Wrong Place

by Michelle Davies

  Maggie had already guessed the latest development but Green spelled it out anyway.

  ‘Simon Bramwell’s awake. Groggy, but he’s able to talk. Docs have said I can have ten minutes with him. Trust me when I say it’ll end up being longer. Right, where can I get a bloody car from?’

  ‘If we get uniform to take us back to the station, I’m sure you could use one of the pool ones. What do you want me to do in the meantime?’

  ‘Well, seeing as you’re currently Family Liaison to a person who’s gone AWOL, not much. But when we do catch up with Mrs Bramwell, I’ll want you to sit in on the interview, that’s for certain. You’re the only person she’s talked to so far. Let’s keep in touch for the time being and you can get on with your other case.’

  Maggie scanned the room one last time. She noticed there was a battered paperback on the bedside table, The Lemon Grove. She picked it up and flicked through the pages. Tucked in the middle was another key card. Without a word, she went outside, shut the door then tried to open it again by putting the card in the slot. The light below the slot stayed red. She knocked on the door and Green opened it with a quizzical look on her face.

  ‘This isn’t a key for this room,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Come on.’

  They went down to reception to find Mr Kendrick.

  ‘Can you tell us if this key is one of yours?’ DI Green asked him.

  ‘Of course,’ he said with a nod. He went behind the reception desk and checked the card.

  ‘It is, for room 202.’

  Maggie and DI Green exchanged glances.

  ‘Whose room is that?’ asked Maggie.

  The receptionist scooted out of the way so the manager could use her computer.

  ‘The room was paid for in cash,’ he announced. ‘It was booked out over a week ago and the guest paid in advance for a fortnight’s stay.’

  The receptionist piped up. ‘It was Mrs Bramwell who booked it. I did think it was strange she asked for a second room when you came in yesterday but what with you being the police, I didn’t like to mention it.’

  Mr Kendrick pursed his lips so tightly the flesh of them went white. ‘You should’ve told me, Josie.’

  ‘You always say we have to respect our guests’ privacy,’ said Josie defiantly. ‘Besides, she didn’t use the same name, so I got confused.’

  ‘She what?’ Maggie exclaimed.

  ‘Josie’s right,’ said Mr Kendrick, frowning as he checked the screen again. ‘Our records show room 202 was booked under another name – Helen Cardle.’

  52

  Maggie reeled back in surprise. ‘You’re kidding me. Are you sure that’s the name Eleanor Bramwell used for the first room?’

  Josie nodded. ‘Yes, Helen Cardle.’

  ‘Who’s Helen Cardle?’ asked Green.

  ‘Those distraction burglaries we’re investigating? Helen Cardle is the daughter of the most recent victim. The thing is, she did a runner from Mansell seventeen years ago and hasn’t been back since.’

  ‘That’s bloody weird. Could it be a coincidence that Eleanor’s used the same name?’

  ‘I’d be surprised. It’s quite an unusual name.’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’

  On their way up to the second floor Green called for a forensic investigation team to be dispatched to the hotel while Maggie had a similarly hurried conversation with Renshaw to let her know what was going on. She and Nathan were now on their way to the hotel to join the search.

  Maggie and Green came to a halt outside room 202. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hung from the handle.

  ‘You ready?’ asked the DI.

  Maggie nodded as adrenaline pumped through her. Green opened the door and flung it wide open.

  Room 202 was shrouded in darkness, the curtains pulled closed. Wearing latex gloves again, Green switched on the overhead light and Maggie’s gaze immediately fell upon the bed. Strewn across the queen-size mattress were dozens of photographs of the same girl. Moving closer, she recognized her immediately.

  ‘This girl is Helen Cardle’s daughter, Della,’ she said, her own gloved hand reaching for a photograph of Della, aged about six, riding a bright pink bike. ‘These pictures were nicked from a photo album belonging to her nan; Della was raised by her grandparents after Helen’s vanishing act.’

