by Neil White
Charlie wasn’t convinced, but if Amelia didn’t want to tell, he knew that was the end of the discussion.
‘If we have a problem, I need to know,’ he said. ‘Promise me you’ll tell me.’
She nodded, and then said, ‘What are you doing for the rest of the day?’
‘I’ve got a couple of trials to prepare for, and I need to brief counsel on something, but then I’m going for a drink.’
‘On a Monday?’
‘Monday in a pub is better than a Monday sitting at home.’
Amelia smiled with more warmth this time, and he returned it. ‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I can’t help you with any personal stuff, but if it’s about work, share it.’
Charlie went back into the reception area, and saw Donia duck back into his room, as if she had been eavesdropping in the doorway. He looked at Linda, who just shrugged.
Something about Donia wasn’t right.
Sheldon drove quickly to Ted Kenyon’s house, accompanied by Tracey. Christina had given a statement and made her own way home.
‘How are we going to play this?’ Tracey said.
Sheldon thought about that for a moment. He had a history with Ted, because Ted blamed his team, including Sheldon himself, for his daughter’s killer still being free. Ted had been angry with Billy Privett at first, but as Billy kept his secrets, Ted had turned on the police. Had it gone full circle and Ted taken the ultimate revenge?
‘We have to treat him as a suspect,’ he said.
‘Are we bringing him in?’
‘No, not yet, unless we find something.’
Sheldon’s mood darkened during the trip along the edges of Oulton until he turned into a street lined by hedgerows, with large detached stone houses set high from the road, sitting at the top of terraced lawns, the borders awash with colour. It was pretty, a bit of old Lancashire charm, and it was those qualities that had propelled Alice’s story into the public consciousness. Ted had grafted for what he had, to give his daughter the best chances in life – until her life had been taken away by someone who most people thought didn’t deserve his wealth.
Sheldon thought back to the drive he had made a year earlier, to tell the Kenyon family that Alice had drowned in Billy’s pool.
Ted Kenyon’s house was in the middle of the row, with a dark wooden bay window and a hanging basket filled with bright purple flowers next to double wooden doors. Clematis clung to a wall trellis like large tissues that fluttered in the light breeze. There was a small knot of photographers outside.
‘Should we carry on?’ Tracey said. ‘It might look bad with the cameras there.’
Sheldon shook his head. ‘Just be casual and make it look like a courtesy visit.’
He parked further along the street, just so that the reporters wouldn’t crowd round. As he climbed out of the car, he checked his pocket for the rattle of the blue pills, before marching up the sloped drive, towards the front door. Sheldon rapped on the door and waited, Tracey catching up with him.
‘They’re just killing time before the press conference,’ Sheldon said, staring at the door, ignoring the clicks from the camera lenses.
When the door opened, it was Emily, Alice’s mother. She had been less vocal than Ted, had dealt with her grief more privately, but from the shock of grey hair that had appeared since her daughter’s death, Sheldon knew that the sorrow was just as deep.
Emily’s polite smile faded. ‘I thought it was another reporter,’ she said, and folded her arms.
‘Mrs Kenyon,’ he said. ‘Can we have a word?’
‘We know about Billy Privett,’ she said, her voice quiet.
‘And that’s what we need to talk about.’
Emily frowned and stepped aside. ‘All right, come in.’
Sheldon went past her, wiping his feet as he went, Tracey behind him. Alice’s brother walked towards them along the hall. A young man, twenty years old, his hair dyed black, but the paleness of his skin told Sheldon that he had the same colouring as Alice. Bright red hair. He looked briefly at Sheldon before going upstairs.
Sheldon followed Emily into the front room. He knew he had interrupted something. There were two cups on a table, both half full, with wisps of steam coming from them. No television, no radio, no newspapers or books left open. Ted and Emily must have been talking.
