Safe No Longer

by Gayle Curtis

  ‘I told you I wasn’t doing that anymore, not after last time.’ When Jody had helped Dean out before and delivered a package, she’d been stopped by a patrol car on the way home and quizzed about what she was doing out so late on her own. It had made her nervous, and she wasn’t keen to draw attention to herself again.

  ‘Please, Jody. I can’t get away with anything at the moment and I should have dropped it after the bank holiday.’

  ‘And you think I can? I’ve already been nicked. No, sorry.’

  ‘I’ll split the money with you?’ Dean smiled at her – it was always the way to win her over, she was so fond of him.

  ‘You are desperate. Depends where it is. I’m not going to the Crown Estate like I did last time. What a shit hole. I was almost eaten alive by that bloody dog.’

  ‘Kept you on your toes though, didn’t it? I still laugh about that. I can just imagine your face when you realised the dog’s chain wasn’t attached to anything.’ Dean laughed deeply, making Jody giggle along with him.

  ‘Proper shit myself, I did.’

  ‘This place is fine. I’ve been there a couple of times and it’s not far from you, now that you’re living on the Brooksway.’

  Jody looked at him, unsure if he was taking the piss or not. She’d been staying at her dad’s mobile home. It wasn’t ideal, it was so tiny, but when she’d asked him about the flat she’d seen him at, he’d denied all knowledge of it, told her she must have seen someone who looked like him. But she had a photograph proving it and she couldn’t work out why he was lying to her. That said, she knew not to keep pressing the matter, he’d just get annoyed and she didn’t want to beg her mother to let her come home.

  ‘Just push it through the letterbox and text me a message when you’ve done it. Something like, “Are you coming out?” or “Do you want chips?” Anything like that.’

  ‘Right little villain, you are,’ Jody said, her eyes moving across the words scrawled on the piece of paper Dean had slid across the table. It was the address of the apartment block she’d seen her dad going into.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  After filming that day, Rita called in to see Kristen before she went home. She wanted to see how she was following the latest news relating to Château Bonne Nuit and Patrick Devlin. Kristen had become quite close to Patrick while advising his daughter, Lorna, after she’d accused Adrian of sexual abuse.

  Château Bonne Nuit was a huge story. After the scandal all those years ago, when two members of its staff were found guilty of child sex offences, the home had been closed down and had sat empty and only recently been condemned. During the demolition of the old building, the skeleton of a young child had been discovered behind a bricked-up wall. The remains had burst forth when the gable end was hit by the wrecking ball, the front of the imposing château having already been ripped down. It must have been quite a sight for everyone involved. The police were now digging up the entire area, searching for more bodies, and the press, using a bizarre calculus, were asking if they’d uncovered Cara Fearon’s remains. Rita wanted to reassure Kristen that it was all empty speculation and journalistic licence.

  Amos answered the door, looking as though he’d just arrived home from work. Rita was still warmed and astounded, even after all this time, by the spectacular change in him from the man he had been when they’d arrested him and how he looked now – clean-shaven, wearing a fitted white shirt and tailored trousers. His appearance was immaculate. After Amos had been released, he’d gathered the strength to turn his life around. He’d been reviled by the press after his arrest, completely ruining his reputation, as most of the population then decided he was guilty. He successfully sued the press and received a hefty amount of compensation, which he’d used to set up a literary agency in the city. It was a heartening sight to see how far he’d come.

  ‘Home early today?’ Rita said, leaning in for a hug.

  ‘I’ve taken the weekend off. Thought I’d spend some time with my girl.’ Rita saw him wink at a very pregnant Kristen, who’d come into the hallway to see her. It made Rita wonder how the two of them had ever split up in the first place.

  ‘Not bringing me bad news on a Friday night, I hope?’ Kristen said, heading to the kitchen and pouring Rita a glass of red wine, which she gratefully took.

  ‘You’ve seen the news?’

  ‘How can we not?’

