Let the Dead Speak

by Jane Casey

  ‘My hero.’ I got out my own gloves as Derwent collected the bolt cutters from Martin Yawl.

  ‘I can take it from here. No need for you to watch,’ he said briskly, patting the old man on the shoulder.

  ‘I’d like to see, though.’

  ‘I’m sure DC Shaw would appreciate your help with the paperwork.’ Derwent shook his head. ‘Pretty girl, but she does get confused now and then.’

  Yawl hesitated, clearly torn.

  ‘Go on, mate.’ There was no warmth in Derwent’s voice despite the ‘mate’ he tacked on to the end. It was an order, and Yawl took heed.

  ‘I’ll go and check on how the lady’s getting on.’

  ‘Good plan.’

  Derwent waited until Yawl had gone inside before he turned his attention to the chain. It was a heavy one and he struggled to cut it.

  ‘Do you want me to call the fire brigade?’

  ‘No, I do not.’ He glowered at me as he shrugged off his coat and jacket, thrusting them at me. ‘Hold those.’

  ‘Maybe a saw would be better.’

  ‘These will do the job.’ He hefted the bolt cutters and bent down to inspect the chain.

  ‘Maybe it’s your technique. Martin could give you a few tips.’

  He straightened up. ‘Kerrigan, you’re not helping.’

  ‘I’m only saying, if he can cut through a chain like that, you’d think it would be possible for you to do it. Unless he’s a lot fitter than he looks. Or, I suppose, if you’re not as strong as you thought.’

  He frowned at me. ‘Still angry I came along?’

  ‘Livid,’ I said crisply. ‘Not that I want to talk about it in front of DC Shaw.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Come on, get on with it. That chain’s not going to cut itself.’

  It took him a minute and some swearing through gritted teeth but eventually the chain gave way. I had used the time to get a few evidence bags from the boot of the car, spreading one on the ground.

  ‘Finally.’ I waited while Derwent pulled the chain through the hasp and set the padlock on top of the evidence bag.

  ‘Good thinking.’

  ‘In case we find something.’

  Something. A body was what I meant, and what he understood.

  He lifted up the garage door, sliding it back. I had taken out my torch already and now I shone it around the bleak interior. It was a concrete box three metres wide and four metres deep, and it was almost empty. It was cold and smelled of dust but not noticeably of decay. In the corner, at the back, the chest freezer squatted, humming quietly. It was not a new one. I shone my torch along the cord to where it was plugged in. The socket was cracked and there was no switch to turn it off; I wouldn’t have dared to try to pull the plug out myself.

  I moved towards the freezer, my eyes on the floor in case I walked through something that could turn out to be important evidence.

  ‘At least it’s still on.’ Derwent nodded towards the freezer. ‘It’s when they’re switched off that things get messy.’

  ‘So you’re going to open it after all.’

  ‘Not me.’ He literally stepped back, holding his hands up, as if I was going to force him. ‘I’ve got a phobia.’

  ‘That must be nice.’ I bent down to look at the edge of the freezer before I touched it. There was an indentation in the middle, the natural place where you would put your hand if you were opening the lid. If Kate Emery’s fingerprints were on there – or someone else’s – I didn’t want to smudge them beyond recovery. I handed Derwent the torch and used both hands to prise it open, staying well away from the middle. I steeled myself, pushed the lid back and held it up. He shone the torch over my shoulder, sweeping it around the interior of the freezer. Frost bulged from every surface, indented on the bottom where something rectangular had been resting.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Not absolutely nothing.’ I pointed to the frost on the bottom of the freezer. There was a mark, a smudge that was less than a centimetre long. ‘Shine the torch there. What’s that?’

  He leaned in. ‘It looks like blood.’

  ‘Doesn’t it, though.’

  ‘Maybe that’s just our suspicious minds.’

  ‘Maybe. It could have been there for years. This freezer hasn’t been defrosted since the last Ice Age by the looks of it.’

  He straightened up. ‘I’m calling Kev Cox anyway. If that’s blood, I’d like to know who or what it belongs to. We can worry about how it got there later.’

