Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,20

was an overbearing husband. Perhaps Adam was a wonderful husband in comparison. None of us really knows what is going on behind marital closed doors.

Then there’s the insurance money. Ajay knew all about it. He knew that if Adam died, then the company’s financial woes would be sorted. But it’s not like Cracking Crafts is on the brink of financial ruin. The thought of Ajay murdering Adam seems totally outlandish.

My head is spinning, and if I thought I could get any work done, I was naive. Instead, I take out a crochet project: a cushion pattern in a rainbow of pastels, an easy, meditative pattern. The staff know that I try out all our new products, so if anyone glances into my office they won’t be in the least bit surprised to see me busy making something. The repetitive motion calms me down, and I’m left alone for an hour or so.

But then my office door swings open. Most people knock, so I look up in surprise.

‘How dare you!’ Ajay strides towards my desk. The door slams closed behind him. ‘You knew all of this time and you didn’t tell me!’

He leans his hands on my desk and stares at me. His eyes are red and he has blackened circles surrounding them.

‘Can you imagine how humiliating it was to find out from the police that my wife was having an affair with your husband, and you knew. How could you not tell me, Lydia?’

I lean backwards. His breath smells sour. ‘I’m sorry, really I am. Marianne asked me not to tell you, that she would tell you in her own time, and then Adam died, and it all seemed a bit irrelevant. I asked the police not to say anything.’

‘How long have you known?’ He steps away from me. Some of the fury seems to have dissipated.

‘A matter of days. I’ve known Adam was having an affair – I told you – I just didn’t know who with.’

‘It’s a fucking mess.’ Ajay slumps into the chair opposite my desk. ‘They think I’m a suspect because of what you told them.’ He points his finger at me. ‘I thought you were my friend, Lydia. I know your husband has died, but how could you imply to the police that you think it’s me?’

‘But I don’t. I never implied that, Ajay. I promise.’

He stands up again. ‘I don’t believe you, Lydia. I think when you are hurting, you want to bring other people down too, so you’re not all alone in your bubble of misery.’

‘No, Ajay! It’s not like that!’

But he ignores me and storms out of my office.

8

I suppose I’ve watched too many police procedurals over the years and read too many crime novels, because my expectations of a murder investigation are not met. It seems to me as if nothing is happening. DC White calls every other day to update me that they have nothing to update me with. I ask if Ajay is still a suspect or is likely to be charged, but he refuses to answer the question. So today, I lose the plot.

‘You must have some information for me.’

‘I’m sorry, but–’

‘You’ve got to tell me what’s going on.’ And then I burst into tears. Loud, sniveling sobs down the phone line.

‘Mrs Palmer, I can confirm that Mr Arya is still a person of interest,’ he says quietly.

I sense that he is speaking out of line. Do they really think Ajay is a suspect? I’ve played around with the notion repeatedly during the past few days, and at first it seemed totally outlandish, but the police wouldn’t be investigating Ajay unless they had a good reason to. Have I got him totally wrong? I suppose he could have killed Adam if he had found out about the affair. Even so, I find it hard to believe. I can’t even look at Ajay now that the police have planted these suspicions in my head, but I’ve got to work with the man. The situation is untenable.

‘So why isn’t he locked up?’ I ask, sniffing.

‘As I said, he is a person of interest. We don’t have enough evidence to – look, I’m speaking out of turn here. Just rest assured you will be the first to know as soon as we have any more information.’

I think of Ajay sitting in his office, running our business. Could he really have killed Adam? We all need some closure, and fast.

‘When can I organise Adam’s funeral?’

‘As soon as the coroner releases his body.’

I