by Amy Cross
Stopping in the hallway, Jo carefully took her jacket from the hook. She'd waited patiently while her host had slipped into an alcoholic stupor, but her hopes of learning anything new about Deborah Dean had been dashed early in the evening. She'd wanted to leave hours ago, and she'd stayed only because she felt she had to be polite to the old man, and because she'd held out in the vain hope that something useful might crop up. Now, however, she was planning to go back to the cottage and work on finding the laptop. She'd never considered herself to be a tech whiz, and during her time on the force she'd always relied on others to dig around in computers. Still, she felt she could give it a shot, although first she had to tear the cottage apart in the hope that she might find some more of Deborah's hiding places.
Just as she was about to open the front door, however, she heard a faint giggling sound coming from upstairs.
She paused, realizing that Phillip was clearly awake, but telling herself that she really ought to just leave. Still, as the giggling continued, she thought back to the previous night's encounter at the cottage, and she began to realize that this might be her only opportunity to speak to Phillip without Lord Chesleford making constant interruptions. Still wearing her jacket, she headed over to the foot of the stairs and paused for a moment, before starting to make her way up toward the dark landing.
“Phillip?” she said a few minutes later, knocking on the bedroom door as she looked through and saw him sitting cross-legged on his bed. “Hi.”
“Hello,” he replied, his face bathed in the glow from a cellphone that seemed to be drawing all his attention.
“Are you okay up here?” she asked.
She waited, but he seemed too absorbed in the cellphone.
“Your father's taking a nap,” she explained diplomatically. “Phillip, I was wondering if I could ask you a few more questions about Deborah. You remember Deborah, don't you?”
He chuckled again, still staring at the cellphone.
“I asked you before,” she continued, taking a step into the room, “how well you knew her, and whether you went to the cottage often. You didn't really get a chance to answer before your father interrupted us last night, but I was wondering whether you could tell me now. How well did you really know Deborah Dean?”
“She was my girlfriend.”
“I'm sure she was your friend, Phillip, but I want to know what kind of things she talked about when you were alone with her. You were alone with her sometimes, weren't you?”
“Yes!” he said eagerly, still not looking up from the phone. “I told you, she was my girlfriend.”
As she got closer to the bed, Jo could see that thick scars ran not only along one side of Phillip's head, but also through his hair. From the state of the scars, it looked as if his head must have been almost cracked open in the accident all those years ago. Nearby, a framed photo stood on a desk, showing a very different and very happy-looking Phillip. For a moment, Jo couldn't help staring at the photo and wondering what he'd been like before the accident had left him so badly injured. Finally, she forced herself to look back down at him as he continued to sit on the bed and fiddle with his phone.
“Maybe she told you things she didn't feel she could tell other people,” she suggested cautiously. “Maybe she found it easier to talk to you, than to people who might judge her.”
“She was nice.”
“Do you remember any of the things she told you, Phillip?”
“She was my girlfriend.”
“So you keep saying. It's okay for you to tell me what she talked about. I think she'd want the truth to come out now. She'd want people to know who hurt her.”
She waited, but Phillip simply giggled again.
“Phillip,” she continued finally, “do you -”
“I don't know who you are,” he replied suddenly, still looking at the cellphone. “I don't know if you're supposed to be here.”
“My name's Jo. We've met a couple of times.”
“I don't know.”
“You don't remember me?”
“I don't know.”
She opened her mouth to try again, but suddenly Phillip began to giggle once again and Jo realized that he seemed lost in his own world.
“Do you remember anything Deborah said to you?” she asked.
“She was nice.”
“Did she tell you her real name?”
“She was my girlfriend.”
“Did she tell you where she was from? Or why she -”
“She was nice.”
“Phillip -”
“She was my girlfriend. I liked her.”
Jo paused again, before realizing that her attempted conversation with Phillip was no more useful than the conversation with the wine-soaked lord. The whole evening had, in fact, been a bust.
“I think I'm going to let you get to bed,” she said finally. “Your father's sleeping in the dining room and I'm not sure he'll be awake any time before the morning. Hopefully not, anyway. Will you be okay, Phillip?”
“She was so pretty,” he mumbled.
“I'm going to guess you're quite used to your father passing out like this,” she continued. “Phillip, is there anything you want me to do for you, before I leave? Or is there anyone I can call? It doesn't seem right, leaving you here without anyone to look after you?”
She waited, but he was staring at the phone and now it seemed as if he hadn't even heard the question.
“Okay, then,” she added, feeling as if there was nothing more she could do for him. “I'll be going now. Just go to bed, Phillip, and... I don't know, tell your father in the morning that dinner was...”
She tried to think of the right word.
“Lovely,” she muttered finally, before turning and making her way toward the door. After a moment, however, she stopped as she saw various trophies arranged on top of a small bookcase. Peering closer, she saw that when he was younger, Phillip had won several events at schools sporting events, as well as first place in a debating competition. As she looked at the trophies now, she couldn't help wondering whether Phillip even understood what they were for, or whether his father simply insisted on keeping them around. They certainly seemed to have been regularly dusted and polished.
