by M. A. Hunter
So why won’t the voice in my head desist?
Why has he never mentioned anyone called Kerry before? Why didn’t he mention that she would be with him in Oxford? Why did her call come through under Doug’s name? How many times have calls and messages from ‘Doug’ actually been from Kerry? Is this why he’s always late home?
I need to stop. I’ve taken a simple phone call and developed it into a full-blown affair between my loving husband and some random woman.
‘Everything okay?’ Mum asks from the doorway, the wrinkles around her eyes more noticeable than usual. ‘You’re as pale as a sheet. Do you feel sick?’
‘I’m fine,’ I lie, failing to meet her stare, and fighting against the threat of fresh tears.
‘Are you in pain? Are you due your painkillers soon? It’s gone six o’clock.’
I slowly nod, keeping my eyes fixed on a patch on the carpet. ‘I’ll come and take them in a bit. Is the table set?’
‘Yes, I think I’ve put everything out. Do you want wine with dinner, or are you happy with water?’
I blink away the building tears, and force a smile. I don’t know how many times I’ve told her that I’m not supposed to consume alcohol with the cocktail of pills I’m required to take. ‘Water is fine, thank you.’
‘One little glass won’t kill you,’ she says, frowning.
If only she knew.
‘I’d prefer water,’ I repeat, looking away so she won’t see how tough it is.
I hear keys jangle as the front door opens, and the delicious smell of fresh dough and melting cheese wafts into the house.
‘I’m back,’ Charlie calls out, and a moment later he passes the lounge door on his way to the kitchen, steam rising from the lid of the large, square cardboard box in his hands.
It’s enough to catch Grace’s attention, and she’s off the sofa and chasing after him into the kitchen like a greyhound pursuing a rabbit.
I don’t move, looking down and seeing Charlie’s phone still in my hands. I quickly put it back on the coffee table, as I don’t want him to think I’ve been checking up on him. We’ve always had an open policy on phones, and although he has never given me reason not to trust him, I desperately want to look at the messages he may have exchanged with Kerry.
‘Everything all right, babe?’ I hear him ask, and as I look up, I see him walking into the lounge and immediately reaching for his phone.
‘It’s been ringing,’ I say. ‘I eventually answered it and spoke to someone called Kerry, and said you were out but would phone her back.’
I’m waiting for any tell-tale sign that I’ve caught him out, but he quickly checks the display before pocketing the phone and smiling affectionately at me.
‘Great, thanks,’ he says. ‘I’m sure whatever it is can wait until after dinner. You want me to push you through?’
Not a single tremor in his voice. That’s a good sign, right? I know my husband, and he’s never been very good at keeping secrets. I’m sure I would notice if my speaking to Kerry had put him in an awkward position. Wouldn’t I?
‘Kerry said the call was about your meeting tomorrow. You’re meeting your new client in Oxford, right?’
He moves behind the chair and grips the handles. ‘That’s right.’
I want to ask him outright who Kerry is and whether I’m right to be feeling so on edge, but I remind myself about what Dr Tegan warned about the side-effects of my medication: any additional anxiety, or agitation? Any paranoia?
‘Is she new? I don’t remember you mentioning her name before.’
‘Haven’t I? She’s been working in the team for three to four months, I suppose. Doug hired her to be his PA, but she seems to have become more of the office gofer, with all of us relying on her for one thing or another.’
We’ve arrived in the kitchen, and before I can ask anything else, he has parked me between Mum and Grace, and moved to the opposite side of the table, where he reaches for a slice of the pizza and places it on my plate. Nobody was disappointed when I returned home without salad.
Charlie is now busily chatting to Grace, and asking how her day was. Is he deliberately avoiding talking to me to cover his tracks, or am I just being suspicious? I desperately hope it’s the latter, but if I’m wrong about him, does that mean I’m also wrong about Daisy and Morag? And that’s when I think about what Tracy told me about her husband at lunch on Sunday: caught him shagging some client he was working for up in Barnstaple. Apparently they’d been at it for months behind my back.
