by A J McDine
‘It was the only way, Cleo. And it’s not like the company can’t spare the cash. Call it extra dividends.’
‘What if we were audited? Jesus, Bill, how could you sink so low?’ I shook my head, and a thought occurred to me. ‘According to the accounts we’ve paid Blackberry Organics eighteen thousand. Where’s the rest?’
He licked his lips. ‘I said Sheila could have the other three grand as long as she kept quiet.’
I buried my head in my hands. I was always so in control, yet I hadn’t seen what was happening right under my nose. I thought back to the day I’d asked Sheila about Blackberry Organics. Had she been evasive? Not that I remembered. I was losing my grip.
And now what? If Bill and Sheila had committed fraud, I should call the police, because if I didn’t, I could be complicit. And there was no way I was paying for their duplicity. I’d lost enough already.
But their scam was insignificant compared to Immy’s disappearance and Niamh’s rape and murder. Bill’s betrayal stung, but I couldn’t care less about the money.
He didn’t need to know that, though.
‘You’ll have to pay it back,’ I told him, trying to retain a vestige of authority. ‘You need to put things right.’
He laughed and took another slug of vodka. ‘I think it’s a bit late for that, don’t you?’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
Bill sighed. ‘It’s too late. I can’t turn back the clock. I can’t put things right. Niamh’s dead and it’s my fault. Sheila said…’
‘What did Sheila say?’ I said sharply.
He belched, and I recoiled at the blast of rancid breath that came my way. ‘Bill?’ I pressed.
‘Nothing. Doesn’t matter now, anyway.’
He offered me the vodka bottle, and I pushed it away. ‘Do you know where Immy is?’
He frowned. ‘You think I…? No, Cleo, I know I’ve got things wrong, but I’d never harm a hair on her head. She’s my daughter, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Stuart will never forgive you, you know that, don’t you? He adores Immy. When he finds out you’re her dad, he’ll… he’ll…’ I left the sentence unfinished because I wasn’t sure what Stuart would do any more.
‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth and a daughter for a wife,’ Bill chanted in a singsong voice. ‘Serves him bloody well right.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Your husband and my dear wife are fucking, Cleo darling. At it like rabbits, they are.’ He squinted at me and drew back in surprise. ‘You knew?’
‘Only since Tuesday.’
‘Stu told you?’
‘I saw them together. How long have you known?’
Bill closed his eyes and nodded to himself. ‘Since Corfu.’ He cleared his throat. ‘That night.’
‘Oh,’ I said, grasping the significance. Had Bill stumbled upon them and then forced himself on our au pair as some sort of sick revenge?
‘They’re welcome to each other,’ Bill said. He tipped the bottle in my direction. ‘We were only ever their sloppy seconds.’ Downing the last of the vodka, he dropped the bottle onto the ground. I watched as it rolled towards the back of the Elan. Suddenly I noticed a thick black hose attached to the exhaust of the car with parcel tape. The hose snaked around the far side of the car and through a gap at the top of the passenger door window. The rest of the gap was plugged with oily rags.
Bill followed my gaze and said idly, ‘Here’s an interesting fact. Committing suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning was much easier in the days before emission tests on cars. Luckily, I have an old car so it’s not an issue. But it’s a good job I didn’t buy a soft-top, eh?’ He laughed and made to stand, and I pulled him back down.
‘No, Bill, you can’t. I know things seem bad, but you can’t do that to yourself. I won’t let you.’ My voice caught as I stared at my friend. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were bloodshot, but there was a manic, almost fanatical gleam to them. ‘I can sort everything out.’
He slapped his thigh and laughed as if I’d said something wildly funny. ‘Oh Cleo,’ he said, wiping his eyes. ‘You’re a case. You can’t solve every problem. I’m afraid this time you’ve met your match.’
He staggered to his feet and lurched towards the Elan, pulling the keys from his pocket and dangling them from his index finger. ‘Goodbye, Cleo. I’ve left a note on top of the toolbox.’
