The date is October the 28th, 2017. Erica Spencer and her husband, Jack, have waved goodbye to their two children, Max and Emily, and Jack pours them a glass of wine each as they take their time showering and dressing for their favourite night of the year – the Kaplans’ annual Halloween party. As Erica slips on black ballet pumps, adjusts her long black wig and rings her eyes with thick black eyeliner, a stark contrast to the deathly pale of her face, Jack pulls the white stocking over his head.
‘I don’t know how I’ll drink anything in this,’ he complains.
His wife smiles and smooths down the front of her short white nightdress. ‘You usually manage.’
He doesn’t notice that she hasn’t touched her wine.
The Spencers arrived at the party at around seven thirty p.m. Karla remembers in her statement to police that they were one of the first couples to arrive.
‘They were always on time,’ she told police. ‘And Erica would always show up with a hostess gift. This year she brought a dozen red roses, mixed with a dozen satin black ones – for Halloween. She was so thoughtful like that.’
The party was open house – you see the Spencers and the Kaplans live within the walls of Severn Oaks, one of the most exclusive gated communities in Cheshire. They had no concern that anyone unsavoury might wander in – in fact, it was the Kaplans’ own son Brandon who – at sixteen – posed the biggest threat to the party. The last thing Marcus Kaplan, author of the YOU self-help empire and his wife Karla, Cheshire’s answer to Martha Stewart, wanted was for their teenage son’s friends to crash their party and cause a scene.
They had no need to worry. Brandon Kaplan told police that during the party he was ‘as far away as possible’, which transpired was a friend’s house in Warrington.
By eight thirty the Kaplan residence was full of party guests in their Halloween finery. Karla Kaplan wore a skin-tight black leotard over black fishnet tights, with long black gloves and a circus master’s top hat and long-tailed jacket. Her husband wore a similar circus master outfit: a black tuxedo jacket with a red satin trim, and top hat. His face was painted white, with black make-up around his eyes and stitches drawn from his mouth. There was a mummy, the Bride of Frankenstein and a female Freddy Krueger. Miranda Davenport from number five arrived alone, wearing a witch’s costume and promising that her husband, Alex, would be there soon. Peter King and his wife came as Beetlejuice and the Grim Reaper. Everyone had made a real effort for one of the nights of the year they enjoyed the most. Felicity Goldman walked in with Alex Davenport, the last couple to arrive, at eight thirty-five. Even after twin daughters she claims are the result of a one-night stand, Felicity has an enviable figure and was showing it off dressed as Harley Quinn. Alex appeared to have come without a costume – the only person other than Severn Oaks resident Larry Gorman not to have come in fancy dress.
The night proceeded smoothly, the guests taking full advantage of the free alcohol – over five hundred pounds’ worth that the Kaplans had provided. After the fact, no one would recall what Erica Spencer was drinking, although she had brought two bottles of wine along with her and it was assumed she was drinking as readily as everyone else. Her husband would later find a receipt for those two bottles, along with the Jack Daniel’s she had purchased for him – although he never appeared to realise from the receipt that the wine Erica had taken to the party was non-alcoholic. The post-mortem revealed her blood alcohol level to be 0.24, three times over the driving limit in the UK.
The only potential bump in the road for the Kaplans’ perfect party came at just after nine p.m., when Miranda Davenport demanded to know why her husband had turned up late, sans Friday The 13th costume and at the exact same time as Severn Oaks’ most eligible bachelorette. As he tried to calm down his furious wife, Alex made the mistake of opening his jacket to show her that he was wearing a costume and, with a look that has been described as ‘ridiculously pleased with himself’, revealed a suicide bomb vest. Witnesses say that Miranda hit the roof and insisted that Alex throw the tasteless costume choice away, go home and retrieve the outfit she spent a bloody fortune on and stay the fuck away from Felicity Goldman.
