TWO
'Why would he do that?' Ellie hears herself asking the question, but her shoulders slump because she knows the answer. 'What defence will they run?'
Alec Hardy hesitates. The weight of his gaze—shrewd and pained—bears down on her and she knows he is preparing her. Again.
'The house, computer—clean. He wasn't downloading objectionable material, no relevant search history. He wasn't visiting websites. The physical evidence—the footprint, the bruising, the eye witness statements—all circumstantial. Nothing concretely ties him to the hut or Danny's death.'
It grates that Hardy is right.
Her objection is obligatory but lacks conviction. 'He turned himself in—he admitted it. He had the smartphone—'
Hardy reaches out as though to take her hand, but she pulls back. 'They may imply he was covering.'
'Covering? For who—'
Bile rises in her throat. She waits for the tears she knows she's entitled to. She waits until she can't deny it any longer. They've been stolen too.
'He wouldn't.'
Hardy raises a brow.
'Joe wouldn't? Maybe not'—he frowns when she shakes her head—'but his solicitor is a pitbull. I've had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. She'll dredge up just enough to cast "reasonable" doubt. They won't come right out and say it—but they'll say enough. They'll come after you, too—your relationship, the money you gave your sist—'
Part of the problem is that she can't reconcile the man in the police issue boiler suit with Joe, the man she was happily married to for more than twelve years.
They looked the same—sure—but it ended at resemblance. It left her breathless knowing that a living, exhaling substitute had hollowed out and invaded her vibrant, tactile, caring husband.
She'd been happy.
She refuses to believe she's been snared in a twelve-year lie.
'Is this boring you?'
Hardy is scowling at her.