‘It went missing, like I said. One day it was there, the next day it was gone.’ Craig’s voice was firm, his jaw pushed slightly out of sync. ‘It would have been about mid-November.’
Mid-November: that would have been shortly after Elizabeth’s funeral.
‘Did you report it as stolen, Mr Atherton?’ The DI was politely insistent.
‘No, I did not.’
We could both see the sergeant busily scribbling in a notebook.
‘Can I ask why? Surely, you’d want to recover it? Or at least register it as stolen for insurance purposes.’
‘I believe Elizabeth’s other daughter took it.’
I looked up from the dog, rigid with shock.
‘And why did you think that?’ the DI asked.
‘Well, it was her mother’s car, and she, along with Caro, has inherited everything that Elizabeth had. Steph had visited me earlier …’
Steph had visited him? I opened my mouth to speak but Craig was already talking again.
‘… and I noticed that the car keys were missing off the rack, so I guessed she must have helped herself and taken the car. I didn’t report it because technically she’s entitled to it.’
‘She visited you? When was this?’ Harding’s expression was cool.
My eyes were pinned on Craig.
‘Mid-November, like I said. I can’t remember the exact date. Not long after Elizabeth’s funeral.’ The repetition clearly annoyed Craig.
‘I see. So you think … sorry, can you remind me of her name?’
‘Steph, Steph Crowther.’
‘Thank you, so Steph Crowther …’
Sergeant Mansfield at the far end of the room looked up from his notebook expectantly.
‘… took the car without telling you?’ Harding continued.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘But you didn’t actually see her take the car?’
‘No. But I’m sure it was her.’
The detective turned to me, the sergeant still scribbling. ‘Miss Crowther, were you aware of this? Has your sister said anything to you?’
‘No, I wasn’t aware of this and she hasn’t mentioned it.’
I bit my lip, debating in my head what to say – I’d gone back to London after the funeral. I thought Steph had too, on her eventual way to New York. We’d even had dinner one night. What had she been doing up here? Why would Steph want a car when she was about to go home to New York? Why hadn’t Craig, or Steph for that matter, mentioned it before?
And who was driving that car now?
‘Where exactly is your sister?’
‘In New York,’ I said. ‘She’s been back there for several weeks.’
I heard the front door open and someone stamping on the door mat, presumably the constable returning from her investigation of my stepmother’s outbuildings. The woman hovered at the sitting room door and Mansfield stood up to go speak to her, their voices too low to make out the words. I swivelled to face the detective.
‘I don’t understand, why—’ I asked.
‘Do you have a contact number for your sister?’ Harding said, ignoring me.
I looked at Craig. He raised his eyebrows.
I nodded to the detective, then shook my head. ‘I did, but it was in my phone and I lost it two weeks ago at Carsington Water.’
‘Ah, Carsington,’ drawled the detective. There was an expression of amusement in his eyes. ‘Yes, we heard about that.’
I squirmed in my seat. I felt embarrassed now, as if I was some foolhardy woman who’d strayed from the path, like one of those stupid woolly sheep.
‘I do have a Skype address though.’ I spelt it out for them. More scribbling.
‘Thank you, we’ll try that.’
‘Is there anything else?’ Craig was leaning forward, about to get up.
DI Harding sat back and observed him, making it clear he wasn’t ready to go anywhere yet.
‘Yes, we’ve found evidence of three substantial payments recently coming into Angus McCready’s personal bank account. Would you have any knowledge of these?’
Craig exchanged another look with me, his eyes widening.
‘Why would I have any knowledge of that? Angus owed me twenty grand for work I’d done for him, kitchen installations, as I’ve already told you. If I’d known he had the money, I would have been very interested.’
‘This wasn’t in his business account. I know you’ve already mentioned that sum to my colleagues. No, this money arrived in three different batches during December, from a private account to his personal account. We’re still trying to trace it.’
‘I’m sorry, but I’ve no idea where that’s come from. Is there anything else?’
