Her Sister's Lie

by Debbie Howells

  His body was stiff, his coat cold. He’d clearly been dead for some time. As I knelt on the ground beside him, I became aware of Abe standing behind me—my cries must have woken him.

  His voice was low as he bent down next to me. “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. He was so healthy. I need to carry him nearer to the house.”

  “I’ll do it.” Abe stood up. Then as he turned Gibson’s body to pick him up, he paused. “He’s been shot.” His voice was tight.

  “No.” I was hysterical. After everything else, now this. I couldn’t take it. “We have to tell the police. I’ll call them.” I was sobbing uncontrollably. “It was probably that man . . . Maybe now, everyone will believe me.”

  I was in shock as Abe silently carried Gibson over to the house and laid him on the grass. Stumbling inside, I looked around for my phone, then suddenly remembered how early it was. Too early to call the police. Slumping into a chair, I leaned forward onto the table as grief consumed me.

  “Why would someone shoot Gibson?”

  I hadn’t heard Abe come in. I saw his face, mutinous, before he disappeared upstairs. A few minutes later, he came back down and put the kettle on, letting me sit there while he made us cups of tea.

  “I could take the day off—if you want.” His eyes flickered toward me briefly.

  Taken aback, I shook my head. “It’s OK.” Then I added, “It’s probably best if you go to school.”

  He shrugged indifferently, then got up, putting on his jacket, gathering his school things together. As he closed the back door behind him, I couldn’t help wondering if I should have taken him up on his offer, watching from the window as he walked down the road to catch the school bus. Then, remembering I had to tell the police, I reached for my phone.

  I got straight through to PC Marsh.

  “Ms. Roscoe. How can I help you?”

  “My dog’s been shot.” My voice wavered. “I’ve just found his body in my garden.”

  “When was this?” Her voice was suddenly sharp.

  “This morning. He went missing yesterday.”

  “You’re sure he was shot?”

  “Abe looked at him.” My voice broke. “That’s what he said . . . Sorry, I’m really upset about it.”

  “Of course.” She sounded slightly more sympathetic. “You don’t think he could have been worrying sheep?”

  “There aren’t any for miles. The land around here’s too wet at this time of year. He’s never wandered. I’m sure someone’s done this to get at me.”

  “What makes you say that?” Her voice was sharp.

  “I’ve been attacked by a stranger on Facebook, there’s been a man and a woman hanging around—as you know,” I reminded her. “And now Gibson . . . my dog . . . Someone’s done this deliberately to upset me.”

  “I’m afraid we need to establish what he was shot with. Would you be able to take him to your vet?”

  “I don’t have a car.” It was true. Ever since the accident, I’d been disorganized.

  She paused. “Are you at home this morning? If there’s a police car in your area, I’ll see if they can come and pick him up.”

  * * *

  While I waited for Gibson to be collected, I tried to distract myself by going outside, wandering around the garden, pulling up some weeds and picking a bunch of spring flowers, with each step thinking of my dog, missing his presence at my heels. My sorrow turned to anger at whoever had done this to him, and I was surprised when only a few minutes later, a police car drew up.

  Expecting it to be a local police officer, I was taken aback when DI Collins got out. She was followed by the detective chief inspector who’d been here with her before. I assumed they’d come here about Nina. I walked across the garden toward them.

  “Ms. Roscoe? You remember Detective Chief Inspector Weller? Sorry to spring this on you, but we’d like to ask you a few questions. Would you mind if we came in?”

  I swallowed. Did I have a choice? “Of course.” I led the way toward the house, holding the back door open for them, following them in and slipping my boots off as I closed it behind me. If either of them noticed Gibson’s body, neither of them said anything. “Come through to the kitchen.” I walked across to the sink, where I left the flowers before turning to face them.

  “Would you mind if we sat down?” DI Collins asked.

  “No. Of course. Please . . .” I gestured toward the chairs, flustered. There was a gravity about their demeanor that was making me uncomfortable. As they sat down, I pulled out a chair opposite them. “What’s this about?”

