He nodded briefly. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sure it’s him? There’s no mistake? Did you have someone identify him?”
“It was fairly conclusive. Mr Grove was in his room, still in his wheelchair.”
Had her father been sat in his favourite spot in the bay window, just as she had seen him that last time? Why had he not tried to escape? Had he known it would have been hopeless, and so hadn’t even bothered to try?
She shivered as the enormity hit her. John Grove was dead. She would never have to face him again. No more shared memories to tie her to the man who had called himself her father. He no longer held power over her. She was free.
So why did she feel so upset - and so angry?
She could almost hear his voice inside her head: “You’ve got to let it go, girl.”
In the background, Etta James was singing Trust in Me. DCI Bloom was still talking, although she could hardly make sense of what he said. She dug her fingernails into her palms, forcing herself to concentrate, and caught a word she recognised.
“Accelerant?” she repeated. “Are you telling me that the fire wasn’t an accident?”
“There was no attempt to disguise it,” he said. “Mr Grove’s wrists were taped to the arms of the wheelchair, his ankles to the foot supports - ”
“Dear God … ”
Despite not having eaten since lunch, the contents of Natalie’s stomach wanted out. She struggled to open the door but her feet got caught up with the straps of her bag.
“Not in the car!”
The DCI reached past and gave the door a violent shove. She swung around to lean out over the leaf-strewn gutter, taking deep breaths to calm the nausea, but the choking, smoke-filled air made her feel worse.
The conversation went on without her. She could hear Bryn, his voice low and bitter, muddled with the DCI’s.
“Why the fuck did you have to tell her like that?”
“She needed to know the truth.”
Natalie’s head pounded, making it impossible to think.
Accelerant?
Someone had murdered her father. Because of what had happened to her sister? No, it could not be that simple. Fifteen years was too long to wait for revenge. She closed her eyes, hoping to organise her thoughts, but all she could see was a twisted, blackened corpse.
“Nemesis … ”
“What’s that?” The DCI broke off in mid-argument. “What did you say?”
Had she said it out loud? She opened her eyes. “I’d like to go home please. I don’t feel well.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. “Tell me where you live and I’ll get one of my team to drop you off.”
“I’ll walk,” she told him. “I could do with the fresh air.” Perhaps it would help clear the fog from her brain.
“If that’s what you want. I will need a statement later, detailing any conversations you had with your father. There may have been something he told you - something that, with hindsight, might explain what happened.”
She remained silent. Had John known he was going to die? Was that why it had been so urgent for him to see her this evening? But why would anyone want him dead?
“He was the head gardener at Hurst Castle at the time of your sister’s death,” the DCI said.
“Yes, what of it?”
“Sarah’s body was found in the grounds of Hurst Castle. Did it ever occur to you that your father might have killed her?”
Natalie found her eyes closing again, with little she could do to stop them. She felt so tired, so ill …
“You understand that I have to ask these questions, no matter how unpleasant?” His tone was different now, more sympathetic.
“Sarah was my father’s favourite. He would never have hurt her.”
“Perhaps his love for her went too far?”
Love? For a moment she didn’t understand what he meant, then, “No, not at all! My father never abused us.”
He was violent, sure, but never the other. Thank God …
But she could tell the DCI knew she was hiding something; it just wasn’t what he thought. She should have kept silent. She had forgotten how the police could trick even the most innocent person into tying themselves in knots, attempting to keep their story straight.
She opened her eyes, feeling that to keep them closed might make the DCI think she was trying to evade his questions. Sure enough, he was watching her.
It was tempting to get out of the car and simply walk away. But would he let her?
“Your father deliberately drove his car over the cliff after Sarah’s death,” the DCI said. “Why would he do that?”
“The police said it was an attempt at suicide. They said it was because he no longer wanted to live after her death.”
“Perhaps he felt remorse?”
She watched the emergency crews running about the street, without actually seeing them. The blaze appeared to be under control but smoke still billowed around the car like a thick black fog.
“It was an accident,” she said in a flat monotone. “Not suicide, not murder, just one of those things that could happen to anyone. You’re reading too much into it. Things that aren’t there.”
“You believe that?”
“Yes.”
“You seem very certain. Why is that?”
The way the DCI directed the conversation in a circle was exasperating. She was so tired she could cry.
“The only person my father truly cared about was himself. Why would he feel remorse?”
This time the DCI said nothing, either from tact or because he was contemplating the truth of what she had said. The silence stretched out. Natalie hardly dared breathe. Did he believe her?
He took his phone from his pocket and dialled a number.
“Is that it?” she asked. “Are we done? Can I go home now?”
“Sure.”
He held the phone to his ear, barely glancing in her direction. It was as though she had ceased to exist.
She got out of the car, half-expecting him to run after her.
But he didn’t, so she began to walk home.
Which was when the ground slid sideways and the darkness came back.
