One good lie, p.4
One Good Lie, page 4
She recalled the dark alley yesterday: his fingers weaving through her hair, grappling with her dress. She hadn’t invited his advance, but she hadn’t stopped it either. Not straight away. The pressing guilt was like a rod of iron across her shoulders. Perhaps they could put it down to the drink. The drink, and emotions running ridiculously high. It was a heady day yesterday.
Mark reappeared looking harried, his mobile glued to his ear, a mug of coffee in his other hand. He ended the call. Coffee sloshed about as he placed the mug on a coaster on Ruby’s desk.
Ruby thanked him. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Not really. The contractors haven’t turned up to sort out the water leak on Ise Walk. That was the customer. She’s going bananas.’
Ruby rolled her eyes. It was another Wednesday.
‘I’m going to have to find someone new,’ Mark continued, adjusting his belt. ‘We have a reputation to maintain. Can’t have contractors bringing the company’s good name into disrepute.’
Ruby squirmed in her seat. His habit of using stock phrases to make himself sound important grated, especially when he laboured a point. Their team meetings were full of requests to ‘think outside the box’ and ‘get all their ducks in a row’ – whatever that meant.
‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’ She turned back to her computer and opened her emails.
‘Isn’t it awful about the news?’ Mark mumbled, shuffling papers about on his desk.
‘The flooding? This country never copes with sudden changes in the weather.’
‘No, the murder.’
Ruby swivelled in her chair. ‘What?’
Mark was twisting a pen between his thumb and forefinger, face glued to his computer screen. He tore his gaze away, looked across at Ruby. ‘Haven’t you heard? A woman was stabbed to death in the town centre last night.’
‘Where?’
‘Simpson’s Place. Her body was found by the deli owner early this morning.’
A spider crawled down Ruby’s back. She had walked right past the entrance to Simpson’s Place last night.
Mark’s mobile trilled. He moved to answer it and Ruby turned back to her emails, the attack picking away at her. So close by. Market Deeton was a small town, barely 24,000 residents, and the crime rate was low. No wonder Sophie had been agitated. Ruby googled ‘Murder in Market Deeton yesterday’ and clicked on a news report from the Deeton Mercury.
Woman’s body found in Market Deeton
An investigation is under way after the body of a woman was discovered in the town centre.
Police have cordoned off the area around Simpson’s Place, where the victim, believed to have been a young woman, was found by a local business owner in the early hours of this morning. The identity of the woman hasn’t yet been released.
Detective Chief Inspector Chris Staples, senior investigating officer in the case, said: ‘Officers were called to Simpson’s Place at 5:30 this morning. The woman suffered multiple stab wounds and was pronounced dead at the scene. We are treating this as a murder investigation.’
Enquiries are ongoing to trace the suspect. Detectives are keen to speak to any witnesses who were in the town centre last night, anyone who saw someone acting suspiciously or anybody with information regarding the incident.
An icy chill. Ruby had seen numerous people out last night. The man at the end of the alleyway; the group of lads outside the supermarket; the shop assistant. Ewan. She ought to contact the police, tell them what she saw. But she needed to speak with Ewan first.
Chapter 9
Ruby drummed her fingers on the dashboard and checked the clock again. Mr and Mrs Oliver were due to meet her at their property on Mount Pleasant fifteen minutes ago. Another no-show, her third this month. Why didn’t people cancel appointments when they couldn’t make them? It’s not like she didn’t have a pile of paperwork to do back at the office.
She pushed the key in the ignition, about to make a move, when her phone rang. Ah, here comes the apology, she thought. Too little, too late.
She was mentally lambasting her clients for taking liberties when another name filled the screen. A very welcome name.
‘Hello, Bridget.’ Ruby smiled. Flashbacks of warm holidays in Cromer filled her mind. The sun setting over the bay, eating fish and chips on the beach, paddling in the blue-green waters. Bridget was her late mother’s sister, fifteen years older than Aileen and the reason they’d moved to Leicester from Kilkenny when Aileen’s marriage broke up. They’d lived with Bridget and her husband, Mick, in their younger years. Unable to have children of her own, Bridget had lavished her attention on Aileen’s kids. Picking the girls up from school when their mother was working, looking after them in the holidays.
