Page 33 of The Unforgiven

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t, Mrs Astley. Do you recognise this man?” He took a photograph of Neil Hunt out of his pocket and slid it over the table to her.

“No, no – I don’t know who he is, I’m afraid. Sorry if you’ve wasted your time – Clifford said you’d come all the way over from Manchester.” She slid her chair back.

I placed a second photo on the table, an image from the security camera, and Leonardo Di Vinci couldn’t have made it any clearer. Unless Alexandra Aster had an identical twin sister that we weren’t aware of, she was entering the Willow Tree with Neil Hunt on Monday thirtieth of March.

“This image says otherwise, Mrs Astley. You might want to rethink your answer, impeding an investigation can carry jail time.” I toyed with my necklace; one I’d rarely worn and had picked up from the apartment on the way to Newcastle.

The plan had been to make me relatable, which involved me looking more upmarket than my usual high street suits and non-iron shirts. The necklace had been a graduation gift from my foster parents, a ‘ticket back’, jewellery I could sell if I was ever in need of some emergency cash. They’d done it for all their kids, Heidi and the two boys they’d had after I’d been with them for a couple of years.

It was too precious to wear much. A keepsake to show someone cared enough to want me to be able to get home.

Colour drained from her face, and she sat back in the chair, understanding that she wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

“So, Mrs Astley, do you know this man?” Wrigley pointed to the photo of Hunt. “He hasn’t given your name, and he seems more concerned about protecting your identity than covering his own arse.”

She looked between the photos, nothing to immediately say.

“I understand your husband is a barrister, Mrs Astley. We also understood that this discussion needed to be carried out sensibly, hence meeting you here.” I toyed with my necklace again, the material of my jacket smooth against the skin it touched. I’d bought it for a christening back home on Anglesey, a special occasion that I wanted to make the most of. It was designer and cut well, making the most of my figure and I’d wear it when I needed to impress, or pretend I needed to impress.

“Which is considerate of you. Have you considered that I was just leaving the restaurant at the same time as this man? A simple explanation?” She looked restless again, and pleased with herself that she’d given an answer that could explain the photo.

“We didn’t have to. A member of staff confirmed that you’d had dinner together. Mrs Aster, we can keep this quite simple. Mr Hunt was in Newcastle on a job that week. He didn’t stay at the bed and breakfast he was booked into because he claimed he stayed with a woman he was having an affair with. All we need to be able to do is confirm this; that you can provide him with an alibi for the evenings and nights that week.” Wrigley spoke quietly, but there was a firmness to his words that made him sound like a father speaking to his daughter.

Alexandra Astley sighed and closed her eyes. “We were having an affair, and my husband was away that week. I’ve known Neil since we were teenagers, and he was in a band. He was my bit of rough, as my mother called him, and we only split up because we lived in different places and couldn’t see eachother. He got in touch when he started contracting up here and things started up again, only I'd never leave my husband. He knows that.”

“So he was with you? Can you give any evidence of that – any home security cameras that might show him entering your property?” This could be how we narrowed it down, although we still had a very unevidenced working theory that Hunt had orchestrated Chelsea’s murder somehow.

She shook her head, perfectly styled hair moving fluidly. “I turned off the doorbell thing so my husband couldn’t check and see who was there, if Neil rang it. I closed the cameras on the Alexa screens too. I didn’t want to get caught. Neil stayed over in one of the spare rooms on the top floor – not that it makes having an affair any better.” Guilt edged her words.

“We’re not the morality police, Alexandra,” Wrigley said. “Having an affair isn’t a crime and it needn’t be any of our business. Can I check he stayed every night?”

“Not every night. Just three.”

My lungs paused.

“Which night didn’t he stay, Alexandra?” I stayed calm, holding onto my bated breath.

“Monday, Wednesday and Thursday. He said he needed to be somewhere early Wednesday morning, which I was a bit pissed off about, if I’m honest.” She sat up a little straighter. “Is my husband going to find out about this?”

Wrigley shook his head. “Not necessarily. Can I just confirm, he wasn’t with you on Tuesday thirty-first March, or the morning of Wednesday April first?”

“That’s right. He asked me to tell you he was with me for all four nights, but I think I’ve lied enough to my husband, haven’t I?”

Chapter Fifteen

“I didn’t think you’d make it.” Cavan stood in the hallway of the apartment, a bottle of beer in his hand, looking mouth-wateringly handsome in trousers, a shirt that was just about tight enough across his chest, and bare feet.

Lucy had clearly imposed the “no shoes” rule.

I walked into his arms for a hug, sniffing his cologne, and hoping I didn’t smell of two days policing without a shower.

We’d had an impromptu stay over in Newcastle on Thursday night to tie up any lose ends we could, taking statements from the young lad who’d been waiting on, and an official statement from Alexandra Aster. She hadn’t heard from Neil Hunt since Tuesday night, and neither had anyone else. He and his mate Craig hadn’t turned up for work since Wednesday, his phone was off, and other than three hundred quid being withdrawn from his bank account, there’d been no other activity. His car was still in Liverpool.

There was still nothing to connect him to Brooke O’Hara, but he’d certainly elevated himself in terms of our persons of interest list.

“Just about, but I need to shower and get changed.” I wondered if I was too gross to ask him to join me, even though there were at least another dozen people in the apartment that was a decent size, but still.

“Do you want me to get you a drink?” He gave me a kiss that tasted nicely of beer.