Sweet Little Lies (Cat Kinsella #1)(46)

‘You must have considered it,’ adds Seth, all man-to-man. ‘If my girlfriend took off for a prolonged period of “me-time”, it’d certainly spring to my mind. I’d say it’s a fairly obvious conclusion for anyone to draw.’

He’s unruffled. ‘Fairly obvious unless you knew Alice. She wasn’t exactly the most sexual of people, and before you ask, it wasn’t an issue. That side of things was healthy enough. But the idea of her seeking out more sex, is just, well, highly unlikely.’ A bitter laugh. ‘Although who knows, Maryanne Doyle might have been a complete goer.’

‘Not all affairs are about sex,’ I say.

This stirs something. ‘That’s very true, Detective. They’re often about looking for warmth when you’re not getting much warmth at home.’

There’s clearly something substantive in his statement but I wait to see if he’ll hand it to me.

The silence serves its purpose and he starts rattling within seconds.

‘Oh for heaven’s sake, what’s the point, you might as well know,’ he says, clamping his hands on the edge of the table, steeling himself. ‘You’ll only find out anyway, I suppose. I’ve been seeing someone, OK?’

‘You were unfaithful?’ Seth makes this sound as if it goes against the very tenets of some ancient Wakeman code.

‘I suppose I was. Although not physically, until recently. And I felt wretched about that. Although, my deception rather pales into insignificance compared with hers, wouldn’t you agree?’

I wouldn’t. Maybe I would? I don’t know. My head’s banging.

I pull a file from the bottom of the stack, open it and quickly refresh. ‘So when you told us, and I quote, “I’m not in the habit of spending evenings with anyone but my wife,” you were lying.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He actually sounds genuine, the barbed tone is missing.

‘How long?’

‘We’ve been spending time together for a few months.’

‘And how long have you been getting naked together?’

He looks at me like I’ve let myself down. ‘About a month or so.’

Seth raises an eyebrow. ‘So since Alice left?’

I nudge Seth, a bit jokey. ‘No wonder he wasn’t in any initial hurry for her to come home. You must have been having a whale of a time, Tom. When the cat’s away and all that. What plays in Thames Ditton, stays in Thames Ditton, eh?’

The words spill out of my mouth but I don’t exactly know what I’m doing. Am I being a shrewd detective, goading the suspect into admitting he wanted his wife out of the picture for good, or is it actually me talking?

Me misdirecting my anger at another weak man.

I do know that I need to catch hold of myself. I need to make the most of this new information and stop trying to twist it into something personal.

‘She’s never been to our house,’ says Lapaine. ‘I wouldn’t sleep with another woman in my marital bed.’

My hackles rise again. His bullshit flawed morality sounds achingly familiar.

‘We spend time at hers, mainly. I was with her, at her place, the night that .?.?. the night Alice .?.?.’

My jaw actually drops. Seth stiffens beside me.

This is big.

‘Let me get this straight. You’re telling us you were with your mistress the night Alice died?’ I throw the file down on the table, a sheet scatters to the floor. ‘I’ve got to be honest with you, Tom, I’m a bit confused as to why we’re only hearing this now. That’s called an alibi. That could have saved you all this bother.’

Not exactly, but he doesn’t know that.

He pulls his chin up, noble, defiant. ‘I was protecting her. She has a high-profile role in the community. Two young children. And she’s going through a nasty enough divorce already, I didn’t want her getting dragged in to this.’

‘Well, she’s going to get dragged in now, I’m afraid.’ I shove a pen and paper towards him. ‘I want her name, address, contact numbers—’ He opens his mouth but I shut him down. ‘And don’t you dare ask us to be discreet because the time for asking favours from us is long gone, Mr Lapaine. You should have told us this right from the start.’

He scribbles, head down low. The top-dollar haircut masks a thinning crown. ‘It wouldn’t exactly have looked great, would it?’

Seth seizes on this. ‘Oh, so you weren’t protecting’ – a glance at the page – ‘Abigail Shawcroft. You were lying to protect yourself.’

When Lapaine looks up again, his eyes shine with something. I think it’s relief. Relief at having confessed all there is to confess.

‘Everyone lies, Detective Wakeman,’ he says, wearily. ‘If anything, I’m more guilty of lying to myself than to you.’ I literally couldn’t look more unimpressed. ‘Oh, you know what I’m talking about, I’m sure you do. Those sweet little lies you tell yourself to make life more bearable – “My wife isn’t secretive, she’s just private.” “It’s not an affair until you get naked,” to use your words, Detective Kinsella. I’m sure you have a few of your own.’

Yeah, a few.

It’s puppy fat, not pizza fat.

I haven’t lied to my colleagues, I just haven’t told the truth.