She sipped the hot coffee and wrinkled her nose. Tom usually made the morning coffee and she missed the way he seemed to make it so smooth with just the right amount of milk. Since he had been taken into custody her workload around the house had increased and it was only now she realised how much he did for her and the family. Her life had been so easy since they had met. He had given her the opportunity to have the high standard of living she craved and in turn he was happy to have a beautiful woman to call his wife. Her mother had encouraged the relationship from the start and Julie had always been taught the benefits of social status and money over minor details such as love.
Moving through to the living room in the hope of finding a little more warmth, she sat on Tom’s chair until the first sounds of Elspeth’s feet on the floor above broke the endless silence. It was still early and Julie had hoped for at least another hour before Elspeth surfaced. The tension between them had reached an unprecedented level as their new way of life was taking its toll and the picture of her taken at the vigil had resulted in a blazing row.
“Why can’t she understand our image is important?” she whispered to herself as the footsteps above moved towards the top of the stairs.
Julie straightened her expression as Elspeth reached the door to the living room and stepped inside, walking straight through to the kitchen without speaking a word, or acknowledging her mother’s presence. Shards of bright spring sunshine filled the living room as Elspeth opened the kitchen blinds, causing Julie to leap from the chair and shoot in after her.
“What are you doing? There could be photographers watching us,” Julie snapped.
Elspeth opened up a cupboard and took out a breakfast bowl, totally ignoring her mother’s concerns as she poured the cereal and milk.
“What if they see us, aren’t you bothered?” Julie persisted, unable to understand her daughter’s defiance.
“Nope,” she eventually replied. “So what if they do? Who cares? Who’s bothered about seeing a missing girl’s sister making breakfast in her own kitchen?”
Julie’s chest tightened as her daughter’s rebellion tested her patience and she stamped over to the kitchen window and closed the blinds.
“Oh, great! So now we have to grovel around in darkness do we?”
Elspeth rolled her eyes and took the bowl of cereal into the living room, sat on the sofa and switched on the television. She knew eating wasn’t allowed in there and she took delight in mocking, what were in her eyes, Julie’s pseudo-standards. Sure enough, her mother blustered in, red-faced and trembling with suppressed anger.
“Now just you listen here, young lady. I’m trying very hard to protect this family while your father is away—“
“You mean, in prison?” Elspeth retorted, her mouth full of cereal.
Julie paused. An almost overwhelming desire to slap Elspeth straight across her face gripped her and she controlled her hand by resting it on her own forehead.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, deliberately softening her voice in the hope of appealing to the small fragment of compassion her daughter kept well hidden. “Isn’t it bad enough the press photographed you checking your phone at the vigil?”
“Oh, the bloody vigil,” Elspeth erupted, slamming down her bowl and sending milk over the edge onto the polished oak coffee table. “It’s pointless. Everyone knows she’s dead so you don’t need to keep up appearances anymore.”
“Don’t say that,” Julie shouted. “There’s no evidence to suggest she is, you know that.”
Elspeth turned her back and marched over to the living room door to go back to her bedroom but spun around and glared at her mother.
“I wish she was.”
Julie’s mouth dropped open. The shock of Elspeth’s words rendering her speechless and unable to move. She knew the girls weren’t particularly close but surely she felt something for her sister, for her father, for her?
Elspeth stamped upstairs, deliberately slamming her door with as much force as possible. She crashed face down onto her bed and sobbed into her pillow. Guilt pulled at her, not so much for what she had just said to her mother, but because she knew it was true. Since her sister had disappeared it was all anyone would talk about and she felt as though she was invisible. Her identity had changed from Elspeth Dalton, budding cellist, to Grace Dalton’s little sister, and as the months had passed she had come to resent her sister’s unsolicited fame. She missed the simple things she had always taken for granted, things most people had in their everyday lives. She missed her freedom. Her mother had cocooned her, not allowing her to leave the house to visit friends or go to the cinema, each time feeding her growing hatred towards Grace. Friends at school wanted to know details behind each news story splattered on the front pages and she had started to feel as though the few friends she had were only there to claim a little fame for themselves.
“I feel like a freak,” she blurted into her pillow as the tears subsided.
But there was another guilt she had to bear. Standing from her bed, she tip-toed over to her wardrobe, knelt down and gently pulled out the keepsake box she had carefully hidden beneath a stack of shoe boxes. She had not dared to open it for months and she hesitated before lifting its lid. The sound of bowls and cutlery clattering drifted up through the floorboards, reassuring her she wouldn’t be caught as she sifted through its contents until she reached the letter underneath.
A cold shiver swept over her and her hands trembled as she held it in her hands. She had assumed it was from Westfield’s Music Academy when it had been delivered a few days after Grace’s disappearance. It was an honest mistake. The crisp ivory envelope addressed to her parents in perfect, precisely printed font, had looked out of place among the other hand written tatty letters from cranks which littered the floor. Excitement had taken her over and she had grabbed the letter, bolting upstairs to her bedroom to read it in private.
