‘One last thing,’ said Michael, putting his notepad in his jacket pocket. ‘Do you know who Ginsui might be?’
‘I’m sorry I don’t. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason, Mr Gold,’ said Wright, standing. ‘Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch again soon.’
Summer had been lucky, very lucky. After her Fallopian tube had ruptured, she had suffered massive internal bleeding, a plummeting pulse rate, and had needed an emergency blood transfusion. The surgeons had just got to her in time, however, and Summer woke to hear just how close she had come to death. She also heard that she had lost the baby; growing inside her left Fallopian tube, it had never had a chance, which sent her spiralling into a state of despair.
Molly meanwhile had telephoned Adam, who had insisted she be transferred to a private room in the hospital. Disappointed that he did not seem to have immediate plans to come and see Summer, Molly accepted his offer anyway, hoping the hospital bill would be enormous.
Molly sat at her daughter’s bedside, holding her hand, for three days. Summer was as pale as the inside of an eggshell. Her honey-coloured hair, spread out on the hospital pillow, seemed to have lost all its shine and lustre. Her eyes were shut, just two subtle dark crescents on her perfectly oval face. She looked tiny and broken, her thin frail body under the sheet. Molly’s eyes misted as she thought of her daughter alone and in pain. She had been in the flat when Summer had tried to wake her. After her argument with Summer, she’d gone to meet a friend for cocktails and, as she hadn’t been able to drive back to Marcus’s place, she had crashed at home, too far gone to hear Summer’s frantic knocking.
For the first time in a long time, Molly felt disgusted with herself; Summer’s condition – God she almost died – had been a slap in the face, a wake-up call that made Molly realize just what kind of mother she had been these past years. Sitting at her bedside, Molly had wondered how she could make it up to her daughter, and only one idea had seemed appropriate.
She heard the sound of the door creak open and soft footsteps on the floor. Thinking it was another nurse doing their regular check on Summer, Molly glanced up. It wasn’t a nurse, it was a man in his late forties, tall and stockily dressed in a navy-blue suit and tie. He looked as if he had been handsome once, but his jaw now was jowly and his dark brown eyes were serious.
‘Molly Sinclair?’
‘Yes’, said Molly, surprised.
‘You’ve been a difficult woman to track down,’ he said gruffly.
‘And you are …?’ she asked, feeling a slight sense of unease. Molly put a protective hand on Summer’s arm.
He slipped his hand in his pocket and brought out a wallet. ‘Sorry, Chief Inspector Michael Wright,’ he said, flipping the wallet open to reveal his ID. ‘I’m looking after the Karin Cavendish investigation.’
His eyes wandered over to Summer and his shoulders seemed to stiffen. ‘Is she okay?’
‘She will be,’ said Molly, squeezing Summer’s fingers. ‘She will be.’
‘Miscarriage?’
‘Ectopic pregnancy,’ she said quietly.
A ghostly quiet settled on the room as Molly tried to work out what the inspector knew.
‘I know this is a bad time, but I need to talk to you about the death of Karin Cavendish,’ said Wright.
‘I know, I heard about that. It’s dreadful.’
‘So you won’t mind me asking a few questions? It won’t take long. If you’d just like to come through to somewhere a little more private.’
‘According to my mate Mark, the police aren’t entirely sure that they’ve got their man,’ said Chris, leafing through a pile of the day’s papers in Erin’s living room, looking for more news on the case.
‘So the police don’t think it’s that stalker?’ asked Erin, looking up from a news magazine.
Chris shrugged. ‘Mark says they’re not confident enough to charge him. Your mate Adam Gold has apparently been put under the microscope, too, but he has an alibi. However, Molly Sinclair has been taken in for questioning.’
‘Molly?’ said Erin. She had suspected months earlier that Molly was after Adam herself but, after the summer fête at The Standlings, Erin had become convinced that Summer was Adam’s bit on the side. Which of them was it, and would either murder Karin? Surely not Summer?
Erin felt a stab of guilt. Even if it was for selfish reasons, she still wanted Karin’s murderer found, and she knew the fact that Adam had a mistress would undoubtedly be of interest to the police. But Erin was struggling with the idea of putting Summer into the frame. She was so sweet. A good person. They had had such fun in Monaco and at The Standlings. There was no way that she would have murdered Karin … Was there?
‘Fancy a drink?’ asked Chris, peering down at Erin’s wine rack.
‘Umm, I think I’m becoming an alcoholic.’
‘Well, we’re under stress,’ smiled Chris, pulling out a bottle of red and opening it with a practised flourish. As Erin watched Chris pouring the wine, she had a sudden flash of déjà vu. Something that had been nagging at her suddenly became clear, and she cursed herself for not acknowledging it sooner.