Close Your Eyes

by Rachel Abbott

  She’s posted a photo of herself with a shocked look, one hand to her mouth, eyes wide open.

  And then I read her post.

  ‘No!’ The cry escapes me before I can prevent it. This can’t be happening. But it is.

  More than ever, I wish I had someone to turn to – a friend or a partner. But there’s no one. I’ve lost the only friend I had, and now I’m on my own.

  26

  LAKESIDE

  One of the first lessons I learned after Aram came to Lakeside was how to be alone. I still hadn’t started secondary school and I had no friends. Mum spent most of her time with Aram, and Dad hovered uncertainly, wanting to keep busy but anxious to be close by in case Mum needed him.

  Every morning, rain or shine, I would walk to the lake to sit and watch the birds. Dad bought me a book so I could identify the different species. I copied the words into my notebook, and I gave the moorhens and the ducks names. They became my friends, and I spoke to them. I fed them scraps of bread and worried when any of them didn’t turn up to see me.

  I wasn’t unhappy. I was just a little lost.

  The good news was that from Mum’s very first session with Aram, there appeared to be an improvement. She seemed to have found a new joy in life, and she always came out of their private sessions with a serene smile on her face. She told us that she now had hope. Her time with Aram gave her days a focus, and she understood so much more about trust.

  ‘I’m not supposed to talk about the process,’ she said to us one day when Aram was on one of his rare trips away from Lakeside. ‘The important thing is that he’s helping me to understand why people hurt each other – why the people who we think love us can turn against us, like my family, our friends in London, people we trusted. He’s giving me a depth of understanding that won’t change what they did, but which exposes the source of their negativity.’

  Dad looked totally baffled by this, but I don’t think he cared about ‘the process’. All that mattered was that Mum was happier, so even though I’m not sure there was ever an active decision to allow Aram to move in rather than just stay with us until Mum’s ‘treatment’ was complete, when he showed no sign of moving on, no one objected.

  None of us knew then that this was only the start of all that was to come.

  The change came slowly, almost imperceptibly, for me at least. After he chided me for asking him a personal question, for a while I was terrified of making the same mistake, but he behaved as if nothing had happened, and I started to relax. But not for long. A pattern emerged. One day he would tell me I made the world a brighter place, and I glowed in his praise. The next day he would find fault, and a sense of desolation washed over me.

  ‘Does the fact that you talk too much during meals, drawing attention to yourself, indicate self-obsession, or are you simply an arrogant, thoughtless child?’ he asked the first time he chose to rip me apart without any provocation. ‘I knew a child in the house would disrupt your mother’s recovery, and I was right. Are you thoughtless?’

  I looked back at him in horror. ‘No, Aram. Really, I’m not like that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset anyone.’

  Tears sprang into my eyes, and his mouth tightened. ‘And now you’re being a self-indulgent baby. Think of others, India. Not of yourself. Crying is a symptom of a self-centred nature.’

  He ignored me the next day, and I longed to win back his approval. The day after, when I was once again the beautiful child who lifted his spirits, relief rushed through me. The thrill of being back in favour had me questioning my every action from that point on, terrified that I would anger him again, and I worked hard to be the person he wanted me to be. I didn’t need anyone else. All I needed was Aram’s affection.

  27

  Tom had just arrived back in the incident room when Rob came striding through the door, and he felt like groaning. Rob had been up at least two hours longer than he had, having arrived at the scene of the murder at the same time as Becky, and yet he looked as if he’d just got up. Maybe having a shaved head was the thing – not a hair out of place.

  Keith was also due back at any moment, so Tom suggested they regroup as soon as he arrived. In the meantime, he wanted to read up on Niall Strachan and his company, so he pulled up a chair to Keith’s desk. Every sheet of paper was neatly aligned. Tom smiled as he adjusted the position of the monitor. He knew the team would have researched Niall’s company, its history and valuation, and they could discuss their findings at the meeting, but he wanted to know more about the man himself, so he typed his name into Google.

