Unfaithful (69 page)

“Okay, okay, I'm coming.” Rebecca grabbed the phone from her. “Hello. Yes, this is Rebecca McNamara. Pardon? Yes, I’ll be right there.”

“Is everything alright?” Adrian asked in concern. The colour had drained from Rebecca’s face.

“I don’t know. Someone just called to say Mark’s been seriously injured. I have to go.” She grabbed her coat and bag.

“I'm coming with you,” he said decisively, not giving her a chance to argue. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

They arrived at Mark’s apartment in next to no time. Adrian drove through several traffic lights on the way and Rebecca didn’t have the energy to protest.

“Who called you?” Adrian asked as they parked the car illegally outside the apartment building.

“I can’t say for sure. I recognised the voice but I can’t quite place it.”

“Never mind that for now. Let’s make sure he’s alright. What number is his apartment?” He scanned the doorbells on the wall.

“It’s number nine.”

He rang the bell impatiently but there was no answer. Luckily, another resident was on his way out. They pushed past him into the foyer and the elevator took them quickly to Mark’s floor. Adrian raced down the corridor and pounded on the door. There was no answer. He pushed against the door but it didn’t budge.

“Maybe he passed out and can’t hear us,” Rebecca suggested anxiously.

“Mark! Mark!” Adrian continued banging on the door but still there was no response.

“Mark! It’s Rebecca!” She knocked frantically on the door. “Let me in!”

There was silence. Adrian pressed his ear against the door but there was no movement from inside. He glanced at Rebecca. “I'm going to break the door down.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “What if it was a prank call? I’ve been getting a lot of hang-ups lately. It’s probably some idiot who read about us in the newspaper and thinks it’s funny to scare people. Maybe Mark is out. I don’t think he’d be too impressed to arrive home and find his door kicked in.”

“Call his mobile,” Adrian suggested.

“Good idea.” Rebecca dialled his number. They heard the phone ringing inside the apartment.

Adrian kicked the door once, twice and finally on the third blow it opened and he stumbled into the apartment. They glanced around but there was no sign of Mark. Nothing seemed to be out of place and there was no sign of any disturbance.

“What’s going on?” a voice behind them made them jump. They turned to see an elderly lady standing in the doorway. She was petite, a tiny bird of a woman, with a thick shock of snow-white hair and huge, black glasses framing her thin face. “Sorry to startle you, but there was such a commotion I had to see what was going on.”

“Have you seen my husband?” Rebecca asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Do you mean Mr. McNamara?” She stared at Rebecca as if she’d taken leave of her senses.

“Yes!”

“I haven’t seen him since yesterday. He seemed to be quite upset about something. I was just coming home from the shops and he brushed right past me as if he hadn’t even seen me, which is not like him. He usually stops for a chat. He’s a very pleasant man, a perfect neighbour, not like that noisy couple who used to live next door.”

“Do you have any idea what might have upset him?” Adrian interrupted. He got the impression that she would happily stay chatting for hours. They needed to find Mark. “Was there anyone with him?”

“No, he was by himself, but he was in a state, muttering to himself and staring at a piece of paper. He was in a terrible hurry. He took the stairs, which was unusual for him. He’s like me; he prefers the elevator and an easy life. Four floors is a stretch.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Adrian made his way towards the stairs with Rebecca close behind him.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Follow me. I’ve got a hunch.”

Slowly, they began descending the stairs. “Maybe you should go back,” Adrian suggested, noticing the blood splatters on the wall.

“No, I'm coming with you.”

Mark was lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. Adrian rushed towards him, wanting to get to him before Rebecca. He lay completely motionless and there was no sign of life. Adrian turned him over and checked for a pulse. Rebecca let out a long, low cry and sank against the wall. “No, no, no,” she kept repeating over and over again. “Please God, no. Don’t say it.”

“I'm sorry,” Adrian moved towards her and she held out her hands to him. He sat beside her and held her hands in his. She stared up at him in utter desolation. “He’s dead,” he whispered. Rebecca leaned into him then and he took her in his arms. He held her tight until eventually her sobs began to subside.

Chapter 23

The days and weeks after Mark’s death passed in a blur for Rebecca. Each day seemed to blend into the next, and she found it very difficult to remember anything clearly. It was as if her life had been ripped apart, split in two; there was her life before Mark and after Mark. She’d never expected to feel devastated by his death. There were too many unresolved emotions and questions. Her life was spiralling out of control.

The house was full of people, constantly coming and going, asking her questions, wanting to know if she was alright, offering their condolences and sympathies and trying to reassure her. Confusion, that’s the only thing she could remember of those first days after Mark’s death. The journalists were back in force, camped outside the gates, wanting interviews and photographs. They were prepared to do anything for a story.

Surrounded by people, she was the hunted, not the hunter. Everyone was after her, wanted a piece of her. Her imagination was running wild, but she couldn’t help it. She felt strangely disconnected from everything and everyone around her, as if she were watching the comings and goings from a safe distance, slightly removed.

Everyone was very kind. Nothing was too much trouble. She struggled through the days, feeling numb and confused, not knowing what to say or do. Penelope and Shona were amazing. She didn’t know how she would have gotten through it without them. They took control of everything, and handled every detail, realising that she was incapable of organising anything. They were gentle and understanding, explaining to her what had to be done, and insisting that they would take care of her affairs.

