Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

  He had hoped to ask Tosh for one resource to help him look further into possible connections between Rita Enfield and Carlos Xavier, but he knew now wasn’t the right time. Which is why he had retreated to a small room, and closed the door. Pressing the phone to his ear, he waited for the line to connect.

  ‘Harry? Jake. You busy?’

  Harry sounded positively electric when he heard Jake’s voice. ‘I was hoping you’d be back in touch. I’m with my Aunt Kate now. She’s been wading through boxes and notes all afternoon, but she called me twenty minutes ago. She found the name of the other boy who escaped Ron DeVane’s basement of horror, and you’ll never guess who it was.’

  ‘Who?’

  Harry took an audible breath. ‘Trevor Enfield. And yes, before you ask, it is the same person who was sent down for abusing his own children less than a month ago.’

  Jake nearly dropped the phone. ‘Tell me this is some kind of joke.’

  Harry was enjoying his moment in the spotlight. ‘I was just as amazed, but Kate showed me her original handwritten notes. These go back to 2000. She was privileged enough to meet and question both of the youths who were found wandering in the middle of the New Forest on New Year’s Day. The police interviewed them first, but then the parents of both victims agreed to the local paper taking the lead in sharing the story with the public. But at the last minute, the Enfield family decided to withdraw their consent. Kate thinks it was because they thought their son would struggle to adjust to life if his name was synonymous with what had happened. They took him back to Ireland with them, but from what we’ve managed to find, he didn’t stay there for long, returning to the UK on his eighteenth birthday and enrolling in school and then an apprenticeship.’

  ‘And it’s definitely the same guy who was sentenced a few weeks ago?’

  ‘Kate even had a photograph of the two of them, which was cropped prior to the story going live. In fact, if you look at the picture that was shared with the tabloids, you can just about see Trevor’s hand, and part of his arm in it. Kate showed me the uncropped version and it’s definitely him.’

  Jake had to sit down. So, Carlos Xavier who had received a phone call and decided to commit suicide knew the husband of Rita Enfield who had received a phone call and decided to leap from the top of a tower block.

  ‘Had the two of them stayed in contact after their escape in 2000?’

  Harry sounded uncertain. ‘I’d have to dig further. As far as I can tell, the two young men went their separate ways. There is no police history of Trevor Enfield until the investigation last year that led to his incarceration.’

  ‘What about social media? Were they friends on Facebook? Did Rita know Carlos?’

  ‘I have no idea. Do you want me to look into that? What does all this have to do with him driving into the lake?’

  Jake wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘Maybe nothing. What else do we know about the man who was holding the two boys captive? Tell me about Ron DeVane.’

  ‘I’ll need to keep looking, but what I can tell you – based on my aunt’s original notes – he was known to be violent and owned a farm. There’s something about him being married previously, and they had a son and daughter, but the wife and children returned to her native Sweden somewhere in the early nineties.’

  ‘And what ever happened to the children and the wife?’

  ‘No idea. You want me to check?’

  ‘Please. Find out what you can.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  It was too early to start discussing theories about revenge, but Jake knew it was a key motivator. Could DeVane’s son have waited all these years and then come back to strike at the two men who had struck his father? Jake wasn’t ruling anything out.

  ‘Someone called Carlos and Rita moments before their suicides. I’m not saying the deaths are connected, but I find it very suspicious.’

  The phone started buzzing in Jake’s hand. Looking at the screen he saw Isabella was also calling.

  ‘Phone me back when you have something,’ Jake said, as he ended the call and answered Isabella.

  ‘Jake, I need you to come home now,’ she said, her tone cautious. ‘Please?’

  SIXTY-ONE

  Against Megan’s wishes, Wanda had recorded the last session with Patel on her phone, and had subsequently handed over every gut-wrenching scream and struggle that Megan had been forced to live through again. The footage was now in the hands of the female police officer who was heading up the allegation. But that hadn’t meant Megan hadn’t had to relive the sordid affair again, at first describing the flashes of memory thrown up by the hypnotic regression, and then answering more detailed questions.

  By the time Megan and Wanda had made it to the Range Rover, Megan just wanted to sleep for a thousand lifetimes, but she feared even that wouldn’t be long enough to rid herself of the overwhelming shame and regret. Wanda had maintained her selfless duty like a wartime nurse; offering tea and sympathy every few minutes.

  But every time Megan now closed her eyes she could feel his scratchy beard grating the skin on her neck and shoulders as he pummelled deeper; the smell of his cheap aftershave doing little to cover the whiff of body odour; the touch of his fat grubby fingers around her belly.

  He’d known what he was doing. Although she couldn’t be certain, Megan doubted she was the first to succumb to his friendly offer of water and woken the next morning with an impenetrable fog in the mind.

  The female police officer had been full of empathy and had told Megan she would do everything in her power to stop him in his tracks, but had also been careful to warn that not enough cases that went to court ended in justice for the victim. But she hoped that the blood and urine tests would confirm the presence of the date-rape drug, and that along with Megan’s account and the swabs of her body would be enough to conclusively prove what he had done.

  ‘You’ve gone quiet again,’ Wanda said quietly, as she pulled onto the long driveway.

