by Matt Brolly
And when he’d asked her to write the note, she hadn’t hesitated. It was cathartic listing her reasons for moving on, even if she did cry as she wrote about Aiden. She’d hadn’t argued when he’d asked to add the two lines at the end of the note. They made perfect sense to her.
There are other worlds than this. Death is not the end.
Yet maybe this was the reason for her current unease. Not about the DMT, or the existence of something beyond this world, but about Jay and how recent events were changing things. Maybe it was simply last-minute nerves, but Amy sensed an urgency in Jay she hadn’t experienced before. It worried her to doubt him. He’d given her so much, and she’d given him so much of herself, that doubt felt like a betrayal. She’d left him sleeping that morning and had been in such a rush that she’d forgotten the phone she’d hidden beneath the pile of clothes. She didn’t know what Jay would do if he found out. The phone still had the messages from Megan, and worse, the voicemail from the policewoman. But was it this that was really bothering her?
She went to the bathroom, trying to focus on what was making her so anxious. Jay had summoned everyone together tonight and after writing the note, and spending the night with Jay, she knew what this meant. The last few months had been leading to this moment, so why then was she feeling this way?
‘Where the hell have you been?’ said Keith, when she returned.
‘The toilet if that’s okay with you.’
‘Table six need their bill.’
Amy stared at the café owner. She could walk away now and not worry about seeing him again. By tomorrow, this job and everything surrounding it wouldn’t even be a memory. Memories didn’t exist where she was going. Why then didn’t she tell Keith where to go and storm out? Was it because she feared she wouldn’t be able to go through with it, or was it because she still wasn’t sure that Jay would choose her tonight?
She held Keith’s gaze for a little longer, his pudgy face scowling under the scrutiny, before moving towards table six with the card reader. If she was lucky, this was the last time she would ever have to do this.
She was home at 1 p.m. Although she hadn’t expected to see Jay, it was still disappointing not to find him there. He’d left nothing of his belongings and for a second she wondered if she’d imagined it all. Collapsing on the bed, she lay on the side where Jay had slept last night. She could still feel his heat, the smell of him on the pillows and sheets. She’d been wrong to doubt him. He’d shown her so much. If only he’d been there now, she would have told him all her concerns, how much he meant to her.
In a state of flux – she didn’t know where or when they were to meet that night – Amy searched through the pile of clothes where she’d hidden the phone. She panicked when she couldn’t find it – a sickness crawling from her stomach into her chest – only to find it in the pocket of her grey jogging bottoms. Her heart returning to something approaching its normal cadence, she tried to switch it on only to be presented with a blank screen.
A second search ensued, this time for the charger Megan had given her. She found it in her bedroom, a sadness creeping over her as she remembered the day her friend had given her the gift. Yet, although there was sadness that she wouldn’t see Megan again – at least not in this form – she was comforted by the knowledge that she was somewhere better now. She’d panicked when she’d called the police, the change in Jay’s process, and the brutality of his actions, disorientating her. She understood now. He’d been trying to get the police off his scent. There were still four of them left, five including Jay, and they’d made a pact which she was desperate to honour.
The phone showed twenty-eight missed calls, all from the same number: the policewoman, Louise Blackwell. The woman sounded genuine but she wouldn’t understand. She thought Amy was in trouble but she wasn’t. Instead of calling her back, she called Nicole to check what had happened to her today only for the phone to beep through to her voicemail.
Amy hesitated before leaving a short message. Chances were she would never see her again. ‘Look after yourself,’ she said, ending the call.
She was about to switch the phone off again, when it began vibrating in her hands.
Chapter Forty-Nine
‘You’re sure the man in this photo is called Charlie Barton?’ said Louise, glancing at Robertson, who sat wide-eyed and uncustomarily silent.
‘He wasn’t in such a good state when I saw him, but that is definitely him. Where did you get this photo?’
‘What happened to him? After he was taken to the hospital I mean,’ said Louise, ignoring da Costa’s question.
