Megan looked away, as Rita proceeded to scratch an itch near the groin area of her purple velour tracksuit.
‘People reckon that woman like me know what their partner is up to, but hand on heart I had no idea. I swear it on my children’s eyes. I hate that people in the street look and point at me when they think I can’t see. What they don’t realise is I’m a victim in all of this too. I loved that jerk. I’d had two children with him and he was stepfather to my other three. And he was a good dad, at least I thought he was.’ She paused to wipe her eyes with a tissue she fished out of her pocket. ‘If I had...if I had known what he was doing when I was asleep, then...I never would have kept my kids anywhere near him. And if just one of them had told me how he crept into their rooms at night, I’d have cut his bollocks off myself and hand-delivered him to the old bill. I wouldn’t have allowed it to continue for as long as it did.’
She paused and finally looked up, checking to see which of the group were brave enough to make eye contact.
Megan looked away as the gaze fell on her. This certainly hadn’t been the type of admission she had been expecting to hear, and she still couldn’t understand why Dr Patel had suggested she come along. She wasn’t the facilitator of a paedophile. What did Rita’s situation have to do with Rob dying in the fire?
‘Social Services have taken four of my five kids away; the other is old enough to live on her own. It sickens me to share a history with that pervert, let alone two children, but that doesn’t stop the guilt plaguing my mind every night. The drink helps, but only short-term. It’s like the doc said, I need steps to learn to forgive myself for not seeing the signs sooner.’
Megan had heard enough. Unfastening the brake, she wheeled herself away from the circle, and to the rear of the building without looking back or offering any kind of apology for her sudden retreat.
She heard Patel calling after her. ‘Wait, Megan, wait, please?’
He caught up with her as she bashed through the door and rolled down the ramp.
‘Megan, stop, please, what’s the matter?’
Megan glared at him. ‘I’m sorry, I never should have come. I’m not good at talking about my feelings, particularly in front of a room full of strangers. Some people like that kind of thing, but not me.’
Disappointment hung in Patel’s eyes. ‘I understand. I’m sorry, I thought it would help you to hear others tales of sorrow, so you’d see that you’re not alone. I’m sorry, I should have warned you what it can be like.’
‘Can you pass on my apologies to the rest of the group, please?’
‘Of course,’ he nodded. ‘Or you could come back in and do that yourself.’
‘No, it’s not for me.’ She pushed forwards again.
‘Megan, promise me you’re not going to give up on life. I think there is a whole armoury of things you can still offer if you give yourself the chance.’
But she wasn’t listening. Rob wouldn’t like her sharing all her problems with strangers. He was all she needed, and he would come for her soon. She just had to be patient.
SEVENTEEN
The brown-coloured signs from the motorway had informed him he was heading in the right direction, even if the Satnav wanted him to take a different route. But as Jake drove down the A35 slip road, and the lanes began to narrow, he couldn’t help but wonder whose idea it had been to send him here, but it felt like Chief Superintendent Tillman’s influence.
Isabella hadn’t been at home when he’d returned to change out of his jeans and t-shirt. And even though the car’s air conditioning was cranked to maximum, he wished he had waited to get here before changing into a formal shirt and trousers. He had foregone the tie – a step too far – though he had one in the glove box just in case. Tosh hadn’t authorised him using one of HMIT’s pool cars, so he was in his own Hyundai, and had made good time on the motorway.
He was unlikely to make it back in time to collect Gabby from school, and the guilt burned hard in his gut. Gabby would understand – she always did – but he had made and broken a promise to her. It was nearly two by the time he saw the welcome sign for the park, and what remained of the battered gate. Rush hour traffic would add at least half an hour to the journey time back to Southampton, which meant he would have to turn around and start heading back within forty minutes. He set his stopwatch, as a motivator to do whatever was required as quickly as possible.
Blue and white crime scene tape covered the entrance to the country park, and a small parade of police vehicles lined both sides of the road leading to it. Pulling in behind an unmarked van, he opened the door and was nearly overcome by the wave of heat that burst through. Without any trace of a breeze, and with the sun high in the sky, it had to be at least thirty-five degrees. He’d opted for a white shirt, but as he forced himself out of the car seat, he could already feel the pool of sweat sticking the material to his lower back.
Situated within fifty-six acres of farmland in the New Forest national park, Orchard Lakes was a hub for fishermen of all ages. Surrounded by a swarm of historic trees, the park boasted nature trails, a variety of different species to look for and the occasional roaming wild pony. That much he’d learned from the park’s website. But as he wandered along the dusty road to the poor constable who must have drawn the short straw to be stationed at the outer checkpoint, in full uniform, he could see why it was so popular.
Jake presented his identification and advised the gangly officer why he was there.
‘Inspector Carlton is expecting you,’ the officer said, and as he removed his hat to wipe his brow, Jake saw just how young he was.
‘How long you been in the job?’ Jake asked casually, keen to step into the shade himself.
‘This is my second year,’ the lad said, his cheeks covered in a patchy stubble that suggested he was still going through puberty.
Jake felt sorry for the youngster. Standing guard at the edge of a forest on what had to now be the hottest day of the year wasn’t how they advertised the role on the posters and internet. ‘I’m Jake.’
