Maybe I had to pay extra for polite conversation. For a while, I sat and thought about Toby. I’d killed him. An accident, my wild anger-driven throw hitting a mark I’d not aimed for.
Now and then, bored and uncomfortable with sitting on the hard chair, I stood and paced the small room.
The only distraction came when the door opened and a young constable asked if she could bring us drinks.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked, not really expecting an answer.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. I can try to find out for you but first, would you like something to drink?’
I asked for tea and the solicitor took her attention briefly from her laptop to request the same. The constable returned minutes later and set disposable cups on the table before looking at me. ‘The detectives in charge of your case said they’ll be with you shortly.’ Colour flared in her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry that was all I could find out.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said, grateful she’d bothered. ‘Thank you for trying and for the tea.’
It was another hour before the door opened again and the two detectives walked in.
‘Our apologies for the long delay, Ms Eastwood,’ DI Hopper said, taking the same seat she’d sat in earlier. ‘We were waiting for information from a medical consultant regarding Mr Carter’s head injury.’
I felt a band of tension tighten around my chest. The next minute might affect the rest of my life. I wanted to hear what the detective was going to say but I didn’t want to hear… the repercussions could be devastating.
Hopper rested her forearms on the table and linked her fingers together. ‘The medical consultant agrees with the original report, that the injury Mr Carter sustained from the paperweight you threw could have caused him to collapse a short time later. However–’ She unclasped her hands. ‘–the consultant also states that the head injury was treatable. Mr Carter may have been left with some residual problems but the injury itself would not have resulted in his death.’
I blinked, unsure if I was hearing correctly. My mouth was suddenly dust dry. I reached for the almost empty cup and took a sip of cold tea before managing to ask, ‘I didn’t kill him?’
‘Your action contributed to his death,’ Hopper said. ‘But no, the medical reports seem quite clear. You didn’t kill him.’
The solicitor had shut her laptop when the detectives came in. She tapped manicured nails on the lid. ‘Elaborate please, detective, on how my client’s action contributed to his death?’
Hopper sat back. ‘The investigation is ongoing so I’m not at liberty to go into the details. Suffice to say that when Mr Carter collapsed as a direct consequence of the blow to his head, other people took advantage. It was their subsequent action that resulted in his death.’
I thought I understood. ‘These people killed him and buried him in my garden?’
Hopper stared at me for a second but instead of answering, she got to her feet. ‘I’ve spoken to the Crown prosecutor. Based on the medical report, and that it was in any case an accidental rather than deliberate act, I recommended that no charges be brought against you and she agreed. There is, therefore, no reason to keep you any longer.’
I wasn’t sure I was hearing correctly and looked to my solicitor for confirmation. ‘I’m free to go?’
The solicitor was sliding her laptop into her briefcase. ‘Indeed you are.’ She turned with the first smile I had seen. ‘Good luck.’ And with that she got to her feet, nodded to the detectives, and left.
‘I’m free to go.’ I shook my head. ‘Sorry, it’s all hard to process.’
‘You’ve had a tough time, Ms Eastwood. But you are free to go and your sisters are waiting in reception.’
‘My sisters?’
‘They’ve been there for hours. They’ll be relieved to see you.’
My sisters. I swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in my throat and got to my feet. ‘Thank you both.’ I shook my head, still unable to believe my ordeal was over. ‘Mrs Carter… Dee… is she okay? She must have been devastated.’
‘She was, but her daughter has come back from Aberdeen to be with her so I think Mrs Carter will be okay. You’ve no need to worry about her, she’ll be informed that you had nothing to do with her husband’s death.’
I remembered the woman’s hysterical cries that I had killed Toby. She was almost right. ‘I don’t want her to be prosecuted for assaulting me.’ I smiled briefly. ‘I know I can’t ask for the charges to be dropped, but you can, can’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Hopper agreed. ‘But as it turns out, I don’t have to. The CPS has decided it’s not in the interest of justice to pursue the case against Dee Carter.’ The detective smiled. ‘Sometimes, the law shows common sense.’ With a final nod, she left the room.
