by Rachael Blok
‘So, if it wasn’t the cyclist, it had to be Ben? Or maybe Ana Seabrook?’ Adrika says, so rhetorically that no one responds.
‘Nothing else, no clues about anyone else being involved at all?’ Maarten watches as Harper loops Ana Seabrook’s name to Leo Fenton’s, to Ben Fenton’s, but she shakes her head at his question.
‘No. We did look into Seabrook. Whether there was any pay-off for them, that maybe it had been planned between them. But there was no indication of anything. She was at home that night and ordered a takeaway, and we have a statement from the delivery person. In theory, she could have left in the middle of the night and driven to the scene. The drive is roughly three hours, but fast at night. Then she’d have to get herself to where they were camping. But there was no evidence of her there, and she has no motive. She’s been friends with them both since school, she seemed devastated by Leo’s death. It looked like a fight, possibly that got out of control. Just the two of them. By Ben’s own admission, they’d been drinking. The knife they used for fishing was gone in the morning, and it was assumed that it had gone into the sea with Leo Fenton.’
‘And the knife that was found yesterday?’ Sunny asks.
‘Yes, a fishing knife. We’re still waiting to hear on the DNA. The dried blood on there is old. As you know, DNA breaks down in sunlight and water, or else is consumed by bacteria. It’s unlikely we’ll get a confirmation, but we could look to trace the knife. Luckily, it was bought new for the trip. We have the receipt for it in the file. We went through Ben Fenton’s bin after the murder. He was the one who purchased it. If we can confirm that the type and make of the knife are the same, then I think it will be useful evidence. You can look it up?’
Maarten nods and sees Adrika making notes. Harper is writing it all up on the board as she speaks. She’s efficient, he thinks. She’s good at her job. Her work, her brain, is sharp. He doubts she missed anything two years ago. They’re missing something now, though.
‘So, who else do we have as suspects? Can we think of anyone else who would have hurt Leo Fenton?’ Maarten leans back, studying the board. There must be another way to look at this.
‘Well, let’s forget Leo Fenton for the moment. If someone is burying sleeping pills and a fishing knife in Ana’s garden, then there are three possibilities. One, someone wants to get rid of evidence. They bury it in Ana’s newly laid compost. Unfortunately for them, her dog digs it up. Two, someone has planted the evidence there to put Ben Fenton in the clear.’ Adrika taps her pen against her notebook. She has risen, and she picks up the pen, scribbling on the whiteboard.
‘And the third?’ Sunny asks.
‘Well, the third is to scare Ana. If she isn’t the murderer, and I don’t think we can cross her off just yet, but if she isn’t, then someone is targeting her. They are coming to her house in the dead of night. If I were her, I’d be pretty scared right now.’ Adrika finishes noting this down and turns to the team. ‘Maybe we should investigate motives to scare Ana Seabrook, and maybe there is some crossover with Fenton’s killer? At the moment, let’s not assume the two have to be mutually exclusive.’
Sunny whistles through his teeth. The sound makes the air sharp; Maarten thinks of a squeal of brakes, the jolt of an impact. The trace of a scream. He shakes himself back into the room.
Sunny is still speaking. ‘…on it. I’ll head over there later and have a chat with her.’
Glancing out of the window, taking a breath, he sees the sun has shifted in the sky; two children with sun hats carry ice cream. One takes a lick, and the scoop flies off and lands on the ground. He can hear the cries in here.
‘There’s another possibility,’ Maarten says. He looks back at his team, then to the board. ‘The only other person who could have had easy access to the murder weapon, the watch and the blood of Leo Fenton, is Leo Fenton himself. Let’s consider the possibility that he isn’t dead at all. That in fact, the body we have found is someone else entirely. It’s just a thought. But we need to look at it.’
‘And the body?’ Carroll asks.
‘The identity of the body in the grave hasn’t been determined yet. Let’s just make sure that Leo Fenton had no obvious reason to disappear for two years. It wouldn’t be the first time that it’s happened. Open another Proof of Life.’
He rises and extends his hand. ‘Thanks for all your input, Harper. It’s been good to have a head start on this. If we get anywhere, we’ll be sure to let you know.’
