Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
Monday
EMILY
I am standing at Lara’s kitchen sink, rinsing the same mug for the third time, when a sharp knock at the door slices through me.
When I look up, Lara is already moving. She wipes her hands on a tea towel, glances at me and says, ‘That’ll be her.’
From the kitchen doorway, I watch the front door. A woman stands on the step, tall and composed, dressed in a sharp grey suit. Her blonde hair sits neatly in a cropped bob just above her shoulders, her posture is calm and contained.
She doesn’t look remotely rattled. She looks like someone who’s used to walking into difficult rooms.
Tim appears from working on his laptop in the dining room, his sleeves rolled up and hair boyishly ruffled. ‘Afternoon, Steph. How’s it going?’
She gives Lara a quick hug, then sees me watching.
‘You must be Emily. I’m Stephanie Cartwright,’ she says, her voice brisk but warm. ‘Your husband’s solicitor.’
We shake hands and move into the lounge. Lara brings some coffee, and Stephanie’s assessing gaze flicks over me. I feel suddenly aware of my posture and the placement of my hands. The fact I’m wearing Lara’s clothes.
She says, ‘I’m so glad we can meet. I wanted to speak to you in person to give you an update on the situation.’
Stephanie sits opposite me, crossing her legs neatly, a slim folder resting on her knee.
‘Forgive me if I speak bluntly. But Oliver will remain in custody for now.’
‘How is he?’ My chest tightens. ‘He hasn’t been charged?’
‘Not yet.’ She pauses. ‘However, the police have extended his detention, which is not the outcome we hoped for.’ Stephanie opens the folder and removes a single page, glancing at it before handing it over. ‘Essentially, they’ve received the toxicology results.’
She explains what they mean. Silence stretches. I can hear the faint tick of the clock on the mantelpiece while my pulse beats hard in my ears.
Tim sighs and pinches the top of his nose. ‘Well, this is all a bit left field.’
Stephanie nods. ‘You can say that again.’
‘Oliver doesn’t take drugs,’ I say. ‘He never has.’
‘I know that’s perhaps what he says,’ Stephanie replies. ‘But we can’t argue with the evidence. Oliver is maintaining he must have been drugged without his knowledge.’
Lara leans forward. ‘So that helps him, doesn’t it?’
Stephanie exhales. ‘It would, if it weren’t also in Vanessa’s results. Which takes us back to its use in sexual situations and the issue of consent.’
She holds out her hand for the report, and I hand it back. ‘They’ll suggest that if both parties took the drug voluntarily and were drinking together, events escalated possibly due to a change in consent.’ She tucks the paperwork back in the folder.
‘No.’ The word comes out flat. ‘That can’t be true.’
‘They don’t need the truth yet. They just need a narrative that fits the evidence. A line they can pursue.’
My heart begins to hammer. ‘What did Oliver say about it all?’
‘He was defensive,’ she admits. ‘Angry at times. He insisted he can’t remember anything after the second glass of wine. He says Vanessa must have drugged him.’
‘Did they listen to that?’ Lara asks.
Stephanie shakes her head. ‘They pointed out Vanessa is the one who is dead.’
The words sting, sharp and unexpected.
‘The police are sceptical about Oliver’s claims,’ she says. ‘Memory loss is a common claim in cases involving intoxication and violence.’
I feel heat crawl up my neck. Oliver, frustrated. Oliver, irritated. Oliver, desperately trying to regain control of a situation slipping away from him. Could it have all just got out of hand? I can picture it too clearly.
‘They also questioned him extensively about your marriage,’ Stephanie adds. ‘Whether you knew how often he went next door. Whether you were comfortable with it or if there was jealousy.’ She studies me. ‘They’re testing the ground in any way they can.’
I nod. ‘What did Oliver say?’
‘He said you trusted him.’ A pause. ‘That you had nothing to worry about because he wasn’t having an affair with Mrs Lambert.’
Guilt twists inside me, but I push it away. I can’t let it take a hold.
‘When can I go back into the house?’
‘Not yet,’ Stephanie says. ‘Forensics haven’t released it.’
Of course they haven’t.
‘Emily,’ Stephanie says gently, ‘I need you to understand something. Currently, the police are viewing Oliver as a man who liked to drink and use drugs with a neighbour while his wife was out. A man who may have momentarily lost control.’
‘He isn’t a violent man,’ I say fiercely.
‘I believe you,’ she says. ‘But that isn’t the same as evidence.’
Silence settles heavily between us.
‘What happens next?’ I ask.
‘They’ll hold him while Forensics progress. They may re-interview him and . . . they may ask to formally interview you again.’
My pulse stutters. ‘Me?’
‘Yes. Particularly if they believe there are gaps.’ Her voice lowers. ‘Which is why, if it happens, it’s vital you stay calm. Don’t speculate. Don’t try to explain things away.’
Lara reaches for my hand, but I barely feel the squeeze.
‘The important thing is that Oliver has a good brief. The best,’ Tim says. ‘And that counts for a lot.’
‘We’ll talk again later today,’ Stephanie says, standing. ‘Once I have a clearer picture of how they’re proceeding.’
She pauses, looking directly at me now. ‘Try to stay calm, Emily. And please don’t discuss details with anyone outside this room. It could damage Oliver’s position.’
I nod. If she knew the kind of stuff that is currently whirling around in my head, she’d be the one panicking.
Her expression softens just a fraction. ‘Try to remember—this is not over yet.’
She leaves a moment later, Tim escorting her down the hall. I hear a short, murmured conversation before the front door closes with a soft, final click.