by Blake Pierce
“It could,” Parker agreed.
Since she was part of the team, although a junior member, Chandra was tempted to speak out in the girl’s defense, but she held herself back. They were more experienced and less naïve than she was. Even though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, she had to accept that perhaps their conclusions were correct.
Bruton spoke forcefully, counting off on his neatly manicured fingers.
“First, a traumatic incident occurs in France. Second, she gets to what she thinks is a place of safety. Third, her supposed protector who’s just seduced her is proved to be a liar when his wife arrives home. That’s a bad hand to be dealt. She’s an anxious person; look at those medications we found in the suitcase. She buckles under stress. This would have been extremely stressful.”
Parker nodded, his face grim.
“That’s a good alternative explanation.”
“She might even misremember herself. Her testimony was shaky. I don’t doubt for a moment that we could question her three days in a row, and get three different versions of events.”
“You’re saying she might have committed the murder and then repressed the memory?” Parker leaned forward.
“It’s a possibility, given our first impressions of her, and the medication that she’s on. However, it could also have nothing to do with her. We can’t discount that she might be innocent. Remember that she seemed genuinely surprised that he hadn’t died from exposure,” Bruton said.
Now it was Chandra’s turn to nod in eager agreement.
“Where’s the alternative suspect?” Parker argued
“There’s a family in the picture.” Bruton sounded cynical.
“A close family, despite Ellis’s misleading her about being married.”
Chandra found it interesting that Parker didn’t want to use the word “lies.”
Bruton sighed impatiently. “Look, Mr. Ellis was clearly a serial liar.”
Chandra felt a thrill of satisfaction that Bruton didn’t share Parker’s loyalties.
“You don’t know that!” Parker leaped to his friend’s defense. “He might have just wanted to get her into bed with him.”
“Even so, they slept together, and the wife knows. Therefore, we can’t rule her out as a suspect just yet.”
“Bruton, she only knew about their affair when we told her. She had no idea beforehand—you saw how shocked and tearful she was.”
“Ms. Vale appeared shocked and tearful, too,” Bruton reminded him.
“Mrs. Ellis told us she arrived home drunk after a romantic getaway, and passed out in bed as soon as they got home. That doesn’t set the scene for murder.” Parker said.
“Well, where’s the hard evidence pointing to Ms. Vale?” Bruton asked, and now Chandra realized that Parker was suddenly quiet.
“There is none at this point,” Bruton continued. “Not enough, anyway. We can get in touch with Pierre Dubois’s lawyer and his family, but any input from them would just be character evidence. It’s not proof.”
Parker thumped the table in frustration.
“You’re right. We need proof in some form. A confession would do it. Or else, concrete, incontrovertible evidence.”
Chandra was horrified that they sounded as if they were brainstorming for solutions to send her down. Did neither of them have any empathy for the girl? She’d been in floods again when Chandra had escorted her back to her cell. Worse still, she’d been gasping, “I deserve this. I brought it on myself,” between her sobs.
Chandra took a deep breath and decided to have her say.
“Couldn’t there be an alternative suspect who isn’t part of the family? Isn’t it possible that Ryan Ellis might have done this before? Slept with other girls, I mean.”
Parker looked up with an irritable frown.
“It’s possible, but Mrs. Ellis didn’t know of any recent visitors to the home.”
“Apart from the cleaner. She mentioned that they have help twice a week,” Bruton added.
“We’ll certainly interview the cleaner, but at this point she’s not a suspect and Ms. Vale is. So we have to build a strong case against her, because we are obliged to. After all, somebody killed Mr. Ellis.”
Chandra sighed. It wasn’t looking good for the girl. And what did she herself know anyway? These detectives were seasoned professionals and if they believed that Cassandra Vale was a killer, then most probably she was.
“It couldn’t have been suicide?” she ventured.
Parker shook his head.
“The cause of death, and the fact that there was no note, ruled that out straight away.”
“Oh,” Chandra said, disappointed.
“Good thinking, though,” Bruton said approvingly, and Chandra felt a flicker of pride.
“Is there anyone manning the front desk?” Parker stared meaningfully at the camera screen that showed the reception area. Following his gaze, Chandra saw that a member of the public was walking in.
“I’m on my way,” she said.
She hurried out of the interview room and to the reception area.
The lady waiting inside was a tall, slender brunette with hair cut in a perfect bob, and she wore a stylish suede jacket that Chandra immediately coveted, while knowing it probably cost more than her entire month’s salary.
“Sorry for the delay, ma’am,” Chandra said. “How can I help?”
“My name is Trish Ellis,” the woman replied in a calm, authoritative voice. “I believe you’re holding my au pair, Cassie Vale, as a murder suspect. I’ve come to bail her out.”
Chandra stared at the woman in utter shock.
She couldn’t believe what was happening. The victim’s widow had arrived to bail out the murder suspect. Why?
