“Mr. Eastwood,” she says. She talks different when she’s being a police officer. Her voice goes deeper. “We’d like to talk to you about sightings of your van.”
“Look, I thought all this had already been cleared up,” Liam says. “I told you I took Charlie home in it. On the first night of the festival.”
“Yes, you did. But we want to talk about where you were on that Sunday.”
“Er . . . I told you I was at Cal’s football training.”
“Yes, we’ve checked with the other parents and they’ve confirmed your presence. But later?” Elise says to Liam, and I try not to hold my breath. “You told me you were at the Old Vicarage fire until the early hours of Monday morning.”
“I was!”
“But your van was captured on CCTV going past the Shell garage on Sunday night, just before midnight.”
Liam stares at her. I hate it when he does that gormless face.
“Midnight?” he says. “That can’t be. I walked up to the Vicarage—I’d had a couple of beers, so I didn’t want to drive—and got home about one thirty. I woke you up, didn’t I, Dee?”
“Can you confirm that, Mrs. Eastwood?” Elise says, and looks right at me.
The “Mrs. Eastwood” wrong-foots me. It feels like she’s talking to my mother-in-law.
“Er, yes,” I say.
“I think you must have made some mistake,” Liam says. “My van was outside the house when I left and when I got back.”
After Elise leaves “to make further inquiries,” I turn to him and grip his arm. “Why did you ask me to confirm where you were? I didn’t wake up when you got home. You had to tell me about it in the morning.”
“To make them stop asking stupid questions. I was worried I’d say the wrong thing. How could they have seen my van? They’ve probably got the wrong night or something. Those cameras aren’t reliable.”
I nod. “Well, someone’s got it wrong.”
* * *
—
Elise and DS Brennan come back half an hour later, when Liam and Cal have gone to the park for a kick about.
“He’s not here,” I say.
“That’s all right,” Elise says. “It’s you we want to talk to. We’ve checked the footage, Mrs. Eastwood, and it’s definitely your husband’s van. But we can’t get a clear image of the driver. You appear to be the only other person with access to the keys. Could it have been you?”
“I doubt it. I was in bed. Are you sure you’ve got the right date?”
“Quite sure.”
“Well, I mean, I sometimes go to the garage or the big supermarket to buy biscuits or something for Cal’s packed lunch. I pop up there last thing for bits I’ve forgotten. They’re both open all night.”
“Why didn’t you say before?”
“You were asking Liam. Anyway, I can’t remember every time I go to the shop. Why are you asking, anyway?”
“We are looking at vehicles that drove past Tall Trees that night. And talking to people who might have seen something. Or someone.”
“I’d have said.”
“Right. Perhaps you could look at your bank account and see if you spent money at the garage or supermarket that night? It’s important. You do understand?”
“Of course, Elise. Sorry, DI King. I want to help.”
Fifty-eight
SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 2019
Toby
Saul was fussing over last-minute adjustments to the luggage while Toby stared into his coffee.
“We’re over the weight limit, so I’m taking out jumpers—you’ve got your cream jacket if it’s cooler in the evening. Can you wear it on the plane?”
Toby nodded but he didn’t really know what he was agreeing to. Things had been better between them since the row about his walks last week. Saul had got hysterical, accusing him of seeing another man when he disappeared off on his own even though Saul knew he wasn’t the type. He’d never been on the scene, just quietly queer in the Essex town where he’d grown up. Saul had been his coup de foudre—an exchanged glance at a party had sealed the deal—and he’d never strayed once.
Toby had reached for his husband, pulling him in. “There’s no one, I swear. I love you. I’m just a bit stressed. There’s a lot going on, isn’t there?”
“Why have you been going to the Perrys’ place, then?” Saul’s voice was muffled in Toby’s shoulder.