Dirty Secrets

by JANICE FROST

  Perhaps she should have resisted Lizzie’s annexation of Ruth more determinedly. But Ruth, too, had been deeply affected by the deaths of Will and her uncle. Almost overnight, she changed from being a rebellious but manageable teenager to a broody, unconfident young woman. Val had been at a loss as to how to deal with her. But aunt and niece seemed to form a bond of solidarity, from which Val felt excluded.

  Val took a shower and went downstairs in search of breakfast. After the emergency with Cam the previous evening, she hadn’t felt much like eating, and now she was hungry. Would someone give Ruth a slice of toast? Then she remembered that Fin was with her. He could always pop out to get her a snack.

  Val stirred her porridge and rotated her stiff neck. She gazed out at her garden, and the red-brick wall beyond. Until Russ’s murder, that wall had made Val feel safe. It was solid and lasting, yet it had also seen other families come and go and the old hall slide into ruin. Now it seemed like her own family might disintegrate within its bounds.

  Tears blurred Val’s eyes. She looked over at the big oak table and spotted one of Cam’s toys, a technicolour blue furry creature from that surreal children’s TV programme that her grandson so adored. She felt a rush of tenderness for her family.

  Val took her bowl and perched on a stool at the kitchen island. From there she could watch the birds alight on the feeders dangling from the gnarled branches of the rowan tree. Russ had fed the birds religiously, and she had resolved to carry on. Their antics lightened her mood. Maybe the police would catch whoever had enacted this terrible act of violence. Maybe one day, she, Ruth, Fin and Cam could be a happy family together. Maybe all would be well.

  As she watched a flurry of sparrows splashing in the bird bath, a movement at the far end of the garden caught her eye. A man dropped heavily from the top of the garden wall and landed awkwardly among the shrubs at its base. He was dressed in baggy trousers and a loose-fitting jacket, with the hood pulled around his face like a monk’s cowl.

  Val dropped her spoon into the steaming porridge and watched the man lope across her lawn, turning his head to glance around him as he went.

  Val clutched at her throat. Then, in a panic, she slipped from the stool and crouched under the lip of the island. She waited, hunkered on the kitchen floor, knees pressed painfully against the hard granite tiles, desperately trying to think what to do next.

  Where was her mobile phone? She couldn’t remember. The landline was on the worktop opposite the island, out of reach. She didn’t dare move until she knew that the man wasn’t going to force entry through the French doors. They had been burgled once, and those doors had been the point of entry. Val shuddered, remembering the shattered glass. She’d felt violated, even though they’d been away on holiday when it happened.

  Several minutes passed. Val’s mind raced. What if the man came into the kitchen? Even if he didn’t spot her, he was sure to see the half-eaten, still-steaming bowl of porridge. Perhaps he was already in the house? Should she make a dash for the phone?

  There was a sound from the front of the house. And now she could hear him. He was inside, moving around the hallway. Kicking doors open. Coming closer.

  The door to the kitchen was flung wide open. Val let out a gasp. She shrank back against the island’s supporting column. The stool she’d been sitting on was slightly askew. Would he notice? Betrayed by an abandoned bowl of porridge and a lack of symmetry! She was on the verge of hysteria.

  She could see his legs on the opposite side of the island. She heard him roar. The bowl of porridge went flying off the island, and clattered against the door of Val’s beloved range. Shards of porcelain skittered across the floor, and blobs of porridge slid slowly down the range door.

  “Fin! Where are you, you bastard?”

  Val had only a moment to register surprise at the familiar name before the man appeared on her side of the island and hauled her roughly to her feet.

  * * *

  Gail Cornish drove very slowly up the tree-lined drive to the Marshes’ house. She was apprehensive about seeing Val, and wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep from breaking down when she saw Russ’s study. Gail had never found Val to be warm or approachable. Their husbands were friends and business partners, and it should have been easy for them to be friends. But though they’d been thrust together on numerous social occasions over the years, they’d never become close.

  Of course, relations between all four of them had been strained after the affair between her and Russ. It was difficult for Gail to look Val in the eye, let alone be a proper friend.

