The Hike(65)

After a few minutes, the door opened and Matthew returned, a paper cup of water in his hand. Pigalle followed close behind.

‘I am very sorry, madame,’ Pigalle said. He bent down and flipped the table up the right way again, pushing it back against the wall. ‘It was my idea to talk to you both together. Now I understand why you wanted to stay away from him.’

Cat pushed her chair in closer to the table then lifted the cup of water, taking a sip.

‘Your husband will not be upsetting you again,’ Pigalle continued. ‘My lieutenant will make sure of that.’

Cat coughed and took another small sip of water. Her throat hurt, but it would ease.

‘Perhaps we can continue now?’ Pigalle’s voice was gentle. ‘There are still a few things we need to understand.’

‘You’ve seen what he’s like now. But I suppose he’ll continue to deny what he did to Ginny.’

Pigalle shrugged. ‘He said earlier that it was you who pushed your sister.’

Her voice was sharper than intended. ‘And why would I do that?’

Lydia tilted her head to the side slightly, reached for Cat’s hand across the table. ‘Try not to get upset, Cat. It’s what we’d expect him to say, under the circumstances . . .’

‘We don’t know the full story yet, though,’ Pigalle said, pressing himself back into his seat and crossing his arms. ‘I feel like something is missing. Like what happened to your other friend, Tristan.’

Cat looked away. ‘Tristan fell.’ She started picking at her cuticles.

‘Go on . . .’ Pigalle urged.

‘When I say “fell” . . . this was also down to Paul. After Ginny. They fought. I thought . . . I thought they were both going over the edge at one point.’ She choked back tears. She hadn’t expected to cry so much, but she couldn’t help herself. But she had to try and pull herself together. There had been a moment up on the mountain, when Tristan had tripped on a tree root walking towards the shelter, where she’d thought she might end up there alone in the dark – and the thought of that still terrified her, even though she was back down here, in the daylight. Safe.

With Paul – back from the dead.

Whatever had happened up there . . . ending up on her own – having to make that descent alone . . . that had never been part of the plan. That fall she’d taken on the descent . . . if she’d been on her own . . . well, then the whole thing would’ve looked like a tragedy, with all four of them missing.

Maybe that would’ve been better. Easier, at least. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could carry on with her lies.

‘I’m very tired.’ She sat back in her chair, and for a moment she thought she might fall asleep. She’d had so many adrenaline peaks and troughs in the last thirty-six hours, it was a wonder she hadn’t had a heart attack.

‘You can sleep soon, madame,’ Pigalle said. ‘We just need to get all the information first, OK? Remember . . . you wanted us to look for your friends? We need to know where to start.’

Cat took in a fast breath, let it out slowly. She needed to stay calm. But she really didn’t want a search party going up there. Not yet. Not while she was still here. She had no idea how quickly they might find the bodies, but she wanted to be long gone before they did.

Surely they would let her leave soon? She wasn’t under arrest. They didn’t see her as a danger to anyone. Unlike Paul. She had to drive the final nail into his coffin. She was taking a risk with her next revelation, but she’d had hours to go through it all, making it work in her head. It would work. It had to.

‘I have something else that might help.’ She sat forward again, pinching the skin beneath her thumb with the thumb and forefinger from her other hand, trying to dig the ragged nails into the soft skin. Trying to stay alert.

Pigalle, Matthew and Lydia were watching her intently.

‘It’s a recording . . . I got it by accident, really. I got this little recording gadget at work. I get lots of stuff like that. I work in events management?’

They nodded at her, urging her to continue.

‘I was playing around with it one day. I left it out, switched on. When I plugged it into my computer later, there was an audio file on there. I listened, expecting background noise of the house. The sound of the TV, maybe. But there was more than that. There was a recording of Paul.’

‘And? What was he saying?’ Lydia’s eyebrows shot into her hairline.

‘He was talking to someone on the phone. I don’t know who. But he was talking about Ginny. I’d told him that I was angry with her for the way she’d handled our parents’ estate . . . they died three years ago. A car accident. Ginny was executor—’

Lydia cut in. ‘And she didn’t give you your share?’

Cat nodded, finding her flow. ‘Right. It was all a bit messy, but I was sorting it out. Jeez . . .’ She sighed. ‘What with that, and Paul’s work thing . . . plus still trying to get back on track after I lost so many event bookings during the pandemic . . . anyway, yeah. Paul was angry. I heard him asking someone what would happen . . .’

‘To what?’ Pigalle rested his chin on his fist.

‘What would happen to the money if both Ginny and Tristan were to die.’ She looked away, blinking back tears. They weren’t even fake. She was better at this than she’d thought she would be.