  18

  I got back to my flat at seven, tired, hot and annoyed. It had been a long day and ultimately a frustrating one. There weren’t any forensic officers free to come and retrieve the evidence from the yard; it wasn’t a priority when there had been a shooting in Brixton and two bodies found in a flat in Acton. After a couple of hours of waiting, Kev had called me to put it off until the following day. I’d gone back to the office and endless paper shuffling, scanning through mobile phone records until my eyes ached. Net progress: nil.

  I plugged my phone in so it could charge and stripped off my clothes, stepping into the shower while it still ran cold enough to make me shiver. It was worth it to feel the grime of Martin Yawl’s storage unit sluicing away. A cold drink, laundry, trashy TV; my plans for the evening were not ambitious. It was a good thing, I told myself as I pulled on a T-shirt and shorts, that I didn’t have to factor anyone else into my plans. There would be no argument about going out, or what to watch on television or who had drunk the last Diet Coke.

  It was no good. I couldn’t fool myself even if I was able to fool anyone else. I was lonely.

  Still, actually going on a date was unthinkable. I wasn’t ready for that.

  I wasn’t ready to let go of the thought that maybe – just maybe – Rob might reconsider his very abrupt departure from my life. It was strange how I could be totally rational and even cynical most of the time, but when it came to Rob I still believed in happy ever after. That was love, though – that blind faith that everything would come right in the end. I had been slow to love him, slow to trust him, and even when it was absolutely clear that he had betrayed that trust, I was reluctant to accept it.

  And there was something to be said, all things considered, for being alone. If he didn’t come back, it made it so much easier. I could put off making those decisions about when to have children, if I even wanted to have them. I could work all the hours there were in the day without worrying about anyone minding. I could be free.

  I was halfway through my drink, staring into the fridge as if looking at shrivelled mushrooms and a waxy piece of cheddar might cause inspiration to strike (it was going to be toast for dinner again, and I knew it) when I heard the low purr of my mobile from the hall. Una Burt’s name flashed on the screen.

  ‘Boss.’

  ‘Maeve, I’ve had a call from Oliver Norris. He says the girls have gone missing.’

  ‘The girls?’

  ‘Chloe and Bethany.’

  ‘When you say missing—’

  ‘They were at home this morning but sometime after lunch, Mrs Norris realised they’d gone out. It’s out of character for Bethany to leave without telling her mother she’s going.’

  ‘So they’ve been gone for a few hours.’

  ‘At least five or six.’

  ‘Have the locals been informed?’

  ‘They’re all looking out for them.’

  They would be. As a fifteen-year-old, Bethany Norris counted as a child. She would be categorised as a high-risk misper – police slang for missing person – even without the connection to a murder investigation, or the fact that she was on her own with an adult who had special needs. If it came to that, Chloe would be a high-risk misper too. They made a distinctive couple, I thought. It should be easy enough to find them if they were wandering the streets of London.

  ‘So what can I do?’

  ‘Go and talk to the Norrises. Reassure them. See if they’ll talk to you. I know Bethany is only fifteen
but she’s a smart girl. Oliver Norris sounded much too worried to me. I want to know why he’s in such a panic.’

  ‘Do you think they might have gone because they feel guilty about something?’

  ‘It had occurred to me to wonder.’ Burt paused, uneasy. ‘They weren’t on our list of suspects, were they?’

  ‘They weren’t off mine, but there was no evidence to link them to Kate’s death. Chloe wasn’t even in London, was she?’

  ‘Unless that was deliberate.’

  ‘It was very convenient.’

  ‘I’d like to know where the girls are, Maeve. I’d like to know they’re safe and then I’d like to hear why they’ve run away without leaving as much as a note behind.’

  ‘OK. Just me?’

  There was a tiny pause. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind.’

  Because everyone else was busy having a life.

