The Secret

by Debbie Howells

  DS May makes more notes then looks up. ‘Are your husband and Mason friends?’

  ‘Acquaintances, yes. Friends, I really don’t know.’ I shake my head.

  ‘When did Stephanie Hampton tell you about James?’

  ‘Just before the funeral. She asked me to wait a few days. She wanted them to remember Hollie without the funeral being sullied by what James had got involved with.’

  Her face is unreadable. ‘You didn’t think you should tell us right away?’

  ‘Of course I know I should have.’ My face feels flushed, and I glance away, trying to remember exactly what I’d been thinking. ‘But they’d just lost a child. To me, respecting their grief took precedence over everything. I could understand her wanting to have the funeral without everyone talking about what James had done. Anyway, Stephanie did say she was going to call you – I just thought too much time had already passed and I shouldn’t wait any longer.’

  ‘Mrs Buckley …’ DS May pauses. ‘Please don’t keep information related to a crime to yourself. You could be charged with perverting the course of justice.’ She sounds less than impressed.

  Heat rises in my cheeks. ‘I did what I thought was right.’

  ‘It wasn’t your decision to make. We would have spoken to Mr Hampton but it wouldn’t necessarily have interfered with the funeral.’ She pauses. ‘When did you last see Mrs Hampton?’

  ‘Today.’ I look at her. ‘I went to her salon.’

  ‘Is she still there now?’

  I glance at the clock on the wall. ‘If it’s quiet, she closes early. You may have missed her for today.’

  As DS May gets up, I ask, ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Obviously we have to talk to both her and Mr Hampton. Have you told anyone else what you’ve told me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Be careful, Mrs Buckley.’ Her face is grave. ‘Desperate people are capable of extreme things. If you’re concerned at any time, call the police.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Registering the seriousness of what she’s saying, I feel the blood drain from my face.

  ‘I can’t say anything for sure, but there may be other people in the village who are involved in the same …’ She hesitates before adding, ‘The same business as James Hampton. I would be very careful who you mention this to.’

  It’s only after she’s driven away that I realise what I forgot to tell her – that I’m sure Stephanie’s told James that I know.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jo

  ‘Why didn’t we know this before?’ Getting up, the DI paces over to the window. ‘There have been enough police officers poking around the Hamptons’ home since Hollie died. All with their bloody eyes closed, by the looks of it.’

  ‘Stephanie Hampton asked her to wait until after Hollie’s funeral, and so Elise Buckley decided to keep it to herself.’ But he’s right. We should have picked up on it.

  ‘Whoever’s blackmailing Hampton must have put the fear of God into him for him to believe them. Either that, or they’ve been very clever about covering any links to the porn site. I assume someone’s on their way over to talk to Mrs Hampton?’

  ‘Collins is – she left twenty minutes ago – and I’m going there when I leave here.’

  He scratches his head. ‘At least we’ve got a name to follow up now. Philip Mason. We need to bring him in for questioning.’

  ‘I have an address and a photo.’ I slide the image across his desk. ‘Elise Buckley found it on Google images while I was there. She confirmed it’s him. He was at Hollie’s funeral.’

  The DI frowns. ‘Do you think there’s anything else she isn’t telling us?’

  ‘I don’t trust her, that’s for sure.’ I pause. ‘I’ve just had a thought. The house that Hollie showed Niamh … It isn’t impossible it was Mason’s place. And Mason’s land backs onto Park House, where Hollie was found.’

  ‘We need to find him. He could be connected to both the porn ring and Hollie’s murder.’ The DI speaks through gritted teeth. ‘Maybe on one of her free-spirited jaunts, Hollie stumbled across something and Mason felt he had no choice but to get rid of her.’

  Niamh

  When I think back to Hollie’s funeral, all I remember is how wrong it was. The sadness, the hymns, and DS May across the churchyard watching everyone. As I watched James Hampton talking to people afterwards, I wondered if he had any idea what Hollie knew about him. Not that it matters. When you’re dead, nothing matters.