As far as parties went, this one was fairly tame. Severn Oaks, you see, is a community comprised of the most prestigious ‘regular folk’ Cheshire has to offer. These aren’t footballers or Real Housewives (although Karla Kaplan tells everyone she has turned down the show twice). These people are lawyers, business moguls, interior designers to the stars. They occupy the rungs of the corporate ladder people aspired to before reality TV and Instagram Influencing existed. And Severn Oaks was a safe space, concealed behind its wrought-iron gates. Any danger was firmly on the other side. At least, that’s what Erica thought.
The usual suspects tailed off early. Simon and Gilly made their excuses around 10:30, according to Simon.
‘Three hours drinking is more than enough for Gilly. Any more than that and she’s apt to throw up on the AGA and fall asleep the moment her head hits the pillow. And no bloke wants that when they spent all night trying to get their wife drunk enough to forget it’s not a birthday or Christmas, do they?’
Larry Gorman – minus costume – left at eleven, and distinctly remembers a highly inebriated Ben carrying his wife, Martha, down the road towards the house, on his back.
‘He was stumbling around and shouting, “It’s Michelle. Get it? MY SHELL.” I think Martha is literally the only person in the world who thinks Ben is hilarious. Just as well they married each other.’
When questioned about whether he saw Erica before leaving the party, Larry is suddenly quite cagey.
‘It’s like I told the police, we’d all been drinking quite a bit and time gets away from you. I’d go to say goodbye to someone and get caught up in conversation for another ten minutes. So yes, I saw her at one point, before I left, but I can’t be sure what time. She was talking to someone who I thought was Karla – she had the top hat and jacket on, and blonde hair – but I could only see Erica’s face. She had this strange look, a bit mean, I thought. Like a spiteful smile a child would give you before they crashed your favourite monster truck into a wall. And Karla was waving her arm – her right arm, I think – but neither of them was raising her voice. Then, as I left, I ran into Karla in the kitchen and went to thank her for having me. She was wearing a big jumper – I suppose it had dropped too cold for that skimpy leotard – and her hat was gone. So it couldn’t have been her talking to Erica, could it?’
This theme of ‘costume swapping’ will come back to us in our quest to find out what really happened to Erica at this elite gathering, but for now, let’s not forget that we are at a Halloween party. All Hallows Eve, a night when evil spirits come out to play. And it was after the peripheral guests had left the group that the real party began. Unsurprisingly, the Severn Oaks Six are cagey about what happened after the others left them. The following is taken from Peter King’s statement to the police.
‘We just stood around, chatting. Once people started to leave and there were fewer of us, we moved into the formal living room, but people were still in and out. I didn’t even notice Erica leave.’
And from Alex Davenport.
‘I don’t remember much after eleven-ish. Someone suggested drinking games in the living room, and Karla lost her shit because Marcus knocked over a green shot and the carpet is cream, or beige, or whatever. That’s it, I think. Nothing else really happened.’
So we’ve already moved from ‘standing around chatting’ to drinking games. Is this how Erica ended up with a blood alcohol level three times the legal driving limit? But why would she partake in shot games when she had specifically taken non-alcoholic wine to the party? And how did she end up climbing into the tree house that would later be the death of her?
The real question for this week then, listeners, is what happened at that party after the other guests left? And why are the Severn Oaks Six so reluctant to talk about those lost hours? Stay tuned – you might find out.
/> Next week, part two of The Party – Motive.
32
No one had spoken throughout the entire episode. As the final bars of the theme music played, Felicity opened her eyes and looked around the kitchen. Everyone looked frozen in place, like one of those films where the superhero can stop time. Miranda over on the sofa had her head in her hands. Karla, opposite Felicity at the breakfast bar, held her glass of wine suspended in mid-air, almost as if she’d forgotten some time ago that she had wanted to take a sip. Marcus stood behind her, a hand on her side, underneath her arm – a more intimate gesture than on her shoulder, which made it look as though he was holding her up. Peter had spent the entire episode at the kitchen end of the kitchen diner. Leaning against the worktop, staring at the cream-tiled backsplash. Predictably, Alex was the first to speak.
‘Well, I didn’t think that was too bad. Although poor Ben will be pissed off at Larry for saying that Martha is the only person who finds him funny. It’s true, though. What did you think?’
