Page 41 of One of Us Is Guilty

Patrick stood there in a blue shirt, the skin below his eyes swollen, hair tousled, as if he’d just woken from a nap.

‘I heard the car. Are you alright?’

Vanessa stared at him for a moment, unable to say anything.

But then she remembered her role. She remembered what she had to do. Voss’s sharp words ringing in her ears.

‘I’m alright. Everything is going to be alright,’ she said.

He didn’t embrace her. That wasn’t his way. He had not been raised in a home that comforted loved ones, nor a home that understood love at all.

He simply stood aside, beckoning her to come in.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the hallway. The door, with its heavy steel plate on the back for security, slammed behind her, making her jump. But to Vanessa, right now, that door wasn’t there to keep people out. It was there to keep her in.

‘What did the lawyers say?’ he asked.

‘She— They said the trial will be fast. It will all be over in a few months and then we can put it all behind us.’

He stepped in close behind her, so that when he spoke his breath was hot on the back of her neck.

‘That’s wonderful news.’

She moved on, through the hallway toward the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she drank deeply. Patrick stood behind her. She’d heard his footsteps on the floor, and sensed his presence coming ever closer. He was gauging her responses.Trying to get a handle on her demeanor, so he could properly assess where he stood and how this case could affect him.

‘Do you want something to eat?’ he asked.

She put the water bottle on the counter, keeping her back to him. Then she shook her head.

There was something else on his mind. Something he wanted to know. He just hadn’t asked it yet.

‘I need to rest. I need to sleep,’ she said.

‘Of course. Just one thing . . .’ he said.

This is it.

‘Did they mention Molly’s bracelet?’

She spun round, gazed at him. He leaned against the kitchen island, his arms by his side, legs crossed – a casual display, but the keenness in his eyes betrayed his portrayal of casual indifference.

‘What?’ asked Vanessa. ‘What bracelet?’

‘The diamond bracelet she wore. Did they mention it?’

Picking up the water bottle, Vanessa made for the hallway and the stairs.

As she passed him, he grabbed her upper arm, fast, causing her to jolt and spill a little of the water on her blouse.

‘The bracelet. Did they talk about the bracelet?’ he asked again, this time with an edge in his voice.

‘No,’ she said, and then shrugged away, and pulled, but he held on to her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. He stared into her eyes, trying to gauge if she was telling the truth.

Fear is a funny thing. She thought she should be used to it by now. She had lived with it long enough. Not every day, but somehow it was always there. It could come from the look in the corner of Patrick’s eye, the way he gripped a coffee cup, the sliver of ice in a single word from his crooked mouth or even from the way he breathed.

He was a severely damaged man. His father had seen to that.

Badly damaged people hurt others.