The Daughter

by Michelle Frances

  ‘Do you want to see what it’s actually like for a driver to see a cyclist?’ asked Greg.

  She nodded.

  He beckoned to a worker across the yard who pushed a bike over then got on it, edging backwards between the two trucks. It was amazing – he was completely visible. She looked at where the top of his head came – and with a shiver saw it didn’t reach anywhere near the bottom of the original window, he was simply too low down. Becky wouldn’t have been seen at all. So maybe it had simply been an accident. Maybe Becky hadn’t been as vigilant as she usually was, and it had been a brutal accident that – as Greg was now demonstrating – could have been avoided.

  ‘These are the first vehicles to be completed,’ said Greg. ‘The second phase will be done next week.’

  ‘It’s good,’ said Kate. The worker looked up at her through the window and respectfully nodded. ‘Really, really good.’ Her voice cracked. She suddenly wanted to get down. Greg held out a hand, which she gratefully took as she climbed out the cab. It’s done, she thought, what I set out to do, to protect other cyclists. But being here was painful and made the memories of that day too close and she wanted to leave now.

  Greg understood. ‘Do you have time for a coffee? There’s this nice little place just down the road. We can discuss the interviews for the bursary if you like, go over our questions.’

  ‘A coffee would be great,’ said Kate and Greg took her to a small Italian coffee house with scarlet geraniums spilling out of the window boxes. They ordered two cappuccinos and sat at a small wooden table outside.

  ‘I’ve drafted up a few questions,’ said Greg, ‘but if you want to ditch or change any, that’s fine. Also, of course, add your own.’

  ‘I’ve never interviewed anyone in my life,’ said Kate, smiling self-consciously.

  ‘You’re going to be just fine,’ said Greg. ‘I was looking at dates. Would you be free to interview on the tenth of August?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Kate. ‘It’s my birthday. I think Tim might be planning something.’

  ‘OK . . .’ Greg pulled out his phone, tapped on the screen. ‘The following Tuesday?’

  ‘Works for me.’

  ‘Good. Then, assuming we find someone successful, I’ve been speaking to our HR manager and she’s suggested starting the scheme early September. I was thinking of doing a small event, at the office. Get a photo of you and the winning candidate. I think it would be good to publicize the scheme for next year.’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  Greg took a sip of his coffee. ‘So . . . it’s been a while. What have you been up to?’

  ‘Oh, you know, work, the usual.’

  ‘How did your trip go?’

  ‘Trip?’

  ‘France.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Damn, she thought. She didn’t really want to talk about it. ‘Fine. Short.’

  ‘Short?’

  ‘It was only a day.’

  ‘Oh. I thought you said it was a break?’

  ‘It was. A short one.’

  ‘Sounds very mysterious.’

  ‘Not really. Just fancied a change from my routine. You know.’ He was looking at her and she knew he didn’t believe what she was saying. There was a momentary awkwardness as she braced herself for more questions, then Greg smiled, breaking the tension.

  ‘I’m going myself in a couple of months. Lille.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘My son lives there.’

  ‘You have a son?’ said Kate, surprised.

  ‘Yes. He’s just got a job for a French transport company. Graduated in French and computing. It’ll be my first visit.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Matthew.’

  ‘Do you get on?’

  Greg laughed. ‘Mostly. Now he’s left his teenage years behind.’

  Kate winced sympathetically. ‘They’re hard, aren’t they?’

  ‘Always trying to defy you.’

  ‘Never tell you anything.’

  ‘Or if they do, fifty per cent of it isn’t true. I’ll never forget when I found cigarettes in Matthew’s school bag. Confronted him about it, and he tells me they’re his mates. He’s “looking after them” so his friend “doesn’t get into trouble with his mum.”’

  Kate laughed. ‘It’s like they think we were born yesterday. I remember Becky coming home from school once with her skirt hitched up to mid-thigh. Tells me there’d been an announcement in assembly that morning. If you walked to school rather than have your parents drive you, you were allowed to shorten your skirt, as it was less restrictive for moving around.’

