‘Was divorce mentioned?’ That hit.
Shane’s face went pale, lips parting before he composed himself. ‘Yes. She brought it up. It wasn’t the first time. I didn’twant that. I thought we could make it work. I was shocked. Hurt. But I put it down to the alcohol talking. I’d noticed the almost empty bottle in the kitchen so realising she’d already had too much, suggested we leave it there.’
‘Did you threaten her?’ The question sliced through the air. Yates watched the reaction.
Shane’s chair creaked as he sat forward. ‘Absolutely not. I would never threaten Julia. Never. What on earth makes you think that?’
The pitch of his voice was slightly higher. A red flag for Yates. He made a discreet note on his pad, not looking up. ‘Where did you go after you left the house?’
Shane inhaled deeply. ‘I drove to Glasgow. Stayed at the Crowne Plaza.’
‘Can you confirm that?’
Shane’s fingers went to his back pocket and his phone. Another pause. Then he pulled up a screen, turned it around. ‘Here. Booking confirmation email from the hotel.’
Yates barely looked at it. ‘Thanks.’ He clicked his pen.
‘Just one last thing,’ he said, his tone calm and even. ‘So when you left the house yesterday evening, your wife was alive and well?’
Shane’s nod came immediately. ‘Yes. She was.’
Yates shut his notebook. He studied Shane for a moment. The way he now crossed his arms over his chest, closed off. The tremble that had stopped. The eyes that no longer shone with forced sadness.
Yates stood. ‘Thank you for your time. I’ll let you get back to your family.’
As he stepped out into the hallway, his partner DC Stone joined him. Stone was younger, eager, keen-eyed. ‘Thoughts?’ Stone asked under his breath.
Yates paused, watching Molly Lassiter through the open doorway to the lounge. She sat on the arm of the sofa, one hand on her sister’s back, her face expressionless. Her eyes locked with his for just a second. Then she focused on her sister, the moment lost but he was sure it meant something.
‘He’s an interesting one, that’s for sure,’ Yates murmured.
‘You don’t believe him?’
Yates turned to Stone. ‘Let’s just say the housekeeper’s version of events is the one I’m most interested in, so maybe go over it with her one more time. I’ll let you take the lead on that.’
Stone straightened, like a police dog about to be let off the leash by his trainer, and before Yates got the chance to change his mind, he was off.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It had been hours since Julia’s body had been taken away, yet the house still felt frozen in that moment. The hush that fell when the private ambulance came, the way the officers moved in measured respectful silence, the quiet sobs from Dee muffled into a blanket. Their mum left the house one last time, on a gurney, inside a black bag. Molly had made it to the downstairs loo just in time before she emptied last night’s dinner into the toilet.
It was early morning; the twilight zone, and Molly hadn’t slept. Not properly. Just dozed in short bursts, her body curled protectively around Dee’s. The white roses on the sideboard, arranged days ago by Magda, were beginning to droop. Their stems bowed as if in silent mourning. The sofa cushions bore the impressions of weary bodies.
Dee had slept with a stillness that worried her, so slack-limbed and deep that it felt unnatural. Magda had said it was shock and exhaustion, and Molly didn’t question it. She envied it, if anything.
Shane had passed out on the other sofa. One arm thrown over his face, the other trailing off the side like a puppet with its strings cut. His mouth hung open slightly, a faint snore rasping from deep in his throat. The slow rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed set of his jaw. He was still wearing the same clothes from the day before, creased trousers, a shirt with a small dark patch under one arm, and a luxury watch that glinted in the morning light.
Molly had watched him for some time after the police left. Every detail. There was nothing in his expression to suggest grief. Nothing in his posture to suggest tension. It had all been performative. She had seen the best of his acting before. Had lived it for the past two years. Inhabiting a house with your secret lover takes skill. Which was why their break-up tryst had started to play on repeat in her mind. The hotel. The intimacy. But now, the thought of that same intimacy made her skin crawl. The memory made her nauseous.
Magda had remained long after the others had gone. She’d served tea, made sandwiches though no one drank or ate. She’d wiped Dee’s forehead, fetched extra blankets, placed a hand on Molly’s shoulder. She never spoke to Shane, never looked him in the eye. When Erik arrived to take her home, she nodded to Molly, gave Dee a kiss on the crown of her head, and left without a word to anyone else.
The most painful moment of all had been when Julia was taken away. Molly had stood on the steps, clutching the railing, as the stretcher was wheeled through the hallway. The kind men spoke in soft tones, their shoes creaking on the polished floorboards. Dee had sobbed until she collapsed into Molly’s arms. That image remained ingrained, of her mother, zipped inside a bag, leaving her own home for the last time.
When Yates approached her before leaving, he’d spoken with the same calm efficiency he’d carried all day. ‘We’ll be contactingthe coroner,’ he said gently. ‘There will likely be a post-mortem. We need to determine the exact cause of death.’
Molly nodded, though her stomach turned at the word.
Then he continued. ‘I need you all to remain in the area. We may have follow-up questions.’
