by M. A. Hunter
A fresh thought smacks me across the face. ‘Is this the only suitcase you found? I mean, if there’s one victim, couldn’t there be more. . .?’
Jack looks away but I see him nodding. ‘It’s a possibility. We’re going to have some specialist equipment brought over in the morning to check the rest of the grounds. Do you remember when we had to have the ground scanned at the Bovington army barracks in search of Sally Curtis?’
‘Sure.’
‘Well, that same team are going to work with the building crew here to systematically clear and check the land with their X-ray type machines. That’s what my boss Harry Dainton was speaking to the foreman about. It’s going to take time to check the whole site, but you know what they say about smoke and fire. It’s easily going to set the development of the site back by months.’
I’m suddenly conscious that I could be standing over the remains of any number of victims and I desperately want to be anywhere else.
‘We had the suitcase and remains moved to the local morgue for examination,’ Jack says quietly. ‘I was going to head over there in a bit and wait to hear the results. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t invite the victim’s potential family with me, but if you’d like to come, I could do with the company. I understand if you’d rather not.’
‘No, I need to,’ I say, my head snapping up to meet his gaze. ‘I have to know one way or the other.’
The mortuary in question is at the Basingstoke and North Hampshire Hospital, thirty minutes away from the site of what was once Pendark Film Studios. The journey is made in silence, with neither of us comfortable making small talk given the enormity of what is hanging over us. It isn’t just having to accept that I have lost the big sister who was my source of knowledge and experience when I was finding my way in the world; it also throws a huge question mark over everything I’ve done with my life since that day we lost her.
Finding Anna has been my reason for living: it’s why I went into journalism to begin with – to right the wrongs that others couldn’t; it’s why I accepted Lord Templeton Fitzhume’s offer to create the Anna Hunter Foundation; it’s why I haven’t had much of a social life; why I haven’t felt the urge to settle down and start a family of my own. I haven’t been able to rest knowing that every passing minute is another minute of me not finding my sister. The prospect that I have wasted all that time and energy doesn’t sit well, and that is why I won’t accept Jack’s theory until I hear it confirmed by indisputable DNA evidence.
The forensic pathologist isn’t ready for us when we arrive at the mortuary in the basement of the hospital. Jack suggests we grab a bite to eat as it’s nearing dinnertime, but I have no appetite for food. We settle for a beaker of ice-cold water from the dispenser in the corridor, before we both sit on the squeaky plastic chairs just outside the secured doors. The air is musty and stale down here and so I focus on breathing through my mouth instead of my nose.
Jack looks over at me. ‘It might not be her,’ he offers in an attempt to calm me, but there’s no confidence in his tone.
It makes me wonder how long he’s suspected Anna might be dead. I’ve known Jack for nearly two years, since our paths were meshed together when I was asked to look into the disappearance of six-year-old Cassie Hilliard. It took me a while to trust him enough to spill the details of Anna’s disappearance, and all this time I thought he shared in my belief that she’s still alive, but now I don’t think I can be certain of anything where he is concerned. And to think I actually considered we could have some kind of romantic future together.
Jack stands suddenly and, pulling a phone from his pocket, he moves along the corridor, but not far enough that I can’t hear his end of the conversation.
‘Thanks for calling me back, Tamara. I have a work thing that’s going to keep me out until late tonight and I need you to collect Mila from school and watch her until—’
He falls silent as he’s cut off by whoever he’s speaking to. He’s never mentioned anyone called Tamara before, and for all I know she could be a new girlfriend.
‘Yes, I understand that, Tamara, but there’s nothing I can—’ Another pause. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but a body’s been found, and I can’t leave my post until—’ Again. ‘That’s not fair. You know Mila is my number-one priority…’
I feel guilty about eavesdropping and pull out my own phone, looking for any kind of distraction to block out the sound of Jack’s hurt and restrained voice. He’s doing his best to remain patient with this Tamara, but even I can hear how close to breaking he is.
‘I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. I can come and collect Mila from you when I get back… No, I don’t know when that will be… Come on, Tamara, please? You’re her grandmother, for pity’s sake!’
Well, that answers the question about whether Tamara is his new girlfriend. I’d be shocked if he refers to his own mother by her first name, so she must be the maternal grandmother. Jack’s mentioned very little about Chrissie other than that they have a good relationship despite going their separate ways. I’ve always thought how lucky Mila is to have two parents willing to put their differences behind them for her sake. After Anna’s disappearance, my parents could barely stand to be in the same room as one another, so I’ve seen the effects of separation first-hand, although my parents didn’t formally divorce.
‘Sorry about that,’ Jack says quietly, returning to the seats, the phone now back in his pocket.
‘If you need to leave and fetch Mila, this can wait,’ I offer. ‘Assuming the pathologist won’t confirm any details to me directly, I’m sure she could phone you, and then you could pass on the news.’
‘No, it’s okay. Tamara is Mila’s grandmother and her baccarat night can be postponed until tomorrow for the sake of her granddaughter. Chrissie’s always saying that she doesn’t do enough babysitting. And with Chrissie still at the pre-natal unit, it’s the least she can do.’
