No Other Darkness: A Detective Inspector Marnie Rome Mystery

by Sarah Hilary

  Her eyes strayed over his shoulder to the circle of shaggy grass where the trampoline had stood. ‘The press are saying you found kiddies next door …’ She pressed her palms together, full of questions, full of horror.

  Noah could read tomorrow’s headlines in her face. ‘Shall we go inside?’

  ‘We all thought it must be drugs, something those gypsies left behind. I’d not put anything past them. Didn’t even think of bodies, especially not kiddies. Beth must be going spare. It was hard enough on them already, without a thing like this …’

  ‘Hard enough on them already?’

  ‘Foster kids …’ She rubbed at the goose bumps. ‘Challenging, that’s the word they use, right? I couldn’t do it. Not that they’d let me, being a single mum. A teenager, too. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s amazing what they’re doing, but Clancy?’ She twisted her lips into a small smile, confidential. ‘Between you and me, I’m surprised Terry puts up with it.’

  ‘Puts up with what?’

  Her leg jittered, one foot tapping at the decking. ‘I used to sunbathe in the back garden, but since he came? I won’t even let the kids out here without proper clothes on.’ Her eyes slid away then back, more boldly than before. ‘I’m not being funny, but I’ve known plenty of teenage boys. I grew up with brothers. This one? He’s not normal. I saw the way he watched your lot putting up the tape and tent yesterday. All afternoon he was at that window of his.’

  And you were at yours, Noah thought, to see him doing that.

  ‘Everyone’s curious,’ he said, ‘when something like this happens.’

  She coloured, and looked away. ‘Yes, of course. All I meant was Terry’s a saint to put up with it. I’ve heard some of the stuff that boy shouts at him, and I can’t believe I’m the only one he watches. Beth’s got a better figure, for one thing. Of course she’s not showing yet.’ She examined the marks she’d rubbed on her arms. ‘I couldn’t do it.’

  Noah moved past her, into the kitchen. ‘Where are the tea bags? I’ll make us a cuppa.’

  Julie followed him, bringing mugs from a cupboard and a box of PG Tips. She took a bottle of milk from the fridge, sniffing at it when she unscrewed the cap. Through the window Noah could see the crew at work in the garden, measuring out a plot of earth that corresponded with the plans provided by Ian Merrick.

  ‘Why did you think we might have found drugs?’

  ‘Because of who was living here before the houses went up. Travellers, or are we allowed to call them gypsies again now? I can never keep up.’ For the first time since he’d knocked at her door, she flashed a smile. ‘Dirty beggars, whatever we call them. I found a condom out there, first week we moved in. Still in its wrapper, but …’ She stroked at her ankle with her bare toes, watching Noah from the edge of her eye, waiting for the kettle to boil.

  He realised, dismayed, that she was flirting with him. ‘Did you keep it?’

  Her eyebrows climbed. ‘Cheeky!’

  ‘It could be evidence.’

  His tone deflated her. ‘Oh.’ She turned towards the garden again, folding her left arm under her chest. No wedding ring on her finger. ‘No, I threw it away.’

  He saw her bite at her lip. She was nervous. The flirting was her way of trying to keep control of what was happening. Bodies in her neighbour’s garden, a bunker under the trampoline where her kids played. ‘Mr Lowry. He doesn’t live here?’

  ‘What?’ Her voice was dull, like her eyes. ‘Oh, you mean their dad. We’re not married, never were. I didn’t see the point. It wasn’t like he was ever going to hang around.’ She scratched her ankle with her toes. ‘Worse than the bloody gypsies, he was. At least they only left johnny-bags. He left two kids.’ She winced as she said it, and crouched quickly to smooth a finger at the scratch mark on her ankle, hiding her face from Noah. ‘They were just little kiddies, weren’t they? Next door. That’s what they’re saying. Not much older than Beth’s two …’ Her voice swung away from her own worry, gratefully.

  She straightened, combing her hair with her fingers. ‘How’s she coping? I bet it’s knocked them sideways. I’d ring them, if you’d give me a number.’

  ‘You can reach Beth on her mobile.’

  Julie nodded, glancing away. Noah wondered whether she knew Beth’s mobile phone number, if the two women were friends, or only neighbours.

