“The police would have found a sailing boat.”
“What about kayaks?”
“The people who hire them out would have reported them missing.”
“I think I should tell the police about the capsules. They’re going to find out from the toxicology report anyway, aren’t they? Do antihistamines show up in toxicology?”
“I have no idea. Exactly, how many did you give him?”
“Four or five. I don’t know if he even finished the drink. Maybe he just had a sip.”
“Do your antihistamines even cause drowsiness?”
“I don’t know. They don’t make me tired, but then I only ever take one.”
“I think you should leave it. For all we know, he never even consumed them. Don’t incriminate yourself.”
Demi knew that Ross was right. There was no point owning up to spiking Nat’s drink, if it might turn out he’d only had that one sip. Besides, depending on how much they found in his system, mightn’t they conclude that he took the antihistamines himself? It was August; loads of people had hay fever.
“Jesus, Demi, what were you thinking of?”
“I was looking out for Willow.”
“Yes, and now a man is dead.” When Ross looked angry, he really looked angry, with his bushy eyebrows dipping towards his sturdy nose. “I really hope those capsules had nothing to do with it.”
Demi felt wounded to the core. She’d never seen Ross disappointed in her before.
Morning of Wednesday 26 th August – inside a house at Finsbury Park, London
Katrina hurried through her front door and into the living room, where Willow was watching an old episode of The X-Files. “Nat’s dead.”
“What?”
“Dead. A girl I used to work with told me. It’s gone all around the office because he owns the fucking company now. Did own. He’s dead. Fuck.”
Willow felt numb.
“He’s actually, fucking dead,” continued Katrina.
Willow could barely process what Katrina was saying.
“Unbelievable.”
Then one emotion slipped though the blockade. Then another. And another. The dam gave way and Willow felt flooded with emotions – too many to count, too muddled to identify. Eventually, she managed to mouth, “What happened?”
“We don’t know yet, but apparently he died on Sunday.”
“Sunday?”
“Apparently so.”
“Do they know how he died?”
“He was found in the sea. That’s all I know.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep.”
So he wasn’t going to come after her. He wasn’t going to hurt her – he couldn’t. She felt relief wash over her, but at the same time, agony. The man she loved was dead. She would never see him again – never get that buzz when he bought her a present or ran after her in the street, never see those intense, chocolate eyes …
Death had severed the bungee cord. She couldn’t spring back to him now. She couldn’t be talked around.
“You look dreadful. Can I get you anything?”
“I’d like a drink.” Willow’s mouth was like a desert. “If that’s okay?”
“Sure.”
Willow thought of Demi, and how she could see her again, go back to Falmouth without the fear of bumping into Nat, without the fear of being talked around. She thought about how she could race without being interrupted, chat with Ross without being distrusted, and wear whatever the hell she liked, whenever the hell she wanted to wear it.
When Katrina returned with a jug of water, Willow muttered, “This means I can go home.”
Katrina smiled. “You can go home.” She put an arm around Willow and squeezed her. “You’re free.”
Willow felt ecstatic for five or six seconds. Then suddenly, she burst into tears. Nat was gone – gone forever. She collapsed onto the sofa, overwhelmed by grief. Such a beautiful man, dead. No chance for him to change. No chance to redeem himself. Gone.
Katrina sat down beside her and stroked her hair.
Willow remembered the way he’d looked at her when he’d first told her about the beautiful, mystery woman in his family heirloom, the way he’d appeared at her exhibition, the way they’d made love in her bed, the first time he’d tasted her … He had brought her to life in a way nobody else ever had – taken her to the darkest places too, but those had only made the highlights even more delicious. Now he was dead, and she would never feel like that again.
Then the day he ripped through her anal sphincter flashed into her head. She remembered walking along the seafront feeling filthy, believing that everybody knew …
Such a jumble of memories and emotions – would she ever be able to make sense of it all, ever be able to move on?
“I’ll take you back,” offered Katrina. “You’re in no state to travel by train.”
“It’s a long drive.”
“Don’t worry about things like that. This is giving me closure too. I need this. Let me take you home.”
Evening of Wednesday 26 th August – inside a house on Mayfield Road
As soon as Demi heard the back door, she knew that Willow was home. Nobody else came in through the garden – Willow’s habit from when she lived here with her mum. The kettle in Demi’s hands fell into the sink and she turned to face the back porch.
Demi stared for a moment, checking it was really Willow. They’d spoken on the phone, but Demi needed to see her little sister with her own eyes. Sure enough, there she was, staring back at her with those big, chestnut eyes, just like her own. She threw her arms around Willow, kissing her cheek, her forehead, then another random patch of head.
Eventually, she spotted the girl she presumed was Katrina. She studied her for a few moments. The resemblance to Willow was creepy. Her features weren’t quite as soft, but her colouring and face shape were identical.