Miranda let out a long-drawn-out groan, almost as if she was waking up from a particularly awful nightmare. ‘Were you even listening to the same thing as the rest of us? All that stuff about “after the other guests left” and us being “cagey about what happened”. It sounds like we all conspired to kill bloody Erica! And what was all that about her blood alcohol level? And how the fuck did they get hold of your police statement ?’
It was as though Miranda saying the word ‘fuck’ had jolted the rest of the room back to life, like a cuss word from Severn Oaks’ most restrained resident could break any spell. Everyone began to talk at once.
‘Who was talking to Erica in the garden when Larry left?’
‘Did you see her drinking? I could have sworn she was drinking.’
‘I didn’t notice her not drinking, if you know what I mean. I’d have noticed if she was on soft drinks.’
‘Why is he doing this? Who is the little fucker?’
Felicity spoke, quietly at first, and then when she realised no one could hear her over the sound of their own, more important ramblings she raised her voice. ‘Jack,’ she said, as loudly and forcefully as her voice could manage after what felt like a punch-to-the-stomach realisation. ‘It has to be Jack.’
‘What makes you say that?’
Everyone had stopped talking now, and they were all staring at her. Felicity looked up at each and every one of them and realised they were all hiding something. It wasn’t just her. They were all petrified that something about that night, or something Erica knew about them, would be the next words out of Andy Noon’s mouth. How could we all be so stupid as to think we’d be able to live in this privileged existence for ever?
‘At the start. He started by talking about Erica getting ready – and something she’d said to Jack. That wouldn’t have been in police statements, would it? He wouldn’t have given a statement about what they said and did before the party even started. And Jack and Erica are the only ones who know what they said to each other before the party, and Erica is very definitely dead. We all saw her, we buried her, for God’s sake. The only one left then is Jack.’
‘She’s right.’ Peter’s voice sounded hard to Felicity’s ears. She hadn’t heard him sound that way before. ‘And he’s the only one not to be called a suspect. Isn’t the husband always a suspect? Why not this time? Because it’s him.’
‘The bastard!’ Marcus’s face was an angry, blotchy red. ‘I’ll kill him.’
33
Marcus thumped on the door of the house Jack Spencer had once shared with his wife. The group had spilled out onto the street after Marcus had made his threat, half wanting to stop the scene that was about to unfold and half wanting to know what Jack was going to say for himself when confronted with the realisation Felicity had come to moments earlier. Felicity herself stood on her driveway, torn between wanting to witness the confrontation and not wanting to leave the twins in the house on their own. Karla had stormed after her husband, trying unsuccessfully to reason with him, begging him not to do anything stupid. Miranda just looked lost, whereas her husband was enjoying the show immensely. Peter stayed by Felicity’s side, his face ashen.
‘Marcus, stop it, please! What are you hoping to—’
The door flew open and Jack appeared from behind it. He looked broken. Felicity, abandoning the idea of staying close to her girls, stalked towards where Miranda and Alex were watching at the end of Jack’s driveway, with Peter following close behind. He laid a hand on her arm protectively.
‘What do you want, Marcus?’ Jack kept his voice quiet. ‘My children are asleep upstairs.’
‘Don’t you dare hide behind those poor kids.’ Marcus sounded as though he was straining not to shout. ‘Come out here and face us, you fucking coward.’
Jack stared at Marcus and in that moment Karla thought he might be the first one to throw a punch. Look at him , she silently pleaded to her husband. Does he look like he’s behind all this?
He shook his head and muttered something, then stepped forward and closed the door behind him. He followed Marcus to the end of the driveway, Karla trailing behind them helplessly.
‘What is all this then?’ he asked, looking at the group. None of them but Marcus could meet his eye. ‘What are you all doing here?’
‘We listened to your podcast,’ Marcus hissed, poking a finger at Jack. ‘And we want to know what the fuck you’re playing at, making out that one of us killed Erica.’
