The Secret

by Debbie Howells

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jo

  We have few facts around Hollie Hampton’s death, and with the lack of answers from the villagers – and the failure of the press to extract anything more than we have – my hunch grows that the community is closing ranks.

  Meanwhile, there’s been a breakthrough with Operation Rainbow, the case I was meant to be working on before Hollie’s death – a covert investigation into a child porn ring that’s been tenuously linked to Abingworth. Hollie’s death will explain the police presence in the village, but two such high-stakes investigations running side by side has stretched our force to its limits.

  Spending most of the morning in the office, I catch up with new evidence that’s come to light, most of which has come from two fifteen-year-old girls who were invited to a party by a man they met in a pub on the outskirts of Chichester. Fortunately, one of them became suspicious when she saw a text message on his phone, and they left the pub without him. He came after them, but they managed to get away thanks to the intervention of a couple who happened to be passing by.

  Worried about being caught for underage drinking, they didn’t come forward until a week later, when two other girls went missing from the area, right around the same time that Hollie disappeared. They provided a generic description of the man in the pub – dark-haired, about six foot, in his late twenties – but given the fact that it’s a week later and they had spent that night drinking, anything more detailed would be questionable. Apparently, he plied them with drinks he may have spiked – one of the girls described herself as feeling dizzy and faint – before the other girl read the text and got them out of there. All they knew about the party he invited them to was that it was that same night, at a house in Abingworth.

  Operation Rainbow has been running for the last two years, since photographs of abducted teenagers started appearing on online porn sites, weeks after they’ve disappeared. Unfortunately, most of them have never been found.

  It’s crossed my mind more than once since Hollie was found that her death might be connected. Maybe she stumbled across some information she shouldn’t have? Or said the wrong thing to the wrong person?

  Reading through the notes again, I sigh. We have to be missing something.

  *

  At home that night, I close the curtains and light the fire. Apart from the crackle of the flames, the house is quiet in a way that takes getting used to after ten years of marriage. So does the reality that when you love someone, when they gradually start undermining you, shredding your self-esteem until you believe everything they tell you, it can be impossible to recognise that what they’re showing you is no longer love. It’s abuse.

  Even now, it’s hard to shed the sense of shame I feel that I was a victim. Objectively, I know how it happens – the behaviour changes slowly, the episodes of cruelty followed by passionate declarations of regret and overblown apologies. He didn’t mean to hurt me … Anyone would want to believe the man they love simply made an error of judgement – none of us are perfect. We tell ourselves these and other lies while the vision of our pale, drawn faces becomes familiar to us, along with walking on eggshells to tiptoe around the next explosion. And as we gradually withdraw from life, the light slowly fades from our eyes.

  Getting up, I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine.

  And for some reason, I think of Elise Buckley.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elise

  In light of what Stephanie’s told me, I start to wonder how many other people are embroiled the way James is, in an immoral, illegal business that they’re too frightened to blow the whistle on. I wonder if Andrew’s got wind of what’s going on, too, not that he’d care. He isn’t a doctor out of compassion for other people. It’s for the aura of authority and integrity that accompanies his title – his cloak of infallibility – and the fact that his words carry more weight than other people’s. It astonishes me how, even now, so many people don’t question their doctors, even though doctors are human, as capable of making mistakes as anyone else.

  I keep thinking about James, still regretting my promise to Stephanie. It isn’t right that the police don’t know about his so-called business venture.

  But I keep my word. Two days before the funeral, I go back to work, reporting early in the morning for a flight to Barcelona. The flight is busy and I don’t get time to look out of the window until much later, by which time we’re flying over the south of France. The cloud carpeting the landscape as we left the UK is far behind us and I view the snow-capped Pyrenees from the small window in the forward door before the land flattens out to meet the sea.

  As we start our descent into the city, I make a final check of the cabin and by the time I return to my view, we’re low enough to make out buildings and the network of streets bathed in winter sun.

