by B. A. Paris
And then I see them, Eve and Tamsin, coming into the square. I wait for them to turn toward Tamsin’s house but they stop in the middle of the path. Move! I urge them. Go! They’re huddled together, deep in conversation but that won’t stop them seeing Thomas. He’s not the sort of man to go unnoticed.
Except—he has. Not just at the party but also all the other times he’s visited me. There must have been people around as he walked across the square on his way over, or on his way back, but no one ever mentioned seeing a tall, dark-haired stranger, despite everyone knowing that I was trying to trace a man who fitted that description. Because nobody really believed he existed.
Tamsin rummages in her bag for something. She begins to move toward her house, Eve following behind. I breathe a sigh of relief but at that moment, Tamsin turns and looks toward the house, her cell phone clamped to her ear. I move from the window, hoping she hasn’t seen me. My cell phone, which I’ve got in my hand, starts ringing, making me jump. It’s her.
A ring on the doorbell sets my heart racing. Thomas told me not to open the door to anyone. It might be the police; he said he was going to call them. Maybe they’ve come in an unmarked car. I push my cell phone into my pocket and run downstairs.
“Alice, it’s me.” Thomas’s voice comes through the door.
I open it quickly, blinking back the tears that have sprung to my eyes.
“It’s all right,” he says, catching sight of my face. He lays a steadying hand on my arm. “I’m here now.”
“I watched for you coming across the square but I didn’t see you.”
“I walked around the outside, I always do. I don’t like to draw attention to myself. Is that your phone ringing?”
“Yes, but it’s only Tamsin.”
“Are you sure? It might be the police. I gave them your number.”
“Yes, look.” I show him my phone.
“Don’t you want to answer it?”
“No, it’s fine.” We move to the kitchen. “We had a row over lunch. I told you, she hates me asking questions about Nina.” I point to the fridge. “There’s the photo.”
He peers at it. “I wonder why he put it here?”
“It’s a calling card,” I explain. “I realized this morning that there were other things I missed, things that I put down to Leo, like a rose on the window sill, a bottle of champagne in the fridge, a photo turned upside down. Each time, he does something—there must be other things I missed. It’s like a game. He’s been playing with me.” I look up at him. “What did the police say when you told them about the photo and Tim’s connection to Nina?”
“I left everything with my contact there and he went to speak to his superiors. I’m surprised they’re not already here.”
“Let’s have coffee while we’re waiting.” My phone starts ringing again and I groan. “Tamsin again. Maybe I should just answer it, get it over and done with?”
“You may as well. But don’t take any stick from her. I’ll make the coffee.”
“Thanks.” I take the call, loving that he feels comfortable enough to take over.
“Alice, don’t hang up!” Tamsin’s voice comes urgently down the line. I don’t say anything, just wait for her to continue. “You said you were doing this for Oliver’s sister.”
“That’s right,” I say, hoping she feels guilty.
“Oliver didn’t have a sister.”
I laugh. “Nice try.” Thomas turns from the sink and gives me a smile, pleased to hear me stand up for myself.
“Look, I knew Nina and Oliver really well and he told me he was an only child,” Tamsin says. “Nina also mentioned it, his lack of a family, because his mother died when he was young and his father lived abroad.”
“Don’t call me again, Tamsin.”
“Wait, there’s something else! The man that you said turned up at your party?” My heart sinks. She and Eve must have seen Thomas walking around the outside of the square. “If it’s true that Lorna let him in,” Tamsin goes on, “if he did exist, why did you never think that he might be Nina’s killer? Shouldn’t he have been the first person you thought of, instead of suspecting us? Because why would he have turned up at your housewarming, otherwise?”
For one terrible moment, the world stops moving.
“Alice?” Tamsin’s voice comes down the line. “Are you there?”
Thomas looks over at me, gives me a smile. It jolts me back to reality.
“As I said, don’t call me again,” I say, cutting the call.
I put my phone in my pocket, wishing I could have told her that Thomas is a private investigator looking into Nina’s murder and that he’s found her killer.
“I take it her apology wasn’t good enough?” Thomas says.
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t.”
“I don’t suppose you managed to find out anything about her therapist?”
“Only what I told you. But he’s hardly relevant now, as Tim is the culprit.” I smile at him and he smiles back but Tamsin’s words won’t stop crashing through my brain. Oliver didn’t have a sister.
I take out my phone. “I need to tell Leo what time I’m leaving so that he can move back in, he’s been hassling me to let him know. I was going to leave in about an hour but maybe I should wait, in case the police come.”
“Why don’t you tell him you can’t give him a time, so he’ll have to wait until tomorrow?”
“Good idea,” I say, already texting Leo.
Can you find out if Oliver had a sister? It’s urgent, really urgent.
He texts back almost immediately. You told me he did. And how am I meant to find out?
“I knew he’d moan,” I say with a rueful smile. “He’s not happy about having to wait until tomorrow.”
“Tell him he doesn’t have a choice.”
“All right.”
I don’t know! I text back. Just find out. Please!
I’ll do my best. Btw, I spoke to Ben. He didn’t know the Maxwells. He’s only been with Redwoods two years. Ours was the first house he sold in The Circle.
