‘The only saving grace was the Vice-Consul from the British Consulate, a woman called Lyndsey Shepherd,’ Walker was saying. ‘She had to act as my translator and peacemaker. It’s obvious the Spaniards don’t want us back here poking around again, reminding everyone they’ve done jack-shit in the last decade to find the killer. It was made very clear to me that if we step on anyone’s toes we’ll be kicked off the island.’ He took a swig of his Coke and managed to spray most of it down his front; using his hand, he patted the drops until they’d soaked into the navy fabric of his shirt.
‘Can they do that? We’ve got Home Office clearance to be here,’ said Shah.
‘Just because the Home Office is happy for us to be here doesn’t mean the Spanish have to treat us like VIPs,’ said Walker with a sigh. ‘They weren’t going to say no to us coming because Patricia Pope would’ve gone running straight to the press to raise merry hell if they had, but that doesn’t mean they have to like it.’
He turned to Maggie.
‘Talking of ma’am, how did it go with her?’ he asked. ‘Did you manage to talk her round?’
He’d called Maggie at lunchtime to say the Director General of Police had requested his media team be involved in organizing the family’s press conference – Walker suspected it was so they could try to muzzle Patricia Pope before she spewed forth her criticisms again. The family had wanted the press conference to take place immediately after the memorial service tomorrow, but the Director General of Police felt it was unnecessarily hasty and might cause too much of a media circus. For the sake of maintaining relations, Walker had agreed it would be better to create some breathing space between the two events but had decided to let it fall to Maggie to persuade the family – or rather Patricia – to fall into line. ‘I don’t care how you do it, just get her to agree,’ he’d said.
‘She was fine about it,’ said Maggie, enjoying the looks of disbelief on her colleagues’ faces as her response sank in.
‘Really? She didn’t kick off?’ asked Walker sceptically.
‘I simply pointed out that she might feel too drained to go through with it immediately after the memorial service, because while she’s obviously experienced in these things even the most together person might find it tough. If she did get upset, which would be only natural, it might prevent her from getting across her message as planned at the press conference, and I could see how important that was to her.’
Walker laughed and raised his glass. ‘Nicely played, pandering to her ego.’
Maggie shrugged as though nonchalant, but she was pleased by his comment.
‘She clearly doesn’t want people to think she’s mawkish or can’t control her emotions, so planting the idea she might be too upset to be her usual articulate self seemed the obvious thing to do,’ she added. ‘But even if she had been fine to do one straight after the other, I suspect her husband wouldn’t be. He had to go back to bed after coming down with a migraine at breakfast. The anniversary is obviously getting to him.’
‘I wouldn’t have wanted to stay in the same place where my daughter’s dismembered body was found, that’s for sure,’ said Paulson.
The four of them fell silent momentarily as they contemplated Philip Pope’s private hell. It was obvious to all of them that Patricia called the shots in their marriage and that, for the most part, Philip accepted her way of doing things for the sake of a quiet life. Yet this was different: this was being cajoled into staying somewhere that must bring back the most horrendous memories. Had he even tried to argue against it? If he had, but Patricia still overruled him, what must he be feeling now? His potential suffering was, frankly, more than any of them could imagine.
Walker cleared his throat. ‘So ma’am’s agreed to wait until Wednesday?’
‘Eventually, after I pointed that if everyone sees the pictures from the memorial service, the level of interest in the press conference could be even greater,’ said Maggie.
‘You mean more press could attend?’ asked Shah.
‘Yeah. I said the papers and TV news stations might be spurred into sending more reporters to the island for it and suggested we reschedule for Wednesday evening so it gives them more time to get here. After that she was fine.’
Walker’s expression showed how impressed he was. ‘Fuck me, you’ve got the magic touch.’
‘In family liaison we call it doing our job, sir,’ said Maggie pointedly.
She was happy to be praised but also didn’t want him to think it was a fluke. She might sound glib now, but her conversation with Patricia, which had taken place an hour ago after she nipped back to Orquídea to check the family were okay, had required every communicative skill she possessed. But while Patricia was not a woman easily persuaded, she was reasonable when presented with a reasonable argument, and that’s what Maggie had focused on doing.
‘We get results, but in a way that doesn’t make the family feel like they’re being pummelled into submission,’ she added. ‘It’s what I’m trained to do.’
‘Point taken,’ said Walker, his smile indicating he didn’t mind her not-so-subtle rebuke. ‘You also did well getting Ruiz to admit he’d been lying about him and Katy too, and about her and her mum rowing. Clearly there was some tension there.’
‘When should we ask Patricia about Annika’s statement?’ said Maggie. ‘I did raise it with Philip like you said to, but predictably he took his wife’s side.’
‘You know what, leave it until after the memorial service. There’s no point antagonizing the old dragon before her big moment in the sun.’
Maggie found the disparaging remark offensive and said so.
‘Have you ever thought that she might be aware of what people say about her and that fuels her behaviour?’ she snapped at Walker. ‘Like, when you know people are being rude about you behind your back, why be nice to their faces? She’s probably had a gutful of it throughout her career, just because she’s a woman in a position of authority. No one would call her difficult or annoying if she was a man, they’d say she was assertive or confident.’
