I assured her I would, thanked her for the book and the tea, made my excuses and promptly left the cottage.
When I got in my car, I took my work mobile out and switched it on. I had four missed calls and two voicemails all from Sean but I was running low on battery so there was no point in calling. I decided I’d contact him when I got back to the office. I threw the mobile on the dashboard and returned to the city.
Chapter 16
By the time I reached Paddington it was early in the evening and my mobile was completely depleted of battery. Standing at the top of my stairs I found another tramp curled up at the bottom of them. The dishevelled vagrant was muttering into a can of beer.
Great! This is all I need to deal with, another crazy, drunk tramp, I thought, remembering the difficulties I had with the last one, who was completely off his head on drugs and kept repeating loudly that his name was Jesus.
‘C’mon mate, don’t make me call the authorities,’ I said, as I slowly came down the stairs. ‘I live here.’ The guy turned to look at me with bloodshot eyes and smiled. ‘Sean?’
Sean slurred out, ‘Frreeedddyy.’ He downed the rest of his beer, crunched the can in his hand and then tossed it away.
‘What are you doing here, mate?’ I offered him my hand but he refused to take it.
Sean managed to stand up on his third attempt, launching himself at me, grabbing hold of my shoulders and slurring in my face, ‘Issss there sssssomeone else?’
‘Sean.’ I returned his hands and let him stand unsupported, swaying there on the doorstop.
‘There is!’ The Irishman clenched his fists, temper flaring.
I sighed and decided to put the drunk cuckold out of his misery, saying, ‘There is somebody else. It’s the French frog, Sylvain.’
‘I knew it! I knew it!’ He was literally jumping up and down. ‘I’m gonna kill ‘im! I’m gonna feckin’ kill ‘im!’ Sean tried to get around me but I blocked his path, I wasn’t going to let him go anywhere, not in this state. ‘Get outta my feckin’ way!’
I grabbed him by the shoulders, holding him in place and said firmly, ‘Listen to me, Sean.’ He wasn’t listening to me, so I quickly, lightly slapped his face, twice. ‘Listen, you drunk idiot, I gave her an ultimatum.’
His confusion temporarily subdued his anger.
‘You want the short version, huh? I caught her in the act. So I had it out with her. I told Catherine that she could either stay with you and give up Sylvain or she fucked off with him and divorced you.’
He swallowed, taking his sweet time to digest the information, and then said quietly, ‘What did she say?’
‘She said nothing.’ I shrugged. ‘I guess you’ll find out what Catherine’s decided when you get home but if you want my advice, I say divorce the bitch, she doesn’t deserve you, Sean. I’ve got photographic evidence. She won’t get a penny.’ I was prepared to get the camera and show him the pictures but the fool wasn’t listening.
Sean asked, ‘Does ssssshe know that I know?’
‘About the affair?’ He nodded. ‘No, she doesn’t. I told her that it’d remain between us, with the warning that if she strayed again I’d tell you everything.’
‘Good, good, good, good, good, good. That’s good. You did good, Freddy.’
He went to get by me again but I stopped him. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Where do you think, Freddy?’ Sean laughed. ‘I’m going home!’
‘You’re not going anywhere. You’re stinking drunk. Come on in and sleep it off, mate.’
‘What? I ain’t drunk! I’ve only had a few!’ I seriously doubted it, going by his breath alone. ‘I’m gonna go home and have sex with my wife.’
‘Sean, your wife has cheated on you, probably for months.’ He just stared at me with a dumb expression. ‘And she’s just using you for your money. She said as much. Don’t you see that? You’re better off without her.’ I hoped, more than believed, my words were getting through to him.
He said, more soberly, ‘She’s no good. I know that, Freddy. I ain’t a total eejit. But goddammit, Freddy, she’s what I want. From the moment I met her, I wanted her, I still do. I’ve never wanted anyone so much. And she’s mine.’ I genuinely felt sorry for my friend. ‘You’ll keep this to yourself, won’t you buddy?’
