Once the pans were gently simmering away, there was nothing more I could do. I’d gone to find Frears but Lan, the young APT, told me he’d already left. Evidently the post-mortem hadn’t taken long, but that was no surprise. A pathologist would struggle to learn much from a body as badly decomposed as the one from the creek had been.
That was my job.
I’d been disappointed not to have a chance to hear what Frears had found. Even though the circumstances were different this time, it was the second post-mortem I’d missed. But the day’s events caught up with me as I stripped off my scrubs and cleaned up in the changing room. It didn’t seem possible it was only that morning I’d had coffee with Rachel in Cruckhaven. It had been a long day, and the leadenness of my limbs as I trudged along the empty road reminded me I still wasn’t entirely recovered from the infection.
I was glad when I reached the turn-off for Creek House, although the thought of seeing Rachel again brought nervousness as well as anticipation. I told myself there was no call for either as I approached the house. The battered white Defender was parked by the copse of trees, but there was no sign of Trask’s grey Land Rover. My own car stood a little way off to one side, an odd note of familiarity in that setting.
I made my way through the trees and up the steps to the front door. I could see a light through the frosted glass panel, a warm, homely glow I knew was illusory given what the family had been through. Then the door was opened and Rachel was standing in front of me.
She looked tired herself but gave me a smile. ‘Hi.’
Without asking, she stood back to let me in. I’d been inside the house earlier to change out of my wet clothes, but I’d not taken much notice then. It was a reverse-level design, with a family bathroom on the ground floor. Other doors led to what I presumed were bedrooms off the hallway. The place had a Scandinavian feel, though it was too lived in to call minimalist. The white walls were scuffed with marks from boots and bike tyres, and an assortment of shoes and wellingtons was clustered untidily on the polished floorboards. A flight of wooden stairs ran up to the first floor, from which I could hear music playing quietly in the background.
‘How’s Fay?’ I asked as Rachel closed the door behind me. I could smell a faint scent of sandalwood. Too light to be perfume, more likely soap or shampoo.
‘Protesting about the injections, which is a good sign,’ she said with a smile. ‘They’re keeping her in overnight as a precaution. None of the cuts are serious but they gave her a blood transfusion, and she had mild hypothermia as well. But Andrew thinks she’ll be home tomorrow. Can I get you a coffee or something?’
‘That’s OK, I only came to collect my things. And to return these.’
I indicated Trask’s jacket, and also the old wellingtons I was still wearing. Rachel saw them and laughed. ‘Yeah, I can see why you’d want to get rid of them. Look, why don’t you take them off and come upstairs for a drink? Andrew’s still at the hospital and Jamie’s gone to a friend’s so there’s no one else here. I’d be glad of the company.’
The hallway was lit only by the glow from upstairs. Rachel wore a short black T-shirt that just came to the top of her jeans, displaying slim, toned arms. There was a tentative smile on her mouth, and her eyes held a trace of uncertainty that mirrored my own. The tension I’d been feeling vanished.
‘Sounds good,’ I said.
I’d expected the living area of the house to be impressive, but Trask had excelled himself. The whole of the upstairs looked to be open plan, sections of it partitioned off with bookshelves to create an illusion of privacy. The slate floor was dotted with an assortment of rugs, and comfortable-looking sofas and chairs were arranged around a wood-burning stove. The largest part of the room was taken up by a sleekly modern kitchen, a low wooden cabinet dividing it from a rosewood dining table with bentwood chairs.
But the most impressive feature was the glass wall that ran along the entire front. Dwarfing the arched window in the cabin, it faced directly over the creek, with floor-to-ceiling panels opening on to a long balcony. Beyond that there was nothing except the darkening sky above a marsh and creek almost lost in twilight.
‘That’s some view,’ I said.
Rachel gave it a cursory glance, as though the huge curtain wall were something she no longer noticed.
‘Andrew wanted it to be the main feature of the house. He designed it all himself, when he first met Emma. I don’t think she was quite as keen as he was, though.’ She seemed to regret the admission. ‘So how are you? No ill-effects from getting soaked again?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘I washed your clothes, by the way. Your jacket’s still damp, so you might as well hang on to Andrew’s until it dries out.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, surprised. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’
‘You didn’t need to go with Andrew, but you did.’ She gave a quick smile. ‘You might have to invest in a new pair of boots. I cleaned them as best I could but they’ve seen better days.’
That was hardly surprising: this was their second soaking in the space of three days. ‘Is Fay’s dog OK?’ I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen the little mongrel.
‘Cassie? She should be. The vet had to knock her out to sew her up, so she’s being kept overnight as well.’ Rachel went to a large island in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Oh, and before I forget, your car’s ready. Jamie’s replaced the spark plugs.’
‘When?’ With everything that had happened I was surprised he’d found the time.
‘This afternoon after he came back from the hospital. I think he was glad of something to do, to be honest.’
I supposed it was good news, but there was none of the relief I’d have expected. The journey would take longer, but there was no longer any reason to stay in the Backwaters.
‘What would you like to drink? Tea, coffee, or something stronger?’ Rachel asked.
