by Gayle Curtis
No one spoke to her to begin with, everyone still fed up that the holiday was over. They just slumped into their chairs and waited for the English lesson to begin. Then Jody heard whispering, and a lad called Anthony laughed at something Charlotte, one of the popular girls in school, had said. Jody had been dreading this class, the only one she shared with Charlotte.
Eventually, Jody glanced up, and saw them both staring at her before they burst into fits of laughter, causing everyone else to stop what they were doing and look at her too.
Jody wished she’d stayed at home or not bothered with school at all. But home made her think of her dad, and an ache she’d often felt the last few months permeated her chest. She decided to ignore the whispering and fix her gaze on the blackboard. If she focused on her work, she could get through each day and the ones that followed, just like she had before.
Much to her dismay, once the lesson began someone knocked on the door and the teacher briefly left the class to speak to whoever it was. While he was present, everything had been under control.
‘Jody, do you think your dad has progressed from fiddling kiddies to killing them?’ Charlotte asked her, head tipped to one side. ‘No, seriously, I’m really interested.’
There were some sniggers from the back of the room. Jody lowered her arm and let the penknife slip into her hand, running her thumb across the thin blade.
‘Jody? Does your dad fiddle with you?’ Charlotte said, squinting and pretending to be serious. Most of the class erupted into laughter, but others sat there, mouths open in shock. ‘Do you text him naked photos of yourself?’
Jody looked up from her work and glared directly at Charlotte. She was the only one she could see in the room now; everyone else was blurred from her vision, like she was viewing the girl through a spyhole.
Charlotte stood up, challenging her. ‘Do you send Daddy photos of your tits?’
Through the raucous laughter, Jody began to scream, silencing everyone in the class. She stood up, threw her chair across the room and squared up to Charlotte until their noses were almost touching. Charlotte grabbed Jody before she had time to do anything, and the penknife fell from her sleeve and clattered across the floor. They tussled for a few moments, as the entire class joined in with a chant. Then the teacher came running in and shouted, as Jody took her opportunity, leant back and headbutted Charlotte in the face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Everything seemed more prominent, like Kristen had never noticed the things in the house where she grew up before: ornaments on the shelves, magazines in the basket and books on the table appeared to enlarge and close in on her. It was no different upstairs in the bathroom, with the patterned tiles, covered in pink swirls that were becoming trendy again, and the large dusty shells on the windowsill that her dad had pressed to his ear when she was a child, swearing he could hear the sea. It reminded her of when Raymond was born. Despite her mother’s comments about her being a single parent, Kristen had glowed with happiness. Starfish hands; little, wrinkled, outstretched fingers. That’s how she remembered Raymond when he’d first come into the world. That’s what she wanted to hold on to now, like it was all rushing away from her and she’d forget the good stuff. All the special bits that had made him unique, because there would never be another Raymond. Not now, not ever. And he wouldn’t go on to be a great actor, an amazing barrister or an astronaut like they’d talked about – all the dreams they’d shared. He would forever be known as the murdered child; that was his legacy now. The moment Kristen had realised Raymond was dead, she’d felt a kind of control leave her, almost as though the power she’d had as a parent had been scraped out along with her innards.
Feeling like a figure trapped in a snow globe, Kristen had been taking herself upstairs away from everyone so she could give herself time to think. The bathroom felt like a safe haven now, away from sympathy and her parents’ overbearing concern; it was a small room she could deal with, and somewhere she could talk to Raymond. Whenever it had been bathtime at home, Kristen and Raymond would slip into the familiar routine. She would ask him what he fancied for dinner, what sort of day he’d had at school, what he might like to do at the weekend. Last night, when she was staring straight at the patterned tiles, she’d seen him, in her peripheral view, standing there in his pants, fiddling with his belly button. He looked just as he always had before bed – his hooded eyes heavy, even though he would protest that he wasn’t tired at all. His stomach protruding, tempting Kristen to tickle it, which would make him whine and giggle at the same time. Kristen had always read to him while he was in the bath, even though half the time he wasn’t listening – too busy messing about with the masses of suds he always insisted on. Raymond’s favourite part was when he got into his pyjamas, flapping his arms and wriggling his toes in bed like he was making snow angels, enjoying the clean, slightly cold sheets against his now-warm body.
Kristen leant forward and picked up the Action Man that Raymond used to play with. It had been hers when she was a child, and he pretty much took it everywhere with him, even hiding it away in his school bag so the other kids didn’t laugh at him. He called it Big D – Kristen had no idea why. It was like a substitute dad he carried around with him, as if it were keeping him safe. Rita had returned it to her once Forensics had finished with it. Kristen had been so desperate to have it back and had called her in the middle of the night, practically hysterical down the phone because she wanted it so badly. But for all Raymond’s persistence in having it with him, it hadn’t helped him any. Stupid, she told herself – a doll was never going to save him.
