Dead Guilty

by Michelle Davies

  ‘Were you alone when you woke up?’

  Lara nodded. ‘I was terrified someone else was there, but the place was empty. My bag was missing so I didn’t have my phone on me to call anyone. When I went to leave, the door to the flat was locked and I couldn’t force it open.’ The first tear fell. ‘I was so scared that whoever had taken me there would come back. All the windows were locked too.’

  ‘How did you get out?’

  ‘There was a door off the kitchen that led to an outside balcony, where I think there was a washing machine and a clothes dryer. The door had a big glass pane in it, so I smashed it with a chair. I didn’t care about the damage – I just wanted to get out of there. Then I climbed over the balcony railing and escaped. The apartment was on the ground floor, so I was lucky.’

  ‘Your recollection is good, considering it was ten years ago.’

  ‘I’ve never been able to forget it,’ said Lara morosely. ‘I have a daughter myself now. She’s only four, but when I think about something like that happening to her when she grows up, it terrifies me.’

  ‘I understand. So whereabouts was this in Majorca?’

  ‘Saros, a town in the north.’

  Maggie had holidayed on the Balearic island once with her parents when she was younger but hadn’t heard of Saros.

  ‘It’s a small place, pretty quiet,’ Lara explained. ‘The club we went to was the only one there.’

  ‘Can you remember what it was called?’

  ‘Salvador’s. It’s still open. I looked it up before I came here.’

  ‘I appreciate this may be difficult for you to answer, but do you think you were sexually assaulted?’

  Lara’s face flushed. ‘I don’t think so. Nowhere hurt, let’s put it that way. I just felt really groggy.’

  Maggie thought for a moment. Whoever had taken Lara to the apartment had left her unconscious on the sofa for the duration, so did that mean there was no intent to harm? She cleared her throat.

  ‘I’m not saying this is necessarily the case, but have you considered someone might’ve seen how drunk you were in the club and took you home to keep you safe, because you were unable to tell them where you were staying? Maybe they left you on the sofa to sleep it off while they went to work?’

  ‘I have thought that, but why lock me in? Why not leave a note explaining where they’d gone and leave a key for me to get out?’ Lara shuddered. ‘I know I’m not explaining it very well, but it didn’t feel like that. When I woke up, it was like straight away I knew I was in danger and I had to get out of there or else. I dread to think what would’ve happened if whoever it was had come back.’

  ‘If you’re reporting this now, does that mean you never went to the police in Saros?’

  Lara’s eyes widened as though horrified by the thought.

  ‘God, no. I didn’t tell anyone, not even the friends I was with.’

  Maggie was surprised. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I was so ashamed of being so out of it and I didn’t want Mike to find out. He’d have been furious with me for putting myself in harm’s way. We used to argue a lot about me drinking too much and I knew it would be the final straw. I was scared he’d call off the wedding.’

  ‘So why come forward now, ten years on?’

  Lara grew fearful and the strap twisting became more pronounced.

  ‘He’s tracked me down.’

  ‘Who has?’

  ‘The man who locked me in the apartment.’

  Maggie took a moment to process what she was saying.

  ‘But I thought you didn’t know whose apartment it was?’

  ‘I didn’t. But two days ago I received an email from him.’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘I’m sorry but you’re not making sense. You didn’t know who it was but now all of a sudden he’s emailing you? How do you know it’s him and how did he get your email address?’

  ‘I know it’s him because he said so in his message and he must’ve got my details off my phone,’ said Lara hotly. ‘I told you my bag was missing when I woke up – he’s kept it this entire time.’

  Maggie was about to ask if it might be someone mucking around to scare her, but then remembered Lara said she hadn’t told another soul about the incident.

  ‘What did the message say?’

  ‘Here, see for yourself.’ Lara took her smartphone from her bag, swiped her thumb across the screen a few times then slid it across the table to Maggie, the email open and ready to read.

  Hello Lara, remember me?

  We were having a wonderful time together in Saros until you smashed up my back door! I often wondered if you would return one day, so I kept your belongings just in case, although I admit the wrap of coke you had in your bag is long gone. Sorry! Call it payment for having to clear up the mess you made of my door and my sofa.

  I was very, very upset you ran away before we truly got to know each other. We could have had something beautiful. But it taught me a valuable lesson – always question a woman’s true intentions. The one who came after you learned that the hard way, which is why I will be celebrating a very special occasion in her honour in Saros very soon! Can you guess what it is?

  It would be wonderful if you could join me. I wouldn’t let you get away so easily this time.

  x

  The address the message was sent from struck Maggie as odd: me@threedates.com.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Lara pressed.

  Maggie chose her next words very carefully as she slid the phone back across the table. The last thing she wanted was for Lara to think she was victim-blaming her, but asking difficult questions was part of the job in establishing whether indeed any crime had been committed. ‘He sounds like the worst kind of smarmy git. Are you sure you don’t remember meeting him in the club?’

  ‘No, I don’t. And even if I had, I would never have gone off with someone like that.’ Lara suddenly burst into tears. ‘I think he stole my engagement ring. When I woke up, it was gone. I had to tell Mike I’d lost it swimming in the sea. He was so lovely about it and bought me another one to replace it.’