  ‘Quite. I just wanted to see how you are and reassure you that there’s nothing in this story.’ Rita perched herself on one of the kitchen bar stools.

  ‘How can you be that sure?’

  Rita took a deep breath. ‘We never found a trace of Patrick Devlin’s DNA at the crime scene. There is no connection between him and the children’s home.’

  ‘How have the press gotten hold of it then?’ Kristen asked.

  ‘It’s purely because Patrick moved to France around the time of the incidents.’ Rita was choosing her words carefully. Raymond’s death was and of course always would be a sensitive subject around his mum. ‘Adrian was in the spotlight when Lorna accused him of abuse during her gymnastic career, and again when she died. They challenged a high-profile public figure, so the Devlins will always flag up when there’s even a remote connection. The Château Bonne Nuit isn’t very far from where Patrick moved to, so now there’s this speculation he kidnapped and possibly murdered Cara Fearon. But ask yourself this: how would he have hidden her body in that château? It’s so far-fetched, it’s ludicrous. It’s just some local journalist who’s familiar with the family and has made up this elaborate story to get himself a name.’

  ‘But Adrian was known to have visited the children’s home several times – surely there’s a connection? I’m surprised the press haven’t spread it all over their filthy rags,’ Kristen said, topping Rita’s and Amos’s glasses up and reluctantly pouring herself more apple juice.

  ‘I suspect they’re being ultra-careful, especially after the shit they’ve already been in over this case.’ Rita smiled at Amos.

  He put his hand out before Rita could continue. ‘Just a second . . . How would you know Patrick Devlin’s DNA wasn’t at the scene? You need a sample on the system before you can get a match.’

  Rita twisted her wine glass on the marble worktop. ‘Patrick had a criminal record.’

  Kristen’s eyes popped wide in astonishment. ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘It was some years back, before he and his wife moved to the area. He was convicted of a public order offence.’

  ‘But he was a lecturer at the college, wasn’t he?’ Amos looked just as surprised as Kristen.

  ‘I guess someone didn’t do their admin. He comes across as such a nice man, so they probably didn’t think they needed to. It wasn’t a major offence, he was abusive to a journalist who was waiting for him to come out of a pub, and then he resisted arrest when the police turned up.’

  Rita could see Kristen and Amos were contemplating what she’d just said, staring into their own drinks.

  ‘I can’t believe the papers didn’t get hold of that story when Lorna outed Adrian,’ Kristen said.

  ‘I think they were too busy concentrating on her, looking for any scandal in her past, or seeing if she had any history of eating disorders or self-harm. Patrick was supportive, but quietly so. And if you remember, the public were too busy defending Adrian because they didn’t want to believe he’d done anything so heinous.’ Rita checked her phone for the time.

  ‘Do you think the remains they’ve found could be Cara Fearon?’ Amos said.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sure there’ll be an answer soon enough. I’ve been out of the game too long to ask anyone. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility but my gut feeling is it won’t be her.’ Rita placed her hand over the top of her glass, stopping Amos from filling it up. ‘I’d better get back.’

  Rita said her goodbyes and left. She couldn’t help feeling unnerved walking across the green to her car, giving the area a quick sweep as she went
.

  When she arrived home, there was a long box on the kitchen worktop addressed to her and containing a single trumpet lily. The card inside read: With sympathy.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  It was early evening when her dad arrived back at the mobile home. Jody was sitting at the table, the package Dean had asked her to deliver sat in front of her.

  ‘Bloody hell, Jody, you made me jump. I thought you were out this evening,’ he said, clutching his chest, clearly startled to find her there. She was supposed to be meeting her brother for dinner but she’d cancelled, not wanting him to know there was anything wrong and reporting back to her mother.

  ‘What’s going on, Dad? And don’t tell me “nothing”,’ she said, ‘or that you’ve been to your group. You were at the flat, weren’t you, wondering where that parcel had got to.’ Jody nodded towards the package.