  She smiled at the memory. Recalled Becky’s wide-eyed fourteen-year-old practised look of innocence, her green-and-black checked skirt revealing her lovely long legs, her not really having a clue what it meant, what it might invite.

  ‘Roll it back down,’ Kate had instructed.

  Her daughter’s face had reddened in indignation. ‘But it’s true!’

  ‘I think we both know it’s not.’

  ‘It is, Mum.’

  ‘Really? Shall we call the school office now?’ Kate picked up the phone, held it aloft.

  Realizing she’d been rumbled, Becky exploded in teenaged fury. ‘You never let me do anything!’ she said, stomping up the stairs, and Kate pulled a face as she saw her daughter’s knickers on display at every stamp.

  ‘We had a big row,’ she told Greg, ‘and she said she wanted to go to Paris where they were “free and bohemian”. Somehow I convinced her to stay in south London.’

  Greg laughed. ‘She sounds spirited. Strong opinions. I would’ve liked to have met her.’

  ‘Fortunately, the angst period didn’t last long. Only a few months, then she miraculously metamorphosed into a pretty cool young woman. One that I could recognize as my daughter.’

  Kate’s phone began to ring. She looked at the screen – it was Tim.

  Greg glanced down, saw the glass was cracked. ‘Wow, you can see through that?’

  Kate shrugged. New phones weren’t high on her agenda at the moment.

  ‘You want a top-up?’ asked Greg, indicating her cup as she answered her phone. She nodded, and he went to the counter.

  ‘Hey, you,’ Kate said into her mobile.

  ‘Hey, you, yourself,’ said Tim. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘The trucks are transformed,’ said Kate.

  ‘I’m glad. You still there?’

  ‘No, I’ve come for a quick coffee with Greg. We’re going over the questions for the interviews.’

  ‘When do you think you’ll be home?’ asked Tim.

  ‘Not sure. Is there something going on?’

  ‘No, no. Just wanted to make sure I was back for you, that’s all.’

  She felt a burst of affection. ‘When do you finish work?’

  ‘Last route is at four. Should be home by six-ish.’

  ‘OK. I’ll be back by then.’

  ‘Great. Love you.’

  ‘You too,’ said Kate, as Greg returned with two fresh coffees.

  It took less time than she thought to go through the questions and, realizing she was only a bus ride from Elephant and Castle, where Tim’s route started, Kate decided to head there and ride home with him on his last journey of the day.

  She arrived early at Tim’s stop and two 196s left before she knew Tim would even have started work. But he wasn’t driving the 4 p.m. or the 4.08 p.m., or even the next two buses. At half past, she wondered if she’d got the time right, but was certain that was what he’d said. So, where was he? She tried ringing but got his voicemail. Another 196 turned up and she dithered for a moment – should she still wait?

  ‘You getting on, love?’ asked the driver and she did, wondering all the way home what had happened to Tim.

  She got off at her stop and walked the short distance back to the house. Letting herself in, she called out but was met with silence. He wasn’t home. Puzzled, she went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She dumped her bag
on the table and filled the kettle. Flicked it on. Then she turned to open the fridge and stopped dead. The side door that led out into the garden was ajar. Was Tim in the garden? She stepped out, walked around to the back of the house.

  The garden was empty. With a chill, Kate stood on the small lawn and looked up at the house. The windows stared back at her as a heart-stopping thought formed in her mind. Was anyone inside? Don’t be silly, she told herself. Tim had been on a later shift that morning, he’d probably come outside for breakfast, then forgotten to lock the door before he left for work.

  She returned to the house and, standing in the middle of the kitchen, listened carefully. There was no sound from upstairs. Taking a large knife from the drawer, and feeling rather foolish, she walked slowly through the house. Ground floor first, then she crept quietly up the stairs to the two bedrooms and the bathroom.

  There was no one there.

  She lowered her hand and let out a small laugh. She’d have to remind Tim to lock up – anyone could’ve got in. She heard the front door open and Tim’s voice shout out.

