‘So what conclusion did you come to about the doll?’ Jessie asked.
‘Either that Carolynn had put the doll by Zoe’s body as a red herring, to mislead us, or that she had put the doll there because it had significance either for her or for Zoe, or for both of them, and she then lied to us about that significance when we fingered her as a suspect.’
Jessie nodded. ‘Or that Carolynn hadn’t put the doll there at all, because she didn’t murder her daughter. What about Jodie?’
‘Debs Trigg said the same,’ Workman replied. ‘That Jodie wasn’t into dolls.’
‘There were none in her room,’ Jessie said.
‘So the doll has a significance for the killer that we don’t yet understand,’ Marilyn surmised.
‘And perhaps that significance is connected with both children or, more likely in my opinion, only Zoe, but by using an identical signature, the killer communicated to us that he or she was responsible for both murders.’
‘What about guilt?’ Marilyn asked.
Jessie raised an eyebrow. ‘Yours or Carolynn’s?’
‘Ha, ha.’
Sliding her chair back, Jessie stood. The room was hot and stuffy and she felt sick again. As far as she was concerned, the conversation was over.
‘Where are you going?’ Marilyn asked.
‘We’re done, aren’t we?’
She felt Marilyn’s eyes trail her as she walked to the door.
‘Why do I feel that there’s something you’re not sharing with me?’ he muttered.
‘Paranoia?’ She smiled over her shoulder, as she pulled the door open. ‘Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you, Marilyn.’
‘What? What the hell does that mean?’
‘You can work it out,’ she said, stepping through the door and pulling it closed behind her.
59
Though Jessie knew no one in East Wittering, she was relieved that Boots the Chemist was empty. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl nipping into the sweet shop on her way home from school against her mother’s strict instruction, as she glanced guiltily both ways down the street – half-expecting to see Marilyn standing there eyeballing her, one cynical eyebrow raised, or worse, Callan – then ducked through the double doors.
She wandered up and down the aisles, scanning the shelves: hand and body; cosmetics; skincare; hair accessories; deodorants and body sprays; holiday essentials; facial skincare; family planning.
She stopped. Family planning. The title laughed at her. What the fuck have I done? – would be more appropriate.
As her gaze roved over condoms – too late for those now – lubricants, ovulation tests, the electric suit skittered across her skin at how out of control her life had become, how seismically more out of control it would become in an instant, based on the results of a simple two-minute test.
Pregnancy tests.
She had expected there to be only one type, but of course that would have been far too easy. She scanned the multiple boxes and grabbed one that advertised itself as being early detection and ‘Swiss made’. The Swiss were renowned for always being on time and her watch had never let her down, so there had to be some quality assurance in that.
As she rose, shielding the box against her chest with her arm, she had the sudden, unsettling sense that someone was standing right behind her. She spun around and stepped back, coming hard up against the edge of the metal shelves. The woman, who she didn’t recognize, mirrored her movement, silver stiletto sandals pecking at the lino as she stepped forward, so close that Jessie could barely focus on her face.
The woman arched a plucked eyebrow. ‘Who’s the father?’
Jessie was so shocked at the directness of the question that she didn’t have the self-possession not to answer.
‘I don’t think I’m pregnant,’ she spluttered.
The woman’s cracked lips twisted into a nasty smirk. ‘You wouldn’t be buying one of those if you didn’t think you was pregnant.’
Jessie lifted her shoulders. ‘My boyfriend, maybe.’ She paused. ‘I don’t mean that it could be someone else, only that I’m probably not pregnant at all.’
Her gaze hardened. ‘So you’re too good to screw around, are you? Too posh?’
‘No, I … that wasn’t what I meant. I just didn’t get the opportunity. I’ve never been great with relationships … with men.’ Why the hell am I justifying myself to this stranger? She took a step sideways to disengage herself from the shelves, another backwards and held her hand up in front of her, half-wave goodbye, half unequivocal physical signal that she was disengaging herself from this conversation. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry.’
Immune to Jessie’s body language, the woman aped her movements. ‘Does he know that you’re knocked up?’
‘What?’ No. Who the hell is this woman? This whole conversation was ridiculous and she needed to end it. The thought that she could easily be pregnant and the juggernaut that news would drive through her life – and Callan’s – was white noise in her head, the electric suit an itch that had intensified with the woman’s intrusion. ‘I’m sorry, I really do need to go.’
A blur of movement and the woman’s fingers snaked around her wrist.
‘I’ve seen you,’ she hissed.
Jessie stepped back, trying in vain to disengage her arm.
‘With DI Simmons. I’ve seen you. Are you police?’
Twisting her arm hard, Jessie broke the woman’s hold, no pretence at politeness now. ‘No, I’m a psychologist working with the police.’
‘You must be clever to have a job like that.’ Another spiteful smirk. ‘But not clever enough to use contraception.’
A quickly suppressed titter from the direction of the cash till. Jessie had had enough. She was tempted to toss the pregnancy test back on the shelf and sprint for the exit, but Boots was the only chemist in East Wittering and she needed it.
