Left You Dead

95

The police search officers had finished at the end of last week, the crime scene tape had been removed from the front of the house and Niall Paternoster had been allowed to go back inside his home. Although, to his chagrin, on searching round, he’d discovered the police had carted away almost every scrap of paperwork, and he had no idea when his laptop would be returned.

Now, he sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee with milk that was almost on the turn and scanning through the Argus for any mention of the mystery of his missing wife. But, it seemed, the news had already moved on. Fatboy Slim had a whole page, publicizing a free concert he was giving on Saturday night on the seafront. The headline story was a gruesome murder, dismembered remains found in a wheelie bin. There was an article on the superstar blogger Zoella. A family were concerned about the wife’s missing eighty-four-year-old father, who had dementia and hadn’t been seen in four days.

Nothing about Eden or himself.

If she was alive, just where the hell was she? What game was she playing? And, more to the point, why?

Had she had an accident?

Then a wilder possibility came into his mind as he thought suddenly about the Hitchcock film Psycho, which they both loved and had seen several times. The irony of Janet Leigh embezzling money and disappearing, only to end up staying at the Bates Motel and being murdered by Norman Bates. Could something like that have happened to her?

It was a crazy idea, but nothing else made any bloody sense. If she’d stayed away for a night, as she’d done before when they’d rowed, that was one thing. But this many nights? That was very different. Had she somehow discovered his affair with Rebecca? But if so, surely she would have confronted him and not simply disappeared? Or was fitting him up — as she clearly had from all the police had told him — her nasty idea of revenge?

In six hours’ time he was due to head over to Mark Tuckwell’s and do a long stint in the cab, first collecting a couple flying in from Tenerife to Gatwick and taking them to their home near St Leonards. Then up to Heathrow Airport to pick up a Mr and Mrs O’Connor arriving from Munich. After dropping them home, to Tunbridge Wells, he would head back to Brighton and spend the rest of the night picking up the detritus of weekend revellers blowing their latest wage packet on booze and drugs. All the time hoping none of them would throw up in the cab or do a runner.

Then tomorrow, Rebecca’s hubby was off to France for a golfing holiday. They would have a whole week together. Happy days!

His phone rang, a WhatsApp call, intruding on his thoughts. Glancing at the display, he saw it was Rebecca. ‘Hey, gorgeous!’ he answered. ‘I was just thinking about you — how much I’m looking forward to tomorrow! I’ve told Marky I’m not available to drive for him for the next week — told him I need to wait home until she turns up. Know what I’m saying?’

She sounded strange as she replied. ‘I’ve been interviewed by the police. I think they’re suspicious.’

‘Of what?’

‘Hello? Eden has disappeared. They’ve seen us together up at the Dyke. What would you be suspicious of if you were a cop?’

‘Yeah, I know how it looks. But at the end of the day I haven’t harmed her and nor have you — unless you’re not telling me something?’

‘So now you think I’ve killed her? Thanks a million!’

‘Of course I don’t, my gorgeous.’ After a brief moment he added, ‘I love you.’

There was a silence.

‘Do you love me?’ he queried.

‘I don’t think we should be talking like this over the phone. If they’ve got us under surveillance, they might have bugged our mobiles.’

‘I don’t think so. And anyhow, WhatsApp is encrypted. They won’t be able to listen in.’

‘Really? So how did they find us at the Dyke?’

‘Other phone records? Are they watching us? I dunno. But I googled the authority the police need to bug anyone — there has to be a life at risk.’

‘And they don’t think Eden’s life is at risk?’

‘No, they think she’s dead — that was the gist of my interviews with them after they arrested me. They think I murdered her, as I told you.’

‘Even so, I think we should be careful over the phone.’

‘I bloody love you,’ he blurted. ‘I want you.’

There was a long silence. Then she said, ‘Did you not hear what I said?’

‘Yeah, sorry.’

‘See you tomorrow,’ she said tersely, ending the call.