“I want him to have a good life, but I’m just scared. Scared he’ll forget about me. Scared he’ll come to harm. Scared there’s some psychopath out there who might just snatch him. Apart from his father, of course. I suppose it’s because of my job. I know what goes on.”
“You do. You’re clearly good at your job. But I was surprised at your reaction to Lisa leaving Elise. After what you’ve seen . . .”
“Are you? Surprised? After everything I’ve seen?”
He’s changing the subject. Good. Maybe I can keep Aiden missing for longer. Keep him safe from the accusations and the guilty by association.
“In a good way. Still optimistic. Expecting the best from people. It’s kind of refreshing to see. You’re a good person, and you think everyone else should be at your level, and you’re shocked when they aren’t.”
“Lisa, you mean?”
“Yeah. I researched you a little before I came here. I was told I’d be with you and Mike for familiarization. I saw your track record. Gang crime, major fraud, kidnapping. Blokes kneecapped and women tied up in cellars. And the last case. The way you went beyond the call to solve it. But you wouldn’t believe that Lisa could leave her baby, and when it transpired that she must have, you cut her off as bad. What do you think now?”
I consider what he’s saying. He’s right. I resisted the fact that she might have a reason. No one leaves their kid. Fact. End of. Except now I know they do.
“Well, now it’s a different story.”
“Exactly. That’s what we’re all told, that good triumphs over evil. All the stories we’re told as kids, all the rhymes and Disney films weaving in and out of our minds. The princess gets the prince. Songs. The playlist. Lisa creating a reality for Elise to believe in, to make her own story around when she gets older. The fairy godmother trumps the wicked witch. It’s what we believe. And when we’re confronted by reality, it’s hard to accept.”
I think back to my childhood, and he’s right. My mother’s animation as she read to me, the endless Disney films. And, later on, songs about everlasting love. I think about Elise and what it’s done to her. What will she believe?
“I know it goes on. ’Course I do. I know about baby farming and kidnapping. But it’s still hard to take in.”
He nods.
“It is hard to take in. After years of conditioning, it is difficult to believe someone could do that. And Annie Smith. As far from the serial killer profile as you could get. But somewhere her story’s gone wrong. Somehow she’s been warped.”
He looks away, and I wonder if he’s crying again. But he turns back suddenly.
“We’re all made of stardust and stories, Jan. Stardust and stories.”
I almost laugh but hold it in. He’s a good man.
“Sounds so lovely, but I don’t think I can go to the DPP with that. Or pin it on an evidence board.”
He smiles.
“No. You can’t. But you can let it underpin everything. All your work. Make it your modus operandi. Or between us, modus vivendi. Agree to differ. We might never agree, but we can work together?”
“I don’t know, Damien. It’s too soon to make any decisions. It all sounds plausible, the stardust and stories stuff, but it’s not, is it? Not in reality. It’s difficult. It’s certainly been a learning curve. Hard to understand. And I guess it all came out today when Lisa told us about what was really happening at Charleston House.”
He rubs his forehead.
“Projection. It’s perfectly normal, Jan. You’ve got concerns about your own mothering, and you were just projecting them onto Lisa. And anyone else who fits the bad mother–shaped story you’ve got in your head.”
I tense up. Why would he say that?
“Are you saying I’m a bad mother?”
He holds his hands up in mock horror.
“No, not at all. I’m suggesting that you think you are, and you’re arguing with yourself. You know you have standards, and you’ve kept to them, but you feel because your son missing, well, what I’m saying is you can’t always separate life from work. So don’t beat yourself up.”
He’s right. But I still can’t get my head round it all. Could all this be going on right under our noses? How could this happen to Mike?
“I don’t know, Damien. Are we stupid? Are we just skimming the top of serious crime? It seems like the deeper you scratch the surface the worse it gets. Nutters with guns and baby-trafficking psychopaths. All those people we arrested today, all those people at Charleston House. Annie. Ian Stevens. They’re all part of everyday life, going about their business. Driving around. Going to work. All the time they’re criminals. I’m starting to wonder who isn’t a psychopath.”
