by Nic Roberts
“Okay, then,” Lawrence sighed, settling back into the couch. “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”
“Of course,” Lydia replied, again somehow far off although she sat right before them. “Have you found anything?” A glimmer of hope resided in her voice, searching for something.
Olivia wasn’t sure if she even fully knew what it was that she was hoping for.
“We have made some progress on the case, but we have yet to apprehend Mr. Fisher’s killer,” Lawrence conceded, choosing his words carefully.
Olivia gave him the subtlest of nods, impressed with his finesse.
“I understand,” Lydia replied, biting her nails. “I hope you don’t mind, but what brought you here? What can I help you with?”
There was a pause and the sound of rummaging in the cutlery drawer coming from the kitchen.
“Lydia,” Olivia started, leaning in closer to the woman. “We’re exploring the possibility that your husband was killed to get to you in some way. Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to hurt you? An ex-colleague who was mad, a debtor come to collect their debts, anyone who thinks you owe them something?”
Lydia’s eyes widened as Olivia laid out her line of questioning. Her gaze darted frantically between the detectives.
“Well—what do you mean? I—” Every sentence she attempted to start died before she could finish it.
“Is there anyone you can think of that would want to hurt you, Lydia?” Olivia asked again, pressing on.
“Anyone who would want to hurt Lydia?” Margaret returned to the room as though on cue. “That’s preposterous, isn’t it?”
Lydia nodded slowly, looking to her sister as if she were a lifeline before she cleared her throat.
“Yes, there’s not anyone who I can think of that would…who would be that angry with me,” she clarified, clearly more comfortable now that Margaret had returned to the room.
“No bitter exes or disgruntled neighbours? You’re sure?” Lawrence’s voice was soft, warm. He really did wonders with the women they interviewed Olivia noticed.
“I lead an uneventful life, I suppose,” Lydia replied, stirring out of her stupor with each passing word. “I certainly have never had someone seriously threaten me before.”
Lawrence nodded, and Olivia wrote it down as best she could while still appearing to listen.
“Has there been anything strange since your husband passed?” Dean continued once he was sure Oliva had everything written down. “Dead calls or cars driving by at an unusually slow pace?”
Lydia shook her head.
“Honestly, it’s been very quiet here, detectives.” She almost sounded a little irritated. At what, was anyone’s guess, but she glanced up at her sister.
“I’ve certainly appreciated the calm,” Margaret chimed in.
With her sister present, watching over her answers, Olivia figured it would be harder than anticipated to get the woman to let her guard down and open up.
“Have you thought of anything else since we last spoke?” she prodded. The kettle whistled from the kitchen, summoning Margaret from her perch. “Memories have a funny way of coming back to us sometimes.”
Lydia made firm eye contact with Olivia.
“Not anything clear, no,” she answered. “Although, the more I think about it—and everything haunts me—the more I’m positive his victim was a girl, not a boy.”
Liv found herself remembering her own thoughts about Giselle from the first time she met the woman. Which one are you?
“That’s definitely helpful, Lydia,” Lawrence encouraged, though Olivia knew it was more to help Lydia feel comfortable speaking than anything else. “Any other information?”
The woman put her hand flat against her forehead.
“I just want to put this all behind me.” Her words took on an eery quality as she spoke, as though she were under a spell. “It’s exhausting, having a murdered husband. Everyone is trying to comfort me, and all I want is to never think of him again.”
A chill shot down Olivia’s spine as Lydia spoke. She couldn’t exactly blame her; she’d probably feel the same way if her dead husband had been an unrepentant paedophile. Still, the confession felt divorced of emotion, and that in and of itself was more startling than Lydia’s words.
“We’re hoping to conclude the case soon,” Lawrence admitted as Margaret quietly returned to the lounge, a tray filled with a teapot and teacups balanced between her two hands.
“I hope Darjeeling is all right,” she interjected, her grey eyes flashing up as she set the tea tray on the coffee table. “It’s Lydia’s favourite.”
“Darjeeling sounds lovely,” Olivia agreed, giving Margaret a gentle smile. The sister had been incredibly hospitable, almost at one with her abode.
Margaret’s sincerity and ability to blend in had almost made Olivia become too settled where she was. If it hadn’t been for the light, she may not have even noticed the dark purple bruise on Margaret’s wrist, just below the cuff of her sleeve.
What does a gentle woman like Margaret do in order to get such a brutal bruise?
21
Olivia did her best to hide the fact that she’d noticed Margaret’s bruise, desperately looking for something in her line of vision to comment on instead of the purple welt.
Her eyes landed on a portrait of Margaret smiling, arm wrapped around a vaguely familiar actress who beamed at the camera just as much.
“Margaret, is that who I think it is?” Olivia asked, doing her best to infuse her voice with a child-like excitement. The woman spun her head to look at the portrait Olivia had gestured to, letting out a small laugh.
“Oh, probably,” she replied with a cryptic smile.
“Margaret’s a stunt double,” Lydia chimed in, giving her sister an adoring smile. “She’s worked with loads of celebrities over the years.”
