by Lisa Stone
‘But wouldn’t it be worth a try?’ Sharon persisted. ‘It might give my sister some hope.’
‘My suggestion would be that you help your sister write a victim impact statement, which could be read out in court before Mr Weaver is sentenced.’
Sharon nodded, although to Beth it seemed half-hearted – as though she hadn’t quite given up on the idea of visiting Weaver in prison.
‘I’ll let you know if there’s any more news,’ Beth said, and opened the front door.
‘Thank you. Have a good Christmas,’ Sharon said, her voice flat.
Beth nodded stiffly. ‘Take care.’ It didn’t seem right to wish Sharon a happy Christmas, because clearly she and Kelsey wouldn’t be having a happy Christmas this year or probably for many years to come, if ever.
The loss of a loved one was always worse at Christmas, Beth thought, as she made her way along the corridor towards the stairs. Her father had died just before Christmas ten years ago, but it still hung over her family at this time of year. It would be the same for Kelsey and Sharon. Beth hadn’t asked them what they were doing on Christmas Day – it hadn’t seemed appropriate – but she assumed the two of them would spend it together, locked in their misery. Some of the doors she passed had Christmas decorations, and a garland hung in the stairwell. Set against the backdrop of dismal grey concrete, it seemed pitiful rather than festive.
Beth got into the car and sat for a few moments, staring through the windscreen, deep in thought. When she started the engine, instead of going straight back to the police station, she drove around the ring road and parked outside Mrs Goodman’s maisonette. Christmas fairy lights were draped across her living-room window, already switched on and twinkling in the murkiness of an overcast day. A holly wreath had been hung on the door. As Beth began up the path, the front door opened and Mrs Goodman appeared.
‘What do you think?’ she asked, stepping outside and pointing to the fairy lights. ‘I wasn’t sure if I should do it this year with Leila missing, but I thought it would be nice for the other children around here.’
‘Yes, they’re lovely,’ Beth agreed, and went inside.
‘Would you like a coffee and a mince pie?’ Mrs Goodman asked, showing Beth into the front room. She seemed more relaxed than the last time Beth and Matt had visited her and was clearly in a festive mood.
‘No, thank you,’ Beth said. ‘I’m due back at the station soon. I won’t keep you long.’ She sat opposite Mrs Goodman. ‘I’ve just been to see Kelsey and Sharon to tell them that Colin Weaver is being charged with the abduction and murder of Leila.’
‘Oh my! So you’ve found her body?’ she asked, clearly shocked.
‘No. But there’s enough evidence to charge him without it. We’re still searching the moors, but the search has been scaled down unless any new leads come in.’
‘I’m so sorry, I’ve told you all I know,’ she said.
‘We appreciate your help, but I just wanted to run through the phone calls Colin Weaver made to you on the afternoon of Wednesday, the twenty-eighth of November.’
‘Phone call,’ Doris corrected. ‘He only made one call.’
‘According to Mr Weaver’s phone records, which we’ve now looked at, he called you three times that afternoon, but in quick succession. It appears you didn’t answer the first two calls and they went through to your voicemail.’
‘Oh yes, I see what you mean.’
‘Did Mr Weaver leave a message?’
‘No. I didn’t get to my phone in time to answer it, and he called straight back as far as I remember.’
Beth nodded. ‘That call lasted over six minutes. You said before when we asked you about it that he’d phoned to complain about the cottage being cold. What else did he talk about?’
Mrs Goodman looked thoughtful. ‘Nothing, as far as I can remember. He was just complaining about the cold.’
‘Six minutes is quite a long time. Did he give you any details? Where he was sleeping, for instance?’
She shook her head. ‘In one of the beds, I assume.’
‘Apparently not,’ Beth said. ‘While Leila was there, Mr Weaver slept on the sofa because the roof above one of the bedrooms was leaking so badly.’
‘He might have mentioned that. Why? Is it important?’