Da Costa hesitated, as if about to push his own agenda, before answering. ‘He was under supervision for three weeks. As I mentioned we questioned him. What is this about, Inspector Blackwell? Are you searching for Mr Barton?’
Louise explained that she believed Barton was an alias for Chappell, or vice versa. ‘What happened after his time in hospital?’
‘We allowed Mr Barton to return home. The case was concluded. We were satisfied that the three people had died through their own volition. We informed your authorities.’
After reluctantly verifying with da Costa that the Portuguese authorities had fully checked Barton’s identification, Louise and Robertson summoned the team together to explain Chappell’s alias. If Barton had a police record, or if they had his fingerprints on the database, then they would have shown as a match when they’d taken Chappell’s details. Even so, Louise went straight to the Police National Database to double-check.
There was a small file on Barton recording the incident in Portugal, but no personal information – prints or DNA swabs – had been taken after his return. Twenty minutes later they had a driver’s licence, National Insurance number, and education record for Charlie Barton. His last address was in Thornbury, south Gloucestershire. Louise cross-referenced this with the details they had for Chappell. Chappell’s driving licence was more recent and as da Costa had claimed to have checked Barton’s passport, she had to conclude that Chappell was the alias and Barton was the real name of the person they were looking for. She wrote the name Barton next to Chappell on the crime board. ‘Let’s find out everything we can from this new information. See if we can track down his family and friends. Chances are he’s hiding with one of them. Thomas, check the address in Thornbury. See if you can make contact. I’m going to look deeper into these Portuguese cases. Someone over here must have monitored Barton when he returned.’
As the team filtered out, Louise returned to her desk. She checked her phone on the unlikely off chance that Paul or Amy would have called her. She ignored the blank screen and began searching for the names da Costa had given her of the three suicide victims. Beyond a small report in a Portuguese newspaper, there was nothing about the incident at the retreat. She was mildly surprised that a story involving a British citizen hadn’t reached the press back in the UK.
The thought made her check the websites of the newspapers Tania Elliot was associated with. She immediately regretted her decision. Tania had written an opinion piece on why young women had been taking their lives in Weston, comparing it to the suicides in Bridgend from the previous decade. If he hadn’t already, Robertson would be receiving a call about the press attention and that would only lead to more pressure on her. At least there wasn’t any mention of murder, and now they had a credible suspect; even Assistant Chief Constable Morley couldn’t argue that Chappell/Barton was a person of significant interest.
Out of habit she called Paul’s phone, only the presence of Simone hovering behind her stopping her from unleashing a torrent of abuse for her brother to hear at some later point.
She almost didn’t call Amy – it was beginning to feel like a waste of her time – and couldn’t quite believe it when the phone began to ring.
Louise clicked her fingers at Simone. ‘Get Robertson and Coulson here now,’ she said.
Simone grimaced. ‘What am I going to say?’
‘Now,’ said Louis
e, raising her voice just as the phone was answered.
‘Amy, is that you?’ said Louise, her voice low and soft. She waited a beat, her pulse quickening as a murmur came from the other end of the phone.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m so pleased you’ve answered, Amy. This is Louise. Louise Blackwell. I left a message for you before.’
‘I know,’ said Amy.
Although her answers were short, there must be a reason why she’d yet to hang up. ‘Amy, are you in any immediate danger?’ she asked as Robertson arrived, followed by an agitated-looking Coulson. She couldn’t risk putting her on speakerphone but wanted Robertson there to witness the conversation.
‘I’m alone. I’m fine,’ said Amy.
‘That’s great. I can only imagine what you must be going through at the moment. I want you to know that you’re not in any trouble. We just want to help you. We know it was you who called the emergency services about Megan Davies. Was she your friend?’
Amy sounded as if she was in shock. ‘Yes,’ came her weak reply. ‘Did you . . . Did you find her?’