  Gail wondered if Val’s demeanour would have softened now that she was a grieving widow. She had heard that Ruth was home, with her son, Cam. Maybe playing the role of grandmother would have smoothed the edges.

  Val’s car, a blue Citroen, was parked on the drive outside the garage. Another car was parked close by. Gail recognised the red Fiesta that Russ and Val had given Ruth for her eighteenth birthday. So Ruth was at home. Gail wondered how she was coping with her father’s sudden death.

  She parked beside the Citroen and made her way across the gravel to the front door. How could Val live in such an isolated spot? Kingfisher Lodge was private enough, but it had amenities such as the spa and shops and restaurants right on the doorstep.

  And that wall! Gail had always thought it looked a mess. Her taste evidently differed entirely from Val’s. Still, the interior was high spec enough, even if it wasn’t all clean lines like Kingfisher Lodge.

  Gail raised her hand to ring the doorbell and noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Odd. Perhaps living in the depths of the country made people careless about security. She stepped forward and pushed the door open. Calling Val’s name, then Ruth’s, she stepped over the threshold and into the hallway. The doors to all the rooms leading off the hall were standing open. Her eyes were inevitably drawn to the study, and she could make out the corner of the desk where Russ had been found. She shivered.

  “Val! Ruth! Is anyone home?” Her voice seemed to reverberate in the eerie silence that followed. Something’s not right, she thought, and shivered again. She stood in the hall, considering what to do. Perhaps she should drive into the village? Val and Ruth might have popped out to the shop to buy supplies for the baby. Yet both cars were here, so they couldn’t have.

  What Gail really wanted to do was turn and walk away. She could always drop by another time. But she remained standing in the hall, unable to shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Maybe no one had heard her call. She raised her voice and tried again.

  “Is anyone home?”

  She thought she heard a muffled sound coming from the kitchen. Someone was at home, then. She stepped forward.

  Gail went to the kitchen door and stood, just inside the doorway, staring in disbelief at the scene before her. It took her a few moments to process what she was seeing. Val, bound and gagged, and tied to a chair, looked up at her with wide pleading eyes. The muffled sounds were Val’s voice behind the tape plastered over her mouth.

  With a start, Gail went to help Val. She peeled away the tape.

  “Police,” Val rasped. “Hospital.”

  Gail nodded, and immediately started to dial for the police and an ambulance, as Val fainted against her restraints.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After the uniformed officer took Fin back to the station for questioning, PJ lingered on at the hospital. She didn’t need to, but some of Fin’s anxiety had rubbed off on her.

  “Ruth and Cam are perfectly safe here,” she’d told him when he asked her to stay with them. “Even if this Darren did come to Stromford, how would he even know where to find them? This is the last place he’d think to look.”

  After he left, Ruth was the one to be anxious. “Is Fin going to be arrested? He couldn’t have shot Liam Sharp. He’s been in Stromford since yesterday evening. Hector Cornish can vouch for that, can’t he?” PJ did her best to soothe her.

  And there was another reason. PJ was s
imply reluctant to return to the nick and face her colleagues. Her conversation with Steve still weighed heavily on her mind — and heart. They’d been so happy these past few months. Just shows you shouldn’t take anything for granted.

  Ruth was crying again, this time about Lizzie. Rocking slightly, she clasped a teddy bear to her chest. It was the one Lizzie had brought for Cam. “Aunt Lizzie will probably never speak to me again. And I don’t blame her.”

  PJ made no comment. She didn’t know Lizzie Hamilton well enough to predict how she would react once she’d had time to absorb what she’d heard. At the time, she had blamed Russ Marsh for the tragedy, and had nothing more to do with him. Since her son’s death, Lizzie had all but appropriated Ruth as a surrogate daughter. She must be grieving all over again.

  Poor, brave Will. PJ hoped it would be some consolation to Lizzie to learn that her son had not started the fire, and that he had died a hero.

  It was teatime on the wards. PJ heard the dishes clatter in the corridor outside, along with movement and the sound of cheery voices. The curtains to Ruth and Cam’s room were drawn, so they couldn’t see the ward outside, but the door was ajar, and PJ breathed in the aroma of macaroni cheese.

