by Matt Brolly
An emptiness crept over her as she walked Jay back down the staircase. She wanted him to stay but he was needed elsewhere. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, kissing the tears from her cheeks.
‘Tomorrow,’ she said, reluctantly allowing him to prise himself free of her embrace.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Louise took the decision to drive to Cornwall at 5 a.m. after waking in the dark and being unable to get back to sleep. She waited until eight to call Sergeant Joslyn Merrick in the small harbour town of St Ives, by which time she was already deep into the county.
It was now nine thirty and she was sitting in a chain coffee shop adjacent to a supermarket on the outskirts of St Ives. Joslyn sat opposite, next to her daughter who was busy drawing pictures on a sketch pad, a pair of bulky earphones isolating her from the conversation.
‘Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,’ said Louise.
‘I didn’t really have much option, did I?’ said Joslyn, with a hint of a Cornish accent. ‘What did you plan to do if I hadn’t answered?’ she added, with a grin.
‘I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. Would have probably grabbed myself a cream tea then headed home.’
Joslyn laughed and her daughter looked up before returning to her drawing. ‘Just remember, jam before cream on the scones.’
‘How could I forget?’
Louise had first met Joslyn during the Pensioner Killer case and they’d remained in contact since. Joslyn was married with two children and from what Louise could tell seemed to all but run the small police station in St Ives.
After meeting with Everett, Louise had grown concerned that Paul’s visit to Cornwall wasn’t what he’d claimed it to be. Everett had told her about Paul’s financial difficulty. It seemed the insurance money he’d received after Dianne’s death had all but gone following three years of life with only occasional work and a vigorous drinking habit. Louise had heard of the Manning family Paul had allegedly borrowed money from. They were a two-bit crime family based in Bristol, but not small-scale enough not to pose a threat to those who’d wronged them. She wasn’t sure what troubled her most about the situation. That Paul had done something so stupid, or that she’d been so blinkered to his situation that she hadn’t found out about it.
Joslyn listened patiently as Louise explained. The woman was a few years older than Louise and had probably dealt with hundreds of missing-person cases over the years. She didn’t rush to judge once Louise was finished, when it could have been easy for her to dismiss Louise’s concern in an instant.
‘You don’t strike me as one to jump to rash conclusions,’ she said. ‘I can only imagine what it must have been like for your brother, for all of you, to lose your sister-in-law. Obviously, you know what I would tell you if you were a civilian?’
‘That’s why I’ve come to you directly, Joslyn. I don’t want this to go official.’
‘I have to ask though. Do you really think Emily is in danger?’
‘Whatever my misgivings about Paul, I know he would never let anything happen to Emily.’
Joslyn glanced at her daughter whose attention was fixed on her drawing pad. ‘That’s not what I asked you, Louise.’
Louise took a deep breath. She was usually so quick at analysing situations but with Paul and Emily her mind became fuzzy. ‘I don’t know the extent of what Paul owes the Manning family. That is my next call. I don’t believe they have the resources, or probably even the will, to try and track Paul to Cornwall. So at the moment, no, I don’t believe Emily is in danger.’ Louise considered her own words, wondering if they’d sounded a little too forced.
She pulled the Sennen postcard from her bag and gave it to Joslyn. ‘I realise this doesn’t narrow the search down but the postmark is from Penzance. We used to come to this area as children. I’ve put together a list of the places we stayed, the beaches we visited as a family.’
Joslyn squinted in concentration as she read the list. She’d been impressed with the woman from the first time she’d met her, and admired the way she seemed to juggle a family life with the pressures of being a sergeant in the police. She wondered how much further her career could have progressed if she’d been stationed somewhere more populated; if, like Louise, she didn’t have an immediate family.
‘You’ve driven through this county of ours?’ said Joslyn.
‘I know it’s a huge ask. A huge task.’
It was Joslyn’s turn to sigh. ‘I’m not back into work until later this week but I can get someone to start calling the campsites and caravan parks. We can start with this list and develop from there. As a matter of fact, I have just the man in mind to do the job,’ she added, with a smile. ‘Is there anyone in the county that he might be staying with?’
Louise had grilled Everett on the very same question. ‘I don’t think so. We have no relations or friends in the region that I’m aware of.’
‘Present company excluded of course,’ said Joslyn, with a pretend frown.
‘Thank you, Joslyn, I really do appreciate it.’
‘You’re welcome. Right, you,’ she said, taking the earphones off her daughter. ‘We better get going. Best not to be late for Nana Boswell.’
The sea was visible as Louise exited the car park, the water an enticing turquoise-blue. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper holiday. She’d had leave but hadn’t gone away for longer than a weekend since her time at MIT. She vowed then to take a holiday when this was all over. She would arrange a family holiday with her parents, with Paul and Emily. She realised she’d taken things for granted; how, prior to Dianne’s death, Louise had the perfect family but never appreciated it. Even when Paul started drinking, she’d let it slide when she should have intervened much earlier. The signs had been there all along but she’d let him continue destroying his life, as if she thought one day Paul would simply stop; would find a solution on his own and turn his life around. Well, that would change when he was back. She would insist he found support and would help him rectify whatever mess he’d got himself into with the Mannings.