The officer smiled and shook Jake’s outstretched hand. ‘I’m Harry, sorry, PC Harry Venables.’
‘It’s good to meet you, Harry. Tell me, what can I expect up there?’
Harry scrunched his nose in confusion. ‘I haven’t been up there, sir, to be honest. I only got here at nine to relieve PC Chanowski. Inspector Carlton should be able to update you.’
Jake ducked beneath the tape as Harry raised it for him, and then proceeded along the dry and dusty mud-covered road. He proceeded further along the road, the sun thankfully firmly being blocked out by the thick bush overhead. All around, thick bark tore out of the dry and withered ground, stretching up searching for light and water. But what really struck him was how quiet the area was. Not even the hum of traffic from the A35 – barely two miles away – could break through the invisible force field surrounding the woodland.
Within two minutes, he came to the inner cordon, where a stern-looking woman in full dress uniform and with Inspector’s stripes on her arm waited.
‘DS Knight, I presume?’ she said, looking him up and down, and scowling when she saw his lack of tie, and the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened.
Jake tried to ignore the cold demeanour and raised his identification. ‘That’s right, ma’am. My name is Jacob Knight, but my friends call me Jake.’
Her face remained taut. ‘Follow me, DS Knight.’
She led him beneath the second ring of tape, further into the heart of the forest, her pace quick and causing him to work hard to keep up. Although she was a good eight inches shorter than him, her bulk squeezed into the navy blue uniform, didn’t seem to slow her down. By the time the trees parted into an opening, he was sweating profusely, while her face showed little strain.
‘You saw the smashed gate at the entrance?’ she asked, no sign that she was out of breath.
Jake nodded, sucking in air as fast as it would come.
‘And the tyre tracks in the g
round we’ve just walked along?’
Jake had noticed the small yellow triangles highlighting where Scene of Crime Officers had taken photographs. He nodded again.
‘This park is open to the public, but is closed up at night to prevent backpackers camping amongst the woodland. Vehicles aren’t permitted this far into the park during the day, parking is just off to the side of the gate.’
He nodded again, waiting for her to get to the point.
‘Our Forensics team found evidence of a camp fire not far from the smashed gate, and have suggested it was extinguished on Sunday night. The gate was reported damaged on Monday morning.’
She paused and stared at him, like she was waiting for him to connect the dots. But he couldn’t make any obvious connection of what she assumed had occurred.
‘My DCI said something about joyriders?’ he eventually offered.
‘New Milton is a quiet area. Okay? Major crime doesn’t exist here. Most of my day is spent reviewing notes on domestic abuse cases, some petty theft, and the occasional drug bust. Vandalism can be an issue – I won’t deny that it isn’t – but if this is the work of a joyrider or joyriders, where is the vehicle? Nor have we had any cars reported stolen in the past seventy-two hours.’
Jake’s head was aching in the intense heat, and he couldn’t deny that boredom was starting to set in. ‘You want me to find out who smashed up the gate and why?’
‘And as quickly as you can, please. In weather like this, the longer the park stays close, the more tourist footfall the area is missing out on.’
And then she turned and started heading back to the inner perimeter, giving no indication if he was supposed to follow or not. Checking the stopwatch, he couldn’t believe ten minutes had already passed.
Ahead of him, he could see the opening led directly to the edge of the lake. Encapsulated by more trees, the lake was dark green in colour, and the occasional ripple on the surface suggested it was teeming with fish. The yellow scene of crime triangles continued all the way to the wooden pontoon that stretched out across the water. He could picture men and women dangling their legs over the side, holding out their fishing rods and hoping to catch a passing fish. The pastime of fishing had never interested him. It seemed like such a waste of time, and there were so many more interesting ways to pass the time: jogging, reading, and listening to music.
And as he stepped onto the planed wood and walked along it to the very edge, he could see similar pontoons stretching out at various points across the lake. Bending, he rested his arms on the wooden safety barrier, and stared into the water, wondering just how deep it went, but with no way of seeing through the algae floating on the surface.
He let out a sigh, wiping his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and stood to leave, which is when he noticed it: the wooden pontoon to his left, maybe fifty metres away, looked different to the others. Quickly scanning his eyes around the rest of the large expanse of water, his eyes returned to the wooden platform to the left. And then it seemed obvious. The pier to the left had no safety barrier around it.
And as he ran towards it, no longer thinking about the baking heat, he soon saw why there was no safety barrier: something had torn it off.
EIGHTEEN
If anyone could see her internet history, Megan was sure she would have been sectioned in a hospital by now. As the bus trundled along, she kept one eye on the phone screen, and the other checking for anyone looking over her shoulder. There was nothing illegal about viewing a website that openly discussed methods of committing suicide, but she didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to what she was researching.
Her latest idea was to drop an electrical appliance into the bath water, and hope to shock her heart into meeting Rob in the afterlife. But as she scanned the page, looking for any success stories about the method, for the life of her she couldn’t think which electrical socket was nearest the small bathroom, and whether she had any appliances with a long enough cable to reach.
