Would Forest tell them where he’d got the information that led him to Lewis? She remembered the devastated man’s grip on the piece of paper she’d given him as he’d walked away. He probably wouldn’t. Despite the force’s best efforts, it was easy enough to get a copy of the list of registered sex offenders so maybe they wouldn’t even ask him. It’s not as if his guilt was being disputed after all. She’d feel sorry for the man, if she didn’t need all her pity for herself.
When the phone chirped, she swore softly. She should have switched the damn thing off. Seeing Megan’s name on the screen, she swore again, loudly this time. There was no point in not answering, she would just keep ringing. ‘Hi.’
‘Beth, thank God.’ Megan’s voice was strained and tight. ‘I know you’ll think I’m being silly and dramatic, and I know with Graham’s leaving you have enough to worry about, but there’s something not right about Joanne.’
A wave of irritation washed over Beth. She wanted to say she had enough to worry about, more than enough. To scream that she might lose her career because she’d been stupid. She wanted to blame Megan for that lie all those years ago, for putting her on a path that could only ever have ended one way. She wanted to but she didn’t blame her, not really. Megan might have put her on the path, but Beth had followed it of her own accord and she’d known, hadn’t she, that she might get caught someday. Every time she took a risk, she knew there was a chance that it could be the end for her. Before she’d met Graham, there’d been a few anxious moments that had come to nothing. She’d put an escape plan in place, just in case, but as her relationship with him had grown and she realised how much more she had to lose, she’d been more careful.
But she hadn’t stopped. She’d thought it was worth it, to prevent men like Matt Peters doing what he’d done to Megan. Except, he hadn’t done anything, had he. And if Beth told Megan about the allegations against her, she knew her friend would be stunned and horrified, and would agree with Kendrick that her career was over – worse, as a crown prosecutor, she would probably agree that she should go to prison. So, she kept her mouth shut about her own troubles and asked, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I rang her first thing this morning. I had to ring a few times before she answered but when she did, she said something really strange.’
Beth heard the gulp down the line and hugged the phone closer to her ear. So many strange things had happened recently, she may as well listen to one more. ‘What did she say?’
Megan’s voice was ragged and cracked, her words fading so Beth struggled to hear. ‘Joanne said that she wasn’t sure she could live with the secret anymore. I assumed she was talking about mine and told her it was okay, that it was all out in the open. That’s when she said it.’ There was another louder gulp before Megan continued. ‘She said, that it wasn’t my secret she couldn’t live with, it was hers. And she hung up.’
Beth frowned. For a change, Megan wasn’t exaggerating. That was an odd thing for Joanne to say.
Megan sounded worried. ‘I think I should drive down and check on her.’
‘No, don’t,’ Beth said quickly, ‘leave it to me. I’m actually on a day off and have nothing planned for the rest of the day. I’ll drive down and see what’s up with her.’
A loud sigh came down the line. ‘Oh, thank you, that’s a huge load off my mind. I’ve got a tonne of cases on my desk and could ill afford to take the time off. You’ll ring me and let me know she’s okay as soon as you get there, won’t you?’
Reassuring Megan that she’d keep her informed, Beth hung up and sat tapping the phone against her chin. Driving to Royal Tunbridge Wells certainly beat sitting around all afternoon wondering what she was going to do. She quickly changed from her work clothes to comfortable stretchy jeans, a cotton sweater and a warm showerproof jacket. Slipping her feet into flat red pumps, she grabbed her keys and purse and was ready to go, remembering at the last second to look for Joanne’s address.
Beth found her address book after an exhaustive search where she opened and closed almost every possible drawer in the house, finally finding it underneath a pile of newspapers she’d never had time to read. She put the postcode in the satnav, noted the expected arrival time and pulled out onto the road. She should be there in two hours.
It was good to be doing something rather than sitting at home worrying about her job or thinking about Graham. Unfortunately, an accident on the M25 meant the traffic ground to a halt, the delay giving her too much time to think and nowhere to go to get away from her thoughts. She banged the steering wheel in frustration, sorry she’d ever suggested this wild-goose chase.