Kristen held the Action Man to her nose, remembering it being tucked in bed with Raymond every night. He couldn’t sleep without it. She let out a breath and didn’t draw one back in, allowing her lungs to empty, and thinking to herself how this was going to kill her, how she would die from the loss of him. Here she was sitting in some tepid water in her parents’ dated bathroom, drinking a warm beer, listening to the bubbles hiss and disperse as she held her breath and stared at her watch, the seconds ticking past slowly, wondering how everything had changed so drastically. Her parents kept telling her it would pass, it would get better, easier. But Kristen didn’t want any of those things, because that would mean Raymond didn’t exist.
The gentle tapping on the bathroom door grew louder the longer Kristen ignored it. Each night had been the same. Kristen would take herself upstairs for a bath, and five minutes later her mother would disturb her. Rapping on the door softly, as if doing it louder would disturb her grief.
‘I’m not going to kill myself, Mother. Go away.’
There was a brief pause before her mum answered. ‘There’s something on the news I think you ought to see.’
Kristen sighed. Since Raymond’s death, her mother had become obsessed with the news and the papers, ordering a subscription with the newsagent so she could have all the tabloids delivered. Throughout the day, she would update everyone on the latest information – even the police when they were around.
‘Have you asked the family liaison officers about it? That’s what they’re here for, Mum, to help you with anything to do with the investigation you don’t understand.’
‘You need to come and see this.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Kristen said through gritted teeth, pulling her body from the frothy bath.
Wrapping a dressing gown around herself, she wandered downstairs, water from her dark hair dripping on to the carpet as she stood in the lounge and watched the latest news report her parents were glued to. Liz Rickman and the other family liaison officer whose name Kristen could never remember were there, also staring at the television; neither of them seemed to be explaining what was going on. Someone had been arrested in connection with the murders, but Kristen couldn’t see who it was. The journalist was rambling.
Kristen turned to Liz. ‘Why wasn’t I told the police were going to make an arrest?’
‘I didn’t know myself.’ Liz looked bewildered a
nd turned to her colleague, who shook his head, totally oblivious himself.
Then they all listened as the journalist said they were speculating, via a leak, that the man who’d been arrested was Raymond’s father, Amos Browne.
Kristen’s breathing deepened and her heart began to pound, threatening to burst from her mouth. It had been a well-kept secret; no one knew except Amos and Kristen. She watched Amos being taken from the church, just a street away from where they were now – his head down, trying to hide his face, cameras flashing in the background.
Kristen’s parents, along with the family liaison officers, tore their eyes away from the screen and stared up at her.
‘When we asked you who Raymond’s father was, Kristen,’ Liz said, ‘you told us you didn’t know, because you had used a donor.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE LESTER BARCLAY SHOW
FIVE YEARS LATER
Lester turned his attention back to Kristen. It didn’t surprise Rita that he would want to concentrate his questioning on her. She had been such an integral part of the investigation, and for more than one reason. The woman had been completely vilified by the public, and any sympathy there had once been for her had evaporated like breath on a windowpane within weeks of the murder.
‘You had a search dog at the Hammonds’ house as well, didn’t you?’
‘It wasn’t unusual. We were trying to establish if Cara Fearon was still alive – and, in light of the fact that one of the children had been murdered, we needed to ascertain if Cara’s body had been taken into the house. As far as the team were concerned, we were all focused on searching for Cara and finding her alive; it made sense to use them at the premises where the children had last been seen.’
‘But what you discovered was quite unexpected, wasn’t it? For the benefit of the viewers at home, can you explain what the dogs are used for?’
‘Search dogs – or cadaver dogs, as we sometimes call them – are used to detect blood, decomposition and bodies. Brodie was one of our most experienced dogs, highly trained in detecting minute spots of blood.’
‘How does that work?’ Lester seemed genuinely interested and ignorant on the subject, which surprised Rita.
‘A search dog will focus on a point where they’re detecting something and, usually, they’ll bark at the area. And Brodie detected blood on Kristen Hammond’s property – some spots in the tent and the downstairs toilet.’
It had indeed been a huge shock, and she recalled her conversation with Kristen about it. Rita’s unwavering belief in her friend had suddenly been questioned, sending a tiny but noticeable tremor through her thoughts. She’d had no idea they were going to find anything of significance inside Kristen’s house, she was so convinced Cara had been snatched. Her instructions had been put forward without much thought, purely because her focus was on Adrian Player. So when the search dog had detected Cara’s blood on Kristen’s property, Rita had been blindsided.
‘And the results?’ Lester said, his head tilted to one side.
‘Inconclusive in the tent, Cara Fearon’s in the bathroom. The press went to town on it and accusations were made – Kristen Hammond became their target. As far as the majority of the public was concerned, she was guilty of killing both children,’ Rita said, shaking her head, remembering how utterly terrible it was for Kristen and her family.
‘When this information was eventually released, they ran with it,’ Lester agreed. ‘Overnight, everything seemed to change. In my entire career, I’ve never seen anything like that.’
‘Didn’t they just. The media and the public can be totally invaluable during an investigation.’ Rita frowned. ‘But, bloody hell, they can be cruel bastards.’
‘You seem particularly disgruntled about that. Is it because Kristen Hammond was a good friend of yours? Something that wasn’t revealed until much later in the investigation.’
