The Pool House, page 34
Jem nodded in agreement. She had thought it was the back of a chair, but there was definitely someone there.
‘Do you know what time this was?’
‘Yeah,’ said Alex, opening an info box. ‘Taken at 21.02. I’m pretty strict about making sure the time and date are right on my photos; it can be crucial when you’re doing stuff like surf competitions.’
Jem tried to think. David Holliday had said that Alice left the party at around 8.45. It was a ten-minute walk back to the house. ‘It fits the timeline,’ she said, excitement creeping into her voice.
‘If it’s more pictures of this house you want, I took quite a few in that direction. People were dancing around the fire and the house in the background gave it scale.’
He flipped through the shots: pretty girls in bikinis, blankets draped around their shoulders; a small child dancing with an older man, the giggles practically bubbling from the screen; an old black man beating on a conga drum, his eyes closed in concentration. Finally he stopped and pointed.
‘Here you go. These were taken ten minutes later. Look how amazing the house looks when the sky is this colour.’
In the foreground of the shot were the silhouettes of people dancing on the beach, fingers of shadow behind which reared the beach house. Alex had obviously shot off dozens – the advantage of using digital film; you were only limited by memory – and as he clicked through, the scene jerked and moved with the dancers, like a strobe.
‘Stop!’ cried Jem, but they had all seen it. One photo was different: a square of white had popped into the centre of the shot; the rear gate had opened, the light from the house spilling out. And there was something else, a shape caught in the doorway. Jem had stopped breathing.
‘Make this one bigger too,’ ordered Michael, but Alex was way ahead of him, manipulating the photo so that the bright white of the gateway filled the screen.
It was unmistakably a figure, a person stepping through the gate.
‘What’s the time on this photo?’ asked Michael.
‘Twenty-one ten.’
‘That’s twenty minutes before David Holliday found Alice in the pool,’ said Michael, his eyes on the screen. ‘And it looks like Alice wasn’t alone.’
Chapter 37
Angela had suggested that they meet in the bar at the W hotel on Lexington. Jem told Michael where she was going, and they agreed it was best for her to act as normally as possible with her housemates until they knew what was happening.
Although it was almost five o’clock, the heat of the day was still fierce and Jem was glad to get off the sticky New York streets. She weaved through the hotel towards the bar – Whisky Blue. One of the first things she had done when she had arrived in the city was visit the Bliss spa next door, but she had never come here for drinks, and was surprised by the dark snugness of the room, which reminded her of a gentleman’s drinking den in a Scottish castle rather than a place for girlie cocktails.
She spotted Angela instantly, tucked away in a leather booth; she was on her phone and didn’t see her approach.
‘Look, either you get him to the studio by seven or you can forget any coverage . . .’
Jem hung back, not wanted to intrude, but Angela looked up and waved her to sit down.
Trying to ignore Angela’s conversation, glad not to be on the receiving end of it, she got the bartender’s attention. Part of her wished she could tell Angela where she had been that afternoon. Like Michael, her friend had that no-nonsense confidence about her that made you believe she could find a solution for anything, and Jem felt sure she would have an intelligent theory if she saw Alex’s photograph of the beach house the night of Alice’s death.
After their visit to Alex’s apartment, she and Michael had found a diner for a debrief, but there hadn’t been much to discuss beyond speculation. The frustrating thing was that Alex hadn’t been shooting the house itself, so the shape in the doorway was fuzzy and indistinct. It could have been Paul, Joel, or Elvis Presley for all they knew. The excitement at finding a piece of evidence soon ebbed away as they realised that it didn’t get them very far unless they could identify the figure.
Angela hung up from her call and they exchanged air kisses. ‘You’re looking amazing as usual,’ she said. ‘How do you do that?’
Jem was about to say something British and self-deprecating when she noticed that Angela had already moved on with her conversation, pointing out a talk show host apparently in rehab who was sitting nursing a whisky in the corner.
‘What have you done today?’ she asked bluntly, as she sipped her cocktail.
‘I’ve been working with Michael.’
‘He’s in the city today, is he?’
‘He’s in town for an industry awards ceremony. Apparently he’s up for a gong.’ She didn’t miss the pride in her own words and wished she was going with him to the ceremony at the Waldorf Astoria. Michael had mentioned it again that afternoon, but she’d already accepted Angela’s offer of cocktails, and besides, she didn’t want to look as if she was point-scoring with her husband.
‘Todd said he saw you at Barry’s Bootcamp this morning. I don’t know who I was more surprised to hear was there, him or you.’
‘I won’t be going back. My muscles feel as if they’ve been put through a mangle.’ She smiled, but it disguised a flutter of nerves as she remembered her conversation with Todd at the gym.
The waiter brought over her drink and she took too big a sip.
‘Joel and Paul will be here any minute,’ said Angela, checking her watch. It was dropped in casually – too casually – and Jem was immediately on edge.
‘Really? I thought it was just us.’
Jem didn’t think she had ever seen Angela look anything other than fully confident and in control, but at that moment she appeared uncomfortable, embarrassed even, playing self-consciously with the straw in her glass.
