Shape of Snakes

'Oh, ye of little faith,' I said, escorting her between our car and a mud-splattered Renault Espace that was parked beside it in Jock's drive. I wondered briefly where the elderly Mercedes was before it occurred to me that Jock, forever a prisoner to truth, would have hidden it away in order to continue his pretense that he had an XK8 in a lockup garage.

E-mail correspondence with Libby Garth, formerly

Libby Williams of 21 Graham Road-dated 1999

M. R.

From: Libby Garth ([email protected])

Sent: 17 August 1999 20:17

To: M. Ranelagh

Subject: Re Meeting on Friday at Jock's house

Dear M-written in haste before I rush out to collect Amy from her friend's house. You say it's water under the bridge and that none of us needs be embarrassed after so long, but I am MORTIFIED! How can I look any of you in the face, particularly you and Jock? I know you've asked me not to explain or apologize, but I do feel badly about it. AND I AM SORRY. Please believe me, whatever Sam and I had going all those years ago-it was dead as a dodo before you left England.

I know you say this meeting on Friday is important, but I truly can't face it. You and Jock must feel very raw to have Sam confess after twenty years-you, in particular, must hate me for my hypocrisy. You probably think I was only pretending friendship by helping you over Annie, but it honestly wasn't like that. I was pleased to help, even more pleased that we went on being friends in spite of everything. The truth is I let myself believe that Sam would never tell-more because he remained so close to Jock, I think, than because he thought you wouldn't be able to take it-and it wasn't as if it was terribly important where he was that night, just so long as he and Jock admitted they didn't see Annie at 7:45. In all these years, the only lies I have ever told you were to do with that wretched alibi-God knows, I wish we'd been honest at the time-but it seemed so unimportant compared with the hurt you'd feel to learn about the affair. Of course, it was wrong, but I couldn't see any harm in it. Sam and Jock obviously had nothing to do with Annie's death-as I kept telling you-and I didn't want you thinking badly of me.

Anyway, the upshot of all this is that I have written out a statement, with precise times and details of all movements in and out of number 21 that night-insofar as I remember them-which I am sending as an attachment. I think you'll find they agree with what Jock and Sam say. I will, of course, do it formally when the time comes. Meanwhile, I will end with love, and pray you can still accept it.

Love,

L

PS: Apart from anything else, I can't just abandon the girls to their own devices for the day, and poor old Jim would be deeply alarmed if I told him I was about to have a reunion with my ex-husband! He'd want to know why ... and then I'd have to tell him about Sam ... and how I'd wronged my best friend. I'm sorry, m'dear. I hope you understand.

LIBBY GARTH

From: M.R. ([email protected])

Sent: 18 August 1999 12:42

To: Libby Garth

Subject: Re Friday

My dear Libby, attachment received and understood and love accepted in the spirit it was given! Believe me, I've always valued the help you've given me re Annie's 'cause'-I wouldn't have known half as much as I do about her hateful neighbors if it hadn't been for you! Unfortunately, there are one or two discrepancies between your statement and Sam's-i.e., he says you were doing the laundry when he arrived, while you say you were watching TV. Also, he says you'd had a bath before he arrived, and you say you'd been cooking. I know they're only small things-but I really do need the accounts to match before I hand them to the police. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. And there really is nothing to worry about. Jock and Sam are reconciled-if a little cool-while Sam and I are like Darby and Joan. We've been together so long we're tied at the hip and can only walk in step these days. However, if you can't manage to come down here because of leaving the girls and worrying about Jim, the three of us can-and will- come to Leicester.

Love,

M

*28*

I had asked Jock to leave his front door ajar so that Wendy and I could let ourselves in when we arrived, and as we walked through the hall toward the kitchen I saw Libby before she saw me. She was sitting on a hard-backed chair, her face in profile, and I had a second or two to take stock before the sound of our footsteps alerted her to our presence. Oh, sweet revenge! Gone was the startling brunette in her mid-twenties who had flaunted her looks and figure to good advantage, and in her place was a scrawny, beak-nosed woman with a sagging chin and newly dyed hair that was too dark for her complexion.

My strongest memories of her were the impatient gestures and petulant expression that had spoken volumes about her frustration with her life in 1978, and I was amused to see she still had them. Indeed, the impression she gave was that all the water that should have passed beneath her bridge had merely piled behind a fragile dam ... which was on the point of burst ing.

'I've had enough of this,' she was saying, stabbing angrily at her watch as Wendy and I approached. 'She told me 12:30, and if she doesn't come in the next five minutes-'

She broke off as Sam and Jock looked up in relief to see us in the doorway.

'Hello, Libby,' I said with a bright smile. 'You're looking well.'

She took similar stock of me but there was no answering smile. 'You're late,' she snapped.

Perhaps I should have been surprised by her lack of cordiality after the numerous letters, faxes and e-mails she'd sent over the years professing support, friendship and ... love ... but I wasn't. Her saccharine sweetness had been conditional on my continued ignorance of her affair with Sam because that made me a fool. But Sam and Jock had obviously told her, as I had asked them to do, that I'd known about it since before my first letter to her-which made her the fool. And that was the one thing she had never