by M. A. Hunter
‘What are you talking about?’ I blag, invoking a positive expression that I’m not feeling. ‘It’s good news, right? The remains in the case aren’t my sister, which means she could still be alive somewhere. Why would you think that would make me sad?’ I barely get the final word out before the tears are streaming down my face, and I have never been more grateful to feel a pair of arms wrapping around my shoulders, and just holding me.
‘We will find her,’ Jack whispers into my windswept hair. ‘This is merely a pothole in the road to the truth.’
Stupidly, I think the thing that is upsetting me most is the fact that I had accepted she was buried at Pendark. I hate myself for giving up on her so easily.
‘The pathologist told me that the DNA sample on file for Faye McKenna wasn’t ideal, and they needed to locate a separate comparison sample to confirm her identity. It was her dental records that confirmed the truth. She’d had extensive work undertaken by an orthodontist, and in the end that proved conclusive. Then there was this morning’s delay in being able to find a family member to break the news to. I finally got hold of some distant cousin of Faye’s who said she would share the news with remaining members of the family. I’m just gutted her mum didn’t live long enough to bury her only child.’
‘Who’s doing this to me?’ I manage to blurt.
‘Sending the photographs? I wish I knew. Clearly someone with an inner knowledge of what became of Cormack Fitzpatrick and Faye McKenna, but who that person is is beyond me.’
‘Do you think it’s the person who killed and buried them?’
‘I wouldn’t rule out any theory at the moment.’ He rests his cheek on the top of my head. ‘I saw your PCSO friend leaving… Does that mean you’re in need of a lift back to Weymouth?’
I break free of his embrace, and look into those coal-like eyes. ‘I’ll catch a train home.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, Weymouth is kind of on the way home.’ His goofy grin appears and I find myself reflecting it.
‘On your way back to West London, is it? From Hampshire?’
‘Well, I’ve got to make a detour via Weymouth on the way home anyway, as I was planning on calling in on your friend Freddie and asking whether he recognises the late Reverend Peter Saltzing. If truth be told, I could do with the company if you wouldn’t mind forgoing the train and riding shotgun with me.’
‘What about Mila? Don’t you need to get back for her?’
He shakes his head but the goofy grin remains. ‘Her mum was released from the hospital at ten this morning, and her new baby brother will be out first thing so Chrissie wants a Mummy–daughter night for the last time.’
I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. ‘Okay, Jack, then for your benefit – and only because I worry about you driving for so long on your own – I accept your offer.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
We drive straight to the shelter where the queue outside is starting to grow as hungry guests await the opening of the doors. I nod and say hi to a few of the regulars I’ve served here before, but most keep their distance from Jack. Even though he’s dressed in jeans and a winter coat, I guess he still has that police-vibe that so many find intimidating.
Bypassing the queue, I lead Jack around the side of the former church hall and in through the rear entrance and into the kitchen, where we’re greeted by the sweet smell of garlic, warmed winter vegetables, and just a hint of chilli. Barbara briefly stops stirring her pot to glance at me before smiling welcomingly and confirming Freddie is setting up the tables out front. I thank her and we continue through to the main hall, finding Freddie setting out chairs around the tables in the centre of the room.
I don’t speak, but nod for Jack to help. Freddie pauses when he sees movement and looks at the two of us, but doesn’t say anything.
‘Jack’s come to apologise,’ I say to cut the tension, and Freddie’s eyes switch to Jack, whose arms are in mid-flight, reaching for the next chair in the stack. He freezes and nods.
‘What do you want this time?’ Freddie croaks.
There is hurt in his tone, and he has a point; it does seem these days that I only come to him when I need something. I make a promise to myself that I’ll pick up some shifts at the shelter next week with no ulterior motive.
‘I take it you heard the news about Tina Neville?’ I try, hoping to build bridges rather than leaping into the real reason we’re there.
He grunts and straightens the cutlery on the table he’s standing next to. ‘People like that deserve everything that’s coming to them. I think next time I look to help someone, I’ll think twice about it.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t see what she was up to sooner; it’s my fault you got dragged into the search. I think we’ve all learned a lesson there.’
Freddie moves to the stack of chairs, which Jack has continued to lower to the floor, and begins to position them around the tables. ‘Look, you’ve got ten minutes to ask me whatever you’re here to ask, and then it’s doors open and my attention will be on those who are in genuine need.’
‘Thank you,’ Jack whispers, looking back to me to take the lead, which is probably the smart move given their last encounter in this room. Not ideal for me, however, given what I’m about to ask Freddie to relive.
Reaching into my satchel, I extract the cutting of Peter Saltzing, Arthur Turgood, and the younger man. I rest it on the table cloth, and study Freddie’s face for any kind of reaction.
‘Where did you get this from?’ he asks, as the breath catches in his throat.
‘Do you recognise the two men in the photograph with Turgood, Freddie?’
His head snaps up to meet my gaze and the shine in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
‘You’ve never mentioned Reverend Peter Saltzing to me in any of the conversations we’ve had, but you recognise his face, don’t you?’
