Choked

by Tania Carver

  Now she knew. Her brother.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  She opened her eyes once more. Alessandro was standing at the end of the bed. Mug of something hot in one hand. He sat down next to her. She felt the bed almost give under his weight. He handed her the mug.

  ‘Drink this.’

  She put it to her lips, sipped. It was awful.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Supposed to be tea.’ He shrugged. ‘Never was very good at the domestic stuff.’ He looked down at the carpet. ‘Don’t drink it if you don’t want to.’

  She put it down beside her, sat up. Looked around. It was the main room of one of the chalet bungalows. She was lying on a fold-out sofa bed. The sheets and duvet were faded and worn thin, on the wrong side of clean. What other furniture there was seemed to have been either collected or gathered up rather than intentionally bought. Off in a galley to the right was something that looked more like an Al Qaeda biological weapons testing facility than a kitchen. The room smelt of damp and dirt and lonely, desperate male.

  She caught Alessandro looking at her. Knew he was seeing the room through her eyes. And from his downcast expression, he was probably thinking something similar.

  ‘So.’ He looked up. ‘What brings you here?’ His eyes were sharp, his voice forming a hard, brittle shell around the words. ‘Must be serious. Thought you’d lost my number.’

  Marina didn’t rise to his words, although she could feel herself gearing up for a fight. He was her brother. He knew which of her buttons to press. Just as she knew his. Instead she tried another sip of tea. Managed to swallow it. Not too bad when you get used to it, she thought, hoping she never had to get used to it.

  She replaced the mug on the floor, ignoring the improbably breasted cartoon blonde on its side. Noticed that its interior was ringed brown like a centuries-old tree. Looked up at her brother and sighed. Awake but still tired. ‘Where do I start?’

  ‘The beginning.’ He looked at his watch.

  ‘Am I keeping you from something?’

  ‘Got to be somewhere later. Tell me what’s happened. Not every day my sister collapses on my doorstep.’

  She told him. Hesitant at first, then with growing confidence as she became involved in the telling. Starting with the cottage, the planned Easter break. The fire, then … nothing. The hospital. The phone. Love Will Tear Us Apart. The calls.

  ‘I tried to reason with them, find out what they wanted from me, talk to them like a human being, make them see me as one … ’ She sighed. ‘I tried.’

  She resumed her story. The chase with the police round the motel. Bet Sandro likes that, she thought. ‘Then I called at a service station. And when I knew where I was going, I tried to leave a message for … for the police.’

  He snorted. ‘What for?’

  ‘So they could help me out.’

  ‘Thought they told you not to do that.’

  ‘They did, but I thought I was on my way to where Josephina was being kept. If I could get word to the police, have them turn up while I was there, then they could get Josephina back for me.’ She sighed. ‘I thought they’d be able to help.’

  ‘And they couldn’t.’

  She shook her head. ‘No one could … ’ She moved on to the house on the way to Clacton. Turning up there, finding Josephina’s toy. And the dead body. ‘Then I came here. Didn’t want to stick around there. Couldn’t.’

  Alessandro frowned. ‘So why didn’t you go to the police then? Much as I hate them, they would be the people to talk to.’

  Marina sighed. ‘Because … I couldn’t. Someone still has Josie. Or at least I hope they do. Otherwise … ’ Her voice trailed off.

  She felt tears form behind her eyes. Refused to give in to them. Not in front of Sandro. He waited while she composed herself, resumed her story.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, wiping her tears, her nose on her sleeve, ‘I couldn’t call the police. They weren’t there when I turned up so I don’t think they got my message. Which might be a good thing. Because if the person who’s got Josie knew I’d contacted them, they might hurt her.’

  ‘And have they been in touch again?’

  She sighed, shook her head.

  ‘Maybe it was the dead body you found. Maybe that was him.’

  Another sigh. ‘Maybe. I don’t know … I don’t know … ’

  She felt herself unravelling again, managed to hold herself together.

  Silence fell in the room. Eventually Sandro spoke.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘you came here.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Why? Haven’t you got anywhere else to go?’