Looking at Charlie now, I don’t want to believe he is capable of such deceit, but I can’t bury my head in the sand and assume he wouldn’t stray. I don’t think my heart could stand another hammer blow like that.
Chapter Thirty-One
Before – Morag
Clutching the handset to my ear, I count the seconds until it is answered. Gwen is out of breath as her voice comes on the line, and now I feel guilty at the thought that she has had to race to answer. She would have been expecting my early-morning call on Sunday, as I always call her on her birthday, but she won’t have expected me to call back again so soon.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask, knowing it is a pathetic opening question to someone as ill as she.
‘Oh, I’m hanging in there. To what do I owe this pleasure? It’s been hardly two days since we last spoke.’
‘I guess I’m just getting sentimental in my old age.’
She chuckles at this, but there is pain there too. I sense it as only an older sister can. I still remember the day Dad brought her home, all swaddled and crying. I was nearly five and only too aware that I would now have to share our parents’ affection with her, but so excited at the same time. I remember Dad putting the Moses basket down on the floor so I could look in and see her. I remember taking her tiny hand in mine, and how she stopped crying in an instant, like she somehow sensed I would always be there to look out for her. Sure, we had spats as we grew up, but nothing too bitchy, and nothing that I can even recall now.
The truth is I shouldn’t have snuck out again to call her, but I hate the fact that I am so far away when she clearly needs help, love, and support. I have wondered what would happen if I just got on a train and went to visit her. There’s a slim chance he doesn’t have an eye on her place, and so I could stay with her for a few months until… until the time comes for her to move on to the next life.
I’m almost at the point where I don’t care if he catches up with me. There’s nothing he can do to me that I don’t deserve. Daisy is different though. She needs to be kept safe, and although I know she would survive fine without me, I know Angus wouldn’t cope on his own for too long. So, I have no choice but to steal these few moments alone with Gwen, and hope they somehow help to make up for me not being there in the flesh. I’m pretty certain they don’t.
‘Is there a reason for your call?’ Gwen asks, with a hushed sigh.
Something doesn’t feel right; she’s talking quietly like she doesn’t want Rufus to overhear our conversation; but why?
‘I just wanted to hear your voice,’ I tell her, leaning back against the glass frame of the phone box. ‘Did you have a good birthday? Did you go for the fish and chip supper like you planned?’
‘Ah, no,’ she sighs again, ‘we never made it to The Black Ox in the end. I overdid it on my walk around the loch, and felt so tired that we decided to stay in for the evening. Rufus rustled me up some beans on toast, and we shared a stout before I fell asleep in front of the fireplace.’
Rufus isn’t blessed with any culinary skills, and I’d be willing to put money on him having burnt the toast too. That should be me there with her, making sure she’s properly fed and watered.
‘You need to keep your strength up,’ I gently warn her. ‘You won’t survive on beans and toast.’
I don’t mean that to sound as cold as it does, but I also know Gwen isn’t one to make a fuss, and even if she is uncomfortable or in need of greater sustenance, she will simply kee
p those feelings to herself, and continue as if everything is fine.
‘You sounded just like Mum, then,’ she says, and I’m relieved she hasn’t taken offence. ‘I was thinking I should probably go up and lay some flowers on her grave.’
She doesn’t need to say that I’ve left her in the lurch tending to our parents’ plots at the local cemetery. In all the time we’ve been running, I haven’t been back there, and it pains me to consider that had we not started on this course Gwen wouldn’t be in the state she now is. We’ll never know for certain.
‘I’m so sorry, Gwen,’ I find myself gushing before I can stop. ‘I should be there for you, and I’m so sorry I’m not. I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to get back up and see you.’
