‘Caught her?’
‘Come on, what do you think I mean? She had her hand between her legs like some frustrated teenager, staring at her phone but too much in the moment to know I was there.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘About a month before she went missing. You can guess what the police thought, that I’d killed her in a jealous rage. I can tell you I didn’t, because I was out with my friends when she disappeared. And she was meant to be with her friends, except she slipped away. To meet whoever she was messaging, I’ll bet.’
‘Did you ever find out who it was?’
‘No. We shouted and screamed at each other, but she wouldn’t say. Told me that it was just a stupid flirtation, nothing more, and none of my business. Nearly twenty years of marriage and she reckoned it wasn’t my business. She promised me she’d stop but, well, perhaps not. There might have been more than one, for all I know.’
‘And the police know all this?’
‘Of course they do, except they didn’t know who she was messaging because her phone wasn’t recovered.’
‘What about billing?’
‘Come on, what decade do you live in? Who uses texts these days? It’s all messaging apps, everything untraceable.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you saying she is missing because of Sean Martin? Really?’
‘Did she know him?’
‘Don’t you think I’d have something to say if she did? But it would have been just like her to pick Sean Martin out of spite.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We’d grown apart, but she felt trapped, by this,’ he said, waving his hand towards the walls. ‘Resented me for giving her a nice home. Can you credit it? But she knew I hate Sean Martin for the way he pontificates, the new crusader, so how sweet would her revenge be to become his mistress?’ He looked to Jayne. ‘That’s how you women are, aren’t you? Vengeful?’
Jayne wanted to say that she hoped Charlotte had just found someone better, but she ignored the comment and instead asked, ‘How did she go missing?’
‘She was at the Hare and Hounds, down by the canal, just outside of town. Her friends said that she disappeared just after midnight. One minute she was there, and the next she wasn’t.’
Dan thanked him, Jayne too.
‘Don’t thank me. Just get that bastard.’
Sixty-three
Murdoch checked her watch as she rushed through the station. It said 7.30 a.m. There might not be enough time.
The message had come in the middle of the night from Dan, the buzz of her phone waking her. Charlotte Crane and Sean Martin might be connected. Possible affair. Look for his boat. Called Somewhere Quiet.
It had jolted her awake and ruined her sleep, her mind turning over what she knew about the case. By the time she’d set off for work, her brain was fogged through lack of sleep and she didn’t know where to start looking.
The answer came to her as she drove into the station, because her route took her past the Hare and Hounds, from where Charlotte Crane had disappeared on New Year’s Eve.
Was Charlotte the key and no one had realised?
The squad room was nearly empty, only DC Richards there, making a drink using the kettle in the corner, staring into a mug, as if deciding whether he needed to wash it first.
He looked up as she burst in. She pointed at him and barked, ‘You’re coming with me.’
She rushed out of the room, Richards trotting to keep up.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Looking for Sean Martin.’
‘Where?’
‘No, not where, but when. New Year’s Eve. Do you remember all the footage we seized in Charlotte Crane’s case?’
‘The woman who went missing the same night as Lizzie Barnsley?’
‘That’s her. We didn’t really go through it properly because we got swamped with Lizzie’s murder, but now I think we should.’
They turned into a room further along, more like a dark cupboard with a couple of computers and a large television. She reached for a box on a shelf. ‘This is all the CCTV we recovered from around the Hare and Hounds. We were looking for Charlotte.’
He looked in the box. There were discs and USB sticks, an assorted jumble of footage seized in all the different formats used by security systems. ‘Yes, I remember. There were two of us looking.’
‘Go through it again, except this time you’re not looking for Charlotte. You’re looking for Sean Martin. Or, rather, his boat.’
‘What’s it called?’
‘Somewhere Quiet.’
‘And if I find it?’
‘Get the footage over to me. I’ll be at the Crown Court in Langton.’
He peered into the box again. ‘I’m on it.’
She slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good man,’ she said, before heading for the exit.
If Sean Martin was going to be found out, she wanted to be there to see it.
Sixty-four
Dan was sitting on a bench, watching the media scrum outside the courthouse. The evidence from the day before had filtered out and brought the cameras. Sean Martin, villain of the tabloids but darling of the broadsheets, always made good copy.
He checked his watch. Nine thirty. There was still no news about Pat and every day that passed made the outcome more obvious: that Pat was dead. And the day was only ever going to get worse. Putting off going inside delayed the inevitable mauling from the judge and the guilty verdict for Peter. And in the meantime Pat stayed missing and Sean Martin stayed free.
He reconsidered that. He didn’t care about the judge. He cared about Pat Molloy and about all that Sean Martin had done, and Trudy too. He’d sought to expose Sean Martin, for Pat’s sake. If he couldn’t do that, he’d be at risk himself. Pat was missing. Would he be next? Or those close to him?
Someone sat next to him on the bench. Dan didn’t pay any attention at first, but whoever it was shuffled along so that he was closer and said, ‘This would make an interesting photograph for the papers, us two sitting here.’
It was Sean Martin, dressed in a suit, looking groomed and poised.
