Wrong Place

by Michelle Davies

  ‘She just left.’ With a shaky hand the receptionist pointed towards the exit.

  Maggie raced outside in time to see DI Green’s Audi screech out of the car park.

  Swearing under her breath, she returned to the hotel and made her way back to the bar. Green had come round and was sitting in one of the orange easy chairs clutching an ice pack against the side of her head. She smiled ruefully when she saw Maggie.

  ‘Got you too, did she?’

  ‘With a suitcase.’

  ‘Ouch. I should count myself lucky she only punched me. This,’ said Green, pointing to the mark on her cheek, ‘I got hitting the table on my way down.’

  ‘What’s your car reg?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘ML59 0GR. Why?’

  Maggie made a face as she pulled her radio off her belt and called control to put out an ANPR alert so that traffic cameras in the area would automatically pick up DI Green’s car registration. Eleanor hopefully wouldn’t get far.

  ‘She nicked my keys while I was unconscious?’ said Green angrily. ‘Oh, wait until I get hold of her.’

  ‘What happened before she hit you?’

  ‘You saw the state she was in when I told her about her husband – after you stepped out, she started begging me to let him die. Told me to tell the doctors not to bring him round. When I said I couldn’t do that, she socked me. Next thing I know, Mr Kendrick’s fanning me with a bar menu to wake me up.’

  Green grinned and so did Maggie.

  ‘I don’t know how you can find this funny,’ said the manager in a tight voice.

  ‘Gallows humour,’ said Green. ‘It’s the only thing that keeps us sane. Right. We need to get into Mrs Bramwell’s room. You got a master key?’

  Mr Kendrick nodded obligingly. ‘I’ll go and fetch it.’

  When he was gone, Green gingerly got to her feet.

  ‘So, DC Neville, do you think Mrs Bramwell flipped out because she’s scared her husband will come after her once he’s conscious?’

  ‘If he has been abusing her then, yeah, she’s probably terrified.’

  Green pulled a face that suggested she didn’t agree.

  ‘Why, do you think there’s more to it?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘She didn’t seem scared when I told her we couldn’t let him die. In fact, she was spitting mad. She went into a total rage. So the question I’m asking myself now is whether she’s really scared of him – or is she frightened we’ll come after her once her husband’s conscious and tells us he didn’t swallow those pills willingly?’

  49

  Lou woke with a start. The curtains were drawn and the room near pitch-black and for a second she wondered where she was, until it all came rushing back: the fire; Jude calling her; running up the road; Maggie taking them home. Her skin was clammy as she rolled over in her sister’s double bed but her heart soared to see Mae fast asleep next to her, her pudgy little arms splayed out. Lou gently stroked her daughter’s forehead, smoothing back a feather-light lock of blonde hair flopping across it. Mae stirred but didn’t wake.

  Lou rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been to risk her children’s safety like that. She didn’t blame Arturs for putting pressure on her to go out and leave them at home alone – it was her fault for not refusing and for putting her own needs above theirs. He had tried to help when Jude called to say he couldn’t put the blaze out: he’d run up the road with her to the house and it was him who called the fire service. But then he’d panicked at the sight of the children and the smoke billowing out of the open front door and had legged it, saying he didn’t want any trouble. She wouldn’t be seeing him again.

  She eased out of bed, taking care not to wake Mae. The poor mite needed her sleep as it had taken them ages to settle her in Maggie’s bed when they’d finally got back. She was missing Snuggle, the floppy bunny she’d slept with since birth, and she hadn’t taken kindly to being given warm milk in a mug rather than a bottle either. Lou hadn’t thought to salvage anything from the house before they left and the T-shirt that Mae currently wore as a nightgown was one of her aunt’s, the sleeves rolled up and the bottom hacked off with scissors to shorten it. Luckily Maggie did have a few nappies at her flat left over from when Mae had stayed before, but Lou would need to buy everything else from scratch.

  Lou heard giggling as she approached the lounge, then Scotty yelped excitedly: ‘Granddad, you’re meant to shoot it, not drop it!’