‘We recovered her body. We would never have done so if it hadn’t been for you. I would love to meet up with you, Amy. You can tell me what happened?’
‘No, I don’t think—’
‘Do you know Jay Chappell?’ asked Louise. She looked up at Robertson as she asked the question. She knew it was a risk but Amy was on the verge of hanging up. Louise heard the intake of breath.
‘It’s not what you think,’ said Amy, sounding unsure of herself.
‘He’s not who you think he is,’ said Louise, not wasting any time. She told Amy as quickly and succinctly as she could about Portugal. ‘Jay isn’t even his name. His real name is Charlie Barton.’
Louise heard her laboured breathing on the line as Robertson shoved a piece of paper into her hand. ‘Let me come to you, Amy,’ said Louise, reading Robertson’s pointless suggestion to find Amy’s location.
‘No, I don’t think that’s necessary. I need to think.’
‘Is he making your friends kill themselves?’
Amy hesitated. ‘It’s not like that. He’s . . . We’re making our own choices.’
‘Let’s meet and you can explain it to me. You don’t need to come to the police station. We can talk and you can tell me all about it.’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Amy, her voice now raw with emotion.
‘Let me help you, Amy,’ said Louise, only to realise she was talking to a dead signal.
Chapter Fifty
Amy sat on the sofa, hugging herself. She knew it had been a mistake answering the phone the second the policewoman began to speak but she hadn’t been able to hang up. It couldn’t be true. Jay would never lie to her – or the others – like that. The officer – Louise – had said Jay’s real name was Charlie. Amy closed her eyes, picturing Jay with his kind eyes and smile. He was Jay, her Jay. The policewoman was lying. It was all a trap. It had to be.
She moved to her bedroom and lay on the side of the bed where Jay had stayed last night. It was cold now and she could no longer smell him. She considered what Louise had told her about Portugal, how Jay had tried to take his own life and failed. She’d seen the scarring on his neck and upper chest, his mottled skin that looked raw to the touch. How could Louise have known about that?
The phone was hot in her hand. She didn’t even have a number for him so she could call and ask about it. Amy thought about everything that had happened between them since that day he’d found her. The things they’d done together, the secrets they’d shared. If what Louise had told her was true, could she forgive him? Okay, he might have lied about his name but had anything else really changed? He’d obviously changed his name so he could continue his work. He hadn’t told the group about Portugal – and it was something she wanted to know about – but what happened there sounded like what was happening now: a group of like-minded people, destroying the binds of their lives.
Louise had said Jay was dangerous but did Amy believe that? He hadn’t made anyone do anything they didn’t want to do. Had he?
She grimaced as she thought about the way Megan had struggled under his touch that night by the oncoming sea. It had only been a physical reaction, her body’s way of fighting to remain in this world, and she’d been so happy at the thought of finally leaving everything behind. She’d struggled but she’d wanted to die, wanted to remain in the new world she’d accessed.
Amy thought about her other friends – Victoria, Claire and Sally. Her recollection suggested they’d gone willingly to their deaths. Yes, Jay had been with them, had eased them into the next world, but there had been no sense that he’d forced them in any way.
Was she trying to convince herself? It hadn’t only been Megan who’d struggled. Sally had survived the initial fall in Kewstoke, if only for a few short minutes. Hadn’t Amy begun to doubt Jay then? She’d spent the next day on the beach with Megan, waiting for Sally’s body to be taken away. She’d tried to share her concerns with Megan but she’d dismissed them out of hand. Of course Jay would never have wanted Sally to suffer, but did he have an ulterior motive in helping them to move on? Were they all moving on through their own will or, as Louise seemed to be suggesting, was Jay somehow coercing them?
