Under a Silent Moon

by Elizabeth Haynes

  She waited for a moment and then turned on the lights and the windscreen wipers and eased the car out. His car went through the barrier and waited at the junction while she swiped her pass. Then he indicated left.

  After just the briefest hesitation, she followed him.

  22:12

  Jason parked on the driveway of a house about two miles across town, and Lou pulled up to the curb outside. He was waiting for her in the doorway. He took her hand to lead her inside, and then didn’t let go of it. She stood in the darkness of his hall, the door still open behind her, looking at him. He pushed the door closed, slowly, purposefully, with one hand, without taking his eyes off her.

  His hand threaded through her hair and pulled her close to him and then he kissed her. Oh, it felt good. Like a huge sense of release.

  She kicked off her shoes and that felt good too, even though she didn’t quite make it up to his shoulder without her heels. He took her through to his living room, turned on a table lamp next to the sofa, kissed her again.

  There was a pile of laundry folded on the sofa, newspapers and a cereal bowl and a mug on the coffee table.

  “Sorry,” he said, “wasn’t expecting . . . this.”

  “It’s a nice room,” she said, to make him feel better.

  He put the laundry on the other chair and pulled her down onto the sofa with him. There was no debate about it, no hesitation. It was a this-needs-to-happen-now moment; his arms pulled her close against him, one of his hands at the small of her back, one in her hair.

  As they kissed, his hands moved over her body, exploring her. Lou thought distractedly how it was good precisely because he didn’t just get his hands straight up her skirt or into her blouse—he was getting to know her body, all of it, even the parts most men tended to miss: the back of her neck, her throat, the insides of her elbows, the small of her back. She pressed her fingertips into the muscles on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart as he breathed into her hair, ran her fingers down the back of his head, feeling his short hair.

  Her phone bleeped loudly to signify an incoming message. She ignored it but a second later he pulled his head back and said, “You need to get that?”

  “No,” she said. And then her stomach gurgled loudly and they both laughed.

  He extricated himself and sat up. His shirt had become untucked at the back and she pushed her fingers up inside, over his warm skin.

  “I should get us some food,” he said, looking down at her.

  “I’m not hungry, really,” she said.

  “You should still eat. I haven’t seen you eat anything except Kit Kats.”

  “I think it counts as one of my five a day, or at least the orange ones do.”

  He went to the kitchen that was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar, turned on the lights. The text was from Hamilton. Just a single word: Sorry.

  She watched him moving around his kitchen, cutting slices of whole wheat bread that looked homemade, then bringing out lettuce, radishes, olives, and cucumber from the fridge and chopping and mixing.

  “Tell me how come you’re in the U.K.,” she asked again.

  He stopped for a moment, looked at her. That blue-eyed gaze again, so intense. “It’s a long story,” he said.

  “I’m interested.”

  He got a plastic container out of the fridge, and, when he pulled the lid off the tub, a waft of garlic and lime and chile came out of it.

  “So I was working in Toronto and I got talking to a girl in the U.K. online,” he said. “I came over here and kinda stayed put.”

  Lou waited for him to continue, expecting there to be more. He took chicken out of its marinade and added it to a wok that started up an immediate fragrant sizzle.

  “I thought you said it was a long story,” she said.

  “Felt like it at the time.”

  “What happened to her?”

  If she’d stopped to think about it she would probably have changed the subject, because he was looking increasingly uncomfortable. But that was the trouble with being a police officer. You started off with the little things and sooner or later there was a nugget of information that was too interesting to ignore, and you dug and dug at it until what you eventually found was the great big mine of information that lay buried beneath. It was addictive—and easy to lose sight of the fine line between professional curiosity and tactless intrusiveness.

  “She wasn’t serious about it.” He was looking at her again, his hands spread on the breakfast bar, facing her.

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Yeah, well. Doesn’t matter now. I’m over it, a long time ago.”

