Page 126 of Worse Than Murder
‘Who’s Helen Walsh?’ Adele asks.
Adele has obviously read my emails. I can’t be mad at her. I’d have done the same if the tables were turned. I wish the table was turned; her risotto looks delicious.
‘She’s the mother of the first victim. It was believed her son, Liam, killed himself by jumping off a building. It turns out he was pushed.’
‘Why is she emailing you so much?’
‘I said I’d keep her informed of what’s going on with the investigation. Liam was all she had. She was struggling to come to terms with his suicide, so when I told her he’d been murdered, well…’
‘The number of emails she’s sending you is bordering on stalking.’
‘She’s grieving. She’s angry. She’s trying to make sense of the madness.’
‘Sound familiar?’ Adele raises a single eyebrow.
‘I can’t help her.’
‘You can.’
‘And what about me? Who’s going to help me?’ My tone is laced with dark emotion. There are tears in my voice.
‘I am. Sian is. Then there’s Christian, Scott, Finn, Donal, Odell. Sally and Philip and Carl. Don’t sit there and tell me you’re all alone, because you’re not. You’ve got people around you to help, to support, people who love you who will come running the minute you snap your fingers. Who has this Helen Walsh got? She’s got you. She’s counting on you because you promised her.’
I’m fully crying now. I can’t help it. I know I’ve got supportive people around me who will help, but for so long I’ve been the strong one. If people see my vulnerabilities, I’m worried they’ll think less about me.
‘Matilda, look at me.’
Reluctantly, I look up.
‘Let me take you back to Sheffield.’
‘I plan on going back.’
Adele visibly relaxes. ‘Oh. Good. That’s good. You’re making the right decision.’
‘I have one condition.’
‘Go on.’
‘We have to find out what happened to Celia and Jennifer Pemberton first.’
‘It’s been thirty years. You might never find out.’
‘Then I’d better have my post redirected,’ I say, turning my attention back to my salmon cakes.
Philip closed Nature’s Diner early. By ten o’clock there was only me and Adele left as customers. Sally came over and swiped up my plate just as I took the last mouthful of pistachio mousse cake. She even made a grab for my coffee cup before I batted her hand away.
‘I’ve had a husband and a son badgering me every five minutes for the past six hours about knocking that sodding wall down. The sooner its done, the sooner I can go to bed and the sooner I get rid of this bloody headache.’ She marches back towards the kitchen.
‘What is it about men and knocking things down?’ Adele asks.
‘It makes them feel manly and masculine.’
‘What makes women feel feminine, then?’
‘Taking the hammer and chisel from the men and showing them how it’s done,’ I grin.
We go upstairs to change into clothes we’re happy to see covered in dust. Something is niggling away in my brain. I grab Adele’s mobile and hunt for Alison’s number that I’ve scrawled down on a bit of paper. She answers almost straight away.