  It’s like I can feel what’s happening around me under my skin, in my bones. I think of Hollie’s wide, brown eyes, her hair flowing behind her, her constant agitation. Hollie’s world was never going to be right. There were too many problems out of her control, things that she couldn’t resolve.

  Hollie felt more than most people. She lived harder, more intensely, hurt more deeply. I noticed it with Dylan, too, how a light burned between them, dazzling everyone. And then, afterwards, Hollie’s world darkened forever.

  At the funeral, I wanted to shout at all the villagers. Scream that Hollie should still be here, that her death is yet another that shouldn’t have happened. But behind the tears that vanished as soon as they walked out of the church, none of them actually cares.

  And it isn’t over. The night after the funeral, I overheard my mother ask my father about Phil Mason.

  He answered with another of his lies. I know because Hollie told me my father knows Phil Mason very well. Her death isn’t the end of this. Nothing will ever be the end of this.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Elise

  The greyness of the evening is broken by a single blue light, followed by a siren. My first thought is that it’s connected to James Hampton, and I wonder whether the police have arrested him. I don’t hear any more until later, when Andrew comes home. Without speaking, he pours himself a drink, downing it in one gulp before pouring another.

  ‘I suppose you should know,’ he says at last, dispassionately, unemotionally. ‘Stephanie Hampton was in a car accident.’

  ‘God.’ Shock hits me. Light-headed, I feel my way to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘What happened? Is that where you’ve come from? Is she OK?’

  ‘Actually, I was in the pub at the time. I was supposed to meet James, but he didn’t turn up. Then I got a call from the police telling me what had happened – James must have told them where I was and obviously they needed a doctor there immediately. I went straight over – Stephanie’s car hit a tree near their home.’ He frowns. ‘I’m not sure how the police got there so quickly. They must have gone there about something else. Anyway, she’s been taken by ambulance to St Richard’s.’

  ‘God,’ I repeat. After everything else that family has been through, and now this … I can’t take it in. ‘I saw her earlier today – I went to the salon. I can’t believe this.’

  ‘Whatever for?’ His voice is disdainful.

  ‘To see how she was,’ I lie. ‘It’s called being neighbourly, Andrew.’ I pause. ‘What are the chances that she’ll recover?’

  Andrew looks at me. ‘You’re like everyone else around here, aren’t you? Sticking your nose in where it isn’t wanted. You really think she’d have wanted to talk to you, of all people? Don’t you think the poor woman’s been through enough?’

  Flabbergasted by his rudeness, I watch him slam his glass down before topping it up.

  He goes on. ‘If you really want to know, I’ve no idea if she’ll survive. Her pulse was weak, her heart all over the place when she went to the hospital. God knows what speed she was driving at.’

  Andrew’s voice is cold, disdainful, as if he doesn’t care. Meanwhile, guilt creeps up on me because I feel instrumental in what’s happened. Stephanie was on edge when I saw her, aware that time was running out. She probably knew that after her outburst this morning, I had no reason not to go to the police. Maybe she decided not to call them in the end. Or maybe, after the conversation I had with DS May, the police went over there becaus
e of me.

  ‘Stephanie was worried about James.’ I watch Andrew’s face, and as he turns around, DS May’s warning about being careful comes back to me.

  ‘Did she say why?’ His eyes bore into me.

  Suddenly uneasy, I shake my head. ‘It was a passing comment. I assumed it was because he’d lost Hollie. Stephanie didn’t confide in me, Andrew. I don’t know her that well.’ Pausing, I change the subject, because I want to know something. ‘Why were you meeting James tonight?’

  ‘No reason.’ He looks away. ‘I thought that, after the funeral, he might appreciate the company. I was … how did you put it? Being neighbourly?’

  ‘How caring of you, Andrew.’ I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice, knowing he isn’t capable of unselfish acts, that there always has to be something in it for Andrew. He’s lying. ‘You’re not even friends with James. In fact, the last time I caught him looking at you, I’d say he seemed positively hostile.’

  ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Andrew says smoothly.

  He’s trying to stifle me, my instincts telling me that I’ve touched on something he doesn’t want me to know.