  He picked it up from the table, looked at it and placed it back down without opening it. ‘Dean give you that?’ he said, removing his jacket and throwing it on to the sofa.

  Jody was slightly wrong-footed. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Jody, the golden rule of protecting yourself is to never respond to a question that way.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘Did he say where it came from? Ask you to deliver it to the flat where you thought you saw me?’

  ‘Dad, what’s going on?’ Jody was utterly baffled. Her father’s entire demeanour had altered. He was no longer the vulnerable man she’d been visiting every day, but appeared hard, cold and detached. ‘Dean gave me the address, said Adrian gave the package to him with instructions to deliver it there.’

  ‘You mustn’t tell anyone about that flat, okay?’ he said firmly. ‘And you’re absolutely sure Dean said Adrian Player asked him to deliver it?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Jody nodded. ‘It’s not drugs you’re involved with, is it, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, it’s drugs. Listen, there’s lots of things you don’t know about – that you don’t understand. I need you to promise me you won’t ever run any errands for Adrian Player, whoever asks you and whatever they offer.’

  ‘Are they trying to set you up?’ Jody’s eyes had filled with tears. Everyone seemed to be out to get her dad, and she was genuinely scared.

  ‘Just do as I ask you, please, Jody. Knuckle down at school, stop bunking off, and get yourself a good education. Don’t be like the other kids, especially the ones dicking around, delivering this kind of bollocks to wankers like Player.’

  Jody nodded. ‘Dad, why did you have Raymond’s rucksack?’

  Her dad was quiet for a few moments, searching her face, his eyes flickering side to side, telling her he was thinking how to answer.

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Dad.’ A tear rolled down her face.

  ‘I’m not, sweetheart. Come on, don’t cry.’ He reached across and wiped the solitary teardrop away from her cheek with his thumb. ‘I’m still involved with the police, do a bit of freelance for them, on the quiet, and I needed to store some evidence. That’s why it was here. Nothing to worry about, but you mustn’t tell anyone about it.’ Before Jody could ask any more questions, he changed the subject. ‘Hey, what’s this about you being questioned over the Mackenzies’ deaths?’

  ‘Who told you about that!’ Jody practically squeaked. She hadn’t explained why she needed to stay with him and had decided to keep it quiet. She’d just told him she’d had a row with her mum and wanted to live with him instead.

  ‘I do talk to your mother, you know.’ Her father’s face was serious, and she looked away. ‘Please tell me you had nothing to do with what happened to the Mackenzies?’

  ‘Chill out, they think it was an accident,’ she snapped.

  ‘Who thinks what was an accident?’

  ‘The police,’ she said, swallowing hard. ‘They know the Mackenzies had a faulty boiler. They died of carbon monoxide poisoning.’

  Her father was giving her a piercing stare, reminding her of when she was a child and he caught her lying.

  ‘No, they don’t, buddy. It’s turned into a murder inquiry.’ He stood up and grabbed a beer from the fridge, throwing her a can of Coke. He slammed the door with quite some force, rattling the bottles that were inside. ‘If there’s something you need to tell me, you better do it now.’

  ‘How do they know it’s murder?’ Jody said, trying to hide her panic but not doing it very well.

  ‘Someone let the cat in and fed it and locked the door behind them. If puss had been with the Mackenzies overnight when the boiler was on, it would have undoubtedly died.’

  That stupid cat. She’d had a niggle in the back of her mind when she’d put the dog back in the front room and let the cat in the back door before she left that morning. The police knew – had known when they arrested her that day. They were just waiting for her to slip up.

  Jody tried one last time to brazen it out. ‘If they’re so bloody sure it’s me, why did they release me?’

  ‘I never said they thought it was you, I just asked you what it was all about.’ Her dad frowned and took a swig of his beer.

  Jody began to cry again, but properly this time. ‘I didn’t mean to do it, Dad. I was angry and just wanted to make them sick.’ This wasn’t true at all, but she wasn’t about to admit she’d deliberately killed them. There was no way she was going to risk losing favour with the person she loved most in the world. ‘I switched the boiler on so they’d get too hot. I didn’t know it was faulty.’

