by Vicky Jones
“And this reaction is better?” he replied, his eyes like saucers. “Bearing in mind I don’t get paid when I ask to finish early to support you while you’ve been feeling down lately. You know how tight money is for us at the moment. Dawn will probably only give you full pay for so long being off. We are lucky she is as nice as she is.”
“I know.” Katie sank her face into her hands and began to sob.
Tom placed his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what that money has paid for the last three weeks?”
Katie looked up at him, her eyes red, her face puffy. “You promise you won’t get angry if I tell you?” Tom gestured to hasten her explanation. “I’ve been going to see a hypnotherapist.”
Tom took a step backwards.
“Why?”
“I want to remember what happened all those years ago. To Mollie. It’s breaking me apart not being able to recall what happened. I don’t understand it and I needed help. I wanted to be regressed.”
Tom was speechless. After a moment he licked his lips and tried to keep his voice as even as possible, all the while shaking his head to try and understand what she’d told him. “You want to be reminded about killing your five-year-old sister? Quite possibly the worst incident that could ever happen to a person. An incident your brain has blocked you from ever remembering? And you want to remember it? Are you sick in the head or something?”
“I need to know what happened, Tom.”
“Why?” Tom yelled, waving his hands at her.
“Because. I can’t explain why. I just do.”
They had reached an impasse. They stood toe-to-toe, staring wide-eyed at each other, red-faced and exhausted. Tom shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “OK, OK. But please tell me, after a hundred and fifty quid’s worth of talking, this magical fucking therapist has helped you find the answers to your burning questions?”
Katie looked down at her trainers. “Not exactly, no. Not yet. It takes time, he said.”
“Fucking great!” Tom exclaimed, walking past her and over to the kitchen doorway. “How much time?” He walked back over to her and cupped her chin in his shaking hand. “Katie, how much is this going to cost us?”
“I don’t know. But I have to do this. Please. Try to understand.”
“I’d understand more if you paid for therapy to deal with this past of yours, rather than to dig it all up again. What do you want? To visualise what you did? To feel it all over again? You must see how damaging that would be? It’s sick, babe. You need to let it go. For your own sake, as well as ours.”
“I can’t drop it. I owe it to Mollie to find out the truth. Maybe I deserve to feel it. I know the police didn’t prosecute me for what happened, but maybe I should be made to feel the consequences of what I did. I want to see what she looked like. Jenny has a photo but she won’t let me see it. It’s like Mollie never existed. Never lived. I need to find a way to understand it all.”
Tom breathed out a long, angry sigh and softened his shoulders. He looked at her, his angry eyes now soft. “Look, babe. What happened was tragic. It really was. But it’s in the past. And it needs to stay there. No good can come of raking it all up. Don’t you see that? Knowledge isn’t always a good thing to have. What’s the saying? Ignorance is bliss? I think that’s true here. You said yourself the police deemed it an accident. And if they think that then clearly you did nothing wrong. All this stress on you is not going to do you any good. Not to mention it messing about with your hormones. We’ve got a future to plan for, babe. Our own family. Our own kids. We can’t be looking back in the past.”
Katie looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with tears. “You still want kids with me? Even though you know what I am? What I did?”
“Of course I do. You were a child yourself. You didn’t know what you were doing. It was twenty odd years ago. Like I said, it’s all in the past. We need to look forward.” He scooped her face into his broad hands. “I love you.”
Katie sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I love you too.”
“Just promise me all this hypno-crap will end now.”
Katie pressed her face into his shoulder, muffling her reply just enough.
Tom found Katie an hour later in the spare room making up the bed.
“You sleeping in here again tonight?” he asked her, his face downcast. He picked up a pillowcase and fiddled with the cotton seam.
“Yeah. I just thought with everything going around in my head that I probably wouldn’t sleep very well. And you have to be up at five.”
“I could lie with you until you go to sleep, then get my head down?”