  She stopped, surprised. Her dad was playing with the boys? Normally Graeme Neville would decline to join in their games, no matter how much they begged him. He wasn’t rude to their faces, just distant. Yet when he and their mum Jeanette had finally arrived, he’d gone straight to Maggie’s spare room to check on Jude and Scotty as they slept.

  ‘I just want to see for myself that they’re okay,’ he’d said gruffly, standing over their slumbering forms. ‘You’ve all been very lucky.’

  Lou was gladdened by the shift in his attitude and as the giggles grew louder as she entered the lounge, she prayed it would continue.

  ‘Mum! You’re awake!’

  Jude and Scotty raced over and threw their arms round her. Her dad was a bizarre sight, kneeling on the floor holding a Nerf gun. He flashed her a concerned look.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m fine. I hope these two haven’t been running you ragged.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said with a wry smile. He used the arm of the sofa for support as he got to his feet and handed the toy to Jude, who immediately took aim at Scotty, who dived under the sofa cushions with a squeal. Neither of them seemed too affected by what had happened – they were thrilled to be kept off school more than anything else – but Lou knew appearances could be deceptive and Jude in particular was good at masking his feelings.

  ‘Where’s Maggie?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s at work. You know how it is for her.’

  ‘Never off-duty,’ said Lou, but she wasn’t annoyed. All she felt towards her sister right now was an immense sense of gratitude for covering up for her.

  ‘Cup of tea, love?’ said her dad.

  ‘Yes please. Where did the Nerf gun come from?’ she asked as she followed him into Maggie’s small kitchen. Her mum said hello as she busied around the stove. Lou wasn’t wearing her watch and guessed it must be nearly lunchtime as she watched Jeanette decant a tin of baked beans into a saucepan.

  ‘I nipped out this morning to pick up some things and they had them in the Tesco superstore.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad, that was lovely of you.’

  ‘Well, they’re good kids.’

  It was the nicest – perhaps only – compliment she could ever recall him paying her sons. Her tears fell fast.

  ‘Oh darling, don’t cry,’ said her mum, giving her a hug. ‘It’s going to be okay.’

  ‘I know, but I keep thinking about what could’ve happened . . .’

  She let her mum hold her for a moment, then pulled away and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s just the shock.’

  ‘You’d better tell her,’ said her mum sombrely.

  ‘Tell me what?’

  She could see her dad wavering. Jeanette prodded him in the side.

  ‘Go on, love.’

  ‘The insurance company rang back while you were asleep. They’re saying there’s a problem with one of your policies. Your buildings insurance is fine, but they haven’t received the last two payments for your contents and they’re saying it means you’re not covered for the fire damage. I told them it’s bound to be a mistake, but you need to call them back pronto.’

  Lou’s cheeks burned with shame. There was no mistake to rectify. She paid her buildings insurance in a lump sum once a year, which was why it was up to date, but there hadn’t been enough money in her account to cover the last two Direct Debits for the contents. If her policy was invalidated it meant anything damaged inside the house she would have to replace herself.
The cost could run to thousands.

  ‘I’ll call them and sort it out,’ she assured her dad.

  She wasn’t ready to tell him the truth, in no mood for a fatherly lecture about her finances. Instead she’d talk to Maggie when she was back from work. Her sister would know what to do and she’d be fine about her and the children staying until Lou sorted out the mess that was her life now. Whatever else happened today, tomorrow or in the coming weeks, she knew she could rely on her sister. Men like Arturs might disappoint her but Maggie never did.

  50

  Della’s hand shook as she dialled the number written down in the battered, leather-bound address book balanced open on her lap. It was Sadie’s address book and the sight of her nan’s handwriting made her throat seize with grief. While the line connected and somewhere in the UK a mobile phone began to ring, with a fingertip she gently traced the digits and names on the page, recorded in old-fashioned fountain pen ink.

  As she waited for the call to be answered, Della heard a noise from the other side of the bathroom door and froze. Was that Alex coming into the room? Her ears strained for a follow-up but there was none: it must’ve been him moving around the kitchen instead.

