Tom Douglas Box Set 2

by Rachel Abbott

  Maggie heard a noise and turned her head.

  Josh was standing at the door in his pyjamas.

  ‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ she asked. Grasping the duvet in her hand, she held out her arm so that her son could snuggle in under it against her.

  ‘Why are you sitting in the dark, Mum?’

  ‘Just thinking.’ She tried to smile at him.

  ‘About Dad?’

  Maggie didn’t want to lie to her son. ‘I’m wondering when he’s going to be home, Josh. That’s all. But don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be back by the time you wake up in the morning.’

  ‘Is it my fault?’ Josh’s voice was as quiet as a whisper, as if he was afraid to say the words. Maggie pulled him tightly against her.

  ‘Of course not, sweetheart. Why on earth should it be your fault?’

  ‘Because of the message.’

  ‘What message? You never mentioned a message before.’ Maggie could hear the desperation in her voice and tried hard to soften it. Josh looked up at her, his little face a picture of confusion.

  ‘I’m sorry if I did something wrong, Mummy.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve done nothing wrong, Josh, but you need to tell me properly what you mean.’

  ‘Dad’s phone was in the sitting room. I heard it beep, so I knew it was a message. I took the phone to him in the kitchen.’

  ‘Joshy,’ Maggie began, trying to choose her words carefully, ‘I know we’ve said it’s rude to read other people’s messages, but did you by any chance catch a glimpse of what it said?’

  Josh looked at the floor for a moment, and when he looked up his cheeks were pink.

  ‘I didn’t read the words, Mummy. Honestly.’

  Maggie knew there was a ‘but’ in there, and that she was going to have to wait for it. She smiled her encouragement.

  ‘When Daddy opened it, I was standing right next to him. There was a picture. I only looked at it because I thought it was you.’

  A picture? Of me? Josh couldn’t mean that. He must have got it wrong.

  ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not cross with you. Tell me what you saw when you looked at the screen.’ She relaxed her hold slightly, certain that Josh would be able to feel the thumping of her heart, and turned to look at him.

  ‘A photo of a lady with red lipstick and long dark hair – spread out like yours sometimes is on the pillow.’

  It sounded as if the woman, whoever she was, had to have been lying down. Why would Duncan get a picture of a woman lying down – a woman that looks like me? Is he having an affair? Has he left me for this woman? She felt a solid ball of despair settle deep inside her.

  ‘I thought you’d sent a selfie to dad,’ Josh said, ‘but I kind of knew it wasn’t you.’

  ‘What made you change your mind?’ she said, stroking his hair gently in an attempt to calm his anxiety.

  ‘They weren’t your eyes. The lady in the picture had eyes like that doll of Lily’s – the one Auntie Ceecee bought her.’

  Maggie felt a chill. He didn’t need to say any more. Her aunt had bought a Victorian doll for Lily when she was three – a strange choice because Ceecee said the doll was too expensive to play with. So the doll, named Maud by Lily, had sat on a shelf in her bedroom, to be looked at but never touched. Then Lily had started to have nightmares.

  ‘What were you dreaming about, baby?’ Maggie had asked after she had brought a terrified Lily into bed with her and Duncan.

  ‘It’s Maud. She watches me.’

  ‘What do you mean, Lil?’ Duncan had asked. ‘She’s just a doll.’

  ‘Does that mean she’s dead, Daddy?’

  ‘No, sweetheart. Somebody made her, like we sometimes make things out of Play-Doh. She’s never been alive.’

  ‘Is that what people’s eyes look like if they’ve never been alive?’

  The doll now lived in a cupboard, but Maggie knew exactly what Josh meant about the eyes.

