‘It’s a fact.’
‘Screw you.’ Russell folded his arms and sat back in his chair. Little and Large were not going to pin Tessa’s murder on him. ‘No matter how many times I actually thought of killing the old crone, I didn’t do it.’
‘You admit you had murderous thoughts?’ The bushy-haired one had woken up.
‘Right now, I want to murder the two of you. Going to arrest me for that?’
‘Do you admit to having a drink at Danny’s the evening of the murder?’
‘Yes.’
‘On your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you own a black North Face jacket?’
‘I won’t say another word without my solicitor.’
‘Thank you, Mr Russell.’
‘Can I go now?’
‘I’m sorry. We’ll call your solicitor, and now that we have this new evidence, you will be arrested in connection with the murder of Tessa Ball. So unless you start telling us something useful, you’ll be here for a while.’
Arthur eyed the two detectives as they switched off the recording device. Sealing the discs and whatever else they had to do. He drained his tea. Ran his finger around the bottom of the cup and licked off the remaining sugar.
As he was being led from the interview room to await his solicitor, he glanced at the plastic evidence bag containing the jacket. Arthur Russell knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight. And it had nothing at all to do with the sugar in his tea.
Thirty-Seven
Annabelle O’Shea took a deep breath and shook off the feeling of foreboding as she opened the front door. Her hand throbbed and her legs were so sore she felt like she’d walked miles.
She poked her head around the sitting room door. Her seventeen-year-old twins, Pearse and Bronagh, were watching a US basketball game on the television. Not a sign of a school book. Two bags of popcorn lay open on the coffee table. She hoped they tidied them up before Cian came downstairs.
‘Hi, Mom,’ Bronagh said, waving her hand in the air without turning round.
‘You’re home late,’ Pearse said, standing up.
Annabelle hugged her son and he began tidying up the coffee table. She mussed up her daughter’s long hair. ‘Why don’t you both go to your rooms and make a start on homework?’
The twins gathered up their school bags, switched off the television and disappeared up the stairs. She made her way to the kitchen.
It was sparkling clean. Cian had gone into overdrive. She sighed. He did that after each outburst. All contrite. Thinking he could make things better by cleaning the house. The scent of citrus clung to everything, making her eyes water.
For a moment she wished he was dead. No, she shouldn’t be thinking that. She thought of Lottie Parker, struggling through widowhood, trying to raise three teenagers and a grandchild and deal with a battleaxe mother who only helped out when the mood took her. I’m the lucky one, Annabelle told herself.
Dropping her handbag and the plastic bag of groceries she’d carried from the car onto the table, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Waiting for Cian to come down the stairs demanding his dinner. His domesticity hadn’t extended to cooking. She felt like ordering a takeaway. Chinese. Maybe Indian. That would be nice. If Cian was penitent enough after yesterday, he might agree. But his outbursts were becoming more frequent and his remorse less genuine. Since he’d found out about her affair with Tom Rickard, he had morphed into something that appeared more animal than human. Had his anger and violence always been simmering beneath the surface? Had she been too caught up in her own world to notice?
He appeared in the doorway. No smile. Hands clenching and unclenching. She braced herself for the onslaught, praying it would only be verbal. He wouldn’t dare touch her with the children in the house.
‘You’re late.’ His voice a whispered snarl.
‘The surgery was busy today. This rain has everyone sniffling with colds. Not that I can give them anything for a cold. Doesn’t stop them appearing at my door, though.’ She held his gaze. Dark unwavering eyes stared back at her. She knew she was babbling on. ‘Did you have a productive day?’ she added.
‘What do you think?’ He shut the door behind him.
Annabelle closed her eyes, tiredness seeping through her bones, pain throbbing in her burned hand.
‘Look at me,’ he said.
She felt his fingers jerk her chin upwards, and her eyes flew open.
‘Cian. Stop. You’re hurting me.’ She tried to unlock his hand from her face. He squeezed harder. ‘You’ll leave bruises,’ she muttered through pursed lips.
‘I want you to relate your day to me. Minute by minute. Leave nothing out. I’ll know if you’re lying.’
Ever since he’d found out about her affair, he’d kept tabs on her like she was a felon and he a detective. With little choice, she related her day’s activity. Leaving out Lottie’s visit. No need for Cian to know about that.
The slap across the back of her head caught her unawares.
‘Liar,’ he said, his lips close to her ear.
‘I’m telling the truth. I’ll get my diary up on my laptop. You can check.’
‘I know your diary. It’s linked to mine.’
Annabelle tried to breathe normally. He was too close. She should have known a computer geek like her husband would have access to all her data. But Lottie hadn’t been registered in her diary. She’d just shown up. There was no way Cian could have known about her.
She said, ‘So then you know who was in and out all day.’
‘Lottie Parker. Why didn’t you mention her?’
He released her chin.
Annabelle stilled her hand from reaching to soothe her aching flesh. ‘I need to put dinner on, unless you’d like a takeaway?’
‘Don’t attempt to change the subject. I asked you a question.’
How could he know about Lottie? Had he been following her?
‘She wasn’t in my diary because she just turned up. Before surgery started. What’s the big deal?’ Be brave, she encouraged herself.
‘I’ll tell you what the big deal is. You’re a lying, cheating whore. And I am in control of your life now. Not you. If you do one thing, one little thing without telling me, you will never set eyes on those two again.’ He nodded towards the ceiling.
‘I get the message.’
His hand clutched her shoulder and his fingers pinched into the bone. Around her throat they crawled, tightening with each movement. She dared not breathe. She tried to stare him down, but had to blink. A lump choked her up and she couldn’t gulp it away. His fingers pressed tighter. Her legs jellied and her knees buckled.
Then just at the moment when she felt she must surely pass out, he eased the pressure and removed his hand.
Putting his lips to her ear, he sucked hard and gnashed his teeth into the lobe. She squealed but managed to suppress a scream.
‘I’m watching your every move,’ he sneered. ‘Every. Single. Move.’
He released her and she collapsed against the table, trying to catch her breath. When she heard the door close behind him, she ran and vomited into the sink.
* * *
He entered his study and locked the door behind him.
‘Bitch! Stupid bitch,’ he said, sitting down at his computer consoles. He had four screens. One for work, one for gaming, one to check on the webcams spread throughout the house and the other for the webcam in her office.
He checked her phone. Usual trivia. He was sure she hadn’t got a new lover. But he was leaving nothing to chance this time. Not after that bastard Rickard had snared her.
No, Cian O’Shea was leaving nothing to chance.
He flicked on a screen, tapped a folder and brought up the photographs.
‘You are going to pay,’ he said.
But first Lottie Parker needed to be alienated.
Thirty-Eight
She was home a little earlier than usual. Didn’t make any difference. The house was still the same. Her family was still the same.
Sean shouted down the stairs. ‘Mam? Do you know anything about photosynthesis?’
‘Ask Chloe or Katie.’
‘They won’t help me and this homework has to be in for tomorrow.’