“You’re right, Sir. I’m being over cautious about this case,” Phil said, using Mick’s tactic and reverting back to the original conversation.
“Good. Right, I want you to accompany Jason to bring Tom Dalton in for formal charging. I’ll brief him now.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Phil left the room and headed over to his cubicle amongst the pool of desks and logged onto his computer. The feeling of eyes watching him over the tops of each partition churned in his mind as he focused on the list of emails sitting unread in his inbox. Did they all know he and his wife were trying for a family? Had it been the topic of discussion in the pub after work? A feeling of humiliation and contempt towards everyone in the office filled him with resentment.
“Okay, ready?” Jason called over.
Phil nodded and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, following alongside as they made their way down to the car. He didn’t utter a word as they drove along the route to Greenwich and parked up outside number fifty-six Rose Hill Avenue. Curtains from neighbouring houses twitched as they left the car and walked up the driveway, all eager to know the next chapter of events. Phil felt sick. On a personal level he should have felt a degree of satisfaction at his arrest but over the past few months Tom had not turned out to be the ogre he had always imagined him to be.
Jason rang the doorbell, its chimes faintly resonating through the double glazed suburban door and they watched the outline of Julie Dalton through the frosted glass as she unlocked it to greet them.
“Sergeant Cook,” she greeted them as her face appeared through the partially opened door.
“Can we come inside, please?” Jason replied, his official manner causing Julie to appear puzzled.
“Have you found her?”
A look of intense worry drained the colour from her face and aged her instantly through the immaculate make-up.
“Is Mr Dalton in at all?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“Er…yes. He’s just in the kitchen finishing off his breakfast. Why?”
Jason swept past her without saying another word, leaving Phil alone with Julie while he made his way through the living room to the kitchen.
“What’s going on?”
She searched Phil’s face for an answer as he focused his gaze towards the kitchen to avoid her piercing dark eyes.
“Answer me,” she persisted. “Have you found Grace?”
Phil inhaled deeply and forced himself to look directly at her. A lump formed in his throat and he readied himself for her reaction when she learnt of the reason for their visit.
“I’m afraid we’re here on official business, Mrs Dalton. We’re here to formerly arrest Mr Dalton for the involvement and possible abduction of your daughter and intending to pervert the course of justice.”
Julie stared in disbelief, her mouth gaping open as she tried to process what she had just heard.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Chapter Ten
The sound of tinkling water broke the silence of the house as Katherine took her morning shower. Phil lay staring at the ceiling light with its ornate cut glass as the bright spring sunshine played prisms onto the designer curtains. He should be asleep, resting after a long shift the previous night but somehow his troubles and worries all seemed to magnify into monsters whenever he tried. He threw back the duvet and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face. Instead of feeling tired, his body buzzed with nervous energy as if a static which couldn’t be purged filled his veins, yet his mind felt numb. It itched and irritated, constantly reminding him of the situation he had unwittingly been dragged into and one he desperately needed resolving.
The last of the funds drawn down against the equity in the house along with the personal loan were nearly gone. One more session of IVF would drain the last dregs of their savings account and he dreaded having to tell Katherine her dreams of becoming a mother would not become a reality. The emotional roller coaster of failed attempts in between three successes all ending prematurely had taken their toll. The last one had been so close, just a few more weeks and they would have been raising their son but complications during the birth from her damaged pelvis turned the happy event into a tragedy. He had shouldered the backlash of her pain and her erratic moods ever since that fateful day and sometimes he felt she blamed him as a coping mechanism to defer her guilt.
The sound of water stopped and he heard the cubicle door of the shower slide open. Palpitations spiked through his body, thumping in his neck. An overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia rushed over him taken over by another intense surge of energy. He rushed over to the drawers by the window and pulled out his running shorts and top, quickly scrambling to put them on. Too much hinged on the appointment at the clinic today and he felt unable to face her mood. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he heard the bathroom door open and Katherine’s bare feet gently pattering across the landing above as he hurried to tie his running shoes. He became aware of how irrational his behaviour was. She was his wife and he loved her but right now he had to get away, just for an hour.
By the time he reached the end of the small avenue where they lived, the weight on his chest caused by the panic started to lift. Not even Katherine knew how much he disliked running but over the past two years, it had provided his only escape from their average suburban life fraught with troubles. He felt as if he knew every flagstone in the pavements of Wood Green as he kept up a steady pace through the streets heavily lined with parked cars. He had come to hate the place with its random muggings and gangs of youths hanging around almost as much as Katherine did and it was a far cry from where their group of friends lived in Muswell Hill. It was a short distance away yet it as may well have been another world to how his and Katherine’s life had turned out. One slip. One error of judgement and their plans for moving had fallen into oblivion along with his promotion to Detective Sergeant.
Once again his heart pounded as he pushed himself to continue the pace for the last mile. Following the route back home, he slowed a little as he approached the nearby petrol station. A car had just pulled out onto the road and he tried to time his speed so he wouldn’t break his momentum along the path but the driver in the car behind pulled forward.
