by Carol Wyer
‘Does your friend Annie work there too?’
Her brow furrowed in confusion. ‘No. She’s a primary-school teacher but she moved to Colorado three years ago with her husband. We’ve kind of lost touch with each other.’
‘Thank you, Sarah – I think that’s it for now. You’ve been most helpful,’ Natalie replied.
The woman slid her arm through the handles of her oversized bag and stood up. ‘I don’t want you to think he’s guilty of hurting anyone based on what I’ve told you.’
‘We’re talking to everyone involved: family, friends and those who know them. We’re not making any assumptions.’
The woman gave a quick nod and, accompanied by Murray, vacated the interview room. Natalie mulled over what they’d learnt. If Sarah was telling the truth, Paul wasn’t quite the bully they first suspected, but she could be lying to protect him for a number of reasons – maybe even because she still cared about him and hoped there was a chance for her.
Natalie was still in her seat when Murray reappeared. ‘She’s gone. What do you think?’ he said.
‘He’s a scumbag for hitting her and I reckon she still has a thing for him. She could be covering for him,’ said Natalie. ‘Check her and Leon’s whereabouts. Should be simple enough to verify they were both at Burton Hospital last night into this morning. Might be an idea to see if she’s telling the truth and hasn’t seen Paul since then. Look into her story, will you? I’m still not completely convinced about him.’
‘She seems to think he was happy with Cathy.’
Natalie grunted. ‘She had a few minutes of awkward conversation with him in a supermarket. I’m not reading a lot into that. The only thing I’ll admit is that he appears to have an alibi for his whereabouts last night. We’ll stick to the facts and keep an open mind for the moment.’
Upstairs, Ian had news for them. ‘I’ve been talking to the vice squad. They had Extravaganza under investigation for drug dealing and prostitution late last year. They were tipped off in September and sent in undercover agents but didn’t find anything. They reckoned either they were rumbled or the information was wrong. Two weeks ago, they pulled a local dealer in nearby Kingston-on-Trent who confirmed there was drug dealing going on inside the club but he wasn’t party to it. He wouldn’t give them any other information but said there was more going on than just dancing and partying.’
‘Are they going to check out the club again?’ Natalie asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’d be stamping on their toes,’ said Lucy.
Natalie said, ‘Kirk and Gavin know we’re investigating the fire and looking into Roxy’s death. They’re not fools. If anything’s going on in the nightclub that they’re party to, they’ll make sure it isn’t happening at the moment, not while we’re sniffing about. I say we give the vice squad the heads up and go in regardless. Our priority is to investigate Roxy’s death, not drug dealing and prostitution… unless the two are related. I’ll talk to the senior officer there and tell him Ian and Murray are going to the club tonight.’
‘Fine by me,’ said Murray.
‘And me,’ Ian added.
‘While you’re there, ask about Daisy Goldsmith, Gavin’s girlfriend. She was a hostess there until May. There’s something strange about her. I can’t put my finger on it but I don’t buy the whole “we fell in love at work and kept it secret” business. See what her work colleagues have to say about her.’
By eight o’clock the team hadn’t uncovered any fresh evidence to assist them. Sarah’s story had checked out. Both she and Leon, her boyfriend, were at work as she’d said, and there was nothing to suggest Paul Sadler or his family were part of her life. Natalie wound it up for the day, allowing Ian and Murray a couple of hours off before they headed to Extravaganza. She was last to leave, and as she darted towards the stairs she almost ran into Mike Sullivan.
‘Hey. Sorry it’s late in the day but I’ve literally just received the fire investigator’s report and spoken to Pinkney.’
‘Damn, I sent everyone home. It might have to wait until tomorrow now. Did they uncover anything useful?’ She took the files from Mike and began thumbing through them as he spoke.
‘In brief, the fire was started in the entrance as we first suspected, and spread throughout the house, front to back. The entertainment room was one of the last rooms on the ground floor to be engulfed by flames. Pinkney’s found smoke inhalation damage to Roxanne’s lungs, which explains why she appeared to have made no effort to escape.’ He turned a page in the file and pointed to a sketch. ‘Nick’s plan of the entertainment room shows she was on one of the round chairs close to the television at the time.’
