Dead Guilty

by Michelle Davies

  As her eyes widened with shock, George laughed.

  ‘I’m joking. That’s Johnnie’s MO, not mine, don’t forget.’

  Maggie continued to stare at him.

  ‘Don’t you remember us talking about it last night? You asked me about my sister being close with Johnnie—’

  Shit, thought Maggie. Please tell me I didn’t reveal anything about Johnnie’s alibi in Ibiza being false. Walker might forgive me getting hammered when I’m meant to be on my best behaviour, but he’d never forgive me shouting my mouth off.

  ‘—and I told you how he would chase after Katy like a heat-seeking missile, to the point where she asked me to tell him to back off because it was getting creepy. Then you asked me if I thought he could have hurt her, to which I replied he wasn’t even on Majorca when she was murdered, and then you went a bit weird and so we ordered another drink.’

  Maggie was mortified beyond words, for being drunk, for being indiscreet, for throwing herself at another man. When did she become this awful person?

  ‘Why were you asking me about Johnnie? Do you know something we don’t?’

  ‘No.’ She paused. ‘I also asked you about the jeweller’s, didn’t I?’

  George nodded. ‘I told you the truth – I was clutching at straws when I went there. I had this mad idea that the owner might remember something if I asked him rather than the police. I didn’t mean to cause a row. There was nothing sinister about me going: I only asked about the cost of making a replica because I was thinking it might be nice for Mum and Dad to have a copy of it.’

  Only half listening, Maggie began looking for her phone again and found it slid between the mattress and the bed frame. Pulling it out, she saw she had a missed call from Lara’s personal mobile. It must be her husband.

  ‘I need to make a call in private,’ she said. ‘You should head back to Saros now. I may be here for a while.’

  ‘Sure.’

  He picked up his overnight bag and headed for the door. Then, on the verge of opening it, he doubled back, wrapped his arm around Maggie’s waist and pulled her close until his lips found hers. Maggie sank into the kiss, seeing it for what it was – a goodbye.

  As he let go, she noticed a flash of red in his hair.

  ‘Wait, your head is bleeding.’

  George’s hand flew to his scalp. Blood was visible in his blond hair.

  He withdrew his fingers and examined the tips, now stained red.

  ‘Oh, so it is. I caught it on the doorway as we left the bar last night. I’m surprised you don’t remember. It bled a bit then stopped. I must’ve knocked the scab drying my hair.’

  Maggie didn’t remember it happening. She peered closely at the wound. ‘It looks nasty. Here, hold this against it.’

  She grabbed the bathmat off the floor and held it gently against the cut, trying to force from her mind thoughts of kissing, and anything else, as they stood toe to toe.

  ‘You should get it checked out,’ she said briskly.

  ‘Maggie—’

  ‘There’s a walk-in medical centre near the marina in Saros,’ she continued. ‘You should go there when you get back. It might need glueing.’

  His mouth opened to say something but he thought twice.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said.

  She nodded. When the door closed behind him she breathed a sigh of relief.

  64

  It wasn’t Mike Steadman who answered Maggie’s call but Lara herself.

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t expecting it to be you,’ she said.

  ‘I came home last night. You were right: it wasn’t fair on Mike and the kids, freaking them out like that. I told him everything and he’s been amazing.’ Maggie could tell from Lara’s voice that the impact of unburdening herself to her husband had been positive – she sounded lighter, happier. ‘So you don’t need to come back to see me. I’m fine, I really am.’

  ‘That’s great to hear,’ said Maggie, relieved that it meant she could get back to Saros instead of waiting for hours again at Palma airport. ‘Does that mean you can tell me what else you remembered? I got the distinct impression yesterday that there was something you weren’t telling me.’

  ‘There was. I told Mike and he said I needed to tell you, however upsetting it might be, because it might be important.’ Lara paused for a moment and Maggie hoped she wasn’t changing her mind again. ‘When I woke up on the sofa, I wasn’t wearing the clothes I’d gone out in. I was in a black strapless gown, the kind of dress you’d wear to a black-tie function. I didn’t check the label but I could tell it was expensive.’ Lara let out a hollow laugh. ‘It was actually one of the nicest dresses I’ve ever worn.’