The doorbell rang, but before either of the sisters could even leave the kitchen, they saw a police officer walk past the kitchen window and around to the back porch. Why did they need to come to both doors at once?
Demi recognised D.C.I. Ryan, but he didn’t pause to introduce himself to the others, he turned straight to Willow.
“Willow Cassidy?”
“Yes. Why?”
“A lot of people have been very worried about you.”
Willow looked at the floor. Her lip quivered.
“Give her a break!” said Katrina. “She was terrified.”
“And you are?”
“Katrina Bell-Tompkins. I was another of Nat’s victims.”
“Am I being arrested?” asked Willow.
“No, not today,” replied the detective.
What’s that supposed to mean?
“But we need to question you.” He looked at Katrina. “You too, Miss Bell-Tompkins.”
Willow shot Demi a terrified look. Demi put her arm around her sister.
Katrina sounded exhausted. “Can I at least get a cup of tea first?”
“We have tea and coffee at the station.”
“The station?”
“We’d prefer to interview you down at the station, if that’s all right with you?”
“What, now?” asked Willow.
“She’s just got here!” protested Demi.
“I understand you’re wanting to spend time with your sister. But the sooner we have the girls’ statements, the better.”
Demi scowled. She’d waited so long for Willow to come home and now she was being plucked away from her again. Still, compared with the days when she hadn’t known whether Willow was alive or dead, the next hour would be a breeze.
Evening of Wednesday 26 th August – inside an interview room at Falmouth Police Station
Willow was exhausted. Her head hurt, her eyes stung and no matter how hard she tried, she could not rehydrate her mouth. She’d been answering questions for what felt like hours and still D.C.I. Ryan didn’t appear to be easing off. He was a gruff man with salt and pepper hair and ey
ebrows that looked like wolf fur, and she found him intimidating.
She felt accused and wondered if she should have accepted the offer of a solicitor after all.
“But why would you run away to London?”
“I was frightened.”
“Was he ever violent towards you?”
“No.”
“Yet you were scared of what he might do if he found you?”
Willow nodded.
“The thing is, Willow, you say you were scared of Mr Gordon, yet you can give me no clear explanation as to why.”
Willow felt there were no words to explain, certainly none she felt D.C.I. Ryan would understand. She wondered if he practiced anal sex with his wife and whether she enjoyed it.
“Did Mr Gordon have a mobile phone?”
“Yes. He had one of those phablet things.”
“A phablet?”
“Like a cross between a phone and a tablet.”
“Did he usually carry it with him?”
“Most of the time, yes.”
“You see, when we found his body, we found his car keys and his wallet, but no phone. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
The interview was interrupted by a woman with a heart-shaped face, large, blue eyes and golden hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked more like a primary school teacher than a police officer. She said something to the D.C.I. and they came back to the desk together. The woman announced this for the tape and then turned to Willow.
“Willow – may I call you Willow?” She had a soft, reassuring voice.
Willow nodded.
“Willow, I’m D.I. Yellen. I’ve just been talking to your friend Katrina.”
Willow tensed. How much did Yellen know? Her sphincter tightened and she felt glad she hadn’t told Katrina the most humiliating details.
“Willow, it sounds as though that man was horrendous.”
Willow said nothing.
“Sounds like you’re well shot of him.”
Willow looked up and saw kindness, but couldn’t bring herself to respond.
“I’m guessing that you feel exhausted.”
Willow nodded.
“Whenever I see a girl like you, who’s exhausted and frightened, I offer to refer her to a counsellor. Is this something you think you might find helpful?”
Willow’s brow tightened. Would she have to relive it all?
“All right. We’ll put that aside for the time being. Willow, can you tell me a bit about the morning you ran away, please?”
Willow shrugged and looked at the D.C.I., having already described these events.
“I get it. You can’t face going over it again. But do you understand why we need to?”
Willow shrugged. “It won’t bring him back.”
“You’re right, it won’t. But we do need to understand what happened. That’s my duty as a police officer.”
Willow sighed wearily.
“And for you, Willow. You must want to know what happened.”
Willow shrugged. Then slowly nodded.
“You must have been terrified, to run away like that.”
Willow nodded ever so slightly.
“How do you think he ended up in the sea?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”
“Okay,” replied Yellen. She smiled and Willow felt that perhaps she had a friend here.
“Tell me a bit more about your walk along to Stack Point.”
Willow realised that the police must have found her phone.
“What were you doing there?”
“I wanted to clear my head.”
“And what were you doing when you scrambled up the bank away from the path and towards the fields?”
Willow froze. How did they know she scrambled up a bank? Did they have a witness?
“You see Willow, we know that Nat went into the sea from the cliff path, and what’s more, we know exactly where – less than fifty yards from where an eye witness saw you climbing frantically in the other direction.”
Willow felt sick. That man had terrorised her, driven her to overdose, caused her to run away and now she was being investigated.
