now that we’ve found it, it’s turned out to be a dead end.’
‘Oh for the love of God, tell me already!’
She flinches a little, then resumes her calm, compassionate look. ‘It’s the car, Grace. We’ve found Adam’s car.’
She freezes at this point, with her head still tilted, her eyebrows still drawn together. I can tell that in her head she’s hearing the EastEnders theme tune starting. But this isn’t a cliff hanger, I already knew about it.
‘Oh. Right. I see.’
She almost imperceptibly narrows her eyes again. ‘Don’t you have any questions?’
‘Oh, er, yes, yes, of course I do. I mean, this is a bit of a shock so I’m, you know, I’m a bit … out of …’ I pause. Come on, Gracie, get it together. ‘Was there anything in it? Any evidence? A lead?’
She shakes her head. ‘Nothing obvious, I’m afraid. It’s being examined by our forensics team at the moment, though, so we might know more eventually.’
‘Oh, right.’ I nod thoughtfully, aware that she is scrutinising my reaction, not entirely sure that I’m coming across as convincing. ‘No curry then?’
‘No, love, not so much as a poppadum.’
‘Right. The bastard.’
She smiles. ‘Anything else you want to ask?’
Her face is enigmatic. It makes me think there is definitely something else I should ask. And if I don’t ask it, this could be one of those disastrous coincidences or shocking inaccuracies that pile up and pile up and ultimately find me languishing behind bars for the next forty years. Come on, Gracie, think! What else do I need to know? What did Matt tell us last night? The car was found, it had no curry in it …
‘Oh, I know,’ I burst out. ‘Where was it found?’
So she tells me about Linton and I ask where that is and she says North Yorkshire and I say I’ve never heard of it and hope to God she doesn’t see the print-out of the directions from Google Maps that’s lying on the kitchen side near the bread bin.
Just before she leaves, she tells me that there’s been no break-in at Adam’s work premises, so no lead in that direction either. I nod and say, ‘OK’, and eventually she goes. As I watch her little police Clio speeding off up the road, I spot Pam’s head from next door looking out of her side window at me. She’s not being remotely discreet as she spies, with the net curtain pulled all the way back so her shiny white china figurine of two people dancing is completely visible. What room is that? Must be a study, or possibly a side window in the dining room. Either way, she didn’t just happen to be in there at ten o’clock in the morning; she’s gone in there deliberately to have a good old look out of the window at the catastrophe that’s befallen me so she can report all the interesting bits back to Mike later.
‘Oooh, there was another police car there this morning, Mike, must be something really bad, mustn’t it? For them to be there again today like that, can’t just be a parking fine or something.’
‘Yeah, you’re right, love. She’s probably executed him and hidden his dismembered body in black bags under the upstairs floorboards. Pass the gravy.’
I deliberately lock eyes with Pam to make sure she knows I’ve seen her looking, but she doesn’t turn away in shame or embarrassment. She just keeps on staring, as if she’s trying to memorise every little detail about me. Probably thinks she’s going to have to give a description to the police at some point in the future. I raise my hand and wave sarcastically. She waves back, then glances at her watch. ‘She waved at me, officer, it was exactly ten oh five.’
Christ. I shake my head and go back inside, closing the door behind me with relief. I actually do feel a bit like a murderer desperately trying to hide what I’ve done from a prying detective. I’ve got away with it this time, but I know I won’t be so lucky in the future. It’s time to move the body …
‘Oh my fucking God, what the crying out loud is this?’ comes suddenly from the living room, followed by some rather fat, throaty laughter. I hurry in there to find a newly conscious Ginger sitting up on the sofa and giggling delightedly over a copy of Keeping the Magic Alive: How to Get and Give Satisfying Lifelong Sex by Dr Cristina Markowitz.
FIVE
As soon as Linda has left, I realise that I completely forgot to tell her about Leon’s phone call, so Ginge and I spend the next twenty minutes hunting throughout the entire house, swearing and stamping and throwing things around until I eventually find Linda’s business card on the coffee table under the sex book.
‘You must have put the bloody book down on top of it!’
‘Well I can’t believe you didn’t look there!’
‘I thought you had!’
‘I distinctly remember you saying that you had.’
So anyway, I ring Linda’s number and leave her a message about Leon calling me and ask her to ring me back to discuss it.
Which leaves me with some nice empty free time to call Julia and Ray.
Ginge makes herself a large bowl of Shreddies and goes back to the living room to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark on DVD. I take my phone into the kitchen and sit down to make the call. Julia answers on the first ring. Was she sitting by the phone, waiting for news?
‘Hello?’ Her voice is breathy, expectant.
‘Hi Julia. It’s Grace.’
‘Oh. Grace.’ Definite disappointment.
‘Listen, I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to ring you. I’ve just been a bit … Well, you know. How are you doing?’
There’s a very brief pause as Julia processes the fact that it’s not Adam on the phone, or the police, or anyone with any information about what’s happened to him or where he is. Then she takes a deep breath in, and starts to speak, and what she says next disturbs me almost as much as Leon.
‘Oh, love, it’s so kind of you to ring. It’s so terrible, isn’t it, this whole thing? I just can’t … I just can’t think … But listen, Grace, I’ve had an idea. About three this morning, I’m sitting in the kitchen, OK, and I’m trying to work out the answers to the crossword, only the coffee time one, I never get the hang of those cryptic ones, they don’t make sense, do they? And of course the neighbour’s dog is barking – must have been shut outside again. I hate that, drives me totally bananas. On and on it went, bark bark bark, and then the occasional howl. Poor thing. Good job I was awake anyway, otherwise it would’ve woken me up. Anyway, it goes on and on and suddenly it starts to sound different, not like barking any more but more like someone whispering to me, over and over, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. What do you make of that?’
This is the most she’s ever said to me. My ears are thinking, ‘Hang on a minute, we weren’t ready, can you start again?’ I blink. ‘Um, well, I don’t …’
‘It must have been Adam! Mustn’t it? I was thinking, you know, that it was probably definitely him,