Katie walked around the bed to hug him. “I’ll be fine. Honestly.” As Tom turned to leave, Katie’s phone beeped. Looking down at her phone, she smiled.
“Who’s that?” Tom asked.
“Oh, just Dawn.” Katie read from her phone. “She’s asking how I am and if I’m taking it easy. Says they’re looking forward to me coming back, but to take my time.”
“You need to take her advice,” Tom said with a wry smile.
“She says in her message too that when I’m ready she’ll help me with my assignment. That’s if I even carry on with that course now. Either way, I am lucky to have a boss like Dawn.”
“They see what I do. How special you are. You’ve put years into that nursery, even before you started your course when you were volunteering, and they know that. Plus you’re never off sick, so Dawn knows it’s important for you to take this time for yourself.”
Katie’s eyes looked inwards for a moment. “It was always my dream to run that nursery one day. Even start up my own. That’s blown to shit now.” She hugged the pillow she was holding close to her chest before laying it on the bed and patting it into shape.
“You still can. Nothing has changed, babe.”
Katie looked up at him. “Nothing’s changed? How can you say that? Can you imagine if people found out I’m a child killer? Even saying those words out loud makes me want to be sick. How in the hell would any mother want me looking after her kids when they found that out?”
“Look, just don’t make any big decisions tonight. You’ve had a long day. Sleep on it. Please?” Tom’s eyes implored her.
“I can’t escape the feeling that there’s only one thing for it,” Katie replied.
“What?”
“Resign.”
Tom crept back into the spare room, a whimpering coming from Katie waking him up. He padded over to the bed and silently sat down, reaching over to gently wake her. “Shh, shh, it’s OK, babe,” he said, gently stroking her clammy forehead. But her writhing became more violent as her nightmare appeared to get worse. Starting to panic, Tom grabbed her forearms and held her tightly. “Babe, wake up. Katie, wake up,” he shouted. With a jerk, she came out of her nightmare, her eyes wide. Tom pulled her into him and stroked her sweaty, matted hair. “It’s OK, just a bad dream.”
“Shoes!” Katie blurted out, pushing him away from her. Tom looked at her in complete confusion.
“What?”
“Shoes. I saw a pair of shoes,” Katie repeated, as if saying it twice made it make sense.
“What shoes? Where?”
“Where Mollie died. I saw a little pair of shoes at the top of the cabin’s steps, just outside the door. But they couldn’t have been mine, Jenny’s or Mollie’s shoes,” Katie shrieked.
“How do you know?” Tom stared at her intently.
“Because they were little boys’ shoes.”
Chapter 18
Maggie Chapman held her morning coffee cup close to her chest as she gazed out of her kitchen window at the perfectly manicured back garden. At the far end were weeping willow trees, in full bloom and cascading their long tendrils down towards the lush green lawn. Rose bushes bordered each fence of the Chapmans’ large detached bungalow, which spread itself over almost an acre on the edge of Formby near the beach. Behind her a rattle of metal sounded, breaking her out of her daydream.
“Sorry I didn’t make it home last night, darling. You know what the nineteenth hole can get like on a Sunday night,” a deep, lightly scouse-accented voice purred behind her.
Mags turned around to see her husband Patrick, known as Chip to everyone who knew him, standing in the kitchen doorway. He was in his late fifties, tall and spare with thinning blond hair and a closely trimmed stubble beard. He was wearing a typical golf enthusiast’s attire: beige slacks with deep pockets, a navy pullover shirt with collar and short sleeves, and a white baseball cap which he now held in his hand. His keen blue eyes were fixed on his wife’s reactions to him being out all night. Next to him were his golf clubs, standing proudly in their top of the range black and white Dunlop golf bag. They shone in the morning sunbeams that danced across the marble effect polished floor tiles, all the way to Mags’ slipper-covered feet.
“That’s alright, Chip. But I’d appreciate a phone call next time. Good round?”
