Trust Me: An absolutely gripping and unputdownable psychological thriller

by Sheryl Browne

  She’d screamed at him in the end to just stop, her hands clamped over her ears, until he’d eventually backed from the room. She couldn’t take any more. She’d felt like running into the night, like going to the surgery and stuffing whatever damn drugs she could lay her hands on down her throat, anything to shut it all out. Until she’d remembered poor Jenny and how desperate she must have been to do what she had.

  She’d finally been lulled to sleep by the sound of the dawn chorus, only to wake with a choking jerk, images of her sister’s lifeless body floating through her mind. Kara’s eyes had snapped open. She’d seen it too: the face of the man on the bridge. The man who’d watched Emily struggling to save her. The man who’d pushed her. The recollection when it finally surfaced was stark in its clarity, where up to now it had been jagged and incomplete. It wasn’t her. She’d been there, she had followed Kara, but she hadn’t pushed her. Relief mixed with acrid grief crashed through her as her mind had flown back there. She’d been on the canal bank, paralysed with fear for an instant. And then she’d run, her heart hammering, choking screams rising inside her. She’d waded into the water, tried to reach her, tried desperately to pull her out. She herself had eventually been dragged from the water hysterical but still breathing. Kara had never drawn breath again.

  Perhaps her mind racing so feverishly that she felt she was going insane had its advantages. She was seeing things clearly now. Wasn’t she? Reminded that she was also seeing things during the day that belonged in her nightmares, cold fear settled like an icicle in her chest. Was she going mad?

  When she went downstairs, she’d realised Jake had slipped off early. He hadn’t woken her, but he’d left her a note. Her heart had stopped beating when she’d found it propped against the kettle. And then squeezed painfully when she’d dared to read it: I’m sorry. I love you, was all it said.

  Even having read those last three poignant words, she wondered now as she walked to work, late and not really caring, what it was that he was sorry for. How much would it suit him if he could claim that he couldn’t cope with any more? That it was her, his mad wife, who’d driven him away? He’d get to keep his reputation intact then, wouldn’t he? If there was one thing she knew about Jake, it was that he couldn’t bear the thought of being likened to his father.

  Approaching the village shop, she wondered again how Millie was. She’d sent a short text – Back later – which was at least something, but Emily knew that, in seeming to be interrogating her daughter, she’d destroyed any chance she might have had of getting her to open up. She was jolted from her thoughts as she heard two women chatting outside the shop.

  ‘I mean, all marriages have secrets, don’t they?’ Ally Jones, the owner of Evolution hairdresser’s, was saying.

  ‘Definitely.’ Leah Connolly, whom Emily knew to be in a bad marriage, sounded worried.

  ‘I’ve heard tales from my customers that would make your hair stand on end,’ Ally went on. ‘More than one or two of them are living in fear of the letter box flapping, I can tell you. They need to catch whoever is doing this before someone is seriously—’ She stopped, her gaze snapping to Emily as she approached.

  Emily noted the nervous apprehension on Leah’s face as she too glanced in her direction. They were frightened, and had every reason to be. But … was it her they were frightened of? Her stomach tightening, she mustered a smile and pushed on towards them, but both women hurriedly averted their gazes. Realising she would have to speak to them in order to access the shop, Emily lost her nerve, walking on instead to call into the grocery store for milk for the surgery.

  Paying for the milk, she tried to engage Fred Jackson – who ran the store, and who was also looking at her warily – in conversation. ‘Will you be coming to Edward’s party?’ she asked him with forced jollity.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ he assured her, searching her eyes curiously as he plonked her change in her hand. ‘I reckon we all need to present a united front. Show this bugger who’s trying to split the community up they won’t succeed.’

  ‘My thoughts entirely.’ Emily smiled tightly. ‘See you there.’

  ‘Aye.’ Fred nodded, his expression still cautious as he looked her up and down.