  6

  12 years ago – May 7th

  Sonia Beecham almost didn’t recognise the eyes staring back at her in the mirror. They were still pale blue, of course, but the pupils were slightly dilated with excitement, and the eyelashes were tinted with grey mascara – an unusual indulgence, but she wanted to look her best because today was special. In fact Sonia thought it was her best day since starting at Manchester University six months previously. She had always found it difficult to make friends and the eagerness on her parents’ faces when she came home each night was painful to watch as they waited to hear whether she had met new people. She knew it was out of love for her, but they didn’t understand the pressure it put her under.

  She was shy. Painfully, embarrassingly shy. If anybody spoke to her, she blushed bright red. It was an instant reaction, and one that made her turn away. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine starting a conversation with anybody. She would rather stick her head in a vat of boiling oil, if the truth were known.

  She had heard her parents talking once, a few years ago. They wanted to know what they had done wrong – why their daughter had grown up the way she had. So now she had that guilt to bear as well. If only she could make some friends so they would know they had done nothing – nothing, that is, except love her and shelter her from anything and everything that would be considered by most people to be a normal experience.

  Now, though, things were changing. Her mum had been so concerned that she’d persuaded Sonia’s father to stump up for some counselling. Sonia had been horrified. The idea of sitting in a chair telling a complete stranger how embarrassed she was to open her mouth in company made her legs go weak. She had resisted for months, but after Christmas not only had her mum arranged the counselling sessions, she had insisted on going with Sonia for the first few meetings to be sure that Sonia was over her initial embarrassment and was happy to carry on alone.

  Sonia had hated it to start with, but gradually her counsellor had given her some tools to help build her confidence. The best of these was the name of a website designed for people like her. She had heard of chat rooms but never been in one. Within a month she had realised that she had plenty to say as long as she could keep it anonymous and nobody could see her face. The best of it was, people wanted to listen. She didn’t have her own computer to access the site, but there were plenty she could use at the university, and that was better because nobody would know what she was doing. If she had had a personal computer at home her mother would forever have been looking over her shoulder.

  What she hadn’t told a soul – because he had asked her not to – was that she had met somebody online who was as crippled with shyness as she was. He had told her he was surprised he could even type without stuttering, and that had made her laugh. That was his issue, the burden he had to bear. He couldn’t get a whole sentence out without this dreadful stammer halting him in his tracks. They had been talking online now for a couple of weeks, and he said that he thought he might possibly be able to speak to her. They had agreed that if she went red, or if he stuttered, it wouldn’t matter. They were both in the same boat. And tonight she was meeting him for the first time.

  She had lied to her parents. She had never done that before, but Sonia had known what her mum would say: ‘Bring him home, first, love. Let me and your dad meet him – do it properly.’ Her mother didn’t seem to have any concept of how things were done now. Not that Sonia wanted to behave like some of the girls on campus but having to be vetted before he could even go for a drink with her was a sure way to frighten a man off – especially one as shy as Sam.

  Sam was a good name. Solid-sounding, reassuring. He had said it wasn’t a good idea to meet anywhere too public. Having other people around was sure to make them clam up and not be natural with each other. So she was going to meet him in a little park just off the Bridgewater Canal towpath. He said it would be okay there, because there would be people on the other side of the canal at the cafés and bars, but nobody would be able to hear if they made complete fools of themselve
s.

  Sam had even told her which tram to get and where to get off. She had followed his instructions to the letter. The walk along the canal was fine to start with. It was quite pretty, and she thought it was wonderful the way places like this were being brought back to life. But as she walked further on it all changed. There was a lot of redevelopment of old mills, their blank windows facing onto the canal. There were no cafés and bars. And no people.

  Sonia hurried along the towpath, ducking to walk through a long, low tunnel. She was nearly at the meeting place. As she neared the end of the tunnel, a tall figure stepped out onto the path and for a moment Sonia felt a jolt of fear, but he gave her a little wave so she carried on walking. She knew who he was. He was taller than she expected, and as she got closer, she could see him smiling at her.

  ‘Hi, Sonia,’ he said. ‘I’m Sam.’

  He didn’t stutter once.