Damien looks tired. I know he’s making an effort for me now, and it’s draining him.
“That’s it about psychopaths. We don’t always know who they are. But it makes it a whole lot easier when we look at people’s motivations. Look closely at their stories, their truth, and their lies. Someone did a study recently about brain patterns of psychopaths. He reckoned that many people are predisposed but only a few ever trip the switch. And it’s to do with cultural triggers.”
He’s rubbing his eyes. Dog tired. But I have to ask.
“So what trips the switch then?”
“If we knew that, we’d be able to find them immediately, wouldn’t we? It’s an unknown unknown. Something we don’t know we don’t know. Something so horrendous that we can’t even imagine it. And when it happens, we fight it. Like you and Lisa. Like Lisa and Brian Jameson. How could she know what he was up to? She could never have imagined what would happen to those girls. Like Annie and those kids. Unthinkable. In fact, I’m having a hard job accepting it. But I will.”
He shakes his head sadly.
“And Mike. Brave. Invincible.”
I laugh.
“Bulletproof. That’s what he used to say. ‘I’m bulletproof.’”
Damien orders in Chinese food. I’m too upset to move, so he gets plates and finds chopsticks in the drawer. I read the postcard again. I don’t recognize that writing. Or am I still in denial about Aiden? That he could leave with Sal? And Selena. They have each other, and I have no one.
I’d have a joke with Mike about how close we were, like today, but I never realized how much I relied on him. How much I treated him as a substitute boyfriend, someone to complain to, moan at, and eat kebabs with on surveillance. Listen to his shit taste in music. He filled the Sal-shaped gap in my life with his floppy hair and his sympathy. And his protection. He had my back.
But he belonged to Della, and I knew that. It suited me, because I just wanted someone at a distance. I’m too scared to have a relationship. Too raw. Too busy. And now too traumatized. I watch as Damien struggles with his noodles, shoveling them into his mouth clumsily. I stare at the television and think about tomorrow and the parents of the dead children. What they have to go through. And I celebrate the fact that Aiden’s safe, even if only I know he is.
I must have fallen asleep in the chair because when I wake, Damien is stretched out on the sofa. I get up and find a throw and cover him. He stirs a little as I pull it up around him, and turns onto his side. I go into the kitchen and drink some milk. Did today really happen?
I check my phone and see two missed calls from Della. She’s left a message, but it wouldn’t be fair to listen to it right now. Not while I’m fretting over her husband. There’s also a call from ops but no message. They’ll call back if they need me.
Tomorrow’s going to be different. A new start. I can’t change what happened or turn back time. I need to focus on finding the bastard who almost killed Mike. And closing up Operation Hawk. There’s still a long way to go with the evidence and the forensics and making absolutely sure the case is watertight. Then there’s Lisa. She’s the key to finding Mike’s attacker, so I need to keep her safe. She also has the inside knowledge about the Connellys. No doubt she’ll want her daughter back. So tomorrow’s going to be differen
t.
I stand in the kitchen in my bare feet. For the first time in my whole life I realize I’m alone. I don’t have a partner. Neither personally nor professionally.
I look at my reflection in the window. I survived, and Mike almost didn’t, and now it’s up to me to chase whoever committed these crimes, and bring them to prosecution. I’m not sure what will happen after that. I’m not even sure what will happen tomorrow. I only know that life can’t carry on as it had before. Not now after I know how fucking cruel the world really is.
I walk by Damien, and my arm brushes his hair as I pass. Then I go upstairs, get into bed, push in my earphones, and listen to the playlist until I fall asleep.
Chapter 35
When I open my eyes, Damien is standing beside my bed. He’s holding a cup of tea.
“I’m really sorry to wake you, Jan, but Mike’s asking for you.”
The messages from Della. And ops. I jump up and run my fingers through my hair. I pull on yesterday’s clothes and push my feet into my black pumps, hurrying through the house. Damien drives me to the hospital in complete silence.
