The Judas Tree, page 28
‘You’re right, Frank,’ she said aloud, as she put the phone down. ‘He didn’t do it and at the moment the man who did is walking free.’
She picked up the phone, grabbed the sticky note that was stuck to her computer screen and dialled the number. The lawyer Will had appointed answered the phone with efficient brusqueness.
‘Why they haven’t arrested Luke Crawford?’ Harmony demanded.
‘He has an alibi. He was with someone who corroborates his story from eight until four in the morning. The police have questioned him, but there was nothing to hold him for, I assume.’
‘But he did it,’ Harmony said, shaking her head and gripping the phone. ‘I know he did it, so why isn’t he a suspect?’
‘As I said, he has an alibi.’
‘What has he told them he was doing?’
‘He was entertaining a client. They went drinking then picked up a couple of prostitutes, apparently.’ Her distaste was obvious.
‘He’s lying.’
‘That’s beside the point. He has an alibi and there’s no evidence pointing to Mr Crawford. Worryingly for us, however, there’s an awful lot of evidence pointing to your husband, including,’ she said, with a loaded pause, ‘the fact he has no alibi whatsoever. This wandering around the countryside for twelve hours with no witnesses does not look good at all. Luke Crawford and this client …’ She paused and Harmony heard the rustling of papers from the other end of the phone line, ‘… a Mr Barratt-Jones were—’
‘Who?’ Harmony barked. Her heart started pounding.
‘Barratt-Jones.’
‘Ian?’ she asked. ‘Ian Barratt-Jones?’
‘Yes,’ said the lawyer. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Yes, I bloody do,’ said Harmony, suddenly incensed. ‘And he’s bloody lying.’
As soon as she put the phone down, Harmony grabbed her keys from the hook and ran out of the flat to the car. As she drove she drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. Ian was Luke’s alibi? Why? Why would he lie to protect Luke?
She turned off the M40 and took the road that led to the village where Emma and Ian lived, her mind seething.
‘Answer the door!’ Harmony shouted, banging on the door of Oak Dene Hall with the flat of her hand.
She knew they were in; she’d seen Emma cross in front of the kitchen window when she pulled up. Harmony banged again on the door. ‘Emma! Let me in. I need to talk to you!’
Emma hadn’t returned any of her phone calls since the police arrested Will and now she knew why. Harmony kicked at the gravel in frustration, then marched up to the kitchen window and peered in. She saw a flash of one of the children and swore under her breath. She went back to the front door and began to hammer on it again. ‘Emma! I’m not bloody leaving!’ Harmony paused but still her friend didn’t come to the door. ‘I just want to talk to you,’ Harmony said, no longer shouting, resting her forehead against the door, suddenly feeling alone and desolate. Then she turned and sat down on the step, her head in her hands, as she did so the door opened and she jumped to her feet.
‘Harmony?’ said Emma. ‘What are you doing here?’
She was dressed in tracksuit bottoms and an old sweatshirt, with no make-up to cover the skin around her eyes which was pink and puffy. Harmony couldn’t ever remember seeing Emma without make-up. Even when they were younger, make-up was always done first thing in the morning.
The two women stood either side of the door frame, neither of them moving. ‘I need to speak to Ian,’ Harmony said.
‘He’s not here.’
‘Can I come in?’
Emma shook her head, but Harmony saw the hesitation in her eyes.
‘Please?’
Emma wavered.
‘I promise I won’t stay long.’
At last, Emma stepped to one side and allowed Harmony in. The house smelt of Pledge and floor cleaner and freshly brewed coffee. In the kitchen, the surfaces shone, not a speck of dust or an out-of-place piece of paper anywhere to be seen. The sound of children’s television from the den broke the silence.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Emma asked, without making eye contact.
‘Will didn’t do it.’
Emma turned away from her to fill the kettle. She turned the tap off, but kept her back to Harmony and put her hands on the edge of the sink and gripped it.
‘He didn’t kill that man,’ Harmony said again.
Emma turned around and crossed her arms. ‘I don’t know what to say, Harmony.’
Harmony felt the sting of tears and her stomach knotted. ‘Say you believe me.’
