‘Looking for what?’
‘Elizabeth wanted Julian out of the picture. There are ways to have that done.’
‘You think she killed him? Or had him killed? Is that what you’re saying?’ said Graham incredulously.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything any more,’ she said, throwing her hands in the air.
‘Have you thought about seeing someone about this?’
‘Yes! You,’ she said, sitting more upright. ‘I mean, Elizabeth won’t speak to me. I’ve called her a dozen times, and each time it’s gone to voicemail.’
Understandable, she thought. The last time she had seen Elizabeth Denver was when she had blackmailed her to stop her contesting Julian’s will.
‘But you can do something. You can speak to her in an official capacity. You should also confirm cause of death with the pathologist who did Julian’s post-mortem. You said yourself a murder could be dressed up as suicide. It would just have to be a professional who did it and Elizabeth Denver has the power, the resources to order that. I mean, what if an assassin came down the chimney or something . . .’
‘I mean speak to a therapist,’ said Graham slowly.
She hesitated in disbelief. ‘Me? See a therapist?’
Graham nodded. ‘Just because Julian was not direct family doesn’t mean to say you are not grieving. I know you had quite a complicated relationship with your brother-in-law,’ he said diplomatically. ‘Because of it you are probably trying to work through a lot of emotions, a lot of guilt. I understand how this is a difficult time for you. I understand that letting go is hard.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ she whispered.
Inspector Graham looked at her sympathetically. She knew she looked a mess. She hadn’t washed her hair since the lake swim with Adam Denver, she had an angry red spot on her chin and her jeans hadn’t been cleaned in a week. She had never been one for high levels of personal grooming – the last time she had had a professional blow-dry had been for Diana’s wedding – but she knew there was no excuse for her tramp-like appearance. No wonder Graham thought she was crazy.
‘Forget it,’ she said, holding up her hand. ‘You’ve got a wife and four kids to get back to, I know. Just go.’
‘Rachel, please. I know you’re trying to help.’
‘I have to leave,’ she said, getting up.
She left the pub, regretting her impulsiveness almost immediately. She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets and started walking down the street. It was getting dark and there was a chill in the air. The roads were jammed, the bus lanes clogged with traffic, but despite the noise, London seemed cavernous and lonely. She quickened her pace, glad that she had checked herself into a hotel in Victoria, glad that she didn’t have to trek all the way back to Somerfold.
She was running out of options, she thought miserably. Rachel Miller had never been somebody who liked to fail at anything. Looking back at her childhood, she knew it was the real reason she had given up competitive swimming. Boys and a social life had just been a convenient excuse. She had given up because she was never going to be the best and she had known when and how to bow out gracefully.
She was in the hotel lobby when her mobile rang.
Liam’s name flashed up on caller ID and her heart galloped. She hadn’t wanted to admit to herself how much she was missing him. Hadn’t wanted to admit that his departure, his rejection of her had in some way contributed to her sexual misadventures with Adam. At least that was what she had been telling herself.
‘Liam,’ she said with surprise. It was a moment before she worked out that it was almost 3 a.m. in Thailand, and the thought unsettled her immediately. ‘Is everything okay? It’s late.’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
Her pulse beat with hope. Had he been lying in bed thinking about her?
There was a lag on the line.
‘So I looked through the security tape you asked me to.’
‘Oh.’ She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or flattered.
‘Something struck me as odd.’
She reverted instantly to business mode. Suddenly she wasn’t thinking about Liam in bed, but sitting in front of a computer screen, wearing his intelligent black-framed glasses, his sharp brain in full throttle.
‘Did you find anything? On the footage, I mean?’
‘There was a lot of it.’