23
Alicia opened her eyes and saw an ornate plaster ceiling rose above her head. Why was she in the sitting room? Had she dozed off in front of the TV? And why did the back of her head feel as though it had been slammed into a brick wall?
Voices murmured softly around her. Each word pulsed painfully inside her head. She struggled to sit up, only to be hit by a great wave of nausea.
“Mum! You’re awake!”
Will’s freckled face loomed over her. She tried to get him into focus. He was wearing pyjamas.
“You should be in bed.” Was that her voice? She sounded like an old witch. “It’s a school night.”
Will merely grinned.
Lexi was sitting cross-legged in one of the armchairs. She had the Yellow Pages open in her lap and the phone clutched to her ear. Alicia caught snatches of the conversation.
“I’m trying to get in touch with Mr James Fitzpatrick, can you tell me if he’s dining there tonight?” Pause. “It is an emergency.” Pause. “Yeah, well, same to you, arsehole.”
“Mrs Fitzpatrick?” A man in a black baseball cap was crouched beside her. “How are you feeling?”
This was such a stupid question she did not bother replying.
“Who are you?” she countered. “Where is my husband?” She swung her legs to the floor but it lurched sideways.
The man put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t try to move. You’ve sustained a nasty head injury. An ambulance is on its way.”
“An ambulance! I don’t want an ambulance!” She could imagine the excitement that would cause. Her neighbours would be beside themselves.
“But your head - ”
“Is absolutely fine.” She stood up to prove it. Another mistake. She had to catch the arm of the sofa to prevent herself from keeling over. Sh
e took a couple of breaths, trying to regain her dignity, aware everyone was watching. Who were all these people and what were they doing in her house?
“Where is my husband?” she repeated, directing her conversation at the man in the baseball cap. Belatedly she saw the cap had letters printed on the front. P O L I C E. This time it was her stomach which lurched. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she imagined the worst. “Where is he?”
“We’ve been unable to locate him - ”
“I called the restaurant, Mum,” Lexi broke in. “Dad left ages ago. So I phoned the Chairwoman of the Governors but she said … ” Lexi hesitated, flicking a meaningful glance towards Will.
It wasn’t hard to fill the gap. Gabrielle Cameron had not known anything about a meeting. The bastard. Even his beloved Lexi had twigged he was at it again, but apparently not with the beautiful Mrs Cameron, which was at least some consolation.
“I expect your father had a change of plan,” she said.
Lexi nodded, relieved. “That’s what I thought, so I phoned all the pubs in Calahurst and I was about to start on the ones in Port Rell.”
Sometimes Lexi was too smart for her own good. Alicia forced a smile, aware there were witnesses present. “You needn’t bother, darling. He’ll turn up eventually and wonder why we’ve all made such a fuss.”
And if James was playing away, hopefully it was a lot further than Port Rell.
Meanwhile, Will was hopping about, attempting to get her attention. “There’s a fire, Mum! Where Uncle Charles works. Can we go and watch?”
Alicia rubbed her forehead wearily.
“We think this is why your husband had been delayed,” the police officer said. “The fire has caused chaos to traffic trying to move through the village as the pubs and restaurants close.”
“He could have phoned home,” grumbled Lexi, unexpectedly taking her mother’s side.
Alicia remembered the phone still shoved in her pocket. Was there really an innocent explanation for all this? Yet why would James tell her he was meeting up with the school governors, if he wasn’t?
“I expect Daddy thinks we’re all asleep,” she said. “Which you should be, Will.”
Will was now bouncing on the sofa, thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Lexi, please sort him out?”
Her daughter gave her the usual eye roll but caught Will mid-bounce and hauled him off upstairs.
Alicia leaned back against the sofa. The police officers watched her warily. There were two of them, one male and one female. At first she had thought there were more. The sitting room was large and had a high ceiling, yet somehow they made it seem cramped.
The male officer had closely cropped dark hair and a rather battered face. A boxer, she decided, or perhaps the martial arts.
“Could you cancel that ambulance for me,” she asked, making the effort to smile sweetly. Even that made her head pound. “I don’t have the time to go to hospital.”
“You have a head injury. You should get it checked out.”
Why did he have to be so argumentative? “I will, first thing tomorrow. But if my husband doesn’t come home, then I’ll have no one to look after the children.”
“Your daughter?” suggested the police woman.
“She’s only fourteen,” said Alicia. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
The officers exchanged glances. The male officer, who appeared to be the more senior, nodded to his colleague, who moved away and began talking into her radio. Alicia caught the word ‘prowler’. She’d forgotten all about him.
“Did you catch him?” she asked.
“Who?” The male officer looked confused.
This was such hard work and her head was absolutely pounding.
She forced a lid on her temper. “The prowler?”
“There was no prowler. Your daughter phoned us in error. You were the person she saw.”
“No, there was a man. I saw him. I knocked myself out when I fell over but I definitely saw a man standing in front of me on the path. He was slightly taller than me but he had his hood up so I couldn’t really see his face.”
The police officers exchanged looks.