  After landing, I find myself hankering for another life as I study the rows of faces in front of me, imagining lives so very different from mine, unencumbered by an abusive marriage and the knowledge of a murdered teenager. As the last of the passengers disembarks, I’m gripped by an urge to make an excuse to follow them to the terminal building, imagining myself merging into the crowd of thousands before disappearing from everything I know. I come close – for a moment believing I really could do it – but then I think of Niamh.

  The reality check causes my mood to slump. Life is too bound by my responsibilities – as a member of the cabin crew required to get this flight home, as Niamh’s mother, and now, in light of what’s happened to Hollie and what Stephanie has told me, by the additional burden of secrets.

  *

  I push it all to the back of my mind for the flight back, but as we make our approach into Gatwick two hours later, I think of the hold Andrew has over me. Am I really so different from Stephanie? Playing along with Andrew’s game for my own reasons, instead of exposing what he’s doing to me and letting the truth come out? But as the aircraft wheels touch down, I realise I’m not like Stephanie. She isn’t weak. After the funeral, she’s leaving.

  I make a promise to myself that one day, in the not-so-distant future, I’ll find a way to do the same.

  After we taxi in and park on our stand, the return passengers start to disembark and my eyes fix on a man speaking angrily to his wife. Instead of looking upset or anxious, she humours him, touching his arm with affection. I watch his anger evaporate; his quiet laugh, the way he kisses her cheek. It’s a brief moment that reminds me of everything that’s wrong in my marriage; that happy relationships do exist.

  While I drive home, I feel uncertainty escalating around me. I need to get the funeral out of the way, I remind myself. Then, at the first opportunity, I’ll talk to the police. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my mind. But it’s as though unstoppable change is all around me.

  *

  The feeling is heightened that afternoon when I drive into Chichester for an appointment; and again, later, when I’m back home switching on the radio and turning the music up. Out of character for me, I open a bottle of Prosecco and pour myself a large glass. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. There’s no reason why I should, when the world around me is increasingly unpredictable.

  Finishing the glass, I pour another as an upbeat track comes on the radio. Caught in a moment of recklessness, I start to dance uninhibitedly – because no-one’s watching and because I feel like it. It isn’t until the track comes to an end that I hear the knock at the door.

  Catching my breath, I smooth my hair behind my ears before opening it to find Sergeant Collins and DS May standing there.

  ‘Mrs Buckley? I hope we’re not disturbing you. Would you mind if we came in for a moment?’ Their faces are impassive. If they saw me dancing through the window, it doesn’t show.

  Standing back, I open the door wider. ‘Of course not.’ The cloud of uncertainty I briefly danced away is back again. ‘Come through.’

  They follow me inside, hovering until I gesture towards the table. ‘Would yo
u like to sit down?’

  DS May nods. ‘Thank you.’

  I watch her eyes glance around the kitchen, taking in my half-drunk glass, then glancing at the clock, before sitting at the table.

  ‘Can you remember where you were the day Hollie died?’

  I gasp. Am I a suspect? Suddenly my mind is racing.

  ‘The date was Wednesday the 4th of February.’

  ‘OK.’ The date’s engrained in my mind. ‘I think I was at work – on a flight. I’ll have to check where I went.’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind?’

  My feeling of uncertainty grows stronger as I get my phone, logging into the crew portal before bringing up my flight schedule. ‘I went to Athens.’

  Making a note, she nods before going on. ‘I wondered if you knew Niamh was with Hollie the day before she disappeared?’

  Shaking my head, I frown at her. ‘You must be mistaken. It isn’t possible. She would have been at school.’ But I was flying that day, too, and can’t be certain. ‘I’ve always trusted that she goes to school – I’ve no reason not to. There’s a portal parents can access that records attendance, but I haven’t checked it recently. I didn’t have any reason to, though it’s possible I missed a call from the school – I switch my phone off while I’m working.’

