As soon as she’d got there she’d realized that she’d made a mistake. Sally trotted off to play, but no one was paying any attention to her. All eyes were glued to Jessica. There were a few sheepish smiles of support, but nobody approached her. Clearly no one knew what to say to the stupid, duped wife.
As she walked away, she could hear hushed conversations strike up. She could only imagine what they were saying. The prurience, the speculation. Did she know? Did she allow it? Did he bring diseases home with him?
It was all so unfair. She had donenothingwrong. Sally had donenothingwrong. But it was they who had been branded, as accessories to his behavior. How could she have been so bloody stupid? She had given Christopher her heart and trusted him with it, even after their first bust-up over his use of pornography. She’d thought he turned over a new leaf, but he hadn’t. Instead he’d lied and lied and lied. Why hadn’t he talked to her? Why had he been so selfish?
She was back in the house now, though how she’d got there she couldn’t really say. Without hesitating, she charged upstairs. Flinging open the chest of drawers, she grabbed an armful of Christopher’s things and threw them out of the window down onto the drive below. Again and again and again. Cleansing the house of his presence.
Grabbing some lighter fluid and matches from under the kitchen sink, she marched out through the still-open front door. Dousing the messy pile generously, she threw a match onto it, then watched the clothes—clothes she’d bought for him—burn.
Snap, snap, snap.From their vantage point in a van across the road, the plainclothes police officers recorded every second of her despair before calling it in.
•••
DC Fortune took in their report, then rang off. The show was about to start and he didn’t want to miss a minute of it. He had given his fellow officers the dull gig—no one really expected their surveillance of Jessica Reid to throw up anything. The plum job was the Matthews funeral, which was about to get under way.
Lloyd Fortune stretched, yawned, then settled himself down into position. Watching and waiting. That was the drill on these sorts of operations. Looking across the road, Lloyd saw the Matthews family leave the house. There were plenty of people on hand to support them—extended family, friends from the church—so many that four funeral cars had been hired. Lloyd scanned the heads to pick out the family members from among the well-wishers. He caught a glimpse of the elder daughter shepherding a grandmother into the first car. Like the others, she looked blank with shock, even after three days had passed.
Lloyd surveyed the street. Was their killer out there? Watching? Enjoying her success?Snap, snap, snapwent the camera, taking in every passerby, every parked car. Lloyd, exhilarated by the prospect of seeing the killer in the flesh, felt his pulse quicken.
The first car was on the move now. And the second. Lloyd nodded to Jack to start the engine. It hummed quietly. They waited patiently—Eileen and the twins slipping into the final car—then it was their turn. Pulling away from the curb, they followed the flotilla of grief toward its final destination—St. Stephen’s Baptist Church.
53
He hesitated before typing. How did one begin these things?
Hello Melissa. A mutual friend...
No, that wasn’t right.
Hello Melissa. My name is Paul and I would like to meet you.
That was better. Tony leaned back in his chair, amused by how much effort that had taken. And how nervous he’d been. Satisfied that the thing was now in train, he went to shut his computer down. But as he did so, a response pinged up.
Hello Paul. When would you like to meet?
Tony hesitated, then typed.
Tonight?
What time?
Tony hadn’t expected to be making arrangements so quickly. Still, needs must.
Ten?
Pick me up on the corner of Drayton St. and Fenner Lane. I’ll be wearing a green coat. What car you drive?
Vauxhall.
Color?
Silver.
Looking for company? Or something special?
Company.
How long?
