Sophie Hannah - The Other Half Lives aka The Dead Lie Down

Aidan didn’t destroy my gardens, or Mary’s pictures. She lied. She told me there were eighteen paintings in her exhibition that never was, the one Aidan invented. Did she forget she’d said that, when she showed me the sales list from Aidan’s TiqTaq show? It wasn’t the real list, it was one she’d written out herself. I recognised her ‘M’ from her signature on Abberton . Eighteen pictures in Aidan’s exhibition, eighteen empty frames on his walls, each one a tribute to a painting that had been viciously dismembered.

She switched places with him in her story, reversed their roles. Made him the destroyer, herself the victim.

I lied too. Did Mary believe me, that I wanted her to leave Garstead Cottage for her own safety? Was I convincing?

Panting hard, I drop the sponge and wipe my hand on my trousers until the skin smarts.

I must call an ambulance. Not the police-the police are for when it’s too late and it isn’t, it can’t be. I run to the door, forgetting it’s locked and I have no key. When it won’t open, I head for the window instead, skidding on the feathery mess that’s all over the floor, ready to throw myself out onto the grass.

‘Hello, Ruth,’ says a tremulous, distorted voice from outside, and I scream, as if the night itself has spoken to me.

A form appears from the blackness, moving closer. A thin, lined face that sags under the weight of its triumphant smile, like someone trying to hold aloft a trophy that’s too heavy. Mary. Wearing an expression of such manic, barely controlled elation that it makes me scream again, even before I see the gun that’s in her hand.

Kate Kombothekra had the car keys ready when she opened her front door. ‘Here you go,’ she said, thrusting them at Charlie.

‘You sure this is okay? I don’t know when I’ll be able to bring it back.’

‘It’s fine. The boys and I’ll walk to school tomorrow. It’ll do us good, though don’t tell Sam I said that. When he said it to me I nearly throttled him. One thing: if you could avoid smoking in it…’

‘Do my best,’ Charlie shouted over her shoulder.

As she slammed the driver door, she heard Kate yell, ‘Or at least open the…’ Charlie beeped the horn. Steering with one hand, she pulled her phone out of her handbag on the passenger seat and pressed redial. ‘Villiers,’ said the voice that answered after three rings. ‘Claire Draisey speaking.’

‘Hello, it’s me again, Charlie Zailer. Any luck?’

‘I’m afraid not. There’s been some kind of emergency here, and the deputy head’s in a meeting. I’ve rung round everyone I can think of, and no one’s seen hair nor hide of a Simon Waterhouse. Are you sure he’s here?’

‘Not absolutely. It’s where he said he was going, that’s all I know.’ Charlie had rung the school when she couldn’t reach Simon on his mobile, and got a recorded message, tacked on to the end of which was an emergency out-of-hours number-Claire Draisey’s, as it turned out. Draisey had told her few mobile phones could get reception in Villiers’ grounds, which made Charlie all the more inclined to think that was where Simon was.

‘Look, I’m going to have to free up this line,’ said Draisey, sighing. ‘You’re from the Culver Valley, did you say?’

‘That’s right. So’s DC Waterhouse.’

‘Right. Then you’re nothing to do with the London police.’

‘London police?’ A burst of adrenalin set off Charlie’s internal antennae.

‘Yes. A colleague said they’re on their way here. Look, I don’t know much more than you do at this stage. A group of our girls went on a trip to the Globe Theatre tonight to see Julius Caesar . I’ve just checked the car park, and the minibus isn’t back yet, which it certainly ought to be, and we’re all rather anxious in case…’

‘I wouldn’t waste your time if this wasn’t important,’ said Charlie. ‘Are you sure you’ve checked everywhere?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Draisey bluntly. ‘I didn’t say I had. I’ve spoken to those members of house staff that I could get hold of, and that’s all I can do, I’m afraid. I’m not traipsing round the grounds at this time of night looking for your missing colleague. Do you have any idea of the size of our empire?’ The last word was loaded with sarcasm. ‘It’d take me most of the night.’

‘What about Garstead Cottage?’ Charlie asked.

‘What about it?’ Draisey said curtly. ‘It’s rented to a private tenant who I’m not about to disturb. Now, if you’ll-’

‘Wait,’ said Charlie. ‘I got a message to ring somebody-someone I think might be in trouble. When I rang her back on the number she gave me, I got through to a taxi-driver: Michael Durtnell, his name is. He works for a firm called N & E Cars.’

‘Newsham and Earle,’ said Draisey. ‘That’s our taxi firm-the one the school uses.’

‘Right.’ Charlie let out the breath she’d been holding. Progress. ‘He said he’d left Garstead Cottage twice today, each time with a different woman passenger. Both women then decided they didn’t want to go anywhere, and asked him to take them back to Garstead Cottage. He said both were behaving strangely. I think one of those women is the person who phoned me. DC Waterhouse might already be-’

‘Sergeant Zailer, if I could stop you for a moment?’ Draisey sounded exhausted, her voice fainter than it had been previously. ‘I should have realised when you said you were from Culver Valley Police. I don’t suppose I’m thinking straight, with the minibus missing and rumours of London coppers beating a path to our door. I know for a fact that the current resident of Garstead Cottage has a friend staying with her at the moment-a female friend.’

It had to be Ruth Bussey.

‘I also know, as perhaps you don’t, that she’s in the habit of pestering the local police, summoning them when there’s absolutely no need and generally making their lives a misery. Sounds like tonight she’s decided it’s your turn. She has another house in your neck of the woods, I believe.’

‘What’s her name?’ asked Charlie, driving too fast in her excitement.

‘If you don’t know, I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to-’

‘Mary Trelease?’

A heavy sigh. ‘If you know, why are you asking me?’

‘I’m on my way to you now,’ Charlie told Draisey. ‘When I get there, I’ll need you to-’

‘I’ll either be too busy to help you, or I’ll be asleep,’ came the firm reply. ‘I’d strongly advise you to save yourself the trip. You’re not the first police officer I’ve said this to, and you won’t be the first to wish you’d listened to me when you’ve wasted a good night’s sleep for absolutely no reason. Good night, sergeant. ’

‘Mary Trelease died in 1982,’ Charlie shouted into her phone, but Claire Draisey was gone.

Charlie drove at twice the speed limit all the way to the motorway. Once she was on it, she rang the number Coral Milward had left on her voicemail. When the DS answered, she said, ‘It’s Charlie Zailer.’

‘Where the fuck are you? Where’s Waterhouse? Anyone’d think we weren’t all on the same side here. Who the fuck do you both think you are, treating me like I don’t exist?’

‘I think Simon’s at Villiers,’ Charlie told her. ‘I’m on my way there now.’

‘You’re on your way to my office is where you’re on your way to.’

‘’Fraid not,’ said Charlie.

‘They should have got rid of you two years ago-I would have done, if you’d been one of mine. They’re sure as hell going to wish they did once they’ve heard what I’ve got to say about you. Once a fuck-up, always a fuck-up. I’m going to take your career and your future and every fucking thing you’ve got and stick it up my big fat arse before shitting it out again. You’d better-’