‘You’re checking out Jack? Why? Jack would never harm me.’ She saw Fanshawe exchange glances with Carstairs. ‘What is it you’re not telling me?’
The inspector sat back and tapped his index finger on the arm of the chair. Then, as if making a decision, he leaned forward again. ‘We are aware that Mr Chatwell has been suspended. The CEO was cagey as to why, but we are aware of your husband’s gambling problem.’ His eyes softened. ‘We’ve no proof, but we assume the two are linked.’
There was a question in his words. Molly wished she knew the answer. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, turning to glare at Carstairs who’d given a grunt of disbelief. ‘I didn’t know Jack was suspended until yesterday; I didn’t know about his gambling and certainly didn’t know the extent of it…’ She broke off, aware she was telling the police what they wanted to know.
‘The extent of it?’ Fanshawe prompted. ‘And what is that?’
Her eyes watered as she stared at him. What did it matter now? It was all going to come out. A great big unholy mess. ‘The credit cards are maxed out. We owe about 40K on those and he has remortgaged the house for a quarter of a million. He hasn’t paid the last couple of months so we’ve arrears of 6K.’
‘And you didn’t know?’
She shook her head, then held her hands up. ‘Oh, don’t worry, he didn’t forge the documents. He was too clever, and I was too stupid. I signed them thinking they were something else.’
‘Do you have life insurance?’ Carstairs’ cold, gravelly voice startled her. She’d almost succeeded in forgetting he was there.
‘Of course,’ she said, then shook her head vehemently as she turned to look at him. ‘No, no you’re not going down that road. There’s no way Jack would have tried to kill me. That’s ridiculous. That’s not the kind of people we are.’ She turned back to Fanshawe, still shaking her head. ‘You don’t really think he’s involved, do you?’ She couldn’t read his expression and, stretching a hand towards him, she repeated, ‘Do you?’
He looked down at her hand before saying slowly, ‘We wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t look at every angle.’
It was a politician’s answer. Molly felt a solid lump of fear lodge in her throat. ‘That’s crazy,’ she said, her voice trembling. Meeting the detective’s eyes, she saw doubt in them, and something else, sympathy. ‘Jack loves me, he’d never harm me.’ She refused to lower her eyes. Despite his gambling, despite his drunken behaviour the previous night, she knew the man she married would never hurt her. Or was she fooling herself? After all, she’d been doing a lot of that recently.
‘We’re keeping every avenue of investigation open,’ Fanshawe said. ‘We would like to speak to Mr Chatwell, however. Do you know where we could find him?’
Molly wanted to say yes, wanted to say, he’d be home any minute. But they were the police; lying to them would achieve nothing. ‘I haven’t seen him since last night. In the hotel. The Hyde Hotel. But he’s left there now.’
‘You said he’d be home soon,’ Carstairs replied.
‘Well, I lied,’ she snapped at him. ‘I don’t know where he is. He left the hotel early this morning–’
‘Without paying his bill?’ Fanshawe interrupted.
‘Without paying his bill,’ she said, her voice thick. ‘A seven-thousand-pound bill, if you want the gory details. I have until noon tomorrow to find a way to pay that, or they’ll be forced to act. By that’ – she gave a grim smile – ‘they mean bring in you lot. Our credit cards are maxed out, so I’m really not sure what I can do.’
‘I know the manager of the Hyde Hotel,’ Fanshawe said, surprising her. ‘Harriet Summers. She’s a reasonable woman, I’ll have a word with her, tell her you need a bit more time.’
That would be one thing off her mind. ‘Thank you,’ Molly said, genuinely grateful. ‘I’m going to sell the car, it’ll bring in enough cash to sort out a few things including the hotel, but I have to organise getting it back first. It’s in Wandsworth pound.’ She held a hand up. ‘Don’t ask!’ He’d hear the story from Harriet, she’d no doubt, but she didn’t want to have to tell them and see Carstairs sneering at her stupidity.
‘If you’re going to sell it to a garage,’ Fanshawe said, ‘do a deal with them, get them to pick it up themselves.’
