Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

  He remained silent, the phone was vibrating violently in his pocket, but he tried to ignore it.

  ‘Dammit, Jake, say something!’ She was glaring at him, her eyes welling up.

  Jake picked at the fraying label on the wet bottle. ‘I thought we both knew this isn’t what a marriage is supposed to be. I thought you’d grown tired of me.’

  ‘We’ve both taken one another for granted – me more than you, maybe – but your job and unsociable hours have had just as big an impact as my...’

  Affairs, he wanted to shout, but remained silent.

  ‘Our years together are worth fighting for,’ she continued, still staring at him. ‘For Gabby’s sake if for no other reason.’

  He felt the lump in his throat. For all of Isabella’s faults and the way she drove him crazy with jealousy, she was Gabby’s mother and had given him the greatest gift in Gabby. But was it possible to put all of the angst, arguments, and bitterness behind them? He wasn’t convinced.

  The fact that their marriage had run into difficulties hadn’t surprised him; there weren’t many marriages in the force that didn’t experience periodic turbulence, and most didn’t recover. Divorce had felt inevitable from the first argument that had ended with them in separate rooms, and the first time he had suspected she was seeking comfort in another man’s arms. But he had grown accustomed to it. Had he had his way, they would have had this conversation weeks before and put Gabby out of her misery.

  ‘What’s changed?’ he eventually asked.

  ‘I told you: I realised how selfish I’ve been. It’s not an excuse, but I blame my father’s influence. You were never good enough for me in his eyes, and I think maybe I had believed that deep down at first.’

  It came as no surprise to him that her father hadn’t approved, but he’d thought she’d agreed to marry him in spite of that, rather than to spite her parents. The phone vibrated again.

  She dropped to her knees and crawled across the floor until she was rested near his feet. ‘If you’re willing to give me a second chance, then I promise I will do my utmost to earn your trust and love once more. Don’t we owe Gabby that much? And you have to admit you also enjoyed yesterday’s rendezvous upstairs.’ She was smiling coquettishly now.

  Jake stood and moved away, resting his bottle on the side table. ‘And how long will it be before you stray again? Those who cheat on their partners are rarely reformed characters. I’ve seen it too many times.’

  She snarled at him. ‘That’s below the belt, Jake. Besides, I saw the way you were flirting with Gabby’s teacher. You must think I’m blind! Is that what you’re hoping for? Divorce me, claim a settlement so the two of you can shack up somewhere else?’

  His cheeks flushed. The thought hadn’t entered his head, but he regretted that Isabella had clearly noticed his attraction to Miss Croft. The phone vibrated again in his pocket, and against his better judgement, he pulled it out and answered.

  ‘Harry? Can I call you back, I’m right in the middle of -’

  ‘Carlos was having an affair when Andres was taken. He was with the other woman when Ron DeVane snatched the boy. And I now know who she was. Meet me at HQ.’

  SIXTY-THREE

  Driving deeper into the heart of the New Forest, Megan couldn’t escape how picturesque the area was. With wild animals roaming freely along the road, she couldn’t imagine how something as sinister as murder could exist in such a beautiful and seemingly innocent place. But as they passed the sign welcoming them to South Baddesley, her nerves were on edge.

  The rain had been falling since they’d bundled into the car, and as the heavy drops splatted on the windows, the wipers working overtime, the heavy cloud coverage suggested there would be little respite tonight. The storm the forecasters had been promising was here.

  Large placards hung from the majority of the quaint properties demanding the cell tower application be rejected. Checking her own phone’s lack of signal, Megan could understand the advantages a new transponder would bring, but maybe it was better that the outside world – social media, trolls, pain and angst – didn’t penetrate this fragile environment. The demand for high-speed internet and ready access to the World Wide Web had become common practice, and small villages like this were in decline.

  Wanda hadn’t been happy to bring them out here. Even though she outwardly claimed not to believe that Megan’s nightmare would become reality, there was an element of doubt in her mind that she was driving her sister-in-law to her death.