When we arrive, I run through the corridors up to intensive care, flashing my warrant card at the desk. Della’s sitting at the end of the corridor with Jack Snape and Lois Corrigan from the senior crime prevention team. From a distance, she looks small and childlike, but as soon as she sees me, she breaks away from the detectives and rushes toward me.
“His kids. His mum. Me. But no. No. You!”
She flies at me, and Damien jumps between us just as she grabs at my hair.
“It’s you he’s asking for. Over and over again. Get Jan. Get Jan. And I heard your voice mail message. You would, would you? You fucking bitch.”
It’s too much for me. I want to answer her, tell her it’s about the case, it’s not about me and Mike because he’s always faithful to her. Always. But instead I rush past her and down the corridor.
The room is dimly lit, and he’s lying there, completely flat. The EKG beeps through the silence, and I sit at the side of the pristine hospital bed. I can see that they’ve shaved part of his long hair, and his head in heavily bandaged.
He’s still asleep, so I take his file from the end of the bed and look inside. There’s a rough diagram of his head and the site of the injury, and some medical jargon. I can make out that his skull is fractured and that they’ve operated to correct that. I scan the page desperately for a prognosis but don’t find one.
Then he’s awake. His eyes are wide and panicked.
“Jan . . .”
“Take it easy, mate. I’m here.”
His breathing is rapid. I consider pressing the emergency button, but it suddenly slows down. I hear the door open behind me, and Jack and Lois are in the room. Della’s voice booms from outside momentarily, and Mike’s eyes move to the door and back to me.
“He was there. Sal. He was there.”
I almost stop breathing. It’s impossible.
“No. He’s not, remember?”
Mike tries to get up.
“He was. He was there . . . and . . .”
“Aiden?”
“No. Not Aiden. Just Sal. He said . . . he said . . .”
I grab his hand and squeeze it.
“Did he do this? Did he Mike? Did he?”
His eyes fill with tears.
“Yeah. And he’s coming for you. He told me to tell you he’s coming for you.”
Our eyes lock. I need to finish this. I need to deal with it. Mike’s here because of me.
“He won’t get me, Mike. I’ll make sure of that. Look, Della’s creating a scene out there. I’d better go.”
He manages a small smile.
“Be careful. And come back.”
I pull my hand from his and leave the room. Jack and Lois follow me, and Della pushes past me to finally go to her husband. I stare at Jack and Lois. How could that happen? How could Sal be there? I saw him get on that flight to Rio. And the postcard from Aiden? I sit down heavily on the hospital-issue chairs. Sal had been one step ahead of me all the time. He knows me well, and he knows I would dwell on him taking Aiden.
He’s been playing me. All the time I kept it to myself, protecting Aiden, Sal was playing me. The calls. Facebook. The postcard. All to keep my mind on Aiden while he crept back here. Business as usual.
There’s no doubt in my mind as to why he’s coming after me. I’ve ruined his little earner. I’ve stamped out his lucrative business—the business of abuse. It shocks me that I’m hardly surprised that he was at Brian Jameson’s place. Hardly surprised that he’s involved in porn. Not after what I’ve seen recently. Damien’s at the other end of the corridor on his phone, and I turn to Jack and Lois.
“Get someone over here to guard Mike. I don’t want him left alone for one minute.”
I turn to go, but Jack catches my arm.
“Don’t go after him, Jan. Get backup.”
I stop in my tracks.
“I’m not going after him. I know when to ramp it up. Oh no, I’m not going after him. We are. I’m going to get the whole police force after him.”
I hurry past Damien, who follows me. When we’re outside, I call operations and tell them what’s happened. That it’s Sal who has shot Mike and that Mike needs to give a statement as soon as he is ready. That Sal is armed and dangerous. That he’s coming after me. Damien stares at me as I speak. When I’ve finished, we stand in the car park in silence for a moment.
I stare at a pair of blackbirds bringing worms to their chicks and think about Bessy Swain and her son, Thomas. I think about Aiden, and where my fifteen-year-old son has been while all this has been going on. I find Sal’s mother’s number on my mobile and call it. The international ring buzzes and then the Italian tone, but no one answers. It’s no holds barred now. Anything goes. If Aiden’s there, I want him to know that I’m looking for him.
