‘I was at a district council meeting until eleven but I don’t recall there being anything else in the diary to attend,’ said Jennifer. ‘As chief reporter it’s my job to make sure any big evening events or council meetings are covered by either myself or the other reporters.’
‘Who’s responsible for the nostalgia pages in the paper?’
Maggie had familiarized herself with the Echo’s content ahead of coming to the office and decided that if Sadie was being interviewed about her father receiving a commission from Winston Churchill, the feature would most likely be published in the section devoted to stories about Mansell and its residents from bygone eras.
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed further. It must be killing her not to know why I’m asking, Maggie thought. She suppressed a smile.
‘One of our junior reporters, David Mendick.’
Maggie’s hopes were dashed. They were looking for a female interviewer, not a male.
‘There’s no one else who does that old stuff? No female writers?’
Jennifer pushed a loose curl out of her eyes. ‘Why don’t you just tell me what you need to know, DC Neville? It’ll be much quicker than batting back and forth like this. We’ll be here for hours at this rate and I’ve got some copy to file to the subs by noon.’
Usually Maggie liked it when people were direct with her but her reluctance to reveal the truth made Jennifer’s approach more irritating than helpful. With a sigh, the reporter laid her hands on the desk in front of her. They were almost childlike in size, the nails bitten down to the quick.
‘Look, we’ve already established this chat is off the record. I’m not going to print a word of it. I’m not writing anything down or recording it.’
Maggie had no reason to believe Jennifer would stick to her promise – but equally no reason not to. What she did know for sure was that they needed to find out who was at Sadie’s house on Monday evening as a matter of priority. Jennifer was right when she said it would save them both time if she just came out with it.
‘Okay, but please understand that if you print a single word from this conversation, I’ll come after you for contempt.’
‘I can only commit contempt if I jeopardize criminal proceedings that are active,’ said Jennifer snippily.
Maggie raised her eyebrows to show she wasn’t impressed by Jennifer’s legal knowledge, even if it was technically correct.
‘Fine,’ said the reporter. ‘I understand.’
‘The reason I’m asking you is we believe the elderly woman found injured in her home on Tuesday after being attacked was visited by a female reporter on Monday evening who was apparently interviewing her for a nostalgia piece. We need to trace who the reporter was.’
‘The latest robbery victim? Bloody hell,’ Jennifer breathed. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. Well, it definitely wasn’t someone from here. You sure it was a woman?’
‘Yes, with long dark hair. Does David ever outsource his work to freelancers?’
‘No, there’s no budget to do that.’
Maggie pondered Jennifer’s comments for a moment. If the interviewer wasn’t from the Echo, who sent her?
‘Do you know what the victim was being interviewed about?’ asked Jennifer.
‘It was to do with a member of her family, but as we’re not confirming her identity yet that’s all I can tell you.’
Jennifer didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. ‘It’s not like we’d hound them if we knew.’
‘Still not telling you.’ Maggie got up to leave.
‘If she was being interviewed for a nostalgia piece, the reporter could’ve been from a special interest magazine, like a history title. There are tons published now. Go into WH Smith’s and you’ll see rows of them.’
Maggie suppressed a groan. By casting the net of possibilities wider Jennifer had just made her job much harder.
‘Well, thanks for your help anyway.’ She was reaching for the door handle to let herself out when a thought struck her. ‘Do you have every issue of the paper archived here? Would you have copies going back, say, seventeen years?’ She was wondering if the Echo might’ve covered Helen’s missing person’s case.
‘Yes, but the system is pretty archaic. The most recent copies are saved in an online library, but if you want to go back that far, you’d have to use the microfiche.’
‘Have you got a machine here?’ asked Maggie.
‘Yes, upstairs. It’s a bit knackered and we never use it, but it still works. There are literally hundreds of boxes of film. Unless you can narrow down the date of the issue you need, you’ll be there for days.’
32
The invitation to meet for a drink came in a phone call as Maggie arrived home just before seven. She was more than happy to turn round and go straight back out but when she arrived at the Cross Keys, one of the few town centre pubs not sequestered by students from the local college and that still served wine in bottles and not on draught, her nerves kicked in and she fumbled her step as she walked inside to the bar. The person waiting for her laughed as they watched her totter forward.
‘Have you been drinking already?’
Maggie blushed as she took off her coat, sweating already. The bar was stiflingly warm compared to how bitterly cold it was outside and before coming out she’d changed into a pair of skinny blue jeans and a slouchy green jumper that went halfway down her thighs.
‘No, but I’ll have a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, seeing as you’re asking.’
Allie Fontaine repeated Maggie’s order to the barman then added a request for a red wine for herself. ‘Make them both large,’ she said.
Maggie was pleased Belmar’s wife had called asking to meet for a chat but now, face to face, she found herself at a loss for what to say, the awkward topic of Belmar’s new job hovering over them like a rain cloud. Luckily Allie had no qualms about bringing it up and dived straight in with an apology.
‘I’m so sorry we couldn’t say anything. I didn’t want to keep it from you, believe me, but Bel was under orders. God knows why,’ said Allie, handing the barman a £20 note in exchange for their drinks. ‘Shall we sit over there?’ she said a moment later as she slipped her change into her purse.
