‘What?’
‘Success isn’t about wanting what you don’t have, it’s wanting what you do have.’
‘Yeah, well, obviously I’m not a success, yet. So, yeah, you’re lucky, you have the perfect life — a woman you love, and a great kid. Good for you. Do you want me to tell you what’s happened or are you going to carry on bloody lecturing me?’
‘I’m listening.’
‘So me and Eden went last Sunday to Parham House. We had a nice time there, wandering around, and a good lunch in their cafeteria. I wanted to get back to watch the Belgian Grand Prix and do a bike ride and she starts going on about needing to pick up some cat litter that I’d forgotten to buy the day before.’
‘Had you?’
‘Maybe, but hear me out.’
Tuckwell nodded.
‘So, Eden’s very specific, she wants to go to the Tesco Holmbush, because they stock the brand the stupid cat likes — I dunno — maybe it’s soft on its bum or something.’
‘Or it’s the cheapest,’ his friend suggested, subtly reminding him of his parlous finances. But the dig went over his head.
‘Whatever, she promises to be only a few minutes. But I know what happens when Eden goes into a store — she’s like, Oh, I’ll get some of this while I’m here, and, Oh, maybe we need more loo roll and we only have two bananas left and, oh, better get some more yoghurt and butter while I’m here, and, Oh, we’re running low on tomatoes and cat food and — and all the bloody rest, right? Cheryl’s the same, right?’
‘Aren’t we all when we go into a store?’ Tuckwell said pragmatically. ‘Don’t stereotype!’
‘Not me, I’m in, gottit, out — boom! Anyhow, so Sunday afternoon, I sit in the car, she swears blind she’ll be back in five minutes — and I reckon on turning that into fifteen. So twenty pass. Then twenty-five. The Grand Prix’s about to finish and the store’s about to close and I’m annoyed, so I go in to find her — and she’s not there. Like, gone.’
‘Walking back to your car?’ Tuckwell suggested.
Paternoster shook his head. ‘I look everywhere for her and there’s no sign. I call and text her — no response. I WhatsApp her, no reply. She’d done this once before, after we’d had a row, she bumped into a friend in a store and got her to drive her home. So eventually I drive home and she’s not there. Next morning, she’s still not home — I call the police. They come round to the house and I can see immediately they don’t believe me. The next thing, I’ve got some bigwig detective and his flunkey from Major Crime rocking up.’ He fell silent.
‘And?’ Tuckwell prompted.
‘I could tell from the way they looked at me and the questions they asked, they think I’ve done something. They treat me like I’m lying. I’m going mad with worry, but they don’t seem to see that. I looked again on all her social media accounts — nothing. Next thing, early Monday evening an entire posse rocks up. I’m arrested on suspicion of murder and our house is crawling with cops. God knows what her mother said to them, especially with her track record — she loathes me, always has, but anyhow, I’m told all kinds of rubbish the next day — Eden’s engagement and wedding rings and her passport have all been found, hidden. And that there’s two sacks of bloody cat litter in the house.’
‘Two sacks of cat litter?’
‘Yeah, big ones.’
Tuckwell frowned.
‘None of it makes any sense. I mean, I can’t get my head round what’s happened. People don’t just vanish. What has happened to her? Did someone smack her over the head and drag her into a van or something as she walked across the car park? Or am I going crazy? I’m starting to wonder if I’ve got like, what do they call it — selective amnesia — or something? Seriously, I’m lying on my bunk in that cell, staring at the walls, wondering if there’s some great big blank in my mind. Did I imagine dropping her at Tesco? Did I do something to her that I don’t remember? Hide her rings and passport?’
‘Sounds more plausible than any other scenario.’
‘You’re really not being much help,’ Paternoster said.
‘OK, another thought. Has it occurred to you Eden might have vanished to teach you a lesson?’ Tuckwell suggested.
‘A lesson? About what? Why?’
As they finally reached the roundabout and drove up to the A27 on the far side, Mark Tuckwell gave him a sideways glance.
‘Wakey-wakey! Are you missing anything here? A certain lady?’
Paternoster blushed. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
Another glance. ‘Did you climb out from under a rock, Niall?’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Eden’s gone missing. The spouse or partner is always a prime suspect if you watch any crime show. And I read in the papers long ago that eighty per cent of all murders are committed by a spouse or immediate member of the family. The police aren’t stupid — it’s not going to take them long to connect you and your mistress.’
‘Girlfriend.’
Tuckwell nodded. ‘Is she wealthy?’
‘No, but she does all right.’
They were only a few minutes away from his house now.
‘Well, isn’t there a motive right there? You’re having an affair with a woman, neither of you have loads of money. Your wife owns the nice house you live in and has independent wealth. Suddenly she disappears. And you have got a bit of a temper on you, mate. Remember decking me when you were pissed that night at the Deep Sea Anglers?’
‘You’re not seriously suggesting I murdered Eden?’
‘No, of course not, but where is she?’
‘Jesus! Are you my friend or what? Are you hearing me? I don’t bloody know.’
‘So how do you think it looks to the police, Niall? You’re having an affair. They can’t find any evidence to back up your story that she went into the store — what do you expect them to think?’
‘Some friend you are, thanks a million.’
‘People don’t just disappear.’
‘No? Well, she has — into thin air. What game is she playing with me?’
‘You had another row.’
‘It wasn’t a row — it was just — we were just bickering.’
‘About what?’
‘Cat litter.’
Mark Tuckwell grinned. ‘So she’d done a runner on you because you’d argued about cat litter? If you need any, we can give you some.’
‘According to the police, we have plenty. I never saw it. How could she have forgotten she’d got two sacks of the stuff?’
‘Cheryl often makes me pick up stuff she’s forgotten she already has. That’s hardly grounds to arrest you on suspicion of murder.’
‘Oh, great, finally you’re actually taking my side?’
‘Sure I am, I don’t think you’ve murdered her.’
‘Hallelujah!’
Tuckwell shook his head. ‘No, you wouldn’t murder her because you know you’re too dumb to ever get away with it. You’ve probably got her chained up underground somewhere.’
Paternoster glared at his friend indignantly. ‘I don’t know why I like you.’
‘Because I tell you the truth that you don’t want to hear.’
They were approaching his house. As he’d been told upon his release, Niall Paternoster saw a line of crime scene tape fluttering above the pavement in front of it and a white van, signed CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION UNIT, parked a short way down the road. A bored-looking uniformed police officer stood on the pavement.
Tuckwell said frivolously, ‘They’ve laid on a welcome home party for you.’