Let the Dead Speak

by Jane Casey

  Morgan leaned in, dropping his voice so only I could hear him. ‘Did they teach you how to be a manipulative bitch during your training or does it come naturally?’

  ‘A bit of both.’ I glanced up at him. ‘So? Yes or no?’

  36

  Bethany was staring out of the window at the jumble of rooftops outside that was pure London, grey and featureless with the occasional surprising flash of green leaves. She must have heard me come in but she didn’t look around straight away. When she did, and saw me, she flinched.

  ‘Hi.’ I stayed at the end of the bed. ‘You look better.’

  ‘Thanks.’ It was a whisper.

  ‘How’s the food?’

  She shrugged. In fact, she didn’t look as if she’d been eating much of it. I put a paper bag on the blanket near her feet.

  ‘I brought you some snacks. In case.’

  A nod.

  ‘Are they looking after you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘They told me you haven’t said much about why you’re here.’

  She went back to looking out of the window. She looked older, all of a sudden, in part because she was thinner. The childishness had gone from her face, now that her cheeks were hollow and blue shadows streaked the skin under her eyes. I wanted to give her a hug and I had to keep my distance.

  ‘You almost died, Bethany. I was there. I know you were determined to go through with it, and I want to know why.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Was it because of Chloe?’

  Nothing. No response.

  ‘You asked me if I knew the bible. I looked it up – the things you said to me on the railway embankment. “For I know my transgressions and my sin is ever before me.” Psalm fifty-one. It’s about forgiveness for a broken and contrite heart. “For you will not delight in sacrifice or I would give it.” There’s no bigger sacrifice than killing yourself though, is there?’

  A tiny shrug.

  ‘Isn’t it a sin, to think of it?’

  The corners of her mouth turned down, holding back tears.

  ‘You said I didn’t know what you were,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘What are you? Tell me.’

  ‘Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity and in sin did my mother conceive me.’ The bitterness in her voice made me wince, and I knew immediately what she meant, and what she’d meant on the embankment. Blood guilt.

  ‘Oh, Bethany. It’s not your fault.’

  ‘I’m a child of sin. My mother—’ she broke off, screwing her eyes shut.

  ‘Your mother loves you. And so does your father.’

  ‘He’s not my father.’

  ‘He is in every way that matters,’ I said. ‘He’s always loved you.’

  ‘Only because he thinks I’m a miracle.’ She shook her head. ‘How could she lie to him? To me?’

  ‘How did you find out? Did your mother tell you?’

  ‘No. She has no idea I know, even.’ Panic flared in her eyes. ‘Don’t tell her.’

  ‘I won’t. But I think you should talk to her about it. Give her a chance to explain.’

  ‘Explain what? That I was born because of a sinful act? That my whole life has been a lie?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not how she sees it. And it’s not how I see it either.’ I waited a beat. ‘So your mum didn’t tell you, and your dad doesn’t know. Who else knew? Who told you?’

  She looked down at her hands, not answering.

  ‘Was it Kate?’

  Absolute shock. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Lucky guess.’ I was surprised by how angry I felt with Kate. She must have known it would shatter Bethany’s world and she hadn’t cared. Selfish, entitled, vindictive woman …

  Bethany saw the look on my face. ‘She didn’t mean to tell me. It just came out.’

  ‘That’s a hell of a thing to say by accident.’

  ‘She was angry with me. I was shouting at her and she shouted back.’

  ‘Why did you shout at her?’

  ‘We were in the house on Constantine Avenue a couple of weeks ago – me, Chloe, William. Hanging out. Drinking a bit, smoking. You know. They were kissing, on the bed and I was by the window. They didn’t mind me being there but I felt a bit awkward about it. You know how it is.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I was looking through the window to distract myself from what Chloe and William were doing.’ She swallowed. ‘If I hadn’t been there, I’d never have known.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘Dad was in the kitchen. Talking to Kate.’ She was staring into the middle distance, seeing it again. ‘He pushed her up against a cupboard and he had his hands on her neck. I didn’t know what he was going to do – I couldn’t really see properly. But he looked angry. Really angry. I thought he was going to kill her.’