‘It’ll stay between us,’ I promised. Sean slipped around me and was going up the stairs. ‘Sean?’ I called him back. He came back down the stairs and when he came close enough, I said, ‘I can’t let you go home in this state, mate. Forgive me.’
‘Huh? What for?’
I punched him square in the face and he went out like a light, already weakened by the booze. I scooped the unconscious Irishman up, carried him inside and placed him on the black leather couch.
I sat behind my desk and began reading Imogen’s book. It was a series of short stories about people who disappeared, exploring how and why they disappeared, and how they went on to form another life.
My interest had diminished after finishing the fourth short story. I wasn’t much of a reader, and half the words Imogen used, I needed a dictionary for. I tossed the book onto the desk and was about to light up when my work phone rang. I pulled the charger out when I saw who was calling.
‘Rachel.’
‘Oh, Fred.’ She sounded upset.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘I think…I think it’s finally sunk in...about Grahame…I-I just can’t…’ I could hear her stifling back the tears.
Despite my tired state I found myself saying, ‘Do you want me to come over?’
‘No, that won’t do...but, could I, come to yours? I-I don’t want to be alone tonight...’
I looked over at body on my sofa and thought, What a mood killer. ‘Sure.’
Rachel said she’d leave right away and would be with me in the next hour. I abandoned my cigarette, suddenly craving something else quite different, and went into my bedroom. I did 50 press-ups, sit-ups and squats, broken into four reps of 25, circuit mode. I shaved my face, had a quick shower, styled my hair, sprayed myself with Paco Rabanne, and decided to wear my newest shirt. I was fastening the buckle of my leather belt when I heard the doorbell ring.
I checked my reflection once more in the mirror and smelt my breath in a cupped hand and slowly walked and opened the front door.
Rachel stood there on the doorstep. She wore a pale green, sleeveless pussy bow blouse and black skinny jeans, which were tucked inside black, suede ankle boots. For a woman who had claimed to be distraught on the phone she looked remarkably composed, almost as if she hadn’t been crying at all.
‘I’m sorry to be an imposition. I appreciate this. I really do. I realise you didn’t have to.’
‘I make it a point never to disappoint a beautiful woman.’ Rachel smiled and before she came inside, I said, ‘We have company.’ I gestured to the snoring lump.
‘Is that?’
‘Sean. Yes, poor sod.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Drunk as skunk.’ I laughed, humouring myself, and then offered, ‘Would you like a drink?’
She asked for a glass of white wine.
‘Mmmm no, I don’t.’ I offered her an alternative, ‘Will whisky do?’
I poured the drinks, and handed one to her.
Rachel restlessly began wandering around the office with her glass.
After a few gulps of whisky, she said, ‘Lawrence is away.’
‘Another business trip?’ I asked.
‘Yes…Madrid.’ I noted the slight hesitation and began wondering about what Catherine had told me about the Sterling marriage.
Was it a coincidence that Lawrence happened to be away again or was Rachel covering the cracks in her marriage with convenient excuses? I wondered. The idea began to intrigue me and my intentions for tonight grew decidedly shadier.
‘Busy man,’ I commented dryly but got no response.
She downed rest of the whisky and placed the empty glass on my desk
, near to Imogen’s book, which she eyed with interest. ‘I didn’t figure you for much of a reader,’ Rachel remarked, picking up the book and reading the back.
‘I’m not an intellectual, far from it - the book is related to the case.’
‘How so?’ Rachel asked eagerly, ‘What have you found out?’
‘The identity of Grahame’s fiancée, her name is Imogen Alderney.’ I gestured at the book in her hands. ‘She wrote it.’ Rachel looked back down at the book with a new found interest. ‘I went to her address today but she wasn’t there, and according to her neighbour, she hasn’t returned from Devon. She’s missing too.’
‘Grahame’s fiancée,’ Rachel repeated to herself quietly. She flipped through the pages whilst I refilled her glass. ‘She wrote this.’
‘Level with me.’ I asked, ‘Did you know that Grahame was in a relationship?’
