Writing had soothed my agitation, eased my confusion, and settled me back into being who I was… a writer who was far happier with her fictional characters than with men who scuttled around as they sniffed the air for their next victim.
Too hungry and thirsty to sleep, I went downstairs and raided the fridge. Bread and jam and a glass of water filled the gap, and I retraced my steps. It was almost one before I reached to pull the curtains across the bedroom window, surprised to see it was raining heavily, drops pitter-pattering the glass. But it wasn’t the rain that had me draw a noisy breath. There, across the road a figure stood silhouetted in the street light.
Light caught the shine of eyes focused in my direction. Could they see me suspended between the curtains? Slowly, I released my grip and, with my arms still raised, I moved backwards, one step at a time until I knew I was safe in the darkness of the room.
But then it came to me… I knew that hat and that ridiculously expensive Burberry raincoat. Toby! I rushed forward to stare through the rain to the street below.
There was nobody there.
But there had been… hadn’t there?
15
Misty
I stayed peering out the window until my eyes hurt, then crawled under the duvet and tried to sleep. But despite exhaustion, my brain was too rattled to switch off and there was no comfort behind my closed eyes. With a grunt of frustration, I threw back the duvet, blinked in the early-morning brightness and swung my feet to the floor.
Maybe my sisters were right; maybe writing these twisted tales was taking its toll. Or maybe I needed to take a break. Success was wonderful but the need to keep producing bestsellers was beginning to have the inevitable impact.
A holiday. That’s what I needed.
I spent the next hour looking at options, at places I’d been and had promised to revisit and new, more exotic places. Train journeys, cruises, I looked at them all but nothing tempted me.
When the doorbell rang, my eyes flicked to the time. 9.20am. Too early to be one of my sisters looking to drag me out for coffee.
Whoever it was, they were persistent, the bell ringing again, the sound insistently loud, impossible to ignore. I pushed a hand through my greasy hair and glanced down at the wrinkled kaftan. Whoever it was, they’d have to take me as they found. I pushed the chair back and stood too quickly, feeling instantly dizzy… tiredness, stress, too little to eat and drink, any or all of the above.
My bare feet were sticky on the stairs as I made my way down to the front door. I reached it as it rang for the third time, unhooked the safety chain and yanked it open. The angry words on the tip of my tongue were swallowed when I saw two very official people holding identification forward for my attention.
A hand went to my throat, anger swamped by dread because only a catastrophe would bring the police to my doorstep. My first thought was it had to be about my parents. Happily retired to Portugal three years before, I’d not spoken to them for a few days. My eyes flicked from one to the other of the two officers trying to read the truth in their expressionless faces. ‘My parents?’
The taller of the two officers looked over my shoulder. ‘May we come in?’
Of course, they wouldn’t give me bad news on the doorstep. I stepped back, waiting till they’d passed before I indicated the open door of the living room and followed them in.
‘Tell me.’ I sank onto a sofa, waving them to the other.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Bev Hopper and this–’ A thumb was jerked to the woman who sat beside her. ‘–is Detective Sergeant Linda Collins.’ Hopper sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her clasped hands hanging between them. ‘We’re not here about your parents.’ She held a hand up as if expecting an interruption. ‘Or any of your family, in fact.’
‘Whew! Sorry, it’s automatic to associate the police at your door with bad news.’ I smiled and added, ‘Not that I’m used to a visit for any reason.’
There was no answering smile, the two officers maintaining set expressions. Both were dressed in a similar style: off-the-peg trouser suits, one dark grey, the other navy, and shirts that had possibly been white in the distant past.
DI Hopper stayed in her relaxed almost masculine pose, her clasped hands bouncing slightly. Her short hair was brushed behind her ears in a style that suggested convenience. Apart from well-defined eyebrows, she wore no make-up.
Her colleague, DS Collins, on the other hand, sat in an alert pose that indicated she liked to be ready for whatever visits such as this might throw at her. Her blonde-streaked hair was tied back in a bun so tight it pulled the skin at the side of her face. Unlike her partner, she wore heavy make-up that, mask-like, ended at her jawline; black kohl ringed her eyes and her long curling eyelashes were obviously fake.