‘It could be, in pinpointing Leila’s last movements. Mr Weaver was seen alone in Marsborough earlier that day, so we’re now assuming Leila was already dead by that afternoon. If he was still sleeping on the sofa when he called you, though, it raises the possibility that she was alive then.’
‘I’m really not sure,’ Mrs Goodman replied.
‘You said before that you advised Colin Weaver to go home if he was finding the cottage too cold?’ Mrs Goodman nodded. ‘Did you tell him we’d had to force entry into his flat so he wouldn’t be able to let himself in as the door had been padlocked by us?’
Doris stared at Beth, clearly confused and a little flustered. ‘I don’t think I knew that then, did I?’
‘I’d have thought so. The news would have quickly been general knowledge on the estate.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Doris said, drawing herself upright. ‘Am I being accused of something? I know it was my cottage Colin used and I’m desperately sorry for what happened there. But I honestly had no idea what was going on. I feel bad enough without being made to feel more guilty.’ She took a tissue from the sleeve of her cardigan and pressed it to her eyes.
‘I’m not accusing you of anything,’ Beth said evenly. ‘Please don’t upset yourself. I’m just trying to piece together Leila’s last movements. If you do remember anything, no matter how small, let me or one of my colleagues know.’
‘Of course I will. I’ve always helped the police before, haven’t I?’
‘Yes. And we’re grateful for it.’ Beth stood. ‘Well, have a good Christmas.’
‘And you.’
THIRTY-THREE
Colin Weaver sat glumly in his cell as sounds drifted in from other parts of the prison. Male voices – some raised, others with accents – movement, metal doors opening and clanging shut. He’d been there three weeks now, but he doubted he’d ever get used to it. The noise kept him awake at night, although he was being held in solitary confinement – for his own protection, a prison officer had told him.
The officer had taken him aside when he’d first arrived and explained that child abusers were often attacked by other prisoners with knives and sharp objects they’d smuggled in. Child abusers were looked upon as the lowest of the low, he’d said, the scum of the criminal world, and below them were child murderers – of which Colin was now one. He’d protested that he was on remand and hadn’t been found guilty of anything yet but gave up his argument as another prisoner made a lunge at him right in front of the officer as they were on their way to his cell. Even his meals were brought on a tray, since other prisoners had been known to contaminate the food of child abusers and murderers with spit, urine and faeces. But however depressing all this was, Colin consoled himself that he wouldn’t have to suffer it for much longer. As soon as what had really happened came out, he’d be released.
No, it shouldn’t be much longer, Colin thought, before she phoned the police or his solicitor and explained everything, identifying herself as the accomplice Colin had referred to in his interview. She would describe how she’d masterminded the plan to take Leila and explain the mitigating circumstances that excused their actions. Yes, he was pleading guilty to abducting Leila, but it hadn’t been against her will. Leila had readily gone with him and he’d done it to give her a better life. He’d tried to explain all this when the police had interviewed him, but when he’d said there’d been someone else involved whose identity he couldn’t reveal, they’d dismissed it and referred him to a psychologist for an assessment. Just as they’d dismissed the two thousand pounds missing from his life savings as proof that Leila was alive. Morons. They were going to look very foolish when the truth came out.
Colin felt he’d
been honest when the police had questioned him the second time, he felt, and had admitted that looking after Leila had proved far more of a challenge than he’d anticipated, and that he’d had to slap her a few times. But most parents slapped their children, didn’t they? His father had often hit him for quite minor misdemeanours, and it hadn’t done him any harm. He’d tried to tell DCs Mayes and Davis that he hadn’t had any previous experience of looking after children and he’d been thrown in at the deep end, but they hadn’t been interested. He’d also admitted that, with hindsight, he probably should have planned to take Leila a bit differently, but that would all come out once she phoned.
What was a few more days in prison compared to the life that awaited him once he was free?
