by M. A. Hunter
Chapter Forty
Now
Bovington Garrison, Dorset
Louise Renner stands out like a sore thumb in the landscape of army fatigues, police uniforms, baggy tracksuits, and Diane’s dressing gown. Her perfectly pressed business suit and skirt shimmer in their decadence and there isn’t a single hair that has escaped the cosmetic straightening or the platinum-blonde bleaching. This is a woman who takes great pride in her appearance and from the way she is staring down her nose at DI Rimmingon and at me, we clearly don’t match up to her impossibly high standard.
‘We haven’t been properly introduced,’ Rimmington says, striding forward and cutting the ice. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Fiona Rimmington, and you are?’
‘Actually, we met fifteen years ago, though in fairness I’ve done a lot of growing up since then.’
I can see the image click behind Rimmington’s eyes. ‘Louise Renner?’
‘Well, it’s Baker now, but yes, I was Renner before I got married.’
‘I’m pleased you’re here, Louise, as you were on my list to speak with this morning, so you’ve saved me a job of coming to you. Out of curiosity, what exactly are you doing here?’
Louise looks around the room, taking us all in, maybe trying to decide whether she is comfortable sharing in front of everyone. ‘It’s all over the news,’ she says. ‘The police are on the base and speculation is that you’ve reopened the investigation into Sally’s disappearance. Judging by the hive of activity at the woods, and the number of police coming and going from this house, I’d say the press are spot on.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question, Louise,’ Rimmington says, moving further into the room, and closing the door behind us. As far as she is concerned, the trap is sprung and Louise won’t be making a swift exit.
I don’t know why Rimmington is so worried. If you ask me, Louise has no intention of disappearing anytime soon. The pieces are all starting to slot together in my mind, but the image I’m seeing is so ludicrous that I’m not prepared to believe it until I hear it for myself.
‘I was visiting my uncle at the barracks and when I saw all the activity, I came for a closer look. You can check with security if you don’t believe me. My name’s been on the guest list for at least a week.’ She briefly looks down at her Louboutins and when she next looks up, her eyes are shining in the midmorning light streaming through the window.
Rimmington takes another step closer, nodding her head. ‘Why don’t you tell us what you recall of that night fifteen years ago, Louise?’
Louise reaches into her Dior clutch bag, removes a fresh tissue, and dabs at her eyes and nose. ‘I didn’t know Sally was pregnant – at least, not at the time. I knew she’d started having her periods – we all had – and I’d told her how painful I’d found the whole experience. Sally said her last had been agony and that was why Jane suggested we go to the woods to try and do something about them. I’m not sure any of us thought it would make a difference but Nat was so enthralled by the possibility. No, wait, she was terrified, certain that we’d inadvertently conjure some mythical demon who would steal our souls or something. She was being ridiculous but she refused to listen to reason. I knew that whatever Jane was planning wouldn’t make an ounce of difference, but the thought of us all sneaking out and congregating in the woods felt exciting. It was us against the world.
‘I knew Jane didn’t know what she was doing. At school she’d been bigging herself up, claiming she’d witnessed some of her mum’s incantations and saying how easy it would be to cast something that would take away our monthly pain. The look on her face when we all agreed to go along with it confirmed she’d been bluffing but she wouldn’t admit as much. Yet, as soon as we reached the clearing, it was obvious she didn’t have a clue what she was doing. She drew this circle on the ground using porridge oats, for heaven’s sake, and then she lit some candles, which wasn’t practical given how windy it was that night. It was just harmless teenage fun as far as I was concerned.
‘Then the chanting began. I can still hear the low rumble of Jane’s voice and how I desperately had to fight the urge not to erupt into a fit of giggles. She told us we had to close our eyes in order for the spell to work properly but I had my eyes open the entire time. I saw Sally slip off her shoes and begin to sneak away into the darkness of the woods. I thought she was just doing it as part of a practical joke so we’d all think she really had been taken by some wicked spirit, but then I caught the look of panic in her eyes, right before the final candle flame extinguished. There was a rumbling in the distance – thunder I think – and when Nat then flicked on her torch, she screamed hysterically because Sally had vanished.
