Chapter 62 Fenna – Day 13
It took longer than Fenna hoped, roaming around the big house, collecting the children’s belongings for them all to go and stay elsewhere.
She was preparing to leave when suddenly, there was the yell of voices and a clattering of footsteps before the many police cars reversed over the gravel in a hurry.
A stirring in her gut told her this wasn’t good news.
That was hours ago.
No one has been in touch since.
Fenna managed to get a couple of hours of sleep, in between feeding Raffi. Inhaling lungfuls of his milky warm smell was the only way she managed to calm her brain. Alba has slept through it all.
When the doorbell finally rings, Luke runs to answer it, Fenna trailing close behind.
Giovanni stands on the doorstep. He looks like he hasn’t slept. ‘We’ve let Rosie go.’
‘What?’ Luke shouts.
‘She didn’t kill your brother.’
‘But—’
‘He was killed in an act of self-defence. We have a confession.’
‘What?’
Fenna holds on to the banister. Her legs might give way at any time. She can’t take any more revelations.
‘We’ve found Carla Conti. She’s alive,’ Giovanni says. His jaw tenses. ‘She was being held in a bedroom at the lake house. Against her will. We believe Theo abducted her.’
‘No.’ Luke starts pacing. ‘He wouldn’t do that. It doesn’t make any sense.’
Fenna gasps. ‘Carla! Is she ok?’
‘She will be. She’s remarkably well considering she went without her medication for so lo—’
‘What about Rosie?’ Luke interrupts.
‘We’ve released her. We’re still in the beginning of the investigation with Carla but we’re confident that Signorina Riley is innocent.’ He looks as if he could sleep for a hundred years. ‘I came to ask, how is Signora Fraser?’
‘Like you care,’ Luke snarls.
‘Gerry called us from the hospital. The operation went well but she’s not out of the woods yet,’ Fenna explains, ignoring Luke’s glare.
‘We will be wanting to speak to her when she feels able,’ Giovanni says.
Luke spins. ‘What? Why?’
‘We hope she can assist our investigation.’
Fenna’s stomach flips. The police want to speak to Marianne? When will this rollercoaster stop?
‘You’re going to stoop that low?’ Luke shakes his head. ‘Unbelievable. She’s dying. Leave my mum out of it.’ He storms off.
‘Please tell her that an officer will be in touch.’ Giovanni offers Fenna a sad smile and turns to leave.
‘Was it really Theo?’ Fenna asks, dropping her voice. ‘Who took Carla I mean . . .’
Giovanni hesitates for a second, darting his tired eyes to Luke who is stomping down the hallway, muttering expletives. ‘It seems that way, but we don’t know if he acted alone.’
***
Fenna heads to the library a little while after Giovanni leaves. She can’t shake how suspicious Richard was acting. What was he looking for? Is it linked to what the police want to talk to Marianne about?
Alba toddles in after her. Earlier she asked where Uncle Theo was.
Fenna had to swallow the lump that shot to her throat.
She managed to distract her with a snack and avoided the question, but she won’t be able to hide the truth from her forever.
It’s going to take a long time for this to sink in, for all of them.
Fenna pulls open the antique desk drawers but there’s nothing in there other than paper clips and old takeaway flyers.
‘Mama, colour,’ Alba tries to get her attention.
‘Not now, darling,’ Fenna says, her back to her daughter. She rummages through another set of drawers, unsure what she’s looking for.
Luke calls that they need to hurry up. They are going to the hospital to visit Marianne.
‘Drawing, Mama. Now,’ Alba cries.
‘Alba, I said not now,’ Fenna turns.
Alba is holding Marianne’s journal, the Moleskine one that Fenna had seen her write in by the pool a few times. She takes it from her. ‘Erm, no, sweetie. No drawing, that’s Grandma’s. Where did you find this?’
Alba starts to cry so Fenna sighs and tears out a blank page at the back for her to scribble on. She reaches into a pen pot on the desk and hands her a pencil. Hopefully that will buy her five minutes of peace. She turns her attention back to the desk.
Why was Richard in here? Why did he seem so ruffled?
Fenna pauses. She’d presumed Marianne was writing some sort of holiday diary. But what if it was more than that?
She sinks to the expensive tan leather office chair, opens her mother-in-law’s journal and starts to read.