The Sleepover

by Carol Wyer

  ‘I was going to. That’s one of the reasons I came upstairs – that and a quick fag. Thanks, Nat. It’s good to have somebody who understands what you’re going through.’

  ‘I’ve got your back,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘And I’ve always got yours,’ he replied.

  She broke away and headed downstairs, heart racing. The magnetic pull she’d been fighting had almost propelled her into his arms. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Not again. She’d succumbed to his charms in the past. Their brief affair had taken place because her marriage had hit a low point and now that it was struggling again, she couldn’t afford to weaken this time. If she did, she’d never be able to face David. Back in the office, she refocused her energies. She was sure Seth hadn’t travelled to Scarborough, and she’d have to present all her facts to coax his actual whereabouts out of him.

  Her stomach grumbled and she squashed it with the flat of her hand. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. It was easy to lose track of time when an investigation was as complex as this. ‘How long will that food be?’

  Murray flashed a smile. ‘Not long. I told them it was urgent.’

  ‘Good. I need to eat something before I interview anyone or the sodding recording device will pick up my stomach growling every two seconds. I’m going to talk to Seth before we start on the Lang brothers. They’ve kept us waiting so we’ll return the favour. Any news on their lawyer?’

  ‘Nothing yet. Maybe he’s eating his dinner and is too tied up to come.’ He gave a wry smile before answering an internal call then jumped up and headed for the door. ‘Grub’s here. I’ll nip down and get it. You okay with chopsticks?’

  ‘If you asked for chopsticks, you know where I’ll shove mine,’ she shouted after him.

  Some twenty minutes later, having wolfed down her food, Natalie put down the office phone and neatly tucked her blouse back into her skirt. Ian observed the act, sucked up the last of his noodles and jumped to his feet.

  ‘Seth’s been assigned a lawyer and is ready,’ she said. ‘Murray, when the Langs’ lawyer turns up, let him know I’m busy, will you?’

  Murray quickly swallowed a mouthful of food and replied, ‘Yep. Will do.’

  The building had quietened with many of the offices now empty, and Natalie didn’t spot another soul on the way back down to the first floor. It always felt strange to be here out of hours when only night-duty staff were around – like a hospital when all the staff and visitors have left for the day, or a school empty of children and teachers. Somebody coughed loudly – a repetitive, hacking cough, the sort a smoker might have – but she couldn’t locate the person who might be in one of the numerous rooms along the corridor or in reception. She and Ian marched to the interview room without speaking. Ian knew the procedure as well as she did and she gave him a brief nod of assurance before opening the door to the room.

  Seth Curtis sat hunched in his seat next to an elderly man in an ill-fitting suit. The legal aid lawyer was known to Natalie and was, in spite of his appearance, a sharp cookie.

  After introductions and an explanation of what was about to happen, Ian started the recording device and they reintroduced themselves officially.

  Natalie asked all the questions. ‘Seth, do you own a black Honda CB125 motorbike with the registration ending in LNF?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You claimed that on Sunday afternoon, following the news of your sister’s death, you rode that bike to Scarborough and did not return until late that same night. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Seth, I have to inform you that your motorbike didn’t pass any ANPR cameras along the motorways to Scarborough that afternoon or evening. Nor did it appear on any cameras along the A64, A170, A171 or A165, which are the only main roads leading into Scarborough.’

  ‘I took the back roads.’

  ‘Even if that is true, there are cameras along the main road to the beaches and you didn’t appear on any of them.’

  ‘I was there. You just didn’t see me,’ Seth replied.

  ‘We have double-checked. Your bike was not spotted in, around or near Scarborough.’

  Seth kept his head lowered. His lawyer wrote something on a pad and kept his focus on Natalie.

  ‘I’d like to talk about Roxy. We have a witness who claims you hit Roxy, sometimes with such force that you broke her bones.’

