Something Wicked (25 page)

‘Is that your way of asking if I’m seeing anyone?’

‘No.’

‘You do remember that you left me?’

‘I know.’

‘And you know that it’s really unfair for you to call?’

Her eyes didn’t move from the table, her voice croaking on the final word, giving the merest hint of the heartache Andrew knew he had caused.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to ask. You’ve really helped.’

‘How is Manchester?’

‘Full of traffic, of people. It’s built up a lot since we were at uni. There are glass-fronted things everywhere and neat little restaurants. If it wasn’t for the weather,
it’d be really nice. When the sun’s out, it’s incredible.’

Keira abruptly dropped the spoon into the mug, leaving at least a third of her tea. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Oh . . .’

They both stood at the same time but Andrew couldn’t bring himself to look into her face, just in case she was upset. He’d spent the past eight years convincing himself she was
better off without him. Perhaps she was, but he still couldn’t bear to see her unhappy. For a few moments, they stood awkwardly a step away from each other. Then they had an even clumsier
shoulders-in, arses-out hug that lasted barely a second.

Keira hauled her coat back on and rewrapped her scarf. She picked up her bag and then stepped away from the table. Andrew wanted to say something meaningful but ended up fumbling in his satchel
for a slightly crumpled business card.

‘Can I give you this?’ he asked.

Keira took it, skimming the details. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know . . . I suppose . . .’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know . . .’

She pocketed it, muttered something Andrew didn’t catch – and then turned and walked out of his life again.

The journey back to the office was a long, frustrating one. The pretty hedges were now towering monstrosities blocking the light. The tight, picturesque roads were now an utter
pain in the arse – why didn’t they just tarmac the entire countryside, stick in a ten-lane motorway and be done with it?

By the time he got stuck behind a tractor for the third time, Andrew was in the mood to return to his apartment and go back to bed. Sod Lara and whatever nutty deity she thought she was
representing.

As he reached the outskirts of the city, away from the greenery, the icy roads, the peace, and Keira, Andrew began to feel a little better. Regardless of anything he’d managed to mess up
by not being able to get a proper sentence out in front of his former wife, he felt as if he had a vague idea of what might be going on with Lara.

‘Vague’ being the key word.

Any positivity immediately left him as soon as he walked into the office. Sitting on opposite sides of the desk, cups of tea in hand with Bourbon biscuits on a plate between them, were Jenny and
Violet Deacon, chatting away like old friends at a weekly mothers’ meeting.

The memory of Stewart Deacon and the knuckle-duster was suddenly at the front of Andrew’s mind.

‘
. . . If you get in my business again, Mr Hunter, next time you won’t see me coming . . .
’

It was a shame Stewart hadn’t told his wife to stay away, not that Andrew had mentioned it to Jenny either. It wasn’t that he particularly responded to threats but the case was over
and they had delivered the report to Mrs Deacon. As far as he knew, there was no need for them to be involved again.

Jenny and Violet both peered up as Andrew entered. ‘I told you he wouldn’t be long,’ Jenny said with a smile.

Violet was dressed a little more sensibly than the last time Andrew had seen her, wrapped up in jeans and a thick jumper, with a large winter coat, hat and scarf hanging on the stand close to
the door. The dark rims around her eyes made it look as if she hadn’t slept in days.

Andrew nodded towards the door, looking at Jenny. ‘Can we have a word?’

Violet gazed between the two of them, the conversation hastily cut short.

Down the stairs and back outside, Jenny was in the process of separating the top half of a Bourbon from the bottom. Across the road, Tina the receptionist offered them a small wave,
simultaneously cradling a phone between her shoulder and ear while typing on the keyboard.

They both waved back and then Jenny turned to Andrew. ‘How was it?’

‘Interesting. But what’s Violet Deacon doing upstairs?’

The first half of the biscuit had disappeared. ‘It’s probably best that she tells you herself. Why?’

‘Her husband came to my flat on Saturday night with a knuckle-duster.’

‘Oh . . . did he . . . ?’

Andrew touched his ear, feeling the area where he’d been punched. ‘He made it clear he wasn’t happy. It’s my own fault for going to their house in the first place. I was
trying to rush things through and didn’t bother to ask about who else was there.’

