She shouldn’t have written the book because the story, and all the stuff about the praying-mantis murderer, was never her idea.
35
Emilia is asleep on the sofa in the posh living room, a soft cashmere throw keeping her warm, when she’s woken by knocking. She bolts upright, her heart racing. Elliot took the kids to school this morning so she could get some rest. She’d been awake all night, crouched over her office desk, only crawling back into bed next to Elliot when the sun rose. She’d got up with Jasmine and Wilfie, made their packed lunches, feeling like a zombie, then crashed onto the sofa when they all left the house.
She glances at the clock on the mantelpiece. Just gone nine thirty.
There is another knock and then the ring of the doorbell. Elliot must have gone straight to his garden office to give her some peace. She reaches for her phone and checks the Smart App. A woman she doesn’t recognize is standing on her doorstep. She’s dressed in a black suit with a green shirt and has a neat white bob. Elliot would have been alerted to the doorbell, too, but he might be on a call. Reluctantly she gets up and pulls her dressing-gown around her to answer the door.
The woman is standing on the front step looking up at the house, her brow furrowed in annoyance. She has piercing blue eyes, which she fastens on Emilia as soon as she wrenches open the door.
‘Are you Emilia Ward?’
Emilia nods, half hidden by the door so that the street can’t see she’s still in her dressing-gown.
The woman holds up some ID. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Janine Murray from Devon and Cornwall Police. Please may I come in?’
Emilia’s mind whirls immediately, thinking of Elliot and the children. ‘What’s this about?’
‘I’m investigating the death of a friend of yours, DC Louise Greene.’
‘Can I see your ID again, please?’ She doesn’t want to take any chances. Not after that hoax call from the hospital. What if this isn’t a real detective? But the ID looks legitimate, and she hands it back to DI Murray. ‘Can I just ask? You say you’re from Devon and Cornwall Police. But why? Louise worked for the Met.’
‘That’s right. We’ve been investigating, for a number of years now, a serial killer mostly in Plymouth and the surrounding area. We have reason to believe that Louise’s death could be linked to that case.’
A serial killer. Like in her book. A shiver runs up her spine and she can’t move.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes … of course.’ Emilia steps back to allow the detective over the threshold, then leads her into the kitchen. ‘Sorry I’m not dressed yet. I had a bad night. Would you like tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great, thanks.’ The detective sits down at the table and gets out a notebook. Emilia uses Elliot’s fancy coffee machine to make a cappuccino for herself and DI Murray. The police officer’s presence is unnerving her. She doesn’t have a friendly face and those cold blue eyes are steely, as though they can see through to her very soul, exposing all her secrets.
She hands her the cappuccino and joins her at the table. The sun streams through the bifold doors, bleaching the area where they sit. Next to this neat, put-together woman, Emilia feels even more of a mess, like she’s coming apart at the seams.
‘I’m sorry to hear about Louise Greene. By all accounts she was a very well-respected detective.’
Emilia can only nod. She has no idea how respected Louise was by her colleagues. She just knows she’s lost a good friend, someone she felt she could rely on. And, more than that, Toby has lost his mum. Her heart twists again.
DI Murray must grasp this as she adds softly, ‘I know you lost a good friend yesterday. I understand you were the one who found her.’
‘Yes.’ Emilia blows on her coffee and takes a sip.
‘I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you,’ she says, looking intently at Emilia. ‘DC Haddock has filled me in on everything that has been happening to you lately. And I’ve heard the voice message that Louise left you. What concerns me, Emilia, is that Louise’s death is very similar to a case I’ve been working on for a long time. Except the mark on those victims’ ankle is a carving of the insect’s head, not a drawing like we found on Louise.’
Emilia sits up straighter, her senses suddenly on high alert. ‘I don’t understand. Are you saying you think this serial killer is responsible for Louise’s death?’
DI Murray hesitates, but doesn’t answer the question. ‘The killer I’ve been investigating is known as the praying-mantis murderer – that’s what we call him in the force.’
The praying-mantis murderer. Emilia’s stomach churns.
‘The deaths have been made public, of course, throughout the years, but we’ve never revealed to the press the detail about the insect’s head, or the moniker we’ve given him. Search praying-mantis killer or murderer on the internet and you’ll find nothing. So I was interested to learn that you’ve written a book with a serial killer going by the same name.’
A fresh wave of nausea washes over Emilia. ‘But I – I made it up and my book hasn’t even been published yet. And mine … my killer just draws them on.’ Her legs have begun to tremble and she wonders if this detective can tell she’s lying.
‘Okay. But is there any way someone told you about the praying-mantis murders?’ She pauses. ‘Louise, perhaps?’
Emilia has to place her hands on her legs to stop them jiggling. ‘Louise never talked about the cases she worked on and she was in the Met Police so she wouldn’t have been working on the praying-mantis case, would she?’
DI Murray shakes her head. ‘No, she wouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t have heard about it.’
Fuck. How can this be happening? Emilia digs her nails into the fleece of her dressing-gown. She needs to keep it together. She swallows, not knowing how to answer. She can’t tell her the truth. ‘I’m … not sure. I’ll need to think. This has all been such a shock,’ she mumbles.
‘Okay. But if you think of anything, please can you call me.’ DI Murray slips her notebook into the inner pocket of her blazer. She hands Emilia a card with her name and number on it. Emilia’s legs feel weak as she stands up. She can’t wait for DI Murray to get out of the house.
Emilia’s mind is reeling as she closes the door on the detective. If only she’d answered Louise’s call. And now she’s totally on her own, picking her way through the darkness, and she doesn’t know what to do. How to act.
She screams out into the silent hallway, kicking at the wooden panel of the front-room door, hurting her foot. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She needs to calm down, get a grip.
‘Oh, Louise.’ She sighs. What the hell was she up to? Was that what the voicemail message was about? Why she’d said she was sorry? Because she’d known, all along, that the praying-mantis murderer was real?
As she’s throwing on clothes, she receives a call from DC Haddock. She’s not surprised. He tried to interview her properly last night but her mind was all over the place after finding Louise’s body. It still is.