Freddie holds my gaze but I don’t know how long he’ll keep the tears at bay. ‘That was their answer when the first rumblings about mistreatment surfaced – the local authority, or the governing body, whoever they were. A couple of the boys complained about beatings, and the solution was to send a local vicar in to provide pastoral care.’ He snorts with derision. ‘He wasn’t violent, but his motivation for being there was the same as Turgood and the others.’
He’s stopped positioning the chairs, as if his body is frozen by the memories now playing out behind his eyes.
‘He didn’t meet with me specifically – I guess by that time I was a bit too old for his tastes – but Mike will remember him. He used to run these group prayer sessions, where the boys in his care were supposed to pray for the Holy Spirit to help set them back on the path to enlightenment.’ He pauses, but maintains the ice-cold stare. ‘But then he’d keep one behind afterwards for additional spiritual guidance. He’d say, “Down on your knees, boy, and show the Lord how willing you are to receive his spiritual direction.” I never knew his full name, and when you and I discussed my time at that shithole, I didn’t even remember him.’
My heart is breaking for Freddie but I have to continue. ‘And do you know who this other man is with them?’
‘Graham Meacham, or “Grey” to his friends, former resident at St Francis. He was a few years older than me, so we didn’t tend to hang out in the same circles. He didn’t complain like some of the others and he didn’t seem to wear the same scars and bruises as the rest of us. One of Turgood’s favourites, it was rumoured, but then he left and I used to hope it meant he’d managed to get away and start afresh somewhere.’
A tear escapes and is blotted by the dry skin of Freddie’s cheek. ‘I used him as a kind of inspiration, figuring if he could get out and move on, then one day maybe I could too. But then I saw him again a bit later on, and it sickened me to think that I’d wanted to be just like him. I told you about the film studios, and what we’d been paid to do, but I never told you about the parties. That’s wher
e I saw him. He hadn’t escaped the life… Instead, he’d become one of them – a ringleader of sorts.
‘It was like a private members club, where old, rich white men would come and smoke cigars and drink brandy and pass social commentary on the failings of the world, before selecting a victim to go and sodomise in a private suite. The members, you see, were asked to pre-order whatever it was they were after: young or old; black or white; boy or girl; experienced or… untouched. Graham Meacham and this guy called Terry Brown would bring two to three examples to the parties, and then the member would make his choice. I was older by then, and I guess my spotty face and hairy chin didn’t appeal. I was never invited back.’
I move to hug Freddie but he holds his hands up and stops me. ‘Don’t pity me, Emma. Please? You must have suspected deep down that there was more I hadn’t told you about that period in my life. Jack here spotted it straightaway, and you’re a smarter cookie than he is, so don’t pretend like this is news to you.’
He grabs hold of the back of the chair closest to him and I know already that us being here tonight has forced him to cross a line from which there may be no return.
‘I am sorry, Freddie,’ I mouth, but the words stick in my throat. Unlocking my phone, I open the gallery to show him the images of Faye and Cormack. ‘Do you recognise either of these children, Freddie? We have reason to believe that one or both of them may have been known to Peter Saltzing.’
He stares at the phone for a long time before his breathing intensifies and the tears do break free. I look to Jack for guidance, and he nods for me to continue. I wish we hadn’t come here tonight, and I know if I ask any more there really will be no way back for my and Freddie’s friendship; I know how much it took for him to admit the truth to me the first time, and I am systematically pulling down all the walls he has put up around that pain in his life.
Barbara appears at the entrance to the hall and looks from Freddie to us, and then says she’ll let the queue know there’s going to be a slight delay.
Freddie takes a deep breath and exhales it loudly, his eyes widening and fixed on the phone. ‘That night at the party,’ he says quietly. ‘There was a fight, um, an argument of some kind between Brown and the girl here. Her name was… um… Jewel, or Gem, or…’
‘Faye?’ I offer, but he shakes his head.
‘No, more elemental than that… Patience? No, Precious, that was it. I only remember her because… well, she was the only black girl there. She kind of stood out, but she had this confidence – so self-assured for one so young. Her and Brown had this coming together, and I saw her being dragged out of the place. I didn’t see exactly what happened next, but I went outside for a cigarette sometime after. The perverts were off with their selections and the rest of us were being rounded up to be shipped off back to where we’d come from. I was near these trees and I could see that castle – um, Highclere Castle – in the distance. The moon was full and it was like a giant spotlight on the place. I saw Meacham and some other fair-haired bloke with shovels and they’d already dug pretty deep. When you came here the other night and told me a body had been found… I figured it was probably her. May she rest in peace, at last. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you then but I hope you understand why. And I have nothing else to say to either of you right now. I have a queue of people who need my help, and who won’t judge me for a life I tried to leave behind a long time ago.’
I try to move closer to Freddie again but he turns his back on me.
‘You know your way out.’
The car ride back to my flat is made in silence. Jack doesn’t gloat once at the fact that he’s been vindicated – not that I’d blame him if he did. How much more is there that Freddie has kept hidden from me? I thought my gentle coaxing had uncovered everything, but now it feels like we’ve barely scratched the surface, and yet I have a horrible feeling he won’t welcome me back anytime soon.
