“Sorry,” Deborah calls from the kitchen, silencing her phone.
I’m in a daze, fragments of reality spinning around in my head. The thunderbolt realisation feels like it’s suffocating me, taunting me.
You’ve looked everywhere, except here. Right in front of you.
I think of Lisa’s voice. Of the fear mixed with hope. Of Sebastian, out there in the night, the pain raw in his eyes. The puzzle pieces haven’t been fitting because I’ve been missing a piece.
The sound of a phone ringing in the background.
Di-di-ding. Di-di-ding.
Deborah walks back to the couch. “So, where were we?”
She grabs for her wineglass and looks at me expectantly. I sit still, trying not to look shocked.
My mind churns through all our encounters while I’ve been here. She’s always seemed wacky, but never threatening. And she’s been through a lot, with her divorce from the real Richard and having to live alone in this house.
I sip my water, trying to buy time. Deborah raises an eyebrow and my stomach lurches. Can she tell something’s wrong?
I heard that exact ringtone that night on the last call with Lisa. And that would mean Deborah was on the dock that night with her. But why would she lie about it?
What was Deborah’s relationship with Lisa really like? And if she hurt Lisa that night, for whatever reason, why would she continue to insert herself into Neil’s investigation? Surely if she was guilty of anything, she would have tried to get as far away from this place as possible.
All I have is that ringtone. If I have any hope of this going anywhere, I need to turn this lead into hard proof.
I need Neil.
I stand up, trying my best to hide the quaver in my voice. “Just going to the bathroom. Be right back.”
Deborah stays seated. The hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. It unnerves me that she’s saying nothing. It could be my paranoia talking, but it’s as if she can sense my discomfort.
In the bathroom, I frantically type a text to Neil.
Where are you?
The message delivers with only one tick. I curse to myself. I can’t call him from here. I walk to my room and close the door as quietly as possible, and I press the call button. When Neil answers, it sounds like he’s in a car.
“Hey, where are you?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Where have you been?”
“Bilbao.”
“Bilbao?” I repeat. “What were you doing in Bilboa? Are—are you almost home?”
“Half an hour. Why?”
I know what I have to do. I need to buy time until he comes home. Then I can share my suspicions about Deborah with him. But my anxiety gets the better of me, and I think of all the horrible things that can happen in half an hour.
“I think I know.”
“Know what?”
I step away from the door, whispering urgently into the phone. “I think I remember what happened that night.”
He’s quick to reply. “I found something too. You were right.”
I hold my breath. “What?”
“Lisa had another phone. We found her old number, and we’re trying to trace it now. It might take a while, but it’s something.”
There are so many things I want to ask him about this, but I can hear footsteps from downstairs.
“Okay, hurry,” I say, and before Neil can get another word in, I end the call.
I scoot out of the bedroom and back into the bathroom, looking around to see where Deborah is.
I hear her footsteps coming up the stairs, and I close the bathroom door. I open the tap again, and my eye falls on an ancient comb in a porcelain container next to the basin. For a moment, I picture using it as a weapon.
I hear her shuffling around her bedroom, so I close the tap, flush the toilet, and head downstairs. I pick up the glass of water I left on the island and check the time on my phone. It’s only been two minutes. There are twenty-eight more to go until Neil arrives, and it feels like an eternity.
It’s not long before Deborah’s back in the kitchen. She’s put on a blue sweater.
We look at each other silently. But the tension in the air is palpable. We’re both on our guard.
“Suddenly chilly, isn’t it?” she says, clutching her phone to her chest. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks nervous.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
She shrugs. “There’s been an… incident.”
“An incident?”
She looks up. “A disturbance at the office. They think someone broke in.”
“Oh.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “That’s not great.”
“I should go and check it out,” she says. “Just to be sure.”
She’s standing close to the kitchen island. “Mind passing me my keys?” she says.
I see the keys on my side of the counter. It’s a set of four keys on a cheap London Bridge key ring. Then, as I reach for them, I see something.
As Deborah pulls her handbag towards her, I see an emerald green folder under her arm. The type of folder that carries documents. Why would she be carrying documents if she’s going to check a burglary at her office? It all seems too rushed. Too planned. How could all of this have happened in the last five minutes while I was in the bathroom?
“Should I call Richard?” I ask. “To help you?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine.” She looks up, gives me a tight smile. “Just tell him when he’s back from Bilbao.”
Deborah holds out her hand for her keys.
But I clutch them to my side, frozen. She frowns, but I keep still. It could be nothing, but it could be everything. When I speak, my words seem to vibrate between us.
“I didn’t tell you he was in Bilbao.”