Keep My Secrets by Elena Wilkes (large ebook reader .txt) 📗

didn’t know the whole story, you see, and—’

‘So more lies, then?’ She gives her an odd look.

‘I can see how all this sounds, but—’

‘Hmmm… Yes, I’m sure you can.’

There’s that tone again.

‘Yes… yes… I can. But look, I have a photograph. One of the photographs that Jack took.’ She puts her hand in her pocket, and then the other pocket and then checks her jeans. ‘Martin has it,’ she says. ‘Martin had it in the car. Speak to him. He’ll tell you.’

D.S. Markham lets out a long sigh and raises her eyebrows. ‘It looks as though we’re speaking to Mr Jarvis about quite a few things, so we’ll add that to the list.’ She smiles grimly and pushes her chair back to stand. ‘I’ll get you that tea shall I?’

‘Do Vanessa and Peter know what’s happened to Jack?’

The D.S. doesn’t reply; instead she pauses for a moment.

Frankie looks up at her. ‘Peter will confirm what I’ve told you about Jack. He did all those things because he was protecting his son and he believed that Martin had murdered Charlotte.’ Frankie shakes her head. ‘God, what a mess.’

The D.S. bites her top lip. ‘Do you take milk and sugar?’

‘You will be talking to him though?’ she presses. ‘You will speak to him?’

The D.S.’s mouth contracts slightly into a thin line.

‘I may as well tell you. Peter Vale’s body was found earlier this evening. His throat had been cut with a short blade knife similar to the kind of knife you described belonging to Mr Jarvis. Mr Jarvis is also sitting in our interview room covered in blood.’

Frankie finds her jaw has dropped open.

‘Martin Jarvis is on licence, as I’m sure you’re aware. That means he can be recalled to prison at any time, and that’s exactly where Mr Jarvis will be going.’

Her jaw closes with a snap. She knows that the D.S. is watching her face.

‘As I indicated earlier Frankie, there are lots of unanswered questions that I will want to put to you and I’m sure there’s lots of “evidence” that you’ll want to produce for me.’

She says the words like they’re all part of a tired joke and she’s heard the punchline a million times.

There is a pull, deep in Frankie’s stomach as she realises she’s not going home for a long while yet.

‘Is that okay, Frankie?’ The D.S. is still smiling as she nods dumbly in reply.

‘Ah, tea! Silly me! Actually, I could do with a cup myself. I’ll tell you what, we’ll have one together. I’ll scrounge some biscuits too if you like and we can have a good old chat.’

Chapter Thirty

Her phone begins jangling the minute she steps out of the station into the quiet street.

It’s Alex.

Where are you?

The message bats onto the screen.

She checks it, realising she’s got thirty missed calls. It flashes again into the grey light. She presses the ‘Call’ button.

‘You’re safe! Thank god, you’re safe! Oh Christ! I’ve been going out of my mind… How could you just walk out like that? It’s four o’clock in the morning, Frankie. Where the hell are you?’

She halts, mid-step. ‘You told me to get out.’

‘I was really pissed. I was upset and angry…’ He falters a little.

Her brain stumbles and snags. It’s all a mess, everything is a mess.

‘Please come home, Frankie. I’ve been so worried about you. We need to talk.’

Talk? She has no energy. There are no words.

‘I want to make this right. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I can’t tell you how much I need to hold you and touch you. I was so afraid—’ There’s a catch in his voice.

‘Will you please just come back? To chat things over. That’s all I want right now – you and me, two people, two adults – a truthful, open, honest conversation. Please, Frankie.’

‘I’m over an hour away. You’ll have to give me time.’

He takes an inward breath of relief. ‘You can have all the time you want.’ His voice is soft. ‘You can have anything, you know that, Frankie. You’ve always known it. You can have all the time in the world.’

She goes and sits in the car, unable to drive, unable to think. It feels as though the world is carrying on, but she is perfectly still. A flock of disturbed starlings chatter and fight in the tree across the road. They tumble and swoop across the front of the car and disappear into the blurred rooflines. She realises it’s close to dawn. She must’ve been in the station for two or three hours. Her body aches and she knows she stinks of god knows what. Her head is thumping. She’s too wired to sleep and too exhausted to stay awake. She wishes she could fall unconscious and have the whole lot of it drift away like a terrible dream.

The D.S.’s face comes back to her. She may have let her go, but she’s not free. How can she be? No one would believe what happened, let alone an experienced detective. Frankie stares glumly at the clock on the dashboard as it clicks from one number to the next. It’s a game of cat and mouse, and she’s being reeled in. But reeled in to what?

‘Two people have died tonight.’ D.S. Markham blew across the surface of her tea and took a sip.

‘Stop. Please stop. I can’t hear any more.’

Peter, dead? Peter can’t be dead. Jack’s dead.

‘And both you and Mr Jarvis have blood on your clothes. Would you like to talk me through that?’

‘Jack and Martin fought. Jack attacked me. Martin got the blood on his shirt from the fight.’

‘So neither you nor Martin had blood on you before you went to that house?’

‘No!’ She looked up at the detective, shocked.

‘You know that for a fact?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You saw Martin’s shirt before the fight?’

Frankie tried to think back… His jacket was zipped up when he got in the car.

‘But he didn’t know…’ she blurted. ‘He had no idea where Peter was; neither of us had. He didn’t know that