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘I’m here.’ She came running down, forgetting she still had the knife in her hand.

  ‘What the . . .?’

  ‘Oh. Sorry!’ Kate explained about the open side door, but Tim was puzzled. ‘I didn’t go out there this morning,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’ He frowned. Looked around. ‘Has anything been moved? Taken?’

  The relief she’d felt a mere five minutes ago was rapidly evaporating. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, moving into the living room. The crappy TV was still there, as was her ancient PC. But there was something wrong.

  ‘Did you use my computer this morning?’ she asked.

  ‘What? No. Why would I use your computer?’ It was true, he never did. He had his own tablet – much faster and newer than her PC.

  She went over to the tiny desk in the corner of the room. Touched the pull-out tray for the keyboard. When she’d left it this morning, she’d slid it back under the desk. She distinctly remembered. Panicked, she checked the tower – it was still there. She switched it on and had to wait for the agonizingly slow old beast to start up. She scrabbled through her papers, college textbooks, research printouts, notebooks.

  ‘Some of my stuff has gone,’ she said. ‘To do with the case.’

  The computer had finally resurrected itself and she clicked urgently, cursing when it didn’t respond quickly enough.

  She opened up her latest file, the one into which she’d typed her case so far. It was still there. Stymied, she looked at it, until suddenly, she understood. She checked the file statistics. The file had last been opened that day, at 16.09 hours. Somebody had been in her house at just after four o’clock that afternoon.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Tim nervously.

  ‘Someone’s been here. Taken things. Copied my files.’ She pointed at the screen. ‘This one, it’s got everything I’m building into the case. All the stats, the interviews, the evidence. It’s been opened, while we were out. Someone’s read it, copied it.’

  The screen pinged. Now the computer had had time to warm up, it was informing her of a new email.

  Kate turned back to her computer. She opened up her email account. At the top of her inbox was the new message.

  She clicked.

  STOP OR WE WILL KILL YOU.

  She recoiled.

  ‘Who sent this?’ said Tim, his jaw dropping.

  Kate was shaking. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What is it, some sort of joke?’

  ‘Not very funny,’ said Kate.

  Tim looked at the address. ‘It’s come from a nondescript free account.’

  She nodded. Tucked her shaking hands under her arms.

  ‘How did they even know you were involved in this?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Then, in a sudden realization, she gasped, and the floor spun beneath her. ‘Oh my God,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  She pointed at the screen. ‘This . . .’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘They’re threatening to . . . to kill me. If I don’t stop looking into the story that Becky was writing.’

  He frowned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you suppose . . . what if Becky got one of these?’ She took a deep breath. ‘What if . . . her death wasn’t an accident?’

  It was dawning on Tim. ‘Oh my God.’ He put his arm around her. ‘No . . . no, it can’t be.’

  Stricken, she looked at him. Wanted to believe him but the worm of mistrust was burrowing itself deep inside her mind. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’ Kate jumped up, hand over her mouth, and ran into the kitchen, retching into the sink.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The police were making signs to leave. The male officer put his mug down on the coffee table, cleared his throat.

  ‘We’ll be doing a door-to-door over the next day or so,’ he said. ‘And, as my colleague says, we’ll pass on our report to the cyber-crime team.’ The female officer, who sat next to him on the sofa, nodded. ‘Obviously, if you get any more disturbances or you see anything suspicious, anyone hanging around, please let us know.’ He paused. ‘You might want to reconsider your campaign. If you think it’s causing someone to target you.’

  Kate bit her lip, felt Tim looking at her. ‘Yes,’ she said, non-committally. Of course, they were right. But the truth was, it wasn’t as simple as that.

  After she let them out, she went into the kitchen where Tim was tidying away the mugs. She sank onto a chair in exhaustion.

  ‘I still can’t believe it,’ said Tim. ‘Isn’t it a bit extreme to . . . do away with someone because of a newspaper exposé?’