‘Did you talk to the police?’

He shook his head. ‘I thought it was going to be all over with.’

Jenny pushed herself onto tiptoes, the remaining half of the biscuit dangling from her mouth. She reached up and twisted Andrew’s head to the side, like a worried mother about to lick her
fingers and dab a smear of mud away from his face. Andrew instinctively pulled away.

‘Hold still,’ she scolded, mouth still full of the remaining biscuit. Given the amount of sugar she put away, it was a miracle she wasn’t bouncing around like a hyperactive
sumo wrestler.

‘It feels fine.’

‘I’m just looking.’

Jenny brushed forward his ear lobe and then ran her finger along the area where it joined his head. Andrew flinched but she had a grip like a toddler with a rattle.

‘Ouch.’

She released his face, leaving a stinging sensation around his ear where her fingers had been. ‘Stop being such a baby. There are blobs of dried blood. Didn’t you clean
it?’

‘It hurt.’

‘There’s a bit of a cut but it doesn’t look too bad. You should have said something last night.’

Suitably chastened but without an explanation, Andrew led Jenny back upstairs, where Violet was sitting in the spot they’d left her in, munching on a Bourbon on the other side of
Jenny’s desk. Andrew wheeled his chair around and asked how he could help.

Violet seemed more defensive in front of him than she had been with Jenny, crossing her arms and angling her body away. ‘Did you get your car sorted?’

‘Yes.’

‘I asked Jack if it was him but he kept saying he didn’t start the fire. He said he went for a walk and wasn’t around. I’m not pretending that’s definitely what
happened but I don’t know what else I can do. He really is a good kid.’

‘It’s over with now.’

She glanced towards Jenny; clearly this was something they had already spoken about. ‘It’s not really. Since you were around last week, Jack has been changing.’ She sighed,
plucking out one of the pins that had been holding her hair into a bun. It dropped down to her shoulders and she started to bundle it up again. ‘It’s mainly happened because of his
father. After you’d been around on Wednesday, Stewart came home early from work because Jack had called him. It’s my own fault for asking you to come to the house instead of coming
here. I didn’t want to leave Jack at home by himself. I should have realised he’d be able to overhear.’

Andrew wasn’t going to argue – he’d been guilty of not checking too.

Jenny stood. ‘Do you want another tea?’ She waggled her empty Mr Men mug in the air and Violet passed hers across. Andrew shook his head. If he kept downing hot drinks at this rate,
he’d either need a leg bag, or spend the rest of the afternoon working from a toilet cubicle.

Violet turned back to Andrew. ‘I thought Stewart was going to want a big row about things but he didn’t even talk to me. He pulled up outside, picked up Jack, and then they went
out.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Late afternoon.’

That must have been after Andrew had caught Jack following him and Jenny to the Carrs’ house – something else the teenager’s mother didn’t know about.

‘They were gone for about three hours,’ Violet added. ‘When they got back, neither of them spoke to me. I assume Jack told Stewart about you being there and the report but I
don’t really know what they spoke about. Neither of them have talked to me since.’

‘Not at all?’

‘Not a single word.’ She stopped to swallow. The smile on her face when it had just been her and Jenny was long gone. She was ageing in front of him: chin sagging to her chest, body
sinking into the seat. ‘When they got back, I asked Stewart if he wanted to talk but he brushed past me. I asked Jack if he wanted something to eat but he didn’t acknowledge I was
there.’

Jenny returned, putting two mugs down on the desk and resting a reassuring hand on Violet’s shoulder, simultaneously making eye contact with Andrew. He could sense her telling him that
she’d learned this from watching other people. It was a strange moment of honesty conducted entirely in silence. Andrew didn’t believe in telepathy but he did know that people who were
familiar enough with each other could read a mere flicker of an expression as if it was a full conversation. He’d once had that with Keira and now there was a connection to Jenny: not
romantic, just . . . different. Andrew wasn’t sure he understood it, or her.

He offered her the smallest of nods to say that he got it as Violet turned to give an appreciative ‘thank you’.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ Jenny asked.