‘We should probably take a raincheck on dinner,’ Jack says, as he parks up in the space outside my building. ‘I don’t have much of an appetite anymore.’
I nod my agreement. ‘What will you do from here?’
Jack sighs. ‘Terry Brown and Graham Meacham are new names to the investigation, so I guess finding them would be a good start. I don’t think there was much by way of forensic evidence uncovered at the site or in the suitcase, so proving this Brown or Meacham were responsible for burying Faye is going to be a challenge. There probably isn’t much evidential value in what Freddie told us either, given the passage of time, so I don’t see any benefit in formalising his statement.’
‘What about the photographs sent to me?’
‘I’ll call by your agent’s office and see if she’s still got the envelopes and request forensic examination of them; if we’re lucky there could be a clue there somewhere. Otherwise, I don’t know what else to tell you.’ He stifles a yawn but I can see how much today has taken out of him too.
‘It’s getting late, Jack, and it’s pitch black outside. Why don’t you come in and crash on my sofa? You look exhausted, and driving in that condition isn’t safe for you.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ he says, yawning again. ‘I’ll grab an energy drink from the first petrol station I pass.’
I lift the keys out of the central tray and press the off button to kill the engine. ‘I’m not taking no for an answer. Come in, get some sleep, and then you can drive back first thing. If you’re lucky I might even throw in a bacon sandwich before you go.’
I’m relieved when he nods in acknowledgement and doesn’t argue. ‘I meant to tell you the other day, I got stopped by one of the parents in the playground when I was dropping Mila at school and she asked for my autograph.’ He chuckles gently, and the tension in the air eases fractionally. ‘Turns out she’s been reading your books and knows all about me apparently.’
I know how awkward those situations are and I’m inwardly cringing just thinking about it. ‘What did you do?’
‘What else could I do? I signed her book. Seems she’d brought it with her on the off-chance I’d be dropping Mila in, and I didn’t want to disappoint. Came as a bit of a shock, to be honest, and I think I have a better understanding of why you dislike that recognition thing so much.’
‘You ought to try sitting behind a table and having fan after fan approach asking for autographs and selfies, and telling me how wonderful a writer I am. If I believed half of what I’m told, my head wouldn’t fit in this car.’
‘And now you have a new fan in Rick… Sorry if I made things a bit awkward turning up like I did. He seems nice.’
I’m grateful it’s so dark that he won’t be able to see the Belisha beacon my face has transformed into. ‘There’s nothing going on between me and Rick; it was strictly professional.’
‘Yeah, but I think he probably wants it to be a bit more than that. Honestly, I think you should give him a chance.’ He pauses. ‘I know you and I have this chemistry, but I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me. Okay? If you like this Rick, then I think you should go for it. I only want to see you happy.’
If only he could read my mind, he’d know what would make me happy. Instead, we exit the car and head inside, and I fetch blankets and a spare towel from the airing cupboard, finding him already passed out on the sofa when I return.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Then
Newbury, Berkshire
The leather seats in the back of Mr Brown’s car were cold to the touch, and even though they’d been travelling for some time, the material still felt cool against Joanna’s bare legs. She’d tried to whisper to Precious to check she was okay, but had been summarily dismissed with a finger jabbed at her lips and a sullen shake of the head. Mr Brown had always given off an uneasy vibe, but Precious’s submissiveness to him alarmed Joanna more than she wanted to admit. The thump-thump-thump in her chest was all she could hear as they continued through the darkness. Thick trees lined both sides of the narrow road so even if she dared to look out of t
he window, she wouldn’t see much beyond her reflection in the glass.
Aside from the occasional glance up at the rear-view mirror, Mr Brown did little to acknowledge their presence. By contrast, Grey hadn’t stopped jabbering since they’d left the campsite, and judging from the nervous energy laced in every sentence they had to be nearing their final destination.
A large spotlight pointed at the gated entrance caught the corner of the sign as they pulled past, but Joanna didn’t recognise the name Pendark. Driving past one large building after another, they finally stopped at what looked, from the outside, like a modern estate but on closer inspection was merely a fascia stuck to the front of a brick box.
‘When we get inside, keep your head down and don’t speak,’ Precious whispered, as her door was thrust open by Grey and he helped her out. Mr Brown made no effort to open Joanna’s door, so she slid along the leather and slipped through the open door.
There was no sign of Mr Brown when Joanna emerged, but she soon fell into line behind Precious and Grey as he led them not through the entrance but around the back of the building, where two men dressed head to toe in black were smoking cigarettes and talking about football. They hushed the moment they saw Grey, who nodded at each of them as he passed and went into the property.
‘Ladies,’ one of the doormen acknowledged as Precious and Joanna entered, but neither responded.
Grey led them to a door, unlocked it, and ushered them inside. ‘Make yourselves comfortable. Precious, explain to Kylie what happens from here, and give her something to drink. The deer-in-the-headlights look isn’t attractive.’
‘Remember our deal, Grey,’ Precious whispered back.
‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ he said, closing and locking the door behind him.