Chip grinned and folded his tanned, hairy arms. “Yeah. Really good. I shaved another stroke off my score. Frank wasn’t happy.” He flashed a wicked smile and poured himself a coffee from the pot Mags had made. “How was work?”
Mags exhaled. “Same old, same old. I can’t wait until we’re sailing around South America on our yacht. It’s just not the same there anymore. Too many tech-savvy whippersnappers making dinosaurs like me feel inept.”
“Just a few more months, darling. Then we’re selling up and out of here for good.” He lowered his lips to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m going for a shower.” He checked his Breitling wristwatch. “You’d better be getting to work.”
Rachel pulled her bike up on the rack near the police station car park seconds after seeing Mags walk past and towards the entrance to the building. She clinked the combination lock into place and took her helmet off, feeling her pocket vibrate as she walked over to the entrance to the station. It was a text from her mum. Quickly, Rachel tapped a reply saying that it wasn’t a good time for her to come up to visit her, then hesitated as she pressed the send, knowing that the usual lecture about not taking it easy and working too hard was bound to follow.
Inside the incident room, Rachel saw that Tina Saunders was walking around each desk holding a tin of something she’d no doubt baked the previous evening. As she walked over to her office, Rachel almost crashed into the tin as Tina held it out to her.
“I made some scones. And there’s custard creams in the tin over by the kettle. Can’t have us running low on essentials now, can we?”
Rachel smiled and declined a fruit scone that was thrust in her face. She turned around and bumped into another cloying presence.
“Phone call for you, boss,” Mags said.
“Who is it?”
“She wouldn’t say. But she sounded agitated and insisted on speaking only to you. Mentioned you’d spoken to her a few weeks ago?”
“OK, put her through.” Rachel walked into her office and picked up the phone. “Detective Inspector Morrison speaking.”
“Is that Rachel?” the voice on the line replied.
“Yes. Who’s this?” Rachel said, taking out her notebook just in case.
“Katie Spencer. The woman who was a mess outside the police station that time. You helped me.”
“Oh, of course. I remember. You sound upset. Are you OK?”
“You know my case?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve remembered another detail. There was someone else there the day my sister died.”
“Right. OK.” Rachel jotted down what Katie was saying, then nibbled on the end of her pencil. “Do you know who?”
“No. Can you tell me, please, were any other children spoken to that day? Other than me and Jenny?” There was a pause. “It’s important.”
“Katie, how has all of this only just come to light?” Rachel said, switching phone hands. She heard a deep exhale through the phone.
“OK, I know this sounds crazy, but please believe me but…I’ve been seeing a hypnotherapist recently who has tried regression therapy on me, and even though the sessions didn’t show me much of the events of that horrible day when Mollie died, I had a dream last night and remembered something. One detail my brain finally unlocked.”
“What did you see?”
“I saw the scene, Rachel. Well, part of it. It was all still pretty hazy. But I feel that each time I think about the dream, I unlock another piece of the scene. That’s why I’m ringing you to ask if there were any other children questioned that day when Mollie died. Because of the shoes I saw in my dream. They were at the top of the cabin shed steps, just outside the door. Dad and his friend Bill would never allow you inside the cabin shed if you had muddy shoes on, and it had been raining that morning so…”
“Are you sure they weren’t yours? Or your sister’s? You said yourself you have lots of gaps in your memory. How do you know for sure you or your sister didn’t own them?”
“Because they were boys’ shoes,” Katie replied, her voice cracking.
“I see.” Rachel noted it down. “And you don’t have any brothers or cousins who were visiting?”
“No.”
It was Rachel’s turn to leave a pregnant pause on the line. “Katie, all of this was looked into back then. All evidence would have been bagged and tagged. I’m sure the police would have followed all procedures and everyone would have been spoken to who needed to be.”
“Please, Rachel. I need to know. Just tell me if a boy was interviewed. That’s all I want to know. Please.”
Rachel held a hand up in surrender. “OK, OK. I’ll see what I can find out. But, Katie, if you want my advice, you really need to try and find a way to move on from this.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if it was you, believe me.”
