Elise is in a small room with two other women. Her back is to me as I walk towards her bed and I pause a few steps away. ‘Elise?’
I watch her shoulders stiffen, and as she turns I see the full extent of her injuries. Her face is red, bruised, and bloody; one of her eyes swollen, half-closed.
‘Oh, God …’ I’m horrified. Going closer, I pull a chair up. ‘What happened?’
‘I fell.’ She mutters the words and her eyes turn away from me.
It’s impossible to believe that her injuries came from a fall. It looks as though she’s been punched in the face, and definitely more than once. Wondering where else she’s been hit, I don’t say anything for a moment. ‘Elise?’ Leaning towards her, I speak gently. ‘Did Andrew do this to you?’
I watch shock wash across her face as she looks at me, her eyes filled with fear. ‘No. You mustn’t say that. He’ll kill me.’
As I look at her, memories are dredged up from a past I’d rather forget; memories of a time when I lived in fear, when I wanted to die rather than face another day with the man who abused me. ‘I know,’ I tell her softly. ‘I know what it’s like to be where you are. It happened to me, too. You can’t stay, Elise. You have to leave him.’
As her eyes meet mine, they’re filled with pain. Then, as her head rolls sideways, she utters one word. ‘Niamh.’
In that instant, I understand what’s happening. She believes she’s protecting her daughter.
‘You’re frightened about what will happen to Niamh if you leave?’ When she nods, I go on. ‘We can find you somewhere safe, where Andrew won’t be able to get to either of you. Think about it …’ I pause. ‘Was this why you tried to call me?’ I ask. But as I speak, her eyes widen as they stare past me.
‘Go,’ she whispers, desperation written across her face. ‘Please …’
Turning around, I see the cause of her fear.
‘Good morning, Detective Sergeant. How unexpected.’ Standing just a few feet away, Andrew Buckley speaks with cold calm.
‘I had to call in to see someone,’ I lie. ‘I was very sorry to hear that Elise had such a bad fall.’ I glance at her then back at him. ‘You need to do something about your stairs, Doctor Buckley.’ His face is unreadable. ‘I understand DI Saunders has been in touch?’ I add, my eyes not leaving his. ‘If you could come in at your earliest convenience, I know he’s keen to talk to you.’
I don’t want to leave her alone with him, but I have no choice. Surely he can’t hurt her in hospital. On the way out, I pause at the nurses’ station, just in case. ‘Mrs Buckley’s tired. She told me she didn’t want any visitors. Can you check on her?’ As I glance over my shoulder, I see Andrew Buckley is at the foot of his wife’s bed, his arms folded.
*
On my way out to my car, I check my phone to find three missed calls from DI Saunders. When I call him back, he’s less than pleased.
‘Where the hell have you been, May?’
‘To see Elise Buckley in hospital, sir. Her husband’s been using her as a punch bag.’
‘Dear God. Did she say as much?’
‘Almost. But she didn’t have to – the physical evidence is clear. There’s no point in bringing him in though. She won’t testify against him. She’s terrified.’ We see it far too often in abuse cases. ‘What was it you needed, sir?’
‘We’ve been questioning Hampton again. He’s given us the name of someone else he says is involved in Mason’s business dealings. Julian Calder. I’d like to you to talk to him. Don’t give anything away. Start with a few questions about Hollie, gauge his response and go from there. I’ll get someone to text you his address.’
By the time I’ve reached my car, my phone has already pinged with the address. But as I set off, I can’t stop thinking about Elise Buckley. Knowing what she’s gone through, I can’t let this go. Domestic violence tends to escalate and if Buckley’s done this to her now, God knows what he’s capable of next time. I have to talk to her when her husband isn’t around; try to persuade her that she needs to get away from him. Then help her find somewhere else to go.
*
Reaching Abingworth, I turn my attention to the Calders. They live in a large thatched cottage the far side of the village, set up a bank above the lane. I park at the roadside, pausing in the car to study the house.
Like most in this village, it’s large – and of considerable value, I wouldn’t mind betting. After getting out, I take the flight of stone steps leading to a heavy front door. When I ring the bell, a woman answers.