‘Hmm? Oh, just coffee, thanks.’
‘Have you eaten? I could make you a sandwich,’ she offered. I hadn’t had anything since that morning, and the reminder made me aware of my empty stomach. Rachel smiled when I hesitated. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
I sat down on a stool at the island. On the wall opposite was a photograph, of Emma Trask with Fay and Jamie. The London Eye was in the background, and Fay and Jamie appeared much younger. The two of them were laughing, Jamie looking across at their stepmother as she smiled at the camera. It seemed to be a natural moment, but Emma’s smile had the same posed quality as it did in the self-portrait in the boathouse.
Rachel had busied herself filling the kettle and taking food from the fridge. There was a tension about her as she cut slices from a loaf of bread. Abruptly, she stopped and set down the bread knife.
‘I’ve got to ask. Andrew said you told him that … that it was a man you found today. Not a woman. Is that true?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘So it’s definitely not Emma?’
‘No, it’s definitely not.’
She breathed out, her shoulders losing some of their rigidity. ‘OK. Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s just … I mean, now they’ve found two bodies? What the hell’s going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. Which was also true.
Rachel nodded, then gave a rueful smile. ‘Screw it, I’m having a glass of wine. How about you? It’d be rude to make me drink on my own.’
I thought about the antibiotics, but only briefly. ‘Well, I’d hate to be rude.’
She laughed, a good, full-throated chuckle that sounded like a release. I poured the wine while she buttered the bread. We chinked glasses before taking a drink.
‘God, that’s welcome,’ she said with a sigh. Setting her glass down on the granite-topped island, she went back to making the sandwiches. ‘So will you go back to London now?’
‘I expect so.’
‘But you’re still working with the police? Out here, I mean?’
‘Probably more in Chelmsford, bu
t yes.’
She kept her attention on the sandwiches. ‘You could still stay at the boathouse, if you like.’
That was so unexpected I didn’t know how to respond. ‘Uh, I don’t …’
‘No, of course,’ she rushed on. ‘I’m sure you’ll want to get home. I just thought, you know, it’d save you time. Seems pointless having to drive all that way.’
It did. I thought of all the reasons I shouldn’t, not least of which would be what Clarke and Lundy would say. But we’d gone past the stage where it could really matter any more. And it would make more sense for me to stay somewhere local. I knew I was rationalizing a decision that I’d already made, but all the arguments against seemed less compelling than the flush I could see spreading up Rachel’s throat.
‘Are you sure it’ll be OK?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?’ She gave me a quick smile, and I felt something tighten in my chest. Rachel busied herself setting out plates. ‘Anyway, tell me a bit about yourself. You didn’t want me to call anyone when you were ill, so I know you’re not married. Are you separated, divorced …?’
I felt I’d walked off a too-high step. ‘Widowed. My wife and daughter died in a car accident a few years ago.’
I kept my voice even. The words had lost much of their impact by now, repetition numbing the old wound. Surprise widened Rachel’s eyes, then she reached out and rested her hand on my arm.
‘I’m sorry.’ There was sympathy but none of the awkwardness or embarrassment I’d come to expect. She left her hand where it was for a second longer, then let it fall. ‘How old was your daughter?’
‘She was six. Alice.’ I smiled.
‘That’s a nice name.’
We thought so. I nodded, suddenly not trusting my voice. Rachel’s face had softened.
‘Is that why you try so hard?’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘Your work. It’s not just a job for you, is it? You really care.’
I struggled for a moment, then shrugged. ‘No, it’s not just a job.’
There was a silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Rachel slid the plate of sandwiches across to me. ‘You should eat,’ she smiled.
The sky was still darkening outside, giving the room a dusky, intimate feel. It would soon be time to turn on the lights, but Rachel seemed content to sit in the gathering twilight. She looked younger, more relaxed, and I didn’t think that was just the light.
She glanced up and caught me looking. ‘What?’ she asked, smiling quizzically.
‘Nothing. I was just wondering about you. Are you planning to stay over here or will you be going back to Australia?’
It was the wrong thing to ask. She lowered her sandwich.
‘I don’t know. I was at a bit of a crossroads, I suppose, even before Emma disappeared. I’d just broken up from a seven-year relationship. He was a marine biologist as well. And my boss, which made things … awkward.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oh, the usual. A twenty-two-year-old post-grad who looked better in a bikini.’
‘I doubt that,’ I said without thinking.
I could see the white teeth of her smile in the dim light. ‘Thanks, but I’d have to give her that. I’ve met squid with more morals, but she did look good in a two-piece. Anyway, I’d come back to the UK to think things through. Clear my head, work out what I was going to do. The only good thing that came of it, if you could call it that, was that it meant I was here when Emma went missing.’
The mood changed as though a cold draught had brushed over us. ‘You were staying with them?’
‘No, I was over for a wedding in Poole. An old friend from uni, hadn’t seen her for years, but at least it meant I was back in the country. Our parents are dead, so there wasn’t any reason to come back very often. Emma and I had talked about meeting up while I was over, but we never got round to it. We’d both got our own lives, and there didn’t seem to be any rush.’