My heart begins a slow, dull thud in my chest. I look over at Thomas, Tamsin’s voice echoing through my brain.
Why did you never think that he might be Nina’s killer?
“What did Leo say?” Thomas asks.
“That I win,” I say, putting my phone face down on the table so that he won’t be able to see what Leo says when he texts me back about Oliver having a sister. “He’ll wait until tomorrow.”
“Good.”
He finishes making the coffee and brings it over to where I’m sitting.
“Did you tell Helen that I’m looking forward to meeting her on Wednesday?” I ask.
“I did, and she said to tell you that she’s looking forward to it too.” He pulls out the chair opposite me. “I’ve been thinking—I know it might seem a bit—well, early—but I’d love you to meet my parents at some point. And Louis.”
“I’d like that,” I say, lifting my cup to my lips. I try and sort through the thoughts careering through my mind, colliding with each other, canceling each other out. Thomas had shown me a photo of him and Helen at university together. No, he had shown me a photo of him with a young woman.
“It will be great if you can tell Helen you’ve found the person responsible for Nina’s murder. If it does turn out to be Tim,” I say.
“I’m a hundred percent sure that it’s him.”
“What would his motive have been?” I raise my eyes to his face, a face I’ve come to know well, the green specks in his eyes, the way his hair falls onto his forehead. He looks too kind, he has a son, he has parents, he wants me to meet them. He can’t have murdered Nina, it’s not possible, how would he have even known her? Unless she hired him to investigate Oliver. Or Oliver hired him to investigate Nina, because he suspected her of having an affair. The one thing I do know is that Thomas Grainger is a private investigator, because I checked out the address he gave me. Unless he lied, like Leo did. Maybe his n
ame isn’t Thomas Grainger. Maybe he’s not a private investigator. Maybe he doesn’t have a son, or parents.
“Who knows?” he says. “Maybe he fell in love with Nina when she and Oliver moved in here. Maybe they had an affair, and when she tried to end it, he killed her.”
Is that what happened, I wonder? Is that his story? Did Thomas, if that is his name, have an affair with Nina? If he did, when and how? How come nobody saw a stranger, coming regularly to the house? But then, Thomas has been visiting me once a week for the last five weeks and nobody saw him coming to the house on any of those occasions, not even Eve, and she lives next door. And I realize—she wouldn’t have seen him because, apart from today, Thomas always comes to see me on Wednesday afternoons, when Eve goes to yoga with Tamsin and Maria. Nina used to go with them but she stopped, because on Wednesdays, she saw her therapist.
And that’s when I know.
He is the therapist.
PAST
I know as soon as I arrive that something has changed. The smile she gives me isn’t as wide as it usually is, and doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Is everything all right?” I ask, once we’re both sitting down.
“Not really.”
“Oh?”
“Much as I’ve enjoyed our sessions, I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to continue with them,” she says.
I can’t believe it’s happening again. Just when I think I’ve got them, they slip away. I don’t understand; I’ve always taken such care in choosing my victims, watching them for months, waiting for the right moment to insinuate myself into their lives. Because of the circumstances I found myself in, this one was always going to be more problematic. But I can’t believe I’ve got her wrong too.
“May I ask why?”
“Because you’re not a therapist,” she says. “You may have studied psychology, but you’re not a psychotherapist.”
I sit back in my chair. “What makes you say that?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“If I’ve asked questions, it’s because I’m trying to get to the bottom of your dissatisfaction with life.”
“That’s the other thing that gave you away—your insistence that I’m unhappy. At first, I thought it was part of our therapist-client training, but I’ve come to realize that you’re working to your own agenda. Which is dangerous.” She leans forward, fixing me with her eyes. “It’s also intriguing. In fact, I think what we should be exploring is why you want me to think I’m unhappily married.”
“I’ve observed you, Nina. For months.”
“I think, if you look back on our sessions, I’ve never given the slightest indication that I have anything but a happy life.”
“Before that,” I say. “Before our sessions even started, I observed you.”
She frowns. “What do you mean, observed me? When?”
“If you’re so happy with your life and your husband,” I say, ignoring her question. “How do you explain the string of men that come to your house when he’s away?”
She bursts out laughing. “I hope you also observed the string of women who come to the house. Really, is that the best you can do?” She gives me an amused smile. “Shall I let you into a secret? I’ve known from our third session that you’re not what you say you are and the only reason I continued to see you is because you make a great case-study. If I’m stopping these sessions now, it’s because I’ve come to the conclusion that you have a personality disorder that I don’t have the expertise, or the wish, to explore any further. At best, you’re manipulative, at worst—well, I’d say you have psychopathic tendencies. It’s why I never gave Tamsin your number, because you could have done her untold damage and she has enough problems as it is.” She stands up. “I’d like you to leave. But you should know I’ll be reporting you to the relevant bodies so that you’ll be banned from working as a therapist, if you ever decide to set up a practice somewhere.”
Another one who thinks she can reject me, who wastes my time, who leads me on, fiddling with her hair during our sessions, teasing me.
I get to my feet and leave without a fuss.
“Don’t come back,” she says.
“I won’t.”
