One Small Mistake(79)
‘He’s been on national television pleading for her safe return.’
‘Yes, and isn’t that the perfect cover? You were the one who told me these psychos get a kick out of coming to events for the victim or events run by the victim’s family.’
‘Observing, not throwing themselves in headfirst. That’s bold.’
‘That’s Jack.’ I sipped my coffee. Above us, a squirrel leapt from tree to tree, sending a shower of autumn leaves raining down on us. It might’ve been pretty if I wasn’t so frustrated and angry. ‘Jack’s always been arrogant and sly. If anyone could manipulate an entire community into believing his bullshit, it’s him.’
‘Watertight alibi,’ he said simply. Then he reached out and put a hand on my wrist. His skin was warm; it felt completely natural to have him touch me, like my body remembered. ‘Have you considered that this suspicion and anger is aimed at Jack because he was very close to your sister, and maybe you’re feeling guilty and saddened that you weren’t as close to her as you’d have liked?’
If anyone else had been this direct, it would’ve come across as an attack, but Christopher was trying to help; he was sincere and rational. So rational, it made doubt creep in. What he was saying made sense and was partially true. I do feel guilty and miserable that we let ourselves grow so far apart and have played a game of one-upmanship for most of our lives; I worry constantly I won’t get the chance to make things between us better, but I still think Jack was a part of your disappearance. ‘Perhaps David and Jack know each other. Perhaps they’re working together. David said someone was paying him.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, but that could just be a story David is spinning to move ultimate responsibility from himself. Throw us off. It happens all the time.’
‘But you found wads of cash.’
‘He’s a handyman. A lot of those jobs are paid cash-in-hand. Ada, he can’t provide any evidence of the typed instructions he was allegedly given or even the original listing for the ad.’
‘So why admit to following and abducting her but not come clean about anything else?’
‘He admitted following her right away because we had witnesses, but he only admitted abducting her after we found her bloody clothes in his car. He’s a liar.’
‘You told me he has learning difficulties,’ I said, ‘meaning, he was an easy target for Jack to manipulate.’
‘If David knew Jack was the one paying him, he’d say so to save himself. Besides, David and Elodie’s DNA were found in that car. Not Jack’s.’
I took a breath. Talking about you was exhausting and although I wasn’t getting anywhere with Christopher, I wasn’t ready to give up on my theory. ‘What if we found proof David and Jack do know each other?’
He sat back in his chair, his dark eyes appraising. ‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’
‘No.’
He smiled to himself before looking me seriously in the face. ‘If you can prove they know each other, maybe we can take a closer look at Jack Westwood.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
58 Days Missing
Elodie Fray
There’s no natural light in the basement. I imagine myself wilting like a flower deprived of sunlight, pieces of me shrivelling up and falling off. According to the paper calendar Jack has given me, I’ve been down here for twenty-three days. Jack moved me to the basement when he realised keeping me in the main house was too risky; in the attic room there are French doors which lead onto a balcony. Even though it is three storeys up, he knew that, given the chance, I’d smash the glass and climb down the trellis of wisteria attached to the brickwork outside.
There’s only one exit out of the basement: the door at the top of the narrow staircase. My first escape attempt was in week one of my captivity. I spent an entire day sitting at the top of those stairs, my backside going numb on the hardwood, waiting for Jack. The second he opened the door, I fought him. He endeavoured to soothe me, but it was like trying to extinguish a forest fire with a teacup of water. I punched and shoved and kicked, but the stairs were too narrow, too restrictive, and he was too strong. He grabbed my wrists and roughly marched me into the belly of the basement so fast my toes didn’t touch the wood, then he pinned me face down on the ground and straddled me until I stopped struggling and shrieking like a wounded animal. He told me to calm down before I hurt myself. He told me I was the most important thing in the world. He told me he loved me, that he didn’t enjoy restraining me any more than I did, but even as he said it, his erection pressed against the small of my back.
I told him to go fuck himself. That I’d rather be dead than be anywhere near him ever again.
He was furious. He dragged me, kicking and biting, into the tiny bathroom and locked me inside for a day and a night to punish me. Or maybe he was trying to protect me from himself. He was livid that I’d hurled my words as hard as I’d hurled my fists.
The en-suite is no bigger than an airing cupboard. All I could do was stare at the four walls, bite my nails until they bled, listen to the maddening drip of the leaky shower. Sleep was impossible and could only be attempted sitting on the toilet seat; I didn’t get more than fifteen unbroken minutes at a time. Although I had access to water, he didn’t bring me any food. When he finally let me out, I was so grateful, I didn’t even disobey as he ordered me to undress in front of him and put on fresh clothes.