‘Peter!’
Peter saw DC Allan get out of the car and pretended not to have heard him. He broke into a jog. Did this man never give up? What happened to the incompetent police officers the media were always moaning about?
‘Peter, wait!’
Peter swung around, his face etched in a scowl. ‘This is harassment, do you know that? If you have any more accusations – sorry, I mean questions – you can direct them to my lawyer or arrest me.’
‘There’s no need to be like that.’
Peter picked up his pace towards the entrance to the hospital, but Allan matched him step for step.
‘I just wanted to know how Mary-Beth was doing. I’m the one who found her, you know that?’
Peter stopped. Perhaps he was being paranoid. As annoying as it had been, Allan had only tried his best to help Mary-Beth. It wasn’t his fault they’d never wanted his help. ‘I do, and I’m grateful, of course. DS Harvey said if it wasn’t for you she might have starved to death.’
‘Oh, I don’t think that would have happened, do you?’ Allan cocked his head to one side.
‘Obviously it would have. She couldn’t have survived any longer on those scraps of food that boy left her.’
‘No, you’re right. Convenient really, that she had just the right amount of food left when we found her. You know what else is convenient?’
Peter’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like where this was headed. He should have just kept walking. ‘What?’
‘Well, for one thing, it was awfully convenient that Mary-Beth had been in that basement for weeks, and yet she had no lasting physical effects. In fact, I’ve spoken to the hospital and once the observation period is over she will be cleared to leave. No hypothermia, no malnutrition, nothing.’
‘Something to be glad of, that she was so lucky.’
‘Yes, very lucky. You know what else is lucky?’
Peter’s teeth clenched. ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
‘I will. It’s another one of those pesky coincidences, like Tristan Patterson being found the exact evening the last podcast aired. You see, there’s a row of static caravans on that site. You know who manages the empty caravans for them? Tonks – I know, the estate agents your wife works for. What are the chances?’
‘Quite high, actually.’ Peter sucked his bottom lip. ‘Tonks manages over a thousand properties in this area. You’ll find a house in every street they are selling or renting.’
‘Including your street.’
‘Yes, including mine.’
‘Mary-Beth told us that Tristan arranged a viewing of a house the afternoon of the picnic. She parked across the road and was getting out of her car when he took her hostage.’
‘Then that’s what happened.’
‘Yes, of course. Just strange that the taxi driver said he picked her up in town later that evening and then dropped her at the exact place we found her.’
‘He must have been wrong.’
‘Lucky guess? And the name she used, Erica Spencer? That was another lucky guess, was it? I still can’t figure out why she’d do that. Maybe she was just trying to get caught. Stopped before it went too far. Maybe she was getting cold feet.’
‘Or the taxi driver saw the name on TV and came up with a story that matched the news. Why don’t you just say what we both know you’re trying to say?’
DC Allan grinned. ‘Okay, I’ve been waiting to share this theory with someone. You see, I think that Mary-Beth suspected that Tristan was behind the podcast, knowing of his relationship with Erica, and that he planned to name you all as suspects, just like she claims. But rather than him arranging a fake viewing in order to kidnap her to keep her quiet, I think – correct me if I’m wrong – that your wife confronted Tristan in the empty house he was using and something happened. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe she didn’t mean to hurt him but she did. So she pushes him off the balcony to make it look as though he couldn’t go on living without Erica, and then runs.’
‘This is—’ Peter started. His heart was thumping so fast he thought he might have a heart attack on the street. That would shut Allan up, at least.
‘I haven’t finished. She checks her handbag and runs to the only place she had keys for – an empty caravan on Dalton campsite. I’m guessing we’ll find evidence of Mary-Beth being there.’
‘You probably will. Like you just said, she manages those vans – she’s in them all the time.’
‘How convenient. You didn’t mention that, when I told you the taxi driver dropped her off there.’
‘I didn’t know Tonks managed those empty vans until you just said. It’s not like she gave me a list of all the thousand-odd properties on their books.’
‘Shame. We might have found her sooner.’
‘Except she wasn’t in the caravan – she was in that horrible hole.’
‘So she says.’
‘Okay, let me check I’m understanding you. Mary-Beth – my murderous wife, who lets spiders outside rather than step on them – kills Tristan, goes on the run and is hiding in a static caravan half an hour away. How is it that you found her locked in a basement?’
‘Well, that’s the thing.’ DC Allan’s eyes narrowed. ‘She wasn’t locked in, as such. Okay, the ladder to the hatch had been pulled up, and the door was heavy. It’s true she probably couldn’t have got out by herself. But she could have got in. All it would take is for her to lower herself down and pull the hatch closed. Then wait until we find her.’
‘And if you didn’t find her? Do you think my wife would be stupid enough to trap herself in a basement on the off chance you lot did your job properly? Because you were so competent when Erica died!’
Allan ignored the jibe.
‘We didn’t just find her on the off chance, Peter. Didn’t anyone tell you? We had an anonymous tip-off. Except Tristan was supposed to be the only person who knew she was in there, and Tristan was already dead.’
‘Maybe someone heard her shouting.’
‘Why wouldn’t they just come forward? Someone finds a missing woman, they’re a hero. Seems strange not to wait for the police to show up.’
‘So Patterson told one of his mates what he’d done.’
‘If he did, we can’t find them.’
‘Look . . .’ Peter felt his patience snapping. How had he thought they would get away with this? ‘My wife has been through a traumatic ordeal at the hands of an obsessed young man who I’m not sorry is dead. I realise it would be a much better story for you if Mary-Beth and I had planned the whole thing for our own twisted amusement, but you’re wrong. You can’t expect me to explain the actions of a crazy man. And if you keep harassing me, I will have no choice but to go to your boss, DCI Barrow, is it? And tell him your ludicrous theories.’
DC Allan held up his hands. ‘Okay, I get the point. I’ve just got one more question for you and I’ll leave.’
‘What now?’
‘I was wondering if you could tell me.’ DC Allan leaned in so close that Peter wondered if he could smell the faint vestige of alcohol that hung around him. ‘I’ve been trying to get my head around it but I can’t. If Tristan was dead by the 21st of September, and Mary-Beth was locked in that basement, how do you think the PTA’s WhatsApp message was delivered to her phone? It wasn’t read,’ he added, watching the colour flush through Peter’s face, ‘but it was delivered. Yet by the time Cynthia Elcock called me to report it, just ten minutes later, the phone was off again.’
Peter’s mouth dropped open slightly. DC Allan held up a hand. ‘Of course you’re not a detective – I don’t expect you to have all the answers. I’m sure the tech team at CID will give us all the answers we need. Send my regards to Mary-Beth.’