Olly shakes his head. ‘Thursday. My least favourite day of the week.’
‘Why?’
He seems reluctant to answer. Averting his eyes, he mutters, ‘There was a client I used to see every Thursday. Bit of a nightmare.’
Why did that sound so made-up? Is he lying? ‘Well, whoever he was, I’d rather spend my Thursday evenings with him than in that hideous hotel with Paddy,’ I say. ‘Marianne paid a fortune for it, and I hated it. Everything was maroon or purple or red. It was like spending the night inside an aneurysm. Dinner booked for us by Marianne at 7.30 in the blood clot restaurant – it wasn’t called that, but it was decorated like one. She never asked us what time we wanted to eat, or if we might prefer to go to a different restaurant occasionally. And we just … we accepted it.’ I look up at Olly. ‘I’ve never really understood why she was so relentlessly determined that ourmarriage had to work. I’ve been thinking that you might understand it better than I do?’
‘What do you mean? I’ve no idea.’ He’s clearly flustered by the question, wasn’t expecting it.
What magic combination of words might make a dent in his determination to keep whatever he knows to himself? ‘Olly, she told me you were the one who’d attacked her. “Oliver” – it was a whisper, but she managed to say your name very clearly.’
Olly shifts in his chair. Stares down at his feet. ‘It wasn’t me.’
‘Then, if that’s not the secret you’re keeping, what is?’
White patches have appeared on his cheeks. His Adam’s apple leaps up and down in his throat.
‘Now’s your chance,’ I tell him. ‘If you want me to leave Paddy, and for you and me to be together—’
‘Do you really mean it? Don’t …’ He stops and exhales slowly. ‘Please don’t say it unless you mean it.’
‘I have no fucking idea whether I mean it or not!’ I start to cry. ‘Just, please, tell me what you’ve been keeping from me all these years, you and your partner in deception. And yes, I mean Marianne. I’ve worked it all out, Olly. Well, not all, but enough. I know you and Marianne are in it together, whatever it is. And … the next words out of your mouth had better be a full explanation of what you’ve been hiding, and why. Start whenever you’re ready. I’m listening.’
13
Monday 30 October 2023, 9.45 p.m.
SAM
‘Iprobably wasn’t going to do it,’ Tom Tulloch told Detective Sergeant Sam Kombothekra, as if murdering someone in exchange for five thousand pounds was something he’d been intending to mull over at his leisure. The two of them were sitting in front of a gas fire that looked like a relic from the 1970s, in the small, overcrowded lounge of Tulloch’s brother’s semi-detached cottage in Little Holling. There were twice as many chairs in here as the room could comfortably accommodate, giving the impression of a furniture shop that had seen better days.
Like Jemma Stelling, Tulloch seemed entirely unaware that he was likely to be facing a conspiracy to murder charge. Some people were unbelievably out of touch, Sam thought. He’d naively assumed the average man and woman on the street knew basic facts like these. Evidently not: this stupid man in front of him seemed to believe he was in the clear as long as he hadn’t physically plunged a knife into anyone. Jemma too.Fools.
‘I told Jemma I’d do it if she wanted me to, but … I don’t think she really did.’ Tulloch shrugged. He reminded Sam of agnome: short, pot belly, brown hair and a long fuzzy beard that jutted out into mid-air beneath his chin. ‘All she kept telling me was not to do anything yet, make sure not to go anywhere near Marianne unless she gave me the go-ahead. She seemed quite happy to start paying me while telling me to do nothing. Fine by me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sam asked him. ‘Jemma paid you? Already?’Please let this turn out to be something useful.Sam had been feeling utterly wretched since Gibbs had rung and told him to add Tulloch to the ‘Indestructible Alibi Gang’. Apparently at 5.45 p.m. he’d been at Jemma and Paddy Stelling’s house, a fifty-minute drive from Sleatham St Andrew at that time of day. Suzanne Lacy had met him there, to take Lottie off his hands and bring her to Devey House. Sam didn’t hold out much hope that both Suzanne and Lottie were lying, which meant he had precisely no viable suspects for the murder of Marianne Upton.
‘She’d already paid me some of the fee, yeah,’ said Tulloch. ‘Plan was to disguise it as payments for house-sitting. She and Paddy went away in August, I “house-sat”’ – he made air quotes with his fingers – ‘so she gave me the first instalment.’
‘This August just gone?’ said Sam.
Tulloch nodded.
‘I see. Do you mind if I ask why you were so willing to accept this particular commission?’
‘Do you mean the … Not the house-sitting? The murder. Right. Look, I told you: I didn’t want to do it.’ Tulloch picked up his bottle of beer from the floor and took a swig. ‘But I messed things up with Jemma and Paddy years ago, and I wanted to get back in their good books. I’ve been living here now nearly eighteen months – in this shithole. Don’t tell Lucas I said that.’
Lucas, the older of the two Tulloch brothers, both looked and smelled as if he needed a bath. His hair was the stiff kind of unwashed, and gave the impression of having been carved from a solid block of some dark, unsavoury substance. Sam had met him when he’d first arrived, before Lucas had tactfully removed himself to the kitchen. Tom was definitely the cleaner of the siblings, so that was one thing in his favour.
‘I was hoping I could stay with Jemma and Paddy for a while,’ Tom said. ‘Their place is a lot nicer than this – I knew it would be before I’d even seen it. I’d been feeling bad about the way things had gone between us, so I got in touch. And Jemma was all right about it – paid me to house-sit for them last year, to help me out. This was long before any murders got mentioned. I’d told her I was up against it financially, so she sorted me out, and then we kind of stayed in touch – just the odd text here and there. Things weren’t back to how they were before or anything, but we were on speaking terms again. And then …’ He took another sip of his beer. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’ he said, lifting his bottle in the air.
‘No, thanks,’ said Sam, who feared he might catch a stomach bug if he ingested anything in this house.
‘Give me a shout if you change your mind,’ said Tulloch. ‘So, yeah, then this summer, Jemma decided … well, she had a massive problem with Marianne, didn’t she? And she knew I was still in dire need of money, so. You know the rest. It sounds daft, but I felt like I owed her one. Well, her and Paddy, but mainly Jemma. I knew she was the one who’d have minded most when I buggered off, all those years ago. Paddy wouldn’t have taken it as hard as she did. I don’t think he’s got strong views about how friends should and shouldn’t behave the way Jemma has. She’d have had that ball-crusher Suzanne Lacy in her ear too, telling her I was scum and not to bother with me any more.’
‘Why did the friendship end?’ Sam asked, curious to see if Tulloch’s account would be different from Jemma’s.
It wasn’t, though Tulloch offered a fuller version: his exgirlfriend had been jealous of his close friendship with Jemma and Paddy, but particularly Jemma. She kept accusing him of preferring Jemma to her, and secretly wishing he was with Jemma – even though Jemma was married, had a baby by this point and had no romantic interest in Tulloch whatsoever. Eventually the girlfriend had made him choose: either the friendship with Jemma and Paddy had to end or she was off. Tulloch had submitted to her pressure and cut off contact with Jemma, Paddy and Lottie.
