Her Sister’s Secret

Either way, as shaken and frightened as I was, it was the biggest come-on ever.

Chapter 16

I barely noticed the dawn as it crawled out of bed, or the birds bashing out a chorus, or even whether I was awake or asleep. I had so much stuff circling my mind, I couldn’t tell the difference. When the first blade of sunshine stabbed a hole in the curtains, I sloped off to the bathroom.

After making a pot of builder’s tea, I switched on my laptop and scoured for news of Charlie Binns’ murder. I found it care of the local Brent newspaper. ‘A murder investigation has been launched after the shooting of a sixty-eight-year-old man in Gladstone Mews, Brondesbury at 10.47 p.m. on 5 June. Armed police officers arrived at 11.00 p.m. after neighbours reported hearing several shots fired. The victim, who was shot at close range, was pronounced dead at the scene in what has been described as a ‘professional hit.’ Detective Inspector Neil Judd said, “Detectives are at the scene, working to build a clear picture of the circumstances of this attack. A contract killing is one of several lines of inquiry that police are pursuing. I want to appeal to anyone with information to contact the police as a matter of urgency. No arrests have been made.” A police spokeswoman later refused to confirm claims that Mr Binns was an informer.

A friend who did not wish to be named said that Mr Binns was a very private individual, a true gentleman and would be greatly missed.’

I sat back, wide-eyed. What was Scarlet’s interest in this man? Was it sheer happenstance that Bowen was a police officer, or did he have a professional connection to Binns?

Reaching for my phone, I checked through my last texts from my sister. Anodyne and unrevealing, nothing leapt out. I had absolutely no inkling of what she was up to. If Scarlet had a wild, secretive side, she’d kept it hidden. Nothing conveniently explained the tragic turn of events. All I saw was difficulty and complication. All I remembered was bitter rivalry and angry words. Was this what was really driving me, a strong desire to relieve my guilt for accusations that I should never have made?

I made a brief call to the shop to check that everything was ticking along. If it weren’t for Lenny, I’d have stuck a closed sign on the door and locked up for the week, the month, the year, however long it took to work things out.

Afterwards, and still trying to think the angles through, I scavenged the fridge for eggs and milk and knocked up an omelette. My mobile rang as I fished breakfast out of a frying pan. It was Nate.

Speaking in a dark, urgent tone, he didn’t mention the potential booze in Scarlet’s system, or the alleged affair, his or hers. He didn’t muck about. “There was no note.”

“But —”

“I burnt it.”

I sat bolt upright. “You did what?”

“Had to be done.”

“You destroyed potential evidence, Nate. You’re interfering in a police investigation.” Making me an accessory by default.

“Destroying it doesn’t materially alter the enquiry.” It sounded like my father speaking, except Dad would never condone Nate’s action. “The cops will still do what they have to,” he said, scratchy, heading off any argument from me. Damn right, my responding protest was loud and long.

“Do you want Scarlet’s name to be dragged through the mud any more than it is already?” Nate demanded.

“Of course, I don’t.”

“What with drink driving and killing a police officer, it’s intolerable.”

Never mind Scarlet’s interest in a man shot dead miles away. I went to interject but Nate beat me to it.

“It’s best we never had this or any other conversation on the subject,” he finished. Breathless. Furious. Desperate.

My jaw uncomfortably clenched. “Nate, tell me what the fuck is going on.” The silence that ensued could penetrate reinforced steel. Time to brandish a diamond-cutter. “That man you thought Scarlet was having an affair with, Charlie Binns?”

“What of the bastard?”

“He was a pensioner.”

“So is Mick Jagger.”

“Binns was murdered.”

I could almost feel Nate’s brain revolve through 180 degrees. “What, in God’s name, are you suggesting? You surely don’t think —”

“Are you playing away, Nate?”

“Molly, I —”

“What made her so miserable?” I want to know what you did to her, what drove her to do what she did and get mixed up in all kinds of mess. No way did I believe my brother-in-law had associations with a contract killer, but he obviously wasn’t the innocent he portrayed himself to be.

“Bloody hell, Molly.”

“You know I won’t give up.”

Another silence. I could practically hear Nate weighing up the odds. “It’s difficult.” I’ll bet.

