been stressful though, all that sneaking around.’
‘It was but you know what; it was exciting too. We were creeping round like a couple of teenagers whose parents didn’t approve of us being together. Like it was us against the world, you know. It was part of the game.’
‘I get it,’ Tom told him, ‘so what happened on the day she was murdered?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bell told him, ‘we weren’t meeting up that day. She wasn’t supposed to be there.’
‘That’s the bit I’m struggling to understand,’ Tom told him. ‘If you were saying she was killed by some passing maniac, that she was somehow in the wrong place at the wrong time and that you got there five minutes later then frankly even that would be pretty hard to swallow but it would be more believable than your story.’
‘It’s not a story, Tom,’ said Bell, ‘it’s the truth.’
‘Then what was she doing there if you didn’t arrange it? Did anybody else know about the dead-letter drop?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
Bell nodded. ‘I was very careful. There was never anyone around when I put the letter in the wall. No one else knew about it unless …’
‘Unless what?’
‘Rebecca told them about it.’
‘And why would she?’
‘She wouldn’t,’ Bell said. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot. Even if for some inexplicable reason Rebecca wanted to tell a friend about it, if she felt the need to boast or confess or ask for advice, there would be no reason to reveal the exact location of our messages, would there?’
‘No,’ agreed Tom, ‘there wouldn’t, which leaves you with a problem and a big gap in your story. If this was the only way you communicated with one another, apart from the times you were physically together, then why did she go to your usual spot that day if you didn’t summon her?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bell admitted.
‘Could she have got the day or the time wrong?’
‘Maybe. I wish I knew, believe me. It has been eating me up for more than two years.’
‘Could someone have followed her and seen her leave a message there?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose, but I told her to be really careful, not to stop if she thought she was being followed or saw anyone else she knew. Even then the wall is set back away from the main road. You couldn’t just follow a car up that trail without being seen so I don’t understand how it could have happened.’
‘Then you have a very big hole in your story, because I don’t see how she could have been there that day if you didn’t arrange it.’
‘I know,’ Bell said and he placed his elbows on the table and put his hands up to his face in frustration. ‘I’ve driven myself half-crazy thinking about it.’
‘Then there’s your alibi,’ said Tom, ‘or lack of it. You told the court you went to see a former lover.’
‘I wouldn’t describe her as that.’
‘But you did have sex with her.’
‘She was a waitress at the sports club and it was only a two-time thing. Just a bit of fun, you know.’
‘And yet she summoned you to an urgent meeting and you dropped everything to go to her flat.’
‘She wrote to me at my office and told me she thought she was pregnant.’ Bell was exasperated. ‘Can you imagine how I felt when I got that note? She told me she had to see me. I was worried she was going to tell the whole world the baby was mine if I didn’t go.’
‘And when you called on her?’
‘She wasn’t there. She’d cleared out and the house was empty.’
‘She’d been gone a fortnight by then,’ said Tom, ‘off travelling the world, which rather blows a hole in your claim that she thought she was pregnant and desperate to see you that afternoon.’
‘I know,’ admitted Bell, ‘the police couldn’t trace her either, though I don’t think they really tried.’
‘How do you explain her letter?’
‘A prank from one of her friends or a cruel trick she played to shit me up because I wasn’t interested in
‘It was but you know what; it was exciting too. We were creeping round like a couple of teenagers whose parents didn’t approve of us being together. Like it was us against the world, you know. It was part of the game.’
‘I get it,’ Tom told him, ‘so what happened on the day she was murdered?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bell told him, ‘we weren’t meeting up that day. She wasn’t supposed to be there.’
‘That’s the bit I’m struggling to understand,’ Tom told him. ‘If you were saying she was killed by some passing maniac, that she was somehow in the wrong place at the wrong time and that you got there five minutes later then frankly even that would be pretty hard to swallow but it would be more believable than your story.’
‘It’s not a story, Tom,’ said Bell, ‘it’s the truth.’
‘Then what was she doing there if you didn’t arrange it? Did anybody else know about the dead-letter drop?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
Bell nodded. ‘I was very careful. There was never anyone around when I put the letter in the wall. No one else knew about it unless …’
‘Unless what?’
‘Rebecca told them about it.’
‘And why would she?’
‘She wouldn’t,’ Bell said. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot. Even if for some inexplicable reason Rebecca wanted to tell a friend about it, if she felt the need to boast or confess or ask for advice, there would be no reason to reveal the exact location of our messages, would there?’
‘No,’ agreed Tom, ‘there wouldn’t, which leaves you with a problem and a big gap in your story. If this was the only way you communicated with one another, apart from the times you were physically together, then why did she go to your usual spot that day if you didn’t summon her?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bell admitted.
‘Could she have got the day or the time wrong?’
‘Maybe. I wish I knew, believe me. It has been eating me up for more than two years.’
‘Could someone have followed her and seen her leave a message there?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose, but I told her to be really careful, not to stop if she thought she was being followed or saw anyone else she knew. Even then the wall is set back away from the main road. You couldn’t just follow a car up that trail without being seen so I don’t understand how it could have happened.’
‘Then you have a very big hole in your story, because I don’t see how she could have been there that day if you didn’t arrange it.’
‘I know,’ Bell said and he placed his elbows on the table and put his hands up to his face in frustration. ‘I’ve driven myself half-crazy thinking about it.’
‘Then there’s your alibi,’ said Tom, ‘or lack of it. You told the court you went to see a former lover.’
‘I wouldn’t describe her as that.’
‘But you did have sex with her.’
‘She was a waitress at the sports club and it was only a two-time thing. Just a bit of fun, you know.’
‘And yet she summoned you to an urgent meeting and you dropped everything to go to her flat.’
‘She wrote to me at my office and told me she thought she was pregnant.’ Bell was exasperated. ‘Can you imagine how I felt when I got that note? She told me she had to see me. I was worried she was going to tell the whole world the baby was mine if I didn’t go.’
‘And when you called on her?’
‘She wasn’t there. She’d cleared out and the house was empty.’
‘She’d been gone a fortnight by then,’ said Tom, ‘off travelling the world, which rather blows a hole in your claim that she thought she was pregnant and desperate to see you that afternoon.’
‘I know,’ admitted Bell, ‘the police couldn’t trace her either, though I don’t think they really tried.’
‘How do you explain her letter?’
‘A prank from one of her friends or a cruel trick she played to shit me up because I wasn’t interested in
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