by Alex Lake
‘I could do it when I get there.’
‘I know. But I want to see how he reacts.’
‘Got it.’ Lawless paused. ‘Any more theories on the other Henry Bryant? The one who took Claire?’
‘Not yet,’ Wynne said. ‘But it’s all going to start to unravel. And quickly. Be careful.’
She was getting near to the house when DS Lawless called.
‘No one here,’ she said. ‘The house is empty.’
‘What about the security guards?’
‘Not there either.’
‘Shit.’ DI Wynne banged her hand on the steering wheel. ‘They must have gone somewhere.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ DS Lawless replied. ‘I checked with some of the neighbours but they don’t know where.’
‘All right,’ Wynne said. ‘I have an idea.’
She hung up the call and then dialled another number.
Jodie answered. ‘Hello?’
‘Sorry to bother you again. This is Detective Inspector Wynne.’
‘That’s OK,’ Jodie said, although there was a hint of irritation in her voice. ‘How can I help?’
‘I was wondering whether you know where Mr and Mrs Daniels are? I’ve been trying to contact them but haven’t been able to reach them.’
‘Sure,’ Jodie said. ‘They went away for a few days.’
‘Do you happen to know where they went?’
‘They’re in Cartmel. Claire’s family has a cottage there.’
‘Cartmel in the Lake District?’
‘Yes. Is that a problem?’
‘It’s a long way,’ Wynne said. Probably six hours in the car, she thought. She needed to get there sooner than that. ‘Did the security people go with them?’
‘I think so. Claire mentioned something about them sleeping in a hotel.’
Shit. So they were alone in a cottage in some quiet Lakeland village. This wasn’t good. Anything could happen.
‘I’m not sure I should be telling you this. Claire swore me to secrecy.’
‘Telling me what?’ DI Wynne said. ‘That they’re in Cartmel?’
‘No. She told me something else. She said they were hoping Bryant would show up so they could trap him. That’s why they were taking the security people.’
It took DI Wynne a few seconds to be able to answer. When she did, the professional calm she prided herself on proved impossible to maintain.
‘Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck do they think they’re doing?’
‘Maybe this is why she didn’t want me to say anything,’ Jodie said.
‘It’s a good thing you did,’ DI Wynne said. ‘A very good thing. At least now I have a chance to put a stop to this stupidity, if it’s not already too late.’
She hung up, and then called the station. She needed help, and fast.
Claire
‘What’s going on, Claire?’ her husband – her loving husband, her fraudulent, pestilent husband – said. ‘Tell me what the hell is happening here?’
Claire let his words fall into silence. She blinked, then opened the top drawer of a chest of drawers and took out a pair of handcuffs. She sat on an armchair and placed them on her knees. Then she spoke.
‘I’ll tell you, in a bit. But first let’s talk about you. How are your parents, Alfie?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘They’re dead. You know that. Why would you ask about them? Why would you be so cruel?’
Claire was struck by how genuine he seemed. Even now he looked hurt, the little boy who missed his mum and dad.
He was a very good actor. But it was all an act. Like everything he did.
‘They’re dead? Are you sure? That’s what I thought, too. You told me they were and I had no reason to think you were lying, but it turned out I was wrong. They’re very much alive, aren’t they?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, they died years ago, when—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Alfie, stop lying. There’s no point! I’ve talked to them. I found them and I got in touch. Called them.’
‘How?’ he said. ‘How did you find them?’
‘Danny Bond,’ she replied. ‘I messaged him on Facebook. I told him I wanted to find some of your old friends and see if I could put you in touch. I thought it would be good for you, especially since you had no family. He was surprised to hear it, since he knew your mum and dad were alive and well and living in a retirement home.’
He looked away from her. She carried on.
