The Dead Ex(94)

David is looking up at me with a concerned – but also smug – expression. He has finally got me.





54



Helen


David is here? I don’t know whether to be relieved or angry. He looks older. Thinner. Not nearly as good-looking. I try to compose myself during the break. Someone near me is saying in a loud voice that the lawyers need to discuss something with the judge. (I don’t get all this court stuff.) Eventually, the jury is called back in. According to my neighbour, who seems to know what’s going on, the judge must have permitted the prosecution to reopen its case and call David as a witness.

‘Would you like to tell the court where you have been since the end of January?’ asks the prosecution barrister.

He rubs his chin, the way he did that very first time I saw him. ‘I needed some space.’

‘Were you aware that many people had the impression that you were missing, presumed dead?’

‘I’m sorry for that.’ David speaks entirely to the jury. He has that charming look on: the one that allowed him to get away with so much. ‘May I be honest here?’

‘I would hope so,’ interrupted the judge. ‘You are under oath.’

David makes an of course gesture. ‘The thing is that I went abroad to get away because I had some problems in my personal life. I went to a retreat. I needed to find myself and get some peace.’

That’s rich, from a man who failed to give me support when I needed it.

Then David puts his head down. His voice comes out as a sob. ‘I never thought that my poor wife would be murdered while I was away. I loved her as much as life itself.’

Bastard! My mind goes back to the last time I saw him. The morning of the day he’d ‘disappeared’. The day I’d told him I was pregnant. How terrifying he’d looked. But now it seems as though he has everyone eating out of his hand. At least I know Mum had nothing to do with his disappearance now. I feel bad for even thinking it. But what on earth is going to happen next?





55



Vicki


David. Alive and well. How can this be?

I think back to the night of 31 January. I’d been at home, just as I’d told the police. I’d finished treating a client and was curled up on the sofa, watching an old Meg Ryan film on television. It had just got to the bit where she finally gets to be with the man she’d always loved and I was suddenly filled with a terrible cold emptiness. David had behaved appallingly towards me but I still, for some inexplicable reason, missed him. I couldn’t help imagining a different future where we’d stayed happily married and had children together. So I did it again. I rang his mobile in order to hear his voice on the answerphone. I knew my number would come up on his screen and that he wouldn’t pick it up. He didn’t the first time. But then I tried again, seconds later. And this time he did.

‘Please, Vicki.’ His voice had sounded weary and tired. There was noise in the background as if he was in a busy place. ‘Just leave it, will you?’

‘I can’t,’ I stutter.

‘Well, after tonight, you won’t get hold of me again. So you might as well stop bothering.’

What was he talking about? I’d almost rung the police there and then. It even passed through my mind that I should call Tanya. But David wasn’t the kind of person who’d kill himself. He was too ambitious. So full of self-belief. I decided he was being melodramatic, trying to get rid of me.

Then he disappeared. I thought back to that noisy call. Had he been at a station or an airport? From then on I tried to tell myself it must be something to do with his dodgy deals.

Nevertheless, I threw away my phone and bought another. Just in case. Thank God I did that or the police might have traced my calls. I was too scared to tell them the truth in case they held me responsible for his disappearance. Later, when he’d been gone for months, I began to fear that he really had killed himself.

Now it looks as though my original instinct was correct. He’d simply gone AWOL. I listen to my ex-husband with a mixture of hatred and admiration. He always was so convincing.

Still, at least the police can no longer suspect me of his murder. Then the thought strikes me. What if David had something to do with Tanya’s death?

The prosecutor is still questioning him. ‘Why didn’t you come back earlier? Weren’t you aware that your wife had been murdered?’

He rubs his jaw. His voice is raw. ‘I only found out recently, after leaving the retreat.’

‘Did your wife Tanya know where you were?’

‘I’m afraid I told no one. Not even my daughter. I’d been going through a lot of stress in my personal life, as I said. When I was well enough to come back to the UK, I saw the headlines about the case in the newspaper at the airport. It’s why I’m here.’ Then my skin chills as he looks straight up at me in the dock.

‘I believe that my ex-wife is responsible for Tanya’s death.’

‘That’s not true!’ I yell.

As I speak, the defence lawyer leaps up to object to David’s comment and the judge agrees, telling the jury to ignore it. He also orders my lawyer to keep his client quiet.

David seems unrepentant. ‘My ex-wife was violent.’

‘I was not!’