Silent Victim(73)

‘Of course. I’m not going anywhere,’ she said, throwing me another enquiring look.

‘Thanks. There’s some business I need to take care of that can’t wait.’ I pocketed my phone and walked into her small garden.

Before we had left for Leeds I’d conducted a hurried online search and hired a private detective to dig into Luke’s whereabouts. Since our grim discovery in the field I had come to my own conclusion. But I still needed to know the identity of the man I had met in the pub. There might have been a grain of truth in what Emma had said about seeing someone at the window, but it was surely beyond a coincidence that the man calling himself Luke Priestwood had contacted me. I returned the missed call, nibbling my bottom lip as I was put through. The private detective, a man by the name of Edwin Burrows, sounded more like a grandfather than one of the all-action types who usually portrayed such roles on TV. Pleasantries over, he launched into the reason for his call. ‘I thought you’d like to know that I’ve tracked down your Luke Priestwood. Seems he’s been keeping tabs on you through social media.’

I frowned. I had been waiting for him to tell me there was no trace of him.

‘Are you sure it’s definitely him?’ I said, scratching my head.

‘Without a doubt. I’ve checked out his credentials. He taught art in Colchester before leaving under a cloud. He’s worked various jobs since then. His credit history’s nothing to write home about. He’s had a few relationships; doesn’t seem to hang on to them for very long.’

‘And now?’ I said, trying to come to grips with this latest revelation.

‘He works in the York art gallery, but I wouldn’t bother visiting, he’s on leave for the next couple of weeks.’

‘How?’ I said. ‘I mean, you said he was keeping tabs on social media. I’m not on Facebook and neither is my wife.’

‘But her sister is,’ Burrows said. ‘I friended her myself. Seems she’s not too fussy about who she accepts. You should have a word with her, she’s sharing images of your son online and saying how much she’s going to miss him when you move. They’re innocent enough, but she should change her privacy settings and only friend people she knows. Anyone can hide behind a fake name and a phony profile picture. She’s too trusting by far.’

I ran my fingers through my hair as life took another twist. How I’d missed having normal friends, good company, an ordinary life. It was all within my grasp if I could just figure out what was going on.

My forehead creased as an image flashed in my mind. If the man I’d spoken to really was Luke Priestwood, then who had we just dug up? I thought of Theresa, insisting we keep digging. Of her tears as she gently wrapped the skeleton in the cloth. A sudden sense of urgency bloomed. I had to get hold of Theresa and find out what the hell was going on.





CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

EMMA





2017


Despite Theresa’s reassurances, I felt forlorn. I had wanted to leave work, catch a train and get to Leeds to see my son, but an influx of customers gave us all a busy afternoon. Theresa had advised me to give my husband some space, assuring me that she wasn’t letting me out of her sight. But the day had dragged on as I continuously checked my phone, waiting for Alex to call.

Now, with evening drawing in, I was finally back in Mersea. Theresa’s holdall thumped against the front door as she entered the living room. I’d told her I’d be going to Leeds as soon as I had cleared it with Alex. There was no way I could stay away from my family for very long. Besides, Luke was closing in, and I didn’t feel safe here any more. I picked up Alex’s letter from the kitchen table and read it three times before it sank in. What did he mean, ‘I know everything?’ How was that possible? How could he possibly know?

‘Storm Jessie’s in full flow. I reckon we’ll lose a few roof tiles tonight,’ Theresa said, her eyes dancing around the room. She carried the same nervous look that accompanied every visit, but I could not think about that now.

I shrugged, the weather the least of my concerns. The house seemed so cold and unwelcoming without Alex here to light the fire and stir some warmth into the place. I unwound the silk scarf from around my neck and hung my coat on the back of the kitchen door.

Theresa caught my glance. ‘Why don’t you sit down. I’ll rustle us up some supper.’

‘You’re my guest, I should be doing the cooking,’ I said half-heartedly.

‘I’ll end up eating lettuce leaves if that’s the case,’ Theresa said. ‘Sit yourself down.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, pulling the latch tight on the kitchen window as memories of Luke’s face filtered in. Soon a pot of chicken soup bubbled on the stove, something Theresa had concocted from the leftovers in our fridge.

I took two bowls from the cupboard and laid them on the table. ‘Alex is right. A fresh start is just what we need,’ I said. I had to think positively. I would go to Leeds and win back my husband’s trust. I would book myself into a clinic if I had to, as long as I was close to my family. I slipped two soup spoons from the drawer and placed them beside the ceramic bowls.

Theresa’s face took on a serious aspect. Taking the bread knife from the block, she began slicing the tiger loaf she had bought on the way over. ‘I’m going to miss you when you’re gone.’ Her face grew more serious as she sawed at the bread. ‘I always seem to end up the one that gets left behind.’