The Woman Who Lied(41)

Emilia tries to smile in response, but she can’t. She feels like she’s going to cry.

‘What is it?’ Elliot comes over to her and pulls her into his arms. He smells of fresh air and his hands are cold as he brushes the hair off her face. ‘Jas is home safe and sound. No harm done.’

‘I know, and I’m so relieved. It’s just …’

‘What?’ His voice is gentle.

She explains about the letter and tickets being sent to Jake. ‘It’s all things that happen in my book.’

He frowns. ‘Which book? I don’t recognize that storyline.’

She pulls away from him so he can see her face. ‘That’s the thing. It’s from my new book. The one that hasn’t even been published yet.’

His expression changes. ‘What?’

‘Have you started reading it yet?’

‘No, I haven’t. I’ve had this deadline at work. I was going to start tonight.’

‘I’ve told Jas the truth,’ she blurts out. ‘I want her to be honest with us and felt I owed her the same. I’m worried she’s in danger.’

She wants him to pacify her, like he always does. Her glass-half-full husband. But he doesn’t. His mouth is set in a grim line, and she notices he hasn’t shaved this morning.

She has to tell him what happens in the book. ‘I’m sorry for giving it away when you haven’t read it yet, but in Her Last Chapter Miranda’s niece is kidnapped and goes through hell until she’s rescued right at the end of the book. It results in Miranda finally discovering the serial killer, but they murder her before they’re caught by Miranda’s partner.’

He doesn’t speak, just stares at her, and she can see the worry etched on his face.

She turns away and continues emptying the dishwasher. ‘I’ve decided I’m going to speak to that journalist, Gina Osbourne.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it might be a way to stop whoever is behind this.’

‘Or,’ says Elliot, darkly, ‘you could be giving them exactly what they want.’





27





Martin Butterworth is a hulk of a man, with eyes and hair the colour of dirty dishwater and an unhealthy pallor that comes from years inside. Saunders is almost six foot, but this man must be at least three inches taller. The top of the doorway skims his head and his wide shoulders take up the whole space. I don’t normally scare easily but I’m suddenly glad I brought Saunders along with me, and I realize, if this is our guy, how terrifying it would have been for his victims to be confronted by this beast.

‘Yeah?’ He stares at us, his eyes flickering from Saunders to me, then back to Saunders.

I show him my identification and introduce us. ‘Can we have a word?’

He scowls and steps back into the grotty hallway. ‘Look, I’ve only been out of the nick a few weeks. I’ve kept myself out of trouble. I’m still on probation.’

‘We won’t be long. We just need to ask you a few questions, and surely it’s better to do it here rather than down at the station.’

He stares at us in silence, obviously hoping to unnerve us, but I’ve met his type before. He’s clearly a bully and a thug. But a killer? That remains to be seen.

Martin turns and stalks off down the hallway. We take this as an invitation and follow him into a small front room. It’s sparsely furnished with a torn leather sofa and an armchair. He plonks himself in the chair and we take the sofa. It’s a very similar set-up to where his sister, Lorraine, lives, a few streets away. He doesn’t offer us tea or coffee, not that I would take it. The carpet under my shoes feels sticky.

He lights a cigarette without asking if we mind, or if we even want one. I’m disappointed to see they’re just the general kind. No menthol cigarettes for him.

‘So, what do you want?’ He leans back in the chair and lets out a puff of smoke.

‘Do you ever smoke any other kind?’ I ask him.

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and stares at it. ‘What do you mean? Like a different brand?’

‘Like the menthol kind?’ Saunders asks.

He shakes his head. ‘Nah. My dad did but he’s long dead.’

I wonder if he’s lying. Lorraine definitely said her father and brother. It’s not nearly enough to go on right now.

‘We understand your sister, Lorraine, lives in Hanham Street?’ I ask.

He nods.

‘Have you visited her since you got out of prison?’

He frowns. ‘Yeah, just the once.’

‘And when was this?’

He sits forward in his seat, his eyes narrowed. The cigarette burns in his hand, the ash falling onto the brown carpet. ‘Uh, dunno, probably when I first got out. About three weeks ago. But it didn’t go well. She’s a judgemental bitch.’

I ignore this. ‘And did you meet her upstairs neighbour, Trisha Banks?’

He takes a puff of the cigarette and flicks more ash onto the carpet. ‘No, I can’t say that I did.’

I turn to Saunders who is watching Martin Butterworth in silence but I can see his mind ticking over. And then he uses the oldest trick in the book. Clearing his throat, he asks Martin if he can use his bathroom.