by B. A. Paris
“Stop it.” She gives my hand a shake. “Don’t start imagining something that didn’t happen. How could he have known her?”
“I don’t know. She was a therapist, maybe he was a client.”
Ginny groans. “I wish I hadn’t said anything. It was a joke, Alice, seriously.” She picks up her menu. “Do you want dessert?”
“Sorry. No, just a coffee.” I close my menu and put it down on the table. “Tamsin has invited me to hers on Friday.”
“Tamsin? Your archenemy? How come? Tell me, I want to know everything.”
I launch into an account of my latest conflict with Tamsin and her subsequent apology and by the time we leave the restaurant half an hour later, I can tell Ginny’s relieved that I’ve forgotten what she said about Leo having known Nina. But I haven’t, it’s lodged right there in the back of my mind.
* * *
It’s a direct tube ride from Covent Garden back to Finsbury Park. It’s the way I came, on the Piccadilly line, but I go to the map on the wall in the Underground station, wanting to see where else I could get to. My eyes fall on Leicester Square—theaterland—and Knightsbridge, where I know Harrods is. It’s also home to the Natural History Museum, another place I’m keen to visit. I follow the dark blue line past Earl’s Court right to the end, amazed that I can get all the way to Heathrow Airport from practically my front door. The Piccadilly line is certainly a good line to live on. And if I change at Earl’s Court, I could go to Kew Gardens and—I follow another branch of the line—to Wimbledon. Leo and I both love watching tennis and I wonder how difficult it is to get tickets for a match there. And then I wonder if Leo and I will even last until next summer.
I’m about to turn away when I remember that Thomas Grainger’s offices are in Wimbledon. I take my cell phone from my bag and find the address—26 William Street. I stand for a moment. A part of me wants to go and check out the address, just to make sure he is who he says he is, in case I ever need to call him. I don’t know why I’m thinking I might need to call him—except that if there was a miscarriage of justice and I do hear something which could put the real perpetrator away, wouldn’t it be my duty to tell him? There’s something off about the way everyone was so quick to accept that Oliver killed Nina. Maybe they’re protecting someone, someone from The Circle who they suspect of having had an affair with Nina. But who?
I go through the barriers and instead of heading north on the Piccadilly line, I head south toward Earl’s Court, then change to the District line. I’ve never traveled so far on the tube by myself and when I get off at Wimbledon, I’m so out of my comfort zone that I’m tempted to go straight back home. Everyone seems to know where they’re going except me.
I move to the side and use Citymapper to locate William Street. It’s quite a long walk and the further I go, the more I wonder what I’m doing here. William Street is a long road of smart townhouses, most of which seem to have been turned into offices. I approach number 26; there’s a discreet gold plaque on the wall and I have to go up the first two of four stone steps to read the words Thomas Grainger, Private Investigator. Behind the dark blue door, I can hear a murmur of voices and when they get steadily louder, I realize that someone is coming along the corridor. The thought of him discovering me on the doorstep sends me scooting back to the pavement. I just have time to hide myself in the doorway of a house two doors down when the sound of someone saying goodbye—a woman—and a man’s voice answering her, reaches my ears. I bend my head over my phone, pretending to search for something, praying that the door in front of me won’t suddenly open. My back is to the road and when I hear the light click of heels on the pavement, I breathe a sigh of relief. Turning my head slowly, I check number 26 to make sure Thomas Grainger isn’t still there. He isn’t, so I leave the doorway and see a woman, smartly dressed in a camel-colored coat, walking down the road. I need to go back that way anyway, so I follow her to the tube station, wondering what business she had with a private investigator. The majority of his cases are probably people wanting to know what their partners are up to. Maybe I should get him to check out Leo for me, I think, and then feel guilty.
I get home and even as I’m dialing Thomas Grainger’s number, I’m wondering what I’m doing. What’s the point of calling him when I have absolutely nothing to tell him? But it’s too late; my call connects before I can hang up.
“It’s Alice Dawson,” I say, instantly recognizing his voice.
“Ms. Dawson, thank you for calling.” He can’t quite hide his surprise, which is understandable after I told him that I wouldn’t help.
It sounds too formal. “Alice,” I say. “You can call me Alice.”
“And I’m Thomas.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not really sure why I am—calling you, I mean.” I hate that I sound flustered. “I don’t have any news. I did go and see my neighbor, but she didn’t tell me anything that I’m sure you don’t already know. She was the one who saw Oliver arrive home on the night of the murder and—”
“I could come by tomorrow afternoon,” he says, interrupting me.
My heart misses a beat. “But there’s nothing really to tell. I can go over it now, if you like.”
“I prefer not to talk on the phone. I’m going to be in your area anyway, so it’s no trouble. Would 2 p.m. suit you?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure—”
“Thank you, Alice, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I try to concentrate on my work for the rest of the day but the guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach has me constantly reaching for my phone, wanting to call Thomas Grainger and tell him not to bother coming over. Even though I’m not going to be telling him anything he doesn’t already know, it feels wrong to be speaking to him. I wish I could run it by someone but I already know what Debbie would say. And I can’t ask Ginny for advice, because I still haven’t told Leo that the man who gate-crashed our party is a private investigator. If Ginny knows, she might tell Mark, who would tell Leo. And I need to be the one to tell him. The reason I haven’t told him yet is that I know he’ll call the police, and Thomas will get into trouble if they find out he’s investigating Nina’s murder. And I don’t want that to happen.