The demands of the ransom letter had shocked her to the core with its menacing ultimatum and threats on Grace’s life gripping her with terror. Time had been against her. She intended to give her parents the letter straight away and she had gone downstairs to hand it over to them, but with only a few minutes till her bus left for school she had been met with annoyance and ushered out of the door before she’d had the chance. She had tried on several occasions to give them the letter but each time it never seemed to be the right moment and as the days passed by it became increasingly difficult. Soon, she had found herself painted into a corner, unable to hand over the letter due to the length of time she had discovered it. Confused and frightened, she had hidden it at the bottom of the keepsake box and hoped the police would find Grace before it was too late.
“She’s dead, and it’s all my fault,” she murmured.
A car engine interrupted her from her thoughts and she dashed over to her window to see her mother pulling off the driveway and disappearing down the road to do the food shop. Unable to bear the responsibility of the letter, she made her way downstairs to where a cardboard box was kept at the side of her father’s chair containing all the other letters they had been sent about her sister, and tucked it to the bottom of the pile.
With her chances of winning a scholarship to the music academy a long distant dream, she had lost all sense of direction and hope. She wanted her old life back. A life where she was the favoured child, the talented one, the one who commanded the most praise and attention. Now, it was all about Grace and she knew it would never stop. Whether she walked through the door unharmed, or the police found her body. She would always be Grace Dalton’s younger sister.
Chapter Twelve
The night seemed endless and Phil tried hard to keep from repeatedly turning over and disturbing Katherine. He had just settled the bill with the fertility clinic and there was only enough money left to implant one set of embryos. He prayed this would be the last round of treatment and it would result in a viable pregnancy. The nervous energy rushed through his body as he mentally rehearsed what he wo
uld say about there being no more money for further treatments. Unable to stop himself from twitching, he got up and made his way downstairs towards the kitchen. Maybe a milky drink would help him break the vicious cycle of insomnia.
“Ugh, three o’clock. The witching hour for insomniacs and depressives,” he muttered as he noticed the time, and he knew there would be no chance of drifting back to sleep.
The light from the microwave broke the darkness of the kitchen as he waited for it to countdown and catch it on its last second. The image of Jason’s meeting in the café whirred and churned in his mind as he stirred the drinking chocolate powder into the milk. The gut instinct which had usually served him so well told him Jason was up to something. It was rare for him to be alone with his thoughts and he languished in the silence as he tried to put the events of the Dalton case in their correct mental compartments. The similarity to the Fletcher case was uncanny yet his observations had been met with dubious sideways glances by Mick. He knew he had followed the investigation to the letter so when Anthony Fletcher’s DNA was recovered from the second girl’s murdered body it had been totally unexpected. The price for his error had been high, not only to his finances but to his pride as he watched Jason overtake him on the promotional ladder.
He tipped his head back and slurped the last drop of cold milk into his mouth then held the mug in his hands. Its perfect hand painted flowers and fine bone china felt irritating. It seemed too feminine, fragile and pretty, as if somehow it was mocking him and for a second the desire to smash it against a wall was almost unbearable. Is this what his life had been reduced to? Dainty flowers on china, designer fabrics and everything matching?
“Katherine’s need for social climbing, the new house in a better area, the family, the personalised fucking towels,” he hissed.
He closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands to block it all out and calm his mind, but the static in his veins persisted.
“I have to do something. I just know there’s more to this case than meets the eye,” he said to himself as if stating it out loud now made it a firm decision.
Rising decisively from the table, he made his way down the hallway and into his small home office. Once inside, he opened up the locked filing cabinet and started to search for the personal notes he had made when he had worked on the Fletcher case. It had become a form of self-punishment - something he did when sleep was short and the night was long. As he flicked his way through the neatly arranged alphabetised files he noticed a package tucked away at the back and he paused as he tried to recollect what was inside. Curious, he delved deep into the drawer and pulled out the cube shape wrapped in a plain brown paper bag and it triggered his memory. The box appeared unopened when he pulled it out of its wrapping, with only a slight indentation around the lid to show where his thumb had prised it open. The tracker was perfectly clean, he had made sure to wipe it down thoroughly after he had used it in the first major crime he had solved. It wasn’t cheating, he had told himself when DCI Burns had praised him for his intuitive detective skills. It wasn’t illegal for a detective to place a covert tracker underneath a suspect’s car but would he dare put it underneath Jason’s?
Early morning rays glinted through the bottom of the wooden venetian blinds. There was no point in going back to bed now and so he made his way back into the hallway, slipping the now unboxed tracker into the pocket of his jacket. He had made the decision and with it came a sense of comfort from taking back a little of the power Jason had been using to his advantage.
As he arrived at work and pulled into the car park, Jason’s car was clearly visible. Phil paused while he carefully considering the best place to park. There was a space two cars down and so he swiftly pulled in and turned off his engine. He peered up at the CCTV cameras to gauge their angles for a moment then pulled the tracker from his glove compartment. They were constantly recording for the very reason he was about to do and his stomach lurched at the prospect of being caught. The consequences were unthinkable. He would undoubtedly face a disciplinary, likely losing his badge along with his income so he sat for a few minutes while he rationalised his idea. He knew Jason was up to something, he’d never trusted him or the way he went about his investigations. He had to take the risk.