‘No, Bill, I won’t let you!’ I jumped up and began tearing at the rags plugging the gap at the top of the passenger door window. The sound of the driver’s door slamming shut and the Elan’s throaty engine bursting into life spurred me on, and I yanked the end of the hose from the car. It slithered from my grip, landing on the concrete floor by my feet.
A cloud of black exhaust fumes filled my lungs, making me cough so violently I doubled over. ‘Turn off the engine!’ I shrieked, banging on the rear windscreen. For a split second Bill’s eyes met mine in his rearview mirror and he mouthed, ‘Sorry’. Then he floored the throttle, and the Elan plunged forwards, the engine screaming. I stood helplessly as the car crashed through the wooden double doors and disappeared.
Still fighting for breath, I ran outside and watched the Elan as it careered towards the gates to the lane. I was paralysed by indecision. Should I phone Stuart to warn him what had happened, or run back for my car and follow Bill? I’d pulled out my phone and was staring blankly at the screen when a loud explosion ripped through the air. I looked up, trying to ignore the swooping sensation in my stomach, but my worst fears were confirmed. The Elan had crashed into one of the leylandii trees that bordered the old nursery. The back of the car was a mangled mess of fibreglass and metal, and the bonnet had concertinaed against the trunk of the tree like the bellows of an accordion.
‘Bill!’ I yelled, forcing my legs into a run, stumbling and slipping on the rough surface as if I was the one who’d drunk a bottle of vodka, not Bill. I reached the car and gazed inside. Bill’s head rested on the steering wheel and a trickle of blood dripped from his temple down his stubbly cheek. I yanked on the door handle, but it was stuck fast.
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and looked around, spying a brick half-hidden in the grass. Raising it high above my head, I brought it down with as much force as I could, shattering the driver’s side window and spraying Bill with shards of glass. Reaching in, I turned off the engine then felt his neck for a pulse, willing his skin to flicker beneath my touch. But there was nothing. I tipped his head back as gently as I could, only to see his eyes staring glassily ahead. I sank to the ground and found Stuart’s number.
‘Any luck?’ he said. A tear rolled down my face, and I cradled the phone to my ear.
‘He’s dead, Stu. You have to get here now. Bill’s dead.’
Chapter Forty
Stuart’s Audi flew through the gates and skidded to a stop yards from the crumpled Lotus. Stuart jumped out of the car, his expression grim. I stepped into his path.
‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’
‘Have you called an ambulance?’
‘It’s on its way.’ I glanced at the Audi. The passenger seat was empty. ‘Where’s Melanie?’
‘I’ve left her at theirs.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘That Bill had crashed the car, and I’d phone her the minute I knew how he was.’
‘You didn’t tell her he was…’
‘I couldn’t, not until I knew for sure.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘What the hell happened?’
I stared at the ground, unsure where to start. ‘He’d been drinking,’ I began.
‘It was an accident?’ Stuart said, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
Part of me wanted to tell him that yes, it was an accident. That Bill had been planning a pootle around the lanes in his beloved sports car on a sunny summer’s day and had accidentally crashed into the hedge. ‘At least he died doing something he loved,’ I cou
ld say. ‘We should take comfort from that.’
But who was I kidding? The lack of skid marks on the tarmac, the length of hose taped to the Elan’s exhaust pipe, and the suicide note in the lock-up told another story. I had to tell Stuart the truth. Most of it, anyway.
I shook my head. ‘He was about to gas himself in the car when I arrived.’
Stuart drew a sharp intake of breath.
‘I tried to stop him, but he jumped in the car and drove straight at the hedge. There was nothing I could do.’
‘Christ.’ Stuart buckled at the waist, cradling his head in his hands. ‘Had he found out about Mel and me?’
I looked at him in disbelief. ‘You think this is about you? You’re something else, you really are.’
‘But why else would he -?’
‘He couldn’t live with the guilt.’
‘Guilt?’ Stuart looked dazed, and I swallowed down my impatience.
‘For pity’s sake, don’t you get it? He killed Niamh.’