‘The court will have to—’
‘Fuck the court!’
Emma flinched, then turned to put the kettle back on its base and flicked its switch.
‘It was Luke Crawford.’
Emma shook her head, there was a stoop to her shoulders that aged her.
‘Luke killed him.’
Emma closed her eyes. ‘He didn’t.’
‘Because he was with Ian the night that man was killed? Why didn’t you tell me Ian was Luke’s alibi?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think it was relevant.’
‘Not relevant?’ Harmony cried. ‘Of course it’s relevant! My husband is in custody for a murder he didn’t commit and the man that did it is going to get off because he was supposedly with your husband!’
Emma visibly winced and her eyes shot to the floor.
‘And we both know he’s lying. We spoke that night. You told me you were with Ian. You remember?’
‘No, you’re mistaken.’ Her eyes gave her dishonesty away, darting from one side to the other. The kettle reached boiling point noisily and clicked off. ‘I was here alone.’
‘No, you told me you were both here. You said he wanted to watch a war film.’
‘No, you’re wrong. I—’
‘Stop it!’ cried Harmony, slamming her hand down on the work surface. ‘Do you know what you’re doing? My husband will go to prison for murder.’
Emma crossed her arms around her body again, her fingers gripping at the sides of her sweatshirt. She shook her head. ‘He won’t. If he didn’t kill him he’ll get off. They won’t send someone to prison without evidence. If he’s innocent, he’ll get off.’
Harmony laughed bitterly and looked at the ceiling. ‘Don’t be so naive! People go to prison all the time for crimes they didn’t commit. Why are you lying about where Ian was?’
‘I’m not. Ian was with Luke that night. Corporate entertaining.’ She said the word entertaining as if it caused her physical pain.
Emma locked eyes with Harmony, her body tensed in challenge.
Harmony didn’t understand. Why was she lying? Why would Ian protect a work colleague – his lawyer, for God’s sake – over one of his oldest friends?
Then the mist cleared.
‘Oh my God,’ she breathed. ‘Luke has something on Ian.’
Harmony knew she was right when Emma’s face fell in panic.
Emma glanced through the kitchen door to the hallway, then squared her shoulders, her voice came out well-rehearsed and monotone. ‘Ian and Luke went out. Ian was entertaining Luke. It was business. They stayed out late.’
‘You’re lying,’ Harmony said. ‘I know you are; I’ve known you all my life. I can tell.’ Harmony took a step towards her, but Emma stepped backwards. ‘Do you know what Luke did to that man? He tortured him to death. He beat him and cut him and kicked him in the stomach and head and genitals until he broke almost every bone in his body.’
Emma threw her hands up to cover her ears and squeezed her eyes shut like a child.
‘Do you really think Will could do that? You’ve known him for twenty years. He can’t even kill a bloody wasp. It was Luke.’ Harmony couldn’t help her voice rising. Frustration and contempt erupted inside her. ‘Why are you covering for him? My husband’s sitting in a cell, right this minute, while yours is out gallivanting on some golf course and that cold-blooded murderer is wandering about free.’
Emma tightened her arms around her quivering body. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘You need to leave now, or I’ll … or I’ll … I’ll call the police.’
‘And what?’ Harmony shouted. ‘Tell them more lies? Try and get me locked up as well? You could try breaking and entering? Maybe tell them I stole some jewellery. Say I hit you. Why not!’
‘Don’t—’
‘You know …’ Harmony had to stop speaking to allow a lump of emotion to subside. ‘You know he’s stalking me.’
Emma’s face contorted in confusion. ‘Stalking you? Who is?’
‘Luke Crawford. He’s been following me. And Will. I went to his apartment and saw photos he’s taken. All over his apartment. Photos I didn’t know he was taking.’ She paused. ‘He and I had an affair.’
Emma stared at her in confusion.
‘That’s right. An affair. Christ,’ she said then, still unable to believe what was happening. ‘I can’t even call it that. We had sex. One afternoon.’
