Those Who Lie: the gripping new thriller you won’t be able to stop talking about. Diane JeffreyЧитать онлайн книгу.
knows that Matt has been in trouble with the police a couple of times for supplying cannabis. That doesn’t constitute an addiction, does it?
‘No,’ she replies categorically.
‘Who paid for your mother’s treatment, Mrs Klein?’
‘My husband and I.’
‘Your husband was obviously quite a wealthy man, Mrs Klein. He had a thriving antique business and was able to afford this house on the Woodstock Road. Did he have a life insurance policy?’
‘Yes,’ Emily says. ‘We both did.’
‘And can you explain the terms of those policies to me?’
‘As far as I know, they’re just standard life insurance policies.’
Campbell’s gaze remains fixed on Emily and the officer is silent, waiting for her to continue. Emily can see this is part of Campbell’s technique, but she feels compelled to add more information anyway.
‘I imagine I can claim for the funeral costs. The policy will probably cover the remaining mortgage payments on this house. I haven’t checked.’
‘Presumably you’re the designated beneficiary?’
‘Yes, I think so. I believe Greg stipulated spouse, then next of kin for both of us. But I really don’t know the terms of the policy.’
‘Next of kin,’ the sergeant says as she writes down the words in her notebook. Campbell’s handwriting is small and neat with pointed letters, Emily notices. ‘But you didn’t have children with Mr Klein, did you?’
‘No.’ Emily wants to pinch Campbell hard. Or, better still, slap her pretty face. She can’t possibly know about my child, too. Can she? Emily suddenly wants to cry.
‘Do you know if there is a lump sum to be paid out in the event of your husband’s death?’
‘I have no idea. I’m not familiar with the terms of the policy,’ Emily repeats. She can hear her voice quivering.
‘Mrs Klein, is there a clause pertaining to accidental death in your husband’s insurance policy?’
Emily feels her heartbeat quicken as she wonders what Campbell is inferring with this. ‘Do I need my lawyer present for these questions?’ she asks.
Campbell must sense her panic because she softens the tone of her voice. ‘It’s your prerogative, Mrs Klein, if you’d like a lawyer present. But at this stage, it’s not really necessary.’
‘After a serious road traffic collision, there’s always an investigation. It’s just routine.’
Emily nods. She finds Constable’s words more reassuring.
‘As police officers, we’re just trying to confirm that this crash was an accident and rule out any prosecutable offence,’ the sergeant adds. ‘You must bear in mind, Mrs Klein, that your husband lost his life when you crashed the car.’
Emily feels an even stronger aversion towards this woman and a wave of nausea sweeps through her. Tears spring to her eyes. Greg is gone, she thinks. What have I done? Did I kill him? What happened that day? Each time this alarming thought comes into her head, she tries to push it away. She feels a little spark of anger ignite inside her. She’s angry with Campbell, with herself, but also, a little, with Greg. He’d told her something. Something that had come as a bolt from the blue. What was it?
‘Mrs Klein, allow me to share our theory with you,’ Constable says, interrupting her thoughts. Emily looks at him. He has kind eyes and a nice mouth hidden slightly beneath his moustache. ‘We believe that you and your husband were having a disagreement in the car and that something your husband said – or maybe even shouted – caused you to have a moment of inattention, which in turn led you to drive the car off the road and into the tree at the roadside.’ He is enunciating slowly as if explaining something complicated to a child. ‘Do you think that might be a plausible explanation for this accident?’
Emily shrugs. She doesn’t trust herself to speak.
‘Mrs Klein do you remember anything about the topic of the conversation you had in the car with your husband?’ Evidently, it’s Campbell’s turn to ask the questions again. ‘Can you tell us about your argument?’
‘That might help us to complete our report.’ Constable says. ‘And then no doubt you can sort out your car with your insurance company.’
‘Has anything come back to you about your disagreement with Mr Klein? Anything at all?’
‘No,’ Emily answers.
But that’s a lie. Emily has finally remembered what Greg revealed to her in the car. Now she thinks she understands the message he sent her earlier. Part of their row still eludes her. She can’t work out what her father has to do with it all, either, and yet she gets the distinct impression that this part is vital. But she recalls the reason why she and Greg were fighting. And she also has an inkling as to why she crashed the car.
~
Devon, June 1996
Emily had been a resident at Exmoor Secure Children’s Centre for a month before William Huxtable came to visit, but he’d written to her several times. Usually, visits were restricted to family members only. Emily’s sister and mother came every week, but this weekend Amanda had stayed home to revise hard for her A-Levels. Instead, Will came. He’d told Emily jokingly that he was her cousin for the duration of the visit, but Emily suspected that her care coordinator would have been in favour of the visit anyway. After all, as she often told Emily, socialising with her peers was an important part of her treatment.
‘This place is not at all how I imagined it would be,’ Will said.
‘I know,’ Emily agreed, looking around her as they walked through the corridor towards the garden. The home had an institutional feel to it, but at the same time colourful naïve art pictures, in glassless frames, were displayed on the walls, which were themselves decorated in vivid tones.
Emily remembered the day she’d arrived. She’d been escorted through the gates and up the drive in a police car. The building had looked almost welcoming and not at all austere. She wouldn’t even have known what it was in different circumstances.
‘Were you expecting something resembling a Victorian workhouse?’ Emily asked. She certainly had been.
‘What?’ Will was absent-mindedly sifting through leaflets on contraception and healthy eating on the stand by the door to the garden.
‘You know, Oliver Twist?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Will said. ‘So what’s it like here?’
‘It’s OK. Everything is brand new. My bedroom still smells of paint! This place only opened about a month before I was sentenced…er, sent here. There’s a TV room where we all watch Neighbours after lunch and Home and Away after lessons. There’s also a library, although it could do with having a few more books. There’s a music room with a piano and a games room with table tennis. But the best bit is that twice a week after lessons I can paint for a couple of hours in the Art and Design workshop.’
‘You have lessons?’ Will was surprised. ‘You didn’t mention that in your letters.’
‘Didn’t I? Probably because I didn’t think it was very interesting. Yes, I have to study. I’ll be taking my GCSEs next year, you know, whether I’m still in here or not.’
‘I’m glad all that’s behind me,’ Will said. ‘That said, A-Levels are worse!’ He chuckled. He was eighteen months older than Emily, but a year ahead for his age at school, which put him in the same class as Amanda.
‘So, have you chosen a course?’
‘Yes,