‘No, Topher,’ I said.
‘Yes, Lily,’ he replied, and he ducked under the covers. He pulled at my pants, kissed the inside of my thighs, nibbling in a way he knew I couldn’t resist. And then his mouth was on me, his tongue on my clitoris and, despite what my head was saying, my body gave in to him. I knew how wet I’d become. He knew it too. He eased himself up my body and thrust into me.
It didn’t take long. I felt him come deep inside me. He rested for a minute and then he rolled off and curled up on his side of the bed. After a few minutes I heard his soft snoring. I lay there in the dark, his semen oozing out of me onto the clean sheets
When I was sure he was completely asleep, I got out of bed, picked up my pants, my phone, I fetched my dressing gown from the back of the door and I went to the floor below where I stepped into the shower. Once the water was hot, I stood under it, allowing the needles of scorching water to pound against my back. I took the shower head and put it between my legs and removed every single last drop of him from inside me. I replaced the showerhead and I sat on the base, rested my head on my knees and wept.
I sat in the shower until all the hot water in the tank had gone. I shivered as cold water hit me and I dried myself vigorously, using the towel to warm my skin as well as dry it. I peeked in to make sure the children were asleep and plodded down the hall to the guest room.
It’d been made up so all I had to do was slide between the cool sheets and lie there until morning came.
When I woke and went to the kitchen, Heather had arrived and Topher had left for his office. I shivered with relief. After last night, I could not have faced him. I felt in my dressing gown pocket for my phone. Still no reply from Stephanie. I texted her again, telling her to call me.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lily
By the time Tuesday arrived, Topher was still giving me the silent treatment. I’d never tried to resist him making love to me before. But whilst he wasn’t talking to me he couldn’t cajole me into returning to the master suite. Like my mother’s ploys I was fed up with his games too.
And then there was Stephanie. I still hadn’t heard from her and, she had promised me her moral support in court today. With a certain loss of patience, I drove to her apartment in N17. I parked in a visitor spot and pressed the intercom to be let in. There was no answer, so I pressed every single button until someone answered. I bleated out a random excuse and they allowed me into the building. Stephanie was on the third floor, overlooking the terraced houses surrounding her block and the tall buildings of the City in the distance. I banged on her door until my hands were sore. There was no letterbox as the post was all left downstairs. I gave the door one final kick which attracted the attention of her neighbours.
‘Have you seen her?’ I asked.
‘Not since Friday night,’ they replied.
There was nothing else I could do. I scribbled her a note reminding her my case was being heard today, shoved it into the post box in the lobby and left.
I met my solicitor Cerys Quick, outside the court room. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Still no luck with the CCTV tape.’
‘Have the police got a copy?’
She shook her head.
This was not good. ‘My father had been making wild suggestions that Topher could have threatened someone to “lose” the tape,’ I said.
‘Could he have?’ she said. ‘Would he know who to approach?’
I shrugged. ‘It seems a bit too farfetched for me, my father doesn’t agree. He thinks it wouldn’t be beyond Topher to do something like that. I’ve told him that I disagree, but can you get your investigator on to it?’
‘She’s working on it,’ Cerys replied.
I’d told Dad to keep his theories to himself, but after what I’d found in the office, I wasn’t sure what Topher was capable if.
‘The evidence we have is circumstantial at best,’ Cerys said.
‘I have an idea,’ I said, showing her a photo of the list of names taken from the Mark Brown file. ‘Can you or your investigator find out who these guys are?
Cerys gave me a nod and a brief smile. I knew it wasn’t much to go on but, I hoped it was maybe enough to cast doubt on my guilt over the accident.
Our case was called. I walked in with Cerys but was soon swept into the dock where I sat between two large, uniformed security guards. I sat with my hands in my lap, grateful that I wasn’t handcuffed, but their proximity was as uncomfortable as the idea of metal scuffing at my wrists.
Dad came and gave me a wave. I was too terrified to respond. And still no sign of Stephanie. Nor Topher. Are they together? Laughing about me?
Get a grip, Lily, I told myself. The guard on my left nudged me and we stood for the Judge’s arrival. Not someone I knew, but of course it would not be. Any judge I knew through Topher would have to recuse themselves. The jury trailed in and took their seats. Some stared at me but looked away when I returned their gaze.
Denise Jones took the stand for the prosecution. She frowned at me from the witness box. I thought I’d convinced her I was innocent of this crime but every glance from her was one of confusion. As if she no longer knew whether to trust me or not. Her manner unnerved me and I was glad when she stepped down.
My barrister told the court that Vinnie Craycroft, the lorry driver was still unconscious and unable to provide a statement. The CCTV footage was still missing. Even the police had been unable to come up with a copy, and I already knew Cerys’s investigator had had no luck either.
The judge called the barristers forward for a consultation. He coughed into his microphone as they walked back to their podia.
‘This is a very sad and disappointing case,’ he began. ‘Sad because of the deaths of an entire family, including little Jennie McAllister who was only two years old.
