by Anne Cassidy
It was raining properly. She put her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt and walked off the beach past a boarded-up café and through an empty car park. She looked at her mobile. It showed 06:44. It was Tuesday morning – the holidaymakers had yet to wake up. She headed for the coastal path, following the yellow arrow that pointed to a path on the right.
She paused when she noticed two police cars parked in a layby further along.
She turned onto the path. About twenty steps further on she saw that the walkway ahead had been closed off. Police tape had been zigzagged from a fence post to a gnarled and twisted tree to stop people going any further. She went up to the tape. About ten metres ahead she saw a white tent in a field to the left. The tent was in the far corner – a sort of inflatable structure, with people going in and out of it wearing white boiler suits. One of them was holding an umbrella up and talking to one of the others.
It was the place where the girl’s body had been found.
“Fancy seeing you,” a voice came from behind.
She turned round.
It was DC Simon Kelsey. She looked at him with dismay. He was grinning at her. He was wearing a suit, shirt and tie and his hair had the same little sticking-up spikes in the front. The rain was falling on him but he didn’t seem bothered.
“What you doing here?”
“Nothing. I just…”
“They say killers always return to the scene of the crime.”
“Don’t be ridiculous…”
There was no one else around. The people working around the tent were too far away to hear anything and the path behind DC Kelsey was empty.
“I just came out for a walk… I couldn’t sleep…” she stuttered.
“Bad conscience?”
“No! I just felt…”
She shook her head angrily and took a step towards him to the side, to pass him, to get away from him. He stepped backwards, blocking her way.
“Excuse me,” she said.
He shook his head.
“It doesn’t surprise me that you’re interested in our crime scene. See it, over there? We always erect a covering of some sort to keep prying eyes away, to keep the scene of crime intact. That way we can make sure that any evidence is collected. I’m forgetting though. You’re no stranger to a crime scene. You’ve been at one yourself. Tell me, Jennifer, what was it like?”
“Stop it,” she said.
She stepped the other way, trying to edge past him, but he stood fast against her and she felt the knots from the trunk of the tree sticking into her back.
“When you hit her, Jennifer, what did it feel like? To have a person’s life in your hands?”
“Leave me alone!”
“Would you like to see this crime scene? They’ll be gone soon and I can arrange to show it to you. I can point to the place where the body was,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Get out of my way!”
“I was one of the first people on the scene. She was under some bushes and covered with loose leaves and branches. All pretty rudimentary, as if done in a hurry. Not unlike your history, Jennifer. You tried to bury someone, didn’t you? Not very well, as I understood it. I’ve read about it, see? I’m that kind of policeman. I do my homework.”
She was on the brink of crying. Her throat was bursting with anger and she roughly pushed him away with both hands. He stumbled back, taken by surprise. She brushed past him, running down the steps, tearing along the path until she came out onto the road. A car passed by, its windscreen wipers swinging back and forth. She went through the car park, her jaw trembling, her eyes misting. She strode out across the hard wet sand and headed for the very edge of the sea. The tide was trickling in, the water barely deep enough to edge up the side of her trainers. She looked back up towards the café and the car park.
He was there, standing watching her.
She turned to face the sea. It was pitted with rain.
What if she were to walk into the sea and not come back? If she let the salt water claim her, take her away? She pictured herself under the surface, the silence sucking her down, her mouth open, her eyes seeing emerald green before everything went black.
She wasn’t brave enough to do that though.
When she turned back to the shore DC Kelsey had gone.
She trudged along the beach in the direction of her house. It took longer going back, the wind and rain in her face. She was soaked by the time she got there and was relieved to see that everyone was out. Sally and Ruth had gone to work and Jimmy had left.
She sat on her bed. She knew she couldn’t go to work. She sent a text to Aimee saying she was ill. Then she got undressed, pulled the duvet up round her head and closed her eyes.
Eleven
She had to go to work on Wednesday because it was Aimee’s morning off and she was in charge. There was an older woman with her, Grace, a volunteer part-time worker. Grace was talking to some young people about boat trips, showing them leaflets and explaining how to book tickets. Kate left her to it and got back onto the computer to finish some paperwork.
She was updating the details on accommodation at bed and breakfast establishments. There were a number of old businesses but she’d also noticed a whole raft of homeowners offering just one double room en suite. She made a note to contact other tourist information centres to see if they had the same thing happening in their area. It might be possible, she thought, to develop a whole new page for the website offering this type of accommodation.
She was glad to be busy. After she’d finished she made some coffee for her and Grace. While she was drinking it her eye settled on one of the vintage seaside posters that they had on the wall of the shop. It was a cartoon drawing of a family walking energetically along the esplanade. The adults had formal clothes on, the man wearing a suit and a hat. The boy was wearing short trousers and a cap but the girl was wearing a dress, tied up at the back with a bow. Creeping behind them was a pickpocket and the slogan was Keep Your Valuables Safe!
