Page 34 of The Girl in the Grave
‘Tough day?’
He nodded.
‘Anything, any news?’
He shook his head, and Estelle crumpled, a sob escaping her lips. Running around the desk, Josh scooped her into his arms and guided her into a chair in the small back office.
Josh was annoyed that she’d failed to mention the guy from the nightclub who helped her with Annie, but he also realised that she was never going to forgive herself for this whole sorry mess. He wouldn’t be too hard on her.
‘We’ve just viewed the camera footage from the nightclub. Why did you not mention the guy who helped you take Annie down to her room?’
She glared at him. ‘I didn’t think I needed to.’
‘But you and he were the last people to see Annie before she disappeared. He’s a key witness and we need to speak to him. I can’t understand why you didn’t think of that.’
‘There’s nothing to it. He helped me take her to her room. I made sure she couldn’t roll over and choke on her own sick. We left her on the bed, asleep. He followed me upstairs and out of the hotel.’
‘Who was he? Do you know him? Have you ever seen him before?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’d never met him before. He was nice. Friendly and helpful.’
‘Do you not think it’s a bit convenient how he was there, at the bar alone. The CCTV footage shows him ordering drinks, but he doesn’t drink them. He was taking a very keen interest in your group.’
He watched Estelle’s face as a range of emotions began to wash over her.
‘But he couldn’t have done it.’
‘Why?’
Her eyes filled with tears that she furiously tried to blink away, and when she spoke her voice was barely a whisper. ‘Because he came back to my apartment with me… and we slept together.’
Josh sat up straight. ‘Estelle, forgive me for asking, but did you use protection?’
If she said no then maybe there might still be some trace evidence.
‘Of course I did. I didn’t know him. I might be up for a good time, but not at the expense of my health.’
‘I’m going to need a full description of him from you, and I also need you to come to the station to give a proper statement and to do an identification video. Is there anything in your apartment he touched, that you remember? Did you change your bedding or wash your underwear? Did he drink from anything?’
She shook her head. ‘No, he came back with me and we screwed. Several times, actually, until finally I fell asleep. When I woke up late this morning he’d gone. I stripped the bed, washed everything. I’ve showered, flushed the condoms down the toilet and the glasses we drank out of went straight into the dishwasher. Do you… do you really think it was him?’
Josh couldn’t lie to her. ‘There’s a strong possibility. How did he get into Annie’s room though? Did you lock the door on the way out?’
‘I don’t remember. I didn’t even look at it. He was the last one out, and I assumed he shut it behind him.’
The tears finally came as the full horror of what might have happened came crashing down on the young woman in front of him. He tried to comfort her, and she ended up hugging him as she cried, loud sobs filling the small office. The perfume she wore lingered in the air as she held on to him and it reminded him of Beth; she wore the same one. It was nice. Suddenly shocked at himself, he pulled himself from her grip. Shouldn’t he have been thinking about his wife when he smelled the perfume?
Forty-Eight
Beth woke up early. She loved summer; the warmth, the cool breeze which sometimes rolled in off the lake; sitting on the patio sipping her morning tea, eating toast and contemplating life. However, she preferred autumn with chilly days and darker mornings which meant she got a touch more sleep. Having a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looked fabulous from the outside, and gave a good view of the lake, but it didn’t do much for her sleep pattern. Often, she’d resort to sleeping in the spare room, where she lay now thinking about her phone conversation with Josh late last night and wondering if he’d managed to get any sleep. He’d told her a woman had gone missing from the same hotel where she’d seen all the police activity and that it was likely linked to Chantel Price’s murder. She wished she could do more to help him out and decided she would go and speak to the staff at Chantel’s care home, as she’d planned yesterday. In fact, she would go to the undertaker’sandthe care home. She couldn’t understand how they could so coldly not bother to report her missing because of her age.
She rolled over, stretched and thought about last night, how out of character it had been for her to go to the pub and socialise; how wonderfully normal it had felt. Seeing the security guy had thrown her a little, especially when he’d asked her if she wanted a drink. The voice in her head mocked her:maybe, just maybe he finds you attractive.Closing her eyes, she tried to remember how she’d felt when things had been different, when she’d had a partner she loved. A life filled with socialising, fun and friendships, the warm, open heart she’d built a brick wall around ever since the attack. Everyone from that life, except for her dear friend Josh, had given up on her. They’d tried at first, visited, offered to take her out for lunch, maybe coffee or to try out a new wine bar. She’d loved them for trying, she really had. Leaving the house was bearable, but coming back to it alone and not knowing if there was someone inside waiting for her filled her with crippling terror. She knew it was wrong and didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t help feeling this way. Her mind drifted further back to that night in January, seven years ago, and for some reason she didn’t fight the memory like she usually would. Maybe this was what she needed.
As she’d tied off the last few stitches in the teenage boy’s leg she’d let her thoughts wander to Ellen’s surprise party later that evening. She’d been excited about it for weeks. In fact, it was all she’d thought about for the last few hours of her shift that day. Ellen was one of her closest friends and Beth intended to fully let her hair down after a gruelling week at the hospital. Her only concern had been about her partner, Robert: the last couple of months he’d been more controlling than usual. He wasn’t particularly good at socialising in large groups, preferring to be alone with her, but recently his mood would shift so fast she didn’t know what he wanted. One minute he’d be quiet, the next he’d be snapping at her about what she was wearing or the length of her hair. Just days before, they’d had an almighty argument when she’d attempted to leave the house wearing the new red Dior lipstick she’d treated herself to. He’d called her a slut and sent her back inside to put on something more natural. She’d put it down to the long hours and the fact that sometimes because of their shifts they were like passing ships in the night. However, in the past few weeks his behaviour had been odd, disappearing for hours on end with no explanation as to where he’d been. He’d always been quiet, but this was taking it to a whole new level. If she was honest with herself, she was beginning to question their whole relationship. They needed to sit down and talk about where things were going, but not that night, she remembered. She needed to kick off her shoes, let her hair down and enjoy herself. The serious stuff could wait another twenty-four hours.
The party had been fun: she’d laughed, drunk champagne and danced the night away. Robert, contrary to her earlier misgivings, had been the perfect plus one despite him not being the most sociable of people and unable to drink that night because he was on call. After the party had wound down, the taxi had dropped them off outside the door of the Victorian semi in Kendal she owned, and she remembered being drunk and so happy. They’d gone inside and Robert had ushered her up to bed, helped her undress and put her silk nightdress on. He’d tucked her in, kissed the top of her head and told her he had to go to work; the perils of being an on-call consultant.
She remembered drifting off quickly and being woken by a loud thump downstairs. She’d opened her eyes to try and make sense of it; her neighbour was a taxi driver and often came in at the most peculiar times, so woozy and still a little drunk she’d turned on her side and gone back to sleep.