‘I played along, thinking Sally would leap out at any moment, but then Nat dropped the torch and raced off into the woods herself, leaving Jane and me to hurry after her, knowing she was bound to get herself lost – which of course she did, falling and impaling her leg on a branch. We helped her back to the hole in the fence and I formulated the premise that Sally had been taken. It was cruel on my part, and I only said it because I was annoyed at how Nat was overreacting. I believed we’d all see Sally at school in the morning and everything would go back to normal. When she wasn’t there and then you showed up and started asking questions, I couldn’t get my head around it.
‘I knew Sally hadn’t been taken by some spirit, which is why I swore the other two to secrecy, but I didn’t believe Sally would have had the guts to actually sneak off the base. I was convinced she must have fallen in the darkness and bumped her head, but when I went back to the fence so I could go and look for her, the hole had been sealed up. They sent teams of people in to look for her, and I’m sure there were dogs too at one point, but there was no sign. She had actually vanished.’
We’re all watching Louise. I consider myself a good judge of character and, whilst I don’t approve of some of the things she has said so far, I don’t doubt a single word of her story. Looking over to Cheryl and Diane huddled on the sofa, they too are hanging on every word.
‘Then I ran into her at the hut a day or so later,’ Louise continues. ‘I’d gone there to try and speak to Pete – sorry, Corporal Pete Havvard, our drama teacher – about it. I was livid when I saw him with his arm around her shoulders. We’d both fancied him, you see, but we’d made a pact that neither of us would pursue him and it looked as though Sally had broken that. I can’t remember what we said but I recall lots of shouting and screaming and Pete had to forcibly drag me off her. That’s when he said I was to be careful because she was pregnant. That tipped me over the edge. Not only had she broken our pact, she’d actually slept with him too, and got herself knocked up. I knew instantly that would be the end for Pete; he’d be arrested and sent to prison and Sally would probably have to drop out of school or move off the base and I’d lose my best friend. Sally said she was still trying to process what was happening and couldn’t bear to face her parents, fearing they’d be so ashamed of her.’
She looks at Owen and Diane at this point, who are both in floods of tears. Having met Diane, I would have said she’d look to comfort her distraught daughter, but then maybe she’s mellowed over the years.
‘They swore me to secrecy,’ Louise continues, her voice calm and even, ‘and then when Pete was told he was being transferred to Germany, they saw it as the perfect way out of their troubles. Sally arranged to meet me in secret one more time and said she was going to move to Germany with Pete and raise her child. I so desperately wanted to tell someone so that she’d be stopped from going, but I also didn’t want to see Pete get into trouble. I was so torn but I kept my mouth shut. I so desperately wanted to tell you that Sally was still alive, Mr and Mrs Curtis, I really did, but the longer it dragged on, the more difficult it became.’
Diane has stopped crying, as the news slowly sinks in, though it must be hard to contemplate exactly what Louise is saying over the stress and anxiety the day has already thrown at her.
‘Y–y–you mean,
she’s alive?’ Diane whispers, unable to get the possibility into words. ‘Our Sally is alive?’
All eyes are on Louise and as she nods, the first tear breaks free of her carefully applied eyeliner. ‘Yes. I spoke to her two days ago, after Nat’s service. I figured she should know what had happened.’
Nobody moves, nor speaks.
It’s the strangest feeling, like we’re all trapped in some kind of lucid dream. There’s a bubble around us and nobody wants to risk it popping and the dream to end.
Rimmington is the first to speak. ‘So that I’m clear, you’re saying Sally Curtis is very much alive?’
