it was only by text.
Exchanging Wordle scores, mainly. Not much else.
She didn’t invite me to the house again, thank God. ’
‘Who initiated the texting last year, you or her?’ said Simon.
‘She did. I didn’t want to, but—’
‘Then why did you?’
Mayo pressed his eyes shut, then opened them again. ‘I swore to myself, if she started angling in for any kind of in-person meeting … But she didn’t.’
‘So you carried on sending her your Wordle score?’
Mayo nodded.
‘Mr Mayo, your story makes as little sense as any story would if half of it was left out. By last year, you’d decided Marianne Upton was dangerous, yes?’
After a fleeting look of panic, Mayo gave a small nod of confirmation.
‘You must have been afraid of her,’ said Simon. ‘Or of what she could do to you, maybe. She wanted to swap Wordle scores … Was it every day?’
‘Most days, yes.’
‘And you didn’t want to, clearly, but you did,’ said Simon. ‘What were you frightened she’d do to you, if you didn’t go along with it?’
No response.
‘Do you know who tried to kill Marianne in 2012, or who stabbed her to death yesterday, if it really wasn’t you?’
‘No.’
‘Could Jemma have done it, do you think?’
‘Absolutely not.’
Was he really as convinced as he sounded? ‘Can I have the names of the two therapy patients?’ Simon asked him. ‘The ones who can vouch for where you were – November 2012 and yesterday?’
‘I’ve already told—’
‘You haven’t told me. And I’m the one asking, aren’t I?’
‘But … you said you weren’t here in your professional capacity. In which case, I don’t understand why you’re here at all.’
‘Well, I’m happy to tell you the whole sorry tale if you’re willing to reciprocate,’ said Simon. ‘The full truth. Everything you know.’
Mayo glared at him, his eyes still full of questions, but now there were accusations there too. How unreasonable, for a detective to come and mess with the head of the good, kind therapist when all he was doing was obstructing the solving of two unsolved murder cases.
‘Farida Suleyman,’ said Mayo. ‘She’s the client I was with last night from five o’clock until nearly six.
And the night Marianne was attacked in 2012, I was with Belynda Simmonds.
That’s Simmonds with a D, Belynda with a Y.
She’s not my client any more – lives in Pembrokeshire now.
I was with Belynda here, in this room, when Marianne was nearly killed eleven years ago.
Nowhere near Sleatham St Andrew. I’d been Belynda’s therapist for fourteen months by then, too. ’
‘How’s that relevant?’ Simon asked him.
‘It meant the police couldn’t suspect me of conveniently producing a new client who’d act as my alibi.’
‘How about Farida Suleyman? How long has she been a client?’
‘Six weeks, give or take.’
‘I see,’ Simon said as portentously as he could, but Mayo didn’t look fazed. Was he keener to prove he couldn’t have done it in 2012 than yesterday? ‘What about the story swap idea, then?’ he asked Mayo. ‘Are you ready to tell me the truth?’
He wasn’t expecting an answer and was surprised when one came back instantly. ‘No,’ Mayo said. ‘I’m sorry. Everything I can tell you, I’ve told you already – though I’m willing to admit, only because you’re saying it’s off the record, and for some reason I believe you …’
That wasn’t quite what Simon had said. Still, it looked as if the misunderstanding was about to work in his favour.
‘There’s more that I haven’t told you.’ Mayo sighed. ‘A lot more – and it in no way incriminates Jemma. In spite of that, I’m afraid you’re never going to hear it from me. I’m sorry.’