She couldn’t believe that only a couple of nights ago, she’d been feeling sorry for Brandon. She should stand up to him. Get up now, go downstairs and call Ruth. But something about Brandon, looming over her, had frightened her. She imagined what would happen if he caught her a second time. For all his clumping about the house, he could move quietly when he wanted to. He’d managed to eavesdrop when she’d been telling Genevieve she’d never be his girlfriend. She dared herself to get up and phone Ruth. Instead, she pulled the duvet over her head like a child hiding from the monster in the wardrobe. It was none of her business. She could mention it to Ruth next time she saw her.
You’re a coward, Julia Winter, she thought. You’re a coward.
Chapter 46
2018 – Guildford Crown Court
Anyone entering courtroom one at Guildford Crown Court, without knowledge of the case, would assume Grant McCluskey was on trial. He fiddles with his cuffs and glances around the room, a film of sweat on his bald head reflecting the overhead lights.
Mapplethorpe softens his face and smiles, in an attempt to calm him.
‘Would you please explain to the court your relationship with Brandon, Mr McCluskey?’
‘We were school friends, from back home in New Zealand.’
His speaks in a loud but shaking voice, only a wisp of his New Zealand accent left in the occasional long vowel.
‘And when did you first come to the UK?’
‘In 1992.’
‘And Brandon?’
‘The year after.’
‘He came to stay with you – is that correct?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
‘He wanted to sleep on the sofa for a few weeks until he got settled. He ended up staying several months, before he moved to Guildford. After that, he’d call sometimes or come over and we’d go out for a beer.’
‘And when was the last time you saw Brandon?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
McCluskey runs two fingers round the back of his collar, then rubs them together.
‘It was the August bank holiday, Saturday, 1994,’ he says. ‘Brandon had been staying over at mine for a few days, said he’d fallen out with his landlady – not sure why. He was supposed to be picking his stuff up and coming back afterwards.’
‘And did he?’
‘No, I never saw or heard from him again,’ McCluskey says. ‘I rang the number he’d given me for the house a few times. No one answered. I wasn’t worried – thought he’d changed his mind. The next thing I knew, the police turned up. They were looking for Brandon, said he’d stolen some money. Then it all made sense, him not coming back. I supposed he must have gone home.’
‘And when did you become aware that wasn’t the case?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
‘The next year. That would be 1995. I’d moved from Ealing to South London, Clapham. So, I guess Patrick, that’s Brandon’s father, didn’t have my number. This guy turned up – a private detective.’
‘This would be Michael Lancaster,’ Mapplethorpe says to the jury.
‘Yeah, well, Michael Lancaster said Brandon’s family were worried. I thought they were making a fuss over nothing. Brandon’s always done what he wanted. Hiring a private investigator seemed way over the top.’ McCluskey pauses and takes a few breaths. ‘My girlfriend was pregnant at the time, we were in the process of moving again, out to Essex this time. So, Brandon wouldn’t have been able to contact me anyway, wouldn’t have known where I was and, I must admit, I never thought about him, until last year, when the police turned up again.’
‘Let’s go back to 1994,’ Mapplethorpe says. ‘To reiterate, Brandon left your house on Saturday 27th August 1994. He said he was going to Guildford to pick a few things up and that’s the last time we know that anyone saw him alive.’
‘As far as I know.’
‘Mr McCluskey, did Brandon ever tell you about the house, the other lodgers, whether they got on.’
‘At first he loved it, said the landlady was like an auntie and made a big fuss of him and the place was amazing – a huge house with a lovely garden. He never got used to London, being from the country, and our house was pretty run down. The heating was constantly packing up and no one ever cleaned. You know what it’s like in your twenties.’
‘So, he was happy in Guildford?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
‘Yeah, until he got a crush on some girl in the house. He thought it was going to turn into something, but she gave him the cold shoulder. He never told me her name. He wasn’t one to go on about his feelings, but I could tell he was pretty down. He’d had a bad break-up with a woman back home. I guess it reminded him of that. Like I said, he didn’t say much. But I noticed he was drinking more. I mean, he always drank a lot. But when he came over, he’d be on the beer straight after lunch.’
