by Rona Halsall
He sighed and she could visualise him stalking around, his hand pulling at his earlobe, a little tic of his that she found adorable. ‘I worry about you.’
‘I know, sweetheart. I know.’ Mel sighed, thinking how easily that word came out of her mouth. Sweetheart. It felt so right. ‘But things seem to have changed.’ She paused. Should I tell him? Involve him? ‘Luke’s gone.’
There, it was out in the open, and it was a relief. Can he help me? she wondered. Will he want to? Or will he run a mile at the thought of trouble?
‘Gone? What do you mean?’
‘Well, he’s disappeared. With the kids. Didn’t you see the news? I did an appeal for information.’
‘What? No, I never really watch the news. You’re kidding?’
‘When I got here, the place was empty, deserted, all the lights on. Honestly, it was weird. His car’s here, but they went out and haven’t come back.’
‘Christ!’ There was silence for a moment. ‘So where do you think they are?’
She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she’d said too much. ‘I don’t know. The police are involved now, though. In fact, I shouldn’t be talking to you.’
‘Let me come and get you. Please, Mel.’
She dithered for a minute, uncertain. Run away? Leave this mess behind? It was tempting, so very tempting. She rubbed at her forehead as she thought it through for a moment.
‘No, Chris. That wouldn’t look good, would it? No, I’ve got to stay here.’ She could hear his breath rattling down the phone, and a part of her wondered whether she should just let him take control. Wouldn’t that be easier? Jesus, this needs some careful thought.
She swallowed. ‘Look, I’ve got to go.’
‘I love you, Mel.’
Her breath stuck in her throat. He loves me? She closed her eyes, embracing the passion embodied in those three words and the promise they contained. The possibility of a different life.
‘Oh, Chris. I don’t want to drag you into this. Really. Look, I can’t talk now. It’s probably better if you wait for me to contact you.’
‘Oh, Mel.’ Her heart dissolved at the emotion in his voice and she had to fight not to contradict herself, tell him to come and get her. ‘Are you sure? I don’t mind. I really want—’
‘I know, sweetheart. I know. I’ll call you. It might be a day or two. But I’ve got to sit it out.’ She clenched her jaw, telling herself she was doing the right thing. What would the police think if she ran away? No, she had to stay. For now, anyway.
‘Well, give me your address, just in case you change your mind.’
She thought for a moment and decided that having a contingency plan wasn’t a bad idea. She delved into her handbag and brought out the map that Luke had printed off and read out the postcode, gave him the name of the cottage.
‘Take care,’ Chris said. ‘And ring me. Promise you’ll ring me.’
‘I will. I will.’ She hung up, the phone grasped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were white. She sat for a moment, staring at the fire as she worked things through. Then she found a pen and the little notebook in her bag where she kept clients’ contact details, wrote down his personal mobile number and deleted all evidence of Chris from her phone, along with all the messages she’d sent to Luke. Hopefully the police wouldn’t be able to get into his phone and they’d never know what had passed between them. That thought made her feel much better.
Thirty-Five
Later that evening, Inspector John Stevens sat at his desk, waiting for his constable, Jackson, to finish his summary report of their investigation so far. Then he’d be ready to discuss with his superior whether he should hand over the investigation to a team of detectives at HQ. He still wasn’t sure of the rules these days, where his responsibilities stopped and those of other teams started, given all the changes that were still bedding in.
His team of uniformed officers based in the Windermere office were officially called Problem Solvers, because that was essentially what they did. But when does a problem become a criminal investigation? That was the grey area in his mind, because apart from Mel’s cocaine possession there was still no evidence of a crime. So, is it still just a problem? Our problem? He’d have to let his boss at HQ decide on that one, because he really hadn’t a clue.
He was impressed with his officers. Everyone had stayed late to see the case through, and make sure they showed the higher-ups that they could be relied on to do a good job. Even his newest recruit, George, had stayed, and he came into the office now, holding a bin bag at arm’s length.