‘They seemed very nice. Old, and not enjoying the home they live in. It’s crowded and dirty and the food isn’t good, but that’s how society treats its elders these days, isn’t it? Unless they have someone – a child, maybe – to take care of them, old people are left to rot. They certainly have been.’ She shook her head in mock disappointment. ‘I was surprised you left them like that, when we have so much money, but you know what surprised me most?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Answer the question, Alfie. Do you know what surprised me most?’
‘No,’ he muttered, his tone suddenly hostile. ‘I don’t. What surprised you most, Claire?’
‘That after I introduced myself – as your wife, who was interested in getting to know them – they didn’t ask after you. And when I suggested that I bring you to see them, how do you think they reacted?’ She raised her hand. ‘Let me tell you. They said they never wanted to see you again. Apparently, you managed to take out a mortgage on their house, a house they’d worked all their lives to pay off – they said you forged their signatures – and when the money came you disappeared with it. They lost the house, Alfie, which was why they were in the home. They really didn’t have very many kind words to say about you. In fact, they were angry. Very angry.’
She twirled the handcuffs around her forefinger. His eyes followed them.
‘And they’re not the only ones,’ she said. ‘I, too, am angry. Although I’m not sure that angry does it fucking justice.’
She spat out the last words. She’d promised herself she would keep control as she explained this to him, but it was hard. God, it was hard. The rage was millimetres below the surface; she felt like her skin was paper thin, that it could split open at any time and out it would surge in a livid torrent.
She took a deep breath. ‘And so here we are. Here we are.’
‘Why were you looking for my parents?’ Alfie said. ‘What have they got to do with this?’
‘Why indeed? That goes to the heart of it, Alfie. I needed to find out if I was right about something. You see, I’d learned something about you and it made me wonder if you were really who I thought you were. Speaking to your parents – seeing the depth of your lies to me and the cruelty of your treatment of them – showed me all I needed to know.’
‘What had you learned?’ What am I supposed to have done?’
‘You had a vasectomy, Alfie. And you lied to me about it. You let me think I couldn’t have a child, let me suffer through the agony of test after test to see if I was fertile. And when the tests said I was, you hugged me and told me you’d taken a test and it was all OK and we’d have a baby soon. It was only when I forced you to see the doctor that you had to tell me some twisted version of the truth, although even then you lied. You said your sperm count was low. Non-existent, in fact.’
She shook her head. It was not merely the fact of the lie. It was what it meant.
‘You told me you wanted to have children with me. To do the most important thing in the world together. But it was all a lie. And why, Alfie? For money? For something as banal as that?’
He didn’t answer.
‘And what makes me sick is that I was sympathetic to you. You let me feel bad for you, when all along you had no intention of having a child with me. You were prepared to let me believe you loved me and you wanted nothing more than for us to become parents, but it was all lies. All of it.’ She was shouting. She forced herself to lower her voice. ‘That’s what I couldn’t get over, Alfie. How deep the lies we
nt. It was our whole marriage. Everything we’d ever done. It was the most important thing in the world to me, and to you it was nothing.’
He looked at her, saying nothing, and in the silence it all came back to her. The awful moment when she realized Dr Singh was telling her that her husband had had a vasectomy and he had been lying to her about it – about everything– for God knew how long. Then the long walk out of his surgery as the magnitude of Alfie’s deception hit her, of what it truly meant, of how deep it went.
And, sitting there, she started to cry.
‘Is that what all this is about?’ Alfie said. ‘The vasectomy? Kids. I’m sorry, Claire, but I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I’d had it done before we met and I thought it would put you off me. I know it was wrong, but I was confused. Worried. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. And we have other options. Adoption – whatever you want—’
‘Shut up!’ she screamed. ‘Stop talking!’
‘Claire,’ Alfie said, ‘we can get through this. I promise.’
‘Oh no, we can’t.’ Her voice was low. ‘There’s no way we can get through this. None at all. Because I know the rest of it too, Alfie. I know all of it.’