I sat still, feeling a bit sick, thinking and unthinking, everything inchoate and slippery and way out of reach.

“Shit happens, Moll.”

“Don’t call me that.” I was cold, unmoved and threatening,

“All right, all right. Yes, I was having an affair. Things went a bit south between me and Scarlet.”

“I’m coming straight over.” My planned visit to Zach could wait.

“Might be awkward. My family liaison officer will be here in a couple of hours.”

At this I smiled. FLO’s existed to support victims. They also played an important role in chasing down any investigation. If dodgy stuff were going on with nearest and dearest, they were demons at unearthing it.

“Excellent,” I said.

“Molly, for Chrissakes.”

“Don’t worry.” My tone assured my brother-in-law that he should be very worried indeed. “See you in a bit.”

Outside Nate’s and Scarlet’s home, two men and a woman hovered like buzzards preparing to consume carrion. Beady eyes swivelled in my direction. I had no doubt they were from the press, an observation confirmed when the woman stepped towards me and asked if I knew the family of the ‘dead nurse’. Issuing my best ‘fuck off’ look, I swept past and rang the bell.

Someone, I presumed to be a police officer, answered the door. Sandy-haired, a little receding, not terribly tall, and with a flinty expression, he had that whole authoritative, commanding and suspicious vibe going on. One look and I felt guilty of nameless crimes.

“I’m Molly Napier, Scarlet’s sister and Nate’s sister-in-law,” I said.

“Warren Childe, family liaison officer.” His voice sounded as if it had a crack running down the middle of it. “Sorry for your loss. Best come in.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the gathering ghouls. He nodded in sympathy and stepped aside. As I swept down the hall, I heard him direct all enquiries to the press office. “And guys, can you please respect the privacy of the family at this difficult time.”

I found Nate seated on the sofa in the small sitting room with his face in his hands. He barely moved as I sat beside him. Seemed to be waiting for Childe.

“Tell her,” he muttered, when Childe came in.

I looked up questioningly as Childe cleared his throat. “The post-mortem threw up some anomalies.”

Anomalies. Cold. Analytical. Factual. Full-on police mode. I knew what was coming next. Except I didn’t. Not quite.

“Your sister had 240 milligrams per 100 millilitres of blood in her system – around three times the legal limit for driving,” Childe explained.

“What about Bowen?” Nate said. “Had he been drinking?”

“No evidence of substance abuse of any kind,” Childe said smoothly. “Preliminary enquiries suggest that the pre-collision mechanical condition of the vehicle was good. There were no tyre or skid marks on the road to suggest that Scarlet was forced to take evasive action.” Childe looked with an ‘are you with me so far’ expression. I responded with a dull nod.

“Witness statements suggest that the driver of the jeep —”

“My sister,” I protested.

“Deliberately,” he said, raising his voice a decibel, “drove into the path of the oncoming motorcyclist.”

I stared wide-eyed. Inside, a silent scream yelled No.

Chapter 17

My head felt as if a lump of lead was where my brain should be. Nate, next to me, physically jolted, his body lifting off the sofa by an inch. “What witnesses? Who are these bloody people?”

“The driver in the vehicle behind Bowen.”

“How fast was he travelling?” I said irritably.

“Saw it all. Said that Bowen braked at the very last second but, by then, it was too late.”

“You’re suggesting that my sister used her vehicle like a weapon, a battering ram?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“Then how would you put it?” Nate interjected, cold with anger.

“I understand this is upsetting, but —”

“She could have blacked out, had a heart attack, or sneezed, for God’s sake,” I cut in. Throat raw and exposed, my voice was too loud. “There could have been oil on the road.”

“There wasn’t,” Childe said.

“You said witness statements. You mean more than one?”

“There was a pedestrian.”

“On that busy road?”

“A jogger,” Childe clarified. “This corroborates an initial vehicle assessment of an absence of corresponding tyre and skid marks. Scarlet never braked. Quite the contrary; we think she actually sped up.”

I nodded blindly. What else could I do?

“I’ve explained to Nathan that we need to talk about Scarlet’s mental health.”

“They think she was suicidal.” Nate’s tone was a mess of cynicism. Only I could detect the fake ring in it. The message left for Nate had been a suicide note, and he knew it.