‘So, what was she up to there? Watching television?’
‘On her phone, smoking, on social media, asleep or all of those, I suppose. Whatever she was doing, she wasn’t aware of the fire until she was overcome by fumes.’
Natalie pulled a face. This was a revelation. ‘That’s really odd. She was alive but didn’t move from her chair,’ said Natalie thoughtfully. ‘That suggests she didn’t hear anything. Even with the television on or engrossed in social media, she’d hear noises: popping, small explosions, roaring all caused by a fire of that intensity, so my guess is she didn’t move because she couldn’t – maybe she’d been drinking or had taken drugs and was fast asleep. Has he run any drug tests on her yet?’
‘They’re ongoing.’
‘No matter what they show, I still have no frigging idea why she was in that house.’
‘The door might have been unlocked and she simply let herself in.’
‘It’s not bloody Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Mike. Besides, the door was locked. Both Gavin and Kirk confirmed that.’
He gave her a wry grin. ‘I know. Just chucking it out there for you. Anyway, maybe they lied and the door was left unlocked for her.’
She gave him a begrudging smile. ‘That’s a fair assumption. I’ll accept that as a possibility but this is all so damn frustrating! A teenage girl, supposedly with her friend on a sleepover but instead in a house occupied by people who claim not to know her, in their entertainment room, and who doesn’t try to escape when it’s set on fire! It makes no sense.’
‘Sleep on it. It’ll clear your head. I’m clocking off. Fancy a quick drink before you head home?’
She shut the file and hesitated. It was tempting, really tempting, but her family hadn’t seen her all day. ‘Got to head home.’
‘I understand. How’s Leigh doing?’
‘Being a bit of a pain, to be honest.’
‘Normal then?’
Natalie gave a quick laugh. ‘I guess so.’
‘Can’t wait for Thea to become a teenager. I’ll have all this fun to come.’
‘Enjoy her while she’s this age. It soon passes.’
Mike patted his pockets and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘Right. I’m off. See you in the morning. I’m going to grab a pint and ring Thea before she goes to bed.’
Natalie shoved the file into her briefcase. ‘I’ll walk down with you.’
As they headed towards reception, for a brief moment she wished she didn’t have to go back home and face David and the kids – especially David.
Nine
Sunday, 1 July – Evening
Cathy Curtis waited as a group of rowdy teenagers dismounted the bus before dropping silently to the pavement.
‘You got a light?’ One of the swaggering youths was in her face. He was about the same age and height as Oliver, her eldest, but more menacing, with large rings on all his fingers and a neck tattoo. She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Oliver earlier…
‘Mum, it’s Oliver. You okay?’
‘No, love. I’m not but I’m coping.’
‘My sergeant’s just told me about Roxy. It’s true?’
‘Yes… it is.’
There’s a heavy pause and then, ‘What happened to her?’
‘We don’t know. She was in a house
in Armston that burnt down and she died in the fire.’
‘Fuck! Mum, I really don’t know what to say.’
‘I know. We can’t believe it.’
‘I’ll come home – Sarge said I can take compassionate leave.’
‘No, don’t do that. There’s nothing you can do.’
‘I can be with you.’
‘It’s fine, love. I’ve got your brothers here. You can’t do anything. She’s gone.’
There’s no sobbing, only silence followed by, ‘I did care about her, you know?’
‘I know you did.’
‘I care about you all.’
‘And we care about you.’
‘I ought to come back, Mum.’
‘No, don’t. Come back when we know more. We don’t even know if we can have a funeral for her yet. Wait until I ring you. There’s no point taking leave until you need to.’
‘You sound weird. You sure you can manage?’
