The Anita Waller Collection

by Anita Waller

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘Fly with the angels, Gareth.’

  Dan moved to join her, then leaned down and kissed his father’s head. ‘Love you, Dad. I’ll take care of Mum, I promise.’

  They stayed a few minutes longer, then left, once again holding hands.

  Liz felt numb. She knew one day the grief would hit her, but while ever Jake was out there, unfound, she couldn’t give in to it.

  They climbed back into her car, and she set off for home. Back to the real world – the world where three people who belonged, one way or another, to her, were all missing.

  She would have to say goodbye to Gareth, but she knew it wasn’t time to say goodbye to the others. It was all she had to cling to – her hope, her belief that Jake and Phil were still alive somewhere, and possibly joined by Oliver.

  Whoever was holding them was pure evil, but it had to be someone who knew what would hurt her the most. And it had to be someone who knew her, really knew her. This wasn’t some stranger, this was someone close to her.

  She drove the car on to the driveway, and almost ran the few steps to her door. She let them in, and gave her son a kiss on his cheek.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Don’t feel you need to stay with me – I heard what you said to Dad, but I don’t need looking after. It’s still my job to look after you. Go to your room, and make us lots of money with your game. I don’t need baby-sitting, honestly. Besides, I have some thinking to do.’

  He nodded. ‘If you’re sure…?’

  ‘I am.’ Her tone was firm. ‘And thank you. I wouldn’t have let you know, but I was dreading going to see your dad on my own. You give me strength, Dan.’

  He returned her kiss, and headed up the stairs.

  She moved into the kitchen, sat at the table and took out the small notebook she carried in her bag.

  The list started with Rosie Latimer’s name.

  Rosie Latimer

  Tom Banton

  Chloe Banton

  Julia Hardwick

  Christian Fremantle ???

  And then she stopped. Did she really only have this small circle of people who knew her well? And should she put Phil Latimer on that list? Should Christian be taken off it? She had no idea what Sadie had told him about her, if anything, so she left him on the list, and left the question marks in place.

  Could Phil be behind all of this? If he was, he had played it cleverly, laying false trails with the phone, not using his bank card… but she couldn’t see it. They had loved too intensely, the kind of love that would endure through everything. No way would Phil cause her distress or pain.

  She could almost sense him beside her, so extreme was the feeling she knew still lived in her. His face – the eyes that smiled all the time, the hair she had run her fingers through, before, during and after making love. The laughter, the quietude, the times they didn’t need to speak. No, Phil shouldn’t be on the list.

  So that left four people – she couldn’t really count Christian, she had never even spoken to him, before the murders had joined their lives.

  She started a new page and wrote ‘Rosie Latimer’ at the top.

  Discovered affair by Phil telling her.

  Knew about Jake being Phil’s baby.

  Strange behaviour re cheque – never explained.

  Alibi for time of murders. Assume police have triple checked this.

  If she didn’t commit murders, she didn’t take Jake.

  Could she have a partner? Has Brent looked into this?

  Liz stared at the points she had made, then turned over to the next page. She would go back and continue with the bullet points if anything else occurred to her. She moved on to Tom Banton.

  Boss. Known me 12 years.

  Did he know about my affair?

  If he did, why would it upset him to this extent? Effect on business?

  Is he happily married?

  Does he have an alibi for time of murders?

  He isn’t the right build for the person on CCTV. He’s too tall.

  Need to check with Brent if they’ve looked at Tom.

  On her next page, she wrote ‘Chloe Banton’. She was undecided whether or not to include Chloe – she had known her for a long time, but only on the periphery of Tom’s life. They had shared phone calls when Chloe had called her husband and Tom had been out of the office. They had met up at the annual Christmas event that Banton and Hardwick hosted for their employees, but Liz knew she couldn’t really call them close, Chloe and she had never been best buddies – unlike her and Julia.

  Liz left the page with Chloe’s name on as a blank page, and headed up the next one with the name Julia Hardwick.

