I look across to our cottage. I can’t go in. So, I take myself down towards the beach instead. Sitting in the car park, I look out across the Atlantic, for answers, anything to help clarify my thoughts. Desperately trying to keep hold of perspective. It’s a struggle; I’m feeling wired for most of the time. I need to talk to Jack tonight. After the revelations of Billy, I think I’ll try to get him to go and stay with Bea for a while. Just until this is over. I know she’ll be happy to have him.
Why was Jack so late last night? Was he really at football? It hurts me to have to consider he may not be telling me the truth; what if you’ve managed to manipulate him? How can I be certain he’ll confide in me, when I’ve been so secretive? Told so many lies, myself? I did it to protect him – is this going to end up being a perverted irony haunting me?
I watch the bluey green waters pull back, lathering whitewash breaking on the honeycombed shoreline. The tide is drawing in closer and closer. These very waters have already taken so many lives; were they all innocent beings? Or did some harbour dark secrets? Don’t we all? Just some, darker than others.
An hour later, I’m joined in the window seat looking out at the world by Billy. I’ve been here already for some time.
I watch him tread purposeful steps in my direction, inconspicuous to the eyes of others. A trained killer, but so gentle under the guise, he smiles as he reaches me. ‘Thanks for coming,’ I offer.
He pulls out his chair. ‘No problem; I’m pleased you took my advice.’ His eyes crinkling with laughter lines. I’m not sure how.
‘I didn’t,’ I say. ‘Unfortunately, I’m not very good at taking advice. I just have questions; I need answers.’
He nods, lowering himself down opposite me, checking out his surroundings. ‘Got it,’ he says.
‘I saw you drive past and so ordered us some coffee, unless you’d prefer something stronger?’ I gesture to the bar.
He shakes his head. ‘Coffee’s good, thanks.’ He folds his jacket and places it over the back of the chair. Ensuring the inside does not come into contact with the foreign body. ‘So what is it you want to know? Or should I say, what d’you want to know first?’
‘The truth, Billy; have you been in my house?’
He blows out through his mouth. ‘Straight to the point, aren’t you?’ I don’t answer; I watch for his response. I don’t think he’ll lie to me. ‘Straight up, then – yes, I have. Guilty as charged, but only because I was looking for the flash-drive.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Nothing more.’
‘Oh, well, that’s okay, then, isn’t it? It’s perfectly acceptable to break into someone’s house, rummage through their belongings, so long as they have something you want!’ How can he be so matter of fact?
He chuckles. ‘First of all, I didn’t break in. You left your kitchen door open.’
‘No, I did not! I thought I may have but I checked – it was locked!’
‘No, it wasn’t, you really shouldn’t have been so bloody careless given the circumstances. You’re lucky it was only me. It was, in fact, unlocked. I locked it for you, then left via the front door. In retrospect, I did you a favour.’
I sit speechless. How can he be so self-righteous about illegally entering my house?
‘Secondly, I didn’t rummage through your things. Remember, I’m an expert in these activities. I did, yes, admittedly, look through your house, but I carefully moved and repositioned each and every item. Exactly.’
‘Don’t tell me, you photographed my house, didn’t you? That’s what people like you do in your world. I’ve read about it. Better still, you’ve a trained photographic memory. An expert burglar.’
‘Expert? Yes, I believe I am, thank you.’
‘You’re so—.’
‘Anyway, yes, spot on. So, you’ll also appreciate, nothing was disturbed. Technically.’
‘Technically? Maybe not in your warped eyes.’
He’s smiling at me; clearly amused that I’m indignant. Almost enjoying himself.
‘Why did you do it? I mean, I know why, to find the flash-drive, but why not just ask me for it?’
‘Would you have given it to me, if I had?’
‘No, of course not.’
He chortles to himself as our coffees are placed on the table. ‘Thank you,’ we say, in unison.
‘So, you are admitting, you do have it, then.’