‘Good idea, thank you, I’ll do that.’ That would make things easier; she could ring the BMW dealership where they’d bought it and get that process started. The sooner she had money to pay off some of the debts, the happier she’d feel. Happier? At least she was still able to kid herself.
Fanshawe looked at Carstairs and tilted his head slightly towards the door.
Molly’s heart fell as they stood. Despite the obnoxious Carstairs, she found their presence reassuring. When they left, she’d be alone, and she had no idea where Jack was or when he’d come home. Trying to keep the fear from her voice, she said, ‘Until you find whoever it is, I’m still in danger, aren’t I?’
Fanshawe looked down at her. ‘When I rang you earlier, it sounded like you were in the Underground, Mrs Chatwell. We did, if you remember, suggest that you stay indoors. Obviously, you didn’t take heed, so I’ll say it again, until we find out what is going on… and we will… stay inside where you are safe.’ He jabbed a thumb towards the hallway. ‘And please, put the chain on the door and check who it is before you open it.’
Molly struggled to her feet and walked to the front door after them.
Fanshawe rattled the chain. ‘Put it on as soon as we leave,’ he said. ‘Be careful. You have my number, ring me if there’s any problem and when you hear from Mr Chatwell, persuade him to contact me, okay?’
She nodded because it seemed the thing to do.
After they’d gone, she rang the garage where they’d bought the BMW and asked to speak to the manager.
Ten minutes later she hung up. She’d got less than she’d expected, but he’d offered to check the car over at the pound and if everything was as promised, have the money transferred immediately, so she wasn’t going to complain. She took the car key off her set of keys, found the spare, got the paperwork he’d need to take the car from the pound and left everything on the hall table. He said he’d be over in forty minutes to pick everything up. The pound closed at five so it would be the morning before he’d be able to access it.
The twenty-five thousand he’d offered for the car would pay the money owing to the hotel, the arrears on their mortgage, plus the next month’s payment and a couple of thousand off each credit card. It would give her breathing space.
Now all she needed to do was find Jack.
32
Pete Randall, the garage owner, arrived almost an hour later. When the doorbell rang, Molly’s heart leapt, hoping it was Jack. Her disappointment must have been obvious when she opened the door. ‘Have you changed your mind?’ Randall asked.
‘No, no sorry, I’ve lots to think about,’ she said, stepping back to let him in. ‘Thank you so much for doing this. I have the documentation you need, plus the keys.’
Randall looked through the paperwork carefully. ‘Okay. First thing tomorrow, I’ll head over and check it out. If everything is as you say, I’ll have the money transferred into your account.’ He took a document from his pocket. ‘I need you to sign this.’
Molly led the way into the living room. ‘Would you like some coffee while I read it?’ Never again was she going to sign something without examining every single word. Randall seemed to think it was normal. He declined the coffee, said nothing and stood with his hands in his jacket pockets watching as she read.
Finally, Molly took a pen and signed. ‘There you go,’ she said, handing it back. ‘And thank you again, you’ve got me out of a bit of a hole.’
Randall shrugged. ‘It happens,’ he said dismissively, as if it was an everyday occurrence. Maybe it was, Molly thought as she shut the front door. She never thought her life would go into such a spiral.
Easing herself back onto the sofa, she picked up her m
obile. Still no word from Jack. She tried ringing him again, but once more it went to voicemail. There didn’t seem any point in leaving another message.
There were several messages. One was from her line manager in Dawson Marketing hoping she was recovering. He didn’t say outright but she knew he was wondering when she was returning to work. She sent a brief reply thanking him for his good wishes and saying she’d be off at least another week. They had a good working relationship; she’d make an appointment to see him when she went back and explain everything.
More heartening, there were messages from Freya and Remi. She read them, could almost hear the sound of their cheerful enthusiastic voices and yearned to have them nearby, at the same time relieved they were spared the trauma of the current situation. They would be horrified, appalled. They’d want to leave and come home to help. But they were entitled to a life full of hope and promise; she’d do anything… anything… to make sure they got it.