Three years ago, Mick had died and Bridget moved to Norfolk, to satisfy a lifelong dream of retiring by the sea. Ruby missed her dearly, though the miles between them didn’t dilute their closeness. She wasn’t sure what it was about Bridget, but she understood Ruby more than anyone else. It was as if they plucked the same strings.
‘Is that our Ruby?’ A rich Irish accent filled the line.
‘It is. How are you?’
‘I’m champion, darlin’. Good as the day God made me.’
Ruby smiled again. Her aunt suffered from fibromyalgia, a debilitating condition that marred her days. She’d broken her ankle shortly after Aileen’s funeral, scuppering her plans to travel across for the trial and memorial service, but her positivity was always heart-warming. ‘How’s that ankle?’
‘Damn annoying. How did it go yesterday?’
‘The memorial service? It seemed to run smoothly. I think Mum would have been pleased. We missed you.’
‘Missed you too, darlin’. And what about you, love? How are you doing? And Sophie and the kids?’
Well, apart from a tête-à-tête with my sister’s boyfriend and a bunch of clients messing me around, all good. She pushed the thoughts aside, tried to sound cheery. ‘We’re okay, thanks. It’s good to put it behind us.’
‘Are you sure? You don’t sound right.’
Ruby paused a split second. Bridget had a knack of being able to read her, even on the phone. ‘I’m fine. Just busy. You know, at work.’
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it then. You know where I am if you want to chat.’
Ruby disconnected the call and squirmed in her seat. The situation with Ewan needed dealing with, and soon.
She was turning over the engine when an idea skipped into her mind. Ewan was a delivery driver for GoTo. The GoTo depot was on Ridings Street, Lodge Farm – only a mile or so down the road. Perhaps she should call by on her way back to the shop.
Buoyed up by her new idea, Ruby set off and made a right into Newton Street. Once things were sorted between her and Ewan, she could go to the police, give her account and put last night behind her.
GoTo’s delivery depot was a dismal grey prefabricated building with a long frontage. Several vans sporting their swirly grey and blue logo sat beside a half-open factory door at the far end. Misgivings started to nudge Ruby as she steered into the car park. She pressed the brake. Ewan might not even be there; he spent most of his time on the road, after all. Though she didn’t have his mobile number or his address and she certainly didn’t want to alarm Sophie by asking her for them.
She reluctantly followed a crooked sign to visitors’ parking, which turned out to be half a dozen bays close to the factory door, turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. The beeping reverse alarm of a forklift truck sounded as she crossed the threshold.
Inside was a hive of activity. Workers in navy coveralls were stacking boxes of all shapes and sizes on the grey metal shelving lining the walls of the warehouse. More racks ran down the centre. Two men near the entrance were deep in conversation while unloading a van.
Ruby caught her heel on a line of parcel twine on the floor and was bending down, freeing it up when a tall man in a hard hat rounded a line of racking. He nodded at her and pointed towards an office in the corner with a blue ‘Reception’ banner plastered across the top.
A bell dinged above the door as Ruby stepped into the reception area. A blue metal bench lined one wall. Scuffmarks and dents littered the paintwork. A counter ran along the end, another row of shelves behind it, filled with packages of all shapes and sizes.
Ruby stood beside the counter and shifted from foot to foot. She’d tell the receptionist she had to pass on a message from her sister (whose phone wasn’t working). Ewan had worked there for some time, certainly all the time he and Sophie had been together. Presumably, they knew about his relationship. A story like that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
She was mulling this over when the door clapped back on its hinges and a man walked in. It was the man in the hard hat who’d directed her there. Not a receptionist as such.
‘How can I help you?’ he said. He looked harassed.