Maggie led the way to a table in the corner that was flanked by two low stools. The pub wasn’t busy for a midweek evening and the music piping through the room was thankfully not loud enough to drown out conversation. Allie set the drinks down on the table then slipped off her coat. She was still wearing her work attire of a fitted dove grey skirt suit but had updated her make-up for the evening with slicks of emerald green eye shadow and a deep burgundy lipstick that were vivid against her black skin. Like her husband, Allie was fastidious about her appearance. Their flat in Trenton was like a show home.
‘Belmar told me it was Will who asked him to keep quiet,’ said Maggie, using Umpire’s first name as she always did with Allie.
‘Well, have you asked him why he didn’t want you to know? Being a typical bloke, Bel never bothered to question it.’
‘When did he apply for the job?’ said Maggie, deflecting Allie’s question. She took a sip of her wine and the inside of her mouth tingled as the ice-cold liquid washed through it.
‘He didn’t as such. Will asked Bel to put himself forward for it. The process must’ve started about two months ago.’
‘Two months?’ said Maggie, agog. ‘What, in September? Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he . . .’ She trailed off, reluctant to finish the sentence.
Why didn’t Umpire trust her enough to tell her?
‘Has something happened with you two?’ said Allie perceptively.
Maggie delayed her response by drinking more wine. Although she’d previously told Allie how she felt about Umpire, she was reluctant to say anything now in case she relayed it to Belmar. It was too close for comfort.
Allie set her glass down.
‘If you’re worried about me saying something to Bel, don’t be. I haven’t said a word about wha
t you’ve told me. I’m not one of those wives who subscribes to the theory you should tell your other half everything.’
Maggie grinned. She should’ve known better than to think Allie would go running to Belmar with her secrets. From refusing to take his surname to bucking the trend amongst black women to relax their hair by keeping hers in its natural Afro state, Allie danced to no one’s tune but her own. Deep down, Maggie wished she could be more like her.
‘So come on, what’s the latest with you two?’
By the time Maggie finished, Allie had drained her glass.
‘You shouldn’t have kicked off at him for staying over at his ex-wife’s to see his kids,’ Allie wagged a manicured finger at Maggie, who cringed, ‘but Will’s being a first-class prick by blanking you now. He owes you an explanation as to why he won’t return your calls or talk to you, if nothing else.’
‘I don’t think that will happen,’ said Maggie with a sigh. ‘Honestly, you should’ve seen how he was this morning. It was like we didn’t know each other.’
‘But, Maggie, do you actually want anything to happen? I’d say the fact that you’ve not taken it any further already is a pretty big sign, wouldn’t you? Maybe he got fed up waiting. I’ve seen how the two of you are together and it isn’t him who is playing hard to get.’
About a month ago, before the Rosie Kinnock trial was due to start, the investigating team had met for a post-work drink and Allie had tagged along with Belmar. It was after that evening Maggie had confided in her about her conflicted feelings for Umpire.
‘It’s not me holding off, it’s him,’ Maggie protested. ‘He’s the one going through the divorce.’
‘He’s also the one asking you out for dinner,’ said Allie gently. ‘Do you see what I’m getting at?’
Maggie did see – and it confused the hell out of her. Was it really her who’d stopped them progressing beyond friendship? Had Umpire got fed up with her stalling? But surely her reaction to him staying at his ex’s showed she did care? With a sigh, she drained her wine.
‘I feel like I’m going round in circles thinking about it. Same again?’
Allie hesitated. ‘I probably shouldn’t.’
‘Why? You’re not driving, are you?’
Allie had a new job working in HR for a law firm in London and commuted there from Trenton. Her parents lived in Mansell, however, so sometimes she stopped off on her way home to see them before catching a later train to continue her journey.
‘I did. I’m just not meant to be drinking much at the moment.’
‘Are you on a health kick?’
‘Not exactly.’ Allie’s eyes glistened as she looked at Maggie across the table. ‘You know how I said we wanted to try for a baby? Well, we actually started five months ago but nothing happened and I had this feeling something wasn’t right. I mean, we were at it constantly and I’d even been using one of those ovulation kits to work out when I was most fertile. So I went to see our GP and she said we had to keep going for a year before we’d be referred for tests, but I didn’t want to wait that long so we went private. The tests showed Bel’s sperm are the biological equivalent of couch potatoes. The lazy little shits won’t move from their comfy spot, so it’s impossible for us to get pregnant naturally.’
Maggie could see Allie was trying to make light of it but her pained expression gave away how agonized she was. Maggie reached over and squeezed her hand.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ she said, thinking back to how prickly Belmar had been when the subject of the Bramwells having IVF was raised. ‘What are your options?’
‘We’re going to start IVF in January. I’m injecting myself every day with these drugs to boost my egg production, which is a bitch because my eggs were fine in the first place and these fertility drugs do your head in. You ask Bel – I’m like a walking time bomb. Say the wrong thing and I’ll rip your head off.’
Maggie’s mind flashed up an image of Eleanor Bramwell screaming at them to leave her alone.
