The Vow: the gripping new thriller from a bestselling author - guaranteed to keep you up all night!

by Debbie Howells

  Halfway through the morning, having still heard nothing, I called them. A male voice answered. ‘Brighton and Hove Police. Can I take your name and the reason for your call?’

  ‘Fiona Rose. I wonder if you could help me. It’s about my partner. We don’t live together, but I haven’t heard from him since the day before yesterday. It’s completely out of character and I’m worried about him. Is it possible to check if anyone else has reported him missing?’

  ‘Can I take his name?’

  ‘Matthew Roche.’

  ‘Can I take your contact details?’ After giving them to him, he took more information: Matt’s description and when I last saw him. Then for the rest of the morning, I tried to concentrate on work. In between calls, I thought about our last conversation. He’d been distracted, talking about how Amy’s moods were all over the place; how he was worried about what she’d do when he told her – not just to herself, but to him.

  It wasn’t until lunchtime that I got the call back from the police.

  ‘Ms Rose? It’s PC Page – Brighton and Hove Police. I understand you reported a missing person earlier today?’

  ‘That’s right – my partner. Matthew Roche.’

  ‘Can I ask you when you last spoke to him?’

  ‘The night before last. We spent the evening together.’

  She pauses briefly. ‘What makes you think he’s missing?’

  I frowned. ‘Partly my instincts. He came to see me the night before last. He was supposed to call me yesterday and I haven’t heard from him. Usually he texts or calls several times a day. I’ve tried him several times. I’ve tried him at work too, but they haven’t seen him.’

  ‘You say Mr Roche is your partner?’ There was uncertainty in her voice.

  ‘Yes. It’s complicated. We don’t live together. He lives with a woman called Amy Reid. I’m guessing she will have reported him missing.’ If she hadn’t, she certainly should have, I wanted to add, but I bit my tongue. It was still possible I’d got this wrong and they’d reconciled their differences, Amy persuading him to cut off contact with me, after he’d decided to stay with her. But a sixth sense told me that wasn’t what had happened. ‘Matt was going to leave her. The night he disappeared, we spent the evening together. When he left my flat, he was going back to tell her. He was worried about how she’d react. That was the last time I saw him.’

  There was a moment’s silence. ‘We are aware of him. Go on.’

  So Amy had been in touch. ‘I’m not sure what else I can tell you. It was obvious Matt had been restless for some time. Living a lie was getting to him. Matt isn’t a compulsive liar – he’s just not the type. I’m a lawyer. I can see the signs coming a mile off.’ It’s true. At the start, he’d been so weighed down with guilt, I thought he was going to break it off with me. ‘He was dreading having to tell Amy, but it wasn’t fair to keep leading her on. Their wedding is only a couple of weeks away. He knew he wanted to be with me. He meant every word.’ I paused, swallowing. ‘He was about to move his things into my place. Yesterday.’

  ‘I see.’ As she paused, I’d imagined her reconciling the Matt I was describing with Amy’s Matt. She went on. ‘Do you have a photo of him?’

  ‘Several. Would you like me to send them to you?’

  ‘We’ll come and collect them – I have a photograph I’d like you to identify. If you give me your address, I’ll get onto it straight away.’ After I gave her the address, PC Page hesitated. ‘There is one thing I do have to ask. If you’d guessed Ms Reid would report her fiancé missing, why did you feel the need to call us?’

  ‘In case she hadn’t …’ I broke off for a moment, gazing through the window at a seagull perched on a rooftop. ‘This is difficult, because I only know what Matt’s told me about her. But what I do know is he worries about her. That’s why he kept putting off telling her he was leaving her.’

  Her voice was sharp. ‘What exactly was he worried about?’

  I sighed. ‘He described several times how her behaviour could be erratic. She could be quite aggressive towards him. They had violent rows where she’d end up smashing things.’ I broke off, worried. What if she’d attacked him? ‘He wanted to pack his stuff and get out of the house while she wasn’t there, but the problem is she works from home. She’s always there. It’s meant he hasn’t had the chance. I just thought you should know what he said.’ I paused. ‘I’d rather Amy didn’t know about me. From everything he’s told me about her, I really don’t want her trying to find me. I have my career to think about – I’ve just started working with a new law firm. I don’t want her coming here and screwing it up.’

