My darling, p.24
My Darling, page 24
She rings the doorbell. No reply. She rings it again. She frowns, and rummages in her handbag for her phone. The person she is calling doesn’t pick up. She dials three times. I watch her walking around the house, peering through windows. Into the sitting room. On tiptoes to check the kitchen. She disappears around the back. I hold my breath and wait.
About ten minutes later, sirens begin to whine in the distance. Louder. Closer. Nearer. First an ambulance and then a police car spew across your drive. I put my binoculars away. I need to sit and wait. When you have committed murder, life is a waiting game. Waiting to be discovered, every second of every day.
Two hours later, as I expected, my doorbell rings. I answer the door to find DS Miranda Jupiter and her large-nosed sidekick, standing in front of me.
‘Can we come in?’ she asks.
‘Yes. Of course. What’s happened?’
She follows me into the sitting room. She stands in front of the fireplace as if she has a rod up her back. Her sidekick hovers next to her, head down, looking uncomfortable. Casper is here, mewing, pushing his head against my feet.
‘Jade is dead. Her body was found in her sitting room. So many substances in the house, it looks as if she committed suicide. But we didn’t find a note,’ Miranda Jupiter says.
‘Oh, how dreadful,’ I say, looking down at the strands in my shag-pile carpet.
She moves closer and stands in front of me.
‘So much death around you, Emma.’ There is a pause. ‘This will be taken very seriously by the coroner and by the police. I would like you to come to the station with me now, and make a statement.’
I sit in the back of the police car with the sidekick, who introduces herself as PC Newton. She gives me half a smile as she slips into the seat next to me. I smile back. Close to, she looks so young. Skin so plump and fresh a plastic surgeon could bottle it, and make a fortune. DS Miranda Jupiter starts the car.
I look out of the window as the world that I live in flashes by. High hedges. Well-maintained houses, large enough for twenty people to live in. We turn left onto the main road, and drive through Shiplake towards Reading. Half an hour later we arrive at Loddon Valley Police Station, where I’m escorted to an interview room by DS Jupiter and PC Newton.
Grim-faced, they sit down opposite me. DS Jupiter’s eyes are hard. Her body is hard. Everything about Miranda Jupiter is hard.
‘Do I need a solicitor?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know, do you?’ Miranda Jupiter snaps. ‘It depends how defensive you feel.’
‘I don’t feel defensive. Why should I?’
‘Everyone around you seems to die.’
I put my head in my hands. ‘I’m going through a difficult time. Some empathy would be nice.’
‘This is an interview, not an arrest. We can get it over with now, or wait for a solicitor to arrive. You know the ropes. You’ve been through it before.’
I look up at her. ‘Let’s just do it.’
Miranda Jupiter nods at PC Newton, who snaps the recording machine on. She announces the date and time. We all confirm our presence.
Miranda Jupiter puts her arms on the table and leans forwards. ‘Where were you last night?’ she asks.
‘At home.’
Leaning further towards me. ‘With anyone?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Home alone, with my cat.’
‘And what time did you get home?’
I frown. I hesitate. ‘About seven thirty p.m.’
‘What do you mean, “about”? Aren’t you not sure?’ Voice snappish.
I shrug a little. ‘I just finished off at the surgery and then came straight home. I didn’t look at my watch at the end of the day. I just got through what I needed to do.’ I pause. ‘Tania, my dental assistant, left at the same time as me. You can check with her and with the surgery CCTV.’ I pause. I make a show of considering. ‘Actually, you can see what time I came back on my doorphone camera. It keeps the recordings for five days.’
I open the app and pass my phone to her.
‘Seven thirty-four p.m.,’ she announces, mouth straight. Her lips twitch as she hands me the phone back. ‘Did you leave the house at any time during the evening?’
I shake my head. ‘No.’
‘What were you doing?’ Her mouth turns downwards.
‘Watching Netflix – Ozarks.’
‘Tell me about it. What happened?’ she pushes, trying to catch me out, not even knowing what it’s about.
‘I just watched the first few episodes. The main character, played by Jason Bateman, is in a difficult fix. He has been threatened by a drug baron and has to launder money for him, otherwise he and his family will be murdered. The drug baron has already murdered his business partner.’ I pause. ‘Actually that’s how it starts – with the murder of his business partner, which is why Jason Bateman’s character is so terrified. It’s a bit like Breaking Bad except …’
Miranda Jupiter puts her hand in the air. ‘OK, OK. That’s enough.’ Her eyes darken. ‘Let’s just clarify, as you were home alone, you cannot actually prove you were there? You could have watched Ozarks and remembered the plot, any other night.’
‘Oh yes, I can prove I was there. My house has cameras; not just the door camera.’
She widens her eyes, as if she doesn’t believe me. ‘Can you show me?’