  Once he’d weeded out all the other Niall Strachans, Tom found precious little about the man’s personal life. Almost every entry related to XO-Tech. He didn’t appear to be active on social media, although the company was, and Tom could find no reference to previous employers. Deciding that a search on Genevieve might be more fruitful, he tried her maiden name. The page flooded with mentions and photos, mostly from the years before she was married to Niall.

  She showed all the hallmarks of having been a young woman having the time of her life. Long auburn hair, shiny with vitality, skimmed her shoulders, short skirts made the most of her slim tanned legs, and dark red lips framed a white smile. And yet to Tom there seemed to be a slightly manic quality to that smile, as if she was trying a little too hard.

  Prior to her marriage, Genevieve had dated a well-known Manchester United footballer, and together they had been photographed at a plethora of openings – clubs, bars, restaurants – anything of note that happened in Manchester. But it seemed the star player went to one party too many, and after he caused a major fight and ended up in custody for assault, Genevieve told the press that she was done with him.

  ‘He takes too many drugs and becomes aggressive when we’re alone. He’s too possessive and threatens to punch anyone who so much as looks at me. I can’t take it any longer.’

  Some of the more scandalous tabloid reports suggested that Genevieve had seen her boyfriend’s career waning, and that didn’t suit her at all, so she had moved on. Tom wondered whether the footballer – Eddie Carlson – should be considered a suspect. It might be several years since he and Genevieve were together, but if he was that possessive, they should take a look at him. He made a note to ask one of the team to follow it up.

  A shadow fell across the desk, and Tom looked up. ‘Keith, do have your desk back.’

  ‘That’s fine, sir.’ Keith reached out a hand as he spoke and adjusted his monitor back to precisely the right angle.

  ‘Right,’ said Tom, feeling strangely chastised. ‘Becky, let’s get everyone together and see where we’re up to. Keith – as always, you’re our scribe.’

  The team gathered round, pulling up chairs or sitting on desks.

  ‘DI Sims has been to the post-mortem, and I’ve no doubt we’ll be getting the detailed results in due course, but for now anything particular of note, Keith?’

  ‘Nothing unexpected, sir.’

  Keith repeated the information that Amy had shared about time of death, the murder weapon and the probability that the assailant was shorter than Genevieve. In theory, that ruled out her husband, who was taller than his wife even when she was wearing heels. Tom wasn’t prepared to write him off yet, though.

  ‘We haven’t found whatever was used to hit her with yet, but Jumbo’s on it,’ Tom said. ‘Does the twisting of the knife suggest anything to anyone?’

  ‘We’ve all heard of twisting the knife, boss,’ Rob said, ‘but from what I can gather it’s not a natural movement – more of a deliberate action. Sounds like something a person trained in armed combat might be likely to do.’

  ‘Hmm, or was it Genevieve’s bad luck that they’d read about the technique somewhere? Rob, you went to talk to her friends. What did you get?’

  Rob sighed and scratched his head. ‘They were happy to talk, but as a group they had little of interest to say. They were all half pissed, to be honest. They’d met for an early lunch when they heard the new
s – to commiserate, I suppose. Some were genuinely upset, horrified that this could have happened to Genevieve. A couple of the others shed a few tears, but not enough to smudge the mascara.’

  ‘Nothing at all that we can glean from what they said?’

  ‘I spoke to each of them privately, and I felt they were trotting out the line Genevieve had given them. A happy marriage, successful husband, even a wonderful sex life – not that I asked about that, but I was told anyway. One of them, Tansy Wakefield, said Genevieve didn’t share much with the group, but privately she’d told her there’d be a few changes coming. They were all going to be surprised, and no one more than Niall.’

  ‘What the hell did that mean?’

  ‘She didn’t know, but she said Genevieve looked pleased with herself. She’d wondered if maybe she was pregnant, having always said it was the last thing she wanted.’

  Tom gave Keith a questioning look.