“Look!” Phillip said suddenly. “Deborah was my girlfriend!”
Jo turned to him. “Yes, I -”
Before she could finish, she saw that he was holding his phone out for her, and that the screen showed a close-up, slightly blurred photo of Deborah's smiling face.
“Where did you get that picture from, Phillip?” Jo asked cautiously.
“She was my girlfriend!” he said yet again, before swiping to another picture, this time showing Deborah staring into the camera with a smile while holding an arm across her bare chest. “She sent them to me!”
“Can I take a look?” Jo asked, heading back over to the bed.
“They're mine!”
“I just want to see.”
“I have to hold the phone!”
“Okay, that's fine. Just show me the photos she sent.”
He hesitated, before swiping to another message.
“Hey Phillip,” Jo read from the top of the screen, “I can't wait for you to come over again.”
“She was my girlfriend,” Phillip said proudly, before swiping down to reveal yet another photo, this time a selfie taken by Deborah on the bed at the cottage. In this picture, she was flat on her back, holding the camera high above her head, smiling at the lens and leaving her bare breasts on full display.
“Where did you get these?” Jo whispered.
“She was my girlfriend,” he said yet again. “She sent them to me, dummy. Some of them are rude, though. In some of them, you can see her boobies.”
With that, he swiped through several more pictures, some of which simply showed Deborah smiling at the camera. Some, however, showed photos she'd clearly taken of herself in bed, offering various poses. In one, she'd even pulled the sheets down to reveal her belly, with
her crotch barely hidden by a well-placed leg, along with a message reminding Phillip to drop by one day soon.
“What the hell?” Jo whispered, sitting on the bed and staring at the screen as Phillip brought up more and more photos. “Deborah sent these to you?”
“I told you, dummy!” he said proudly. “She was my girlfriend!”
Chapter Twelve
Six months ago
Sitting alone in her darkened car, Deborah watched the entrance to the hotel. An elderly couple had just emerged, but they were of no interest and Deborah was instead waiting for some sign that Lucas Evans was heading back to his room. So far, unless he'd slipped in through the back of the building, he seemed to have been out for several hours.
“Alright, love?” a voice called out suddenly.
Startled as someone knocked on her window, Deborah turned and saw a couple of drunk teenagers bending down and leering at her.
“Waiting for someone, are you?” one of them asked. “Wanna come to a party?”
“Go away!” she hissed, looking around in case they were attracting attention.
“What's wrong? Been a while?”
“Leave me alone!”
“Look at her!” he said, stumbling back drunkenly toward his friend, who helped steady him a little. “I reckon I was right. She hasn't had any action for a long time.”
“Go away!” she said firmly, looking around again to make sure that Lucas Evans hadn't chosen that exact moment to come wandering along the street. Her heart was racing, and finally she reached out to grab the keys and start the engine, figuring that she had to get out of the area fast.
“Alright, keep your knickers on,” the drunk guy said suddenly, banging his fist against the roof of the car as he and his friend set off along the street. “Not that they probably come off much anyway. Stupid bitch.”
Not even daring to breathe, Deborah watched her rear-view mirror and saw that the two drunks were already rambling to another passerby. Although she kept telling herself that the pair of idiots had just stumbled out of a local pub and were completely harmless, in the back of her mind she couldn't help worrying that somehow she was being set up, that the two supposed drunks were in fact actors who'd been sent to get a closer look at her. Already, her mind was racing with even more possibilities, and her hand was still resting on the keys as she debated whether or not she should get home as quickly as possible.
And then she saw him.
A figure had just come around the corner at the far end of the street. He was still in the shadows, barely even a silhouette walking past the supermarket and now past one of the charity shops, but she recognized him immediately. Still barely breathing at all, she watched with shocked, wide-open eyes as he made his way toward the hotel's entrance. As he passed into the pool of light cast down from the restaurant's electric sign, his features came into view and she felt her heart miss a beat as she saw the face that she'd tried for so long to forget.
He was older now.
He looked tired.
But it was still him, and she knew immediately that all her feelings for him were still very much alive.
Telling herself that she'd drive away as soon as he was inside the building, she watched with keen interest as he began to make his way up the steps. At the last moment, however, he stopped and took a phone from his pocket, and then he strolled back down the steps and stopped to answer a call. A few seconds later, he headed over to a bench and took a seat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he continued to talk to whoever was on the other end of the line.
Is it me? Deborah thought. Is he talking about me? Is he here in Chelmsbury because of me?
She told herself that he was probably just chatting to a colleague, that the story Susannah had overheard was most likely true. At the same time, she couldn't help squinting and trying to see his face more clearly, even though she knew there was no point trying to read his lips. Besides, he was sitting at a slight angle, looking more toward the off-license and the pub. Whoever he was talking to, it seemed to be something very important, although Deborah realized after a few seconds that she might be reading too much into his expression.
She began to turn the key in the ignition, before stopping herself at the last moment.