  Wife of Oliver, close friend. Knew about Phil.

  Asked me if Jake was Phil’s baby, so obviously suspected. I did not confirm.

  No babies of her own. Is this significant?

  Drinks heavily now.

  Refuses to consider going back to Oliver.

  There was a barrier between us the other day. Coldness.

  Does she have an alibi?

  Right size for CCTV pics.

  Where is she living? Oliver still in marital home.

  She could get close enough to Oliver to disable him. Syringe? Drugs?

  Liz leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. Was she letting her imagination run riot? Her notes pointed to Julia – Julia, who she had known since they were children at school. Liz thought about all the late-night chats, the shared drinks after work, the chatter between them, and she realised she knew little about her. Did she not want children, or was there some medical problem between them that stopped them having a family? Could she have taken Jake to bring him up as her own?

  Liz leaned forward and jotted down the additional thoughts that she had worked her way through. Then she headed up the next page with Christian Fremantle’s name, but could find nothing to write on it.

  She stared long and hard at the page dedicated to Julia. Where the hell was she living? Did it have a secure room in which she could keep two men and a baby, locked up with no means of escape? It seemed a ridiculous, improbable thought.

  Liz knew that neither Phil nor Oliver would give in to imprisonment, they would seek freedom. She took her mobile phone out of her bag and hesitated a moment before pressing the number that would connect her to her friend. She had to be careful; had to act exactly as she usually did, when she rang purely for a chat. This time the chat would be her commiserating about the disappearance of Oliver, and the call would be from a solicitous friend.

  She pressed the button and Julia answered almost immediately.

  ‘Liz?’ There was an obvious catch in her voice.

  ‘I’m here, Julia. Is there anything I can do? Have the police found him?’

  ‘No, no sightings, nothing. He’s not used his phone, his cards, and heaven knows where his car is. I’m so scared.’

  ‘Hey… he may have taken off for some time out. I know his split from you really upset him…’

  ‘But where is he? Why hasn’t he rung me to let me know he’s safe? He’s quick enough to text at other times, but now, nothing. The police seem to think it’s connected to Jake and Phil Latimer’s disappearance, but I’m not buying that. He doesn’t really have any connection to them.’

  ‘Have they told you that, or are you adding two and two and making five?’

  ‘They hinted at it. Seemed to suggest he might have been snatched, exactly as they think happened to Phil.’

  ‘Julia, I hate to think you’re on your own. Tell me your address, and I’ll come over and see you.’

  Liz was shocked when Julia gave her the information. She had half expected her to procrastinate, find some excuse for not passing on the address. It was a stone-built detached house, Julia explained, with inadequate car spaces, so Liz might have to park and walk.

  Liz didn’t want to go, but she seemed to have talked herself into it. She explained to Julia she would check Dan was okay, after the morning’s activit
ies, and she heard Julia’s quick intake of breath.

  ‘You two have been to see Gareth, haven’t you? Oh my God, Liz, I’m such a shit. Stay with Dan. If things go pear-shaped with Oliver, I’ll need you then, but for now, Dan is more important. Stay with your son.’

  ‘If you’re sure…’

  ‘I’m sure. And as soon as I hear anything, I’ll give you a ring. If things get desperate, I’ll nip over to see you.’

  Liz nodded, then realised Julia couldn’t see her. ‘Okay, we’ll leave it at that. Ring at any time, Julia. I’ll be here for you.’

  She stared at the now-silent phone, and threw it on to the sofa. Result. She had the address.

  Going to the foot of the stairs, Liz hesitated. Screw your courage to the sticking post, or whatever that crazy saying is, she mumbled softly, and climbed.

  Chapter 41

  Phil felt the first stirrings of panic since waking up on that awful day, when he’d realised there was no means of escape. Over the months he had come to accept he would have to sit it out until either he was killed, or someone found him; he couldn’t escape on his own.

  But now it felt different. There was no dumb waiter delivering anything, not for him, not for Jake.

