Niki’s eyes widened and she quickly looked away.
(Spot on.)
‘I mean, it’s fantastic and could have worked perfectly. George kisses Tess, Ashley finds out about it. How was that going to work? Was someone going to accidentally see them?’
Niki shuffled on the spot. ‘I was,’ she admitted. ‘Tess was supposed to kiss him and I was going to catch them and tell Ashley, but when I tried to call Ashley from the bar she didn’t answer, and afterwards I realised it was because she was already dead.’ Her face crumbled, and she sniffed and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.
‘Possibly,’ Oliver said. ‘Although the exact time of death could have been later. And it’s pretty hard to believe your grief when you were trying to destroy your friend’s relationship.’
‘I didn’t want her dead!’ Niki protested. ‘She was awesome. She would have got another guy easily. Some of us don’t find it that easy.’
‘What went wrong?’ Amanda asked
‘He wasn’t interested. Tess panicked when he said no and took off.’
‘So the plan failed. Whose idea was it?’ said Amanda.
Niki took another look at her watch. ‘I need to go.’ She wriggled her shoulders to resettle the backpack and scurried away before they could ask any more questions.
‘One kiss could easily be explained away by George. They needed it to be longer to work,’ Oliver commented as they watched the girl disappear around the corner.
‘The best laid plans of bitches and bastards,’ Amanda replied.
‘What a great title for a book,’ Oliver laughed.
‘I want a royalty if you use it.’
‘If she was at the bar then she couldn’t have been at the house killing Ashley.’
‘Assuming she was telling the truth,’ Amanda pointed out.
‘I can check with the girl from the bar, but assuming she was there that rules her out.’
They started walking back towards the street.
‘Hey, Tracey,’ a girl waved as she raced past.
Amanda waved back.
‘How?’ Oliver asked.
‘Tracey may have attended a couple of classes here,’ Amanda replied, struggling to keep a straight face.
‘What classes?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘The psychology of criminal conduct.’
He stared at her to see if she was being serious and saw the sparkle in her eyes.
‘Were you taking it or teaching it?’ he muttered.
THIRTY TWO
Oliver tried driving home again, this time making it to the traffic lights at the bottom of the hill leading up to his house, before the phone rang again.
‘Hi Oliver, it’s Claire. I was wondering if we could talk.’
‘Sure. Is everything alright?’
‘I guess. Would you be able to come here?’
He used the car clock to try and work out whether he had enough time before the end of the school day for another trip into the city.
‘Please,’ Claire said in a frail sounding voice.
(Get on with it. I’m tired of listening to yer thoughts non-stop, day and night. Let’s solve this thing so we can both go back to our own lives... Ye know what I mean.)
‘Sure,’ Oliver said, flicking on his indicator to let the cars behind him know he was changing direction. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Are you still at the…’
‘Yes, I’m still here. Thank you, Oliver.’
As he headed back along the motorway, Oliver rang the school and arranged for his children to go into after school care.
A little later he parked on the street outside the rehabilitation house and signed in at the front counter. Claire was in the same front room as last time, watching something through the window. When he approached he could see her studying a cat as it stalked its way across the lawn, eyes glued to an unsuspecting bird.
Just as the cat dropped down and wriggled its bottom getting ready to pounce, Claire banged on the window. The bird instantly took to the sky and the cat sat up and vigorously cleaned a paw.
‘It must suck to be a bird. One minute you’re happily pecking at the ground looking for a seed or worm, the next minute a cat jumps on you and that’s it.’
‘Maybe,’ Oliver replied. ‘But while it’s alive, the bird gets to soar above the world.’
Claire turned towards him. ‘You’re a glass half full kind of guy aren’t you?’ she said with a wry smile.
(What the hell are we talking about cats and birds for? Ask her why we’re here.)
Oliver pulled over a comfortable chair and sat opposite Claire.
‘Is everything alright?’
She shrugged and he paid close attention to her face. It was drawn and pale. The rehab place didn’t seem to be doing its job. Every time he saw her she looked worse.
‘Thanks for coming. I appreciate that you don’t know me, but I get tired of saying the same things to the same people all the time. And since you’re investigating Ashley’s death, and she was my best friend, I thought we could talk,’ her voice trailed off and her face flushed red.
(Is that it? We drove all the way here for a chat?)
I drove all the way here. Besides she’s your relative, have some empathy.
‘What would you like to talk about?’ Oliver asked out loud.
‘I don’t know. How’s the investigation going?’
He thought she looked too fragile to cope with everything he’d discovered, especially when a lot of it related to people she knew. Instead he gave her the highlights, leaving out the recently discovered plot by Alex and Niki. He also played down his recent brush with death, but understandably it was the thing that immediately drew Claire’s attention.
‘Oh my god, Oliver. That’s horrible. Maybe you should stop investigating. You don’t owe my family anything, especially not your life.’
‘I’m fine, Claire, really I am.’
‘Maybe, but I think you should consider leaving it to the police.’
Through the window Oliver saw the cat stalking another bird. He thought that maybe he was the cat and the bird was the killer.
(Aye, except this bird knocked you out and tried to drown you.)