  ‘It might be helpful if the two of you were to meet at some point, but I take your point, Ms Rose. She won’t find out from us. As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re legally obliged to maintain confidentiality.’

  As a lawyer, I was fully aware, I just wanted to be sure the police knew I was. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘We’ll continue our enquiries. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that might help, can you contact us?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She paused, as if there was something she wanted to ask, then thought better of it. ‘Someone will be round to see you shortly. And if we need any more information, we’ll be in touch.’

  After the call ended, I scrolled through my photos until I found what I was looking for, selfies of Matt and I in the grounds of a country house hotel in the Lake District, the first weekend we spent away together, before printing them off in readiness for the police.

  It had been a magical weekend, tainted only by the knowledge that he’d told Amy he was going to Dubai for work. He hated the subterfuge. It was what I hated too – living a lie.

  An hour later, I get a call from one of our receptionists. ‘Fiona? There’s an Officer Walker here to see you.’

  ‘Can you show them in?’

  Minutes later, there’s a knock on the door, before it opens. The young uniformed officer looks uncertainly at me. ‘Ms Rose?’

  ‘Yes.’ I get up. ‘Come in. Close the door behind you, will you?’ As he does what I ask, I pick up the photos I’ve printed off. ‘I imagine you’ve come for these?’

  ‘Thank you ma’am.’ Hesitating, he takes a brown envelope out of his pocket, then pulls out a couple of photos. ‘Would you mind taking a look?’

  Taking the photos, I quickly glance at them. ‘That’s Matt. The woman …’ I hesitate, staring at Amy’s face. ‘I’m fairly sure I saw her. The evening Matt disappeared. I was on my way home. She was walking quite near to where I live.’

  Frowning, he takes out a notebook. ‘About what time would that have been?’

  I shrug. ‘Somewhere between six-thirty and seven-thirty. Approximately.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Another day had passed, during which I didn’t hear from Matt, while I wondered if the police had made any progress. Leaving the office behind, I walked slowly along the crowded street towards the seafront, stopping at a Costa for a herbal tea.

  Taking my drink with me, I crossed the road, then took the steps down onto the beach. Finding a quiet spot on the shingle, I sat down, glad to be alone. Not minding the cold, I gazed at the calm, grey sea, feeling the tang of salt on my skin, assailed by memories. Cradling my tea in both hands, I closed my eyes, remembering another evening, less cold than this, when Matt and I had sat here for hours, long past sunset, until the sky above us glittered with stars. He’d told me how stupid he felt. How he hated letting Amy down, betraying her trust, but he couldn’t go on pretending, when it wasn’t right between them. Her obsession with her house was just the start of it. Then he’d told me how he could envisage a completely different way of life – with me.

  All the time I’ve known Matt, there’s always been Amy, her presence in the background of everything. The woman he didn’t love, but who for reasons I could never understand, he put before me. After he disappeared, I couldn’t help wondering if, stricken b
y guilt, he’d decided to take off and spend some time alone. Back then, before I knew more, anything, everything was possible.

  I stayed on the beach until the grey sea darkened – as the swell picked up, the cold eating into me – before I got up and started to walk back towards my flat. Though I was tired, restlessness filled me. I even considered calling Amy. I’m not sure why, but on impulse, I’d copied her number from Matt’s phone. To hell with maintaining anonymity. But I knew it would have created more problems than it would have solved.

  Back home, after a bowl of soup and a couple of glasses of wine, I’d been no less agitated. Switching on my laptop, I’d started going through Matt’s social media profiles, something I hadn’t done since we first met. Having studied the backgrounds of a large number of acrimonious divorce cases, I’d become adept at identifying what people tried to hide.

  On Facebook, his profile photo was unchanged, the same shot of him as when we first met. Staring at it, I’d frowned, wondering if I’d missed something and all along, he really had been spinning me a line. For a moment, doubt had crept in. Two weeks before their wedding was short notice to call it off. Maybe it was me he’d been lying to? Maybe he had no intention of cancelling it.

