She doesn’t know what to do next. She needs to talk to Elliot, but it will be hard now that Trevor is staying. She could ring DI Murray, but it might be the end of her marriage if she were to rat on her father-in-law without talking to Elliot first.
She pulls onto the driveway, weighed down by dread and indecision, not wanting to step inside the house to confront reality. It’s 6 p.m. and still hot. She can hear chattering and glasses clinking from a neighbour’s garden, signalling a summer’s evening on a Friday night. More than a week since she’d stumbled on the dead body of her friend.
‘Are you getting out or are you just going to sit there all night?’ Jasmine has already climbed out of the car, her smooth, teenage legs in her skort are brown, toned. Her beautiful, precious daughter, about to inhabit a space with a serial killer. She turns away and takes a deep breath, steeling herself.
‘Mum?’ Wilfie is already by the front door.
‘Coming,’ she says. Her body feels like lead as she gets out of the car, unlocks the front door, and follows her children into the house.
Jasmine dumps her bag in the hall and runs upstairs, saying she’s going to jump into the shower. Usually, Emilia would pick up her bag for her – not wanting Elliot to get annoyed – but she doesn’t have the energy. Jasmine is nearly sixteen: she should be doing it herself.
Elliot is mixing a salad when she walks into the kitchen. Wilfie flops down next to Trevor in front of the TV and the bifold doors are open, letting in a much-needed breeze.
‘What’s going on?’ Elliot says quietly, when they’re on their own at the kitchen end of the room. ‘Has something happened?’
‘Yes, something has fucking happened,’ she snaps, under her breath. ‘I think I’m going to go insane if I don’t talk to you about it.’
Concern radiates off him. She’s rarely spoken to him like that. She darts a glance towards where Trevor and Wilfie sit. ‘It’s about your dad,’ she mouths. She has to repeat it when Elliot steps closer to her, cupping his ear.
‘What about him?’ he mouths back.
‘Can we talk in the other room?’
He turns back towards Trevor and Wilfie but they are oblivious, both laughing at something on the TV.
Elliot follows her into the posh front room. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks, as soon as she closes the door behind him.
Oh, God, where to start? She can hardly blurt out that she thinks his dad is a killer. ‘Sit down,’ she says, and he lowers himself into an armchair, looking puzzled. She perches on the opposite sofa. ‘I haven’t been completely honest with you still.’
His face instantly falls. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The Daisy and Ash storyline in my book. It’s from Louise too.’ She explains how Louise had given her the ‘story’。 ‘When DI Murray was here, she told me that this storyline is true. That Daisy is Louise’s real name. And that …’ she gulps, can’t look him in the eye ‘… it’s all about her real past and her mother’s murder.’
A myriad of emotions flash across his face. ‘You’re kidding?’
She blinks back tears. ‘Do I sound like I’m kidding? This is a fucking mess. And I had no idea this was all true. Louise told me she’d made it up and that I could use it as she didn’t have time to write a novel.’
‘But why would she do that?’
‘I think it was her misguided attempt to tell the world who she thought killed her mother.’
‘So her mother’s murderer is called Donald?’ Confusion flits across Elliot’s face.
‘No. I think that’s a made-up name. And so is Ash.’ She tells him about her conversation with Frances at pick-up. ‘She targeted me for a reason and now I’m wondering why. Is it because you’re Ash? And could your dad be the Doodle Man?’
He stares at her, his mouth falling open. ‘You – you think my dad is this serial killer?’
‘I don’t know what to think.’ She stands up and begins pacing the room. It still smells faintly of Lloyd. ‘We’ve never talked much about our university days, but I know you went to Exeter.’
‘Yep. English.’
‘Did you date Louise? Or should I say Daisy, as she would have been known back then?’
‘I …’ He frowns. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I had quite a few girlfriends at uni. Nothing serious. But I don’t remember dating anyone called Daisy. I don’t … I didn’t recognize myself in your story, if that’s what you mean. Now you’ve said it there are some similarities, I suppose – I did grow up by the sea and I did go through a bit of a Goth stage, but I never had any girlfriends come back and stay while I was at uni. In fact, I’d left by Christmas 2005. I graduated that summer. I don’t think I’m Ash and I’m a hundred per cent sure my dad isn’t the fucking praying-mantis murderer. Jesus, Emilia, I can’t believe this.’
Emilia takes the phone out of her bag and pulls up the news story about Louise. There is a photograph of her, although it’s a few years old. Despite everything it still tugs at her heart that her friend is dead. She thrusts it in Elliot’s face. ‘Do you recognize her? It strikes me that I’ve never introduced the two of you. She always seemed against coming here, meeting you – any of you. Is this why? Because she knew you’d recognize her?’
He takes the phone from her and studies the photo. Then he looks up at her, his dark eyes huge in his face. ‘I can honestly say I don’t recognize her.’
She has always found it hard to read Elliot. Would he lie to her?
‘It says here that she was thirty-five. I’m nearly thirty-nine, three years older than her,’ he says.
She snatches back the phone. ‘Yes, Elliot, I’m aware of how old you are. Not everyone goes to university at eighteen.’
He stands up. ‘But I did! This is ridiculous. I wouldn’t lie to you, despite all the lies you’ve told me. If I thought I was this Ash I’d say so. Why would I lie about it?’
‘To protect your dad.’
He gives a mirthless laugh. ‘Sure, yes, why not? I’d protect my dad, the serial killer.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘If I really thought my dad was behind all those murders I wouldn’t let him anywhere near you and the kids. I hope you know that.’ He comes towards her and holds out a hand, like she’s a dangerous animal and he’s not sure if she’ll bite. ‘Seriously? I know you’re looking for answers, but please … my dad is a gentle giant. He wouldn’t hurt a soul.’
52
Emilia tosses and turns all night thinking about Trevor and Louise. She doesn’t know whether to believe her husband. Maybe Louise had looked different at university. It was nearly twenty years ago after all. She believes him when he says he wouldn’t protect his father if he thought he was a killer – but the fact is, he might not know. Who wants to believe the person they love is capable of such heinous crimes?
Not for the first time she wishes she could ask Louise.
She needs to speak to DI Murray. She feels like she’s betraying her husband, but she needs to voice her suspicions to someone in authority. Maybe they could run checks on Trevor. Find out if Louise had ever made a complaint against him. Surely there would be records about that kind of thing. Louise had told Frances she knew Trevor. How?