‘No, honestly I didn’t, not for certain anyway...but I suppose I had some suspicion...’ Rachel shook her head. ‘I-I knew…well I felt that there must have been some reason behind him being so distant over the last couple of months, keeping me at arm’s length…’ The newspaper extract fell out and Rachel crouched down to pick it up, whilst saying, ‘I-I thought, maybe, that there might’ve been somebody else in the…’ She trailed off, reading the newspaper article.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, observing her puzzled expression.
‘This woman.’ She pointed at the photograph of Imogen. ‘I-I know her…’
‘You know Imogen Alderney? Why didn’t you mention it before?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘No, not as Imogen. Her name is Emily, Emily McIntyre.’
‘Emily McIntyre.’ I repeated the name.
‘She may have a different name, dyed her hair, cut it shorter but it’s unmistakably her.’
‘Are you positive?’
‘Absolutely.’
Emily? That could that explain the signing of “E” in the book.
Strangely, the name seemed vaguely familiar to me but I couldn’t recall why, so I shook my head. ‘Emily McIntyre, why does that ring a bell?’
‘She disappeared, a years ago. It was all over the news.’
‘Oh yeah, I remember it now.’
‘For a long time, everyone thought that Dominic, her husband, had killed her and somehow disposed of the body. But he was the one pushing and continuing the search for her, and his persistence seemed to clear him - well at least in the eyes of the media anyway...’
‘How do you know Emily?’
Rachel closed the book and sat down in the customer chair. ‘Dominic works at the same company as Lawrence. I met Emily at various work events and we became friends.’ She paused, mulling something over in her mind, and then said, quietly, ‘I can’t believe, all this time, she’s alive. To be honest, I thought...’
‘You thought?’
‘That Dominic had killed her.’
‘Why did you think that?’
‘One evening we were attending the Winter Ball at the Ritz and I found her crying in the ladies. I asked her why she was upset, and it all spilled out of her. She told me that she lived in a constant state of fear of Dominic. Emily confided in me that after they had married he had become increasingly possessive and controlling of her and his unpredictable and violent temper could erupt over the slightest provocation.’
‘And you believed her?’
Rachel nodded. ‘She showed me the bruises on her body. The bastard had been clever in his sadism and only hitting her in places where it wouldn’t show. She said, he called them punishments and demanded her subservience and obedience as his wife.’
‘He beat her?’
‘Possibly even more than that.’ She visibly shuddered. ‘I urged her to seek help or get a divorce but she said it would be futile. Dominic would never agree to one and that he’d never let her go, that he owned her, body and soul. The way she said it, made me shiver.’
‘So she ran away from him.’
‘I remember when Lawrence told me, it must’ve been a few months later, that Emily disappeared, and I immediately thought he’d killed her and disposed of the body. The police took a different stance, initially, assuming that it was a kidnapping, being an extremely wealthy couple, everyone did, but when no ransom demand came, it became a missing person’s case.’
‘Years passed by without any developments and, eventually, Emily was presumed dead, and the investigation ground to a halt, but Dominic refused to give up the search. He became obsessed with finding her, even hiring private detectives to try and track her down.’ Rachel sighed. ‘I had no idea that she was planning on running away and changing her identity. I didn’t think she had the guts or know how to do something like that.’
‘Somebody must’ve helped her.’
Rachel opened the book and looked at Emily’s picture again, saying, ‘I know her family, the Winthrops. They live in Knightsbridge. Her parents were distraught over her disappearance. I don’t know how she could do that to them.’ She continued, ‘She must have communicated with them somehow, probably when it was safe to do so, giving them some kind of explanation. Her Father has a serious heart condition. Or maybe they were the ones who helped her get away, set her up with a new identity? They certainly have the money to.’ Rachel closed the book and put it back down on my desk. ‘Do you…do you think…’
‘Yes, I think that Dominic managed to track her down, found them together down in Devon and murdered Grahame in a blind rage.’ She slowly nodded. ‘To find his wife, after years, alive and well, in the arms of another man, would, given his violent nature, be enough to drive him to commit murder.’ Dominic’s personal motive tallied with the unnecessary overkill. ‘Emily either got away or he took her with him, more likely the latter, as I know she hasn’t returned to her house.’
