by Mari Hannah
61
It was a pleasure removing Beth from her father’s fury. She packed, or rather stuffed her possessions into a bag and gave permission for Hank to take her car so that he could pick up supplies on the way. Basic provisions to tide her over for a day or two.
Kate drove Beth to Alwinton in her Audi.
Diane Casey’s house was small but homely. Kate lit the fire, allowing Beth time to gather her thoughts, have a bath and get into her pyjamas before Hank arrived. Seeing her ready for bed reminded the DCI of the first time they had met, and after that on the maternity ward at Wansbeck Hospital.
A theory took shape in her head, one that hadn’t occurred to her before, one that possibly should have. Beth was not only an eyewitness to a fight. She was central to the murder investigation: close to Elliott, friends with Chris and she knew Gardner, if not by name then by reputation. What’s more, her father had failed to divulge a conflict of interest or disclose how or why he’d dished the dirt on Collins. Why?
There was a missing link here . . .
Kate needed to find it.
She sifted permutations, trying to work out if her case was more to do with Beth or Atkins. Her mind flitted between the two, making connections, discounting them. Father and daughter were both keeping secrets. There must be a reason why. Watching Beth pad across the floor, Kate wondered if she should hold her counsel or tackle the girl while she had the chance and they were alone. Kate worried that Hank would arrive at an inopportune moment, just as Beth was getting in the flow or giving up her secrets, assuming Kate could persuade her to open up.
Pulling out her mobile, the DCI texted Hank, telling him to stay away until he heard from her. As she put her phone away, Beth stopped poking the fire and sat down on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her, happy to be back on home soil.
‘Thank you for bringing me home,’ she said.
‘You’re welcome. Can I get you anything?’
Beth shook her head.
It was time to seize the moment.
‘When I visited you in hospital, you were holding out on me,’ Kate said. ‘That’s fine. I take it you had your reasons. People do that when they’re frightened, but I’d like you to be honest with me now. You have my word I’ll do the same. I desperately need your help.’
‘What do you want to know?’
Kate sat forward, elbows on her knees. ‘Beth, I’d do anything not to have to say this, but I’m beginning to think that you are the key to Elliott’s murder. Is there something you’re not telling me?’
Beth’s gaze fell to the floor, her face draining of colour.
Kate waited patiently for confirmation. She could see how tired the girl was. Her eyes were shut tight now, the heat of the fire combined with the stress of the past few hours getting to her. It was vital to keep her engaged in conversation, not allow her to retreat inside herself. Whatever she was hiding was killing her.
Gently . . .
Don’t scare her . . .
She wants to tell you . . .
Give her a chance . . .
Kate could see cogs turning, decisions being made. Another gentle nudge was required. ‘I’m not daft, Beth. I can see you know more than you’re letting on. Tell me what it is. I might be able to help. We can help each other. I can’t solve this case if I don’t know what it’s about, can I? Without your cooperation I’m stuck.’
Blinking her eyes open, Beth apologized for drifting off. Not in a sleep sense, she admitted. She was wondering how she’d got herself into such a bloody awful mess and was considering her future as a mother with no parents to turn to.
‘It looks grim,’ she said.
‘You’re a survivor, Beth. You’ll be fine.’
Kate deliberated on how long it had been since Beth had eaten, since the baby had eaten, if that’s how it worked. How should she know? That part of womanhood had passed her by. She imagined the umbilical cord connecting mother and child like the tube drip-feeding her father in hospital. The last she heard, he wasn’t eating.
Beth’s confession snapped her out of her daydream. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I didn’t tell you everything. I couldn’t bring myself to.’
‘Can we talk about it now?’
Having taken a huge stride forward, Beth was almost on the edge of backing off. After what seemed like forever, she took a deep breath and stopped avoiding eye contact. ‘A couple of months ago, I was attacked walking home in the dark. I didn’t see who it was because Elliott intervened. He’d spotted someone following me. He screamed at me to run and I did. I was terrified. He got a good kicking for his trouble.’