The three men stared at her as her words sank in. None of them knew how to respond, so Walker, his face flushed, swiftly changed the subject.
‘Right, I don’t know about you lot, but I’m starving. The manager here has recommended a great little restaurant in one of the back streets. It’s off the beaten track and away from the tourist bit, so if you’re a good girl and boys I might even let you have a beer.’
24
Tuesday
The heat was getting to Philip. The daytime high of thirty-three degrees had cooled to only twenty-four as the early hours set in, and Patricia didn’t like to sleep with the air conditioning on, so it was impossibly muggy in their bedroom. So, as his wife slept soundly, he got up, gathered up the clothing he’d earlier left neatly folded on a chair, and slipped into the lounge, where he proceeded to get dressed.
As he did so he could hear faint snoring coming from the second bedroom and smiled. It felt good to have George under the same roof as them again. He’d never moved back home after university, preferring to spend all his earnings on renting a room in a house share in Camberwell with some fellow trainee barristers. He would often come home to visit, especially on Sundays when Philip would always make a roast, but never stayed over, because there was no point. In fact, the last time he’d stayed with them in Crystal Palace was ten years ago, after Katy’s body was returned to England and the three of them had her funeral to plan.
Philip padded into the kitchen to make coffee, but then thought better of it: the machine might wake the others. So he left a note on the kitchen counter explaining his whereabouts and slipped out of the apartment to go for a walk.
Nightfall and sparse lighting along the front had plunged the beach into darkness. Yet despite it being four in the morning, he wasn’t the only person up and about. A couple had walked past him moments ago speaking in Dutch and further back towards the harbour he’d heard some Germans in loud conve
rsation on the veranda of a second-floor apartment. Yet the resort had always been most popular with British visitors, which is why his friend Howard had bought a villa out here. The first time they came out to Saros, it was to join Howard and his family at their new villa and it had been the most wonderful, riotous time. The holiday from which Katy never returned was their third trip there, which made this their thirteenth stay in Saros. Thirteen meant unlucky for some and horrendous and heartbreaking for them.
He’d always known it would be difficult coming back for the memorial service but he hadn’t realized quite what an ordeal it would be. It was impossible not to feel angry at seeing the smiling, happy faces of families sunning themselves around the pool beneath their balcony window, not to baulk at the sight of parents hugging their children. It hurt so much to know he could never hug his darling girl again.
He blamed himself for her murder and always had. If only he had been more proactive in the week when she was missing, he might have found her before the point of her death. He should’ve searched high and low himself rather than rely on the police to do it for him. He was her father and meant to be her protector, the man who’d held her in his arms moments after she was born, when she was still hot and sticky from her mother’s womb, and whispered to her that he would love her forever and always keep her safe. Yet he hadn’t.
Continuing his journey, his heart growing heavier with each step, Philip passed the hotel where Maggie, Walker and the other officers were staying, then ambled along to the marina where Johnnie’s boat was moored. It was too dark to make out which was his among the many dozens, so Philip turned on his heel and headed back.
When he reached the security gate to Orquídea he took out his phone and pulled up the email that contained the pass code to get in. The gate buzzed louder than he had anticipated as it unlocked and he shut it quietly behind him.
There was a short cut to their apartment block through the ponds, but Philip couldn’t bear to take it. It was bad enough that later today he would be forced to sit surrounded by them at the memorial service: he didn’t need another reminder tonight of the vicious manner in which his daughter’s body had been disposed of.
The entrance to their apartment was via a staircase at the front of the whitewashed building. There was a path alongside it that led to the swimming pool for their block; staring ahead, he could see the deep end, brilliant turquoise glowing in the darkness, illuminated by underwater lights.
He was about to climb the steps to the front door when the sound of the balcony door sliding open at the back cut through the silence. Curious to see who’d come outside, he went along the path a short distance and looked up to the first floor. It was George, in a T-shirt and his underpants, clutching a tumbler of something Philip suspected wasn’t water, judging by the way he grimaced as he took a sip. Then he gripped the balcony rail with his other hand and downed the drink in one.
Philip was about to call up to him – quietly, so as not to disturb anyone sleeping nearby – when he realized his son’s face was wet with tears. They were falling in steady streams and he did not move to wipe them away.
Oh, my poor boy.
Philip’s heart ached for his son, who felt the loss of Katy as profoundly as they had and yet, through no fault of theirs, had been somewhat forgotten in the grieving process. At the beginning people would always ask after himself and Patricia and make kind offers of help, but George was almost an afterthought. Only occasionally would they think to enquire after him. Perhaps it was because he was the older brother that they assumed he could cope. But he was only twenty-one at the time, not quite the man he was now, and he needed people’s sympathy and concern as much as his parents did.
It had been a while since he’d seen George cry though and the realization brought tears to his own eyes. Why did his son feel it necessary to cry in private and hide his tears? No one, least of all him, would think less of him for admitting he was finding this visit to Saros a struggle.
