‘Good, because you haven’t got it,’ he says. ‘She’s left both you and Paddy nothing in her new will.’
‘Suits me.’
‘The timing’s interesting, though, isn’t it? Can’t help thinking you or your husband might have known she was about to cut you both out and decided to deprive her of the chance. I’m talking about in 2012.’
‘Are you asking if it was Paddy and me who tried to kill her? No, it wasn’t. We were—’
‘I know where you were meant to be. I also know you’re a liar.’
I smile at him coldly. ‘And I know you’re a weirdo who helps would-be criminals commit murder and get away with it. So Iguess we’re even-stevens. I’d love to know, though, since we’re hanging out: what changed? You didn’t give a shit on Monday. Now you do. Why?’
‘I want to know the truth, that’s all. What happened to Marianne, in 2012 and … this time. For my own satisfaction, no other reason.’
Is he being serious? ‘What about the reason of locking up criminals to keep them off the streets, keep society safe?’
He shrugs. Suddenly, he looks sad. He puts down his mug of tea and says quietly, ‘Thing is, you don’t care about telling me the truth, do you? And I can’t make you care if you don’t. That’s the trouble.’
Something not one single real detective would ever say.What the hell is going on with this man?
‘Well …’ I begin tentatively. ‘I suppose that might be the “me” part of the trouble, yeah. But what about the “you” part? I’m sensing it’s substantial.’
I brace myself for his anger, but instead he nods. ‘You lied to both me and Sam Kombothekra about Tulloch.’
‘What? No, I didn’t,’ I say.
‘You did. You’ve already paid him part of the fee for killing Marianne. After he house-sat for you this year.’
‘Right. That’s what I told you the plan was, remember? I told DS Kombothekra too. The money for Marianne was going to be hidden in overly generous house-sitting wages.’
‘Going to be. Right.’ Waterhouse glares at me. ‘You presented it as something that would happen in the future, never said a word about having paid Tulloch two-fifths of the total already.’
‘No I didn’t. Didn’t mean to, anyway. Really. I’d happily have told you I’d already paid Tom two grand if you’d asked me. If I gave the impression the payments were all yet to be made, then I gave an incorrect impression—’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘I didn’t lie when I spoke to you on Monday or when I spoke to DS Kombothekra,’ I tell him.
‘If you’d made a down payment on the hit on Marianne, then you wanted it to happen,’ he says in a hard voice. ‘You intended it to happen and – lo and behold – it did.’
‘No. No! It’s not as simple as that. I’ve always, from the start, both wanted and not wanted it to happen. I’ve told you all this. Yes, I wanted to … secure Tom’s commitment, I suppose. It’s pretty normal to pay a chunk in advance and then the rest once the job’s done.’
‘And it’d suit Tulloch to do it at his earliest convenience, wouldn’t it? To claim the rest of his money.’
‘No, it can’t have been him,’ I say shakily. ‘It wasn’t. I made it very clear: nothing was to happen unless I said so.’
Waterhouse nods. ‘Here’s a straightforward question for you: what would it take to make you tell me the whole truth – everything you’ve lied about so far, everything you’re withholding? What if I did the same?’Cause there’s plenty I haven’t told you, that I’m not allowed to tell you. But I’m willing to, if you’re willing to level with me. What if I promised anything you told me would go no further than these four walls?’
I run what he’s said through my mind a couple of times. ‘You’re actually insane,’ I say.
‘Maybe.’
Bad idea, Jemma. Terrible. Definitely inadvisable. You have no reason to believe he’ll keep his word.
Somehow, the more like an unhinged zealot he seems, the more I want to trust him. In a way, he reminds me of myself: a reflection of my own desperation to know everything that’s been kept from me for so long.
‘My laptop’s in my bag, in the hall,’ I tell him.
Idiot. Biggest idiot in the entire world.