  DCI Weller leaned forward. “Ms. Rosco? Can you tell us where you were the day your sister died?”

  “What?” His question took me completely by surprise. Why was he asking me? I was filled with an uneasy feeling. He almost made it sound like I was a suspect.

  “You drove to London that day to pick up your nephew. Can you remember what time you set off?”

  Of course I remembered driving to London. It was after the phone call from DI Collins. I’d been driving in the dark. The M4, heavy rain, the onslaught of headlights. “Seven?” I said blankly, then more decisively, “I’m not sure exactly. I know it was early evening. I left right after DI Collins called me.”

  My answer seemed to satisfy him. “What about earlier that day?”

  I blinked as, across the table, DI Collins’s face swam in and out of focus. I was exhausted, upset about Gibson, and I’d hardly slept. “Sorry?”

  “The day your sister died—what were you doing earlier that day?”

  I tried to think and failed. But it was obvious. Before Abe moved here, my days were all the same. “The same as any other day. I got up and took my dog for a long walk.” My voice wavered as I thought of the dog walks I’d never have again. “Then I was at home.”

  “Did you see anyone that day? A neighbor? The postman, even?”

  I stared at him, puzzled. Why did he want to know? “No, I don’t think so. I often don’t. Does it matter?”

  He glanced at DI Collins. “The thing is, we have reason to believe you were in London earlier that same day. Your car registration was photographed by a speed camera.”

  “No . . .” I shook my head. “There must be a mistake. It couldn’t have been my car. I was at home.”

  “I can assure you there was no mistake. Is there a possibility that someone else could have been driving your car?”

  I sat there, trying to cast my mind back to what I’d been doing before I received the call about Nina, and Matt came into my head. Matt sharing my life. Matt leaving. Tears pricked my eyes, too many to blink away as they overflowed, running down my cheeks. “If you must know . . .” My voice wavered again. I broke off, trying to control my emotions. “I did drive to London.” I hesitated, knowing I had to tell her. “I was going to see my ex-partner.”

  “And he can vouch for this?” Her pen was poised. I swallowed, dreading what I knew she was going to ask. “Could you give me his name, please? And a contact number?”

  “Matthew Elliott.” I paused, trying to work out how much to say, needing her to understand how it was between us. “I went there. But in the end, we didn’t actually meet.”

  Her pen hovered above her notebook. “But he knew you were coming?”

  I shook my head. “Not exactly.” I knew how it sounded, but I could explain. “We hadn’t spoken for a while. Rather than call him, I thought I’d just catch him at lunchtime.”

  “So where had you planned to just catch him?”

  “He works in Shepherd’s Bush. I got—was going to get there—for lunchtime.”

  “You drove all the way?” DCI Weller was watching me intently.

  I shook my head again. “I parked at the gas station at Heston. I got a bus, then the tube.”

  “And then you went to meet Mr. Elliott?”

  I remembered standing across the road from where Matt worked, looking up at the window where I knew his office was, waiting for his fa
miliar figure to walk out through the glass doors, filled with a sense of anticipation.

  “He wasn’t there. He was probably at a meeting.” I faltered, then feeling their eyes on me, added, “It really isn’t how it looks.”

  They exchanged glances. “How does it look, exactly?”

  “I wouldn’t want you to think I was stalking him.” I wasn’t entirely serious, but their faces remained deadly earnest. “We were living together. He left unexpectedly, and there are things we haven’t had a chance to talk about, that’s all.”

  DI Collins looked at me. “Could you give me Mr. Elliott’s phone number?”

  “You don’t have to talk to him, do you?” I felt anxious all of a sudden, my eyes darting between them, not wanting Matt to know I’d been there that day, waiting for him. “There’s no point, is there? He didn’t see me. He won’t be able to tell you anything.”

  “Maybe not. But I still need it for our records.”

  Reluctantly, I recited the number. “He may not answer. He doesn’t always. You know how it is. He’s busy.” I tried to sound nonchalant, hating the thought of them contacting him. I had no idea what he’d think, if the police called and asked questions about me.