  I remembered Oliver Norris in interview, calmly describing how Kate had wanted to end their relationship and how it had been a relief.

  Not the truth. Not even a little bit.

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘She talked to him. She was smiling at him, stroking his shoulders. She got down on her knees. He was sort of hidden behind a cupboard but I could see her head moving and – and I know what she was doing to him. It was disgusting.’

  It was survival, I thought. Kate had calmed him down. She had made a careful calculation of what she could bear to offer to buy her safety, and offered it, and it had been accepted.

  ‘And you watched?’

  ‘No! Not once I knew what they were doing.’ She was pale, sweating. ‘I ran out of the house. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I went for a walk by the river. Just … walked. I was trying to get it straight in my head. What I’d seen, what it meant. I ended up back at my house and I could see Dad was watching TV in the front room, as if nothing had happened. It made me sick. He’s supposed to be a good husband. The head of the family. He’s supposed to be in charge. How could I trust him when he was such a hypocrite?’

  ‘Did you talk to him?’

  ‘No. I was too scared to confront him. I went to Kate. I thought it had to be her fault that he’d broken his vows. I wanted to hear her say that he’d tried to stop himself from cheating on Mum, that it was a one-off thing.’

  ‘But she didn’t.’

  ‘No. She didn’t.’ Bethany looked up, her eyes swimming. ‘I told her she was an evil woman, a harlot, and she would go to hell. She said it was his idea. She said he wouldn’t leave her alone. And then she told me that if she was going to hell, she’d have my mother for company. She said Mum was much worse because she’d given birth to another man’s child and pretended it was her husband’s.’

  Ouch. ‘Did she tell you how she knew that?’

  ‘Something to do with the clinic where Mum and Dad went when they were trying to conceive. She worked there, I think.’ Bethany looked exhausted. ‘I didn’t really understand.’

  ‘It makes sense to me.’

  ‘Does it?’ Her face puckered. ‘Do you know what it’s like to be a sin?’

  ‘It’s not your sin,’ I said gently.

  ‘Sin is the whole reason for my existence. Every time my mother looks at me, she sees her own weakness. And my father sees a lie. My whole life is a lie.’ Bethany rubbed her eyes. ‘That’s why nothing works out for me. Everything I touch is defiled. Everyone I love comes to harm. Chloe and William are dead and it’s my fault.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ I gripped the rail at the end of the bed. ‘People like William Turner are manipulative and dangerous. There was nothing you could have done to stop him.’

  ‘He loved her.’

  ‘That wasn’t love,’ I said. ‘It was obsession. He wanted to own her. To control her.’

  ‘No, you’re wrong. He loved her. No one has ever looked at me the way he looked at her, and no one ever will.’

  ‘You’re lucky, then.’

  She shook her head and I could tell it would be hard to
convince her Turner had been anything other than a hero.

  ‘You know, he was very handsome,’ I said. ‘He was very charming. I liked him. It’s only natural that you liked him too.’

  She blushed, her eyelashes sweeping down over her cheeks.

  ‘Were you in love with him?’

  ‘He loved Chloe.’

  ‘But he didn’t mind you hanging around. He liked the extra attention.’

  ‘He liked talking to me.’ She whispered it. ‘We were friends.’

  ‘Friends … but you didn’t tell him where you were hiding when you and Chloe ran away.’

  ‘I thought it was safer.’

  ‘Because you were scared of what he might do?’

  ‘No. No, I was never scared of him.’

  ‘Was Chloe?’

  ‘She knew he loved her. He looked after her.’

  ‘Was he angry about her running away?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He came to see you yesterday, didn’t he?’

  She shut her eyes, frowning.

  ‘I know he was here, Bethany. I talked to the nurses. He was here. So what did you talk about?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That surprises me. He told me he wanted to talk to you about Chloe.’