Instantly, I thought about Fliss’ observation, the way Scarlet seemed suddenly sorted, the relief she felt. I had to admit that suicide suddenly seemed a strong possibility. But I also knew my sister.

“If she’d wanted to kill herself, she wouldn’t have hurt someone else. She was a nurse. She believed in saving lives, not taking them.”

“I agree,” Nate said.

“And, if that was her plan, which I definitely don’t buy, she would have targeted something a great deal more solid. A brick wall, tunnel or bridge is more final, isn’t it, more likely to do the job?” Articulating it made me go hot and cold and hot again.

Childe remained deadpan. “It’s only one avenue of enquiry.”

What other lines were they pursuing? Suspicion pinched my nerves.

Childe viewed the pair of us as if we were nobly defending my sister’s honour, which we were. He returned to his favourite theme. “Were you aware of any difficulties your sister had?”

I swallowed, shook my head, glad that the scream inside, this time, was silent.

“No history of depression?”

“None.”

“Never attempted to take her own life?”

“Of course not.”

“Was she a heavy drinker?”

“I told you she didn’t drink,” Nate piped up, frustrated, simply not buying this particular piece of evidence. “She’d been on night duty, for God’s sake. She drove home early morning.”

Childe returned to the facts and, punch-drunk with information, I tuned out. Glancing through the window, I noticed people walking into town, heading off for appointments, some carrying bags of shopping. On the other side of the road: loud men with loud music erecting scaffolding. Life churning. Everything the same and yet nothing the same and wouldn’t be again. Oh. My. God.

I noticed a woman marching along the pavement. Hair scraped off her face and manacled in a ponytail, her complexion spotty and slightly pitted beneath the tan, she had pale blue, luminous eyes and her full mouth curved down, carving deep lines from the corner of her lips to her chin. If anyone could be described as looking murderous, she did.

Childe followed my gaze. “Jesus,” he cursed, and dived out of the room.

Taken aback, Nate also looked and we both watched, mystified, as the woman flung open the gate, shot down the path, one hand diving into her handbag, the other clenched into a fist, ready to rap on the front door.

In strides, Childe got to it first. “Heather, we’re all understandably raw right now —”

“I’m not interested in what you feel,” she exploded, “I want that bastard inside to know what his slag of a wife was up to.”

Slag. Should I give her a mouthful? Nate tensed, turned to me and silently mouthed No.

“Heather,” I heard Childe say sternly. “Go home. Your kids need you.”

“Damn right they do, and whose fault is that?” Her eyes shot to the window. Automatically, Nate and I shrank back.

“You’re not thinking straight, love. Sam Holland’s your FLO, right? I’ll give her a call.” I had to hand it to Childe. He was the epitome of cool composure and warm compassion, yet no way was the woman setting foot over the threshold.

“I have Sam on speed dial,” the woman spat back. “If I need her, I’ll ring for her. Here,” she said. “Give Mr Jay this. It’s all I came for.”

Next, fast footsteps followed by the gate smashing open and banging against its hinges.

Childe returned inside. He looked more shaken than he’d sounded seconds ago. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Who was that bloody woman?” Nate said.

“Richard Bowen’s widow.”

I let out a groan, regretting my first instinct, which was to have laid into her verbally. Nate pitched forward, hands clasped over his head.

“I’m sorry but can either of you identify this?” Childe extended his arm. In the palm of his hand nestled a gold and diamond bracelet.

It belonged to my sister.

Chapter 18

“I’ve never seen it before.” The conviction in Nate’s voice blew me away.

Like me, he knew it was Scarlet’s bracelet and yet he’d lied. The thought of how it had fallen into Mrs Bowen’s hands made me queasy. Slag, she’d said. Christ, if Scarlet had been involved in a relationship with Richard Bowen, it changed the entire picture.

“And you?” Childe said, hawk-eyed.

“Me?” I said.

“Yes.”

The muscles in Nate’s thighs, inches from mine, tightened, the sofa complaining under his silent protest. “I can’t be sure,” I lied. Childe’s eyes locked on mine. Buckling under his gaze, I mumbled, “She might have had something similar, but I’m not certain it’s the same one.” It was a pretty rubbish attempt to blur the truth.

