The Secret

by Debbie Howells

  After filling out an online form to request a viewing, there’s something else I have to do.

  I glance towards the stairs, hearing the faint sound of Niamh’s television coming from her room, then pick up my phone and find DS May’s number. But when I call, it goes to voicemail.

  ‘It’s Elise Buckley. There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Elise

  I’m on edge waiting for DS May to call me back. I try her again, knowing I need to tell her about the image I’ve seen on Andrew’s phone; my uneasiness growing when she still doesn’t answer and Andrew’s car pulls up in the drive. Not wanting to speak to her while he’s around, I switch my phone off.

  ‘Next time you talk to the police about Dylan, perhaps you could let me know.’ The acid words trip off my tongue as Andrew walks into the kitchen.

  ‘Why?’ he demands. ‘Are you worried, Elise? Frightened you’ll say the wrong thing?’

  ‘He was our son, Andrew.’ My eyes fill with tears. ‘How dare you use his death to manipulate me.’

  His eyes narrow. ‘There’s no manipulation going on. The trouble with the truth is that sadly, for you, it hurts.’

  I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation that didn’t disintegrate into a fight. He’s goading me again, but I stand my ground. ‘Let’s talk to the police about what happened that day. Give them the facts.’ I stare at him. Unable to tolerate more of Andrew’s behaviour, the obvious solution is to lay my cards on the table and let someone else form a judgement.

  ‘You’re mad. You do know that, don’t you?’ His voice is scornful. ‘Any psychiatrist worth his salt would have a field day with you.’

  But again I don’t respond. It’s what he always says when he senses he’s losing ground. ‘We both know I’m not.’ As our eyes meet, this time the shift between us is palpable. No longer can he cow me into acquiescence, just as he no longer has the moral high ground. I can tell from his hesitation that Andrew’s not as sure as he usually is. ‘If you pull that one, I’ll get an independent assessment from someone out of the area. Don’t fuck with me, Andrew. I’ve had enough.’

  Without bothering to look at him to see the impact my words have had, I fetch my jacket and go outside, needing to remove myself from his toxic presence, to stand in fresh air and cleanse my lungs. Walking across the grass to a more hidden corner of the garden, I realise how desperate I am for a sense of calm in my world. In the dusk, a white clematis stands out. Just coming into flower, its delicate stems trail over the wall, its daisy-like flowers softening the stone. Further on, I see the first of the pale roses are blooming. For a transient moment, their fragrance reaches me, a scent that takes me back to my childhood, as a nostalgic desire for the past fills me – for days when life was simple.

  Suddenly, I realise how few people there are in my life. But Andrew destroyed my relationships one by one in his escalating need for power over me. For years, I’ve hidden from everyone, cutting myself off because it’s easier than justifying his behaviour, explaining why I stay with him. Without any allies to turn to and nowhere else to go, Andrew’s control was absolute – and it’s taken until now for me to see it.

  Nostalgia hits me again. If only there was someone I could talk to who would understand what’s going on. But this is how the abuser–victim relationship works; why Andrew holds the trump card. Because of him, I have no-one.

  *

  I don’t have an appetite, but I cook a bowl of pasta, serving up plates for myself and Niamh, which we eat together at the kitchen table. Andrew has half a bottle of Scotch inside him when he comes into the kitchen.

  ‘Fucking pathetic, Elise,’ he snarls, with no thought for the fact that Niamh is sitting there, listening to his every word. ‘Thinking you can exclude me.’

  I glance at her, shaking my head slightly. ‘I didn’t want to interrupt you, Andrew. There’s plenty in the pan.’ I’d like to say more but I bite my tongue. If my plan works, evenings like this will soon be over.

  Instead of going back to the sitting room, he comes and joins us at the table, even though Niamh and I have finished eating. Niamh’s eyes scan mine, her face anxious.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, Andrew’s foul mood like a stench pervading the room. In the end, it’s too much for Niamh. She gets up and rushes out, then I hear her feet on the stairs. Glaring at Andrew, I get up to follow her.

  ‘Stay here, Elise,’ he growls. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘There is nothing you can say that I want to hear,’ I tell him before going upstairs and knocking gently on Niamh’s door.

