The Therapist by B.A. Paris
Forty-Two
Istart walking back to the house, part of me wanting to blame Leo for what happened at the brasserie. If he had been upfront with me about the murder, I would never have come here. The only good thing to have come out of my time in The Circle is Thomas – if our friendship manages to survive when there isn’t the investigation to bind us together. It worries me that it might not.
My phone rings. I take it from my bag, hoping it will be Thomas. It is. I stop walking and move to the side.
‘Alice. Am I disturbing your lunch?’
‘No, I’m on my way back to the house.’ I press a finger to my other ear, shutting out the noise so that I can hear him better.
‘Good. Would you believe that one of your neighbours was in Paris at the time of Marion Cartaux’s murder?’
My heart plummets. ‘I’m not sure I want to know who.’
‘Don’t worry too much, because her murderer is behind bars, awaiting trial. He gave himself up a few months ago.’
‘Oh. Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Normally, I’d say yes. But not everyone thinks that he did it. He’s an SDF – a homeless person – who had been out of prison for a year at the time of the murder. Unfortunately, there are more cases than the judiciary would like of homeless people pleading guilty to just about anything so that they can get back inside. Being on the streets is far more frightening to them than being in prison.’
‘But he might have done it.’
‘We’ll only be sure after his trial, once his account of events has been verified.’
‘So, which of my neighbours was in Paris at the time of the murder?’ I ask.
‘William Jackman.’
I close my eyes. ‘I wish I hadn’t discovered that gap in the fence between our gardens.’
‘It doesn’t mean anything yet. I thought I’d let you know, that’s all. Did you manage to get the name of Nina’s therapist?’
‘No, but it was a man. And she didn’t go to him, he came to see her. That’s not very usual, is it?’
‘No, it isn’t. But without a name, there’s not much we can do.’ There’s a pause. ‘Are you alright? You sound a bit down.’
‘Let’s just say lunch didn’t go according to plan. I’m glad I’m leaving today. It’s the right decision.’
‘Would you rather I didn’t come over? You must have a lot to do before you leave.’
‘I just need to throw some clothes into a case. I’ll come and get the rest of my stuff another time. So please do come over. It will be nice to see you.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am.’
‘I’ll see you in around an hour, then.’
I’ve barely hung up when my phone starts ringing again. It’s Tamsin. I give an angry laugh and let it ring out. It’s taken Eve and Maria thirty minutes to persuade her to phone and apologise, because I’m sure that’s why she called. The phone starts ringing again, another call from Tamsin. I let it ring out again and a minute or so later, I get a message telling me I have a voicemail. I’m in no mood to listen to it, nor to the next voicemail she leaves me.
Five minutes later, it’s Eve who calls. I’m still sore that she didn’t say a word to defend me so I don’t answer her either. I know I’m being unfair; she and Tamsin have been friends for years, it’s normal she would take Tamsin’s side. But I don’t want to speak to her, especially now that I know Will was in Paris at the time of Marion Cartaux’s murder. Thomas said it probably doesn’t mean anything. But still.
I reach The Circle and trudge across the square to the house. School has finished for the day, so there are quite a few people heading towards the play area. Although there’s a chill in the air, the sun is out and despite everything, I smile to see children clambering over the wooden climbing frames. The rest of the square is deserted. As I go through the gate opposite the house, I see Edward going into his garage and give him a wave. My eyes are drawn involuntarily to Maria and Tim’s house; once again, Tim is standing at the upstairs window. He gives me a wave and I wave back. It’s funny that he doesn’t try and hide the fact that he’s watching the square. Most people, even though they’re doing nothing wrong, would jump back guiltily, or at least turn away once they’ve waved. But he just carries on watching.
I gather my things together and put my case and handbag by the front door, ready to leave once I’ve seen Thomas. There’s a ring on the doorbell. I look up sharply; it’s too early for it to be him. What if it’s Eve? If it is, I won’t let her in. I can’t, not with Thomas due to arrive.
I latch the chain before opening the door.
‘Oh, hi,’ I say, unsettled to see Tim standing there. He’s dressed in his usual jeans and rugby shirt and I find myself wondering if he’s ever played rugby.
‘Hi, Alice, I thought I’d come over and see you myself,’ he says, giving me a smile. ‘Maria phoned to ask if I knew the name of Nina’s therapist, she said you were asking about him?’
‘Yes, but it doesn’t really matter.’
He looks relieved. ‘Oh good, because Nina never mentioned it to me.’ He pauses. ‘Maria said you’re leaving?’
‘That’s right, I am. Which is why I don’t have time to invite you in,’ I add, in case he’s wondering why I’ve speaking to him through the chain on the door. ‘I need to finish packing.’
He takes a step away from the door. ‘No worries, I need to get on myself. I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Alice. Hopefully we’ll see each other again.’
‘Thanks, Tim,’ I say. ‘I’m sure we will.’
I close the door behind him and go to the kitchen. I lean against the worktop, thinking about Nina helping Tim with his psychotherapy studies. I had presumed she helped him revise for exams, looked over his essays, that sort of thing. But what if it was more hands-on? What if the help she gave him was based on role-play, where she took the role of a client and Tim took the role of the therapist?
I push away from the worktop, feeling as if I’m on the brink of something. Could it be Tim who Nina saw on Wednesday afternoons, when Maria went to yoga with Eve and Tamsin, then on to pick up the children up from school? It would explain why she wouldn’t give Tamsin the name of her therapist, if it was Tim she was seeing.
I stop, disgusted with myself. Tamsin is right, I am a fantasist. But not a total one. I know, one hundred per cent, that someone has been getting into the house.
I go to the fridge to get some juice. As I close the door, my eyes, already looking towards my glass, swivel back to the fridge, caught by something that shouldn’t be there. They come to rest on a small, passport-sized photo stuck in the middle of all the other photos, and my heart doesn’t just miss a beat, it stops. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I know who it is in the photo, I just don’t want to believe it.
I run into the hall and take my mobile from my bag.
‘Thomas, are you on your way?’ I try to keep my voice calm but I can’t.
‘Yes, I’m not far. Why, what’s happened?’
‘I just found a photo of Nina on the fridge.’
‘Nina?’
‘Yes, Nina Maxwell. I knew this morning that someone had been in the kitchen but I couldn’t see anything different, I could sense it but I couldn’t see it, I was too far away,’ I say, my voice high with panic. ‘But just now, I was right up close to the fridge and there it was, stuck among the other photos. I don’t know what to do,’ I add breathlessly.
‘Have you touched it?’
‘No.’
‘Then don’t. I was just speaking to my contact in the police about Ben Forbes. You’re not going to believe what we discovered. We were right, there is a conspiracy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It seems that not only did Ben Forbes sell the Maxwells their house, he’s also a friend of Tim Conway.’
I freeze. ‘He just came here,’ I say.
‘What? Tim Conway did? Why?’
‘Because I asked Maria to ask Tim if knew the name of Nina’s therapist and he came to tell me that he didn’t. But I’ve been thinking – what if he was the therapist that she was seeing? Her sessions were on Wednesday afternoons, Maria is at yoga on Wednesday afternoons. And Nina used to go to yoga, but she stopped four months before she died.’ I can hardly catch my breath.
Thomas’s voice is calm but urgent. ‘Alice, I’m going to hang up now. The police might arrive before me but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Until then, if anyone comes to the door, don’t let them in.’