She sent them short cheery messages about how busy she was, how much she missed them, how happy she was that they were doing so well, and she threw the phone on the sofa beside her. Resting her head back, she shut her eyes. Where was Jack? He wouldn’t be able to use the credit cards to check into a hotel. Should she start ringing around their friends to ask if he was staying with them? Tears gathered and she rubbed them away roughly. It was not the time to cry, it was a time to plan her next step.
A painting over the fireplace caught her eye. It had been a fortieth birthday present from her to Jack. It was only right that she sold it to pay off some of their debts. Luckily, the value of art tended to go up rather than down; she’d spent a ridiculous sum on it, almost twenty grand, she might get more for it now. It would go towards paying off more of their debts. She’d give the gallery a call in the morning.
Pushing slowly up from the sofa, she headed to the kitchen. She needed to eat something, but the fridge didn’t hold anything tempting. Taking out the milk, she checked the date, relieved to see it was still okay. A bowl of cornflakes was better than nothing. Sitting back on the sofa, she ate slowly, her ears pricking between crunchy mouthfuls for the sound of the front door opening. Surely, he would come home.
A flicker of anger shot through her worried mind. He knew that someone had tried to kill her, that she’d been hurt. He should be with her, taking care of her. The sympathetic look in Fanshawe’s eyes came back to her. Did he really think Jack was capable of an attempt on her life? Gambling was an addiction, had it become more important than her? Suddenly there was a smidgeon of doubt in her mind, and that worried her even more.
She meant what she’d said to the police. Jack, the man she had married, wasn’t capable of hurting her. But this man, this gambler willing to risk everything, she wasn’t sure about him. They, each of them, had very healthy life insurance; the death of either would pay out over a million.
There had been a fanatical light in Jack’s eye when he’d said he wanted to go back down to the casino in the Hyde. Was that all it was about now, his next gambling fix? She gulped, and a shiver ran down her spine. From desperately wanting Jack to come home, she was suddenly aware she was scared he would. Anger surged through her. Fanshawe had told her to stay indoors where she’d be safe – if he really suspected Jack was guilty, she wasn’t safe there at all. Her mind whirled. Did that mean he didn’t really suspect him?
‘Aaargh,’ she said, the bowl dropping from her hand to bounce from the sofa to the floor in a messy stream of milk-sodden cornflakes. She no longer knew what to think. Fanshawe had been adamant that she put the safety chain on the door, maybe that was a hint that she should keep Jack out? But if she were in danger, shouldn’t he have suggested she go somewhere safer? Perhaps, that’s what she should do, go and stay with one of her friends. Her brain was whirling, she couldn’t make a decision, not even to save her life.
She remembered she hadn’t put the safety chain back on, and choked back a half laugh, half cry as she struggled to her feet. The aches and pains were making themselves felt with a vengeance, forcing her to hobble and slide a hand along the wall in the hallway for support. She was halfway to the front door when, without warning, it opened. She squealed in fright, stumbled backwards and would have fallen if she hadn’t caught hold of the banisters, clutching at them frantically.
‘Jack?’
But it wasn’t her husband who pushed open the door.
33
Molly stared at the pasty-faced man who stood on the doorstep and shook her head, confused.
‘What are you doing here? Where did you get the key to our house?’
‘Are you going to ask me in or leave me standing here? It’s raining in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Charlie Forster said, smiling beguilingly.
Molly frowned. She was wary of beguiling smiles these days. ‘Of course, come in.’
She stood back as far as she could, but he still brushed against her as he passed, drops from his raincoat wetting the front of her silk blouse. He was close enough that she could smell the nose-crinkling acrid smell of sweat and caught Forster’s eyes sliding down her. Why was he here? She wanted to tell him to leave, but panic robbed her voice and before it returned, he’d walked through to the living room.
Taking a shaky steadying breath, she followed. ‘What do you want?’ She didn’t ask him to take a seat, she didn’t need to; he’d already taken his coat off, hung it across the back of a chair and flopped onto the sofa. Molly wrapped her arms around her waist and watched in annoyance as his coat dripped onto the floor. ‘Charlie, what are you doing here?’