Craig stood up, clearly indicating the meeting was over.
‘Hmmm.’ DI Harding paused. ‘Yes, one more thing. Am I right in believing that you and Stephanie Crowther are married, Mr Atherton?’
Shock riveted through my body. I felt the blood rush to my head and I couldn’t see. The shape of the policeman shimmered in and out of focus. My head swung towards Craig as if in slow motion and I saw him look from me to the detective. For a moment Craig’s face was one of unbridled fury, then it changed to one of schooled restraint.
Craig nodded. ‘Yes, that’s correct.’ Each word was bitingly precise.
My eyes were caught by Craig’s. I felt as if I was drowning. I could scarcely take in what came next.
‘But she didn’t take your name when you married?’ Harding was watching me now, not Craig.
‘No, no she didn’t.’ I could hear the anger rising in Craig’s voice.
‘Thank you, Mr Atherton, Miss Crowther.’ Harding nodded at me and finally stood up. ‘I think we’ve covered everything for now. Once again, thank you for your cooperation.’
The sergeant snapped his notebook shut and stood up too. DI Harding reached down to pet Patsy.
‘You have a lovely dog, there, Miss Crowther.’
‘She was Elizabeth’s.’ My voice was scarcely audible.
‘Ah, of course. You have inherited her too.’ Harding smiled.
He looked directly at me then. Our eyes met briefly. My body swayed and I hugged my arms. I didn’t know what to make of his expression.
Was it pity, or something else?
CHAPTER 46
I was standing up, facing Craig in the hall. He was between me and the front door.
‘You and Steph are married?’ The raw pain in my voice almost frightened me.
‘Caro.’ His voice was soft, his eyes holding mine. ‘It’s not what you think.’
‘Not what I think? I want you to leave, right now!’
‘I’m not going anywhere, Caro. We need to talk. You need to listen to me.’
I took a step backwards. My world was crashing down around me and he was about to try and talk me out of it?
‘Get out!’ My voice was louder – more confident. ‘Get OUT!’
I was thinking of Paul. Craig was no better than Paul – maybe worse. Humiliation and searing pain rained down on me. He stared at me then, as if working out what to say, holding his hands in front of him.
‘I will go, Caro. I promise. But first you have to listen to me.’
He’d gone. I was calmer now, sitting on the edge of the armchair in the sitting room. There was still an indent in the cushions on the sofa where Craig had sat.
He’d told me how they were separated, in the process of getting a divorce. How they’d met after he’d moved back to Larkstone. She’d started visiting her mother again, he’d said, and I’d winced – when had Steph started seeing Elizabeth? She’d been ill, keen to reconnect with her daughter, and Craig and Steph had started dating. Steph moved in with him, they married. But after a while, their differences had begun to emerge. Steph missed her career and it turned out they couldn’t have children; the strain tore them apart. And Steph kept falling out with Elizabeth. That bit sounded familiar. Steph left him, returning to London.
London? I
didn’t understand – she’d been Skyping me from New York, hadn’t she? She’d lived there for six years. No, Craig said. She’d always been in London.
So many lies, one piling up after another, the way that lies do.
‘I don’t believe you! You’ve been lying to me all along!’ I’d said. ‘I saw you fighting with Angus at the village hall – after the Wassail. Why didn’t you tell me about that then?’
My voice had risen to a tone of desperation. As if I still wanted him to deny it all, to have a plausible explanation for everything.
‘I … I couldn’t,’ Craig replied. He seemed temporarily confused, as if he was taken aback to realise I’d seen him and Angus fighting.
‘She was in London. At least up until the funeral. Then Angus told me otherwise, that night at the Wassail.’
Angus – what had Angus got to do with Steph? Craig had sighed, as if finally giving way to the truth.
‘She’s been here in Derbyshire since then, more or less. That night at the car park, Angus told me he’d been sleeping with her. She can do whatever she likes, I don’t love her any more. She’s free and the divorce is almost done. But Angus threatened to tell you about me and Steph.’
