The Wife Before Me(96)

‘She doesn’t have a daughter.’

‘To be honest, I did find it difficult to envisage Leanne as a mother, considering her predilection.’

She meets his challenging gaze and holds it. His stance is relaxed, a half-smile playing across his lips. The silence stretches, taut enough to snap.

‘Nothing to say.’ He laughs, shrugs. ‘That makes a change.’

‘I have the evidence I need to put you behind bars, Nicholas. Letters Amelia wrote to her friend. She told Leanne everything about your so-called love. That page you shredded? Imagine the information it contained, multiplied many times. I’ve left her letters with a solicitor. If anything happens to Leanne or to me, they’ll be handed over to the gardai immediately.’

‘Really? You should know by now that I don’t scare easily.’

‘Did you ever love Amelia?’ she asks. ‘Or was that just another way to dominate me?’

‘I loved her,’ he said. ‘You, however, were a pathetic substitute.’

‘Yet you used your fists on both of us.’

‘Sarcasm? You have grown up. There’s not one scintilla of evidence to prove I ever laid a finger on Amelia, except in love.’

‘Love?’

‘We’ve talked enough, Elena. For the last time, where is she?’

‘In New York.’

He points his index finger at her mouth. ‘Frankly, I couldn’t care less whether Leanne Rossiter is hanging out in New York or is six feet under. So, let me put my question another way. Where is my wife?’

There it is. The words she has been waiting to hear since his arrival are out in the open at last.

‘Your wife is dead,’ Elena replies. ‘I know you find it difficult to accept that Amelia preferred death to living with you. Only I can understand why she would make that choice.’

‘My wife didn’t drown. She’s here, hiding out with her bastard child.’ He grabs Elena’s shoulders and shakes her. ‘That’s the truth, isn’t it… isn’t it?’

‘If you lay one finger on me, those letters will be read,’ she warns him. ‘I strongly suspect the evidence of your brutality will persuade the gardai to investigate her drowning. If they search hard enough, they’ll know you had everything to do with it.’

He ignores her threat, his tone robotic and certain. ‘This subterfuge has gone on long enough.’ He releases her so abruptly she staggers and almost overbalances. He pulls a photograph from his inside pocket and shoves it under her nose. ‘Does Amelia really believe I wouldn’t recognise her? Or that I’ll leave here without finding her?’

‘I don’t care what you do or don’t believe.’ Elena pushes the image away. ‘I’ve stared at enough photographs of Amelia to know that the woman you’re looking at bears no resemblance to her.’ She encircles the room with her arm. ‘If you’re so convinced she’s here, why don’t you search for her?’

‘That’s exactly what I intend to do.’

He rampages through the cottage, banging doors, opening wardrobes, climbing into the attic, exploring the studio and the outhouses, checking any space where he thinks it would be possible to hide. Eventually, he returns to the living room. He appears unperturbed but his thin veneer of calm is belied by the stretching of the tendons in his neck.

‘I want the truth now,’ he says. ‘I’m tired of playing games with you.’

She is conscious of the hairs rising on her arms, on the nape of her neck, a cool breath on her face. Not so long ago she would have believed it was Amelia linking with her from some transcendental sphere. Now, she knows that what she is experiencing has nothing to do with benign spirits and everything to do with terror.

‘You killed her father.’ The accusation flies from her like an arrow, fired too fast. She watches him falter as it strikes him. Their conversation has gone beyond dangerous. Not that she has felt safe for an instant, but she has stepped over a line now and it’s too late to pull back.

‘I never understood why you were allowed bail, Elena. Your psychiatrist will be disappointed when he discovers you’re still as crazy as ever.’

‘I have proof, Nicholas.’

‘How can you have proof of something that never happened? John Pierce’s case was closed years ago. He died in a hit-and-run―’

‘Which was never solved. Billy Tobin gave me enough information to put you behind bars for life.’ Coldly, using all her reserves of courage, she continues. ‘As you also killed Billy, I have to be his voice. You are a murderer, a wifebeater and a rapist. I think that should quality you as a psychopath.’

‘If that was true, you should be very, very afraid.’

‘Why should I be afraid? I will do everything I can to bring you to justice. Think carefully before you lift your fists, Nicholas. If anything happens to me, those letters will be opened by the gardai in Rannavale.’

‘Bitch! You’re bluffing.’ He shouts the accusation so suddenly that Elena jerks back, convinced he is going to slam his forehead against her face. ‘I’m not prepared to waste my time on this bullshit. Where are―’

‘You killed John with your Harley. Billy knew―’

‘Bill knew fuck all and you know even less.’ His fist moves so fast she is unable to evade the blow. She reels backwards but manages to keep her balance. The sensation of teetering on the edge of a cliff is sickeningly familiar but she avoids shrinking into the familiar posture of self-survival.