‘Why would he…?’
‘She was blackmailing him.’ I paused. Did Stuart need to know Bill was a rapist? Discovering he was Immy’s biological father would be bad enough. ‘They slept together in Corfu,’ I said.
Stuart blinked several times as he grasped the meaning behind my words. ‘Are you saying he’s… he’s…’
‘Immy’s father,’ I finished. I reached out and touched his arm. ‘I know it’s hard to take in. I was as shocked as you.’
He shook his head and turned away from me. ‘No, he can’t be… He wouldn’t have… You’ve got it all wrong.’
‘Why would I make up something like that?’
Stuart’s phone rang, making us both jump. He stared at the screen and paled. ‘It’s Mel. What do I say?’
I rounded on him, all my pent-up grief and despair spewing out of me like venom from a spitting cobra. ‘I don’t have all the answers! Why don’t you decide what to do for once in your life!’ In the distance I heard sirens approaching, but I wasn’t quite finished. ‘Oh, and for your information, Bill knew you were shagging his wife. And before you accuse me of letting the cat out of the bag, he saw you together in Corfu. He’s known for the last four years.’
I turned on my heels and strode towards the lane without a backward glance.
Bill was pronounced dead at the scene and the sirens were silent as the ambulance carried his body away. I gave a statement to police and a baby-faced officer was dispatched to Melanie’s with the unenviable task of delivering the death message.
‘You’d better go to her,’ I told Stuart as we watched the officer leave.
His eyes widened. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. She needs you. I’ll be fine.’
‘Will you go home?’
‘I might stay here a while longer, in case they need anything.’ I nodded towards the sergeant and constable from the serious collision investigation unit who’d arrived half an hour after the ambulance and local patrols, and were now measuring the distance from the lock-up to Bill’s mangled car. ‘I suppose I’d better ring Bill’s parents.’
‘No, I’ll do that from Mel’s place,’ Stuart said.
‘OK. I’ll phone Sheila, and I’d better tell Sam Bennett so she can let DI Jones know what’s happened.’
Stuart frowned. ‘Why do they need to know?’
‘Because Immy is missing, her biological mother has been murdered, and her biological father has killed himself. I’d say that was pretty relevant, wouldn’t you?’
‘But the police don’t know Immy was Bill’s daughter.’
‘“Was?”’ I said, shaking my head. ‘You think she’s dead.’
Stuart hugged himself. ‘You don’t really believe she’s still alive? I think we should forget the conspiracy theories and stop kidding ourselves that Immy is still out there somewhere. Face it, Cleo, she fell in the river and drowned. It was a tragic accident.’
I stared at the man my husband had become and wondered when the fight had left him. That zest for life, the competitive edge that had seen him play for the university’s 1st XV rugby team, the sense of humour that used to have me doubled up with laughter. But they had long gone, along with his chiselled jaw and his six-pack. And even if he rediscovered that zest, that fighting spirit, I knew it was too late.
‘I want a divorce,’ I said, the words ringing in my ears. ‘As soon as all this is over.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ he said in a wounded voice.
‘I don’t want to be married to you any more. I’ve known deep down for a long time. It’s just taken Immy disappearing for me to realise. Now go. You should be with Melanie. I’ll talk to you later.’
He gazed at me with puppy dog eyes, then pulled his car keys from his pocket and slouched towards the Audi. As I watched him climb stiffly into the car and drive away, I wondered what I would have done if he’d refused to leave. If he’d declared our marriage was worth saving, was worth the fight. Would I have given him - us - another chance? But there was no point wondering, because he didn’t, and he hadn’t.
And he was wrong. Immy was still alive. I was sure of it.
Chapter Forty-One
I headed home, letting myself into the empty house and collapsing on the sofa in an exhausted heap. There were things I needed to do, and I ran through them in my head as I kicked off my shoes and drew my feet underneath me. Call Sam Bennett to see if there was an update on the search for Immy and to tell her about Bill. Check in with Stuart to see how Melanie had taken the news. I also needed to let Sheila know what had happened and make sure everything was under control at work. God knew what Bill’s death meant for the future of FoodWrapped, but it was important to maintain the status quo while the dust settled.
