by Gayle Curtis
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Things changed once Cara’s disappearance became national news. Rachel had known the entire community would be scouring the fields, the shores, the forests – anywhere they could think of – in the hope that Cara was alive. Social media was flooded with pleas for information and crowdfunding had already started, all without Rachel doing a thing.
She had been expecting that. But the horror with Raymond – that had set everything spinning, and it hadn’t stopped. Perhaps it never would.
All she recalled about that fateful morning was that, just as she’d thought about reporting Cara missing, the police had arrived at her house to tell her Raymond had been murdered and to ask her if her daughter was at home, safe and sound. None of this had been part of the plan and it had left Rachel feeling confused about what was going on. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say or who she was meant to call. The details relayed to her by the police weren’t consistent with what she and Jason had discussed.
Rachel stood up and walked across to the patio windows. The ferocious heat of the summer had eased, and it seemed like all the insects who had been dormant or drowsy in the sunshine had suddenly come to life in the cool air. For the first time in weeks, the sky was threatening to tear in several places. A rumble of thunder in the distance seemed to signify the events of the weekend. It was similar to how Rachel was feeling, but her eyes couldn’t seem to produce any tears and she felt empty and cold. Something was wrong, very wrong. She sat back down again, not knowing where to put herself.
Cara’s best friend had been murdered, his body dumped on Blue Green Square. The words of the police officers had stayed in her head. There was something in the way they had been delivered, suggesting that Rachel should somehow feel lucky that her child was merely missing – there was hope. The news that a child had been murdered seemed to sit on Rachel’s skin like water on plastic sheeting; she wouldn’t let it penetrate. She couldn’t hear what was being asked of her, or comprehend what was going on.
‘So, your husband died approximately eighteen months ago?’ The other detective, DS Nina Hall, was leaning forward in the armchair next to Rachel and had touched her arm, trying to bring her back into the room. Rachel vaguely recalled the woman saying she was their family liaison officer, assigned to look after her during the investigation and to answer any questions she might have. Rachel wasn’t stupid, she was well aware she was being watched; the woman was, after all, a detective. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel, but we need you to answer these questions, so we have as much knowledge as possible and the best chance of finding Cara.’
Rachel thought back to Howard’s last day with her, so clear in her mind. ‘It was the usual old cliché: Howard went out for a takeaway and didn’t come back. His car was found in the river three weeks later. It’s an accident hotspot.’
‘And you didn’t call anyone at the time? Friends, family?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘Not straight away, no. He’d done it before, quite a few times – just left for a time, then came back when he’d thought things over – so I didn’t think anything of it.’
The detective sergeant looked down at her notes. ‘It was two weeks before you reported him missing?’
‘Yes.’ Rachel leaned forward to put her mug of cold tea on to the table. She’d gripped it so tightly, her fingers felt cramped. She hadn’t for one minute thought they’d want to delve into her private life. Jason had never mentioned it. Yet now it seemed so stupid of her to have assumed the police wouldn’t ask about Howard. She desperately wanted to call Jason, but he had told her not to make contact, under any circumstances. But with these recent twists and turns, she wondered if that no longer applied.
‘Why are you asking me about Howard? I told you, his car was dragged from the Forty Foot River.’
‘But there was no body recovered. We’re following all enquiries, so we can find Cara as quickly as possible. Was there any money missing from your account, any messages or activity on his social media accounts?’
‘Obviously not. Listen, lots of people end up in that river and it opens straight into the sea; they’re never found. The inquest confirmed Howard had been involved in an accident, skidded off the road and died.’
‘Actually, it just confirmed he was involved in a traffic accident and the possibility of survival unlikely. It was misadventure.’
DCI Rita Cannan had addressed her. Rachel had all but forgotten she was in the room.
‘Oh, I didn’t know that,’ Rachel said. ‘Look, why are we concentrating on him? My daughter is missing.’