‘But how—’
‘How did we have sex? Will and I had an argument. I was angry. Then Luke and I met up and we fucked.’ Harmony saw Emma flinch at her words. ‘We fucked and it was a massive fucking mistake, which I regretted immediately because as soon as it happened I realised I still loved my husband and that I’d been an utter idiot. I told Luke it was over. Will and I started to try and fix our relationship.’ Harmony took a deep breath and laughed bitterly. ‘We were actually going to try for a baby. Can you believe that?’ She rubbed her face. ‘But no, Luke didn’t like that. He blames Will for something that happened when they were children. He wouldn’t leave me alone. Texts and calls all the time. He turned up at my sister’s and fed her a load of bullshit. Emma, I am scared. I’m scared because I know Will didn’t kill that man. And I know Ian was here with you that night, which means I’m pretty sure Luke is a murderer, and I am scared for my own damn life. He’s a murderer, Emma, and you’re protecting him.’
Emma dropped her eyes to the floor.
‘So that’s it? You’re happy to risk my life and let Will go to prison for something he didn’t do?’
‘You don’t understand.’ Emma spoke so quietly Harmony could barely hear her.
‘No, you’re right,’ Harmony said with angry frustration. ‘I don’t understand. Please, please, explain it to me.’
‘There is nothing at all to understand.’
Both women jumped at the sound of Ian’s voice.
Harmony turned to see him looming in the doorway, and was immediately shocked by how exhausted and dishevelled he was.
‘I thought you weren’t here.’ Harmony stared pointedly at Emma.
‘I wasn’t. Now I am.’ Ian walked over to the large American fridge-freezer and got out a bottle of beer. ‘So did I hear you right? You and the dashing lawyer have been having a bit of fun?’ He said the word in a way that made Harmony’s skin crawl.
‘Why are you lying? Why are you protecting him? And don’t say you’re not because I know you are.’
‘You know I am?’ He retrieved a bottle opener from the cutlery drawer and opened the beer. He drank straight from the bottle, chucking the bottle top onto the kitchen worktop. ‘How do you know? Were you there?’
‘I rang Emma the night it happened – when you were supposedly out with him – and you were here. You were going to watch a film. It was a war film.’
‘Emma got the wrong end of the stick. She was confused. I probably said something like I wish I was watching a film instead of going out and she misheard.’ He sat down heavily at the table, his beer clasped in his hand, his gaze seeming to lose focus. ‘I was with Luke, drinking champagne, enjoying some whores at a Holiday Inn.’
Harmony looked at Emma, but she’d turned her back on them and was looking out of the window that overlooked the driveway.
‘Luke and I were together all night. And there’s bugger all you can do about it.’ He lifted his head and looked at her. ‘Do you understand?’
Harmony knew she was wasting her time. It was there, clear from the stoop of Emma’s head and shoulders, the way she gripped the side of the worktop, and the unwavering conviction in Ian’s dishonest words.
‘You disgust me,’ she spat. ‘Both of you.’
Then she turned and walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, hoping she’d make it out of the house without collapsing. She fumbled with the latch on the front door, then pushed it open and stumbled down the steps. She stopped before she reached the car and stood still in the middle of the enormous expanse of new, clean gravel, and realised she had never been so scared in her life.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Harmony followed Sophie into the house. She was numb and riven with fear. She didn’t know what to do or how to help Will. Not to mention the thought she was terrified of Luke showing up. Every noise made her jumpy, her brain was in overdrive and full of worst-case scenarios. And they weren’t pretty.
Her sister’s kitchen was quiet and tidy, with Ella Fitzgerald playing softly in the background. Harmony had an image of her mother, as she used to be, before the illness had ravaged her beyond recognition. She remembered how the soothing tones of Ella would float through her bedroom wall. How she’d climb out of bed to creep along to the sitting room and peer around the doorframe in the hope of catching her mother dancing, arms spread, twirling, lost in the music she loved.
‘Where are the boys?’ Harmony asked.
‘George is at football, Matt’s at a friend’s and Cal’s at his girlfriend’s house.’
‘A girlfriend? Really? Is she nice?’
Sophie nodded. ‘She’s lovely, actually. Bright, pretty, strong opinions, and seems to really like him. God knows why. She even laughs at his jokes, including the dreadful ones.’