Damien’s looking uncertain.
“Should you be, you know, outside?”
“Probably not, but what choice do I have? I need to put this to bed. I need to find Sal and finish it once and for all. That’ll lead us to Connelly, and I’ll get my son back.”
He looks at his phone.
“The thing is, and I know you don’t need this at the moment, but we’ve got a problem.
“Go on. What problem?”
He perches on the edge of a low barrier, worn out.
“That little girl. It’s not Dara. It’s a different child. Taken yesterday from a preschool in Preston. They kept it under wraps because they thought the father’s new girlfriend had collected her, and the mother was neurotic. But she matches the description.”
It’s the last thing I need, but the first thing I think about is poor Amy.
“Oh my god. Did Amy Price go to the hospital?”
He looks into the distance. Both of us know the scenario.
“Unfortunately. Yes. They had to tell her that Dara wasn’t there at the house. That she probably had been, but she was gone, and we have no idea of where to look for her. She had to be sedated. And as you can imagine, Marc Price is gunning for anyone he can.”
“Did he kick off?”
“Apparently he started to in the hospital, threatening to go to the papers, but one of the doctors pointed out that the police had done everything they could and took a hit in the process. And that the only person to blame for taking his daughter was Annie Smith.”
“And did they find anything else at Annie’s house?”
He shakes his head.
“No. Just the little boy and the baby so far. The other crates had women’s clothes in them. It doesn’t look good. Search is resuming at eight o’clock.”
I check my phone. It’s quarter to eight.
“Right. We need to get someone to interview Ian Stevens. Then Annie. Lorraine can take a statement from Lisa.”
“You’re not going to work, are you? After . . .”
“After Mike was almost murdered in cold blood? And there’s a
contract out on me? You bet your bottom dollar I am. I can’t just hang around here, Damien. I need to be there, supervising. Looking for that bastard.”
He stands up. I wonder for a moment if he’s going to hug me. But he doesn’t.
“I’ll be with you.”
Nothing’s right. It’s as if the world is out of sync, and I’m wading through fog. I go home, shower, get dressed, and pull my hair into a tight ponytail. Ready for business. Because no matter how weak I feel, I have to deal with today and all it brings.
I go downstairs, and Damien’s made tea and toast.
We’re at the station in no time, and the mood is somber. Jim Stewart is conspicuous in his absence, and Lorraine rushes toward us.
“He’s been suspended. Pending inquiries. But a lot has happened overnight. Jerry will brief you.”
We move into the surveillance room, where Jerry and a few of the others are gathered. Jerry clears his throat.
“We just wanted to say how sorry we are about Mike, Jan.”
Jerry was there. He saw Mike fall. He’s come in today as well, for the same reason as I have. I swallow back tears.
“Was it quick? I mean, he wouldn’t have . . . ?”
Jerry nods.
“Yeah. It was quick. Let’s hope he’s on the mend.”
I go to the front. I need to get this out in the open.
“OK. There’s something you need to know. Mike’s named the shooter. He recognized him. It’s Salvador Margiotti.”
There’s an audible gasp, and then the room falls silent. All eyes on me.
“I’m alerting Interpol that he’s back in the country and that he’s back in our area. This also means that the crime scene that Mike was investigating is likely linked to Sean Connelly. We need to establish how. But as Sal . . . vador Margiotti is armed and dangerous, I’m alerting the rapid response unit and sending this higher.”
In that moment, I feel pure hate for him. I can see the pity in the faces of my colleagues. How can Jan call rapid response on her ex? How can she reconcile that he shot her partner? I make it easy for them.
“I want the bastard who shot Mike found and dealt with, and it’s not appropriate for any of us to do that job. I’ll let you know when it’s happened, but until then, be careful.”
Playlist for a Paper Angel (DS Jan Pearce Crime Fiction Series Book 3) Page 24