  She’s distraught. ‘Why is he like this?’ She sobs. ‘He’s so horrible to us. He’s horrible to you. Why can’t he be nice?’

  Putting my arms around her, I hold her tightly. ‘Listen,’ I whisper fiercely. ‘Your father can’t go on doing this – to either of us. I won’t let him. Hold on, just a little bit longer, Niamh. It isn’t going to be forever.’

  *

  I sleep fitfully that night, inspired by the thought of freedom, but preoccupied by the reality of what’s ahead. The next morning, I get dressed in my uniform and leave the house early, knowing exactly what I have to do. If the day goes the way I’m hoping it will, by the time Andrew gets home tonight, a very different future will lie ahead.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jo

  After picking up a voicemail from Elise Buckley, I call her back but she doesn’t answer. Knowing she could be at work, I make a note to try her later on, before going to talk to James Hampton. When I reach the interview room, he and his lawyer are already seated.

  ‘Mr Hampton.’ I sit down. ‘We won’t keep you long. I’m just waiting for DI Saunders to join us.’

  As I finish speaking, the door opens and he appears in the doorway. ‘A moment, May?’ He nods towards the corridor. I glance at James Hampton briefly as I stand.

  Outside the room, the DI is jumpy as we move to a spot out of earshot of anyone else. ‘Mason’s passport’s been picked up – not quickly enough unfortunately. Seems he got on a ferry – it docked in Portsmouth an hour ago and he got away before we could notify border police there. We’ve traced him back to Santander, where he was picked up on CCTV driving a black Audi. Fingers crossed, if he’s headed for his house, we’ve got him.’

  I frown. I can’t believe that after avoiding us for so long, Mason’s going to make it that easy. ‘Why’s he back?’

  The DI shrugs. ‘Maybe he’s hoping to flog his investment opportunity to a few more idiots like Hampton. Maybe he needs the money.’

  ‘We should get someone over to his house. Straight away.’

  The DI nods. ‘Ask Emerson. At this time of day, it’ll take Mason at least an hour to get home, probably considerably longer.’

  Glancing at my watch, I nod. ‘Shall we go in, sir? Hampton’s already been there a while.’

  The DI is brusque. ‘Don’t go all sympathetic on him, May. He’s a bloody criminal.’

  He’s right, Hampton is a criminal. But desperation and hopelessness lie at the root of so many crimes.

  ‘Do we know why he wants to see us?’

  The DI shakes his head. ‘Haven’t a bloody clue.’

  James Hampton’s lawyer looks impatient as we go back in. Once we’re sitting down, he starts talking. ‘My client’s been thinking about your offer of reduced charges against him. He can’t be certain, but he thinks he knows who else might be involved in the porn ring.’

  Sitting back, the DI folds his arms. ‘I thought your client had already told us everything he knows.’ He addresses James Hampton. ‘Have you thought how this is going to look in court?’

  At the mention of court, James Hampton looks weary but as he glances at his lawyer, it’s obvious it’s a clumsy attempt to buy his way out of this.

  ‘If I were you, I’d advise my client to tell us exactly what he knows, or on top of everything else, we’ll add perverting the course of j
ustice to the list of charges against him.’ Finished addressing the lawyer, the DI turns to James Hampton. ‘What is it that you’d like to say?’

  ‘I want the charges reduced.’ Hampton stares at the table. ‘I didn’t know the extent of what I was getting into. I was scammed.’

  ‘We’ll take your request into account once we’ve heard what you have to say.’ The DI’s voice is steely as he folds his arms.

  Hampton’s face is ashen. ‘I think you should talk to Andrew Buckley.’

  *

  It wouldn’t surprise me if Andrew Buckley was involved, but we need proof. The DI strides down the corridor, speaking over his shoulder and not letting me get a word in. ‘Get Buckley in for questioning. Find out if he knows what Mason’s involved in. We need his phone and his computer. And get over to Mason’s. Is Collins going with you?’