  Her face crumpled. I moved a step or two closer, still careful not to crowd her.

  ‘Did you hear what happened to him, Bethany?’

  ‘He drowned.’

  ‘That’s right. He drowned. Just like Chloe, although William’s death was an accident.’ Another step. ‘So he can’t hurt you any more, Bethany. You can tell me what happened to Chloe now.’

  ‘Hurt me?’ Her eyes flew open. ‘William would never hurt me. Or Chloe. He loved Chloe. That was why I didn’t want to tell him—’

  ‘Tell him what?’ I leaned in. ‘Bethany, please.’

  ‘I didn’t want to tell him what happened to her.’

  Frustration burned in my veins. ‘You have to be honest with me, Bethany. What happened to Chloe? Were you with her when she died?’

  ‘No. No, definitely not. I didn’t even see her. We came back and she took her away.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘My mother.’ She looked at me as if it was obvious, as if I should have known. ‘Mum took her.’

  37

  There was no one home in Valerian Road. That would have been too easy, I thought, calling the local police station to ask them to send officers around later (known as a ‘please allow’ in police jargon, as in ‘please allow an officer to call’). Did I think Eleanor Norris had done a runner, I was asked politely, and I said no, because I didn’t. She had no reason to run away, as far as she knew. No one was looking for her. It was all over. Kate was dead, Chloe was dead, William Turner was dead. The circle was closed.

  Except, of course, that it wasn’t.

  Because it was Eleanor who had taken Chloe away, a lamb to the slaughter. Bethany hadn’t told me why – and maybe she didn’t know, or maybe it was that she was shocked to have said as much as she had. Bethany had been scared and she had run away with Chloe because she thought her friend was in danger. But they had had nowhere to go. It was cold, she said, at night, even though it was summer. It wasn’t safe, sleeping on the street, and then she had started to feel ill. She’d been shivering, running a temperature. They had to go home.

  And then her mother had taken Chloe away and she’d never seen her alive again.

  I was fairly sure I wouldn’t be allowed to interview Eleanor when she eventually turned up, given the investigation into Kate Emery’s death. All the more reason to have a drive around the area myself to see if I could spot her or the family car. I had set up a locate/trace marker on the police national computer so if the registration triggered the number plate recognition in a patrol car, they’d get pulled over. I also left Derwent and Una Burt a message each, telling them what Bethany had told me. There was no mobile phone reception in the morgue, something that I didn’t really mind when I was there.

  I was getting back into my car when I saw a thin figure moving up the road towards me: William Turner’s mother. Her face was vacant, her eyes staring at nothing. For a moment, I thought she was sleepwalking, but then her head turned and she saw me watching her. I crossed the road.

  ‘Mrs Turner, I don’t know if you remember … I met you last week.’

  No flicker of recognition. A thin string of drool hung between her upper and lower lip. Her hair hadn’t been brushed. I reached out tentatively and took her arm. Her skin was papery under my fingers, her bones sharp.

  ‘Mrs Turner, I’m so sorry about William. Can I take you home? Or wherever you were planning to go?’

  ‘William,’ she said. ‘William.’

  ‘I know, Mrs Turner. I’m very sorry for your loss.’

  ‘He never did anything wrong.’ It was as if she was starting to wake up, her eyes focusing on me. ‘Give a dog a bad name and hang him. That’s what they say, isn’t it. You never gave him a chance.’

  I suspected she meant the police rather than me personally. ‘We did want to speak to him, knowing that he’d come to police attention before, but he was just one line of enquiry, Mrs Turner. We had to investigate whether he was involved. He and Chloe were close.’

  ‘They barely knew each other.’

  I didn’t want to argue with her – what was the point? I nodded. ‘We spoke to William a few times and we took a sample of his DNA, but I believed he was telling me the truth.’

  ‘He always did. He was a good boy.’

  I wondered for a fleeting second if Ben Christie’s mother would agree with that. Mrs Turner had gone back to staring into space.