  The lawyer lifted his pen and spoke firmly. ‘I must interject at this point and remind you that my client has suffered a tragic double loss. He’s not in a fit position to answer such probing questions based on supposition and hearsay. Furthermore, I’d also like to mention that you’re investigating the death of his sister and mother, not what domestic issues might or might not have transpired in the past.’

  ‘Mr Matthews, my questions are relevant to the investigation, and I would appreciate it if Seth would cooperate. If he can explain himself, then he’ll be eliminated from our enquiries.’

  Mr Matthews shook his head. ‘I suggest you keep it relevant to the case, DI Ward.’

  ‘Then I would like to discuss your whereabouts yesterday evening between seven and eight, Seth.’

  ‘Scarborough.’

  ‘I think we’ve established you weren’t there unless you can prove otherwise.’

  His response was a light lifting and dropping of the shoulders.

  ‘Okay, let’s play it your way. Which route did you take to get to Scarborough?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just drove until I reached it.’

  ‘Have you been there before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you use a satnav?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how did you know where to go?’

  ‘I didn’t know where I was headed. I didn’t realise I was in Scarborough until I got there.’

  ‘We have another witness who saw a bike matching your bike’s description and with a similar registration in Linnet Lane yesterday evening. How can you explain that?’

  ‘Can’t. I wasn’t there.’

  ‘What did you do when you got to Scarborough?’

  ‘Sat on the beach. Thought about things. Came home.’

  She watched his eye movement, looking out for a slight lift to the right that came when people were recalling incidents. There was nothing. His amber eyes remained fully focused on her as he responded.

  ‘Scarborough is about three hours away. Did you stop off for food or fuel?’

  ‘I got some petrol and a sandwich but I can’t remember where.’

  ‘Do you have a receipt for it?’

  ‘No.’ Still his eyes stayed fixed on her.

  ‘Did you pay cash or use a credit card?’

  ‘Cash.’

  ‘Did you see anyone when you sat on the beach?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have no witnesses who can place you there?’

  She was met with another shrug.

  ‘Could you please answer the question for the recorder?’

  ‘No. No witnesses.’

  ‘Which beach did you go to?’ Natalie happened to know the town from having holidayed there on numerous occasions with her children. The South Bay was the more touristy of the two beached areas and housed the arcades, cafés and attractions, whereas the North Bay was regarded as more peaceful and was home to Peasholm Park. The twelfth-century ruined castle, high on the promontory, divided the two bays. Anyone who’d visited the town would know that. Seth seemed to know very little.

  ‘I didn’t pay much attention.’

  ‘You travelled all that distance and don’t know how many beaches there are? Did you drive past the castle?’

  ‘I guess so.’ A blink followed swiftly by another. Seth was beginning to show signs of becoming flustered and dropped his gaze.

  ‘You guess so?’

  ‘I wasn’t there to sightsee. I wanted time alone. My sister was dead. I was sad. I just wanted to be alone, okay?’ He turned his anguished eyes back onto her, and
for a fleeting moment she believed him. Then she spotted something else – anger – and she again doubted he had driven all that way to be alone.

  After a further frustrating half hour with Seth, Natalie called for a break to the interview. She needed it, and outside the door she paced back and forth in front of Ian, face contorted with annoyance.

  ‘I know Seth’s lying. I just know it!’

  ‘Can’t we press him again about Roxy’s injuries?’

  ‘No. His lawyer won’t let us go there. We’d need proof he was responsible before we could try that tack again. Damn! There must be some way to get him to talk.’

  ‘How about trying Charlie again?’

  ‘He won’t give him up. They’re as tight as tight can be. Charlie already said Seth was at home on Saturday night when Roxy died.’

  She pressed her fingertips against her temples. The noodles and sweet-and-sour she’d gobbled down earlier were repeating on her. She swallowed the sour taste and lifted her head as Murray rushed along the corridor towards them.

  ‘Mike’s given me details on the footprints found by the bush at the canal. They’re from Adidas Alphabounce trainers, size thirteen and a half. The word Traxion is visible on the sole but the top of the letter “T” has worn away on the left shoe.’