  ‘Do any of these properties look right?’ Wanda asked, as they reached the end of another residential street.

  Nothing looked familiar at this point, but in the dream the property had bordered the forest and swamp area, yet everything they had seen so far was purpose built and aimed at relaxing the owner while simultaneously building community spirit. This couldn’t be the place.

  ‘None of this looks right. Are you sure this is where the protest was?’

  ‘Yes, the local news has been tracking the story for weeks. I can’t believe you haven’t seen it.’ Wanda paused. ‘Maybe that’s why you dreamt about it. Maybe on some subconscious level you saw the location – the swamp and forest – and your mind transferred it into the dream.’

  Megan glared at her. ‘I never saw it. I don’t watch the television news. Not since...’ But she didn’t need to finish the thought. It was just another thing she hadn’t done since the fire had taken Rob.

  ‘Take me to where the news report was being filmed,’ Megan said testily.

  Wanda didn’t respond, turning around in a cul-de-sac and heading back the way they had come.

  Megan could see the growing anxiety in Wanda’s eyes. Her own demands and anxieties were finally leading Wanda to conclude what everyone had been thinking for weeks: Megan had lost it.

  Yet Megan knew she was perfectly sane. The nightmares – as bizarre an experience as they and their outcome had been – were not the delusions of a crazy person. She’d never felt more strongly that there was more to them than an overactive imagination.

  She shuddered as she pictured Dr Patel muttering, ‘It’s all in your head,’ under his breath. The nightmares were as real as the nerve damage to her legs.

  Wanda pulled into an uncovered Pay & Display car park, and applied the handbrake. ‘If you head back out of here, it’s a five minute walk down that path.’ She pointed through the windscreen at a narrow footpath with high walls.

  ‘Is there no way of dropping me closer?’

  ‘The wooded area is only accessible on foot. I can come with you if you want me to? I don’t mind pushing.’

  But Megan didn’t want the constant jibes about her mind playing tricks. ‘I’ll go on my own,’ she huffed, opening the door as a large drop of water fell from the door frame and struck her leg.

  She stopped still, patting her leg. She could have sworn she’d felt the cold drop hit her jeans, but as she bashed and prodded the leg, there was no feeling whatsoever. Had she imagined it?

  Wanda had the hood of her thin anorak pulled over her head of curls, as she wheeled the chair to Megan’s side of the car. ‘At least let me come and hold an umbrella over your head.’

  Megan dropped into the chair, released the brake and pushed off. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, knowing she couldn’t hold an umbrella and push the wheels at the same time. But she needed space. A bit of rain had never killed anyone.

  The surface of the footpath was uneven, with the tarmac cracked by stray tree roots, and covered with twigs that had fallen from the mesh of overhanging branches. But the false ceiling did little to stop the rain penetrating, and by the time she reached the end of the path, her anorak was soaked through, the thin hood practically glued to her cheek bones. Anyone in their right mind would have turned back, but Megan pushed on regardless, finding the damp floor of the forest difficult to traverse. Even though they’d had countless days of sun, it hadn’t taken a lot of rain to make the top layer of mud slick.

  The surroundi
ng area was so much darker than the car park, the leaves overhead doing a much better job of shutting out the sky. But it still wasn’t as dark as the version in her nightmare. What she would give to be able to abandon the chair and head on by foot. She was making little progress in the chair, the wheels occasionally spinning as they struck a thicker patch of mud. After ten minutes of effort, she’d barely made it more than twenty feet into the undergrowth. She could just about see the footpath’s covered entrance behind her, and as she stared forwards at the unending rows of trees, bent and contorted at all manner of angles, it was impossible to see any kind of house with welcoming lights and an open door.

  She stopped forcing the wheels, and took a moment just to breathe. The rain was less intense here, and as she closed her eyes and raised them skywards she focused on her breathing; in through her nose, and out through her mouth as Dr Marshall had showed her.

  ‘Rob, talk to me,’ she muttered quietly into the moist air. ‘What is it you want me to do? Is this the place you showed me? What’s so special about this forest? Talk to me!’