There’s a sudden commotion on the line, and for a moment I fear that Gwen has fallen, dropping the phone in the process, but then I hear heavy breathing, and a voice that chills me to my core.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing you too, Morag. Don’t forget to bring my daughter with you.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Now
The hallway light flashing to life beyond the frosted glass told Mike she’d heard his knock. DC Polly Viceroy unlatched the door and opened it a crack, tired eyes staring back out at him.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked, knowing she was well within her rights to tell him to get lost.
She seemed to consider the request for a moment longer than she needed to, before widening the gap. It was only as he entered that he saw the cuffs of her pyjamas – the set he’d bought her – poking through the sleeve of the thin dressing gown.
‘I didn’t mean to wake you,’ he offered apologetically, though not sure why he’d driven so far out of his way to be here.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked, ignoring the apology and moving forward to the kitchen, flicking on the light as she passed and immediately filling the kettle.
‘What makes you think anything’s happened?’
She raised an eyebrow in his direction; her cue that she knew he was lying.
‘Okay, okay, we had to release Jess Donoghue.’
Polly’s mouth began to open in shock, but he continued quickly before she could interrupt.
‘She’s been taken into a secure facility by her psychiatrist, Dr Savage. At least we know where she is should an arrest be required later down the line.’
‘So you now think she did it?’ Polly asked, covering her mouth as a long yawn escaped.
‘The evidence would seem to suggest as much, don’t you think? We have her arriving at the house over an hour before the emergency services were called; we have her prints on the knife, and we know she handled it both before and after the stabbing; and the forensics also suggest she was in close proximity when the bleeding started. The psychiatrist confirmed Jess has been off her antidepressants too.’
Polly yawned again. ‘Case closed then. That ought to keep the Chief Super off your back, and finally put to bed some of the rum—’
Polly caught herself before finishing the sentence, but he’d already picked up on what she was insinuating.
‘You know I was nothing to do with all that anti-corruption inquiry. I was the one who blew the whistle, for pity’s sake!’
Polly closed the gap between them, placed a hand on each arm and stretched to peck his cheek. ‘I know, I’m sorry. And keep your voice down. I don’t want you waking Sammy.’
There it was, the real reason Mike had traipsed across town in the middle of the night instead of going home. ‘Do you think I could pop my head into his room, and just see him?’
Polly was quiet as the kettle reached its crescendo. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you? Don’t want to give him mixed messages.’
‘I’ll be quiet, I promise. Just a quick look, and then I’ll come back through.’
Polly shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mike. Not tonight, yeah? I promise you can see him at the weekend. Maybe the three of us could go to the park or something? If he finds out you’re here now, I’ll never get him settled back down.’
Mike ignored the stabbing pain in his chest and nodded his understanding. After the way things had ended between them, he didn’t have any right to argue about visitation rights. They weren’t married, so no divorce proceedings to determine custody. He’d made such a mess of everything in the last two years, and in that second would have given anything to undo it all.
‘Morag Kilbride came to the station voluntarily,’ Mike continued, keen to change the subject.
‘The woman renting the property? What did she have to say for herself?’
‘Claimed she hadn’t been home all afternoon, but when I showed her an image of the victim, there was definitely a change in her demeanour. I have a feeling she knows exactly who he is, and I’d put money on the second set of prints belonging to her. Should know for sure by the morning.’
Polly dropped a squashed teabag into the bin. ‘She gave you a sample of her prints willingly?’
Mike wrinkled his nose. ‘Not exactly. I bagged up the plastic cup she’d been drinking from and asked them to process it as a priority.’
Polly scowled at him. ‘You’d better be joking! You know that won’t stand up in court. That breaks a dozen regulations at least! What were you thinking?’
Mike shrugged; he’d been expecting this reaction from Polly, his ever-present conscience. ‘I’m not planning to use them as evidence, but I figured it is the quickest way to potentially rule her out of the inquiry.’
‘And if they do turn out to be hers, then what?’
‘Then we’ll know I’m on the right track, and once her arrest is processed, I’ll have her prints on file formally, and we can start to find answers to what really happened there tonight.’