  But I’m wary of pushing him too far. ‘Do you know which ward Stephanie’s in? I want to see her.’

  Andrew takes another swig from his glass. ‘She was taken to Accident and Emergency, then admitted to Russet Ward.’

  Getting up, I go to find my phone.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Andrew sounds annoyed.

  ‘Calling the hospital. I want to know how she is.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ His tone is scathing. ‘You’re no friend of Stephanie’s.’

  ‘Unlike you, Andrew, I’m sympathetic.’ And unlike him, I’m being honest. But he snatches my phone away.

  ‘Call them in the morning, Elise, if you must. Right now, you’ll be wasting their valuable time when they should be saving lives. It’s not as though they’ll be able to tell you anything. It’s too soon.’

  ‘What about James?’

  For a moment, Andrew loses his bluster. ‘When I left, the police were with him.’

  After what I told them earlier, if the police are with James, the chances are they’ll be questioning him.

  *

  The next day, I get up early for a flight to Rome. Apart from a couple of men who’ve drunk far too much beer for breakfast in the departure lounge, the outbound passengers are quiet. As we touch down, then taxi towards the terminal building, I find I’m suddenly thinking of Stephanie, wishing that she was getting on a flight intending to disappear somewhere like here, in a city rich in history and culture, another world where she could start again. But instead, she’s unconscious in a hospital bed.

  After the aircraft parks, and all the passengers have disembarked, I quickly check my phone and find a voicemail from Andrew. It’s clipped and to the point, no emotion in his voice. ‘I thought you’d want to know Stephanie didn’t make it.’ As the return passengers board, I’m in shock; on automatic. All I can think is what a waste of a life. The flight back to Gatwick is surreal, life suddenly even more tenuous than usual, no less because I’m at thirty-five thousand feet, where a few millimetres of metal is all there is between life and certain death.

  *

  I try to call James before driving home, but it goes to voicemail. When Andrew gets home that evening he has little to add to his earlier message, other than citing organ failure as the most probable cause of Stephanie’s death.

  Whenever I run past the Hamptons’ house in the days that follow, the windows are closed and curtains drawn. Even at night, it’s in darkness and I wonder how long before the bank forecloses, before what’s left of James’s life is gone.

  Oddly, I find my husband is suddenly home earlier, and around more often, as Stephanie’s comment from the last time I saw her comes to mind. ‘Do you know how many people would give anything to be in your shoes …’ It makes me think about James’s hatred, about the jealousy in Stephanie’s eyes, and all of a sudden, everything falls into place as I see what’s been right under my nose.

  I remember the call I picked up ages ago, before Hollie disappeared. No-one had spoken or left a message. After, I’d written the number down, but never called it. Searching in the kitchen drawer where I would have put the piece of paper I’d written it on, I find it, against the odds. Then I dial the number.

  After, as I try to take in what I now know to be fact, I take advantage of the fact that Andrew’s out. Going to one of the cupboards, I start gathering bottles, pouring away every last drop of his beloved Scotch, then taking the expensive red wine he buys outside and hurling each bottle into the dustbin, listening to the glass shatter. Then back inside, I’m forced to wait, on edge, mentally preparing what I want to say to him. When he comes in from work and goes to the cupboard where the whisky’s kept and finds it empty, he glares at me.

  ‘Elise. My Scotch isn’t here.’ He speaks impatiently, accusingly.

  The words I’ve spent most of the afternoon rehearsing evaporate as I turn to face him. ‘You’re a fucking liar, Andrew. It wasn’t James you were meeting in the pub the other night. It was your lover. Don’t try to lie your way out of this. I’ve worked it out. While James’s life has been going down the pan, you’ve been fucking his wife.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Elise

  ‘Me and Stephanie? You really are insane.’ Andrew’s voice is patronising. ‘You need to go back to the specialist, Elise. Maybe there’s something he can give you.’

