She Lies in Wait

by Gytha Lodge

  “Anything so far?”

  O’Malley glanced up at him. “Nothing in particular,” he said. “Only a general feeling of doubt about what all the kids said. No drugs, no sexy business, hardly any beer…I’d expect more from a religious gathering.”

  “It’s unconvincing?”

  “They were teenagers having a party,” O’Malley replied. “What would you say?”

  Jonah nodded. There were many reasons for hiding things like that. The simple fact that they didn’t want to get in trouble was one, and guilt at having a good time when Aurora had gone missing. But then there were other reasons, too, like knowing full well what had happened to her and trying to conceal it.

  “Any thoughts yet, Ben?” he asked his other sergeant.

  “Ah, give him a while. He’s had to organize his pens, poor lad….” O’Malley said with a grin. Lightman glanced up and shook his head at him wryly, and then went back to reading.

  Jonah smiled. It was true that O’Malley was quicker, because he dispensed with organization and chose instead instinct and a swift ability to make connections. It was hard to imagine how he must have survived in the army, this irreverent, undisciplined, fiercely intelligent man who was in a constant battle with the temptation to obliterate himself with drink.

  Hanson materialized at his elbow clutching a drink in a disposable cup. He gave her a grin.

  “Ready to go, Juliette?”

  Hanson nodded and pulled her bag off the back of her chair.

  “I’m leaving the two of you to hold the fort,” he said to his sergeants.

  “Kind of you.” Said by O’Malley, and with deep sarcasm, of course.

  “Don’t stay past ten unless anything significant comes up.”

  * * *

  —

  “TOM JACKSON PHONED while you were eating,” Hanson told him once they were in the car. “It got patched through to me. He wanted to know if the press would be involved soon. I said you’d have to answer that.”

  He nodded. They were leaving Southampton and striking out west into the New Forest, the sun full in their faces and uncomfortably bright.

  “I’ll give him a ring later this evening,” Jonah said.

  “He also wanted us to know that their elder daughter had arrived from Edinburgh. She’s got Connor Dooley with her. She married him, did you know that? Even though she calls herself Jackson still.”

  Jonah nodded. He had known. Had followed the stories of all of them to a greater or lesser extent. It had been impossible not to watch as they traced their lives out over the years.

  “A bit easier if they’ve come here, isn’t it?”

  Jonah smiled. “It is. But a shame we don’t get a trip to Edinburgh. I love those crappy motels they find.”

  He’d hoped to break the news to the Jacksons’ surviving daughter himself, but knew that had been optimistic. He’d talk to them tomorrow anyway, after the press briefing. This evening’s schedule included Brett Parker, Daniel Benham, and Jojo Magos. Coralie Ribbans was in London and would have to wait, too.

  He wondered if Topaz was still on good terms with Coralie. He knew that the relationship had changed gradually. Their claustrophobic, slightly manipulative pairing had suffered when Topaz and Connor had become an item.

  Jonah had been surprised when Topaz and Connor got together. Connor had been the silent, resentful admirer most of the way through school. And Topaz had known. Of course she had. She’d played up to it and then retreated, over and over. She liked, of course, having him panting after her. Doing everything she wanted. Making her life easy.

  It had been hard for Jonah to like the fifteen-year-old Topaz.

  But over the year after Aurora’s disappearance, something had changed. Loss does strange things to people, he thought. Or maybe Topaz had just started to grow up.

  “So you were at school with all of them, then? Topaz Jackson, Daniel Benham…”

  “Yes, I was,” Jonah agreed.

  “Were you friends?”

  Jonah instinctively disliked the question. He wasn’t ready to talk about his own experiences. Particularly not about a particular experience.

  And it would have sounded odd to her if he’d told her the truth, that he’d been fascinated by them. By their air of mystery and sensuality, and by the stories about Topaz and Coralie.

  And at the other end of the spectrum of teenage girlhood, Jojo, whom he had watched skateboarding at the park in a tank top with no bra, her stomach on display and a pair of Calvin Klein boxers riding up above her low-slung jeans.