At the sound of his wife’s name Jack flinched, and Karla felt yet another stab of sympathy for the man in front of them. He’d lost his wife and his baby, maybe even his mind. Who were they to judge him, even if he was behind the accusations? Especially herself and Marcus. Perhaps that’s why her husband was having such an extreme reaction to the whole thing – he knew that he had something to feel guilty about.
‘Did you, Marcus? Did you kill my wife? Her unborn baby?’
Marcus stepped back as though he had been punched. ‘How fucking dare you!’ He lunged forward, fists clenched, and Karla grabbed his arm.
‘Marcus, no!’
‘Go on!’ Jack shouted. ‘Hit me, if that’s what you want to do! It won’t change a thing. And for your information it’s not my fucking podcast.’
Felicity stepped forward. ‘We heard it, Jack. Only you could know what Erica said to you while you were getting ready – what you said to her about not being able to drink through the costume you were wearing.’
As she said the words out loud Jack’s voice sounded in Karla’s head – not from right there and then, but from another night, one much like this. They were all together but it was a happy occasion. A party. A Halloween party.
‘I told Erica earlier that I wouldn’t be able to drink through this stupid thing,’ followed by a laugh, deep and throaty, one that she hadn’t heard in nearly a year. ‘Cheeky cow said I’d find a way – that I usually manage.’
‘It could have been any of us,’ she whispered, but no one was listening.
‘And that means I’m the one, am I? Andy Noon? I’ve been here all night, listening to the fucking thing, on my own – not like you lot, I see. Nice to be invited to the party – although I think I’ll be steering clear of parties with you lot in future. How could it be me, if I’m here?’
He doesn’t even know how they work , Karla thought. She went to speak again but Felicity beat her to it.
‘It’s not live.’ Felicity’s voice was small, as though she too was doubting that Jack could be behind this. ‘It’s prerecorded and uploaded. You could have . . . I mean, someone , could have done it at any time.’
‘Someone?’ Karla flinched as her husband rounded on her best friend. ‘Oh, so now it’s someone? It was you who said he must have done it.’
‘I said . . . I mean, Jack, you are the only one who knows what you said to Erica before the party, in private.’ But now she didn’t look as sure of herself. Her blue eyes were shining and Karla noticed that Peter’s hand was gripping
her arm.
A thought shot through her mind. Are they . . .? No, Felicity would have told her, and now wasn’t the time for jumping to any more conclusions. Marcus was doing so much of that, he could have been on a trampoline.
‘He wasn’t.’ Karla found her voice at last, aware of her husband’s gaze turning towards her. ‘The only one, I mean. He said it – at the party. He said that he’d told Erica he wouldn’t be able to drink through the mask and she’d said he’d manage. It was early on, before we’d all drunk much. Anyone could have known that.’
Marcus’s eyes widened and she felt a sinking awfulness in her chest. She’d let her husband make an absolute fool of himself.
‘And you’re only just mentioning this now?’ His words weren’t the angry tirade he’d unleashed on Jack. He never spoke to her like that. He never really got angry at her at all. It was like she was such a part of him that to yell at her would have been akin to yelling at himself, they just didn’t operate that way.
‘I’m sorry, Marcus.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘I literally just remembered. And you took off so fast . . .’
Marcus shook his head and sighed. Raising his eyes, he met Jack’s.
‘I’m sorry, mate. I should never have . . . we’re all just— But then you’re going through worse, much worse. I just can’t imagine . . .’ He trailed off and hung his head.
Jack sniffed. He still looked furious but also as if he just didn’t have it in him to argue any more. Marcus and Jack, and all the men on the street really, had always been such good friends – better than the women, in a way. The women enjoyed closer proximity, they saw each other every day at the school gates and stopped in the street for a chat. Mary-Beth and Erica had been as close as Felicity and Karla. But apart from that, the women all secretly barely tolerated each other. The men, however, didn’t see one another nearly as much, but when they did, they seemed to genuinely like one another; there was none of this underhanded competition and sniping with them. Would any of their relationships survive this?
Someone Is Lying Page 12