Polly handed him the mug of tea. ‘Actually, I think it’s last night now. It’s gone one.’
Mike pushed a stray hair behind her ear, and held his hand against her cool skin for a moment longer. ‘I could stay if you wanted?’
Polly pressed her hand against his, before peeling it away. ‘I thought you said you wanted to keep things professional?’
Conscience striking the keynote again, Mike nodded, only then realising that she hadn’t made herself a drink.
Tightening the cord around her robe to assert that that door was firmly closed for tonight, Polly leaned back against the counter, eyeing the doorway. ‘Has the victim been identified yet?’
Mike took a sip of the tea. ‘Nothing yet, but I’m certain both Jess and Morag know who he is. There was a confrontation between the two of them when Morag arrived, and Jess was shouting something incoherent at her. It’s only a matter of time until we find out who he was. I’m pretty sure he’s too young to be Morag’s husband, but we’ve still not managed to make contact with Charlie Donoghue. When officers called around at her house earlier her mum was there watching their daughter, but said she hadn’t seen Charlie since earlier that afternoon when they’d tried to intercept Jess and confront her about not taking her meds. He went after her apparently and hasn’t been seen since.’
‘Did you bring the mother in for a formal identification?’
Mike sipped the tea again, before shaking his head. ‘Plenty of time for all that tomorrow. I don’t want to drag her to the mortuary if it’s not necessary. Dental records are likely to be checked first thing, and then we’ll see.’
‘So is Morag Kilbride still in custody?’
Mike shook his head. ‘She clammed up when I started to question her alleged alibi, and started demanding to speak to a solicitor. I told her she’d be lucky to find one so late at night, and she is going to return tomorrow afternoon to conclude her statement. I’m hoping by that point I’ll have a better idea of whether she is involved.’
‘So where is she now?’
‘She asked if she could go home, and I had to tell her the property would be out of bounds until the SOCOs have finished their work. She received a message from her husband – or so she claimed �
� saying he’d booked them into a Travelodge near Heathrow for the night. I arranged for PC Wozniak to drive her over and ensure she went in.’
Polly yawned again, and this time stretched her arms above her head. ‘You can show yourself out when you’ve finished that. I’m going to the bathroom and then back to bed. What time is the morning briefing?’
‘I want everyone in by eight. Thanks for listening, Pol. I really am sorry for everything.’
She pecked his cheek again, and headed up, the staircase creaking as she went. Placing his mug on the counter, Mike crept out of the kitchen, along the hallway, and through the living room, to the door to the second bedroom. He’d promised he wouldn’t look, but he couldn’t resist. Ever so quietly lowering the handle, he cracked the door open, and peered in.
There he was, curled up in bed, but just as Mike was about to close the door, two eyes opened and stared back at him. A moment later the wagging tail was alert and the German Shepherd padded over to investigate whether his senses were correct. Opening the door wider, Mike dropped to his hands and knees, running his hands through Sammy’s long fur.
‘I missed you, my boy,’ he whispered, allowing Sammy’s long, warm tongue to brush against his ears. ‘I promise I’ll make things right with your mum one day,’ though he couldn’t be sure Polly would ever be so forgiving.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Before – Jess
The space in bed beside me is empty as I open my eyes in the dimly lit room. I must have been awake for at least three hours last night, until the battery died on the laptop and I could no longer bring myself to scrutinise the innocent faces of children I found on the missing people website. More than a hundred pairs of smiling eyes torn from the arms of parents desperate to know what happened and where they went.
I suppose it’s only natural for me to think about how I would react if Grace was ever to just disappear into thin air. I’d be beside myself with worry. I know I’d do anything to get her back. My daughter is too trusting, and whilst open-mindedness is a virtue to be valued, in this modern world it puts her at huge risk. She must have inherited it from Charlie, because I don’t think I’ve ever been that naïve. I know first-hand how cruel the world can be.