‘He’s a great kid, he deserves someone lovely.’
‘You look shattered.’
‘I feel bulldozed, to be honest.’
Sophie put her arms around her and gave her a hug. ‘You know what we should do?’ she said with a soft smile.
Harmony shook her head.
‘Come with me.’ Sophie opened the back door and took Harmony’s hand. They wove their way through the assorted sports paraphernalia that littered the terrace and onto the lawn. Sophie sat down and patted the ground beside her. ‘How about a bit of cloud-staring?’
Harmony burst into tears and laughed at the same time. She and Sophie lay back, their legs out straight, holding hands. Harmony searched the sky for animals. They used to do this with their mum if they’d had a bad day, if someone had been mean to them or they’d been upset by a teacher or embarrassed themselves somehow or – towards the end of her illness – when one of them was feeling particularly sad or scared. She’d kiss them and give them a chocolate biscuit then whisper: ‘How about a bit of cloud-staring?’ Then they’d lie on the grass holding hands, like a paper chain of people, and silently scan the sky until they found a creature lurking in the clouds, maybe a running fox or a jumping hare, then they’d point and cry out with such excitement that soon the bad thing was forgotten.
‘Luke Crawford reminded me of Dad,’ Harmony said.
‘How?’
Harmony searched the clouds, but there were only large amorphous shapes that offered her nothing. ‘The mystery, maybe. The excitement I felt reminded me of what Mum said to me about him, how she felt when she was with him. That shortness of breath, the thumping heart. And he had the same hands.’
‘The same hands? You can’t possibly remember Dad’s hands.’
‘No, I don’t, but Mum said he had long, elegant fingers, like a concert pianist.’
Sophie snorted. ‘He was a waste of space, not a bloody concert pianist.’
Harmony turned her head to look at Sophie. Her sister was beautiful in profile, her nose small and neat, her skin clear, with fine, even creases around her eyes, and long eyelashes that were tipped with blonde. ‘Why do you hate him so much?’
The sisters had never discussed this. It was as if they’d come to an unspoken mutual agreement whereby Sophie was allowed to loathe him and Harmony was allowed to love him. Harmony had no reason to love him other than her desperate desire to do so. As a child she had idolised him and chosen to adopt her mother’s rose-tinted memories rather than her sister’s hateful ones.
‘We shouldn’t talk about it; you love him and it’s not right for me to bad-mouth him.’
Harmony smiled. ‘You’ve done nothing but bad-mouth him since Mum died.’ She turned her head to look up at the clouds again. ‘Please tell me.’
Sophie was quiet for a while before she sighed heavily. ‘He broke my heart,’ she said at last. ‘Mine and Mum’s. I loved him so much. He was my world.’ She hesitated. ‘He left the day she found out about the breast cancer.’
‘Surely you’ve remembered that wrong,’ Harmony said. ‘The same day?’
‘I was with her. She was crying. There was a typed letter in her hand. It must have been from the hospital. She sat me on her lap and I cuddled her and told her it would be OK. When he came home she handed him the letter and I watched his face. Everything went dark, like he was cross with her.’ Sophie paused. ‘That night I heard him shouting. I sat in the corridor outside their room and I heard him say we were suffocating him, which I didn’t understand then, I thought he meant actually suffocating. Then I heard him tell her he didn’t want to spend the rest of his days looking after her. That he was a free spirit not a nursemaid. He started screaming at her, telling her to stop crying, to stop laying on the guilt. It scared me, and when I heard him coming out of their room I ran back to bed and hid beneath the covers. He was gone in the morning.’
‘Poor Mum,’ said Harmony. ‘I can’t imagine how desperate she must have felt.’
‘He took his toothbrush, his passport and all the money in the joint account, and just left us. I used to sit there sometimes, watching her sleep, her face pale from vomiting, those drugs attacking her body along with the cancer, and think about how he’d broken her heart. How he’d left me to look after her, left me to try and be both a mother and father to you. I gave everything up when she died: my exams, my friends, my life. I wanted to be an architect. Did you know that?’ She turned her head to look at Harmony.
