The Dead Ex(101)

‘I brought my car.’ Penny waves her hand towards a dusty navy-blue estate a few yards away. ‘I thought we could talk. There’s something I need to tell you. It’s about your ex.’

My mouth goes dry. ‘Is he all right?’

I hate myself for even asking the question. Surely I don’t care any more – especially after what he said in court.

Penny’s lips tighten. ‘Men like David will always be all right.’

We get into her car. She doesn’t start the engine. Instead, she talks. ‘The thing is that I’ve got a good friend or two in the police force. Every solicitor needs one.’

There’s a short silence. I want to break it, but something makes me wait.

‘I’ve found out a few things. You were right. David was involved in something illegal. In fact, he was dealing in arms. He got into it when he was in the army, apparently, and got chummy with an American serviceman in Afghanistan. Your ex-husband and his American friend set up together using their contacts. They did very well. I’m not an expert on this, I must confess. But from what I can tell, the property business was the perfect front. These men always hide behind a veneer of respectability.’

She paused for a minute to let that sink in. ‘But they needed to hide their tracks. You were right once more when you thought David was laundering money through buying houses. It’s one of the most common methods.’

A burst of adrenaline hits me, along with anger and sorrow. ‘And the police knew?’

She shook her head. ‘Only Interpol. They’d been watching him for months, it seems, but it was hush-hush. When he said on the stand that he’d been in a retreat, that was true. But he was actually there because he’d been threatened by one of his arms-dealing clients. This coincided with Zelda’s daughter telling him she was pregnant, which gave him even more reason to get out of the country.’

He’d got her pregnant? It feels like a punch in the stomach.

‘Interpol flushed him out of the retreat and offered him a deal,’ continued my solicitor. ‘If he gave them details of his arms dealings, they would grant him a safe passage back and offer protection. He wanted to get home to see his daughter. But the police over here got wind of the fact that Interpol had known where he was all the time and were not happy. They were convinced you were guilty of Tanya’s murder and still needed more evidence. So as a “sweetener”, Interpol told David that he had to give evidence against you.’

‘And lie about me being violent?’

Penny shrugged. ‘I don’t know exactly how the conversation went.’

‘And now where is he?’

‘Staying with his daughter under police protection.’

‘So he’s free?’

There’s a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s unfair, given that he lied under oath. I wanted you to know from me. Obviously you could go to the newspapers but if you want my advice, I’d let it go. You’ve been given a clean start.’





62



Helen

12 October 2018


Here again. This prison is different from the last. It’s modern. Warmer. I hand over my paperwork and place my right forefinger on the identification pad. An officer then takes me to one side, instructing me to hold out my arms so I can be frisked.

It’s all too familiar.

The process makes me feel as if I’ve done something wrong myself. Perhaps I have. I was there at Tanya’s house. If I hadn’t worked for David, I wouldn’t have got pregnant. That would mean Mum wouldn’t have gone to the Goudmans’ house, and Tanya would still be alive.

I’m joining a queue now to get into the visiting room. There’s a small girl holding her mother’s hand. Instinctively, I want to reassure her and say it will be all right one day. But I can’t find the words. Besides, it might not be true. That little girl might end up like me.

Mum is already sitting at a plastic table; so are a dozen other prisoners. She looks wan. Frail. Her arms are stick thin. If physical contact wasn’t forbidden, I would put my own arms around her and hug her. Even though she’s killed someone, she’s still my mother.

‘Thank you for not telling them about me,’ I whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear.

Mum’s eyes become fearful. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Of course she does. Yet her denial sounds so convincing. She is a natural liar.

‘You know, Mum,’ I say slowly, ‘I love you with all my heart. But there are times when I don’t know whether you’re telling the truth or not. We’re a team, remember? And teams need to work together. We can’t do that without total honesty. So is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’

There’s a flicker in Mum’s eyes indicating that I’ve struck a nerve. After all, look what happened last time I asked.

‘No,’ she says hesitantly.

‘You’re not saying that as though you mean it.’

Mum puts her head in her hands. I get a horrible sense of foreboding.

Then she lifts her head. Her face is raw with grief. ‘I thought someone might bring it up at Vicki Goudman’s trial but they didn’t.’ She wipes her eyes.

‘Just tell me. Please.’

‘I couldn’t say before because you were too young, and after that, there didn’t seem a right time.’