‘Mrs Fearon, we are exploring everything right now, and trying to ascertain whether or not there’s a possibility your husband might have come back and taken your daughter.’
‘Huh.’ Rachel laughed ironically, eyebrows raised at DCI Cannan. ‘If Howard did rise from the dead, he isn’t the sort of person to kidnap his daughter. He might hate me, but he adores that girl.’
‘Have you tried to contact your husband since he left that night, Mrs Fearon?’ DCI Cannan’s voice was sterner now, making Rachel nervous.
‘No, no. Why would I? What’s the point?’ Rachel saw the officers exchange a look. ‘What I mean is, why would I make someone come back who . . . well, who didn’t want to? When the police told me they’d recovered his car from the river, I just accepted he was dead. Why would I try and contact a dead man?’
Silence descended on the room. Rachel watched DCI Cannan’s attention turn to the French windows and the garden.
‘Thanks for your help, Mrs Fearon.’ DCI Cannan stood up to leave. ‘We’ll be in touch if there’s any news, and DS Hall will be here each day to answer any questions you have.’
Rachel ignored her and went outside for a cigarette. As she wandered across the patio, she distinctly heard DCI Cannan talking into her phone, and asking whoever was on the other end for a proof-of-life investigation on Howard Fearon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE LESTER BARCLAY SHOW
FIVE YEARS LATER
Rita scanned the sea of people that made up the crew in the studio, always slightly nervous in a confined space with strangers. She hated not being able to see everyone, and some of the people at the back were obscured in darkness. It was a police thing – all her colleagues had been the same, had to have their back to the wall so they could survey their surroundings. But today she was feeling particularly uncomfortable. That morning she had found a card tucked under the windscreen wipers of her car. Inside it read ‘LOVE YOU’. She had looked around to see if anyone was watching but she couldn’t see anything suspicious, but she couldn’t help feeling exposed and vulnerable. Over the past few months, Rita had received some strange things through the post. One such item had been a tiny silver box, a cheap item with a loose lid, but it was pretty, and her mother-in-law had loved it. The last item had been a porcelain giraffe with a charity-shop price tag stuck to the bottom. There’d been nothing for a couple of weeks, until today – assuming the card was from the same person who’d sent the trinkets. There was a creepiness surrounding it all and she couldn’t shake it off.
‘We’ve talked a bit about Kristen Hammond, the mother of the murdered child. I’d like to discuss the other parent today, the mother of missing Cara Fearon . . .’
‘I thought you might,’ Rita said, smiling at Lester.
‘Tell us what happened the first time you met Rachel Fearon. She’s been involved in quite a lot of controversy.’ Lester straightened his tie and appeared to settle himself into his chair, as if waiting for a story.
Rita took a sip of water before she began. ‘Well, the first time was when I went to the house with DS Nina Hall, who was appointed as the family liaison officer.’
‘At this stage, did Rachel know Cara was missing? Because as far as she was aware, her daughter was at a sleepover at Kristen Hammond’s house, so I’m guessing she wouldn’t have known anything was wrong.’
‘Yes, yes, she did.’
‘Did she kno
w about Raymond Hammond by this time?’ said Lester, looking down at his tie again, as if he’d spilt something on it. He always gave Rita the impression he was only half listening.
‘Yes, officers told Rachel immediately about the other child before it was public knowledge, so we had time to give her all the information. We wanted to see her reaction, if she said anything of interest.’
‘So she was instantly a suspect?’
‘Not necessarily, but there was something odd about the way she responded to the situation in those first few days.’ Rita paused, carefully choosing her words. ‘People react in all sorts of ways when they’ve received bad news, but during my career, I’ve seen three common types of behaviour: hysteria, tears or stunned silence.’
‘And which reaction did Rachel have?’
‘None of the above. Her daughter was missing and she just seemed nervous, on edge. Her behaviour didn’t add up.’
‘In what way?’
‘Rachel said that when she awoke that Monday morning to find Cara wasn’t in her bed, she was about to call the police.’