  While previously there’d been certainty, increasingly I was becoming paranoid, as I scrolled through his photos, not knowing what to think, questioning everything. They were the same photos I’d seen before – mostly selfies of Matt, a few of him with other people, with one or two messages about their wedding as it hit me how ridiculous this was. If he wasn’t getting married, God only knew why he hadn’t told Amy by now. The whole thing was insane. Suddenly nauseous, I’d hurried to the bathroom just in time before being violently sick.

  *

  I slept fitfully that night, on alert for a call or message from Matt – or even the police; my emotions like a pendulum, swinging back and forth between hope and fear. Still nauseous the next morning, I skipped breakfast. Under pressure, my imagination was in overdrive. On the way to work, I passed a man the same height as Matt on the other side of the road. His hair a similar colour, he had Matt’s way of walking. Even his coat was familiar. For a moment my heart hammered, until he turned and I saw a profile that was nothing like Matt’s.

  Trying to pull myself together, the more I thought about it, the more obvious it was – Amy was key in this. From everything Matt had told me, it was clear her problems had escalated. Maybe even to the point where she’d attacked him.

  Chapter Twenty

  It hadn’t taken long before the police were back in touch – namely PC Page, who from the start, seemed unnaturally preoccupied with the case. Or maybe she was more conscientious than most of the police I’d dealt with. When she came round to see me, she’d got straight to the point.

  ‘We’ve spoken to David Avery, Matt’s employer. He’s shared a list of dates when Matt wasn’t at work, which his fiancée seems unaware of, so obviously …’

  ‘You wondered if they were days he spent with me?’ My voice cool, I appraised the list of dates she passed me, astonished at how each was imprinted on my mind. A lunch that went on forever, a day in Hastings, the first time he came back to my flat – and other times since. After checking my diary, I looked up at her. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘All of them?’

  I checked the list again, then frowned. ‘There’s one date he wasn’t with me. I was in court that day.’ Another memory indelibly etched. It was one of the rare cases I’d lost.

  She frowned. ‘You’re sure?’

  I nodded. ‘Absolutely. Why?’

  She shook her head. ‘A hunch. It seems Matthew Roche has a history of infidelity.’ She paused briefly. ‘Look, there’s no easy way to ask this, so I’ll come right out with it. How sure are you that Matt wasn’t seeing anyone else?’

  ‘A third woman?’ I was incredulous. It hadn’t crossed my mind. ‘You’re suggesting he might have been cheating on me, too?’

  ‘Is it so implausible? He’s clearly very skilled at deceiving people – women. The way Ms Reid talks about him, she paints a picture of a couple very much in love, certainly not a man who’s having an affair.’

  Suddenly I felt hot. ‘She would, wouldn’t she? If you were her, wouldn’t you hate it being public knowledge that your world was falling apart?’

  ‘It’s clear there had been other women.’ She paused again, thinking. ‘Can I ask you another question?’ Her eyes bored into me. ‘How much do you know about Matt’s past?’

  I shrugged. ‘He often talked about Amy. There was a lot to talk about. Before her, he was with a woman called Mandy. Before that …’ I felt a frown cross my face as I realised, there was stuff I didn’t know, but whenever we’d seen each other, caught up in the moment, there’d never seemed to be enough time. ‘We’d only just started. I suppose it takes time to get around to all these things,’ I said at last. ‘But I honestly don’t think he was hiding anything.’

  ‘You can’t be sure, though.’

  My eyes swivelled to meet hers. It was impossible to answer, but I’d become more adept than most at reading liars. ‘Of course not. But because of my job, I’m a fairly astute judge of character and to the best of my knowledge, he was straight with me. There’s another possibility you seem to be missing.’ I paused briefly. ‘Maybe Ms Reid isn’t what she makes herself out to be.’