I felt the women’s eyes sliding over me and around the room, assessing, maybe judging. My initial anxiety at their arrival faded. ‘I’m sure this silent treatment works wonders on the criminal fraternity but since I’m not a member, it is failing dismally.’ I was trying for coolly amused but guessed I’d not succeeded when the expressions on the faces opposite remained rigidly grim.
Finally, as I was getting to the point where I wanted to reach over and see if I could peel the mask off the young officer’s face, to see maybe if there was a human lurking behind it, Hopper spoke. ‘Tell us about your relationship with Toby Carter.’
The question was so unexpected that I blinked. ‘Toby?’
The expressionless faces opposite were starting to irritate. I stood abruptly, startling both, Hopper rearing back, Collins half-standing. ‘I need coffee,’ I said, flapping a hand at them. ‘You can come with me, if you like, in case you think I’m going to make a run for it.’
My sarcasm didn’t raise as much as an eyebrow. Unresponsive two-dimensional characters. I would have deleted them from my books with a few taps on the keyboard.
I headed to the kitchen, hearing them mutter between themselves before they followed. ‘Coffee?’ I reached for a jar and waved it at them.
Both nodded a yes, and without waiting for an invitation, sat silently at the table.
A few minutes later I put mugs of coffee before them, adding the carton of milk and a sugar bowl. I poured milk into mine and left them to help themselves.
When I’d taken a few mouthfuls, I rested my elbows on the table, the mug clasped in my hands and told the detectives what they wanted to know.
‘I met Toby at a function given by my publisher. We had an instant connection and a relationship developed quickly. After a few weeks he moved in with me.’
I stopped, waiting for a response, but their faces were inscrutable. I didn’t know what they were looking for, couldn’t believe they’d want to know the intimate details of my relationship with Toby so I decided to tell them about Babs’ attack on me.
‘A couple of weeks later, an ex-girlfriend turned up and assaulted me. Viciously. They’d been together for a few years but their relationship had ended months before and he was basically lodging at her place till he found somewhere else.’ I could still remember the savage blows that had rained down on me, the anger, the hatred in the woman’s eyes. ‘Thankfully, she never returned.’
I thought about mentioning having seen her out on the street two nights before and decided against, afraid it might make me sound a little paranoid. ‘Things between Toby and I were great.’ Hadn’t they been, had I been completely deluded? ‘I thought so anyway but a few nights ago he told me he didn’t love me anymore and was leaving.’ I couldn’t hide the catch in my voice as I said the words and saw the first hint of interest on the faces opposite.
‘It was a surprise,’ I explained and took a sip of my coffee. ‘But we’d not been together that long so he didn’t leave much of a hole in my life.’
‘So, you wouldn’t take him back?’
I would. Of course, I would. In a heartbeat. ‘No, I wouldn’t. He was a bit demanding, if you know what I mean.’
‘No,’ DI Hoppe
r said. ‘Explain demanding.’
I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. ‘Look, why are you asking these questions? Is it that woman… Gwen? Did she report him missing, is that it?’
I could see the wheels turn in Hopper’s brain as she considered whether to tell me or not. Maybe she decided she’d get more information if she gave a bit. ‘Toby Carter has been reported missing but it wasn’t by a woman called Gwen, who we’d like to know more about please, it was his wife, Dee.’
16
Misty
I felt my jaw drop in a cartoonlike expression of surprise. ‘Toby’s wife!’
‘They’ve been living apart for almost a year but it seems they’re still close and he rings her almost every day. She was hoping he was, as she put it, “going through a phase”, and would eventually go back to her.’ Hopper raised an eyebrow at my ha but continued without comment. ‘When she hadn’t heard from him for a couple of days, she rang his mobile but there was no answer, and he didn’t reply to the messages she left. Finally, she rang his place of work and was told he’d not been in for a few days, neither had he rung in sick which, according to his employer, was out of character.’