  The tiny dimensions of her studio flat meant that if she opened the bathroom door and stretched her arm out, she’d almost be able to touch her sofa, which folded down every night to a bed. The living space was separated from the kitchen by a glass-bricked wall and Alex was in there now, washing up their breakfast cups and plates. He’d asked for the day off because he was worried about her and for once his boss had looked kindly on his request.

  Her plan had been to go outside so Alex couldn’t overhear the phone call but a sudden downpour forced her into the bathroom instead, where she was now perched on the closed toilet seat. The room was freezing cold – it was so small there was no room for a radiator, only a toilet, a sink you could barely fit two hands in at the same time and a cramped shower cubicle – but the call couldn’t wait. Or rather, she couldn’t wait. As a voice came onto the line, she reached over and turned on the shower so Alex wouldn’t hear her over the torrent of running water.

  ‘Hello?’

  Della took a deep breath.

  ‘Is this Gillian Smith?’

  There was a long pause. The background din suggested the person was outside, near a road.

  ‘Yes, this is she.’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Della Cardle. I’m Helen Cardle’s daughter. I found your number in my nan’s address book.’

  Gillian gave a little cry.

  ‘Della? Oh my word, this is a turn-up!’

  Her reaction made Della tremble with relief. It was during the early hours, unable to sleep, that she had decided to call Helen’s best friend and tell her about Sadie dying in the hope she could ask her some questions about her mum. She had no inkling of the response she’d receive or if Gillian still had the same mobile number Sadie had jotted down in her address book. If it hadn’t worked she was going to follow Maggie’s suggestion and try to track her down online. Whatever it took. All she knew was that she needed urgent answers and Gillian might be the person who had them.

  ‘I guess it must be a bit of a shock,’ said Della, stumbling over her words. Lying in bed, she had gone over and over what she planned to say to Gillian once she’d got her on the phone but now she was stumped. It didn’t help that she had to keep her voice low because of Alex. Last night he’d questioned her about the conversation regarding Helen in Maggie’s car, about why the newspaper clipping had made her so agitated. She’d managed to explain it away – ‘I’m grieving for Nan. Everything is upsetting me right now’ – and he let it drop, but she had a feeling it wasn’t the last conversation they’d have about it. If he knew she was talking to Helen’s friend, it might make him even more suspicious.

  ‘It really is a surprise – you were a little girl the last time I saw you. You must be well into your teens now.’

  ‘I’m about to turn twenty-one.’

  Gillian laughed. ‘Really? That makes me feel very old. So to what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Um, I have some bad news, actually. I thought you’d want to know.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath down the other end of the line. When Gillian spoke again, her voice was strained.

  ‘They haven’t found her after all this time have they?’

  It took Della a few seconds to fathom what she meant.

  ‘You mean my mum? No, she’s not the reason I’m phoning. We still have no idea where she went.’

  ‘Oh. I just thought . . . well, I thought you were ringing to say there was finally some news. So if it’s not about Helen, why are you calling?’

  ‘Nan died yesterday. I’m letting people know.’

  That wasn’t strictly true. The only person who had been informed so far was Sadie’s neighbour Audrey and that was more through chance than planning. Audrey had been coming out of her house to go shopping when Della and Alex arrived back after viewing Sadie’s body. Poor Audrey collapsed in tears upon hearing the news and had to be helped back indoors by her sister.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said Gillian. ‘Sadie was such a lovely woman. She was always so nice to me and never minded that I was round at hers every day. In fact, she was like a second mum to me growing up.’

  Della’s eyes filled with tears. She knew exactly what Gillian meant.

  ‘When is the funeral? I’d like to come.’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Have you got someone to help you get things organized? I’m happy to do whatever I can from here.’

  Della stalled. ‘It’s not that . . .’

  ‘What is it?’ said Gillian, sounding concerned.

  ‘There was a break-in and Nan was attacked. I can’t organize the funeral until the police tell me it’s okay to do so.’

  Gillian gasped. ‘Oh God, that’s awful. Poor Sadie. And poor you, you must be devastated.’

  Della had no comeback to that.

