Page 26 of The Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Five

Detective Inspector Yates sat at the polished oak dining table, his notepad open and a standard-issue ballpoint pen in hand.

The Lassiter home had an atmosphere that he was familiar with, a kind of tense stillness that lingered in homes where tragedy had come calling.

Homes where the essence of the dead still clung to the living.

Yates bore himself with quiet authority.

In his early fifties, he was lean and broad-shouldered, with a face that had been carved by years of exposure to grief, lies and the worst parts of humanity.

His hair, once black, was now a silver sheen, cropped close.

He dressed without fuss, his suits dark and off the peg, always with polished shoes and a plain wedding band that told of his commitment even in loss.

He never raised his voice, never threatened, never rushed.

His method was his own and revered. He believed the key to truth was patience.

He glanced up, his pale brown eyes scanning the man across the table.

Shane Jones. The grieving husband who was doing a passable job of appearing devastated.

The signs were all there: bloodshot eyes, deep creases in his brow, slightly trembling fingers.

A man stunned by tragedy. But Yates didn’t believe him.

His years in the force had taught him the subtle distinction between grief and guilt.

The question was, what was Mr Jones guilty of?

‘Let’s go over your movements again, Mr Jones,’ Yates said, tapping his pen gently against the pad.

The tone was light, almost conversational.

‘After you went upstairs yesterday evening, leaving your wife and housekeeper in the kitchen, what did you do?’

Shane took a breath, dragging his hand down his face like the weight of it all was becoming too much. ‘I took a shower. Packed an overnight bag for my trip to Glasgow. I wanted to get on the road while it was still quiet. I’d booked a room for the evening as I had an early meeting this morning.’

‘And your wife? Did you see her before you left?’

A hesitation. Small. Measurable. ‘Yes. I stopped by her room. I took a bottle of white wine and two glasses. I thought we could have a drink and a chat.’

‘And how was her mood?’ Yates asked, noting how Shane’s fingers drummed against the table.

‘Not great,’ Shane admitted. ‘We’ve been having a difficult time lately. Maybe it’s the seven-year itch but we were working at it, hence the need for a chat, build bridges, that kind of thing.’

Yates nodded slowly, letting silence linger. He knew that silence made people uncomfortable. It pulled them into saying more than they meant to. ‘What did you talk about? Did you argue?’

Shane shifted in his chair. ‘I wouldn’t call it an argument exactly. We had words. Nothing aggressive. Just… we were both fed up, I suppose.’

‘Was divorce mentioned?’ That hit.

Shane’s face went pale, lips parting before he composed himself.

‘Yes. She brought it up. It wasn’t the first time.

I didn’t want that. I thought we could make it work.

I was shocked. Hurt. But I put it down to the alcohol talking.

I’d noticed the almost empty bottle in the kitchen so realising she’d already had too much, suggested we leave it there. ’

‘Did you threaten her?’ The question sliced through the air. Yates watched the reaction.

Shane’s chair creaked as he sat forward. ‘Absolutely not. I would never threaten Julia. Never. What on earth makes you think that?’

The pitch of his voice was slightly higher. A red flag for Yates. He made a discreet note on his pad, not looking up. ‘Where did you go after you left the house?’

Shane inhaled deeply. ‘I drove to Glasgow. Stayed at the Crowne Plaza.’

‘Can you confirm that?’

Shane’s fingers went to his back pocket and his phone. Another pause. Then he pulled up a screen, turned it around. ‘Here. Booking confirmation email from the hotel.’

Yates barely looked at it. ‘Thanks.’ He clicked his pen.

‘Just one last thing,’ he said, his tone calm and even. ‘So when you left the house yesterday evening, your wife was alive and well?’

Shane’s nod came immediately. ‘Yes. She was.’

Yates shut his notebook. He studied Shane for a moment. The way he now crossed his arms over his chest, closed off. The tremble that had stopped. The eyes that no longer shone with forced sadness.

Yates stood. ‘Thank you for your time. I’ll let you get back to your family.’

As he stepped out into the hallway, his partner DC Stone joined him. Stone was younger, eager, keen-eyed. ‘Thoughts?’ Stone asked under his breath.

Yates paused, watching Molly Lassiter through the open doorway to the lounge. She sat on the arm of the sofa, one hand on her sister’s back, her face expressionless. Her eyes locked with his for just a second. Then she focused on her sister, the moment lost but he was sure it meant something.

‘He’s an interesting one, that’s for sure,’ Yates murmured.

‘You don’t believe him?’

Yates turned to Stone. ‘Let’s just say the housekeeper’s version of events is the one I’m most interested in, so maybe go over it with her one more time. I’ll let you take the lead on that.’

Stone straightened, like a police dog about to be let off the leash by his trainer, and before Yates got the chance to change his mind, he was off.