  ‘Whoever took you to the apartment got you undressed?’

  ‘Yes, which is why I couldn’t tell you. I feel violated just thinking about it. But Mike was right, I had to say something.’

  ‘I wonder what the significance was,’ Maggie mused. ‘Why put you in an expensive dress you’d wear to a function and then lock you in the apartment?’

  ‘Last night, after I told him everything, Mike suggested I close my eyes and really think about what I saw in the apartment after I came round . . . and there was something I’d forgotten. When I went past the dining room into the kitchen to escape, I remember seeing that the table was laid out like a restaurant setting. Like, all the cutlery, plates and glasses were in place. There were flowers everywhere too. I don’t know what kind, but they were pink.’

  ‘This is brilliant, Lara,’ said Maggie. ‘This should really help us. I don’t suppose you remembered anything about where the apartment was?’

  ‘A bit. It was in a street filled with apartment blocks and I don’t think it was far from the seafront: a street or two away at most.’

  After ending the call, Maggie rang Walker to pass on what Lara had said. He was intrigued by what she’d recalled about the apartment and its location and was also pleased that Maggie no longer had to go back to London. He didn’t ask where she’d spent the night and nor did she volunteer it.

  Thankful she no longer had to dash to the airport, Maggie stripped off again and jumped in the shower, scrubbing herself furiously as though trying to eradicate any lingering trace of George on her skin, all the while cursing herself for getting so drunk that she’d slept with someone else.

  It scared her how attracted to George she was, though, and her priority now had to be keeping her distance. Professionally, she had crossed a line – getting involved with a family member she was liaison to could result in her removal from Operation Pivot, and she wasn’t about to ruin her career over a silly mistake.

  She was leaning down to slip her shoes on when she spotted the wallet on the floor, half tucked beneath the bedside table. She checked inside and the credit cards confirmed it was George’s. Shit. Now she’d have to speak to him to give it back.

  She was about to close it when the logo on a business card tucked into one of the pouches made her stop. Easing the card out, she saw it was for the jewellery store in Palma where George was almost arrested for causing a scene. She turned the card over in her hand and saw there was writing on the back:

  Replica, 255 euros.

  Maggie sank down onto the bed. Was it really for a present that he’d asked about copying the ring? Surely it would’ve been easier for him to have one made in London? Maybe he felt he needed to appear as though he was going to buy something from the jeweller, however mawkish.

  She went to slip the card back into George’s wallet, but after a moment’s hesitation decided to have a quick rifle through it. Amongst the credit cards, driving licence and euro notes in tens and twenties were three more business cards. Laying them out on the bed in front of her, she saw they were each for villa sales companies, which struck her as odd, because Lyndsey said every time George had visited Saros he stayed at Orquídea. Why would he want a villa here, in a place he professed to hate?

  She picked up the first one, for a company called Saros Villas, and dialled the
number. The card was for a sales rep called Valeria and it was she who answered. Maggie was about to announce herself as a police officer, but changed her mind at the last second and decided to take a punt.

  ‘My name is Lucy and I’m calling from London. My colleague George Pope recommended your firm,’ she said amiably. ‘I’m looking to buy a villa similar to the one you found for him.’

  ‘Just one moment.’

  Maggie heard the faint sound of fingers clacking on a keyboard.

  ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve been misinformed. We have no client of that name.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure he said it was your company that found him one in Saros.’

  ‘All our properties are out of town, in the hills around Saros rather than in the town itself. I’m sure we can find something perfect for your requirements though—’

  ‘Lucy’ didn’t bother with goodbye before she hung up. Moments later, George was back at the door. Maggie hastily stuck the cards back in.

  ‘I forgot my wallet!’ he grinned.

  She handed it over. ‘I’m afraid some of the cards fell out where you dropped it, and I might’ve put them back in the wrong order. So, thinking of buying a place over here?’ she asked breezily.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I saw there was a card for a company selling villas.’

  George remained impassive. ‘Oh, Johnnie gave me that. He was trying to get me to invest in some property. Frankly, I can’t think of anything worse than buying somewhere here, where my sister died. Right, I’d better go, my taxi’s waiting.’ He hesitated then gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Bye then.’