  It was the boost she required. Seth Curtis had unusually large feet, a fact she’d noticed as she’d sat opposite him. This could be the break they needed.

  ‘Excellent. Let’s see if we can make some headway now,’ she said and marched off to organise a warrant for the flat in Pine Way.

  Eighteen

  Monday, 2 July – Evening

  An hour later Natalie received what she’d hoped for – Seth’s Adidas trainers found at the bottom of his wardrobe. One quick look at the bottom of them and she knew she had Seth over a barrel.

  ‘He’s not getting out of it this time,’ she said to Ian. ‘Is he back in the interview room?’

  ‘Yes, he and his lawyer are there.’

  ‘Right, let’s nail him this time,’ she said, picking up the evidence bag and her folder and striding through the door.

  Downstairs Seth sat with his head hung low, unable to meet Natalie’s eye. Ian once again started the recording machine and they began where they’d left off. Natalie pushed the transparent plastic bag containing the trainers across the table.

  ‘Are these your trainers, Seth?’ Natalie asked.

  He glanced at the bag and shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘We found them in the bottom of your wardrobe. Look carefully at them.’

  The boy stared at the bag and blinked several times. He was either buying time – waiting until he had to tell her what she needed to hear – or frightened.

  ‘For the tape recorder, DI Ward is showing Seth Curtis a pair of size thirteen and a half Adidas Alphabounce trainers. Both shoes bear the word Traxion on the sole. The top of the letter “T” has worn away on the left sole,’ Ian said clearly.

  ‘Are these your trainers, Seth?’

  ‘My client doesn’t need to answer that question,’ said Mr Matthews sternly.

  ‘I’m afraid he does. Seth, are these your trainers?’

  ‘Yes.’ His voice was little more than a puff of air.

  ‘Then can you explain what you were doing in the bushes close to the wooden bench where your mother was killed?’

  The lawyer’s head snapped round as he looked at Seth. The young man dropped his head.

  ‘Seth, when were you at the canal?’

  He refused to answer.

  ‘Seth, your lawyer will explain how this looks to us. We must establish when and why you were hidden in the bushes there. You need to tell us the truth.’

  ‘I didn’t kill her,’ he whispered.

  ‘Then how can you account for the fact we found footprints most certainly made by your trainers at that site?’

  ‘I had a pee in the bushes.’

  ‘What were you doing by the canal?’

  ‘I went looking for Mum.’

  ‘Did you find her?’

  ‘No, and I didn’t kill her.’

  Natalie sighed. ‘Okay, tell me what happened.’

  He shot a look at his lawyer, who nodded…

  Seth doesn’t know where to go or what to do next. Roxy’s dead. It doesn’t seem possible. He shuts his eyes and thinks back to Saturday morning when Roxy was alive.

  He’s in his bedroom, trying on a new top he’s bought for the motorcycle event he’s going to with Paul. It looks really stylish with an animal print that makes him look more macho, like his brothers. He ought to shave his head like Charlie does or even get a tattoo. He tries to imagine himself with a tat, except the thought of going through with it turns his stomach. He hates needles. She’s flounced into his room while he’s studying himself in his wardrobe mirror, and he catches sight of her sneering face. Roxy can piss him off instantly with her jibes and sulky looks, and today she lands a sucker punch to the stomach.

  ‘You need a sparkly tiara to go with that top,’ she mocks.

  He tugs it back over his head and she laughs at his pale, hairless chest. ‘You’re such a bitch! What do you want?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m looking for Charlie,’ she says.

  ‘You can see he’s not here so bugger off.’

  She laughs again, spins like a ballerina and disappears. He drags out an old grey T-shirt to wear with his jeans and tosses the new one onto the floor of his wardrobe. ‘Bitch!’

