The house feels eerily quiet as I walk quickly downstairs to the kitchen, but at least Rhona has left the lights on. It’s nearly 1am, and if I’d had to do this in the dark, it would be even more nerve-wracking. Even so, adrenaline is making my legs feel shaky, and when I stop at the door to the rear courtyard, my fingers tremble as I fumble with the door handle, trying to open it noiselessly. Jack is, I very much hope, still sound asleep on the floor above, but I don’t have much time and I can’t risk any interruptions.
I step out into the dimly lit yard, and make my way from planter to planter, picking a few flowers – a couple of daffodils, a crocus, a tulip – and a sprig of foliage. When I have enough to make a small posy, I head back indoors. I need an excuse for going into the pantry again, in case Jack does watch his camera footage back, and I can’t use the ‘looking for ice’ lie a second time. But I saw vases in the pantry, lots of them, and so my plan is to pretend I wanted to surprise Jack with flowers by the bed when he wakes up. He’s not really a flowers kind of guy, but it’s all I can think of, and I’m hoping he’ll appreciate the gesture, especially after our little tiff earlier.
Flowers to say sorry, again, for asking him about his mother, even though in any normal relationship, that really wouldn’t be a big flipping deal, I think, as I head down into the kitchen. I dump the flowers beside the sink, open the glassware cupboard and pour myself some sparkling water from the fridge. Then, trying to keep my breathing steady, I go to the pantry and step inside, half closing the door behind me because, although I’m pretty sure the kitchen camera can’t see me in here – wrong angle – I’m not going to take any chances. Carefully, very carefully, I ease the bunch of keys from my dressing-gown pocket, trying to avoid a telltale jangle, and study them. There are numerous larger keys and a few smaller ones, some brass, one stainless steel. I step closer to the small silver freezer and peer at the padlock. It must be this key, right?
I stand very still for a few moments, listening, and hear no noise coming from anywhere apart from the gentle hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the freezers next to me. But Rhona’s been gone nearly an hour now, and it can’t be long before she’s back. My hands are shaking again as I insert the key into the padlock. And then…
Yes! YES! I think, as the lock springs open. I’m in!
I drop the padlock on the ground, pulling open the two horizontal doors of the freezer. It’s full, each shelf neatly stacked with packages, most in plastic wrap, a few in foil.
OK. Be methodical and be quick.
I start at the top right and rapidly work my way down, lifting out each item in turn. It does indeed all appear to be meat, and is labelled as such, most of it clearly visible through transparent wrapping. But I can’t be sure about the foil-wrapped pieces, even though they’re definitely the shape and size of a steak or a pair of pork chops. Do I need to check? I pause, holding a weighty bundle, thinking about the jewellery Jack accused Amber of stealing. Could that be hidden in some of these parcels? Damn. It might be. Quick, quick! I start again, hurriedly picking up each item that’s in opaque wrapping and carefully peeling back just enough of it to see yet another frozen fleshy ribeye or leg of lamb before smoothing the foil back down again. By the time I’m halfway down the left-hand shelves my hands are aching with cold, my fingertips numb, and I’ve discovered nothing, other than a new sense of awe at just how much varied and expensive meat one man can have, or need, in his house. But when I finally reach the bottom shelf and remove two large bundles labelled ‘venison – butterflied haunch’ and ‘venison – whole shoulder’, I pause. Underneath the butchered deer is another package, but this one doesn’t look like the others. It’s flat, and rectangular. The size of… A4 paper?
I swallow, glancing nervously over my shoulder. I’ve been in here for at least two minutes, and my ‘choosing a vase’ excuse won’t wash if I take much longer. I put the two chunks of venison down on the floor and slide the flat packet out. It’s foil-wrapped too, and I gently turn back a corner, to see a blue plastic zipper bag underneath.
It’s no good, I’m going to have to open it properly, I think. My heart is really hammering now and my chilled fingers are clumsy. I open out the foil covering and unzip the bag.
Holy. Crap.
Paper, documents, dozens of pages. I pull one out and read it, my eyes widening. It’s a printout of an email, sender Rose Campbell. Rose. It’s from Rose. My heart is beating so fast I can feel it banging against the wall of my chest.
An email to an offshore bank. I grab another page, this time from the bottom of the stack. Another email, from Amber this time, to somebody called Robin Knight.