He took a crumpled tissue from his trouser pocket and wiped rainwater from his face. ‘Awful evening, I didn’t want to come but Jack insisted.’ Charlie threw the sodden tissue onto the coffee table.
‘Jack!’ As if the name released her, Molly moved forward, took the seat opposite and looked at him. ‘He’s at your place?’
Charlie screwed his mouth up. ‘He was desperate, Molly. After he left the hotel, he didn’t know where else to turn. He knew he could trust me.’
‘He could have come home!’
‘He couldn’t face you, not yet. Guilt is tearing him apart. I was afraid to leave him for a while, to be honest, I was afraid he might do something stupid. He’s a bit calmer now, but he wouldn’t settle until I came over to make sure you were all right.’
‘You make him sound like a child. I think it’s best if I go back with you and talk to him.’
Charlie smiled and shook his head. ‘Go out in that rain? Have you looked in a mirror recently, Molly, you look like death. And you’re flinching when you move. Sit, for goodness sake, before you fall down.’ He stood abruptly. ‘Jack was right, he said you wouldn’t be taking your painkillers.’ He held a hand up. ‘Don’t worry, he told me exactly where you keep them, I’ll go up and get a couple for you. Sit. I’ll be down in a second.’
She was thrown by his audacity and stared after him as he left the room. Swaying from fatigue as much as the mental exhaustion, she sat on the sofa as she heard his heavy step head up the stairs, the dull sound of doors shutting and his noisy descent. Then he was standing in front of her, two capsules on the palm of his hand.
‘Jack said I was to make sure you took them,’ he said.
She was going to argue that she didn’t like taking them, that they made her feel worse, not better, and looked up at him with the words ready. But there was something unsettling about his sympathetic smile, something worrying about the rigid determination of the hand held only inches away so, instead, she said, ‘I’ll need a drink.’
He filled a glass of water, handed it to her and tipped the two capsules onto her hand.
She looked at them warily, then tossed both into her mouth, drinking half the water to wash them down. ‘Thank you.’
He sat opposite, his eyes fixed on her. ‘You’ll feel much better soon. Then I can go back and reassure Jack. He’s going to look for help for his gambling, I think he has come to his senses.’
Mo
lly felt weary. It wasn’t going to be that easy. She closed her eyes briefly, hoping Charlie would get the hint and leave. When she heard nothing, she opened her eyes to see him staring at her with a strange expression. It vanished when he saw her eyes open.
‘You feeling a bit sleepy?’ he asked.
Sleepy? She was mentally and physically exhausted. Too tired to explain, she simply nodded and saw a satisfied smile appear. ‘You can leave now, if you want,’ she said, wishing he would go. ‘I’ll probably fall asleep. Tell Jack that I’m doing okay. Ask him to come home tomorrow, will you?’
Charlie shook his head slowly. ‘No, I won’t go yet. I want to make sure everything is okay this time.’
This time? Molly didn’t have the energy to ask what he meant.
A wave of exhaustion and dismay washed over her, making her feel faint. Closing her eyes, she rested her head back on the sofa, wishing she could stay like that, in the dark. She heard Charlie move and opened her eyes to see him leaning forward and staring at her, his mouth a tight, pinched line.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said, her words slurring slightly.
‘For a change,’ he said cryptically, ‘I think everything is going right.’ He sat back onto his seat and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands hanging. ‘Those tablets seem to be working. I think this calls for a celebratory drink.’
Molly didn’t think there was any reason to celebrate but she gestured towards the fridge. ‘Help yourself,’ she mumbled.
The faint sound of him opening and pouring wine were background to the thoughts that were screaming in her increasingly befuddled brain. What did he mean everything was going right? Something was very wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what. Reaching under the cushion, she pulled out her phone.
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to ring anyone,’ he said, sitting down, a full wine glass in his hand.
The Perfect Life Page 20