‘Did you report it?’ Kate knew that she hadn’t. Carmichael had checked the PNC for incidents in the area involving anyone currently listed on HOLMES database for this enquiry. Still, she allowed Beth to confirm her inaction.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I wish I had.’
‘Does your father know you were assaulted?’
Beth gave a nervous laugh. ‘You saw him earlier. Imagine his reaction if I had told him. Anyway, it was my own fault—’
‘Who told you that?’
‘I was using the cut Mum warned me never to use.’
‘The cut?’
Beth gave Kate the details. ‘It’s a bridle path she doesn’t think is safe. Now I know it’s not.’
Kate wanted to tell her that she could walk wherever she pleased. That she shouldn’t have to curtail her behaviour in any way for fear of ambush by men. But the sad fact was, like millions of women around the world, she was forced to compromise her freedom and make changes for her own protection.
‘Did you tell anyone else?’
‘Not then, no. I made Elliott swear not to tell anyone either.’
‘And did he?’
A single tear ran down her face and neck. Beth left it there, a tiny river of salt water. Kate knew she’d gone off track. She was in that cut, a dark and scary place where, if Kate were reading her right, something dreadful had taken place. Beth wanted to talk to someone prepared to listen.
‘If Elliott hadn’t been there . . .’ She choked on her words. ‘If he hadn’t come along when he did, there’s no telling what might have happened. He could’ve killed me. I wish he had.’
‘Don’t be selfish,’ Kate snapped at her. There were times when only the truth would do. This was one of them. ‘Your mother and your child deserve better.’ Beth hung her head in shame but Kate wasn’t letting her off that easily. ‘This is not a dress rehearsal, Beth. You have one life. I want you to promise me you won’t try anything stupid like that again. If not, I’m ringing social services to protect your baby.’
‘I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.’
Kate gave her a moment and then moved on. ‘Did Elliott say who attacked you?’ Seeing the way she shied away from that one, Kate decided to return to it later. ‘When I asked you just now if you’d told anyone else, you said “not then”. So who did you tell subsequently?’
‘I told Chris.’
‘When exactly?’
‘A couple of weeks ago.’
‘And what was his reaction?’
‘He didn’t believe me at first.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s a prat sometimes. Not very trusting.’ There was no sign of upset from Beth. She was done crying over it. Despite an attempt at taking the easy way out, Kate could now see that she was a stronger personality than she at first appeared. After the events of recent months, it would be surprising if the girl had any tears left to shed. ‘I don’t understand Chris half the time. I don’t understand men.’ Her attention evaporated before Kate’s eyes.
‘Beth?’
She appeared utterly confused, as if time had inexplicably jumped ahead and she couldn’t comprehend how Kate got to be sitting next to her, holding her hand. The DCI considered contacting her mum and then discounted the idea. Realistically, what could the woman do? It would distress both of them. On the other hand, if she were Beth’s mum, she’d want to
know.
‘Can I get your mum on the phone so you can talk?’
‘No, don’t . . . she mustn’t know. Kate, she’s so fragile. It would break her heart. I’m fine . . . please, carry on.’
‘We can do this tomorrow.’
‘To be honest, it’s a relief to get it out.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘If I don’t, it’ll drive me mad.’
Kate had no choice but to ask Beth a question she knew would distress her greatly. ‘How far did the assault go?’
‘His intentions were obvious. He wasn’t asking either, he was . . .’
She stopped, dark thoughts taking away her ability to complete the sentence. Kate couldn’t lead her. She gave her a moment and, in doing so, gave herself one. This case was about bullying, an abuse of power that mirrored her own ugly experience as a teenage cop.
‘He was going to rape me,’ Beth said finally.
‘You will get over this, I promise you.’
Kate could feel herself misting up and hoped it didn’t show.
Their eyes locked. In that moment, they exchanged an understanding, a bond of solidarity forming between them. This perceptive teenager knew she wasn’t the only one to experience the darker side of men. To a greater or lesser extent, she knew that Kate had been there too.