  He turned back to the stove, flipping the pieces of chicken with a pair of tongs, then adding them to the two plates that already had salad on them. The smell was wonderful. He got two forks out of a drawer, a bottle of red wine from a rack under the breakfast bar, two glasses from the cupboard. He opened the wine and poured it. The discussion about his love life was clearly at an end.

  “Let’s eat, hey?”

  * * *

  5X5X5 INTELLIGENCE REPORT

  From: Crimestoppers

  To: DCI Louisa SMITH

  Subject: OP NETTLE—Polly LEUCHARS

  Date: 02/11/12

  Grading E/5/1

  Call from MOP [Member of the Public] to Crimestoppers at 2153hrs on 03/11/12 regarding Op Nettle.

  Caller reports seeing Polly LEUCHARS on the night of 31/10/12 in a small dark blue car. The car was parked halfway into the driveway of one of the houses on Cemetery Lane with the rear end of the car sticking out into the road. Caller had to swerve to avoid it.

  Caller states he parked up in the lay-by just ahead of the driveway and walked back to the car to remonstrate with the driver. Driver described as young woman, aged late twenties, long blond hair. Woman was in a distressed state and was arguing with a man who was in the passenger seat of the vehicle. Caller states he decided to leave it and went back to his own car and drove home.

  Time of sighting of car was approximately 2325hrs as he states the news was on ITV when he got home shortly afterwards.

  Caller saw press briefing regarding the murder earlier today and felt he should report this sighting.

  No description of male seen in vehicle.

  Caller wishes to remain anonymous.

  * * *

  23:58

  I shouldn’t fall asleep here, Lou thought. But it was a battle she was losing—already her eyes were closed. She was lying on the sofa with Jason, both of them still fully dressed, if a little disheveled. His breath was heavy and deep against her hair, and if it hadn’t been for his fingers still gently stroking her shoulder, she would have thought he’d dozed off.

  Dinner had been great, the bottle of wine was great, and she’d managed to restrain herself from inappropriate conversation, like quizzing him about previous relationships. In fact, back on the long, deep sofa that seemed just the right size and shape for two people to lie face-to-face, when he’d touched her hair and then whispered “You’re beautiful” in her ear, she even forgot that she wanted to ask him about ice hockey and didn’t they wear some sort of face protection these days?

  And now it seemed much too late to mention it, and the most important thing seemed to be remembering not to fall asleep here—and then it was too late for that, after all.

  Day Three

  Saturday 3 November 2012

  08:50

  The briefing room was busy, despite it being Saturday: full of people talking at the top of their lungs. Jason was logging on to the computer, preparing the slides that would take everybody through the main points.

  Lou sneaked in at the back. She felt flushed, like the first day back at school, waiting to see the boy you fancied.

  She’d left his house at six, having woken up chilly and with an ache in her shoulder. At some point in the night he’d covered them both with a fleece blanket, but it had half-fallen off the sofa. He was still fast asleep, still fully clot
hed. When she moved, he stirred and woke.

  “Hey,” he said sleepily.

  “Morning. I should go.”

  “In a minute.” He moved and stretched, pulled her tighter against him. “We should have gone to bed, you know.”

  “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

  She eased herself out of his embrace and went to find her shoes. “I might see you a bit later, then? Only if you don’t have anything else planned . . .”

  “You kidding? I’ll be there for the briefing.”

  He was not only there, he was looking smart and refreshed and fully in control. By contrast, she felt half-awake and, despite her shower and change of clothes, hopelessly crumpled.

  This is ridiculous, she thought, checking out the room to see who was there, who was ready to go. No sign of Andy. He’d better turn up in time for the start of the briefing or she’d have him.

  Sam Hollands approached her. “Ma’am. How are you today?”

  “I’m fine, thanks, Sam. How are things with you?”

  Sam smiled. “Going well, I think. I spoke to Taryn Lewis last night. She went to see her father in the hospital and quite a lot of info came out of it. Seems Brian was seeing Polly after all.”