Affairs; she’d come to despise that word and what it represented. Life could be organised into one pathetic word, “affairs.” There were love affairs, business affairs, financial affairs, the list was endless. The dramas of life could be condensed into that one miserable word. She was living a nightmare but still there were affairs which needed to be taken care of. Is this what she had been reduced to, organising her dead husband’s affairs? Dealing with paperwork was of paramount importance. She was expected to put her grieving to one side and fill out form after never-ending form. There were undertakers to be organised, funeral arrangements to be made and inquests to be attended. She would be eternally grateful to Penelope and Shona for taking the pressure off her. Shona, especially, was very sensible and kind and she took her time explaining what they were doing and gently asking her for certain necessary information.

He’s dead! She wanted to scream. He’s dead! Does nobody understand? It was unendurable. She’d never in her wildest nightmares imagined anything like this happening to her.

Rebecca had never been to an inquest. It was surreal and nothing like she’d pictured. They made it seem dramatic on the crime dramas she loved to watch on television, but in reality it was like watching an amateurish play. The Coroner was a tall, severe woman in her fifties with steel-grey hair, cut in an immaculate bob.

Rebecca had to give evidence of identification and the last time she had seen Mark, which had been two weeks previously when he came to spend time with their son, Ethan. He’d seemed in good health and high spirits, not unduly worried or upset about anything.

The doctor’s evidence was next. He stated that his death was as a result of the fatal fall. He’d broken his neck which led to his instantaneous death.

Mark’s neighbour, Hilda Sullivan, repeated her earlier statement that Mark had seemed addled but was alone when he entered the stairwell.

The witness statements were recorded and proceedings ended with the Coroner reaching a verdict of accidental death.

The funeral service was held at the local church, which was packed. The crowd was mostly made up of her neighbours and of course the media who had come for their pound of flesh.

Rebecca wished she didn’t have to attend but she knew everyone would talk if she didn’t show up. She hated the staring, watchful eyes of the people who come to pay their respects. Most of them had only shown up out of inquisitiveness. Shona and Penelope helped her get through the ordeal. They were strong, reliable friends and she was relieved to let them organise everything. They picked the coffin, ordered the flowers and chose the prayers and readings for the service. There weren’t many friends like them.

The gold-plated coffin was impressive and there were huge bouquets of flowers at the cemetery. Anyone would have thought Mark was famous, judging by the number of people who had shown up. He would have loved it, Rebecca thought wryly, his last moment in the limelight. Although she was surrounded by friends and family she felt like a stranger, like she really didn’t know any of them. She was wary of what she said and how she came across. She watched as his coffin was lowered carefully into the earth and listened to the priest’s words; “ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and back to dust we shall return.” An eerie chill ran down her spine. The sadness was gone. She didn’t really know if it had been sadness, shock was more of an accurate description.

The Mark that she had known and loved, the Mark that had belonged to her, was gone forever. He’d left a long time ago. Although she was surrounded by people, she suddenly felt desperately alone. Mark had been her best friend for years, and now he was gone, never to return. Soon, everyone would be gone and she would have to go home alone, home to the house that Mark had built for her. She wished she could have told him one more time how much she loved Cois Farraige, how much she loved him. Strange that a house, made from bricks and mortar, could mean so much, but it had been more than a house to them, it had been a symbol of their dreams and hopes and the love they’d once shared.

“Goodbye, Mark,” she whispered, before throwing a handful of earth on his coffin.

She wondered where she would be buried when the time came. There was no way she would share a grave with Mark. She wished everyone would go away so she could start forgetting about him. It was exhausting having to be cautious all the time. She hated being stared at by people with their false smiles and suspicion in their eyes. Every day she forced herself to carry on. She wished for the day when she could leave the nightmare behind.

Chapter 24

Maggie knew people, often better than they knew themselves. It was like a sixth sense. Sometimes she disliked them and sometimes she felt sorry for them, but she didn’t feel sorry for Mark McNamara. He was a nasty piece of work, there was no doubt about that, but nobody deserved to die the way he died, and she had a strong hunch that he had been murdered. Even scumbags like Mark McNamara deserved justice. The person she felt sorry for was Rebecca, which is why she had agreed to meet with her, against Adrian’s strong advice.

Maggie had received a hysterical phone call from Rebecca, demanding to know what involvement she’d had in her husband’s life. Apparently, she’d been sorting through his personal belongings and had come across her business card. Maggie drove to visit Rebecca a few days after the inquest. She knew Rebecca would be home alone, having been informed by her brother that Penelope and Shona were at the office with him.

“Can I help you?” Rebecca opened the door uncertainly. Her face was pale and drawn and she was still wearing her bathrobe although it was the middle of the afternoon.

“Hi, I'm Maggie Rowan.” She held out her hand which Rebecca weakly took in hers. “You called me the other day about your husband.”

“My ex-husband,” she turned, leaving the door open behind her
, and wandered into the living room. Maggie followed close behind her. The room was a tip. There were clothes and toys scattered all over the floor. Leftover food and dishes were piled high on the dining room table. The television blared loudly from the corner, poisoning the air with some vitriolic chat show. The curtains were still drawn, making the room dark and miserable. Maggie’s heart went out to the other woman.

Rebecca swung around suddenly, making her jump. “Sorry, who are you?” she asked, distractedly, running her hands agitatedly through her greasy hair. The woman looked and smelled like she hadn’t had a shower in weeks.

“I'm Maggie Rowan,” she repeated. “Your husband hired me to investigate who framed him.” She pulled out her identification card.

Rebecca squinted at it and laughed. “Poor Mark, deluded to the end,” she muttered. “Why would anyone set him up? Did he think he was living in a James Bond movie? This is real life in all its magnificent glory.” She swept her gaze around the room and sank onto the couch.