  I check to see if she’s answered the text I sent earlier. ‘Looks like she’s nearly there. Sir, don’t you think this sudden accusation against Andrew Buckley is simply Hampton grinding his axe? Buckley was having an affair with his wife, and Buckley’s son was instrumental in Hollie going off the rails – at least, that’s what Hampton would like us to believe. I think he’s just attempting to buy his way out. Did you see his face when you mentioned court? I’m not sure I’d take him entirely seriously.’

  The DI’s face is impassive. ‘We’ll know more once we’ve spoken to Buckley.’

  It’s easy to imagine what Andrew Buckley’s going to say when he’s told the police want to question him again. I check my watch. ‘I need to get over to Mason’s.’

  *

  As I drive, I try to work out how long it would take Mason to drive from Portsmouth to his house in Abingworth, putting my foot down. If he’s in some top-of-the-range Audi, he could have got here faster than the DI predicted.

  As I approach Abingworth, the stone walls of the village houses suddenly seem sinister. It’s like no other village I’ve ever been to, not just because there’s so little interaction among the villagers. It’s more that everything about this place is hidden – the people, their homes, their lives, their secrets. As I drive, the distant drone of a low-flying helicopter reaches my ears. Pulling over, I watch its outline rising above the trees.

  It looks as though it’s just taken off and, instinctively, I know where it’s come from. Putting my foot down hard, I drive as fast as I dare to Mason’s house, only slowing when I see Sarah’s car in front of the locked gates.

  Getting out, I look at her. ‘That was him, wasn’t it?’

  She nods. ‘I think so. The helicopter must have landed behind the house before we got here. I didn’t see or hear it until it took off. I’d been here about ten minutes before it started up.’

  Shaking my head, I imagine Mason in his house, laughing as he looked out of the window and saw her car, knowing how easily he could get away from us. Getting my phone out of my bag, I call the DI. ‘Sir? Mason just left his house – by helicopter. He was airborne about two minutes ago.’ I listen for a moment, then hang up and look at Sarah.

  ‘He’s going to try to track the helicopter. Chances are, it won’t fly high enough to be picked up by radar.’ I knew he wouldn’t make it easy for us. Mason’s too sharp to let himself get caught. ‘Do you hear that?’ I catch Sarah’s eye just as a car comes into view. Reaching us, it pulls up and a young man in a suit gets out.

  Imagining another of Mason’s potential investors, I show him my badge. ‘DS May. Chichester Police. Have you come to visit Philip Mason?’

  The man looks uncertain. ‘I have an appointment with him.’ He looks at his watch. ‘In ten minutes.’

  So we had interrupted Mason’s plans to stay around. ‘May I ask if you’ve come here to discuss a business investment?’

  He frowns at me, then glances at Sarah. ‘I wouldn’t call it that.’ He pauses. ‘I’m an estate agent. I’ve come to value his house.’

  As Sarah’s eyes meet mine, I ask quickly, ‘You have a key?’

  ‘As it happens, I do.’ He looks at us suspiciously. ‘Mr Mason did say that in the event that he got held up, I was to make a start with the house.’

  ‘Can you give me a minute?’ I nod towards Sarah, and pick up my phone again to call the DI back. The call goes straight through. ‘Sir, Mason’s arranged for an estate agent to let himself in to value the house. He has a key.’

  ‘Stay where you are. I’ll get an emergency search warrant organised. I’ll call you back.’

  Ending the call, I nod towards Sarah, then the estate agent. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Adam Matterson.’

  ‘Thank you, Adam. That was my boss I was speaking to. We’re waiting for a search warrant, then he’d like us to go in with you.’

  Adam looks taken aback. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let anyone else in with me. Mr Mason was most explicit when I spoke to him.’

  ‘We’ll just wait, shall we?’

  *

  It isn’t long before the DI calls back. ‘Get in there, May, and see what you can find.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I turn to the estate agent. ‘OK. Shall we go in?’

  He looks awkward. ‘I’m not at all happy about this.’

  ‘Mr Mason is wanted in connection with a serious criminal offence.’ I pause, not taking my eyes off him. ‘I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.’