  Her phone went as she was closing the door behind him. It was Lou.

  ‘Hey, how’s it going?’ she answered brightly, pleased to hear from her sister. ‘I was going to call you. I don’t know if we’ll be flying back this evening now, with this missing person case still—’

  ‘What the fuck have you done, Maggie?’

  She was used to Lou swearing at her, but it was usually done in anger. This time though, she sounded concerned, and that worried Maggie far more.

  ‘Me? Nothing.’

  ‘Will’s just called me. He’s in pieces.’

  Maggie’s heartbeat accelerated in panic. What was wrong with Umpire?

  ‘Why? What’s happened? Is he okay?’

  ‘He heard what you did last night. You must’ve accidentally called his phone and it went to voicemail. He’s just played the message back.’

  The air squeezed from Maggie’s lungs and she couldn’t breathe. Oh God, no.

  ‘Maggie, he heard you and whoever you were having sex with.’

  65

  Philip looked down at the deck and then again at Johnnie.

  ‘I thought you said you’d gone fishing.’

  Johnnie stood very still, his face pale and expressionless.

  ‘I think you should go now, Philip,’ he said, his voice a monotone to match.

  But Philip was not going to be intimidated off the boat without an answer.

  ‘You lied about the fish. Why?’

  ‘Please, you need to go.’

  ‘Johnnie, why is there blood on that ice? And whose earrings are those?’

  He could see it was a struggle for his friend’s son to stay calm and while he was not frightened of him, equally he did not want to antagonize him.

  ‘What have you done, dear boy?’ he asked as softly as one could ask.

  ‘I haven’t done anything!’

  Johnnie grew agitated, yanking off the baseball cap he was wearing and raking his hand through his hair. That’s when Philip saw it was streaked with red.

  ‘You have blood in your hair,’ he stated matter-of-factly.

  ‘I tripped on the deck when it was dark and caught myself on a winch.’ Johnnie advanced towards him. ‘You need to leave now. I want you to go.’

  Philip looked deeply into the eyes of the man he’d known since boyhood and saw the desperation there.

  ‘Whatever it is you’ve done, I can help,’ he said. ‘Talk to me, and we can work through it together.’

  Johnnie shook his head and shoved the cap back on.

  ‘There’s nothing to work through. Trust me, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Now go,’ he said, even more forcibly.

  Philip stood his ground.

  ‘No, not like this.’ He reached forward and grabbed him by the shoulders. He felt Johnnie’s muscles tense beneath his grip but he did not relinquish his hold.

  ‘If you loved Katy like you said you did, then you’ll tell me for her sake.’

  He felt Johnnie’s shoulders give slightly.

  ‘Please, talk to me—’

  ‘Philip?’

  The voice startled them both and Philip spun round to see Clive Reynolds standing on the jetty. Such was his surprise that he instantly let get of Johnnie, who took advantage of the moment to bundle Philip forcibly towards the walkway.

  ‘Go and talk to your friend and leave me be,’ he hissed.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ asked Clive, apparently sensing he’d interrupted a tense moment between the two men.

  ‘Yes, all fine,’ said Philip, trying to hide how shaken up he was at being manhandled off the boat. ‘You’re up and about early.’

  ‘I came looking for you. I went to the apartment and your wife said you’d gone for a walk along the front.’ Clive paused. ‘I need to show you something. It’s urgent.’

  Philip’s curiosity as to why Clive had tracked him down overrode his wanting to force the truth from Johnnie. With a brief backward glance, he climbed onto the walkway, accepting the offer of a helping hand from Clive to step safely onto the jetty. Johnnie looked relieved to see him go.

  ‘Show me what?’ he asked Clive.

  Jade’s dad shook his head. ‘Not here. Let’s grab a drink. You’re going to need to sit down for this.’

  For the second time in ten minutes Philip experienced a spike of anxiety. What could Clive possibly want to share with him? But the man’s face was giving nothing away, its impassiveness an unfathomable mask. Philip was heartened, however, to see that Clive looked in better shape than the last time he’d seen him, sobbing in Patricia’s arms. His posture was upright, his manner resolute. He had purpose again.