Louise nods again, her face crumpling in emotion as she watches Diane and Owen come to terms with the pain she’s helped cultivate for the past fifteen years. Neither is bursting with joy at the news that their missing daughter has not only been found, but is alive and kicking. It must be the greatest news they have ever received and yet it is tarnished by the fact that Sally has effectively avoided them for such a period. No parent wants to acknowledge that their child could even contemplate such an idea.
‘And you said you spoke to her two days ago?’ Rimmington clarifies. ‘How?’
‘FaceTime,’ Louise replies absently. ‘She’s still living in Germany – in Alsace, on the border with France – with Pete, who is now teaching English as a foreign language in a primary school.’
‘Can you get her on the line now? I’ll need to verify what you’ve told us.’
‘I can try,’ she whispers, before moving towards Diane and Owen and falling at their feet. ‘I am so sorry I never told you the truth. I’m a mum myself now, and it’s only since my daughter was born that I’ve really been able to contemplate exactly what you must have been through. I’ve been encouraging Sally to reach out to you and end this sham for months. She was already getting to the point where she was planning to make contact, I’m sure of it.’
Rimmington now has a phone to her ear and exits the room to carry out her conversation in private.
This news really is overwhelming and at no point from the moment I first encountered Natalie Sullivan did I ever believe that Sally actually did survive that night, let alone that she’s been thriving overseas with everyone oblivious to her existence. But as I look at the space Rimmington has just vacated, I realise that nobody has yet addressed the enormous elephant in the room: if Sally Curtis didn’t die that night fifteen years ago, whose skeleton is currently being extracted from those woods?
Chapter Forty-One
Now
Bovington Garrison, Dorset
Louise’s hands are trembling as she holds her mobile out, trying to stream the screen to the large television hanging from the wall. Rimmington is now back in the room and we’ve all been given a fresh cup of tea in the ten minutes that has passed since Louise dropped the bombshell. The television flickers momentarily and then Louise’s phone wallpaper and apps fill the screen.
‘I sent her a WhatsApp, so she should be expecting our call,’ Louise tempers, remaining near the television so she can control the camera on her phone. She presses the FaceTime app and clicks on a contact called Alsace and the familiar whirring fills the room via the television speakers.
A woman’s face fills the screen and at first I can see no resemblance to the images of Sally Curtis I have poured over in online news articles this past week, but then she moves back from the camera, and her muddy brown eyes come into focus, along with the slight crook in the bridge of her nose and I instantly know that this is Sally, albeit fifteen years older. Her hair – once a mess of curls – is now closely cropped and has been dyed almost coal-black. It’s easy to see why no aging software would be able to predict the face before us and why she’s managed to disappear into the background for so long.
It makes me think of Anna once again. Last year, I spent a lot of money to have a company age some of the images of Anna I have in order to see if anyone would recognise this older, more rigid face, but there’s only so much such software can reproduce. If someone doesn’t want to be found – as has been the case with Sally – then maybe it’s possible to simply vanish and never be heard from again.
The Sally before us now looks quite taken aback by all the faces staring at her from a living room she once knew to be her own. Rimmington has only allowed a bare minimum of individuals to observe this call. Diane and Owen are here of course, as are Cheryl and Louise, Rimmington herself, and for some reason Diane insisted I remain too. The other officers have been banished to the kitchen.
‘Mamma?’ Sally’s voice now carries through the speakers. ‘Is it really you?’
Sally’s eyes are already watering, as her larger-than-life-size face continues to dominate the screen. I feel tears stinging my own eyes as Diane’s sobs come breathlessly, making it sound like she’s having an asthma attack.
‘S–S–Sally?’ Diane stammers. ‘Is it r–r–really you?’
‘Yes, Mamma, it’s me,’ Sally cries out, no longer able to keep her emotion at bay.
Owen has yet to speak, but I can see from the tautness of his cheeks that it’s taking all his strength to remain strong for his wife.
‘Hey, Sal,’ Louise now says, far more composed than earlier. She has shed her tears for today and I doubt we will witness any more from her – certainly not in public. I imagine she will not allow her mask to slip again until she is back in the darkness of her own bedroom.