“Tosser,” he hissed under his breath as he swerved onto the forecourt to run around the back of the car.
A movement caught his eye and he glanced to his left to see Dave, the pump attendant, giving him a friendly wave through the window. Phil raised his hand to acknowledge him but as he focused back toward the direction he was running something else caught his eye and made him stop dead in his tracks. The newsstand, partitioned into large pigeonholes each holding the most popular mainstream media tabloids sat prominently beneath the shop window of the petrol station. Each one repeated the same pictures with varying headlines. Phil stared at the array then reached forward and lifted one of the clear Perspex lids to pick one out.
“What the fuck?” he whispered out loud. “How did they know he’d been arrested?”
His eyes scanned the article on the front page, occasionally flicking back to the photograph of Tom Dalton as he was hurried away in the back of a police car. He put the newspaper back and became acutely aware of his surroundings as he scanned the forecourt for possible press lurking around with mobile phones taking pictures and videos. The place suddenly felt hostile as he glanced at the security camera above his head. Breaking into a run, he left the forecourt and continued back on the route for home, increasing his speed despite the lactic acid forming on his tired muscles. He needed to get out of there, to digest the latest press leak within the privacy of his own four walls where he was able to think more clearly.
Katherine was sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast and reading the paper when he arrived home and made his way down the hallway.
“Morning,” he greeted her cheerfully, trying to ignore the story on the front cover.
She put another spoonfu
l of muesli into her mouth instead of replying and continued to read the story, and he wondered if this would be the day she spoke his name out loud. Phil turned away from her and made himself a green smoothie in the blender. The familiar feeling of disapproval and untold secrets tinged the atmosphere making it heavy and uncomfortable as he busied himself pretending not to notice the itchiness returning to his veins.
“Looks like you’ve made the headlines again,” Katherine eventually said when Phil finished blending his drink. “I think I’m married to the most famous detective in Britain.”
There was a sarcasm in her tone and it was obvious her second statement wasn’t meant as a compliment. Phil reacted. How could she read about Tom and still keep silent about what had happened?
“Why do you read that crap?” he replied, annoyed the smear campaign had entered his home.
Katherine ignored his question and continued to read, slipping another spoonful of muesli into her mouth. Perhaps it was best she didn’t reply. Now wasn’t the best time to bring up the subject of Tom and he didn’t savour having to hear about how the move to Muswell Hill had been thwarted. She had always been a social climber and had applied pressure over their four years of marriage for him to provide an affluent lifestyle, including a family.
“I’m going for a shower,” he said, swigging the last of the smoothie and washing the glass.
The mirror in the bathroom still had a faint layer of steam covering it when he went in and locked the door. Wiping it away with a small hand towel, he stared at himself for a moment as the shower regulated itself to the right temperature.
“I pray to God it’s successful this time,” he said quietly to himself. “It’s about time we had some bloody luck.”
The appointment was for a check-up and to start a new cycle of IVF. More expensive injections and nasal sprays along with constant monitoring would follow, then hopefully they would be able to harvest some eggs. It was like a game of snakes and ladders. They had nearly reached the end when the dice of life dealt its brutal hand, sending them down the length of the snake and landing them back at square one. He hated that board game ever since he had been a child when the snake would swallow him nearly every time.
The warm jets played over his shoulders as his mind worked over all the problems he was facing at work and at home. Ideas and inspirations flashed through his head which only seemed to appear when he was showering. Fleeting glimpses of possibilities and solutions, giving him hope for the future yet vanishing along with the soapy water. He needed to find out who was leaking the information and get the Anticorruption Unit off his back, and his bank account from being scrutinised. It was an aspect which came with the job but the invasion of privacy grated on his nerves and distracted him from the demanding investigations. The feeling of being overwhelmed returned as he stepped out of the shower and dried himself on his personalised towel which Katherine had insisted on buying, and he held his face in the soft, bouncy fabric for a moment.
“Just concentrate on today, Philip,” he muttered into the Egyptian cotton. “Get through today and it’ll be one less thing to worry about.”
He took his time, drying himself meticulously to avoid his crisp clean shirt showing patches of damp then made his way out of the bedroom. Muffled tones drifted up the stairs as Katherine talked with someone on the phone and he paused, leaning over the bannister to catch snippets of the conversation. Secretive telephone conversations always came after the media had published an article on the Dalton case and he felt a flush of perspiration form and stick against his fresh shirt.
“Damn the press,” he hissed under his breath.
Maybe she was talking about Tom, eventually acknowledging his name and how he had unwittingly destroyed their lives. He started to make his way down the stairs, softly at first then increasing the volume of his steps and unsurprisingly Katherine ended the call.
“Who was that?” he asked as he walked into the living room trying to disguise the annoyance in his voice.
“It was your mother. She was calling to make arrangements for Easter.”
Phil rolled his eyes and let out a disapproving grunt. Another family gathering, and he winced at the prospect of having to sit through his mother’s withering comparisons between himself and his older brother, Guy.