  Reluctantly, he presses a combination of numbers into the keypad next to the gate. It opens, then closes behind us after we’ve driven in. The drive sweeps around in front of the house to what looks like a parking area, where I pull up beside Adam’s car and get out.

  ‘What’s it worth?’ I stare up at the impressive elevations. The house is old and gracious, too much so for someone like Mason. Its stone exterior has also been immaculately restored.

  ‘It’s hard to say until I’ve been inside.’ Clearly not pleased that he’s had to let us in, Matterson is brusque. ‘I’d imagine somewhere between five and six million. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get on.’

  Inside, the house is no less vast, its grandeur understated, its history evident in mullioned windows, arched doorways, stone floors worn smooth from age. While Adam walks from room to room recording measurements, Sarah and I start our own search.

  As we walk into yet another beautiful room, she shakes her head. ‘Some house, isn’t it?’

  I nod, not wanting to dwell on where Mason’s money may have come from. I start carefully looking through a chest of drawers, finding nothing personal. We search more drawers and cupboards in each room but everywhere we look, it’s the same. Everything is neat and orderly and sparse, as though Philip Mason always expected the police to come here.

  When Sarah finds his office, my hopes rise that at last we’ll discover something. ‘What an office.’

  A large desk is positioned by the window, with breath-taking views across the landscaped gardens towards the coast. There’s a state-of-the-art screen and keyboard, a pair of speakers positioned discreetly and heavy curtains hanging in the windows, but that’s all.

  When a search of the desk reveals nothing, Sarah looks at me. ‘Frustrating, isn’t it? You’d have thought there’d be something.’

  I shake my head. ‘There wouldn’t be, would there? Not if he was prepared to let an unescorted estate agent wander around. I wouldn’t mind betting the whole house is completely clean. But we still need to look. Keep your eyes out for letters and photos. Anything that might tell us where he is.’

  I’m hoping that we’ll stumble upon wherever Mason’s hidden his personal effects. When our search turns up nothing of interest, we wait in the kitchen while Adam finishes up measuring the outbuildings. When he comes back in, he looks perplexed.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  He shakes his head. ‘It’s probably nothing. It’s just that some of the measurements don’t add up. I was redoing them to check I hadn’t made a mistake.’

  I’m suddenly very interested in seeing Adam’s notes. ‘Where is this?’


  He’s visibly less hostile than when we arrived. ‘Outside. I’ll show you.’

  As we follow him across the garden to an L-shape of converted farm buildings, my eyes are drawn to the swathes of spring flowers breaking up the grass and the landscaped pond with its own jetty. Like everything about this house, it’s impressive.

  Beyond the garden is another large, open stretch of mown grass where I imagine the helicopter must have landed. The farm buildings themselves have been stylishly converted, the courtyard in front of them heavily gravelled. After unlocking a door, Adam leads us into a room towards the corner of the L. ‘If you look here …’ Showing us a floor plan, he indicates the space he’s measured. ‘You agree that fits with the plan?’

  As far as I can see, it looks in order, but then he takes us outside, through the door in the other half of the L, into a similar-sized room. Along one wall, there’s a trestle table and underneath it, several boxes. Opening them, I find unopened bottles of spirits, then in another, unwashed glasses. ‘I’d say someone’s been having a party.’ I turn to Adam. ‘You were saying?’

  Showing us his floor plan again, he points to the wall. ‘Even if you look outside, you can see there’s quite a lot of space behind here that isn’t accounted for.’

  His words are confirmed by the measurements on the floor plan, but even without them, it’s obvious that something is off. ‘So how do we get in?’

  Hurrying outside, I walk around the back of the building, following the narrow path that vanishes into overgrown rhododendron bushes growing up against the wall. Pushing my way through, I find a door into what could quite possibly be the area of space that’s been bricked off, then notice the outline of a path leading off in another direction. My heart starts thumping. There’s no question we’ve found something.

  ‘This door isn’t marked on the floor plan.’ Adam’s voice comes from behind me.

  Mason surely couldn’t have imagined an estate agent would miss this. But then I remember. His plan was to be here, until we interrupted him. Who knows what he was going to say to Adam? Standing back, I stare at what Adam’s holding out to me: his bunch of keys.