It would of course help him enormously, Colin thought, standing and walking around his cell, if Leila was found, dead or alive. If she was dead, her body would show she’d died from natural causes. He’d told them where he’d searched and that his gut feeling was that she’d turned right instead of left out of the cottage and had got lost on the moors. If she’d died out there it was hardly his fault. She should have done as he’d told her and stayed in the cottage while he’d gone into town; then she’d still be alive. But DCs Mayes and Davis hadn’t agreed with him and had kept asking where he’d buried Leila’s body. He’d got angry and upset then and his solicitor had insisted on another break. When they’d returned, following her advice, he’d replied ‘No comment’ to all their questions. Which was probably what he should have done from the start.
It was Christmas Day tomorrow and he comforted himself with the thought that this time next year he would be enjoying his new life abroad.
THIRTY-FOUR
Kelsey woke the day after Christmas with a massive hangover. Her sister had insisted on being with her during Christmas Day but had gone home early evening, much to Kelsey’s relief. Sharon had clearly felt she had a duty to be with her at what she’d called ‘this very difficult time’, but she had also looked relieved when Kelsey had told her she needed to be alone.
As soon as Sharon had left, Kelsey had opened the bottle of vodka she had hidden away, and she was now regretting it. Her mouth was parched dry, her head throbbed and she’d had terrifying dreams all night, most likely fuelled by all the alcohol.
The dreams had been so realistic – she’d been able to see clearly the dreadful mess she’d made of her life and the damage she’d done to her children. It was as though the Ghost of Christmas Past had visited her and forced her to see the reality of years of drink and drug abuse funded by prostitution. Did she have no self-respect? Apparently not. Four children taken into care and then adopted, and the last murdered by a paedophile and buried on the moors. It was all her fault and the regret burned into her like a red-hot branding iron. There’d been no Ghost of Christmas Future to give her hope. Kelsey was at rock bottom, with nothing to live for.
Now she was awake came the sickening realization that despite the abuse she’d suffered, her life needn’t have been like this – fucked up and destroyed. She’d been given countless opportunities to get out of the mess: rehab, counselling, second chances. She’d blown them all, time and time again, and now it was too late. Ultimately, she was responsible for Leila’s death, and she knew she couldn’t stand many more days and nights like this with all hope gone.
Hauling herself up on the pillow, Kelsey checked the time on her phone: 10.14 a.m. Not that the time really mattered, since she had nothing to be up for. She needed a pee and a drink of water, though. Then, once she was dressed, she’d go out and buy herself another bottle of vodka – courtesy of her sister. With Leila being in the news so often and police visiting her flat, Kelsey’s clients had been keeping away, so she didn’t have any money. Sharon had realized and given her some more money.
‘For food,’ she’d said. Although Sharon must have known there was a good chance Kelsey would spend it on booze or drugs. She’d relapsed before and now that Leila was dead there was no reason for her to stay sober or off the drugs.
Easing herself from the bed, Kelsey pulled on the jumper, jeans and socks she’d taken off the night before and padded out of her bedroom to the bathroom. The flat was cold, but to her surprise the bathroom was tidy. Much cleaner and tidier than she remembered it. Sharon must have done it before she’d left, and Kelsey had been too pissed to notice last night. She’d better text Sharon and thank her.
Having flushed the toilet, Kelsey washed her hands and threw cold water on her face. She patted her cheeks dry with the towel that had been left neatly folded over the towel rail and then headed to the kitchen. This, too, was cleaner and tidier than she remembered. She’d let everything go since the last visit from the police. There was no point in keeping the place clean and tidy to impress Peter Harris, because now Leila wouldn’t ever be coming back. Sharon must have cleared up in here as well and Kelsey had failed to notice. Not surprising, as she’d started drinking straight after Sharon had left and was out of it pretty quickly. Nice of her sister, though.
Kelsey searched the kitchen cupboards for something to eat. All she could find was a packet of biscuits, so she took those and a glass of water to the sofa. The coffee table was clear of debris and very clean – spotless, in fact. Which was odd. Where was the empty bottle of vodka and the glass from last night, plus any other rubbish she hadn’t thrown in the bin? It couldn’t have been Sharon, could it? Hadn’t she left before Kelsey started drinking? Yes, she was sure of it – well, as sure as she could be after the amount she’d drunk. She must have thrown out the rubbish herself before she’d gone to bed and been too pissed to remember. It was odd, though – tidiness had never been a product of her drinking before. Just the opposite, in fact.
