‘And how did her bones end up being back at Dogs Head, Mr Turton?’ He asked the question almost kindly, certain he knew the answer that was coming.
‘I dug them up and moved them,’ Warren said, sadness clouding his eyes. ‘After Rob died, I was terrified that the new Reverend would realise the plot should still be available. Someone was going to find her soon enough, and I couldn’t bear the thought of Robert getting blamed.’
She sped the entire way to Blairgowrie, breaking every road rule she could, and even driving through a red light at one of the busiest intersections. No time. Move. This can’t wait. Gina gripped the steering wheel as though her life depended on it, swerving between lanes and aggressively tailgating those who wouldn’t get out of her way.
What the hell was Leicester doing to her? Why would he phone her out of the blue and demand she come and see this woman? Gina’s jaw clenched. Was it even possible this stranger was who she said she was? She couldn’t process it. He’d said she had a British accent, that she was petite, brunette like her . . . the spitting image of you.
It was too much.
She’d left her husband in a babble of nonsensical words – I have to get to a client. It’s urgent. They’ve had a reaction. Don’t want to be sued. – and run to the car.
But now that she was turning into the familiar, gravelled road, she slowed.
How the heck was she going to handle this? And worse, how could she keep lying to herself about what had happened here if she was presented with the painful, physical truth?
She pulled up behind an expensive looking car, heart pounding, fingers trembling. She’d have to go along with Leicester’s plan. It was the only way.
She rubbed her hands on her trousers as she approached the metal gate, hesitating before making her way to the porch. She knocked.
The door opened at once. A swell of nausea.
He was old. So old. Bald and with grey stubble, looking like he could be her grandfather. Gina dropped her eyes to his right hand, the tattoo she’d once found so daring, now faded and stretched across flaccid skin.
Disgusting.
‘Come in.’
She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead moving quickly through the house which she still knew in painful, vivid detail, and out through the kitchen.
The door to the backyard was open. A figure sitting timidly in wait.
Her chest tightened.
She recognised her at once: the flawless skin, the soulful brown eyes.
A howling, guttural cry carried across the garden as she ran to embrace the perfect little human she’d been forced to let go of all those years ago.
‘Pippa,’ she cried, squeezing the girl in close.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A forensic team was on its way to St Andrews, but Emmett and Lanh had arrived first, finding the small church absolutely deserted.
‘Saturday afternoon,’ Lanh shrugged, as though that explained the quiet.
Emmett ignored him, struggling to make small talk as his brain churned through the many statements Warren had made.
They’d kept the former teacher in custody while they checked his story out, a decision that hadn’t seemed to fuss him one way or another. Emmett privately thought it was in Warren’s best interests to stay locked up as long as possible now anyway – just as Bianca had predicted, the media circus was back at his door, thanks to the superintendent’s unnecessary press conference about the attack on Constable Haigh.
‘Shall we?’ He led the way around the grounds, finding the cemetery at the rear of the white stone building, hidden from street view entirely.
‘1902.’ Lanh crouched down, rubbing dirt from the headstone of one of the graves. ‘I wonder how we’ll know which plot was Cecilia’s?’
The detectives split up as they inspected the different headstones.
‘There’s nothing here,’ Lanh insisted, waving his hands in exasperation. ‘You think he’s been lying to us?’
‘Actually,’ Emmett pointed at his feet, ‘I think you’re standing on it.’
There was no headstone, just soft soil that looked recently turned, but if they considered the layout of the other graves, the positioning made sense.
‘Stay where you are.’ He pulled out his phone, aware they only had a few hours left of sunlight, the day getting away from them. ‘I’ll see how far off the forensic team is.’ But he stopped, staring at the message that had popped up. From Cindy. An attachment.
‘You okay?’ Lanh stepped forward, noticing Emmett’s delay.
‘Yeah, it’s nothing. Just a message from my wife.’ He opened the image half-heartedly. As much as he wanted to see whatever cute picture of Nicholas awaited, he knew the well-meaning gesture would only serve to bring up a swell of emotions he couldn’t deal with right now.