  The expression on DS May’s face is grave. ‘We have reason to believe that Niamh took the day off. We’ve checked with the school. According to them, you emailed the office to tell them she had a dental appointment.’

  As I stare at her, I feel my grip on reality loosen.

  ‘Did you email the school, Mrs Buckley?’

  In that moment, I’m paralysed, torn between needing to protect Niamh from whatever Hollie might have been involved in and telling the truth. Except that the truth is I don’t know where Niamh was that day. My voice is hoarse. ‘I can’t be sure. I’d have to check the calendar … Maybe the school made a mistake. Did they say if she’d missed any other days?’

  To my relief, she says, ‘To the best of our knowledge, this was the only one, which makes it all the more important. Did Hollie have some kind of hold over your daughter? Enough to make her take a day off school, for whatever reason?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it like that. I think it’s best if I talk to Niamh.’

  DS May and Sergeant Collins glance at each other. ‘She’s usually home around four, isn’t she? Would you mind if we wait?’

  Niamh

  When I get off the bus, I look for the cat as always, but I haven’t seen him since the day Hollie disappeared. Back home, I think about turning around and going somewhere else – anywhere else – when I see the police car parked on the drive outside my house and my mother standing at the kitchen window. Seeing me, she raises a hand.

  As I go inside, I see the two policewomen sitting at our kitchen table. I know they’re waiting for me – why else would they be here?

  ‘Niamh? The police want to talk to you again.’ My mother sounds jittery. ‘They say you were with Hollie on one of the days she was missing from school.’

  ‘Yes.’ I’m not going to lie. ‘But there’s a reason I didn’t tell you.’ I glance at her. ‘Before, I mean.’

  Shaking her head, she looks furious for a moment. Then she looks worried. In a flash, I get why. She thinks I know more than I’m saying about what happened to Hollie.

  After putting down my school bag, I go over to the table. ‘I made Hollie a promise,’ I try to explain to DS May and Sergeant Collins. ‘Just because she’s dead, doesn’t mean a promise should be broken.’

  DS May looks slightly thrown. ‘If Hollie told you something that could help us find out what happened to her, you should tell us, Niamh.’ When I don’t reply, she goes on. ‘So you’re saying Hollie was upset that day? Upset enough that she persuaded you to take the day off school? Wasn’t there anyone else she went to when she needed to talk to someone?’

  I shake my head. ‘She didn’t have anyone else. I went to get the bus and she was waiting for me. She was desperate.’

  ‘So what happened after you didn’t get on the bus?’

  ‘We came back here. I got changed, and we went out again.’

  DS May nods. ‘But first, you emailed your school, telling them you had a dental appointment.’

  I pause. Has she rung my school? ‘It was Hollie’s idea. I didn’t want to.’

  ‘Niamh.’ My mother sounds shocked.

  DS May’s eyes don’t leave my face. ‘So what did you and Hollie do after that?’

  *

  There are things you don’t tell your parents, that they don’t need to know or wouldn’t understand.

  ‘Please don’t go to school today.’ I found her waiting for me at the bus stop, her eyes huge with dark circles under them, as though she hadn’t slept in days. ‘I’m going mad, Niamh. I need you.’ The words broke out of her in a kind of sob.

  I thought about the classes I’d miss, the trouble I’d get into when my mother found out. ‘If I don’t go to registration, they’ll call my mother.’

  Her eyes didn’t leave mine. ‘Can’t you tell them you have a dentist’s appointment? I’ll never ask you to do anything like this again.’

  I paused, thinking of the school’s online portal for parents. I’d memorised the login details they sent my mother. ‘I suppose I could. What are we going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t care. Your bus is coming, Niamh. You have to decide. Please …’

  The desperation in her voice swayed me. One day off school wouldn’t make any difference to anyone. ‘OK.’