‘Is that a common side effect?’
‘Apparently. Imagine the worst kind of PMT and multiply it by a million. That’s how bad you feel. One minute I’m as happy as Larry, the next I could kill someone. Poor Bel is too scared to open his mouth because he never knows how I’m going to react.’
‘Hopefully it’ll be worth it in the end though.’
‘I hope so too,’ said Allie morosely. ‘I’ve always assumed Bel and me were rock solid but doing IVF really tests your relationship. We’ve had more rows in the past two months since I started taking the drugs than we’ve had in the entire ten years we’ve been together. If you were on shaky ground to begin with, I don’t fancy your chances of still being together at the end of it.’ Allie thrust her empty glass at Maggie. ‘Sod it – I will have another. If I go back drunk, Bel will be relieved. Better I pass out than we have another row.’
Waiting at the bar to be served, Maggie’s thoughts returned to Eleanor Bramwell. Had IVF pushed her and her husband Simon to the brink too? Their neighbour said they’d talked about the treatment being a financial drain: had it depleted them emotionally as well, and was that why Simon Bramwell snapped? Maggie glanced over at Allie, who was staring absent-mindedly into space. It was hard to imagine Belmar’s easy-going wife ever losing her temper as explosively as she’d just described.
But would Eleanor Bramwell’s friends say the same of her?
33
The next day was Thursday and Bea managed to persuade her mum and dad not to send her to school again. There was a caveat to their agreeing though: she was booked in to see Dr Reynolds on Monday, no argument. Bea knew the paediatric dietician wouldn’t find anything amiss physically – her weight had remained steady for the past year and despite what she’d told her parents yesterday, she hadn’t made herself sick for many months – but she’d go along with the request if it meant she had the morning free to visit Sadie again.
She set off early, like the day before, as soon as her mum had left to go to the charity shop. Caroline was working another extra shift because her colleague Sheila was still comforting her sister, Audrey. The ripple effect caused by the attack on Sadie spread far.
There was no hesitation from Bea today as she walked through the sliding doors into the hospital reception area. She bypassed the information desk and the lines of plastic chairs filled with waiting outpatients and headed straight for the lifts to take her up to HDU. It was two minutes to ten and she hoped that by arriving just as the morning visiting session began she would avoid bumping into anyone from Sadie’s family. But if she did, she would simply stick to the lie that she was Sheila’s granddaughter and had met Sadie when she visited her great-aunt Audrey’s house. Who would bother to check something like that?
Besides, it was a risk worth taking because she had to see if Sadie had regained consciousness yet. After another sleepless night she was desperate for Sadie to tell the police that whoever attacked her wasn’t the same couple who’d burgled the other victims. Bea couldn’t undo what she and Sean had done to those poor women, but was it fair they should be blamed for something they had no hand in? In her mind there was a big difference between stealing someone’s purse and caving their head in.
In her backpack was her school copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, which she was studying in English. She’d done some research on the Internet last night and discovered that it sometimes helped to read to people who were unconscious and she thought Sadie might like the story. Reading aloud to her might even trigger her to wake up, if she hadn’t already.
Bea dutifully signed in at the nurses’ station, taking care again to disguise her writing. The nurse behind the desk watched her carefully.
‘Weren’t you here yesterday morning?’
Bea nodded.
‘I couldn’t stay long. I only had one free study period at school.’
The lie slipped out effortlessly. She was getting good at telling them.
‘Right. Well, make sure you sign out this
time. We need to keep track of when visitors leave.’
‘Of course,’ said Bea, setting the pen down on top of the visitors’ book. ‘Is there anyone else here?’
‘No, you’re the first.’
Her confidence rising, Bea made her way to the side ward where Sadie’s bed was. Walking along the corridor, she glanced through a doorway and saw the woman who’d mistaken her for Della yesterday sitting up in a bed. She gave Bea a sharp look as she passed.
There was no change in Sadie’s physical appearance but her surroundings were homelier than they had been yesterday, with a ‘get well soon’ card propped up on her bedside table, a pale lilac dressing gown draped across the foot of her bed and a pair of fluffy cream slippers embroidered with pink flowers on the floor beneath it. Bea drew up a chair.
‘Hello, Mrs Cardle, it’s me again,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I came yesterday morning.’ She chewed the inside of her cheek, unsure how to proceed. If there was a chance Sadie could hear her, she had to be careful. She mustn’t say anything too incriminating.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been hurt, I really am,’ she said. ‘I know it wasn’t the Con Couple this time. Did you see who it was? If you tell the police they’ll be able to catch them.’
Sadie didn’t so much as twitch in response and Bea started to feel a little foolish. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the novel, turning to the start of chapter one. Her voice faltered as she began to read but soon she found a rhythm and quickly became absorbed in the story. She had no idea how long she’d been reading when she heard a voice behind her.
‘I, um, hello . . . who are you?’
The book clattered to the floor as Bea shot out of her chair. Standing behind her was a woman with long dark hair wearing a Puffa jacket with an enormous collar. She looked confused.
‘I’m a friend,’ said Bea, trying to keep her composure, even though her heart was slamming against her ribs in panic.
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