Kate looked away, masking her eyes.
In her case, if Beth even suspected that the attacking lowlife was her father, it would finish her. The DCI backtracked, pushing away memories of her own physical and psychological abuse. ‘So, no one else knew about the attack apart from Elliott and Chris?’
‘Only Gardner.’
‘It was Gardner who attacked you?’
Beth nodded soberly, her lips forming into a thin hard line.
The motive hit Kate like a brick. In her head she was in the interview room, taking in his features, the recent scar running through his eyebrow – his war wound – the amateur stitching job that had heeled into a raised straggly line above his right eye. No wonder he hadn’t gone to a hospital to get it seen to.
Had Elliott hit him with something?
Had Gardner taken revenge?
‘Beth, one on one, who’d come out on top in a fight – Elliott or Gardner?’
‘Elliott every time.’
‘He was small by comparison,’ Kate said.
‘But quick on his feet,’ Beth jumped to her friend’s defence. ‘I wish you’d met him. He was an amazing wrestler. He could put a much heavier guy down easily. Why d’you ask?’
‘They’re very different builds, that’s all.’ Kate didn’t disclose that she’d seen Elliott before and after his death for fear it would open up raw wounds. ‘Did he mention using a weapon on Gardner?’
The expression on Beth’s face was a dead giveaway. ‘A fence post,’ she said. ‘He was terrified afterwards in case he’d hurt him seriously.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘He won’t be terrified now though, will he?’
‘Do you know if he kept his promise not to tell?’
‘He did, until—’ She stopped abruptly.
Kate gave her a nudge. ‘Until?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘I think it does.’
‘There’s no more.’
‘Beth, c’mon. Elliott didn’t deserve to die. He didn’t deserve any of it. One thing he does deserve is justice.’ Kate was finally getting through . . .
‘After the assault, Elliott and I grew closer than ever. My father got hold of the wrong end of the stick. He thought we were too close. He had some ridiculous idea that we were seeing each other. Elliott denied it, but my dad didn’t believe him.’
‘So Elliott told him about the assault.’
Beth nodded, the flames of the fire reflected in eyes that were ready to spill more tears. ‘He questioned me. I denied it. I didn’t want to talk about it. He warned Elliott off. Called him a liar. Told him not to come near me again. There’s some shit going on between our two dads that neither of us understood. I think it has something to do with my mum.’
‘Did you ask her about it?’
‘How could I?’
Kate left it there. She had an offender in custody who’d fought, not once, but twice with her murder victim. From where she was standing, revenge seemed as good a motive as any. In addition, Elliott Foster was the only material witness to the assault on Beth. Potentially, that might add attempted rape to Gardners’ charge sheet – an offence that carried a hefty sentence on its own – longer still if the sitting judge ordered it to run consecutively. Kate and Beth would sleep easy tonight.
62
It was dark when Kate turned into Holly Avenue. Home at last. As she pulled up outside her house, she noticed someone leaning against a lamp post a few metres further along the street. This was no stranger. It was Fiona Fielding, head bowed as she laughed into her phone, a wicked expression on her face as she toyed with the person on the other end.
Watching her was a joy.
Kate felt a tug of jealousy. She couldn’t stop herself speculating over the identity of the person Fiona was flirting with. Unaware of Kate – or that she was under surveillance – the artist continued to chat. She was practically shivering, shoulders hunched against the cold. No wonder. Her outfit was fit for spring, not autumn: a three-quarter-length heavy linen jacket, slim-ankle jeans and Italian slide mules.
Calling the office, Kate requested forensic examination of the bridle path where Beth claimed she’d been attacked, giving specific instructions to retrieve any fence posts found in or near the scene. As she hung up, Fiona did likewise, glancing in her direction, flashing a wide smile through the windscreen as their eyes met.
Out of the car now, Kate ran an appreciative eye over her unexpected visitor as she approached. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘My shitty day just got a whole lot better.’ Giving Fiona a hug, a peck on both cheeks, Kate held on to her hands as she stepped away.