  ‘Not pregnant, sir. Dr Sanders was specific about that. And no sign of recent sexual activity, in case we were wondering if she’d met up with a lover.’

  Tom was quiet for a moment. ‘Becky, you’re going to speak to the sister, I believe. Let’s see if she can give us any other clues about what was going on in Genevieve’s mind.’

  Tom looked around at the eager but jaded faces. He was going to have to let some of them go home soon, while a small team continued to go through what little evidence they had.

  ‘We all know that our most significant piece of evidence is the message apparently asking Genevieve to go outside to get the answers she had been seeking from whoever this person was. We should get the data back soon about the current whereabouts of the phone, and then we’ll have something tangible to work with. Until then, do we have any news on the ANPR on the A580, Becky?’

  ‘Sorry, boss. No sign of Strachan’s car.’

  Tom tutted. ‘I’d have been surprised if there was. If Strachan did it, I don’t think he would have had time to go by any other route. We’ve got his car, though, haven’t we?’

  Becky nodded.

  ‘Good. Have them check for any signs of adhesive on the number plates – he may have stuck black tape on to change the letters and fool the cameras – or anything that suggests he swapped plates altogether, although time again would be a factor. Do we know for sure he went to the meeting in his own car?’

  ‘We checked the cameras on his route around the time he left. Looks like he was telling the truth.’

  ‘Sir!’ The shout came from one of the officers manning the phones. ‘We’ve heard from the telephony team.’

  Tom signalled him to come across.

  ‘Initially they had nothing. The phone was either switched off, or the SIM had been taken out. But it’s just started to show up. We’ve got a location.’

  Tom stood up, grabbing his mobile from the table and pushing it into his pocket. ‘Is it moving or stationary?’

  ‘Stationary. And it’s at the offices of XO-Tech.’

  ‘Is it, indeed?’ He headed for the door. ‘Rob, you’re with me. Becky, go back and see Sara Osborne. We’ll let you know what we discover in case there’s anything we need to run by her. Keith, phone the director at XO-Tech – what’s his name, Rob?’

  ‘Spencer Johansson.’

  ‘Yep, him. Tell him that no one must leave the building. We’ll be there in twenty minutes.’

  28

  ‘With a bit of luck we’ll get this all sewn up today, boss,’ Rob said as Tom drove through the late-afternoon traffic.

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. And then we’d have to settle down and start the interviews. I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I can keep going for another twelve hours.’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine. No problem.’

  Tom glanced at Rob and could see he was telling the truth. But Rob didn’t have a teething baby at home, and when he got the chance to sleep, he probably managed an uninterrupted eight hours. Tom wondered when that would next happen to him – not that he minded. Harry was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. A smile came to his face every time he thought about his baby giggle.

  He pulled into the XO-Tech car park, and was pleased to see that it was still full of cars, even though he suspected the work day had officially ended.

  ‘You’ve met this guy Johansson, Rob – what’s he like?’

  ‘Like a man who’s trying to live up to his idea of what a director of a successful tech company should be like, rather than being himself. You know, vocabulary and clothes that he thinks are expected, but neither of which sat comfortably on his short, portly frame. Twitchy as hell too, but then his partner’s wife has been murdered, and he’s been left holding the baby – by which I mean the business – so I can hardly blame him.’

  Tom opened the car door. ‘Okay, let’s see if we can find this phone. You’ve got the number, I assume.’

  ‘I have. If it’s switched on, someone’s jacket or bag should burst into song.’

  The two men walked into the offices and found a young woman waiting for them, her eyes round at the drama unfolding around her. She seemed nervous, but then no doubt everyone in the building was feeling unsettled.

  ‘We’re here to see Mr Johansson,’ Tom said. ‘Greater Manchester Police.’

  ‘He’s waiting in the meeting room. I’ll show you the way.’

  Tom and Rob followed her into the room and thanked her.

  ‘Mr Johansson? I’m Detective Chief Inspector Tom Douglas. I believe you’ve met DS Cumba.’

