What Lies Hidden

by Fran McDonnell

  It was ten o’clock when they arrived at Claire’s restaurant. When they enquired, they were relieved to find that she was there, and they were shown into her office.

  “Hi, Isobel,” she said, getting to her feet. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Do you have news?”

  “May we sit down?”

  “Sure, sure.”

  They sat. Claire was looking at them nervously.

  “Claire, this is Patricia. She works for Peter, Anne’s solicitor.”

  “Oh.”

  Patricia smiled at her. “Claire,” she said gently, “we’re concerned about Anne and we’re trying to make very discreet enquiries to clarify what is going on. We don’t want to alert anyone to our concerns until we know the lie of the land and so we’re proceeding very carefully.”

  Claire nodded, looking sceptical.

  “We’re here because we need your help,” said Isobel. “We need you to trust us and we want you to do something for us.”

  Claire tensed. “What’s going on?”

  Isobel leaned forward in her chair. “Claire, my background is as a psychotherapist. One of my concerns is that Anne seems very withdrawn. She seems resigned to not seeing her son. While on the one hand I can understand her shame, I am also concerned about this. I wonder if she is depressed, on medication. Since none of us have met Anne before, it’s very hard to know. There is a limit to what, as a solicitor, is part of Peter’s job but equally it would be wrong to facilitate Anne agreeing a settlement that is not in her best interests and the interests of her child.”

  “But Anne thinks this is the way to go.”

  Isobel chewed her lip. “Yes. I know. But we can all make decisions from a bad place that we later regret. Also we can have decisions forced on us.”

  “Do you think that might be happening here?”

  Isobel shook her head. “We don’t know, and we also don’t know if Anne would be prepared to admit it if asked. We are in the dark here. What would help me to help Anne is your opinion of whether she is in a good place to make good decisions. Or is she depressed, withdrawn to the point where she might be doing ill-advised things? Or frightened? Any of the above would help us know how best to move forward.”

  Claire frowned.

  “No one who knows Anne has seen her for months,” Isobel went on. “All I want to know is how she seems to you after all that she has been through and is going through.”

  Claire tilted her head. “I suppose I can understand that. “But Anne has told me to stay away for now until she has things sorted.”

  Isobel straightened up. “I know. So what I was thinking of was more in the line of you observing Anne without her knowledge and just giving me your impressions of how you think she is.”

  “Without her knowledge? How could that be done?”

  “We’ve thought of a way. I’ll tell you in a moment.”

  “But, in any case, without talking to her, how would I know?”

  “From how she walks, dresses, how she speaks. Most of communication is non-verbal.” Isobel shifted in her seat. “You know how in the morning, when everyone arrives into work, you can tell who is in a good mood or a bad mood from how they arrive, how they come through the door, long before they ever open their mouths.”

  “True, especially when you know them a long time. With some of my staff I know from the tone of the hello.”

  “Exactly. And who better to give me a general impression of how she is?”

  “Maybe.”

  “We were thinking that if you wore a niqab then she wouldn’t see you observing her.”

  “A what? A niqab?” Claire raised her eyebrows. “This all seems a bit extreme.”

  Isobel rubbed her face with her hand. “I know, but I don’t want to damage your relationship with her. This way you can help us help her but without her knowing. You can tell her when everything is over.”

  Claire frowned.

  “You have to trust us though and do this exactly as we’re asking.” Isobel looked into Claire’s eyes and could see myriad thoughts going through her mind. “Doing this will answer some questions and then we’ll know better how to help Anne. Please help us. Do it for your sister. Please.”

  Isobel could almost see Claire swallowing the bitter pill she was giving her. Her look at Isobel was long and searching. After a long pause, she gave a stiff nod.

  “Thank you, Claire. But we need you to do this as soon as possible – ideally now.”

  “Now?” Claire said, startled.

  “Yes. It’s urgent.”

  “But where? How is this supposed to work?”

  Isobel grimaced. “We don’t know that it will on first attempt. Essentially it’s a stakeout situation. There’s a small café across the street from her flat. You’ll just sit, wearing your niqab, and watch her flat. It’s coming up to lunchtime now, which means you can sit there for some considerable time, lingering over dessert and coffee, reading perhaps. Also, it being lunchtime, there is a chance that she may return home to eat if she is already out. If this doesn’t work, you’ll have to repeat the attempt later or tomorrow.”

  Claire drew a deep breath and considered. “Well, if I’m going to do it, I suppose it might as well be now. Let me sort things out here.”

  Patricia was looking intently at her phone. “There’s a train in half an hour.”

  Claire nodded and hurried off.

  “Good,” said Isobel. “We’ve given her no hints. Whatever she says about Anne now will be what she really thinks.”

  Patricia sighed. “We’re playing such a risky game. At the very least Peter will be furious.”

  “Only if we fail. And I have a really strong feeling that we won’t.”

  Yani was delighted to see Patricia and her friends. Patricia quickly explained the help they needed. Yani was more than enthusiastic, producing the niqab and a full-length cover-all robe. She even produced shoes to wear that were in keeping with the outfit, black gloves and sunglasses. She also showed Claire how to walk with her head angled down. After her crash course it was time to find Anne Banks.

