‘AM I A SUSPECT?’ I ASK DETECTIVE INSPECTOR MARSH.
I’ve been brought to the police station to help with their inquiries. Like Tim, I was taken in a police car. I thank God Lottie didn’t see it. I had to tell Cassie, though, in case I’m not home in time to pick her up. If necessary, she’ll look after Toffee for me as well. The energy I had earlier, that little reserve, has entirely gone.
‘Why would you think that, if Nick killed himself?’
I support my head with the palm of my hand. A stone-faced WPC called Venetia Grant is sitting next to the detective. Her cool blue eyes don’t leave my face. It’s disconcerting. Occasionally I stare back, but she doesn’t blink.
‘But I don’t think he did,’ I say. ‘I don’t think he’s dead.’
‘It seems odd that Nick never told you about that summer. If you were so important to him, surely he would have confided in you.’
I shrug.
‘Why do you think he didn’t tell you?’
‘I don’t know.’
He smiles. ‘But you can guess, surely? We don’t tell the people we love everything. We gloss over the stuff we’re ashamed of, the guilty secrets, or we miss out certain events because we’re scared of getting found out.’
I clasp my hands together and press my knuckles against my teeth. My skin feels dry.
‘I don’t know,’ I repeat. ‘I have a lot of questions. I wish he was here to answer them.’
‘So do I.’ Marsh picks up his mug, peers into it and puts it down, disappointed. He taps his pen against his palm and flicks through the brown manila folder to a page with handwritten notes.
‘Did you suspect Nick was having an affair with Anna Foreman?’ Grant says. It’s the first time she’s spoken.
I don’t miss a beat. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Did you add the pair of them to the app because you thought something was going on?’
I shake my head. ‘No. And it was Cassie who added Anna, not me. I only added Nick.’
‘But you were watching Nick’s and Anna’s progress that evening? Why was that?’
‘Idle curiosity – it’s what the app’s about. There’s a competitive element.’
‘And a nosy element.’ She smiles like we’re in this together.
‘Well, yes. It’s supposed to be fun.’
‘Until your partner stops to talk to the woman you suspect him of having an affair with.’
‘I did not suspect them. I didn’t think they’d even met.’ My palms have started to sweat. I wipe them surreptitiously on my jeans.
‘Your kids go to the same school. You share a friendship group. Are you asking us to believe that Nick and Anna never ran into each other?’
‘She only moved round here in January. And it’s not as if we socialized together. We probably would have done eventually, but these things take time.’
‘You were jealous of Anna, weren’t you? When you started to suspect that Nick was involved with her. How did that make you feel?’
I frown. Why is she pushing this so hard? ‘It didn’t make me feel anything, because I am not jealous of her.’
That isn’t entirely true. I remember how I felt on seeing Anna’s and Nick’s footsteps stop climbing; the sharp ache under my ribcage, the feeling of nausea and the surge of adrenaline.
‘Did you follow Nick that night? It would have been understandable in the circumstances. You were already suspicious about his relationship with Anna. He made yet another excuse to go out on his own. Weren’t you curious to see where he went the second time?’
‘None of that even occurred to me.’
‘When you went looking for him, did you walk or go by car?’
‘I walked.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Around the local area.’
‘Did you go straight home?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘You didn’t take a detour down Camomile Avenue, out of curiosity?’
‘No.’ A little worm wriggles in my tummy. I’ve told a lie.
‘I’m surmising,’ Grant says. ‘If it crossed your mind that he might be with Anna Foreman, the obvious thing would have been to have a look at her house.’
‘But it didn’t cross my mind,’ I insist. ‘I trusted him.’
‘Are you sure about that? You tracked Nick on the app.’
‘I didn’t track him,’ I say impatiently. ‘As I’ve explained, In-Step tells you how many steps your friends are doing. There’s no map; it’s just numbers.’
‘Fine, but you were curious about where he’d been and upset enough about your suspicions to mention them when you reported him missing. It would have been natural for you to wait and see if he came out.’
I sigh. ‘But I didn’t. I went home, and I went to bed. I finally fell asleep about an hour later. When I woke, he hadn’t come home.’
Grant leans back, and Marsh lifts his gaze from the files.
