by Sibel Hodge
I avoided the creaking floorboard outside Anna’s room so I didn’t wake her and went downstairs. Chris was nowhere to be seen and neither was Ethan. Poppy shot out of her bed in the corner of the kitchen and greeted me with a lick on the back of my hand and a funny little noise that would usually make me laugh, but not today. I noticed a note from Ethan left on the island as I stroked her.
Gone for a walk. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Need to get my head straight.
xx
Poppy butted my hand with her nose, dog-speak for Stroke me more.
‘Good girl. I’ll take you out later.’ I eyed the clock on the wall and wondered if Elaine would be up yet. It was quarter past seven and surgery started at eight so she should be.
I dialled her mobile number and avoided looking out of the window. Yesterday, the pull to look at the garage had been so strong I couldn’t ignore it. Today, I wanted to obliterate it from my vision.
Elaine was very sympathetic and kind and immediately agreed to cover my shift for as long as I needed it, although I told her I’d be back the following day. And Ethan would be here for Anna.
Next, I brewed a cup of tea and made myself eat a slice of toast before I passed out. Yesterday I’d hardly eaten a thing, and with all the whisky on top, my stomach felt like it was eating itself.
I tried to block out the scene from Tom’s bedroom yesterday, but it kept drifting into my head. I also had a vision of his body at the foot of the cliffs, broken and destroyed, his lifeless eyes staring out into nothingness. When Tom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s I’d read up on it in medical journals, websites, blogs and chat rooms. A lot of Alzheimer’s patients were clinically depressed and considered taking their own lives while they were still well enough to do so, but suicide rates were actually quite low, because although people may want to do it before the disease got too debilitating, very few went through with it while their lives still retained meaning and happiness. It’s hard to kill yourself because of the prospect of future suffering, when things in the here and now aren’t that bad yet. So time stretches on with a desire to hold on to life, and before they know it they’ve lost the cognitive ability to actually end things. One woman had written herself a letter with instructions on how to take a bottle of tranquilisers she’d been keeping for the occasion. She’d kept the letter pinned to her fridge to remind her what to do when the time came. But in the end, she’d left it too late for her to understand, and she thought it was written by someone who was trying to kill her.
Tom had never mentioned suicide, though I didn’t think that was unusual. If he had thought about it, he’d want to spare his family the knowledge that he intended to take his own life, even though I still thought it would be the kindest option to Tom. A final respite from years of degradation, destruction, frustration and pain. But he had always maintained he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone, and he hadn’t wanted to prolong his life when the disease progressed, hence the DNR order he’d insisted on. So had he been so confused and agitated up there on those cliffs that he didn’t know what he was really doing? Or was he lucid in those final moments, not wanting to carry on any longer? Had he just made a snap decision to end it all before life became too much? Or had he killed himself because of what he’d done to Katie? After he’d confessed and the truth had begun slowly coming out, had it been too hard for him to bear anymore? On some level did he fully remember what he’d done and felt so guilty that this was how he’d dealt with it?
The phone rang as I was wiping the worktop, questions running over and over in my head. It was Nadia.
‘How are you?’ I asked.
‘Not great. You?’
‘Probably better than Ethan. He’s devastated. But you know what he’s like. He doesn’t like to talk and keeps things bottled up inside. I don’t think it’s healthy, but he’s not going to change now, is he?’
‘No, I suppose not. I’ve been trying to get him on his mobile but he’s not answering. Is he there?’
‘He’s gone for a walk. He probably doesn’t want to be disturbed. How’s Charlotte handling it?’
‘She feels guilty that she hadn’t seen Dad for a while because she was busy with her exams, and in her spare time she wanted to see her friends. You know what teenagers are like,’ she said bitterly. ‘One minute they love you and the next they’re screaming how much they hate you.’
‘Anna hadn’t visited Tom that often in the last few months, either. He didn’t know who she was most of the time, which was upsetting for her, plus when he got agitated and angry, he scared her. I was torn between wanting her to see him because I knew he wouldn’t be around much longer and not wanting her last memories of him to be bad ones. But now, of course, she’s angry at me, saying that I didn’t let her go and see him before he died.’
‘Charlotte’s acting the same. God, sometimes being a parent is the hardest job in the world.’
‘I know. I never know if I’m doing the right thing. And now it’s too late to worry about whether that was the right thing for them or not, I suppose.’
‘Yes.’ She sighed. ‘Can you tell Ethan when you see him that I’ve rearranged his meetings for the next few days so he doesn’t have to go anywhere? I’ve organised the York project to be overseen by Kevin until early next week so he won’t have to rush back up there.’
‘I will, thanks, Nadia. I don’t know what we’d do without you.’
‘I’m just glad to help. Anyway, it keeps me busy. I don’t want to think about it.’
‘You sound like Ethan. You have to let yourself grieve, though. Repressing it will only manifest in other problems later on.’
‘Spoken like a true member of the healing profession,’ she said with an edge to her voice.
‘OK, I’m sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry. I know you’re only trying to help. This is just so difficult.’
‘Have you spoken to Chris yet this morning?’