Kate thought of the families who trudged in and out of the tourist information office trying to finds ways to keep their children entertained. They saw hundreds every week. Since she’d worked here she’d probably spoken to more than a thousand parents who all asked similar questions. Is there anything for the children to do? Are there child-friendly attractions? What can we do with the kids? The parents were often nice but some were irate, annoyed; spending two weeks in close contact with their children was often not the relaxing experience they thought it would be.
And the children themselves were sometimes badly behaved.
“Aimee bought Louise a lovely frock, yesterday,” Grace said. “Broderie anglaise. Absolutely beautiful and cost a bit, but you know Aimee. Nothing’s too good for that little girl.”
Kate murmured agreement and then, in that moment, she remembered how the teddy bear badge had ended up in Jodie Mills’ pocket. She almost cried out.
It had happened on the previous Thursday, the day before the girl went missing.
The family had come into the shop about four o’clock. Kate noticed the time because she was starting to think about leaving work at five and was glancing at the clock. The mother was pushing a young child in a buggy and the father had a toddler in his arms. An older girl, who looked about ten, seemed apart from them, and was on the other side of the shop, flicking through leaflets, taking fliers out of the stacks, looking at them and and then discarding them haphazardly. Every now and again the mother called across Don’t, Jode! but the girl just continued. Kate was filling in some paperwork and only glancing at her from time to time. She did notice a teenage boy outside the door standing waiting. Kate briefly wondered if he was with the family but mostly she just tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet she was filling in. Then the girl started to sing, a recent pop song that Kate knew, and she kept repeating the same two lines over and over. Even Aimee stopped talking to look over at the girl.
The toddler got down from his father�
��s arms and came over to Kate. He pointed at the badge she was wearing, shaped like a teddy bear. He liked it. He was sweet and was chatting nonsensically at her, pointing at the bear’s face on her badge.
She gave it to him. He ran off to his dad and started a nonsense conversation with him. Kate looked away. It was twenty past four and as it was quiet she thought she might be able to leave work early. The older girl moved across her field of vision and then there was the sound of the toddler crying. Kate glanced over. The girl had Kate’s badge in her hand. The girl made eye contact with Kate as if to challenge her to say something but then the door of the shop opened and a group of elderly people came in. Kate groaned. She wouldn’t get away before five after all.
“You all right?” Grace said. “You look a bit distracted.”
“I’m fine,” Kate said shakily. “I’ve just got to make a call.”
She went into the staff area at the back of the shop and called Julia. When her probation officer answered she poured out what had happened and asked her to arrange another interview with DI Heart. Julia agreed, sounding pleased and positive and Kate ended the call smiling, feeling a sense of relief.
The interview couldn’t take place until the early evening. Kate took the bus to Exeter because Julia couldn’t make it. She didn’t mind that Julia wasn’t there. She just wanted to get it over and done with. She was shown straight into the same interview room that she’d been in days before. After a few moments DI Heart came in and gave the smallest of smiles. The detective pulled out a chair and sat down. She looked pale, her face drained of colour, no make-up, her hair pulled back. She was wearing a grey shirt and dark trousers. The only decoration she had on was the garnet ring.
There was no one else in the room and no recording equipment. Kate told her story. DI Heart had a pad in front of her and took some notes. When Kate had finished she closed the pad and looked straight at her.
“Odd that you didn’t remember this before, Kate.”
“It was such a small incident. It only took seconds and I never registered it. It wasn’t until I was at work that I remembered it.”
“But didn’t you think about the girl after she went missing? You didn’t link this girl to the missing girl?”
“No, we see lots of children with their parents, every day.”
DI Heart nodded. “Well, it is interesting that you should come in today, because I was going to telephone your probation officer in the morning and tell her that we wouldn’t need to speak to you again regarding this investigation.”
“Why?”
“Because we are following other lines of enquiry.”
“You’ve found out who killed Jodie?”
“We are investigating a number of possibilities,” DI Heart said, with a forced smile.
A feeling of relief hit Kate. It was over. She would not have to come to the police station again.
“But you know who did it? And now you know that I had nothing to do with it?”
“I can’t say any more than I’ve said.”
Kate frowned. DI Heart’s face had a closed look. She was using her words frugally. Kate was suddenly annoyed. After what she had gone through DI Heart owed her something. She spoke in a loud whisper.
“You pulled me in just because of my history.”
“Not quite. You were in the area on the night it happened.” DI Heart leaned forward, her elbows on the table.
“There were a lot of people at Sandy Bay on Friday.”
Kate remembered coming down from her spot at the top of the cliff and passing people from the campsites, most of them still in swimming costumes and flip flops even though it was almost dark.
“There was the badge in the girl’s pocket. We had to ask.”
“You jumped to conclusions,” Kate said, sulkily.
“Of course we did. That’s what we’re paid to do. We are investigating something. If leads come up we have to follow them. You can go now.”