  Isobel and Patricia accompanied Claire as far as a café a few streets away from Anne’s flat. They would wait for her there.

  Isobel gave Claire directions and Anne’s address on a piece of paper.

  “Claire,” she said then, very seriously. “Whatever happens, do not betray your identity to Anne. It could have very serious consequences, believe me. Patricia losing her job would be the very least of it. Promise me you won’t.”

  “I promise.”

  Isobel watched nervously as Claire set off down the street, a large black-leather bag slung over her shoulder.

  In the café they ordered sandwiches, which they could hardly eat from nervousness when they came, and then had two coffees with dessert, texting Claire every half hour. At three o’clock there was no answering text back and they were worried.

  “She may be close to Anne at the moment and unable to reply,” Patricia said.

  Isobel exhaled noisily and nodded.

  Ten agitated minutes later Isobel’s phone pinged.

  It was Claire: On my way back.

  Isobel sat with her eyes on the door, clasping and unclasping her hands. It seemed hours before the door was pushed open and a niqab-wearing figure entered.

  With a ‘wait’ gesture to Isobel and Patricia, Claire made straight for the toilets. A few minutes later she emerged, minus her niqab and robe.

  Isobel’s eyes were fixed on Claire as she sat down.

  “Well?” Isobel said. “Tell us.”

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  Isobel’s heart pounded.

  Claire’s eyes blazed. “That is not my sister!”

  Patricia gasped and grasped Isobel’s arm. “Oh my God!”

  Isobel said, “I knew it.”

  “What’s going on, Isobel?” Claire began to cry.

  Isobel reached across and took her hands. “I’m sorry, Claire.”


  “Who is that woman? Where’s Anne?”

  “Claire, please, I’m sorry. We don’t know who that woman is or where Anne is. I’m sorry we had to subject you to that, but we couldn’t prejudice you by giving any hints. We had to verify that the woman isn’t Anne.”

  Claire wiped her eyes with a napkin. “But where is she? What have they done to her?”

  Isobel looked at Patricia. “We need to talk to Peter, immediately. All of us.” She nodded towards Claire.

  In a few minutes they were hailing a taxi and travelling back to Peter’s flat.

  Chapter 17

  When Peter opened the door, Isobel said, “Peter, you need to hear what’s happened today.”

  He saw the two women behind Isobel and gestured for them all to come in.

  “Peter, this is Claire Graham. Claire, this is Anne’s divorce solicitor, Peter Wright.

  Claire and Peter shook hands.

  They all sat down in Peter’s sitting room.

  “All right, Claire – tell Peter what you did today,” said Isobel.

  Claire nodded and swallowed hard. She pulled the niqab from her shoulder bag.

  “I sat in the café opposite Anne Banks’ apartment, wearing this. As instructed.”

  “Oh Jesus!” Peter stood up and started pacing up and down.

  Patricia got up and stood in front of him.

  He stopped.

  “You need to listen to all of this, Peter.”

  He stared at her and she held his gaze.

  Then he nodded and sat down again.

  Claire gestured to the niqab and, with a tearful laugh, said, “It’s really difficult to eat and drink coffee with all of this on.” She mimed sticking a forkful of food under the lower part of a niqab.

  None of them laughed.

  Claire wiped her eyes and continued. “I ordered a salad and had two coffees very slowly while pretending to read my book. The café was busy, and I felt that the waitresses were getting annoyed with me which made me more nervous than ever. Then, just at the point where I thought I would have to move, I saw Anne coming out of the building opposite. I left enough money on the table to cover my bill and rushed out. I could see her heading down the street. So I followed her and had almost caught up with her when she turned into a small shop. I followed her inside. She was looking at the magazines so I went and stood near her, pretending to look at the magazine selection too. But I was looking at her.” She paused.

  Peter gasped and sat forward in his chair.

  “Suddenly a woman behind the counter called out, ‘I have your regular magazine here, Mrs Banks!’ and the woman beside me said, ‘Thank you’. She went up to her, took her magazine and paid. I followed her out and down the street. She went back into the flat.”

  “Are you sure she didn’t recognise you?” Peter asked.

  Claire gestured to the niqab. “Of course not. But . . .”

  “Yes? But what?”

  “But . . . I didn’t recognise her either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that she looks like my sister, very like her, but she is not my sister.”

  Peter looked from Claire to Isobel to Patricia.

  “She is so like Anne it’s shocking. I can see why people are fooled but, I’m telling you, she is not my sister. That is another woman pretending to be Anne.”

  Claire had gone pale, as if all of the energy was draining out of her.

  Isobel jumped up and touched her shoulder. “It’s all right, Claire – relax now – you did well.”

  Patricia fetched a glass of water which Claire gratefully sipped.

  Isobel raised her eyebrows at Patricia and then turned to Peter.

  “Well, Peter?”

  He opened and closed his mouth a few times. “I don’t believe this.”

  “We need a DNA sample from Anne Banks,” Isobel said.

  “W-w-what?”