Street
PC Dave Street glanced at his watch. He had five minutes of his shift left. He was planning to stop for a pint – maybe the Mason’s Arms at Strawberry Bank – on his way home. He had been doing that more and more recently; he and Sheila were not getting along and he found that he was putting off the moment when he had to step across the threshold into whatever criticisms and put-downs she had ready for him.
He couldn’t put his finger on why, but these days whatever they did seemed to end in an argument. There was a bubbling resentment between them that they couldn’t suppress. He didn’t know where it had come from, or what to do about it. At first he’d put it down to the stress of having a three-year-old boy and a new baby, but now he was wondering if it wasn’t more fundamental.
If maybe they weren’t suited to each other after all.
Anyway, that was what he had to look forward to. A quiet pint and then an evening of arguments or – and this could be worse – a silent cold shoulder.
He was about to walk out of the station when the phone rang.
‘Cartmel and Grange Constabulary,’ he said. ‘PC Street speaking.’
‘This is Detective Inspector Wynne,’ a woman said. ‘Metropolitan Police.’
He sat up. They didn’t get too many calls from the Met. Especially not on a Sunday.
‘How can I help?’
‘Are you near Cartmel?’ DI Wynne said. There was an urgent tone in her voice.
‘About twenty minutes away,’ he replied.
‘Good. I need you to go to an address there.’
‘Could I ask why?’
‘There’s a woman there who might be in danger. She needs to be kept safe. And there’s a man who you should detain.’
PC Street saw the prospect of his pint receding quickly. This, though, was more interesting. It was certainly not the typical call the Cartmel and Grange Constabulary received.
‘Is it serious?’ he asked.
‘Possibly,’ DI Wynne replied. She hesitated. ‘It could be dangerous. Is there another officer who can attend with you?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘There is. What’s the address?’
DI Wynne gave it to him.
‘The Stewart place?’
‘I don’t know,’ DI Wynn said. ‘The woman I’m looking for is Claire Daniels.’
‘That’s her maiden name. Stewart. Wasn’t she abducted recently?’
He knew full well that she had been. He’d followed the case closely. He knew Claire Stewart – Daniels – from years ago. They were the same age and when she’d spent summers in the cottage she’d got to know the local children. They’d had a childish fling, once, a brief dalliance that fizzled out as quickly as it had begun.
At least it had for her. Street had fallen heavily for her, and had hoped all summer to repeat the one, golden evening when they’d drunk cheap cider on the shores of Windermere and kissed, lying on the grass.
It had never been repeated though, and after that summer she never came back. Over time he had forgotten about her, until, that was, she appeared in the papers.
And now she was back in Cartmel.
‘She was,’ the detective said. ‘It’s her.’
‘Is this linked?’ Street asked.
‘Yes. But exactly how I don’t yet know.’
‘So who should I expect to find there with her? The abductor? Is that who I need to detain?’
‘Mrs Daniels and her husband will be there. PC Street,’ – he was impressed she’d remembered his name – ‘it’s her husband who I’m worried about. He’s the man you need to take into police custody.’
‘Is he dangerous?’ Street asked.
DI Wynne didn’t answer for a few seconds. ‘Yes,’ she said eventually. ‘He is.’
‘Are you coming here?’ he asked. ‘It could be a good idea.’
‘I’m currently on the train from Euston to Oxenholme. I’ll be arriving in two and a half hours.’
‘I’ll send a car to pick you up. See you later, DI Wynne.’
Alfie
Alfie pushed against the straps, in case they had somehow loosened. They hadn’t. He was pinned to the bed, his head the only thing he could move. On the chair by the door, handcuffs in her lap, Claire watched him.
Why did she have handcuffs? He was already totally restrained. Did she intend to move him and wanted his hands bound when she did? If so, that was good news. He was far better off on his feet, even handcuffed, than fixed to the bed.
And what else did she know? She’d said she knew all of it, but did she? Did she know about Pippa? And Bryant? He doubted it. He didn’t know how she could, but then he didn’t know how she’d found out about the vasectomy.
Which was a good place to start.
‘Who told you?’ he said. ‘About the vasectomy?’