  ‘It’s fine.’ I was worried about Chloe and Bethany too. I remembered them holding hands while we searched the house. I remembered the look of terror on Chloe’s face when we’d turned up at the Norrises’ house to make arrests. I’d thought it was the early hour and the general upheaval, but I was re-evaluating it, and fast. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  All the lights were on at Oliver Norris’s house, blazing a distress signal across the street. I rang the doorbell, hoping that Una Burt had told them I was on my way. Whether she had or not, Eleanor Norris snatched the door open, the hope dying on her face as she saw I was alone.

  ‘No news,’ I said, sincerely apologetic.

  ‘I just thought …’ She swallowed. ‘Sorry. Come in.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I paused for a second in the hall. ‘We’ve got lots of people out looking for them. Not only the local police – it’s gone out across the Met. Every briefing will include their pictures and descriptions.’

  Eleanor nodded but she didn’t look particularly comforted. And really, I could understand it. The girls could be anywhere with a few hours’ start.

  I followed Eleanor down to the kitchen, where Morgan Norris was standing by the window, looking out into the dark garden, tapping a car key on the countertop mindlessly.

  ‘I should go out and look for them.’

  ‘Ollie’s only just come back,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘So? He didn’t find them, did he?’ He glanced back over his shoulder and saw me. ‘Oh. It’s you.’

  ‘I came to see if there was anything I could do.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’ He turned around fully, folding his arms across his chest: angry, I thought, despite the way he’d smiled and flirted through his interview.

  ‘I’m doing my job.’

  ‘That’s convenient for you, isn’t it? You can use it as an excuse for terrifying two young girls into running away. How do you think they felt, seeing me and Ollie dragged away at dawn, not knowing where we were or what was going to happen to us?’

  ‘We hardly dragged you,’ I said drily. ‘And you were back by the end of the day. I don’t know what you told them about it, but there was nothing to scare them away.’

  ‘I didn’t tell them anything. I wasn’t allowed to.’ He shot a vindictive look at his sister-in-law. ‘I knew it would be better to fill in the details than to leave them thinking the worst.’

  ‘I didn’t want Bethany to hear the details of how that whore seduced you, and if you had any sense, you wouldn’t have wanted it either. You should be ashamed of yourself.’ Eleanor was shaking, I noticed.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. It might have been slightly awkward to tell Chloe what happened too, since it was her mother I fucked.’

  ‘Morgan!’

  ‘Oh, come on, Eleanor. We’re all grown-ups here, aren’t we?’ He was watching her as if he was interested in seeing what kind of reaction he could provoke. I felt chilled without knowing why. ‘That’s what we did. You couldn’t say it was making love or whatever phrase you like to use.’

  ‘There’s no need to be crude.’

  ‘You know, I don’t like Ollie much, but I feel fucking sorry for him sometimes. I can almost—’

  She stared at him, hurt and angry. ‘Almost what?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He smiled. ‘Nothing, Eleanor dear. I’m sure you’re the perfect wife in every way.’

  ‘Stop going on about it. And stop talking about – about being with her. I don’t want to think about it.’ Eleanor turned away, her face pale.

  Morgan looked at me. ‘Is this what you wanted?’

  ‘I wanted the truth.’

  ‘And you got it. How much further did it get you? Any answers? No? Thought not.’

  I passionately wanted to know whether Oliver Norris had confessed to his wife too. ‘Was there much discussion of your trip to the police station? Would the girls have overheard you talking about it?’

  ‘No.’ Eleanor looked wretched. ‘I waited until Bethany was at school before I spoke to Morgan. And I haven’t even seen Ollie. He came back so late he slept on the sofa, and he had already left for work before I got up. I rang him when I realised the girls were gone.’

  ‘So where is he now?’

  ‘He was having a shower.’ She looked up at the ceiling, listening. ‘I can’t hear the water running any more. I’m sure he’ll be down in a minute. He’s been driving round looking for them. He was so upset when he got back.’

  ‘It’s strange he didn’t manage to fill you in on his interview,’ Morgan said silkily. ‘Almost as if he’d been avoiding you.’

  She whirled around. ‘Shut up. You don’t know anything about it.’

