But that wasn’t the way to do it.
Wasn’t that what I’d told myself when Carla had first asked me to take on the case? And it was true. I had to be far more subtle than that. I needed to use reverse psychology.
Why hadn’t I taken on the case myself without any help? Not because a judge might not like a solicitor in charge, as I told Carla, but because they’d trust me more if I brought in someone else. Besides, the judges know me, know my style – if I’d put up a weak defence, they’d have instantly known and accused me of conflict of interest.
My husband’s wife.
Far cleverer to choose a young, nervous barrister who would get it wrong for me. I told Carla that a jury didn’t always like a confident, strutting QC. That is sometimes true. But not always. Yet – just my luck – they did indeed warm to my fumbling, gauche brief, and that in turn made him grow in confidence. By then it was too late to lose.
I also suspected that if I insisted on her wearing ‘dull’ clothes, Carla wouldn’t be able to do it because she’s so vain. I was right. But this backfired in my face too. It was clear from the look on the jurors’ faces – both men and women – that they admired her style.
Why didn’t they see Carla as I did? A manipulative child who had grown into a manipulative, husband-stealing adult.
‘You shouldn’t have done it,’ I now say down the line to Joe. My voice is cracked with disbelief. Shock. Self-recrimination.
Joe’s voice, in contrast, is cool. ‘I got the impression you didn’t care for Ed any more.’
‘You said you’d frighten Carla.’ I’m whispering now. ‘Not kill my husband.’
‘Ex-husband,’ corrects Joe. ‘And who says that I did kill him? Open the envelope. Go on.’
My hands do what my mind tells them not to do.
Inside is a sealed plastic bag.
Inside that is a pair of gloves. Washing-up gloves.
Blue. Small. They have blood on them. Blood and earth.
I gasp.
‘Now do you get it?’ says Joe.
I can’t believe it. ‘Carla did it after all?’
‘Who else?’ He sounds smug. Pleased.
‘How did you get them?’
‘I’d been sniffing around their place for a while, checking it out.’
‘What were you going to do?’ I whispered.
‘Wasn’t sure. Never am until these things happen.’
These things?
A picture of poor Sarah flashes into my head.
‘I was there that evening. Some young bloke came out. Looked upset, he did. I listened at the door and heard one hell of an argument going on. Reckoned it might provide the distraction I needed. So I went in.’
With my key. With my key!
‘There she was, in front of me, wearing a pair of washing-up gloves covered in blood. Almost as shocked to see me as I was to see her. I ran out after her. I watched her toss the gloves into some shrubbery opposite the house. Rather than carry on chasing her, I picked up the gloves so you could use them, for evidence. Except that you didn’t.’
No, I hadn’t. I’d wanted to do this on my own, without the help of a criminal.
‘So what’s next?’ Joe’s voice forces me back to practicalities. ‘The trial’s over, Lily. Your client’s won. But we both know that she’s guilty. And now the police will be looking for someone else. Me.’
‘Will you tell them about us?’ My voice comes out as a whimper.
‘That depends.’ His voice is steady. Threatening. ‘Not if you tell me what the paternity test really said.’
‘I did tell you. You’re not the father.’
‘And I don’t believe you.’ His voice hardens. ‘I want another one done, Lily. Or else …’
His voice trails away. But the implication is clear.
‘Are you blackmailing me?’
‘You could call it that.’
I put the phone down, my hand shaking. Joe isn’t just a murderer. He’s desperate. Dangerous.
And he’s not the only one.
What should I do now? Then I feel something inside one of the gloves.
It’s a key. One that I definitely recognize.
If I was in my right mind, I’d go straight to the police and hand over the gloves.
But instead I’m going to pay a visit.
To my husband’s wife.
62
Carla
Carla was packing. Fast. Furiously. Not the red stilettos. She’d wear them instead. Her favourite perfume too, for luck. First she’d go to the hotel, for that exclusive interview she’d promised to the newspaper. The advance would go towards her new future.
She was free. Free!
It was all working out. Far better than she could have thought. Poor naive Lily. Convinced that the rest of the world was good if only she could make it so. Carla almost felt sorry for her. Then again, she deserved it.
Lily needed to learn a lesson.
The jury had believed her. She had played her part well. Yet there were elements which had indeed been true. Ed, drunk with wine and jealousy, grabbing the knife. Her, pushing him away. Him, falling against the wall and hitting his head. Blood. Then getting up and coming at her again. Her, grabbing the knife in self-defence and lashing out. The knife in Ed’s thigh. It had just stayed there, sticking out of the flesh with its green handle.
Then she was running. Throwing the gloves in the bushes as she went.
If only she could have confessed in court. Self-defence. For that’s what it had been. But people knew they had argued – look how Ed had spoken to her at the last party in front of everyone. Suppose the law had not believed her? Far better to talk about the intruder. The other thing that had been true. The man at the door, whom she had rushed past.
Thank you for being there, whoever you were, she thought. It meant we could blame you for all the blood. All the horror.
Too much to think of.
The only way to cope was to blank it out. Tell herself it had happened as she’d said in court. Get on with her life. She would go to the States with Poppy. Rebuild their lives away from prying Italian and English eyes. Give up law too. She had had more than enough of that.
‘You.’
Carla jumped. ‘Lily? How did you get in?’
Lily tossed a key up and down in the palm of her hand as though teasing her. ‘I still had the spare. It was my house once. Remember? Before you stole it and my husband from me. You should have changed the locks, Carla. You and Ed.’
Carla began to shake. ‘You still had the key?’ she repeated.
Lily smiled. ‘That’s right. I gave it to a friend. He’s the man you saw at the door. He saw you throw away your bloody gloves. And he kept them for evidence.’
‘You’re lying!’
‘No.’ Lily’s voice was cool. Scarily assured. ‘I’m not.’
Lily
I hold the gloves up now in their plastic bag. ‘See? When they are analysed, the DNA will show Ed’s blood. Much more of it than was on your clothes. And they have earth on them too, from where you tried to hide them. Looks suspicious, doesn’t it?’
‘You can’t do that.’ Carla is laughing. ‘You can’t use them. The trial is over.’
‘You don’t really keep up with criminal law, do you, Carla? Employment is your speciality, I seem to remember. Well, the law has been changed. Some years ago, in fact. Way after the case I told you about – on purpose, by the way. Double jeopardy doesn’t always apply now, especially when there’s new evidence. Like fresh DNA. All I have to do is hand these gloves over to the police. Then you will be tried again. And this time you will go down for life.’
She’s still smirking. ‘If you’re so sure, why haven’t you gone to the police?’
I’m already beginning to think I’ve made a mistake there. ‘Because I wanted to see you face to face first. To tell you what I really think of you.’ My eyes are wet. ‘Poor Ed. He didn’t deserve to be murdered. You’re going to pay for this, Carla, if it’s the last thing I do …’
That’s when she runs at me, her eyes blazing like an animal’s. Her push is much stronger than her frame might suggest. I push her back. Then I wobble. Lose my balance. Trip over the spindle-backed mahogany kitchen chair that I once bought at auction. It’s yet one more thing that Carla has taken from me.
I put up my hands to protect myself, the key and gloves flying into the air.