‘Well, good for you,’ she says in an English accent. ‘Five gold stars to Louisa “clever-clogs” Sullivan.’
‘It’s over, Nicole,’ I say.
She gives a dry laugh.
‘I found you,’ I say.
‘So you did. Well done.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘So, come on then, how did you do it? How did you manage to track me down? I thought I covered my tracks pretty well. And I didn’t have you marked as particularly bright, Louisa.’
I smile at her put-down, enjoying the fact that I have her rattled. ‘You made the mistake of telling me your real name,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ she drawls, ‘but back then, I didn’t think you’d be around to use it against me. I had your death all worked out. Such a waste of a good plan.’
‘Anyway,’ I continue, ‘I dug into your past. I was a journalist, remember? I discovered how you spent most of your late teens and early twenties tricking old people out of their money, befriending wealthy, childless widows and widowers and conning them into giving you their cash, or leaving you part of their estates when they died. You were clever about it. Always having an alibi, always moving on before anyone grew suspicious, travelling around the country, acquiring new identities to evade getting caught. With your brother to act as your gopher. And then you met Mike and hit the jackpot . . . until you cocked it all up with your insane revenge plan.’
She scowls and tilts her head slowly from side to side, stretching out her neck muscles. I wince as they click.
‘When you escaped from the police, I knew you’d have a stash of money hidden away somewhere. But I also figured you’d burn through it pretty quickly, with your expensive tastes.’
She acknowledges my statement with another small tilt of her head.
‘So, once that cash was gone, I guessed you’d be forced to go back to what you do best – namely ripping off rich old ladies for their fortunes. And – what a surprise – here you are reverting back to your old ways, traipsing around a Scottish park sucking up to a ninety-two-year-old widow.’
‘Tara, who is this person?’ the old woman asks in a genteel Morningside accent. ‘What’s she talking about? Do you know her? Please ask her to leave us alone.’
I drag my gaze from Nicole’s face and stare down at the tiny bird-like woman in the wheelchair. ‘You should be thanking me,’ I say to her. ‘I probably just saved your life.’
‘What?’ the woman cries. ‘What’s going on, Tara? She says she saved my life? I don’t understand what she’s talking about. Take me home. I don’t like this woman. Not one bit!’
‘Oh shut up, you silly cow,’ Nicole says.
The woman’s mouth opens and closes like a landed fish.
‘So,’ Nicole says, turning her attention back to me. ‘I suppose I can see how you found out about my past. But how did you find out where I am now?’
‘It wasn’t easy,’ I say. ‘I had to be a bit . . . creative. I had help from my journalist contacts. And then I spent days wading through the names of any new carers who had suddenly appeared on registered-carers databases. I tracked down any women who even remotely resembled you, knowing you’d have a different identity. It took me ages, and I went on plenty of wild goose chases up and down the country. Luckily, one of them finally paid off. And here I am. With you.’
‘So?’ she sneers. ‘You’re not going to do anything about it. You’re weak.’
‘You’re wrong,’ I say.
‘Piss off, Louisa,’ Nicole says. ‘You can’t do anything to me now.’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘You’re right. I can’t do anything. But they can.’
Her eyes narrow slightly, and she takes a quick glance behind and to her left and right. ‘Who? I don’t see anybody.’
‘Really?’ I reply. ‘Oh dear, Nicole. You must be losing your touch.’
She shakes her head dismissing me, but I notice her jaw tighten.
‘I called the police, Nicole. You’re wanted for multiple murders, not to mention a whole string of cons and thefts. They were very interested and pretty excited to get my call after all these months. I told them you were here with an elderly widow – Sheena Macdonald – and that her life was in imminent danger, so you may have to prepare for a bit of drama.’
Nicole isn’t saying anything. Her face gives nothing away.
‘I managed to persuade the senior investigating officer to give me a head start, so I could have a few minutes alone with you,’ I say. ‘But I think our time is almost up.’
She lets go of the wheelchair and glances around, weighing up her options.
‘The coppers are already arriving,’ I continue. ‘They’re parked up by the gates and surrounding the park, so be my guest, do a runner like you did last time, I can’t wait to see them rugby tackle you to the ground.’
