Songs of Innocence: The thrilling third book in the Hannah Weybridge series

by Anne Coates

  “What will you tell Elizabeth about her biological father?”

  The question seemed to come from nowhere. Hannah stared at him. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’d have thought that was obvious. I’m hoping to be a part of both your lives and we have to work out what Elizabeth is told – gradually I know.”

  For once Hannah loved the sound of that “we”. She wasn’t alone. She had support. Someone in her life who cared. It had come as a cruel shock that Paul, who had wanted to end Elizabeth’s life before it had begun was also part of a conspiracy to kill them both – even if he did shape up in the end and save her life. She wasn’t sure what she would tell Elizabeth, or how much, but it wasn’t something she had to decide now.

  “I wasn’t planning on telling her anything until she’s old enough to understand.” Hannah snuggled up to him on the sofa. “But I’m so glad you want to be with me making those decisions.”

  ***

  When it was time to leave the hotel, a different car was waiting for them. Tom was obviously taking no chances but what had prompted such precautions? Hannah didn’t want to ask.

  The journey back to London was bitter-sweet. Hannah was not looking forward to saying goodbye again. But they had cleared the air. The sea breeze had helped with that.

  “There’s something I have to tell you.” Tom changed gear and accelerated past a car and then slipped back into the centre lane.

  Hannah had been thinking about how good their love-making had been and turned towards him smiling. “What?”

  “About when my wife died.”

  She felt a frisson of fear and hoped it was unfounded. “I thought you said it was a car accident?”

  “Yes it was, but she wasn’t alone in the car. Craig, my best friend, was with her.”

  Hannah remained silent. She had often wondered about Tom’s past. He had told her some time ago that he’d changed career after the death of his wife. He’d given up teaching and had joined the police.

  “She was leaving me. With him. Their suitcases were in the car, but I only found the letter she had left for me after the police arrived to tell me about the accident.”

  Hannah didn’t know how to reply. A double betrayal and a double loss. She understood both but not to this extent.

  “You must have been devastated.”

  “I was. I thought – mistakenly as it turned out – that we had a special relationship. It’s taken me a long time to get over that. She was my first love.”

  Hannah thought about her own relationships. She had never felt a profound love for a man and neither, she thought, had she inspired such love. Only when she had Elizabeth did she experience the depth of emotions that she had never felt possible. Maybe there was something lacking in her?

  Then Hannah wondered about ‘first love’. Made it sound like there had been others. She wanted to ask him – again – about his relationship with Claudia but she didn’t want to ruin the time they had left together. Tom was going to drop her off in Dulwich and then head off to Heathrow Airport.

  Hannah studied Tom’s profile. A face that had become more special to her than she previously thought possible.

  Tom reached for her hand and smiled. “Just wanted you to know, that’s all.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tom’s mobile rang just as they were unpacking the car outside her house. He looked exasperated. “Sorry I have to take this.” Hannah unlocked the front door and deposited her bags before going back to collect Elizabeth.

  Tom had his back to her as she approached the car but she distinctly heard him say: “No she doesn’t know anything.” There was a pause, then, “Of course, I’m certain.” He listened a moment longer, then ended the call.

  Hannah froze. She had to force herself to carry on as though she’d heard nothing. There was no reason to assume Tom was referring to her, was there? But she knew without doubt that he was. Elizabeth stared up at her as she undid the straps, her fingers fumbling. She clasped her daughter to her and made her face smile at Tom as he walked round the car to help her with the child seat.

  Moments later he had driven off and Hannah wondered if she’d just walked blindly into another trap? Was there an ulterior motive for the weekend away? Had it all been an elaborate charade? And what, if anything, didn’t she know?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After tucking Elizabeth safely into her cot, Hannah ignored the bags to be unpacked and went into her study. Unusually for a weekend, there were three messages on the answerphone. She pressed play.

  “Hi Hannah,” – Linda’s voice – “hope you’re still okay to give your talk to our year elevens on Tuesday afternoon. Will meet you in reception at 2.30. Any problems let me know.”

  The second message sounded as though the call was being made from a railway station. She could hear the background noise but no voice. She pressed delete.

  The voice on the third was one she’d least expected to hear: Judy Burton.

  “Hi Hannah, I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, but I heard on the grapevine that someone is trying to dig the dirt on you. Not sure why. Sounded serious. Take care.”

  Well that was guaranteed to make her sleep easier. Was Judy just being her usual spiteful self? Trying to unsettle her? If that was the case she’d succeeded.

  Hannah dialled up the Internet and checked her emails. Nothing. She checked everything on her desk. Everything seemed to be how she’d left it. Should she contact Graham? Mr Special Effects as Tom called him. Then those words she’d overheard Tom saying came back to her. “She doesn’t know anything.” If she couldn’t trust Tom, could she – or more importantly should she – rely on Graham?

  She went downstairs, not switching on any lights until she’d made sure every door and window was securely locked and she’d drawn all the curtains. Nothing as far as she could see was out of place. But would she know if someone specially trained had searched for she didn’t know what without leaving a trace?

