‘Thank you for your assistance. We would be grateful if you could remain in Sussex for the foreseeable future. We will be back in touch should we require any further information or if we need to question you further.’
Cornish brings the interview to a close and switches off the recording equipment. We are dismissed.
‘What does that all mean?’ I ask Clive as we step outside the police station.
‘Clearly, they have insufficient information to charge you, and they’re still on a fishing trip.’
‘So what’s going to happen next?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Mrs Palmer; however, I will stay in close contact with DI Cornish. As soon as I find out any more, I will contact you.’
‘Thank you. I am very grateful for your support.’
Mia and Oliver mustn’t know that the police are going to search through our house. They are disturbed enough as it is. I need them to go away for a couple of days, and hopefully by the time they return, everything will be back to normal. As normal as it can be without their father.
I ring Bea. Oliver, in particular, loves his cousin Finlay. Mia is in awe of Bea’s eldest, Louis. At eighteen, he is – according to Mia – coolness personified.
‘Of course they can come and stay,’ Bea says. ‘As he’s finished his exams, Louis is lounging around the house doing sweet FA. Fin is at school, but he hasn’t got anything on this weekend. How about I collect your two in the morning?’
‘Thanks, Bea.’
‘And how about you, Lydia? How are you coping?’
‘I don’t know if I am.’ I swallow a sob. I don’t want to tell my older sister that I have just come out of an interview at the police station, and that the real reason I want her to have my children to stay is because our house is going to be searched so as to establish who killed my husband. I suppose I should be grateful that I have been warned in advance. At least they haven’t ram-raided our home at some ungodly hour.
‘I’m here for you,’ Bea says.
But she isn’t. Not really. She lives in London, and although we care for each other, we’ve never been close. I can’t share the intimate intricacies of my life with her in the way I can with some of my friends, like Cassie and Fiona. She doesn’t even know that Adam and I were planning on divorcing. I love Bea, but sometimes I don’t like her. She can be holier than thou and the uber-efficient, judgemental older sister. For that reason, I’ve learned to keep my distance.
Mia is delighted at the prospect of staying in London for a couple of days. Oliver, less so. Nevertheless, I am relieved when Bea comes striding into the house at 9 a.m. the next morning, dressed in navy chinos and a blue-and-white striped boat top. Goodness knows what time she got up to get here so early.
With the children gone, I decide to go to work. I need a distraction. On the drive, I stop off at the garage to fill up with petrol, and to my dismay see the headlines in the local paper.
Sussex owner of Cracking Crafts murdered in family swimming pool
I gasp. Who has told the papers that Adam was murdered? They don’t even know for sure if he was murdered. It’s horrible, and I have to blink repeatedly to stop the tears from overflowing.
The moment I walk through the door at Cracking Crafts, I can sense something is wrong. The staff are neither rushing over to express their dismay about Adam’s death nor avoiding me. They just sit glued to their computer screens, faces pale. I know that expression. It’s shock.
Nicky glances up and sees me. She hurries over.
‘What’s happened?’ I ask.
‘Can we talk in your office?’
‘Sure.’
I glance into Ajay’s office as we walk past, but it’s empty. ‘Is Ajay in a meeting?’
‘Um, no.’
She holds my office door open and I enter my happy, colourful den.
‘He got arrested an hour ago.’
‘What?’
‘The police came here and arrested Ajay. At least they didn’t put handcuffs on him, but they did take him away in a squad car.’
‘Shit,’ I say, sinking into my chair.
‘Do they think he murdered Adam?’ Nicky asks.
‘I don’t know what they think. It’s a nightmare. I feel like I’m living through a real-life hell.’
‘I’m sorry, Lydia. You really are. Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?’
‘No, thanks.’
I try to think straight. I suppose it’s obvious that both Ajay and I must be the key suspects. We both have a motive to kill Adam. But the thought of either of us actually doing it is laughable. I have known Ajay for nearly two decades, and he is level-headed and exactly the sort of person you want around you in a disaster.
I try to recall when I have seen him lose his temper. There was one occasion, back in the early days, when we discovered an employee had been stealing from us. Ajay went mental. He threw a mug at the lad. Fortunately, it missed and splintered on the office floor.
I try to recall any other time. He and Adam had a shouting match about six months ago. Ajay stormed out and Adam refused to tell me what it was about. It happened shortly before I told Adam our marriage was over, and with the fallout over that, I never discovered what they fought about. But those occasions were rare. Normally, Ajay is the voice of reason.
And then I wonder: If Ajay found out that Marianne and Adam were having an affair, could he have murdered Adam? He’s a practical sort of man. I have little doubt he could work out how to mess with wiring to create an electrical current, but would he? It seems so unlikely. Then I remember how he calls Marianne at least once, sometimes more often, every day. I used to think it was because they were still in love, but now I wonder if he is just a controlling husband. I remember how Marianne used to say I was so lucky having a job. I thought it was strange. There she was free to be a lady who lunched, filling her days with shopping and beauty treatments. But perhaps Ajay was an overbearing husband. Perhaps Adam was a wonderful husband in comparison. None of us really knows what is going on behind marital closed doors.
Then there’s the insurance money. Ajay knew all about it. He knew that if Adam died, then the company’s financial woes would be sorted. But it’s not like Cracking Crafts is on the brink of financial ruin. The thought of Ajay murdering Adam seems totally outlandish.
My head is spinning, and if I thought I could get any work done, I was naive. Instead, I take out a crochet project: a cushion pattern in a rainbow of pastels, an easy, meditative pattern. The staff know that I try out all our new products, so if anyone glances into my office they won’t be in the least bit surprised to see me busy making something. The repetitive motion calms me down, and I’m left alone for an hour or so.
But then my office door swings open. Most people knock, so I look up in surprise.
‘How dare you!’ Ajay strides towards my desk. The door slams closed behind him. ‘You knew all of this time and you didn’t tell me!’
He leans his hands on my desk and stares at me. His eyes are red and he has blackened circles surrounding them.
‘Can you imagine how humiliating it was to find out from the police that my wife was having an affair with your husband, and you knew. How could you not tell me, Lydia?’