She cut back through the neighbouring beach town of Hayle, on the lookout for somewhere to buy a quick snack. Rounding the corner of the main street, her breath caught as she saw the distant figure of a man hand in hand with a young girl who looked to be Emily’s age. She blinked, her heart beating so fast she thought she would have to stop driving.
Controlling her breathing, she kept her eyes focused on the pair, who’d just turned the corner into a supermarket car park. She smacked the steering wheel as the traffic edged forward, the car in front of her stopping to let a vehicle out from the side road. ‘Come on,’ she screamed, pointlessly, at the driver, before taking the corner a little too fast into the supermarket.
Something akin to melancholy hit her as she saw parent and child still hand in hand, walking into the supermarket. Her breathing spiked then slowed as they disappeared out of sight. She couldn’t believe her own foolishness. How could she have thought, even for a second, that the two figures were Paul and Emily?
Realising the car had stalled, taking up three parking spaces, she restarted the engine and left towards the A30. She tried to divert her attention from Emily and Paul by focusing on the case. She felt guilty for doing so, yet equally guilty for not having her full attention on her work.
The surprise of Jay Chappell having walked into the station of his own accord still worried her. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Obviously, his motive for visiting the station couldn’t have been completely selfless. He’d had his picture printed in the newspaper so it made sense for him to clear his name but there had been a sense of arrogance, both in his dramatic arrival and the way he’d answered her questions as if he were untouchable. She was used to facing arrogance, people so sure of themselves that they thought they were smarter, better even, than the officers questioning them. Somehow, Chappell transcended this. She’d seen an unwavering confidence in him that she’d rarely encountered, a type of self-be
lief that couldn’t be faked. What it all meant, she didn’t know, but there was something Chappell was hiding.
She called Thomas for updates. At her request, he’d been looking further into Chappell’s background but had little to report. He didn’t ask where she’d been and she didn’t offer an explanation, though part of her wanted to share. She hadn’t even told her parents of her jaunt to Cornwall and the only people who currently knew about Paul’s problems with the Mannings were Louise, Everett and Joslyn.
Perhaps it should have bothered her more that she had no one to confide in, but there was always Tracey. She would tell her friend about the Mannings when she returned, despite only having the say of one of Paul’s alcoholic mates as evidence.
The threat of sleep encroached as she made slow progress back up the M5. She buzzed her window down and let the cold wind invigorate her. She would have stopped for another coffee but felt guilty enough already for being absent from Weston.
It was early afternoon before she reached the station. She was greeted with the usual wall of silence, the paranoid part of her suggesting that everyone knew about Paul and Emily and where she’d been that morning. Simone gave her one of her antagonising looks as she entered the office. It was amazing how much emotion the woman could muster on to her face. She looked at once disappointed but knowing and Louise turned away from her before she was forced to say something.
A long list of emails awaited her attention and she stared at the screen in the hope they would disappear. Tania Elliot had left two messages for her at reception which she’d followed up by email. Louise ignored the emails and began checking the updates on Jay Chappell.
Unfortunately, as Thomas had earlier suggested, they still had little information about the man. The preliminaries had been covered – tax records, places of employment, school history, old addresses – but little else had been discovered about him so far. Was she taking the wrong approach to the case? It was possible her thoughts were muddled by her brother’s situation, yet all she could think about was Chappell. She shut her laptop, unable to concentrate, and left the office to get some fresh air.
Thirty minutes later she found herself pulling up outside Chappell’s home in Berrow, wondering why she was there at all. Like her, Chappell lived in a bungalow, only his was a detached property at least three times the size of hers. It was painted a dirty white and surrounded by a lawn, more dried mud than grass.
She moved towards the front door before she knew what she was doing and rang the bell, hoping, or presuming, inspiration would strike if Chappell answered the door. The chime of the doorbell rang from within but no one answered. She peered through the small window in the front door, her view obscured by the frosted glass. She had no good reason to be there but couldn’t drag herself away. Moving to the windows, she tried to see between the cracks of the blinds but no light reached the interior of the house as if Chappell was trying to hide something. She smiled to herself at the thought – recognising the presumption and paranoia – and stopped short of jumping over the back fence to see if she could spot anything in the garden.
It seemed she’d been just in time. As she walked back to the car, a vehicle came up the driveway. Louise stood her ground as the driver’s door opened and Jay Chappell got out.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Louise saw the smile before she took in the man himself, the light momentarily distorting Chappell’s face, making his toothy grin the first discernible thing she saw. ‘Inspector,’ he said, his features coming into focus as he broke through the glare. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’
Louise glanced down to see his hand was held out for her to shake. She let it hang there, Chappell maintaining eye contact with a ferocious intent. ‘Mr Chappell, I’m glad you’re back. I have some more questions to ask you.’
Chappell eventually dropped his hand. ‘Of course,’ he said, surprising her. ‘How can I help?’
‘Shall we go inside?’ said Louise.