At the time, I saw Brandon as someone who got up at noon and spent most of the day drunk. I barely credited him with being capable of deeper emotions. Looking back, I see a young man, lonely and depressed, gravitating towards Genevieve, as a mother figure, because no one else showed him any kindness.
‘Did he mention anything about the other housemates?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
‘He said both the guys were wankers.’ I resist the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. ‘They used to slag him off behind his back, because his auntie always favoured him, and then she started being weird and making him feel uncomfortable.’
‘In what way?’ Mapplethorpe puts on his most concerned face.
‘She was a flake,’ McCluskey says. ‘Treated him as a replacement son, wanted to take care of him. He liked it at first. Then she became more intense, started touching him, just his arm and stuff, but he didn’t think it was an entirely motherly interest anymore, if you know what I mean.’
‘And you knew that Brandon was not paying rent?’
‘No, but it doesn’t surprise me.’
‘Why not?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
McCluskey’s eyes flick towards the balcony and Brandon’s family, then back to his cuffs.
‘Mr McCluskey?’ Mapplethorpe prompts.
McCluskey takes a deep breath. ‘I hate to say it, but Brandon was always a bit of a freeloader. You’d be lucky if he got a round in. I know that pissed off the other lodgers. He’d heard them slagging him off. One of the reasons he wanted to move out,’ McCluskey says. ‘That last time he came over, he was in a bad way. Drinking too much, stoned the whole time. One of the guys I shared with, Andy, was moving in with his girlfriend and I told Brandon he could have the room if he paid rent. Three months in advance, because I knew what he was like.’
‘And he agreed?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
‘Said he’d have to go back to Guildford and pick up his stuff and get some money.’
‘And that was the last time you saw him?’
‘I never heard from him again,’ McCluskey says.
‘Thank you. No further questions.’
Ralph allows Mapplethorpe time to rearrange his papers before he stands up.
‘Just a few questions, Mr McCluskey,’ he says.
By now, McCluskey’s less nervous and is able to look at the jury rather than his shirt cuffs.
‘Would you say you were surprised about the original accusation of theft levelled at your friend?’ Ralph asks.
Grant shuffles and darts another look at Brandon’s siblings. ‘Not really. He’d been in trouble before. One of the reasons he left New Zealand in the first place. And then again in London, he got involved with a married woman. She was wealthy, older, gave him presents, including cash. But she found out he was seeing other women, came to the house and demanded he hand it all back, threatened to tell her husband about him. That’s when he went to his auntie’s.’
‘You mean Jennifer Pike?’
‘Yes.’
‘For the record’ – Ralph addresses the jury – ‘Mr Wells and Mrs Pike were not related. One more thing, Mr McCluskey, did Brandon ever mention Ruth Fletcher, Mrs Pike’s sister?’
‘Yeah. She was hassling him about
not paying rent or something. I don’t remember exactly.’
‘Thank you, Mr McCluskey. No further questions.’
Neither Gideon’s nor Alan’s barrister have any questions. Ralph nods to me, to let me know it’s all going to plan.
I shift in my seat, aware of Brandon’s sister staring at me. ‘He got a crush on some girl in the house … but she gave him the cold shoulder.’ Not how I remember it. But I’m in a court of law and can only defend myself in an allotted spot. Something my lawyer has advised me to decline. To them I shall remain heartless, shallow and, no doubt, guilty.
Chapter 47
1995 – Archway, London
Pearl had taken the lightshade with her before handing the room over to Julia, and the naked bulb made the drab room still drabber. Its harsh light cast a faint shadow across the careworn carpet as Julia moved about, tidying her few belongings, before checking one last time that the contents of the folder were correct and the envelope containing it addressed and sealed. Only when she had finished her tasks did she down half a bottle of vodka. People would realise, she hoped, that she’d got drunk to give her courage after she had made her decision, not before.