  But there had been Aurora, too, who had turned thirteen and suddenly grown out of gawkiness into an ethereal beauty. None of them had been quite sure how to approach her after that.

  None of this was useful.

  “We weren’t really friends,” he said in the end. “I was three years ahead of Topaz and Benners and Connor, and I was a lofty sixth-former who didn’t socialize much with the lower years. Aurora had just started secondary school by the time I joined the sixth form, and I was already a PC by the time she died. I had friends who knew them all better because they had siblings the same age.” And, to a man, they had lusted after Topaz and been fascinated by Aurora.

  “Did you have any? Siblings?” Hanson asked.

  “No.”

  Jonah made it clear that the conversation was not going to turn to him. He wasn’t willing to talk about his family. He didn’t want her sympathy or her morbid curiosity.

  Hanson took the hint and kept quiet until she had followed the GPS through Lyndhurst and southward. A mile short of Brockenhurst, they turned off down a private driveway that Jonah had often wanted an excuse to drive down. He wasn’t alone. The press liked to come here, whether invited for interviews or not. Brett Parker’s following had been significant for more than a quarter of a century.

  There was a gate, of course, and an old lodge that looked like it was occupied. But nobody came out to ask them who they were. An etched sign asked them to press the buzzer, and so Hanson angled the car as carefully as she could, wound down the window, and pushed the button.

  A brief pause and then a crackling pickup. “Can I help?”

  It was a female voice. Slightly harried, Jonah thought.

  “I’m Detective Constable Hanson. I’m here with my DCI. We need to talk to Mr. Parker.”

  “You’re from…Oh.” Another brief pause. “Of course. I’ll buzz you through.”

  The gates opened painfully slowly, and Hanson tapped her short nails on the steering wheel.

  “It’s a bit pretentious, isn’t it? The gates and the buzzer.”

  “I guess they’re used to unwanted visitors.”

  “Brett Parker…what was he? A writer?”

  “An athlete,” Jonah replied. Time was passing. He’d thought everyone in the country knew Brett’s name.

  Hanson revved the engine slightly before the gates had finished opening, and drove past the neat 10 mph sign at about 30. There were mature trees to each side, and the driveway followed a gentle uphill before reaching a crest a quarter of a mile along.

  “Bloody hell,” Hanson said as the large, solid, but undeniably elegant stone house swung into view. It made Jonah smile, the hungry look she gave the house. It wasn’t quite so pretentious now, evidently.

  It was Brett Parker who let them in, not the unidentified woman on the intercom. For Jonah it was a strange meeting. He had somehow expected Brett, the slightly uninspiring jock, to have become ever more self-satisfied. He had also expected a retired athlete to be a little overweight, a little overindulged.

  Instead he was faced with a slim, gracious, self-deprecating host in a beautiful blue suit and open shirt. He looked tanned and fit, and ten years younger than Jonah.

  “Come in, come in,” he said, stepping back from the door. “It’s too hot to hang ar
ound out there. I’m glad they don’t make you wear a uniform.” This with a warm smile. “If it’s a chat, shall we have it on the terrace? It’s in the shade now. I’ll get Anna to bring some drinks.”

  “Thank you,” Jonah said with his own, smaller smile. He looked over Brett’s elegantly tousled gold-and-brown hair. He realized it was dyed, and felt a little better.

  The terrace was still bright. Reflective patterns moved across the perfectly rectangular swimming pool a few steps below. Farther down was a lawn with a stream working its way through it. There were orderly plants in containers and in two semicircular flower beds with not a fallen leaf or petal to interrupt the prettiness.

  Jonah wondered whether the garden was Brett’s space or his wife’s. “This is lovely,” he said, gesturing to the grounds. “Landscaped?”

  Brett gave him a brilliant, white-toothed smile. “I’m afraid so. But done by a friend of mine. I can give you her card if you like.”