‘I was wondering if I could speak to Ewan.’ Ruby cringed inwardly, suddenly realising she had no idea what Ewan’s surname was. She must have heard it or been told it at some stage, but, for the life of her, she couldn’t recall it now.
The man narrowed his eyes. ‘Ewan Wilson?’
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. Surely there couldn’t be two Ewans working there. ‘I have a message for him from my sister.’ She tugged the bottom of her suit jacket and stood tall. ‘It’s important.’
The man’s face slackened. ‘I’m not sure if he’s out on deliveries.’
‘Could you check? Tell him it’s Ruby.’
The door slammed again as he retreated.
Ruby slumped onto the bench. The cold metal seeped through her thin trouser material, making her shiver. She couldn’t help thinking it would be freezing in there in winter.
Several minutes passed. It was almost a quarter to twelve. She should get back to work soon; there was only Sara, the admin assistant, at the shop with Mark and they’d be struggling to cover the phones. She was considering making a move, assuming they’d forgotten her, when the door behind the counter opened and Ewan appeared.
He closed the door behind him. ‘What’s up?’
Ruby approached the counter. ‘We need to talk about last night.’
He viewed her warily. ‘Is Sophie okay?’
‘She’s fine. I spoke to her this morning.’
Ewan’s brows knitted. ‘Then what are you doing here?’
‘Like I said, we need to talk.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ He scratched the back of his neck. A coffee stain on the front of his coveralls stuck out like a cold sore. ‘You and me,’ he said in a low tone, ‘it was a mistake. An aberration.’ He met her gaze briefly, then looked back towards the factory. ‘Let’s forget it happened.’
‘I agree.’ There was something about his demeanour, his manner, that was scratchy, off. Was that due to embarrassment, shame, a hangover?
‘So why are you here then?’
‘Have you spoken with Sophie?’
‘Not today. She was asleep when I left. Why?’ He glanced again at the door. Was he worried about getting into trouble for taking time out?
‘There was an attack in town last night. The police are asking for witnesses to come forward.’
‘Yeah, I saw it on the news. I don’t see what it has to do with us though.’
‘They’re appealing for witnesses.’
‘I didn’t see anybody acting strangely. Did you?’
Ruby ignored the question. She hadn’t told him about the group of lads outside the supermarket. ‘I wondered if we should speak to the police, say we were nearby.’
‘Why?’
She jerked her head back. Was he being deliberately obtuse? ‘Someone spotted us, Ewan! He shouted out.’
Ewan shrugged a single shoulder, nonchalant.
‘Did you see the guy that saw us, or speak to him after I left?’ Ruby pressed.
‘No, I followed you. I wanted to make sure you got home okay. You know, with strangers hanging around.’
The fact that she hadn’t seen or heard anyone following her home from the garages was disconcerting.
‘Look,’ Ewan said eventually. ‘We weren’t involved in the attack. I don’t see how we could help and I don’t want Sophie upset. Let’s leave it there, shall we?’
Ruby glowered at Ewan. It was an impossible situation. Upset her sister or keep quiet. But she had a distinct feeling that keeping quiet wasn’t going to be an option.
Chapter 10
Sophie was upstairs in Daisy’s room, sorting through the washing when the doorbell chimed. Her eyes shot to her watch. It was almost time for the school run. She didn’t have time for visitors right now.
She was halfway down the stairs when she recognised the outline of the single figure through the frosted glass in the front door.
‘Hello, Sophie.’ Bright eyes stared at her through wired spectacles, his smile carrying the warmth of friendship. Only he wasn’t a friend. He was DC Hitesh Lalvani, the family liaison officer who’d supported them after their mother was killed. He was Police.
Sophie pressed her finger against the metal of the door chain and nodded a weary acknowledgement. Two weeks had passed since the trial she hoped would put an end to the exhausting whirlwind of questions, statements and police visits. What was he doing here now?
Hitesh was looking well. His hair freshly cropped and swept back from a handsome face, his beard and moustache perfectly manicured. The sweet aroma of his Kouros aftershave filled the air. ‘Can I come in?’ he asked.
