Joanne stared at Beth with anguished eyes. ‘I knew I could have stopped it. Everything – my choices, yours, her split with Trudy – all of it could have been prevented if I had.’
34
Beth opened her mouth to argue with Joanne, to tell her she wasn’t responsible, that no, it wasn’t all out, and there was something she still didn’t know. Before she had a chance to explain, her phone buzzed loudly. She was going to ignore it but thinking it might be Megan, Beth picked it up.
It wasn’t her name that appeared on the screen but an unknown number. With a grunt of frustration, she answered, shutting her eyes when she heard a voice she recognised, sorry she’d bothered answering at all.
‘It’s Medwyn Kendrick.’
Beth wondered if it wouldn’t be better to hang up.
‘Medwyn Kendrick,’ the caller repeated, and then, as if she might have forgotten who he was, as if his name might have slipped her mind, he added, ‘your Fed rep.’
‘Yes,’ she said and felt a tremor run through her. She gripped the phone, sensing something colder in his voice, something more critical. He’d stay neutral, he was her Police Federation representative after all, but she guessed, whatever he’d found out, he’d made up his mind about her. Whatever he was going to say next, she knew it wouldn’t be good. ‘Just a sec,’ she said, and holding her hand over the phone, she looked at Joanne.
‘It’s work,’ Beth explained. ‘Do you mind if I take it next door?’
Without waiting for the nod she knew would come, Beth turned to leave the room. She closed the lounge door, her eyes immediately drawn to the sofa where the previous day’s blood had dried, the dark red stains vivid against the white. There was a smell too. A slight metallic smell of blood, the stronger stink of despair. Was that coming from her? She sat on one of the chairs and lifted the phone to her ear. ‘Okay,’ she said, and didn’t say anything more, pressing the phone tightly to stop the tremble in her hand, waiting for him to speak.
There was the distinct rustle of paper in the background before he spoke again, seconds when she was tempted to hang up. When he did speak, it was with an abrupt question. ‘Do you remember Lydia Forest?’
Beth wanted to say that she didn’t forget any of them, ever. They were in her head; the damaged living ones, the tragic dead ones. All of them, all of the time. Lydia, the fourteen-year-old with the almost translucent skin, pale blue eyes and dark blonde hair that fell in curls down her back. Beth remembered the vicious bites to her tiny breasts, the horrendous bruising to her thighs and genitals. And those pale blue eyes, vacant with shock. ‘Yes,’ Beth said quietly, ‘I remember her.’
‘And her father, Bruno?’
Beth’s grip on the phone tightened, tips of her fingers whitening. Bruno. Had he told them? ‘Yes, I remember him too.’
‘He’s awaiting trial for the murder of Arthur Lewis,’ Kendrick said. ‘DI Ling went to speak to him this morning. She’d read the transcript of his interview and noted that he’d admitted getting Lewis’ address from the list of registered offenders. Lewis is the only one living within a two-mile radius so he said he suspected him. But Ling noticed, he hadn’t been asked where he got the list from. There are so many vigilante groups out there, he might have said he got it from one of them. But DI Ling,’ he continued, warmth in his voice when he spoke of her, ‘is one of those excellent officers who doesn’t like loose ends hanging about so she contacted his solicitor and got permission to go and ask him.’ More paper crackled. ‘DI Ling spoke to him at length and he eventually admitted he’d been given Lewis’ address.’
Beth wondered what Ling had promised Bruno. A shorter sentence if he told her the truth; less time in prison meant more time with his daughter. Beth wouldn’t have blamed him for taking that option.
Kendrick was still speaking. ‘DI Ling asked him who gave it to him. And do you know what he answered?’
Had the Fed rep been beside her, she would probably have ripped the pages he was holding from his hands, she might even have punched him. She liked to think she’d have had the bottle. It was tempting to keep playing his little game. To say, No, what did he answer, but she was weary and tired of it all. ‘I guess, he told her that I’d given it to him.’
There was a moment’s silence, as if Kendrick didn’t believe what he was hearing. That she was admitting to what she’d done. ‘Yes. That’s exactly what he said. You don’t deny it?’