‘Disappointing because substantial evidence has disappeared, meaning that the vehicle in which Mrs Gundersen claims drove her off the road cannot be traced. However, far from finding that there is no case to answer, I feel that this case should be adjourned until the CCTV or the other vehicle can be recovered. It is clear from the evidence presented thus far that Mrs Gundersen did collide with the McAllister’s people carrier. What has not been proved to my satisfaction is that she was at fault. Mrs Jessop, how long do you think you will need to find the missing evidence?’
‘It is of course, hard to say exactly m’lud,’ my barrister said, ‘but an adjournment of two months would be helpful.’
‘Very well, Mr Shreeves, does that suit you?’
The prosecution barrister nodded.
The judge turned to stare at me, his gaze even worse than my mothers. ‘Mrs Gundersen,’ he said. ‘You remain under bail conditions. And you are required to return here in two months, for the continuation of your trial. Thank you.’
He rose and left.
‘Lily, you’re free,’ Dad said, coming to the dock.
‘Only for now, Dad,’ I reminded him. ‘Only for now.’
Yes, I was free to go home, but I had not been found innocent. The case still hung over me.
Neither Stephanie nor Topher were in the public gallery. I cursed under my breath. Where the hell were they?
Chapter Forty
Lily
When I arrived home, Heather had collected a pile of suits and Topher’s legal collars in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.
‘I'll be doing a run to the dry cleaners before I come in tomorrow morning. Have you got anything to go?’ she said
I shook my head and then remembered the taupe silk still hanging on the back of the wardrobe. I limped upstairs to the dressing room and collected it. The handbag and the shoes from that evening were put away. Heather had taken care of it already. But a thought came to me. I opened up the box containing the handbag and tipped the contents onto the floor. A lipstick, a tissue, and a business card. I turned it over and read the name. I needed someone to talk to about Stephanie’s disappearance. Perhaps Sally Trevena could help?
Sally’s voice came down the line strong and confident. I tried to remember when I was the same. It had been a while.
‘Sally?’ I said. ‘It’s Lily Gundersen.’
‘Lily! I’ve been waiting for your call,’ she told me.
‘You have?’ I frowned.
‘Of course. Now, how may I help you?’
I paused for a moment and then I told her I was worried about Stephanie.
‘Can you speak up a bit dear, I’m having trouble hearing you,’ she said.
‘I can’t,’ I whispered.
‘Why don’t I come to the house and we can chat face to face?’
‘You can’t,’ I said.
I heard her take a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Can you leave your house?’
‘Yes. I must collect Darcy at four, though.’
‘Then come and meet me.’
She gave me the name of a coffee shop that was close enough to walk to. ‘Half an hour,’ she said. ‘I will wait for you.’
I went back into the house, collected my coat, keys and handbag and set out.
I sat in the cafe nursing a latte for some time before she arrived. She ordered an espresso and plonked herself down opposite, bringing with her the scent of an autumn day and the flush of confidence.
‘What’s up?’
‘Stephanie,’ I said.
‘Have you two fallen out?’
‘Yes, well no. Maybe. Yes.’ I twisted my cold latte around on the table until Sally placed her hand over mine and halted the movement.
‘Start at the beginning,’ she said.
I related the entire sorry tale of using Stephanie to spy on Topher. I expected her to look aghast but not even a flicker of surprise crossed her face.
When I finished by telling her I hadn’t heard from Stephanie since the weekend, she looked worried.
‘I suspected something was amiss when I gave you my card. I didn’t realise how deep the trouble you were both getting yourselves into was.’
‘Was it so obvious something was wrong?’
‘Only to me. I know the signs to look for, but I hadn’t appreciated the game you and Stephanie were playing. You may have put her in grave danger. I think we need to go to the police.’
‘Really?’
‘We need to report her missing at the very least. Do you know if she’s been into work?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ I replied glumly.
‘Well try now,’ she ordered.
I went through my contacts list and found Stephanie’s work number. It went to voicemail and I left a message.
‘Do you have her switchboard number?’
I shook my head and Sally sighed. I could see she was getting exasperated at my lack of initiative.
‘What’s the name of the firm?’
I told her and she Googled on her phone, dialled the number. ‘I’d like to speak to Ms Silcott she said. ‘Yes, it is a personal call, but I am Mr Trevena’s wife. I’m sure you know my husband.’
I couldn’t hear what was being said but I saw a smug smile pass across Sally’s face. ‘Oh I see,’ she said finally. The smile had gone.
‘Very well, thanks for letting me know,’ she said.
She put the phone on the cafe table and held my hand.
‘Lily,’ she said. ‘Stephanie has not been seen since Friday. She had appointments yesterday and today. She has not phoned in sick.’
‘That’s not like her,’ I said. ‘Stephanie’s really conscientious.’
‘Exactly. I think we need to go to the police. Who was the detective you were talking to?’
