Page 6 of Her Hidden Shadow

The woman shook her head. ‘I only saw Lauren and two other women getting into the taxi. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t spy on my neighbours. I just happened to be awake in the early hours this morning.’

‘Well, thank you so much for your time. An officer will see you shortly to take a formal statement. In the meantime, if you think of anything else, please call me straight away.’ Gina passed the woman one of her cards.

‘Oh, there is one other thing, and I don’t like to gossip but knowing that a murder has been committed, I think I should tell you.’

‘Please, go on. It can sometimes be the smallest of things that can help a case.’

She bit her bottom lip and proceeded to speak. ‘It was over a week ago. I saw Lauren at the end of the street, and she was walking away from a man. It was evening as it was dark but I don’t know what time. Before eight, though. He grabbed her arm, and she shook him off. She then pushed him with both hands on his chest. I don’t know what had been going on or who he was, but she was angry. Before you ask, I couldn’t describe him, he was too far away. I recognised Lauren from her outline. She often wears mid-length coats and heeled boots. Her hair is always up in a knot on the top of her head. I know it wasn’t Robbie as he’d just gone into their bungalow. Who has been murdered? Is Robbie okay?’

‘It’s not Mr Shields.’ Gina did love a nosy neighbour. As for suspects, they had a suspicious taxi driver, Robbie Shields himself and the man Lauren was seen arguing with. ‘Can you remember the day?’

‘No, it wasn’t a weekend so maybe it was last Friday, or Thursday.’

‘Who does the black VW Passat on the drive belong to?’

‘That’s easy. It’s Robbie’s as Lauren doesn’t drive. I assume she can’t drive because I’ve never seen her behind the wheel.’

A picture was forming in Gina’s mind. A dead woman in Lauren and Robbie’s bed. She’d recently had what appeared on the surface to be consensual intercourse and now Lauren’s partner was missing. Right now, charming Robbie Shields was at the top of her list, and she needed all resources ploughed into finding him fast.

Another possibility whirred through Gina’s mind. Lauren Cross left her bungalow around nine yesterday evening. That gave Lauren opportunity, given that the time of death was between seven and one in the morning. She needed to speak to Lauren and her two friends, now.

Four

Tiffany

Thoughts muddled through Tiffany’s head, like it had been stuffed with cotton wool. A hazy memory came back to her from the night before or was it a dream? She’d argued with Lauren, but the words were jumbled and made no sense. She’d only had one glass of wine last night or was it two? Her intolerance to just about everything was getting worse by the minute. Chocolate upset her stomach. Fragrances made her nauseous and even the wrong type of lighting sent her giddy. She wasn’t right and unless she wanted to give up all hope of getting her life back, she had to figure out what was wrong and get better. That was easier said than done when her doctor had all but accused her of being a hypochondriac.

Tiffany went to reach for her glass of water, the one always left by her bedside, but it wasn’t there. Her head thumped like never before, another symptom that had fuelled her anxiety. She heard her husband mutter as he plumped his pillow up. ‘What time is it?’ He always had his phone next to his bedside, which meant he was the one who always knew what time it was.

‘Go back to sleep. It’s Sunday and it’s still dark. We said we were having a lie-in.’ Kieron pulled more quilt over his side.

She let out a deep breath and rubbed her eyes, staring into the darkness of their bedroom. Guilt ate away at her from the inside. Lauren had wanted to celebrate her engagement last night but as usual, Tiffany hadn’t felt well. No one understood what being constantly ill was like, and it wasn’t the first time that the others had judged her. She’d overheard Maxine and Dee joking about her being ill yet again when Lauren called her from the club. No one understood. The headaches, the fatigue, the nausea – they were all real. She was ill and the worse thing about it was, she had no diagnosis. Doctors blamed it all on her past, referred to her symptoms as psychological and offered her cognitive behavioural therapy and a concoction of pills for depression and anxiety. One even told her to start exercising. She didn’t have the energy for that. Her little job at the beauty outlet wiped her out. She didn’t want to sit and think or sit and talk. She wanted tests and lots of them, maybe a full body CT scan or more bloods. Tears began to fall down her cold cheeks.

‘Are you crying?’

She went to speak but a loud sob came out. It’s amazing how the middle of the night always made these thoughts and feelings worse.

Kieron sat up and switched the lamp on. He grabbed a pile of quilt and snuggled her in it before hugging her closely. ‘What is it, love?’

‘Lauren hates me.’

He stroked her hair and passed her a tissue. ‘Lauren does not hate you. She was just a bit tipsy. I’m sure she’ll apologise in the morning.’

‘Max and Dee think I’m pretending to be ill.’

He squeezed her. ‘I’m sorry, love. Some people just don’t understand but I’m sure Lauren does and she will come round.’

‘I don’t have any friends. Everyone’s abandoned me, or they do eventually. They don’t know what to say, what to do, how to be around me. Lauren’s right to be pissed off at me for not going. I let her down like I let everyone down.’

He pulled a stray hair from the corner of her mouth. ‘You did not. You’re ill and we’re going to get to the bottom of what’s wrong even if we have to go private.’

She knew she’d never be able to afford to go private. She cleaned the department store for two hours a day and after that, she had to go home and sleep for four. Kieron pulled double shifts at the factory to keep a roof over their heads. There was no spare money for private medical care. Her heart rate began to pick up just thinking about the arguments she’d had with her doctor. She knew the professionals missed things all the time. There was always a scare story in the news, telling of someone who’d died because they had to wait forever to get tests, or they’d had the wrong tests. The thumping headaches, the brain fog – maybe it was a brain tumour or early-onset dementia. She had a distant uncle who had Parkinson’s. Maybe it was that. She sometimes felt a bit jittery, especially in her more hyper insomniac moments. She blew her nose.

‘It’s all going to be okay. I’m going to get a weekend job and we’ll soon have the extra cash. We’ll get it sorted; I promise.’

She cleared her throat. ‘I’m going to get a drink. Do you want one?’

‘I’m good. Here, I’ll get it. You keep snuggled and get warm. Or do you want a tea or hot chocolate?’

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