Chappell smirked, mocking her. ‘Forgive me, Inspector, but you’ve plastered my face over the newspapers, given me the indignity of having my fingerprints and DNA taken, and now you would like to enter my house uninvited. Please don’t take it personally, but I think I’d rather have our conversation here, outside.’
Louise considered suggesting they return to the station but he would be under no compulsion to do so, and would know as much. ‘I understand,’ said Louise. ‘Maybe we should leave it until next time.’
The smile returned to Chappell’s face, charging the glint in his eyes. ‘There’s going to be a next time?’
‘Oh, I imagine so, Mr Chappell.’
Chappell didn’t move, a strange enigmatic look forming on his face that she couldn’t quite look away from. ‘What the hell,’ he said, breaking the spell with a sweep of his hands. ‘I’m a bit busy but I could spare you a few minutes. Why don’t you come in?’
Louise considered calling in her position but didn’t want to alert Chappell to her concerns, and her GPS signal would track her if necessary. ‘Thank you,’ she said, following Chappell up the small pathway to the front door.
Chappell led her to a living-room area with cream walls, and a filthy-looking sky-blue carpet that looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in decades. The room contained a wicker sofa and armchair, the only other object being the floor-to-ceiling bookcase overflowing with titles. Normally, the sight of a good bookcase would endear Louise to someone but endearment wasn’t something she was feeling now.
‘I don’t really have much use for material things,’ said Chappell, by way of explanation. ‘Give me a chair and a book and I am happy.’ They were both standing in the middle of the room. It was becoming a struggle to maintain eye contact with Chappell, such was the unwavering intensity in his eyes, but Louise wouldn’t be the first to look away. ‘Where are my manners,’ said Chappell, his eyes still on her. ‘May I get you a drink?’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
‘Then please, take a seat.’
Louise took the lone armchair, the dust visible as she sunk into the ancient springs poking up through the thin cloth exterior. Although she wanted to know more about Chappell, she hadn’t prepared anything specific to ask him. The questions she wanted answered – did you drug Sally, Claire and Victoria – couldn’t so easily be asked.
‘Go ahead,’ said Chappell, sitting on the sofa opposite.
For a moment, Louise didn’t know who was in charge. The situation had the feel of an interview and at the moment she felt like the interviewee. She shook the notion away. ‘Thank you for coming in to see us yesterday, it really helped to speed things up.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘As I mentioned during our last conversation we have found traces of DMT in the hair samples of not only Sally, but the other two women who took their lives.’
Chappell seemed more prepared for the question than last time. Louise didn’t notice any spark of anger, only weariness as he answered. ‘I think I answered your questions last time,’ he said, his eyes never leaving hers, his voice a low rumbling baritone.
‘Fascinating stuff,’ said Louise, changing her approach, trying to take Chappell out of his comfort zone.
Chappell’s eyebrows narrowed as if he were confused by the comment.
‘The DMT drug,’ Louise prompted.
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve taken it?’
‘I believe we’ve ascertained that.’
Louise leant in towards him. ‘What’s it like?’
Chappell mirrored her, interlinking his hands as he shifted forward. ‘Now there’s a question.’
‘I’ve been reading up on it,’ she said.
‘And what conclusions did you reach?’
He seemed genuinely interested so she kept the conversation going. ‘I’d never really encountered it before. I’d heard of it but I didn’t know about the research that has gone into it, especially about the shared hallucinations.’
Chappell’s face was
fascinating to watch. The lines on his forehead creased as he thought about what she had to say. ‘Have you read The God Principle?’
‘No, my research has been mainly online based.’
Chappell stood and walked to the bookcase. ‘Here,’ he said, returning with a well-worn paperback. ‘This is a diary of sorts, written by a shaman from the Peruvian Amazonian rainforest. Obviously, it was transcribed but I think it’s a true representation.’ Chappell sounded defensive as he handed her the copy. ‘A friend gave this to me when I was in the sixth form. It changed everything for me.’
For the first time since he’d turned up at the station, Louise caught a glimpse of the true Jay Chappell. Beyond the charismatic and reserved exterior lurked the enthusiasm and passion of a giddy schoolboy. Louise flicked through the book as Chappell smiled at her. ‘You can borrow it,’ he beamed.
‘Thank you,’ said Louise. ‘So it was this,’ she said, holding up the book, ‘that led to your trip to the Amazon?’
‘I’m not going to incriminate myself here, am I?’
‘It’s not illegal to take the drug in a foreign country, Mr Chappell.’
‘And here?’
‘I’m not going to arrest you for whatever drugs you’ve taken for personal use in the past. I think we both know that.’
Chappell regained some of his earlier composure. He leant back in his seat. ‘I tried to source it in this country and after a few mishaps I managed to take it.’
Louise nodded, encouraging him to continue.
‘If you’ve never taken it, you wouldn’t understand but that first time – the first proper time – was a revelation. The things you may have read about, the separation of body, the sense of a wider world beyond our existence, the guardians, have to be experienced. I can’t tell you more than you’ve read but maybe that will change your thinking,’ he said, nodding towards the book.
He’d distracted himself, his composure slipping again. He shifted in his seat, his eyes still on her, as if trying to change his outward appearance.
