Presently, the girls are in the care of their grandmother.
Police are seeking urgent assistance in locating Mr Harlow.
If you have information, police are advising that you contact them.
Gray hadn’t made any mention to me of a knife and a rope being found at the scene. And the news report said they were his.
My stomach tightened, and the dread feeling returned. Had I made an enormous mistake in trusting and confiding in Gray? If Gray had fled his home, where was he?
Wild thoughts rushed in unchecked.
What had he done?
Evie wasn’t supposed to be dead. She was supposed to be a world away, in Greece, and very much alive.
But what if Rosemary was wrong? Perhaps she’d downloaded a photo of Evie that could look like any of a thousand young women. Evie was pretty in a way that a lot of young women were pretty—her hair and eyes and skin all of a perfect, fresh colour and smoothness but with no outstanding features. I’d have trouble picking her out in a crowd. As for the bracelet, for all I knew, lots of girls had them.
Rosemary’s words about Gray fed back into my mind: Let’s hope Gray didn’t have something to do with his wife’s disappearance. It’s terrible how many times the culprit turns out to be the husband. Too many times.
I’d just assumed that the people Evie had gotten involved with were trying to cover their tracks when they’d dumped and burned her car. But I didn’t know the first thing about Gray. He might be a bad person, too. I couldn’t expose myself to something like that. I’d be better to cut off all contact.
“Whew!” Gray’s voice came back on the line. “That’s better. Huge crowd back there. Constance, we have to meet up.”
His words shocked me, sending a wave of electricity across my bare arms. “Meet up? How is that possible?”
“I’m in London.”
“London? You’re here . . . ?” My voice trailed away.
He spoke fast, his voice filled with tension. “Yeah. Crazy, right? I just flew in. I’m calling from an airport phone.”
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean? I’m here looking for Evie.”
“Look, Gray, it might be better if we each tackle this on our own. You should go ahead and see what you can find out.”
“I thought you’d be on your way to Greece.” Disappointment and confusion edged his words.
“I was. But the police asked me to stay on here. And I feel like if I leave now, I’m going to be under suspicion, and then I’ll be watched. And I don’t want that. Better for you to head off to Greece.”
“Okay. But then you’re going to have to tell me what you know. I’m here because of you and what you told me.”
Guilt burrowed through me. It was true that I’d called him and told him in no uncertain terms that his wife was in Greece. It made no sense at all that if he’d killed his wife, he’d come here in search of her.
Unless he was insane.
Yes, he could be insane. That might be the reason why his wife ran away from him. And he might have found Evie and killed her, and he’d been pretending all this time. And now he was coming after me.
I needed time to think, but anxiety was making my brain shut down.
“I wish I did know more,” I told him. “But I’m afraid that Rosemary is dead, and everything she knew died with her.” I hesitated before adding, “I have to go now. I wish you luck.”
I pressed the end option on my phone and threw it into my bag, not giving him a chance to say more.
I should dispose of the phone. It served no purpose if I no longer wanted contact from Gray. Dear God, I was the one who brought him to Europe.
Puffing up the pillows, I crawled into bed. I wanted to escape from everything. Because everything I touched had gone wrong.
I slept for a short time but then woke into a terrifying silence. I switched on the TV just to create some noise, flicking from channel to channel. An English detective series was showing. I used to like watching these. Not anymore. It was all vile to me now, watching people murder others as entertainment.
Switching to a news show, I half sat up. I shouldn’t have let myself nap—I wouldn’t sleep tonight. I’d lie awake for hours, haunted by the sight of Rosemary’s bloodied and lifeless body.
They were showing the lighter end of the news. The squealing winner of a reality-show bake-off, an antique painting that had sold at auction for a crazy figure, a high-society charity dinner. I’d attended many such dinners together with James. They’d mostly been pretty boring, with a bit of celebrity spotting to break up the tedium.