Lie For Me Page 14

  I tell Eva what I’m thinking, and Suzy is standing outside the gates, speaking to someone on the phone. She hangs up when she sees us, and from our expressions she knows immediately something is happening.

  “Coffee,” Eva says. “Let’s head for Starbucks.”

  We agree. Coffee and cake is definitely called for, and even baby Margaret agrees, gurgling from the pram, and throwing one of her toys out of it.

  As I inhale the steam of my cappuccino, I can’t get over what just happened. Part of me feels ashamed. The other part still wants to bury Joanne BS underground. Well, at least that nickname for her will stick.

  Eva says, “I think you should go and see the husband. He sounds sensible.”

  I’m inclined to agree with Eva. Tim seemed unruffled, and I might have unleashed more havoc if he hadn’t restrained me.

  “What if he wants me to meet me alone?” I ask. “That’s not safe, is it?”

  “I could come with you,” Eva offers. It’s sweet of her, but I shake my head.

  “No. If he calls, then I go alone. He could well clam up if I come with someone.” I’m actually intrigued now. What does he want to say? Tim knows I am Jeremy’s wife, so I doubt he would try anything underhand. I need to get this straight with Jeremy before I go, if I do go. I will make it clear to Tim that Jeremy knows where I am, as do my friends.

  Eva nods. “You do have a point there. If he wants to discuss something confidential, then me being there might work against you. But be prepared his wife might be present as well.”

  Suzy says, “I think so, too. Maybe they suspect another child or family, and want to chat with you about it first.”

  “He said, we can settle this amicably,” I say to them. “What do you think he meant?”

  Suzy says, “She’s on the board of governors of the school. If she goes through with what she planned for Molly, then it makes her look vindictive. Maybe reduces her stature.”

  “Or maybe they want to pressure me into a confession. See if I behave differently out of school and without children.”

  Eva shrugs. “Either way, you won’t know till you attend.”

  She has a point. My phone beeps, and I freeze. Will this be another warning from Clive? Gingerly, I remove the phone from my handbag. It’s a message from Jeremy. I sigh in relief.

  Informed police about last night. They want to speak to you. Inspector Rockford.

  I excuse myself from my friends and call Jeremy. He answers and I tell him about what just happened. He listens with a stony silence. Of course, he’s not pleased. But when I repeat what Joanne had said, he agrees she was out of line. Way out of line. I tell him that I might see Tim to discuss this. Jeremy isn’t happy about that, but he can’t really say no. It’s my decision, concerning my daughter.

  We are walking back to our cars when my phone rings again. It’s a number I don’t recognise. I reply.

  “This is Tim Burton-Smyth,” a man’s voice says.

  “I know who you are,” I say.

  He pauses for a while, then says, “This has gone far enough, don’t you think?”

  “You’re telling me? It’s not me who’s taking out a petition to ban your daughter from school!” My tone is bitter, and I’m struggling to keep my voice down.

  “I suggest we meet, and discuss this like rational adults.”

  “Meet with who?” I ask.

  “Just you and me,” he says and leaves it at that. I think about it. There won’t be any witnesses. Can I trust this man? What if he tries to intimidate me? Guess I can always leave.

  “I want to meet in a public place,” I say. “Somewhere neutral.”

  He sighs. “That won’t be a problem. I’m living in a hotel at the moment.”

  His tone has changed, and I sense a softer note, more downbeat. I lean against my car. The others are driving off, and I wave goodbye to them. They know who’s calling. Eva makes a sign at her ear, to give her a call. Then they’re gone. Tim is talking again.

  “Is that OK with you?”

  I am curious about his choice of meeting place. Obviously I will only see him in the hotel lobby. But still, why is he living in a hotel? I ask him.

  The pause stretches on for a bit longer this time, and he clears this throat. “Let’s just say Joanne and myself are having some problems of late. Nothing to do with Hen’s bullying,” he adds quickly. “Both of us want the best for her.”