  Phil spread out one of his blankets on the floor, put some toys on it and sat Jake amid them.

  ‘Hey buddy,’ Phil smiled, ‘playtime. You want porridge for breakfast?’

  The little boy grinned at him, his one tooth showing clearly. He picked up the set of plastic keys and threw them at his daddy. With a laugh, Phil threw them back.

  ‘Oh, if only these were real ones,’ he said. ‘If only, Jake.’

  Phil checked through the pouches until he found a porridge, screwed off the top and handed it to Jake. ‘I promise, Jakey, when we get out of here I’ll make you some real porridge, in a bowl, with a spoon that you eat it with. In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with a pouch.’

  Jake didn’t care. He quickly finished off his breakfast, and Phil handed him a bottle of warmed milk. The small cooking stove warmed the air slightly, and Phil was reluctant to turn it off, but he only had three gas canisters left and no guarantees he would get more; he warmed his hands, then quickly turned off the gas before his brain could say leave it on for a bit.

  Jake drained all his milk, and threw down the bottle. Phil picked it up and carried it across to the small washbasin. He washed it as well as he could, and stored it in what he called his pantry, the heavy-duty cardboard box the nappies had been in when they arrived.

  Phil looked across at the dumb waiter; had he slept through its arrival? Had it been taken back up without his knowledge?

  For the second time he moved across and opened the small cupboard door. Nothing.

  Jake pulled a small, bright yellow, play computer towards him, and hit assorted keys with his tiny fingers. A is for… here we go round… N is for… the number three… here we go round… how many elephants…

  Phil turned, leaned against the cupboard door, and watched as his son played. He had tried desperately to keep Liz out of his mind, but every day he had physical proof that she was still as firmly embedded in his heart as she had ever been. He couldn’t begin to imagine the devastation she must be feeling, not knowing where Jake was, and he knew he would give up his own life to save their son, to get him back to her.

  He straightened up and felt the room go slightly out of kilter. Food. He needed food. He had to remain healthy for Jake. He looked at the meagreness of his supplies, and once again panic threatened to override everything. He ate half a sandwich, then snapped open the chocolate bar. He removed one small chunk and bit down on it, saving a small piece for Jake.

  ‘Here, Jake. Try this, but don’t tell Mummy I gave it you,’ Phil smiled. ‘I’m not sure how she’ll feel about you having chocolate.’

  Jake ran his tongue around it, took it out of his mouth, stared at it for a moment, and popped it back in.

  ‘That settles that,’ Phil laughed at his son. ‘We don’t tell Mummy. What happens in the cellar, stays in the cellar. High five, Jake,’ and he held up his son’s hand as they shared their sweet secret. Chocolatey secret.

  Chapter 42

  ‘Tibby! Tibby!’

  May Fraser hadn’t felt this worried since Fred had walked out on her all those years earlier. Where the hell had Tibby got to? In the fifteen years he had lived with her, first arriving as a tiny kitten bought to replace the errant husband, he had never so much as left the back garden. For the past week, he hadn’t been well.

  She had asked neighbours to check their gardens and sheds, but he had neither arrived home, nor been reported as a lifeless body. She was on day three without him, and fearing the worst. What had that young woman at number two said? Cats go away to die, if they’re ill.

  She didn’t want that for her Tibby, she wanted him at home with her, where she could give him a proper burial in her back garden, when the time came. The nearby wood had seemed the most logical area to search once she had covered the neighbours.

  ‘Tibby. Come to Mummy,’ she called, then mewed the sound that always brought him running for his food. She stood and listened, hoping to hear an answering mew. She rattled the small box of dried cat food she had brought with her – he recognised that sound, that should bring him back to her, if nothing else did.

  Creak…

  She whirled around. ‘Tibby? Is that you?’

  Creak…

  She stepped carefully around the tree roots, heading towards the sound.

  Creak…

  The wind was strong, although not as bad as the day before, but it was still raining. She hoped the sound was coming from Tibby. She navigated a tree, holding on to the trunk for support, and stepped into an even darker area.