“Okay,” Childe said, in a way that assured me it was not okay at all. He got straight on his phone, all the while glaring at the pair of us. After reporting the incident with Mrs Bowen, he mentioned the bracelet. When someone spoke back, he stepped out into the hallway. I heard him say something about ‘escalating the investigation’, which could only be bad. Nate turned to me, fury in his expression.

“Why, in God’s name, did you admit it could be hers?”

“Don’t have a go at me. Why did you lie?” I spat back.

“To protect my wife’s reputation.”

“Are you sure it’s not your reputation?” I conveniently parked any suggestions about my sister’s private life. “You’re a hypocrite, Nate.”

His jaw clenched. At that close proximity, I could almost hear his teeth grind his fillings to dust.

“According to Fliss Fiander, Scarlet suspected you were having an affair. Hell, she probably knew.”

“She had no damn right to say such a terrible thing.”

“Scarlet or Fliss?” I sniped back.

Nate tensed. Lines carved deep grooves in his forehead and his eyes became angry slits. “It’s none of your business.”

Given the circumstances, I strongly disagreed, and I was furious with Nate for making me his secret-keeper.

“How do you think Scarlet’s bracelet wound up in Heather Bowen’s hand –by teleportation?” Nate didn’t wait for an answer. “The woman must have gone through her husband’s things and found it.”

As one picture smashed in my head, another ugly image revealed itself. The note now assumed new significance. Scarlet was apologising for what she was about to do, not something she had already done. She’d planned it. That note, damn it, demonstrated a degree of premeditation. And Nate had burnt it.

Tears sprung to his eyes. “Even if she were sleeping with Bowen or having sex with someone else, what the fuck does it matter? She’s dead.” He let out a weary ragged sigh. “Don’t you see that I’m trying to protect her?”

The sincerity in Nate’s expression made my pulse jive. He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped. Childe was back. Focused. Determined.

“We’re going to need to conduct a search of the property, Nate.”

“Why? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“We know that,” Childe said, with a modicum of sympathy. “And I genuinely understand.”

“Do you? Have you ever lost a wife?”

“No,” he said plainly. “But I have plenty of experience of those who have.”

“Not quite the same thing, is it?”

“Nate,” I said, glancing at Childe, desperate to dial down Nate’s bellicosity. “The guy is simply doing his job, trying to help.” It’s what Dad would say.

“Molly’s right, Nate,” Childe said, flashing me an appreciative look.

Nate glowered then let out an enormous sigh. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

“Good.” Childe seemed glad the conversational dynamics had altered in his favour. “Did either of you have laptops or computers?”

Nate’s pallor turned a shade lighter. “Well, yeah.”

“We’ll need those too.”

Nate closed his eyes. “Jesus,” he said, not angrily, as if he was cursed but as if the game was up. Was Nate worried a taste for porn would be disclosed, or concerned that emails to a woman he was sleeping with would be revealed? And what about Scarlet?

Everything seemed to be running away, notching up several gears. “Isn’t this a little over the top? It’s not a murder investigation.” As my words broke loose, I sparked inside. If the police could prove beyond any reasonable doubt that Scarlet deliberately targeted Bowen, she would be branded a murderer.

“Standard procedure in the circumstances,” Childe cut in. “Along with checking Scarlet’s phone records and call log.”

“Fuck’s sake.” A vein in Nate’s temple stood out proud.

“Is that a problem for you, Nate?” Childe’s tone was even, but his expression razor sharp.

Nate tilted his head, jutted out his chin. Guarded. I shot him a look. “Nope.”

“Good,” Childe said. “Is there somewhere close you can go for a few days?”

“He can stay with me.” This time Nate shot me a look.

From the expression on Childe’s face, he clearly favoured my suggestion. “We may need to ask further questions.”

My thoughts entirely and the only reason I was about to take Nate captive.

“What sort of questions?” Nate said.

Clues to whether Scarlet had a prior relationship with Richard Bowen, whether or not she had a motive to harm him, I thought. I bet her bracelet would fall under the forensic microscope too. Whatever I believed or wanted to believe; I couldn’t argue with the facts.

