by Gayle Curtis
‘No, we don’t.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Rachel snapped at him.
‘You’re not going to want to hear this,’ he said to his wife, ‘but it’s very likely that Cara is dead as well.’ Rachel’s jaw dropped open. ‘Just telling you the facts,’ he said. ‘Someone needs to.’
‘Don’t say that, don’t say that!’ Rachel gripped her dirty tissue and stood up. Kristen could see she was trying to get a handle on her hysteria. She knew what that was like; it seemed to be lurking around every corner.
‘Come on, you don’t know that,’ Kristen said. ‘Everyone is in pain, whether it’s a missing child or a murdered one. We need to try to support one another.’
Howard stood up, challenging her. ‘You think I get comfort from the fact our daughter disappeared the same night yours was strangled to death? Do you?’
‘I’m just saying, arguing isn’t going to help anyone.’ Kristen put her teacup on the table and faced him, angry at his cruel words.
‘I suggest you stay away from me,’ he growled at her. ‘If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this situation. This is all your fault, all your fucking fault.’
Kristen’s arms dropped to her side as she was suddenly engulfed by another wave she couldn’t seem to navigate over. He was right, of course. If she hadn’t been drinking, if she hadn’t fallen asleep, their children might be okay. How would she have felt if it had happened at their house? She knew the answer to that. She’d want to kill one of them. The very thought that Rachel might be involved made her want to squeeze the life out of her.
Kristen felt an arm around her shoulders and was alarmed to see it was Rachel, who sat down next to her. ‘I don’t blame you. It could have happened to any one of us.’ She squeezed Kristen to her. The movement felt awkward and weird. Given what Rita had told her about the woman, Kristen felt conflicted.
‘That’s right, make her feel better,’ Howard snarled at them. ‘Take the touchy-feely approach, fucking do-gooder.’
‘Howard, don’t.’ Rachel stood up and moved towards him. Kristen realised Rachel had been drinking. There was a slur to her voice and a waft of alcohol followed her.
‘Think I’ve got something to do with it, do you?’ Howard was talking to Kristen still. His voice was getting higher and more sarcastic. Kristen wondered if she should go and fetch some help. ‘I’ve seen how you look at us, turning your nose up. You think we’re bad parents.’
‘I’ve never said a word,’ she said, taken aback by how he’d suddenly changed the subject, trying to goad her into an argument. ‘How you choose to raise your daughter has nothing to do with me, and I have never commented on it.’ She shook her head in disbelief.
‘You don’t fucking need to.’ He leant into her. He was so close she could smell his breath. ‘It’s written all over your stuck-up face.’
‘That’s enough, Howard. Sit down.’ Rachel’s hand hovered near his chest, ready to stop him should he make any sudden moves.
‘Do as your wife says, Howard, before I lose my temper,’ Kristen said forcefully, all sympathy for him gone.
‘Are you threatening me?’ He pressed against Rachel’s hand, getting closer to Kristen. ‘You need to watch what you say to me.’
‘And you need to watch what you say to me.’ Kristen squared up to him and the two of them stared at one another, like dogs assessing an opponent in a fight.
A female police officer poked her head around the door. ‘All okay in here?’ Everyone nodded and sat down in their respective seats. Kristen’s pulse pounded so loudly in her ears she could barely hear her. ‘The plan now is to just have Mrs Fearon on camera to make an appeal. We’ll see what comes of it and, if need be, we’ll call you all back in.’
‘What about me?’ Howard asked. ‘I’m the father.’
‘Our goal is to hit the public in the most effective way with regards to Cara. It’s imperative we get as much information as we can, especially now that an arrest has been made. Too many people might distract or confuse the public, and they’ll be reluctant to step forward with information.’ Distract or confuse, Kristen thought. Nicely put. ‘We feel the public will think you’re a fucking lunatic . . .’
The officer turned to Kristen. ‘Once Mrs Fearon has made her appeal, DCI Cannan will make a speech about Raymond. Don’t worry, we know what we’re doing.’
The door closed, and with it went the atmosphere. Kristen didn’t care about getting on television – nothing could bring her Raymond back, after all – but she couldn’t stop herself wondering why the police had brought the three of them into that room and then suddenly decided Rachel would be the only one of them doing the appeal. It made Kristen think that the police had Rachel in their sights as the major suspect. She wasn’t sure how to process this information and there was an overwhelming feeling of protection for her son. She’d always vowed that if anyone hurt her Raymond, she’d kill them in a heartbeat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Walking down the street towards the block of flats where Jody had seen her dad going, she couldn’t believe the police had released her yesterday. There had been no mention of the rucksack containing his laptop, but she hadn’t asked for it back, not wishing to push her luck.
Standing on the roadside, she counted the concrete floors and ran her gaze across until she found the royal-blue door she’d seen her dad going into. Jody entered the building and opted for the lift; fewer people were likely to see her that way. She didn’t trust the police weren’t still watching her.