Olivia almost choked on her tea. A stunt double was the last occupation she would have assumed for the slight woman stood in front of her.
Her throat suddenly felt much too dry. I guess that would explain the bruises and possibly the strength needed to throw a man over a balcony.
“That’s lovely,” she forced, hoping her smile wasn’t too wide. “It must be exciting to work on movie sets.”
“It’s a good way to pass the time,” Margaret shrugged in agreement.
Silence lurked around the corner, threatening to expose Olivia’s increased nervousness.
“Forgive me, I’ve had too much to drink already today. Would you mind if I use the loo?” she asked, clearing her throat.
Margaret looked a bit surprised, but her face quickly melted into the perfect ‘hostess with the mostest’ once again.
“Why, of course. It’s just down the hall on your left,” she offered, gesturing in the direction of the bathroom. “The lock sticks a little, but you won’t get trapped in, don’t worry.”
Olivia quickly excused herself, doing her best to ignore the pounding of her pulse in her ears. She wanted to give Lawrence a glance but didn’t trust herself to do so without giving away her suspicion that Margaret had moved up her suspects list.
The woman being a stunt double meant that she had to have some kind of strength. But enough to overpower a man like Simon and beat him to death?
It could just be coincidence, she reminded herself. No need to be hasty.
Still, Margaret’s words echoed in her head. Do you have a sister, detective?
Olivia made a point of shutting the door to the bathroom, the loud thud of it pulling closed hopefully loud enough to signal that she was in fact using the toilet.
Instead, she started prodding around the room. She knew it wouldn’t be admissible in a case, but she needed to know for herself before she began making accusations.
A quick search confirmed that Lydia’s prescription sleeping pills were behind the mirror, along with various toiletries. Lydia couldn’t drive. Probably wouldn’t have woken up if Margaret had done anything. D
read started to build in Olivia’s stomach with a certainty that made her know it was time to trust her instincts.
She poked around the bathroom for a few more moments but couldn’t find anything else of note, try as she might. Anxiety clawed at her throat; she never much liked being in the house of a killer.
Flushing the toilet in attempt to mask her quick rummage, Olivia let the water run in the sink long enough to give herself a good long look in the mirror. Her auburn hair framed her face nicely, although her eyes clearly had a desperation to them that she hadn’t had five minutes ago. Calm down, she urged herself. Acting nervous isn’t going to help anyone. With a determination she wasn’t sure came from confidence or masking her nerves, Olivia turned the tap off.
Loudly opening the door, she took precious seconds to scan the hallway. Photos of Margaret with various celebrities and on various set locations hung on the wall. None of which were incriminating.
Despite her rather physical job, everything else about her seemed tame. She liked drinking tea from fancy tea sets and, although seemingly single, she was happy, polite, welcoming, and friendly.
If she walked into the office with that list of traits, Collins would think she was a joke. A sweet woman with an interesting job? How did that suddenly make her a killer?
Fuck.
Olivia was now presented with a difficult decision: face Margaret head on or find more information first. Her pulse quickened once again as she weighed her options.
“…updates on the investigation,” Lawrence’s voice drifted into her awareness as she walked down the hall. She stood in the doorway of the lounge, unable to bring herself fully into the room. Both sisters looked up at her, as well as her partner.
“Is everything okay, detective?” Lydia asked, concern clearly written on her face. Lawrence looked even more befuddled.
Olivia took deep a breath and her eyes met with Margaret’s, but before she could say another word, the sound of a phone ringing cut through the mounting tension.
Hers.
Bad timing, but the number was from DC Harris.
“Hi, it’s Liv,” she answered, turning away from the room. “Can I...”
Tim didn’t give her a chance to finish her sentence.
“Francesca’s walked in with some information,” he blurted out. “I think it’s important.”
“Francesca?” Olivia echoed. Shit. Super bad timing. She almost had her claws into Margaret, though perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. If she barged into an altercation with the widow’s sister on false accusations, it would be her own neck on the line. “Tell her I’m on my way,” she hissed into the phone. “Make her comfortable, and don’t let her leave until I get there.”
She heard mumbling from the lounge; they’d clearly heard she was making an exit.
“Roger that!” Tim confirmed. “See you in a bit.”
Olivia hung up and made her way back to where Lawrence was standing. He raised his eyebrows at her entrance, hoping for an update.
“We’re needed back at the station,” she breathed. Her eyes locked with Margaret’s again, and the woman gave her an unreadable, confused expression.
“Nothing we’ve said, surely?” she asked wiping her palms on her dress. Anxious?
Olivia shook her head.
“No, not at all,” she answered. “Just some new information has come up...” She looked over to Lawrence, her eyes telling him to step forward.
He excused himself from the midst of the women with a brief nod.
“Thank you, ladies,” Liv offered once her partner was over the lounge threshold. He eased past her. “We’ll be in touch, and we’ll see ourselves out.”
Both Lydia and Margaret looked confused as the detectives left, and Olivia trailed her partner outside and into the open. It was if emerging from underwater after being there so long that she barely remembered how the outside world operated. Life exploded around her: moving cars and vibrant trees.
The spell of Margaret Anderson’s household was broken.