‘Rugby tackles?’ the old woman says. ‘Tara! What’s going on?’
Finally, Nicole realises she’s not going to get out of this. Her eyes are wide and panicked. She takes in her surroundings. The park is fenced securely with beautiful, wrought-iron, high, spiked railings. And there’s only one way in and out – currently blocked off by a good proportion of Edinburgh’s finest in police vehicles.
I chance a quick peek through the railings to my left, at the black car sitting directly outside the park. Jared gives me a worried nod from the driver’s seat. He insisted on coming along to Scotland. He also wanted to come into the park with me to confront Nicole. I told him this was something I had to do myself. He wasn’t happy about it but I put my foot down.
Nicole follows my gaze and spots Jared in the car. She bites her lip.
‘You didn’t split us up,’ I say. ‘We’re happier now than we’ve ever been. And his agency is doing really well. He found a nice new suite of offices in Parkstone – so close, he can even walk to work.’
She scowls and looks away.
I glance behind me. Several officers are already heading our way across the park. Nicole doesn’t even attempt to run. She knows there’s no way out. She understands she’s been beaten. Her shoulders drop. Her expression goes blank once more.
‘While you’re in prison,’ I add, ‘you might want to read my novel. It’s selling pretty well and I’ve almost finished the sequel. You inspired me to start writing again, Nicole. So thanks for that.’
She doesn’t respond. But I can tell she heard me by the tilt of her head and the tightening of her jaw. My happiness is probably a worse punishment for her than jail.
I move off to the side to let the police do their job. A handful of officers crowd around her. One of them starts reading Nicole her rights, another clicks the handcuffs around her wrists. I turn away from the scene, push up my coat collar and slide my hands into my coat pockets. I begin walking back towards the park gates, away from Darcy Lane and away from that part of my life. Suddenly, a new sense of freedom hits me. It’s finally over and I can’t wait to get back home. To start living again.
If you enjoyed The Best Friend, you might like
The Girl from the Sea
a psychological thriller with a killer twist
Washed up on the beach, she can’t remember who she is. She can’t even remember her name. Turns out, she has a perfect life – friends and family eager to fill in the blanks.
But why are they lying to her? What don’t they want her to remember?
~
COMING 2017:
The Millionaire’s Wife – a chilling, twisty thriller
Be the first to hear about Shalini’s new releases here
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Note from the Author:
‘Thank you for reading my novel. I’m an independent author and rely on word-of-mouth recommendations. If you’ve enjoyed The Best Friend, maybe you’d be kind enough to tell your friends about it and consider posting a short review on Amazon or elsewhere online. Thank you so much.’
Acknowledgements
Massive thanks to Pete Boland for giving honest feedback and suggestions along the way. I know it mus
t get tedious when instead of being allowed to relax you have to read another of my chapters.
Once again, I’m very grateful to Hannah Riches, an ex-detective with the Metropolitan Police. And also to Samantha Smith, an officer with the Thames Valley Police. Thank you for your time and patience. Any errors in police procedure are purely my own.
Thank you to my wonderful content editor, Jessica Dall. Your notes, as always, are spot on. I’m lucky to have found you.
Thanks to Simon Tucker from Covered Book Designs for creating such an atmospheric book cover. You’re a star.
I’m forever grateful to my beta readers Julie Carey, Amara Gillo, Julia Summers and Terry Harden, whose feedback and typo-spotting was invaluable. Thanks also to my fab Street Team – your support is wonderful as ever.
I’d also like to mention the support of several author and reader groups I belong to: The Book Club, Book Connectors and UK Crime Book Club have all been instrumental in spreading the word and helping with feedback and support. Their members are wonderful people who I feel privileged to have met. Thank you, guys!
And to all my readers and reviewers, love and thanks always.
About the Author
Shalini Boland lives in Dorset, England with her husband and two noisy sons where she writes novels (in between doing the school runs and hanging out endless baskets of washing).
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Read More from Shalini
http://www.shaliniboland.co.uk
http://www.amazon.com/Shalini-Boland/e/B004SGMOJM
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The Best Friend: a chilling psychological thriller Page 23