* * *
I work late into the evening to make up for taking most of the afternoon off and when it gets dark, still traumatized by my experience last night, I read in the sitting room with the curtains open, getting up occasionally to check what the other residents of The Circle are doing. It’s comforting to see lights on, to know that even though it’s late, not everyone is in bed.
By the time one o’clock comes, most of the lights have gone out and I feel nervous standing at the window in full view. There could be someone waiting in the shadows, someone who can see me even if I can’t see them. Of the few lights that are still on, one comes from Tamsin’s house and I like to think that she might be awake too.
When I go to bed, I leave the light on in the stairwell so that the house isn’t in complete darkness. But I’m unable to relax and I know that I’ve been fooling myself in thinking that I can ever feel comfortable living here. Ginny had been appalled when I told her that I’d thought there was someone in the house the previous night, and had urged me to move in with her and Mark while I sort things out with Leo. I should have taken her up on her offer—and tomorrow I will. I don’t know what will happen between me and Leo, the only thing I know is that I can’t go on living in The Circle.
TWENTY-THREE
Thomas arrives at precisely two o’clock. I was expecting him to ring on the intercom, so it’s a shock to find him at the front door.
“I thought I’d check if the entry code had been changed. It hasn’t,” he says, by way of explanation. He sounds disapproving.
“I’ll speak to someone about it.” I close the door on the cold wind that followed him in and lead him through to the sitting room. It feels rude not to offer him a coffee but I want to get rid of him as quickly as possible. Even though I managed to get through the
night unscathed, I still don’t want to be here. The only thing I’m hesitating about is whether to go to Ginny’s, or to Debbie’s in Harlestone.
“I don’t have very long, I’m afraid,” he says, as if he’s read my mind and is putting me at ease.
“Yes, of course.” I wait until he’s sitting down, his phone on the table beside him. “How is Oliver’s sister?”
“Health-wise, not so good. But it’s done wonders for her morale knowing that we might be able to make some progress in clearing Oliver’s name. She’s very grateful to you, Alice.”
I frown. “As I said on the phone yesterday, I don’t think I’m going to be telling you anything you don’t already know. I’d hate for you, or Oliver’s sister, to have false hope.”
“Believe me, false hope is the last thing I want to give Helen.”
I tell him quickly about my visit to Lorna.
“Did Helen—Oliver’s sister—know that Nina was having an affair?” I ask.
“Not until my police source told me about your neighbors’ testimony.”
“Was she aware there were problems in the marriage?”
“No, but she said that Oliver probably wouldn’t have told her if there had been.”
“My neighbor was adamant that she saw Oliver go into the house,” I say. “But what if he went in, then went out again? Maybe he heard Nina breaking things off with the man she was having an affair with, and decided to leave them to it. And then, while he was in the square, that person killed her.”
“You don’t know how much I’d like that to be true. But if that was the case, wouldn’t Oliver have said as much to the police? He maintained that he didn’t go into the house at all, even when his lawyer suggested to him that it might have been the case.”
“What do you think happened?” I ask.
“I believe Oliver, because he had no need to lie. But I also believe your next-door neighbor—Mrs. Beaumont.” He leans forward, fixing me with his eyes. “Think about it for a minute; she sees Oliver arrive, she sees him getting out of the car. At that moment, someone sneaks past the car and goes into the house. Oliver, about to head to the square, doesn’t see that person because he’s going in the other direction. Your neighbor, thinking that she’s seen Oliver go inside, has stopped watching because she’s anxious that he and Nina might start arguing again. It’s why she doesn’t see Oliver walk into the square. And as nobody else came forward to say that they saw him there—well, in the police’s eyes, without an alibi, he has to be lying.”
I nod slowly, realizing that what Thomas said is not possibly what happened, but probably what happened. I like that he believes both Oliver and Lorna.
“So, what we need to find out is who could have sneaked past Oliver into the house.” I flush, realizing I said “we” and not “you.” “The person Nina might have been having an affair with.”
“Exactly.”
“What I don’t understand is why everyone was so quick to condemn Oliver, and why nobody wants to believe that someone else could have killed her. Do you think they’re protecting somebody?”
“Yes,” he says softly. “I do.”
“Someone from here—from The Circle?”
“Why else would they close ranks?”
“It’s true that they don’t seem to like me asking questions about Nina,” I say. “Tamsin especially. She was Nina’s best friend and she really didn’t like me going to see Lorna.” I stop, realizing I’ve said too much.
“It’s understandable, if she was Nina’s best friend. Does Tamsin have red hair, by any chance?”
“Yes, how do you know?”
“Because Nina often spoke about her to Helen, but Helen couldn’t remember her name and I wasn’t sure which one of Nina’s friends she was.” He consults his phone. “There was another friend who used to go to yoga with them.”
“That would be Eve, my immediate neighbor.”
He nods. “Eve Jackman. Does she have a partner?”