  Ruth dabbed at her eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

  “I’m starving,” PJ said. “Do you mind if I have yours?”

  Ruth gave a disinterested shrug. But when the porter opened the door, he presented Ruth with a plate of salad that she must have ordered earlier in the day. PJ eyed it with some disappointment. She’d have preferred the macaroni cheese. She sat, munching on lettuce leaves, while Ruth, all cried out now, dozed in the chair and Cam slumbered on.

  The porter collected her plate and a hush settled over the ward beyond the door. Visiting time was still some way off. PJ felt her eyelids begin to droop.

  She roused herself. For one reason or another, she seemed to have spent most the past night and day at the hospital. Maybe it was time she left. She was about to get to her feet when the door flew open, and a young man slipped into the room. He closed the door behind him.

  PJ felt a stab of alarm. “Are you looking for someone?” she asked. She didn’t like the look of this character — young, male, with his hood pulled up around his face. Never a good sign. Nor did she like the way he stood with his back to the door, leaning against it. She liked it even less when he grabbed a chair and thrust it under the door handle.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” PJ was fully alert now.

  “Shut up,” he said. “Where’s Fin?” He looked about the room.

  “He’s not here.”

  “I can see that. Where is he?”

  Ruth had started awake, and was eyeing the man fearfully. “Who are you? What do you want with Fin?”

  PJ was certain that, like her, Ruth had guessed who their visitor was.

  “That his kid?” the man asked, nodding at Cam, now stirring in his cot.

  “I’m a police officer,” PJ said. “You’re Darren Sharp. I know you’ve suffered a recent trauma. Why don’t you calm down and we can talk?”

  “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, you stupid mare? Or better still, tell me where I can find Fin O’Shea.”

  Darren slid his hand inside his jacket and brought out a gun, which he pointed at PJ. Ruth gasped. PJ was suddenly acutely aware of her duty as a police officer. It was up to her to handle this situation, and to protect Ruth and Cam. “I know you’re upset about what happened to your brother, Darren,” she said, “but Fin wasn’t responsible for that.”

  Darren turned the gun on Ruth. “You’re Fin’s partner.”

  “Please don’t hurt us,” Ruth pleaded. “Why won’t you listen to what the detective said? Fin had nothing to do with your brother’s murder.”

  Ignoring Ruth’s plea, Darren continued to waver between pointing the gun at her and pointing it at PJ. After a moment he ordered PJ to push her chair next to Ruth’s, and sit down. At least he won’t need to keep jiggling the gun around, PJ thought. A steady gun was slightly less menacing than one that was in perpetual motion.

  “He’s been here,” Darren said, catching sight of Fin’s Cambridge University scarf hanging over the end of Cam’s bed.

  “That’s not his scarf. It belongs to Ruth. She went to Cambridge too.” Even as she spoke, PJ knew her fib was feeble.

  “Shut up. I’ve seen Fin wearing that recently.” Darren picked up the scarf and PJ could see what he was looking at. A patch of brown. Dried blood. Like the stains she had seen on Fin’s sleeve earlier. Why hadn’t she quizzed him about that?

  “He’ll be back to see you and his kid,” Darren said, looking at Ruth. “I can wait.”

  “He’s not coming back,” PJ said. “He’s at the station, being questioned by the police.”

  The news seemed to confuse Darren. He rubbed his forehead with the back of the hand holding the gun, and then leant against the wall. His jacket flapped open, offering a glimpse of his shirt. It was drenched in blood.

  “Oh!” PJ exclaimed. “You’re hurt. You got shot too.” Darren pulled his jacket around him. PJ looked at the moisture on his brow. He was sweating, feverish.

  “Call your colleagues,” Darren said. “Tell them I want Fin O’Shea brought here, to this room.” His eyes locked on PJ’s. “Tell them if they don’t bring him within the hour, I’m going to shoot his girlfriend, then his kid.”

  As if on cue, Cam woke up and let out a wail.

  * * *

  “PJ’s been a while at the hospital.” Scarcely were the words out of Ava’s mouth when her phone rang. “Talk of the devil,” she said. Tom looked up from his PC and grinned.