22
“This had better be good,” Lawrence mumbled as they parked at Newquay Police station. All she’d managed to tell him on the journey over, before she’d been caught up in a phone conversation with Clara, was that Margaret had suspicious bruising on her arm and somehow, her instinct told her the woman was involved in some way, shape or form.
“I agree,” Olivia replied. “Perhaps we should tell Collins about what we think before we see Francesca?”
Lawrence laughed.
“What you think,” he reiterated. “Besides, I’m not convinced, and there’s just not enough evidence. You’ve seen how tiny the woman is. Stunt woman or not, can you honestly picture her overpowering our not-so-small Mr. Fisher, enough to batter the bugger to near death and throw him off the balcony? We need something concrete. Evidence that she’s been lying or something. You know what CPS are like!”
Olivia nodded, slightly disappointed that her theory was being crumbled apart so easily, but she agreed with him. There would have been some kind of struggle, and a bruise on the wrist would have been the least of her worries.
They entered the station through the side door and were greeted by an awkwardly pacing DC Harris.
“Through here,” he ushered them, relieved that he didn’t have wait any longer. “We’ve got an appropriate adult with her. Not a parent or teacher. She wanted it that way.” He added that part with a pointed look and lead them into one of their ‘informal chat’ rooms.
Francesca was sitting on a barely comfortable sofa alongside a woman with wild frizzy hair and a sympathetic expression on her face.
She stood when Olivia and Lawrence entered.
“Detectives,” she greeted them.
Liv hadn’t met her before, but Lawrence had.
“Cilla,” he nodded. “This is my new partner, DI Austin.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Cilla smiled, turning to Liv. “Sorry it’s under such unfortunate circumstances.”
She gestured to the seats opposite and the detectives lowered themselves onto it.
Francesca was sitting with her hands in her lap, clasping them together.
They watched her intently, allowing her the time to absorb the fact that it was a safe environment for her to air her worries in.
It was a moment before she spoke.
“I’ve found it hard,” she croaked eventually. She gave a glance up to her AA who nodded encouragingly. Urging her to continue. “I miss him. I just... I’m...”
Olivia nodded gently. In time you’ll come to despise the man, she thought to herself, but all the girl in front of her needed was to be reassured and soothed into speaking.
“You can do it,” she offered with a light smile. “What made you come into the station today?”
Francesca looked up at one of the cameras and pulled at the sleeves on her jumper.
“Simon tried to leave me,” she said quickly, almost wincing as though the acid words burnt her tongue on exit. “He said we’d been caught and he had to leave me for a while...”
Olivia glanced at Lawrence briefly.
“Caught by who?” she urged. “His wife, Mrs. Fisher?”
Francesca shook her head.
“It was before she knew,” the teen answered. “Before he had to admit everything. We were being watched by... by...” She stopped and swallowed then pushed her hair back from her face.
“Are you scared to tell us?” Lawrence asked gently. “No one can hurt you. We’ll make sure of that.”
Cilla nodded in agreement.
“Tell them,” she whispered. “Tell them what you told me.”
Francesca sighed. The angry fifteen-year-old girl from before had mostly gone now. Her eyes were red rimmed, and she sniffed and shrugged.
“We were being watched by his wife’s sister,” she said in a small voice. “She’d been following us, and she’d send him messages.”—
Olivia crossed her legs to stop herself from jumping up and Lawren
ce leant forward.
“You mean, she knew?” Her partner asked. “We were under the assumption that she didn’t and still doesn’t know about your relationship. And you’re sure it was her?”
Francesca nodded.
“A hundred percent,” she confirmed. “We saw her car and watched her drive off. Her face and everything. Then he got the prank calls. No speaking, just calls. Simon said he couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle the risk of her saying something about who I was. He’d lose his job.”
Olivia bit her bottom lip. This would aide her case tremendously when she presented evidence to Collins and the CPS about Margaret.
The woman had lied. She knew exactly why Lydia and Simon had split up. She knew and she’d seen it first-hand.
“Why didn’t she tell Lydia?” Lawrence asked. “She didn’t mention it to Mrs Fisher.”
The teen reached forward and took a sip from her cup of water on the table that separated them.
“Not at the beginning,” she answered. “But Simon went to speak to Mrs Fisher’s sister. They met up, and that’s when the death threats started, and he told me we had to stop. Things were getting bad. He told his wife everything. He confessed it all to her, so she heard it from him, and then I guess the next day he was killed.”
Hold on.
Alarm bells rang in Olivia’s head.
She was almost certain that she remembered Lydia telling them she forced the information out of a drunken Simon and that eit had happened weeks before he’d been murdered.
Had the sisters been spinning a lie this whole time? Perhaps they were both in on the act. Maybe they worked in tandem to...
The knock at the door stopped her in her thoughts.
Bad timing yet again.
Francesca closed her mouth quickly, and Olivia almost saw all of her walls build up instantly.
DC Harris poked his head into the room without waiting to be called.
“Everything okay...?” Lawrence started, the hint of irritation laced his words. He too felt on the cusp of something.
Tim cleared his throat.
