Chapter 44
Forty-Four
Monday
EMILY
The knock comes late morning, sharp and non-negotiable. I’m in the kitchen with a coffee cup in my hands, pretending my hands aren’t shaking.
Trying to stave off exhaustion after my endlessly restless night is an uphill struggle, and I must have spent half the night standing by the window, staring at the out-of-bounds view. Looking at the Coach House the way you look at something that’s already been taken from you.
I’d finally fallen into an exhausted sleep when the front door slamming hard woke me up. I’d got dressed and come downstairs.
Lara seemed upset.
‘What’s wrong?’ I’d laid a hand on her arm.
‘Nothing!’ she’d said, brightly, but I wasn’t convinced. ‘Just Tim throwing his dummy out of the pram.’
The look on her face . . . then I’d realized.
‘I’m so sorry you’re both being dragged into all our mess.’
She’d spun around. ‘It’s not you, Emily, not at all! Please don’t think that. We had a bit of a disagreement. Nothing to do with you, I promise.’
Maybe it’s Tim who’s sick of me being here. I can hardly blame him. But if I say so, Lara will only deny it, so I let it go.
What a mess.
When we hear the door, we’re both in the kitchen.
Lara potters around the island making tweaks to her equipment.
Recording, for the time being, has been put on hold, and I know what a sacrifice that is because, as Lara has explained, her followers can be fickle if the posts drop off.
‘It won’t take much to find another influencer to take my place. ’
At the knock, off she scuttles down the hallway, and I hover outside the kitchen door, watching with trepidation. She peers close to the textured glass panel, turns back and hisses, ‘It’s those detectives again.’
She gives me a look as if to ask if I want her to make an excuse, but I give her a nod to go ahead. At this stage, avoidance will only make a very bad thing worse.
I step back into the kitchen, forcing myself to breathe evenly as DI Adebayo and DS Blair come inside, polite as ever. But it’s clear by their formality they are here with a new development. She ushers them into the living room and we pass in the hallway.
‘Good luck,’ she whispers on her way back to the kitchen, with a glance that says be careful.
I walk into the room and sit down. My palms feel hot pressed against my knees. DS Blair shifts and settles opposite, his notepad balanced on one thigh, and DI Adebayo perches beside him, her dark eyes resting astutely on mine.
‘Emily, thank you for agreeing to speak to us again,’ DI Adebayo says, as if I have a choice.
‘As before, I want to reassure you that you are not under arrest. You’re currently a witness in this investigation.
But we do need to clarify some matters following our initial enquiries yesterday. Is that OK?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘So’—DS Blair clicks his pen—‘to start, we’d like to ask again about your husband. Specifically, does Oliver have a drug habit?’
The question lands hard, catching me off guard.
‘Drugs?’ I repeat. ‘No. Never.’
‘You’ve never known him to take anything at all, even occasionally?’
‘Absolutely not. He doesn’t even like to take painkillers, unless it’s essential. He thinks they make your immune system weak.’
DI Adebayo blinks. ‘So, if toxicology tests were to show he’d taken something, that would surprise you?’
My throat tightens. ‘Of course it would. Tell me what you’ve found.’
‘We’ll be able to tell you more soon, but for now I appreciate your cooperation in answering our questions honestly.’
DS Blair clears his throat. ‘We have now conducted a forensic search of your property, the Coach House, and in line with standard procedure, various items of potential relevance have been seized, including Mr Sharpe’s laptop and some paperwork. You’ll receive a full inventory of any items taken.’
Oliver’s laptop.
A memory jumps into my mind. Oliver in our old house, sitting with that very laptop balanced on his knee, looking for his next potential mark.
My stomach twists. I force my face into stillness, as if my expression alone could betray my thoughts.
‘What paperwork?’ I manage.
‘Various files and documents found in the study,’ DS Blair says. ‘Mostly financial records, I believe.’
‘That stuff is all old and out of date.’
‘Well, we’ll let our financial investigators decide that,’ DI Adebayo responds.
This is the start of the digging. The archaeological search that surely cannot fail to unearth my own treacheries.
‘When can I get back in the house?’ I say. ‘No doubt your people have turned it upside down.’
‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to return quite yet,’ DS Blair says. ‘Rest assured we’ll let you know as soon as Forensics release the property.’
‘Best not to think of it as being turned upside down,’ DI Adebayo adds. ‘We’re being thorough in the face of a murder investigation. I’m sure you understand.’
Heat climbs up my neck and I wish the sofa could just swallow me up. This is not looking good.
‘Let’s talk about the victim, Vanessa Lambert, for a moment,’ DS Blair says. ‘You said you weren’t particularly close to her.’
‘That’s right. We were on friendly terms, but we’ve only lived on Orchard Lane for a short time so we’re unlikely to have become bosom buddies.’