The bags beneath his eyes look so dark under the ultra-bright halogen bulbs hanging above our heads. I sensed he was under stress when we were at the Pendark site, but I don’t think I appreciated just how much he’s carrying alone.
‘If there’s anything I can do to help?’ I say, knowing there’s very little I could do from my poky flat in Weymouth.
‘Thanks. Don’t worry about it. Tamara was never my biggest fan. She never thought I was good enough for her precious Christine. When we first got together, she’d go out of her way to make me feel as though I was worth less than the dirt on her shoes. When we did eventually call it a day, she actually sent Chrissie a bottle of Moët in celebration. Thankfully, my interaction with Tamara is now limited to the occasional awkward encounter at Chrissie’s house when I collect or drop off Mila, but that’s about it.’
He smiles in defeat. ‘I’m sure she’ll give me hell for it, but she’s agreed to collect Mila from school and look after her until I can get there. You’d have thought any other grandmother would be thrilled to spend extra time with their offspring, but she’s one of those grandmothers by convenience. She loves to tell her sewing circle about everything Mila excels at, and is happy to show her off when it suits, but woe betide you if you expect anything more.’ He pauses. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be dumping all of this on you.’
‘It’s okay,’ I tell him, smiling back. ‘That’s what friends are for.’
He looks down at his feet, before returning his eyes to mine. ‘Listen, I’ve been meaning to—’
We start as a woman’s shrill voice echoes down the corridor. ‘PC Serrovitz?’
Turning, I now see a woman in face mask and stained overalls standing just inside the secured door.
‘Yes,’ Jack says, standing. ‘And this is my colleague Emma Hunter. She’s civilian liaison but has clearance to be here.’
I don’t know how true that statement is, but the pathologist doesn’t bat an eyelid, holding the door open with her shoulder and beckoning us through. The air inside the secured doors instantly feels much cleaner, as if every molecu
le has been sanitised before being pumped in through the air-conditioning system. And the entire place just feels cleaner. The walls are bright white in comparison to the dreary mustard shade in the corridor, and the doors are all made from shiny stainless steel. It feels as if we’ve stepped onto some kind of spaceship, rather than into a place that few feel comfortable in.
The pathologist shows us to a small room with a round table at its heart and even brighter lights than those we’ve emerged from. Naively, I’d thought she would show us into her lab, but I suppose for hygiene reasons that won’t be the case. She closes the door and dims the light before tapping buttons on the side of the round table. Lights flicker on the table top and a moment later a 3D image of a skeleton is projected just above it. I have to give it to the hospital, no expense has been spared on this equipment. Without being told, I can see we are viewing the remains discovered in the suitcase, which have been systematically catalogued and then rearranged into a kind of digital jigsaw puzzle of a skeleton.
‘The victim was female,’ the pathologist begins, without any introduction. Her name badge reads ‘Dr V Chang’, though I’ve no idea what the ‘V’ stands for. She must be in her early forties, I would guess, but her weary face adds at least a couple of years. When she speaks, there is no emotion, just fact stating.
‘Aged between thirteen and fifteen, though I would estimate the latter stage of that range, based on the development of bone around the sexual organs. Cause of death was most likely a fractured neck,’ she says, using a biro to point at the area of damage visible beneath the skull, ‘but further examination of the decomposing flesh that we found still congealed around some of the bone tissue may highlight alternative theories. DNA will be extracted from the bone material and passed to the CSI team to trace, but given the age of the victim, unless she’d been in trouble with the police before, I’d be surprised if a match was made.’
I don’t like this pragmatic description of what could be Anna, and as I stand staring at the hologram I try to imagine her face over the skull, but it’s too painful and I’m forced to look away.
‘Can you estimate how long the victim has been in the ground?’ Jack asks quietly, conscious of my feelings, but eager to establish the facts as swiftly as possible.
‘I will need to continue my examination to be certain; the case was relatively airtight, which explains why we’ve been able to recover as much tissue as we have. Had the body been dumped in the ground in a sack instead, there’s a chance we wouldn’t have found all the pieces. The case has protected her from scavengers, and has given us a better chance of discovering who she was.’
I can’t listen to any more. Maybe it’s easier for Dr Chang and Jack to talk so matter-of-factly about a teenager who was probably murdered before being discarded like a piece of old furniture, but it’s too much for me and I hurry from the room, desperately searching for the exit button to release me from the secured doors.
Jack approaches from behind a moment later and places his hands on my shoulders. ‘I hope as much as you that it’s not her, and had we found any other sightings of your sister since that despicable video was made, we probably wouldn’t even be considering this. But I swear to you, if that is your sister in there, I won’t rest until I find who did this to her.’
I can’t speak. I turn and bury my head in his shoulder, allowing the hot tears to flow from my eyes.
Chapter Six
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
‘Thanks for driving me back,’ I say, as the beautiful Dorset coastline creeps into view. It’s just coming up to six, and there is little light in the sky ahead. I feel emotionally drained from seeing Freddie finally released, Jack’s call, and then his conclusions about my sister; all I want now is the comfort of bed, and to put this day behind me.
