The Best Friend: a chilling psychological thriller Page 15

  ‘Have you told Darcy yet?’ I ask. ‘Mike’s wife.’

  ‘We’ve informed Mrs Lane,’ Locke replies, ‘and she’s currently helping us with our enquiries.’

  I wonder if she’s here, too, in a different interview room. I wonder whether she’s taking the news calmly, or if she’s hysterical with grief. God! I hope she doesn’t spin any of her lies.

  ‘Do you know who did it, yet?’ I ask. ‘Who killed Mike?’

  ‘We’re trying to establish that, Mrs Sullivan,’ Locke replies.

  ‘Do you think you could call me Louisa?’ I ask.

  ‘Sure. We’ll be recording the interview now, and DC Benson will also take notes, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ I reply.

  Locke presses the record button. He states the date, time and place, and we all have to introduce ourselves. Then Locke asks me all the same questions they asked back at Mike’s flat, and I answer in the same way, telling them how the apartment door was open and so I went inside, which was how I found Mike on the floor. That I never touched anything apart from the door handles and light switches, and then I called 999.

  ‘And why were you at the apartment, Louisa?’ Locke continues.

  I tell him about Darcy and Mike’s break up. How Mike was upset and wanted me to come over.

  ‘Have you visited Michael Lane’s apartment on any previous occasion?’ Locke asks.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you met with Mr Lane alone, on any previous occasion?’

  ‘What? No.’

  ‘You’re certain about this?’

  ‘Absolutely. I hardly know him. It’s Darcy who’s my . . . friend.’

  Locke nods and smiles at me, but I don’t feel reassured. I rub my eyes – they’re raw and scratchy. The skin around them feels dry and greasy at the same time. The glands in my throat are swollen like I’m fighting off a virus.

  ‘Would you say you have a good relationship with Mrs Lane?’ Locke asks.

  My heart rate speeds up and my hands begin to sweat. I wipe my palms on my jeans. If I tell them about my argument with Darcy, will they think I had something to do with Mike’s murder? I wish Beth was here, but if I ask for a lawyer they’re going to think I’m guilty for sure. No. I’ll have to tell the truth and trust that they’ll believe me.

  ‘I’ve always had a good relationship with Darcy,’ I say, stretching the truth a little, ‘but we did have a little falling out today.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Our kids haven’t been getting along, and Darcy got upset when I asked her to speak to Tyler about it – Tyler’s her son. Also, she didn’t . . .’ I pause, putting my hands to my cheeks

  ‘Go on,’ Locke prompts. His voice is deep and even, almost soothing, which is completely at odds with the panic his questions are stirring.

  ‘Also, she wasn’t happy about me going to see Mike this evening.’ I swallow. My mouth is dry as dust, my throat rasping. I take a sip of water. ‘The Lanes are separated at the moment,’ I explain. ‘I was only going to see him to see if I could help patch things up between them. Mike was really upset when I saw him on the beach earlier.’

  ‘You met Mr Lane on the beach today?’ Locke says.

  Shit, that sounds bad. ‘I was out walking on my own,’ I explain. ‘I bumped into him. That’s when he asked me to come over to his place so he could ask me about getting back with Darcy.’

  ‘And yet, you said a moment ago that you had never met Mr Lane alone on any previous occasion?’

  ‘Before today, I meant.’

  ‘So, other than today on the beach, you never met with Mr Lane alone?’

  ‘Yes. I mean, no, I never met with him. I didn’t even want to go there this evening, but he was upset.’

  ‘Upset in what way?’

  ‘He was sad. He wanted to get back with Darcy, and said he didn’t understand why she kicked him out.’

  ‘Mrs Lane tells us you threatened and taunted her this afternoon in the school playground.’

  ‘What! No. I . . .’ I’m sweating now, my hands trembling. This interview isn’t how I thought it would be. They’re making me feel like I’m guilty of something.

  ‘Mrs Lane says she has witnesses,’ Locke continues. ‘She says that you caused her considerable stress and upset.’

