Dead Guilty

by Michelle Davies

  ‘That’s what I keep telling her, Mr R,’ replied Mason.

  ‘Stop sucking up to the in-laws,’ Jade hissed at him, but she was smiling. She loved that her mum and dad loved Mason as much as she did.

  After taking orders from her parents for Pringles and beers – Clive Reynolds decided more booze was the only thing that would cure his hangover – Jade left the beach. Not wanting to take her bag, she tucked a twenty-euro note in her waistband and carried her phone in her hand.

  The Eroski mini-mart looked pretty empty as she approached the entrance. She was just about to push through the waist-high swing gate when a hand suddenly grabbed her arm and she squealed in shock.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ said the man whose hand it was. He was posh-sounding and highly agitated. ‘Have you seen my little boy? He’s about this tall,’ he said, holding his hand level with Jade’s waist, ‘and he’s wearing, um, patterned shorts – blue with yellow squares – and Crocs. Bright-green ones.’

  ‘Sorry, I haven’t,’ said Jade.

  The man, who wearing a baseball cap in the same red as his shorts, was close to tears. ‘I can’t find him anywhere. He’s only six.’

  Jade looked all around but couldn’t see any child matching the boy’s description.

  ‘Where did you last see him?’

  ‘I gave him money to get an ice cream in the shop. I was sitting over there waiting for him,’ he said, pointing to the low wall that separated the beach from the pavement. ‘I don’t understand where he’s gone. My wife is going to kill me.’

  ‘I can help you look for him,’ said Jade kindly. ‘He’s probably in one of the souvenir shops where they sell all those pool toys. Have you seen the size of some of them? I quite fancy one of the massive unicorns. They’re as big as a dinghy.’ She kept chatting away, partly to distract the dad and partly because talking non-stop was what she did when she was nervous. Even if she hadn’t worked at a nursery she would’ve still appreciated that a kid going missing on holiday was every parent’s worst nightmare and already her mind was dreading how the mum would be if they couldn’t find the boy.

  ‘There’s one right up there,’ said the dad, pointing up to the far end of the side street next to the mini-mart. Jade could see dolphins, crocodiles and sharks squeezed together in an enormous inflatable bouquet outside a shop that also had on display rolled-up wicker sun mats and rows of buckets and spades. ‘Could you check that one while I do the next one along here?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Jade wasn’t wearing any shoes and winced as the baking-hot pavement burned against the soles of her feet. She looked all around the shop but there was no sign of the boy. The dad hadn’t told her the kid’s name either, so she couldn’t call out to him.

  She went and stood outside the shop again and looked up and down the street. It was now empty of passers-by: the midday sun had reached its zenith and anyone with sense had retreated into the shade. Jade was about to do the same when something caught her eye. Across the street, on the doorstep of a disused cafe that had fallen into disrepair and was boarded up, was a bright-green child’s shoe.

  Her pulse racing, Jade hobbled across the street towards it. Oh God, she thought, it was a Croc just like the kid had been wearing.

  She was reaching down to pick the shoe up when suddenly she was aware of someone right behind her. Before she could react, she felt a sharp prick in the side of her neck.

  ‘What the—’

  She tried to struggle but instantly her limbs went weak. With virtually no effort, the person pushed Jade towards the boarded-up door of the cafe and it swung open, already unlocked.

  Her vision was becoming too blurred for her to take in her surroundings and the last thing she registered before falling unconscious was the boy’s shoe being removed from her hand and the man she thought was his dad whispering in her ear.

  ‘I’m sorry about this, but it’s meant to be.’

  26

  The problem with them staying in an apartment, Philip had come to realize, was that it afforded him not an ounce of personal space. Had they been staying in a hotel, he could’ve escaped to the bar or, if he was exceptionally lucky, a designated library nook in which he could read. But in the apartment there was nowhere for him to hide without someone else being within speaking distance. He missed his garden.