  ‘So where’ve you put them? Beth and the kids? Somewhere safe, I suppose. She’ll be in a state with the baby coming, and she loved that house, couldn’t wait to get settled here.’

  ‘They’re somewhere safe, and it’s only temporary.’

  ‘Is he with them?’

  ‘Terry?’ Noah knew that she didn’t mean Terry.

  ‘Clancy.’ She clenched her teeth around the boy’s name. ‘I bet he’s sorry he’s missing this bloody circus.’ She nodded at the kitchen window.

  ‘You think he’d want to watch this? It’s not terribly exciting, is it?’

  ‘Nobody’s in a bikini …’ Julie took a step nearer, then stopped, shaking her head. ‘How much longer, until they know what’s down there?’ Her face was gaunt and colourless, the ceiling lights finding out every line and furrow. In the garden, she’d looked trim and attractive. In here, she looked old, almost ugly.

  Noah said gently, ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  ‘Have you talked to Carol Fincher yet? Her Lizzie went missing a while back. She must be counting her blessings …’ She shot Noah a look. ‘I suppose you’re talking to Doug Cole.’

  ‘Do you know Mr Cole?’

  Her eyes slid away. ‘I thought so, but then a thing like this happens … I mean, someone put those kiddies down there. Makes you wonder if you know anything about anyone.’

  25

  The Doyles’ temporary accommodation was as featureless as a prison block. Nothing like the comfortable home they’d been forced to leave.

  ‘It’s so hard to stay neat.’ Beth stole a look at Marnie, making her conscious of the crispness of her shirt collar. ‘It was hard enough in our own home, but here …’ She reached for an empty carrier bag that’d slipped to the floor. Pulled it flat, knotting it three times in three places, making the bag toddler-friendly. ‘Terry’s not here. He’s working.’ She crouched, running her hands under the table before squinting at her fingertips. Something shiny was sticking into the pad of her right finger: a metal staple. She pulled it free and put the finger to her mouth, sucking at the puncture.

  ‘How’re the kids doing?’ Marnie asked.

  ‘Tommy’s sleeping a lot. Carmen’s always been a handful. Terrible twos. Now terrible threes …’ A sound from the floor above made her eyes scare in that direction.

  Marnie guessed all the noises in this house were alien. At Blackthorn Road, Beth hadn’t been jumpy, not even when the police turned her garden into a crime scene.

  ‘On the phone you said you were worried about Clancy. How’s he doing?’

  ‘He hates it here,’ Beth said. ‘He hated Blackthorn Road, but at least he had his own room. Now he has to share with Tommy and Carmen.’

  She allowed that: Clancy sharing a room with her children? Marnie tried to imagine the measure of trust needed to let that happen.

  ‘Do you know how much longer we’ll have to be here?’ Beth pushed the hair from her eyes. Her hands were dirty, like her hair.

  ‘It’s too soon to say. I can promise we’re not wasting time. But the investigation needs to be thorough.’

  ‘Of course, I understand. If they were my babies …’ Her eyes clouded, and she turned her head away. She looked as if she’d lost weight. Perhaps it was morning sickness.

  ‘Is there no one who can come and help out? It’s a lot to take on. It was a lot before, but it has to be harder now that we’ve moved you here.’

  ‘Clancy’s angry.’ The words burst out of Beth. She put her fingers to her mouth, turned the frightened gesture into sucking at the spot where the staple had stuck. ‘He was angry at Blackthorn Road, and he’s worse here.’
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  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Just … you know. Teenage-boy angry.’ She bit her lip. ‘You know.’

  I do know, Marnie thought, but not in the way you think.

  ‘Are you worried about his behaviour? Beth? Do you feel threatened by his behaviour?’

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just … I found something, in his room. I wasn’t snooping, just cleaning.’ She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a scrunched-up sheet of paper from which she extracted a foil strip of pills. ‘I found these.’

  Eight pills inside plastic bubbles covered by foil. The name of the medicine was printed across the foil at repeating intervals: haloperidol.

  ‘I looked it up. Haloperidol is an anti-psychotic.’ Beth twisted her hands together. ‘He’s not supposed to be on any medication. We’re supposed to be told about stuff like that.’

  ‘You think these are Clancy’s pills? Where exactly did you find them?’

