Chapter Forty-Eight
Josie
Almost five weeks have passed since Joanna Neal disappeared.
‘The boys aren’t happy about the babysitter,’ I say. ‘I know they’re going to run rings around her.’
What a great date I’m turning out to be.
Geoff moved out a week ago. Things got so bad that I couldn’t sleep in the same bed as him anymore.
I was exhausted, both mentally and emotionally.
Eventually, I gave up and moved to the sofa bed in the living room.
The boys heard Geoff and me arguing, and that was it.
The truth came out. Geoff packed his things and moved in with his mum. The boys have been angry ever since.
When Dario suggested dinner, I jumped at the chance. I’ve been lonely and sad for weeks, and I need something for myself. So here we are.
‘He’s had the house cleaned, apparently,’ I say.
‘What?’ he asks. ‘I was asking what wine you wanted.’
I shake my head. ‘Sorry. I was thinking about Daniel Neal. I’ll have the chardonnay.’
‘Great, me too. Who had what cleaned?’
‘The house. Daniel Neal brought in a crime-scene cleaning company. Gil told me. I think he’s planning to move in. And he’s organising a memorial service.’ I pause. ‘He told Burrow we weren’t doing enough to find her body and said he can’t hold a proper funeral without it.’
‘He’s grieving.’ Dario gently nudges the menu towards me. ‘Now, are you going to order something, or should I just surprise you?’
‘Sorry,’ I say again, glancing at the choices. ‘I’ll have the hake.’
He orders the same. We sip our drinks, taking in the warm hum of the restaurant.
‘Why are you still so hung up on this case?’ he asks after a moment.
I sigh. ‘Because I can’t shake the feeling we’ve missed something.’
‘Well, we’ve identified the killer as Stuart King,’ says Dario.
‘One of them,’ I say quietly, thinking about the unidentified blood.
‘Josie, the case is closed. Neal’s trying to move on with his life. Maybe it’s time you did, too. And the only thing we’re missing right now’ – he reaches across the table and takes my hand – ‘is a good evening together. That’s all I want. Just this.’
I smile. He’s right. The case has been eating away at me, and I need to let it go.
But I can’t.
Those unexplained bloodstains on the kitchen floorboards, in the garage and on Stuart King’s trousers.
If they weren’t his and they weren’t Joanna Neal’s, then whose were they?
Burrow seems convinced that Stuart King was the murderer, but maybe he was just eager to close the case because he was under pressure.
I’m not convinced.
But I have no idea who else it could be.