All she could think, in her confusion, was that Parker was going to be furious.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Cassie sat hunched on the bed with her elbows on her knees. Throughout the questioning she’d held out hope that the police would believe her, but nothing had gone her way. Now she felt a deep depression overwhelming her.
The police hadn’t brought her meds along. They had been left at the house, which was a blow, because in times of severe stress, she relied on them. Without them she knew from experience that her anxiety would escalate. The panic attacks would start—the warning signs were already there and she knew she could expect one soon.
She had no idea how long she’d be kept prisoner here or what the next step was. She guessed it would be a court appearance. By tomorrow, she’d be in pieces—anxiety played havoc with her memory. There would be no way she’d be coherent on the witness stand and she might well end up giving a different version of events and contradicting what she’d said today. Her own confusion would seal her fate.
Perhaps it would be better to confess. To flesh out the scene she’d so powerfully imagined about pouring the poison carefully into the wine glass, and stirring it slowly so that no trace of the residue remained.
They’d believe her in an instant if she told them that. There would be no doubting or second-guessing her story. After all, there was nobody to contradict her version, so perhaps she had.
Tears stung her eyes as she thought about the bad choices that had landed her here.
Then a rattle at the door startled her out of her despair.
She looked up, hoping it would be the friendly constable from the front desk, because maybe there was a way she could fetch Cassie her meds from the house—if she pleaded that they were prescribed medication, it might be possible.
Her heart plummeted as she saw it wasn’t the constable.
It was Parker, and he looked livid. His jaw was clenched and she could see a vein pulsing in his forehead.
He spoke, and it was clearly an effort for him to keep a normal tone of voice.
“Come with me,” he snapped.
Cassie wanted to ask why, but was sure he wouldn’t tell her. What could it be? Only more trouble for her, that she was sure of. P
erhaps her court date was today and they were going to take her there in a van. If so she should probably ask to use the toilet first, but she couldn’t bear to do that in front of Parker because what if he didn’t look away?
Her legs felt wobbly, and when his hand clamped around her arm she was grateful for the support.
She did her best to keep pace as he marched along.
When Cassie reached the front desk she nearly fell over from shock.
Trish was there.
She was busy signing a sheaf of official-looking forms, and barely looked up when Cassie walked in.
The friendly constable gave her a sympathetic smile but Cassie was too nervous to acknowledge it.
What was going on? Had Trish come up with more evidence that would convict Cassie immediately?
Bruton provided the answer.
“Ms. Vale, Mrs. Ellis has kindly offered you bail. We have decided to allow it, subject to certain terms. We are permitting bail because at this point, we do not have sufficient evidence for a conviction. However, we are continuing our investigation, and if or when additional evidence comes to light, you may be rearrested. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”
She nodded, although her head was spinning and she was starting to wonder if this might be a realistic dream that her anxious mind was conjuring up.
Dream or no dream, Cassie was certain that Parker had opposed the decision, but been overridden by the more senior detective. That would explain his angry demeanor.
Bruton continued. “You must remain at the Ellis family’s premises. You are not to leave the premises unless accompanied at all times by at least one adult, and even when in the company of an adult, you are not allowed to leave the village. You will cooperate with further questioning at all times. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, realizing her voice was so faint it was almost soundless.
“You will be required to check into the police station every Friday, between the hours of four and five p.m. Starting from this Friday.”
“I will,” she said.
“And we are holding your passport,” he concluded.
Parker stepped forward.
“Ms. Vale, breaking any of the bail conditions will be immediate grounds for your rearrest.”
“I understand,” she whispered.
Her hands were shaking so badly that she could hardly sign in the places where Parker was indicating.
Trish squeezed her shoulder.
“It will be all right,” she said.
Cassie looked up, astounded by the unexpected kindness.
“I’ve parked round the back. Can we leave now, Officers? I’ve a lot to get done today.”
“Certainly, ma’am,” Bruton said.
Cassie walked with Trish, but as she rounded the corner, in her nervousness, she dropped her jacket and fumbled to pick it up.
Behind her she heard a heated conversation at the front desk.
“She’s a flight risk!” Parker was almost shouting.
“We have her passport. There was no reason to deny bail,” Bruton said, in a more level voice.
Then the desk constable spoke in impassioned tones.
“Parker, please. If you find she’s innocent, promise me one thing. Promise that you’ll try as hard to help her as you’re trying to go after her now.”
Cassie didn’t hear any more. She hurried after Trish and out the door into the cold, fresh air.
She climbed into the car feeling numb with shock, and decided her best course of action was to keep quiet, because she didn’t know what she would babble out if she started to speak. Why was Trish helping her? Was Trish even helping her, or did she plan to get her revenge and then dispose of Cassie in some untraceable way?
Cassie’s mind was spinning as she considered the possibilities.
“I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” Trish said as they drove away.
She glanced at Cassie as if expecting a response, but she had no idea what to say. Trish sounded normal, just the same as she always did, but Cassie still didn’t understand why she’d helped her.
As the car wound its way through the village, she felt certain that she was dreaming. She’d become too stressed out in the police cell and had fallen asleep and was in the throes of what would probably turn into a nightmare.