After a period of reflection, Amy had to conclude she simply wasn’t sure any more. Like everyone in their little group, Jay had his demons. He’d never hidden that fact. He wasn’t a messiah, even if some of the group treated him that way. He was simply a flawed individual who’d been given a glimpse of something beyond this world. Amy hadn’t fully understood what he’d been going through until now. The policewoman had told her of his aborted suicide attempt in Portugal. He’d never told the group about it but that didn’t mean he’d lied or, as the policewoman had suggested, was dangerous. Jay could have taken his life any time after that. Instead he’d dedicated his life to helping others. The lost like Victoria, Claire, Sally and Megan; and yes, like herself.
Amy could only guess at the cost of such responsibility. She’d seen the way he’d looked as he’d held on to Megan as she struggled beneath him. It hadn’t given him any pleasure. She’d seen his internal struggle, the pain in his sad eyes as he’d taken Megan’s life. Amy had panicked when he’d remained calm. Jay had shown such utter strength to continue when every cell in his body was probably telling him to stop, and Amy had betrayed him.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She believed in Jay. Others wouldn’t understand – and she didn’t blame them for that – but she had nothing left. She’d give everything to him and had to believe he had her best interests at heart.
It was a resolution that was stretched to breaking point as the doorbell rang and Amy peered out the window to see Jay hand in hand with Nicole.
Chapter Fifty-One
Louise slammed her mobile phone on to the desk as in her peripheral vision Simone retreated to the other side of the office. ‘I guess we can’t find a location from that call,’ she said to Coulson, who stood behind Robertson as if he was a shield.
‘Let me call the number back and see what I can do. But in short, unless she picks up now, I can’t, no. I’ll need to speak to the phone operator again.’ Coulson dialled in silence only to shake his head after a few seconds.
Amy had sounded conflicted, unsure of herself. Louise had taken a risk telling her about Chappell’s former identity. It was possible the man was with her or would see her shortly. When he found out they knew about him being Charlie Barton, there was no telling what he would do.
Robertson wasn’t slow in offering his opinion. ‘He’s going to escalate things now,’ he said.
‘He already knew we were on to him,’ said Louise, annoyed that she felt she had to defend herself.
‘If he didn’t he will now, but you were right to tell her about Barton. Do you think there’s a chance she’ll change her mind and help us?’
‘She’s torn, but he has a hold on her. I think Amy will be next,’
she said to Robertson.
‘Then we’d better find her as soon as we can,’ said Robertson.
Aside from situating police officers by every cliff edge in a ten-mile radius, Louise wasn’t sure at that exact moment what else they could do.
Coulson returned with her phone. ‘Sorry,’ he said, handing it back to her. ‘I’ll contact the mobile provider now. We might be able to find an approximate location for her even if she’s using a burner phone. If she switches the phone on again we’ll have an immediate hit.’
‘I can’t stress how important this is, Simon,’ said Louise, jumping as her phone rang again. She shook her head at Robertson and Coulson, who walked away, the phone still chiming in the subdued atmosphere of the CID office. ‘Hi, Mum, bit busy,’ she said, taking her phone into the conference room. ‘Everything okay?’
The sound of sobbing came from the other end of the line.
‘Mum, what is it?’ said Louise, fighting the multitude of gruesome images taking shape in her mind.
Her mother began to speak then stopped, as if her words had caught in her throat. At moments like this it was best to wait for her mother to find her voice, but Louise was too impatient to wait. ‘Mum, what is it?’ she asked, trying to keep the urgency and desperation out of her voice. ‘Is it Paul? Emily?’
A distant noise filtered through her handset and the next sound she heard was her father speaking. ‘It’s me, Lou. Your brother called us again,’ he said, emphasising the words ‘your brother’.
‘What did he say, Dad?’
‘Well, it was hard to tell, Lou, because he was that pissed. All I know is that he was crying and apologising to your mother which in the normal course of things wouldn’t be so bad but when he has our grandchild and it’s still the morning then it’s a bit worrying.’
Your brother. Our grandchild. Louise ignored the outburst. Her father could get this way when he was worried. She could either be hurt by his words or try to sort it. As always, she chose the latter. ‘Did he give an indication of where he was?’