  Green looked shocked. ‘So our Bramwell case is connected to your burglaries?’

  Maggie looked around the room. On the desk opposite the end of the bed, next to the TV and a tray holding a small white plastic kettle, sachets of instant coffee and tiny plastic cartons of milk, was a large silver-framed photograph of a young woman cradling a newborn baby. Maggie went over for a closer look. Lying next to the frame was a plain gold wedding band and a diamond and sapphire engagement ring.

  ‘All of this stuff was reported missing by Della,’ said Maggie.

  Green shook her head in wonderment. ‘What, you think Eleanor broke in and attacked the old woman and stole it all? But why?’

  Maggie was equally baffled and said so.

  ‘We found a partial handprint where that frame was removed from the wall,’ she added. ‘We can cross-match it against Eleanor’s prints taken from her house in Trenton. Then we’ll know whether it was her or not.’

  ‘Well, we can definitely rule out Eleanor being the long-lost Helen,’ said Green, staring down at the picture of Della and her mother. ‘They look nothing alike. But what could possibly be her motive for going after this family?’

  Green began to slowly move around the room, checking drawers and opening the wardrobe. It quickly became obvious there was nothing else in the room other than the photographs and the rings.

  ‘Did Eleanor know you were working on the Cardle case?’

  ‘Initially she had no idea – I was assigned as her FLO by DCI Umpire and DI Gant while she was unconscious and being brought down to Mansell General. But she has found out since, as I had the missing person’s file for Helen Cardle in my car yesterday and she saw it.’

  ‘We need to work out the connection between Eleanor and Helen. When did you say the grandmother was attacked?’

  ‘Sometime between Monday night and Tuesday lunchtime, when Della found her.’

  ‘If it was Eleanor, it must’ve been before five a.m. on Tuesday, as that’s the time she said Simon Bramwell attacked her. Maybe he’s at the heart of it all,’ Green mused. ‘I need to get back to Trenton to talk to him, see if he can shed some light on all this.’

  ‘Della said she never knew her dad, as he and Helen only had a one-night stand. What if Simon is actually him, and Eleanor found out? Maybe he wanted a relationship with his daughter after all these years and she objected? We know they’re struggling to have a family of their own.’

  ‘Simon Bramwell could be Della’s dad?’ said Green, bemused. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Della thinks her dad’s name was Andy, but Simon Bramwell could’ve given Helen a fake name, if it was a one-night thing and he didn’t want her tracking him down afterwards. One step up from giving someone the wrong phone number.’

  ‘A DNA test would certainly prove it, but before we go down the Jeremy Kyle route let’s see what he says when we interview him. In the meantime, ask Della if she knows or has heard of Eleanor.’

  ‘I’ll go round now and talk to her in person, but I’ll need to check something out on my way.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’ve got this hunch and, if I’m right, it might establish a link between Helen and Eleanor.’

  Green regarded her for a moment and Maggie thought she was going to demand a fuller explanation. Maggie wouldn’t blame her if she did – Green didn’t know her, so why should she trust her judgement without questioning it? But Green simply nodded.

  ‘Best get on with it then.’

  53

  The row had petered out but the atmosphere in Della’s tiny studio flat was thick with tension still. Alex was deeply affronted she hadn’t told him the truth about Hel
en’s disappearance and equally upset she’d arranged to meet Gillian without discussing it with him first. Round and round they had gone, him shouting that it made a mockery of the trust between them, her trying to explain that she was too ashamed her mum had abandoned her as a child to tell him the truth. A stalemate was only reached when Della finally yelled at him. ‘This is not about you! Why does everything have to be about you?’

  Now he was sulking, banging plates on the small kitchen unit as he made them a sandwich for lunch. She wasn’t hungry and nor did he ask her what filling she wanted, but she feared he’d start shouting again if she said anything. Better to force down whatever he dished up and keep quiet.