I’ve been trying to get onto you.
The accompanying text read.
I’ve seen the news reports. Not sure if this means anything, but the last time I saw Tobias, he was chasing after this woman.
What? Emmett held his breath. He hadn’t considered that Cindy had stayed at Warren Turton’s place after they’d left. What had she seen? He clicked on the image, enlarging the photo of the petite brunette ducking under police tape. Her cold expression and haunting brown eyes looked familiar.
‘Boss?’
Shit.
She’d cried more than she’d ever thought possible, her mother being exactly as she’d imagined – an older version of herself, though definitely classier, and more beautiful.
Once the initial shock of meeting wore off, Pippa tentatively asked questions, broaching only the safest topics, and avoiding anything that might scare her mum away.
She was particularly thrilled to learn that her mother was a doctor, but she didn’t mention the fact that she herself had just started her first year of medicine before both her adoptive parents were murdered, nor that she hadn’t managed to look at a textbook since.
Maybe study was something she could resume once things were settled here? She pondered the thought as they moved into the dining room, Leicester bringing out generous servings of fish and salad, which he’d prepared for a late lunch.
‘So what will you do now, Pippa?’ the former sergeant asked, moving food to her plate as he spoke. ‘I imagine you’ll want to head to Melbourne?’
Pippa looked to her mum, hoping she’d answer the question on her behalf. She never got to hear her thoughts on the suggestion, as their conversation was interrupted by the crashing of the front door.
The arrival of the visitor caused Leicester to spring from his chair, dropping the salad servers with a clatter.
‘Scarlett? Is that you, darling? Are you back?’ He ran out of the room. ‘I was wondering where on earth you’d got to. Feared you might’ve got lost.’
A female voice could be heard from the hallway.
‘No, just went for a long walk. How was the fishing? I hope you didn’t wait to start lunch? I wasn’t planning on being out for so long . . .’
Something inaudible. Pippa leant forward, noticing she wasn’t the only one trying to hear the conversation; her mum also strained towards the door.
‘What do you mean?’ The woman’s voice was more pitchy now.
Footsteps approached. An icy stare.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ The stranger was glaring at her mother.
The realisation struck Pippa. This was Scarlett Reyes, Leicester’s daughter, the other girl who’d been out the night Cecilia disappeared, and the woman she’d seen in the backyard the day before.
‘I’m just about to head off.’ Gina placed her cutlery down and dabbed her lips with a napkin.
Head off?
Pippa felt Scarlett’s narrowing eyes look her over. Why was she sensing so much tension between them all?
‘And who are you?’ The question was asked with a smile, but there was nothing friendly about the woman edging closer to her.
‘She’s just a visitor.’ Leicest
er pulled a chair out. ‘Why don’t you sit down, honey. I’ll get you a plate. I’m sure Gina and Pippa need to get going now anyway.’
A visitor? Get going? Pippa looked to her forkful of fish. And why was he calling her mum Gina?
She watched Scarlett’s face set into a hardened frown. Why were they all being so weird about this? Things had been great only minutes ago. And surely Scarlett could see the resemblance?
Pippa felt her chest swell as the words left her mouth. ‘I’m not just a visitor. I’m Gypsy’s daughter.’
Lanh had volunteered to drive from the cemetery at St Andrews, and already Emmett was regretting accepting the offer.
‘Can’t we go a bit faster?’ he barked without looking up from his phone.
If he hadn’t been expecting a call back from Flynn, who’d been liaising with the officers attending the Rye Caravan Park, he would have pushed the detective aside and driven himself.
‘Yes?’ he answered on the first ring.
‘Okay, so we have a last name.’ Flynn was breathless. ‘It’s Pippa Robbins, born in Swindon, England, date of birth: 28th of June, 1999.’
‘Right . . .’