Outside, a dense fog, which had hung over the city all day, was pierced by fine drizzle. The streetlamps barely penetrated its gloom. Her final wish, a view across London, hadn’t been granted. Then again, the fog could be her friend. Fewer people would be out in this weather, at this hour. Her only encounters on her walk up Archway Road were drunks, huddled in the murky corners of shop doorways, singing into their cans of Special Brew. Of course, Brandon was behind her at all times. His heavy tread upon the pavement, the slight wheeze from smokers’ lungs. It would stop soon. When he got what he wanted.
The drizzle turned to rain, splashing on the pavements and driving into her face and eyes, blurring and blinding her in turn. Her dress was sodden. She’d chosen a pretty silk one, bought for a cousin’s wedding – Audrey’s upbringing guiding her to the last: You have to look smart.
The journey was further than she remembered. Her ballet pumps gave her no grip and the vodka unsteadied her. Still she kept to her purpose.
At the roundabout, she attempted to cross the road. It was impossible to see traffic in the gloom. She was halfway across one carriageway when her feet slid from beneath her and she sprawled across the tarmac. A screech of brakes and a lorry’s headlights fell upon her. It blasted its horn.
‘Are you trying to kill yourself?’ the driver yelled from the window.
Julia got to her feet. The man was winding up the window, as quickly as he had unwound it. She ran the rest of the way across the road without looking back and carried on to Archway Road, up and up. Until she reached the narrow steps to the bridge. The fog was too thick to see the arch above.
Brandon had kept pace with her. Though he never revealed himself, she could hear his tread above the rain and traffic and every blurred outline of a man turned into a hulking ghost.
She toiled up the bridge’s steps, slipping on every second one, before she finally arrived on top of the vast expanse, the fog preventing any visual reference. Her tired limbs and the faint rumble of traffic below were her only indication of its height.
As she started to climb the iron struts to the side, she heard footsteps coming from either end of the bridge. One heavy trudge she recognised, the others were accompanied by the chatter of young women, slightly muffled by the dense air.
Where had they come from? She needed to hurry. Her fingers slipped beneath the wet metal. She tried to stand up. She wobbled. Shouts. ‘She’s going to jump.’
Julia turned to see the two women. She didn’t have to jump. She could just let go. Her fingers, only seconds ago so feeble, grasped tight and wouldn’t release. She tried to relax her grip. It remained firm against her will.
Two sets of arms wrapped around her, dragged her backwards and brought her to the ground. Her head banged on the stone paving. One of the girls sat on top of her.
‘I’ll stay with her. Run and call an ambulance.’
The use of restraint was unnecessary. All Julia’s strength had gone. Her ears were ringing from the knock to her head, which lolled to one side. For a moment the figure of a man appeared in the thin shard of light from one of the lamp posts, before being engulfed by the fog.
Chapter 48
1994 – Guildford
The atmosphere at Downsview Villa had changed overnight, from the easy camaraderie they’d shared on the Downs to something brittle, nervous and tense.
Julia had seen Gideon on the driveway getting into his BMW and heard him playing music in the room beneath hers but had yet to speak to him since the police came. Genevieve was similarly elusive and didn’t leave her room. Julia was only aware of her presence because of the occasional glimpse of Ruth going up and down the stairs to the attic, her face set grim and stern.
Brandon had returned to his usual rise late, drink early routine and it was a surprise to find him in the kitchen with Gideon and Alan, sitting at the table when she came home. Alan looked agitated. Gideon’s expression was unreadable.
Brandon turned from the table when Julia entered and came towards her, thrusting a mobile phone in her face before she was fully through the door.
‘Do you like my new toy?’ Brandon said.
Julia pushed the phone away. She was still angry with him, for stopping her calling Ruth. She was even angrier with herself for letting him.
‘Only city spivs and drug dealers have mobile phones,’ she said.
