Gina answers on the first ring. ‘Emilia,’ she exclaims, sounding happy to hear from her. Obviously hoping for another story.
‘Hi,’ Emilia says, walking towards the Isabella Plantation. She used to go there when Jasmine and Wilfie were little, marvelling at the exotic plants. ‘I hope it’s okay to call out of the blue, but I just wanted to know who tipped you off about me. Back when you first approached me.’
‘I told you I can’t reveal my sources.’
‘Did it come from a police contact?’
‘Well,’ she hesitates, ‘yes.’
‘And has that police contact recently been murdered?’
‘Can I come and see you?’
She bites back her irritation. ‘Can you just answer me, please? It’s really important. Did DC Louise Greene tell you about it? You know she’s dead, so you’re not exactly being unethical by telling me now.’
There is silence at the other end of the line. ‘Okay, yes. It was Detective Greene. But can I –’
‘That’s all I wanted to know. Thanks.’ She ends the call before Gina can say anything more. She stops next to the little stream, tapping her mobile against her chin. So, Louise wanted what was happening to her to be publicized. Why? So everyone would go out and read Emilia’s book? And not just Emilia’s book – but Louise’s story?
There was only one reason Louise would want to do that. She was trying to smoke someone out.
48
Emilia tries to call her agent, Drummond, to ask his advice about pulling the book, but it goes through to voicemail. And then she remembers he’s on holiday in Japan with his family. She just hopes she hasn’t tried to call in what is for him the middle of the night. She hangs up without leaving a message.
She follows a young couple walking with their toddler daughter, each holding one of her pudgy hands, the mother pointing out the names of the different azaleas and rhododendrons as they pass. Emilia is impressed. She has never been a keen gardener. She has a pang of nostalgia for when Jasmine, and later Wilfie, were that age. When she could keep them safe, keep an eye on them at all times.
She’s at a loss as to what to do next. Perhaps she should call her editor and tell her everything. After all, how can her book be published now she knows the truth? But she can’t face it. She’d rather speak to Drummond first, anyway, and get his advice. Maybe all she needs to do is change the name of the killer and Daisy’s back story a little so that it doesn’t resemble Louise’s and then all will be good. It doesn’t have to be career-ending, like she’d first feared. Not if she handles it carefully.
It must have been so easy for Louise when Emilia admitted that she couldn’t think of a new story for her last Miranda Moody book. She had handed her friend the opportunity on a plate. She must have been hoping that someone would recognize the praying-mantis murderer – her mother’s killer – from the story. Especially if it got enough publicity, which it has. Her story has been picked up by all the nationals and she’s been invited on to BBC2 and Times Radio. Oh, how she wishes she could talk to Louise about it! Rage at her, even, especially for the part she’d played in making them all think Jasmine had disappeared.
That hoax call. No wonder Louise had been so eager to play the hero. She knew exactly where Jasmine and Nancy were the whole time. And the troll doll? Had she planted it in Kristin’s kitchen when she was around there to take the heat off herself? Kristin would have assumed it was one of Jasmine’s old toys and probably not thought much about it. She feels a stab of guilt when she remembers how she’d accused Kristin.
She’s so busy thinking about Louise that as she rounds the corner she doesn’t notice that everyone else has fallen away, and she is no longer trailing the family with the little girl. Her heart speeds up when she realizes that she’s alone.
There are footsteps on the path behind her and she picks up her pace so that she quickly joins a group of people who are standing by the lake. But she still doesn’t feel safe until she can see her car ahead. She gets the keys out of her bag as she approaches and holds them between her fingers, ready. She’s nearly at her Nissan when she senses someone right behind her, so close she can feel their breath on her neck. She spins around and comes face to face with a man in his thirties – spiky hair and flinty eyes. She darts a look past his shoulder. There are people around. If he tries to hurt her she’ll scream.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he says, in a low voice.
‘You’ve been following me?’ It strikes her that he was the man on the tube the other day: he had followed her up the hill towards her house.
She’s surprised when he nods. ‘My name is Marcus Saunders. I’m a police officer. I work with DI Janine Murray.’
She takes a step backwards so that she’s nearer to her car. Is he lying? She can’t tell. Why would he be following her if he’s a police officer? He fishes his identification out of the inner pocket of his Harrington jacket and shows her. ‘I’m sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger stuff. I wanted to talk to you about Louise, but in an unofficial capacity. You see,’ he slides his police warrant card back into his pocket, ‘I’m … I mean I was …’ He clears his throat, and his cheeks redden.
‘Wait.’ It suddenly clicks, and she remembers the conversation she and Louise had on their last night out. Louise had talked about a boyfriend. A colleague. Emilia couldn’t remember his name before but now she’s sure it was Marcus. ‘You were Louise’s boyfriend?’
He nods, just once. ‘I was the one who told her about Trisha Banks. The last victim of the praying-mantis murderer. Neither of us usually talked about our cases. We wanted to leave them at work. But this killer had resurfaced after sixteen years so I was reeling about it. Louise went pale when I told her. Mumbled something about hoping it was all over. She didn’t elaborate even though I pushed it.’ Guilt flashes across his face. ‘I had no idea until I spoke to my boss a few days ago that her mother had been a victim. I don’t think Louise even knew – until I told her – that we’d dubbed him the praying-mantis murderer.’
‘And this was last February time?’
‘Yes. I gather she told you the story after that. I’m so sorry, but I set all this in motion.’
Emilia’s car keys feel sweaty in her hand. ‘Does DI Murray know what you did?’
He shakes his head. ‘I’ve been pretending to be holed up in my hotel with a sickness bug all week. Seeing Louise’s body … not being able to tell anyone what she meant to me …’
‘Why can’t you tell anyone?’
He digs his hands in his pockets. ‘The boss wouldn’t be too pleased to find out I’d talked about the case, and not only that. Now she’s dead they might take me off it. This is a high-profile case. I just wanted you to know, despite everything that’s happened, and the boss has filled me in on it all, Louise thought a lot of you, you know. She talked highly of you.’
A lump forms in Emilia’s throat. ‘Did she say anything about what was happening to me? About a stalker mirroring some of the plots from my books?’