  Hardly able to breathe, Emily whirled around. She was about to step out of the store, but faltered and moved back. Sally was just a yard away outside. She was the absolute last person Emily wanted to run into. She would have to talk to her at some point – she couldn’t avoid her at work – but she needed to prepare herself. She didn’t particularly want to see Michael Jameson either. She didn’t think she could look him in the eye after what she’d witnessed him doing to Natasha. So what were the two of them deep in conversation about? ‘Jake Merriden needs to get to the bottom of this,’ she heard Michael say. ‘He needs to get the police involved, and fast.’

  ‘He will now,’ Sally replied, clearly privy to information Emily wasn’t. ‘Did you hear what happened to Jenny Wheeler?’

  ‘No.’ Michael’s face creased into a curious frown. ‘What’s that, then?’

  Sally moved closer to him. ‘Overdose.’ She said it quietly, but Emily still thought it spiteful of her to gossip about it. Did she not realise how devastating it would be for Jenny to realise that her personal life had become everyone else’s business?

  ‘I’ll bet my bottom dollar that it has something to do with all these appalling letters being sent out,’ Sally went on. ‘Jake was distraught enough when he found out about poor Zoe. I’ve never seen him so furious. This will be the last straw.’ She paused, emitting an elongated sigh. ‘It’s Emily I’m concerned about. I’m sure Jake thinks it’s her, but she’s such a stickler about client confidentiality, I honestly can’t understand why he would.’

  No, Emily couldn’t understand either – nor why Sally would provide Michael with fodder for gossip. No matter what Jake thought, Sally wasn’t above suspicion in Emily’s mind. She wouldn’t have thought it possible a short while ago, but now, aware of her secret relationship with her husband, her deceit, Emily thought she was capable of anything.

  Waiting a minute to compose herself, she watched as Sally walked off, giving Michael, the man she’d condemned for being violent to his wife, a cheery wave as she went.

  She hadn’t realised Edward was in the store until he slid an arm around her shoulders. ‘Take no notice, my lovely,’ he said, giving her a reassuring squeeze. ‘You know what they say: gossip is just a tool to distract people who have nothing better to do from feeling jealous.’

  Reminded why she was organising his party and why she loved him so much, Emily managed a genuine smile, albeit a small one. Edward was the sort who lived by the idiom that if you hadn’t got anything good to say about a person, it was better to say nothing at all. She’d never heard him or Joyce utter a bad word about anyone. The man was a breath of fresh air. ‘I’m not sure they have anything to be jealous about, Edward.’ She leaned into him, needing his comforting arm around her for just a second longer.

  ‘Nonsense.’ Edward gave her another fatherly squeeze. ‘You’re an intelligent, competent woman, and extremely easy on the old eyes, if I may say so. I’m not sure you’ve looked in the mirror lately, but you should.’

  This time she managed a whole smile. ‘You most certainly may,’ she said, turning to press a kiss to his weathered cheek. ‘You’re not so bad-looking yourself, if I may say so.’

  Edward chuckled. ‘I’ll tell Joyce you think so. She’ll be mad with jealousy. Go on,’ he said, nodding her towards the surgery. ‘That husband of yours will be lost without you.’

  Emily glanced down. Would he?

  ‘He won’t know whether he’s coming or going.’ As if reading her mind, Edward chivvied her on. ‘He’s a good man, Emily,’ he added more seriously, causing Emily’s heart to catch. ‘It seems there’s someone intent on splitting couples up. Don’t let them do that to you and Jake, hey? You’re stronger than that.’

  Tears filling her eyes, Emily blinked them back ha
rd. She didn’t feel very strong right now. She wanted to fight, but didn’t know how when she wasn’t sure who the enemy was. ‘I won’t,’ she promised him anyway, giving him a tight hug. ‘Thanks, Ed. Give Joyce my love. Tell her I’ll pop in and see her soon.’

  ‘I’ll make sure to. She’ll look forward to talking to someone with half a brain.’