“That’s over a month away,” he snapped, softening his tone when he sensed Katherine was having mixed feelings. “Do you want to duck out of it this year?”
She shook her head and he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. Deep down he sensed the pain she felt being around her sister-in-law as she sailed through her pregnancies and a faint remorse niggled at him for using it as an excuse to avoid the family meal. For a brief moment, thoughts of Tom Dalton along with his financial and work troubles left him as the realisation they would have been parents around the same time Guy and Claire’s second child had been born. He stepped back, releasing his embrace and the fleeting feelings of compassion turned back to embitterment. Why did Guy always end up the successful one?
“Come on, we better set off. The traffic will be heavy and I don’t want to be late,” he said, trying not to show how he was really feeling inside.
Strutting down the hallway, he held Katherine’s coat out for her and she routinely slipped it on, releasing her long dark curls as they cascaded down the middle of her back. Slim and elegant, Katherine had a classic beauty which had enchanted his mother from their first meeting.
“It’ll work this time,” he said, spinning her around to face him and kissing her forehead to avoid smudging her lip gloss. “I’ve got a good feeling.”
The route to central London was fairly clear as the car cruised through Harringay and Stoke Newington. Katherine seemed upbeat after his positive words and for the duration of the trip, he felt an old closeness return between them as they hit the city traffic. He checked the clock on his dashboard and estimated the travel time left against his sat nav as they wove their way slowly through Whitechapel.
“Are we going to be late?” Katherine asked as she noticed him tapping his sat nav when they pulled up to a red light.
“No, I think we’ll be okay as long as the traffic keeps flowing.”
St Thomas’ Hospital was a little over a mile away, just the other side of The Thames. He signalled and pulled into the right-hand lane, filtering into the slow flow of traffic as it ground to a halt.
“Damn,” he chuntered.
“We’re going to be late aren’t we?”
Katherine crossed her arms and he prickled as he sensed her blaming him for the delay. Over their time together he had learnt to distance himself when one of her moods descended and he gazed out of his window at the passing pedestrians to tune out from her grumbling. People were busy going about their daily business, popping into shops and walking along the pavement. The smell of freshly ground coffee drifted through the air vents filling the car as customers opened a cafe door releasing the comforting aroma into the air. Suddenly, he noticed a familiar face. His senses sharpened as he watched the outline of Jason sat at one of the tables, his head low in quiet conversation. There was something about his manner which hypnotised him. A slyness. A covert way he kept checking his surroundings.
Who’s he talking to?
“Are you listening to me?”
Katherine nudged his arm to grab his attention. The car in front had moved forward and so he duly put the car into gear and started to close the gap. He rolled forward slowly, his eyes once again on Jason and the other man, just managing to catch him slide an envelope into his inside pocket before he disappeared from view. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white with frustration.
What the hell’s he up to?
Chapter Eleven
The first light of day was starting to infiltrate the kitchen window as Julie Dalton sat at the stripped pine table and gazed at her reflection in the small round mirror. Remnants of the previous day’s make-up accentuated the sunken hollows of her eyes and she winc
ed at how she had aged since Grace’s disappearance. Maybe the candlelit vigil hadn’t been such a good idea but she had to be seen to be doing something. The headlines in the newspapers were cruel as each one zoned in on her apparent lack of emotion and immaculate appearance with one referring her as a ‘cold fish.’
“I can’t win,” she whispered, as she caught a tear of self-pity from running down her cheek. “I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.”
The injustice twisted at her as the sight of yesterday’s newspaper with a printed shot of her smiling at the vigil with Elspeth checking her phone, taunted her.
“How could she let me down like that? She knew the press were there.”
Since Grace’s disappearance, and Tom’s arrest three months ago her life had turned upside down. The usual invites to influential lunches and dinner dances had ceased and with Tom on remand awaiting trial in the next few days her life was more comparable to one of a hermit. She cast her mind back to the first vigil she had organised when droves of people from all over London turned up to give their support. As time had passed the numbers had dwindled to only a handful of die-hard supporters, most of whom were more interested in being photographed by the press. Police presence had been increased but for all the wrong reasons and they now attended the events to stave off any overzealous vigilantes who made up the angry mobs calling for her arrest. She had never known how it felt to be hated by so many and she prayed Tom would be found not guilty, enabling her to salvage some shred of dignity.
Julie pushed her chair away from the table and crossed her crimson satin dressing gown tight over her chest. Instead of its usual, warmth the house now felt chilly and her small feet felt like blocks of ice inside her matching satin slippers. She flicked on the switch at the side of the kettle and squinted in the dim light to gauge the amount of coffee granules balancing on the teaspoon. Reporters had been relentless since Tom had been charged and she had developed a paranoia which had led her to dread opening the kitchen blinds or switching on lights. The police had tried their best to contain ruthless photographers yet despite their best efforts she had discovered them balancing on the fence at the foot of her garden with their zoom lenses. Tom wasn’t the only one in prison and in a strange way she envied his privacy.
The Death of Me Page 6