  ‘Is your mum at work?’ Hollie spoke hurriedly as we walked away down the road. When I nodded, she said, ‘Can we go back to yours? Shouldn’t you change?’ She looked at my uniform anxiously. As the bus came into sight, Hollie grabbed my arm. ‘Quick. Before the driver sees us.’

  By the time it reached the bus stop, we were out of sight. From the garden, I heard the bus slow down, and then – when the driver saw I wasn’t there – it gradually accelerated and pulled away. Running ahead of me across the garden towards the house, Hollie seemed more anxious than usual. ‘Hurry up, Niamh. You need to email the school before they try to call your parents.’

  Unlocking the back door, I closed it behind both of us, then got my laptop, logging in and sending the email to the school before shutting it down again. I turned to Hollie. ‘What now?’

  There was a strange look on her face. Then she said, ‘My dad’s done something.’

  ‘What?’ Before she could speak, I added, ‘You’re right, I need to change. Come upstairs.’

  She was restless while I changed, flitting around my room and I tried to imagine what her dad might have done. Then, as I pulled on a sweater, she said, ‘I have to show you something.’

  ‘What?’

  But she was already going downstairs again. In the kitchen, she picked up my jacket and handed it to me.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Shaking her head, she opened the back door, and then stood outside impatiently. ‘Come on, Niamh. It has to be now, or someone will see us.’

  As the same urgency that gripped her filtered into me, I closed the door and hurried to catch up, jogging to keep pace with her quick steps. As we reached the lane, she glanced around, as if making sure we weren’t being watched. When she broke into an easy run, I did the same, following her along the pavement, watching her unzipped jacket flapping behind her. ‘Hollie.’ When she didn’t slow down, I shouted after her. ‘Hollie … stop.’

  There was a mystified look on her face as she turned round. For some reason, I was annoyed. ‘What are we doing out here? Someone will see me. I’m supposed to be at school, remember?’

  Jogging back to me, she grabbed my hand, then stroked a strand of hair off my face. ‘It’ll be OK, Niamh. But I have to show you something. It’s important.’

  Passing Greyfriars Lane, we crossed the road to the woods, where we took an unmarked path, relief filling me when no cars had pas
sed us.

  ‘It takes longer this way, but no-one will see us.’

  Clouds were rolling across the sky, threatening rain, and the woods were dark under the canopy of branches as we followed the path that looped around the edge of the village. It took fifteen minutes for us to reach the house Hollie wanted me to see.

  ‘Where are we?’ I looked around for somewhere I recognised.

  ‘Your house is over there.’ Hollie pointed towards some trees.

  Squinting, I followed her gaze, unable to see it, taking her word for it.

  ‘Stay here, Niamh. I won’t be a minute.’ She hurried around the front to check the drive before coming back.

  ‘No-one’s home.’

  I followed her across the garden to a window and we peered through it, seeing a small room that looked like someone’s office, with photos on the desk. Photos of young girls. Then she told me what she’d been keeping from me and everyone else, and made me swear on my life never to tell anyone.

  ‘Everyone has secrets, Niamh. And now, mine is one of yours.’

  *

  Knowing, even now, I can’t go back on the promise I made her, I give the police a slightly looser version of the truth. ‘She made me walk a long way to this house that belonged to someone she didn’t know. But that was it.’ It seems an age ago that it happened, but that’s how it feels when someone dies. It’s the difference between life with and without; before and after.

  ‘Where was the house?’ DS May’s voice is sharp, her pen poised, ready to write it down.

  I look at her blankly. ‘Through the woods somewhere.’

  ‘Was it Park House?’

  ‘Park House?’ I glance at my mother.

  ‘Up Greyfriars Lane, Niamh.’ My mother’s voice is quiet. ‘One of the bigger houses – where the Marinos live.’

  I’ve seen that house – when I’ve been out with Hollie. I shake my head.

  Then DS May asks, ‘Would you be able to take us the way you went with Hollie?’

  Can I remember the twisting path Hollie took? ‘I’m not sure I could.’