  ‘Please, if there’s anything I can do to help, you must let me know,’ Gillian added.

  ‘Actually, there is. You can tell me about Helen leaving. I want to know everything that happened before she went. I know you were with her that day.’

  The line went quiet for a moment.

  ‘Della, are you sure this is the time for that? I mean, I’m happy to talk to you, but now?’

  ‘I think there’s a connection.’

  ‘What do you mean?

  Della explained to Gillian about the picture taken from Sadie’s hallway, the photographs ripped from their albums and the disappearance of all the pictures of herself.

  ‘You think your mum might be involved? What do the police say?’

  ‘Will you help me or not?’ said Della, dodging the question.

  ‘Well, yes, of course.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to you in person. I could come to your house.’

  Gillian didn’t sound too happy with that suggestion. ‘I don’t think so. I’m not local.’

  ‘I could get the train. Where do you live?’

  ‘No, it’s too far. I don’t want you coming all the way here.’ The line crackled and for a horrible moment Della thought she’d lost the connection. Then Gillian spoke again, her voice warmer this time.

  ‘Look, I suppose we could meet in London. My work sometimes brings me there. I could maybe combine a trip in a couple of weeks.’

  Della couldn’t wait that long and said so.

  ‘Could you come tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow? I don’t think –’

  ‘Please. I’ll pay for your travel and for a hotel if you want. I have to talk to you as soon as possible. If Helen has anything to do with Nan being attacked, I need to know.’

  ‘Shouldn’t the police be the ones finding out?’

  ‘Please.’

  Gillian finally relented. ‘Okay, I’ll come down tomorrow. The train from where I live goes into Liverpo
ol Street. Can we meet there?’

  ‘Yes, that would be great. Thank you,’ said Della with a rush of gratitude.

  They arranged to meet at 2 p.m., to give themselves both time to get there.

  Della was elated when she hung up, her grief bypassed for a moment. Speaking to Gillian might help her make sense of—

  The door to the bathroom flew open with no warning. Alex stood in the doorway. He looked cross.

  ‘What the hell is going on, Della?’

  51

  Maggie refused further medical treatment, as did DI Green.

  ‘It probably looks worse than it is,’ Maggie remarked after the attending paramedic was sent on his way. Her nose didn’t feel broken and now that the bleeding had stopped it was more sore than painful. Eleanor hadn’t hit her as hard as she’d initially feared.

  ‘You’re going to cop for two nice shiners though,’ said Green. ‘Skin’s already going purple.’

  ‘How’s your head?’

  ‘Tough as titanium.’

  They were in room 317, surveying the few belongings Eleanor had left behind in her haste to leave: a Max Factor mascara, a pair of socks and her toothbrush. Slim pickings.

  ‘Do you think she planned to run or hadn’t got round to unpacking yet? After walloping me she must’ve come straight up here to get her case,’ Green said to Maggie as they checked through the drawers and cupboards in the tiny kitchenette area, both wearing protective gloves. Downstairs, uniform were taking statements from the hotel staff, including Mr Kendrick the manager, about their dealings with Eleanor in the hope it might shed some light on where she was headed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Maggie. ‘What if she did just panic about her husband waking up and coming after her? She knows she’ll have to face him if we pursue charges against him and the case goes to court. Maybe it’s too much of a leap to assume her running away is a show of guilt?’

  Green banged a drawer shut with her hip.

  ‘You could be right,’ she conceded, ‘although that doesn’t excuse her clobbering us both. I’ve made a request for her medical records so we know exactly what he did to her. Hang on, let me get this.’ Green stripped off her right glove to answer her phone. ‘He has? Terrific. I’ll head back now, although I’m gonna have to borrow a car. What? Nah, mine’s gone. It all went tits up down here . . . I’ll explain when I see you.’ She paused. ‘Can you get someone round to the Bramwells’ house in case the wife turns up? Yes, that wife.’ She rolled her eyes at Maggie and mouthed the word ‘idiot’. ‘And get everyone together for a briefing in two hours. I’ll talk to him at the hospital first then head back to the station, do the briefing.’