  Several things click into place as I hear his words. From the beginning he has been the silent partner. I guess they’ve been keeping up appearances in public. I understand now why he wants to meet in private.

  “I’m sorry about you and…your wife.” I don’t want to say her name.

  “Don’t be. It’s been going on for a while.”

  “I can meet you in the hotel lobby for half an hour,” I say.

  “Please, that would be great. I just want the best for Hen, you know.”

  “Sure,” I say, but part of me is also wondering what good speaking to him will do, when he doesn’t even live with his wife anymore. I doubt she’s going to listen to him. But it might give me more insight into their family life. There could be a different reason why that child is so scared to speak about her bully’s name.

  I wonder what happens inside their home. They are wealthy, well-to-do, but obviously things aren’t right. In the end, no one knows what happens behind closed doors. Has Henrietta been watching her parents argue? Or is there something more twisted going on? I shudder to myself.

  I’m certainly going to ask Tim when I see him. And if I get the slightest inclination something untoward is happening to Hen at home, then I’m calling social services.

  All of which makes me wonder what sort of a woman Joanne really is.

  Now that I’ve agreed to meet him, I’m also more worried. Was this the right thing to do? What do I know about Tim, really? He could be spinning a yarn about him and Joanne. I think of his patient eyes, and then get a jolt. From the beginning, he has looked at me with what I now think is silent appreciation. I’m not being big headed about this. He’s stared at me like he wants to communicate something. Does Tim want to meet me in the hotel for something other than Henrietta’s well being? Well, if he does, I will meet him at the hotel lobby, and get it out of him. And if he does know the name of the school bully, but for some reason can’t share it with his wife or the teachers, then it gets Molly off the hook.

  Either way, I need to see him. I just have to be careful.

  CHAPTER 36

  Tim is staying at a hotel in Kingston, and after taking the train from Wimbledon, I arrive at the station in half an hour.

  The hotel is an end-terrace building that has been converted. Steps lead up to a door above which a sign says “Eros Hotel”. It’s one in a chain of several hotels on the block. This isn’t a nice part of Kingston, and the hotels look seedy. Paint flakes off their walls, the signboards are tatty and the rickety windows are single-glazed.

  I climb the stairs and push open the front door. A Fawlty Towers-style entrance acts as reception, and a short, chubby man is sitting behind the desk. He lifts his balding head in my direction when he hears the doorbell chime as I walk in. He stares at me as I approach the desk.

  “Can I help?” he grunts in a thick voice. There’s nasal hair sprouting from his nostrils, and his white shirt has stains on it. I dislike him immediately.

  “I’m here to see Mr Timothy Burton-Smyth.” His posh name sounds a bit incongruous in a place like this.

  The man flicks over some pages and rests a fat finger on a line.

  “Ah yes,” he snorts. He glances up at me. “He asked you to go up to his room.”

  I frown. “There must be some mistake. I said clearly that I would only meet him in the lobby.”

  “This is the lobby, Miss.”

  Great. I look behind me and see two armchairs on either side of a tall potted plant. The man is leering at me, leaning on the desk. Even if there was more space here, I don’t think I wo
uld want this idiot listening to our conversation.

  “You don’t have any other rooms here? A canteen maybe?”

  He shakes his round head. Something doesn’t make sense to me. Why would Tim agree to meet in the lobby when he knew what the state of the lobby was?

  Well, I don’t have to go inside his room. I can knock on the door and wait for him to come out. Then maybe we can go for a coffee.

  “Can you not call him to say I’m here?”

  The stupid man actually rolls his eyes. So much for customer service. He lifts up the phone and listens on the receiver for a while. Then he hangs up and looks at me with a half smile.

  “He ain’t answering.”

  “Where is his room?” I ask, controlling my temper.

  “Up the stairs on the first floor. Third door on your right. Number 4.”