‘Did you put Nick’s body into his car?’ he asks. ‘Did you drive him down to Devon?’
‘No, I did not.’ I laugh, because the idea is so far-fetched. Marsh doesn’t crack a smile. ‘Look, what is this about? I don’t understand what I’m doing here.’
He nods, then leans back. ‘You’re here because I think you’re right, Ms Trelawney. I think it’s very likely that Nick did not kill himself, that he was murdered.’
‘What can you tell me about your relationship with Douglas Parr?’ Marsh asks.
The questions have been going on for over an hour now, and I’m feeling ill with exhaustion. Marsh and Grant look as fresh as they did when we began.
‘Civil.’
‘No conflict at all?’
‘Some, but it’s minor irritations. More like an annoying itch than pistols at dawn. Douglas has Lottie every other weekend. He adores her. It works because we both want it to, for her sake.’
‘I only ask because Cora Ritchie mentioned that he had some influence over you. She said that when he found out that her son was missing, he was straight in, telling you what to do, behaving in a hostile and threatening manner towards her and Tim.’
‘Cora is prone to exaggeration. Douglas has no influence over me. He has a strong personality, and she probably assumed I was affected by that. It isn’t true. I don’t care what he thinks any more. What has it got to do with Nick, anyway?’
Marsh raises his arms up and back and locks his hands behind his head, has a good stretch. He glances at Grant, who takes up the baton.
‘Grace,’ Grant says. ‘The police were called to the address you shared with Douglas on more than one occasion, when neighbours became concerned that a row had become violent. Once because they thought someone was going to get killed.’
She contemplates me, then sits forward, pushes the folder towards me. Paper-clipped to the top sheet is a picture of me, my mugshot in fact, taken that night in the police station. I look dull-eyed and very young. My hair is tied back and I’m wearing a white T-shirt. I remember that it had a slogan on the front, in sloping bright pink letters, that read, I’m Trouble. A WPC had commented, not unsympathetically, that it should have said I’m In Trouble.
I flip the folder shut and push it back with the tips of my fingers. ‘How long have you known?’
Grant ignores my question. I glance at Marsh, but his face is stony.
‘You tried to kill your boyfriend,’ he says. ‘You stuck a knife in him, rupturing his diaphragm. He lost four pints of blood and needed a transfusion and narrowly escaped death. That’s bound to make us wonder, don’t you think?’
I’m trembling like a leaf, like Toffee when he’s scared. ‘I didn’t try to kill him; I lost control. Douglas will tell you. He was happy to take the blame, and say he provoked me. I didn’t go to prison. I got a suspended sentence on condition I saw a psychiatrist. I did all that. Where did you get this information?’
‘A witness came forward when she saw the photograph of you and Nick on the news. She recognized you.’
‘A witness?’ I say. ‘Do you mean the woman he was sleeping with?’
I hadn’t even known what her name was. Douglas had persuaded her to keep quiet about the incident. He probably paid her. No doubt this is going to end up on the front pages.
‘Why don’t you explain what happened.’
‘All right. It was before I had Lottie. I don’t think it would have happened if I’d been a mother. Douglas brought the woman to the flat while I was out. I walked in on them. At that time I was completely under his control, utterly infatuated …’
‘And psychotically jealous?’
‘I’d had a tough upbringing. I’d been in care. I was heavily dependent on Douglas, and his betrayal tipped me over. We were bad for each other. The relationship was toxic. He drove me crazy. When I caught him with that woman, he was so cold about it, treating me like I was being hysterical. I got frustrated and lashed out.’ I remember it as if it was yesterday. The amusement in his eyes. The cold smile. Brushing me off. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I wasn’t thinking, I was reacting. I remember the blood. Her screams. His surprise. ‘I was very young. I’m a different person now.’
‘But the fact remains, your partner is missing, presumed dead, and you have a history of violence.’
‘It was one time,’ I protest. I sit back in my chair and fold my arms. ‘I want a lawyer.’
He closes the file and switches off the recorder. ‘Fine. But we’ll need you to come back in as soon as you’ve found one. Tomorrow at the latest.’
I walk out of the police station, shaken to the core, and breathe in deeply. I tell myself it will be all right. I had nothing to do with what happened to Nick or Anna.