‘Dr Singh.’
Alfie shook his head. ‘That’s a breach of patient confidentiality.’
‘It’s also the least of your problems,’ Claire said. ‘And he didn’t tell me, exactly. He just mentioned that if a man had had a vasectomy, there’d be a scar.’
‘Look,’ Alfie said, ‘there’s been some misunderstanding. I’m sure we can work it out.’
‘Is that what you said to Pippa?’ she asked softly. ‘Before you killed her?’
Alfie stared at his wife. ‘I didn’t—’ he began, but she waved a hand to quiet him.
‘Don’t bother,’ she said. ‘I know you did it, and that’s all I need to know. I don’t care how or where or why.’ She caught his eye. ‘And you know why I don’t want to hear it? Because I know you were going to kill me, too.’
‘Claire,’ Alfie said, ‘I would never have hurt you.’
She laughed. ‘Really? You don’t think there was a risk you’d hurt me by pretending to be in love with me and marrying me and telling me you wanted a family, when all along it was lies, total and utter lies?’
Alfie breathed slowly and deeply. This was worse than he had thought. She knew about the vasectomy, she knew about Pippa, she knew – or suspected – that he’d been planning to kill her. The doctor – and when Alfie got out of here he’d kill that little Paki bastard – had told her about the vasectomy, but not about the rest of it.
So how the hell did she know?
‘Claire.’ He was aware there was no point in denying it. ‘I did kill Pippa. I admit it. But I had to.’
‘I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.’
She seemed very on edge. ‘Fine. I won’t say any more. But can you tell me who told you?’
She smiled. ‘You did, in a way. Ironic, no?’
Alfie tried to figure out what she meant. He’d not said a word.
‘What do you mean, I told you? I didn’t mention anything. Was I tal
king in my sleep?’
‘No, you’ve always slept well, Alfie, although how I don’t know. I suppose I misspoke. You didn’t tell me, as such. You showed me.’
‘How?’ he said.
‘After I’d been to see Dr Singh and he told me you’d been lying about your fertility, I went to your office. I wanted to talk to you, face to face. There was no one on reception, and I went through to the back. I saw you at your desk, two phones – neither of which I recognized – in your hands. You tapped out some messages, and then put them in your drawer. You locked it, and put the key in your jacket pocket. Then you left, by the back door.’
Alfie remembered it. He’d been messaging Claire as Henry Bryant, tapping out the details of their fake affair.
‘After what I’d learned, I was reeling, and then I saw you had secret phones. I felt like my world was falling apart, like you were not the person I’d thought. I had to know what was going on, so that evening, I went to your office and took them.’
‘The phones? How did you open the drawer?’
‘I took the key from your jacket pocket. I came home, then told you something had come up at work and I had to go to the office.’
Alfie nodded. He’d been happy about it, happy that she had been making some odd, unplanned evening arrangements that would make it look like she was having an affair.
‘But not before I confirmed one thing. I had to know whether you’d had the vasectomy. Remember what I did, Alfie? Well, it was enough to see the scar.’
She’d given him a blowjob. He remembered it well; it was unusual. She had pushed him away.
‘You stopped halfway through,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I had to. I saw the scar and knew what you’d done, and I felt sick. And then I sat in a cab on the way to the office looking at photos of vasectomy scars – so I could be sure – and starting to understand the depths of your lies.’ She paused. ‘At least, I thought I was. I had no idea quite how deep they went, not until I saw what was in the phones.’
‘How?’ Alfie said. ‘How did you get into them?’
‘I took them from your office and got one of the IT guys to hack them for me. You remember Sat? I introduced you to him once. What I didn’t mention was that we went out a few times. He was keen, but it wasn’t for me. I told him I had a personal problem and asked him to meet me at work. He hooked the phones up to his laptop and had them unlocked in seconds. It was frightening how easy it was.’ She shrugged. ‘And there it was. The whole thing laid out in front of me.’
