Page 85 of Brimstone Bound
I sighed deeply, grabbed the dressing gown hanging on the back of the door and padded through to the kitchen to get something to eat. Food, I decided, then sleep. Once my brain was clear again, I’d figure out what to do next.
The work surfaces were immaculate. Jeremy had obviously been busy while I was away. The thought that he’d been keeping the home fires burning and scouring the flat of any traces of muck only compounded my guilt. I’d make it up to him somehow; I’d do more to live up to his expectations.
There was a fresh loaf of bread, so I grabbed two slices and a plate. I drew out a hunk of cheese from the fridge, and opened the cutlery drawer to retrieve a sharp knife. Absent-mindedly, I grabbed the first one I saw. Then I paused and stared down at it. It was supposed to be part of a set, one that Jeremy and I had purchased when we’d first moved in together.
I opened the drawer again, picked out one of the supposedly matching knives and compared them. The handle on the first one was subtly different: the hard, plastic covering wasn’t quite the same shade of black.
I stepped back and sank onto a chair. No. I was crazy. Or paranoid. Or both. I was seeing ghosts where there were none. I turned the knife over and over in my hands. It didn’t mean anything. It was just a fucking kitchen knife.
I sprang to my feet and stalked through to the bedroom. The room smelled of Jeremy, his familiar aftershave permeating every corner. The bed was perfectly made, without a single crease on the cover. I flung open the wardrobe and gazed at the neatly arranged shirts on his side. Nothing looked different. Nothing seemed out of place.
Another thought hit me. I whirled round and headed to the hallway. Shoes. Check the shoes.
I crouched down. My spare pair of smart work shoes were there, together with my running trainers and a rarely used pair of wellies. Jeremy’s brogues were missing; no doubt he was wearing them. His trainers sat where they always did.
I picked them up and examined them. Usually they’d have a vaguely unpleasant whiff of foot odour that I often teased Jeremy about, much to his chagrin. These trainers didn’t smell of anything. Like the knife in the kitchen, the shoes were brand new. They didn’t look like they’d been worn.
It didn’t mean anything. He’d been shopping. So what? I licked my dry lips and realised that my hands were trembling. I mentally slapped myself. Get a grip, Emma.
I stood up on shaky legs, returned to the living room and reached for Jeremy’s briefcase. I sat down, placed it on my lap and gazed at it. I wasn’t the jealous type. Besides, I trusted him. I’d never had any reason to snoop through his things.
The briefcase wasn’t locked. He’d never know.
I held my breath and opened it. There were a few pens arranged neatly in a row, and several manila envelopes containing printouts of spreadsheets and reports. There was nothing out of the ordinary. I was being completely stupid. I tutted to myself and started to close it again.
And that was when I spotted the phone. It wasn’t the state-of-the-art smartphone that was usually glued to his side. This was a cheap throwaway, the sort of phone you picked up in a dodgy little shop when you wanted to communicate with someone without leaving a trace. We’d had a whole day of training at the Academy on crimes that involved the use of burner phones. I stared at it as it peeked out of a small inner pocket in the briefcase. Maybe Jeremy was having an affair.
I’d gone this far. I reached in and slid it out. Then I switched it on.
Only one call had been made and something about the number looked vaguely familiar. Maybe it was to one of his friends, Becky or Tom. Maybe it was to a tall, leggy blonde with a perfect tan and a boring job.
I looked at the number for a long time before I called it.
A warm, sympathetic voice picked up straight away. ‘Good morning. This is Dean at the morgue at Fitzwilliam Manor Hospital. How may I help you?’
I threw the phone across the room. My heart was thudding painfully against my chest and I felt sick. I could still hear Dean’s voice; it sounded tinny now. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
I swallowed and stood up, then retrieved the phone. Without speaking, I went straight to the phone’s messages. Dean’s voice was unsure now. ‘Hello?’
I ignored him. The inbox was empty, but I could still recover any deleted texts. I pressed a few buttons and brought up the archive.
There was only one message. I pressed on it and waited for it to appear. When it did, the words on the small screen blurred in front of my eyes. I blinked furiously as I re-read it several times. But I wasn’t imagining it. It was right there in front of me.
Apologies for today. Let me make it up to you. Meet me at St Erbin’s Church at 10 tonight and I’ll introduce you to the main vamp players. You won’t regret it. Tony.
My legs gave away. Jeremy. All along it had been Jeremy. He’d bought a burner phone and, when I’d gone for a shower, he’d used it to message me. He’d pretended to be Tony and lured me out to the church. Instead of meeting his own friends, he’d gone to meet me. Afterwards, when nobody came round to inform him about the sad news of my death, he’d used the phone to call the morgue and find out what he could.
My own boyfriend had tried to kill me. I shook my head. No. My own boyfriendhadkilled me.
There was a loud, unmistakable click. I heard the front door open and, a moment later, Jeremy walked in. When he saw me, he froze.
I looked up, my eyes meeting his. ‘You forgot your briefcase,’ I said. ‘I guess you came back for it to avoid another confrontation with your boss.’
He stared at me.
I held up the phone. ‘Why?’
‘Emma,’ he said. ‘I…’ His voice faltered.
