Chapter 59
Venetia
Wednesday
Just after six on Wednesday evening, Garda Orla Connolly, the guard who broke the news of Aimee’s death last week, turns up at Venetia’s cottage.
Her fourth visit now, and this time she’s with a woman she introduces as Detective Kellerman.
Venetia leads them through to the kitchen and gestures for them to sit.
Felipe is at the hob, stirring Bolognese.
He greets them and begins filling glasses with water by unspoken agreement; it’s too hot for tea or coffee.
Venetia faces Orla. “You have news?”
Orla’s expression is hard to read. Sympathy? She nods toward Kellerman, who is doing the talking this time, it seems.
“I’d like to ask you about your sister’s relationship with her husband.”
So they know. Venetia lowers herself into a chair.
“It was good,” she says. “They were together since they were teenagers. They had ups and downs like anyone, but they were good. Solid.”
Kellerman says nothing for a moment. Her eyes roam Venetia’s face. Doesn’t she believe her? This woman is not as nice as Orla.
“Have you found something?” Venetia asks.
“The woman who lives next door to Aimee gave us some new information.” Kellerman’s gaze never leaves Venetia’s face. “She’s the person who called us on Wednesday morning. She’d heard a door bang late Tuesday night, and texted Aimee Wednesday morning to see if everything was OK.”
“I see.”
“Does that strike you as unusual?”
“No?”
“OK.” Kellerman writes something in her notebook.
“She got no reply from Aimee but saw that both cars were in the driveway and got worried. We wondered why that had made her worry—maybe Aimee was having a lie-in or had switched off her phone—and she said she’d heard shouting and banging from time to time.
The walls are thin. She worried that all was not well in their relationship.
Does that tally with your opinion on their marriage? ”
“No, not at all. I mean, everyone shouts a bit, don’t they?” Venetia glances at Felipe. Felipe never shouts.
“I see.” Another note. Orla says nothing, but she’s watching Venetia throughout.
“Do you think murder-suicide?” Venetia whispers.
“No. We’re certain both Aimee and Rory were murdered.” A pause. A million unspoken words slip into that pause.
“One more question and then I’ll leave you in peace. Did either of you know a woman called Savannah Holmes?”
· · ·
Evening sunlight slips through the slats of the blind, momentarily dazzling Venetia as she sits on the couch pulling on her boots.
“Where are you going?” Felipe asks, and Venetia startles. She hadn’t heard him coming into the room.
“Just out.” She goes through to the hall, and he follows.
“I’ll come with you. A walk will be good.”
“No. I’d rather go alone.” She needs a break from Felipe minding her, watching her.
He opens his mouth, as though searching for something to say. A way to insist.
“I won’t be long,” she tells him before he finds the words, and she opens the front door. “There’s no need to worry.”
“I can’t help worrying,” he says miserably. “After everything we did…”
“Nobody knows. We’re safe.”
“The detective today. Kellerman. She knows something.”
“She’s just doing her job. It doesn’t mean anything. You were there, you heard me—I told her Aimee and Rory were good, and that we didn’t know Savannah Holmes.”
“Why tell them Aimee and Rory were good, I don’t understand.”
“Because the less we knew, the better. Think about it.” She throws up her hands.
“This is all so messed up. We’re being visited by the guards and worrying about questions and grieving my sister, and who’s interrogating Susan O’Donnell?
Nobody. She’s just living her life, not a care in the world, and she killed my sister. ”
“Rory killed your sister.”
“Yes, but if it wasn’t for Susan O’Donnell’s message, she’d still be alive.
” She sighs, exhaustion and grief briefly replacing anger.
Her voice cracks. “And I still don’t get how he saw it.
He isn’t even on Facebook. Stupid, ignorant people sharing screenshots without thinking of the consequences.
” She moves out to the front step. “Anyway. Stop worrying, we’re safe, nobody knows. ”
“But what if the detective asks where we were on Tuesday night last week?”
She stares at him. “We were here. Together. As long as neither of us says anything different, we’re OK. And neither of us will say anything different, will we, Felipe?”
He dips his head, but in resignation not agreement. She’ll need to keep an eye on Felipe.