Once on the correct floor, Jody wandered up and down the narrow, cold walkway. She tried to call her dad again, but there was no answer. Having been to his mobile home first, she was beginning to worry. The place had been completely empty when she’d looked through the windows; there was a padlock on the door. She moved out of the way for a large woman with a shopping trolley and greasy dark hair that clung to her scalp; a waft of stale urine floated past, hitting her seconds later, making her gag.
Struggling to pluck up the courage to knock on the blue door, Jody leant over the balcony and watched the cars pass on the main road. There were some children playing football on the small patch of grass designed to brighten up the uniform concrete blocks – which were now scuffed and stained around the edges, they were so old.
Without allowing herself to think any more about it, Jody turned around and knocked on the blue door. Other than the heavy beat of some music on the next floor up and the distant shout of a woman hollering at her children, Jody couldn’t hear anything. With the flat of her hand she banged on the door, becoming desperate, needing to see her father. He would make everything all right, tell her to live with him, or even move away so they could start a new life. She couldn’t go back to her mother’s – Helen had texted and told her to stay at her father’s.
Banging on the door once more in desperation, Jody eventually gave up and took the lift down to the ground floor. Beneath the last set of stairs was a small alcove. It was dark and smelt of piss, but it was somewhere to wait for her father. She sat on the hard concrete floor, brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting the side of her face on her legs. Over an hour passed and she didn’t see a soul. Just as she was about to leave to find a café and something to eat, she heard footsteps on the stairs above. Not wanting to be seen, she tucked herself further into the gap and waited for whoever it was to leave the building.
A woman appeared first and turned to wait for someone behind her. Jody observed her. There was something familiar about the woman and she was dressed far too well to be in a place like this. There was a man’s voice too, one she immediately recognised as belonging to her dad. And then there he was, her father, following the well-dressed woman. He’d been up there the whole time, and Jody realised he’d probably seen her through the spyhole and decided not to answer the door.
Jody watched them pause to allow someone to come through the main doors, and that’s when she realised who
the woman was. A jolt ran through Jody’s chest, making her heart quicken. She knew her from the Mackenzies. It was DCI Rita Cannan. Jody quickly pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of her father and the police detective together.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The sudden and unexplained deaths of Rita’s parents had fuelled the anger she had carried inside for so many years. After a day’s compassionate leave, Rita had returned to work, determined to keep herself busy. If she was at home, she wouldn’t be able to keep on top of things and stay in the know. Her boss would assign a new SIO to Operation Ladybird and she wasn’t going to let that happen, not when she had Adrian Player in her sights.
Rita waited patiently for Jason to arrive. Ten minutes he’d said, but that was now twenty. If anyone saw her hanging around and recognised her, she’d just pass it off as a police visit concerning the investigation. No one knew about her connection to Jason apart from Kristen – all three had been members of Adrian’s sordid gymnastics club, and Jason hadn’t been exempt from the abuse just because he was a boy. Rita knew he didn’t want anyone to know about this any more than she did, and that made her feel safe; she had his secrets, and that was how she kept control of his trust – plus they had the same goal in sight.
Moments later, Jason breezed up the stairs, smiled at her, let himself into his flat and flicked the kettle on.
‘Brought my property back?’ he said.
‘Yes.’ Rita placed a knotted bin liner on the floor containing Raymond Hammond’s rucksack. ‘Your daughter will do anything to protect you. She really believes you had something to do with the murder?’
‘She’s not said as much, but I know that’s what she’s thinking. You heard about the girl she attacked at school?’
‘Someone mentioned something about it.’
‘Jody clouted this girl, all because she said something about me.’
Rita’s skin prickled. There was something about what he’d just said that bothered her, but she couldn’t think what it was, her brain had been so jumbled with everything that had happened. ‘Well, it’s nice she loves you so much.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘How are you doing?’ Jason asked. ‘Are you sure you ought to be at work?’
‘I need to keep busy, I can’t bear to think about it. There’s so much to sort out and I’ve just left the rest of the family to deal with it.’
‘I understand. We need to focus on getting this bastard convicted. I had that nutjob Rachel here the other day. She found one of the girls from the gym in my spare room.’
‘What did you tell her?’ Rita sat down on the sofa and watched Jason stir their coffees.
‘Nothing much, just said she was one of Adrian’s nieces, granddaughters, something like that.’
‘I’ve got a meeting with Rachel; I think she’s going to have a lot to say about you.’ Rita rolled her eyes.
‘I’m sure she will.’ Jason handed her a mug.
‘Did you get much out of the girl?’
Jason looked grave. ‘No, she hardly said a word, but something’s happened to her because she seems to have changed overnight.’
Both Rita and Jason almost spilt their coffee when they heard banging at the front door. They froze, staring at one another.
‘It’s not her, is it?’ Rita whispered.
‘I don’t know.’ Jason tiptoed towards the hallway and Rita assumed he was going to peer through the spyhole. He walked quietly back into the room. ‘It’s Jody!’
She nodded and they both stayed quiet until the knocking stopped. Jason went back into the hallway to check through the spyhole and confirmed she’d gone.
‘Where do you want me to put this rucksack?’ Jason said, sipping his coffee.
‘Anywhere on Adrian Player’s private property and somewhere one of our officers will find it,’ Rita said. ‘Don’t let me down.’
