‘God,’ I say aloud. I plonk my elbows on the table and rest my head in my hands. ‘I can’t ring him again. I can’t.’ I pick up my mobile and go to my recent contact list. ‘No, I can do this without him. I need to do this without Nick,’ I chant to myself like a madwoman.
My finger hovers above his name.
‘No. Nope, don’t do it.’ I pull it away again.
The loud tone startles me, and I drop the phone onto the table as it begins ringing.
Nick’s name shows on the display. ‘No way.’ Weird. It’s as though he heard me. I narrow my eyes and glance over my shoulder, a sudden sense of unease creeping over me. But as the ringtone continues to play, with vibrations buzzing loudly against the wood, I shake the strange feeling off. This is merely coincidence, and Nick’s timing saves me continuing the argument with myself. At least I’m not the one running to him. I pick up the phone and accept the call.
‘Hi, Nick. Are you okay?’
‘Hey. Thought I’d check in with you, see how things are going.’
‘Oh, er … thank you.’ I bite my tongue, trying not to immediately cut in and ask him to come over for a chat. He phoned me, so I’ll let him do the speaking for now. But he’s silent. ‘So? Are you okay?’ I prod.
‘Hmmm … not really. But I don’t want to discuss it over the phone.’ He pauses. ‘I can drop by … lunchtime any good?’
‘Not here,’ I say a bit too quickly. ‘Can we meet somewhere else?’
The line goes quiet. Some five seconds later, he responds. ‘How about you come here, to my flat?’
I’m surprised at his suggestion. I haven’t set foot inside his place yet, only dropping the boys at the door to the building on his instruction. I imagine the flat to be small, dingy and messy, and that’s why he never invites me up. I agree to meeting him at one o’clock.
I need to write down some things I want to say; things I want to ask him so I don’t forget anything. Also, so I can plan how to word it, because if I leave it until later, I’ll come out with all sorts of nonsense and end up making him uncomfortable. He’ll clam up and not talk about Tim if I don’t approach this well.
Armed with a notebook – which might look as though I’m somehow interrogating him; interviewing him and using what he says as evidence – I go up the lift to the third floor.
‘Come on in,’ Nick says as he answers the door to flat 8. I catch a waft of vanilla as I walk into the tiny entrance hall where his coat is hung on a single metal hook on my right. I squeeze past it to follow him into the lounge. Which is also the dining room and kitchen. There’s a door going off to the left, presumably to the one and only bedroom. The boys had said that when they visit, they sleep in the double bed together and Nick has the pull-out sofa.
A short, sharp stab of sadness hits me. I try to remember this is temporary; he’ll be able to get somewhere better once the house is sold. It’s not sad. It’s this way because of the choices he made.
‘Coffee?’ he asks.
I nod. For the moment, I can’t trust myself to speak. I position myself at one end of the red sofa bed and watch Nick as he boils the kettle.
‘Thanks for coming over,’ he says.
‘Sure,’ I say, looking around at the boxes lined up against the far wall. Which I helped him pack. Nick brings two mugs and sets them on a small, square, black MDF table. ‘Oh, er … coasters?’ I scan the area.
‘Funny one,’ he says.
I give him a quizzical glance.
‘You can see the shitty table, right? You think I’m bothered about a few hot cup rings or coffee stains?’
My face glows; I can feel the heat spreading. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter, placing my mug down.
‘I’m not trying to make you feel bad or sorry for me. I know I deserve this.’
‘Let’s not,’ I say.
‘Fine,’ he says, sitting down next to me. It’s a bit too cosy on the small sofa, but there’s nowhere else. ‘Right, then let me get to the point of why I’ve asked you here.’
‘Oookay …’ I’m a little concerned at his tone of voice.
‘Before, when we spoke, you mentioned your Plan B and you also dropped in that you thought we should at least consider selling to the developers.’
‘Yes, go on.’
‘I’m happy with Plan B. It’s not ideal, but I would rather move back into the house and try to sell to a family than have those fucking leeches take my home. God knows what their eventual plans will be, but even the thought of them taking half the garden away is not something I want.’
