If the police hadn’t phoned on the dot of 9 a.m., I’d have made a break for it.
We assembled in the living room. Light poured in. I couldn’t help but think there was no smile in the sunshine, that it wanted to shrivel and burn, and consume the sky.
Roger Stanton was short, whey-faced and had a voice that could put you into a coma. Not that this was particularly relevant right now. All we were interested in was what came out of Stanton’s thin-lipped mouth. Was Scarlet condemned, or not? What else had the police unearthed during the course of their investigation? Were they going to slay us with a revelation and connection to a dead Charlie Binns, and an anonymous contract killer? A shiver travelled all the way up my spine and shot out at the base of my neck.
I glanced around the room. Dad and Mum huddled close together on one sofa; Stanton and Childe sat on the other. Nate and I opted for a couple of wingback chairs.
I understood why Dusty had fled. The atmosphere was as taut as cheese wire. It made me feel faintly dizzy and there was a weird knocking sensation in the middle of my chest. Both officers were impossible to read. Stupidly, I thought how smart they looked – like villains who scrub up well for the court appearance.
Childe glanced at Nate. “Are you happy to discuss Scarlet in front of your in-laws?”
“You’re talking about my daughter.” Mum’s face was thunderous, her voice pregnant with outrage.
“I appreciate that, Mrs Napier, but Nate is Scarlet’s next of kin.”
Mum stiffened. Fat tears swelled up into her eyes. I tensed. Any second it could all kick off. Dad took her hand. “Come on, Roger,” he intervened, ignoring Childe and addressing the senior officer, “we’re in this together. We’re all family. No secrets to hide. Isn’t that right, Nate?”
“It’s fine. No secrets here.” Nate twitched a smile. Stanton twitched too. Didn’t look as if he appreciated my father’s assumed familiarity. I looked straight ahead.
Peeved at being upstaged, Childe shut up and Stanton did the talking. Wisely, he was inclusive and addressed his remarks to each of us. Not at all appeased, Mum sat ruler straight, blue eyes intent, watching every twist and slant of Stanton’s mouth, like she was lip reading.
“Had Mrs Jay lived, she would be charged with one count of causing death by dangerous driving and another of driving while over the prescribed limit.”
“I understand,” Nate said gravely.
“This, as you know, would have likely resulted in a custodial sentence.” I caught my breath. Stanton didn’t need to spell it out. We weren’t stupid. We knew this. I dared not look at Mum and Dad. “Having carried out a thorough technical audit, we’ve found nothing on either Mrs Jay’s phone or laptop to suggest that she had a connection to Richard Bowen.”
Tension in the room eased. I clamped my mouth shut and studied the carpet. Stanton cleared his throat. “Pornography was discovered on Mr Jay’s computer, but this fell within the parameters of the law and we regard this as a side issue.”
I stayed focussed on the floor.
“To conclude,” Stanton droned on, “and as far as we’ve been able to establish, Nate, we have no reason to believe that there was any prior or existing relationship between your wife and Richard Bowen.”
I was floored. Fear threw a thick, stifling sack over my head. This couldn’t be right. Astonished by the speed with which the investigation had been carried out and wrapped up, I almost asked Stanton to repeat it. Nate caught my eye, looked at me deadpan. Don’t. Mum sat, still and stony. Only Dad reacted with open relief. If he could have taken Stanton’s hand in both his and shaken it, I think he would have done. I wondered how many corners were cut to reach such a speedy conclusion. Without a connection, it would be impossible to prove that there was intent to kill. While I welcomed the outcome, I wasn’t sure about its veracity.
On firmer ground, Childe picked up the conversation and ran with it. “Now the criminal investigation has been concluded, the inquest will go ahead in due course.”
“So, I can bury my wife?” Nate said.
“You can.”
A defining moment, I should have felt pleased. I didn’t. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was badly wrong. Wasn’t helped by the prospect of Scarlet’s remains lying in the ground.
Stanton glanced at Childe, his cue to bring down the final curtain on their performance.
“I understand that Mrs Bowen threatened to sue you, Nate.”
“She lodged a claim against Scarlet’s estate, yes.”
Stanton did that thing people do when they hold all the cards. He took his time, flicked a non-existent speck off his neatly pressed trousers. A company man, he appeared to be enjoying the show, the power he wielded. “Mrs Bowen has been under enormous strain.”
“So have I,” Nate said darkly.
“Appreciated. You’ll be relieved to know that all proceedings are to be dropped.”
Nate’s jaw slackened. “That’s marvellous news. Whatever made her change her mind?”
“Does it matter?” Dad said with a tight smile.
I can’t fix everything, woman, he’d said. But had Dad tried?
“Let’s say, it was a pragmatic decision, based on self-protection.” Stanton stared straight ahead, for Nate’s attention only. Theatrically, I leant forward, elbows on my knees, my chin cupped in my hands in an attempt to break Stanton’s concentration. Didn’t work. I might as well have been a sideboard.
“Is there anything else we can help with, Nate?” Stanton said.
“I don’t think so. You’ve covered everything.”
