Laughter echoed around the kitchen, bouncing off gleaming surfaces and easing the tension. Andy had been right. A get-together was exactly what the community needed at this difficult time.
Across the marble island, her face protruding from behind a vase of lilies, his wife, Kat, barely cracked a smile. Not that the Botox permitted much facial expression, but the sparkle had been absent from her eyes ever since their neighbour, Mark, had gone missing. Andy took a swig of beer, drowning out one bitter taste with another.
He was launching into his next comical tale when the doorbell rang. Andy excused himself and weaved through the guests to the front door, listening out for gossip. Did anyone suspect anything?
As he flung open the door, the smile slid off his face. DCI Jack Whitty was standing so close that Andy took a step back.
The policeman lifted his sunglasses onto his head and strode inside.
‘Afternoon, Mr Hansen. Me again. Heard there was a party.’
‘Come in,’ said Andy to the back of his head, the officer already entering the kitchen. Andy closed the door and followed.
‘Is there any news? Has Mark Prescott been found?’ Andy’s voice sounded brittle.
Jack turned to face him, steely eyes shining.
‘I was going to ask you the same question. Are we celebrating?’
A hush fell over the room and all heads turned towards them. The DCI appeared to have a hypnotic effect on people, drawing them in.
‘No!’ Andy laughed, alarmed at the volume of his own voice. ‘I thought we all needed cheering up.’
There was a long pause before DCI Whitty responded. Andy held his breath.
‘Yes. I noticed you like a laugh. Your wife, on the other hand, not so much.’
Everyone looked at Kat, whose sadness was palpable. Right down to her dress that was hanging off her like a deflated balloon.
With a sudden clap, DCI Whitty drew a collective gasp.
‘How about a magic trick, since we’re having a party?’
He produced a pack of cards from his pocket and thrust it towards Andy. Something in the gesture seemed threatening, and Andy fought the urge to run.
‘Pick a card, any card!’
Andy fumbled through the pack until a card fell into his hand.
The joker.
‘Remember that card. Don’t tell anyone.’
The joker plopped into Andy’s mind, displacing everything else he couldn’t say. He clamped his mouth shut but the secrets were straining, threatening to spill like blood.
He replaced the card with a trembling hand.
As DCI Whitty shuffled the pack, the joker’s face flashed on and off through the blur. Andy felt lightheaded. What was that jingling sound? The bells on the joker’s hat, or the handcuffs hanging from the policeman’s belt?
DCI Whitty held the card aloft.
‘Was it the joker?’
Andy’s words gushed out. ‘No! It was me! I killed him. The bastard was sleeping with my wife. He’s buried in the woods…’
The joker threw his head back and cackled.