  She was sitting on the folded-away sofa bed making a list of everything she needed to organize in the coming days. Top of the list, written with some reluctance, was ‘House’. She wanted to delay telling the housing association for as long as possible that Sadie was dead, because it would set in motion the process for clearing the house out to make it habitable for another family. The thought of emptying the home she’d grown up in devastated her; all those memories swept away with a flick of a duster. She had no idea how long they’d give her to clear out but Alex seemed to think it was a week. Her only hope was the police might insist the property be left alone as a crime scene until after the investigation was completed, buying her more time. She wrote down ‘Ask Maggie’ on the same line as a reminder to raise the subject when she came round.

  Alex came into the room with a cheese sandwich for her, which he handed her unsmilingly on a plate.

  ‘I don’t think you should go to London tomorrow to meet that woman.’

  Della took her time answering. One wrong word would be all it took to start the row again.

  ‘I’ve said I’d go. I can’t back out now.’

  Alex sank down onto the sofa beside her. He didn’t look angry, she was relieved to see. In fact, he looked concerned.

  ‘Is it a good idea though? Raking up all this stuff when your nan’s just died? I’m worried you’re fixating on your mum because you don’t want to deal with what’s going on.’

  His perceptiveness surprised her. She hadn’t banked on him being so attuned to what was now her preoccupying thought.

  ‘Maybe I am a bit, but I also think it’s somehow tied together. I know it sounds crazy,’ she said hastily, seeing his expression cloud, ‘but doesn’t it strike you as odd that the intruder took the photo of me and Helen from the wall as well as all the pictures of me from the album?’

  ‘I thought the police didn’t think the album had anything to do with the break-in.’

  ‘Well I do. It’s too much of a coincidence for it not to be.’

  Alex gently took her hand.

  ‘What do you think this Gillian person is actually going to know? You said yourself that she hasn’t seen your mum since the day she left seventeen years ago. What’s she going to know about the photos?’

  ‘I’m not expecting her to know anything about them, Alex, I just want to talk to her. I know this is difficult for you to understand but I need to do this. There’s this big part of me that feels incomplete and has done since I was a little girl. I wish I could pretend that it doesn’t matter that Helen didn’t want me, but it does. It really does. And now that Nan’s gone, it feels even more important. Even if Gillian tells me one thing, like Helen’s favourite subject at school, or her favourite TV programme, I’ll have filled in that gap a tiny bit. It’s awful that I hardly know anything about her. I want to know.’

  She exhaled deeply. It felt good to finally admit to him how she felt.

  ‘I’m worried about you,’ he said.

  As Della looked deep into her boyfriend’s eyes, her mind flickered back to ten months earlier, when she and a friend were having a drink in a pub near her flat. A surprise interruption: Alex, all smiles and charm, his beautiful brown eyes fixed on Della for the entire conversation. Her heart thundering in her chest when it dawned on her he was flirting with her. He had chosen her.

  ‘It’s so sweet you’re concerned about me, but I’ll be fine.’

  ‘But you don’t know this Gillian at all.’

  ‘If you’re that worried, come with me.’

  ‘I wish I could but I can’t. I’ll have to go in tomorrow to make up for not working today.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday.’

  ‘I know, but I’ll get behind if I don’t.’

  Della sighed and turned her attention back to the notepad. ‘I need to ask Maggie about the house. Quadrant Homes will have to be informed about Nan, but I’m hoping the police might want us to hold off.’

  ‘Your nan’s death is on the Internet already, because of the hospital inquiry.’

  Della blinked at him, surprised. ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yeah. The Echo has done a piece on its website.’

  ‘I don’t want journalists coming round asking questions about Nan,’ said Della, horrified.

  ‘Don’t worry, the hospital told the Echo her identity won’t be released on the grounds of medical privacy. Do you want to see what they’ve written?’

  She shuddered. ‘No I don’t. How long do you think the inquiry will take? Will we have to wait until it’s over to have the funeral? I was hoping that now they’ve done the post-mortem,’ she bit down hard on the word, ‘they wouldn’t need to hang on to Nan. I want to lay her to rest.’ She wrote ‘funeral?’ next to Maggie’s name. ‘Did Maggie say what time she’d be here?’