I told her DC Jones’s name and gave her the number.
Sally ordered more coffee and made another call. When she finished the call, she held out her hand to me. ‘Come along, my dear,’ she said. ‘DC Jones will meet us at the station. She’s extremely interested in what you have to say.’
We left the cafe and Sally ushered me into a taxi. As we drew close to the police station I found my nerves at being questioned there after the accident coming back to me. I started to shake and Sally took my hand in hers.
‘It will be fine,’ she whispered.
I hoped she was right. We plodded up the slippery concrete steps: a salute to the station’s Brutalist architectural heritage. The glass doors moved apart, creaking like an ancient and rickety portcullis.
We were shown into an interview room and waited for Denise to arrive. My pulse was racing. Somewhere deep in my stomach a gymnast was doing back flips. It was worse than any pre-concert nerves. Even my breathing exercises weren’t helping. I glanced at my watch knowing I was going to be late to pick Darcy up from nursery. I texted Heather to tell her, but she’d not replied.
Finally Denise bustled into the room holding a plastic cup. She put it on the table, scum forming on the surface. It looked as if it were already cold. She put a folder on the table and offered us both refreshments. We declined.
‘So tell me,’ she began, her tone brusque. ‘You believe Stephanie has gone missing. Why are you only telling me now? You know Stephanie and I are friends. You should have called me.’
Sally took over. ‘Stephanie’s not been seen since Friday. She’s not been at work. She’s missed appointments with clients and she’s not called in sick. She is not responding to any communications from Mrs Gundersen and her secretary has tried to call her today. There has been no response at all.’
Denise made some notes on the sheet of paper in front of her. ‘ And you went to her flat, Mrs Gundersen?’
I nodded. ‘Please can’t you do something to find her? I’m really worried.’ I looked at Sally. She gave me an encouraging smile and squeezed my hand.
‘Look, DC Jones,’ I began. ‘I’ve not been entirely honest with you…’
‘What a surprise,’ she replied, slamming her biro on the desk. ‘You’d be amazed at how often that happens.’
Sally frowned at Denise and the detective returned the glare.
‘Why don’t you tell me everything?’ she said finally. She picked up her drink, took a sip, grimaced, and put it down again.
For the second time that day I related the whole pathetic tale to someone who looked incredulous at the situation Stephanie and I had got ourselves in to.
‘And you think your husband was the last person to see Stephanie?’
‘We exchanged texts about my home being full of cameras.’
‘Can I see the texts?’
I passed my phone across to Denise. She made a note of the text and took a screenshot with her phone.
Step by step she guided me through the missing person form. There were many questions I couldn’t answer. I had no idea what Stephanie was wearing. Or what she last ate.
Denise pushed the form across to me for my signature. ‘I have to ask this,’ she said. ‘Do you know when Stephanie was last seen alive?’
‘Friday, her neighbours said,’ I replied. ‘But that was early evening.’
Sally nudged my arm. I glanced at her and she raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Go on,’ she said.
I covered my face with my hands, dragged my fingers down towards my chin. ‘There’s something else,’ I said. ‘Stephanie was planning to spend the weekend with my husband, but he came home in the early hours of Saturday morning.
‘I was in bed, reading. He threw his clothes in the laundry basket and had a long shower.’
‘And what’s happened to his clothes?’ said Denise.
‘They’ve been washed,’ I said. I didn’t tell her that it was because I couldn’t bear the thought of Stephanie’s perfume clinging to them in the wash basket so I had taken care of them already.
Eventually Denise pushed herself away from the grubby table. ‘I’ll need to talk to people at
Stephanie’s firm but I will take some officers with me and we will go to her flat. I’ll talk to you again later.’
I sighed with relief.
Chapter Forty-One
Denise
Even as I prepared to visit Stephanie’s employers and her flat, I felt Lily Gundersen was holding something back. I only wished I had been surprised over her revelations about her husband, but I had always sensed there was an under-the-surface tension between them.
I voiced my suspicions to DI Blaine who, to my annoyance, reminded me of the appropriate protocol. I assured her I’d follow it.
I took a uniformed PC with me to talk to Stephanie’s colleagues. Sadly, no one had a spare key to her flat, and I knew she wasn’t the sort of person to leave one over the top of her doorway. The more I learnt about how careful Stephanie had become over her personal safety the more I was alarmed she would have taken part in such an ill-advised plan as spying on her friend’s husband. It was as ludicrous a plot as the thrillers my ex used to read. At least that was what I thought until her secretary rushed to the lift as I was about to leave.
‘Stephanie thought someone was following her again,’ she breathed at me, scarcely disguising her excitement. ‘She was getting a lot of wrong numbers and hang-ups.’
‘But she took an injunction out against John, didn’t she?’ I asked, but she shrugged, unable to provide anything other than a small insight into my friend’s secret life.
The Love Trap: an unputdownable psychological thriller Page 15