‘But what if it takes years to sell the house, Nick? I can’t wait that long. I’ve got a year, tops, at the house in Eastbourne – if I don’t get some money in that time to help Richard and me to buy a house, or even rent a decent place, then I – and the boys – are basically homeless.’
‘Well, no, because the boys always have a place with me.’
‘So, you’d be happy to split us up?’
‘You seem happy to do that, why shouldn’t I?’ He glares at me, his cheeks flaming.
‘Christ, Nick. Really?’ I stand up and take my coffee to the kitchenette, pouring it down the sink. ‘This wasn’t a good idea.’ I slam the mug down. ‘We both need to move on, Nick. I know you’ve always had a problem with that—’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Your brother, your dad – they were awful things to happen to you as a child – you could never let them go, either.’
‘That’s such a stupid thing to say, Amber. It’s not the same at all.’
It is a bad comparison, I know this, and it’s nowhere even close to the conversation I’d planned before arriving here. It does open the door for conversation about Tim, though.
‘Maybe, maybe not. Have you ever considered your lack of answers about what happened to Tim is the root of your behaviour?’ I say, matter-of-factly.
‘My behaviour?’
‘Yes. When Tim went, you felt it was because he didn’t love you enough to stay. Then your dad died. You told me once it was at that point you began to believe you weren’t good enough. Not worthy. And you’ve pushed people away ever since. Completely immersed yourself in your job; drowning yourself in work. Then, bit by bit, you shut out your family because you were afraid you weren’t good enough for them, either. And maybe you believed they’d leave you, too. You were so busy worrying about it that you ended up causing it and adding insult to injury by leaning on someone else’s shoulder instead. And we know how that ended. Are you happy now you’ve proven your own theory by making it happen?’
‘No. No, I’m not happy at all.’
‘Self-destructive behaviour isn’t going to bring your dad back; it’s not going to get you answers to what happened to Tim, is it?’
‘Probably not.’ His head drops. He’s deflated.
I realise we are both crying now.
‘I didn’t want to do this. I actually came to talk to you about Tim, though.’
Nick snaps his head up. ‘Oh? That’s a coincidence.’ He immediately brightens.
I’m taken aback. This, I wasn’t expecting. ‘You first, then,’ I say.
‘I always hoped Tim would be found or come home of his own accord, but as the years went on and there was never any sign of either of those things happening, my thoughts turned to darker outcomes. By joining the force, I thought I might somehow be able to finally find out what happened to my big brother. Well, you know all that. So, anyway, this cold case I’m working, the similarities struck me. I felt sure there were links with Tim – they were things I couldn’t ignore.’
‘Yes, you were following that line of thinking when you last spoke to me about it. Have you found something else?’
‘Not found, no.’
I lift my eyebrows. ‘Then what?’
‘Sent.’ Nick gets up and walks into the bedroom. He returns with a plastic container and he stands facing me. ‘The package that came to the house for me … you know, when you had a go at me for
not having changed my address?’
‘I didn’t have a go …’
‘Well, anyway, it was this.’
Nick tips the container and something falls into his palm.
He holds up a clear plastic bag. In it, I can make out a silver bracelet.
‘I’m not following, Nick. Can you just spell it out, please?’
‘It’s taken me a while to figure out why this was sent to me – there was no note or anything. Just the bracelet.’
‘Strange.’
‘Not so strange now that I know,’ Nick says. ‘This bracelet is identical to the one in a photograph of the missing girl, Chloe Jenkins, from 1977.’
‘Wow, really? Who sent it?’
‘Someone who knows I’m looking into the case again, I guess.’
‘Shit, Nick. Do you think whoever took the girl, the abductor … murderer, even … could be the one who sent you this?’
‘Admittedly, that was my first thought. But I have a feeling it’s someone who knows who did it, not the perp himself. I might be wrong – but I think they’ve sent this to me because they trust I’ll make the necessary connections.’