  “What did you do next?”

  “I got the tube and the bus back to where I’d parked my car. Then I drove home.” I’d waited outside Matt’s office for about an hour. After that, I could remember feeling disappointed, numb, light-headed; my legs had been weak as I walked back toward the tube station.

  “You’re sure that’s all you did?” DI Collins frowned. “You didn’t by any chance decide to call in on your sister—at the same house you alleged you’d never been to before she died?”

  “What?” I looked at them, aghast. “You think I went to Nina’s that day?”

  “Did you?”

  “I’ve just told you, I went home.” But I could tell, from the way they were looking at me, that they didn’t believe me. Alarm bells started going off. I looked at them uneasily. “I hadn’t seen her for ten years. I didn’t know where she lived.” I paused, then added, “I’m not lying.”

  “No one’s suggesting you are. I’ve no doubt you did go home. I’m merely asking if between going to see Mr. Elliott and getting the tube back to where you parked your car, maybe you’d called in to see your sister. It would be a normal enough thing to do, especially if you were upset.”

  I stared at her, frowning. How did she know I’d been upset? “But I didn’t.”

  “Maybe you’ve just forgotten.”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said firmly. “What makes you think that?”

  This time, it was DCI Weller who spoke. “Ms. Roscoe, we have someone who looks rather like you on CCTV walking away from the tube station near your sister’s flat early that afternoon.”

  I felt my blood chill.

  “I’m asking you again. On the afternoon your sister died, did you call in to see her?”

  “I already told you. No.” But my hands were shaking. As I looked at them, I was afraid of saying the wrong thing. But even worse, suddenly I knew. No matter what I said, they’d made up their minds.

  Relief flooded over me when we were interrupted by a knock on the back door.

  “Excuse me.” I got up to answer it, opening the door to find a uniformed PC I didn’t recognize standing there.

  “PC Marsh asked me to stop by. Something about a dog?”

  “Yes.” I gulped. “Thank you. He’s down there.” I pointed to where Abe had left Gibson’s body. Suddenly tears were pouring down my cheeks again. “I’m sorry.” I wiped my cheeks with one of my hands. “Are you OK to take him?”

  “Sure.” His manner was kindly. “I’m taking him to the vet in Lymington—near the station. I think they’re going to X-ray. Would you like him back?”

  “Please.” I nodded through my tears. “Sorry . . . I’m in the middle of something. Can I leave you to it?”

  As I went back inside, DCI Weller and DI Collins were talking quietly. When I walked across the kitchen to get some tissues, they stopped.

  “Is everything OK, Ms. Roscoe?” DI Collins had clearly noticed I was upset.

  “My dog went missing yesterday. I found his body this morning. He’d been shot.”

  “I’m sorry.” She frowned. “Do you have any idea who might have done it?”

  I was shaking my head. “None. The local police are looking into it. That was one of them picking up his body to take it to the vet. I don’t have a car at the moment. I was involved in an accident.” It came out without thinking. I hadn’t planned to tell them, but I didn’t suppose it mattered. It wasn’t exactly a secret.

  Both of them were frowning as they looked at me. I sighed shakily. “A man’s been hanging around. He’s been trying to intimidate me. He was the reason I had the accident. I’ve told the local police about him.” I stopped. Had I said too much?

  “Who’s been dealing with it?” DI Collins had her pen poised again.

  “Sergeant Levigne and PC Marsh.”

  “Has this man caused you any harm?” DCI Weller spoke carefully.

  I looked at them bleakly. “No. It’s more psychological. He plays mind games. He’s intimidating. He frightens me. I’d never seen him before, yet somehow he knew my name.” I paused for a moment, then added, “But I don’t suppose it has anything to do with Nina.”

  “Probably not.” But DI Collins looked thoughtful.

  I’d already told DI Collins about the woman. “There’s the woman I told you about too. I wondered if she might be a journalist. She hasn’t been here, but she’s been asking about me in the village.”