  “Really?”

  “Polly introduced Brian to swinging, through a woman called Suzanne. Yesterday Brian asked Taryn to phone this Suzanne to ask her to come and see him in the hospital.”

  “Do we know any more about her?”

  Sam shook her head. “CSIs are due to start work on the Barn this morning, now we’ve identified Barbara as a suspect. Search teams are going in first. We know where Brian’s phone is, thanks to Taryn, so we’ll get started on it as soon as we’ve got it in an evidence bag.”

  Lou made her way through the tangle of chairs and gave Jason a brief smile.

  “Right, let’s have some hush,” Lou called, got everyone’s attention. “Just a few things to bring you up to date. As most of you know by now, today’s priority is to get a statement from Flora Maitland. Sam’s managed to secure a Section Eight warrant for Flora’s flat and for the farm, so we’ll have another briefing this afternoon once we know what we’ve got from that. Sam, who’s going to bring Flora in?”

  “I’m going to go with Les,” Sam said. “Miranda Gregson is lined up to do the interview but she’s not coming in till later, though. Dentist.”

  “Right, thanks, Sam. And as for Flora, we haven’t got enough to nick her, but at least if we bring her on board we can get her account down on paper. Any questions so far?”

  Nothing other than rapt attention.

  At the back of the room, the door opened and Andy Hamilton came in. He stepped over toes, jackets, and bags, muttering apologies, found a seat.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  She gave him a look, but didn’t reply.

  Lou ran through the events of the previous few days, up to the discovery of Polly’s body and on to the discovery in Ambleside Quarry. Confirmation now that Polly’s blood had been found on Barbara Fletcher-Norman’s clothing, as well as forensics from Yonder Cottage, meant that she was officially a suspect in Polly’s murder. The sighting of the car on Cemetery Lane provoked some murmurs—not all of them had seen the information report.

  Lou was nearly done. “Now, I know it all looks very much like Barbara was responsible, but we still need to evidence it. By the end of today I want to know who that man in the car was, what that argument was about. Can we sort out another press release?”

  Sam nodded. “I’ll see if I can get the witness to come forward—see if he can ID anyone.”

  “Thanks. I want to sort out Polly’s relationships, I want to know exactly who was sleeping with whom and when—and did any of them get jealous? We need to follow up everything that came in yesterday, even if it sounds trivial. I know we’ve finished the house-to-house but half term’s over with now, people who were on holiday will be coming back, so we need to go back and check all the houses we missed. When that’s done, I need someone to get Barbara Fletcher-Norman’s medical notes. See if she was as unstable as Brian’s trying to make us think. Andy, I’d like you to liaise with CSI at the Barn today. Anything useful that comes out of that, you can follow up, okay? Right. Thanks everyone. Next briefing this afternoon.”

  The room cleared quickly and noisily, Andy Hamilton waiting at the back for her. Lou saw the way he was looking at her.

  “How are you today?” she asked Jason.

  “Fine,” he said. “Could have done with a bit more sleep.”

  “Ah. The case going round and round in your head, was it?”

  “Something like that.”

  She smiled at him. “I’ll catch up with you later.” Then, as an afterthought: “I nearly forgot. Sam Hollands has got some info from Taryn Lewis—make sure you get her to tell you about it before she disappears.”

  By the time she turned away from Jason, Andy had gone. Lou made a mental note to talk to him at some point during the day, knowing at the same time that she would put it off.

  09:05

  When Sam Hollands arrived with a ginger-haired man whose name Taryn instantly forgot, Flora had been sitting at the kitchen table, eating toast. Chris had left the house early, going with his dad to watch Spurs at home to Wigan.

  “We need a witness statement,” Sam said.

  “Why can’t she do that here?” Taryn wanted to know.

  “It would be very helpful,” the man said. He was standing in the doorway, arms folded, in his long wool coat. His light-reactive glasses were taking their time to adjust to being inside the house and as a result he looked like he was trying to be Sam Hollands’s enforcer.