Jack didn’t have to drive me all the way back here from Basingstoke, particularly considering he is already in Mila’s grandmother’s bad books, but I have to admit I’m grateful not to be left to my own thoughts on the arduous train journey home.
‘To be honest, you’re not the only reason I offered,’ he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.
‘No?’
He turns his head fractionally, maybe feeling my eyes trying to burrow into his mind. Despite the empathy and comfort he’s offered since the hospital, it feels like this isn’t the Jack I’m used to speaking to; he’s withdrawn. No, it’s more than that. It’s as if he’s put some invisible shield around himself, and even his closest friends can’t get near enough to see beyond it. Or maybe I just previously imagined we were more intimate than we actually are. Thinking about the time we have spent together, it’s never been socially driven; there’s always been some underlying agenda – a case, my sister, Freddie – and now I’m not sure I’ve ever known the real Jack. Maybe this divide has always been there, and I’ve been naïve to think that his awkward grin is anything more than my own physical attraction.
‘I want to speak to Freddie,’ Jack finally says, returning his eyes to the road.
I know instinctively Jack’s planned chat won’t be a social call, and quite frankly Freddie doesn’t need to be reminded about the time he’s had to spend away – at least not on his first night out.
‘What about?’ I ask, as casually as I can manage.
He narrows his eyes, but doesn’t respond.
‘I’m not sure where Freddie will be,’ I say to break the enveloping silence. ‘You should have said that’s what you were intending and I would have phoned Freddie to see if he’s free. It’s his first night out; can it not wait until tomorrow?’
‘No.’
Despite my own fatigue, I’m not prepared to leave Freddie unprotected tonight. ‘Okay, well, if I know Freddie, he’ll be volunteering at the shelter’s kitchen. I’ll show you where it is.’
We don’t speak again until we near the former church hall with the leaky roof. Prior to the incident at Pendark Film Studios last year, Freddie had been planning a summer fête to raise funds to fix up the crumbling premises, but that had all fallen by the wayside when he’d been sentenced. The queue at the door is already into double figures as Jack parks his car at the side of the road and studies the parking meter.
‘There’s no charge at this time of year,’ I tell him as I get out and head towards the entrance.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks, hurrying after me.
‘I’m coming with you. Freddie is my friend and I promised I’d check in on him tonight, so unless you’re planning to arrest him and take him back to London, I’m staying.’
I don’t mean to sound so off-hand, but I have a horrible sinking feeling about how this talk is going to go, and I’m not prepared to take no for an answer.
Jack opens his mouth to argue before thinking better of it and ushering me inside. I immediately spot Freddie behind the main table, ladling steaming soup into bowls cupped by grateful hands. This is so typical of Freddie; anyone else would be making the most of their freedom after so many months under lock and key, but not Freddie. He spends more time volunteering in this shelter than some of the visitors do eating meals. Judging by the clothes he’s wearing, I’d guess he hasn’t even been home to change since he got off the train.
His eyes brighten when he spots me, but a frown quickly follows as he spots Jack lurking behind.
‘Can we have a word when you have a minute?’ I ask.
He ladles another bowl of soup before looking back at me. ‘I’m a bit busy at the moment. Can you come back in an hour or so?’
Jack steps past me. ‘It’s kind of urgent.’
Freddie isn’t one who responds well to confrontation. When I first met him, I quickly learned that the best way to make him open up is with gentle coaxing; he needs to want to open up, and direct questions won’t do it.
He calls over Judith, one of the other volunteers, and whispers something into her ear before handing over the ladle and moving around the table. ‘We can sit over there,’ he says, indicating
a dark corner away from the serving tables. ‘Do either of you want soup and a roll? It’s winter vegetable.’
‘No, we’re fine,’ I answer for both of us, as we take our seats.
As with all the other tables and chairs in the hall, this one has been donated and would look more fitting on someone’s patio than in a dimly-lit hall on a cold February night. The white plastic is scratched and weathered, but it serves a purpose – in many ways as the three of us do. We’ve all seen better days, but aren’t ready for the scrapheap yet.
‘What can I do for you, officer?’ Freddie says, adopting a faux Texan accent, like we’re in some western.
‘What do you remember about your time at Pendark?’
The question is so direct and abrupt that even I’m caught on the back foot. Freddie looks to me, disappointed maybe that I haven’t taught Jack how to coax. ‘It was a hell hole and I’m glad it’s gone.’
‘I want to know more about the time you spent there when you were younger.’
The look of disappointment on Freddie’s face is growing, and I really wish I’d had the chance to forewarn him about the slew of questions.
‘I’ve told you everything I remember about that time,’ he growls under his breath.
I don’t blame him; this is neither the time nor the place to get into specifics about that period in his life.
‘I’m not interested in what they did to you,’ Jack snaps back, keeping his voice low too, ‘I want to know what else you saw there; who else you saw there.’
‘Take it easy, Jack,’ I warn quietly, before looking back at Freddie. ‘A girl’s body has been discovered buried in the ruins,’ I tell him. ‘I think what Jack is asking is whether you witnessed anything beyond what you’ve already told us, when you were there all those years ago.’