  She didn’t scream. It took more than a swinging body to cause that reaction in her. And the poor fellow hanging there wasn’t going to hurt her.

  She took out the mobile phone given to her by her niece, tried to recall Siobhan’s words on how to use it, and hit the 9 button, three times.

  Chapter 43

  ‘The lady over there, a Mrs…’ Lynda checked in her notebook, ‘Mrs Fraser, found him when she was trying to find her cat. He’s gone missing. The cat…’

  Brent smiled at her. He could hear the tension in her voice; the scene of crime was cold, dark and extremely wet. The body was on the ground and it was, without doubt, Oliver Hardwick. The tent had been erected over it in an attempt at preserving any forensic evidence, but he doubted much would have been saved. The body had clearly been out here for some time, in gale force winds and torrential rain.

  ‘Do you think he killed himself, sir?’ Lynda asked.

  ‘No idea. Looking at the set up, I would say yes, but that could so easily have been staged. We’ll not pre-suppose, Lynda, we’ll wait for the experts to tell us whether it’s murder or not.’

  Brent was looking at a substantial evidence bag with a backpack in it. ‘We need them to get that back to the station, check what’s in it, and get it logged in. Then we can have it, see if there’s anything helpful to our investigation in it. The wallet in here,’ he held up a smaller bag, ‘indicates it is Oliver Hardwick. If it is murder, it wasn’t because of theft. There’s quite a bit of money in it, all his cards, a picture of Mrs Hardwick…’

  ‘The wallet was on him?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, in that pouch thing of his hoodie top. We had to check in that for ID, but I can’t open the backpack because I don’t want to contaminate any evidence. I’m hoping whatever is in it will be dry, not damaged by all this bloody rain. I’ll go and have a word with Mrs Fraser, get her escorted home and then we have the job of telling Mrs Hardwick. I want you with me, Lynda.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Lynda acknowledged his words, her face grim.

  Brent spoke briefly to May Fraser, asked one of the attending constables to take her home and make her a cup of tea, and returned to watch the white-overalled forensic workers assiduously doing their jobs.
/>   They stayed another quarter of an hour, then left the body removal to the people who knew how to do it. He and Lynda drove to Julia Hardwick’s home.

  She saw them arrive, watched as they parked four car lengths away from her front door, and went to meet them.

  ‘You’re wet through,’ she exclaimed, as they entered the hallway. ‘Let me get a couple of towels.’

  ‘No need, Mrs Hardwick. We’ll be fine. Can we go through to the kitchen, we don’t want mud on carpets.’

  She stared at them ‘You have news…’

  ‘The kitchen. Is it through here?’ and Brent led the three of them down the long hallway.

  ‘Please…’ Julia said, almost in a whimper.

  Brent waited until they were all seated. ‘We believe we have found your husband, Mrs Hardwick. I’m sorry, there’s no easy way – he is dead.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘No… did I hurt him that much?’

  ‘You’re assuming it’s suicide?’

  She let the words sink in. ‘What are you saying, exactly, DI Brent? Murder? Accident?’

  ‘I’m saying we don’t know. It looks as though it could be suicide, but we still have to wait for forensics on it. We are sure it’s your husband though. We found his wallet in the front pocket of his hoodie.’

  She frowned, looked puzzled.

  ‘In what?’

  ‘He had on a dark grey hoodie, black joggers, trainers.’

  ‘But… unless he’s had a personality transplant, he’s not my husband.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My husband only ever wears suits. He doesn’t possess any leisure wear, not even jeans. When we go on holiday he takes shorts for during the day, lightweight suits for the evening. He wouldn’t be seen dead in joggers…’ and she stopped, all too aware of what she had said.

  The tears ran down her face, and Lynda reached out and grasped her hand. ‘I’ll make us all a cup of tea,’ she murmured.

  Julia’s head dropped to her arms, resting on the table. ‘And Jake? Liz’s baby,’ she mumbled, barely audible.