Once out of his car, he walked around to the front, past the two cars separating his from Jason’s blue Skoda Octavia and ducked down, quickly attaching the magnetic tracker under the sill. It was far easier than he had imagined and he felt a little sense of triumph as he continued to walk naturally towards the staff entrance and opened the door with his key card.
A smug smile played around the corners of his mouth once he was alone inside the lift and the static which usually ran through his body turned to a tingle of excitement. Even if Jason was clean, the fact he would now know his every move without his knowledge filled him with a deep satisfaction he hadn’t felt since prior to the Fletcher case. The lights in the lift illuminated in sequence until they stopped at the fourth floor and he used the brief pause while he waited for the doors to slide open to compose himself. The atmosphere seemed different yet it wasn’t apparent why as he made his way across the pool of desks. He spotted Jason talking to Mick inside his office as he approached his cubicle and they both paused their conversations to glance over at him. An uncomfortable feeling of paranoia fed the static energy he had temporarily purged. Were they talking about him? Had he been seen placing the tracking device on Jason’s car?
His mouth suddenly felt dry so he drifted over to the coffee machine not far from Mick’s office. To the people surrounding him he was just grabbing a drink, but Phil was concentrating on any stray words which may filter through the office door. Then, it opened.
“Phil. Got a minute?”
Mick popped his head around the door and gestured for him to come inside. Palpitations swept through his body making the skin on his back feel damp against his shirt. Credible explanations for the tracking device flashed through his mind, concealed beneath his seemingly calm expression.
“Take a seat,” Mick said as he sat back on his chair with Jason perched on the corner of the desk. “I’m just giving you head’s up. I’ve just received an email from the Superintendent informing me the Fletcher case is up for appeal.”
A relief flushed over him in a cold wave.
“On what grounds, Sir?” Phil replied.
“New evidence, apparently. He’s claiming his daughter’s remains were planted after the search of his house and that a witness has come forward.”
“Who?” Phil asked, his eyes wide as he focused on every word Mick was saying. “We questioned everyone within the area and broadcast several appeals for witnesses at the time.”
“We don’t know,” Mick replied. “His defence lawyer won’t divulge any details at this point but we’ve got our ears to the ground. I’m sure we’ll find out through, let’s say, alternative sources.”
Phil’s heart flipped. This new witness may provide the evidence needed to prove he hadn’t been incompetent and wipe the blot from his record. If Esme Fletcher’s remains had indeed been planted at a later time then it would explain why the cadaver dogs hadn’t found anything during the search. The same theory had arisen in his own mind during the endless nights of insomnia. He knew he had performed the search thoroughly but he was never able to prove it once faced with the clear tangible evidence of Esme’s remains.
“I want you to continue to concentrate on the Dalton case and leave this new line of enquiry to Jason,” Mick said, noting the excitement in Phil’s eyes.
“But…”
“But nothing,” Mick insisted. “If you get involved it’s not going to hold water in court as you’ve got a vested interest.”
He was right. There was no way Phil would be classed as impartial in a High Court, the prosecution would tear him to pieces. Besides, if he proved Anthony Fletcher’s innocence then it would cast a bad light on his superiors. Whilst he understood why Mick didn’t want him involved, it was still
frustrating to entrust his reputation over to Jason who would undoubtedly claim public recognition.
“Yes, Sir,” Phil replied. “Will that be all?”
Mick nodded his acknowledgement and Phil left the room, endeavouring to appear as natural as possible as he made his way over to the male washrooms. Sometimes it seemed to be the only place where he was able to have two minutes to himself and he let out a big bellow of tension-filled air once he was inside. Right now, he needed privacy as he splashed cool water on his hot flushed face. To his dismay, he only found a temporary relief and the heat emanating in his cheeks seemed to increase to a burn once they were dry. The cubicle doors to the toilets were all open and recently cleaned and, not wanting to return to the constant hubbub of the office, he went inside the one at the far end and locked the door.
He perched on the toilet seat and looked at his phone, opening the app which was linked to the tracker on Jason’s car to check it was working and he jumped when the main door opened and someone came inside. They were having a phone conversation and Phil instantly recognised Jason’s voice. He held his breath and opened the door slightly to give the appearance the cubicle was unoccupied. The conversation sounded heated and whoever he was talking to was upset.
“Don’t worry, I have it under control. Nothing will lead back to us.”
Phil let out a small gasp, almost giving away his presence.
“No, he won’t. He’s going nowhere near the file, I’ve made sure of it.”
What? Is he talking about me?
Anger instantly rose in Phil’s chest and he had to use all his powers of self-restraint not to burst out of the cubicle and confront Jason. The burning in his cheeks increased and travelled down his neck as fury raged through his skin.
The Death of Me Page 7
