‘Well, you’re home now. Have you eaten? There’s some pizza.’
I don’t want to eat a thing, but I force it down for her sake. ‘I’m knackered,’ I say afterwards. ‘I think I’ll get an early night.’
‘I’ll join you,’ she says, piling plates into the dishwasher. ‘The house is almost ready, just the pool cover to get sorted. We should arrange the moving day and have a little do to christen it. What do you think? We’ll invite a few people.’
‘Sounds great,’ I say.More money on food and champagne.
Ten days. Those two words go round and round in my head. I have ten days to pay Raven and to sort out the Rupert error, and I still have to pay the loan shark. If I can get Rupert’s money transferred to the right place, then I will at least have him off my back.
For some reason, despite his soft voice and perfect manners, he worries me the most.
Chapter Seventy
Neville
Ilisten to Daniel’s story and let out a deep sigh. I want to feel sorry for him, but all I see before me is a weak, pathetic man who has done me over. I watch as he swallows two painkillers with the whisky. It seems pointless to ask him if that’s wise.
I pour more whisky into my glass. ‘You’ve been taking drugs?’
He sighs. ‘I never imagined it would get out of control. I got addicted, and it got expensive. I kept trying to win at the casino, but I just kept losing.’
‘You had it all,’ I say, trying to keep the anger I feel out of my voice. ‘The perfect wife, a beautiful new home, a lovely apartment and a son you live with, who you see every day. Christ, what I wouldn’t give to see my kids every day.’
Daniel’s lips tremble at this, and for a frightening moment, I think he’s going to cry.
‘I know. It just got out of hand.’
‘But all this time you’ve been letting me work on your house, knowing that you probably wouldn’t be able to pay me,’ I say angrily.
‘I would pay you if I could.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I say, standing up. ‘I think I’ve heard enough.’
Panic crosses Daniel’s face, and he jumps up quickly, grabbing my arm. ‘Look, wait, I need you.’
I scoff.
‘Me? I can’t help you out of this mess.’
‘I’ve been laundering money for someone, and I looked him up. The last transaction I did went to the wrong account. He wants that money back. It’s two hundred thousand. Now he’s threatening me and my family. Anyway, I found out that a few years ago, he killed someone’s wife over a business disagreement.’
I turn cold.
‘Why isn’t he in prison?’ I ask, confused.
‘Apparently, he got to the jurors. Look.’
He taps into his phone and slides it across to me. The screen shows a page from a news site. A picture of a smartly dressed man. He reeks of money.
Rupert Maynard smiles outside The Old Bailey as he is found not guilty of plotting the murder of a business associate's wife. Francesca Miles was found dead at her home. She had been strangled. The court heard that Fred Miles owed Maynard money after a joint business deal went wrong. The court heard that Maynard had threatened Fred Miles and his family if Miles didn’t pay up. After the trial, a highly emotional Miles claimed that Maynard had got to the jurors. ‘He’s as guilty as hell,’ he yelled. ‘He killed my wife.’
Rupert Maynard made a statement through his solicitor.
Mr Maynard understands the shock and distress that Mrs Miles's death must have caused to her family. He is, however, pleased that the jury recognised the false nature of the allegations in this case. He is grateful that justice has been done here today and hopes that the perpetrator of this heinous crime is identified soon.’
I note the date of the piece: five years ago. My heart is banging so hard against my chest that I’m surprised Daniel can’t hear it.
‘Why don’t you tell Joanna, surely she’s got a right to know?’