‘Hey, Lou,’ Sally says, her face contorted between joy and agonised pain. ‘Did you tell them about what we discussed?’
There is the slightest Bavarian twang to Sally’s accent. Years of living in Germany have clearly had an effect. Otherwise, she looks like any normal, healthy twenty-nine-year-old woman. She is two years older than me, and I am envious of her clear complexion and the healthy colour of her skin. Every time I’ve pictured Anna out there somewhere in the world, waiting to be found, I’ve always imagined her in a worse-for-wear state, yet Sally is the polar opposite. She isn’t someone who is struggling; she is blossoming, thriving, even. As painful a decision as it must have been to turn her back on her friends and family and start over, it clearly agrees with her.
‘I’ve only told them how Pete helped you get away,’ Louise replies to Sally’s earlier question. ‘I figured you’d be the best person to share the rest. Is that okay?’
Sally nods, and now balances her phone on some kind of table near her legs. As she sits back in the armchair, we get the tiniest glimpse into her world. Immediately behind the sofa are large glass windows, and golden sunshine is pouring in all around her. Beyond the windows there is a huge plantation of green lawn, with several leafless trees waving daintily as if wishing us a welcome. I would guess we’re in a conservatory of some kind, given the wicker frame of the armchair.
‘Mamma, Dad, I’m so sorry,’ Sally begins. ‘I know I will never be able to make you understand what I did, nor why, but I am sorry for any hurt I have caused you. I wanted to phone you so many times but I didn’t know how to start, and then it was like everybody simply forgot I had gone and that made it easier for me to move on. I want you to know that my choice wasn’t made because I don’t love you, but in that moment, I had to do what was best for me and for… my son.’
A hush falls over the room. Jane and Louise had confirmed that Sally had been pregnant on the night she disappeared, but neither said whether Sally had kept the baby.
Sally stands and disappears from the screen, returning a moment later, clutching a silver-framed image of herself and a young man at least a foot taller than her. His likeness to the image of Pete Havvard that Rachel found online is uncanny. He is dressed in a shirt and tie – a school uniform, I would presume – and he has such a shock of ginger, curly hair. He stands tall and proud, with one arm draped around his mother’s shoulders. This is not a young man who has been dragged up under the judgemental eyes of those around him.
‘This is Joshua, Mamma. He’s at school right now, but I can’t wait for you to meet him.’
Sally wipes her eyes. ‘He is such a special boy and I am so proud of the young man he is turning into. He is so smart, and funny, and caring. You would be so proud of him too.’
I glance back at Diane’s face. Her mouth continues to open and close as she sobs mutely, her eyes transfixed on the screen before her, soaking in every pixel of her lost daughter and the grandson she’s never met.
Sally lowers the framed photograph, positioning it so it fills the bottom quarter of the image on the television. She then beckons to someone off screen and a moment later, an older, but unmistakeable, Pete Havvard joins Sally, perching on the arm of her chair. His cheeks are already reddening as he lifts a hand in a wave, like a man standing before a firing squad.
‘I want to make something clear,’ Sally continues, taking Pete’s hand in hers and squeezing it tightly. ‘None of this is Pete’s fault. I don’t want him to be held accountable for the decision I made. He has been the greatest friend and support to me for these last fifteen years, taking care of me and Joshua as his own, putting a roof over our heads and food on the table, and asking nothing in return.’
Owen isn’t buying the act though, and leaps to his feet, tottering unsteadily as he snatches the phone from Louise’s grasp. ‘You filthy bastard! You defiled my little girl and then you absconded with her. You ought to be strung up from the nearest yardarm.’
‘No, Dad,’ Sally fires back, no longer intimidated. ‘This isn’t Pete’s fault! He isn’t the monster here.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Owen fires back. ‘Years of being trapped in his company, he’s probably brainwashed you into thinking it was your idea. Don’t you see, Sal?’