I open the app on my phone and show her the rest of the evening’s footage. Of me entering the hallway. Grabbing a sandwich in the kitchen. Moving to the drawing room to switch on the TV. A perfectly angled camera. I can’t be seen climbing out of the window, and back in again. My absence isn’t noted. The film moves on. Eleven p.m. I switch off the TV and go up to bed, followed by my purring cat. A perfect night in.
Miranda Jupiter snaps the recording of our interview off. ‘You’re free to leave.’
158
Your house has police tape around it. Forensics are crawling all over it. I can see them from the landing window, in their white suits, searching and swabbing. They will not find the cup I was drinking from. I brought it home with me. They will find my DNA in the house. So what? We were friends. I visited you from time to time.
Your body is in the morgue waiting for autopsy. I picture you on a table waiting for the pathologist to cut you open. Your shiny skin will have a pale-grey hue. The stiffness of death making you hard to recognise; a stone sarcophagus that is no longer you.
What will happen to your beautiful house, Jade? Did you die intestate? Will your money be taken by the government? Or have you left it to charity?
I continue my daily routine, time stagnating around me as I wait for your post mortem. Until the coroner’s report is through. Until I know I am safe.
159
I’m in the surgery, reading my next patient Grace Preston’s notes, when I see a police car pull into the car park rather too quickly, screeching to brake beneath my willow tree. Miranda Jupiter steps out with PC Newton. My heart races. Is this it? Are they going to arrest me? I can no longer concentrate on Grace Preston’s fillings and the poor state of her dental hygiene. Her receding gums and dental implants. I close my mind to my surroundings, and sit and wait. I hear Miranda Jupiter and PC Newton’s voices in reception talking to Andrea.
A knock on the door and they are here, walking towards me. Standing in front of me. I stand up, hands shaking.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask.
Miranda Jupiter straightens her mouth. ‘I just wanted you to know that we’ve received the coroner’s report on Jade Covington.’ There is a pause. ‘It was suicide. Her body was full of Valium, Rohypnol and alcohol. All drugs she had at home. Also she had mental health issues, and had attempted to kill herself several times before.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s so sad. Poor Jade.’
‘We got in touch with some old friends of hers who are organising the funeral. I’ll email you their details.’
‘Thanks.’
Silence, except for the hum of traffic moving past.
‘I just want to apologise for treating you with such suspicion when you came in for your interview.’
I smile, relief flooding through me. ‘That’s your job, isn’t it?’
A half smile back. Be careful, Miranda, if you smile too much you might strain your facial muscles.
‘Goodbye then. I expect you’ve seen the back of me.’
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I hope so.’
‘No offence taken.’
And my nemesis for over a year leaves, walking out of my surgery with her young sidekick. I watch the police car pull away. And my body is embalmed with a calming sense of peace.
160
Jade’s funeral. Up early to swathe myself in black. At our local crematorium, on a dull April day. Wispy grey clouds frothing across a steely sky, pan scrub and metallic. Walking from the car park to the low-slung red-brick modern building. People standing outside waiting to go in. Huddled together in small groups, heads down, voices low and appropriate. As I approach the entrance of the left-hand chapel, where Jade’s funeral is to be held, I see only three people waiting. I recognise the freckled face and sandy hair of her chiropodist, standing a few yards away, vaping. The scent of cherry vape wafts over me, making me feel sick. I step towards the other mourners, a middle-aged couple, with muted smiles, walking towards me. The man’s black suit is thin and shiny, accompanied by chunky brown boots. Not City smart. The woman is wearing a black cotton dress splattered with red flowers. Very Laura Ashley.
‘Hello, I’m Sam,’ he says. ‘And this is my wife Tina.’ He gesticulates towards the woman standing next to him and she nods.
‘Are you here for Jade’s funeral?’ Tina asks.
‘Yes.’
‘We met her years ago when we were at college. The college helped us organise a mutual support group, where we mentored one another. That’s how I met Tina. That’s how we both met Jade.’ There is a pause. ‘How do you know her?’ he asks.
‘I’m her neighbour, Emma.’
‘A sad day,’ Sam says, eyes filling with tears. ‘We hadn’t seen her for years. Suicide. How tragic. The police got in contact with us after the coroner had made the report, a woman called Miranda Jupiter. She told us that Jade had no living relatives, she was the single child of two single children. Parents and grandparents deceased. They found my name at the top of her contacts list. They needed someone to organise her funeral. So we stepped in for old times’ sake. Didn’t we, Tina?’
Tina nods her head. ‘Even though we were out of touch, we thought it was the least we could do to help an old friend.’
‘Did you know her well? And Tomas?’ Sam asks.
I hesitated and bit my lip. ‘They moved in a year ago January.’