‘Some guy just dropped this off. Guy on a bike. Said he found it in a layby. He was taking a pee and he saw the bag stuffed behind some bushes.’
Stevens stared at the bag, wondering why he should be involved.
‘Stick it in the bin, George. I honestly haven’t got the energy to deal with fly tippers tonight.’
‘No, guv. You’re missing the point.’ George looked more animated than he had in weeks. ‘It’s got clothes in it. I opened it to see if there were any papers in there with addresses on and that. Look –’ he held up a pink T-shirt with red splodges on it and stared at his boss – ‘does that look like a bloodstain to you?’
Stevens got to his feet, trepidation sending familiar pains across his chest.
‘Put it down, George.’ His voice was sharper than he’d intended and George did as he was told, some of the contents spilling onto the floor. More clothing. Children’s clothing. ‘That could be evidence. Get some gloves, will you, then we can have a proper look.’ He put a hand to his forehead. ‘What about the guy who brought it in?’
‘Oh, he went. Had to get back to Glasgow, he said.’
Stevens cursed under his breath and George blushed. ‘Did he tell you exactly where he found it?’
George went over to the map of their area that was stuck on the wall. ‘From what he said –’ he jabbed a finger at the map – ‘I’d say about there, I think.’
Stevens made a note of the map coordinates and scratched at the fuzz of hair on top of his head. They wouldn’t be able to do anything until the morning now. You can’t search an area by torchlight, he reasoned, not without trampling potential evidence into the mud.
His gut told him things had taken a turn for the worse. No bodies yet, he reminded himself. There may be an innocent explanation for the clothes. A nose bleed. A kid who fell off her bike. There were many scenarios, and most of them bore no relation to criminal activity. And, when he thought about it, this bag of clothes might have nothing to do with this case. Could have been there for weeks.
George came back with the box of gloves and they both put on a pair, George holding the bag open while John pulled out items of clothing. As well as the girl’s T-shirt there was a boy’s hoodie and a man’s fleece. That was it. Three items of clothing, all with what looked like bloodstains on them. Not sinister enough to immediately think three people had been murdered, Stevens decided, but enough blood to start asking questions.
His hand rasped over the stubble on his chin.
‘Okay, let’s put them back in the bag, George, and we’ll get them over to HQ tomorrow, get some DNA tests done.’ Until then, he wouldn’t be sure if this was relevant evidence or not, but it did seem like a strange coincidence, that the bag had been handed to them.
Jackson popped his head round the door.
‘New information. The Welsh guys can’t do anything until tomorrow. They’ve got a major RTC to clear up and I’ve tried ringing the number Mrs Roberts gave us for the farm but I can’t get an answer.’
Stevens tutted, frustrated that they couldn’t make more progress. There were so many possibilities with this case. He swivelled in his chair, letting his mind work through them while he waited for Jackson to finish his report.
With the family still not being found, he decided it was unlikely they were on the hill somewhere. The paths would have been crawling with people at the weekend and he felt that the lost-out-walking sc
enario had run its course. Grizedale Forest had been well and truly searched and nothing had been found, so they weren’t there. And now this bag of bloodstained clothes.
Of course, they could have just scarpered.
That was an option that he’d been too blind to consider before, given Mel’s assertions that her husband wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. The possibility that he’d taken his chance to leave her had to be put on the list, given the comments from Mr Roberts’ work colleagues. In fact, he felt stupid now that he’d taken Mel’s word for it. Too stupid to pass the case on to his boss without checking a few more things first.
He went into the office to speak to his sergeant. ‘Ailsa, will you give the guy in Scotland a ring, please? Just to tie up loose ends. And Jackson, have you called the hotel Mrs Roberts was staying at yet? We need confirmation of arrival and departure times.’
Jackson nodded. ‘Will do. I’ve finished the report, it’s in your inbox.’
