fight? Rob was worried I’d find out. Was he begging her not to tell me? Was she planning on it? How does it fit with the rest of the story though, with the escorts and the drugs? If she had told me about it, how would I have reacted? But I already know the answer. I would have killed her.
I rack my brain, trying to clear the fog, but I can’t figure out what happened. It doesn’t seem possible that she told me. My body has gone into such a state of shock that I don’t think I could have known before now, even subconsciously.
The door to the bathroom creaks open. ‘Orla?’ Nunes asks. ‘Are you in here?’
I startle. ‘Um, yes, I just … don’t feel very well,’ I manage to croak. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
The door bangs shut. Damn, pull it together. There’s no time to dwell. I swipe at my eyes and then go through the texts, screenshotting as many as I can, dozens of photos that I then email to myself with a shaking hand.
Bitch, I think. Bastard. No time to dwell on it now.
I check her emails too but don’t find anything from Rob’s email address. Perhaps they only used text messaging, thinking it was safer, or perhaps Rob set up a private, dedicated account so I wouldn’t find it on his laptop by accident.
The bathroom door opens again. ‘Hello?’ Nunes calls, impatiently. I hear his footsteps coming closer, then he raps on the door sharply.
‘Coming,’ I stammer, before shoving the phone into my pocket again and unlocking the cubicle door.
I throw water on my face while Nunes stands behind me watching suspiciously, and I try not to look his way because I know my expression must be a turmoil and I don’t want him knowing why, not until I have my head wrapped around this new information. Let him think I’m just recovering from seeing my friend’s body and saying goodbye. At least the shock and the tears can pass for grief.
I follow Nunes to the car in a daze. My mind is flitting to times Rob held me in his arms, told me he loved me, kissed me.
A scream batters against my rib cage, trying to escape. That howl that’s been locked inside me since they told me the news about Kate grows in volume. Somehow, I manage to keep it locked inside, but when I get in the car I have to grip the door handle to steady myself.
Rob and Kate were having an affair. I cannot process it.
Toby’s comment about Kate lying to me makes total sense now. Was that the real reason why they broke up? Did she lie to me about Toby sleeping with escorts? Did he in fact find out about Rob and their affair? Is that why he wanted a divorce? Why didn’t Toby tell me, though, if that’s the case? And why did Kate beg me to go on this weekend away with her? Why did she hire those escorts? What was her plan?
I want nothing more than to dig the phone out and read through the texts and look for emails that might explain it, but I can’t, not here in the back seat of the car, with that nosy, awful Nunes glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.
Another thing occurs to me then. I remember how I found Rob this morning, bent over Kate’s suitcase crying and holding her clothes in his hands. I thought he was just sad, but now I see he was heartbroken. He must have been grieving her even harder than I was. Another blow comes, swift as it is savage. Did he love her? In the text messages I read it was Kate who said she loved him. But did he love her back?
My hand starts to cramp as it squeezes the door handle. The howl trapped in my chest grows louder and bats even harder against my ribs to be let out. I have a police interview to give though. I have to keep everything inside me. Or, should I tell them what I’ve found out? Show them the texts?
Something hits me then, a thought so huge that it quiets the howling inside, makes everything go still. If I tell the police about Rob and Kate having an affair they’ll think for sure that I killed her. It’s a motive isn’t it? A pretty damn good one too.