Forget Her Name(22)

Dominic laughs. ‘Not at all.’

‘What about ex-girlfriends?’

He looks embarrassed. ‘I’m not in touch with any of them. And besides, none of them were that serious.’

‘How about you?’ The constable glances at me.

I shake my head.

‘What about old school friends?’ Pauline asks. ‘Or enemies?’

‘I was mostly home-educated,’ I say reluctantly. Dominic knows about my unconventional schooling, of course, but it’s still uncomfortable to be the centre of attention. ‘We had a nanny who taught us.’

The two police officers glance at each other. I know what they’re thinking. Posh bitch with a nanny. The old silver-spoon prejudice.

Then Pauline frowns, looking about at our meagre furnishings. It’s obvious she’s wondering what went wrong in my life. Where all the money went.

She asks an unexpected question.

‘Us?’

Too late, I realise my slip.





Chapter Thirteen

I never talk to people about Rachel. Or as little as humanly possible. It might seem cold, but I’ve found silence the best protection against bad memories that might otherwise swamp me.

When Dominic looks at me too, his gaze searching, I scrabble for the right thing to say. ‘Me and my older sister.’

‘How’s your relationship with your sister? Could she have done this?’ The sergeant considers me, fiddling with her clipboard.

I shake my head.

‘How does she feel about your marriage?’

My throat seems to be silted up with sand. Somehow I manage to say, ‘She’s dead.’

Pauline shifts from one foot to the other. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘Right.’ She glances at her colleague, then asks more confidently, ‘So how about college friends? Or someone at work?’

‘I didn’t go to college. Or university.’

Another silence.

‘I was never very academically . . .’ I shrug, not looking at Dominic. ‘I volunteer at a food bank. But I doubt anyone there would have done something this nasty. They’re all thrilled about the wedding.’

Dominic nods. ‘Same here.’ With a wry smile, he indicates his scrubs and ID badge, not having had a chance to change yet. ‘Nurse in A & E, as you can see. Triage, mostly. I’ve got no enemies there.’

‘That you know of,’ I say.

He raises his brows. ‘That I know of,’ he repeats slowly, looking at me. ‘Yes, true enough.’

‘Though this attack looks like it was aimed more at you, Catherine,’ the sergeant says. ‘It was your wedding dress that got cut up, after all. Not something belonging to Dominic. Pretty vicious attack, too.’ She studies the dress on the bed. ‘Looks almost . . . frenzied. Like whoever did this really hates you and wants you to know it.’

My skin crawls and I say nothing, horrified.

Ahmed clears his throat.

‘Do you mind if we take the dress away?’ Pauline nods to her colleague without waiting for permission. ‘Bag it up, would you? We’ll get forensics to check out the bloodstains. But my guess is, it’s animal, not human.’

‘Hold on, aren’t you going to dust for prints?’ I ask, staring at her. ‘The bathroom window must be where they got in. There may be fingerprints.’

‘It’s not really a big enough priority,’ she says apologetically. ‘Nothing was taken, after all. Feels like a prank to me. A nasty prank, agreed. But with so many more serious crimes on our caseload, I’m afraid there isn’t enough here to justify calling a crime scene investigator.’

‘Seriously?’

Pauline sighs at my tone, and puts a hand to her radio. ‘I can let forensics know, if you insist. But I can’t promise when it will happen. There was a shooting earlier. You may have seen it on the news. Some kid, only fourteen years old, shot dead on his way home from school. His mum’s in the hospital, too. Our duty forensics officer is on scene. It could be several hours before she can get here. In fact, you may not even get a visit until tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Dominic glances at the bed, aghast. ‘But . . . we don’t have anywhere else to sleep.’

The sergeant shrugs, waiting. ‘You still want me to make the call?’

I study Dominic, who is clearly exhausted, his shoulders slumped, then shake my head. ‘No, it’s okay,’ I tell her reluctantly. ‘You do what you have to do.’

I’m not happy though. I can’t believe that someone can invade our home and it isn’t considered a high enough priority for the police to check for fingerprints.

‘Whoever did this must be sick in the head,’ Dominic mutters, watching as the constable puts on thin latex gloves and starts to bag up the sticky shreds of wedding dress.

Ahmed is sympathetic. ‘Not the first time we’ve seen something like this, mate. There are some sick people out there, trust me. Usually turns out to be a disgruntled ex, though.’

Dominic makes a helpless gesture. ‘I told you, I don’t have any ex-girlfriends who’d be that bothered about me marrying Catherine.’ He holds out a hand to me, his smile wry. ‘Not exactly God’s gift, am I, darling?’