After a shake of the head and a sip of tea, Violet continued: ‘At first I thought it would just be that night. Stewart went off to work the next morning but he’s normally up early,
so it’s not unusual for me not to see him. Then Jack went out for the day too. But even when they’re home, they’ll only talk to each other. It’s like I’m not there.
It’s been like that since Wednesday . . .’

Andrew let her tail off, wondering if she’d fill the silence. When she reached for her tea, he cut in: ‘How can we help?’

‘I know I said last week that I was going to see things out but . . .’ Another glance at Jenny. ‘. . . I think I was kidding myself. I suppose I always was. I wanted to keep
things together for Jack but it has to be a two-way thing. I probably shouldn’t have gone about things the way I did by having Stewart followed but I guess I always knew it might come down to
this. To answer your question, I’m going to file for divorce and I’d like everything you might be able to find out about my husband. I know you told me where he’d been the other
day but I want to know if there’s anything else. Does he actually have a mistress? I want a solid case for divorce that he won’t be able to get out of.’

‘Didn’t you say you did the accounts for his businesses and could bring him down?’

‘Perhaps that was a bit of bravado. I do the business accounts and there’s plenty in there that could cause trouble but I’m not one of the directors. I’d only end up
harming myself – and Jack – because if Stewart was arrested, the business accounts would be frozen and then investigations take a really long time. What I need is the truth about our
personal lives and then I’ll have a more straightforward case.’

‘
. . . If you get in my business again, Mr Hunter, next time you won’t see me coming . . .
’

Violet sounded genuine: a woman at the end of her tether. But Andrew didn’t like getting involved in these types of cases anyway, let alone when he’d been physically warned off.

Violet slowly rolled up the long sleeve of her jumper, not saying a word but exposing a row of purple finger-shaped bruises at the top of her right arm. The colours flowed outwards like a
circular rainbow, creeping around the curve of the saggy skin of her bicep.

Andrew glanced at Jenny, who was watching Violet. He knew it was a form of emotional blackmail, using the injuries to tug on his humanity. The awareness didn’t stop him feeling sorry for
her, though.

‘Was that done by your husband, or son?’

‘Stewart.’

‘Have you told anyone else?’

She shook her head. ‘A son needs his father to be around, doesn’t he? Us separating would be hard on Jack but having his dad carted off would be worse.’

Andrew tried looking at Jenny again and this time she met his eyes, though there were no hidden messages. ‘Your husband and I had a bit of a run-in the other evening,’ Andrew
said.

Violet almost jumped out of her chair, pressing forward and slopping some of her tea over the lip of the cup. ‘What did he do?’

‘He was waiting for me at my flat—’

‘How did he know where you live?’

‘I don’t know but he knew about what had been going on with you hiring me.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Not much, mainly make threats.’

She nodded knowingly. ‘That’s Stewart all over . . . well, recently. In the old days he was fine. As soon as the business took off, he was a different person. At home, he’d
fume at rivals he thought were trying to get one over him and he’d be so paranoid that they were out to get him. If ever someone got a contract that he didn’t, or undercut him at an
auction, he’d brood on it for weeks. Eventually, it got to the point where we couldn’t have a conversation because it would always end up degenerating into an argument where he said I
wasn’t supporting him. Then he started getting aggressive.’

She paused to finish her drink, voice lowering.

‘We were out for a meal one evening but another property developer was in the bar. Stewart spent around an hour glaring in his direction and then followed him outside for some reason. I
went out a minute or so later but by the time I got there, Stewart was already pointing fingers and mouthing off. I didn’t even know the other guy, but in the end he snapped and had Stewart
up against the wall by the throat. Stewart was struggling and kicking but the other guy was one of those deceptively strong blokes where they don’t look that big but they’re all muscle,
no fat. I was screaming at him to let Stewart go and he did but that was the end of everything, really. Stewart shrugged me off and went to get a taxi and we never spoke about it again. He was a
different person and I suppose that’s when it started with him and his other women. He was more aggressive but smarter with it. He’d still shout and swear but he’d never risk
anything getting physical with someone bigger than him. If you stand up to him, he slinks back to where he came from.’