He hadn’t seen Ted for a few months and Sheldon was surprised to see how he looked. Ted had gone quiet once the press caught him with that young woman, and it looked like the bad publicity had taken its toll. His skin looked more drawn, some of the colour gone, as if he didn’t get as much fresh air. He didn’t acknowledge Sheldon at first, just stared straight ahead, but when he looked up, he gestured towards the chair. ‘Sit down,’ he said, his voice terse.
Sheldon did as he was told, the leather on the large green sofa creaking as he sat down. Tracey sat further along.
Ted considered them for a moment and then said, ‘You’re going to want to know where I was last night.’
Sheldon was about to say no, that they had come just to give him the news about Billy, but he could tell from the rise of Ted’s eyebrow that he didn’t expect to be taken for a fool. He was a suspect and he knew it.
Sheldon nodded. ‘Yes, I would like to know.’
‘I was here,’ Ted said, and then pointed to the doorway. ‘Emily will confirm it, and so will Jake.’
‘You don’t know what time I’m talking about.’
‘It doesn’t matter what time,’ he said. ‘I was here. If it was early, I was watching television. If it was after midnight, I was in bed.’
‘What did you watch?’
‘Just the usual rubbish. There was a police thriller on. You know the type, where plenty of people die before the killer is caught.’
Sheldon swallowed at the dig. ‘Can anyone else verify that you were here last night?’
Ted smiled, but there was no warmth to it. ‘What, other than my family? Isn’t their word good enough?’ When Sheldon didn’t respond, Ted waved his hand towards the rest of the house. ‘Have a look round. See if you can find anything suspicious.’
Sheldon looked at Tracey, who nodded that they should, because they might not get the invite again.
They went to the kitchen first. Tracey went to the washing machine to look for bloodied clothes, but it was empty. Emily was right behind her. ‘Have you got a dryer?’ Tracey said.
Emily pointed to a door. ‘In the garage.’
‘What were you watching?’ Sheldon said.
Emily looked confused.
‘On the television,’ he said. ‘I can check the listings, to see if there were any police shows on last night. Can you remember the name?’
Emily folded her arms. ‘Like Ted said, a police drama. I forget what it was called.’
Sheldon nodded an acknowledgement that he wasn’t going to get any more information, and then he went into the garden as Tracey went to the garage.
The lawn was long and neat, with plenty of colour, as if it was tended regularly. He was looking for evidence of recent bonfires or digging, but couldn’t see anything. He walked over to the dustbins and lifted the lids, but there was nothing suspicious.
As he walked back to the house, Tracey joined Sheldon as she came in from the garage. She shook her head. Nothing.
They went back into the house, Emily leaning against the kitchen worktop, glowering as they came in. Sheldon ignored her and went towards the stairs. They were lined by pictures of Alice, so that going to bed must be like walking through a memorial; Alice as a young girl, pigtails and thick glasses, and then as a teenager coming to bloom, her school skirt too short, her jumper too long. There were no pictures of Jake, Alice’s brother.
There were three bedrooms upstairs. The door to one of the bedrooms was open and so they went there first. The double bed confirmed that it was Ted and Emily’s bedroom. There were more pictures of Alice in there, on the wall and in small frames on the shelves. Sheldon opened a wardrobe and had a look
around, but there wasn’t anything suspicious. He was looking for wet shoes, or anything with blood on them. Perhaps some clothes or shoes in a bag, waiting for disposal. Nothing.
They backed out and went to the door next to the bedroom. There was a low voice coming from the other side, and so Sheldon knocked and then opened it slowly. It was Jake, in front of a computer screen, with a microphone and headset wrapped around his head, playing some kind of online game. He looked round but then went back to his game.
‘Do you mind if we look?’ Sheldon said.
Jake shrugged.
His bedroom was small, with just enough space for his single bed and a desk, with a small wardrobe next to it. Tracey got down to the floor to check under the bed and Sheldon looked in the wardrobe.
When Sheldon thanked Jake, he got no response, although he heard Jake’s voice start up again as soon as the door closed. He nodded towards the remaining bedroom door. ‘That will be Alice’s room.’