She hesitates, but nods. ‘Good to meet you too, Maarten. And I’m pleased to hear your wife’s on the mend. I’ll head off. Friday is bad on the roads.’
Sunny has stood to shake her hand. Adrika stands too.
‘Sunny, Adrika,’ Harper says, and she moves to leave, hanging on for a second as though there’s some kind of elastic that won’t allow her to release. She looks round one more time, smiles. ‘You’ll keep me updated?’ she says.
Maarten nods as she exits.
‘Phew. She’s good, but that was exhausting,’ Sunny says. ‘I haven’t written so fast since GCSEs. And she’s quite intense.’
‘She’s good. We’re lucky to have had her input. The file will be invaluable,’ Maarten says. ‘Adrika?’ He hands it to her.
Adrika shakes her head slightly, starting to collect the pens.
Maarten stretches, ready for the weekend.
*
Heading out towards Liv, the sun still hot on his back. The handle of the car is hot to touch. He notices the border that runs the edge of the station has paled to a yellow. The sun has aged the ground, the grass withers. The countryside of England now more of a dark lemon than a green, green grass of home.
23
Saturday 16th June
ANA
Ana wakes – there’s a noise. Fresh from the garden discovery, she lies tense.
The moon is heavy outside. It hangs in the cloudless sky like it’s been stitched into the night and painted, sprayed luminous. It glows. She watches it, listening carefully.
A sound outside. It could be a cat.
Maisie and her mum are in the house. The knowledge of this arms her, makes her feel like she can check downstairs. Even if something is lurking, she has backup. She won’t be able to sleep like this. She won’t be able to calm the shadows of the dark.
When she was younger, she had been fearless. Andy Miller and Fabian had left her looking for monsters in the shade. Ben had lit up the dark corners, chased away demons. But monsters had turned out to be real after all. She had realised that when Leo was killed.
It’s hot, sticky. She walks barefoot across the thin rug that lies on her bedroom floor, and is careful not to step on the floorboard that creaks on the landing.
Downstairs is hotter still, with the windows all closed. She double-checks them; all locked. Checks the doors. Re-checks.
Something sounds outside, like a can falling. A cat in the recycling. She is terrified. She can’t carry on like this: not sleeping, jumping at every sound.
No one can get in. Everything is locked. They are locked in and anyone else is locked out.
Sleeping beside Ben had been the last time she had felt utterly unafraid.
Like sequins, the stars blink as she gazes out of her bedroom window upstairs.
Can Ben see this sky? Can he breathe this air?
Wrapping her arms around herself, despite the heat, she thinks of the nights she spent with Ben. His arm falling on her in his sleep, his snuffles. His snores after too much beer.
She thinks of what she’s never told him. Of that photo under her pillow, burning a hole with guilt. She’d worn make-up in court to paint over any glimmer of it.
Lying down, her sheet pushed off the bed, she stretches in her single space and feels its confines, its invisible wall. Ben had opened up a world in the night. A world of velvet, of pearls. Without him, it’s just a bed.
Just a bed.
*
‘Ana!’ Maisie’s shriek is loud and Ana bolts down the stairs. Sh
e runs so fast she almost falls, and tips forward. She has to grab the rail and leap the last few steps in order not to plunge and crash. The morning light is still grey in the lounge, the curtains pulled tight.
‘Ana!’ Maisie turns and her face is wet with tears. Streaked. Mascara lining black watermarks, and her sobs come up from her in belches. She stands in the bar, the stone floor cold beneath their feet.
‘Maisie,’ Ana says. She steps forward, ready to comfort. Her voice is soft and she doesn’t know what’s caused this distress. She’d seen their mum in the bathroom on the way down, which is always her first concern. ‘Maisie, what is it?’
Crying, Maisie is shaking, and Ana realises it’s more rage than sorrow.
‘I’ve just seen Fabian Irvine outside. He just walked past the window with a newspaper, milk and a coffee. A fucking coffee! Fabian is back. Ana, I bet he was here yesterday. And I bet he killed Jam!’ Maisie’s heart-shaped face lifts, twisted with rage and tears. She uses the side of her thumb and brushes them up and back from her cheeks, shaking her head. ‘It’s got to be him. Such a crappy, spineless act. Killing a dog. To get back at you. I’m going round.’
