says, as though that erases what she did, as though she’s paid for her crimes by drowning. A sudden thought hits me like a punch to the chest. What if … Toby killed her? Or arranged for her to be killed? He did just admit to hiring a private detective. What if he hired someone to kill her? I wouldn’t put it past him. She was after his money after all.
No, I’m being crazy – what an absurd thought! But then again, I’m also being accused, and the fact is there are two jilted spouses in this situation, not just me, and if they are going to use the affair as a motive then Toby is as much a suspect as me, maybe even more so given how much money Kate was trying to take him for.
But how will I find out if he’s involved? I need a lawyer, or a detective of my own, but I don’t work in those circles. I don’t have those connections or contacts. Where would I even find one, especially over here? I don’t speak the language.
‘You should know that the police think someone killed her,’ I tell Toby.
Toby goes silent on the end of the phone. ‘What?’ he finally splutters.
I listen hard to his reaction. Does he sound nervous? Innocent? Or is that a hint of fear in his voice? Is it the voice of a guilty man? ‘They say she had injuries consistent with a fight. They’re considering it a murder.’
‘Holy shit,’ Toby whispers. ‘That’s … but who?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I need to go,’ I tell him.
‘Will you let me know what happens with the police?’ he interjects.
‘Yes. And, Toby,’ I add, ‘Rob’s already arranged for the cremation. I think they’re doing it later today. But can you handle the rest? I’m not sure I’ll be able to.’
The thought of having to arrange a funeral ceremony or celebration of life for Kate is too much to contemplate. I’d hardly be the best person to lead the eulogies. Perhaps we should ask Rob.
‘Of course,’ Toby says quietly. ‘Listen, Orla, I’m sorry you had to find out. Especially now.’
‘Yes,’ I answer. ‘Me too.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Rob,’ I say, in as even a tone as I can muster over voicemail. ‘Call me back.’
I check the time. It’s four-twenty. He’s already on the plane. He must be wondering if it was me who called him from Kate’s phone. If so he’s probably panicking at what I might have found out. I open the bedroom door and startle Sebastian who is standing there with a cup of tea in his hand. How long has he been lurking there? Was he listening to my conversation with Toby? He hands me the cup of tea, his eyes darting around the room, refusing to settle on my face. I see him notice the pile of Kate’s clothes strewn around and the ripped-up bra and knickers.
‘Thank you,’ I tell him, moving to block his way into the room, and his view. I don’t need him snooping any more than he already has.
‘Is everything OK?’ he asks. ‘Can I do anything? Did they tell you what happened to your friend?’
I shake my head, wondering if his kindness has an ulterior motive, namely a desire to gather gossip. ‘No.’
He frowns at that. ‘The police were asking questions. It seemed like they thought your friend’s death was suspicious.’
‘They’re investigating, that’s all. They don’t know what happened.’ Nosy bugger.
He leaves the room and I pace, wringing my hands, trying to get my thoughts in order. I try to name all I’m feeling – a technique my therapist taught me when I’m feeling overwhelmed with anxiety. I count humiliation, grief, pain, confusion, fear and panic. It’s too much to feel, too much to deal with, all piled on top of each other. How can I hold all this inside without going mad?
I look at the teacup on the side. I don’t need tea. I need a proper drink. Something strong, to settle my nerves and help clear my head, or maybe the opposite, erase everything, at least temporarily. My first thought is to call Konstandin. I need someone I can talk to about all this. Before I can think it through I pick up my phone and dial his number. He answers instantly.
‘Hi, is everything OK?’ he asks. ‘Do you need a ride somewhere?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
Half an hour later he picks me up. I leave the apartment without a word to Sebastian who is locked inside