“When the care home went up in flames the alarms were triggered and the locks on the secure unit cancelled,” the male officer said. “A couple of other patients were able to slip past the staff. We’re still looking for one but he’s not considered to be dangerous.”
Apparently intelligence was not a pre-requisite to join the police force. “If he’s not dangerous, why was he being held in a secure unit?” Alicia frowned, as the memory came back. “But I don’t think he was from the secure unit. He wasn’t wearing any kind of a uniform.”
“Can you remember what he wore?”
“A dark hooded top and dark jeans, almost as though he didn’t want to be seen - ” she broke off as she realised neither officer had moved. “Shouldn’t one of you be writing this down?”
“Yes, ma’am.” While he didn’t exactly sigh, he didn’t take his notebook out with any great enthusiasm either. “Perhaps if you could start again from the beginning … ”
24
Natalie staggered. Grey slabs of pavement loomed, then another arm slid beneath hers, hauling her up.
“I’ve got you,” said Bryn.
There was a moment of awkwardness, and then he let her go.
“Would you like to sit down?” he asked politely, indicating the kerb behind them.
“No.” Aware tiredness was making her snappy, she made a joke out of it. “On the pavement? Not quite my thing.”
“You should have taken that lift!”
“I only live five minutes’ walk away. I shall be fine.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
She was too tired to argue.
The police barrier tape was still in evidence. The officer on duty lifted it for them to pass beneath. There were less people standing on the other side. Judging from the haphazard way they were dressed, and that some were clutching small, sleepy children, they were residents. At the end of the road was the junction with the roundabout and the war memorial. The air was fresher here; the breeze whipped straight up the hill from the river.
She took a deep breath. It was like a long drink of cold water. She felt her self-assurance returning.
“Why are you in Calahurst?” she asked bluntly. “Are you stalking me?”
There was a glimmer of a smile. “My company has been contracted to restore the gardens at Hurst Castle.”
A few more pieces of the puzzle slotted into place.
“That’s quite an achievement,” she said.
The smile turned into a grin. “I seriously undercut the competition.”
At least he was honest. “Do you really believe Geraint is innocent?”
The smile disappeared in an instant. “We haven’t heard from him in fifteen years. He wouldn’t do that to his family.”
“He could be dead,” she ventured.
“I’m sure he is. I still want to know what happened to him.”
Was Bryn’s obsession with finding his cousin any different to the one she had with her sister?
She risked a sideways glance in his direction. Although the words ‘pact with the devil’ slid into her subconscious, she had to admit he didn’t look like a murderer. But what did they look like anyway?
“I’m sorry about your Dad,” he said. “It must have been a real shock. Are you going to be OK on your own?”
He knew she lived alone.
“Of course I will.”
It was a lie. She was still trying to get her head around the idea that she’d never see her father again. They’d spoken only a few hours ago. How could someone be there one moment and not the next?
The wind blew her hair across her face and, as she pushed it back behind her ear, she took the opportunity to wipe her hand across her eyes to eradicate the threatened tears. She had probably smeared what remained of her mascara acro
ss her cheeks but by now she was past caring. Her father was dead, leaving no hope of reconciliation - or payback.
The moonlight glittered on the river. Where all had been hectic, now it was deserted. The clubs and bars along the quayside were closing. A few stragglers loitered beneath the streetlights chatting, sitting on the railings, some even singing - reluctant to end their evening. The bitter scent of smoke still hung around but she had no idea whether it was in the air, or lingering on her clothes - or only inside her head.
At the foot of the hill Bryn took a left turn and stopped outside her apartment block.
He really did know where she lived.
The building was mostly in darkness but there was a light on in the ground floor gym. A solitary figure, neatly framed by one of the windows, was pounding on the treadmill. Further along, the great glass doors revealed the reception area was deserted.
She placed her hand against the door and pushed. It was locked, with no sign of Phil in reception. She could see Bryn standing behind her, reflected in the glass. Like the DCI earlier, he scrutinised her every move - which was not only disturbing, but reminded her of what little she knew about him.
He knew everything about her.
Catching sight of her own image, pale and hollow-eyed, beside his, she forced a friendly smile to her lips before turning back to face him. “Goodbye, Bryn,” she said, with all the pleasantness and sincerity she could muster. “Thank you once again for your help.”
A slight inclination of his head. “I’ll wait to see you inside.”
She raised her hand to key the security code into the panel beside the door, but he was still watching. She made a circular motion with her finger and he got the message, turning his back so she could enter the code. A faint click; the array of lights on the control panel switched from red to green and the entrance door slid open.
“Bye then,” she said. Perhaps this time he’d take the hint?
She heard the door swish shut as she headed for the lift; the sound of her heels echoed back to her as she crossed the marble tiles. The reception desk was deserted, which was not usual, but presumably Phil was doing his rounds. She pressed the call button for the lift. Reception and the street beyond the entrance were all reflected in the glass tiles.
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