“Yes, her husband, Will.”
“I’ve got here that they moved in about five months before Nina was murdered.”
“That’s right.”
He looks up. “There’s another friend then, someone Nina had known for longer.”
“That would be Maria. You know, married to Tim, except that he calls her Mary because she went to a convent school,” I say dryly.
He gives a slight smile. “Ah yes, that Maria. Maria Conway and her husband Tim.”
“Yes.”
He finishes tapping into his phone and slides it into his pocket. “Thank you,” he says, getting to his feet. “And once again, please don’t do anything that you don’t feel comfortable with. The last thing I want is to put pressure on you, so I won’t be contacting you. If anything comes up and you feel able to tell me, you have my cell.”
I don’t bother telling him that I’m not going to be around much longer. “Give my best wishes to Helen,” I say.
“I will, thank you.”
I close the door behind him and lean against it, aware that the thought of not seeing him again is bothering me more than it should. There’s something about him that I find reassuring. He’s solid, the sort of person you could rely on if things got tough, and I wonder if his relationship with Oliver’s sister is more than platonic. I go over what I told him, wanting to make sure that I hadn’t said anything to feel guilty about. I hadn’t repeated what Eve told me yesterday, about the falling out between Nina and Tamsin, because I’m not sure why she told me, and with Lorna’s warning stuck in my mind, I prefer to be cautious. I wish I knew if she actually whispered anything. It doesn’t matter, I realize, I’m leaving. But there are still a few personal ends that I want to tie up before I go.
I call Leo. He picks up straightaway.
“Alice, thank you for calling.” His relief whooshes down the line and I remember that I’m meant to be letting him know if he can come home tomorrow. He’s going to be pleased when I tell him that he can—but maybe not so pleased when I tell him that I won’t be here.
“Why did you jump when I mentioned Nina having an affair?” I ask.
I can hear his mind adjusting itself away from what he thought I was phoning about, to why I’m actually calling.
“Because you insinuated that maybe he was responsible for Nina’s murder.”
“So?”
“It’s just that when I played tennis with Paul on Saturday, he told me that Nina used to see quite a few of the men from The Circle.”
I frown. “Do you mean in her role as a therapist? Because I don’t think she’d have been able to see them in that capacity, if they were friends or neighbors.”
“No, not as a therapist. She helped them out with other stuff, Will with his lines, Connor with his whiskies, that sort of thing.”
“That doesn’t mean she was having an affair with either of them.”
“I never said she was.”
“How did you come to have this conversation with Paul, anyway?”
“I just happened to ask him what Nina and Oliver were like. He said that they were both really nice people, always helping others out. Oliver used to help the older residents with their gardens, do odd jobs for them.” He pauses. “All I’m saying is that a lot of people here were close to Nina, men as well as women, which is why I don’t think you should be going around talking about her having an affair and then saying you think he might have murdered her, like you said to me.”
“But if it was someone else who murdered her, don’t you think he deserves to be brought to justice?”
“Well, yes, of course.”
“Even if it turns out to be someone from The Circle?”
There’s a pause and I can almost see the two deep lines between his eyes that appear whenever he frowns. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Just that not everyone thinks Oliver is guilty.”
“What do you mean?”
I’m pacing the floor now, wondering if I should tell hi
m about Thomas, how he’s an investigator and not a reporter, and how he thinks that Oliver is innocent. But if I tell him that he’s a friend of Oliver’s sister, Leo will say he has a vested interest. Besides, if he asks how I met him, I’ll have to tell him he’s the man who gate-crashed our drinks evening, and Thomas’s credibility will be less than zero, private investigator or not. And, I remind myself, it’s no longer my business.
“I’m finding it hard to reconcile this image of Oliver as a paragon of virtue but also a killer,” I tell him, coming to a stop by the window. Maria and Tim, on the way into the square with their boys, are chatting to Geoff at the gate. I watch for a moment. Did Nina help Tim and Geoff in some capacity too, as well as Will and Connor?
“Maybe. But I don’t understand why you’re getting involved.” Leo interrupts my train of thought. “Unless it’s because of your sister. Because if that is the reason, you need to let it go. It isn’t healthy, Alice.”
I hang up before he can say anything more and remind me what my therapist told me—that I can’t live my sister’s life through the lives of other women called Nina.
TWENTY-FOUR
Stay!
The soft, sibilant whisper lulls me from my sleep. Instead of feeling afraid, the lingering echo of the word fills me with lightness.
“Nina,” I murmur.
The sense of her, strong, silent, acts like a balm to my troubled mind.
“I’m not going to leave you,” I promise her silently. “I’m going to get to the truth. If it wasn’t Oliver who killed you, I’ll find out who did.”
I expect her to leave. But she stays, and I drift easily back to sleep.
* * *
I wake late, luxuriating in the aura of peace cocooning my body. I search the reason for this unexpected feeling of wellbeing and remember how I sensed Nina’s presence in the night. I have no trouble believing her spirit was there, that—like my sister was—she’s trapped between this life and the next, waiting for justice to be done. I throw back the covers, driven by new purpose. I’m not going anywhere, I have a promise to fulfill.