He shifted in his chair and focused back on the girl.
‘I’m invested in the outcome now, so I’ll see it through.’
‘Or die trying?’ Claire replied.
‘Hopefully not,’ he smiled. ‘My wife would kill me if I got killed.’
Claire gave him a blank look and he fully expected a tumbleweed to scoot past the window.
(I’m not sure what tumbleweeds have to do with it, but it sure wasn’t funny.)
‘Everyone’s a critic,’ Oliver sighed.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Never mind. How’s treatment going?’
It was her turn to look away. ‘Ashley’s death has been hard to cope with. I found the best mechanism to help was cheap wine and a bad hangover. Things got complicated really fast. Has that ever happened to you? One second your life is fine, the next everything is upside down.’
Oh I don’t know, ask the Scottish man camped out in my brain.
‘Sure, it happens to everyone,’ he replied.
‘I suppose. Ashley was so special. Even when she was letting you down, she did it in such a way that you felt bad for her rather than the other way around.’
(For someone in rehab she talks a lot about getting drunk. Where does she get the alcohol?)
Good question.
‘You’ve lost a close friend, I think you’re allowed to mourn. But it would be a shame if this set back your recovery. Is that something that Ashley would want?’
‘What do you know about what Ashley would want?’
‘Nothing, but I’ve recently become less sceptical about the afterlife, and trust me when I say that some spirits can hold a grudge for a long time.’
(Aye, ye’re no James Cagney either.)
What?
(If I have to expla
in it, then you’re proving my point.)
Oliver shook his head to try and shut Angus up.
‘You think Ashley’s going to haunt me if I back slide?’ Claire said with a smile.
‘Anything’s possible,’ Oliver admitted.
‘I hope not. Imagine, being hounded by a ghost would be horrible.’ Claire shuddered and her eyes darted around the room as if expecting to see her friend standing in the corner.
‘I think it’s the living you should be thinking of,’ Oliver said. ‘Your family cares about you and they want to see you get better.’
‘Family,’ Claire laughed bitterly. ‘They’re the reason I’m in here.’
Oliver scrunched his face in confusion.
‘Two years ago I found out that Dad wasn’t my dad. Mum had an affair and I was the result. I mean Dad can be a cold bastard from time to time, but he was still my dad. And then I found out he wasn’t. That’s when my casual drinking became a full-time profession.’
It was an unexpected revelation that Oliver didn’t know how to respond to. I’m sorry seemed weak, likewise anything along the lines of I’m sure he loves you.
Lacking the appropriate words he settled for a non-committal grunt.
‘Sorry, that’s not your business, you’re not here to listen to my paternity issues,’ said Claire.
‘No, it’s fine. I’m glad you feel you can talk to me.’
There was a discrete knock at the door and a woman slipped into the room. She was a large woman with a no nonsense expression.
Suddenly Oliver felt like the bird.
‘Visiting time is over,’ the woman said briskly. ‘Claire, it’s time for your session.’
Claire smiled apologetically and stood up, swaying slightly before starting across the room. The woman pursed her lips as she watched Claire walk through the door, then she turned her attention to Oliver.
‘Mr Atkinson, do you know the first lesson you learn when dealing with alcoholics?’
(They like to drink?)
He shook his head and the woman came further into the room. The closer she got the more intimidated he felt by her size. Standing up barely helped.
‘They are master manipulators, Mr Atkinson. About anything and everything. And that one —’ she shot a stern look at the door, ‘— is worse than most. That sway when she stood up? It made you feel sorry for her right? Like you wanted to reach out and support that poor frail girl as she struggled across the room?’
Oliver kept quiet but his face must have betrayed how accurate she had been.
The woman gave a combination snort, laugh. ‘She’s an addict, no doubt, but she’s also strong as a horse, mentally. Every step of her treatment is a battle. I probably shouldn’t have told you that, but I’m comfortable skirting the line between confidentiality and necessity. I’ve already confiscated three bottles of alcohol from her room this week alone. I don’t know where she’s getting them from. Either people are bringing them, or more likely, she’s sneaking out. Oh, yes,’ she replied to Oliver’s surprised face. ‘We try our best, but this is a voluntary facility, not a prison, if they want to sneak out they can. Some people are here because they want to get help. I don’t know why she’s here.’ She sniffed and a sour look crossed her face.
‘Thank you for letting me know,’ Oliver replied.
The woman nodded and escorted him to the front door.
(What was that all about? Do ye think Claire lied about her mother having an affair? Don’t get me wrong, it’s the sort of thing an English woman would do, but why lie about it?)
You need to get over this English prejudice.
(I’m dead, I don’t need to get over anything.)
Oliver thought about it as he drove to collect the kids from school. The trouble with practiced liars is you could never pick what was true and what wasn’t. It was possible that everything Claire had ever said to him was a lie, or some of it, or none of it. By the time he parked at the school gates he’d concluded that it would have been better if Amanda had been with him. One practiced liar certainly had a better chance of spotting untruths told by another. Although Claire might not have revealed anything at all if Amanda had been in the room too.