I massaged my temples. Every time my thoughts drifted to Bill, images of him slumped over the wheel of his wrecked sports car forced their way into my head. A sob rose in the back of my throat and for once I let it out, and another, until my body was wracked with grief. Because Bill was dead. No matter what he’d done, he was one of my oldest friends. I couldn't believe I’d never see him again.
Time passed. An hour, maybe two, I couldn’t be sure. When I’d cried myself dry, I padded into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water and wiped my face with a square of wet kitchen towel. ‘Come on, Cleo,’ I said to the empty room. ‘Get a grip.’
I dialled the office.
‘Good afternoon. This is FoodWrapped. How may I help you?’
‘Sheila, it’s Cleo.’
‘I’m sorry, Cleo, but Bill’s still not in. I’ve tried calling his mobile, but it goes straight to voicemail and the home number is permanently engaged. Has he been in contact with you?’
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid Bill’s had an accident.’
‘An accident?’ There was no mistaking the concern in her voice. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘He was in the Lotus and he hit a tree.’
I heard the scrape of a chair. ‘Which hospital is he in?’
‘I’m so sorry, Sheila. He’s not in hospital. He… he didn’t make it.’
‘You’re talking in riddles. Tell me where he is.’
‘He’s dead, Sheila. Bill is dead.’
A gasp, then a hiss. ‘If this is your idea of a joke…’
‘Christ, why would I joke about something like that?’ I ran a hand through my hair. ‘It was awful.’
‘You were with him?’
‘I was, yes.’
Her voice was strangulated. ‘How did you let it happen?’
‘Look, I might as well tell you because you’ll find out soon enough, anyway. Bill committed suicide. He drove straight at the tree because he wanted to kill himself. No one could have stopped him.’
‘No!’ she cried. ‘You’re lying!’
‘I wish I was.’ I paused. ‘Are you all right?’
Sheila had begun wailing, an unearthly sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I cast around for some suitabl
e platitudes. ‘He’s at peace now. And it was so quick he wouldn’t have felt a thing.’
The wailing increased in volume, and I frowned. I knew she was fond of Bill, but this, this hysteria, seemed excessive. Keeping my voice brisk, I said, ‘Sheila, you need to take a deep breath and calm down. Bill would want you to stay strong… for the company’s sake,’ I added, wincing, but it seemed to do the trick. The wails became muffled sobs, and I spoke over them. ‘I need to go now, all right? Take a minute if you have to, but please keep this under your hat for the time being. I want to tell the team myself. I’ll talk to you later.’
Next, I dialled Sam Bennett’s number.
‘Cleo? You must be psychic. I was about to call you.’
She must have heard my exhalation of breath, because she said quickly, ‘I’m afraid Immy’s still missing, but I have an update from the search team sergeant.’
‘And?’
‘His officers and teams from Kent Search and Rescue have searched the river all the way to Pegwell Bay and apart from Immy’s sandal, which was found the night she disappeared, there has been no sign of her. Nothing.’
‘Is that unusual?’ I asked.
‘Not necessarily, but -’ she broke off.
‘Tell it how it is, Sam, please. I’m a tough cookie. I can take it.’
‘As you wish. The sergeant said he would have expected Immy’s body to have come to the surface by now if she had drowned. But that’s not the main reason I’m phoning. We’ve had a call to the incident line from a woman who’s just come back from a fortnight in Saint Kitts. She lives at the bottom of Moat Lane.’
It was on the other side of the village. My heart started beating a little faster. ‘And?’
‘She only found out Immy was missing when she saw a poster while she was walking her dog this morning. She has a CCTV camera in her garden. It’s one of those covert ones disguised as a rock, which is why our guys didn’t notice it while they were doing their house-to-house inquiries. She looked back at the footage from Sunday afternoon and spotted something of interest.’