  Without a word to him I head towards the staircase. The carpet is dark brown with a paisley pattern, and threadbare. The steps creak as I go up them. A phone rings somewhere, its muffled sound constant through the walls. Then it stops and silence seeps in again. Something stiffens in my gut. This isnt right. I didn’t agree to go up to Tim’s room when I spoke to him. While I don’t think he will hurt me, he might not be alone. Inwardly, I curse myself. I had to come alone and now I’m in a situation of my own making. I could just go down the stairs and get out of here…but then I won’t get a chance to speak to him.

  Something else occurs to me. What if something has happened to Tim? Is that why he’s not answering the phone? If the police are involved again…I take out my phone, and flip open the camera. Then I press record on the video as I go up the stairs. This way, at least I can show anyone what I found. If something happens to me, the phone will have a record that I can try and send to Jeremy or Eva.

  A door leads onto the first floor hallway. I push it and enter. The hallway is empty and surprisingly wide. I walk to number 4.

  I knock on the door. There’s no answer. I knock again, three times, harder. Still nothing. I wait for a while, debating what to do.

  “Tim,” I say in the end, raising my voice. “Are you there?”

  No answer. I could go back down and tell the manager. He would have a spare key. But I’m here now. The door has spy keyhole and if Tim was standing on the other side, he could see me.

  I push the door, and to my surprise, a latch clicks and the door falls open. When Tim had shut the door the latch might have got stuck. The door opens soundlessly. I stare at the narrow space that leads into the room. The curtains are drawn at the far end, making it dark.

  There’s a sideboard with a TV on it, I can make that much out. The end of a bed also juts out. A pair of jeans hangs from a chair next to the curtains. There’s an old, musty smell in the room like it’s not been open for a while. Then I smell something else. Not sure what it is, but it makes my nose crinkle. I keep the phone raised, recording everything on the camera.

  “Tim?”

  He has to be in here, or why would he ask me to come up? I don’t get an answer again, and the door is open, so I take a tentative step inside. What looks like the bathroom door is open, and I catch a brief glimpse of myself in the mirror. The light in the bathroom is off, but I nudge the door open with my toe. It’s empty.

  I creep along the wall, and then come to a sudden stop. A man is lying on the bed, naked from the waist up. The face is bearded and I recognise it as Tim’s. He is lying across the bed, with both arms above his head. His hands fall over, and there his eyes are open, cold and dead. There’s a deep cut in his neck, a jagged line that has cut through muscles and tissue, and dark blood has seeped out, blackening the bedsheet.

  Tim is dead.

  The scream is locked inside my throat. A strangled whisper emerges. My breath comes in fast jerks. I move my eyes around but don’t see a weapon. Tim has his shoes on, and part of me thinks he was getting undressed when…

  I move closer, careful not to touch anything. I lean over him, and say his name once again. There is no response, and his pupils are dilated, fixed.

  Shaking, with breath clawing at my throat, I run out of the room. I don’t know how I stagger down the stairs without falling. The manager looks up with a frown as I almost collapse on the landing, but somehow keep my balance.

  “He’s dead!” I shout, finally finding my voice. “Call the police!”

  I sit down. I can’t form a thought in my head. There’s a snowstorm of voices, images, faces that come and vanish like a film that’s been fast-forwarded. The blur won’t settle, it makes me dizzy, like my brain is spinning around in a washing machine.

  Gasping, I cover my eyes and lower my head into my lap. I need to do something. As if from a distance, I can hear the manager shouting on the phone.

  “Dead man…Eros Hotel…Chelsea Embankment.”

  I need to call or speak to someone. The manager’s called the police already. Jeremy. He’s a lawyer. He’ll know what to do in this situation. I ring him, but it goes on voicemail. I call again, then leave a message and send him a text as well. I also send him the video I have recorded.

  The time is 12 noon. I can hear sirens, getting louder. The police will be here and want to question me. Will I get off in time for school pick-up?

  I call Eva, and send her the video as well. She doesn’t answer but calls me back immediately.