Stevens checked his watch. Nine thirty. Half an hour max, then they’d wrap it all up. They’d put in a long day and it looked like tomorrow could be just as demanding.
He read through Jackson’s report, adding his own comments and clarifying points so they didn’t sound quite so blinkered. He’d just finished when Jackson walked in, frowning, looking at a piece of paper in his hand.
‘Apparently Mrs Roberts checked out on Saturday evening.’
Stevens thought for a moment, tapping his pen against his chin.
‘She said she slept with a client on Saturday night. Ailsa wrote his name down, I think. I suppose if she stayed with him she wouldn’t have needed her room. Call her client, will you?’
After a few minutes, he followed Jackson back into the main office and saw that his sergeant had finished her call.
‘The Scottish guy who rang in earlier thought he saw a man and two children in a Fiat Punto. Little lad had the remains of a black eye, he thought. But they were all wearing baseball caps, so he says now that he might have been mistaken.’
Stevens nodded. ‘Okay, good. There might be CCTV if it was a service station. Will you ask?’
He saw Jackson put the phone down and called to him, ‘Jackson, what you got?’
‘Seems she was telling the truth about timings in terms of leaving the hotel. The man was a bit reluctant to talk at first, and when I told him that Mel had given us his details, he wasn’t too pleased. In fact, I’d have to say he was pretty pissed off. I have a feeling that his wife might have been there. Anyway, he confirmed that she stayed with him and they left at lunchtime the following day.’
‘Eight hours to get from Manchester to here is still a very long time,’ Lockett said.
‘They had a leisurely lunch together.’ Jackson wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Not sure if that’s a euphemism for “had sex for several hours”?’
‘Hmm. Well, I suppose that’s a possibility.’ Stevens looked at the weary faces of his team. ‘Okay, let’s call it a day. Thanks for staying late and good work everyone. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.’
He went back into his office, made a couple of final tweaks to add in the new information, and sent the report. Then he picked up the phone and asked to speak to the boss on the night shift.
‘I’m sorry, John,’ the supervising officer said, after he’d had time to assess the situation. ‘We’ve a major situation going on here. From what you’ve said, even with the bloodstained clothes, which we don’t know are theirs yet, there’s no compelling evidence that anything has happened to the family and I’d say you’ve done everything you can at this stage. It’ll have to wait until morning, then we can see how resources are shaping up, but if you could keep the case for now, chase up the remaining leads tomorrow and we’ll take it from there, okay?’
When Stevens put the phone down, he knew that this was one of those cases that wasn’t going to let him go. He just hoped for a happy ending.
Thirty-Six
Mel made herself some food, tidied up and wandered round the house, sipping her wine, restless and unsure what to do. It was late but her brain was too busy for sleep. She didn’t have much time to work out her next move. In her mind, she played through all her conversations with the police and she nodded to herself. They knew enough. But not everything.
Maybe there’s a way I can get through this and start again?
Her life as she knew it was over. Luke, who she’d given herself to completely, was gone. Along with her ready-made family. And her career, that she’d so carefully built up, could topple at any moment if she was charged with possession of cocaine. She stifled an angry scream and stomped back into the kitchen to top up her wine glass.
What else is going to happen? Her eyes stung with tears, but she gave herself a mental shake. This is no time for self-pity. You’ve been through it before and came out the other side.
That time she’d hadn’t been convicted of a crime, but she had been fired without a reference, so couldn’t get a job very easily. She’d lost her home as a consequence and the rumours made sure she was disgraced in her community. So much so that she’d had to move away and start again. She’d lost her family that time too; her parents had disowned her. She took a big glug of wine. If she’d done it once, she was sure she could do it again, but my goodness it had been a hard and lonely slog.
She poured the rest of the wine into her glass, gulped it down and found another bottle.
