Cruel Minds (28 page)

“You must forgive my quietness. It’s not often I invite strangers into my home, especially in such unusual circumstances.”

Emily untangled her arms and placed her hands on her lap. “I’m a little nervous myself. And a little surprised.”

Diane Edwards eyed her as she poured the tea. “At my proposal?”

“Mrs Edwards, I—”

“Please, call me Diane. Sugar?”

Emily shook her head. “I should probably make it clear before we go any further that me being here isn’t an agreement. I admit I’m curious, but I may not be qualified for what you need.”

Diane slid a cup of tea towards Emily. “That’s understandable. Perhaps if I elaborate on the details of my letter it will help you to form a decision.” She flashed a nervous glance across the table. “My husband, Max, worked as a sustainable development manager for a big chemicals company. You may have heard of them—Valence Industries. It was his job to find new ways for the company to be more environmentally friendly, or at least that’s my understanding of it. I don’t imagine the chemicals industry has the greatest reputation when it comes to the environment, which is why I expect Max accepted the position. He’d been actively involved in green issues for as long as I can remember. Even back when we first met, he was always off on one protest or another, occasionally getting himself arrested...” She smiled sadly. “Part of Max’s remit was to nurture partnerships with various environmental charities. He’d been working for months on a project to bring clean water to parts of the world where there was none. The project was to launch with a fundraising gala...”

Diane gazed through the window at long ago memories. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and controlled. “The official consensus is that Max attended the gala in London in May of last year, then spent the night in his hotel room. When he didn’t show for breakfast the next morning, his colleagues went to look for him. His room was empty. The bed hadn’t been slept in.” She paused again and clenched her jaw. “He was found by tourists early the next morning, washed up on the bank of the Thames.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs Edwards.” Emily’s tea cup was frozen in mid-air. She set it down on the saucer with an unintentional clatter. “Your husband drowned?”

“My husband was an alcoholic.” The words were spoken matter-of-factly, as if Diane had described her husband as a keen golfer or as a lover of antiques. “Max’s drinking almost ripped our marriage apart more times than I can count. Each time, I packed his bags and left them on the doorstep. Each time, I brought them back in. That may sound very weak of me, but I understood that, like any addiction, alcoholism is a curable disease. Besides, in spite of everything, I loved him.” Her expression hardened. “The coroner’s report stated that the alcohol levels in Max’s bloodstream were so high that if he hadn’t drowned first there was every chance he would have died from toxic shock. But you see, before that night my husband had been in recovery for almost ten years. That’s why you’re here, Emily—to find out why, after ten years of sobriety, my husband saw it fit to suddenly drink himself to death.”

Emily cleared her throat. “No offence, Mrs Edwards, but how can you be certain that Max hadn’t been drinking without your knowledge?”

“When you’ve been married to an alcoholic for twenty-three years you get to learn all the tricks and the lies. You find all the hiding places in your home, the garden, the car. Oh, I’m sure if Max had been tempted to drink, he could have tried to hide it from me. But I say
try
, Emily. My husband wasn’t the kind of functioning alcoholic who could drink a litre of vodka then do a day’s work. He was the kind of alcoholic you stepped over in the street.”

Emily felt a surge of pity for the woman. Alcoholism didn’t just destroy the person doing the drinking.

“If he was back to his old ways prior to that night, he wouldn’t have been able to hide his guilt from me,” Diane continued. “He tore our marriage apart. I should have left him. But I stayed. And he knew that. He
knew
that. Which is why he found the strength inside him to stop drinking. He did it himself, you know. Oh, he tried AA but all that higher power business didn’t agree with him. Max did not believe in religion or spirituality. He believed in nature.”

Emily leaned back in her chair and let out a steady breath. “Mrs Edwards–”

“Diane.”

“Wouldn’t you be better off pursuing a more professional route with someone more qualified? The police perhaps or a private investigator.”

Emily tried to look away but found her gaze inexplicably drawn back to Diane. It was as if all of the woman’s anguish and desperation had created a magnetic pull.

