The Therapist(62)

‘Why do you think that?’ he asks. His voice is calm and some of my terror subsides.

I tell him about the blond woman who turned up in Harlestone.

‘And you think it was Nina?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t see her face or anything, I just noticed she was blond.’

‘Did you ask Leo about her?’

‘Yes. At first he told me she was a client who was harassing him—’

‘Is he a lawyer?’

‘No, he’s a consultant. In risk assessment.’

He raises a dark eyebrow. ‘And he gets harassed by clients?’

‘That’s what he said. But later he told me she was a journalist who wanted to interview him.’

‘Do you remember when this was?’

‘Not long after we met, so late January, early February last year.’ I pause, remembering that Nina had been killed at the end of February.

He nods. ‘Where does Leo work?’ He’s in full investigator mode now.

‘In the Midlands. But he used to work in London.’

‘Do you know if he saw a therapist?’

‘I don’t think so. But I only saw him at weekends, he stayed at his flat during the week, so maybe he did.’

He looks up then and the concern I see in his eyes makes me afraid. I can’t help it; afraid for Leo, afraid for me, I feel close to tears again.

‘Maybe she was just a journalist who happened to be blond,’ he says.

‘I know. And I’m sure she was. It’s just that Leo knew about Nina being murdered here before he bought the house but he didn’t tell me.’

This time, he can’t hide his surprise. ‘That must have been—’

‘Devastating,’ I finish for him.

‘Did he say why he didn’t tell you?’

‘He said he knew I wouldn’t agree to live here if I knew about the murder and he really wanted this house.’

‘Why this particular house?’

‘For obvious reasons, it was cheaper than other properties we’d looked at so he made out that it was because I wouldn’t have to sell my home in East Sussex to help buy it. But he also admitted that he wanted this house because it’s in a gated residence. That’s when he told me he was getting harassed by clients, something he’d never mentioned to me before.’ I raise my eyes to his. ‘I did ask him if he knew Nina. He said he didn’t and I believed him. But that was before I found his passport.’

‘Would you like me to look up Leo Carter, see what I can find?’ Maybe he sees the panic in my eyes; although I want to get to the truth, engaging a private investigator to look into the man I’d been hoping to spend the rest of my life with is a huge step. ‘I don’t mean as a private investigator,’ he says quickly. ‘I mean as a friend. Here, now. I can google him, see if anything comes up.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Could you?’

He takes out his phone. ‘There probably won’t be anything,’ he says reassuringly.

‘And if there’s not?’

‘Then you’ll need to speak to Leo.’ He smiles to lessen the tension. ‘Maybe he just didn’t like the surname Carter.’

I watch, barely daring to breathe as he types into his phone. I keep my eyes fixed on his face, not on his screen, looking for a sign that he’s found something. It remains immobile, professional. I’m aware of his fingers scrolling down, then stopping. He reaches for the passport, opens it to the photo page with one hand. His eyes flicker from screen to photo and back again, staying there for a while as he reads.

I’m afraid to ask. ‘Have you found something?’

He raises his eyes to mine.

‘I think you might want to read this,’ he says quietly, passing his phone to me.

I look down at the screen, my heart thudding, and see a photo similar to the one in Leo’s passport, along with a news story about Leo Carter being sent to prison in 2005 for two years. For fraud.

My heart slows to a dull beat, keeping rhythm with the thought throbbing in my head. Leo went to jail? It’s so far away from what I thought that I have trouble focusing on the words in the article, something about him having been a compliance officer for an asset management company. Panic whirls in my stomach.

‘I don’t understand,’ I mutter.

He clears his throat. ‘Unfortunately, in my line of business, changing identity to conceal a criminal background is fairly commonplace.’ He pauses. ‘Leo didn’t mention it to you?’

‘No.’

‘You need to speak to him.’

I nod. ‘I know.’

‘Then perhaps I should leave.’ He gets to his feet. ‘Please, don’t get up, I can see myself out.’ He walks to the door, then stops. ‘If you need anything, anything at all, you have my number.’





Thirty-One


Silence shrouds me like a blanket. I sit without moving, trying to work through the emotions that assault me mercilessly, one after the other – disbelief, bewilderment, fear and anger. It’s the cold that finally moves me to my study for a jumper. I can’t find one so I put on my dressing gown, tying it tightly around me.

I haven’t phoned Leo, I couldn’t bring myself to. Again, it’s not a conversation I want to have with him over the phone and he’s in Birmingham until tomorrow evening. I want to talk to someone. Normally, I would have phoned Ginny because she’s nearer and could have come over. But she’s too close to Leo, so I phone Debbie.