‘No!’ Ana puts her hand out. Her mind is filled with murder weapons in the night, photos she hasn’t dared confront. And now Jam. Jam. ‘Maisie, we don’t know it’s him. We don’t know.’
‘Of course it’s him! And it’s just the kind of lowlife act he’s capable of. It’s a belly-crawling act. It’s guttural. It’s snake-like. That’s how he worked, Ana, he kept you locked in a cage for two years! Mean words, manipulation – he had you thinking you were nothing! And then you walked away from him. And this is how he deals with it. He takes away your dog. Our dog!’ She walks backwards, shaking her head. ‘I’m not letting him get away with this. He’s got me to answer to! I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s behind all of this!’ She opens the door and leaves it to fall slamming behind her. The gravel of the drive flies up in puffs of dust. Fabian’s parents’ house is on the edge of Ayot.
Ana looks back to Jam’s empty basket. They haven’t wanted to move it yet.
She runs upstairs to throw on some clothes, grabbing her phone, her keys. Maisie is too hot-headed. She will need Ana’s calm.
Concentrating hard on not thinking about speaking to him, she prepares herself. Her skin still crawls with the time he’d let himself into her flat and she’d slept with him rather than argue. To get him out without riling him. Then she’d changed the locks. She rubs at her skin, then thinks of Maisie, and runs down the stairs.
24
Saturday 16th June
MAARTEN
‘Do you think it was about giving rest to someone?’ Adrika’s voice is distant down the phone, on the Bluetooth speaker. He’s driving in to see Liv. Nic and Sanne are in the back singing, and he struggles to hear.
He leans hard on the horn as someone goes to step out onto the road.
‘You mean the body?’ Maarten asks.
‘Yes. Why bury a body you’ve murdered, two years after you’ve done it? You clearly want it found, so why go to the trouble of burying it? Why not just leave it where it’s easy to get to? The effort it took – in the graveyard in the dark, risking being caught… What’s the point?’
‘Maybe,’ Maarten says, indicating and turning off towards the hospital, ‘maybe it wasn’t about giving rest to the person who’s been killed. Maybe it’s about rest for someone else entirely.’
‘Hmm,’ Adrika says.
‘And maybe it’s the act of burial – there, in that place – that we’re meant to notice. That spot has been carefully chosen. But why? Why not Norfolk? Or Leo’s local cemetery? The only link we have is to Ana’s parents’ village, but Ben wasn’t living there when Leo was killed. We’re missing something, I’m sure of it. Hang on—’
He reverses the car into a space and smiles at the girls in the back. They are loaded with presents for Liv today; their excitement is through the roof.
‘Look, I’m just heading in. You said you’ve had a call?’
‘They’ve dispatched uniform, but as the call is from Ayot and the report of a disturbance involves the Seabrooks, Niamh thought we should know.’
‘Will Sunny be there?’
‘No, just me. Niamh called this morning.’
‘Thanks. Let me know how you get on. Good luck.’ He climbs out of the car and joins in the last line of the song, letting the words rip from him in a howl, to protest.
‘Papa, stop singing, you’re ruining it!’
He laughs. ‘Come on. Let’s see Mama.’
*
Liv is in a side room. The cannula’s still inserted into her hand, but most of the other wires have gone.
‘Mama! We made you cookies!’ The girls fall into the room, and Liv raises her finger to her lips, gesturing to the bed nearby.
‘Not too loud, girls. There’s a lady sleeping. Ooh, can I see the cookies? I’m starving!’
‘How are you?’ Maarten kisses her, smoothing her brow with his hand. He sits at the edge of the bed as the girls empty their bags at the foot of it: biscuit tins, drawings, a cuddly toy. She is still pale. Her face clammy to his lips.
‘Much better, I think. But they want me to take a course of antibiotics before I go home – said my temperature had gone up quite high last night. Doesn’t look like I’ll be out for at least a week. Maarten, how are you coping? I’m so worried about you all.’ She falls back on the pillow. Speaking seems to have tired her, but her colour is stronger than before.