“We found a patch of broken branches containing fibres of the turquoise jumper we found him in.”
Willow remembered the jumper only too well. “Perhaps he slipped.”
“Is that what happened? He slipped and you ran away because you thought you’d be blamed?”
“If he slipped, I didn’t see it. Our paths never crossed.”
“Then what were you running away from?”
Willow sighed. “I ran away because I was afraid of him.”
“But why run up a bank, not stick to the path? Presumably you followed the path to get to Stack Point?”
“More or less.”
“So why did you suddenly start trampling through undergrowth?”
“Because I realised he’d been tracking me and I wanted to get off the beaten track as quickly as I could.”
“He was tracking you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My phone.”
“At what point did you realise he was tracking you?”
“The timings are a bit hazy now. I guess it was probably about three quarters of an hour after I left his flat. I was sitting on the rocks near the end of the headland – you know, where you sometimes see fishermen. That’s when I saw his car.”
“I didn’t realise you could see the road from the cliffs,” said the D.I., sounding happy to assimilate new information.
“You can see most of Swanpool from the north side of the point, near the end. A ridiculous yellow Ferrari stands out.”
“So you saw his car from Stack Point and that made you believe he was tracking you?”
“Not at first. I assumed he was just driving around the seafront looking for me. But then I thought about it for a bit. I knew he’d tampered with my phone before – he blocked my sister’s number. Eventually it occurred to me that he was tracking my phone.”
“And did you find a way to confirm that?”
“I looked on my phone and there was an app I’d never noticed before, something for finding lost phones. And location pinpointing had been turned on. I never have location pinpointing on.”
“Never?”
“I don’t like my phone broadcasting my location for any reason. I find it intrusive.”
“Okay. So you were still at Stack Point when you realised he was tracking you?”
“Yes. That’s why I left my phone there – so he wouldn’t know I’d moved.”
“A bit of a dead end there?”
“Exactly. So I ran up the path until I got to the main track. Then I crossed it and climbed up through the undergrowth until I got to a field, out of sight.”
“The path up from Stack Point is quite steep, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“You’re a cross country runner, aren’t you?”
“I used to be,” recalled Willow, remembering how much of her life she’d let fall by the wayside.
“So you’d say you’re fairly sure-footed?”
“Yes.”
“Would you say Nat was fairly sure-footed?”
“I … I don’t know.”
“Willow, had Nat been suffering from any illnesses?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Any minor ailments you can think of?”
“Not that I know of.”
“No colds, dizziness, hay fever?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, let’s move on. Can you think of anybody else who might have wanted to hurt Nat?”
“No.” My sister. “No.”
“There was nobody else who didn’t like him?”
Willow thought of the cleaner and the lady with Dame Edna glasses. He’s Nat Gordon. Everybody loves Nat Gordon. “Most people seemed to find him charming. He was charming.”
“Did you ever witness a row between your sister and Nat?”
Evening of Wednesday 26 th August – inside a house on Mayfield Road
Willow sat in her living room, speaking through tears. “I had means, motive and opportunity. They even have an eye witness that I was there. I’m going to go down for his death.”
“An eye witness who saw you nearby is just circumstantial,” Ross pointed out.
“He’s right,” said Demi, passing Willow a box of tissues.
“I’m sorry,” offered Katrina. “I wouldn’t have stressed how bad he was if I’d known they might use it to build a case against you.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“You could claim diminished responsibility …”
“Willow didn’t do this!” snapped Demi.
“Sorry.”
Demi turned to Willow. “The man’s dead and he’s still causing you grief. This was supposed to be our evening – our reunion.”
Willow suddenly turned back to Katrina, “Did I leave anything in your car? I can’t find my jacket.”
“Not that I noticed. Do you want to go and check?”
“Yes, can I?”
Katrina got up and the two disappeared out into the hallway.
Demi turned to Ross. “I’m going to tell the police about the antihistamines.”
Ross put an arm around her. “You didn’t do this.”
“I could have made him drowsy. That might be why he fell off the cliff.”
“It probably wasn’t.”
“But it might have been. And now they’re going to arrest Willow for something I might have done.”
“They’re not going to arrest Willow. Like I said, the only piece of evidence they have is circumstantial.”
Demi tensed. She felt terrible for what she was about to say and had to force the words out. “Do you think she could have done it?”
Ross frowned and said nothing. Then he shrugged. “It’s possible.”
Demi look a deep breath. “You know I hate violence. I actively campaign against the death penalty. Yet I could still sympathise with anybody wanting to push that bastard off a cliff.”
The doorbell rang again.
“Oh, for God’s sake. It’s nine-thirty at night,” barked Demi, getting up. She stomped to the door and noticed that again it was police-coloured blobs. She took a deep breath and opened the door to D.C.I. Ryan and whatever his partner was called.
Two Shades of the Lilac Sunset Page 16
