Page 70 of Close to You
‘Yes.’
My reply gets a raised eyebrow from Mr Patrick, which is the equivalent of a monumental telling-off.
The video shows me walking through from reception into the main suite where the awards dinner took place. I say hello to a couple of people I know and then, in a moment that is so cringey, I find myself covering my eyes, I start to dance.
‘Would you like to describe what’s happening here?’ Bainbridge says.
I know I’m supposed to stay quiet, but it’s so bad that I can’t shut my mouth: ‘A pretty bad attempt at the cha-cha slide by the look of it,’ I say.
‘Do you perform the, ahem, cha-cha slide often?’
It sounds so ridiculous in his fatherly voice that I can’t stop my lips from twitching upwards. Like a dad claiming he’s into hop-hip. The smile passes as quickly as it arrived and then Mr Patrick answers for me.
‘Come now, Inspector. If this is all you have to ask about, I think we’ll be going.’
He motions to stand, but Bainbridge fires back with another question: ‘How much did you drink, Mrs Persephone?’
I suppose he’s suggesting I was already drunkbeforethe awards, meaning I might have been drunker later on when I drove back.
‘I believe my client passed a breathalyser test,’ Mr Patrick says.
‘Hours after the crash.’
‘Was there any indication in those results that she drove drunk?’
There’s no reply, which is an answer in itself.
The video finishes with Jane and I walking away from the awards room, back towards reception, ready to check in. I’m not sure what came over me in that moment.
‘When did you last see your husband?’
Mr Patrick acts far quicker than me. I’m wondering whether he knows something he can’t possibly.
‘Sorry, Inspector. Are we talking about a stolen car, or my client’s husband?’
‘One thing could be linked to the other, considering there was no apparent break-in to take the car keys…’
It’s the flaw in my story that can’t easily be righted. I can’t explain how someone got those spare keys because I have no idea.
‘Have you changed your locks?’ Bainbridge asks.
I figure there’s no reason to avoid this question: ‘I have now.’
‘Have you seen your husband in the two years since he disappeared?’
The pause is momentary before Mr Patrick steps in: ‘I don’t see how this is relevant.’
I think of the photo Jane took with the man in the blue suit in the background. David or not David.
‘No,’ I say.
Thirty-Three
THE WHY
Two years, one month ago
Blood is starting to pool, creating a soggy, crimson halo around David’s head. I keep expecting him to blink and climb groggily to his feet. Seconds pass; maybe a minute, maybe more – but he doesn’t move. The knife has clanged free from his hand and is poking out from the small gap under the cooker.