‘That’s all we can get from the credit card she used for the booking. She checked out of there days ago, though. And hasn’t returned.’
‘Bugger.’ Emmett hung up, rubbing his eyes. When was the last time he’d slept properly? He didn’t want to think about it.
Why would a young woman from England have attacked the policeman she’d been dating? Why had she been in Warren Turton’s house in the first place? He knew from a brief call to Cindy that the woman had gone in first, Tobias chasing after her. Who on earth was this person?
His fingers scrolled through his contacts.
‘Hello?’ Calvin Briggs answered breathlessly. Probably just completing his weekend marathon training, Emmett thought a little bitterly. How did the seasoned detective manage to stay so upbeat and energetic?
‘Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, mate, but those investigators you’re dealing with in the UK – in relation to the Jimmy Lucas case?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Reckon they could do a search on their database for us? It’s urgent, and we don’t have time to go through the official channels.’
‘No worries. Who are we after?’
Emmett passed on the details, grateful to finally be pulling up outside the Sorrento station. They entered in time to find Brabham rushing out.
‘I’ve got all my units on it; we’re doing a full patrol. I’ll let you know if we find her.’
Emmett went to the staff kitchenette and made himself a coffee, surprised to see Calvin’s name flashing on his phone.
‘That was quick.’ He crossed his fingers, hopeful the detective had news.
‘I managed to catch our UK friends right at the start of their day, so it was good timing.’ Calvin said. ‘Pippa Robbins was born Pippa Chu. Her name was changed when she was adopted as an infant. The woman is well known in connection to a notorious double homicide.’
‘A double homicide?’ Emmett almost spat his coffee.
‘She was the daughter of the victims, not the offender,’ Calvin quickly clarified. ‘It seems to have been a home invasion gone wrong – her two parents killed by a known assailant, who’s since evaded detection.’
‘Oh my god.’ The realisation hit him.
‘I know. Horrendous, right?’
‘No, not just that.’ Emmett rushed into the spare office and stabbed at his laptop keyboard, searching for Swindon. The city was just outside Oxford.
My mother accepted a job in England rather soon after the incident with Cecilia, so my family moved to Oxford later that year. The ice queen’s words rang in his head.
‘Mate, do you have the birth mother’s name?’
‘For Pippa? I didn’t ask, but I can call them straight back.’
‘That’d be great, thanks.’
Emmett hung up, palms sweating, head pounding. He didn’t need the confirmation. He knew who her mother was.
He looked at his colleagues, aware of their confusion.
‘So who is she?’ Lanh asked. ‘And what’s she got to do with our investigation?’
Emmett rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m not entirely sure how all this fits together, but it appears the woman who attacked Tobias is the daughter of Gina Harper.’
‘What?’ Bianca snorted. ‘Did we even know that Gina had a child?’
‘No. But it seems she gave birth in England soon after she was moved over there by her parents, so perhaps the relocation had less to do with escaping the trauma of what happened to Cecilia, and more to do with hiding a teenage pregnancy.’
‘Gypsy gave the child away, presumably?’
‘Yes, adopted to a local family.’
‘But now she’s here? Attacking policemen?’
Emmett shrugged. He didn’t have all the answers, but this Pippa woman hadn’t turned up in Blairgowrie for no reason, and she hadn’t been inside Warren Turton’s place by coincidence.
‘We need to find Gina Harper,’ he grumbled, glaring at his phone and wondering what was taking Calvin so long to call back.
Eventually the call came.
‘Yes?’ He waited for the confirmation.
‘I get why you’re so interested in this now,’ Calvin chortled. ‘Pippa Robbins’s mother is listed on her birth certificate as Gypsy Chu.’
‘Thought so. Thank you.’ He nodded to Bianca, ready to end the call.
‘Remarkable about the dad though,’ Calvin continued. ‘I suppose you’re already onto this too?’
What? Emmett braced himself.
‘It wasn’t listed on the birth certificate, but records from the adoption agency show the birth father was put down as Leicester Reyes. Crazy, hey?’