Then Philip was struck by a thought. Perhaps it was because of him that George felt unable to share his emotional state with anyone else. There were times when he hadn’t been able to get out of bed because he was overwhelmed with grief and it had been left to George to support Patricia, to be the man of the house. Philip was the weak one, the father who had done nothing to save his daughter, the husband who couldn’t be relied upon by his wife.
As he stood in the shadows and watched his son cry, his own heart splintering with every wracked sob, Philip vowed never to let his family down again.
25
Jade Reynolds was discovering that suntan lotion and glossy magazines did not mix.
‘For crying out loud,’ she seethed as her sticky fingers clumped the pages of Brides together for the umpteenth time.
‘I don’t know why you wasted your money buying that,’ said her dad, Clive, peering at her over the top of his mirrored sunglasses from the sun lounger next to hers. ‘It’s not like we can afford anything that fancy.’ He leaned across and poked the page she was reading with a sweaty finger. ‘Three grand for a wedding cake that’s no better than one your nan could make, it’s bloody ridiculous.’
‘I’m only looking,’ said Jade defensively. ‘For ideas.’
‘Your dad’s right,’ her mum, Mandy, butted in. She was on the far lounger, next to her husband. ‘Don’t go getting ideas above your station, young lady. We told you the budget and you’ve got to stick to it.’
‘I know, I know,’ Jade snapped back. ‘You’ve told me enough times.’
Her mood soured, she tossed the magazine onto the sand beneath her lounger and huffily rolled onto her front. She’d thought planning a wedding would be fun, but it was nothing of the sort thanks to her cheapskate parents. Okay, so they didn’t have pots of money lying about the place, but she was their only daughter and she had hoped they might want to give her a wedding that was a bit more flash than a quickie service at the council offices and a stand-up buffet in the function room of the local rugby club. She couldn’t even get the dress she’d set her heart on because they said they couldn’t afford the two grand it cost, so now she was having to make do with a knock-off version run up by her Auntie Susan. Jade wasn’t even sure the woman could sew properly.
At least she’d got the engagement ring of her dreams. Mason had done her proud by blowing two months’ wages on a platinum-set, princess-cut diamond solitaire. She stretched her left hand out in front of her and waggled her fingers so the stone cast shards of light up into the underside of the umbrella that was protecting her from the sun’s fierce rays.
‘Are you sure you like it?’ Mason piped up from the sun lounger next to hers. He looked groggy, having just woken from the nap that was necessary to sleep off the colossal hangover he’d woken with that morning. Him and her dad had got stuck into the cocktails at a bar last night like it was their last night on earth, rather than the last week of their holiday. Jade and Mandy were trying to lose weight before the big day so had only had two each.
Jade giggled. ‘Will you stop asking me that, of course I do! It’s perfect.’
‘I wish I could’ve got a bigger one.’
It was the first thing he’d said to her after he’d popped the question a month earlier. He’d been more worried about her not liking the ring than the proposal itself.
‘Don’t be daft. Any bigger and I’d be having the kids’ eyes out with it.’
Jade was a childcare assistant at a nursery in Barnet, north London, working with the under-twos. She was permitted to wear her ring while working, but she had to be careful.
Mason groaned as he rolled onto his side so he was facing her. ‘I feel terrible.’
‘Serves you right.’
‘It’s not my fault the bar did two-for-one cocktails on Monday nights. It would’ve been rude not to.’
‘Yeah, but now you’ve spent the best part of this morning trying not to puke. We go home in four days and you’re wasting it being wasted all the time.’
>
‘You know that nagging makes hangovers worse, right?’
‘Tough,’ she laughed.
‘I know what’ll sort me out. A can of Coke. Full fat though, not that diet crap. And crisps. Lots of crisps. I like those Ruffles ones they do here. Salt and vinegar flavour. I need the salt.’
Jade pointed towards the pedestrianized walkway that linked the hotels and restaurants to the beach, a few metres away from their heads.
‘Shop’s over there.’
Mason fixed her with a smile that melted her insides, then batted his eyelashes for maximum effect. ‘Pretty please?’
She couldn’t say no to him, she never could. From the minute she’d swiped right on his profile picture, Jade Reynolds had been smitten with Mason Embry. Halfway through their first date she knew he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. It took him six months to propose, helped by a bit of chiding on her part, but she knew it was meant to be, and so did he.
‘Fine, I’ll go. But we’re getting cheese and onion.’
‘I thought you were dieting?’
‘I’ll skip lunch.’
‘Babe, you look amazing as you are.’
Mason winked appreciatively as Jade got to her feet and tied a sarong over her skimpy bikini bottoms. She tightened the halter-neck strap of the matching red top so her boobs looked perkier.
‘I look fat,’ she said, smoothing her hand over her tummy that, to her, felt bloated. ‘Two weeks abroad eating nice food is too much – I said we should’ve only come for a week.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said her dad, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation. ‘There’s nothing of you.’
Dead Guilty Page 10