“Very thorough,” Dad chipped in.
Childe stuffed his notes into his briefcase. All four men stood and shook hands.
“I’d like to ask a question.”
Four sets of eyes fixed on me. Obscured by Dad, I couldn’t see Mum.
“What happened out there?” I was taking a big risk. At any moment my parents could remind me of my argument with my sister and damn me. As guilty as I was, I was not so bent by grief or challenged by authority that I couldn’t recognise a piece of window-dressing designed to pretty up an ugly picture. I knew other things were in play.
Stanton frowned. Wasn’t nice. “I beg your pardon?”
“Road was clear. Beautiful day. No rubber on the road. Nothing found in the post-mortem suggesting that Scarlet blacked out.” I held my breath, wondering if either Mum or Dad would launch in, take the opportunity to tell everyone what nobody else appeared to know. To my surprise, Dad remained silent, muscles in his jaw clenched. When he shifted his stance, I caught a glimpse of Mum looking down, not really listening, her fingers screwing up the fabric of her skirt, tighter and tighter as if she wanted to rip it to pieces.
“I think we made this perfectly clear,” Childe said, appealing to my father to help him out, which he did, but not in the way I thought he would.
“She was drunk, darling, suffering from depression.”
“Was she, Nate?” My boldest move, and still Mum and Dad didn’t kill me off with a few well-chosen words.
“I didn’t spot it. Who knows?” He sounded calm. His mouth was resolute. Only his eyes flashed fear. Seemed we all knew things –apart from the real story behind Scarlet’s decision to drive off the road. I held his gaze.
Stanton’s voice cut through the foetid atmosphere like sharpened glass. “Suicide rates among young women are definitely on the up, regrettably.”
“Scarlet was the most grounded person I knew.”
“Molly,” Dad said sternly. “Sometimes there are no neat answers.” I opened my mouth to speak, to tell them everything.
Dad’s expression darkened, suggesting that if I knew what was good for me, I would shut up and there would be a reckoning later. My cheeks burnt with humiliation. It was enough to make me lose my bottle.
Silence as deadly as carbon monoxide enveloped the room.
“I’ll be in touch,” Childe said awkwardly, speeding towards the door, Stanton in pursuit, Dad following close behind.
Nate looked through me as if I were sheet glass and turned to Mum. “You don’t mind me going home, do you, Amanda?”
She glanced up. Distant. Loose. Not connecting. “As you wish.” A fake smile stuttered across her lips.
“I’ll go and pack.” After he made a break for it, I got up to leave.
“Scarlet didn’t kill herself because of your row.”
Amazed, I turned and looked at my mum. “You’re right, Molly. She was too sensible.”
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Tears of relief pricked my eyes, not because I was absolved but because Mum had, for once, agreed with me on something that really mattered. “So why did she?”
Mum shook her head sadly. “It’s a mystery. We’ll probably never know. Best left.”
No, no, no. This wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
“It was a good outcome, better than expected. I suppose that’s it,” she said, almost in a trance. “No more police. No more waiting. The end.”
I shivered at the thought. She was so wrong. This was only the beginning.
The slow burr of male voices drifted in from the hall followed by the sound of the front door opening and the crunch of gravel under boots. Mum dropped her head. “How do I go on?” She spoke quietly, more to herself than to me, her face pinched and wretched.
“Mum, I need you; we all do.”
She flicked a vacant smile, patted my hand, as if I’d uttered a nice speech using words I neither meant nor understood, which was so far from the truth, it made my heart ache. Deep down, I’d hoped that somehow, she could love me like she’d loved Scarlet. I wanted to tell her that I could never be as pretty as my sister, or witty, or as smart, that I was no substitute for the daughter she adored, but I’d do my best if only she’d give me a chance.
She got up, went to the kitchen. I followed. Couldn’t leave things as they were. “About Zach,” I began.
“Yes?” It was as if a light switched on behind her eyes. She seemed suddenly with it, alert, in the present, in the moment.
“Will you talk to him? Tell him what the police said?”
“Naturally.”
The door flew open. “They’ve gone,” Dad said. “Time for a drink. Want one, Amanda?”
“My usual.”
Mum might help herself to gin at coffee time. My father never did. I watched as he avoided my eye and meticulously prepared gin and tonics. Cool blue Bombay gin. Ice and slice.
“Where’s Nate?” Dad asked. There was an odd jaunty ring in his voice as if the news from the police was cause for celebration. I supposed it was.
“Packing.” Mum lifted the glass to her lips, taking a long deep swallow.
“Good God, no need for him to go.”
“He wants to,” I cut in, thinking the silent treatment really didn’t suit my father. “Don’t I get offered a drink?”
He focused on me as if he were looking down the barrel of a gun. “I assumed you were driving.”
I forced a smile. “You’re right.” Couldn’t have two daughters screwing things up. Before I was tempted to say something I’d regret, my mobile bleeped. A text from Rocco: ‘Meet at mine. I have a surprise.’
I made my excuses and left. Their sigh of relief was as great as my own.