Page 96 of Three Widows

Would he miss her? Would he come looking for her when she didn’t return his calls? Because she was sure she was in the clutches of the person who had already murdered two women.

If she could have screamed, she would have done, but she couldn’t.

As the arm tightened around her throat, Amy was certain she was about to die.

62

The doorbell of Boyd’s apartment rang at ten past one in the morning.

He woke up, his back crippled from the couch, and instinctively checked his phone, fearing another body had been found. He had no text or call alerts. The bell shrieked again.

Sergio would wake if he didn’t get a move on. He pulled on a pair of joggers and wiping his eyes groggily, opened the door without checking his security camera.

‘Surprise!’

‘Jackie? What are you doing here? You never phoned or…’ Boyd watched as his ex-wife sauntered in past him, shoes clicking on the floor, swinging an oversized leopard-print handbag. She looked even more fake than when he’d briefly seen her in Spain. Her hair was dyed an odd colour, and her skin was leathery from too much sun and not enough sunscreen.

‘Where’s my boy? I want to see him.’

She sat herself on one of the stools at the kitchenette counter and dropped her bag at her feet. At least she hadn’t gone into the bedroom.

‘You didn’t tell me…’ He struggled for words and comprehension. ‘You never told me you were coming.’

‘Any beer in the fridge?’ She hopped off the stool and rummaged through the refrigerator.

He grabbed her arm and hauled her upright. His temper flared and he feared it would tip over. ‘You can’t just barge in here in the middle of the night.’

‘I can see my son any time I want. You have no legal right to him.’ She shook him off. ‘Ah, you still have the old reliable Heineken. Bottle opener?’ She began opening drawers.

‘Last one on your left.’ Anything to stop her making a noise and messing up his strictly ordered cupboards.

She opened the bottle and swigged from it, then made her way to the couch. Flopping down on top of the duvet, she said, ‘I’m glad to see you gave Sergio the bed. Adjusting to fatherhood, are you?’

He sat opposite her, clenching his hands and his jaw.

‘What do you want?’

‘This place is not ideal for a child, is it? I’d have thought you’d have a house by now.’

‘You live in an apartment. I can’t see the difference.’

‘I have two bedrooms. What do you do when you have lady friends over? Evict my son onto the couch? Or do you send him off to Lottie Parker’s house?’

He noticed how she kept referring to Sergio as her son. She was up to no good. He was exhausted and needed sleep. He could have done without this hijack.

‘I’m tired. I have work in the morning. I’m sorry, there’s nowhere for you to stay here. Can you please leave? We’ll make arrangements to talk tomorrow.’

‘I want to be here when my son wakes up in the morning.’ She pointed the bottle at him and stared him down.

Boyd felt adrenaline shoot through his veins. ‘You abandoned him in Spain. You’d never have told me about him if it hadn’t suited you. Now he’s with me, and I don’t want to disrupt what we’ve built together. You made this mess, Jackie, not me. You can’t just appear and make demands. I want you to leave.’

She stood and bit her lip as if she was thinking what to say, but he knew she had it all rehearsed. She was a calculating bitch.

‘The way I see it, I asked you to look after Sergio for a few weeks in Spain and allowed you to bring him here for a holiday. Now you’re refusing to let me see him. I’ll get a court order if I have to.’

‘I’m not refusing you anything, Jackie. God, but you still twist everything I say. It’s the middle of the night. Come back tomorrow evening and we can talk.’

‘Okay, I’ll go. No matter what you think of me, I don’t want to upset Sergio. But I’ll be back at seven in the morning. You can go to work and I’ll stay here with him for the day. Then we can have an adult conversation when you get home.’