  Jonah gave a slight laugh as he took a seat. “I’m afraid my garden’s a small patio with some tubs on it. Not worth anyone’s time.” He looked at the pool, not without a touch of envy. “Do you still swim triathlon distances?”

  “Well, yes, but not in there.” He gave a slightly wry smile. “It’s too small. I can’t stand turning round fifty times a session. And for triathlon you want to train wild or it’s a shock when you have your head submerged in murk. I usually go up and down the brook a few times.” He gave Jonah the glance that often moves around groups of sport-lovers. One that assessed physique and fitness. “Do you compete?”

  Jonah shook his head. “I’m into cycling, and to a certain extent running, but like a lot of people I’ve never been a swimmer and can’t be bothered to try it. I can see the appeal of triathlon, though. I like sports that take you somewhere.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I used to hate indoor athletics championships. Why on earth would you run without fresh air around you?”

  Jonah could see him becoming more at his ease. It was hard to believe you were in trouble when confronted with friendly chatter.

  Jonah was ready to unsettle him, but not yet. “How’s business going?”

  “It’s going well. As far as I know.” He smiled. “Anna is the businesswoman. I just turn up and speak nicely.”

  Jonah nodded. He could tell that this was a well-rehearsed line.

  He caught a light clinking of ice on glass and turned. He was faced with Anna, who had a loosely tied head of blond hair, a floral dress and pearls, white-heeled sandals, and sinewy brown legs.

  “Thank you, darling.” Brett stood to help her unload the tray. “This is my wife. Anna, these are…Sorry, I don’t think I…”

  “DCI Sheens,” Jonah said, holding his hand out. Her slim fingers in his were ice-cold and wet from handling the glasses. She rubbed them lightly on her dress with a self-conscious smile. “And DC Hanson.”

  “Is it something business-related?” Anna asked. “If so, I’d better be here, too.”

  There was something of the fractious butterfly about her. She moved over to stand behind her husband. She brushed her fingers over his shoulder and then moved to a chair that she hovered over.

  “No, no, nothing about the business,” he said with a smile. “Please do stay, though. Nothing secretive or embarrassing.”

  Anna smiled and dipped down to perch on the chair. She put her hand on her husband’s leg. Brett sat back, at ease.

  “Earlier today, a body was found in Brinken Wood,” Jonah said. “We have reason to believe it belongs to Aurora Jackson.”

  His eyes were on Brett. Anna’s sudden turn of the head toward her husband was in his peripheral vision, but his focus was on the man who had driven Aurora to that campsite.

  He saw the slackening of Brett’s face, and then the sudden increase of tension. Jonah knew shock when he saw it. Brett hadn’t expected this, whatever else he might be thinking.

  “Aurora? Really? I always…” He broke off, and rubbed at his forehead with his thumb.

  “Sorry?”

  “I—I always thought she’d be found alive somewhere.” He shook his head, his eyes fractionally reflective. “Jesus Christ. She was in the woods? How did we miss her? We combed it.”

  “She was underground,” Jonah said, his voice absolutely flat. “Buried along with a stash of Dexedrine in a hollow under a tree.”

  Brett sat forward in what was more a collapse of his abdomen than a straightening up. “Oh shit,” he said, an arm going across his body in an instinctive defensive gesture.

  Jonah smiled very slightly. However much Aurora’s discovery had surprised Brett, he’d known damn well about the drugs.

  8

  Aurora

  Friday, July 22, 1983, 7:20 P.M.

  Aurora was overcome by restlessness while the others began frying up hot dogs and tearing open bread rolls and beer cans. She felt distanced from it all. She also felt like time was draining away. There wasn’t much sunlight left and she wanted to be out of the shade of the trees, bathing in it.

  Topaz still hadn’t returned from her deliberate absence, and neither had Coralie. Aurora was tensed against her sister’s return. But she still felt out of place without her. All of Topaz’s friends were kind enough, but none of them were her own friends.

  Jojo called to her. She was crouched over the fire pit she had dug, setting a frame of branches over it. Aurora had seen her curled lip at the sight of the gas-fired stoves, all shiny and unused, and the way she’d turned her back on them.

