Destroy Me by Karen Cole (read people like a book TXT) 📗

he continues. ‘There usually is. But with Charlie there wasn’t. Not only that, but she persuaded me to go to rehab. She paid for me to go to this expensive clinic and well . . . here I am now. Three months clean. All thanks to her.’

Clean. This isn’t the picture Adam painted.

‘What about her husband, Adam? Do you know him?’ I ask.

He frowns. ‘Not so well. And I don’t really like what I do know, to be honest.’

This is interesting. Adam didn’t like Ben and clearly the feeling is mutual. ‘Why not?’ I ask, leaning forward.

‘He wasn’t good enough for her. He didn’t appreciate her like he should have.’

Ben looks furiously angry for a moment and it occurs to me that he was jealous of Adam. His feelings for Charlie seem to be stronger than the usual tenant–landlord relationship. I even wonder if he was a little in love with her.

‘What do you mean by that?’ I ask.

‘Oh, nothing,’ he sighs. ‘Probably nobody deserved her. She was . . . Well, I can’t explain to someone who didn’t know her.’

But I did know her. Sighing, I stand up and walk over to the window. From his living room I can see the park, the wide, straight path flanked by chestnut trees, a family trailing dogs and children striding up to the top of the hill. There is also a clear view of the road outside the front entrance.

‘What about the night Charlie was killed – did you see or hear anything?’ I ask, turning back towards Ben.

He gives me a sudden sly look and I supress a shiver of fear. What if it was him who provided the police with the description of me? But that’s nonsense. He doesn’t even know me. What reason could he have to want to frame me?

‘Yeah, I did, as a matter of fact. I didn’t hear anything, but I heard a car drive up and park outside at about one o’clock in the morning. I assumed it was Adam back from his trip.’

‘What made you think that?’

‘I don’t know. Who else would visit so late at night? And anyway,’ he bites his lip. ‘Whoever it was didn’t ring the buzzer. They let themselves in with a key.’

I inhale sharply. ‘Really? Are you sure? How would you know?’

He looks annoyed. ‘Yes, I’m sure. I heard the sound of the key in the lock.’

‘You could hear it from up here?’ I say doubtfully.

‘Yes, it was hot that night and the windows were open. I couldn’t sleep so I came in here to have a smoke.

I sit down again, feeling winded. If he’s telling the truth, this is dynamite. It suggests that someone in the Cecily House flats killed Charlie. But it couldn’t have been Adam. He had an alibi. The police must have checked that, surely.

‘Who else had a key to the front door?’ I ask as casually as I can.

‘I don’t know,’ he shrugs. ‘As far as I know, just me, Meg and Sophia in number two and Charlie and Adam, of course.’

‘Sophia?’

‘Meg’s care worker, companion or whatever you call it.’

I grip the armrest tightly. My hands are shaking with excitement. ‘Did you tell this to the police?’

‘I did. But I don’t think they believed me. Police don’t tend to take people like me seriously.’

I’m not surprised. He comes across as shifty and untrustworthy, though I believe that his feelings for Charlie were genuine.

‘Did you hear anything else after that?’

‘I went to bed and finally got to sleep. But later I was woken up by a scream.’ He shudders. ‘I didn’t realise what it was at the time, but now I think it must have been Charlie.’

I didn’t sleep well last night. I kept seeing her face in my mind, smiling and waving by the side of the road. When I did finally get to sleep, I had nightmares. I dreamed I was walking along the street, a child’s small hand clasped in mine. I’m not sure where I was going but I knew I had to get there quickly and that there was something very important I had to do. Something terrible had happened and I had to put it right.

‘Are we nearly there?’ the child asked plaintively, and I looked down and saw that it was Daisy looking up at me with her innocent blue eyes – those eyes that grab on to me like claws and won’t let go.

‘Daisy!’ I exclaimed, my heart bursting with joy and relief. ‘But I don’t understand . . . you’re alive. How are you alive?’

She didn’t answer. She just grinned at me revealing the pink gums where her baby teeth had fallen out.

‘It’s your fault,’ she said airily. Then she let go of my hand and before I could stop her, she ran out into the road.

‘Daisy, no!’ I screamed, as a huge truck loomed out of nowhere and ploughed into her, shattering her small body. I watched in horror as the pieces turned into jigsaw-puzzle pieces and scattered in the wind.

I woke up silently screaming, my pillow drenched in tears. Daisy is dead and nothing will ever bring her back. Somehow, I have to live with that.

Fourteen

Ben Wiltshire is probably full of shit, I think, as I climb down the stairs.

Even so, I stop thoughtfully outside flat two and I notice that the patio doors are flung wide open. The radio is blaring and there’s a woman sitting in a motorised wheelchair on the patio under the shade of a maple tree. Her grey hair is neatly bobbed, her mouth is hanging open slightly, her head tipped to the side and her hands resting limply on the edge of the chair.

I recoil slightly at the sight of her and am immediately ashamed of myself for my reaction, so I overcompensate by smiling broadly and saying an unnecessarily loud ‘Hello.’

She doesn’t respond immediately, just makes a strange gurgling noise in her throat and I think she can’t speak or that maybe she’s mentally disabled. But her