  ‘No!’ I can’t believe she actually lied to the police about this. Actually . . . I can believe it. ‘It was the other way around,’ I say. ‘I told my husband all about it earlier. Darcy made out that I was moving in on her husband, but it’s not true.’ The more I say, the worse it sounds. I hear the words as they fall from my lips, and even I wouldn’t believe me.

  ‘Okay,’ Locke says, in his calm manner. ‘Well, we’ll be interviewing the witnesses. And I have to warn you that Mrs Lane is confident they’ll back up her story. She says you threatened her and you threatened her husband.’

  ‘That’s a total lie!’ I realise that of course all the other mums will take Darcy’s side. As far as they’re concerned, they saw Darcy get upset after talking to me. They’ll have put two and two together and come up with twenty three. What can I say that will make the police believe me?

  ‘Am I under arrest?’ I ask. ‘You said this was just a witness interview.’ My brain has turned to mush. ‘Look,’ I say, my voice quavering, ‘I’d really like to go home now. I’m exhausted. I can always come back tomorrow and―’

  ‘Louisa Sullivan,’ Locke says, interrupting my plea, ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Michael Lane. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  As he speaks, the room fades in and out of focus. His words sound as though they’re being spoken from a long way away. How can this be happening to me? How can I be under arrest? Do they really think I have something to do with Mike’s murder? I grip the edge of the table, my cold knuckles white as bone.

  ‘I need Beth,’ I cry. ‘Get my sister – she’s a lawyer. I won’t say anything else without her here.’

  Chapter Twenty Four

  ‘Louisa, look at me,’ Beth says, trying to get me to concentrate. She’s sitting where Locke was sitting only a few moments ago, her blue eyes concerned yet focused. ‘You’re white as a ghost. When did you last eat?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You need food, or you’re going to keel over. Here.’ She reaches into her bag and offers me a granola bar.

  I screw up my nose and shake my head.

  ‘Eat it,’ she says in a tone that brooks no argument.

  I take it from her, tear the wrapper and take a bite. It’s like chewing sweet cement, but I force myself to swallow.

  She pushes the cup of water towards me, and I take a swig. ‘Now, tell me what happened,’ she says. ‘From the start. Don’t leave anything out.’

  ‘Even the Darcy stuff?’ I ask. ‘The things I told you before.’

  ‘Tell me everything. Especially the Darcy stuff.’

  I slide the unfinished granola bar onto the table and start to speak. My throat is already dry and swollen from too much talking, but I do my best to be rational and clear, to not become hysterical. When I’ve finished, I have to ask: ‘Do you believe me, Beth?’ Even to my own ears, my accusations make me sound delusional. I wipe away a tear, the first one I’ve cried tonight.

  Beth leaves her chair and comes around the table, crouching in front of me. She puts her arms around my quivering body and whispers that everything’s going to be okay. That she’ll find out what’s going on and get to the truth. My mind is closing down. I’m so tired and so confused by everything that I can’t seem to latch onto any more coherent thoughts.

  ‘Louisa!’ My sister’s voice cuts through my woolly brain. ‘Louisa, snap out of it, and listen.’

  I blink and try to refocus: I’m at the police station . . . they think I’ve killed Mike . . . Beth is here to help me. I almost want
to laugh it’s so absurd. Am I dreaming?

  ‘Listen,’ she says, taking my hand. ‘I know you didn’t do this. There are no witnesses. You have no motive. And you, yourself, called the police. Okay?’

  I nod. Mute.

  ‘It’s all good,’ she says. ‘And unless they get more evidence, I don’t think they’ll charge you, in which case they’ll have to release you today . . . or tomorrow at the latest.’

  ‘More evidence?’

  ‘Look, don’t freak out,’ she says, ‘but they’ve gone to search your house.’

  ‘What! Joe’s asleep! Jared’s going to go nuts.’

  ‘Jared won’t go nuts. He’ll let them in. You’ve got nothing to hide.’

  ‘But Joe―’

  ‘They’ll try their best not to disturb Joe. It’s not a dawn raid, Lou. They’ll be civilised. They’ll go in with minimum disruption.’

  My fists are clenched, my teeth grind together and the blood whooshes in my head. This is all Darcy’s doing. She’s behind it, I know she is. ‘Don’t they need a search warrant?’ I say.

