When I first opened my eyes, I almost convinced myself that yesterday was just a bad dream. That the whole investigation is just a nightmare.
But it’s not a dream. Deborah will leave for work soon, and Neil and I will go back into his study. We’ll read over the InCheck transcripts again, and crumbs of information will hopefully return to my memory.
I slowly smoke a cigarette in the garden, shielding my eyes from the morning sun. In the corner of the garden, the pot plants are wilting from a lack of water. I stub out my cigarette and grab a blue bucket from the garage, filling it with water.
I don’t know much about gardening, but all those afternoons watching my mother watering plants must count for something.
Add to life. Don’t take from it. That’s the goal, right?
I trudge forward, the water sloshing in the bucket. I tilt the bucket, and the water seeps into the plants. Their leaves are brown and lifeless. I pour more water, and the soil soaks it up almost gratefully.
“You’re up early,” a voice calls.
I almost drop the bucket as I turn, seeing Deborah in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I motion to the plants. “They looked dry.”
She walks over, her heels sinking into the lawn. “No need,” she says. “I watered them the other day.”
I look back at the shrivelled plants. They look desperate for water. But that glint in Deborah’s eyes makes me put the bucket down.
“They don’t need a lot of water,” she says.
“Right. Okay,” I say.
“You alright?” she asks, her perfume making me faintly ill. A smoke this early in the morning was a bad idea.
“I just need to sit down.”
We walk back to the kitchen, and my head spins as I take a seat at the island.
“You went to bed pretty early last night,” she says, checking her phone.
“I was tired,” I say. And it’s true. The past few days have been a rollercoaster, each more demanding than the last. After my call with Fred last night, it was lights out.
“Well, it’s almost the weekend.”
I smile at her. It can’t be easy, playing pretend like this. Especially when your real life is in shambles. Looking at her now, the drinking and mooching around the house makes sense.
“See you later,” she says, lifting her bag from the counter.
As I say goodbye and Deborah leaves, it hits me. It’s Thursday.
I’ve been so wrapped up in my thoughts I’ve completely forgotten about drinks with Greg and Charlotte today.
“Morning,” Neil says as he enters the kitchen, looking far fresher than I feel.
I eye him as he makes a cup of tea. He won’t like the idea of me having drinks with the academy members. It’ll complicate things, like he told me. It’ll have to be something I keep to myself.
“Any luck on remembering those phone calls?” he asks, turning to me.
“A bit.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
He carries his mug to the study, motions for me to follow. We sit down opposite each other, the dim room a refuge.
“So,” Neil says. “Let’s start with the second call you had with Lisa.”
From the drawer, he pulls out a stack of the same transcripts I have in my bag and puts them on the desk. I frown. Somehow, seeing there is more than one copy gives me the creeps.
But I readjust in the chair, trying to conjure memories of that day with Lisa.
“She texted me the morning after we had our first call,” I say. “She said her fiancé asked her to dinner. Like a date. Which was good, since they were having problems, remember?”
Neil nods, takes a sip of tea. “And what about this section here,” he says, jabbing at the paper. I read it: I think my friend is in trouble. Her husband attacked her. Should I do something?
I look at Neil. “I thought about this last night.”
“And?”
“I think she was talking about Deborah.”
“Why?”
I look at him. Come on, you must know.
“Deborah’s husband cheated on her,” I say. “She told me over dinner a few weeks back. At first, I thought it was you, obviously. But she must have been talking about the real Richard. Maybe he was violent too? You said Lisa was close to her, right? Who else in town could it be? I don’t think she had a lot of married friends here.”
Neil’s silent, considering. He lifts his eyebrows and sighs. “I think you’re right.”
“Did Deborah tell you anything?”
He nods. “She did. Her ex-husband was a right bastard. When they were getting separated, he came by and took things from the house without checking with her. He shoved her, too. Lisa saw it all, apparently.”
A surge of sympathy runs through me as I scan the room. It must be bad for Deborah, living here among the remnants of a broken marriage. Memories all gone bad.
“Do you think that’s why she asked you to stay here? For some company?”
Neil shrugs. “It was the other way around, actually. I asked her. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are no Airbnbs in this town.”
I look at him. A fish out of water, a giant in a small town. So out of place.
“I told Lisa she should report her friend’s attack,” I say.
“Solid advice,” he says, and there’s a gleam of something in his eyes.
“But what happened on the call?” he continues. “She texts you in the morning to tell you about the dinner with Sebastian, then again in the afternoon about Deb, and then in the evening she calls you—what did she say?”
I take a breath. This is where it gets tricky. The memory is a little blurry, but I hold on to the small scrap of information I have.
“That dinner date Lisa had,” I say. “With her fiancé? I think it went badly.”