  Megan was surprised to find they’d already made it to Wanda and Bill’s house. It felt like they’d only just left the police station.

  ‘I’m here for you,’ Wanda continued. ‘Whatever you need, don’t hesitate to ask.’

  Megan wanted to weep again, but choked back the urge. There would be plenty of time to cry when she was alone in the guest room. For now, she needed to be strong; Wanda deserved a moment’s respite.

  The property, a three storey detached monstrosity on the banks of Beaulieu River, looked like the sort of home you’d see in a picture postcard of residential life in the United States. It even came equipped with a white picket fence. Megan’s husband Bill had commissioned the build of the property, knocking down the original two houses on the plot to build this enormous replacement that he and Wanda would never fill.

  Megan could remember the first time Rob had brought her here. She’d been in awe of how grand it looked, with automated doors, lights and filled with antiques from floor to ceiling. For a time she’d been jealous that Wanda and Bill could afford such a luxurious lifestyle. But after that, Megan had seen through the façade. Bill worked hard during the week, often starting at four and not finishing until after ten, and wanted somewhere he could relax and fish at the weekends. The property was far too big for the two of them, and Wanda rattled around it like a coin in a vacuum cleaner. It seemed such a waste.

  ‘It’ll be nice having some company for a bit,’ Wanda commented, as if reading Megan’s mind as the two of them entered through the main door.

  Megan wasn’t sure it was such a long-term solution, as she bashed the front wheel of the chair against the skirting board. For a building with so much space, the corridors were tight, and Megan had no choice but to allow Wanda to push the chair down to the large open plan kitchen and dining area, parking her by the large set of French doors that led out to the decked patio, beyond it the luscious green lawn. And beyond the grass, the river flowing quickly.

  ‘Bill’s away for the next couple of ni
ghts,’ Wanda continued, pulling an apron over her head and tying the strings behind her back. ‘So it’ll just be us girls for the next couple of days. I won’t let him know what’s happened until he’s back here; better to do it face-to-face than over the phone.’

  Megan would have preferred nobody else find out, but acknowledged he probably deserved to know why his wife’s dead brother’s girlfriend was staying with them.

  ‘I’ll set you up in the downstairs guestroom,’ Wanda continued, as she opened the fridge door, searching for inspiration. ‘I think that’s probably best, rather than you attempting to scale the stairs. Ooh, incidentally, if you want me to stop by your place and collect anything else for your stay, please let me know and I’ll go across and fetch it. I’m sure you’d rather not have to return.’

  Megan’s eyes were still on the river, wondering how easy it would be to wheel herself down the lawn and to the edge of the bank before flopping in. Would the waters carry her out to sea? Would they bring Rob back to her?

  An arm on her shoulder startled Megan.

  Wanda leaned over her. ‘I said how about chicken and pancetta stuffed pasta and homemade pesto? I could even rustle us up some garlic bread to go with it if you fancy?’

  Megan had no interest in food, but hoped her appetite would return in due course, so nodded, and smiled through the pain. It was all the acknowledgement Wanda needed, as she whisked herself back to the kitchen and began to hunt in cupboards for the apparatus she would need.

  ‘You can head on into the lounge if you prefer,’ Wanda called over her shoulder. ‘Maybe some television would help take your mind off things.’

  Megan released the brake and pushed herself towards the doorway, and into the lounge space, which was larger; twice the size of her entire flat’s floor space, yet felt less welcoming. There’d always been a cold feel to the room. Whether that was because one of the walls was made up of tall bi-fold doors that brought in far too much light, or because of the lack of pictures, she couldn’t be sure. It felt austere, perfectly in keeping with Wanda’s own self-projected image.

  Pulling up at the coffee table, she reached for the remote control and turned on the set, not caring what channel was on, as she stared through the bi-fold doors at the lawn and river beyond. Would Rob still be waiting for her? What if he blamed her for what had happened last night? What if he was no longer the one to greet her at the moment of death?

  A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘Here you go,’ Wanda’s voice suddenly said, interrupting the thought, as she placed a china cup and saucer on the table. ‘I made you a nice cup of tea while dinner cooks.’

  Megan couldn’t help feeling out of time. It was like someone had hit pause on her life while everything else continued apace around her.

  Another reason she hadn’t liked Rob bringing her here was Wanda’s obsession with serving every course of food or drink in bespoke china or crystal. It was like she was entertaining royalty. And it was probably done with the best of intentions, but Megan always felt like she would break whatever piece of crockery had been entrusted to her. And the panic that she might break something only served to heighten her clumsy demeanour.

  ‘Have you seen this?’ Wanda said, nodding at the news report on the television. ‘I don’t know why they can’t just leave us be out here. They want to stick cell masts up everywhere, and there’s still no scientific proof that all those radio waves don’t encourage cancer.’

  Megan had no idea what she was talking about, but glanced towards the screen seeing a crowd of people holding placards while the suited journalist tried to answer the news anchor’s questions. A caption beneath the journalist identified his name, and location. But as the footage cut to the surrounding area, where the cell tower was being proposed for erection, Megan’s blood ran cold. It didn’t look nearly as dark and menacing with the sun setting in the distance, but the muddy swamp area and thick overhanging trees were unmistakeable.

