‘No.’
‘No what?’ Hands on hips, he gave her that look, the accusatory one that irritated her.
‘No, I didn’t drive in my sleep.’ Her mind whirred. ‘I sleepwalked down the stairs and into the kitchen; then I woke up confused. I couldn’t relax so I got dressed and went to the all-night garage.’
He took a few paces towards her until their noses almost met. ‘Really?’
She didn’t want him to know about the secret in her bag, not after what she’d put them all through in the past, but it was better than the alternative. ‘Yes, really.’ She pushed by him and leaned over the sink. If only she’d backed in, he’d be none the wiser. She’d have got away with the sleepwalking excuse and could have explained it as being anxiety triggered.
‘Okay. What did you buy?’
She kicked the cupboard. ‘You’re doing it again, questioning everything I do.’
‘After what you’ve put me through in the past, I feel as though I’ve earned that right. You’ve abused my trust in you too many times. I’m trying to protect this family and last time I looked, you’re part of it.’ He snatched her bag.
‘Give it back.’ This was part of her plan. Not an ideal part but it was okay for him to see. The contents of her bag would give him something to latch onto. She tried to reach over but he kept turning his back towards her as he dropped her purse onto the floor, followed by a packet of sweets; then he dropped a few scrunched up tissues and a make-up bag. Her compact shattered on the floor and he stopped.
‘You’ve broken it. That was my grandmother’s.’
Ignoring her, he continued to rummage. ‘So this is what you were up to.’ He pulled the offending item out of her bag.
She swallowed and turned away. After giving it to him on a plate, shame still burned inside her. Her breath quickened and she felt the urge to sob and cry, to hit something, anything. She slammed her fist onto the table, feeling the instant burn to her knuckles as one of them cracked a little.
‘I thought this,’ he pointed to the unopened miniature bottle of vodka, ‘was in the past.’
A tear slid down her cheek and she fell into the chair, her outburst finally passing. That tiny bottle of happy juice was only the tip of the problem that consumed her every thought, especially with what was happening. What lay beneath would shatter him; the vodka he could deal with. He unscrewed the bottle and poured it down the sink.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I told you, you can always talk to me. We could’ve talked about this. We will talk about this and I’m going to help you. You need to get on top of this for the sake of our children. They don’t need to see us go through all that heartache again.’
She’d hurt him but small sacrifices had been made. She had every intention of drinking the vodka. The very thought of the warm liquid sliding down her throat made her tingle. She loved nothing more than that initial fuzzy feeling as the alcohol seeped into her bloodstream and slowed her heart rate down. She’d have been able to sleep soundly and forget everything. That little bottle had sat in her bag for several weeks and she hadn’t touched it once. Just knowing it was there had given her the comfort she’d required. Now he’d poured it away, that sense of panic had returned.
‘I’ve got to be up in a couple of hours so we best go to bed. My class isn’t going to teach itself.’ He dropped the bottle in the bin and pulled her into the hall as he turned the kitchen light off.
‘I wasn’t going to drink it, I promise.’
He manoeuvred towards the stairs and nudged her, giving her no option but to climb them.
He didn’t believe her. The absence of a reply told her all she needed to know. He was right. She may have drunk it when she’d got back from her little middle-of-the-night outing, she may have drunk it when she was at work at the nursing home the next day, or she may have enjoyed it at home. Most of all, she wanted to know it was there, that’s all. After the week she’d had, she’d shown great strength in not drinking it, but she couldn’t tell him that. He couldn’t know what she was doing, not now, not ever.
Chapter Eleven
Gina finished yet another coffee; anything that would help her to stay awake before she addressed the team was a bonus. The chill in her office sent a shiver down her spine. A few raindrops battered the window and a gust of wind coming through the tiny vent made her blinds clatter. She pulled the tangled cord to open them and gazed out across the dark car park, wondering if daylight would actually break through the gloomy morning.
A quiet knock almost startled her. As she called out ‘Come in’, the young woman from administration dropped a letter on her desk. ‘Thank you.’ The woman smiled before leaving. She glanced at the envelope that had been marked up ‘Private and Confidential’.
She yawned and rubbed her eyes as she toyed with the letter. After going home, she hadn’t gone to bed, instead choosing to sit in the lounge for most of the early hours mulling over the case. Eventually, she’d fallen asleep sitting in front of her laptop, while her cat, Ebony, snuggled against her arm, waking a couple of hours later with the twinge in her neck that still persisted now. Her phone rang. It was Wyre. ‘Are we all ready?’
‘We’re all gathering in the incident room, guv.’
She left the letter on her desk and hurried out, allowing the door to slam behind her.
‘Morning, guv.’ Jacob yawned. With his laptop bag in one hand and a notebook in the other, he nudged the main door to the incident room with his bottom, releasing the chatter that came from the room. She was going to tell him that his shirt flap was out at the back but she kept her mouth shut.
DC O’Connor passed around a box of croissants filled with butter and jam. ‘Mrs O thought we might need these. Help yourselves.’ Harry O’Connor, always a smile regardless of how gruesome or disturbing the case was.
Mrs O was right. Gina grabbed one and headed straight to the head of the room. ‘I’m glad to see we have some photos on the board.’ The email from Bernard had arrived in the night and she’d forwarded it to PC Smith so that he could print the photos up, ready for the briefing. She took a bite of the buttery pastry, almost salivating as her taste buds exploded. She wiped a streak of jam from her bottom lip as she took in their victim’s features. Blond male, described in Bernard’s email as being six feet tall. She scrunched her eyes a little. He’d had a piercing in his eyebrow at some point but it looked as though it had almost healed over. His grey, ashen skin had a bluish tinge in places. A flashback to the night she and Briggs were at Lucy’s Café filled her mind. He’d been lurking around after and what had the staring been about? He’d watched her from afar. She shuddered as an uneasy feeling flushed through her. If only she’d chased him instead of their Justin Bieber lookalike. Hindsight was a wonderful thing. She had no idea he would turn up in a coffin – dead.