‘We are coping just fine,’ Maarten says, holding her hand. ‘Your mum is running the house with military precision. It’s so hot at the moment, we don’t seem to need to do too much. The girls are only in shorts and T-shirts so there’s not much washing, we’re eating a lot of fruit and salad – not too much cooking. The girls have been on loads of play dates – everyone’s been great.’
‘How’s work?’
‘So-so.’ Maarten shrugs. ‘We’re not getting too far with this case. No real leads at the moment, but I’ve got a feeling it’s going to spring to life quite soon.’ He thinks of Adrika on the way to Ayot. That village is hiding something. He’d been thinking about it during the night; the heat had been sticky and he hadn’t slept. He’d circled round the case. And he is pretty certain location is their biggest clue. Location is everything. Whoever has buried that body in that graveyard is trying to make a statement about something.
Decoding the statement will take time.
‘Are you OK in here?’ he whispers, gesturing to the sleeping mound on the next bed. ‘Do you want me to try to get you a private room?’
‘No, she’s OK. She’s called Aggie; she’s quite old. She’s in here with dementia. She had an accident at home, and they’re trying to work out where she should go next. The nurse was telling me. Apparently, she was a midwife years ago. She doesn’t say too much, calls me Katie every now and again.’ Liv smiles. ‘It’s nice to have the company, to be honest. I’m not required to speak too often and there’s only so much daytime TV you can watch. Without going insane. Let’s hope a week is all I’m here for.’
As if on cue, the bulk that is Aggie shifts in the bed. She moans. Then in a hushed, sing-song voice, she murmurs in her sleep: ‘And no one knew. I told no one.’ She throws the cover half off her, then turns back, muttering, ‘That poor little thing went in the night. She loved it, didn’t she. I didn’t tell no one.’
‘What’s she talking about?’ Maarten asks.
‘Who knows. She just rambles on.’ Liv smiles. ‘She’s very nice, though whenever she thinks I’m Katie she gets quite upset.’
‘Mama, I made you this!’ The girls jump up to the edge of the bed and Maarten slips into a chair, pouring Liv a drink. There’s a jug of warm water and a beaker, which is cloudy from too many dishwasher cycles. The fresh juice he’d brought in yesterday has all gone and he curses himself for not bringing more.
‘Did you bring me a coffee?’ she whispers. ‘The nurse fr
owns on it, but I’m missing it so much.’
Smiling, he brings up his paper bag with two reusable coffee cups filled. ‘Stopped at a coffee shop on the way out of St Albans.’
His phone buzzes. There’s a text from Adrika: Ayot’s gone mad. Will phone in a bit. I can deal with it.
He can feel it. Something will stick its head up soon.
He smiles and the girls pull out drawings they’ve done, immediately fighting over who gets to explain the picture first.
Nothing stays buried for ever.
25
Saturday 16th June
ANA
‘You killed our dog!’
Ana runs flat out. She almost gets to Maisie before she launches herself at Fabian, but not quite.
She’d made it to the edge of the street and had seen Maisie standing outside the Irvines’ house, screaming up in the denim cut-offs she’d been wearing last night. They’d agreed on a lie-in on the Saturday morning so no one had risen until 9 a.m.
She doesn’t flail: standing feet hip-width apart, head up, shoulders dropped and steady – Ana can see she’s angry. She had been standing in the street screaming: ‘Fabian Irvine! Come down here!’
Now, he has finally descended and Ana makes it to Maisie a second too late. But unlike the attack she’d been expecting, Maisie isn’t hitting him. As Ana runs up close, she can see that Maisie’s whole body stands an inch away from Fabian’s. Only an inch. It’s both confrontational and threatening, but it’s controlled. She shouts up at him and he turns away. Ana can tell he doesn’t want to be seen to back down, but he’s flustered. He glances left, right. He’s looking for a port in the storm.
Feelings drown her. The wave of familiarity at the sight of his face, his chest, the outline of his shoulders. Familiar. Repellent. He’s still as attractive, maybe more so. His clothes are expensive, casual, and as his hair falls forward she thinks of Ashton Kutcher. He’s dark from the heat, and his legs, poking from beneath his khaki shorts, are muscular, thighs broader. He looks as if he’s taken up some serious sport.