  ‘Only half?’ Emily laughed, and headed onwards to the surgery, feeling buoyed up and more determined. To do what, she wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t just give up on her marriage, on Jake. He’d once jokingly accused her of being a glutton for punishment, sticking with him when she hardly saw anything of him. Maybe she was, but wasn’t that what she’d vowed to do, stick with him for better or worse? This was about as bad as it could get, admittedly, but she couldn’t just roll over. As tired and confused as she was, she had to fight. She hated Jake for the things he’d said and the things she imagined he was doing, so graphically that sometimes she could feel her heart breaking. Yet she loved him – she loved the caring Jake she knew him to be.

  Going into reception, she stowed her bag under her desk, mouthed an apology to Nicky, who was on the phone, then headed to the kitchen with the milk. Her mood deflated in an instant as she heard Fran’s unmistakable tones drifting out.

  ‘Well, I’m not one to stir things,’ she said, ‘but I can’t say I blame Jake for losing his temper. The information in those letters can only be coming from here, after all. Whichever way you look at it, it means someone’s not doing their job properly, doesn’t it? A job they’re getting paid well to do, I might add.’

  ‘Well, yes, but …’ Sally had the grace to sound uncomfortable. ‘Even so, I can’t believe Emily had anything to do with sending the dreadful things out. I mean, why would anyone want to do such a thing?’

  Fran drew in a long breath, meaning she was gearing herself up to impart her invaluable opinion. Emily froze. ‘Out of jealousy, obviously. Think about it. Michael was the first person to get one, wasn’t he? Now, I’m just speculating, but if it had been my husband Natasha had been fawning all over and fluttering her eyelashes at during the duck race… Well, let’s just say I would have been tempted to drown her too.’

  Emily’s stomach roiled, nausea rising hotly inside her. She’d wondered how long it would take her to say that in front of her face. She was bound to have been spreading vicious rumours. Everyone in the village would think she’d pushed her on purpose. That it was her sending the letters, now that Fran had got her teeth into this too.

  Her legs felt as if they might slide from underneath her, and she stretched a hand to the wall for support. Taking several deep breaths, she was desperately trying to slow her frantic heartbeat when Nicky said behind her, ‘Emily? Are you all right?’

  Hearing the concern in her voice but not sure if it was genuine, whether there was anyone she could trust any more apart from lovely, dear Edward, Emily nodded quickly. ‘Fine,’ she assured her, her voice sounding strained even to her own ears. ‘I felt a little faint, that’s all. I didn’t get chance to eat anything this morning.’

  Willing herself not to pass out, which would give Fran – and Sally now, it seemed – yet more juicy gossip to bury her under, she turned to Nicky, a forced smile on her face. ‘Did you need something?’

  Nicky looked her over, unconvinced. ‘Jake rang through,’ she said. ‘He wondered whether you could step into his office.’ She hesitated, her gaze flicking worriedly down and back. ‘The police are here. They’d like to have a word with you.’

  Twenty-Eight

  As she approached Jake’s office, Emily’s urge to run was almost overwhelming. He’d apologised for the things he’d accused her of, and admitted he’d been wrong, but what might he be telling the police? He couldn’t state categorically that it wasn’t her leaking confidential information, if not posting these vile letters through people’s doors, any more than she could state categorically it wasn’t him. The reality was, in Jake’s eyes she was ultimately responsible, as Fran had just unkindly pointed out to Sally. No matter how many times he apologised, he couldn’t take back the fact that he’d thought she was.

  The worst part of it all was that he was right. Emily couldn’t escape the fact that, as practice manager, the blame for what was happening rested squarely on her shoulders.

  Might he have mentioned to the police his ludicrous notion that she was taking some kind of medication, as he called it? A fresh bout of nausea swilled inside her. If asked about the competency of his staff, he might have felt obliged to. There was only one way to find out. Her stomach knotted with nerves, she drew in a breath, knocked on his door and pushed it open.

  ‘Hi.’ Jake smiled uncertainly as she went in. ‘This is my wife, Emily. She’s our practice manager.’ The two officers glanced in her direction. Getting to his feet, he walked around his desk towards her, his forehead creasing into a troubled frown as he looked her over.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. I felt a bit off colour this morning,’ Emily said, trying to keep things businesslike despite what was going on between them and the fact that they’d spent the night in separate rooms. Sally was right here in this building, no doubt desperate to see her fall apart. To see her marriage fall apart. Fran was probably in Tom’s office right now with her ear glued to the adjoining wall, poised to share her malicious gossip the second she left the room. Emily wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her crumble. She had to stay strong for her children.