  7

  Tom usually enjoyed the experience of going back to somewhere he was once familiar with. The streets, the houses, the places that had once been important to him evoked distant memories that rushed at him, jumbled and incomplete but soothing in their ordinariness.

  Driving to Leo’s didn’t give him the pleasurable buzz of a flashback to another time, though. Perhaps it was too soon. All he could remember now was his final visit this time last year – when he had told Leo that they had no future. He hadn’t been sure he could go through with it, and had hoped that somehow he would see a gentler side of her.

  ‘You must do what you must do, Tom,’ was all she had said, even though he could see how hurt she was. He had started towards her, wanting to pull her to him, but she had held her arms out in front of her, palms facing him.

  ‘No, we don’t need to touch. It was always going to end this way. I told you at the start.’

  He had been so exasperated with her that he had turned on his heel and left. It shouldn’t have had to end that way. All she’d had to do was trust him.

  Now here he was, pulling into the all-too-familiar visitors’ parking space of her apartment building and looking around. Nothing had changed. Not that he could see much. The heavy clouds that had been threatening snow all day were obscuring both moon and stars, and the white lights that lit the pathways around the old warehouse in which Leo’s apartment was situated didn’t shed much light above knee height.

  Tom hadn’t meant it to be this late when he arrived, but no sooner had he picked up his car keys to drive here than he had received a summons to brief his boss on a current case. Still, even if Leo had been out during the day, she should be back by now.

  He pushed open the car door against a gust of icy wind and pulled his jacket across his chest. There was still no snow here in the urban heat island of central Manchester, but he was well aware that in the outer reaches of his patch the roads would be treacherous.

  Head down, Tom walked to the main entrance and pushed Leo’s buzzer.

  Nothing.

  He could try again, but it was bloody freezing, so he pressed the buzzer of one of Leo’s neighbours, an Italian girl called Daniela whom Tom had met on a few occasions.

  ‘Si. Chi è?’

  Tom had forgotten that her spoken English was so poor, although she appeared to understand everything that was said. He hoped her boyfriend was with her to interpret if he wanted to ask her any questions.

  ‘Hi Daniela. It’s Tom – a friend of Leo’s. She’s not answering. Can you let me in, please?’

  He heard some muttering in the background, none of which he understood, but then the door buzzed and clicked, and he was in. He decided to walk up the three floors to Leo’s door.

  Daniela and her boyfriend were standing on the landing waiting for him.

  ‘Buona sera,’ Daniela said. That much Tom could understand. He nodded to the girl and her boyfriend, whose name he couldn’t remember for the life of him.

  ‘Buona sera. I’m so sorry to disturb your evening, but can I ask if you’ve seen Leo at all? Her sister’s worried about her because she didn’t turn up to a party on Sunday.’

  Daniela frowned and turned to the boyfriend. Her voice rose, and she gabbled away in her own language, complete with hand signals that made no more sense to Tom than her words.

  ‘Daniela says she hasn’t seen Leo since Saturday, but her car’s still in its space,’ the boyfriend said.

  It seemed to Tom that Daniela had said much more than that, and he couldn’t decide whether the fact that her car was in the underground garage was good news or bad. Was she ill in bed? Or had she gone away for a few days and maybe taken a taxi?

  ‘Do you mean her car hasn’t moved?’

  Daniela clearly understood that and nodded. She started speaking again, and Tom waited for the interpretation.

  ‘Dani has knocked on the door a couple of times, but Leo hasn’t answered. We didn’t want to pester her. Leo’s a very private person.’

  Tom kept his thoughts on that subject to himself. ‘Have you got a key, by any chance?’ he asked, still not sure what he should do.

  Daniela nodded and rushed into her apartment, returning seconds later holding a key.

  Tom felt uneasy. Going back into Leo’s apartment would have been difficult at the best of times, and he felt uncomfortable. What if she was ill and was simply nursing her sickness by herself? What if she had a man in there, and they had simply holed up for a week, switching their phones off?