  Maybe this was just her overactive imagination being set off by Judy’s message. But that didn’t detract from what she had overheard Tom saying. She sat down on the chair in Elizabeth’s room and practiced the breathing exercises the doctor had given her. Her daughter stirred, blissfully unaware of her mother’s state of mind.

  Hannah crept out. In the kitchen she poured herself a large glass of water and drank slowly, going over in her mind the conversations she’d had with Tom. She couldn’t think of anything he’d said or asked that should have alerted her. Sighing, she picked up the copy of Birdsong she’d bought in Brighton and decided to have an early night. Sebastian Faulks could be her bedfellow. He, at least, wanted nothing from her but her attention to his narrative.

  The telephone beside Claudia Turner’s bed rang and she cursed as she made a grab for the handset. As she did so she saw the time on the clock radio: 12.09.

  “Turner.”

  “Ma’am,” it was the duty sergeant at the station, “there’s been another body found. Peckham Park again.”

  “Jesus! How long ago?”

  “The call came in at 23.45. Uniform are there securing the area. DS Benton is on his way to collect you, Ma’am.”

  “Okay, thank you, Sergeant.”

  Claudia was practiced at dressing at a moment’s notice and was ready when Mike Benton rang her bell. He took in her jeans, trainers and fleecy jacket and smiled. Not her normal working gear. But he did wonder if she slept in her make-up to be ready so quickly.

  She strapped herself into the seat as Benton put the car into gear and drove off. No need for flashing lights; the streets were empty.

  “When I said see you Monday, I didn’t mean this early,” she said in an attempt at a joke. “What have we got, do you know?”

  “Young female. And not long dead by the sound of it. We’ve got all patrols in the area on the lookout.” Benton pulled into the car park. “She was found by a couple taking a shortcut home so they may have disturbed the perpetrators. Stopped them
hiding the body.”

  “Right, let’s see what we have then.” Claudia nodded to the Medical Officer and they set off together.

  Another young Asian girl. Why this sudden spate of murders in such a specific age-range and ethnicity? Claudia was at a loss. This girl looked about seventeen. She had been stabbed repeatedly in what looked like a frenzied attack. A different MO. What a start to the week – another family’s despair.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Hannah’s finger hovered over the send icon. She fervently hoped that her article about the suspected murder of Amalia Kumar would help her aunt and perhaps give the police some new leads. So far, according to Claudia Turner, the ring Amalia was assumed to have been wearing before her death had not turned up at any of the Peckham pawnbrokers. The police had contacted other stations in the south-east and sent the details. But nothing had come of it.

  She had checked what Sunita and the family would be happy with and had been given carte blanche.

  “I want you to write this in the best way you see fit.” Sunita sounded frighteningly calm. “Do not worry about our feelings. See if you can stir any memories. Touch a guilty nerve. I have every confidence in you.”

  Privately Hannah wondered if she should be so trusting. Would she be? She made a note on the email that she wanted to check the subbed copy. The story was sensational enough without adding to it as The News subs were prone to do.

  The story concentrated on how the perpetrators had tried to make Amalia’s death look like suicide. Hannah had highlighted the student’s achievements and the total lack of any evidence to suggest she would have taken her own life. Motive for murder was also an enigma.

  She pressed send and would await Rory’s reaction. In the meantime she had another dilemma that would not, it seemed, go away.

  ***

  The visiting order was the third she had received. Paul Montague was nothing if not persistent. Stubborn was another word she might have used. She really didn’t want to see him. Then it occurred to her that she had a get-out clause. She rang the solicitor at The News.

  Larry Jefferson answered on the third ring. “How can I help you?” he asked when she introduced herself.

  His manner towards her had undergone a transformation since their first dealings – he’d been so nasty and officious when The News spiked her story about Caroline. After she had been given a contract and, it seemed, Lord Gyles’s personal protection, he was actually solicitous. A solicitous solicitor. Hannah smiled at her own joke.

  “I just wanted to check something out with you regarding Paul Montague.” Did she imagine a pause?

  “Fire away.”

  “Well, he’s sent me several visiting orders and, as you know, he’s on remand for the part he played in… in …”

  The lawyer spared her the description. “Quite. And as you will be a witness for the prosecution at his trial it would be unethical for you to have any contact with him.”

  Hannah let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  “In fact, I’ll contact the governor at the prison and let him know. And Montague’s solicitor. Anything else I can help you with?”

  “No that’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

  She hung up and tore the visiting order into shreds. If only everything could be sorted so easily.

  Shortly afterwards Rory rang to say that her Amalia story was going in the next day.

  “You flagged up that you wanted to see the subbed copy?”

  “Yes, I hope that’s not a problem?”

  “Not at all. I’m just checking that you’ll be at your desk ready and waiting.”

  Hannah laughed. “By the way did you enjoy the match?”

  “Well a three-all draw was better than defeat. How was your weekend?”

  “Interesting. Tom turned up and we went to Brighton.”

  There was a silence at the other end of the line.

  “Rory, are you still there?”