‘Todd told me about the picture, Jem,’ she said, finally looking up at her.
Jem’s heart started to beat fast, the flutter of anxiety now full-blown panic.
‘The one of Joel’s friend?’ she said. ‘Oh, I was just curious. As I told Todd—’
‘I know what you told Todd,’ said Angela, her voice shimmering with coldness. ‘What I want to know is how a photo from last summer is on your phone.’
Jem knew right then that she had been caught out. Angela was no fool; in fact she was as sharp as a knife, intimidatingly smart, and right now, Jem was withering under her interrogational gaze.
‘Angela, what’s the problem?’ she said, trying to stop her voice from faltering.
‘The problem is that you seem to be asking questions. Paul tells me you’ve been probing his friendship with Alice too. That’s why we thought we should all sit down and talk about it. To clear the air.’
Jem looked at her sharply, but she could instantly tell that Paul hadn’t told Angela anything like the whole story. More like ‘Hey, so I flirted with Alice, why pick on me?’ sort of thing.
‘I spoke to David Holliday at Todd’s launch,’ said Jem, raising her chin. ‘We talked about Alice and I said I’d ask if anyone had seen anything. Angela, David’s torn up about this. I only wanted to help.’
‘No, you wanted to impress Michael Kearney,’ Angela said.
Jem closed her mouth. She didn’t really have an answer for that one.
‘Why did you really show Todd the photo?’
‘I just wanted to identify everyone Alice met last summer,’ Jem said, hoping her white lie would stave off more questions.
Angela gave a weary little sigh. ‘How did you think this was going to end, Jem? This isn’t a game, something to occupy your attention in between traybakes.’
‘Is that what you think of me?’ Jem said, sensing that the damage was already done and at least she could defend herself.
‘You have to drop this,’ Angela said urgently. ‘The beach house isn’t mine, but I’m protective of it. Protective of my friends, the people who live with me under its roof. We’re a team, a family. I’m not going to let someone ruin what we’ve got.’
‘So you should care about Alice and what happened to her,’ said Jem passionately.
‘Alice is dead and a childish investigation isn’t going to bring her back.’
‘David needs closure,’ said Jem, but Angela cut her off.
‘Don’t pretend this is about David; you barely know him. Todd is his best friend, he cares about him more than any of us, and all you’re going to do is hurt him with these ridiculous accusations about Paul.’
‘And are you so sure they are ridiculous?’
‘Let it go, Jem!’ cried Angela, before glancing around and lowering her voice. ‘Do you want to spoil this for everyone. For your husband?’
Jem frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Angela looked at her directly.
‘You should probably talk this over with Nat,’ she said. ‘We don’t want things to turn sour. You might be indifferent to life at the beach, but I assume that being social in the Hamptons, knowing people, being invited to things is important to Nat – and to his job.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Jem couldn’t believe this was coming from someone she had, only half an hour ago, considered a friend.
‘Not a threat,’ said Angela. ‘Just the way things are over here.’ She shrugged her shoulders as if to say ‘take it or leave it’.
Jem was about to reply when Joel and Paul walked in. Their expressions were serious, grim. Paul looked at Angela, who just gave a nod. Clearly they had all been planning this little ambush together.
Paul sat across from Jem, Joel to the side of her. Jem wanted to disappear through a trapdoor; her cheeks were burning hot and a puddle of nausea was collecting at the base of her throat. She was prepared for them all to round on her, and she steeled herself by downing the rest of her cocktail.
Paul spoke first, and she was surprised that his voice was less belligerent than it had been during their last conversation.
‘Jem, we don’t want you to feel we’re strong-arming you; we’re all friends here and we want to keep it that way. But you have to see there’s no up side to this. Alice is dead, we can’t change that.’
‘And I suppose you’d prefer it if nobody ever mentioned her again?’
‘Jem, please,’ said Angela.
Jem could feel herself getting even more riled. She looked straight at Paul.
‘I assume you’ve told them about you and Alice,’ she said.
There was a short silence before anyone spoke again.
‘Look,’ he glanced at Angela and Joel, leaning forward and lowering his voice, ‘I made a mistake. Over a year ago and we should let it lie.’
‘It’s not about you, Paul; this is about Alice.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a hypocrite,’ said Angela, her face turning hard. ‘You’ve been running around the beach all summer with Michael Kearney. Don’t pretend you don’t know what people are saying about you.’
Jem swallowed. ‘I’m his assistant,’ she said.
‘Is that what people call it these days?’
Jem looked at them one by one: Paul acting the injured party, Angela outraged that someone should rock her cosy little boat, Joel at least having the decency to look troubled if not guilty. She truly had no idea whether any of them had been at the house that night, whether they had been involved in Alice’s death, but what was certain was that they had brought her here to intimidate her, to threaten her – to threaten her husband’s career, in fact – to make her feel frightened and small.
‘Just tell me. Do you want to find out the truth about Alice or not?’ she asked, struggling to keep her voice from shaking.
‘Alice fell and drowned,’ said Angela in a way that left no room for argument.
