Alice smiles. ‘And yet only this morning, you told a detective all about seeing a dead woman on the internet. He might be slapdash – he might miss something.’
‘Then I’ll go to Cambridge and find a conscientious detective, and make him listen to me,’ I say fiercely.
‘Because you want to find out the truth.’
‘It’s not about me, it’s about the woman I saw, whoever she is. Someone murdered her. I can’t just—’
‘You want to find out the truth,’ Alice says again.
‘All right, then, yes! I saw a dead woman on the floor in that house. Wouldn’t you want the truth, in my position?’
‘Connie, can I speak frankly? When it comes to the dead woman, your truth-seeking energy is really strong. I can feel it – it’s tangible in this room. Normally, that would help to attract the truth to you. When we focus on something we want with all our energy, believe we’re going to get it one day and pursue it with great determination, resolved that we will never give up, usually what we’re seeking comes to us – it’s just a matter of how long it takes to reach us. In your case, there’s a complication: in another area of your life, you’re terrified of finding out the truth, and you’re transmitting an equally strong truth-repelling energy.’ She folds her arms, waits for my reaction.
‘Kit, you mean? That’s not fair. You know how hard I’ve tried.’
‘You haven’t,’ says Alice gently. ‘You’re lying to yourself if you think you have.’
I must be quite exceptionally convincing, in that case. ‘What, so you’re saying that the contradictory energies are getting mixed up and sending out a muddled signal? That my fear of finding out the truth about Kit is repelling all truth?’
Alice says nothing.
‘So, whoever’s in charge of all this energy and attraction stuff, up there in the cockpit of the universe – God, or Fate, or whatever you want to call him – he’s short-sighted, is he?’ I say irritably. ‘He can’t quite read the shopping list – item one: truth about dead woman; item two: no truth about possibly treacherous husband. They blur together, do they, so that he doesn’t know what exactly he’s supposed to deliver? Can’t he focus really hard and attract a decent pair of reading glasses? As the all-powerful controller of the universe, that shouldn’t be beyond him.’
‘Nothing has blurred together,’ says Alice. ‘The two items were never separate. They’re linked by an address: 11 Bentley Grove, Cambridge.’
I feel as if I’m going to throw up.
Kit didn’t kill her. He can’t have. He’s not a killer. I wouldn’t love a killer.
‘Do you want only part of the truth, or do you want all of it?’ Alice asks. ‘What if it was all or nothing? Which would you choose?’
‘All,’ I whisper. My stomach twists.
‘Good. Your phone’s ringing.’
I didn’t hear it.
‘Nothing like an immediate result to convince a hardened sceptic,’ Alice says.
‘Do you mind if I . . .? Hello?’
‘Is that Connie Bowskill?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Sam Kombothekra.’
‘Oh.’ My heart jolts. Kombothekra, Kombothekra. I try to remember the name.
‘Can you get to Spilling police station by nine thirty, Monday morning?’
‘I . . . Has something happened? Have you spoken to Cambridge police?’
‘I’d like to speak to you face to face,’ he says. ‘Monday morning, nine thirty?’
‘All right. Can’t you even—?’
‘I’ll see you then.’
He’s gone.
Alice raises her water glass in what looks like a toast. ‘Well done,’ she says, beaming at me. I have no idea what she’s congratulating me for.
*
POLICE EXHIBIT REF: CB13345/432/21IG
D,
Don't forget to nip to supermarket and buy:
Pitta breads, passata, bag of salad, lamb mince, feta cheese, cinnamon, chargrilled artichokes (in oil in jar, from deli section – NOT a tin of artichokes from canned veg section) new pencil case for Riordan, something for Tilly so she doesn't feel left out – Barbie mag or something. Ta!
E xx
Chapter 6
19/07/2010
‘Okay. You’ve put your house up for sale . . .’
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Gibbs.
‘Suppose you have. You want to move, and you’ve put your house on the market,’ said Sam. ‘Why might you go and stay in a hotel?’ For the past ten minutes, he’d been orbiting Gibbs’ desk – glancing at him occasionally, then looking away, as if he had something on his mind but wasn’t sure how to broach it.
Gibbs had been waiting for him to spit it out, whatever it was. ‘If I fancied a holiday, and self-catering felt like too much effort . . .’