Nicci French - Secret Smile

I still didn't speak. I wasn't going to be drawn into a conversation.

'Your boyfriend,' said Pryor. 'Some sort of doctor, isn't he?' I only shrugged. He leaned in closer, his eyes narrow. 'You know what?'

'No,' I said. 'What?'

'I don't believe you.'

'What?'

'Did he help you? Your boyfriend? He could do it, couldn't he? A few bruises, things that would show, but not do too much damage.'

'What the…?' I stuttered. 'What are you saying?'

'There was a knife,' Brett said. 'He dropped it. We're checking the prints.'

'They lived together,' said Pryor. 'She could have saved it.'

'We never lived together,' I said. 'What the hell are you doing?'

He was so close to me now that I could almost smell him.

'He's got an alibi,' he said.

I took a deep breath. I had to control myself.

'I don't care,' I said finally. 'Why are you telling me this? I was there. I know what I know.'

'Don't you want to know?'

'All right,' I said. 'Who?'

'His girlfriend, Naomi Stone.' He looked at me with an expression of mild triumph. I'd seen it before. 'You don't seem very concerned.'

'Maybe I'm used to being disbelieved,' I said. 'As I said, I was the one who was there. He had his knife against my throat. Look.' I lifted my chin.

He clapped his hands gently.

'Oh, very good,' he said. 'It's a brilliant performance. Dignified. Not overdone. Pretty convincing. But then you've had a bit of practice.'

I tried to concentrate. Don't let him rile you.

'Have you ever thought that it's just possible that you could be wrong and that Brendan could be dangerous?'

'None of this matters,' said Pryor. 'He couldn't have attacked you. He was at home. He was at home when the police called and Ms Stone places him there for the entire evening.' He picked up the statement and glanced at it once more. 'You mention a dark blue shirt. When I saw him a few minutes ago, his shirt looked brown to me.'

'He might have changed it,' I said. 'Did that occur to you?'

He shook his head and smiled.

'Mr Block is making a statement. We'll make some calls and then we can bring this charade to an end. If you really want to know…' And now Pryor was interrupted by the ringing of his mobile phone. With a sigh of exasperation he took it from his pocket. 'Yes?' Suddenly his expression changed. 'What the hell are you talking about?' He looked at me with glassy eyes as he listened to the phone. 'I'll be right there.'

He mumbled something to Brett and then walked out of the room, banging the door behind him. Brett pulled a face at me. I think he was on my side, mostly. He ran out after Pryor. I was alone for several minutes and I lay back and stared at the ceiling, trying to empty my mind. I felt as if I were in another world now, unengaged by these events and disputes. When the door opened I barely looked round. It was another female police officer. She sat in the corner, but made no attempt to start a conversation. I tried to sleep although it was hopeless, but I closed my eyes so I wouldn't be bothered.

Much later, it must have been after an hour, the door opened and I was aware of someone by the bed.

'Are you awake?'

I opened my eyes. Brett.

'Sort of I said. 'You look cheerful.'

'Sorry,' he said. 'Are you all right?'

'I don't know.'

'It'll feel worse tomorrow.'

'The doctor told me. I've got pills for that.' There was a pause. 'So what's happened? What happened with Pryor?'

The smile spread across Brett's face.

'He's not a happy man,' he said. 'My colleague was talking to Naomi Stone. Just to see if she was sure about that alibi. She told her about some of the hairs recovered at the scene. And the knife.'

'So?'

'She's withdrawn her alibi. And better still, we've found the dark blue shirt.'

'Where?'

'It wasn't in his drawer. It was in the bottom of a rubbish bag outside his house. It has some stains on it. They are as yet unidentified, but we already know they are drops of blood. Human blood.'

'Mine?'

'We'll see. I told Rob Pryor that he should come here and apologize to you.'

'What did he say?'

'He had a previous engagement. Off the record, I think I can tell you that we shall be filing charges against Brendan Block in the morning.' He took my hand. 'We'll leave you now.'

Brett and the policewoman left the room, switching off the light before they closed the door. I tried to go over things in my mind for a while, to get them straight, but I was tired now and slept and had no dreams.

I spent a long time choosing the place. First I thought about somewhere with many people, Oxford Street or Trafalgar Square, because at least you lose yourself in a crowd, become anonymous and invisible. But I dismissed the idea immediately. I considered a motorway service station, heading north on the M1, say, standing in a car park or sitting at a table in the corner by a window eating doughnuts and drinking bitter, tepid coffee. But too many people pass through service stations, on their way somewhere else, and it would only take one. Perhaps outside an underground station in the suburbs: the last stop on the line, where London peters out and the countryside has not yet begun. Or in a muddy field somewhere. I could rehearse the route and draw up complicated instructions: take the M11 until Junction 10, head east on the A505. A landfill site, a laundrette in some charmless town, a lay-by off a dual carriageway, a wood at night…

On a bright and freezing New Year's Day I got up early, kissed Don's cheek very softly so he didn't wake. Before I left, I looked down at him. Yes. He'd do. I took the car and drove out of London. The roads were almost empty. I went over Blackfriars Bridge from where I could see the dome of Saint Paul 's shining in the icy light, through New Cross, Blackheath, and on to the A2. Just past Gravesend, I pulled into a garage and filled the car up with petrol. I was handing over my credit card when I changed my mind and paid in cash. I bought a cup of coffee as well, and drank it in the car before setting off again. I felt calm and, in the brightness of that winter's day, things took on a clarity and precision.

I joined the M2 and a few miles later exited towards Sheerness. I could see the Medway estuary now, the mud flats and shabby clusters of houses with a few bare trees bending in the wind and the sky vast and empty of clouds. Soon I was crossing on to the Isle of Sheppey. I pulled over and consulted my map, then drove on, right at the roundabout, right a couple of miles further, on to a bumpy minor road, left towards the church which was visible for miles, the one vertical marker rising out of the marshy. land. At the church, I parked and looked at my watch. It was ten o'clock; I had about two miles to walk and just less than an hour to do it in.

It was bitterly cold when I opened the door and I could hear the desolate call of sea birds on the wind. I pulled on my thick jacket, my scarf, woollen hat and padded biking gloves. Even then, my cheeks felt scoured. I started to walk. If Don had been with me, he could have told me the names of the birds that circled above me in the streams of air, or flew low over the water, calling. I clapped my hands together to keep the blood circulating. There was nobody around; just a few sheep grazing at the tufts of grass, birds picking their way delicately over the mud with long, hinged legs. I turned my back on the sea and walked towards the inland marshes.

After about forty minutes, I saw a dot on the level horizon. The dot became larger, clearer. Became a figure that was walking towards me. Became a woman in a heavy coat with blonde hair escaping her hat and whipping round her pale cheeks. Neither of us made a signal or lessened our pace. We just continued walking towards each other across the marshes until we were a few feet away from each other.