‘DS May, Chichester Police.’ I look at her, taking in obviously highlighted hair and a faded tan. ‘I’d like to talk to Julian Calder. Is he home?’
‘I’m his wife – Della.’ An uncertain look crosses her face. ‘Can I ask what this is about?’
‘It’s in relation to the investigation of Hollie Hampton’s murder.’ When she doesn’t move, I add, ‘Is your husband here?’
Della Calder nods. ‘Come in.’
As I step into the large hallway, she closes the door behind me. Judging from the age of the house, the artwork and antique furniture, I’d say my hunch is right about the Calders being wealthy.
‘He’s through here.’ I follow her along a panelled hallway, stopping outside a cracked-open door. Knocking quietly, she pushes the door open. ‘Julian? The police are here.’
Inside, Julian Calder gets up from the chair at his desk. He’s of medium height, overweight with thinning light brown hair.
‘DS May, Chichester Police. I’d like to talk to you about Hollie Hampton, Mr Calder. May I come in?’
‘By all means.’ His manner is expansive, his charm excessive given the reason I’m here. He gestures towards an armchair opposite his desk. ‘Do have a seat, Detective Sergeant. How can I help?’
‘Thank you.’ Sitting down, I take my notebook out of my pocket. ‘Mr Calder, how well did you know Hollie?’
Sitting down again, he frowns slightly. ‘Not that well. I know her father, but that’s the only reason I had any contact with her.’
Nodding, I go on. ‘You haven’t seen anyone suspicious hanging around the village?’
Raising his eyebrows, he looks at me pointedly. ‘I’ve answered these and more questions already, Detective Sergeant.’
He speaks with a level of arrogance that reminds me of Andrew Buckley. ‘I’m sure you have.’ I pause. ‘But a teenage girl is dead, Mr Calder – quite probably murdered. I’m sure you can appreciate we’re only being thorough. I won’t keep you long.’
I watch his eyes shift, but this time, he doesn’t say anything. ‘How well do you know James Hampton?’ I ask.
‘Quite well.’ He glances away. ‘We drink at the same pub.’
‘The one in the village?’ When he nods, I ask him, ‘Did Mr Hampton have any concerns that he mentioned to you in recent months? Or discuss his business interests?’
Calder’s frown deepens. ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Detective Sergeant. We talk about many different things – I couldn’t possibly list all of them.’
I keep my face blank as I ask the next question. ‘Did you – or he – ever talk about Philip Mason?’
The pause before he speaks gives him away. ‘Can I ask what relevance this has to Hollie’s death?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to ascertain.’ My eyes don’t leave his. ‘Could you answer the question, Mr Calder? Did you and James Hampton ever talk about Philip Mason?’
He blusters. ‘Maybe. I’ve met Phil once or twice, of course – in the pub. It’s a small village, Detective Sergeant.’
*
‘His manner totally changed, sir,’ I tell the DI. ‘He made it clear he didn’t want to talk to me. One minute he was polite, but the instant I asked about Mason, he changed. He knows him all right – he just didn’t want to give me anything to pick up on.’
The DI frowns. ‘Did he tell you anything about Hollie?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s the same with everyone we’ve talked to. W
e’re still waiting for the tech team to get back to us. Hopefully then, we’ll have the proof we need to put potential suspects like Mason and Andrew Buckley in the frame, but it’s going to take time.’
‘Forensics has been going over the photos. They’ve linked a few of them to cases of missing girls, but so far, that leaves most of them unaccounted for.’ He pauses. ‘They’re cross-checking with cases around the country. Those girls – children – must have come from somewhere, May.’
I nod. We need to find out where.
‘And we can’t afford to wait.’ He’s silent for a moment. ‘We must have missed something. Go over everything again, May. We need to find the needle in Abingworth’s haystack.’
I nod. But I’m filled with a sinking feeling at the prospect of days at my desk, reading through everyone’s notes. We’re no closer to knowing if there’s any connection between Hollie’s death and Mason, or anyone connected to him. But there’s still one person who might know something. ‘Before I do, sir, there’s someone I want to talk to again.’