  She listened, slowing her breathing, straining to hear any sound. She’d never been a believer in spirits visiting from beyond the grave, but had no other explanation for why she had been having the nightmares, and why Rob had appeared on the rooftop in the second one. Or why she’d felt him inside her in her the dream where he’d crumpled to ash before her eyes. In fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn’t felt his presence close since that moment yesterday morning.

  Her heart ached with the possibility that she would never feel him close to her again; never stare into his beautiful blue eyes; never feel his stubbly chin; never kiss his soft and tender lips.

  Lowering her head, she opened her eyes and stared out at the trees again. There was no sign of the detective, and she could only hope he had taken her advice and gone home. She’d spotted the wedding ring on his finger, and wondered if he and his wife realised how lucky they were to still have each other. And as she craned her neck to take in the full landscape, she couldn’t feel the presence of anyone within a mile of her. In the nightmare she’d felt someone watching her every move, but here there was nothing but the occasional splash of rain on a leaf, and the gentle breeze whistling through the branches.

  ‘Talk to me!’ she shouted in pained anguish, and her voice echoed somewhere in the distance, but there was only silence on the wind.

  Rob wasn’t here, and so coming here had been a mistake. Although it looked similar to the wooded area in her last dream, it didn’t feel like the same place. Forcing the wheels to turn on the spot took most of her strength, and as she then tried to move forwards, the wheel struck a stubborn root, and she could feel the chair toppling, before she had time to correct her balance, and as her body slumped out of the chair and to the wet mud, she felt nothing but anger that her clothing would now bear the shame of this unwise journey.

  But as her right leg struck the ground, the strangest thing happened: a sharp stick tore through the material of her jeans, and broke the skin above her knee. And she felt it. The sting of the flesh splitting, the warm trickle of blood as it escaped.

  Setting the wheelchair upright once more, she tugged and pulled herself back onto the seat, knowing there was only one place she could get an explanation. Pushing back towards the footpath, she could only hope Wanda’s patience would hold long enough for the journey to Bursledon.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Swishing coffee in the bottom of the plastic cup, Jake grimaced, as he sipped the cold liquid. ‘We need fresh coffee,’ he said, standing, and looking at Harry’s cup. ‘You want one?’

  Harry’s eyes were glued to the screen at the desk he had commandeered. He passed his empty cup without looking up. ‘You know, the more I read about what happened to Andres Xavier, the more I agree with his mother’s viewpoint: Carlos was responsible.’

  They had been in the room for nearly an hour, alternating between reading the original case notes on HOLMES2, rifling through the box of historic copies of The Post that Harry had brought with him, and searching for answers online. Jake’s eyes ached under the strain, and it seemed like the more they read, the more unanswered questions cropped up.

  Jake returned from the vending machine with two fresh cups, placing the sweet tea by Harry, and reclaiming his place across the desk from him. ‘Go on then, why was it Carlos’s fault? He wasn’t to know Ron DeVane and Enfield were lurking in the trees at Southampton Common.’

  Harry turned his screen so Jake could see what he was looking at. ‘His wife, Iris did an interview with one of the Sunday tabloids a year after the abduction where she doled out all kinds of accusations, accusing Carlos of having an affair, for being a bad father, and a worse husband. I mean, she vilified him, and produced evidence to support her claims. It seems everything wasn’t as rosy in that family before the abduction decimated the foundations.’

  Jake studied the screen, but struggled to read the tiny print. ‘What else did she have to say?’

  ‘She reckoned he’d been playing away for months behind her back, and was only found out because of what happened at the park. He apparently had the other woman in his car when he should have been watching his son. Although Carlos later claimed they had been arguing rather than doing anything sordid, the spot they were parked in is notorious for dogging and drugs.’

  Unfortunately Jake knew the exact spot Harry was referring to. All the force knew about it, and it was often an early stopping point when officers first started in uniform; like an initiation.