The line went quiet. Rachel thought on that for a moment. “I’ll do my best for you, Katie. Take care.”
Chloe appeared at the door holding a mug of coffee just as Rachel put the phone down. She placed the mug in front of her.
“Everything OK?” Chloe asked.
“Yeah.” Rachel’s misty eyes became keen. “Could you do me a favour?”
Chloe’s face lit up. “Sure…what do you need?”
“Can you bring me the witness reports from the Spencer case file, please? I need to see if a child, a boy, was ever interviewed at the time.”
“I’ll get right on to it,” Chloe replied, turning to go.
Rachel smiled her thanks and lifted the cup to take a thirsty swig. Before the cup touched her lips, she thought of something else. “Actually, can you bring me the whole file? I need to see that medical report. Specifically, the bit about the use of drugs on Katie to help her forget what happened.”
As soon as she’d put the phone down to Rachel, Katie made another call. The voice that answered, on the tenth ring, sounded breathy and irritated.
“Hi. Jenny. It’s me. Katie.”
There was a pause. Katie heard Jenny clear her throat. “What do you want?” Jenny replied.
“Look, I know you don’t like talking about this, but it’s been on my mind since I found out. The day Mollie died, do you ever remember seeing another kid there at the house? Did we have a friend, a neighbour’s kid, hanging around? A boy?”
“What? Why are you asking me this? Look, I’m not being funny, Katie, but I get that you might want to rake all of this up again, but I don’t. Why can’t you respect that?” Jenny’s voice became more hard-edged, with every word in her final sentence punctuated like punches to Katie’s face. Nevertheless, Katie carried on.
“It’s important, Jenny. I’m sorry it hurts you, but I need you to remember.”
Jenny exhaled at length. “When I got over there, there wasn’t anyone else hanging around, no. I’ve got to go now.”
“No, wait,” Katie said. “I saw some shoes. At the top of the cabin shed steps. Whose were they?”
“What do you mean, you ‘saw’?”
“I had a dream last ni
ght. You see, since I found out about Mollie, I’ve been having regression therapy with a hypnotherapist down here. I think I’ve started to unlock—”
“Now, you listen here,” Jenny snapped. “I wouldn’t wish the sight of what Mollie looked like that day on my worst enemy. The fact that you actively want to see it is beyond sick. What the hell is wrong with you, Katie? They were right to keep this from you. Look at how you’re acting about it now? Look, if you’re having difficulty coping with what you now know you did, then yes, get therapy for it. But only a person sick in the head would want to be taken back to that time. You’re making the past the present. For both of us. That’s unfair, Katie, and I won’t be a part of it. I take pills to forget what happened and to help me sleep, so forgive me if I don’t want to chit-chat about remembering that day in detail.”
Katie could sense Jenny was about to hang up. “I just think there’s more to it than what we both know—”
Jenny let out a bark of laughter which echoed loudly down the line. “Oh, so that’s it? You want to pin it on someone else. You’ve lived the last twenty years of your life guilt free, while others had to live with what you’d done, and even now you think you’re entitled to flick it off your shoulder like a lump of dandruff? You are so fucking selfish, Katie. I cannot believe this.”
“No, not at all. I just think… I don’t know what I think. I just feel there is more to this story. And if, at the end of all this, I am the one who was solely responsible, then I will live with it. But someone else was there, I know that now. They might have seen something no one else did. The only witnesses to what I am supposed to have done are Dad and Bill Thompson. But when I spoke to Bill—”
“You spoke to Bill? When?”
“When I came up to Liverpool. I came to see you, but you weren’t in when I got there, so I got curious and went to visit the old house while I waited. It was the day I saw Pam Parker. Afterwards I went to speak to Bill. I had so many questions that even he couldn’t answer. And I can’t speak to Dad for obvious reasons, and you don’t know anything else. Please, Jenny, try to understand.”