This Man Confessed (This Man 3)

‘Ruth Quinn. She’s strange.’

He nods thoughtfully. ‘Back to the office?’

‘Please, John.’ I throw my bag between my feet, dislodging the envelope that I tucked neatly in there earlier. It pokes out, reminding me of its presence, and I reach down, curiosity getting the better of me.

‘What’s that?’ John asks, nodding at the brown A4 envelope that I’m holding.

‘I’m not sure.’ I sound as apprehensive as I feel. ‘A courier delivered it.’ I’m being totally honest because if this turns out to be another warning, then I’ll be telling Jesse anyway, so it’s of no consequence if John knows, too. I peel the seal and pull out a piece of card and as soon as I clock the cut out letters, I lose my breath.

‘What is it?’ John asks, his voice laced with concern.

I can’t speak. There is a certain level of maliciousness linked to these sorts of letters and as I stare down at the message, assembled with various newspaper and magazine cuttings, my casual disregard of my previous warning seems quite reckless.

‘It’s another warning.’ I manage to splutter through my racing breath. I feel sick.

‘Another?’

‘Yes, I had one with some half dead flowers. I just chucked it in the bin and put it down to a jilted ex-sexual conquest.’ I open the window to get some needed fresh air.

‘What does it say?’ John keeps flicking his sunglass covered eyes over to the piece of card that I’ve dropped in my lap. I read the message to him.

‘I told you to leave him.’

A frustrated curse shoots into the air. ‘What did the other one say? Was it like that one?’

I try and collect my scattered thoughts and attempt to recall the exact wording of the other message. ‘Something along the lines of me not knowing him. They said they did.’ I shake my head in frustration. ‘I can’t remember. The other was handwritten.’ I’m furious with myself for getting rid of it when I should have been sensible and told Jesse. He’s got Steve investigating the car incident and my drugging and, stupidly, I kept something from him that could’ve assisted in dealing with this. It may have sent him off the deep end initially, but the long term benefits to him knowing far outweigh the meltdown that would be guaranteed—the meltdown he’s going to have very soon because now he will know, and I’m going to be facing a seriously pissed off male. I’ve been so stupid.

‘Why haven’t you told Jesse?’ John sounds concerned, only heightening my own worrying thoughts.

‘Why do you think, John?’ He can’t be so unwise to ask that question, and the deep breath and brief look of understanding that travel across his annoyed face tells me he’s not.

‘Okay, girl.’ He doesn’t say I’ve been foolish, but I know he’s thinking it.

‘I thought it was Coral.’ I say quietly.

‘Even after the dressing down that you gave her this morning?’ He’s restraining a small smile, I can tell.

‘No, I thought it was Coral before. Not now.’

‘Do you want to tell him, or should I?’ John asks seriously. I know what he means. No further elaboration is required and when he looks at me and nods at my pleading face, I know he understands. ‘I’ll tell him, girl.’

‘Can you try to calm him down, too?’

‘If we were talking about anything else, I’d say yes. But this is you. I’m not promising anything.’

I sigh, but I appreciate his frankness. ‘Thank you. Are you going back to The Manor?’

‘No, girl. I’ll call him. You just get done at work, and I’ll be waiting for you.’

‘Okay.’ I agree, feeling anxious, stupid and way too vulnerable. Once again, I’ve underestimated something that I really shouldn’t have.

* * *

The office is still uncomfortably silent when John drops me off at work. All three of my colleagues heads are firmly down, Sally still looks suicidal, and Patrick’s office door is still closed. No one acknowledges me when I pass through and Sally doesn’t offer me a coffee, so I dump my bag and head through to the kitchen to make myself one.

I’m just tipping my third sugar into the mug when my shoulders rise and tense at the sound of my beloved husband’s ringtone. If I could get away with it, I’d ignore him, but he’ll be calling the landline and failing that, charging into the office. Abandoning my coffee, I take deep breaths of courage as I go in search of my phone. This isn’t going to be a call that I can take in the openness of my office, so I hurry to the conference room and close the door behind me before connecting myself to what will be a raging mass of angry male.

‘Please don’t shout at me!’ I blurt down the line, immediately holding the phone away from my ear once I’ve made my plea.

I was right. ‘What the f**king hell were you thinking?’ he yells. ‘You stupid, stupid woman!’

My eyes close, and I quietly accept his rant, keeping my phone at a safe distance.

He’s breathing erratically between scorns. ‘I’ve been pulling my f**king hair out, trying to work with Steve and figure this shit out, and all along you had a handwritten threat?’ I hear a door slam. ‘And you tore it up? Evidence, Ava. Fucking evidence!’

‘I’m sorry!’ I’m close to tears. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. I thought it was harmless.’

‘Harmless, even after you were drugged? And did you still think it was harmless after you got rammed from the road?’ He’s so mad, but I know it’s because he’s not in control. He can’t control what’s happening, and it’s sending him crazy mad.