  “Tim…he’s dead.” I blurt out when she answers. I speak fast, telling her what I found. She hasn’t checked the video I sent her as yet.

  “What? My God, are you OK?”

  “Yes, the police will be here soon. Eva, can you please do me a favour and pick up Molly, in case I don’t get out of here in the next couple of hours?”

  “Of course, no problem. I’ll keep her with me and give her dinner, she can eat with Lottie. Then just come and pick her up.”

  “Only if you’re sure,” I say. “Hopefully I’ll get out of here in time.”

  “Just take it easy. Don’t panic. Leave Molly with me.”

  I hang up, feeling better that Molly will be in safe hands. The phone rings again, caller ID unknown. It must be Jeremy calling from work. I answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Looks bad, doesn’t it, cupcake?”

  I feel like shotguns have blown my knees off. I sit down heavily on the chair again. There is no mistaking that gravelly voice. It makes my skin crawl.

  “I made it easy for you at the Mandarin Oriental. All you had to do was let him drink that wine.”

  I can’t speak. Words screech inside me, but I can’t get them out.

  “But you didn’t want the easy way out, did you? Now you have to suffer.”

  “Clive, you can’t do this. This is…”

  With a click the phone goes dead.

  CHAPTER 37

  The police arrive in the form of three uniformed officers. Two of them go upstairs, while one squats at my feet. The manager feels a bit sorry for me, I think, and he’s made me a cup of tea.

  As I’m speaking to the police, my phone rings again. It’s Jeremy’s number this time.

  “Emma, what the hell happened?” His voice is high-pitched, and he’s obviously read my text.

  “Tim’s dead,” I whisper, and am mortified to find my eyes getting wet. I sniff and wipe them away. “I walked into his room and his…his throat had been slashed. I sent you a video. Have you seen it?”

  Jeremy is speechless on the other end. Finally he says, “Give me the address. I’m coming over.”

  “No, look, the police are here. I’ll see you when I get back home.”

  He won’t take no for an answer. Truth is, I would like him here. I need support and his law skills could come in useful.

  The officer asks me some more questions. His two colleagues come downstairs with gloomy looks on their faces.

  “This is now a crime scene,” one of them says. “Ma’am, would you like to come to the police station to give a formal statement?”

  “I have a video to show you, about what I found upsta
irs.” I take out my phone and they’re interested, hunching forward to see it.

  “We need to take this back to the station ma’am. We can give you a lift?”

  I guess I don’t have a choice. I send a text to Jeremy telling him where I’ll be. He texts back saying he’s on the train and will see me there.

  I feel numb as I get into the police squad car. For the second time in one week, I am again in front of the desk sergeant of Wimbledon Police Station. He raises his eyebrows and smiles because I think he recognises me. I don’t feel like smiling. I am told to take a seat and I sit down, feeling cold suddenly. I fold my arms tightly across my chest.

  A door opens to one side, and the tall, elegant form of Charles Rockford steps out. He is dressed in a sharply pressed suit, and as he walks towards me, I have to admit he is easy on the eye. He stands in front of me, and nods politely.

  “Mrs Mansell, we keep meeting in unfortunate circumstances.”

  “Yes,” I say, not knowing what sort of response is suitable for the occasion.

  “Please come in and give us a statement,” he says, standing back. I get up, and behind me I hear the sliding doors open.

  “Emma.” I look behind, and my heart floods with relief when I see Jeremy. He hugs me and I hold him tightly before letting go.

  “I’m her husband,” Jeremy explains to Rockford. “And also her lawyer.”

  “Oh yes. I spoke to you.” They shake hands.

  Rockford raises an eyebrow. “It’s unusual that you choose to be your wife’s legal representation.”

  “But there is nothing in the CPS that makes it illegal,” Jeremy says. I only know that CPS stands for Crown Prosecution Service, England’s judicial system.

  “I would like to be present while she gives her statement,” Jeremy says.

  “This way, please,” Rockford indicates.

  “Can I speak to my client before we go in, please?”