  PC Page’s frown sharpened. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well.’ I shrugged. ‘You’re saying that Matt was adept at deceiving people – which I have to say is a side of him I’m unfamiliar with. Isn’t it equally possible that Amy – Ms Reid – is just as adept? I’m a divorce lawyer. I’ve seen people stoop to all kinds of tactics to get what they want.’ When she didn’t comment, I went on. ‘Have you considered that maybe she knew Matt was seeing me? That when he told her he was leaving, she lost it with him? Maybe she killed him – even by accident. Playing the helpless victim means everyone will think she’s the last person in the world capable of hurting him.’ Speculating, I had no way of knowing these words would come back to haunt me.

  ‘There’s a problem with your theory.’ PC Page’s voice was quiet. ‘And that’s proof. Because there is none. Whatever’s been going on between Amy and Matt, there’s absolutely nothing to suggest that she’s a killer.’

  I hesitated. ‘The most unlikely person can have a past.’ The police needed to consider that Amy wasn’t the innocent victim she portrayed herself to be.

  Her eyes were fixed me. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  I held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Nothing in particular.’

  ‘Right now, it’s Mr Roche we’re more concerned about.’ But as she got up, I could see her thinking about what I’d said.

  After she’d left, seeds of doubt had taken root. It was impossible to know what to believe. From a lawyer’s viewpoint, both Matt and Amy were equally plausible and implausible. If it wasn’t for the fact that I knew Matt and trusted him, it would be difficult to call.

  I think of another time Matt was talking about Amy. He’d never actually shown me a photo of her. Of course, I’d seen her face flash up on his phone by then, but I couldn’t tell him I’d recognised her.

  I kept my voice casual. ‘I still don’t know what Amy looks like. Do you have a photo of her?’

  Silently he unlocked his phone, then scrolled through his photos. ‘Here.’ He passed it to me.

  Her looks contradicted everything Matt had said about her. On the screen, Amy’s face looked back at me, her fair hair glinting in the sun, no hint of instability in her eyes. Instead, she looked calm, striking, composed, self-possessed. I hand the phone back, hating that I can’t tell him what I know about her. How he doesn’t know that all this time, Amy’s been hiding something from him.

  Amy

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In the back of the police car, I’m in a state of shock until slowly, I start to rationalise what’s happening. I’ve been arrested in connection with Matt’s di
sappearance. It can only mean they’ve found evidence linking it to me – but what? As the police car drives towards Brighton, I’m numb, the roads and hills I know so well suddenly unfamiliar, my landscape changed forever, as I confront the fact that somehow the police think I’m responsible.

  Gazing outside, a feeling of dread hovers over me. Anger too – not just with Matt, but with the police for wrongfully arresting me. But my overwhelming emotion is fear. What if no-one believes me? ‘I need to call a lawyer.’ The words out before I realise, I don’t have one.

  Jess. My desperation is stepped up a level as an image of her face flashes into my mind. She’ll be devastated. Who will tell her? ‘Someone needs to tell Jess.’

  Without meeting my eyes, PC Page nods. ‘You’ll be given the opportunity to make a call once you’ve been taken into custody.’

  Custody. Until now, it’s a thought that hasn’t even entered my head. But that’s what happens when someone’s arrested. It’s the next step. After taking my fingerprints, I’ll be in a cell, like a common criminal. When I’m innocent.

  I have to make sure Jess knows – before she hears from someone else. She’ll be upset and worried, but she’ll know there’s been a mistake. Someone needs to go to Falmouth and tell her in person what’s happened, protecting her from any backlash. To look after her, until I’m out of here.

  Her father, Dominic, is the obvious person to ask, but, lacking in empathy, what will he say to her? Will he make sure she knows I’m innocent? These and a million other questions flash through my head, while a new reality tenuously settles around me.

  The police clearly think Matt’s disappearance is suspicious. Tears fill my eyes as out of nowhere, that morning in Brighton comes back to me. The woman who stopped me. Her words. He isn’t who you think he is … You’re in danger. Get away … before it’s too late. And now it is too late. Blankly, I stare outside across the misty landscape, as the first raindrops snake down the closed window. Then, utterly powerless, I close my eyes, my thoughts fraying like string.