She probably could have argued that the tragic little man had picked her name at random from the officers he’d met, that he was so distraught over his poor Lydia that he’d have said anything to stay out of prison to be with her. Beth felt no resentment towards the very efficient DI Ling, although if she hadn’t been searching with her suspicious mind, it possibly wouldn’t have come out. But, after all, if she hadn’t uncovered this particular incident, she’d have found a series of other infractions to bring Beth down. ‘No,’ she said to the patiently waiting Kendrick, ‘I don’t deny it. So, what happens next?’
‘The CPS wants to throw the book at you, DI Anderson. There’s a warrant out for your arrest.’ His voice was cold and detached as he continued. ‘The initial charge is that you intentionally encouraged or assisted an offence, which in this case is the murder of Arthur Lewis. In relation to the original charges, where it is alleged you provided evidence and information to victims and their families, you will be charged with perverting the course of justice. Other charges may be levied at a later date as the investigation unfolds.’ There was another shuffle of paper before he finished, his tone a little kinder. ‘It would be better for your case, DI Anderson, if you came in immediately.’
Beth wanted to laugh. Nothing she did was going to affect the outcome of her case. As he said, DI Ling didn’t leave loose ends. Megan had said there was speculation that Beth had planted evidence, Ling would work through all her cases and find the ones where she had. It wouldn’t be hard if you knew what to look for. It was over, the fat lady was singing in full voice, everyone could hear her.
‘Fine,’ Beth said. ‘I’m in Royal Tunbridge Wells visiting a friend, I’ll be back in a few hours.’
‘I’ll wait here in the station to meet you,’ Kendrick said.
Beth was going to offer her thanks but he cut the connection without another word. Throwing the phone onto the seat beside her, she stared at the stained sofa without blinking. Joanne hadn’t seemed to care that it was ruined. Maybe, now, Beth understood how she felt.
Grabbing her phone, she went back to see if Joanne had moved to get dressed. They should go after Megan. Beth frowned when she saw Joanne still sitting, clutching the half-empty mug of cold coffee in her hand as if she were really drinking it. ‘Get dressed, Jo,’ she said, reaching for the mug and prising it from her hand. ‘I think we should follow Megan.’
‘Follow Megan? How do you know where she’s gone?’
Beth reached for the article she’d tossed aside. ‘I think she’s gone here,’ she said tapping it with one finger.
‘Capel-le-Ferne,’ Joanne said slowly, and met Beth’s eyes. ‘To the coastal path?’
‘We have to get there before she does anything stupid, Jo. I have to tell her…’ She stopped and caught a breath. ‘Get dressed, we need to leave.’
When Beth was alone, listening to the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor overhead, she sat and crumpled the article in one hand. Everything was over. She wasn’t going back to meet her disappointed, shocked colleagues, to see them talking about her in hushed tones and listen to their snide bent copper as she walked past. And she wasn’t about to sit in a courtroom on the wrong side, seeing all those eyes condemning her. Just like in Joanne’s chamber of horrors.
Beth squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but first she had to stop Megan.
When Beth’s phone buzzed, she hoped it was her this time, hoped she wouldn’t have to go tearing down to that God-forsaken town. But it wasn’t Megan, it was Graham. Just a short text. We should me
et.
We should meet? Not, I’m sorry for running out on you; not, I love you and miss you, I want to come back. It didn’t matter anyway, he’d waited too long, her life was a mess and it was too late. She quickly typed two words.
Sorry… Goodbye.
35
‘Was the phone call about your suspension?’ Joanne asked twenty minutes later as Beth pulled out of the driveway onto Grove Hill Road. The traffic on the main road was bumper to bumper and it was a few minutes before a flash of headlights indicated she could move out.
‘Something like that,’ Beth said, giving the car behind a wave of acknowledgement.
‘Not good news though?’
Beth turned her head briefly to look at Joanne and then concentrated on the traffic, negotiating the twists and turns until she was on the road to Capel-le-Ferne. She could feel Joanne’s eyes on her, knew she was waiting for more details and shot her another quick look. ‘They’re charging me with intentionally encouraging or assisting an offence.’