  DI Collins nodded. “I remember you mentioning her.”

  After she’d noted it down, DCI Weller cleared his throat. “I think we’ve got what we need—for now. We’ll leave you to it. You’ve obviously got a lot going on.” They stood up. “Thank you for your time.”

  I stared at them. Was that it? “What? I mean . . .”

  “This is standard procedure, Ms. Roscoe.” DI Collins saw my discomfiture. “Your sister’s been murdered. We have to talk to anyone connected, however unlikely their involvement. That’s all it is.” She started walking toward the door, then stopped briefly, turning toward me. “By the way, I’m sorry about your dog.”

  “Yes,” I muttered. “Thank you.”

  After they’d gone, I closed the door behind them. Going to the fridge, I got out a bottle of wine and found a glass. I stared at it for a moment. I had to break this pattern somehow. It took all my willpower to put it back.

  My legs were shaky as I walked through to the den and sat in one of the armchairs, feeling for the throw that was draped over the back, folding it around me, remembering DCI Weller’s words: I think we have what we need—for now. The unspoken implication was that they’d be back, with more questions. Was I considered a suspect? I shivered at the thought. I couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

  I needed to think more clearly, but I couldn’t. Everything was too complicated, too disjointed. Too painful. Wherever I looked, there were no answers. And all the time I had to think of Nina. I couldn’t let her down. I had to keep to the script.

  But the pressure was too much, pushing me over the edge. I no longer cared about the script. Something had to give. I couldn’t go on like this, constantly tense, on edge, waiting for something else to happen. Why had someone shot my dog? Suddenly I felt dizzy again. As I sat there, I felt my body go slack, before it lightened; then I seemed to be floating, above it. That was all I was aware of as my mind emptied, then went blank.

  Summer

  Such a twisted web you weave, Mother, of lies and secrets, woven double-thickness, unbreakable, with Hannah’s lies and secrets.

  It was always the same. So much to be said, words that would fall on deaf ears and a closed mind, just like the night Lenny raped me. The night you didn’t believe me. That was when I knew I had to get away from you.

  Did you keep my letters? Read the dates, rem
ember what happened? Feel the anger in your daughter’s words, the pain scored into the paper, her desperation? It was the only way she could think of to reach you, before you took another pill and let everything fade away into oblivion.

  Have you missed me at all, Mother?

  Have you and Hannah had enough time to think about what happened? Have you wallowed in enough guilt? Did you think at all about justice? Wait, how could I forget? Nina and Hannah have their own rules. Rules to live by and rules to die by, all neatly tied up, making perfect sense in your warped, twisted little worlds.

  You were unreachable, Mother. There in body, but gone, deep inside your head, where the world couldn’t hurt you. Forgetting your children, forgetting everything. It was all too much for you. You existed. You didn’t live.

  But you didn’t deserve to. Not after what you did. You and Hannah, blood thicker than blood, protecting each other, when your own daughter had been brutally raped. Partners in crime.

  Murderers.

  So what now, Mother?

  The punishment should fit the crime.

  Who is guiltiest? Of murder, of neglect, of abandonment? The mother or the sister? Does it really matter? How can you tell which is which?

  21

  After that, my recollection of events was blurred. It was as though I was watching things unfold from a distance. Time drifted in such a way that I didn’t register day or night, just Abe’s comings and goings. I ate little, spending most of the time sleeping.

  I gave no thought to my remaining students, though I remembered Abe telling me that when a few of them turned up for their lessons, he let them know I was ill. He must have called Curtis too. He’d come here, concern in his eyes as they stared into mine. His voice seemed to come from miles away.

  “Hannah . . . I’m going to help you up. You need to eat something.”

  I’d let him take my arm and help me through to the kitchen, where he put a mug of tea in front of me, then a plate of toast, which I ate, unable to understand his concern. But I was emotionless, anesthetized, unaware that anything was wrong. So when DI Collins and DCI Weller returned, I felt no shock.