Page 4 of The Dead Ex

‘Coming,’ I call out as the knocker thuds again.

The open door brings in the biting wind with a trace of fog.

I do a double take. A woman is standing on the doorstep brandishing a warrant card as proof of identity. Her face carries all the hallmarks of stress. Immediately my mind springs into action as I mentally concoct a mixture which would soothe her. Lavender.Maybe lemon grass too.

The man next to her is sporting a fawn raincoat. He appears angry. Defensive. I learned to read body language the hard way. Not that it did any good in the end. Neither looks like a possible client.

‘May I help you?’

‘Vicki Goudman?’

I nod, taking in this man and his strikingly assured air.

‘Former wife of David Goudman?’ he continues.

I nod again. Less certainly thistime.

Now he too is flashing ID at me. ‘Detective Inspector Gareth Vine. This is my colleague, Sergeant Sarah Brown. May we come in?’

My throat has swollen with apprehension. I run my hands through my hair, which I’ve started to grow again as part of the ‘new me’. Sweat trickles down my back. My mouth is dry.

‘What’s happened?’ I ask.

He ignores the question. ‘May I ask when you last saw yourex-husband?’

The question is so unexpected that I cannot think. My right sinus – always partially blocked – now clears itself with shock. I feel a sick knot in the pit of my stomach.

‘Years ago. Why?’ The sour taste of bile is in my mouth as I speak.

The woman in uniform is staring at me. Her eyes are sharp. Appraising. ‘The present Mrs Goudman has reported him missing.’

Sometimes I wonderhow it’s possible for another woman to carry my name, let alone Tanya, his former secretary, or ‘the bitch’ as I sometimes call her in my head.

‘How long …? When …? Is he all right?’

Even as I ask the last question, I’m aware it’s a ridiculous one. If he was OK, they wouldn’t be here.

It’s the inspector who answers. ‘That’s what we’re trying to ascertain.’ He rubs his chin. ‘David Goudman hasbeen missing now for fifteen days. His wife is insistent that it is out of character, so we are exploring various lines of inquiry.’

My body begins to twitch. Stress is a significant trigger. So too is lack of sleep, and even certain music pitches. Itwas one of the first things they told me. And if it does go wrong, well, I can’t be held responsible for either myself or anyone else.

‘You saidjust now you hadn’t seen him for years,’ continues the detective. ‘Can you be more precise than that?’

‘Since 2013.’ I swallow. ‘It’s when we got divorced.’

‘I see.’

He says this as though he doesn’t. Or perhaps he does – all too clearly.

‘Where exactly were you on 31 January this year?’

That’s easy. I rarely leave this place. ‘Here. At home. Or maybe on the seafront. I usually walk alongit once a day for some air.’

‘Can anyone confirm that?’

I stare hard at him. ‘No. I live alone.’

‘Any friends who might have seen you out and about?’