  “Well, if someone is impersonating Anne with a view to stealing her assets then we need proof. Peter, you’ll have to get Anne’s DNA.”

  He looked shell-shocked.

  “Claire is here so we can get a sample from her no problem. Then we need to get it analysed and prove that someone is impersonating Anne. At the very least this woman and Thomas are committing fraud.”

  “And we need to find my sister!” Claire cried.

  Isobel nodded. “Yes, we do.”

  “Where is she? Why is she letting this happen?”

  “I don’t know,” said Isobel.

  “But maybe it’s because you haven’t seen her in a while that you didn’t recognise her?” Peter said.

  “How dare you?”

  Peter recoiled.

  Isobel reached out and touched Claire’s hand gently. “That’s why we need a DNA test. To prove what you’re saying is true, that this woman is not your sister.”

  After a few moments Peter said, “I can’t believe I’m going to say this but how are we going to get a DNA sample from Anne Banks and where are we going to get it tested?”

  Isobel blew out through her lips. “The best I can come up with is that you call to her flat to clarify something about the contract, and go to the loo, and try to get some hair from her hairbrush, or take a glass she’s used. The only other way is if she cut herself and we got a blood sample. Not likely.”

  Peter stood up and started pacing up and down. “None of those seem doable. Are we really seriously considering this?”

  “Yes, Peter,” Isobel said. “I believe Claire and, since you don’t, I’m just trying to see how we can prove it to you.”

  “Are you sure that you didn’t put this idea in Claire’s head?”

  “No, Peter,” Patricia said. “Isobel never mentioned her suspicions to Claire at all. Isn’t that right, Claire? All she did was ask Claire to see how Anne looked – to judge how she was.”

  Peter looked at Isobel. She shrugged.

  “No, she didn’t say a word,” Claire said. “It was an awful shock.”

  Peter put his hands in his pockets, hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. After a moment he looked up at Isobel and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Isobel looked him in the eye and then nodded. Turning away, she rubbed her forehead. “A few years ago I met a woman on a psychotherapy course here in London. Her husband works at Scotland Yard, the missing persons division. I’ve met him a few times – you know, in the evening when we all went for a drink. Simon Jones. He’s a helpful guy. His wife, Tracey, still emails me every few months. I could email her and see if I can meet them and persuade him to help us. Maybe he could get the police lab to do the analysis for us. If he won’t we’ll have to find a private lab.”

  “Money is no object,” Claire said. “Whatever it takes to get to the bottom of what is going on, I’ll pay.”

  “Maybe Simon could pull a few strings and rush it through,” Isobel said.

  Isobel used her phone to access her emails and send a query with an urgent plea for Tracey to make contact.

  Peter stopped his pacing. “I’ve been thinking about this. I could meet Anne for coffee and get a sample that way.”

  Isobel jumped up and started pacing as well. “Maybe, but what about the other DNA on the cup – the waitress’s?”

  “How could we make sure that the cup is as clear as possible of other DNA?”

  Isobel stopped. “I have an idea. Peter, has Anne Banks observed you eating or drinking anything?”

  “No. Why is that important?”

  “You could pretend to the waitress that you have an allergy to milk. Then you ask her to wear gloves as you’re very allergic – and the cup should come straight out of the dishwasher. And in case the cups should somehow get mixed up, the lady’s cup should be given the same treatment – dishwasher, gloves.”

  Peter shook his head. “You have an answer for everything.”

  “And, by the way, the real Anne Banks helped her manicurist when her son had that same allergy. If you want to be really sure, mention y
our allergy to Anne and see if she shares her own experiences. Just see what she says. The real Anne Banks would tell you.”

  “Do you not think that this whole plan is a bit over the top?”

  “Maybe. But, if it means we get a very clean sample without her suspecting, then so what?”

  “OK, OK. I guess it’s worth a try.”

  “Can you come up with a pretext for meeting her?” Isobel said. “You could use that café Claire was in today.”

  “But how am I going to get the cup?”

  “Given how quickly the Banks move I am sure that Anne is not going to hang around. All you have to do is let her leave first then, stack the cups and saucers and slip one cup into your briefcase.”

  “You want me to steal a cup.”

  “People do break cups all the time in cafés. I know this isn’t ideal but otherwise you will have to explain to the people in the café why you want the cup.”

  Peter put his head in his hands.

  Patricia came in from the kitchen and held out some plastic sandwich bags. “Here, take these and put the cup into it.”

  Peter grimaced. “Are we really going to do this?”

  Isobel stood in front of Peter with her hands on her hips. “Surely, with Claire telling you that someone is impersonating her sister and therefore you are party to fraud, you have to find out the truth.”

  Peter made a face. “True. God, I wish I had never started down this road.”

  “You mean you would be happier to let Anne Banks, your client, be defrauded at the very least? For goodness’ sake!”

  “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, spare me from people who want a quiet life! Something is happening here. You started this, so you need to see it through.”

  “All right, all right. But is this really the best way forward?”

  “How are we going to prove that this woman isn’t Anne Banks? Even you are questioning what Claire is saying.”

  Peter grabbed the sandwich bags. “Fine. I’ll try to set up that meeting.”