  While Lara wiped her eyes on a tissue she plucked from the depths of her bag, Maggie surreptitiously checked the time on her watch, a men’s chunky Seiko that was on its last legs. They’d been talking for twenty minutes and even though she believed Lara’s version of events that she had been taken to the apartment after being drugged, it wasn’t a matter for the Met. It was down to the police in Saros to deal with any alleged abduction and the theft of the ring. That was the advice she must give Lara so she could wrap this up and get back to her desk to finish the Curtis statement.

  She opened her mouth to speak but was silenced by Lara placing a copy of the Evening Standard on the desk in front of her. A quick glance at the date on the front page told her it was yesterday’s edition.

  ‘Turn to page five,’ Lara instructed.

  Maggie did as she requested. Her eye was drawn immediately to the photograph dominating the page, a smiling young woman posing on a rock next to a beach with her arms outstretched. Lithe and tanned in shorts and a vest, she had wavy dark-brown hair that rippled over her shoulders. Further down the page was a smaller image of a man and woman, in their fifties or older. The woman looked familiar.

  Maggie read the headline: KATY’S PARENTS TO FLY OUT FOR ANNIVERSARY SERVICE.

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re showing me this,’ she said.

  ‘The girl is Katy Pope, the police officer’s daughter who was murdered in Majorca ten years ago.’

  Ah, so that’s why Maggie recognized the woman: she was a former Met officer and a very senior one at that.

  Lara noisily sucked in her next breath then exhaled.

  ‘I think the man who took me might be the same person who killed Katy.’

  Maggie stared at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Katy was killed in Saros two months after I was there. She was missing for a week before her body was found. The police believed she’d been held
captive before she was murdered.’ Lara scrabbled for her phone again: ‘“The one who came after you learned that the hard way, which is why I will be celebrating a very special occasion in her honour in Saros very soon”,’ she quoted from the email, before slapping her palm down on the newspaper, making Maggie jump. ‘What if Katy was the one after me, that the same man drugged her and took her back to the apartment, then killed her? Katy’s family are going back to Saros next week for a memorial service to mark the tenth anniversary of her murder. This interview is them talking about it. The special occasion he mentions could be the service.’

  Maggie struggled to formulate a reply. It sounded too implausible, but Lara wasn’t swayed.

  ‘I think this email is from her killer,’ she breathed. ‘He wanted me to know he’s back.’

  4

  The number of times Declan Morris had sat in their living room must’ve run into the hundreds, first as the shy best friend their son George brought home from university one weekend, then as Katy’s boyfriend. Yet how jarring it was to see him now, settled on the cream sofa, a cup of tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other. Philip eyed him charily over the brim of his own cup, taking in the changes in Declan’s appearance since their last meeting. His light-brown hair, which he’d previously worn long and wavy to his jawline, was now cropped close and he had gained weight, his student wiriness presumably fleshed out by fat-cat lunches with clients of the bank he was working for.

  Philip contemplated the face Katy might’ve pulled on seeing Declan now. His daughter had possessed a sensitivity that made her desperate not to hurt other people’s feelings, even though it meant hers were regularly trampled on. She took after Philip in that regard, which is why he could always read the little looks she gave instead – expressions that gave away her true sentiments. Declan now would’ve surely raised an eyebrow.

  Polite pleasantries dispensed with, an awkward silence had settled over the three of them. Even Patricia, who could usually be relied upon to start a conversation in an empty room, seemed stumped for something to say. Philip had expected her to raise the subject of the email immediately, but it was as though she’d decided the bad news could wait until she was ready to hear it.

  Declan took another sip of tea then cleared his throat nervously.

  ‘Tamara sends her regards.’

  Philip saw his wife’s features pinch sharply, before she hastily rearranged them into a smile.

  ‘That’s kind of her. Is she well?’

  Philip knew how difficult it was for Patricia to enquire after Declan’s fiancée, how the words must’ve stuck in her throat like a piece of gristly steak before she’d politely uttered them. The point of contention wasn’t that Declan was in a relationship – neither of them had expected him to stay single for the rest of his life – but rather who it was with.

  Tamara had been Katy’s best friend. They had met on their first day at senior school aged eleven and, apart from the occasional spat, had been inseparable. They had even been planning to go to the same university, such was their despair at the thought of being parted. But while Tamara did head off to Durham as they’d planned, Katy’s future was abruptly and horrifically extinguished by her murder that summer.

  Tamara was as devastated as the rest of them, but it was only nine months later that she and Declan began their relationship. It was driven, they said, out of a desperate need for solace, but Patricia could forgive neither of them for the perceived betrayal. As far as she was concerned, Tamara should never have laid claim to the life Katy was robbed of having and nor should Declan have offered it to her.

  ‘She’s well, thanks,’ he replied to Patricia. ‘Actually, she’s pregnant.’

  Declan at least had the grace to look sheepish as Patricia’s plastered-on smile stretched even wider.

  ‘Gosh, that’s a surprise. Will you be bringing forward the wedding?’ she asked, her voice noticeably tight.

  ‘No, we’re delaying it until after the baby comes.’