  Aurora went over, expecting an errand. Heard, instead, Jojo murmur an apology.

  “This isn’t very interesting. You can swim if you want. If you go straight toward the river that way, there’s a sandbar and you can see the bottom.” She glanced up at the boys, who were each a few cans down. “I’ve got a costume in my bag there. If you go now and don’t tell them, you’ll get away without them ‘accidentally’ seeing you changing.”

  Aurora half laughed. She wasn’t sure if Jojo was joking.

  “Thank you. I’d love a swim.”

  Jojo nodded, and smiled slightly. “We’ll all jump out of trees and get on the rope swings tomorrow, but sometimes it’s nicer when it’s quiet.”

  Aurora rose, picked up Jojo’s tatty black rucksack, and walked as quickly and quietly as she could away from the campsite. Benners was talking, lecturing really, on the state of affairs in Pakistan. None of them seemed to notice her leaving.

  The trees between her and the bank looked parched. Underfoot there were brown crackling leaves. Beech, oak, ash, sycamore. Above, enough green to create shade, but scorched foliage, too. The summer was leaving its mark.

  Dropping down toward the river, she found sunshine at last. An orange-yellow light that still heated her skin. The riverbank itself was steep, but there was a tiny, slightly muddy beach a little farther up, and she weaved her way along to it before sliding down the bank.

  She shielded her eyes and looked around. The far bank of the river was in shade. The shadows of the trees turned the water black and ominous. But close to her the shelf of sand shone yellow in the light, and the water above it was almost perfectly clear.

  She let Jojo’s rucksack fall onto the sand. Unzipping it, she found not a swimming costume, but a tight Lycra vest and a small pair of shorts. A mismatch of turquoise and white.

  Quickly, she pulled off her underwear and hid them inside the bag. She slid the shorts up under her skirt as she thought about what Jojo had said about the boys.

  She realized there was no way of changing her top without nakedness, and decided to do it quickly, all in one. She emerged from the Lycra vest to see the wood and the riverbank still silent and empty.

  She slid off her shoes last, and stuffed everything into the bag. She moved it a little farther up the bank, trying to skip over the dusty sand and occasional spiky
beechnuts. It was worse on the way back into the water when she trod on an embedded stone.

  But under the water there was soft sand. As she waded in, the coolness over her feet and up to her shins felt delicious. She took a few steps, and then leaned forward into the water, submerging herself as far as her neck.

  It was a lot colder than the air. Breathless, she swam to the edge of the sand and then along it. She began to relax into the cold as she went. Once she’d swum up and down a few times, she felt almost warm.

  She lay back to look at the deep azure of the sky for a while, drifting, until trees appeared overhead once more and the water was suddenly much colder around her.

  Aurora swung herself upright, realizing that she’d drifted downstream. Her shoes and clothes were out of sight.

  She was on the verge of turning and kicking away when she heard voices on the bank. A lazy, flirty laugh she recognized well. A deeper voice answering, which made her freeze in place, her hands barely moving to keep her upright.

  Please, not him.

  9

  Jonah left Brett in whatever peace he could find for the evening. He’d requested his attendance at the police station at nine the following morning.

  Jonah was in some ways distressed by the shadowed look of the man. He recognized someone seeing head-on the potential ruin of his reputation.

  “We’ll be informing everyone who was camping with Aurora that evening. We’re expecting you to keep certain information to yourself, however.”

  “I understand.” Brett was a little pathetic in his eagerness to please now. He had poured information at Jonah from the first. He’d told him how much he’d regretted trying a little of the Dexedrine.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he had said, his eyes on the ice in his lemonade, a hollow look to them. “Except that I was an eighteen-year-old idiot who wanted to be the coolest kid on the block. A stash of drugs? That’s great, man. Seriously. I do drugs all the time, man. Even though I also watch every bite of food I eat and go to bed early so that I can train.” He sat back sharply, angrily. “What the hell was I doing?”