  ‘Is it? What if Becky’s report had led to compensation? Millions of pounds. Enough to ruin someone.’

  ‘But you heard what the police said. There’s no proof, no direct link to anyone. And we couldn’t tell them of anyone we suspected.’

  Kate groaned. ‘If only we still had Becky’s laptop . . .’ She suddenly banged her forehead with her fist. ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The break-in. Last year. It wasn’t those scally kids we thought it was. It was them. They took Becky’s laptop. That’s all they wanted. To know what she was working on.’

  ‘I guess it’s possible . . .’

  ‘He knows,’ said Kate, fiercely.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Justin Holmes. The farm manager. He knows who owns the farm he works on, but he won’t tell me.’

  Tim put his arms on her shoulders. ‘I know but—’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Kate pushed his hands away. ‘I’ve just remembered.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That man. The one with the moustache that I saw in Ramsbourne. I’d seen him before, remember? Only I couldn’t recall where.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It was outside the court. The day of Becky’s inquest. He was there, Tim, right there, talking to the driver’s solicitor.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘They’re connected. They must be. He has something to do with this.’

  ‘Do with this, how?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know, Tim.’ Kate suddenly found herself crumpling, sucker punched by these new revelations. ‘Maybe we should tell the police.’

  ‘Tell them what? A bad man we don’t know is up to something, but we don’t know what?’ Tim sat beside her. ‘You need to get rid of all your evidence,’ he said, gently. ‘I can help you. You need to tell those people in Ramsbourne, too.’

  Kate frowned. ‘Tell them what?’

  ‘That you’re quitting.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you’re not going to carry on, are you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, it’s not just about me.’

  ‘Hold on. You suspect Becky was deliberately got out of the way because she was trying to expose a story and now they know you’re work
ing on the same story – worse, you want to sue them – and you want to carry on? Are you mad?’ Frustrated, Tim rubbed his eyes. ‘They’re not joking, these people. They’re dangerous. And now they know exactly what you’re doing. They’ve read your files – they know everything.’

  ‘Not everything. I didn’t keep the names of the villagers on there.’ In fact, like Becky, she’d kept them on a separate memory stick and hidden it in a plastic bag in the bird box in the garden instead. She’d bought it when Becky was five but, to their disappointment, not one bird had ever nested in it. Now it held treasure of another sort.

  ‘They know plenty.’

  Kate suddenly leapt up and went into the living room, frantically searching the message on her computer screen. ‘There’s got to be a clue on here. Something.’

  Tim was right behind her. ‘There’s nothing.’

  ‘Here!’ said Kate. ‘It was sent at twenty past four this afternoon.’

  ‘What does that tell you?’

  It was when she’d been standing at the bus stop waiting for Tim. It reminded her that she’d missed him.

  ‘Where were you this afternoon?’

  He looked bemused by her question. ‘What? At work.’ He frowned. ‘What are you insinuating?’

  ‘I went to meet you. Your last bus.’

  A flicker of something in his eyes. Nerves? She watched as Tim blinked rapidly. ‘I clocked off early. Soon after I rang you. Had a bit of a dizzy spell. Bosses don’t like you behind the wheel if you’re not up to it. Health and safety rules.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  He quickly reassured her. ‘Oh, yes. Fine now.’

  Kate appraised him. ‘Why are you so against me doing this?’

  ‘I don’t know, because I don’t want you to die?’

  It was sarcasm but gently done; the look on his face was one of disquiet.

  She put her hand on his. ‘I understand why you’re so worried, but it feels wrong to just throw away everything I’ve done.’

  ‘You’ve done enough,’ said Tim. ‘Look at everything you’ve achieved, those trucks today. You’re amazing. What you’ve done is amazing—’

  ‘So, let me finish,’ said Kate. ‘I can’t abandon her, Tim. I might not be smart, or have a string of qualifications, but that much I do know. And I’m struggling, God dammit. Half the time I’m just winging it, scared to death, but I can’t let her down. Another couple of months, then I’m sure all this will be over.’