  ‘Not in situations like this,’ Beth replies.

  ‘Murder, you mean?’

  She nods.

  ‘Jared will go mad, Beth. He’s already pissed off with me over all the Darcy stuff. This will tip him over the edge.’

  ‘Jared’s your husband and he loves you,’ Beth snaps. ‘He’ll support you, and if he doesn’t, I’ll cut his bollocks off.’

  I smile despite myself.

  Beth kisses my forehead, straightens up and returns to her seat. ‘Now, are you ready to let them back in?’

  I swallow and nod. ‘No, but okay.’

  * * *

  After a gruelling two more hours of questioning with Beth by my side, and an uncomfortable night in a depressing cell, I’m released without charge at lunchtime on Saturday. Beth returns to the station to pick me up. Jared was going to come and get me, but I told him to stay with Joe. I don’t want my son to know what’s been going on. I don’t want him to get even a hint of it.

  It’s strange to step outside into the daylight, after everything I’ve been through. The sunshine sears my retinas and the cold air stings my cheeks, burns my lungs. Yet it feels good to be outside, to be walking away from the station where I was made to feel like a criminal.

  ‘I’m parked over the road,’ Beth says, taking my arm and leading me through a lull in traffic like I’m a child incapable of crossing on my own. I gaze around at all these people driving their cars and vans, cycling, walking, getting on with their regular lives, while my own life is disintegrating. How does it happen that you’re going along perfectly fine, and then, little-by-little, events twist and conspire to pull you down until you don’t recognise anything from your life anymore?

  We walk along a quiet side street flanked with bland sixties office blocks until we reach Beth’s car. She opens the passenger door for me and I climb in like an old person, easing myself into the seat, somehow astonished by its comfort, and by its warm, clean leathery smell. Beth gets in beside me, closes her door and starts up the engine. ‘Let’s get you home,’ she says.

  ‘I’m scared.’ I fold my hands together to stop them shaking.

  ‘It’ll be okay.’ She takes her hand off the gear stick and places it on my knee. ‘They’ve released you, and they haven’t charged you. I’m sure that will be the end of it. And whatever happens, we’re all here for you.’

  I nod, but the lump in my throat has returned.

  ‘Come on,’ she says, starting up the car again. ‘Let’s get you back home. The longer you dwell on things the more you’ll worry.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  Yet her words provide no comfort.

  * * *

  Beth drops me off, offering to come into the house with me. I tell her I’ve taken up enough of her weekend. That I’m sorry for everything. That she must be exhausted. That she should go and spend the rest of the weekend with her family. She waves away my apologies, telling me to call her anytime I want, and gives me a warm hug before driving off.

  ‘Mummy!’ Joe hurls himself at me as I let myself into the house. I pull him in close and squeeze him so hard I worry about squashing him. He doesn’t seem to mind – he squeezes me back equally tightly.

  ‘Oh, Joe Bo!’ I say, kissing the top of his head. ‘I missed you like crazy.’

  ‘Daddy said you went to your friend’s house for a sleepover.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But I’m very happy to be home now.’

  Jared comes out of the kitchen. I see his eyes widen as he takes in my dishevelled appearance.

  ‘You okay?’ he asks.

  I nod. ‘Joe, can you go and get me a glass of water, darling?’

  Joe scampers off to the kitchen. Once he’s out of earshot, I tell Jared: ‘Beth thinks I’ll be fine. She doesn’t think they’ll charge me. They have no evidence.’

  He shakes his head. ‘This is crazy.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Talking to my husband about being under arrest has to be ranked as one of the most surreal moments in my life.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asks. ‘I got you some soup. Waitrose leek and potato. And I bought a French loaf.’

  Suddenly, I’m starving. I nod. ‘Give me ten minutes to jump in the shower.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll heat it up.’ He steps forward and kisses me. A brief touch of lips and a squeeze of my shoulder. What does that mean? Is he pleased to see me? Does he still love me like he used to? Are we still good? Butterflies flit across my stomach. Or maybe it’s just hunger.