  She gave a sad little laugh. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘What d’you want me to do?’

  She looked at him again, eyes lit by a desperate light. ‘Help me.’

  He looked surprised. ‘How can I do that?’

  She leaned forward, imploring. ‘You know people. People I don’t. You’ve got connections I haven’t got. Ways of contacting people.’

  Sandro’s voice was icing over. ‘And why would I have all that?’

  ‘Because … because that’s the kind of circles you move in.’

  ‘You mean I’m a criminal.’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I—’

  ‘Yeah, you did. That’s what you meant.’

  She sighed. ‘Please, Sandro. I need your help to find my daughter. Will you help me?’

  He stared at her, thinking. Looked away. She watched his eyes rove over the walls, the furniture. He turned back to her.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  62

  Jessie smoothed her hair down, arranged her jacket. Cleared her throat. And pressed the buzzer for the intercom. She and Deepak stood outside the gates of the Sloanes’ house, ready to go through the same ritual as the previous night.

  The intercom was answered by the same non-English voice claiming that there was no one available to talk to the police and saying that they should call back later.

  Time to be proactive, thought Jessie.

  ‘We’re investigating the death of Jeffrey Hibbert, who used to work for the Sloanes. We’ve just watched his widow leave, and since we believe she was here for the same reason as we are, we’d like to talk to whoever she talked to, please.’

  There was another shared look between the two detectives. Then the gate swung open. Jessie gave Deepak a thumbs-up gesture. ‘You’re impressed by my silver tongue. Go on, admit it.’

  Deepak shook his head. Managed a smile. ‘At least you didn’t lose your temper.’

  ‘I’m saving that for when we get inside.’

  They walked up the gravel drive and into the house.

  They were shown into the living room, asked to sit on one of the two sofas and left alone, the door shut. They exchanged glances.

  ‘Money in industrial farming,’ said Deepak, looking round.

  Jessie looked at the glass and metal table in front of her. ‘Bet this table cost more than we both earn in a month,’ she said.

  Deepak looked at it, grimacing. ‘Money doesn’t buy you taste,’ he said.

  The door opened. In swept a woman; small, compact, dressed in a pink velour tracksuit and trainers that had never seen the outdoors or even the inside of a gym, hair pulled severely back from her face, no make-up. She walked briskly to the sofa opposite them, sat down, her back straight. Looked at them, her gaze businesslike.

  ‘I’m Dee Sloane. You asked to see my brother, Michael. I’m afraid he’s indisposed. And you are?’

  Jessie and Deepak produced their warrant cards, gave their names.

  ‘And this is in connection with the death of one of our ex-employees?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jessie, taking the lead in the questioning. ‘There are a few things we’d like to talk to you about.’

  Dee Sloane frowned. ‘Is this serious? Should I have a solicitor present?’

  ‘That’s up to you,’ said Deepak, as breezily as possible.

>   Jessie managed a smile. ‘Let’s see how we go.’

  Dee sat there, waiting. Her face expressionless, her body straight, alert, but in repose. Receptive. Giving the impression that she was relaxed, waiting, but Jessie wasn’t fooled. She had learned how to interpret body language over the years, and she could see that Dee Sloane was seriously uncomfortable. On edge, even.

  And there was something else. In the short space of time since Jessie had met the woman, she had taken an instant dislike to her. She tried not to do that, to pre-judge, especially in the course of her work. Sometimes she would feel it from a paedophile or rapist or wife-abuser, that creepily bad vibe, especially if they tried to be friendly and obsequious with her. Then she would have to work through that feeling in order to do her job properly. And that was the vibe that Dee Sloane was giving off. It might have been a chemical thing or a personality thing, but there was something about her that was not right. Jessie glanced at Deepak, tried to see if he was experiencing the same thing. But her partner’s gaze was impassive.

  Right, thought Jessie. She had shaken off her hangover, banished all thoughts of the previous night. She was in the zone, ready to do her job.

  63

  Marina couldn’t believe what she had just heard. Not from Sandro. Her own brother. She would have expected it from the other one, but not from him. He was always the more decent of the two. The more reachable. He must have changed.

