“She was?” Chandra asked with equal surprise. “You must have very sensitive hearing. I was only a few steps behind you and didn’t pick up a thing.”
Before Cassie could ask Parker anything more about this weird coincidence, she heard a whisper from behind her.
It was Trish’s bitter voice, and she looked sharply around.
“How did this happen?”
Cassie was glad to see Trish was safely restrained. Her hands were secured behind her back and she was in the firm grasp of a uniformed police officer.
Cameras flashed around them, as the detectives recorded the scene. The discarded flashlight, and the kitchen knife that the police had ripped out of Trish’s hands.
“I made a plan with Harriet,” Cassie told her.
She couldn’t tell Trish what it had taken. How Harriet had sped straight to her house, stopping only to pick up a Dictaphone on the way. They’d planned together, nervous and desperate, knowing that their entire scenario relied on multiple factors beyond their control—as well as misdirection.
“The Dictaphone was a red herring,” she said. “But when I told you I was recording everything, that also wasn’t true. I called Harriet as soon as I heard you arrive, and left my phone on the counter. She recorded everything on her side, and contacted the police right afterwards.”
The children were still at Harriet’s house. She’d reassured Cassie they were holed up in her tiny family room, with junk food and cable TV, and that they’d be safe and happy for the evening, while Harriet waited in her bedroom—where the cell phone signal was strongest—for events to unfold.
Cassie knew she owed Harriet a massive debt of gratitude.
Bruton sighed.
“Next time you ladies plan a sting operation, please inform us beforehand and not during, or after, the fact. It’s always safer. But you acted with great bravery, and thanks to your actions, we can nail the perpetrator on a variety of charges. Murder, attempted murder, perjury, resisting arrest. She won’t get bail, and will be in prison a very long time. A life sentence, for sure.”
Cassie couldn’t imagine a worse fate, or a more fitting punishment, for the woman who’d so ruthlessly orchestrated her life and reputation to suit her own needs.
Trish stared at her, stony-faced, and although she didn’t speak, Cassie could see the defeat in her eyes.
“The van’s here. You can take her straight into custody,” Bruton told the arresting officers. “We’ll be along later, as soon as we’ve finished interviewing Ms. Vale.”
To Cassie’s astonishment, Parker handed her a white envelope.
“This is yours.”
Her passport was inside. Cassie stared down at it, not believing her eyes. Then she looked back at Parker.
“Are you really giving it back to me? You’re sure?”
He nodded.
“But—what about my visa?”
Bruton spoke.
“Your working status is not relevant to this murder case. We don’t intend to pursue the matter, since the person who supposedly hired you is now deceased. Now, we need to take your statement and do this interview.”
The friendly constable cleared her throat.
“The kitchen’s a disaster zone, love, but once you’ve walked the detectives through the scene, and we’ve finished photographing, we’ll get a clean-up crew in so that it’s all in order by tomorrow. Meanwhile, we’ve had an offer from the guesthouse across the road. They will allow us to use their dining room for the interview, and the proprietor invited you to stay the night in one of the rooms at no charge, if you’d be more comfortable there.”
“I would,” Cassie said, gratefully. “Please tell her thank you very much for the offer.”
Hopefully, word had spread in the village that she’d been the innocent party all along. Even though she knew loyalties ran deep and not everyone would believe the truth, at least it meant she was no longer the local pariah.
“I’m going to go to Harriet’s house now,” the friendly constable said. “We’ve decided the children should go straight to their aunt’s for the night, so I’ll organize things from that side. Could you help me with a change of clothes for them, please, and I can take a bag through?”
After she’d walked the police through the fight scene in the kitchen, Cassie hurried through to the master bedroom.
There, under the bed, was her phone and she felt filled with relief that it was still working. A corner of the screen had been cracked in the melee but it was still usable.
Heading back down the hall, she packed toiletries, pajamas, and a change of clothes into a bag for the children.
At the last minute, she tore a page off the pink notebook in Madison’s room.
“I love you both,” she wrote. “Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She added the note to the bag.
Then, grabbing her toothbrush, her meds, and a spare shirt, she walked with the police to the guesthouse for the final interview.
Her arms were aching, her hands in agony. Her fingers felt bruised and her palms were lined with shallow cuts. Clutching at the rock had left raw grazes on her wrists. Somewhere along the line, the sleeve of her jacket had torn, and when she took it off to shake the grit out, she stared in horror at the deep slice down its back.
Trish had come within inches of opening up a lethal flesh wound.
She’d fought for her life, but she’d won. Trish might be wealthy, and have an MBA and a high-powered job, but when the chips were down, Cassie had prevailed as the stronger person.
She remembered the inner resilience she’d sensed inside her—so tough and unexpected. Where had that core of steel come from? She didn’t know, but it had allowed her to keep her nerve—barely—and to hang on to the rock for longer than she’d thought physically possible.
Cassie thought about her tough upbringing and the scars she carried, the fact she’d had to survive fights and domestic violence, and fend for herself, even if it just meant doing humble waitressing jobs. Perhaps the life she’d been so ashamed of hadn’t been a bad thing.
Maybe—just maybe—it had