  Right now the apartment was full of people readying themselves for the memorial service at two. He felt invisible as they milled around him, his part in the production diminished from that of grieving father to bystander. Patricia was holding court in the middle of the room, barking her disappointment at the poor local florist who’d been commissioned online some weeks ago and had produced a wreath not to his wife’s liking.

  The door to the apartment was open to allow for all the frantic comings and goings and the next person to walk through it was their son, George. He was checking something on his phone, as was often the way, and Philip surmised he must be reading an email from the clerk of his chambers back in London. Earlier he had mentioned there was a problem brewing with his trial at the Old Bailey next week and he might have to cut his trip short and return to London before the press conference. Patricia was not at all happy and had insulted Philip by saying she needed George to be there to speak because ‘you know what your father’s like, he’s useless at public speaking’. The atmosphere in the apartment was now strained to say the least.

  George sat down and hooked his right ankle across his left knee. His legs were bare in shorts.

  ‘You are changing into something else, aren’t you?’ asked Philip worriedly. ‘I think your mother might have something to say about you wearing those.’

  George grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a suit to put on, as per the orders Mum emailed to me a month ago.’

  ‘Orders? What else did she ask you to do?’

  ‘Book the orchestra, arrange the champagne toast, send an invite to the King of Spain.’ George burst out laughing as Philip recoiled in horror. ‘Dad, I’m joking! The only thing required of me was to turn up on time and look smart. Although the bit about the King’s invite is true.’

  Philip found he couldn’t stop trembling.

  ‘The King of Spain? Oh, this is getting out of hand, George. Your mother –’ Philip lowered his voice – ‘she’s obsessed.’

  George’s handsome features creased into a frown. ‘Dad, she just wants to find the bastard who did this.’

  ‘And I don’t?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  Philip paused for a moment. For the past few days he’d been building up to asking his son an important question. It wasn’t something he felt able to raise in Patricia’s presence and there had been little opportunity for any time on his own with his son. But now, with Patricia distracted, this might be the only chance he got.

  ‘George, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure, fire away.’

  ‘Did you know Declan got Katy pregnant?’

  The guilty look on his son’s face told him he had known all along.

  ‘She asked me not to say anything. She knew how you and Mum would react.’

  ‘So it’s definitely true? I had been hoping it might not be.’

  ‘Why?’

  Philip groped for the right words. ‘No father likes to think of his little girl in that kind of situation.’

  ‘Situation? Dad, you sound like a Victorian. She got pregnant. She chose how she wanted to deal with it. You knowing that doesn’t change anything about her, or it shouldn’t do.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  George reached over and gently took his dad’s hand. ‘Katy was nearly eighteen. She had a serious boyfriend. It can’t really come as any surprise that they were sleeping together.’

  Philip felt his cheeks colouring. His mind simply wouldn’t allow him to entertain it.

  ‘As I said, no father likes to think of his little girl in that situation.’

  Shaking his head, Geo
rge grinned and Philip seized the moment to change the subject.

  ‘I wonder what those two are talking about.’

  He nodded in the direction of Walker, who had just arrived and was now clearly losing whatever argument he was having with Patricia. His arms were tightly folded across his front, a classic defensive pose protecting him from the pointed finger that was getting perilously close to stabbing him in the chest.

  ‘Look at his face,’ chuckled George. ‘He’s dying to put Mum in her place. Maybe he’s telling her about the email.’

  ‘You mean the email sent to Declan? Has there been some news?’

  George looked serious for a moment. ‘They can’t trace who sent it, but they’ve discovered that another email has been sent from the same address.’

  ‘To who?’

  ‘A woman in London. The police won’t tell us all the details yet, but she was on holiday in Saros in April 2009 and was involved in an incident that could be related to Katy’s case. That’s all they’re saying.’

  Philip’s brain scrambled to keep up.

  ‘When did you find this out?’

  ‘Just now. Walker was outside with Maggie when I came in and he told her it was okay to fill me in.’