Sophie pressed her finger harder against the metal nub. He was wearing the same navy suit he wore on the day Colin was sentenced: single-breasted jacket, tapered trousers covering long lean legs, a crisp white shirt beneath. She’d never seen him in anything but dark suits and white shirts. She pictured his wardrobe at home, a line of white shirts hanging at one end, an array of plain dark suits at the other. Not an ounce of colour in sight. ‘I’m picking the kids up in a bit.’
‘It won’t take long.’ He pushed his glasses up his nose, glanced skyward. The rain had finally abated but the clouds were thickening, promising another downfall.
A movement at the end of the driveway caught Sophie’s eye. It was Christine sauntering by with her chihuahua, craning her neck to see what was going on. Christine was her next-door neighbour. A friend of the family, she’d babysat Sophie’s children and shared many a coffee with Aileen over the years. She was also the town gossip.
Sophie gave Christine a wave and watched the woman move off.
Hitesh smiled again and moved forward. A subtle movement but enough for her to shift aside. He’d already decided he was coming in.
Sophie motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen and offered him a quick coffee. Hitesh liked coffee. He liked it strong and black.
He declined the drink. ‘How did the memorial service go yesterday?’ he asked.
She wanted to say good, though that didn’t sound appropriate for a service to commemorate a death. ‘It went well, I think.’
‘And how are you? And Ruby?’
‘We’re all right, thanks.’ She leant against the kitchen surface, the ridge of the wooden top digging into her lower back as she wondered what he was doing there. They’d expressed their gratitude and said their goodbyes outside the court a fortnight ago. Hitesh was an efficient detective. Supportive, yes, but not overly empathetic. After Colin was charged, he’d only called by when he had information to impart, or specific questions to ask.
He pulled out a chair, checked it was okay for him to sit and indicated for her to take the chair opposite. She did as she was told, casting a cursory glance at the clock. She really did need to leave in a few minutes.
Hitesh unfastened the button on his suit jacket and settled himself before he spoke. ‘You’re probably aware that a woman was killed in the town centre last night.’
Sophie froze. This wasn’t how she imagined the conversation would unfold. ‘I had heard.’
‘The woman’s identity has now been released. She was Charlotte Manning.’
Sophie’s hand flew to her mouth. Photos in the press of a petite young woman with dirty blonde hair, pulled back from a heavily made-up face, sprang to mind. Charlotte Manning was one of Colin Halliday’s former patients. She was also his alibi for the evening of her mother’s murder. He’d admitted being at Aileen’s shop on the afternoon of her murder, but maintained he couldn’t possibly have killed her because he’d been with Charlotte in Leicester all evening. Despite extensive effort and a widespread public appeal, the police had been unable to trace Charlotte, who disappeared before she could be questioned.
‘I wanted to come over and tell you myself before you read it in the press.’
Sophie was momentarily dumbfounded. Slowly, she removed her hand from her mouth. ‘Charlotte Manning? Murdered?’
‘Yes.’
‘By whom?’
‘That’s what we mean to find out.’ He nudged his glasses up his nose. ‘I need to ask you if you’ve seen or heard anything from Charlotte?’
‘No. We’d never heard of her before the investigation. I’ve certainly never met her. I’m pretty sure Ruby hasn’t either. Why would she contact us?’
‘Her name was mentioned in the news during your mum’s trial. Sometimes people reach out to victims or their families afterwards.’
‘I don’t understand. What does this mean?’
‘We’re not sure yet. It may be Charlotte sought to lie low until after the court case, for some reason, and then returned to Market Deeton afterwards. It’s quite possible her murder is unrelated. It’s no secret she kept… shall we say, unsavoury company.’
Sophie recalled the questions about Charlotte after Colin was charged. The confusion. The suggestion he was out with another woman, a young woman unknown to the family, led to speculation of a possible affair initially and raised fresh questions about the case. She remembered scouring every press report, every news piece, to find out more about this mysterious woman.