“The police saw my husband’s death as an open and shut case. An alcoholic gets drunk, falls into the River Thames and drowns. The ruling: death by misadventure.” Diane hesitated, terrible memories drawing shadows across her face. “I read about you in the newspapers, about what happened at that retreat. And then again last month, with the Doctor Chelmsford trial.”

Emily’s shoulders stiffened. Instantly, she was back at the courthouse, standing in the witness box as she answered question after question, and desperately avoided Doctor Chelmsford’s snakelike gaze. He would now spend what remained of his twilight years behind bars. Good, Emily thought. It was a fitting end for a monster who had preyed upon the sick and the vulnerable.

Unhappy about where the conversation was headed, she stared into the cooling contents of her cup.

“I read about what happened to you in the past,” said Diane. “Losing your mother, then what happened with that boy. What was his name?”

“Phillip.”

“Yes, Phillip. And I thought, here is a woman who understands the pain of not only losing a loved one but also the humiliation of having her reputation destroyed. And yet, here is a woman who has risen above it all, who is good and kind, intelligent and resourceful, who is determined. I wrote to you because your story spoke to me. And I believe that you can help me, Emily. I believe you can help me to understand what happened to my husband.”

Quiet draped itself over the table. Emily was suddenly elsewhere, her mind replaying the events of the last two years like scenes from a film.

“I don’t think I can help you,” she said at last. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Diane stared at her with pleading eyes. “I can help with that. And of course, as I mentioned in my letter, you’ll be paid for your time.”

“I’m just an ordinary person who happened to get caught up in an extraordinary situation. Or two. I don’t have the skills or the resources.”

“Please, Emily.” Diane was leaning forward now, her hands clamped together in a silent prayer. Most of her calm demeanour remained, but quiet desperation was oozing through the cracks. “You know what it’s like to wake up each morning and wonder why life can be so cruel. You know what it’s like to have all the happiness, all the joy snatched away from you. Something happened that night to take my husband away from me. I know our marriage was tumultuous at best, but I loved him. I need to know what happened. I need to understand why he did what he did.”

Emily drew in a breath. The network of muscles in her shoulders tightened. She could feel anguish pouring from every one of Diane’s cells. This house is like a mausoleum, she thought. And Diane Edwards was trapped inside; a living ghost doomed to repeat each day in a never-ending cycle of grief.

Emily wanted to help her. She did. And the money would certainly help now that her savings were almost gone. It was just that she didn’t know if she
could
help. She was not a private investigator. She was Emily Swanson, the shamed ex-teacher fated to spend the rest of her life atoning for her sins.

“Last Friday would have been his fiftieth birthday,” Diane said. “I was going to throw him a party.”

She locked eyes with Emily, transferring her grief. In that instant, Emily knew that she could not refuse.

I
hope you enjoyed reading Cruel Minds as much as I did writing it.

As an indie author, reviews are so important to help new readers find my books. If you enjoyed Cruel Minds, I’d be so grateful if you could spare a few minutes to leave a short review on the page you bought it from. Even just a few words will go a long way!

Thank you!

Malcolm

G
reat big thankyous and debts of gratitude to Kate Ellis for your stellar editorial work and advice—and for reminding me that people in their forties (myself included) aren’t always grey-haired; Amelia Hawkins for your advice on the differences between rural and urban police procedure; to my mystery gang of readers—I wouldn’t be doing this without you; and as ever, last but not least, to Mr Smith, for not eye-rolling too much while I try to come up with the ultimate plot twist. A thousand thankyous to you all.

About the Author

Cornish born Malcolm Richards writes psychological mysteries and thrillers focusing on everyday people placed in extraordinary circumstances.

After studying for a Bachelor of Arts in Writing at Middlesex University, Malcolm worked as a reading recovery teacher, a nurture group leader teaching young children with complex behavioural and emotional needs, and as a teacher of creative writing.

When not writing, Malcolm enjoys composing and producing music, spending more and more time in the countryside, and trying to catch up with too many series.

Read more at
Malcolm Richards’s site
.