For a second I am back in her kitchen looking at an extravagant arrangement of black and white orchids, her gravelly voice spitting towards me, telling me her husband has a wandering eye. Jade, thanks to you, the last year and a half of my life has been hell.
Sam’s eyes well with tears again. ‘Really, really tragic.’
It’s time to enter the chapel. We step inside together, Sam and Tina and me. It is cooler inside than outside. I shiver and wish I was wearing a heavier coat. The chapel has pale oak pews and white-painted walls. A crucifix rises above Jade’s white cardboard environmentally friendly coffin. Like a large cake box with rope handles. The vicar arrives, feet slapping on the floor as he marches to the front. A portly young man with round eyes, round glasses and a grizzly beard. I look at it and wonder how male facial hair managed to come back in style. I thought fashion had moved on from Victorian times.
‘Welcome,’ he says beaming at us. ‘We are not here today to mourn Jade’s passing but to celebrate her life.’
Celebrate the life of a woman who killed a man for no reason and set me up for doing it. No. I’m here to celebrate her death. Tina sniffs and Sam passes her a large white hankie.
‘We are here to pay our last respects to Jade Covington, a respected member of the community …’
I stop listening to him. He obviously didn’t know her. Respected member of the community, indeed. Lying to stitch me up. Poisoning me with Cherry Bomb. Attempting to poison me again.
The congregation kneels for the Lord’s Prayer. I don’t believe it, so I don’t join in the chant. I remain seated with my eyes tightly shut and place my hands beneath my buttocks to disguise their tremor. The incantation finishes. Everyone sits up.
‘And now it’s time for the committal. Please pray for her soul, that she may be happy in heaven with Tomas, forever.’
A recording of classical harp music resonates around the chapel. As the casket moves backwards and the curtains begin to close, my body exhales with relief. The Tomas Covington case is finally over.
I drive home feeling invigorated, restless. So I park my car and go for a walk along the sun-dappled river, towards Temple Island. The grey sky and wispy clouds of earlier have evaporated. I see a woman in jeans and a pink jumper walking towards me on the towpath. Long dark hair. Large brown eyes. As we grow closer I see that it is someone who looks a bit like Miranda Jupiter. But this woman is loose-limbed and smiling. She stops in front of me.
‘Hello Emma, how are you doing?’
I recognise the voice. The eyes. It is Miranda Jupiter. More relaxed when not at work.
‘I’m OK. Just got back from Jade Covington’s funeral.’
Her eyes moisten. ‘What a sad case.’ She puts her hand on my arm. ‘I hope you can move on from your grief, and enjoy the rest of your life.’
161
Miranda Jupiter, thank you for your good wishes. I’m moving on with my life. Big time. I’m sitting at my computer searching for men on Tinder again. The first man I look at is far too old for me. I do not want to become a nursemaid. I swipe left. The next one – a bit like Matt Damon. I swipe right.
Left. Right. Right. Left.
Then a demi-god appears in front of me, beaming at me from the computer screen. A cross between Channing Tatum and Jude Law, with pale-brown hair and toffee eyes. I swipe right, desire rising, starting in my stomach and throbbing through my body. I will definitely contact him first.
I hope I find a good relationship now. Men can be so controlling at times.
Acknowledgements
A long list this time. First, the team at Avon HarperCollins with thanks to Sabah Khan and Phoebe Morgan. And my inspirational new editor, Tilda McDonald, whose guidance with this tricky, forensically challenging novel has been invaluable. My agent, Ger Nicholl of The Book Bureau, who is so supportive. A good agent is a friend indeed.
This novel has required a lot of scientific research and input. I would like to thank Dave Sivers, Clare Heron – a senior crime scene investigator – and my police adviser, Charles Owens. My medical adviser Lindsay Parr. Joanna Tempowski and Carol Robson, my scientific advisers. Don’t blame any of them if you find a fault. This is a story, not a scientific exposition – and I do sometimes bend their advice.
Let me mention the Psych Thriller Killers: Caroline England, Sam Carrington and Libby Carpenter. My fun-loving writer friends who liven up my life.
Special mention to my close family and friends, they know who they are. They are the pivot my world swings around.
And last, but by no means least, my husband, my first reader, without whose judgement and support over the years I would never have become a published writer.
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About the Author
After graduating, Amanda Robson worked in medical research at The London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, and at the Poisons Unit at Guy’s Hospital where she became a co-author of a book on cyanide poisoning. Amanda attended the Faber novel writing course and writes full-time. Her debut novel, Obsession, became a #1 ebook bestseller in 2017. She is also the author of three more domestic suspense novels: Guilt, Envy and My Darling.
Also by Amanda Robson
Obsession
Guilt
Envy
About the Publisher
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Amanda Robson, My Darling
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