  ‘But you’re okay now?’ Jake asked, his hand brushing her arm, deep concern clouding his eyes, sending a turmoil of conflicting emotion right through her.

  ‘Fine,’ she assured him. ‘I think it’s just a touch of that bug Millie and Ben both had,’ she added, pointedly reminding him that they had children. Children who were already troubled and whose futures were in danger of being marred by all of this.

  ‘There’s a lot of that going about. My little one’s just had it.’ The female officer smiled as she got to her feet to offer Emily her hand. ‘Liz Regan, Detective Sergeant,’ she said.

  Shaking her hand, Emily made herself smile back. Regan seemed nice. She had an open, amiable face, short brown hair peppered with highlights, and sharp hazel eyes, which seemed to be weighing her up but not judging her badly. She was grateful for that much. ‘Emily Merriden,’ she said.

  Regan dipped her head. ‘I gathered. This is Detective Constable Morse.’ She nodded at her colleague.

  ‘Dave,’ the man said, shaking Emily’s hand. ‘And no, no relation.’

  Emily had to smile at that. He seemed friendly too. She felt a surge of relief wash through her. Shorter than DS Regan, he had a ready smile and a warm handshake. She relaxed a little.

  ‘Your husband’s filled us in,’ Regan picked up. ‘I imagine you’re all pretty shaken by events.’

  ‘Very,’ Emily said, swallowing as her mind conjured up an image of poor little Zoe lying in a medically induced coma with no certainty yet as to her prognosis. She thought of Natasha and the violence she’d suffered at her husband’s hands. Of Jenny and the emotional devastation that would impact on the rest of her life.

  ‘We know all our patients on a personal level,’ she confided, and then almost wished she hadn’t. ‘It’s a small community. Tight-knit,’ she added, feeling her cheeks heat up under Jake’s scrutiny.

  DS Regan nodded sympathetically. ‘We’ll be taking statements, trying to establish who knew what about whom, and talking to everyone here individually. Is there an office we can use temporarily?’ She looked between Emily and Jake.

  ‘Sally’s?’ Jake suggested, his gaze flicking awkwardly down and back, Emily noticed. ‘She’s our phlebotomist. It’s actually the treatment room. She has some patients in this afternoon, but she can use Tom’s – my father’s – office. He’s a partner, but he’s only here part-time. I’m sure we can reschedule any existing appointments.’

  ‘Great, thanks. It will make things easier.’ DS Regan turned to Emily. ‘Your husband tells me you’
ve updated all your PC logins and access codes.’

  Had they? She looked at Jake, confused.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said, his eyes wary as they skimmed hers before going back to DS Regan. ‘Nicky did it first thing this morning, on Emily’s instruction.’

  Emily’s guilt intensified. She’d organised a meeting, she recalled, but she hadn’t been here because of their personal problems … and because she’d had very little sleep again. Jake had gone ahead and asked Nicky to do it; of course he would have done. It clearly indicated that he trusted Nicky, though, where he hadn’t trusted his own wife.

  ‘And access to paper files?’ DS Regan asked.

  ‘We have lockable filing cabinets.’ Emily collected herself. ‘I’m tightening up the signing-out system for anyone who needs to access them.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Regan nodded approvingly.

  ‘We’ll be checking who logged in to the computers and when,’ Morse added. ‘We’ll check out any printers as well. Hopefully, if the letters came from here, we’ll be able to establish which printer was used.’

  ‘Can you do that?’ Jake asked, surprised.

  ‘It’s possible,’ the DC confirmed. ‘Printers can leave two kinds of identifying marks: one sort that comes from imperfections resulting from unique wear in the mechanism, plus a digital fingerprint that points to a specific printer, model and unit.’