  ‘Hidden inside a sock, in the bag he brought from Blackthorn Road. Not his duffle bag, he takes that everywhere with him. This’s the bag we packed for him, when you moved us out. It was in the room he’s sharing.’ Her face creased in pain. ‘Tommy could’ve found those, taken them even.’

  The strip was intact. None of the eight pills had been popped from the foil.

  ‘Do you think Clancy is taking these, or that he needs to take them? You said he’s angry.’

  ‘Yes, but not … not psychotic. He’s rude, to Terry especially. I suppose it’s a male thing, territorial. Terry’s always talking to him, trying to make peace. But Clancy … He’s testing the boundaries. A lot of it’s hormones.’ She tried to dismiss it with a movement of her hands, as if she was physically placing her anxiety aside, tying a knot in its neck the way she’d tied the empty carrier bag, to remove the risk of harm to anyone in the house. ‘Terry says it’s normal … I haven’t told him about the pills, or the women.’

  ‘What women?’ Marnie pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table.

  Beth sat facing her. ‘I’ve seen Clancy talking with women. Not neighbours. Strangers, and older than him. A lot older. At least, I only saw one of them properly, but she was my age, a bit older.’ She put her hands on the table. ‘They looked … wrong. Their clothes, the way they were … flirting with him. Who flirts with a teenage boy? I wouldn’t. You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Where did you see this? And when?’

  ‘Up on the housing estate. We’ve told him to stay away from that place. It’s not safe, for one thing. You hear these stories about fights, drugs.’ She looked at the pills on the table.

  ‘But you saw Clancy there, with these women. When was this?’

  ‘Two weeks ago? That was the first time, and then again the day before yesterday. I tried to talk to him about it, but he got angry. I was going to tell Terry but then all this happened, with the garden and …’ She turned her hands up on the table, empty.

  ‘Was it the same women, both times?’

  ‘Yes. And they’re odd. That’s why I thought I’d better tell you. The way they dressed, the way they were … I’ve seen lots of women on the estate. They don’t look like you and me, but these two? They’re odd. Old-fashioned, like they’ve not bought clothes in about ten years. No make-up, hair all scraggy.’ She rubbed at her wrists. ‘They gave me the creeps, if I’m honest.’

  ‘They were flirting with Clancy. Was he flirting back?’

  ‘No … He was smoking, though. They all were.’ Beth’s eyes clouded. ‘Something else we’ve banned. I daren’t tell Terry right now, not with everything else that’s going on.’

  ‘Could you speak with someone in Foster Services? At least find out if Clancy’s been given a prescription of any kind?’

  ‘Perhaps, but they’re always so busy. And what can they do, really? Except take him away, and that’s not what we want. He needs a home.’ She said this as if the thought exhausted and sustained her in equal measure, the way a weary traveller will repeat the mantra of how many miles she’s come. ‘Terry would never give up on him. He just wouldn’t.’

  ‘Terry wouldn’t want you under stress, especially not at the moment.’

  ‘There’s always stress. It’s what we signed up for.’ She pressed her mouth to a flat line, looking away.

  ‘How did you and Terry meet?’ Marnie asked, hoping to steer Beth back into the conversation. She wanted to know more about the women who’d been talking with Clancy; something sounded wrong there. She didn’t know, yet, what to make of the pills.

  ‘He did the gardens where I worked. Landscaping, you know. It was just gravel and pots, but then they brought Terry in and he transformed it.’ Beth flushed, looking happy for the first time. ‘He’s got so much energy and focus, but he’s quiet too. I had to make the first move.’ The flush spread to her neck. ‘I’d never done that before!’

  ‘It worked out. Look at the two of you now. Where were you working, when you met?’

  ‘For a law firm in Leytonstone, just an office job. I didn’t mind giving it up.’ Beth wiped her hands on her skirt. ‘Terry misses the garden.’

  ‘We’ll put it back together, just as soon as we can.’

  ‘Terry will sort it out. It’s hard work, but hard work helps sometimes, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  ‘He’s always working. Busy. I think it’s why he’s so good at coping with everything.’

  ‘Even with Clancy the way he is?’

  ‘Terry never loses his temper. He’s the most patient man I know. He makes time for Clancy, no matter what. Even when he comes home wiped out after work, he’ll go and talk with him about his day.’