Over two hours later she was finally on the A21 where the traffic was moving a little faster, and it was almost three and a half hours after leaving London before she arrived outside Joanne’s house.
She’d looked at the house on Google Maps when her friend had bought it several years before but the reality was far better than the street view footage had indicated. It was a mid-terrace three-storey Victorian house with all that you’d expect from that era; a fanlight over the door, a nice bay window on the ground floor and sash windows on the floors above. Each house on the terrace was painted a different colour. Joanne’s was a pale yellow with the woodwork, including the front door, startlingly white.
It was bigger in reality too, and Beth, who liked to think she was fairly knowledgeable about the property market, frowned. There wouldn’t be any change from a million pounds when you bought a house like this. Maybe Joanne had bought when the market was in a slump but it would never have been cheap. Money wasn’t something they’d ever discussed, each of them successful in their own way, all of them financially secure. Now, looking up at the very lovely house, Beth wondered how successful Joanne’s business was.
There was enough room beside Joanne’s car at the front of the house to squeeze in Beth’s Suzuki. The Mondeo was parked at an angle and it took a little negotiating and twisting to get out without hitting it with her door. Beth stretched and looked around. It was a lovely day, and in the sunshine, the windows of the house sparkled and the gloss white paint shone. It was a very well-maintained and exceedingly pretty house, but there were interior shutters on each window and they were all closed, giving the house, despite its lovely exterior, a blind unwelcoming look. Beth hoped it would be more welcoming inside – assuming Joanne let her in.
Beth approached the front door and saw a shiny brass bell set to one side. She pressed it once, heard it chime within and waited, her head cocked, listening for any sound of movement from inside. Hearing nothing, she pressed the bell again, holding her finger on it for longer and once again, waited.
Ten minutes later, she was still standing on the doorstep. Maybe Joanne had gone away, taken a taxi to the train station or to an airport. She could be sunning herself on a beach somewhere. But Beth remembered what Joanne had said to Megan, and her mouth tightened. She’d been a police officer for too long to ignore her instinct. Something wasn’t right.
She pulled her mobile from her back pocket and dialled Joanne’s number. No answer. She tapped it against the palm of her hand for a few seconds and dialled again, waited for the opportunity and left a message. ‘Joanne, it’s Beth. I’m on your doorstep. Let me in. You have ten minutes to think about it. If you don’t answer, or at least ring me back, I’m going to contact the police and tell them I suspect something untoward has occurred and get them to batter your door down, okay? And, Joanne,’ she added, ‘you know me; I mean what I say.’
Beth turned and sat on the concrete step, lifting her face to the sun, enjoying the warmth, wishing it would make its way to her insides where a chill had settled when Graham had left. After seeing that damn ring, she wasn’t sure it would ever thaw.
Every now and then, she leaned back and listened at the door. There was no sound. She had meant what she’d said, but she wasn’t sure what the reaction would be if she contacted the local nick. Would word about her suspension have leaked and spread this far? S
he could, of course, contact them without mentioning who she was, say she was a concerned member of the public. But she knew what would happen – they’d come around, see the shut-up house, see no reason to be concerned, and leave.
She was still worrying about what to do when she heard the distinct sound of movement from behind her and jumped to her feet. The sound stopped. Bending, she pushed open the letterbox and shouted, ‘Joanne!’ In the following silence, Beth was sure she heard shuffling. ‘Joanne, for God’s sake, open the damn door!’
Beth straightened when she heard the clicking sound as a key turned in the lock. The door opened, so slowly that her breath caught and, for a second, she didn’t recognise the woman who peered around the edge. Beth’s breath came out in a rush of air. ‘Joanne?’
It was the smile she recognised. A smile in a face that looked gaunt and haunted, dark circles hinting at little sleep, hair that hung lank to her shoulders. The clothes she was wearing were the same ones she had on when Beth had last seen her in Capel-le-Ferne and a foetid smell wafted from her. It stank of despair.
