Good old Aripiprazole, banishing visions of dead girlfriends and other assorted hallucinations for nearly two years now.
Logan took the packet off him. ‘It’s a second generation — or atypical — antipsychotic. Possible side effects include anxiety and suicidal thoughts.’
‘Really?’ Rennie raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh. Right. Wow.’
Logan replaced the box and shut the mirrored door. Stepped out onto the landing again.
Rennie followed him. ‘Her husband says there was a “sort of fight” yesterday. She stormed off, he didn’t hear her come back. Look at this.’ A smartphone appeared from Rennie’s pocket and he held it out. A text message sat in the middle of the screen. ‘Had his phone on to charge, so he didn’t get her text till an hour ago. Came down and found her.’
Logan accepted the phone, reading the message out loud. ‘“I’m sorry. I just can’t take it any more. I can’t.” Sent at ten thirty last night.’ He scrolled down to the earlier text messages. ‘Long time to be left hanging there.’
‘I had a snoop round.’ Rennie hooked a thumb over his shoulder at another small bedroom. ‘Someone’s definitely sleeping in this one: got loads of women’s things in it. Lipsticks and jars of stuff. Women’s underwear in the chest of drawers. Women’s clothes in the wardrobe. No man things.’
A chain of yesterday’s texts swept up onto the screen.
BRIAN:
I can’t wait to see you today!
STEPH:
I miss the touch of your strong hands on my body! Searching and probing my most intimate secret places.
BRIAN:
I miss the warmth of your tongue on my neck. The hot swell of your bosom against my bare chest.
STEPH:
I miss your hardness deep inside me. Thrusting. Thrusting!
There was more of the same, each one more flowery than the last.
‘God, it’s like a bargain-basement Mills and Boon.’ Logan stepped back into the master bedroom again. Slid the door to the fitted wardrobe all the way across.
It was full of men’s clothes: no dresses, skirts, or high heels. Nothing feminine at all.
He pointed at the bedside cabinet. ‘Have a squint in there.’
Rennie did. ‘Man socks, man pants, man hankies. No lady things.’
Logan nodded. Slid the wardrobe door closed. ‘Then I think it’s time we had a word with the grieving husband.’
A tiny conservatory clung to the side of the tiny living room — its doors closed, trapping inside a small herd of clothes horses draped with washing.
Brian had moved himself to the couch, sitting there as if someone had rammed their hand down his throat and ripped out everything inside him. He kept his eyes on his knees, as Logan handed him a mug of tea.
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
He didn’t look up. ‘It’s... I never...’
Logan put a bit of steel in his voice. ‘Mr Chalmers, someone assaulted your wife yesterday. Twice. I want to know who.’
‘I don’t... I didn’t see her. She went out before I got up and—’
‘Would you say Lorna was happy at home?’
Oh, he looked up at that. ‘What? I...’ Pulled his chin in. ‘Hey, no, wait — I didn’t do that! I would never do that!’
‘And yet Lorna texted you a suicide note at half ten last night, but you didn’t call the police till after seven this morning.’
‘No!’ Looking from Logan to Rennie. Bottom lip trembling. ‘I told your constable—’
‘Constable?’ Rennie folded his arms. ‘I’m a detective sergeant.’
Brian blinked at the pair of them, getting smaller. ‘Sorry. It... I was recharging my phone. I didn’t check it till I got up!’
The central heating gurgled.
Rain pattered on the conservatory roof.
‘I didn’t!’
‘Really?’ Logan loomed over him. ‘Are you expecting us to believe your wife was hanging there for nine hours and you didn’t notice?’
Rennie put a hand on Logan’s arm. ‘Guv?’
‘We didn’t... She has her own bedroom. It’s the antisocial hours. We decided it’d be better if we didn’t wake each other up.’
‘Who’s Stephanie?’
Brian flinched as if he’d been slapped. ‘I don’t...’
‘Don’t you?’ Logan held up the phone again, reading from the screen. ‘“The milk of your passion fizzes inside me like finest champagne.” If that helps jog your memory?’
‘Oh God.’ Brian wrapped his hands around his head.
‘You said there’d been “a sort of fight”.’
‘You don’t know what it was like. She was never here. Not properly. Even when she was physically in the room, she was somewhere else. I was...’ Deep breath. ‘Stephanie is... I met her at work. She’s the account manager. We... Her husband isn’t there either. We were lonely.’
Logan stepped back. ‘And Lorna found out you were having an affair.’
The heating gurgled. The rain fell.
Brian shrugged. ‘Steph was here yesterday afternoon. We were in the bedroom when her car alarm went off. Someone had smashed the windscreen and the garage door was lying wide open. It’s... It’s not like Lorna and me had a sex life of our own, is it? We don’t even sleep in the same room any more!’ He ran a hand across his face. Bit his lip. ‘I was going to ask Lorna for a divorce next week, once we’d got her birthday out of the way. It would’ve been Wednesday.’
And with that, Brian dissolved into tears again.
The garage looked strangely empty without Chalmers’ body hanging there. Like a living room after the Christmas decorations had been taken down... Now the only sign that she’d ever been there were the scuff marks on the concrete floor — tiny tufts of fabric stuck to the rough surface where her socks had dragged across it.
Logan turned and stared at the shelving unit by the door. Chalmers’ glasses sat on a shelf next to the dishwasher tablets. Her shoes were on the shelf below lined up side by side.
Rennie pointed at them. ‘Why do people do that? Why take off your shoes and glasses before topping yourself?’
The glasses were cold to the touch. Surprisingly heavy. ‘Suppose it’s like getting ready for bed.’
‘See if it was me? If I was crossing the great dark veil? I’d want to see where I was going.’
Logan put the glasses back on their shelf. ‘Her husband’s having an affair; she’s about to be suspended; she’s on antidepressants; she’s sacrificed having a family for her career, but her career’s going nowhere.’
‘And I wouldn’t want to tread in anything either.’
‘She’s getting into fights...’
Rennie nodded. ‘Sounds like she had a proper, full-on, card-carrying meltdown.’
‘Yup.’ Logan walked out into the hall. No point wasting any more time here. Still had to figure out what Chalmers knew about Ellie Morton’s disappearance. He opened the front door. Paused on the threshold. ‘Do me a favour: soon as we hit the station, have a word with the CCTV team and see if they can place her car anywhere. Find out where she went yesterday. Maybe we can dig up who she spoke to.’
‘Guv.’
Logan hurried down the driveway, shoulders hunched against the rain, Rennie trotting along behind him.
Pale faces gazed out at them from the surrounding houses. The nosy ghosts of suburbia, haunting the lives of their neighbours. Feeding on their tragedy.