  ‘Is this woman someone we know?’

  ‘No, she’s not.’

  ‘I don’t understand then. How might it be related?’

  George thought for a moment.

  ‘Why don’t I ask Maggie to explain it to you, like she did to me?’

  There was something in the way George said Maggie’s name that made Philip stop. He was trying too hard to sound casual.

  ‘Yes, that’s a good idea,’ he said, staring beadily at his son. ‘I do like Maggie. She’s a very nice young woman, very considerate.’

  ‘She’s great,’ said George with enthusiasm.

  Philip suppressed a smile. He knew his son well enough to know when he was keen on someone.

  ‘Perhaps I should speak to her now, before the ceremony. Would you mind fetching her?’

  From the way George shot out of his seat it was obvious he didn’t mind at all.

  27

  As she surveyed the rows of chairs being set out next to the pond, Maggie was dogged by the uncomfortable thought that the backdrop to the service was beginning to look more bridal than in memoriam. Patricia had hired a company in Palma to provide slips to cover the chairs and the ones it had supplied were snow white and fastened at the back with elaborately fussy bows. Maggie debated whether to remove the bows to lessen their impact but decided she would wait to see what Patricia’s reaction was to them – for all she knew she might want them like that.

  Besides, it wasn’t her job to oversee the decor, or the seating plan, or the after-service catering, even if Patricia did seem to think otherwise. She’d managed to escape outside on the pretext of needing to discuss something with Walker, which turned out to be prescient because he arrived saying he wanted the Popes briefed about the email sent to Lara Steadman at last, and that Maggie could start with George, who happened to be hanging around outside. Walker wanted to know if the family knew Lara in any way, but George said he’d never heard of the woman and Maggie believed him.

  She was about to see what the others were up to when something moving in the pond caught her eye. Stepping closer, she saw it was a turtle, a tiny one, bobbing to the surface. Watching it disappear back into the depths she considered the lengths Katy’s killer had gone to to conceal each body part beneath the lily pads, weighing them down with chains so they would stay under water. Whoever it was didn’t want the parts to be found – had they stayed submerged much longer the enormous carp that lived alongside the turtles, frogs and minnows might’ve made a meal of them – but at the same time it was hardly the most inconspicuous dumping ground.

  Waiting to see if the turtle re-emerged, Maggie fanned her face with her hand. The sun was at its peak and while the shade of the surrounding trees did lessen its glare somewhat, the temperature remained high. She was finding it a struggle to stay feeling comfortable; there were only so many times she could lift her hair off the back of her sweaty neck to cool down.

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ said a voice behind her suddenly.

  Maggie spun round to find herself face to face with an elderly gentleman with a bronzed, wizened face and eyes disappearing beneath drooping lids as they screwed up against the sun. His collar-length silver hair had receded to expose a pate covered in freckles and liver spots, a couple of which were crusted with scabs.

  ‘Is there a problem, sir?’ she asked politely.

  ‘This ridiculous circus shouldn’t be allowed,’ he said haughtily, pointing to the chairs behind her.

  With a start the man’s identity came to her: he was Terry Evans, the ex-pat. He’d aged a lot since the pictures she’d previously seen in the case file but was still recognizable.

  ‘It’s Mr Evans, isn’t it? I’m DC Maggie Neville, family liaison officer with Operation Pivot.’ Evans shook her hand, albeit reluctantly; his fingertips barely brushed hers.

  ‘I don’t know why the management company has allowed this,’ he frowned, casting another look at the neat formation of chairs. ‘It’s macabre.’

  ‘It was very difficult for the Pope family to decide where to commemorate their daughter,’ she said. ‘Here made the most sense to them in the end because it’s where she was found.’

  ‘But why did it have to be the pond right outside my apartment?’ Evans asked unhappily. ‘There are five others they could’ve chosen. It feels like they’re trying to make a point.’