*
I wait near the bus stop outside Niamh’s school, searching the dozens of faces of students pouring out through the gates. She’s alone when I see her, her expression shuttered, unreadable. As I walk towards her, she looks up.
‘Hello, Niamh. Do you mind if we have a quick chat?’
She shakes her head. ‘I’ll miss my bus.’
I hesitate. ‘If you like, I could give you a lift home?’
As she stands there, I wonder what’s going through her head. I’m fully expecting that she’ll insist on catching her bus, but then she nods. ‘OK.’
‘I saw your mum this morning,’ I say as we walk towards my car, watching a startled look cross Niamh’s face. ‘I had to go to the hospital anyway,’ I add. ‘To see someone else. I’d heard she’d had a fall.’
Niamh looks anxious. ‘Was she OK?’
I sigh. ‘Not really. But she will be. Here. This is my car.’ As I walk around to the driver’s seat, Niamh gets in. After starting the engine and driving away, I go on. ‘Is everything OK at home, Niamh?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice is small.
‘What about with your dad?’
Niamh just shrugs.
I sigh. There’s no easy way to do this. ‘Last night … Did you see what happened to your mum?’
‘No.’ Her answer is too quick, too tight. ‘I was in my room. She said it was an accident.’
‘How well do you get on with your dad?’
I know I haven’t imagined her sharp intake of breath. But again, all she says is, ‘OK.’
In the end, I have to ask. ‘Was it you who called me last night? After your mum fell? From her phone?’ My voice is gentle; I want her to trust me.
She shakes her head. ‘No.’
In the end, I have to give up. It’s obvious Niamh doesn’t yet trust me enough to tell me what really happened. As we reach Abingworth, she becomes increasingly agitated. ‘Can I get out at the bus stop?’
‘Of course.’ Realising she’s worried about her father seeing her in my car, I slow down, then pull over at the side of the road. As she opens the car door, I pass her my card. ‘Niamh, if you’re ever worried, or you want to talk about anything, you can always call me.’
Nodding briefly, she takes the card, then gets out and slams the door, leaving me with no choice but to watch uneasily as she walks away, her pale hair and slight shoulders making her look small as she crosses the road and disappears into the Buckleys’ drive.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Elise
The day my husband hits me puts my plans back, but the fact he now feels confident enough to beat me when Niamh is in the house makes me even more determined to get her away from him. Just leave, my heart tells me. Get out while you can, before he does it again – or worse. But there’s another part of me, which has been subdued too long, that’s growing louder all the time. A part that says, Andrew deserves to pay.
When DS May came to the hospital, I almost told her everything about my life – my husband’s abuse, my son’s death, my fears for Niamh. I would have told her about the image on Andrew’s phone, too, but having experienced the force of his anger, I can’t take the risk of him beating me again. Andrew needs to be seen for what he is – and he will be – I’ll make sure of it. Until then, I have to let him believe he’s won.
The medical staff don’t seem convinced I’ve fallen. The psychologist who comes to the ward seems to be under the impression I have a drinking problem. I imagine the visit prompted by Andrew – another layer of his smokescreen, another seed of my intended destruction sown, while my husband waits to reap his rewards.
My body physically recoils at the sight of him when he arrives while DS May is visiting, bile rising in my throat, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from throwing up.
‘Say anything to the police, and I’ll do worse next time,’ he whispers after DS May leaves us together. ‘You’ll never walk again, Elise. Your legs …’ He casts his eyes down my body. ‘Do you know what it would take to damage ligaments, snap bones? How easy it would be to make it look like another accident?’
My fear knows a new level, but he doesn’t have to tell me what he can do. Unable to move without pain shooting through my body, I already know.
Standing at the foot of my bed, he tells me, ‘I’ve contacted the rental agency.’
I feel my eyes widen with shock.
‘I told them you’d had a change of heart. Oh, and I said you felt bad about letting them down and not to worry about refunding your money.’ He even fakes a chuckle. ‘I explained that I was your husband, and that you’d had a repeat of a psychotic episode. To be honest, I think they were relieved I told them. They think I’ve saved them a whole load of problems.’