Kelsey returned to the kitchen where she pushed open the lid of the swing bin. Yes, there was the empty bottle of vodka and some other rubbish. So she had thrown everything away before going to bed, as if it mattered any more! She sat on the sofa again and absently ate a biscuit and drank some water. The other flats in the block were exceptionally quiet the day after Christmas as people slept in. Quiet as the grave, Kelsey thought. The day yawned before her, painful and raw. She needed to get some more alcohol. The twenty pounds her sister had given her would be enough to put her out for the day.
Suddenly, she froze. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She’d heard a noise that sounded as if it had come from inside the flat. Kelsey sat still and listened.
Yes, there it was again. Jesus! Had someone broken in during the night, and was now lying in wait for her, ready to spring out and attack? Another disgruntled client? Or maybe the pig returning? Her heart began drumming loudly as thoughts of her last beating flashed before her and fear gripped her. She needed something she could use for protection.
Quietly standing and with her legs unsteady, Kelsey crossed to the kitchen where she took a large kitchen knife from the drawer. She began silently along the hall. There it was again. The same noise. A floorboard creaking. It seemed to be coming from Leila’s room. Her bedroom door was closed, like it always was now. After she’d gone missing Kelsey had closed the door and hadn’t been in the room since. The memories were too painful.
She paused outside Leila’s room and listened. The front door was only a few steps away. Should she make a dash for it and cry out for help? But who would answer her cries? She doubted anyone would come to her assistance. She’d have to deal with this alone, just as she had done most of her adult life. Another creak and the handle on Leila’s bedroom door began to turn. Kelsey flattened herself against the wall, knife at the ready, and watched in terror as the door slowly opened.
‘Stay away!’ she cried, raising the knife, ready to bring it down.
‘Don’t!’ A child appeared. ‘It’s me.’
‘Leila?’ Kelsey stared in disbelief. ‘It can’t be,’ she gasped.
‘Yes, it is. Put the knife down, Mum, you’re scaring me.’
Kelsey lowered her arm. ‘Is it really you, Leila?’
/>
‘Yes, I’ve come home.’
But it wasn’t until Kelsey felt her daughter’s arms slip around her waist that she truly believed it was her. Then she began to cry, and couldn’t stop.
THIRTY-FIVE
‘Don’t cry,’ Leila said, holding her mother. ‘I wanted to surprise you, not make you cry. I thought you’d be happy.’
‘I am happy,’ Kelsey said through her tears. ‘But you scared me half to death. The police told me you were dead and that they were looking for your grave on the moors. You look so different with your hair short and those fancy clothes. I didn’t recognize you.’
‘I bought them, Mum, and I’m going to buy you lots of nice things too now. I’ve got money.’
‘How did you get money?’ Kelsey asked, a new fear gripping her. ‘Where’ve you been all this time? I have so many questions. Start at the beginning and tell me what happened. I’ve been going out of my mind.’
‘I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t be angry with me.’
‘I promise, of course I won’t be angry with you,’ Kelsey said, with a small nervous laugh. ‘I’m just grateful you’re alive.’ But she steeled herself for what she was about to be told.
Leila wiped away her mother’s tears and sat very close as she began her story. Kelsey held her daughter’s hand, unable to believe she was really here. ‘Colin who lives in the flat below took me,’ Leila said.
‘I know. The police told me.’
‘He seemed nice to begin with. He used to talk to me and buy me presents, and he let me wait in his flat when it was raining and I couldn’t come here because you had a man in your bedroom.’
Kelsey flinched with guilt.
‘Colin told me I deserved a better mother than you and I thought he was right. I was angry with you for not looking after me like other parents do. Colin said I could trust him and that he had a plan to teach you a lesson. I didn’t think you would care if I came home or not. It seemed as if I was just in your way.’