Emmett hung up without responding. ‘Shit!’ he yelled.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Scarlett gasped, a sound that was rather like a balloon deflating, as though Pippa had physically got up and punched her in the stomach. What a bizarre reaction to her happy news. Her insides squirmed. Then she realised her mistake.
If Warren Turton had attacked Cecilia and her mother, perhaps he’d hurt Scarlett too? Her presence was probably bringing up massive trauma for them all.
She felt immediately foolish. But what could she do? She couldn’t change history. And even if her father was a monster, that didn’t make her one.
‘You’re Gina’s daughter?’ Scarlett finally got her breath back, both hands placed on her stomach. ‘When’s your birthday?’
Odd question. ‘June.’
‘Year?’
‘1999.’
Scarlett counted something on her fingers. Her whole body trembling. ‘No,’ she murmured.
‘I think you should come and sit down, darling.’ Leicester pulled out a chair. ‘Have some lunch.’
‘I’m not calming down.’ The high-pitched voice was back. ‘I’m getting to the bottom of this nightmare once and for all.’
‘I think I should leave.’ Pippa’s mum rose from her chair.
No.
‘You’re not going anywhere.’ Scarlett hissed.
Pippa experienced a flush of anger. She had no idea what this woman’s problem was, but she was ruining her reunion with her mother. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.
‘Why are you so upset?’ she asked, as pleasantly as she could. ‘Is it because of what happened that night?’
But to her surprise, it was her mum who answered from the seat beside her. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. Stay out of it.’
‘So you got pregnant in September?’ Scarlett continued, making a point of looking over Pippa’s head, to her mother. ‘That’s interesting timing.’
‘Darling, come and take a seat,’ Leicester tried again, standing up and moving to Scarlett.
‘Don’t you fucking touch me.’ Scarlett slapped at her dad’s extended arm.
What the hell was happening?
Only minutes ago everything had been fine.
Pippa looked to her mother, whose face had taken on a sickly tinge. Then to Leicester, whose mouth was tight, right hand jiggling violently. Then back to Scarlett, standing stiffly in the doorway.
Something was seriously wrong.
The tyres screeched as Bianca took the corner too fast.
They’d had no luck getting on to Gina, her mobile ringing out despite numerous tries. But at her home in South Melbourne, her husband had eventually answered, telling them that his wife had rushed out early that morning to attend to a client.
‘Well at least we know she’s safe,’ Bianca had reasoned.
‘I don’t know who I’m most worried about at this point.’ Emmett placed his hands on the glovebox to steady himself as the car bumped and swayed. ‘But if Leicester was having an intimate relationship with Gypsy . . .’
‘You mean, if Leicester was sexually assaulting Gypsy . . .’ Bianca corrected.
‘Yes. Quite,’ he agreed. ‘If Leicester was assaulting Gypsy, we have to see Cecilia’s disappearance in an entirely different light.’
‘Cecilia found out,’ Bianca nodded, reading his mind.
‘But Leicester’s alibi was confirmed, wasn’t it?’ Emmett tried to remember everything he’d read. ‘The former sergeant worked the overnight shift from 7 pm to 4 am. There was his official roster and sworn statements from other officers.’
‘Think about Tobias Haigh, though,’ Bianca murmured. ‘Technically, he should never have been out on patrol by himself, but you see what happens at these smaller stations – they just don’t have the numbers to do things by the book. There’s every chance Leicester was working alone that night.’
Emmett shivered, remembering Leicester’s semi-confession when they’d first met: I probably shouldn’t tell you this but I’ve even had a crack at it myself . . . I got mates to check out the files for me and I conducted my own little investigations on the side.
‘He was the one planting the evidence,’ he whispered, as the realisation hit. ‘He would have known about Warren’s criminal history. He knew he’d be an obvious suspect. Plus he had mates at the station feeding him updates on the investigation. He was always one step ahead.’
The Girl Remains (Detective Corban) Page 29