  ‘Iris accused him of betraying their son, and from what I’ve found so far, he never countered the allegations. Sold his restaurant business not long after, and I guess that’s how he ended up as the hermit you saw in the home security footage.’

  ‘This is all very interesting, Harry, but where are we with identifying who he was having the affair with? You told me on the phone you knew who she was.’

  Harry’s cheeks reddened slightly. ‘I thought I had a name, but Aunt Kate made a mistake. There’s a picture from the tabloid, but her face is pixelated to protect her identity. In the article Iris refers to her as “Suspect-J” but that’s all. Kate is still reading through her notes, as she’s sure she had the name written somewhere.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, her mind isn’t as sharp as it once was.’

  ‘And DeVane’s kids: are we any closer to tracking their current whereabouts?’

  ‘The son – who would now be in his mid-thirties – still lives in Sweden as far as I can tell. I’ve reached out to that woman at Interpol like you asked, but she hasn’t come back to me yet.’

  ‘And the daughter?’

  ‘Mariela: blonde like her mother would be in her very early thirties, but there is no tax record of her in Sweden, which suggests she moved abroad. But your Interpol contact should confirm present location when she calls us back.’

  Jake growled in frustration. They were so close to a breakthrough that he could practically taste it, but it remained just out of reach. That was the problem with looking into matters that had occurred so long ago. The abduction was twenty-five years-old, and so a lot of the people involved were now either dead, or long since moved on. And the boy’s suicide was fifteen years ago, so even that was long since forgotten by most. And because there was nothing anywhere near concrete to connect the three deaths, Jake and Harry remained hidden away from the main Incident Room.

  Jake lifted one of the newspapers from the desk and flicked to the story of the boys found wandering barely clothed in the New Forest on that cold New Year’s morning.

  Harry’s phone beeped on the desk between them, and he picked it up, before excitedly declaring, ‘Yes! I knew she’d come through.’ He offered the phone to Jake. ‘This just in from Kate: it’s a copy of the photograph the tabloid used, minus the pixilation of the woman’s face.’

  Jake blinked twice at the woman’s face, and he already knew the name before Harry could confirm it. ‘Janice Walker.’

&n
bsp; ‘No,’ Harry corrected. ‘Janice Tewksbury.’

  ‘Walker is her married name,’ Jake corrected, as he grabbed the phone to study it closer. ‘At least, it was her married name. That’s how she fits in to it. She was the woman who was in the car with Carlos when Andres was snatched. She was the woman Carlos was carrying on with.’

  Having seen the headshot provided by the SOCOs, it was definitely her. The hair was darker, the skin around the eyes more taut, and the physique that of a woman just embarking on life. But the eyes were definitely hers.

  ‘Three people tied to the Andres Xavier abduction all dead inside a week. Coincidence?’ Jake asked.

  ‘I heard detectives don’t believe in coincidence,’ Harry said, eyes wide with shock. ‘She’s the woman who was knifed to death?’

  Jake passed the phone back. ‘That’s her. My DCI fancies the husband as the killer; has his name popped up in anything you’ve read? Darren Walker.’

  Harry shook his head. I’ve been jotting the names down in a list, and there’s no Darren Walker. You reckon he could be DeVane’s son?’

  Jake screwed up his face. ‘Wrong age, and it would be some kind of twisted revenge to marry and have children with a woman you hold culpable for your father’s death.’

  ‘So you think he didn’t kill her?

  Jake shrugged. ‘I need to catch up with the DCI on the latest developments, but I don’t believe there was anything to forensically tie him to the scene other than blood on his top, which he claims occurred when he tried to revive her.’

  Harry was frowning, as he worked through what Jake was suggesting. ‘So, I get how DeVane’s son or daughter could track down and stab this Janice woman to death – seems a stretch, but not unheard of – but how the hell did he get Carlos and the Enfield woman to kill themselves? There was no evidence in the car to suggest an unidentified figure was there when it hit the water. Is there CCTV of the tower block suggesting someone pushed her over the edge?’