‘So, someone who knows your brother also went missing around that time has sent you this?’
‘Yeah. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to.’
‘And you’re thinking whoever took Chloe, also took Tim?’ I realise I’m stating the obvious, but I need to vocalise my internal thoughts to assimilate them.
‘I am. I think they’re both dead, Amber. And one person is responsible for both murders. Maybe even others.’
I decide now isn’t the right time to tell Nick about my mad theory that Tim is back. Alive. It doesn’t fit with this new information, and at the moment, it’s been overshadowed by the possibility a murderer knows where I live.
‘What are you going to do now?’ I ask. ‘What if it is from the killer …’ My chest tightens.
‘I’m going to put this into evidence, continue investigating my cold case,’ he says. ‘And get Tim’s reopened too.’
‘Are we safe at the house?’ I can’t keep the panic from my voice.
‘I believe so. It’s me the person wanted to get this bracelet to. I don’t have the feeling they’re dangerous. Maybe they just want to help.’
‘Why wait until now?’
‘I’ve a few theories about that. One is the possibility they didn’t know until recently the relevance of this bracelet. Or, it’s the wife of the abductor and she’s been too scared to come forward before.’
‘Again, why now, then?’
‘I’m thinking the person who did this has died. Maybe? And the wife, or whoever, is now free to divulge what they know without repercussion from him.’
‘Why not call you, or email you, or something? Why send the bracelet – and nothing else, no other helpful detail – anonymously? Doesn’t seem that helpful to me. In fact, it makes it seem more likely it’s a game. A power trip. That it is the killer, and he wants to drip-feed bits of info to you. Tease you.’
‘I realise that’s also a possibility. But I’ve thought about it a lot in the last few days and I’m confident—’
‘Confident isn’t enough, Nick. I want … need … one hundred per cent certain. What if I get another parcel for you? What if next time it’s something … bad? What if the boys open it?’
‘Amber, Amber – breathe.’ Nick’s hands are on my arms. ‘If you get another parcel, we’ll have to re-evaluate the situation.’
‘I need to think about this. I’m not convinced I feel safe enough living there. I didn’t anyway, before this. We’ve got two boys, Nick.’
‘Yes, and I wouldn’t put them in harm’s way.’
I don’t feel satisfied by his assurance. How can he know harm won’t come to us? After all, it’s happened before if Nick’s abduction theory is true.
What if something happens to one of my boys next?
Chapter Sixty-Four
Amber
All I can think about on the drive home is that a murderer might be sending Nick his trophies. And this person knows where I live. After I lost it with Nick, telling him me and the boys should be put in a safe house, he told me to keep calm. Said at this point it was only his theory; he needed to share it with his team. He was adamant it was nothing more than someone trying to give information to the police that they hadn’t been in possession of before.
An anonymous helper.
I try to hold on to this. But why send it to Nick’s house and not the police station? There are too many unanswered questions. And I already have enough of those piling up on me.
I pull up outside my house with half an hour to spare before the school run.
Carl is sitting on the step, his diary clutched to his chest.
Oh, my, God. How can he be so blatant? He must know I know the diary has gone from beneath my mattress, yet here he is, parading the fact he’s somehow been inside my house without permission and taken something. Yes, it’s his, but he didn’t retrieve it legally. I’m still sitting in the car, the engine idling, contemplating what to say to him, when I see a blur of movement in my rear-view mirror.
Davina storms up to him. I see him leap up in reaction.
I lurch into action, flinging the car door open and rushing over to them both. I have to intervene before Davina says something stupid.
‘What can I do for you, Carl?’ I say, at the same time as gently pushing Davina out of the way – hoping she’ll get the message not to speak.
Carl steps back and shifts his eyes to Davina, then back to me, a worried expression passing over his face. Does he think we’re onto him and about to confront him together? I should tell him we know what he’s been up to, but for now, my natural instinct is telling me to hold on to our knowledge. Knowing he’s showing the same people, multiple times, around a house that’s for sale and a single sighting of him leaving another house with a woman, isn’t proof of anything much. Which makes me wonder what Davina was about to say before I stopped her. She was the one who’d been so adamant we should gather evidence before acting in the first place. Surely, she wasn’t about to accuse him of any wrongdoings right here in the street?