‘Oh, Joanne,’ Beth said, stepping into the house and kicking the door shut behind her. Despite the off-putting smell, Beth engulfed her in a hug and held her quivering body tightly. She didn’t know what was going on but, in all the years she’d known her, she’d never seen her like this. What was this secret that she had told Megan she couldn’t live with?
What on earth could this gentle honest woman have done?
22
Joanne hadn’t wanted to answer the door. She didn’t want to see anyone, couldn’t bear to see her friends. But she knew Beth meant what she said, and facing her was preferable to facing the police. Joanne stood, arms hanging by her side, accepting, but incapable, of returning the hug that engulfed her. ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she said, eventually, grateful for the concern but really wishing Beth wasn’t there and desperately wondering how she could get rid of her, and how soon.
‘We were worried about you,’ Beth said, leaning back to look at her. ‘You said something to Megan about being unable to live with a secret. What’s that all about, Jo?’
Joanne tried to laugh it off. ‘Is that what she told you? Gosh, you should know better than to listen to her. She’s still trying to turn everything around onto us, blaming us for jumping to the wrong conclusion that night. I was referring to her secret, her revelation, that was all.’ She pulled away from Beth’s arms and waved to the first door that led off the hallway. ‘Come in, have a seat.’
It was a spacious bright room with high ceilings and windows to two sides. An opulently ornate fireplace was flanked by two shallow shelved alcoves displaying ornaments, books and a couple of photographs in silver frames. There was no wood by the fire, no coal scuttle, nothing to indicate a fire had ever been lit in the grate and the room was decidedly chilly.
Joanne waved Beth to the sofa that stretched along one wall while she took one of the two single sofas, sitting on the edge as if waiting to get up. ‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’ She didn’t want to offer, forcing herself to follow the rules of polite behaviour when all she wanted to do was scream at her, tell her to go away and leave her alone. To her relief, Beth declined her offer with a gruff no before fixing her with a worried look.
‘What’s going on, Joanne?’
Joanne pushed lank locks of hair behind her ears and sat back, crossing her knees, trying to look relaxed. ‘Going on? Nothing’s going on, detective.’ Joanne gave what, even to her ears, sounded like a false laugh. ‘I will admit, I found Megan’s deception a little difficult to take, but that’s all. She can’t be surprised that I was a little cool with her, surely.’ Joanne lifted her arm and pointedly looked at her watch. ‘Now, I’m really sorry, and I do hope you didn’t come all this way just to see me, but I have to go and have a shower and get ready, I’ve an appointment in about an hour.’
Joanne watched a mix of emotions cross Beth’s face. She guessed she didn’t believe her but there wasn’t a lot she could say. Megan’s earlier phone call had caught her in a weak moment, she’d never have said anything otherwise and she certainly wasn’t going to say anything to Beth who was a police officer after all. Wouldn’t Beth be obliged to act if Joanne confessed to a crime? She squeezed her eyes shut. A crime. It had been a crime, hadn’t it? She couldn’t get it out of her head. Nor could she forget the choices she’d made as a consequence.
Opening her eyes, she saw Beth’s puzzled frown, her sharp eyes fixed on Joanne, searching for the truth. ‘You never could tell a lie, Jo. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.’
This time, her laughter was genuine. ‘You’re not questioning one of your creepy sexual predators now, you know! I’ve told you. There’s nothing going on. You know what Megan’s like.’ Joanne stood. ‘Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do need to go and get ready.’ She looked down at her clothes and shook her head. ‘I threw on any old thing this morning, I’ve been gardening that’s why it took me so long to answer the front door.’ It took every particle of the little energy she had left to make her voice sound calm and reasonable. She gazed at her friend from beneath her lashes. Beth wasn’t a fool. Had Joanne managed to convince her that everything was okay?
‘If you’re sure.’ Beth stood and looked at her as if searching for the truth in Joanne’s pale blue eyes.