  “You could have told me about this when I spoke to you last night,” Taryn said crossly.

  Sam gave her an apologetic smile but turned her attention back to Flora. “We’re not treating you as a suspect at this time, Flora. It’s just easier at the station. Less distracting.”

  Flora clearly didn’t want to make a fuss. She looked shattered, as though she’d not slept at all. She went with them, leaving the half-eaten piece of toast behind.

  After they’d gone, Taryn wondered whether to phone Felicity, or Nigel. And then she remembered that she had agreed to phone that Suzanne, her father’s whatever she was—fancy woman?

  Reluctant as she was to fall into that passive-aggressive trap of being at his beck and call, and feeling that even her best efforts would always go unacknowledged, the lure of disobedience was feeble compared to the tug of guilt she felt inside. It wouldn’t take long, then she would go to the police station and wait for Flora.

  She drove out of Briarstone and on to Morden. As she rounded the bend on Cemetery Lane she could see that the driveway to the farm was blocked with police cars, three of them this time, and a van.

  She carried on to the Barn and parked. It felt like her world had suddenly shifted on its axis and left her off-balance. Everything felt wrong. What did they want with Flora, when it was so obviously Barbara who had killed Polly? Who else could it have been?

  Hayselden Barn was silent, but warm. The heating must have come on. In fact, it felt stuffy inside; Taryn spent a few moments opening windows to let in the fresh air. More post had arrived, along with another letter for Barbara, and one that looked like it might be a bank statement.

  Upstairs in Brian’s study she found his open briefcase, the mobile phone lying on some files. She picked it up and examined it. It was turned off. She wondered if the battery had died, and pressed the on button fully expecting no response, but it lit up brightly.

  It took a moment to work through the menu options until she found “Contacts” and there, under “Manchester office,” was a mobile phone number.

  Taryn found a pen and wrote the number down on her hand. As she did so, the phone vibrated and beeped in her hand and she nearly dropped it in shock.

  It wasn’t a call, though, it was a text. Three of them.

  09:10

  07252 583720 “B MO
B” to 07252 583200

  31/10/12 2229hrs

  youfucking bastard, i hate you i hate you i hae you youll b sorry

  07484 919987 “Manchester Office” to 07252 583200

  01/11/12 0105hrs

  Did you get home safe and sound? Let me know.

  07484 919987 “Manchester Office” to 07252 583200

  02/11/12 0950hrs

  Hope you slept well. I’m looking forward to seeing you soon.

  09:11

  For a moment Taryn sat at her father’s desk, in her father’s house, and contemplated how strange a turn events seemed to be taking. Just a few days ago she was living in blissful ignorance of her father’s doings, and now, it seemed, she knew more about him than she would ever hope to know about another living soul.

  Before she could chicken out of it, she dialed “Manchester office” and waited, breathless, wondering what she would hear from the other end of the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Is that Suzanne?” Taryn said, her voice trembling slightly in spite of herself.

  “Who is this, please?”

  “My name is Taryn Lewis. I’m Brian’s daughter.”

  “Oh. I see. How can I help you?”

  She was certainly cool, this Suzanne, Taryn thought. She’d given nothing away, absolutely nothing. Almost as if she were expecting someone else to be phoning her using Brian’s mobile.

  “Brian is in the hospital in Briarstone. He had a heart attack on Thursday morning. He asked me to call you and let you know.”

  On the other end of the line Taryn could hear voices—an office?

  “Thank you for letting me know.”

  And, abruptly, the phone was cut off.

  She took her own mobile out of her back pocket, scrolled through to find Sam Hollands’s number, and dialed. But the call never connected; at that moment a loud banging came from the front door, along with the doorbell chiming.

  She opened the door to a whole team of police officers wearing black boiler suits. She didn’t know who was more surprised.

  * * *