  ‘He was a good boy. A bright boy. He had everything going for him except his health.’ Abruptly she started to cry, horrible rasping sobs. ‘I kept him alive. I was there in the middle of the night when he was scared. I took him to hospital when he couldn’t breathe, and I promised him – I promised him – I wouldn’t let him die.’ She looked back at me. ‘Do you think he was scared? Do you think he called out for me?’

  ‘Mrs Turner,’ I began, and stopped. What could I say that would give her comfort? What could anyone say? ‘I’m so sorry.’

  She blinked. ‘He was everything to me. He was everything, and now I have nothing.’

  The traffic was heavy. It was a flat, grey day, oppressively warm and humid, and even though the sun wasn’t shining there was a glare off the tarmac that made me squint behind my sunglasses. I cruised around the streets, scanning pedestrians and parked cars, coming up with nothing more than a headache. Where did they go, the Norrises? The supermarket, the gym, their church. Oliver had called Eleanor and she had gone to him. He was probably at work.

  Swearing under my breath, I inched towards the big, dingy building that housed the Church of the Modern Apostles. The car park was empty. They weren’t there. I drove in anyway to turn the car around, frustrated.

  Why weren’t they there? It was a working day. How had they slipped away at the very moment I needed to talk to them?

  I parked the car and walked around to the back of the building, past the side door and the bins, and there it was: their car, parked where it couldn’t be seen from the road.

  Hidden.

  Why was it hidden?

  I went back to the door and let myself in as quietly as I could. The corridor was cool and dark and completely silent. I went right, towards the office, and found it was deserted. The computers were off, the desks tidy and neat. No sign of Gareth or the secretary. No sign of Oliver Norris.

  No sign of his wife.

  Maybe she had been jealous of Chloe – pretty Chloe, with her uncomplicated, naive enjoyment of male attention. What had it been like for Oliver Norris to have his lover’s daughter living in his house? She was old enough to fantasise about, I thought, with her long legs and pretty face, and if she wasn’t clever that made her more accessible, not less. Eleanor devoted a lot of time to being obedient but I didn’t think
it came naturally to her. Chloe was sweetly biddable, docile. Uninhibited, when Eleanor was hemmed in by doubt, shame, suppressed emotion, secrets.

  There was no one in the kitchen. I went on down the corridor and found there was only one way out from there: through the door that led to the main hall. I leaned against the heavy soundproof door and it opened a millimetre or two – not enough to draw any attention to me, I hoped, but enough so that I could see what was going on inside the hall.

  I needn’t have worried about being noticed. The two people in the hall were fully occupied with what they were doing.

  All the lights were on, blazing down on the velvety red carpet as if it was a stage. Oliver Norris stood in the centre of the platform, his shirt soaked with sweat down his back and under his arms. His attention was focused on the woman who lay in front of him with her hands on his feet, a supplicant.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Oliver, please.’ Her voice was barely audible, her face pressed against the carpet.

  ‘I need to know who. You owe me that much, Eleanor.’

  ‘Please forgive me. Please.’

  ‘There’ll be a time for forgiveness but you have to earn it, Eleanor. You have to purge yourself of your sin first.’ He was as matter-of-fact as if they’d been talking about what to have for lunch.

  ‘I’m sorry … I should never have done it. I should never have lied.’

  ‘An excellent wife is the crown of her husband, but she who brings shame is like rottenness in his bones.’ Oliver leaned forward. ‘On your knees, Eleanor.’

  Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself back on to her hands and knees. He waited. It seemed to take a long time for her to sit back on her heels and turn her face up towards him, and when she did I felt the shock run through me like a current. Her face was bloated with bruising. I’d seen what Oliver was capable of before, but the violence he’d shown to Turner was nothing compared to what he’d done to his own wife.

  ‘Now, I’m going to ask you again. Who was it?’

  She shook her head, very slightly, and opened her mouth to answer him and didn’t even get the chance. He backhanded her viciously so she pitched to one side, almost losing her balance.