DI Heart stood up.
“That’s it? My life’s been miserable for days and that’s it! No apology?”
DI Heart looked surprised. Kate thought for a horrible moment that she might laugh.
“You expect an apology, Kate? You expect a police officer to say sorry to you?”
“I meant…”
Why had she said that! What on earth had made her say that!
“Kate,” DI Heart said, her tone pleasant but firm, “was it not made clear to you, when you were released, that this is your life now? Wherever you go, no matter what you do, you are on the database of the local police force and if it is deemed that you need to answer questions about something then you will be brought in. That’s the price you pay for living freely. That’s the price we, as police officers, charge, for allowing you to live among us. We know where you are, where you work, what you are doing and if you come onto our radar we will make ourselves known to you.”
Kate glanced at the door. DI Heart’s voice had risen. She did not want anyone else to hear; DI Simon Kelsey for example.
“You killed someone, Kate. You took their life away. Did you think six years in a restricted unit was the sum total of your punishment?”
“No, I…”
DI Heart was fiddling with her ring. She was shifting the big stone from side to side. Kate could see that it was loose on her finger.
“The dead girl, what was her name? Michelle Livingstone. She would be your age now. Do you ever think about that?”
“I do. Of course I do…”
“She would be at university. Or she might be working. She might have a partner or be intending to marry, have a family. Her parents would have had all that to look forward to but none of that will happen. You did that, Kate. Whatever set of mitigating circumstances your barrister offered, it was still you who took that girl’s life away. Nobody else.”
“You don’t have to tell me that…” Kate said, blinking back tears.
“So don’t ask me to apologise. Never ask me to apologise to you!” DI Heart said, her face pink, a slight quaver to her voice.
DI Heart walked over to the door and held it open. Kate went past her and scurried along the corridor. She’d come this way before; she knew her way out. She heard someone from behind call the officer’s name and heard her stop and talk. Kate walked on and burst out of the exit door into the car park. She stood very still feeling the warmth of the early-evening air after the chill of the air conditioning inside the station.
As she walked back to the bus terminal she cringed at the things DI Heart had said to her. No, she didn’t think of what Michelle Livingstone’s life would have been like. Not because she didn’t care. Not because she was trying to forget what had happened. She would never forget that day. She could not bear to picture Michelle at university, getting married, having babies, becoming a doctor or a teacher or even a policewoman. If she ever allowed herself to think of Michelle, it was as a ten-year-old girl. For Kate Michelle would always stay that age and as she grew older, as her life went on, she would forever turn a corner or glimpse a child crossing a road and see the ghost of the girl she killed. Eternally ten years old.
The bus came and she got on it.
Now she was feeling angry. Why did DI Heart think she could speak to her like that when she’d done nothing wrong!
This is your life now! the policewoman had said.
She’d been Kate Rickman for two years. She’d taken the identity they had given her and tried to live a decent life. But at any moment someone might find out who she was and then she would pack everything up, like she did before, move on, start again, somewhere else. When people realised who they’d been working with, living with, being with they would be shocked. She seemed so normal, they might say. Who’d have guessed? You don’t expect that kind of thing to happen here, in Exmouth.
Kate thought suddenly of the detestable DC Simon Kelsey. What was to stop him dropping a hint to a journalist? Then she would wait day by day for a phone call from Julia Masters to tell her
that her new identity had been exposed.
She would start over again. They would choose somewhere new for her, inform her of her new name and give her yet another fictional background. All lies.
She didn’t want that. She wanted to be in control of her own life – but she kept being told she’d given up that right. Was she always to be some kind of puppet, her strings pulled by the authorities? We’ve freed her, they might say. We’ve rehabilitated her. We’ve allowed her to resume her life! But all the while they controlled what she could do. Would she have ever paid enough?
She got off the bus and strode along, her indignation propelling her along the street. She turned into her road and found that she was talking in a low voice, under her breath. She was upset. Now she was talking to herself? Was she going a little bit mad? She was already taking antidepressants. What else would she have to take to cope with this life of hers? Scrabbling about in her bag she pulled out her front door keys and opened the door.
The house was quiet. She was alone. She sat on the bottom stair.
What if she were to leave? Get on a train out of Exmouth. Buy a one-way ticket for somewhere of her own choosing? Decide on a new name for herself?
That would finally be an identity that no one could take from her.
PART TWO
NORWICH
Twelve
Jennifer Jones stood looking down at the dead girl on the ground.
She was shaking uncontrollably. Through her tears she could see that her hands were filthy. She’d been scrabbling in the dirt searching around at the place where she’d thought Michelle would be. There were welts on her skin where the branches had scratched her, where roots had jabbed her, where stones had grazed her. From time to time she’d looked intently into the bushes expecting to see the thin, still face of a cat staring at her. Still though she dug, flinging the dirt around, unable to believe that the hole was empty.