  He glanced at the mantelpiece where, in the centre, was a large framed photograph of Katy and her brother, George, who was older than her by three years. George and Declan had been close friends after meeting at Oxford but now they hardly saw one another, as was proved by Declan’s next question.

  ‘How’s George doing?’

  ‘He’s qualified as a barrister now,’ said Patricia. ‘He has a big trial coming up at the Old Bailey.’

  Declan looked impressed. ‘He’s done well for himself. Is he married?’

  On seeing his wife’s face fall again, Philip decided to spare her the torment of having to answer that particular question by posing one of his own.

  ‘We are rather surprised you want to come with us to Saros. We haven’t heard from you for years, so why now?’

  ‘Obviously I’m aware the anniversary is coming up and then the other evening I saw on your website that you were planning a memorial service and, well, I thought I should be there. It’ll be a nice way to remember Katy, and ten years is significant.’

  ‘Five years was significant too, but I don’t recall you rushing over to honour her memory then,’ said Philip.

  Declan set his cup down with a clatter on the saucer Patricia had provided.

  ‘If my memory serves me correctly, you made it very clear when I got together with Tamara that I was no longer welcome in your home, and that, as far as you were concerned, my part in Katy’s life was forgotten. And you know what? I understand why you said that. I do, I really do. I know my being with Tamara must’ve been confusing for you both. But me being with Tam doesn’t change how I felt about Katy, and she knows that too. I loved your daughter very much,’ he said, his voice thickening. ‘I know we were young, but I used to think about what it would have been like to have settled down, bought our own place once she’d graduated. Even now I think about her a lot, about how things might’ve turned out if that sick bastard hadn’t taken her from us.’ Philip felt a pang of sympathy for Declan’s obvious distress, but Patricia’s face was set like stone. ‘I hate that he’s still walking free. That’s another reason why I want to come to Majorca with you – I want to do whatever I can to help with the new appeal if it means we catch him at last.’

  Patricia stood up and moved to the fireplace, grasping the mantel with one hand while keeping her back to the room. Philip knew she was taking a moment to compose herself. He set down his own teacup, wondering if she would object to what he was about to say, but thinking that her allowing Declan to come to the house in the first place today already signalled a suspension of previous hostilities.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, and we will welcome your support at the memorial,’ he said. ‘But as for Tamara—’

  ‘She won’t be coming,’ said Declan hastily. ‘It’ll just be me.’

  Patricia swung round. ‘Good.’

  Philip understood the sentiment behind her abruptness: it would be hard enough to have Declan accompanying them, his first trip with them back to the island since Katy’s murder. Tamara coming as well would be too much to cope with on top of everything else.

  ‘Now tell me about the email you mentioned on the phone,’ she ordered.

  Philip wanted to interject with ‘tell us’ but thought better of it. Patricia was in no mood to be needled by him. Her fuse had always been short but these days there was barely the stub of a wick to keep it in check.

  ‘At first I thought it was spam, because of the random address it was sent from and because over the years I’ve had a few people get in touch claiming to know stuff about Katy’s death who have turned out to be trolls or fantasists. That includes a couple of crazies saying they were her killer.’

  Philip frowned. ‘We didn’t know that.’

  ‘I did tell the police at the time,’ said Declan. ‘I would’ve told you too, but we weren’t talking.’

  ‘What makes you think this message is genuine?’ asked Patricia.

  ‘The detail involved. Not about her actual death, but abo
ut her.’

  Patricia paled and Philip’s fingers clenched the arms of the chair.

  ‘What kind of detail?’ his wife asked.

  Declan shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. ‘I’d rather not say.’

  ‘Sexual details?’

  Declan squirmed under Patricia’s cross-examination and Philip squirmed with him. Her old interrogation habits were hard to shake and it was excruciating when she badgered people over the smallest thing if their first response didn’t satisfy her. His personal coping mechanism, again suggested by the counsellor he had been seeing for the past six years since the breakdown, was to leave the room while she was mid-flow, so she would take the hint to stop.

  ‘Well?’ Patricia pressed.

  ‘No, it wasn’t that. Not exactly.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Sorry, this is hard. Katy was so private that even though she’s not here and it doesn’t matter what I say, all I can think is that she would hate me for telling you.’

  Philip nodded. Their daughter had been private and modest and shied away from salacious talk. She used to find it mortifying if a sex scene came on the television while she was watching with the family and would often bolt from the room on the pretext of making a cup of tea.

  Both he and Patricia remained silent as Declan wrestled with how best to frame the information he was about to share. He took a deep breath, then the sentence tumbled out so quickly that it took Philip a moment to work out what he’d said.

  ‘Katy had a termination.’

  Philip was speechless, while his wife retorted, ‘No she jolly well did not.’

  ‘Yes, she did. Four months before we went on that holiday.’ Declan looked at them beseechingly, his cheeks beginning to colour. ‘I am so, so sorry. We thought we were being careful. I was up for keeping the baby, but Katy thought it would stop her going to uni and ruin her prospects, so she decided it was best to deal with it. I had to support what she wanted.’

  Patricia sank back down into her seat.

  ‘I don’t believe it.’