Then She Vanishes(39)

She’d walked into a dark, empty house – it’s at times like these that she misses a dog to greet her – to the phone ringing.

It’s Ruthgow, who informs Margot that Adam’s fingerprints are on the gun. As well as her own. But there is another set that doesn’t match those of anybody they have on record. Someone else, other than Heather, held the gun that day.





22




Jess


Jack and I stand in the porch and watch as Adam speeds out of the driveway in his blue estate. Jack is still clutching the bag of peas Margot gave him. He holds them up to me: the bag is melting and water drips at our feet. ‘Forgot to give them back. I’ll just leave them here.’ He bends over and dumps them by a pair of dirty wellies.

In the distance a dog barks but there are no other sounds. The sun is struggling to come out from behind a grey cloud. ‘I forgot how quiet it is in the country,’ I say. ‘Come on, it’s this way.’

We trudge through the long grass, the dew darkening the hem of Jack’s trouser legs. ‘I’m not decked out for this,’ he observes, as he almost slips on the grass and clutches my arm, panic written all over his face. ‘Isn’t there a main path?’

I stifle a giggle. ‘I’m afraid not. Sorry, Jack, you’re going to have to get your posh designer shoes a little bit dirty.’

He grins, which gives him a sinister look with his swollen lip and black eye.

We pass the fountain where Heather and I would spend hours sprawled on the lawn, sketching, and walk until we get to a thick hedge with a large arch in the middle.

‘It’s through here?’ Jack asks, as though he expects to be walking into a pit full of tigers.

‘Yes. It’s clever, isn’t it? It means the main house has privacy away from the caravan park.’ It’s neater than it was in 1994, now pruned and shaped. I imagine, in the summer, the arch is filled with flowers.

I walk through the gap first and stop in surprise. It’s much smarter than I remember, with a row of static caravans in one area of the field and in the other a smattering of pod tents. Behind that is the old coach house where Heather and Adam now live. In 1994 it was more or less a shell and was used for storage. Once we saw her uncle Leo and his girlfriend Hayley sneaking out of it with sheepish expressions, Leo adjusting the belt of his jeans and Hayley pulling at the hem of her micro-mini skirt. We had been in one of the caravans and we’d fallen about laughing so much that Heather nearly wet herself.

‘It’s quite nice,’ says Jack, nodding in approval.

‘Not that you’ve ever camped in your life,’ I acknowledge, remembering that Jack had turned down a lads’ weekend ‘glamping’ because he didn’t want to ‘rough it’.

‘I’m camp in other ways,’ he says, winking at me.

I roll my eyes. ‘Right. I wonder which caravan Colin’s staying in.’

‘Maybe the one with the light on.’

I shove him playfully but he winces and holds his arm. At first I think he’s mucking about, but from the pain that flashes across his face I realize he’s serious. ‘Oh, Jack! Are you okay?’

‘Bruises. From the mugging.’

‘Shit, I forgot.’ I rub his upper arm tenderly. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Don’t worry. Come on.’ He moves away from me and strides towards the caravan with the light on. There are little gingham curtains at the window and I imagine it’s cosy inside. Jack’s already rapping on the door before I’ve even reached him. ‘Eager beaver,’ I tease, when I catch up with him.

Before he can reply the door opens and a short, balding man with a large stomach stands blinking at us. He has glasses perched on his pointed nose and he reminds me of a mole. He frowns. ‘Yes?’

Jack opens his mouth to speak but I interrupt him, by introducing myself. ‘Margot said it was okay for us to talk to you.’

He hesitates. ‘I don’t have anything to say.’

‘It’s just about Heather.’

His eyes widen and he leans closer to me. He smells of beef stew. ‘What about Heather? Is she okay?’

‘There’s no change, I’m afraid. But the morning she shot herself, were you here?’

His face closes up. ‘I don’t know anything. I’ve told the police this already. I was in bed. Asleep. I heard nothing. I saw nothing.’ He retreats back into his caravan.

‘Please, Colin. It could help Heather.’

‘No. It won’t.’ And he shuts the door in our faces before I can ask what he means.

The rest of the afternoon goes slowly. Jack is sent out on another job with Ellie and I’m left in the newsroom to type up my unfinished interview with Margot. Ted slopes off to the pub early and, as soon as he’s gone, I escape, too, so that I don’t have to walk home in the dark, with the now ever-present fear that I’m being followed. Plus, I’d promised Rory I’d cook dinner tonight.

It’s twilight as I make my way through Queen Square after a detour to Tesco to pick up ingredients. Even so, as I head across the square I sense I’m being followed again and the back of my neck prickles, as though someone’s eyes are boring into me. I turn quickly, while still walking, hoping to catch whoever it is off guard. A man is walking several paces behind me with a baseball cap pulled over his eyes. In the fading light it’s hard to make out who it is, but my stomach drops. Is it Wayne Walker? Has he been following me all this time? I squint, trying to get a better look, but the peak of the cap has cast shadows over his face so I can’t make out his features. He’s tall. Too tall for Wayne, I think. There’s something about his gait that reminds me of Adam. I know he went to the police station with Margot earlier, but it’s possible she went back to Tilby on her own and he stayed behind to spy on me. What does he want? How can – Oomph! I walk straight into a bin, banging my leg in the process. I swear under my breath, rubbing my leg, hoping I haven’t bruised myself. When I turn around the man is walking in the opposite direction.