She waited for the plush, leather-lined interior of the car to melt away, and for her to be hanging off the side of a tall building, with Jacqui screaming with laughter above her, her voice as high and sharp as the shriek of seagulls.
It didn’t happen. Instead, they pulled up outside the house and Trish climbed out as if everything was normal.
“What do you want to do first?” she asked. “Bath? Sleep? Something to eat?”
Once again, Cassie felt blindsided by her kindness. She felt guilty for having considered Trish to be a suspect. While Cassie had been wondering how to convince the police to focus on Trish, she had been trying her best to exonerate Cassie and find out who the real killer was.
“I—I’d like a bath,” Cassie stammered, needing to wash the feel and the smell of that claustrophobic police cell from her skin.
She noticed that there were two arrangements of lilies on the coffee table in the family room. People had already started to offer their sympathies for the death.
“Come and have a cup of coffee first. The children are with family today, and I’ll pick up some fish and chips when I fetch them. We all need a treat tonight.”
While Trish made the coffee, Cassie hurried to her room.
Everything was in its place. Her phone had been put onto the charger. Her luggage and drawers had clearly been searched through because her meds had been moved, but they were still there, which was all that mattered.
Cassie swallowed down her pills and gasped with relief.
Then she went to the kitchen, to find Trish had made coffee and set out a plate of cookies.
“I have to apologize for my behavior earlier,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking clearly and I was beside myself with grief.”
“I’m so sorry about everything,” Cassie began, but Trish shook her head.
“What’s done is done. There was fault on both sides; it would be wrong of me to say otherwise.” She lowered her head and pressed her hands over her eyes for a minute before continuing.
“However, I don’t believe you killed my husband.”
“You don’t?” Cassie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Trish was on her side after all.
Cassie felt tears well up again, but this time they were caused by relief and gratitude.
“I can’t tell you what that means to me,” she whispered. “I’ve been feeling so bad about everything.”
“It’s a complicated situation, and I’m sorry you have been caught up in it,” Trish sympathized. “However, the fact remains my beloved Ryan was murdered, and somebody did it. So the question is—who?”
With her meds starting to work, the coffee in front of her, in the safe familiarity of the kitchen, Cassie found herself able to think more clearly.
One person came immediately to mind.
Harriet the cleaner.
Could she have done it?
Yes, she could. Harriet had worked on Monday—it had been her last day before leaving, and she had left on bad terms, extremely angry, with a serious grudge.
She could have opened up one of the wine bottles and added the poison. She wouldn’t have known who would drink the wine or when, but she could have guessed that Ryan would probably drink most of it, and might not have cared if the poison affected other people too.
Cassie hesitated. Telling Trish about Harriet would open a can of worms. For a start, she was sure that Ryan had slept with Harriet. Trish didn’t know that yet, and Cassie didn’t want to tell her. She didn’t feel brave enough—or medicated enough—to deal with Trish’s reaction.
The other suspect was even more likely, but if she spoke up, the consequences might be worse.
Ca
ssie couldn’t forget how Dylan had sat in bed, watching her, and the chilling words he’d spoken. He’d been factual, and the only emotion he’d shown had been faint amusement at her shock and disbelief.
Dylan had shown he could steal without any guilt, and that he could kill with no remorse. Did he see a moral difference between an animal and a human? She didn’t know. He might be only twelve years old but she was frightened of him. She didn’t know what his motive would have been for adding poison to the wine, but perhaps he hadn’t needed one; or had done it for some sort of twisted revenge.
Her bail conditions meant she couldn’t leave the house. If she told Trish she suspected Dylan, and he learned what she’d done, it might put her in danger.
“I have some ideas,” she said. “I want to tell you but I need more time to get my head straight. Could we discuss it later?”
Trish smiled sadly.
“I had a feeling you would sense who it was. I also have strong suspicions based on what I’ve heard and seen, but I’ll be truthful, Cassie, I am scared to share them with you, although I know I must. So yes, please take more time. This is a serious issue. Neither of us wants to make unfounded accusations, but both of us will have to be brave and honest if we are going to work together. Have something to eat, have a rest. We can speak again later.”
Cassie felt a surge of relief that Trish’s suspicions clearly didn’t include her. It reassured her that the sleepwalking, and her fragmented memories, had simply been due to a nightmare. After all, if Trish thought she’d committed the crime, she would never have bailed her out.
“Where are the children?” Cassie asked.
“They’re visiting their aunt, Ryan’s older sister. She asked if they could keep each other company today and I thought it would do them good. I’m fetching them at five, and I’ll bring back supper on the way home.”
Trish stood up.
“I’ve tried to keep this as quiet as possible, but word gets out. I’ve already had phone calls and visits from people in the village, and some deliveries of flowers. However, please let the phone ring to voicemail, and don’t speak to anybody who knocks at the door, in case they’re a journalist, as you know what the gutter press in this country is like.”