Rachel placed a hand on her stomach, admitting, ‘I feel sick.’
‘Take some deep breaths.’ Rachel closed her eyes and began doing so.
After taking a few breaths, she opened her eyes, looking straight at me and said, determinedly, ‘We can’t let Dominic get away with this.’
‘What do you know about him?’
‘Dominic?’ I nodded. She shrugged. ‘He’s one of the directors at the company.’ Rachel thought hard. ‘He is into exercise, works out five times a week, and plays squash. I do remember him telling me how fond he was of the ballet, and there’s a work event tomorrow evening, at the Royal Opera House. The opening night of Giselle - so Dominic is bound to attend. Hang on.’ She browsed the site on her mobile, sighed and then said, ‘Its sold out...but I know someone who has tickets for it.’
‘Who?’
‘Lawrence.’
‘You think you could convince him to give us the tickets?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know, possibly, he doesn’t like anything the arts, but goes to network. I don’t think I’ve got the strength to face him alone. Will you come with me?’
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
I was confused. ‘But isn’t he in Madrid?’
She admitted quietly, ‘No.’ Rachel blushed, avoiding making eye contact with me. ‘He’s not in Madrid. I’m sorry, I lied to you...’ She paused before explaining, ‘The truth is we’re separated. We have been for quite a long time but we put on a front, I have to attend various work functions with him, but other than that, we don’t have much contact with one another. I have the house in Richmond and he rents an apartment in Barnes.’
So Catherine had been telling the truth, the Sterling marriage was sham, I thought.
‘Sure, I will come with you.’ I was curious to meet her estranged husband.
‘My Porsche is outside.’ Rachel stood up, taking out her car keys.
I stood up and moved around the desk, saying, ‘Before we go, about Lawrence.’
‘What about him?’
‘Was he really in New York last weekend?’
She slowly shook her head and looked embarrassed. ‘No, I made that up.’
‘Do you know where he was?’
‘I don’t.’ Rachel shrugged. ‘You don’t think he did this do you?’
‘I wouldn’t be so quick to eliminate him as a suspect.’
She admitted, ‘They didn’t like each other, but I know Lawrence, and, despite his faults, I don’t think he has it in him to commit murder.’
‘You’d be surprised what some people are capable of.’
Chapter 17
The black blanket of night had fallen upon the city but the palpable heat of day remained to linger on. We had not spoken one word to each other since we had left my house. Rachel appeared preoccupied with the road whilst I stared listlessly out of the window. It was not long before we were crossing over the Hammersmith Bridge in to the affluent Barnes area.
Rachel turned down Trinity Church Road and followed it all the way along till we approached a gated complex of luxury apartments called Harrods Village.
Rachel stopped the Porsche at the gatehouse and wound down the window to speak to the guard dressed in a smart, maroon coloured uniform, complete with gold buttons. The Afro-Caribbean guard with long dreadlocks bent over and peered through the window at the driver. He tilted his head enquiringly.
‘9 Keble Place,’ Rachel stated curtly.
The guard looked at me and then back at her, saying, ‘Ya’ll visiting?’
‘Yes, we’re here to see Lawrence Sterling.’
The guard retreated back into his office and promptly returned with a laminated sheet, upon which he had written the car’s registration number and flat number. He handed her the sheet and told Rachel, adding politely as the gates opened, ‘Visitor’s parking for Keble Place is on the left as you go in. Have a good evening.’
Saying nothing, she wound up the window, tossed the sheet on the dashboard and parked up. We both got out and I looked over the roof of the car at her and saw that she was looking up at the penthouse.
She let a heavy sigh escape her. ‘I really don’t want to be here.’ At the entrance of Keble Place, I watched her press the button for Flat 9.
The Hollow Woman Page 9