  “Ava, I’m with Ruth and her son. At the hospital. Darren Sharp’s here. He’s got a gun and he’s threatening to kill Ruth and Cam if Fin isn’t brought here within the hour.”

  Ava wasn’t sure what shocked her more — PJ’s words, or how steady her voice was. She picked up the first thing she had to hand, a pen, and launched it at Tom to attract his attention.

  “Ouch. What was that for?” Tom glared at her.

  Ava put her phone on speaker. “Ava? Did you hear me?” PJ’s voice was less steady this time.

  “Sorry, Peej. I caught, ‘Ruth and Cam,’ then you broke up a bit. Can you repeat that?”

  “I said, Darren Sharp’s here, at the hospital. He has a gun. He wants Fin brought to the hospital or he says he’ll kill Ruth and Cam. You have one hour to get Fin here.”

  Tom jolted to his feet. Ava realised that she was shaking. “PJ . . .” Ava had no idea what she was going to say next, but then a man’s voice took over.

  “You heard her. Clock’s ticking.” The call ended.

  Tom spoke first. “I’ll get Neal.” Ava nodded, too shocked to say anything. Tom went off at a run. Ava stumbled backwards into her chair, sick to her stomach. What had PJ got herself into? Poor, sweet PJ. She’d only just been promoted to detective constable. She wasn’t ready for this.

  Footsteps reverberated in the corridor outside. “Ava!” It was Neal, jerking her out of her state of panic. The sight of Neal, in panic mode himself, rallied her. He was barking out orders into his phone, calling for an armed response vehicle, for the hospital to be alerted, the area in the vicinity of the room where PJ and the others were being held to be evacuated. A hostage negotiator, for fuck’s sake!

  Blunt materialised, along with Fin. Had Fin been told about the threat to Ruth? To his son? One look at his face provided the answer.

  “Ava, you’re with me,” Neal said. “Tom, take Blunt and Fin with you.” He nodded at Fin. “Make damn sure he does as he’s told. On no account is he to get out of the car.”

  The journey to the hospital seemed to take for ever. Ava sat tense and fearful, her racing mind churning out an endless stream of scenarios, none of which ended well. Beside her, Neal gripped the wheel, his knuckles white, tight-lipped and silent.

  Ava needed to act. But this was a hostage situation. It required calm, restraint. Neither were
qualities that Ava possessed. But PJ does, she told herself. If anyone can stay composed in a situation like this, it’s PJ.

  As if reading her mind, Neal said, “Ava, we need to keep our heads in there. I know it’s PJ, but we won’t help her if we act on impulse and rush in at the wrong moment.”

  He knew how reckless Ava could be. Not this time, she told herself, there’s too much at stake. She nodded. “I hear you, sir.”

  Ava turned her head and stared out of the window. Shops, houses, people, all flashed by in a monochrome blur. Only the sky, purple and overcast, hinted at some colour in the world. Ava felt as if she was in a film.

  * * *

  They had arrived. “No sign of the ARV,” Neal said.

  They’d received radio communication moments ago, to say that it was on its way. Neal parked near the out patients’ entrance, the nearest access point to the children’s wards. A couple of patrol cars had beaten them to it, and uniformed officers were already securing the area.

  “Shit. This is going to be all over the news in no time,” Ava said.

  Tom pulled up behind them. “Tom,” Neal said, “stay here and guard Fin. Cuff him if he gives you any grief. Do not bring him inside unless I say so. I’ll be in radio contact. And inform me as soon as the armed officers arrive.”

  Tom looked disappointed, and Ava felt for him. She had half expected him to exclude her too at this point. She was determined to do nothing to undermine his confidence in her.

  “Ready?” Neal looked at Ava, at Blunt and the two uniforms who were to go with them.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then let’s resolve this speedily and get everyone out safe and sound.” As rallying cries go, it wasn’t much of one.

  They were making their way along eerily deserted corridors to the children’s ward. “This is it,” Ava said, pointing down a corridor with cheerful yellow walls decorated with cartoon characters and pictures of balloons and butterflies. It all seemed incongruous in their present situation.