  ‘She said this morning, but it’s almost one now. She should’ve called to say she’d be late,’ Alex sniped. ‘You know, I’m not sure about her. I don’t think she’s up to the job.’

  ‘I like her. The other policewoman was a bit frosty. I’d rather deal with Maggie than her.’

  Alex pulled a face and pointed to the plate he’d given her. ‘Aren’t you going to eat that? I hope you’re not going to let it go to waste.’

  Della gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile. Then she took a bite and forced it down.

  54

  It took Maggie a good few minutes to convince Jennifer Jones to leave the room so she could go through the Echo’s microfiche files alone.

  ‘Don’t you want me to show you how it works?’ Jennifer asked.

  ‘I’m pretty smart; I’ll figure it out. Just show me where the on-off switch is.’

  ‘The boxes of film are all stored in these filing cabinets. They should be in order.’

  Maggie walked over to the nearest. Judging by the pencil-thick layer of dust coating the top of it, the filing cabinet hadn’t been touched in years.

  ‘You don’t use these ever?’

  ‘Nah, there’s no point. Most of what background information we need we can find online these days. This room,’ said Jennifer, sweeping an arm in front of her, ‘is pretty much a dumping ground.’

  She wasn’t wrong: it was a health and safety inspector’s nightmare. Old desks were stacked haphazardly on top of each other, with a few chairs thrown on the pile for good measure, while the other side of the room was crammed with bulging filing cabinets that looked like they’d topple over the moment you pulled out a drawer.

  ‘What are these?’ asked Maggie, running a hand over an enormous fabric-bound folder that had been left on the floor.

  ‘Those are old copies of the Echo going back to the last century. No one ever looks at those.’

  All that history, discarded on the floor like used chewing gum.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Maggie. ‘I bet you could learn a lot about the town by going through these.’

  ‘Be my guest. Personally I can’t think of anything more boring.’

  ‘You’re not from Mansell, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m from Manchester. I only ended up here because the Echo’s got a good track record for its reporters ending up on nationals.’

  ‘Any joy with that?’

  Jennifer’s face clouded. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Right, I should get on. Thanks for letting
me do this,’ said Maggie, hoping Jennifer would take that as her cue to leave.

  ‘I think I’ll stay and watch.’

  The reporter’s eyes flickered over Maggie’s face, which was slightly more presentable since she’d washed the blood off and reapplied her make-up, using extra concealer to hide the emerging bruises. She’d also changed her suit jacket and shirt, putting on the emergency outfit she kept in a battered leather holdall in the boot of her car specifically for Family Liaison duty. It wasn’t unusual for Maggie to stay overnight with relatives during an investigation if they requested it, as she had done with Rosie Kinnock’s parents when the teenager was initially reported missing, and she liked to be prepared.

  ‘I don’t think so. This is a police inquiry and journalists aren’t invited.’

  ‘These are our files.’

  ‘I could get a warrant to confiscate the lot. Up to you.’

  Jennifer pulled a face as she relented.

  ‘How about I leave you alone and you give me the exclusive on whatever it is you’re looking for and how it relates to whatever case you’re working on, when it’s okay to do so. We could do a story on how the Echo archives have helped solve a modern-day crime. Deal?’

  ‘Sure, I can do that,’ Maggie bluffed, knowing there was no way she would be divulging anything.

  ‘Great. See you in a bit.’

  As Jennifer closed the door behind her, Maggie found the filing cabinet with the microfiche versions of the Echo dated August and September 1999. The machine was fiddlier than she thought it would be and it took her a few moments to work out how to spool the film onto it. There were four issues saved on each reel, so she had to wind through all of August to reach the final issue with the coverage of the Mansell Show. She went straight to the group shot of Helen and her friends that Della had told her about and noted down their names. Then she scanned the rest of the page, leaning so close to the screen that her nose was practically touching it.