Slowly, I was beginning to understand. The fight with Angus, why Craig had kept it quiet. Why all that time, when he knew that Steph was in the UK, he’d never told me. He couldn’t let on without revealing their relationship. And she had colluded with him – why? I remembered that Skype call on Christmas Day, she’d been so off with me, scowling when she saw Craig at my side. She must have been consumed by jealousy. Did she still have feelings for him?
‘I still don’t get why you didn’t tell me you had Elizabeth’s car when we first met.’
‘I’m sorry, but it’s like I said, it just didn’t occur to me. Steph had every right to take the car, so I didn’t question it. And then you and I got together. My relationship with Steph wasn’t something I wanted to go in to. Not yet.’
‘But earlier you told me it was stolen.’
‘I know. I did try to tell you about Steph, but by then, well, you distracted me.’ He’d tried a smile, but I wasn’t buying it.
Why tell me she was in New York? Had she and Angus really been lovers? Suddenly the car thing made sense – and the key. Hadn’t that hill been one of Steph’s old romantic haunts? Had she driven Elizabeth’s car to Alton Heights to meet with Angus? I’d assumed the key had fallen from Angus’s pocket. But what if Steph had had a key to her mother’s house? Wouldn’t that make more sense? I felt the questions swamp me.
And all the time, Craig’s demeanour had been so sincere, like he expected me to believe him.
‘You and me,’ he’d said. ‘This is real, Caro!’
He hoped I would believe him. I felt shame wash over me as I recognised my own desire to be convinced, the way I remembered his body, the way I wanted this to all be okay. In spite of everything I’d experienced with Paul.
Craig had gone. Promising to let me be. Promising to talk again later. But warning me to stay away from Steph.
‘I don’t know why she’s told you she’s in New York. And I don’t know why she’s still here in Derbyshire or what’s been going on with her and Angus. But I don’t want you anywhere near her, you understand me? Don’t contact her!’
He was already acting as if it had all been forgotten, his complete failure to tell me he was married. To my sister.
CHAPTER 47
‘Hi Steph, it’s Caro.’
She could see me on the screen, but I still said my name as if we were on the phone. Don’t contact Steph, Craig had said as he left. What right did he have to tell me what to do? It had taken a couple of goes to get hold of her.
‘Hiya, Sis!’
She sounded cheerful and apparently unaware of the tension in my face, or the hands that were clenched to my side. I held myself back, hoping this meant my features were out of focus.
‘Listen, aren’t we due to meet up with the lawyer this week?’ I said.
‘Oh yes, of course, I’ve got a flight booked for tomorrow. I hadn’t forgotten!’
How easily she lied, the words as smooth as her perfect air hostess make-up. I clocked the clear, flawless skin and the delicate line of Steph’s lips. Now I thought about it, I could see Elizabeth in those lips, her cheekbones, even her hands, the way they moved and the immaculate nails. My nails were always chewed to bits. When I was little, I think I had secretly envied her sense of style, her ability to do hair and make-up and look good. Just like Elizabeth.
‘So, when will you be in Derby?’ I tracked her face, watching her eyes flash with empty charm.
‘Oh, I should think by Wednesday afternoon; I’ll be knackered though. The appointment’s on Thursday at eleven am, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s okay then. I’ve booked a hotel in the city centre.’
‘Don’t you want to come and stay at the house with me?’
Could I even contemplate that? But I knew what her reply would be.
‘Oh, I don’t need to do that …’
That seemed an odd way of phrasing it.
‘… I’ll just want to crash out that first night. My hotel’s opposite the solicitors so I can roll out of bed and get there without any bother.’
‘Okay, if that’s what you want.’
‘But I’d love to come to the house for lunch, see the old place and have a chat, if that’s okay? After the papers have all been signed.’
‘Of course it is,’ I said. I swallowed. I knew I had to do this. ‘It would be good to talk. I’m looking forward to seeing you again. I’ll drive you, so don’t worry about a car.’
