The Woman Who Lied(83)

She takes a deep breath. ‘Trevor? He was in the police back then. Was it him? Was he working on the case at the time?’

Trevor might not be the praying-mantis murderer, but he could have been having an affair with Louise’s mum. Maybe he stabbed her, then made it look like she was murdered by the serial killer. But if that was the case then Elliot is Ash. She inwardly groans. She’s just going around in circles.

DI Murray’s voice breaks into her thoughts. ‘No. At that time Trevor was working in Vice on another case.’

‘So …’ she’s confused ‘… what are you saying? Do you think you know who it is?’

‘I’m keeping an open mind right now, but think back to your conversations with Louise. I suspect all this is still linked to someone you know. Why did Louise target you in particular?’

Emilia places a hand on her forehead. She feels hot, like she’s coming down with something. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t think straight right now …’

‘It’s late. Just consider what I’ve said and I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Goodnight, Emilia. Try to get some sleep.’ The line goes dead. Emilia sighs, clutching her mobile to her chest. She feels even more confused.

‘Who was that?’

She looks up. Ottilie is standing in the doorway. She’s wearing a long floral kimono with cream silk pyjamas underneath, her blonde hair flowing behind her. She has a mug in her hand, which she places next to Emilia. ‘Hot chocolate. I thought you might need it.’

Emilia takes it gratefully, wrapping her hands around the mug. It’s not hot, but warm, and she drinks it all. Then she looks up at Ottilie’s expectant face. ‘It was DI Murray.’

‘What did she say?’

Ottilie steps back so that she’s standing in the middle of the room. The cat suddenly trots into view and Ottilie bends down to scoop it up. The tartan collar. Emilia’s heart drops as a memory surfaces: the photograph on Louise’s mobile. She’d pushed it under her nose that night in the restaurant when she talked about getting a cat. She remembers it vividly because she’d been a bit envious, knowing how Elliot feels about pets. The image sharpens in her mind’s eye: a photograph of a black cat with a tartan collar and a white bib. The pink nose. Hamish. A boy. And she’s suddenly hit with the certainty that the cat Ottilie is holding in her arms is Louise’s.

‘Where did you get that cat?’

Ottilie looks up in surprise, the moonlight reflecting in her sea-glass eyes. ‘What?’

‘The cat?’

‘It’s my friends’. I told you.’

‘It looks like Louise’s.’

Ottilie frowns and flicks her hair over her shoulder. ‘Louise had a cat?’

‘Yes.’ Emilia places her mug on the table and walks over to where Ottilie stands. ‘A male cat. I’d forgotten. But now I think about it, nobody mentioned seeing a cat at Louise’s flat at the scene, or afterwards.’

Ottilie shrugs. ‘Maybe it ran off.’

‘Can I see?’ She reaches out to take the cat but Ottilie moves away.

‘She’s nervous of strangers.’

‘I think you’ll find that cat is a he, Ottilie.’

Ottilie’s body stiffens but she keeps hold of the cat.

How could Emilia not have seen what was staring her in the face for so long? DI Murray’s theory was right. A girl not a boy.

‘You,’ Emilia says, in alarm, as it dawns on her. ‘You went to a university in Devon, didn’t you? Just for one term. You never said why you left. You had a breakdown back in school. Oh, my God, it’s you!’ She’d been so blind not to see it before. ‘It was you. It was you Louise wanted to get close to. That was why she targeted me.’

‘What are you talking about?’ But there is an edge to Ottilie’s voice now.

‘You’re Ash.’





59





‘What do you mean?’ says Ottilie. Her expression is in shadow, but Emilia can tell by her body language that she knows exactly what she’s talking about.

‘Did you know Louise back at university? Daisy Louise Greene was her full name.’

Ottilie lets the cat slip from her arms and it scuttles from the room. ‘From the Daisy chapters in your book? It sounds like a love affair. I’ve never had a love affair with a woman.’

‘It could have been one-sided. Louise was bi-sexual. Maybe she had a crush on you, even if you did just see her as a friend.’

Ottilie folds her arms across her flimsy nightgown. ‘I didn’t know Louise, or Daisy, or whatever her name was. I’ve never met her.’

The thing about knowing someone for as long as Emilia has known Ottilie is that she recognizes every little tic, every expression, every body movement. And she knows, without a doubt, that Ottilie is lying.

‘Ottilie, please tell me the truth.’

‘You just don’t want to think your husband is a killer, do you? That’s what all this is about. You’d prefer it was me.’

Emilia takes a step towards Ottilie who is backlit by the hallway light. ‘We have CCTV in the back garden. We have footage of you stealing Elliot’s bike,’ she bluffs. ‘I found the beanie in Elliot’s drawer.’ She leans down and takes it out of the bag at her feet and holds it up in the air. Her head swims when she moves and the headache intensifies. ‘Here. This is the type Louise wears. Were you hoping to set up Louise by making me think it was her who stole the bike? And then what? Your plans changed to setting up Elliot?’ She throws it at Ottilie, who catches it with one hand.