‘Yet your husband visited her often. There has been mention of him assisting her to buy a property in Spain. Are you aware of that?’
‘Yes, he mentioned that. As far as I know, it was just general advice, as I don’t think she had much of a clue. She showed him a couple of properties and he gave her some pointers on suitability.’
‘And you’ve mentioned he also popped around to help out with odd jobs?’
‘Yes. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.’
We’re trying to understand the dynamics between all three of you. Oliver, Vanessa, and yourself.’
I want to scream. Instead, I fold my arms tight across my chest. ‘There was no dynamic. She was just a neighbour, and a new one at that.’
DI Adebayo nods. ‘Let’s talk a bit about your life before Orchard Lane. Our initial checks have failed to confirm a previous location. Why is that?’
The question unnerves me, but I remember Oliver’s instructions on what to say if any officials ever question us. My hands start to wring in my lap before I catch and still them again.
‘We were abroad for a couple of years,’ I say evenly. ‘Spain first, then Portugal. Oliver was doing consultancy work—mostly remote—and we were renting short term. We didn’t maintain a permanent address in the UK during that time.’
DI Adebayo watches me carefully.
‘We came back when the contract ended,’ I add. ‘We wanted somewhere quieter. Somewhere more settled to hopefully start a family.’ I’m starting to feel dizzy. Not a good sign when I’m already sitting down. ‘Oliver’s work has meant us moving around,’ I go on.
‘But what is his work?’ DS Blair echoes.
My throat tightens. ‘Well, he’s done lots of things. Business ventures, freelance stuff. Nothing permanent—he likes variety. But he runs a letting agency now.’
‘I see,’ DS Blair says, writing something down. ‘And yourself?’
‘I support Oliver in his work, like a PA-type role. We’ve never been ones to stay in one place. It’s just how we are. Some people like to settle; we like to move around.’
I’m starting to babble, filling the silence with flimsy phrases that don’t mean much. These two people are far from stupid. I need to stop.
The detectives sit stoney-faced and silent. They’re letting my words hang there so I can hear how messy and unconvincing they sound.
DI Adebayo leans forward. ‘Emily, is there anything you want to tell us? Anything you’ve held back? If so, now is most definitely the time.’
Her question winds me, and for a moment I can’t breathe. The truth is, there are so many things I’d like to spill, to offload and purge from my conscience. But if I do, everything ends. Everything.
‘I’ve told you what I know,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing more.’
Her eyes linger on mine for a couple of moments, then she glances at DS Blair and sits back with a resigned expression.
DS Blair closes his notebook. ‘Right-o. That will do for now, with the proviso that we may need to speak with you again fairly shortly. As before, please don’t leave the area without notifying us.’
They stand up to leave, and I hear them thanking Lara in the hallway on their way out. The front door clicks shut, and I sit frozen, the card digging into my palm.
They’re hunting Oliver, but I’m part of the terrain. And if they dig deep enough, they’ll find the thing I buried that even Oliver knows nothing at all about. The thing that makes me wake in the middle of the night gasping for air.
If that happens, no clever brief or flimsy alibi will save me.
I’ll be dead in the water.
But I do believe they’ve on the wrong track regarding Vanessa’s murder.
He must have gone round there and found Vanessa dead.
The real murderer is out there somewhere, waiting for Oliver to be found guilty of a crime he didn’t do.
The quicker they find out the truth about how Vanessa died, the more chance we have of them stopping before they dig too deep.
‘Are you all right?’ I visibly jump as Lara walks back in the room. ‘Gosh, you’re so on edge, and no wonder. What did they want?’
‘More questions. Never-ending questions. They asked if Oliver takes drugs, can you believe it?’
She gives a little apologetic shrug. ‘You’d be surprised how many people I know who do. Just the odd toot socially, I mean.’
My eyes widen. ‘Really? Well, we don’t. We never have.’
She sits down beside me, and I smell her subtle floral perfume. ‘You look so tired, Emily, like they’ve completely wrung you out.’
The words tumble out before I can stop them. ‘They kept circling the same questions,’ I say. ‘Like they were waiting for me to slip up.’
‘It’s ridiculous, and it’s going to get sorted out, don’t you worry.’ She slips an arm gently around my shoulders, warm and steady.
I nod, relieved.
‘Tom said that Stephanie, his brief, is coming over later,’ Lara continues. ‘She’ll give you the overview of where they’re at. So, no more guesswork, OK?’
‘Thank you, Lara.’ I feel some tension dissipate, and my shoulders drop an inch.
‘Hey, listen to me. You’ve done nothing wrong, Emily. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Thanks, Lara,’ I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. ‘That means a lot.’
For a moment I let myself lean into her kindness, the comfort of her words soothing the ragged panic that won’t let go of me.
How tempting it would be to let the poison out—and how impossible.