‘But… almost a year?’ I frowned, trying to fit this new piece of information into what I knew. ‘His ex-girlfriend, Babs, said they’d been together for years. Four, if I remember correctly.’
‘No.’ Hopper frowned and reached into her jacket pocket for a small, red notebook. She flicked it open, eyes narrowing as she read. ‘Mrs Carter said her husband moved in with Barbara Sanderson a little over nine months ago.’
I rubbed a hand over my mouth. ‘I must have misunderstood.’
‘You say Mr Carter left here a few nights ago. Can you be more specific?’
‘Yes, it was Saturday night.’
Hopper looked up from her notebook. ‘At what time?’
‘Late.’ I shrugged. ‘I was writing, when I’m engrossed in my work, I don’t keep track of the time.’
‘Try.’ One word, blunt, demanding an answer.
My mind drifted back to that night. ‘When he came to tell me he was leaving, my lamp was on so it must have been dark, if that helps.’
Hopper scribbled a line in her notebook. ‘Sometime after nine, then. You didn’t see him during the day? For lunch or dinner maybe?’
‘No.’ I saw lines of disbelief crease both their foreheads and sighed. ‘I’m a writer, I can lose hours if the writing is going well. I use headphones to shut out distractions. Once I have them on, I don’t hear anything unless it’s very loud or persistent. I saw Toby early that morning and he mentioned going to the gym but I’ve no idea if he went, or what time he got home if he did go. He may have been home hours or might have come in only moments before, I wouldn’t have known.’
Collins looked around the kitchen. ‘What about food? You must eat.’
‘Toby knew the pressure I was under recently with my deadline. I’d snack while I worked and he’d get himself something to eat or pick up a takeaway. It was only for a few days, he understood and he knew not to disturb me unless it was urgent.’
‘Like when he came to tell you he was dumping you.’ Collins’ lips curved in the first emotion I had seen her express. Amusement or derision, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was funny. Maybe in a few days, weeks, months, I’d find it all bloody hilarious.
‘And then he left?’ Hopper asked.
I put my mug down and ran a hand over my head, inwardly grimacing at the greasy stickiness. Did these two hard-faced women think that I was falling apart because I’d been tossed aside? I clasped my hands together and lifted my chin. ‘Then he left. I watched from my office window as he walked down the street, a holdall hanging from each hand.’
‘I thought you said it was dark outside.’ No smile on Collins’ pinched face now.
‘This is London. It’s never really dark. You should know that.’
‘He walked?’ Hopper tapped her notebook against her hand. ‘Where was he going?’
‘He didn’t say, I didn’t ask.’ I reached for my mug, took a mouthful of the tepid coffee and swallowed. ‘He messaged me with his new address so I could forward any post.’ I smiled in sad acknowledgement of what an idiot I’d been. ‘When I heard the address, I knew he had to have moved in with a woman. He couldn’t have afforded to rent there even if he were someone who spent his own money rather than…’ I was rattling on too much and stopped abruptly.
But Hopper’s eyes narrowed. ‘Rather than?’
They may as well know the truth about him. If they were going to speak to the women in Toby’s life, they’d soon understand. ‘Rather than using mine or someone else’s. Toby was charming, charismatic, incredibly sexy but he was a taker.’
‘You gave him money?’
I shook my head. ‘Not cash as such. It wasn’t that clear cut. I paid for things.’
‘Such as?’
It sounded petty to quantify, as if that was all our relationship had come down to. ‘Things… meals when we went out, theatre tickets, weekends away, clothes when we went shopping, a new phone, new luggage…’ My voice faltered. It had been the first time I’d enumerated it all. It made me sound so pathetic to have been milked for so much. What a sad, gullible creature I had been.
‘I assume we’re talking about expensive meals, five-star hotels when you went away etc.’ For the first time Hopper’s expression was sympathetic.
‘Yes. Toby liked the high life especially if someone else was paying for it.’
‘Okay. I think I’ve got the picture.’ Sympathy faded, replaced by Hopper’s previous set expression. ‘Tell me about this woman, Gwen.’
