Diane Jeffrey - Those Who Lie - the gripping new thriller you won’t be able to stop talking about

‘At Gee’s. It’s not far from my husband’s shop.’

‘Oh, I know that restaurant,’ the constable says. ‘The one on Banbury Road? I’ve only eaten there once, though. It’s a bit pricey, isn’t it?’

Emily isn’t sure if she’s meant to reply, so she remains silent, trying hard to think. She’s in hospital. She’s groggy. She’s in pain. She knows all that. But she can’t get beyond that. She’s having difficulty associating her two new acquaintances with her surroundings. Shouldn’t there be doctors and nurses or family and friends by her bed rather than police officers? What on earth am I doing here?

Emily’s gaze flits from the constable to the sergeant. She scans as much of her room as her neck will allow. Hers is the only bed, so she’s in a private room rather than a hospital ward. There are flowers and fruit next to the water jug, so she’s had visitors. Greg and Amanda, probably. But for some reason, they’re not here now.

‘Can we get back to the interrogation?’ Sergeant Campbell reprimands her colleague, clicking her pen off and back on.

‘Is this an interrogation?’ Emily asks, bewildered. She almost asks what she has done wrong, but stops herself just in time. She wonders if she’s dreaming. She certainly feels sleepy.

The sergeant looks vaguely uncomfortable and squirms in her seat. ‘No, not really,’ she says, her voice softening a little. ‘That wasn’t the right word.’

‘Not at all,’ the constable says. ‘It’s a routine investigation after—’

‘Mrs Klein…Emily, we just want to know what happened that day,’ Campbell interrupts. ‘For our report. Did you drink anything with your meal?’

Something doesn’t feel right. Emily’s mind is even foggier, and she’s struggling to organise her thoughts. What had the constable been about to say? A routine investigation after what? Into what? It must be serious if these police officers have been waiting for her to wake up. Or are they here for her protection?

Campbell repeats her question.

‘Yes. A Perrier water, with a twist of lemon,’ Emily replies. ‘That’s what I always have.’

‘I meant, did you have any alcohol? A glass of wine, for example?’

‘Oh, no. I don’t drink. And anyway, I was driving.’

‘Yes, you were,’ the sergeant says. ‘Why was Mr Gregory Klein, your husband, in the car with you?’ Her voice is silky now, but Emily gets the feeling she’s hiding something.

‘Well, he wanted to have a look at an Edwardian inlaid satinwood wardrobe.’

Now it’s the sergeant’s turn to look perplexed.

‘An antique wardrobe,’ Emily explains, seeing Campbell’s expression. ‘The owner lived in Staunton Road, in Headington. I didn’t have any urgent work that day, so I drove Greg there.’

The policewoman seems temporarily at a loss for words and purses her lips as she digests this piece of information. Her pale pink lipstick has been applied rather haphazardly, which makes Emily wonder if she had difficulty colouring inside the lines as a young child.

‘Did you need new bedroom furniture?’ the sergeant asks after a few seconds.

‘Oh, no.’ Under different circumstances, Emily might have found the question funny. ‘My husband’s an antique dealer. The wardrobe was for his shop. It’s odd, but I’m not sure whether he bought it or not.’

Before Emily can reflect any more on that, the sergeant resumes. ‘What did you and Mr Klein talk about in the car?’

‘I think we had an argument.’ A vague memory stirs and Emily tries to grasp it, but it fades away. Talking is making Emily’s head thump even more, and so is trying to call to mind the conversation they had in the car. ‘Greg told me something. I’ve forgotten exactly what it was he said. But I do know I was very angry about it.’

Emily pauses. Sergeant Campbell waits for her to continue. The constable gives her what is no doubt intended to be an encouraging look. ‘I just remember Greg asking me over and over: “Who was it, Emily? Who was it?” He was shouting.’

Emily has a sudden image of her husband’s furious face.

‘Who was what?’ asks the sergeant, somewhat impatiently.

‘I don’t know.’ Emily frowns.

‘Do you recall your answer to your husband’s question?’

‘Yes,’ Emily replies, surprised, ‘I do. The answer was: “My father.” I told him that it was my father.’ The mere thought of him makes her shudder.

‘So, you remember you were arguing,’ the sergeant recaps, looking down and pointing her index finger at the notebook on her knee, ‘but not what it was about.’

Emily glances at the sergeant’s pad. Although for her the notebook is upside down, Emily can clearly see that the police officer has taken no notes whatsoever. She has merely doodled a series of dots in a circular pattern, which reminds Emily of the recurrent spiral motif she uses in her own artwork.

‘That’s right.’ Emily nods, and then scowls as the pain in her head intensifies.

‘If it comes back to you, will you contact us?’

‘How do I get in touch with you?’

The policewoman produces a card from a pocket in her uniform and hands it to her. Emily looks at it and sees a series of addresses, telephone numbers and a shoulder number under the heading Sergeant Campbell, Roads Policing Unit, Thames Valley Police.

‘What’s your name again?’ Emily addresses Campbell’s colleague, thinking it would be infinitely preferable to deal with him than the scary sergeant.

‘PC Constable,’ he replies.

‘Police Constable Constable?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ he says wryly. ‘I desperately need a promotion.’

Emily tries again to smile at him, but yet another bolt of pain shoots through her head and she suddenly finds him far less amusing. She still can’t work out why she’s here. She seems to recollect being told last time she woke up that she’d been involved in an accident. A growing sense of alarm overcomes her initial disorientation.

Sergeant Campbell’s next question does nothing to reassure her. ‘Mrs Klein, do you know what caused you to crash the car?’ The police officer clicks her pen again.

Emily has a vision of her car hurtling off the road towards a tree. She feels a wave of panic break over her. Is this what really happened? Or is her imagination running wild? She takes a deep breath. So, she crashed the car. That makes sense. It would explain why she’s in hospital and why her head, neck and side hurt so much. But she can’t think straight. And she’s far too tired to answer any more questions.

At that moment, the door to her hospital room opens and in strides a tall, plump woman wearing a badge that identifies her as Staff Nurse Peterson. She reminds Emily a little of Chummy in Call the Midwife . Emily is now almost convinced she’s trapped on a TV studio set in a bad dream.

But then the nurse says, ‘Oh, Mrs Klein, you’re awake again.’ She puts her hand on Emily’s arm. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Very confused,’ Emily replies, ‘and in pain.’

Staff Nurse Peterson checks the drip, and tells Emily that she’ll administer some more painkillers. As the nurse completes her clinical checks and records the data on Emily’s chart, Sergeant Campbell drops her bombshell.

‘I must say, Mrs Klein,’ she says, ‘you’re taking the news of your husband’s death incredibly well.’

Emily senses Staff Nurse Peterson freeze at Campbell’s remark. Words swirl round in Emily’s head. Argument…my father…car crash…husband’s death . She tries to suppress the scream rising inside her, and it erupts as a strangled whimper. That’s the only sound audible in the room. It seems to resonate in Emily’s ears. She cradles her sore head in her hands.