  The memory is sour. It was the last time he’d spoken to his sister, and although they wound each other up, he feels a gaping hole in his heart put there by the knowledge she’s gone. He can’t bear to think of the happy times spent together when they’d mess about and laugh wildly, or were tight as brothers and sisters can be, like the time she stood up for him when a gang of lads had made comment about his feminine looks. She’d told them to piss right off or her brother would flatten them, and that he had a bigger cock than all of them. He’d loved her for that. He’d loved the confidence she exuded and craved the same. Oliver and Charlie are equally self-assured and comfortable in their skins, yet he isn’t.

  The trouble is he struggles with who he really is – one minute he’s up, the next down. Life is so fucking hard. He tries to be as badass as his brother Charlie, swaggering about and flexing his muscles, but he knows it’s all a big act. He isn’t at all like his brothers. After their dad walked out on them all, Charlie and Oliver had carried on as if it didn’t matter. Even Roxy had managed to get along without Dad, but it had been so different for him. He’d hidden away and cried and cried for days. He’d wanted his father to come home again and no matter how often his mother told him it wasn’t his fault it had happened, he believed it was. He stares at his reflection and scowls. He hates himself. He hates his long eyelashes and soft skin and the fact he has almost no body hair, even at eighteen. He’s not gay but he finds it really hard to attract girls. They are put off by his looks and even when he behaves more macho, like his brothers, they still don’t seem to fancy him. He’s really confused and mega sick of it all. Mum understands and it’s his mother he wants to talk to right now, except she’s swamped by a blanket of grief and he doesn’t want to go home and see her in tears, broken by what has happened. She’s his rock – the person he shares his fears and concerns with. She’s the person who looks out for him and makes sure he doesn’t get so overwhelmed by it all that he turns to very dark thoughts of taking his own life.

  He’s been on the move ever since he found out about Roxy. He’s been trying to outrun the pain. He’s swung his bike around sharp bends and down tiny lanes at top speed, all the way to the Peak District to try and shake off the darkness that descended almost immediately after learning his sister was dead. It came on quickly but even the usually exhilarating thrill of pushing his bike to its limit, or the pint of beer he drank in the pub beer garden, didn’t help. In truth it made him feel nauseous, and after it, he’d sat with a pint of orange juice that squelched in
his belly.

  He doesn’t know how long he was there, but he smoked five cigarettes and waited for the dense black fog that swirled around him to lift. It didn’t and he remained there until the arrival of a group of hillwalkers who joined him in the garden sent him slouching back to his bike. Then he took more endless country lanes, heading in no particular direction until his arse bones hurt and he found himself close to Ashbourne.

  Now it’s coming up six fifteen and he still can’t face returning to the flat, so he heads to Armston and the spot he knows well. He goes there when he’s feeling really bad. There’s never anyone there and the silence and the water help him. He’s been gone a long time and his mother will probably be concerned about him. She’ll know where to find him. He hopes she’ll come. The fog is suffocating him and he’s scared of himself.

  He reaches the canal and sits down near the bench, his back to the cool wall, and rests his arms on his knees. He lowers his head and cries… cries not for Roxy who has gone, but for himself, still trapped in a body he despises.

  Time passes but his mother doesn’t appear. She’s too wound up in grief to make the journey to sit and talk to him as she usually does. He’s been selfish coming here and hoping for her attention. This is the one day when Roxy deserves it. He’s not been to the toilet since he stopped off at the pub and now his bladder’s full to bursting so he stands and moves towards the clump of bushes nearby and relieves himself. When he finishes he looks one last time up the towpath but there’s no sign of her, so he plods up the path to the road, clambers back onto his bike and rides away again. He has no idea where he’s going. He chooses a road that leads into a wider one, with fields to one side and houses to the other. A sign indicates he’s in Linnet Lane. His blood freezes. This is where Roxy died. He takes it slowly, driving up and then down the road, searching for the house. Some nosy parker comes outside and makes for him, probably to demand what he’s doing, so he scarpers before the bloke thinks he’s responsible for burning down the fucking house.