In his smug smile, I see what I haven’t seen before. In Andrew’s warped, twisted mind, any lies are facts if he wants them to be.
Once he’s gone, I lie on my side, gazing out of the window over the rooftops, broken here and there by branches of trees clad in the pale green of spring. Before long, the first swallows will arrive, their dainty shapes carving graceful arcs across the sky. But right now, it’s hard to find any beauty in my life. At this moment, I’d give away everything I have, trade our big country house for a two-bedroom semi on a crowded housing estate, if it meant leaving my marriage.
If it was just Andrew and me, I’d kill him. If I had to spend the rest of my life in prison, so be it. It couldn’t be any worse than living with him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jo
Back at my desk in the station the next day, I go through everything we have, the knot of unanswered questions growing ever more tangled. Trying to carefully unravel the case, I compile a list of the most credible suspects to discuss with the DI.
‘The first is Andrew Buckley, sir. His cast-iron reputation as a GP has been shot to pieces now that we know what he’s done to his wife. If he were pushed, it’s easy to believe that he could kill.’
The DI frowns. ‘We need a motive, May. Do you have one?’
‘Hollie accused him of assaulting her, though he maintains it was revenge because she’d found out about him and Stephanie. And as you know, she was in love with his son, Dylan. Doctor Buckley claims it was Hollie ending their relationship that triggered Dylan to take his own life, but he’s proven we can’t trust him.’
‘Go on.’
‘Knowing the affair was still going on, maybe Hollie went to see him again. Maybe she challenged him. Maybe he lost his temper.’
‘Too many maybes.’ He shakes his head. ‘Plus we only have Buckley’s account of what happened and, as you said, we both know how reliable that is. We need something more concrete.’
‘We have Elise’s, too,’ I remind him. ‘Though she may only know what he’s told her about it.’ It feels like we’re closing in, but proof remains frustratingly out of reach. ‘There’s also James Hampton, of course, though I’m not sure he could kill any
one, least of all his daughter. But you couldn’t imagine him buying into child porn, either, and we know for a fact that he has. There’s also the undeniable fact that all three of the important women in his life are now dead.’
The DI is silent for a moment. ‘Anyone else?’
‘Only two more credible suspects. The first is Phil Mason. What if Hollie realised he was blackmailing her father? She could have gone to see him and threatened to expose him to the police. Maybe he arranged to meet her in Park House so that the two of them could talk without being observed by any of the villagers. It backs onto his place and would be easy for him to get there without being seen. When she refused to keep quiet, maybe he killed her, then pushed her body into the pool, where it lay submerged under leaves until we found it.’
This time, the DI looks thoughtful. ‘Without interviewing Mason, we can’t know. You said you had one more?’
‘Yes.’ I watch him closely. ‘Elise Buckley.’
The DI looks surprised. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to say that. Why?’
‘She and Hollie were seen having a heated exchange by one of the villagers, shortly before Hollie disappeared. If Hollie knew something about Elise – or maybe her husband – which threatened her family, it would be motive enough. Elise is fiercely protective of her daughter.’
‘You’ve only just got through telling me he abuses her.’ The DI looks confused.
‘I know. But that’s the point, sir. Abusive relationships can’t be understood the way most relationships can. I would imagine that, until now, Elise has normalised her abusive marriage. It’s what happens …’ I break off. ‘Just before she ended up in hospital, I had some missed calls from her. When I went to see her, I was asking her about them when Buckley turned up. I still don’t why she called; I need to go back and ask her. But regardless, she’s kept his dirty little secret about what he does to her. Who knows what else she isn’t saying?’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ he says firmly. ‘And there’s no motive.’
‘Oh, but it does make sense.’ I stare at him, then drop the pretence. ‘People normalise the dysfunctional all the time. I was in an abusive relationship, sir. For ten years. My husband used to hit me when he was drunk or if something didn’t go his way. I never told anyone. I had this misguided loyalty to him – I was scared of him hurting me, but I was also scared of being without him. That relationship came to define who I was. He completely suckered me in, then undermined me constantly, destroying my self-esteem until I didn’t believe I was capable of surviving on my own.’
The Secret Page 20