  I recognise the first warning sign. Usually it gives way to anger, and if I don’t back down now, he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I do. But I’m not backing down when it’s so clearly Andrew who’s in the wrong here. ‘She called the landline. Your lovers usually do, Andrew. Did you know that? Oh, of course you do,’ I say sarcastically. ‘Silly Elise. It’s you who puts them up to it, isn’t it? Anyway, this time I wrote the number down, and this afternoon I called it.’ It takes all my strength to hold his gaze. I won’t let him get to me. ‘As you’d expect, it went to voicemail.’

  A woman’s voice. ‘Please leave a message.’ Four words, but it’s all you need when it’s a voice you know.

  It’s bad enough to put a face to the mystery woman Andrew’s been screwing. But to know that I tried to befriend her, to know that she’s now dead after crashing her car … With each passing second, more is becoming clear in my brain. Hollie’s comings and goings here; her agitation, hardly surprising given her father’s problems, while her stepmother was shagging Andrew. ‘But it got complicated, didn’t it, because Hollie found out.’

  Poor Hollie, carrying the weight of it alone.

  Instead of blustering his way out of it, he shakes his head. ‘This is ridiculous, Elise. Yes, I’ve been seeing someone. It isn’t a secret. Hardly surprising when you’re so cold towards me.’

  Andrew’s done this before, twisting the truth, making his behaviour my responsibility. Even so, his audacity is breath-taking. ‘I’m not in the habit of sleeping with men who shag around,’ I say curtly. ‘And we’re talking about Stephanie, not me. Maybe it was Hollie who slashed your tyres. Maybe she’d found out.’ I shake my head. ‘God knows you deserved it.’ He’d better hope the police don’t make the connection. It would make him a suspect in Hollie’s murder.

  Andrew’s silent for a moment. ‘That girl had problems. Hardly surprising given her background.’

  I stare at him. It’s a staggering example of the way Andrew thinks. ‘How can you say that, Andrew?’

  Watching his jaw clench, I tense, waiting for a reaction. But today he doesn’t explode in anger. Instead, there’s a trace of vulnerability I haven’t seen in years as he sighs heavily. ‘Hollie was completely unstable. There was an incident. Last year.’

  ‘What kind of incident?’ My voice is cold. ‘And why don’t I know about it?’

  ‘It was nothing to do with you,’ he says crisply, any impression of vulnerability instantly dispe
lled. ‘But if you must know, now and then, a teenaged girl gets a crush. Usually girls seeking a father figure. Hollie made an appointment to see me at the surgery. She said she had a lump in one of her breasts. I told her I’d ask a chaperone to come in, but she said she didn’t want anyone else in with us. Said she was shy …’ A cynical laugh comes from him. ‘She made a hell of a fuss after – accused me of touching her inappropriately. She even wrote a letter to the practice manager. Of course, they knew nothing had happened. But even so, it was hugely embarrassing.’

  Damaging to his professional image, too. ‘You don’t think you deserved it, Andrew? She’d probably found out about you and Stephanie.’

  ‘I told you, Elise. She had a crush – one I didn’t reciprocate,’ he says sharply. ‘You and I both know that Hollie was a mess. She was all over the place.’ He shakes his head. ‘I have to say I’m very happy that Niamh is free of her.’ Utterly callous about Hollie’s suffering, he glances at the cupboard. ‘Bloody stupid, throwing away that Scotch.’

  It staggers me that he can switch topics like that without so much as drawing breath. ‘You’re missing the point, Andrew,’ I say acidly. ‘Maybe she knew about you and Stephanie and she was looking for a way to get back at you.’ I shake my head. If I knew Hollie at all, her first priority would have been to protect her father. ‘Frankly, you deserve far worse.’ Then I break our unspoken agreement. ‘How long had you and Stephanie been seeing each other?’

  Without replying, he picks up his jacket and walks out. Seconds later, I hear his car start. Andrew may believe he can do what he likes but we’ve crossed a line tonight and I wonder if he knows. Fear ripples through me, fear that for years has been the basis of our relationship; of his silence, his stonewalling, his anger and humiliation of me perpetually being stepped up another notch in the escalating scale of his abuse.