  Maggie looked at the apartments on the other side of the pond and guessed immediately which one belonged to Evans: the one with a garden awash with flowers and plants, including a trellis wall thick with greenery that would’ve taken more than a fortnight’s holiday to cultivate. There were other little touches that also indicated there being a long-term occupant in situ – while every other garden apartment had a metal gate leading to the pool area, his was wooden and painted green. Just inside the gate, set up on the grass, were two traditional deckchairs upholstered in bright-red fabric, holding court in place of sun loungers. It appeared as though Evans had created himself a home from home in his little corner of Spain.

  ‘What point would that be, Mr Evans?’ she asked.

  He was a diminutive man, barely five foot five, but indignation drew him to his full height and made him seem taller.

  ‘The stigma never goes away, never. I will always be the ex-pat suspected of that poor girl’s murder. Can you imagine what it’s like to live with that every day for ten years?’

  Maggie wasn’t short of sympathy, but at the same time felt his tirade was ill judged given what was about to commence at that very spot in an hour’s time.

  ‘I’m sorry the memorial service is making you feel uncomfortable, Mr Evans, and I do understand why. I promise you the second it’s over we’ll clear away the seating and return the area to normal.’

  Evans, still looking troubled, opened his mouth to retaliate but then tilted his head and smiled. The swift change in mood surprised Maggie, until she realized he was smiling not at her but at a young woman approaching them. In her mid to late twenties, she had long dark hair and was tanned, making her appear local, but when she spoke her accent was distinctly Mancunian.

  ‘Hello, Terry, is everything okay?’

  ‘It most certainly is now you’re here, Ms Shepherd.’

  The man was positively simpering, his earlier animosity evaporating like a mist of perfume.

  ‘Hi, I’m Lyndsey Shepherd,’ said the woman to Maggie. ‘I’m a consular officer with the British Consulate in Palma.’

  As Maggie understood it, a consular officer supported the Vice-Consul – an official a bit like an ambassador – in helping British nationals abroad when they found themselves in trouble. With the island’s resort of Magaluf being the most popular destination in Europe for British youths holidaying without their parents for the fi
rst time, she imagined Lyndsey was kept pretty busy in her role.

  Maggie introduced herself as they shook hands.

  ‘DCI Walker said you were a big help at his meeting yesterday.’

  Lyndsey smiled. ‘Happy to do what I can for international relations. The local police are feeling very twitchy about today, with good reason. They wish as much as anyone that Katy Pope’s killer wasn’t still walking free. Now, Terry, I got the distinct impression as I was coming over that you were giving DC Neville a hard time about something, presumably the ceremony. We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? It’s only for a couple of hours and it’s an extremely important occasion for the Pope family.’

  Evans dropped his head like a child being chided.

  ‘I’ve known Terry since I started working at the Consulate in 2015,’ Lyndsey explained to Maggie, who imagined Evans was probably well known by everyone at the Consulate for bringing complaints to its door. ‘We’ve been having a few discussions leading up to today, because Terry is concerned he’ll be dragged into the investigation all over again.’ She turned back to the elderly resident. ‘I thought you decided to go to Palma for a couple of days to avoid all this?’

  ‘I changed my mind. I don’t see why I should be forced from my home again.’

  ‘I agree, so let’s get you back there before it starts,’ said Lyndsey. She offered her arm to Evans and he took it eagerly. Then his expression fell just as quickly.

  ‘Oh, please, let’s get inside quickly. I don’t want to talk to him.’

  Someone else was approaching them. It was George.

  ‘It’s okay, Terry,’ said Lyndsey soothingly. ‘No one’s going to cause a scene today.’

  Maggie watched her curiously, noticing how her body language had noticeably shifted on seeing Katy’s brother. Her face became sapped of any emotion and her posture stiffened, leaving Evans hanging awkwardly on the crook of her arm.

  George ignored her, and Evans, as he fixed his gaze on Maggie.

  ‘Can you spare us a minute, Maggie? I told Dad about our chat and he wants to talk to you about it.’