  ‘What? What … ?’

  ‘I said no.’

  ‘But … but … I told you what’s happened … My baby, they’ve got my baby … ’

  ‘And they want you to do a psychological evaluation on some nutter, then they’ll give her back?’

  She nodded.

  He shrugged. ‘Then do it. What’s the problem?’

  ‘What did I just say? There’s a dead body and Josephina’s missing … ’

  ‘Why you anyway? And why go to all the trouble of snatching your kid to get you? Why not just phone you?’

  ‘I don’t know why. There must be something more to it, another reason.’

  ‘And you think I can do something about it?’

  ‘Yes! You know people. All right, maybe not the people who’ve done this, but … but they must have told somebody. Someone else must know.’ She leaned forward, grabbed his sleeve. ‘Please … please help me. My daughter’s gone, my husband’s … ’ She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. ‘Please … I’ve got no one.’

  He looked at her, eyes locking, seeming to weaken. Then he pulled himself away from her, stood up. Began pacing the room, his back to her.

  ‘That’s a good one,’ he said, laughing. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘I’m all you’ve got.’ More walking. Nodding to himself as if two different conversations were going on in his head. ‘All you’ve got … ’ He turned to her. Pointed. ‘And where were you all these years? Eh? Where were you when I was on my own, when I was … ’ He shook his head angrily, as if trying to dislodge something. ‘Yeah. I know where you were. With your copper boyfriend.’ The words spat out. ‘Your university friends. Yeah. Didn’t want to know me then, did you? Didn’t want to know any of us.’ He turned away, began pacing once more.

  ‘Works two ways, Sandro,’ she said, getting out of bed, standing. ‘Where were you in my life all this time?’

  He turned back to her. His face angry, red, right in hers. ‘You didn’t want me. You didn’t want any of us in your life. You made that perfectly clear. How we weren’t good enough for you.’

  ‘That’s … that’s not true … ’

  ‘Yes it fuckin’ is. You were ashamed of us. You said so.’

  Marina said nothing. Sandro stared at her. Took her silence for assent.

  ‘Thought so.’ He gave another mirthless laugh. ‘Thought so … ’

  The hurt was disappearing, replaced by anger. She wasn’t going to let him talk to her like that. ‘Yeah? Well maybe I did think I was better than the rest of you. And you know what? Maybe I was. Because I wanted to make something of my life. Do something. Not just be stuck in the house with that sick bastard smacking us around.’

  Sandro said nothing. Turned away from her once more.

  She followed him, not letting him alone. She tried to drop her voice, sound reasonable. ‘So now I’m here. And I’m asking for your help. Please.’

  Another snort. ‘Please? Begging now? So you need my help and I’ve got to fuckin’ jump? Is that it? Click your fuckin’ fingers and I come runnin’? Yeah? Fuck you.’

  She stared him down, eye to eye. ‘You sound just like Dad.’

  He raised his arm, pulled it back. ‘I should give you the flat of my hand … ’

  ‘And now you are him. Just like Dad.’

  She looked at him with undisguised contempt.

  Something cracked behind Sandro’s eyes. ‘No I’m not. I’m not … ’ His voice wavered, like he was trying to convince himself. ‘I’m nothing like Dad … ’

  She moved right up close to him. Almost whispering. ‘Then prove it. Prove you’re not.’

  ‘Shut up.’ He looked at her. Eyes soft, wet, like broken eggs.

  ‘Prove you’re not by helping me find my daughter.’

  He tried to meet her gaze. Couldn’t. Turned away. ‘Just leave,’ he said. ‘Get out.’

  Marina stayed where she was.

  ‘I said leave … ’ Sandro was almost snarling with anger.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, moving towards the door. ‘I’ll go. And you can stay here and live with yourself. Just like Dad and proud of it.’

  ‘Shut up … ’

  She reached the door, turned. ‘I’m just glad our mother isn’t alive to see you do this.’

  ‘What?’ Sandro recoiled like he had been slapped.

