can smell him – slightly sweaty, so familiar. She sticks her face right up to his and hisses back, ‘Someone tried to run me down. Don’t pretend it wasn’t you.’ She puts all her fury into her voice. ‘You were supposed to kill her, not me.’ She’s breathing heavily now. She spits out, ‘Of course I went to the police – it was the only way to protect myself.’
His face twists with rage and agitation. ‘Bullshit! I didn’t try to run you down! Just stop with the fucking lies, can’t you? You didn’t give me enough time. I needed to be sure I wouldn’t get caught. Now, thanks to you, I can never get rid of Stephanie – and it’s all your fault – going to the fucking police! You’ve screwed us both.’
She says bitterly, ‘No – you’ve screwed us both. I hope you have a miserable life with your stuck-up, controlling wife. If she even keeps you.’ She shrugs past him, gets into her car and drives away.
Patrick strides angrily back to his own car. As he drives back to Aylesford, his mind returns to the turmoil of those days after Erica had given him a stark choice: kill his wife, or she’d go to the authorities. He’d been almost paralysed by his situation, unable to think at all because of sleep deprivation and fear. He was living in a fog of indecision.
The day of the picnic with Stephanie, he’d been agitated, undecided. Over lunch he’d developed a half-formed plan to drive back, Stephanie and the twins asleep in the car, twist the wheel suddenly – he would claim that he’d fallen asleep, lost control of the car – and go off the road at a spot he knew and plunge into the lake. He wouldn’t help Stephanie or the twins out of the flooded car – he would prevent her escape if he had to – but he would make it look like he’d tried to save her. But then Stephanie had insisted on driving back. He tried to protest, but it was as if she had a second sense, as if she knew. In the end, he’d been relieved. He probably never would have got away with it. It had been a desperate idea, born of a desperate situation. By the time he decided it would be a much better idea to get rid of Erica – the source of all his problems – she’d already gone to the coroner.
He’d always planned to get rid of Stephanie someday, somehow – but Erica had forced his hand.
He thinks back to how it all began – clumsily bumping into Lindsey at the top of the stairs while her back was turned. He made it seem like an accident but he knew exactly what he was doing. She went careening down the stairs to the floor at the bottom, and he thought it was done. She lay still for a moment by the back door, but then she began to stir. And … she was fine. He remembers his disbelief, his crushing disappointment. But he’d quickly realized what he must do and dashed down the stairs to help her up, exclaiming how sorry he was. Fussing over her, making a big show of concern. She hadn’t suspected a thing. She was only worried about the baby and insisted on going to the hospital for an ultrasound. They’d taken a cab to the hospital and he’d brooded in the waiting room at the ER, wondering how he could ever get rid of his wife and her child.
It wasn’t until weeks later, during that snowstorm, lying in bed the night before their trip to her mother’s, that he thought of it. The exhaust pipe. How perfect it was. How pleased he was with himself for thinking of it. How easy it had been to do, and so low risk. He remembers the look Erica had given him at the funeral. As if she knew. But how could she know?
He’s been afraid of her ever since.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
WHEN PATRICK RETURNS, Stephanie is in the driveway, buckling the twins into the backseat. Through the rear window, she sees him drive in and park his car beside hers. She wonders where he’s been for the last couple of hours.
‘Hey,’ he says, getting out of his car and coming up behind her. She’s still got her head inside the car, settling the twins. He sounds conciliatory. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t know what he expects from her.