Finding Grace(28)

In the bottom drawer is more of the same, largely containing details about various planning applications in the local area.

I close the drawer and lock the cabinet again, shaking my head at myself. Of course there’s nothing there to show I have reason to mistrust Blake. What did I expect? The names and addresses of a dozen women he’s seeing behind my back? I have to wake him most nights where he’s fallen asleep on the couch. I hardly think he’d have the energy to entertain other women.

I move over to the desk, the suspicious side of me reasoning I might as well look in there now I’m here.

Nothing in the left pedestal is of any interest. Half-filled notebooks, more stationery, pens and the like. I lock that side and move on to the right.

The top drawer is super-shallow and contains only a ruler, writing implements, a couple of erasers and a book of stamps. There’s only a single drawer underneath, but it’s a deep one.

I’m surprised to see this drawer is in disarray compared to the others. It’s filled to the brim with magazines, balls of string, even a couple of screwed-up plastic shopping bags. I rummage through what seems to be rubbish dumped on top of a pile of brown folders. Inside them is old documentation about consultations for building a new cycleway in the city. I push the folders back and dig my hand underneath them.

My fingers hit the bottom of the drawer and butt up against something straight and firm that’s packed down the side.

I stop rummaging for a second and listen. All is quiet downstairs, no sign that Blake has returned. I’d easily hear the front door open and close from this room, anyway.

Confident that I have a few more minutes, I remove all the random items and place them on the desk. Then I grasp the pile of brown folders and pull them out too.

When I peer down into the nearly empty drawer, I instantly freeze.

Lining the bottom of the drawer are bundles and bundles of cash. Fifty-pound notes.

I’m no expert, but I reckon there must be at least two and a half thousand pounds in each of the bundles, and I count twenty-two of them.

That’s over fifty thousand pounds. In cash.

We are basically on our uppers, financially, so where on earth can it be from?





Eighteen





DS Bean looks up from reading through some paperwork as I enter the living room.

‘Lucie! You look pale, love. Come and sit down.’

I remain standing.

‘Earlier, you told me I can ask you anything.’ I move in front of her and watch the well-rehearsed sympathetic smile slide from her face.

‘And I meant it. Of course you can.’

‘Then tell me the real reason the detectives asked Blake to go down to the station,’ I say, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. ‘Why would they do that, unless they think he’s got something to hide?’

Fiona sighs and sits further back in her seat, as if she’s subconsciously trying to increase the distance between us.

‘It’s not that they think he’s hiding anything, it’s just that…’ She hesitates. ‘It’s just that when we walk into these situations – where a family is in peril – we have to be sure to give people the space to be brutally honest with us about their circumstances.’

I let that sink in for a moment.

‘So why ask Blake to go with them and not me?’

Fiona’s right foot begins to tap on the floor.

‘Well, again it’s all to do with circumstances. Obviously our priority is to determine the relevant events around Grace not returning home when she was expected. You’ve told us you were here, in the house, all the time and we’ve got no reason to disbelieve you. Blake on the other hand has stated he was out and about, and we just need to be crystal clear on everyone’s exact movements.’

Of course; it was when they asked exactly where he went and who he saw while I slept that he became jumpy and offered to go to the station. They think he might be having an affair and wouldn’t want to say in front of me. I can’t deny that that thought had crossed my mind too, until I found all that cash. And yet even now, I feel guilty, both for snooping and for thinking the worst of my husband.

What if there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for the cash, like… I don’t know… he’s looking after it for a community group or something?

Over fifty grand?

That amount of money is a serious sum, too dangerous and risky to be stuffed in a drawer. Why not put it in the bank, like a normal person?

Maybe Blake planned to speak to me in private about it, explain what it’s doing there. If the police find out, they might suspect he’s embezzling funds or something.

And then I remember again that he volunteered to go with the police.

Why would he do that if he’s got nothing to hide from me?

‘Looks like you have a visitor,’ Fiona says distractedly, looking out of the window.

I spring up from the sofa and peer at the black cab that’s parked at the end of the driveway. The door opens and a man gets out and the press swarm around him. When he turns around, his face a mask of alarm, I rush to the door.

‘It’s my dad, he’s got Oscar with him.’ I begin to push my feet into the old trainers I keep in the hall.

Fiona appears at my side and lays a hand on my arm. ‘Let me go, Lucie.’