Jem grabbed her bag and stood up.
‘Screw you,’ she said.
Three faces looked at her in disbelief, and she experienced a moment of triumph. There was fear in their expressions too. They had come here to intimidate her, but the truth was they were scared of her, and of what she might do.
Chapter 38
It was raining hard when Jem came out onto the street, the sticky humidity giving way to a violent summer storm.
‘Dammit,’ she muttered, her happiness at having stood up to the bullies melting away as she contemplated the soaking she was about to receive. She couldn’t stay in the bar, not after that parting shot, and she’d been in New York long enough to know how quickly cabs disappeared in the rain. The sky was pewter, the air heavy and close; it didn’t look like it was going to stop any time soon. She took a deep breath and ran, her thin jacket held over her head.
Within a few steps she knew it was hopeless: she was going to get drenched. Her jacket was wet through and floppy, the puddles were splashing up her legs and her shoulders were heavy and cold. Still, she was committed now, dashing across the street and under the awning of a furniture store. It wasn’t much cover – a small waterfall was gushing into the street from the gutter overhead – so she looked around for something better. There. A red neon sign announced The Organic Bakery, along with a picture of a coffee cup. Perfect: she could grab a soy latte and wait it out, or at least dry off a little.
‘Jem.’
For a moment she thought the rain drumming on the awning was playing tricks with her ears.
‘Jem, wait!’
She turned and was amazed to see Joel running across the road, his hair plastered to his face.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he panted as he arrived under the awning, his shirt soaked.
‘I thought we just did,’ said Jem, uncomfortable at being pressed into a tiny space with him.
‘I need to talk to you alone,’ he said, wiping the rain from his face and glancing back across the street as if Angela might be watching.
‘Fine,’ said Jem, nodding towards the bakery. ‘Let’s run.’
She splashed along the pavement, Joel hard on her heels. By the time they burst in through the door, she could feel water squishing between her toes. It was like she’d stepped into the shower fully clothed.
The girl behind the counter looked at them in surprise, as if she hadn’t noticed the downpour outside.
‘Latte, please,’ said Jem. ‘Two, actually. We’ll sit by the window.’
She had expected the place to be heaving with refugees from the storm, but it was almost empty. Clearly no one else was crazy enough to brave the deluge. She took a chair opposite Joel and tried her best to push her dripping hair from her face. The girl brought the coffee over and they sat for a moment, sipping. Jem wondered if Joel felt as awkward as she did. Probably not: Wall Street people seemed born with thicker skin.
‘So Todd told me you’d seen a picture of me and my friend Ed at a party,’ he said finally.
‘You don’t need to be so coy,’ said Jem, looking up under her fringe. ‘We both know what we’re talking about here.’
‘Do we?’
Jem looked at him, wondering how much he did know, what he had done. She didn’t doubt he’d indulged in insider dealing, and perhaps Alice had been blackmailing him to keep quiet about what she knew. But despite his jock-macho posturing, Jem had always seen Joel as something of a wimp, not someone who could hurt a friend. Then again, none of them seemed capable of that.
‘I think I can guess what happened,’ she said, finding an odd comfort in the rain lashing down the window pane. ‘Alice saw you and Ed talking at the party about a share price tip. She recorded the whole thing on her phone.’
‘So I had a conversation with a friend about a business deal. What’s the problem?’
‘The problem is you acting on that information. You bought shares in the company – and that’s very illegal.’
‘I’d love to know how you’re such an expert on my investments.’
‘Erica told me about the Yonex trade.’
He looked away, pressing his lips together in irritation.
‘This is none of your business, Jem.’
‘Did Alice blackmail you? Did she threaten to tell someone what you were up to?’
She looked at him. It was a bluff, but Joel flinched like he’d been slapped, and instantly Jem knew she was right.
‘I have the footage, Joel. Alice put in on a memory card and hid it.’
Joel looked down into his coffee before he spoke again.
‘You know, if I’d been five years older, I would have been swimming with the big boys. They had it easy ten years ago: the economy was booming, the money was just pouring in. I would have the yacht and the town house, Erica would be on the board of the Met and I’d be king of the world.’ He shook his head. ‘Five years. I was just born at the wrong time.’
‘So you thought you’d cheat the system,’ said Jem quietly.
Joel looked at her, his eyes fierce. ‘Insider trading? What a crock of hypocritical crap. Those rules are just there to protect the massive profits of the biggest players. No one gets hurt, all that happens is that the corporations and their lawyers make a couple of dollars less. It’s bullshit.’
‘It’s still illegal, Joel. You can still go to jail.’
The defiance left his face. He looked crushed, haunted. Jem supposed that if he had known about the existence of the footage, he must have lived in constant fear that it would one day resurface.
‘How much? How much were you going to pay her to keep quiet?’
Joel glanced at her, then away again, ashamed.
‘One hundred thousand.’
‘Wow,’ said Jem shocked by the amount.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Joel, looking up. ‘One hundred thousand reasons to get rid of her.’
‘People might say that blackmail is a pretty good motive for murder. I know that’s what Michael is thinking.’