I fell for this one, but there’s no point in denying it any longer. ‘Hmm,’ is all I manage.
‘Look, believe this or not, I was only trying to protect you.’ He moves his finger to his mouth to hush my attempt to retaliate. ‘Yes, I’ve the other… issues to deal with, including my own desire for revenge. But, I also genuinely wanted to remove you from the picture at the same time. Eve, you are in danger, you and your son, Jack. I couldn’t stand by, watch him take more lives.’ He sips at his coffee. ‘I’m guessing, you’ve already suffered sufficiently at his hands.’
So if he entered my house, he had the means to place the envelope in my briefcase, but what about the note from Sam? Does he know Sam too? There must be something else he hasn’t come clean about yet. I press on. ‘Okay, but why put the envelope in my briefcase? Why not email me the articles instead, pop the envelope through the letterbox, if you wanted to warn me?’
‘Envelope?’
‘Oh, come on! What envelope? Please don’t mistake me for stupid.’
‘Seriously, what envelope? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about?’
‘Are you, in all earnestness, expecting me to believe you didn’t look in my briefcase, when you were hunting for a flash-drive?’
‘No. I did look in your briefcase, but, I’ve already told you, I put everything back with precision. I certainly didn’t add anything. What was in the envelope?’
I stare at him; I thought I’d resolved this mystery. He’s telling me the truth. ‘Articles, photocopied, about the scam and stuff. I assumed it was… you visited my home, more than once, didn’t you? You went back again this week. Didn’t you?’
‘Nope. Just the once. I only do the job once. It was last week, not this week.’
A shiver passes over me, sitting down between us. ‘Someone else has been in my home, then. I knew, I could smell it. Has to be him.’
He swigs at his coffee, without moving his eyes from mine. ‘You think it was him?’
‘Well, who else? I arrived home, I don’t know, I could just feel someone had been inside the house. Something hanging in the air. In fact, not so much in the air, on Humphrey’s fur. Kind of woody but sweet, not belonging to us.’ I look at his confused expression. ‘Humphrey is our cat.’ He nods. ‘Then, Jack found the utility window open. It’s quite rickety so it wouldn’t have taken much to ease it open, off the latch. It was closed when we left in the morning, and Humphrey was outside. Someone must have let him in.’
‘Was anything disturbed, taken?’
‘No, not that I could find.’
‘But whoever it was could have put the envelope in your briefcase?’
‘No. It was the week before – I’d already found it in my briefcase by then. So, if it wasn’t you. Who was it?’
‘Has there been anyone, you know, new in your life recently?’
‘Other than clients, no.’
‘Gregg?’ Billy asks.
‘I don’t know, it’s not really his style. Enter my house, snoop around, to let me know he can, yes. But, to put something in my briefcase?’ I shake my head. ‘I can’t see it. He’d rather see the reaction with his own eyes.’ And then, there’s the note on the back too; it can’t be you, this time. ‘Also, the other night, he dropped something through the door.’ Billy raises his eyebrows, interested. ‘It was predictable really, our marriage and Jack’s birth certificate. He was there, outside. I know he was watching. A sick satisfaction, looking on.’
‘Hmm.’ He drains the dregs of his coffee.
‘Then, today – flowers, delivered to the clinic. Splattered with red dye, to look like blood. I did think it was him. I mean, who else? But Ruan, the assistant you met, has since spoken to the florist. She said they were definitely ordered and collected by a female.’ Billy’s face is deadpan; he’s probably the only person I could tell who wouldn’t be perturbed. It’s a relief to be sharing my thoughts, with a complete stranger, yet someone with a full grasp of my predicament. ‘It gets worse. They were hand-delivered, with a card, “Till Death Do Us Part”. On the reverse, it said “SORRY”. Sorry? Sorry does not exist in Gregg’s vocabulary. The lilies, spot on, definitely his choice, even the message, but not sorry. Not a chance.’