  ‘Is Clancy here now?’ Marnie asked.

  ‘He went to the park. We let him do that, as long as we know where he is.’ Beth looked as if someone had pulled a plug on her face, its features drooping and blurring. ‘He should be back soon.’ She pushed the pills towards Marnie. ‘Would you take these? I don’t want them in the house.’

  ‘Of course.’ As an afterthought, Marnie nodded at the scrunched-up sheet of paper that Beth had taken from her pocket. ‘Was that in Clancy’s room too?’

  ‘Just rubbish. School notes, I suppose.’ Beth handed it across. ‘Or doodles; he’s always making doodles.’

  Marnie smoothed the page flat, a cheap sheet of lined paper, torn from a notebook.

  Scored deep into the cheap paper: circles, joined to smaller circles. Interlinking, repeated at intervals.

  The pattern was as familiar as the freckles on Ed’s wrist.

  Marnie hadn’t seen it in five years. But she knew it, instantly and intimately.

  The back of her neck clenched.

  She folded the page until it was small enough to slip into her pocket with the pills. ‘The duffle bag, the one you said Clancy takes everywhere. Do you know what’s in it?’

  ‘A change of clothes, money, an Oyster card … It’s normal, Terry says. They call it a go-bag. So he’s ready to leave at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘A go-bag,’ Marnie repeated. The clench in her neck hurt.

  ‘Lots of them have one, teenagers in foster care. It’s an insurance policy. Terry says the day Clancy unpacks the go-bag, that’s when we’ll know we’re doing our job properly. We want him to feel safe. For all the kids to feel safe.’

  Beth’s face shadowed. ‘Perhaps we’re asking too much. After what you found in that bunker … I’ve never felt less safe in my whole life.’ She pushed the hair from her forehead. ‘Perhaps we should all have go-bags. Perhaps that’s the best anyone can do.’

  26

  Five years ago

  Kate Larbie stands at Marnie’s shoulder, so that they are looking at the diary together.

  It should feel comradely. Kate’s the same height as Marnie and a good friend, one of the best. But Marnie has grown these spines all over, like a porcupine. She rattles. Even when she’s standing still, she rattles, warning people to stay away.

  The words of a childhoo
d rhyme keep looping in her head: ‘Porcupines are always single, poor old ’pines they must not mingle.’

  She knows that the rhyme, like the spines, is in her head for protection, cladding against the cold reality of getting on with her life, but there are times when she wishes she had no protection, when she longs to rub up against that reality, even at the cost of getting cut, because she’s sick of feeling numb. Sick, and scared.

  What if I never feel anything ever again?

  What if I only ever see them as photos, or bloody footprints on the kitchen floor?

  She wants her life back.

  Not the way it was before; she knows she can never have that. Just the connection, the ability to put out her hand and touch the person standing right next to her, instead of feeling she’s inside a torture device with the spikes on the outside.

  ‘I wish I could be more helpful,’ Kate says. ‘But honestly? The patterns could be anything.’

  Circles within circles, interlinked, repeated at intervals.

  ‘They could be anything.’

  Kate is a documents examiner. She’s subjected the diary to every test she knows, and some she didn’t, to appease Marnie’s need for answers. She wants to help.

  ‘Not anything,’ Marnie insists. ‘You’ve ruled out a secret code, for starters.’

  ‘I have,’ Kate agrees. She looks sad.

  Everyone around Marnie is sad.

  It’s something else she’s getting sick and scared of.

  ‘He wouldn’t need to write in code,’ she tells Kate. ‘My parents were the last people to snoop in someone’s room.’

  ‘Of course …’ Kate slips a hand through the spines to touch Marnie’s wrist, pressing her thumb to the spot where the bone’s too prominent.

  Now the diary’s bathed in white light, but the tears don’t fall, drying so fast Marnie’s eyes itch from the salt. She presses back at Kate’s hand, numbly.

  Marnie is wearing a new suit, bought in a panic because none of her other clothes fit properly; she’s lost too much weight. The new suit is sleek and expensive, charcoal grey. She’s thrown out her black clothes, fearing an extended period of sympathy if people think she’s kitted out in mourning. Some people – most people – still can’t look her in the eye.