‘I’ve got help from a nice liaison officer called Tanya and we’ll all get through this. It’s hard but we’ll manage.’ She bites back stinging tears and her heart aches at the lies she’s telling her eldest son, but he doesn’t need to return to Clearview to share in the suffering. He’s left this place and made a life for himself – a good life – and she’s so proud of him. She doesn’t want to drag him back to his past. Her children are all so different: Roxy, ballsy and demanding; Seth, needy and unsure of himself; Charlie, trying to be like his big brother; and Oliver, the strongest and bravest of them all, the boy who became a man – a good, solid man. She can’t talk any more or she’ll give away how much she really wants him to be by her side, so she tells him she loves him and that she’ll ring him again tomorrow.
‘I love you too, Mum. I’m absolutely gutted about Roxy.’
‘We are too, love. We are too.’
Cathy wasn’t intimidated by the boy on the pavement. She’d brought up three of her own and knew all their friends. This one, Logan, had been in the same class as Charlie and had been around to the flat on a few occasions. She pulled out a disposable lighter and handed it to him. ‘Here. Keep it.’
‘Sweet. Thanks.’ The boy rejoined the group and she moved in the opposite direction. She was no longer in familiar territory. It was funny to think that Clearview was a suburb of Armston-on-Trent. In reality, they were two completely different towns: Clearview with run-down estates, crime and squalor, and Armston, which oozed privilege and wealth. Checking Google Maps, she crossed the street from the bus stop and followed a road to St Mary’s church, passing a terraced row of picturesque houses with neat doorsteps and hanging baskets either side of painted wooden doors: Ivy Cottage, Primrose Place, The Glades. She read each oval nameplate and speculated about what it must be like to live here rather than the far side of town. The church bells began, a rippling musical melody that reminded her of a music box she’d owned as a child. Loud cries made her turn in time to spot the youths who’d travelled on the same bus chasing after two others, hurling abuse at them. They’d no doubt come to town to cause trouble. It would be an evening’s entertainment to them. The group disappeared from view and she continued down the street to the sound of chimes that appeared to resonate through her body. She counted seven and then increased her pace, keen to reach her destination.
Tears threatened again but she swallowed them back down. Now wasn’t the time to mourn. She needed to make things right first. She’d let Roxy down and not for the first time. She wasn’t a good mother. Not at all. She was a shit mother and she knew it. Even though it was a warm evening, she shivered. A woman in a summer dress as yellow as meadow buttercups appeared from a doorway, a plastic can in her hand. She lifted it and carefully dripped water into a blue ceramic pot filled with blooms beside her front door.
‘Lovely evening again, isn’t it?’ she said brightly as Cathy passed by. Cathy didn’t answer. She didn’t belong here, talking to people like this. She checked her phone. Linnet Lane joined this road. It wouldn’t take five minutes to reach it, and once she’d seen the house, she’d ring DI Ward. She’d copied the detective’s number from the Samford Police website and slipped it into her purse.
She reached the rear of the sandstone brick church that was impossibly clean. There were no churches in Clearview and most of the public buildings were covered in graffiti. There was nothing this neat or impressive. Lives were different here. Evening sunrays bounced off a stained-glass window, seemingly setting it alight so it burnt deep crimson, and gooseflesh crept along her bare arms as she scurried past it alongside the stone wall. She halted by a wooden gate, where she contemplated going inside to pray for her daughter. The thought had no sooner surfaced in her conscious than it popped and evaporated. Cathy had never been religious and she’d come to Armston for one sole reason: to see where her daughter had died. She wouldn’t rest until she’d at least seen the house.
Her wedged sandals made no sound along the pavement. She was struck by the utter peace, the lack of cars, motorbikes, barking dogs and loitering teenagers. It was a far cry from the daily hubbub she was used to, with traffic streaming past the flat, sirens at all times of the day and night, revving engines or the sound of squealing tyres as people raced along the main road. It was rarely quiet, let alone calm like this. There was always some activity outside, crowds of youths fighting or yelling. She couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to live in such serenity with only birdsong and the occasional rumble of a distant engine.