I felt lighter as I walked down the corridor towards the reception and stood in the doorway looking to where my two sisters sat. They were holding hands, their faces twisted in worried concern. When they looked up and saw me, they jumped to their feet and rushed over to envelop me in hugs.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, wrapping my arms around them. ‘I’m free to go. Everything’s okay.’ I pulled back from their embraces and reached to brush tears from Ann’s cheeks. ‘Everything’s okay and what’s more, I have a brilliant idea for my next book!’
I walked out with a sister on each side, their arms linking mine. This was all I needed. In future, men would be relegated to the pages of the books I wrote. It was much safer that way.
And if I fell in love with them, at least they could never hurt me.
64
Gwen
Gwen stopped at a local Indian restaurant on the way home from the police station and picked up a takeaway. By the time she pushed open the front door of her apartment, it was late and she was past weary. She sat in the living room where she slumped on the sofa and ate samosas and vegetable pakora directly from the containers with her fingers, chewing and swallowing without tasting.
After a few mouthfuls, she got up, wiped her greasy hand on a towel and grabbed the first bottle of wine that came to hand from the rack. She didn’t care what it was and poured a glass. It was white, and warm.
It didn’t matter.
She might yet face charges for her part in burying Toby, but her solicitor, Heather Fitt, was confident that in view of Babs Sanderson’s confession, Gwen would escape lightly.
Babs… she had assumed Gwen’s distress that fateful night was caused by Toby’s death but Babs had been wrong. It wasn’t distress either. It was fury that he had died before Gwen had got her revenge for the lies and the betrayal. Bubbling anger that he’d got away with treating her like a fool, something she’d never allowed before.
Her lying, cheating husband, George, had learned his lesson the hard way. There’d never been any hint of her involvement in his death.
Gwen sipped the sickly warm wine and smiled. Nor had there been any question of her involvement in that sleazy con man’s death. It had taken her weeks to find Sam Burke, assuming, rightly, that he’d stick to generally the same area to choose his prey.
They’d never found his body, it was unlikely they would at this stage.
She filled her glass and sat back. There was some consolation in knowing Toby hadn’t died that easily, that he’d been alive when they’d dragged him across the garden and shoved him into that brick grave. She hoped he was aware of what was happening… that he came to in time to feel the soil hitting his face.
After all the lies he told, it was a fitting end.
THE END
Acknowledgements
As ever, grateful thanks to all in Bloodhound Books especially Betsy Reavley, Fred Freeman, Tara Lyons, Heather Fitt, Morgen Bailey and Ian Skewis.
A special thanks to Heather Fitt for the use of her name for one of the characters and to Beverley Hopper, who runs the Facebook group The Book Lovers, for her continued support – she gets to be detective in this novel!
When you work so hard on a story you wa
nt people to read it – so a huge thanks to all the bloggers who get the word out. Thanks to all who review – always such a relief to see when people enjoy what you wrote. And a big thanks to all who contact me to tell me they love my writing – that never gets tired.
The support from the writing community is always fantastic and an author’s world would be a lonelier place without it – so a big thanks to all my fellow Bloodhound authors and a special thanks to the writers Jenny O’Brien, Leslie Bratspis, Pat Gitt, Pam Lecky, Michael Scanlon and Jim Ody for your continued support and encouragement.
A huge thank you to the artist, Scott Naismith, from whose Blog, Art Speak: Arty Nonsense Exposed, I borrowed the over-flowery art statements in Chapter 17 and for allowing me to ‘hang’ his paintings in my fictional gallery. He can be found here: scottnaismith.com.
Thanks to my husband, Robert, my sisters, brothers, extended family, and my friends for always being there for me.
I love to hear from readers – you can find me here:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/valeriekeoghnovels
Twitter: www.twitter.com/ValerieKeogh1
Instagram: www.instagram.com/valeriekeogh2
A note from the publisher
Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it please do consider leaving a review on Amazon to help others find it too.
We hate typos. All of our books have been rigorously edited and proofread, but sometimes mistakes do slip through. If you have spotted a typo, please do let us know and we can get it amended within hours.
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The Lies He Told: a gripping psychological suspense thriller Page 22
