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

‘That’s what we were just saying,’ I agree. ‘It makes no sense.’

‘Were you here that night?’ I ask as casually as I can.

She shakes her head. ‘No, I don’t usually sleep here. Meg can contact me or her daughter any time if there’s an emergency. I only live a couple of minutes away, but like I said, I’ve got my own family to look after.’

‘But did you notice anything unusual,’ I ask, ‘in the days leading up to the murder?’

Sophia’s eyes narrow. ‘Not really. Adam went away on the Thursday evening. Charlie kept up her usual routine – work, therapy sessions. I told her she should slow down, take it easy, given her diagnosis, but she insisted on going into work. She was worried the shop would fall apart without her there. And judging by what’s happened since, she was probably right.’

‘Her diagnosis?’ I say and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realise I’ve made a mistake.

Sophia stares at me, suspiciously. ‘You didn’t know? I thought you were her friend.’

I shake my head and hurriedly explain. ‘We were old school friends. We’d been out of touch for quite a few years. What was wrong with her?’

Sophia presses her lips together and folds her arms across her chest.

‘Charlie was very ill,’ she says. ‘She had stage four bowel cancer.’

Fifteen

‘Charlie had cancer?’ I repeat. My head is spinning.

Sophia nods gravely. ‘Yes, she was dying. But she was determined not to give up without a fight, bless her.’

Neither the police nor Adam had mentioned anything about cancer.

‘Did Adam know?’ I ask.

‘Of course. How could he not know?’

Weird that he didn’t mention it, I think. But perhaps he thought it wasn’t relevant or, more likely that it was none of my business.

‘How long did she have to live?’

‘The doctors had given her about four months. That’s right, isn’t it, Meg?’

‘Yes,’ Meg agrees.

‘Just four months?’

Sophia nods. ‘It’s ironic but her killer probably saved her from a lot of suffering.’

I digest this new piece of information, still reeling from the shock. It opens up all kinds of possibilities I hadn’t previously considered. Charlie was facing months of pain and anguish with no prospect of recovery. She must have been shattered. ‘Do you think her murder could have been a mercy killing?’ I suggest tentatively.

Sophia gives me a sharp look. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone would choose to die that way, do you – stabbed four times in the chest?’

‘No,’ I shake my head and laugh inappropriately. ‘You’re right. Stupid question.’

There is a silence. Meg drools a little at the corner of her mouth and Sophia wipes it away with a tissue. ‘I think that Meg is getting tired now,’ she says pointedly.

‘I’m all right, I like the company,’ Meg protests but Sophia’s eyes are boring into me and I like to think I know when I’m not wanted.

‘Thank you for your time,’ I say, standing up. I’m staggered by what I’ve just discovered. Poor Charlie. She found out she was dying just when her life was falling into place. She’d set up her own business, just married Adam. Who knows? Maybe they were thinking of having kids. It must have been a devastating blow. Is it possible she took her own life? But that’s ridiculous. I almost laugh out loud at the idea. She couldn’t have stabbed herself in the chest. Besides, that didn’t fit with the Charlie I knew.

When I get home, I notice with a twinge of guilt that the lawn is covered in small piles of dog poop. I haven’t taken Delilah out for a walk in a while. Feeling contrite, I clean up the lawn and give Delilah a dog biscuit, promising I’ll take her out this evening. She gazes at me with big, reproachful brown eyes, then curls up in her basket with a heavy sigh of resignation.

The house looks like a bomb’s hit it. I clear up some toys, load the dishwasher, hoover the carpet and clean the bathroom. I scrub the bath vigorously, trying to remove the ring of grey grime near the top of the tub, and I mop the kitchen floor. It feels therapeutic, as if cleaning the house can also clear out my mind and give me some clarity. But everything I’ve learned at Cecily House has just raised more questions. Who was the man Meg saw visiting Charlie on Friday afternoon? And did Ben Wiltshire really hear a key in the door and a scream in the early hours of the morning? How much can I trust what either of them says? And what about Adam? He seems suspicious to me. Have the police really checked his alibi carefully?

My head is spinning, so I make myself a cup of tea, take a piece of paper from the printer, fold it over and write a list:

1. Who visited Charlie on Friday afternoon? (I underline that twice as it seems key to me.)

2. Who did Ben hear arriving at one o’clock in the morning?

3. Why was the medicine box out?

4. Who gave the police a description of me and how can they claim they saw my face so clearly when it must have been dark at one o’clock in the morning?

I add three more question marks to the end of the last question. I can’t believe the police haven’t picked up on that. I need to talk to DI Littlewood. I pick up my phone to ring her. But it’s as if she’s read my mind. And her name flashes up on my screen along with a little green phone symbol before I get the chance to call.

‘Hello?’

‘Yes, hi. This is DI Littlewood. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,’ she says politely.

‘No, it’s fine. Actually, I was just going to call you. I wanted to talk about the photofit,’ I say.

‘Oh yes?’

‘Charlie was killed in the early hours of the morning. It would have been dark. How could the witness have seen my