The Forever House by Linda Acaster

Author:Linda Acaster [Acaster, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

I cradled a paper cup of what was supposed to be tea, but the way I felt I don’t think anything would have tasted the way it should.

I’d been brought to the interview room by a uniformed officer – another escort – and only then had I been asked for my name and address. I’d tried to explain that I wasn’t reporting a recent murder but a murder from, possibly, 1942. How ridiculous it sounded. How mad I sounded.

The tea had arrived, a token to keep me occupied while doubtless they checked if I’d escaped from somewhere. When Louise’s shocked expression bubbled up in my mind, I’d almost laughed.

Better her expression, though, than Jak’s. That slow turn of his head. The stare. The rising edges of his mouth. In that moment my own lies had crumbled and I’d seen the lifeline thrown by the genealogy firm for the straw it had been. William John Richards – Richard Richardson – had only allowed me into his presence so I could be assessed. The she-he-it hacker had it correct. Jennifer Ann no longer existed. She was dead. And I knew where she lay.

When the officers arrived, there were two of them, neither in uniform, both the age of Dominic. I expected the woman to do the talking, but it was the man who led, and it was all recorded, with my permission, for which I could feel only relief. I didn’t want to be forced to go through this again. I had no documentation with me, but I had my phone, and my phone carried the images from the bedroom, images of the letters to the Tooth Fairy.

As the end of the interview approached, I deflated. It all seemed so little, so circumstantial. I didn’t press; I’d only have made myself look desperate.

The man withdrew. I hadn’t caught his name; I’d been so anxious when they’d introduced themselves. The other detective, Charlotte, she reminded me, became chatty, asking about my family, about Jason, about Dominic. I didn’t feel reassured. I felt I was helping tick boxes to Time Waster, or worse, Paranoid Recently Bereaved.

I heard the door open, saw her glance above my head. Her gaze returned to me, her smile broadening. ‘We’re going to come and have a look, take our own photographs. Would you like a lift back to your house?’

I’d never felt so grateful, not for the offer of a lift, but for the fact my story wasn’t to be dismissed out of hand. I explained about my car, and it was agreed we’d meet at the house. It wasn’t until I was walking to where I’d parked that it dawned on me perhaps they wanted to keep me in sight, wanted to ensure nothing at the house was moved or hidden.

And I needed to hide something: the missive from the hacker. I’d not mentioned that. They hadn’t asked how I’d found Richard Richardson, or how I knew he’d changed his name. As I drove home I could feel myself sliding over the lip of an abyss.

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