It was hard keeping the irony from my voice.
I’d been peering at the picture, looking for clues as to where she might be. I’d thought her kitchen, with its country wood panels and muted colour, was a nod to her Derbyshire roots, but now I realised with a jolt, it was a Derbyshire kitchen – all oak cabinets and iron handles. Now I was looking for it, it was obvious. How could I have been that naïve?
‘Listen, Caro, you were asking about Danny and I suggested you go to see Sarah Chandler, last time we spoke, remember?’
My twisted enjoyment began to fade. I let the bitterness wash over me.
‘Yes?’ I replied.
‘Did you –’ her voice was saccharine-sweet ‘– speak to her?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean?’ I said, playing for time.
‘Oh, come on, Caro, I think you do!’ Her voice shifted a gear.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Good.’ She gave a strange kind of laugh. ‘I look forward to seeing you again very soon!’
After she had gone, I sat there motionless. I could scarcely believe the lies of the last few months, the sheer hypocrisy of Steph’s words, her pretence – to what end? I had a feeling that on Thursday I would find out.
I knew the painting I would do for her – the Christmas gift for my sister. The idea had come to me in that call with her. I knew too that I couldn’t resolve this thing between me and Steph via Skype, or in some meeting in front of a lawyer. It would have to be face to face. Just her and me. Here at this house.
Steph – all these weeks and I’d been so blind.
Didn’t I know, as an artist, that we see what we want to see, not what is actually there?
CHAPTER 48
It was the afternoon and I was in the Co-op, having just paid for a bottle of milk. Mary Beth tapped me on the shoulder.
‘Caro! How lovely to see you. How are you feeling?’
She was wearing a tweed jacket, pinched in at the waist, and a pair of well-rounded jeans topped by a yellow jumper under her jacket. She looked a bit like a miniature egg timer. I drew a breath, very aware of the people around us.
‘Hi, Mary Beth. I’m fine, thank you. And you? Getting settled in at the house?’
‘Oh, I’ve been settled in for a while. Got the plans drawn up for the kitchen and been thinking about ho
w to install a kiln in the back garden.’ Mary Beth’s eyes lit up.
‘Ah yes, of course.’ This was a safe topic. ‘Where do you get one of those from?’
‘The internet, my dear, you can get almost anything over the internet.’
She made it sound like an illicit black-market item, pottery kilns on the dark web. I smiled half-heartedly.
‘I’ll need a builder to install it properly,’ she continued. ‘It’s going in that shed but there are adjustments to make first. I can’t wait to get started on my pots again!’
She chatted on. I must have seemed distracted because Mary Beth was frowning as I left. But the truth was I felt as if someone had just thumped me in the chest.
I’ll need a builder … I’d been so stupid!
When I got home, I threw the milk onto the table and retrieved the key I’d found beside Angus’s body. I had no real justification for thinking it was Steph’s. It could have been Angus’s after all. Elizabeth had recently employed a builder – that brand new en suite of hers with its fresh mastic and unfinished tiling. Then there were Angus’s money troubles. Had he taken to his old work as a jobbing builder to breach the gap in his finances? Was that the money the police had spoken of? Extra work, bypassing his business to avoid his creditors. Had Angus been working for Elizabeth?
I could imagine her lady-of-the-manor voice.
‘You might as well have a house key, Angus. Then you can come and go as you please when I’m out and about. Get the job done more quickly.’
It was easy to check. I jumped up and rummaged in the box of papers I’d left in the hallway, stuff from Elizabeth’s bureau. It was still there, her diary. I thumbed the dates searching for the week of Elizabeth’s death. The date jumped out at me: 18th October.
I hadn’t twigged when I was researching the family’s birth and death details on the internet – that the date of Elizabeth’s death was the very same as Danny’s.
And yes, there it was, an elegant spider scrawl in blue ink, an arrow marking up the entire week: McCready Builders – bathroom. Angus had been there. In that exact week, the very same week at the end of which Elizabeth had died.
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