‘Yes, I just rang him to say I’ve organised another guy to stand in as project manager on the Weymouth supermarket he’s working on. He was in a bad way with a hangover.’
‘I’m not surprised, the amount he polished off last night. Still, we all grieve in different ways.’ I heard Anna’s bedroom door open and the sound of her light steps on the stairs. ‘I’ve got to go – Anna’s up. Speak soon, OK?’ I hung up as Anna walked into the room. Instead of her graceful posture, her shoulders were rounded, her feet dragging on the floor.
‘Hi.’ She said glumly, sinking onto the stool next to me at the island.
Her eyes were puffy and red, her nose blocked, making her sound like she had a cold.
I slung my arm around her shoulder. ‘What would you like for breakfast? There’s Rice Krispies or toast. I need to go shopping.’
‘No change there, then.’ The corners of her lips lifted in a cheeky smile, and I thought maybe Anna really was more resilient than I gave her credit for. But how would she react to finding out there’d been a body under the garage all this time?
I banished the thought from my mind and stood up. ‘Do you want to walk Poppy with me? It’s a beautiful day; we could head through the woods to Abbotsbury if you like.’
‘Is Dad coming with us?’
‘No, he needs some time to clear his head.’
‘I don’t feel like going out anywhere. I’ll just watch TV.’
Normally, I’d have a moan about her being inside holed up in front of the flat screen all day in the summer holidays when it was such fabulous weather outside, but I was treating her with kid gloves.
‘Well, I’m not going to work today so you don’t have to go over to Nadia’s.’
Since Nadia worked from home doing the accounts and office admin, Anna had always spent the holidays at hers when I was at the surgery. It worked out great for both of us since it also kept Charlotte occupied.
‘I’m old e
nough to be left on my own now, anyway. I’m going to be thirteen soon.’
‘Mmm, so you keep reminding me.’ I swatted her backside.
She poured out some Rice Krispies, leaving a trail of them on the worktop which she stuck to her finger and popped in her mouth. With great concentration she poured out some milk over the top. They fizzed and crackled as she brought the bowl over to the table.
‘When is the funeral going to be?’ she asked sadly.
‘I don’t know. The coroner has to release the body first. There will be an inquest but that probably won’t take place for ages.’
‘What, do we have to wait until the inquest before we can bury him, then?’
‘No. As soon as they let us know, we can organise things. He wanted to be cremated.’
‘I want to be cremated,’ she said morbidly.
‘Oh. Why?’
‘Because I don’t like the thought of being eaten by bugs.’
A picture of Katie in the ground underneath the concrete flashed in my head, her hollow eye sockets writhing with beetles and worms and larvae. I shook it away.
‘Yes, well, you won’t have to think about that for a long time yet.’
‘How do you know? I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. I could fall off a cliff, just like Granddad.’ She stopped eating and stared at her bowl, blinking to stop the tears. ‘Or you could. Or Dad. What if something happens to you both?’
‘Sweetheart, nothing’s going to happen.’ I reached out and squeezed her forearm.
‘You can’t say that, though, can you? You don’t know what’s going to happen. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Granddad!’ She slid the stool back with a scraping sound that made Poppy cower, leaped up and ran out of the room.
And that was how the next few days in the Tate family went. Anna was up and down; Ethan was pretty much silent and didn’t want to talk; Nadia was efficient, organising everything and bringing round casseroles and pasta bakes she’d made for us. Lucas was somewhere in America on a flight he couldn’t find cover for, probably shagging his bit on the side, and Chris was drunk.
Our once-happy family was unravelling.
Chapter Twenty-One
I was walking home from work three days later past Chris’s house when I spotted DI Spencer and DS Khan about to get into their car, which was parked outside. From the path, I glanced up at Chris’s open door and saw him leaning against the frame watching me. He was in paint-splattered jeans, work boots and a black T-shirt. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes sunken, as if sensitive to the sunlight.
‘Is there any news on the . . . um . . . body? I mean, skeleton,’ I asked DI Spencer. ‘It was Katie, wasn’t it?’
He gave me a pensive look before he said, ‘We checked the dental records, which confirmed the remains were from Katie Quinn.’
‘Oh, God.’ I blinked as his words slammed into me, my hands flying to my cheeks. An overwhelming heaviness made my limbs feel like lead. ‘Don’t you have to do a DNA test?’
‘There were viable bone cells and teeth pulp collected from her remains, but a DNA test would’ve been tricky. Rose doesn’t have anything left of Katie’s to compare it with, such as a hairbrush with strands of hair. And Jack is no longer alive. To be sure it really was Katie, we’d need a sample from both parents for a true analysis.’ He glanced briefly at DS Khan. ‘Actually, we were going to come and speak to you later. Are you free now?’ he asked.
I thought of Anna at home, parked in front of the TV, and Ethan off God knows where walking for miles again. He’d barely been in the house since Tom’s death and finding Katie. I didn’t want to hear what the police had to say. Not yet. I wanted to bury my head in the sand and forget. Switch the clocks back a few days to before Tom chose to spill his ghastly secret to me. Go back in time and protect my childhood friend. But I didn’t think I’d have much of a choice in the matter. There was no way back now.