‘What was so strange about that?’
‘Why would you call the police if you knew your daughter was at a friend’s house?’ Rita said, giving Lester a direct stare. ‘Who is the first person you’d call in that scenario?’
‘The police . . . ?’ Lester said, uncertainly.
‘At this point, you don’t know anything is wrong. Your daughter is at a sleepover. Wouldn’t it be more plausible that she’d simply still be there? You’d call the parents first.’
Lester nodded. ‘I see. So there was no call made to Kristen Hammond?’
‘None. And when you look at all the tiny pieces in the picture, you begin to see there’s something wrong with the bigger image.’
‘Copper’s nose?’
‘I suppose there was a bit of that, yes. There was something off, the whole thing stank, but we just didn’t know why.’
‘It could have been shock though,’ Lester said, frowning. ‘She must have been horrified to hear that news, with her own child missing?’
‘On the surface, yes. Most people behave bizarrely, don’t think about what they’re doing, but this felt rehearsed, false, like she was following a textbook on how to behave in a crisis. Her reaction was cold – nervous but cold – and it stayed that way throughout the entire investigation.’
‘Bit harsh,’ Lester said.
‘No. She was hiding something. We just couldn’t get to the bottom of it.’
‘So it would seem. It was quite early on in the investigation when you called in the cadaver dogs. According to my research . . .’ Lester quickly flicked through his notes. ‘The dogs were brought in the day after Cara disappeared?’
‘Look, Lester, I was running the investigation. A child had been murdered, a second was missing. There was no doubt in our minds that time wasn’t on our side – and as the hours ticked by, the less chance we had of finding Cara Fearon alive.’
‘But there was another reason the search dogs were brought in so quickly, wasn’t there?’
Rita nodded, contemplating what she was going to say next. ‘Howard Fearon, Cara’s father, had been involved in a car accident near the Forty Foot River around eighteen months before. His vehicle had gone into the water but his body was never recovered. We needed to check proof of life, so we could rule him out of the investigation. Rachel told us that he’d left the house to collect a takeaway and never returned, but she didn’t report him missing for two weeks. We didn’t believe her, so I made the decision to search the premises.’
‘But what made you even think that? Why cadaver dogs?’
‘Because Rachel had reported him for violence on a few occasions, although the incidences were unsubstantiated. We spoke to two officers who’d attended the family and they said it was a volatile situation.’
‘At that time did you really believe he was still alive?’ Lester said, a disbelieving smile hovering on his lips. ‘I mean, it’s unlikely he’d have got out of that car once it hit the water.’
‘It was a possibility, some people have survived, but that wasn’t the point. I work on extreme theories in serious cases. Rule those out, and the rest falls into place.’
‘How did Rachel react when you told her about the search?’
Rita leant forward and clasped her hands together, resting her elbows on the arms of the chair. ‘Like someone who might have their husband buried at the bottom of the garden.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
To Jody’s surprise, Jade, Mr Mackenzie’s guide dog, was still alive – she could hear her barking when she put the key in the back door – but then she remembered she’d shut her in the front part of the house as the Mackenzies always did, which was away from any toxic fumes.
There was plenty of dog food in the larder, so Jody fed a very hungry Jade, who whined until the dish of kibble and meat was placed on the kitchen floor. Placing her hand over her nose, Jody opened the back windows of the house to let some air in. Jade, having not been let out the night before, had taken a shit on the floor. The stench was making Jody gag, but she couldn’t clear it up, it wouldn’t look right. She walked through to the utility room and switched the timer off on the leaky boiler.
By the open French doors in the kitchen, she sat down in the seat she would normally take when she was reading out crossword clues to Mr Mackenzie. Jody rested her elbows on her knees and examined his pale face. His mouth was slightly open, and his false teeth had dropped from his palette. Congealed custard lined his lips. It reminded her of the dead mouse she’d shown Cara and Raymond a few weeks ago. Jody had gone down to the park where they usually hung out, carrying the dead mouse she’d removed from the Mackenzies’ larder. Raymond had given her his penknife and she’d slit its stomach open and prised the small parcel of guts from its body.