‘I need to get better at spotting lies if I’m going to keep doing this,’ he muttered.
(You’ve got two children, how much more practice do you need?)
THIRTY THREE
This is a delicate question, so I’m sorry in advance,’ Oliver began.
‘Go on,’ Louise replied, from the other end of the phone.
Jennifer had suggested he go and talk to her in person, but there were certain things that Oliver still felt uncomfortable about. Asking someone to confirm their extra-marital affair was definitely on the list. So instead he waited until the kids were in bed and, with the sound of Rose’s voice singing words from a modern hit that he prayed she didn’t understand yet ringing in his ears, he called Louise.
‘Is Claire…is she Richard’s daughter?’
There was a long pause, then a heavy sigh. ‘Hang on.’ There was the sound of footsteps and a door closing. ‘Claire told you. It’s not something I’m proud of, but just after George was born I had a brief affair and got pregnant. I’ve spent almost two decades trying to make it up to Richard. Why did Claire tell you that? She hardly ever talks about it.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Oliver replied. ‘We were talking and she brought it up.’
‘Is it important to the investigation?’
‘Not at all.’
Louise paused. ‘Then why are you asking?’
It was Oliver’s turn to hesitate.
You’ve asked her if she ran around on her man. Is the next bit worse?
‘A woman at the rehab house suggested that Claire was in the habit of manipulating people. I guess I’m trying to work out how much of what she’s telling me is the truth.’
‘I don’t understand what this has to do with George, or Ashley’s murder.’
‘Perhaps nothing,’ he replied.
‘Well, Claire has always been a little loose with the truth, even as a little girl, but if you’re suggesting she’s involved with the murder…’
‘Not at all,’ Oliver interrupted. ‘I’m trying to work out the facts, Louise. And I don’t want to waste my time chasing something that Claire tells me, only to find out it’s a lie.’
‘She might not always tell the truth, but she loved Ashley and my daughter wants her killer caught as much as the rest of us.’
Oliver listened to Louise’s tone, trying to hear any doubt in her words. There was none.
‘Okay, I’m sorry to have brought it up. I guess it’s another dead end.’
The phone beeped in his ear and he pulled it away to check the screen. An alert said an unread message was waiting. He apologised again to Louise, then hung up.
(It occurs to me that the only one in my family ye haven’t accused of being involved is me.)
You didn’t do it, did you?
(Funny.)
‘Technically I haven’t accused anyone in your family,’ he added while opening the text message. ‘Although I have suspected most of them...’
His voice trailed off as he read the message.
YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO THE WARNING. STOP NOW OR YOU WON’T NEXT TIME.
(Lots of capital letters. They must mean it.)
Heart thumping, Oliver reread it a second, third, then fourth time.
‘Angus, was that a joke?’ he said with forced lightness.
His hands trembled as he showed Jennifer the message.
‘Wow, all in capitals. They must mean it,’ she said.
‘You and Angus must read the same joke books,’ he replied.
‘Interesting timing, though.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The attack was yesterday, why not send a warning straight after?’
‘Hey, how about not sending a warning at all? Is that an option?’ Oliver said.
Jennifer stroked his arm, t
hen picked up his glass and took a drink.
‘That’s the preferred option, of course, but still…’ She took another drink and Oliver fetched another glass out of the cupboard and emptied the bottle into it. His wife swapped his full glass with her glass, which was now half gone. ‘Maybe they thought the attack would kill you and when it didn’t they thought at the very least it would scare you off, and now they’ve figured out that it hasn’t, so they’ve sent you a warning.’
It made sense to Oliver.
‘So the question is, who have you spoken to today?’
He quickly ran through the list in his mind, then told Jennifer. ‘Niki, Alex, Tess, Louise, and Claire.’
‘And in order of possible killers?’
Oliver thought about it carefully. ‘Alex, Tess, Niki, then Louise and Claire equal.’
‘Motives?’ Jennifer asked.
‘Alex, rejected lover. Tess, love rival. They have the strongest desire to see Ashley dead. Niki wanted George for herself, but I can’t see her solution to be killing his girlfriend. Louise and Claire… there is no reason I can think of. But…’ He took another drink while a nagging memory played hide and seek in his mind. It would be a lot easier if his memories played the game as well as his children, who got bored with hiding after a few minutes and called out, Here I am!
‘What are you thinking?’ Jennifer asked.
He shook his head which, thanks to the wine, proved to be a bad idea. In fact, drinking wine at all was a bad idea and against recent medical advice. However, Oliver was convinced he didn’t have a concussion (thanks to some robust self-diagnosis) and was fully fit to resume normal activities, which, thanks to Angus, did not include anything more romantic than a chaste peck on the lips. Seeing that Oliver’s sarcasm was firmly in action had reassured Jennifer that he was fine, although he suspected she wasn’t fully convinced and that was why she was drinking from his glass despite having her own.
‘So you don’t think Matthew Darcy has anything to do with Ashley’s death?’
‘No, I’m pretty sure he’s just interested in knowing who killed his daughter.’
‘You know he’s a professional liar, right?’ Jennifer reminded him.
Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set Page 45