The sound of an engine starting up might, she realized, draw his attention.
She sat completely still for a few seconds, her heart pounding as she continued to watch Lucas, and then an idea rushed unbidden into her mind, an idea that she instantly knew she had to resist. Still, she couldn't help considering the possibility. After all, she'd changed her hair style and color since the last time she'd seen Lucas, and she'd changed her dress style too. She had a pair of sunglasses on the dashboard, and she told herself that Lucas quite probably wouldn't recognize her if she walked past. Even though she knew the idea was crazy, she couldn't shake the feeling that she desperately needed to hear what he was talking about, so that she could reassure herself that he wasn't in Chelmsbury to look for her.
Finally, grabbing the sunglasses, she put them on before getting out of the car and very carefully closing the door as quietly as possible.
Lucas was still on the bench, still talking to someone.
Stepping around the car, Deborah made her way across the street and headed toward the front of the hotel. She was walking slowly, poised to turn and head away if Lucas so much as turned and glanced in her direction. A voice in her head was screaming at her to turn back, to leave well enough alone, but another voice was telling her that she had to hear at least part of the phone call. After all, if he was in town to look for her, she'd have to get out of Chelmsbury immediately. She'd have to ditch the cottage and run. But if he was just in town for some other random reason, she could relax and just wait for him to leave. Every atom in her body seemed to be screaming at her to turn and walk away, but somehow she kept going until she reached the bottom of the steps and finally found herself in earshot of the phone call.
“No, it was good to see the old bore,” she heard him saying, and his voice sent a shudder through her chest. Instinctively, she reached up and adjusted her sunglasses to make sure they were properly in place.
Lingering near the hotel's entrance, Deborah told herself that she really had to leave now. Still, though, she couldn't quite bring herself to walk away, and instead she wandered over to the hotel's menu board, pretending to take a look so that she could listen a little more to Lucas's conversation.
“I'll be leaving the day after tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Yeah, I think that'll be long enough. There are just a couple more things I need to check out here, but I can't stay too long. Anyway, this isn't exactly my scene, you know? Chelmsbury seems like a one horse kinda town and...”
His voice trailed off.
Keeping her eyes fixed on the menu, Deborah didn't dare turn and look to see what Lucas was doing now. She already regretted getting out of her car, and she was debating whether or not to turn around and walk away immediately. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself, however, so she simply continued to look at the menu as she waited for Lucas to say something.
“You know what?” he muttered finally. “I'm tired. I'm gonna call you back tomorrow, Teddy. Okay? We'll arrange something.”
Teddy.
She knew that name.
Teddy was Lucas's best friend from school, a guy who showed up to any party, any night out, and always got blackout drunk. She'd found him a little tiring over the years, but she was glad that he was still around to help Lucas out. She had no idea how Lucas had handled her disappearance, and she'd consoled herself over the years by focusing on the thought that Teddy would certainly have helped.
“Whatever,” Lucas said suddenly, getting to his feet and walking right behind Deborah, heading up the steps and into the hotel. “Talk soon, man. I'm just feeling a little weird right now, but I'm sure it'll pass. Enjoy the diapers.”
Diapers?
Was Teddy a father now?<
br />
That seemed... improbable.
Suddenly she froze as she caught a whiff of his cologne, and she recognized it immediately as the type she'd always bought him years ago. Was he still using the last bottle she'd given him? Or had he carried on buying it for himself, now that she was no longer around? For a fraction of a second, she felt as if she had to know, but she quickly reminded herself that it didn't matter, that Lucas and his cologne arrangements were no longer any of her business.
Still, the smell lingered for a moment, tormenting her.
Finally daring to glance at the steps, Deborah saw that Lucas had headed inside. Once she was sure he'd gone, she turned and hurried across the street, breaking into a jog until she pulled the door open and climbed into her car. Letting out a sigh of relief, she set the sunglasses on the dashboard and leaned back, checking her pulse and finding that it was racing.
“You bloody idiot!” she muttered under her breath. “What the hell were you thinking? Don't ever, ever do anything so stupid again! Are you completely out of your mind?”
With that, she started the engine and backed out of the parking spot, before starting the long drive back to the cottage. As she drove away, she failed to notice that Susannah had been watching the whole time from one of the bar's windows.
Chapter Thirteen
Today
“These have to be fake,” Jo muttered to herself as she stepped out through the manor house's front door, staring down at the photos of Deborah that she'd copied from Phillip's phone. “There's no way a -”
Before she could finish, she heard screeching tires in the distance. Looking across the dark courtyard, she was shocked to see the lights of a car racing toward the house at high speed, and a moment later a vehicle sideswiped one of the gate posts and then screeched to a halt, skidding sideways and bumping against the edge of the unused fountain.
Startled, Jo watched as the door opened and a woman stumbled out. Quickly tripping and falling, the woman was muttering to herself as she hurried toward the steps, and Jo realized quickly that she seemed to be drunk. In fact, the closer the woman got to the house, the more it became apparent that she was very drunk.