Jason smiled at her. ‘Never.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
There was a large black-and-white photo on the front of the newspaper, taken in 1988. Gloria had immediately seen who was standing in the background, and also knew that was why Adrian was on the phone speaking to his solicitor.
The story concerned a scandal at a derelict children’s home in France – Château Bonne Nuit. Two people who had been there as children had made some allegations of sexual abuse concerning two members of staff, who they claimed organised sex parties for high-profile figures.
The journalist, a man called Lester Barclay, had written the front-page story and been clever by printing an old photograph of a group of celebrities who had visited the care home in the eighties. Nothing was said about anyone in the picture and no one was accused of anything untoward, but the suggestion was obvious. Gloria had tried to tell Adrian that making a fuss would only draw attention to it, and wouldn’t it be better to ignore it, but he was in a rage that the photograph had been printed without his consent, proving he had visited the place. She knew why he was in such a temper, because some time ago, during a radio interview when he’d been asked if he’d ever been to Château Bonne Nuit, he’d denied all knowledge of the place. A former resident had accused and reported a prominent figure for sexual abuse, a politician called Richard Temple. He’d been to the house on many occasions and Gloria had cooked for the vile man, who was all hands and crass jokes.
In this particular photograph, Adrian could be seen in the background, handing one of the children a copy of his Christmas annual. The picture was extremely damning for everyone involved, and Gloria wondered what information the journalist had on them all. She sighed deeply at the sound of Adrian barking down the phone about gagging orders and people losing their jobs.
Having some idea that Gloria might leave him, Adrian had been extra nice to her, had even begged her to stay, saying he had never loved her like he did now, and telling her how much he needed her. She knew deep down he didn’t want the public humiliation; if they showed a united front, it would make him look innocent, or at least not so guilty. The past few days he had made sure they had been seen in public – posh dinners out, shopping trips where they were spotted by the odd photographer and snapped holding hands, Adrian laughing, looking at her lovingly. What nobody saw were the moments where she couldn’t control her reflexes and pulled her fingers from his, or when she flinched as his arm crept around her shoulders.
In the restaurant the previous night, he’d kicked her hard under the table because she’d failed to laugh at one of his jokes in front of the waiter, who had evidently taken visible note of her stony face. Adrian could never control his temper for very long, and when they’d got home he’d threatened to kill her if she ever left him. She believed him – there was no doubt in her mind that Adrian was capable of murder. That morning, he’d been sickly sweet again, keeping her firmly on his side.
All the while, Gloria wondered if he’d changed over the years or if he’d been this way the entire time they’d been married, and she’d simply never seen it or had blocked it out. It seemed ridiculous to her now. How could she not have seen what a vile person he was, using manipulation and status to squirm his way out of anything he might be accused of? She was ashamed to admit that the fame and money had probably made her turn away from it all.
It was as though Gloria had woken up from a very long, drug-induced sleep, or finally broken free from hands that had held her underwater. She had decided she may as well be dead than lead this kind of life, so she made the decision that Adrian simply had to go, and in her opinion he had two options: prison or death.
CHAPTER FORTY
The photographs placed on the table in front of Rachel were almost unbearable to look at. She turned to see if anyone else in the dingy café was seeing what she was, but there were only a handful of people there and they were absorbed in newspapers or gossip.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, am I upsetting you?’ DCI Cannan said, pushing the pictures closer. ‘Look at them, Rachel.’
Rachel glanced at the macabre photo
s of Raymond Hammond – the livid marks around his neck, the colour of his dead skin and swollen tongue. ‘It doesn’t matter what you show me, I don’t know anything about what happened to that boy. I wasn’t even there.’
‘I’m just making sure you’re ready to tell me the whole truth. That you understand how awful this is.’
‘You do realise that could have happened to my daughter. It doesn’t get any scarier than that,’ Rachel said, noticing the strange expression on the DCI’s face. She looked at her coffee cup, not wanting to hold the detective’s gaze, in case she could see she wasn’t telling the whole truth.
‘I need you to tell me everything you know about Adrian Player, and then I’ll explain to you what I want you to do.’
‘Who’s going to believe me when they find out about what I’ve done with the . . .’
‘With the sixteen-year-old boy?’ the detective said, as though she were just being helpful.
Rachel glared at her. ‘Yeah. That.’ She pushed the photographs back towards her. ‘With everything that gets printed in the press, the jury will know, and as a witness my word won’t be trusted.’
DCI Cannan collected the photos from the table and put them in her bag. ‘Listen, if you’d be prepared to stand up in court and give evidence about Player and Brunswick, as you once intimated you would, the other issues might just disappear.’
‘Everyone’s talking about it. I was nicked in the pub car park!’
‘No one knows you’ve been charged, and you’ve been released now. And no one knows what’s going on with Howard. Trust me, I can sort everything out.’
‘If you promise me it’ll all go away, and no one ever finds out about it, then I’ll tell you everything I know.’ Rachel got up from her seat. ‘Need to pee, been terrible since I had my first scan. Do you want another coffee?’