“Simply routine,” Childe said, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Ridiculous.”

Forcing a breezy note into my voice and looking Childe directly in the eye, I said, “That’s settled then.” And before Nate could protest, I added. “I’ll give you my address and contact number.”

Chapter 19

Begrudgingly, Nate got his shit together. His words, not mine, and we set off. As if to taunt us, signs that said ‘Think Bike’ appeared at regular intervals along the route.

“Those witnesses should have their eyesight tested,” he grumbled.

“Never mind them. I’m going to stop the car and you and me are going to have a chat.”

“Christ, do you have air conditioning in this thing?”

Dutifully, I rotated the control on the air con. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. Pull over.”

“So that you can do a runner? No chance.”

“So we can talk.”

I cast around, thinking I’d need to choose exactly the right spot, somewhere Nate would feel comfortable, but also not the kind of place he could easily make a break for it. Turning off the main road, I found a place a few miles on. Random. Surrounded by fields. Nearest house half a mile away. I pulled up next to a tree stump that resembled an animal carcass. Blinking away unwanted memories, I killed the engine. Turning around to face my brother-in-law, I thought he resembled a man about to chuck himself off a multi-storey. His skin was pearly white, almost translucent. All I saw were his eyes, which were deep dark squirming pools.

“Did you know that Scarlet asked Fliss for a loan?”

Nate half-smiled, disbelieving. “That’s rubbish. Fliss must be mistaken or she misunderstood.”

I repeated what Fliss had said. Nate’s body seemed to fold in on itself. “I don’t understand.”

“Maybe she wanted to start a new life.”

“And leave me? Never. Not her style.”

I was no longer sure what my sister’s style was. Why else would Scarlet need £25k? If she’d changed her mind about taking a loan from Fliss because she’d found another source, it would show in her bank statements to which the police had access. She’d hardly be in receipt of £25k in used tenners. If anything of a financial nature was uncovered, the police were bound to follow the money trail. They always did. “Maybe she planned to take off with Bowen and got cold feet.”

“You’re suggesting that the accident was the result of a lover’s tiff?” Nate scoffed. “A crime of passion?” Chill seized hold of my vertebrae. The scenario was believable, but would confirm my sister as a murderer, something I found hard to comprehend. Nate crossed his arms. “I don’t believe it.”

“It would explain the content of the note.”

“What note?”

“Don’t you damn well dare,” I said, half-crazed with frustration. “The one you destroyed!”

Nate was becoming a specialist in moody looks, this one a variation on the resentful version he’d performed for Childe. “I should never have shown you.”

“Well, you did, and you haven’t answered my question.”

Shoulders bunched up around his ears, he turned away and stared out of the window.

“What else could Scarlet’s note mean?’

He turned back, flicked up the palms of his hands.

Getting somewhere. “You need to be as straightforward and honest with the police as possible.” I wasn’t thinking for Nate’s sake. I was thinking of my parents.

“No way.”

“If you say nothing and they discover she left a note, you’ll get into trouble for not coming clean.”

“But they aren’t going to find out, are they Molly?” What he meant was that the only way they would was if I told them.

My stupefied expression got a lot more stupid.

“Are you going to tell them about the money?” I didn’t like the challenge in his voice.

“Well, no, because —” I lost my train of thought. Money was my Achilles heel. Money was the spark that had lit the fuse for my fight with my sister.

I’d always had to struggle to be financially independent. Any money my parents gave me was always a loan. Whereas Scarlet only had to click her fingers and loot would be forthcoming, no strings, which was why it was so disturbing that she’d gone to Fliss for cash and not our parents. Unable to come clean and speak about my own resentments, I didn’t finish.

“If we breathe a word it will be like trashing her memory.” Nate’s tone was a lot more dialled down. He briefly touched my arm in what was meant as a shared moment of understanding and complicity.

Grubby little fingers closed around my throat and gave it a good squeeze. Silence lengthened in the car. Now came the hard part. “I promise to keep your affair, fling, whatever, safe on one condition.”

He looked incredulous and grateful.

“You’re a gutless bastard, Nate, and the only reason you’re making a big deal about Scarlet’s affair is because you can’t stand the heat and attention on your own.”