‘You look amazing,’ Fiona said.
‘And you’re a God-awful liar.’ Kate had almost forgotten that husky voice, the shape of her mouth as she talked, the ability to carry off a designer ensemble as if it was something she’d picked up on a market stall. Her laugh was infectious.
It felt good to be around her.
Fiona held up her mobile. ‘Thought I’d drop by, seeing that you don’t answer my texts or return my calls. I’m a penniless painter and you’re using up my battery for no apparent reason.’
Kate laughed.
Fiona was a lot of things. Penniless wasn’t one of them. Her work sold across the globe. A successful businesswoman, she was answerable to no one. Suddenly Kate felt awkward – embarrassed at the state she was in after scrapping with Atkins . . .
He was done for now.
‘Hello? Are you in?’
Fiona’s hand waved in front of Kate’s face, pulling her from her daydream. The DCI tripped over herself to explain her preoccupation and uncharacteristic shabbiness. ‘An unfortunate clash with a misogynist,’ she said. ‘He’ll get his just deserts as soon as I get to the office.’
‘Outstanding! Can I buy a ticket?’
Kate grinned, tugging at her clothing. ‘This not how I’d have chosen to look when renewing our acquaintance—’
‘Is that what we’re doing?’ There was an intense quality to Fiona’s gaze.
‘I don’t know. What are we doing?’ Kate combed a hand through unkempt hair. ‘I’m sorry if I seem out of it. It’s been a helluva day—’
‘Still apologizing, I see.’
‘I am, aren’t I?’ Kate blushed, reminded of the day this woman blew into her life. An expert witness, on more than one case as it turned out. She was a friend now – sometimes more. ‘You coming in?’
‘That was the plan. Tell me to shove off if it’s inconvenient.’
Kate looked around. ‘I don’t see a queue.’
‘I brought you something.’ Fiona pointed at a large flat parcel wrapped in brown paper propped against Kate’s front door. �
�I hope you like it.’
‘Wow! I love surprises.’ From its shape, Kate guessed it was a painting and hoped it was one of Fiona’s. ‘How was Milan?’ For the past month, Fiona had been exhibiting her work at the Padiglione D’Arte Contemporanea, and before that in Mexico City.
‘Great,’ she said. ‘I earned enough to buy you dinner.’
‘I got your postcards.’
Fiona had been sending them for a couple of years, sometimes two or three a week. They were a way into Kate’s head while she was abroad, insurance against losing touch.
Fiona was nothing if not relentless.
‘You need company,’ she said.
‘Who told you that?’ Kate was on her guard. An emotion she couldn’t quite nail flashed across Fiona’s face: guilt, shame, something else?
‘No one!’ the artist said. ‘Don’t be so touchy. Are we on for a bite to eat or not?’
Kate hesitated for a split second.
Putting her hands together, Fiona put on her best begging face. ‘You should know, I never take no for an answer.’
‘Was I turning you down?’
‘Weren’t you?’
‘No,’ Kate said. ‘I missed you.’
Fiona grinned. ‘Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch.’
‘I’ll let you know later,’ Kate was teasing, tormenting her. ‘I warn you, I’m dog-tired. If we go out, you’ll have to work extra hard to keep me awake. After the day I’ve had, I need good conversation and more gin than is good for me. Where do you want to eat? Did you have somewhere special in mind?’
‘You choose.’ Fiona was normally a decisive woman.
Not today . . . Kate detected a hint of uncertainty. ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’ It was the same question she’d asked Beth earlier. The world, it seemed, was full of people keeping secrets.
‘Nothing gets past you, does it, DCI Daniels?’
‘Not a lot.’
The good mood vanished, replaced by a much darker emotion. Fiona knew she’d been rumbled and didn’t try to cover it up.
‘When I arrived,’ she said. ‘Jo was here.’
‘What did she want?’ Kate asked.