Tracey looked at the door and then back to Sheldon. ‘You seem reluctant, sir.’
Sheldon looked back to Jake’s room. ‘Did you notice how he is still crammed into the smallest bedroom, and how the house is all about Alice?’ he said. ‘Their lives are all about Alice. Her room will be like a shrine.’
‘It might hold a vital clue.’
Sheldon shook his head. ‘I don’t think they would soil it like that, and I don’t want to intrude any more than we have to for the time being.’
Tracey thought for a moment and then said, ‘We won’t find anything anyway, and that’s why they’re letting us search, because they know that.’
‘Perhaps because they’re innocent.’
‘Do you think they are?’
Sheldon thought about that, and then said, ‘I’m not sure. Removing Billy’s face was vicious, and I think Ted would just kill him and dump him. That hotel scene was meant to attract attention, and Ted wouldn’t want that.’
‘Double bluff?’ Tracey said.
Sheldon allowed himself a smile. ‘We could go on counting bluffs all day, but we’ve found nothing, and I don’t think we should bring him in. Not yet, anyway.’
They went downstairs and back into the living room. Sheldon was about to say thank you and goodbye when he noticed that Ted was gripping the chair arms, his knuckles white, his eyes glazed with rage.
‘What’s wrong?’
Ted looked up and pointed at the television. ‘Even in death it never ends.’ When Sheldon looked confused, Ted pressed the rewind button on the remote and watched as the footage moved backwards. When he pressed the play button, a face that Sheldon recognised came onto the screen. Amelia Diaz, Billy’s lawyer. It looked like she had spoken to the press outside her office.
‘A lot of people held a lot of opinions about Billy Privett,’ Amelia said, ‘and they were mostly to do with Alice Kenyon, a poor young woman who died in tragic circumstances. Before the press decide that they can print what they like, I just want everybody to remember one thing about Billy Privett; that nothing was ever proven against him. He was an innocent man in life, and he is still an innocent man in death. Thank you.’
And then she gave a brief smile and turned to walk into her office.
Ted clicked off the television. ‘Now do you see why it couldn’t be me?’ he said, a tear now running down his cheek. ‘I wanted to change things about Billy Privett. Now it will always stay the same.’
Sheldon wanted to say how he prayed that it wouldn’t be Ted who had done it, that he had suffered enough. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded that he understood and thanked him for his patience. He placed a business card next to Ted’s hand and then turned to leave. As he closed the front door behind him, he saw Emily in the kitchen at the end of the hall. She was staring at him, her arms folded. She was still staring as the door clicked shut.
Chapter Sixteen
John was outside the farmhouse, at the old man’s window, nailing a wire grille to the frame, as Arni ordered. The breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees opposite and brought a glow to his cheeks. Dawn appeared in the doorway next to him, her arms folded across her chest.
She stayed silent for a few moments, before saying, ‘That won’t stop them.’
‘What, the grilles?’
‘They should be on the inside of the window, because if someone does come, they’ll just rip them off.’
‘Who are they?’
Dawn shrugged. ‘Whoever Arni is trying to protect us from.’
‘But who do you think they are? And why now?’
‘Things have changed,’ Dawn said, and then she shook her head. ‘We weren’t about all this at first.’
John was wary. This could be a test. Henry had once said that he should trust no one.
‘Isn’t it more important to be about where we are now, rather than where we once were?’ he said.
‘Don’t give me that,’ she said, her eyes narrowing. ‘You don’t believe in what’s going on here. Not truly, deep down, in here,’ and she banged her chest with her hand.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You watch them too much, as if you are working out the right thing to say, not what you truly believe. What is it, just some fun?’
He shook his head. ‘You’re wrong. I believe in Henry’s message. And what do you mean by them? Don’t you mean us?’