‘Um . . . yes. But we haven’t said anything about this to Anna yet so I don’t want to talk at home. Can we go somewhere else?’
‘Of course. Let’s go for a drive.’
DS Khan parked in the car park overlooking Chesil Beach, and they both spun around in their seats to look at me. I felt nervous and cramped in the small space, like a prisoner trapped in a cell.
‘I’ll get us a coffee, shall I?’ DS Khan nodded her head towards a van parked in the corner, selling ice creams and hot dogs. ‘What would you like?’ she asked me.
‘What?’ I said, trying to concentrate while my mind was reeling.
‘Do you want a tea instead?’
‘Oh, um, coffee’s fine, thanks.’
‘Back in a minute.’ Her lips pursed into a flat, serious line.
‘How did she die? Could you tell from . . . from what was . . .’ I trailed off.
‘She had a fractured skull.’
‘Oh.’
‘You mentioned before that Katie had said something you thought was odd before she left home. Can you tell me again what it was?’
‘Um, yes. She said “If he thinks I’m going to fuck him again, he can fuck off”, and then she said, “I’ve got something he wants and I’m going to make him pay”.’
‘You’re positive about that? After all this time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Katie ever mention to you sleeping with Chris after he broke off their relationship?’
‘No.’
‘Did Chris?’
‘No. In fact, he told me the other day that he definitely hadn’t.’
‘Did Katie ever mention sleeping with Tom?’
‘No.’
He was silent for a while before adding, ‘Katie was pregnant when she died. About six months.’
I sat back, stunned, as if he’d slapped me. ‘Well, I wasn’t expecting that.’ I thought about Anna and all the miscarriages I’d had. How badly I’d wanted a child of my own. Katie had been about to become a mother, too. Why hadn’t she said anything? Then it hit me. The baggy tops she’d been wearing, the toned-down look. She wasn’t trying to reinvent herself as someone dowdy and frumpy at all after her break-up with Chris; it wasn’t a sign of depression. She’d been trying to hide her pregnancy.
DS Khan returned with two cardboard cups and a bottle of water. She handed me the coffee and I took it vacantly.
‘Is that was she was talking about, then, when she said she had something he wanted?’ I said. ‘She was going to make him pay for the baby? She hadn’t really stolen something – she was talking about the baby?’
‘It’s likely.’ DS Khan unscrewed her bottle of water and took a sip.
‘Six months? Wow. But Chris can’t have kids, anyway. It’s why his wife left him. They were trying for ages, but . . . well, his sperm count is too low.’
‘That could’ve changed over the years. We still need to be sure. To rule him out as the father we’ll be running DNA tests on a sample he provided earlier, along with a sample recovered from Tom’s body.’
‘Right.’
‘Chris was apparently the last person to see her alive.’ DI Spencer took a sip of his coffee and watched me carefully. ‘If the baby is his, that could point our investigation in a new direction.’
A sudden chill sliced deep inside of me. ‘You think Chris could have killed her?’
They didn’t answer.
‘But if that was the case, why did Tom confess? He knew where she was buried – he told me!’
‘He also told you he was protecting his family. It’s possible that meant he was covering up for somebody. We need to explore all possibilities at the moment. We can’t trust Tom’s confession because of the Alzheimer’s. We’ve checked his medical records and, as you know, he suffered from a considerable amount of confusion in the end. We need to follow certain procedures. Dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s.’ DI Spencer shifted in his
seat.
‘But what about Jack? If he was abusing Katie, could the baby be his?’
‘We spoke to Rose, who denied any knowledge of any abuse going on.’
‘Well, I suppose she would, wouldn’t she?’
‘We have no DNA of Jack’s to compare any sample to. And the only two people who know for certain whether any abuse happened are dead. But we think if it was Jack’s baby, Katie would’ve more than likely had a termination.’
I nodded vaguely. ‘Yes, I suppose.’
DS Khan said, ‘Chris has admitted he was working on the barn renovation with Tom at the time so he had access to the site.’
I opened my mouth to speak but my mouth felt rubbery. ‘But he saw her walking towards the barn and then he got on the bus to go to the gym. And lots of people must’ve had access to the site.’
‘That’s what he said, but we have no proof he went there or not. We spoke to his trainer, who still works there, but he can’t remember after all this time whether Chris actually showed up that day or not. They don’t keep any clocking in and out records there. And we don’t know for certain she was even killed then. It could’ve happened any time after she was seen apparently walking towards the barn.’
‘Or maybe she never did walk towards the barn like Chris said,’ DS Khan threw in. ‘Maybe something else happened later.’ Her words hung in the air for a moment before I grasped the meaning.
‘You think Chris is lying?!’
DS Khan shrugged. ‘We’re not sure of anything at the moment. That’s why we need to investigate. We’re trying to trace anyone else who remembers seeing her that day.’
I stared out of the window at a couple walking past with their dog, oblivious to the macabre conversation going on in the car. Oh, yes, don’t mind us. We’re just talking about a dead body here. Carry on about your business, folks.