  A clatter on the stairs made me look round: Oliver Norris, smelling of shower gel and deodorant, his hair slicked back. He was buckling the belt on his jeans. He hadn’t even waited to put on his shoes, as if my presence was an emergency.

  ‘Why is she here?’ The question was addressed to his wife but I answered.

  ‘To see if there was anything I could do to help. And to ask if I can search their rooms.’

  ‘The police have already checked they’re not here.’

  ‘I want to search for anything that might tell us where they’ve gone.’

  ‘The answer’s no.’

  My eyebrows shot up. ‘Even if it helps to locate them?’

  ‘I don’t want you poking around in my house. If you want to search, get another warrant.’ He pushed past Eleanor to get to the fridge. She was standing stock-still, apparently shocked into immobility by the mere sight of her husband, and she staggered a little when he knocked into her. He didn’t pause to see if she was all right, or apologise.

  ‘We’ve been talking about the girls,’ I said calmly. ‘Do you know why they ran away?’

  ‘No.’ He twisted open a bottle of water, managing to make it look like a threat.

  ‘Where did you go, Ollie?’ Eleanor asked. She wasn’t even looking at him, as if she didn’t dare. She went to the cupboard and found a glass, setting it on the table near him.

  ‘The school. Around the neighbourhood. Over to Richmond and back by New Malden.’ The anger broke through in his voice. ‘They could be anywhere by now, though.’

  ‘They can’t have gone too far,’ I said. ‘They don’t have a car, so they’ll be on public transport or on foot, and if it’s public transport we’ll be able to track them easily enough. We’re looking out for them to use a bank card or their phones. We will find them.’

  ‘I bet that’s what you always say.’ Norris poured the water into the glass and gulped at it again. ‘But kids go missing every year.’

  ‘Sometimes they don’t want to be found, which makes it all the more important to find out why they disappeared in the first place.’

  ‘If we knew that, we’d tell you,’ Eleanor said. ‘We don’t know. There was no reason for it. Except that of course Chloe must have been disturbed by what happened to her mother. It’s awful. I’ve been having nightmares about it and I didn’t even see anything.’ Her hand went up and clawed at her neck where the st
ress rash was starting to show. I wondered if it was caused by me, murder, or her husband, or if it was the effect of all three combined.

  ‘We should never have let them spend so much time together.’ Oliver Norris sat down at the table. ‘We shouldn’t have let Chloe stay in this house.’

  ‘It was the Christian thing to do—’ Eleanor broke off and flinched as her husband picked up the half-full glass of water and hurled it against the wall, where it smashed.

  ‘It was stupid, Eleanor, and I said as much.’

  ‘Jesus, Oliver, there’s no need for that.’ Morgan picked up a dustpan and brush and set about clearing up the glass.

  ‘Fuck yourself.’ Norris stood up, patting his pockets. ‘I’m not staying here. I’m going out again. Where are the keys?’

  I was sure that Morgan Norris had them in his pocket but I didn’t want Oliver Norris driving around when he was so stressed he was on the very edge of reason.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Norris. You can’t achieve much on your own. You’ve already looked in all the places you thought the girls might be. It’s better for you to wait here in case we need to get hold of you, or in case they come back.’

  ‘I can’t just wait. What if something happens?’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘What if Chloe did something to her mother and she takes it into her head to do the same to Bethany?’

  Eleanor was shaking her head. ‘No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.’

  ‘The truth is, you don’t know what she’s capable of doing, Eleanor. You never thought about that before you invited her into our lives.’

  ‘She had nowhere else to go.’

  ‘I’m not talking about that. Before her mother died. Long before. You thought it was a good idea for Bethany to spend time with her.’

  Tears filled Eleanor’s eyes and her voice came out thickly, clotted with upset and anger. ‘Chloe accepted her for what she was. She didn’t bully her or try to change her. She didn’t want Bethany to drink or smoke or flirt with boys. She was young in her ways and she loved Bethany and I didn’t see any harm in it. And neither did you, Ollie, or if you did, you didn’t say it.’