Dawn looked at John, her lips pursed, wariness in her eyes. ‘I don’t mean anything.’ She pointed towards the window that now had a metal grille hammered into its frame. ‘The old man. Is he awake?’
John put his face against the grille and saw the old man turn his head towards him. His breaths looked shallow, and there was pleading in his eyes. He had no hair, apart from the wisps around his ears. His scalp seemed almost translucent, the veins visible through the tired pallor of his skin, his cheekbones just sharp edges.
John nodded. ‘How long has he been like this?’
‘He was always frail, that’s why he let us stay here, so that we could help him with the farm, and shop for him. He told us he had no family. We’re not helping him anymore though.’
‘How many were there of you, when you first came here?’
‘About ten of us, plus Henry.’ Tears popped into her eyes. ‘Some have left, some more have come. When we came here, it was an escape, that’s all.’
‘From what?’
‘From what we were doing. We were travelling round, going to all the demos. It was fun, but sometimes you’ve got to get away and have some downtime.’
‘What got you into all of the political stuff?’
She shrugged. ‘It was the togetherness, I suppose, the people you meet. A lot of us didn’t have that when we grew up.’
‘What about you?’
‘I grew up in care. The first lot of us did.’
‘How was that?’ He banged another nail into the window frame and then bent it around the grille.
‘Just typical, I suppose. You get warned about stuff, or hear about them, and you think it will be different for you, but it isn’t. It’s just the same. We’d hang around, and the men would come cruising. They were always too old for us, but it didn’t matter, because they could get us drink and fags, and we could ride around in cars with loud music and spoilers and stuff. It seemed like fun, but then you realise it’s a trap, that no one cares for you.’
‘Where were your parents?
‘Not with me,’ Dawn said, her sadness showing in her voice. ‘I went into care and they never tried to get me back. The care workers did their best, but they couldn’t give us the love we needed, the affection. But when you’re young, you confuse affection with sex, and so if you’re getting fucked, you’re getting love, except that you’re not. You’re being used. So one day, six of us left and never went back. We went to the festivals, and then the camps, you know, the protest ones, climate change and ones like that. The people were nice. No one used us, because they wanted to teach us stuff, and we listened.’
‘When was this?’
<
br /> ‘Three years ago.’
‘Are you all from care, the ones who came here?’
‘The newer ones are different. Posh kids, just looking for an adventure. Take your Gemma. She’s from a good home, but she wanted to break away. We all have different reasons. I was living in a hostel when I first met Henry. A lot of the girls were talking about him. He was older but different to the others, because he seemed more determined. He had things to tell us, his take on the world. Then he started to talk about getting away from the city, starting on our own, like a commune, where we made our own rules.’
‘And so you ended up here?’
‘Only by a fluke. We were between squats and we came to a party in the field next door. It was just a bonfire and people sleeping out, but in the morning the old man let us use his toilet and bath, and so we cleaned up for him, and then we ended up staying. And then Henry attracted more people, because, well, people follow Henry.’ Dawn smiled, although John detected regret in it. ‘It was great at first. We had a base. We could go to the camps but we had somewhere to come back to. The student demos were the best, because the nice kids would join in too. That’s when we hit on the masks.’
‘The masks in the pictures?’ John said. ‘I saw them in the house, but I didn’t know you’d started that. I used to see them on the news. They’re creepy. All white and expressionless.’
‘Shop dummies,’ she said. ‘It was symbolic, you know, because that’s what we had become, faceless. And it made it harder for the police to identify us, which was the real reason. When other people see you like that, they see you as a group who are getting their stuff together, and so they want to join, and people followed us on the marches, rather than us following them.’
‘I saw the masks on the news during the riots last year.’
‘The riots were just the best times, but then they became sort of the worst times.’
‘Why the worst?’
Dawn’s jaw clenched. ‘Because that’s when Henry changed. And we changed, as a group.’ She looked at the Seven Sisters and took a deep breath.
John followed her gaze. ‘I like them,’ he said.