  ‘Would you mind coming in with me, Daniela?’ Tom asked. Even though he couldn’t see Leo making a formal complaint about his visit, he wanted to cover himself. He turned the key and pushed the door open.

  ‘Leo? It’s Tom,’ he shouted. But he knew instantly that the apartment was empty. It had a dead feeling to it that only comes with houses that have been left vacant for a few days. There were no smells of food – not that cooking was Leo’s forte, but she had to eat – or coffee or even perfume. Tom was assailed by memories: walking into the apartment at the end of a long day, Leo coming to greet him, smiling; cooking her dinner while she sat on a counter stool and told him about her day; listening to music; lying entwined together on the sofa.

  He took a deep breath and signalled Daniela to follow him. The boyfriend, who he now remembered was called Luca, waited at the door.

  The apartment consisted of one huge combined sitting room, dining room and kitchen. It was neat and tidy with no sign of recent occupation. There were also a bedroom and bathroom. Certain now that the apartment was empty, Tom nevertheless knocked on the bedroom door and shouted Leo’s name. As expected, there was no answer. He turned the handle and stopped short in the doorway.

  The room was a mess. Clothes were all over the bed; cupboard doors stood ajar and underwear was spilling out of open drawers. Leo was meticulous about her clothes. She loved silk and soft jersey, and everything had to be steamed to remove each and every crease. The steamer stood at the ready next to her wardrobe, yet all her beautiful clothes were heaped in piles on the bed, some even on the floor.

  He moved over to the dressing table. Leo hadn’t worn much jewellery and only had a few simple silver pieces. They all appeared to be there, so this wasn’t a burglary. What the hell had happened? He felt a tightness in his chest. Had there been a fight here, and if so, where was she now?

  Tom glanced into the bathroom, which was as orderly as ever. Only the bedroom was a tip. He walked over to the window and looked out at a view he had seen on so many occasions at this time of night. The lights of Manchester lit the sky. Was Leo out there somewhere close by? Or was she far away? He had no idea, but he couldn’t help feeling that something dark had happened within these four walls.

  He turned back to the main room and walked over to the fridge. There was no milk, no vegetables – nothing fresh that would deteriorate in her absence. Did this mean she had left by choice, or that she had given up any pretence of looking after herself and decided to rely on black coffee and takeaway food?

  He stood and stared at the empty shelves, thin
king but coming up with nothing. He looked at the worktop, and something caught his eye. It looked like a rose petal, shrivelled and browning at the edges. He checked the bins to see if any flowers had recently been thrown away, but although there were empty packets and some coffee grounds, there were no flowers.

  He turned back to the neighbour.

  ‘Thanks, Daniela,’ he said. ‘I think we’re done here. I’m going to phone Leo’s sister and let her know what we’ve found.’

  With a frown and a typically expressive Italian shrug, she wished him a buona notte and went back to Luca, who was still hovering in the doorway. Tom could hear what he assumed was Daniela’s explanation of what they had found, and he gently closed the door. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to call Max. He didn’t know what he would say, but his gut was telling him that Leo had not gone away. She was missing.

  8

  12 years ago – May 8th

  If there was one thing that Tom hated, it was a missing persons case. The devastating thought that it was bound to end badly seemed to be uppermost in everybody’s mind. The family or friends who had reported their loved ones missing were inevitably terrified, and Tom never knew how to offer them comfort. In the early stages of an investigation he probably had no more information than they did, and for a policeman that wasn’t a good place to be.

  Although it was only late afternoon he knew that unless the missing girl turned up in the next couple of hours – and he hoped for everybody’s sake that she did – tonight was likely to be a late one and he would have to cancel his plans. It was supposed to be one of his Jack nights – the occasional evenings when Tom and his brother Jack had a few hours to themselves, drinking beer, listening to and arguing about music.