  Megan grabbed Wanda’s arm. ‘Where is this? Where is this place?’

  Wanda pulled her arm free grimacing. ‘Ouch! It’s South Baddesley. Why?’

  ‘But where is it? Near here?’

  Wanda was gingerly rubbing her arms where Megan’s nails had pinched the skin. ‘It’s five or six miles away. Why? You want to go and join the protest?’

  ‘I need you to take me there. Please?’

  ‘What about dinner, it’ll be ready in a few minutes.’

  ‘I don’t care about dinner. A man’s life is at stake.’

  SIXTY-TWO

  Jake was surprised to see Isabella’s sports car back in the driveway, no sign of the damage caused in yesterday’s accident. There was even a fresh coat of polish glistening in the dipping sunlight.

  Opening the door, he was surprised to see Gabby was still up, and she rushed over to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his abdomen. ‘Daddy’s home!’ she called out gleefully.

  He hadn’t seen her so happy in an age. ‘Hi sweetie, I thought you’d have been fast asleep by now.’

  ‘Mum said I could stay up until you got home.’

  Jake leaned down and kissed the top of her head. In all the hubbub of work, she remained his one shining light; able to pull him back from the brink time and again, even when the grim nature of his job threatened to drag him under.

  ‘I was Star of the Week,’ Gabby beamed, unable to contain her excitement. ‘That means I will be given an award in assembly on Monday, and I get to choose a gift from the reward box.’

  He felt exhausted just watching her, as she explained that her teacher Miss Croft had been really pleased with Gabby’s attitude in class this week, and had chosen her as the star pupil in the class. This of course led to the opportunity to choose a gift-wrapped present from the reward box, with gifts ranging from a book token, to stationery, and apparently cinema tickets, which had yet to be claimed.

  ‘If I win the cinema tickets,’ Gabby continued, still bouncing, ‘I’m going to have to choose which friend to take. They’ll all want to go. There’s only a few gifts left to choose from, so there’s a good chance I’ll pick the cinema tickets.’

  ‘Come on, young lady,’ Isabella said, suddenly appearing from the kitchen, wearing satin pyjamas beneath her kimono. ‘You can tell Daddy all about it in the morning. It’s past your bedtime.’ She leaned in and awkwardly kissed Jake on the cheek.

  ‘Do you want me to take her up?’ he asked, as the faint scent of her perfume filled his nostrils.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said smiling, no trace of makeup on her face. ‘It won’t take a minute and then we can talk. Yeah? I opened you a beer.’

  He watched the two of them head upstairs, leaving him to contemplate the conversation to follow. She’d told him she wanted to discuss the future, and there was no avoiding it now. Heading into the kitchen, he found the chilled bottle of lager on the side and took a long sip, the crisp freshness welcome on his throat. He should have spent the day sorting his demands so he was ready when she agreed to the divorce, but he’d been too distracted by the suicides and murder.

  Opening his pad to a clean page, he was about to jot down how he wanted at least shared custody of Gabby, and not just every other weekend. Ultimately, it was Isabella who had broken their marriage vows, and he shouldn’t be the one to miss out as a result. But as he pressed his pen to the page, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his mobile ringing. He was about to answer it when Isabella flounced into the room, and took the phone from him, declining the call and resting the phone on the side.

  ‘No work,’ she said evenly. ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘I’m involved in a murder investigation. If the office calls I am obliged to answer it.’

  She grizzled, staring at the ceiling and counting to five to calm down. ‘No. First we need to talk. When we’re done you’re free to return to work or take whatever calls you need. But for now, I need your complete attention. Please?’

  Jake knew that answering the call
was about more than just his professional duty, but it was time to face the music. Taking another swig from the bottle, he followed her through to the living room, discretely pocketing the phone, and switching it to vibrate, as he walked past.

  Isabella looked a bundle of nerves as she perched on the armchair, allowing Jake to stretch out on the sofa, but he kept the beer close so he could use it as a mechanism to delay his responses if necessary.

  She didn’t say anything for a long time, but it didn’t feel right for him to start the conversation. It was she who had insisted they speak, so it was only right to allow her the space to lead.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I think we should try again,’ she finally said.

  Jake’s mouth dropped, but he was unable to verbalise his confusion. He’d been expecting her to tell him they should divorce; that she’d met another man who could make her happier than he ever could and that Jake would need to move out so the two of them could start their new life.

  She was staring at the wall straight ahead of her, unable to look him in the eye. ‘I know things have been weird between us for a few months, and that I’m the prime reason for that, but I still love you, Jake, and I just think that if we got some counselling, maybe made more of an effort to be intimate, then we could rediscover what brought us together in the first place.’

  Jake took a long swig of the beer, as he tried to process what she was saying, feeling like he was dreaming, yet knowing he was wide awake.

  ‘Yesterday when I was at such a low point, and I called you, you came running. That showed me you still love me, and it made me remember how lucky I am to have you in my life. And then when we made love...didn’t you feel that spark? Like when we first got together, before kids, and work and shit got in the way.’