There never does. ‘You said she was younger than you?’
‘By five years. We were never that close, to be honest. Too different. She was always the confident and outgoing one. And Emma had this knack of making people like her. When she paid anyone attention she’d make it feel like the sun was shining on them. It just didn’t tend to last very long.’
She gave a self-conscious laugh.
‘Wow. I don’t know where that came from. I must sound like a real cow.’
‘You sound like a sister.’
‘Now you’re being diplomatic.’ She reached for the wine bottle and topped up our glasses. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea. Emma could be lovely. She was great with Fay, even though she wasn’t what you’d call the maternal type. She didn’t really “do” kids, so she treated Fay more like a teenager. A kid sister. Fay worshipped her. That’s why this past year’s been so hard on her. Probably harder on her than anyone.’
I thought about the shadows under the little girl’s eyes, the too-thin arms. Trask’s daughter would have been too young to remember her mother, but at her age losing her stepmother as well must have been a cruel blow. ‘Is that why you stayed?’
I thought I’d overstepped. Rachel didn’t answer at first, watching her fingers slowly twirl the stem of her wine glass.
‘One of the reasons, yeah,’ she said at last. ‘To start with it didn’t seem right to leave, not without knowing what had happened to Emma. We all thought there’d be news fairly soon. Every day you expect the police to call and say they’ve found something, but they never did. And the longer it went on, the harder it was to just say, OK, I’ve waited long enough, I’m leaving. I know Emma was only their stepmum, and that Fay and Jamie aren’t really my family. Except they sort of are now. Does that make sense?’
She was looking at me for reassurance. The light had faded so that her green eyes looked luminous in the dim room. ‘I think so,’ I said.
‘It’s not Andrew and Jamie so much, although God knows it’s bad enough for them. I didn’t know either of them very well before, but by all accounts Jamie used to be cheerful and outgoing before all this. You wouldn’t know it now, and between him and Andrew it can be like walking on eggshells at times. But they’re old enough to cope. It’s Fay who worries me. Maybe if they lived in a city, where there were other people and she had friends around, it’d be different. But out here … there’s nothing for her.’
I looked out through the huge windows at the shadowed landscape. The sky had lost most of its light, and only the rippling glints of the water distinguished the black creek from the surrounding marsh.
‘It doesn’t seem like your sister’s sort of place either,’ I said.
She gave a lopsided smile. ‘That’s an understatement.’
‘How did they meet?’ I waved the question away. ‘Sorry, I’m prying.’
‘No, that’s all right. To be honest it’s good to be able to talk about it.’ Rachel stared down at her glass. ‘A friend of hers was building a new house, and Andrew was the architect. Emma used to dabble in interior design as well as photography, so she wound up doing the interiors. She was always good at that sort of thing, and this wasn’t long after she’d split up with her long-term boyfriend. One of those uber-confident types, into martial arts and self-help. Fancied himself as a musician and a film-maker because he used to make pretentious music videos. He was a real dickhead.’
‘You liked him, then?’
‘Can you tell?’ Her smile quickly faded. ‘In a lot of ways they were very alike. Both extroverted, full of big schemes that never happened. It was always an on-off relationship, and she met Andrew during one of the off times. Six months later they got married.’
Rachel looked over at the photograph of her sister with Jamie and Fay, as though still trying to work out what had happened.
‘I could have dropped when I got the wedding invitation. Not so much that she was getting married, because Emma was always impulsive. But Andrew didn’t seem her type, and as for coming out here …’ She
shook her head. ‘Emma needed people around her, she liked galleries and parties. Not mudflats and marshes.’
‘Did you talk to her about it?’
‘I’m her big sister, of course I did.’ There was a smile in her voice. ‘She told me I was too frightened of change, and that she’d wasted enough of her life on “bastards”. Which I couldn’t argue with. She claimed she was ready to settle down, that this house was going to be a showroom for both her and Andrew. He’d design houses, and she’d do the interior design and fill in with a spot of photography. Everything was going to be perfect. And then Leo Villiers came along.’
She broke off, taking a drink of wine. I waited. The dim room had developed the atmosphere of a confessional, and I sensed Rachel was glad to have someone to talk to.
‘Villiers hired Andrew to do some work,’ she went on. ‘He’s got this lovely old house on the estuary, I think Emma has photographs of it somewhere. Villiers wanted it ripping apart and remodelling, so she persuaded Andrew to let her design the interiors.’
I remembered Lundy pointing out Villiers’ house on the mouth of the estuary. A big Victorian place, with bay windows looking out to sea. ‘Did she tell you she was having an affair?’
‘No, but I knew something was going on. She told me there were problems between her and Andrew, and that she was thinking of leaving him. I guessed she was seeing someone else, but she wouldn’t say who it was. I even wondered if …’ She shook her head abruptly, dismissing some unpalatable thought. ‘Anyway, things got a bit heated. I was having my own relationship problems around that time, so I might have overdone the big sister bit. Emma told me to mind my own business and put the phone down on me. That was the last time I spoke to her.’
The Restless Dead Page 18