But, of course, I do go back. I go back that evening and ask her for the book that I lent her, which I know she keeps in the bedroom, because I’ve seen it there during my night-time visits.
She goes to get it and I follow her silently up the stairs.
The book is Walden, the author Henry David Thoreau.
One way or another, Thoreau always works.
FORTY-FOUR
Thomas smiles at me. I put my cup down, smile back at him.
“I’m just going to get a sweater,” I say, pushing my chair back. “It’s turned a bit chilly.”
“Can I get it for you?”
“No, it’s fine, there’s one in my case. It’s in the hall.”
I go out to the hall and open my case, tugging the zips hard so he’ll be able to hear. Then I crouch down, find my house keys in my bag and slip them into my pocket.
“Do you need help?”
I look up and see him filling the doorway.
“No, thank you.” I put my hand into the case and tug out a pale blue sweater. “This will do.”
My heart is thumping as I stand up. I shouldn’t have bothered taking my keys, I should have got out of the house while I could. But I had wanted to lock the door behind me, lock him in so that he couldn’t come after me. With him standing there, it’s too late. If I make for the front door, he’ll know that I’ve guessed and will be on me before I’ve even opened it. I have no choice but to go back to the kitchen.
He sits down but I stay standing. I want to take my phone from where I left it on the table but it’s too far away for me to reach. I pull the jumper over my head but it snags on the clip holding my hair up. I undo the clip and tug the jumper down. My hair gets stuck so I reach up and pull it free. Something flickers in his eyes.
“You have beautiful hair,” he murmurs.
I force the words out. “Thank you.”
“By the way, you got a message from Leo.”
I freeze. How does he know it’s from Leo?
“It’s all right,” I say. “I’ll look at it later.”
“Aren’t you going to sit down?”
“Yes, of course.” I pull my chair further out.
“I can tell you what it says, if you like.” The hairs on the back of my neck, and then on my arms, prickle with fear. I stay as I am, halfway between sitting and standing.
“It says,” he goes on, looking me straight in the eyes. “Oliver didn’t have a sister.”
It happens so fast. He lunges toward me but I get there first, picking up my chair and hurling it across the table at him. Caught by surprise, he cries out. But I’m already gone. I get to the front door and as I open it, I hear him come into the hall. Slamming the door shut behind me, I take the keys from my pocket, almost dropping them in my panic, and lock him in. I expect him to start hammering on the door, and when he doesn’t I realize he’s gone to look for another way out. The key to the French windows is in the kitchen drawer, it’ll take him a while to find it.
I start running down the drive then stop, my eyes darting. I don’t know where to go. I was going to go into the square, get help from someone there but there’s no one around. I don’t have long. I need to find somewhere with a phone so that I can call the police. I look toward Eve’s house then remember she’s at Tamsin’s. I run up the drive to Edward and Lorna’s.
I press on the bell, over and over again.
“Lorna, Edward!” I call, hammering on the door. “It’s Alice! Can you let me in? It’s urgent!”
I hear them shuffling as they come into the hall. “Please hurry!” I urge. I don’t want to alarm them but I need to get inside.
There’s the sound of bolts being drawn back. The door swings open and I burst into the house, smashing it back against Edward. I barely give
him a second glance, my eyes caught by Lorna standing further down the hallway, her face white with fright.
“Sorry, Lorna,” I say. “It’s urgent.” I turn to Edward hurriedly. “Can I use—” The words die on my lips. Standing behind Edward, his hand gripping the back of Edward’s neck, is Thomas.
The blood drains from my face as he pushes the door shut with his free hand. “How did you—?”
“Get here?” He sounds amused. “Out through your French windows and in through ours.”
I stare at him in confusion. “Yours?”
“Yes.” Now he laughs. “I did say I wanted you to meet my parents.”
His parents. I look in shock at Edward, and my shock quickly turns to fright. His face is dangerously red and his eyes are slipping out of focus. Adrenalin surges; I need to get help. I take a step back, look toward the door. But I’m too late. Still holding Edward, Thomas reaches out with his other hand and grabs me by the throat.
He waits until fear registers in my eyes, then tightens his grip.
“You’re hurting me,” I gasp.
The last thing I hear is his laugh.
* * *
When I come back to consciousness, I find myself tied to a chair. My instinct is to struggle free but I sense someone behind me and everything comes rushing back. Survival mode kicks in. Don’t let him know you’re awake. My mouth is dry; I swallow carefully, quietly, and have to stop myself crying out from the pain in my throat.
I try and regroup my thoughts but it’s difficult when battling fear is my primary concern. Fear for Lorna and Edward—where are they? Fear that I might not get out of this alive.
Did he say Lorna and Edward were his parents? In a way, it makes sense. He must be the son they said died four years ago, in Iraq. What had he done to make them deny the existence of their only child? Justine Bartley had disappeared three years ago after going to meet her therapist. If Thomas was Nina’s therapist, was he also Justine Bartley’s therapist?
I inadvertently swallow and, unprepared for the pain, a groan escapes my lips. A hand winds itself in my hair and my head is pulled back, stretching my neck, making the fire in my throat worse. I close my eyes. I don’t want to see his face.