‘I killed that mouse. Poisoned it,’ Jody had told them all.
‘With what?’ Raymond was wide-eyed along with Cara.
‘Custard,’ Jody answered matter-of-factly, making them both frown.
‘You can’t kill anything with custard, that’s so stupid.’ Cara got up from the tree log where they were sitting and began walking away.
‘Mice love custard, they can’t resist it. I mixed some Ajax in with it. Nasty death.’ Jody smiled at Cara, who’d stopped walking and turned back towards them. She could never resist one of Jody’s grisly tales.
Raymond leant forward and examined the carcass. ‘How did it die?’
Cara gave him a shove. ‘She just said she poisoned it, durrrr!’
‘You’re such a retard! I want to know exactly how it actually died.’
‘He started choking and then he had a fit.’ Jody stood up and began to show them how the mouse had met its untimely end. She stepped towards Cara and looked directly at her. ‘He let out the most awful scream before he carked it.’
She had enjoyed winding Cara up and was sorry when it was all over.
Mr Mackenzie didn’t look much different to when he was having a nap. His hand was resting on an open book, his fingers on the braille midway through a sentence. Jody collected the empty bowl on the table next to him. It contained yellow remnants of the apple crumble and custard Jody had served them the previous evening. The Mackenzies’ tabby cat took advantage of the open door and wandered in, meowing and winding her way around Jody’s legs.
Jody found the cat food and emptied a pouch into Jade’s dog bowl. She gave a brief glance towards Mrs Mackenzie, who was slumped over the dining table, and removed her empty dessert bowl, placing it in the sink with Mr Mackenzie’s. She filled the bowl, watching the hot water pour over the dirty crockery, and added a tiny amount of washing-up liquid. Putting on some rubber gloves, Jody scrubbed the bowls and spoons, wincing as the heat from the water penetrated the gloves. She placed the clean dishes on the drainer, where she was always asked to put the washing-up – Mrs Mackenzie was often banging on about unhygienic tea towels, even though she used them
to dry her hands. Jody had forgotten to wash up the night before, her mind still focused on what Mr Mackenzie had said about her father and the call Mrs Mackenzie had planned to make. This morning, she’d decided to return to the house and make sure there was nothing suspicious pointing in her direction, and had thought she ought to clear the tea things away in case it looked like she’d left in a hurry.
The steps she’d taken had suggested themselves to her almost automatically. It was as though she were meant to do what she’d done. She’d heard Mrs Mackenzie complain about the boiler setting the carbon monoxide alarm off, then listened to the old woman call an engineer, swearing because it had gone straight to answerphone. With Jody’s cold, sharp temper having been driven by an overwhelming urge to protect her father, she’d gone into the utility room before she left for the day and altered the timer so the boiler would come on in the early evening. Then, using Mrs Mackenzie’s small step ladder, Jody had set about removing the batteries in the carbon monoxide alarm.
The batteries. They were still in her pocket. Was it better to keep them, or leave them out so it looked like Mrs Mackenzie had removed them, annoyed at the alarm going off? She chose to throw them in the bin, giving them a good wipe beforehand.
She checked her watch. There was plenty of time before school, the first day back after the summer holidays. Jody found that Jade had returned to the front part of the house, so she closed the hall door, as it had been the previous night, then shut all the windows and French doors. Taking one last look at Mr Mackenzie, she leant over and kissed him on the forehead.
‘Night night.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
The kitchen was littered with plates and dishes of leftover food, as well as smudged wine glasses, some smeared with lipstick – others, still full, were dotted around the table from the previous night. It was a mess. Their friends had attempted to clear up but had left abruptly when Gloria screamed at them and the catering staff. She knew most of them had wanted to hang around to find out the gossip. She didn’t trust any of them not to sell a story to the press for the right amount of money.