‘I was coming to update you. As I’ve been trying to do for days – you’re not even answering your phone.’ He’s on the defensive.
‘Fine, come on in, then.’ I open the front door and turn to watch him walk in. He doesn’t cast his eyes in the direction of the broken bell, nor does he mention it. I’m assuming he must’ve seen it though, as he’s obviously been waiting for a while. Which also strikes me as odd. He usually calls ahead. ‘And you, Davina,’ I say, beckoning her in. I don’t want to be alone with this creep, and I want a witness to whatever is said.
Once inside the lounge, Carl sits on the sofa and opens his diary. ‘Okay, then. Let’s see.’ He flicks through some pages, then looks up, his gaze directly on mine. His confidence infuriates me. ‘Several prospective viewers cancelled last minute, I’m afraid. It seems a few were wary of the development plans. I tried to reassure them, but, of course, I can’t guarantee those plans won’t go ahead at the next planning meeting. So …’
‘You’re telling me every single interested party suddenly became uninterested just before the viewing time?’
Carl silently nods.
‘Doesn’t that seem odd to you, Carl?’
‘It’s very disappointing, I agree. But I suppose it was always going to be a challenging house sale …’
‘Oh, really? Funnily enough you never mentioned that when you took my house on your books. When you were keen to get me to sign the agreement. I think your words were more in line of, “Don’t worry, Mrs Miller, I’ve got the best reputation for moving even the most awkward property,” or words to that effect. Am I wrong?’
‘I don’t have a crystal ball, Amber.’
‘Hah. No, and neither do I, which is a shame, because I could’ve saved myself a whole lot of stress if I hadn’t signed with Move Horizon.’
‘I understand you’re upset; it’s a particularly stressful time in your life. And I’m very sorry I haven’t been able to secure a buyer, yet …’
‘And you won’t,’ I cut in. ‘Because I’m going to find a new estate agent to do the job you’re finding so challenging.’
‘Let’s not be hasty, Amber. I think you’ll find it’s not me that is the problem here. And besides, you’re tied in for five months – it’s in the contract.’
‘Then I’ll simply take the house off the market, Carl.’
‘Please, let’s calm down—’ Carl swipes his forehead with the back of his hand. I can see the gleam of sweat on his top lip, too.
‘I’m perfectly calm,’ I say, and look to Davina. ‘Don’t you think, Davina? This is me, calm, isn’t it?’
‘Perfectly calm,’ Davina agrees, shooting Carl a sarcastic grin.
‘Fine. But think about it. Sleep on it.’ He slams his diary closed, and I have to jam my lips together to stop myself accusing him of being in my bedroom and taking it. ‘In fact, I rather think now is the time to seriously consider selling to the developers.’ He stands and walks right up to me. He bends slightly so he is staring right into my eyes. ‘It might be your only chance of getting out of here.’
I back away from him. Adrenaline shoots through my veins. Was that a threat?
‘Today is going down as one of the most stressful,’ I say. Davina gives me a sympathetic smile.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. And I’m also really sorry for my … er … abruptness yesterday.’
‘I would offer you a coffee so we can chat about it, but I’ve got to get the boys in a minute.’
‘No worries, I just wanted you to know it wasn’t personal. I get so cranky when I’m on a deadline; always makes me a little crazy. Wayne said the way I behaved was infantile.’ Davina hangs her head. She does indeed look like a naughty child at this moment.
‘I was concerned, that’s all. I didn’t realise you had a deadline, sorry. I wouldn’t have had you chasing around after Carl if I’d known I was taking you away from your work.’
‘That wasn’t really you, though. I led that whole operation,’ she says, smiling. ‘And besides, it did me good to get out. I can’t believe Carl’s reaction to you then, by the way. I think he’s hiding more than affairs, don’t you?’
The Open House Page 20
