‘Tell me,’ I said, still trying – but not really succeeding – to control the tone of my voice.
‘Forensics have found a lot. We found bone cartilage and the remains of organs in O’Neill’s shower drain. We think he was murdered in his bedroom and then cut up in his shower, and his remains were disposed of somehow.’
‘Shit,’ I groaned, placing my hands on my face. ‘But nothing that directly incriminates Fran?’
‘No. This is the thing, Gareth. Nothing that directly incriminates her at all.’
‘And no motive?’
‘No motive whatsoever. But look, they have something else too that I think you should know about. Off the record, but I think this could help the case.’
‘You mean, that could lead to the arrest of my wife.’
Cis shot me an exasperated and frustrated look, her eyes meeting mine for the first time in this conversation.
‘You know that’s the last thing I want, Gareth, and I believe just as much as you that Fran didn’t do this. But we need to stop seeing this as Fran being incriminated, and rather as a chance to get her vindicated. She tells her story, proves her innocence, and all this goes away. This is that opportunity, okay, darling?’ she said, grabbing both my arms and giving me a light, reassuring shake.
I forgot how good Cis was in a crisis, the right kind of calm and collected person you needed by your side.
‘What’s the other thing you need to tell me?’
‘Nowthisyou can’t tell anyone, but I need to get ahead of the curve.’
‘Okay, sure, fine, whatever,’ I mumbled as she reached into her bag and yanked out a file, passing it to me. She did another quick spin of her head, scanning the park for any colleagues who may walk into this secretive rendezvous.
It was a screenshot from Beryl’s video doorbell, dated a few weeks before Mr O’Neill’s disappearance but about a week after Fran and I moved in. It was a Wednesday, midday, so both Fran and I were away at work. It was a blurry, distorted image of a car pulled up outside our house. Another taxi. I moved my eyes up the image and saw a man walking towards Mr O’Neill’s house. The picture was pixelated and grainy, so it was hard to make out any real defining characteristics.
‘Do you recognise this figure?’ Cis asked. ‘You may not, and that’s fine, but I need to know.’
I squinted and looked at the body more closely. I didn’t know him well, but I certainly recognised him.
THIRTEEN
FRAN
‘So, what you’re actually saying is that I’m a suspect,’ I blurted out. Gareth had droned on and on about police procedure and the overly complex ways that their cases are conducted for the whole car journey. He’d insisted that I shouldn’t worry and just treat the interview as a conversation between me and a friend.
‘No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,’ he said, glancing away from the road he was driving along to look at me. Lying wasn’t my husband’s forte, which was ironic considering his job revolved around being at skilled at detecting deceit in others. His tell was a slight pause before speaking, a dead giveaway he wasn’t being entirely truthful. ‘Look, you were the last person we know of who saw Gordon O’Neill alive,’ he continued. ‘So you may have the critical piece of information that could solve this whole case, even if you don’t think so right now.’
‘I just packed away his shopping, had some chit-chat that went on too long, and took out his rubbish. He grumbled something to me as I left, but that’s about it,’ I said. I had replayed my fake memories now so many times that they did almost feel real. ‘I don’t know what more I can add at this point.’
‘Okay? See, so that could line up with something else they’ve discovered or what someone else has said to them. The truth ofthe matter, Fran, is that you didn’t kill him, so you really don’t need to worry.’ Gareth spoke softly, trying to reassure me whilst we turned another corner on our way back home. ‘Although, I wish he’d died before we bought the house. We could’ve got it so much cheaper that way.’
I didn’t find his joke funny.
‘Truth of the matter is, I’m a suspect. I just have to find a way to prove to them it wasn’t me,’ I said matter-of-factly, feeling reassured, not by Gareth, but by my own self confidence.
Gareth opened his mouth to speak as if he had some retort planned, but he jutted his bottom lip out and just bobbed his head up and down instead. He was stalling.
‘Well…kind of, yeah. Everyone is a suspect. But you didn’t kill him, so you’re fine.’
‘But what if they think I killed him?’
He paused again. ‘They won’t. It will all work out, and it will all be okay,’ he said, comforting me one last time. ‘And like I say, you didn’t kill him, so you don’t need to worry.’
‘OKAY!’ I yelled, smashing my hands down onto the dashboard. Gareth jolted in shock and the car weaved across the road for a second, but he quickly regained control.
The car went eerily silent.