  ‘You heard.’ She turned the handle.

  Behind her, he sighed. It was like the last breath of a dying man. Or the first breath of a newborn. ‘OK.’

  She turned. ‘Does that mean you’ll help?’

  His hands went to his eyes. He couldn’t look at her.

  ‘What d’you want me to do?’

  64

  Jessie was just starting to question Dee Sloane. Deepak was next to her.

  ‘Do you drive a Fiat Punto?’

  Dee Sloane’s eyes widened at the question. She hesitated. ‘No … What has this to do with the death of one of our ex-employees?’

  Jessie ignored the question. ‘Does your brother Michael drive a Fiat Punto?’

  ‘No he doesn’t.’ She didn’t ask a question this time, just waited.

  Jessie nodded. ‘Right.’ She said nothing more, appeared to be thinking. In reality, she was waiting.

  ‘Can I ask what this is about?’ Dee Sloane was starting to look tense.

  Jessie kept her voice, her movements as languid as possible. ‘It’s just that a Fiat Punto was found burned out at the scene of an arson attack in Aldeburgh a couple of days ago.’

  ‘And you think … what? That Michael or myself was responsible for the attack? That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Were you?’ Jessie tried to keep the question light, even allowing a smile to play at the corners of her mouth.

  Dee Sloane didn’t answer. Just regarded Jessie with haughty contempt, as if the question was beneath her.

  Jessie dropped the smile as she spoke. ‘We checked, and the car is registered to your brother. Was your brother in Aldeburgh two days ago?’

  ‘No. He wasn’t.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Someone was,’ said Deepak. ‘And they were driving your brother’s car.’

  Dee Sloane said nothing.

  ‘Was it stolen?’ asked Jessie.

  ‘No,’ said Dee. ‘We have a car for the staff to use. It may have been that one.’

  ‘But registered in your brother’s name.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not your company’s.’

  Dee Sloane hesitated. ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  Dee move
d around on the sofa as if she couldn’t get comfortable. ‘It’s … something to do with tax. I think. Our accountant proposed it.’

  ‘Right.’ Jessie nodded as if that was cleared up. She saw Dee begin to relax. Keep going, she thought. ‘D’you have many staff?’ The question almost chatty.

  ‘Two housekeepers. Two kitchen staff.’

  Jessie sat back, eyes widening. ‘Just like Downton. D’you watch that? I love it.’

  Dee said nothing, but seemed to bask in Jessie’s words.

  ‘So which servant had the car?’

  Dee looked thrown. ‘What?’

  ‘Which servant had the car? Who took it to Aldeburgh? When it got burnt out.’

  ‘I … I’d have to check. I don’t know.’ Dee was back to finding the sofa uncomfortable again.

  ‘And they never mentioned it?’ asked Deepak.

  ‘Something like that would be pretty major,’ said Jessie. ‘Losing a car. Especially when it’s in your boss’s name. Bet he wasn’t happy about that.’

  Dee was beginning to look trapped. Jessie smiled inwardly. Then stopped herself. Just because she’d taken an instant dislike to the woman didn’t mean Dee was bad. Then she thought back to the others she had taken instant dislikes to and what they had been responsible for. No, she thought again. Trust your instincts.

  ‘So you don’t know who had the car?’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you don’t know what they were doing in Aldeburgh?’

  ‘No,’ said Dee, clearly rattled. ‘I don’t know what they get up to on their days off.’

  ‘So you don’t know who it was or what they were doing but you know it was their day off. Could you find out for us, please?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’d like to speak to whoever it was.’

  ‘They were present at a crime scene,’ said Deepak. ‘Might be a witness.’

  Dee leaned forward, fire in her eyes. ‘I’m going to ask you to leave. You said you wanted to speak to me about the death of an ex-employee. And you haven’t done. So please go.’

  Jessie didn’t respond, just nodded. ‘Oh, what did Helen Hibbert want?’ Again she made the question sound like a casual enquiry. She had no intention of leaving, not until she had asked the questions she wanted to ask. And she would use all of her tricks and techniques to make sure she did so.