‘I’m sure,’ she said, keeping her eyes steady, resisting the temptation to look away. Any wavering might make Beth think again. ‘Tell Megan she must have caught me at a bad moment. Sorry you made the long drive for nothing.’ Joanne moved towards the door as she spoke, willing Beth to follow without further questions, needing her to be gone.
As she watched Beth climb into her car, Joanne stood at the door, waiting for her to reverse from the drive, standing with a raised hand and an inane smile until, finally, the car was gone from sight. Releasing the sob she’d been holding in, she shut the door and collapsed back against it, her eyes resuming the stricken look they’d held since Megan’s revelation. It was a look she’d struggled successfully to hide from Beth and she was surprised she’d got away with it, but she’d seen something in her old friend’s eyes that told her Beth had troubles of her own.
Vaguely, Joanne wondered what they were. In another time, she’d have asked, but now, her own secret was consuming her. Holding on to the banisters, she trudged upstairs to the small back room where she’d been working when she heard first the doorbell and then her phone ring.
When she’d returned from Capel-le-Ferne, after a drive she’d no recollection of, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She’d sat on the sofa for the rest of that night, going over and over what Megan had told them, heart thumping and head spinning, trying to make sense of it all. When morning had finally come, she’d gone upstairs to the small room that she normally used to store her vast amount of clothes and had moved the hanging racks, the stacks of clothes and shoes into the spare bedroom, leaving the room empty.
The wall-to-wall wardrobes in her bedroom had top shelves she seldom used. They were a place for storing rarely worn clothes or outdated clothes she couldn’t bring herself to throw away. They were also a good place to hide secrets. Dragging a chair nearer, she’d stood on it and slid her hand under the clothes to search for the heavy-duty brown envelope she’d hidden there many years before. Her fingers had closed over it and pulled it out.
She’d held it to her chest as she swayed to the beat of exhaustion, gripping the wardrobe door to stop herself falling and then she’d slipped down to sit on the chair. The envelope was still clutched to her chest. After several minutes staring blankly, she’d opened the flap and taken out the contents – two press clippings, yellowed with age, she’d cut from newspapers twenty years before. She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat there looking at them, hours maybe. At some point, she’d started to cry, and small wet spots peppered the paper where her tears had fallen. Carefully, she’d patted them dry.
She hadn’t changed her
clothes; her hair had fallen down from the neat chignon she’d had it in the previous day, and the tears had made her expertly applied eye make-up run. But she didn’t care, and at nine o’clock she’d headed out to a local newsagent that provided a photocopying service. The shop had just opened and was empty when she’d arrived. She’d handed the two press cuttings to the acne-skinned young man behind the counter who had eyed her with curiosity but said nothing.
‘Can you photocopy each of these so that they fit onto an A4 page?’ she asked him.
‘Sure,’ he said, taking the cuttings.
‘I’ll want five hundred of each.’ It was a guess; she wasn’t really sure how many she’d need in total but a thousand seemed like a good amount.
He showed no surprise, as if being asked for such large amounts was an everyday occurrence, simply saying, ‘That’ll take a while, and if another customer comes in for a quick job, I’ll have to interrupt it.’
‘Fine,’ she said, and seconds later the photocopier was starting on the first of the two cuttings, clunking as it scanned and then swishing as it sent the first copy sliding out.
‘I’ll need some kind of glue too,’ she’d said. ‘Enough to stick them all onto a wall.’
She watched him amble across the shop and stand in front of a small display, his head slightly tilted as if weighing up the options before selecting an item and peering at the printed instructions. As if satisfied with what he read, he picked up three more. He returned and dropped all four tubes of glue on the counter in front of her. ‘This’ll do the job.’
Joanne waited while he served other customers who drifted in, and returned to the photocopier to replenish the paper before starting to copy the second newspaper cutting. It took longer than she’d expected, almost forty-five minutes to do the thousand copies she’d requested. She stood watching them as they were delivered, the soft swish almost hypnotic, her head bobbing as tiredness swept over her. The assistant offered her the seat from behind the counter but she smiled and declined. Finally, there was silence; her copies were ready.
The Three Women Page 14