  ‘Yes.’ His eyes dodged between Tom and Rob. ‘What’s this about? Another officer called and told me to keep all the staff here, but he wouldn’t tell me why.’

  ‘We’ve extracted the information from the folders on Martha Porter’s computer and found the password for Genevieve Strachan’s phone. When we looked at the contents, there was a message from another phone, one that’s registered to XO-Tech. I believe you’ve already been made aware of this, and you said it was a spare. We put a trace on it. Initially it was switched off, but then it was switched on here, in this building, about half an hour ago.’

  Spencer nodded. ‘That’s right, one of your detectives called me. I checked the list myself, and there was no name against that number, so I didn’t know whose it was. Or at least, not then.’

  ‘Then?’

  Spencer’s eyes went to the table, where a mobile phone was resting. ‘I think it’s this one. I worked it out, you see.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I remembered there was a mobile in Martha Porter’s desk drawer. We saw it there this morning, didn’t we?’ he said, nodding at Rob.

  Rob turned to Tom. ‘We had no reason to take it, boss. We were looking for Miss Porter to provide us with the password to Mrs Strachan’s phone, nothing else.’

  Rob was right, but that situation had changed.

  ‘Why didn’t she have a phone allocated to her?’

  ‘She did. This one.’ He pointed to the phone. ‘It matches the number I’ve got stored for her in my contacts, so she must have deleted her name from the list stored on the network this morning before she left.’

  Tom was liking the sound of this less and less. Why would she do that? ‘We’ll have to get a team in to go through Miss Porter’s desk, her office and possibly other offices too. Has anyone other than you had access to this phone today?’

  ‘No. I brought it straight in here.’

  ‘Has anyone else touched it since you found it?’

  Spencer shook his head. ‘No. Only me.’

  Tom pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and put them on as Spencer pushed it across the desk to him with a pencil.

  The digital team had already looked up the pass code in the file they’d retrieved from Martha’s computer and sent it to Tom. He tapped the screen and opened Messages.

  Nothing. Not a trace of any message from or to this phone, which suggested that if Martha Porter had sent a message to Genevieve, she must have deleted it.
Or someone had, because it had definitely come from this number.

  There were other possibilities to consider. The phone had been sitting in Martha’s desk drawer, so no one could say for certain who had sent the message to Genevieve. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who knew the pass code.

  ‘Chief Inspector, there’s something I’ve been wondering about mentioning. It didn’t seem relevant until now, but with Martha missing and everything…’

  ‘Is she missing? We don’t know where she is, but it’s not necessarily the same thing.’ Tom had his concerns, but he wasn’t about to share them with Spencer Johansson.

  ‘Oh, I see what you mean.’ Johansson looked flustered. ‘It’s just that I’m not sure who Martha really is.’

  ‘Go on,’ Tom said.

  ‘Well, after she made rather a fool of herself with Niall, he decided to look at her a bit more closely. It’s a difficult one, you know, because Martha knows everything about this company – where all the bodies are buried, if you like.’

  Tom tried not to react to such an inappropriate turn of phrase. ‘And?’

  ‘Well, he was thinking of asking her to leave but was worried about how we could ensure her continued discretion, so he tried to find out a bit about her. He couldn’t find her on social media, which is unusual for someone of her age, so he called one of the companies that had given her a testimonial. “Who’s Martha Porter?” they asked. And it struck us then that we didn’t actually know.’

  29

  MARTHA

  I read Elise’s post again, hoping that I’d misunderstood the first time, but I hadn’t.

  OMG – the police are back. They’ve got a team coming in to search the building. Spence told Karen on reception that he thought they’d want to start with Martha’s office. WTF? What HAS she done? And no one knows where she is! I’m going to find her company profile, grab her pic and post it. Maybe the police can’t find her, but I bet Facebook can! I’ll stick it on Instagram and Twitter too. Hang on, guys, I need you to share this.