Chapter 16 Accomplice
I find a pair of wellies in a small knee-high shed that looks like an Icelandic troll house.
I pull them on and wander up the garden path, through patios and arbours, and across wooden planks that criss-cross six long trenches.
The studio is usually reserved for relatives that Tor doesn’t like, and has one double bedroom and a small ensuite.
It is quite idyllic, sitting alone under the leafless trees.
‘Cait, darling, how are you?’ I say, pushing the door open.
She is sitting on the edge of a camp bed. She shushes me and points to the red-haired twins who are fast asleep on the double bed.
I lean down and hug her shoulder, hoping it creates a sense of camaraderie, but she doesn’t smile.
‘How are you keeping?’ I whisper.
‘Not so good as you’d expect.’
‘Do you want to come outside and talk?’
Cait puts on a pair of wellies and follows me to the large leafless beech tree.
‘Did you get my text last night?’ I touch her arm. I’m pulling out all the stops here, but she still pulls away.
‘I’ve been moving. I’ve not had time to reply.’
‘You must be exhausted. You had two big shocks yesterday – Owen’s texts and then the body. Anyone would feel stressed.’
‘It’s not good,’ she says firmly.
‘Well, positive news first. On the home front, I’ve cleaned things up and booked the decorators. Second, the man’s not even been missed. Nothing at all in the papers.’
‘An adult wouldn’t be counted as a missing person for some time,’ she says, flippantly.
‘No, but it does mean no one realizes he’s dead, which is good, right?’
‘What have you done with him?’ Cait chews her nails, which doesn’t help her look.
‘He’s safe and sound in the car. The boot, I mean.’ I decide not to tell her that I found out he was following me just yet, as she’d use it as further reason to tell the police.
‘In your car?’ she says with a withering look. ‘So that’s now contaminated too. Well done, you.’
‘I’ve been scoping out potential disposal sites.’
‘So you’re really not telling the police?’ Her outraged tone is accompanied by a castigating glance.
‘It’s too late, Cait. I can’t report that I killed a man yesterday, wrapped him up in plastic and stuffed him in my car. It wouldn’t help my defence one little bit.’
‘I didn’t sleep a minute last night, Lalla. All I could see was the bloody knife and my hand covered in blood.’ Cait looks down at her hands, but they’re perfectly clean now, so I’m not sure what all the fuss is about.
‘Just put it out of your mind. I’ll look after everything. You know I’ve always looked out for you, right?’
‘Right,’ she says, slightly reluctantly, which is quite rich given the selfless support I lavished on her during the Owen drama. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be his punchbag. And she’s not an easy person to help, I can tell you that quite honestly.
‘It’s all in the past now,’ I try reassuring her. ‘We just need to bury him somewhere and it’ll all be forgotten.’
Cait shakes her head. ‘You can’t just sweep a dead body under the carpet. They’ll find out eventually, they always do.’
‘Well then, what’s your suggestion?’ I say with a glib smile that is not at all well received.
‘To tell the truth, I don’t know,’ says Cait, quite forgetting that she hid her own truth for several years. One rule for her, and a completely different one for everyone else.
‘You want me to call the police?’ I say firmly and take out my phone.
‘It’s for the best. Just explain to them that you were scared.’
‘Of course, and the important thing is, it’s the right thing to do, never mind where it will lead,’ I say and dial 999. I look at Cait as I listen to the ring tone. ‘Just so you know, you need to get your story straight. The police will want to question you.’
‘Question me?’
‘Police, please,’ I say into the phone.
‘Why me?’ Cait repeats, her voice rising.
‘Your fingerprints are all over the body and the knife, for one, and your clothes are contaminated with his blood. You’ll need to explain that.’
‘I fell. You saw me! And it was you who made me hold the knife,’ she says.
‘Yes, exactly. You be sure to tell them that. Let’s just hope they’ll believe you.’
‘Why wouldn’t they?’ Her eyes are now watering in distress.
‘Sorry? Yes, police, please,’ I say into the phone, then turn back to Cait. ‘They’re just connecting me. I’m just being careful. I want to make sure you’re not arrested.’
‘Arrested?’
‘I’m sure they won’t, but it’s already been twenty-four hours. They’ll want to know why on earth you didn’t tell the police.’
‘You told me not to.’
‘I know that. But it’s hardly going to stand up in court, is it? My friend told me to keep my mouth shut, Your Honour!
‘Yes, hello. I’d like to report an incident. Well, an accident really,’ I say into the phone.
‘Stop,’ Cait whispers harshly.
‘Please could you hold for a moment, thank you,’ I say.
‘They record these calls,’ she whispers urgently, pointing at the phone.
‘What?’ I say loudly. ‘Caitlin, you’ll have to speak up.’
She rushes up to me, grabs the phone and disconnects.
‘You told them my name! They can trace phones, you know, and now they’ve got all that information recorded!’
‘I thought you wanted me to report it,’ I say, my face a picture of innocence.
‘They’ll think I did it!’ Cait says, walking in a circle, her head bowed.
‘I’ll phone back and explain. I’ll say that you didn’t actually kill the man, you were only an accomplice.’
‘Lalla!’ she half screams, holding on to a tree trunk for support. ‘I wasn’t an accomplice!’
‘Well, whatever you call someone who helps a murderer and obstructs justice . . . I thought it was called an accomplice.’
‘I didn’t help you,’ she says.
‘Oh, you’re being modest, of course you helped. You were hugely reassuring, and you pulled out the murder weapon. You even discussed getting rid of the corpse in Wood Green and, most helpful of all, you kept this crime from the authorities.’
‘That’s not how it was at all!’ she says, grabbing at me with both hands.
‘Don’t panic, Cait,’ I say and rub her back. ‘I know you’re innocent, but you know how the police are. They want everything to fit into place. The worst-case scenario is that they see you as an accessory after the fact.’
‘But I didn’t kill anyone!’ she shouts, then glances at the studio and stops herself.
‘No one thinks you did. I’m just trying to protect you. Now, I’m all for getting this out in the open, but I’m scared for you and the twins.’
‘What have the twins got to do with it?’ says Cait, rising towards me, her expression taut and knotted.
‘We don’t want to do anything that might risk custody. Would Owen get them if you weren’t deemed a fit mother?’
‘Oh, God,’ she says, her body shrinking.
‘Look, I’m so grateful you didn’t tell anyone,’ I say. ‘I bought you a Terry’s Chocolate Orange as a thank you. It’s in the car. I want to avoid any possibility of an experienced detective thinking you’re up to your eyeballs in this.’
‘All I did was look in through the window,’ she says, sobbing. ‘I thought you’d killed Stephen.’
‘Of course you did,’ I say and hold her hands. And then a thought occurs and Cait sees me frown.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s just the door camera,’ I say. ‘They’ll see you running from the house with blood all over your coat.’
‘Oh, God . . .’ she whimpers and throws her hands to her face.
‘But if we don’t tell . . .’ I prise her hands down. ‘No one knows anything. The girls are safe. It’s our little secret.’
My phone rings, which startles Cait. It’s a withheld number, but I answer anyway.
‘Hello,’ I say.
‘This is the Metropolitan Police. We just received a call from this number, and wanted to check that everything’s all right.’
I look across to Cait.
‘Is everything all right?’ I ask.