  ‘A coffee would be good,’ Philip agreed.

  He took a last look at Johnnie on the deck of his boat as they walked down the jetty towards the cafes and restaurants of the Pine Walk. He’d replaced the baseball cap and was chucking the scattered ice overboard where the tepid water of the marina swallowed it up.

  Clive ordered a beer. The waitress didn’t bat an eyelid, seemingly resigned to British customers wanting alcohol at all hours. Philip couldn’t help himself though, pointing out that it was not even eight o’clock yet.

  ‘Hair of the dog,’ said Clive gruffly. ‘Don’t be so quick to judge either – you might be needing one yourself in a minute.’

  Philip couldn’t think what could be so bad that it would make him want a drink at breakfast.

  ‘I’ll have a latte, please,’ he said to the waitress.

  ‘Anything to eat with that?’

  ‘Toasted cheese sandwich on white bread, with chips,’ said Clive. ‘But not two bits of toast with a slice of hard cheese in: I want it properly melted. Can you do that?’ She nodded and he handed the menu back to her. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What about you, sir?’

  ‘Just a croissant, if you have any.’

  ‘Plain or with chocolate?’

  ‘Plain, please.’

  ‘You’re a man of simple tastes,’ Clive commented as the waitress peeled away from their table to process their order.

  He made it sound like a criticism and Philip was stung. They might not be alike by any stretch of the imagination but he wanted Clive to like him. He wanted them to be friends. They shared a special kinship, two fathers united in grief over the loss of their daughters, and he would be dreadfully upset if he thought Clive didn’t gift it the same impor
tance he did, or was dismissive of its uniqueness. But rather than confront the issue head on, he sidestepped, like he always did.

  ‘What do you want to show me, then?’

  Clive leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Last night, the missus and me went for a drink in the hotel bar. Not for a big knees-up, though: we were getting cabin fever from being stuck in our room and needed to get out for half an hour. Mandy was worried people would point fingers at us – like, what are they doing having a nice time when their daughter’s missing – but actually everyone was decent. People came up and said how sorry they were and how they hoped Jade would turn up soon.’ Clive paused for a beat, swallowing hard before continuing. ‘Then this chap comes over called Stephen, lovely fella from Scotland, staying at the next-door apartments with his wife and daughter. He said he’d heard the police had found Jade’s sarong in an old cafe on a side street and, well, it might be nothing, but something had stuck in his mind and he’d reported it to the Majorcan police, but no one had been to talk to him about it yet.’

  Philip was on tenterhooks, his body tense with anticipation as Clive’s account continued.

  ‘Him and his family were walking back from shopping the other day when they saw a man with a suitcase coming out of the gate that leads to the rear of that cafe. Stephen remembered it because they’d asked the fella to take their picture and in return he’d lugged the man’s suitcase into the boot of his car and it was really heavy, like he had bricks in it or something. Stephen even makes a joke—’

  To Philip’s frustration, the waitress chose that moment to interrupt them with their order. He nearly told her to leave them alone as she went through a checklist of supplementary questions: did Clive want ketchup for his chips and would Philip like some butter with his croissant, or perhaps jam? Eventually she took the hint and went away, but both ignored the food and drinks in front of them as Clive resumed his tale.

  ‘So, Stephen makes a joke about excess baggage and that’s that. They walk off, but a little bit further down the road Stephen and his family stop again, because their kid wants another picture taken – they’d bought her this massive unicorn inflatable,’ Clive added, as though that was important. ‘Anyhow, when Stephen hears about Jade, and the sarong, he starts thinking about the bloke they saw coming out of the back entrance, and how shifty he was. He calls the police and they say they’ll follow it up, but that was two days ago.’ Clive fixed Philip with a grim smile. ‘Then last night, while we’re talking, Mandy asks Paula – that’s Stephen’s wife – if they checked the pictures they took that day, because you never know, the car might be in the background when they took the second picture. So Paula goes through her phone and, well, blow me, they didn’t just get the car, they got a shot of the man too.’