‘Are you suggesting owning a mobile phone is suspicious?’
He said it in a voice of mock outrage and tossed a glance at Gideon.
‘Watch it,’ Alan said.
His voice was strained and anxious, but Brandon wasn’t listening and seemed to be enjoying himself.
There must be a specific reason for his being in the kitchen now, at six o’clock on a weekday evening, with Gideon and Alan.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
Neither Gideon nor Alan replied.
‘Where did you get that phone? Did Genevieve give it to you?’
‘I don’t rely on Genevieve for everything, you know. This was given to me by a mate.’
‘You don’t have any mates,’ Alan said.
‘Alan, you’re breaking my heart,’ Brandon said. ‘I thought we were friends. Like me and Julia.’
He placed his arm across Julia’s shoulders. He stank of beer and tobacco. She shrugged him off.
‘Oh, don’t want to be friends anymore?’ Brandon said. ‘Never mind, I’ve got a new friend.’
‘Shut up,’ Gideon said. His voice was barely above a whisper.
Brandon walked over to the table and leant on it, his face bent towards Gideon’s.
‘What was that, old chap?’ he said, mimicking Gideon’s accent.
‘I said, shut up.’
‘But Julia wants to hear about my new friend, don’t you, Jules?’ Brandon said.
‘No, I don’t.’
She tried to leave the kitchen, but he moved away from the table and blocked her path.
‘Hey,’ Gideon said.
‘It’s all right.’ Brandon stood back and held his hands up in the air in surrender. ‘I’m not touching her.’
Julia was nearly at the door when Brandon said, ‘His name’s Karl Brier, my new mate. It’s Karl Brier. I think Gideon knows him.’
Julia caught Gideon’s eye. There was a click of mutual comprehension, then she looked away and continued out of the room. She took the stairs two at a time. She was on the first landing when she saw Gideon come out of the kitchen and leave by the front door.
By the time she got to her room, he had driven away.
That split second of understanding between them, with the mobile phone and Brandon’s delight in Gideon’s discomfort, had made everything fall into place. Gideon had been alarmed when he’d found out she’d woken up the night they’d been to the Downs, the one the police had questioned he
r about. Was it because he suspected she’d seen him talking into a phone at the end of the garden? Because she remembered now what had been wrong, why something didn’t fit. Gideon had been standing too far out of range to use the cordless house phone. It barely worked in the kitchen. Gideon had a mobile. Or used to have a mobile. One she’d never seen. One he’d used to make or receive a phone call early on Saturday morning. If she’d read the look between Brandon and Gideon correctly, it was the same phone Brandon held now. Had he found it hidden at the bottom of the garden, or had he gone into Gideon’s room? Either way, it was clear the person Gideon had been speaking to was Karl Brier.
Gideon had been so insistent they stayed with him that evening. The police had to revise their suspicions because so many people had seen Gideon that night. He couldn’t have torched Devon Garvey’s place. But he could have phoned someone and told them to do it. Someone called Karl Brier.
Chapter 49
2018 – Guildford Crown Court
Considering nearly a quarter of a century has passed, the next witness is remarkably unchanged. Michael Lancaster remains solid and upright, his face line-free. He is confident before the court and knows to address the jury, not the barrister asking questions.
‘I first heard of Brandon Wells in September 1995,’ he says. ‘When I received a call from a Mr Patrick Wells in New Zealand. He told me his son had been missing for more than a year. The police weren’t interested. Mr Wells wanted to find him, but didn’t know where to start.’
‘And you agreed to help him?’ Mapplethorpe asks.
Lancaster pulls a face, halfway between a grimace and a smile. ‘In general, I’m dubious about missing person cases,’ he says. ‘But Brandon’s struck me as genuine. I checked out what Mr Wells told me about the house, spoke to Grant McCluskey and set about finding the others. It wasn’t like today where everyone is two clicks away on the internet. Back then you had to do your groundwork.’
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