  * * *

  Lunch was nice, if a little subdued. Just the three of us sitting around the kitchen table. Joe must have picked up on the vibe because he wasn’t his usual chatty self. Now, he’s upstairs playing with his Lego while Jared and I skirt around each other in the kitchen, clearing the lunch dishes. My hair is still damp from the shower, my skin clean and tingling. I feel more “normal” even though the atmosphere between me and Jared is still strained.

  Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. ‘Are you upset with me, Jared?’ I ask, sitting down at the table and scoring the scrubbed wooden surface with my nail.

  ‘Upset?’ He turns and leans back against the kitchen units, arms folded across his chest.

  ‘Because it seems weird to me that I was arrested under suspicion of murder last night, and you’ve hardly said a thing to me since I got home.’

  ‘I’m giving you space,’ he says. ‘It must have been traumatic, so I’m trying to be . . . I dunno, quietly supportive, I suppose.’

  ‘Okay, well can we talk about it now?’

  He bites his lower lip and nods. I was expecting more from him – either a, what the hell’s going on kind of thing or maybe an, oh my God, Lou how are you? What happened? This strange silence is unnerving.

  ‘You do know that Mike’s death is absolutely nothing to do with me, don’t you?’

  He nods, looking unconvinced.

  ‘Jared . . .’

  ‘Louisa, I don’t know. You’ve been acting so differently lately. I’m wondering . . . if maybe you’ve been having some kind of breakdown. I know you’d never normally do anything to hurt anyone . . . Maybe you should go and see a doctor. I can come with you if you like.’

  ‘You think I’m having a breakdown?’ I press my palms flat on the table, splaying them wide like dead starfish.

  ‘I think life is getting on top of you and it might be a good idea if you talk to someone about it.’

  ‘A psychiatrist?’

  ‘Or your GP.’

  ‘Is this your idea?’ I grit my teeth and raise an eyebrow.

  He looks down at his feet. ‘Okay, don’t get mad, but Darcy said . . .’

  ‘Fucking Darcy!’ I interrupt. ‘She thinks I should go and see a doctor? This just gets better and better. Can’t you see what she’s doing? How she’s making me out to be this crazy person. But I’m not. And everything I do or say just makes things worse. I can’t deal with this an
ymore.’

  ‘Louisa . . .’

  ‘No! You know me, Jared. You know me. We’ve been together for years. Have I ever acted this way before?’

  ‘No―’

  ‘Exactly! It’s her. It’s all her.’ I scrape my chair back and rise to my feet. ‘She’s done all this to split us up. It’s some kind of vendetta or plan. I don’t know why, but she’s been trying to ruin my life all along, and she’s succeeding. You’re letting her succeed.’

  ‘Louisa,’ Jared says, his so voice quiet and sad that I stop talking and look at him. ‘Louisa, I’m sorry but I can’t do this anymore. I think we need a break.’

  ‘No. No, please.’ Tears fall and I taste salt on my lips. ‘She’s winning,’ I cry. ‘She’s ruining everything. I love you, Jared. Please.’

  ‘I think it’s best if you go to your sister’s and Joe stays here with me. You need rest.’

  ‘I don’t want this to split us apart. Please.’

  ‘I just need . . . I need a break from all this Darcy stuff,’ he says. ‘It’s too much, Lou. You haven’t talked about anything else for weeks. You’re not interested in my new business. You don’t want to go out or have fun. And now this thing with Mike . . . and the police coming here and searching our home. It’s so screwed up. I want the old you back.’

  ‘I am the old me,’ I say. ‘None of this is my fault. I had nothing to do with Mike’s murder. It’s―’

  ‘Darcy.’ Jared finishes my sentence. ‘This is exactly what I’m talking about, Louisa, look, I didn’t want to bring this up, but didn’t your real mum have some kind of breakdown when she was your age? Wasn’t that the reason you were adopted? Maybe . . .’

  ‘What? You think I’m genetically programmed to go nuts? Thanks a lot, Jared. I can’t believe you’d say that to me!’ I move away from the table and start pacing the kitchen, chewing at the corner of my thumbnail.