‘That doesn’t sound too bad.’ Joanne reached a hand out and patted her shoulder.
Joanne didn’t understand and Beth didn’t want to go into details but she felt she owed her some explanation. ‘It’s serious. The offence in this case is murder. There’s no differentiation in the sentence between assisting or actually doing the act.’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘Actually, the poor soul, Bruno, who did the deed, has strong mitigating circumstances. The bastard he killed, raped and sodomised his fourteen-year-old daughter. His legal team may even plead temporary insanity. There’s no shadow of a doubt he’ll get a far lighter sentence than me.’
Beth felt the hand on her shoulder tighten and gave her friend a glance. ‘If I go back, they’ll throw the book… probably several books… at me. They’re not keen on police officers letting the side down.’
‘If you go back?’ Joanne’s voice was husky.
‘That’s the thing. If I go back. There’s a warrant out for my arrest. They’re expecting me to turn myself in, of course, like the well-behaved police officer I was supposed to be.’
‘But you’re not going to.’ It wasn’t a question, just a sad statement of fact. Joanne dropped her hand, turned away, and stared out the passenger window.
There was no further conversation, both women lost in their thoughts as the car sped towards the coast.
Echoing their mood, the sky grew darker as they reached their destination and by the time they drove through Capel-le-Ferne it was raining heavily. Beth automatically slowed as they passed the pub where everything had started, both women craning to look, their eyes bleak.
Wind buffeted the car as they drove on, the windscreen wipers swishing manically backward and forward trying to clear the deluge of rain that hammered the car.
Almost half a mile further on, when the sign for the car park loomed, Beth indicated and pulled in. The gloomy wet day, low visibility and howling wind hadn’t encouraged others to venture out and there was only one other car. Beth pulled up as close to it as she could and looked through the rain-streaked windows to where Megan sat, staring straight ahead. Beth waved and beeped her car horn but there was no reaction.
‘Perhaps she can’t hear,’ Joanne said. ‘It’s windy out there, sound gets blown away.’
Maybe, but there was something about Megan’s unnatural stillness… maybe they were too late. It was a struggle to open the car door, the wind fighting to keep Beth inside and pulling the door from her grasp when she finally succeeded. Pushing it shut behind her, she hurried across the short distance to reach the passenger door of the other car.
The rain was coming down in straight rods. Soaked in seconds, Beth’s wet hands fumbled with the door handle before she wrenched it open and fell into the passenger seat. ‘Bloody hell!’ she shouted, struggling to close the door. She wiped the rain from her face and turned to her friend.
Megan sat, pale and still, staring straight ahead. Wet hair was plastered to her head, clothes stuck to her skin. Was she breathing? Looking closely, Beth couldn’t decide but there was no blood, no sign of self-inflicted violence. ‘Megan,’ she said quietly, the single word lost in the wind that battered the car, forcing her to say it again, louder, more desperately pleading, ‘Megan!’
Megan’s lips parted. ‘It seems Joanne and I are more alike than I thought.’
‘What?’ Relieved her initial fears were wrong, Beth leaned closer, putting a hand on her friend’s arm.
Megan turned her head slightly as she raised her left hand. Clutched in it, wet and crumpled, was the copy of the newspaper cutting she’d so carefully peeled from the wall. ‘It seemed only fair to follow him,’ she said, forcing Beth to lean even closer to catch her words. ‘I wanted to jump and end it all; to close that damn chain permanently. But,’ her eyes lowered, ‘I didn’t have the courage.’
After a moment, she looked back to the windscreen. ‘Maybe if I went out now, the wind would help me. I could stand near the edge and wait for a gust.’
‘Oh, Megan.’ Beth’s hand tightened its grip but, pulling away, Megan pushed open the door and ran. ‘Wait,’ Beth cried, jumping out and running after her, startling Joanne who’d come to see what was happening. There was no point in trying to explain. ‘Come on,’ she said, shouting to be heard. She picked up speed, determined to catch Megan before she left the path.
Beth was taller than Megan, her legs longer, so it didn’t take long to catch up. ‘Wait,’ she said, grabbing hold of her jacket and holding on to her arm when Megan tried to pull away, clawing at her fingers, trying to prise them open, snarling at Beth when she failed.