She’d come to the end of the street and, turning to her left, she spotted the sign: Linnet Lane. One side of the road had a pavement running past hedgerows and fields; the other was tree-lined with enormous mansions set back from it, each partly hidden from view by leafy foliage. What the fuck had Roxy been doing in an area like this? Nobody she knew could afford to live here. What had my daughter been up to? Cathy stared at the flashing icon that showed she was almost upon the property, and even before she reached it, she knew she was in the right spot. Crime-scene tape like yellow-and-black party banners decorated the deep olive-green bushes and her heart began to race. This was where Roxy died.
A police vehicle blocked the driveway to the property so she walked past on the other side of the street where there were no houses, only fields, to gaze at the ruined shell opposite her. Burning tears that stung her eyes filled and clouded them. One of the most precious people in her life had been killed in this house. This should never have happened. If only she could turn back the clock… but she couldn’t. All she could do now was assist the detective. She fought back more tears. She’d uncovered some information that might help bring the monster who’d killed her child to justice.
A movement startled her. A man with a clipboard under his arm emerged from the property. She blinked hard and shuffled onwards, head bowed, shoulders slumped. It was time to ring DI Ward but she wouldn’t do it here, not in the middle of this street where anyone could hear her – and besides, she needed some time to compose herself before she spoke to the policewoman. She knew where she could go. She’d been there before on a couple of occasions although she’d never realised it was so close to this street.
The weight in her chest was physical, like her heart had turned into lead and was tugging at all the veins, arteries and nerves that supported it, making them scream in agony. Each step that took her further away from the house caused such anguish she could hardly breathe. She walked, unable to think any more, her movements robotic. She needed a place where she could unburden herself from the emotional pressure that threatened to explode at any given second, and finally her eyes alighted upon a wooden sign that pointed towards the canal, some distance from the place where her child had taken her last breath. The pain intensified but she dragged her feet forward, driven to find the secluded spot where she could release the agonising build-up and make the phone call.
The path was flanked by tall hedges and cool green foliage and opened out onto a towpath. The canal was empty of boats, and a pair of ducks swam pa
st, pausing only to bob upside down momentarily. A bench stood only a metre ahead of her, and she sped up and dropped onto it heavily, only seconds before her legs would have finally given out on her. She deserved this anguish. She deserved all the pain. She wished she and Roxy had never argued earlier on Saturday. That was surely what had made her lie about the sleepover and take off. She understood how volatile her daughter could be. If she’d only given Roxy a hug instead of shouting at her, it would have been enough to have prevented the girl from leaving.
Her mouth dropped opened slightly as she inhaled shallow breaths. Her heart was being prodded by a thousand needles. Torture. She rooted in her bag and pulled out Roxy’s toy black cat. She clutched it to her chest and allowed her tears to dampen the soft fur. What she would give to see her girl sitting cross-legged on her bed with the cat beside her. The tears tumbled, and wrapped in her own grief, she didn’t hear the crunch of leaves underfoot, the rustle from the bushes, didn’t hear the person approach from behind her until it was too late.
Ten
Sunday, 1 July – Evening
‘Anyone home?’ Natalie shut the front door and listened for a reply. When none was forthcoming, she continued with a mumbled, ‘Hi, Mum, we missed you.’ She shook her head. The days when Leigh would bound downstairs like an exuberant Tigger, eyes bright and full of enthusiasm about her day, were long gone. She left her briefcase beside her shoes and wriggled her toes in her comfortable slippers, musing that some manufacturer ought to make shoes that felt as comfortable as slippers but still look smart. Hers had begun to rub on her little toe. Old age, she reflected.
She started in the kitchen in the hope David had decided to cook something, but it was empty with no sign of any activity. ‘David?’ She spun on her heel and made her way to the sitting room but no one was there. She walked slowly towards his office. The door was shut and a familiar thudding in her chest began. He wouldn’t be online gambling, would he? She tapped on the door, and when no one answered, she pushed it open. It was empty. She had seen David’s car in the drive so he couldn’t have gone far.