  He was staring at her, a look of utter dismay on his face. ‘But why would you even do that?’

  ‘I did it for you!’ Jody screamed. ‘They were dissing you. Mr Mackenzie wanted to know if the police had hauled you in about Cara and Raymond, and then Mrs Mackenzie said she remembered seeing a white van in the early hours and she’d written your number plate down. I recognised it!’ She didn’t tell him what she’d seen that night.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Jody!’ he shouted, slamming his beer bottle on the table, causing the contents to fizz up and bubble out of the top.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was small, her shoulders hunched, as she pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands. ‘I won’t let anyone say anything bad about you, Dad. I was worried they’d get you into trouble.’

  ‘This isn’t happening . . . You can’t be fucking serious!’ he shouted in her face, slamming his hands on the Formica table, making her jump in her seat.

  ‘Dad, I’m sorry, please!’ She was sobbing now as she tried to grab his arm, but he snatched it away, running his hand through his hair.

  ‘What have you done, Jody? What have you done?’ He slumped down on the sofa, his voice quiet now. He sounded defeated.

  ‘I didn’t want you getting accused of killing those kids. I was worried the police would stitch you up after last time. Please, Dad, you have to believe me.’ Jody sobbed uncontrollably until she felt him sit down next to her, his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

  ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll sort it out. Try not to worry. I understand.’

  Jody wiped her snotty nose with her sleeve. ‘I went back the next day to make sure they were okay and when I found them both dead, I panicked. Oh, Dad, it was so horrible, I didn’t know what to do. I was really scared.’ It was completely lost on Jody that her father wasn’t that naive.

  ‘It’s okay, princess.’ He pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her brow. ‘We’ll sort it out. I’ll think of something. I always do, don’t I?’

  ‘Can we go to the flat? Can’t I live there with you?’ Jody leant into the crook of his arm. She didn’t regret anything she’d done, although she’d never admit that to him. She loved her dad and had meant it when she said she’d kill for him.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we drive to the coast, get some chips, hey? And then I’ll take you to the flat.’

  ‘I’d feel safer there,’ Jody said, sniffing into her sleeve again.

  About twenty minutes later they were sitting in the car park over
looking the seafront, eating chips Jody had bought while her dad parked the car in their favourite spot. They chatted quietly about the terns and gulls they could see, swooping in with the tide, hoping to catch some fish. No more was spoken about the Mackenzies, and Jody felt comforted knowing her dad would sort it all out.

  They arrived at the flat a short while later. Jody explored the rooms, looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed; the ones in the static caravan were lumpy and uncomfortable. Jody heard a knock at the door while she was in the bathroom and her father speaking to someone. When she emerged, there were two police officers waiting for her.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  THE LESTER BARCLAY SHOW

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  Just as Rita was about to leave to go to the studio, she found a box of chocolates and a card on the doorstep. Inside it read, ‘your favourites’. She turned it over, wondering if it was a belated gift for her mother-in-law, but she recognised the slanted black handwriting that had been on the other items.

  ‘Secret admirer?’ Derek had come into the hallway, pulling his coat on, getting ready to leave for work.

  ‘I thought it was from our mystery sender.’

  ‘And is it?’ Derek said.

  ‘Not sure. We should check the CCTV. Whoever it was will be on camera.’

  Derek pulled a face. ‘It’s not working. Someone’s coming out in the next couple of days to fix it.’

  ‘Oh, that’s just brilliant,’ she said, putting the chocolates and card on the hall table. Everything else apart from the cards on the windscreen had arrived via the mail.

  ‘Better put those in the bin, just to be on the safe side.’

  She picked up the box. ‘It’s creepy, isn’t it?’

  Derek looked unsure. ‘Come on, it’s not like you to worry about anything like this. You’ve had death threats before now.’