Before she’d had chance to finish reading the site, the bus was pulling over, and the driver signalled it was her stop. The vehicle’s pneumatic suspension hissed as the driver lowered the front of the bus, allowing her to wheel onto the uneven pavement. She thanked him – she always thanked bus drivers for their service – and gripped the wheels. Although this stop was the closest to the flat, it was still an effort to make it back to the building, particularly in this kind of heat.
The bottle of water she’d bought from the shop near the hall in Freemantle was now gone, but the closest shop was in the opposite direction to the flat, and would essentially double her journey time if she were to call by. It seemed pointless when she had a tap at home. So she persevered forwards, the fingerless gloves slowly cooking her scarred hands.
As she turned the final corner into the small estate where her flat was located, she allowed herself a small exhale of triumph as she sensed the end was in sight. But she hadn’t accounted for the car she found parked in the space designated for her flat, nor the woman behind the wheel nervously clutching a mobile phone. By the time Megan had spotted the car, it was already too late to turn and race away.
The door to the Range Rover opened, and Rob’s sister, Wanda emerged, waving frantically, as if Megan wouldn’t have noticed her bright pink lurid top and large straw hat.
‘Coo-ee,’ Wanda called, as she pretended to jog over, pumping her arms, but still only moving at a walking pace. ‘I’ve been trying to call you, but it kept going to answer phone.’
Megan pulled to a stop, and checked her phone. ‘I didn’t miss any calls from anyone.’
Wanda gave an over exaggerated frown – she exaggerated everything – and scratched her head. ‘That’s funny. I definitely called, probably dozens of times. Have you changed your number?’
Megan pictured her old phone plugged into the charger as the kitchen burned around it. ‘Not since the fire.’
Wanda’s hand shot up to her mouth, and Megan could see her cheeks flush between the fingers.
As well as being an over-the-top bull in a china shop, Wanda was always putting her foot in her mouth at the most inappropriate times. It was hard not to feel sorry for her, even though more than an hour in her company usually had Megan climbing the walls. Rob’s death had been as big a shock to Wanda and it was only right that Megan try to be more understanding. After all, they were practically family.
Megan stuck out her hand and Wanda begrudgingly handed the phone over.
‘This is my old number,’ Wanda said, as she edited the number and typed in the new one, certain she’d shared the number with Wanda before. ‘No harm done. I’m home now. Did you need to speak to me about something in particular?’
Megan passed the phone back, and Wanda beamed at her like it was the most charitable act she’d ever benefited from.
‘I was at the garden centre,’ Wanda began, as she remembered why she’d stopped by, ‘and I was about to buy myself a cup of tea and a slice of cake in the café there – it’s a lovely café, by the way. You really should stop by if you get the chance – when I suddenly thought why pay someone for tea, when I could call in on my sister-in-law and see how she is. So, here I am.’ She held out her arms like a stage actor waiting for flowers and applause.’
‘Great,’ Megan said, trying to sound enthusiastic but failing miserably. ‘I haven’t got any cake though.’
Wanda snapped her fingers together, the wide smile returning. ‘Don’t you trouble yourself, I picked one up at the garden centre shop. It’s homemade, as well according to the label.’
Wanda slunk off to the back of the Range Rover, lifting the boot lid, before returning a moment later holding out a white carrier bag. ‘Voila! It’s chocolate and salted caramel. I thought if anyone deserved a treat, it was you.’
Megan was a sucker for chocolate cake, and gave an appreciative nod, reminding herself that Wanda meant well, and it wasn’t as if she was fending off offers of friendship. Besides, Rob would want her to support his
sister.
‘Let’s get inside then,’ said Megan, leading the way, and biting her tongue when Wanda gripped the handles and pushed the chair forwards.
Once inside, Wanda refused to allow Megan to fuss in the kitchen, and insisted Megan rest while she filled the kettle and prepared the teapot.
‘So what have you been up to?’ Wanda asked absently as she hunted for cups and saucers, reaching up and then bending low as she checked every cupboard.
‘Not a lot,’ Megan admitted, not sure if Wanda was even listening. ‘I went to lay flowers at Rob’s grave yesterday.’
‘Oh that’s nice,’ Wanda said, as she continued to hunt for apparatus in the kitchen. ‘I really must go up there more often, but with Bill working shifts and having to manage the household, I just never seem to find the time.’
Wanda’s domestic arrangements had been a running joke between Rob and Megan. Whilst she insisted she was always busy and did appear to run non-stop, it was never clear what she actually did. Bill and Wanda didn’t have children or pets. He ran his own logistics company, keeping strange hours as he undertook business with overseas companies, and Wanda was a self-declared housewife. And as charming and well-kept her house was, she never seemed to be there long enough to cause any mess. Rob had once joked that she was secretly a Stepford Wife who only came out when someone called round.
‘Are you still seeing that counsellor?’ Wanda asked, as she gave up the hunt for a proper tea set, and settled on two mugs.
‘I saw him yesterday.’
Wanda paused and stared over the counter. ‘And how is all that going?’ Her face looked like she’d just swallowed a wasp; mental health was still taboo for Wanda.
Déjà Vu Page 9