Her thoughts went to Chris and his offer to come and get her. Maybe…
A sound from outside made her stop and listen. Was that footsteps crunching up the drive? She scowled. Not the police again? Surely it was too late for them to be bothering her now? Couldn’t they just leave her alone for tonight? Let her get a bit of rest and work out what to do. She needed a solicitor, that was for sure. Maybe Chris will sort that out for me? She decided she wouldn’t say anything to them this time. Not a thing, except for ‘no comment’, until she had proper legal representation. Her jaw tightened and she swallowed down the rest of her wine.
The knock at the door, a firm rat-tat-tat, made her body tense. Part of her wanted to ignore it, but another part was furious that they were bothering her at this time of night. She marched into the hallway, cheeks flushed, and threw open the door.
But it wasn’t the police.
Thirty-Seven
Perched on the edge of the settee, Mel gulped down her third glass of wine, from the second bottle, completely unnerved by the events of the day and the sudden presence of the man who was now inside the house. She had calmed down after her initial shock at his arrival. And eventually, when she’d actually listened, he’d made a lot of sense. Still, though, there were things about the situation that were bothering her. If only she could get her mind to think. She appreciated the fact that he’d thought to supply wine, but she realised she may have consumed it a little too enthusiastically. Now, she was feeling quite dizzy and she frowned as she tried to focus. The man paced in front of the fire as he spoke. He seemed to be growing bigger, then shrinking again.
Weird.
Her chest felt tight. And was getting tighter.
She couldn’t really hear what he was saying for the buzzing in her ears. But she was sure that he’d said he’d take her to safety. Yes, that’s definitely what he’d said. And that little word, safety, had blossomed in her chest, creating a feeling of warmth that had spread through her body and persuaded her to go along with his suggestion. She squinted to sharpen the blur that was his face, but it was moving about, making her feel even more disorientated and woozy. She closed her eyes, her head spinning like she was on a fairground ride.
Mel thought about his plan for a moment. He wanted her to go with him, start again in a new place, with a new name. And as he laid out the details of the impossible situation she found herself in, it seemed the best option. Exciting even. She knew how to be careful, knew how to be somebody else. And after everything that had happened, his suggestion flowered in her mind into a glorious idea.
&nb
sp; He shook her arm and her eyes flickered open, reminding her that she was supposed to be writing. She strained to focus on the words written on the paper in her hand, struggling to hold the pen. She scrawled her name, and her eyelids drooped, her body overwhelmed by tiredness, the pen and paper falling from her hands.
Thirty-Eight
Tuesday
Ted arrived back at the farm in the early hours of the morning, exhausted but exhilarated, adrenaline still pumping round his body. It had all been surprisingly easy, he thought as he pulled up in the yard. But then he’d planned it properly, because he could always be depended upon to do whatever was needed to look after his family. Unlike Luke, but at least he was out of the way for good now; Ted had made certain of that.
He crept upstairs to bed, careful to be quiet so as not to wake Ceri’s children, and quickly fell asleep.
When he woke, groggy and thick-headed, the day was far too bright for it to be his usual getting up time and he sat up, in a rush, grasping for his watch. He jumped out of bed when he saw that it was already after eight, a couple of hours later than he normally rose. Sleep fogged his brain and it was only when he got out of the shower that he realised something wasn’t right. He stopped towelling his hair dry and listened.
He cocked his head. Nothing.
None of the usual banging and clattering that signalled his mother was in the kitchen. No squeaks and squeals from the children, the patter of their feet as they scurried around, or the putter of the tractor engine, signalling that Phil was pottering outside, moving things from here to there. All he could hear was the dogs barking from their pen, faint but frantic, wanting their breakfast, no doubt. They didn’t normally bark in the morning, but then he didn’t normally go away. Ever. So their routine would be all messed up. He hoped Ceri had remembered his feeding instructions. He’d had to rely on her because his uncle’s memory wasn’t wholly reliable these days and he didn’t want to burden his aunt with an additional task when she struggled through every day as it was.
