almost impossible.
‘That’s me,’ he says in a very deep, proper man’s voice. ‘Hi Grace. Long time no see. How are you these days?’ He closes his eyes briefly. ‘I – I mean, obviously I know that you’re not … That is, you know, of course, you must be absolutely …’ He stops. Takes a deep breath. Tries again. ‘I’m so sorry about … you know, what’s happened.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Sit down, Matt,’ Ginger says suddenly. ‘Grace and I’ll make a cuppa.’
She grabs my arm and practically drags me out of the room into the kitchen.
‘I can’t believe that’s the same gawky lad I used to know,’ I’m saying as she bustles around getting cups out and filling the kettle. ‘He’s a lot taller in black, isn’t he?’
‘Look, I want to say something,’ she says really quickly, rooting through the cupboard to find some tea bags. ‘It’s about Matt.’
‘Right?’
‘I don’t want him to …’ She breaks off, looks round, then steps lightly over to the kitchen door. She peers out into the hallway then silently closes it and turns round again to face me. ‘Matt’s already told me that the first thing the police will do is try to work out whether or not Adam is dead, and that they’ll be looking principally at you.’
‘Oh, yeah. I’d almost forgotten about being a murder suspect. Thanks for reminding me.’
‘The thing is, he probably shouldn’t even be here, let alone tell you anything.’
‘Oh. Really? Why not?’
She widens her eyes. ‘Coz you’re a suspect. Matt’s not directly involved in the investigation, it’s not his section. But even if he was, he couldn’t be because he knows you personally. And of course he’s my brother and I’m the best friend. It’s a link that could be used by a good solicitor to muddy the waters in the event of a prosecution.’
‘Oh right. I see what you mean.’ I pause. ‘No I don’t. Are you talking about if they prosecute me?’
‘Well, yes, but it won’t happen because …’
‘Of course it won’t happen because he’s not dead and even if he was – AND I HOPE HE FUCKING WELL IS – I didn’t kill him.’
‘I know …’
‘So this scenario you’re talking about, where my link with the police, through you and Matt, is used by a solicitor to … what was it again?’
‘Muddy the waters.’
‘Right. What you’re actually talking about is my solicitor. Getting me off.’
She shrugs. ‘Yeah. But we all know that’ll never happen because you didn’t do anything.’
I stare at her and the absolute horror of what she’s saying starts to sink in. The police could somehow, in some monstrous, inconceivable twist of misunderstanding, misdirection and mistake, decide that Adam is dead; and by disastrous coincidence after shocking inaccuracy, could find me responsible for it. And then, in an almost unimaginably horrific runaway trial involving spurious witnesses and mistaken identity, I could actually get sent down for it.
‘Grab the digestives,’ Ginger says, heading back towards the living room.
As we walk back in, Matt stands up and his bulk practically fills the room.
‘You don’t have to stand up whenever we come in, Matthew,’ Ginger says, handing him a mug.
‘No, hah, I know. Sorry.’ He sits.
‘So,’ she says. ‘Tell Gracie what’s going on.’ We both sit down facing Matt, as if he’s the entertainment.
He nods at Ginger, then looks over at me and lowers his chin. ‘There really isn’t much to tell you,’ he says, his voice reverberating around the room. It’s the deepest voice this room has ever experienced. Adam’s voice was much lighter. Not feminine, but much less … manly. He was more refined; but there was less of him.
Why am I thinking of him in the past tense?
‘Right,’ I say, to encourage Matt. So far, it seems like a waste of time him being here.
‘But I can find stuff out for you, pop in on my way home if there’s anything.’
‘Great. Thanks.’
‘Is that it?’ Ginger demands. ‘I thought you said you’d heard something interesting this evening.’
‘Oh yes, I did. Sorry, I was forgetting you hadn’t heard it yet.’ He turns to me again and assumes a funeral face. ‘They found the car, Gracie.’
The shock of this hits me almost physically and tea slops over the side of my mug onto the floor. For a second my throat seizes, but my brain can’t formulate a coherent word anyway.
‘Where?’ I finally manage.
‘Church car park in a little place called Linton. About three hundred miles from here.’
‘Linton? Where the hell is that? I’ve never even heard of it.’ I look at Ginger helplessly but she just shrugs. I turn back to Matt. ‘What does this mean?’
Matt shuffles forward on his chair a little, bringing himself an inch nearer to me. ‘Look, it’s OK, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. All it tells us for sure is that the car is there.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Oh, right. OK.’
‘Matt,’ Ginger hisses at him.
He glances at her and she rolls her eyes towards me, so he looks back. ‘What I mean by that,’ he says hastily, ‘is that that is all it tells us definitively. I mean, yes, it could mean that he drove it there himself and abandoned it. Or he was taken there. Or he was meeting someone there and never got back to the car. Or is still intending to return to it, but something is preventing him.’
‘All right,’ Ginger interrupts, putting her hand up.
‘Or,’ Matt goes on, regardless, ‘it could also mean that someone stole it, and has abandoned it there. I mean, it’s unlikely that someone else drove it there, with him in it. That’s quite a risky thing to do, if you’re abducting someone …’
‘Because of the DNA,’ I whisper reverentially.
‘It’s more to do with the CCTV cameras actually. They’re everywhere these days. And speed cameras. You can be caught dozens of times every day, more if you’re going a long distance. Now they know roughly what route it was on, the face of whoever drove that car to that car park will soon be coming out of a full colour printer in the station. And if it’s not your husband, things will … change.’
‘What if he wasn’t abducted? I mean, someone else was driving, but Adam went along willingly?’
Matt nods. ‘Of course