  “Yes, sorry Hannah, someone just put something on my desk that I need to deal with. I’ll get Angie to call you when the copy’s ready to be emailed to you. We’ll fax over the layout as well.”

  Hannah didn’t have a chance to thank him before he rang off.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The pupils were already assembled in the classroom they were using for Hannah’s talk when she arrived. She’d agonised over what to wear. What image did she want to present? The smart casual of a successful career woman she decided and chose a dress and jacket to fit the part. To celebrate her new contract and increased fee, she’d bought herself some new clothes. Her work outfits hung in her wardrobe, colour-coordinated and at the ready. An absolute luxury – and a time-saver.

  Now she scanned the faces as they looked towards her expectantly. A range of skin tones from English rose white to deep ebony. Seeing the African-looking girl reminded Hannah of Mia and the girls who had been trafficked. Those nightmares remained in her memory like an ill-digested meal. She wondered which of the Asian pupils was the one who was always having time off. Or maybe – inevitably – she was absent.

  Linda held up her hands, waited for silence and began her introduction. Hannah heard “investigative journalist … exposés … human interest stories”, words breaching the electrifying shock she experienced when she looked across to the row of teachers who stood along the back.

  They looked friendly enough. Except for one man. Dark hair, clean-shaven, wearing heavy, black-rimmed glasses and a sports jacket that looked as though it had been bought from a charity shop. It didn’t suit him. As soon as he saw her looking at him he bent forward and said something to the pupil in front of him. From then on, he seemed to always have a hand, book, something or other obscuring his face. But once or twice during her talk, she caught him staring at her and there was something about him that seemed familiar.

  Hannah finished her prepared spiel and Linda asked if there were any questions.

  Hands shot up. Linda pointed to a boy in the fourth row. “Michael.”

  “Do you earn a lot of money?” A few sniggers.

  “That depends,” Hannah parried. “Regional – local newspapers – and some magazines don’t pay very much. You can earn more money working for national newspapers but if you’re freelance, like me, there are times when work is scarce.”

  “You’re not very glamorous are you?” It wasn’t a question but a statement from a pupil who looked as though she spent every waking moment working on her appearance.

  “Look who’s talking,” shouted one of the boys from the back and she saw the dark-haired teacher bend forward and say something to him. The boy just grinned.

  Hannah laughed. “Luckily for me, glamour isn’t one of the qualifications you need to be a journalist.”

  “What qualifications do you need?” Linda had interceded with a question.

  Hannah paused, aware she should be pushing formal education. “Apart from A levels or a degree, an open mind, an ability to listen, a good grasp of English language…”

  She was interrupted by a boy sitting towards the back. “Why’d you have to stand outside people’s houses and shout at them?”

  “What would you know about that, Jimbo? What’s your dad been up to?”

  The boy ignored the laughter. “I’ve seen it on the telly, haven’t I.”

  Hannah smiled. “Fortunately I’ve never had to do that, but sometimes it’s necessary if you need to get to the bottom of a story and if someone’s been lying or covering up a crime.” Hannah hadn’t expected to be put on the spot like this.

  “My dad says you wrote a good story about girls being smuggled into the country.” This came from a girl in the front row who, Hannah noticed, was taking notes.

  “Thank you.” Hannah looked across at Linda for guidance, not sure about how much to say. “That was a very difficult investigation.”

  “How did you feel when you found your friend dead in that church in Wa
terloo?” The question came from a pupil in the middle row of girls.

  You could hear the proverbial pin drop. Linda looked as though she was going to say something, but Hannah felt these kids deserved an honest response.

  “It was horrendous.” She paused. For a moment she was back in the crypt. Her friend’s dead body in front of her. “I felt sick. To be honest – I was sick. It was one of the worst experiences of my life.”

  “I was sick when I found my sister dead. She’d drunk bleach and…” the Asian girl who had been speaking stood up. Her chair clattered back and Hannah wasn’t sure whether she was going to pass out or…

  The scream reverberated around the room. Several members of staff moved at once towards a white girl who had been sitting next to the Asian one. There seemed no reason for the scream and the girl was lead out of the classroom.

  A bell rang. Linda wound up the session. The pupils clapped and then they were gone.

  “Sorry about that performance at the end.” Linda said no more and Hannah had renewed admiration for teachers and the work they did. They certainly had their work cut out for them at this school. As they were walking back to the reception area, Hannah asked about the male teacher who’d seemed familiar.

  “That’s Mike Jones. He’s a supply. Booked to cover a maternity leave. Oh, there he is. What did you think of the talk, Mike?”

  “We could have done without the histrionics.”

  Hannah could see he would have avoided going over to them, if he could have. She searched for something in her bag but watched the way he walked towards them. The walk. She knew that walk. And he held his left arm awkwardly.

  Hannah smiled at him as they shook hands.

  “I have the feeling that we’ve met somewhere before.”

  “No, I think I would remember.” He smiled and pushed his glasses further up his nose. For a moment his eyes stared into hers. “Nice talk. Perhaps some of them will concentrate on their exams if they think they could join you.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Be good to think so.” She turned to Linda and kissed her cheek. “Looks like my cab has arrived. See you soon?”