I gasp. This is one of the emails that was used to build the case against Amber, but Jack shouldn’t have it, should he? When he was attacked, the police seized Amber’s laptop and work computer and gained access to her email accounts, but there’s no way they would then have printed off copies and handed them to Jack, is there? No matter how ‘well in’ he might be with the police. And there’s no way whatsoever he should have Rose’s private emails. So the only way he could have these copies in his possession is if he wrote them in the first place, or got someone else to write them, and then printed them off to keep, just as Nathan said he would. But why? Why would you keep them? It’s so stupid. So incriminating. Then, immediately, I answer my own question.
To relive it. To gloat. To glory in what he’s done. He sits and watches the videos and reads the emails and he gets off on it. I feel sweat trickling down my back.
Then I jump violently as a distant bang echoes through the house.
The front door. That’s the front door closing!
Rhona’s back, I think. Shit. Shit.
I reach into my dressing gown pocket and pull out my phone, stabbing at the screen to open the camera. I take shots of the two emails I’ve just read. Then, feeling increasingly panicked, I desperately stuff the pages back into the bag and zip it up, then rewrap it, trying to replace the foil as neatly as possible, to leave it as I found it. I slide it back onto its shelf, dump the venison on top of it, and replace the padlock on the freezer doors, shoving the keys and my phone back into my pocket.
Footsteps. I can hear footsteps on the stairs. I spin around and grab the first vase I see on the shelf behind me. I’m walking out of the pantry when Rhona appears in the kitchen doorway, carrying two shopping bags. She stops abruptly.
‘Oh. What are you doing?’ she says.
I force a smile, and wave the vase in her direction.
‘I picked some flowers from the courtyard for Jack,’ I say. ‘I thought I’d put them by the bed. He’s having a nap but for when he gets up. And I needed a drink. I’ll be out of your way in a minute.’
‘Right.’
Rhona dumps her bags on the worktop and watches as I hastily arrange the flowers in the vase and pick up my glass. I hate this, the way she silently stares with judgement in her eyes. But now I’m wondering again if there’s more to it. If she was part of what Jack did to Amber. If she’s keeping an eye on me.
Be nice. Smile. Act normal, I think.
‘OK, done. I’m off to bed,’ I say cheerfully, as I walk past her. ‘Have a good night… Erm, I mean, day. Or whatever. Shift. Have a good shift…’
Aaagh. Stop babbling, woman, I think, and my voice tails off, as Rhona continues to stare at me, although I think I see her mouth give a tiny, amused twitch. She must think I’m a complete idiot. I groan inwardly as I head back upstairs, and once in Jack’s room I check that he’s still asleep, reassured by his gentle snoring, and put the vase of flowers on his bedside table, where he’ll see it when he wakes up, which could be any minute now. Then I crouch down beside his jacket which is still lying on the carpet, and slip the bunch of keys back into the pocket. In the bathroom, I lock the door and quickly save the two photos I’ve just taken to the cloud, then delete them from my phone. It’s one thing ticked off my list, and I agreed with Felicity and Nathan that anything I find I will photograph but leave in situ, for now.
‘Put it back exactly as you found it. We can’t risk him noticing anything’s been disturbed until we have enough to build a decent case,’ Nathan said.
Suddenly, I feel exhausted. The adrenaline rush is over, and my head is fuzzy with tiredness, my legs weak. I stumble out of the bathroom and slip under the duvet, but sleep doesn’t come easily. Right up until tonight, there were moments when I still wondered if Nathan might be wrong about all this. I do trust him now, and Felicity – or at least I think I do – but there’ve still been times when I’ve thought, Really? Seriously?
But now, everything’s changed. What I’ve just seen – that’s evidence, pure and simple. And now I need more. I need the videos, the jewellery… I need it all.
I want it all.
I feel Jack stir beside me, and I squeeze my eyes shut and lie very still. Moments later he’s out of bed and then I hear the bathroom door opening and closing. I breathe a sigh of relief when he emerges again and leaves the room. I have a few hours on my own now to rest. And then, hopefully, when he comes back to bed later, I’ll have the house to myself for the day. The thought of more creeping around, trying to avoid those blasted cameras, makes me feel sick, but I’ve come this far, and tonight, finally, I’ve made progress.
We know where the emails are. It’s a start.