I held my hands up. ‘All I know is what she told me yesterday morning. She met Toby in an art gallery she works in.’ I tilted my head. ‘Actually, she didn’t say she worked in it, she referred to it as her gallery so maybe she owns it. She certainly gave the impression of wealth.’ I couldn’t prevent my lips twisting in a sneer. ‘The kind of wealth that would have lured Toby, no doubt.’
‘Lured him away from you,’ Collins said pointedly.
Hopper shot her a quelling glance before asking, ‘How did Gwen know where you lived?’
‘I didn’t ask her. I assume the same way as Babs knew where I lived. Toby told her.’
‘And she definitely said she’d been expecting him the night he left you?’
‘Yes.’
‘She must have been desperate to risk coming to the home of his ex.’
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you the best bit.’ I squeezed out a laugh. ‘He told her I was his sister. His needy, fragile sister. She was a bit taken aback when I told her the truth.’
‘Angry?’
‘I don’t know.’ I tapped my fingers on the side of my empty mug. ‘Stunned, shocked, disbelieving… maybe there was a glimmer of anger at being lied to.’
‘You think Toby lied about where he was going?’
A shrug. ‘Must have done. He left here, he didn’t turn up there.’
‘Yet he gave you the Knightsbridge address.’ Hopper’s eyes narrowed. ‘He seemed to be very careful to keep everyone informed of his whereabouts, so why lie?’
I threw myself back in the chair. ‘I don’t know! Toby does what he wants. He could have been on his way to Gwen’s and met someone better… someone richer. He could be shacked up with them now. I’ll probably get a message one of these days, no apologies, no excuses, to say he’s at a different address.’
Hopper sat back and folded her arms across her chest, her mouth twisting as if my words had left a bad taste. ‘According to his wife, Toby was unfaithful but reliable. According to his employer, he was conscientious. It’s hard to reconcile that with the man you’re describing.’
There didn’t seem to be any point in commenting.
Collins decided to make her presence felt again. ‘The last you saw of Toby Carter was when he was walking down the street with a bag in each hand, is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, that isn�
�t what I said at all.’ I smiled sweetly at her.
The detectives exchanged glances.
‘I said I watched him walk down the street with his bags after he left here that night. I didn’t say it was the last I’d seen of him though.’
Hopper grunted in obvious frustration. ‘Are you deliberately messing us around, Ms Eastwood? If you know where Toby Carter is, tell us now, please.’
I was beginning to enjoy myself. I could use this. Not in the book I was currently writing, but maybe the next. The two detectives, too, would make good characters to use although I’d need to flesh them out a bit. I’d write it up later when it was fresh in my brain.
‘Ms Eastwood!’
Dragging my thoughts from the pages of my next novel, I looked across to the obviously exasperated face of DI Hopper. ‘Sorry, daydreaming, an occupational hazard I’m afraid. Toby. Yes, I saw him last night, or should I say early this morning.’
‘You saw him?’
‘Yes. My writing was going well so I was late going to bed. I was pulling my bedroom curtains when I saw him.’ I waved in the direction of the front of the house. ‘Standing outside, staring up at me. To be honest, it was a bit spooky. It was dark, I was tired and my mind was whirling. You may already know, but I write psychological thrillers and sometimes writing about twisted people can be a bit challenging.’ I looked at them, their set assessing faces. ‘The kind of people you two meet on occasion I suppose.’
‘Just tell us what happened.’ Hopper’s voice was tight with irritation.
I put the mug I’d been clutching down on the table. ‘Happened? Nothing happened. When I looked again, he was gone.’
‘He didn’t knock on your door?’
‘No. But he saw me looking. He probably thought I’d go down and let him in but I wasn’t going to do anything so daft.’
‘Why didn’t he ring you instead of turning up in the middle of the night?’
‘No idea. Maybe he knew I wouldn’t have answered.’ I was tired, a yawn fighting to be released. I wondered, after all, whether I should mention that Babs had been outside the house the night before.
The Lies He Told: a gripping psychological suspense thriller Page 7