‘I have to do this,’ Megan shouted into the wind. ‘You said it yourself, I started a chain of events, I have to close it, Beth. My end will finish it all.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Beth said, tugging on her arm. ‘Come back to the car, there’s something I have to tell you… to explain what really happened.’
Joanne arrived breathless and clutching her chest, hair whirling around her head, panicked eyes looking out towards the grey heaving sea, the edge of the cliff only a few feet away. ‘For God’s sake, Megan,’ she said, grabbing hold of her other arm. ‘As I’ve learned, it’s not that easy to kill yourself.’
Between them, they led their struggling friend back to Beth’s car, forcing her into the back seat, Joanne slipping in beside her while Beth sat into the driver’s seat and quickly locked the doors. The silence inside was palpable, made all the more so by the shrill wind that howled and whooped outside the car, the stronger of the gusts buffeting it and making it shudder.
Turning in her seat, Beth looked at the bedraggled woman. ‘Oh, Megan,’ Beth said again, wishing she could find words of reassurance and comfort. She was used to offering them to the sad broken women she met during the course of her work, to trotting out a ream of platitudes, but she’d never been in a situation like this where words seemed meaningless.
Joanne appeared to be having the same problem but, sitting as she was beside Megan, she reached out and grabbed her in a hug instead. When she pulled away, all three women spoke at the same time.
‘I need–’
‘I want–’
‘I’m sorry!’
They stopped and gave a quick laugh. Beth took a deep breath, steeling herself. It was time for the truth, the only words that might make a difference. But before she could get them out, Joanne squeezed Megan’s hand and said, ‘No, I’m the one to be sorry, it was so much easier to blame you than to admit the truth about that night.’
Megan blinked in surprise. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘There’s no need,’ Beth said, reaching out for Joanne who pulled away.
‘There’s every need. She deserves to know the truth. No, please don’t try to stop me,’ Joanne said when Beth again attempted to interrupt. ‘I need to do this.’ She turned to Megan. ‘That night, I saw you chatting with Matt and leave with him. I could have stopped you.’ She wiped raindrops from her face with a shaking hand.
‘I should have stopped you but I was having a good time and you could be such a…’
‘Bore?’ Megan said when Joanne stopped.
‘I was going to say drag but that will do.’ She squeezed her arm. ‘You were always so convinced you weren’t as pretty or as interesting as us, and frowned so grimly when we talked about boys and sex, it did put a dampener on things. So,’ Joanne shrugged, ‘I let you go off alone with that man, and when we couldn’t find you at the end of the night, I pretended to Beth that I hadn’t seen you.
‘When we got home and found you, the guilt hit me. I felt responsible. That’s really why I went to his wife, I was trying to make some form of recompense for my lie.’ She lowered her head. ‘And all these years, I’ve felt guilty for what you’d gone through, for not having been a better friend.’
Megan shut her eyes. ‘And then I told you the truth.’
‘Yes, and I was stunned, but don’t you see, Megan, I didn’t go to his wife because I thought you’d been raped. You’d made us promise not to do anything, remember? No, I’d gone trying to make myself feel better. Matt Peters’ suicide is on me, not on you.’
Opening her eyes, Megan managed to put a smile in place. ‘Perhaps we should share it then. Equal blame for an innocent man’s death.’
The wind, stronger, howled and rocked the car. The sea wasn’t visible from where they sat, but dark clouds hurled across the sky and rain streaked the windscreen. ‘It’s wild out there now,’ Joanne said, with a shiver, before looking back to Megan. ‘Yes, I agree, we should share the blame.’ She reached out a hand. ‘If I’d been a better friend… I’m sorry.’
Beth watched them, her insides twisting. This was the moment for the final lie to be revealed. There was no reason not to tell the truth, she had nothing to lose that she hadn’t already lost. Nothing at all. ‘No,’ she said, the word barely heard. Clearing her throat, she tried again. ‘No.’ Waiting until both women looked at her, she smiled. ‘No, you can’t share the blame for something that didn’t happen.’
The Three Women Page 21