Rita glared at Lester and looked away. She was disappointed he would stoop to that level, but she had to remind herself that, at the end of the day, he was a journalist. She remembered the photographs that were leaked to the newspapers, ones of her and Kristen in a bar sharing a bottle of wine. Likely to be a member of the public trying to make a quick buck.
‘My relationship with Kristen Hammond had nothing to do with my reaction. I’d have felt the same with anyone.’
‘You were angrier over the treatment of Kristen Hammond than that of anyone else the media tormented. She was in charge of the children that night and, potentially, the last person to see them alive.’
‘Apart from the killer, of course,’ Rita said pointedly, looking directly at Lester. ‘The focus on Kristen took people away from the search for Cara, and that was detrimental to the case. The media insinuated Cara was dead, Kristen was the killer, and the search was over. People stopped looking and the entire case went cold. Anyone who might have wanted to come forward with any information quite possibly didn’t bother because they thought it was all over. This kind of thing is very damaging to an investigation.’
‘I would have thought it gives you breathing space to concentrate on other leads, without the risk of the media finding out about it?’
‘How very observant of you, Lester,’ Rita said sarcastically.
Lester laughed and there was a break for ten minutes. Some of the crew moved around and some left to grab drinks.
Rita leant forward to whisper to Lester, covering her microphone with her hand, and he in turn echoed her movement. ‘Don’t make me look a cunt, Lester, otherwise I’ll leak that story about surveillance picking you up at one of Adrian Player’s special parties.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Suspension was the only option for Jody. The school had no other choice but to send her home from the academy until the board had made a decision about what they were going to do. Charlotte had a broken nose and a bad cut to her face, and Jody had been arrested and taken to the police station for assault charges.
Jody hated everyone, apart from her father. Everything had been fine when he was living at home, and then her mother had thrown him out, all on the back of some stupid allegations based on lies. Her mother had told Jody she wasn’t going to allow her father to ruin their family, and she’d been furious with her mother for making it about herself, when Jason was the one living in a crappy mobile home park. He needed help – he had an addiction, no different to gambling or drugs – but she couldn’t seem to make her mother understand. Even her brother Kieran who, at two years older than Jody, she had expected to understand better than anyone, had turned his back on their father. Her dad had no one, only her, and it broke her heart to see him so vulnerable and depressed.
Counting the numbers until she reached the row her father’s mobile home was situated in, Jody made her way to the door and knocked as she walked straight in.
Her father jumped up to greet her, closing his laptop and placing it on the kitchenette on his way to her. ‘Give us a text next time, let me know you’re coming over. Made me jump.’ He embraced her, kissing the top of her head.
‘I did knock.’ She handed him a packet of biscuits and a newspaper. There weren’t many days she didn’t visit him; it was only when he texted to say he was going out that she didn’t bother coming by.
‘Thanks, babe. Trying to make me fat?’ He flicked the kettle on.
‘You need fattening up, you’re like a rasher.’
‘It’s all that running I’m doing.’
‘You need to eat, Dad, you’ll waste away.’ Jody looked at him. He was so gaunt and pale – the last couple of years and all the stress of the disciplinary hearing had really taken its toll.
He poured Jody a cold drink while she tidied up, as she always did when she visited.
‘Has Mum talked to you about what’s been happening with the club and the police?’ Her dad still talked about her mum as if he and Helen were still together and it was just a temporary separation.
‘No, but I know you’ve been questioned, like everyone h
as, and released without charge.’ Jody said this in a practical tone, dunking a chocolate biscuit into her cola.
‘That’s right, I haven’t been charged. But there are some conditions. My passport being revoked is one of them.’
Jody looked up at her father as the end of the Bourbon biscuit plopped into the glass, splashing cola over her shorts and T-shirt.
‘I’m sorry, babe, it means we won’t be able to go on the holiday we had planned.’
Jody was gutted. He’d told her he’d booked two seats on a flight to Mallorca, just the two of them, to thank her for all the support she’d given him. She’d downloaded a countdown app on her phone and had been marking off the days. She hadn’t told her mother; she knew she’d stop her going. Seeing as her parents never spoke to one another, Jody had decided she’d just leave and call her mum when she got there. She needed to get away.
Not wanting to show she was upset, she smiled and shrugged it off. ‘We can go another time, can’t we?’
‘Of course we can, there’s always next year.’ He sat down opposite her at the pull-out dining table. ‘It wouldn’t look very good if you went on holiday after what happened at school. Let that blow over first.’
Jody sighed. ‘I’m probably going to get community service.’
‘You might do. That’s all right, though. You’ll just have to go and help tidy up some gardens or run errands for some old biddies in one of the sheltered accommodation places. Like how you do for your old man.’ He laughed.
‘You’re not old!’ Jody flicked her dad’s fingers and smiled.
‘Does Mum know you come and see me?’
Jody shook her head. She wouldn’t dare tell her mother, although she had an idea she knew. Jody was always banging on about her dad, trying to convince Helen she’d made a mistake and to let him come home.