Dan clenched his fists. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Just letting you know that I’ve arrived. I’m guessing that was what you were hoping for: a no-show from me and crazy Peter getting his way.’
Dan swallowed back his anger. He wanted to grip him, hit him, demand to know where Pat was, call him a murdering bastard, but he couldn’t. The press would love that, the defence lawyer attacking a witness before the court hearing.
Instead, he stood up and made as if to walk towards the courthouse.
Sean sat back and spread his arms along the back of the bench. ‘Have you seen Bill lately?’
Dan was confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that. I understand that he started all this nonsense,’ he said, and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
Dan felt his pulse quicken, a flush rise in his cheeks. ‘Have you harmed him?’
Sean smirked. ‘Why would I do that? But I thought he’d want to be here, to see the climax of his work.’
Dan had to force himself not to react. His fingers were white with tension around the handle of his court bag. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I’m not telling you anything. You lawyers base your work on evidence, I know that, so do you really think I would incriminate myself here? To you? But life isn’t about proof. It’s about suspicions and doubts and fears, and until Bill arrives here this morning, you don’t know if he’s in danger or not. Just your doubts eating into you.’
‘What do you want?’
Sean’s expression darkened. ‘You’re going to do as I say.’ He pointed towards the courthouse. ‘Once that hearing starts, you’re going to duck out of asking any questions. You could tell Peter not to pursue it anymore, but he might be suspicious. No, it’s better if you flounder and just do a bad job of it. No tough questions. No trying to catch me out. After all, who’s going to ca
re? Peter’s a killer, after all.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Bill may never get to see the end of the case.’
‘Where is he, you bastard?’
‘Who said I know? Proof, Mr Grant, proof. You have none, only those seeds of doubt I’ve just planted. I know where he isn’t, and that’s here. What if something happens to him? Just think how you’ll feel. You could tell the police but, really, what can they do? I’m just speaking in the abstract here and you’re on a vendetta. Your evidence is tainted, it wouldn’t count, would be labelled as the ramblings of a lawyer pining for his boss. But in here,’ he paused and patted his chest with his hand, ‘you’ll know, and this system you work in, all based on evidence and proof, will let you down.’
‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’
Sean rolled his eyes. ‘You don’t. That’s the point.’
Dan stormed towards the courthouse, his shoulders hunched and angry. He scoured the crowd for Bill, hoping that Sean was just trying to unsettle him, but he knew it was more than that.
Bill wasn’t here.
A reporter spotted him, the one who’d accosted him in the corridor earlier in the case. She moved away from the media pack and made as if she was going for a cigarette but instead circled towards him. When she got close, he growled, ‘Not now.’
‘You could give me a pithy response, the first soundbite to save me bothering you afterwards.’
Dan ignored her and kept on walking.
‘I’ve got friends in television,’ she shouted after him. ‘They can do one of those true crime documentaries and you could be the star, the lawyer who uncovered it all. Do one of those off-camera pieces, you in your office.’
He stopped and turned, his hand out, his jaw set, ready to take his frustration out on her, but he closed his eyes and stopped himself. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. Off the record, it’s just not a good time.’
She reached into her pocket and passed him a business card. ‘If you change your mind, call me.’
He looked down at her card, Alison Savage, and tapped it on his knuckles. He put it into his pocket without a word.
As she went back to the media pack, he noticed Murdoch walking across the square. She looked smarter than normal. The hairspray she’d applied gleamed in the sun and the suit had that stiff look that said it was a new one. It looked like she was getting ready for a speech on the courthouse steps.
As she got closer, she nodded a greeting.
Dan looked back along the street and could see Sean watching him, his phone in his hand. She spoke first.
‘Inside,’ she whispered as she passed, sensing his discomfort. ‘Too many cameras here. Remember, we’re supposed to be on opposite sides today.’
There were some agitated shouts from the press.
‘Here’s the hero,’ she said, and they watched as Sean Martin strode towards the courthouse, his head back, smiling for the cameras. He was confident, beaming. Dan felt nauseous.
Dan ignored her and strode towards the security barrier. Once he was through, he turned and nodded, to indicate he wanted to talk, before heading into the courtroom.
He slumped onto the seat and put his head back. The peace of the courtroom washed over him, even though he knew it would change later. Sean’s threat filled his head. He didn’t know where Bill was.
Then another fear occurred to him, making him sit bolt upright. Jayne was late too. She’d dropped him off at his apartment and made her way home. She should have been here by now.
Before he could make a call, the courtroom door creaked open and in walked Murdoch.
She made her way into the well of the court. ‘I’ve put Sean in one of the interview rooms so I can take a statement from him. Can you talk?’
‘Yes. Just not in front of anyone else. We’re both after the same man.’
‘Except I’m pretending I’m on his side, letting him defend his good name against your client’s lies.’ She sighed and sat down next to Dan. ‘It’s supposed to be a good day for me. A no-loser. Peter has admitted killing Lizzie. The worst thing that can happen is that he’s found guilty of manslaughter. He’s not going home today, and her family knows what happened. If Sean Martin is dragged into it as well, it’s a big fat bonus.’
‘But?’
‘We’ve already got Peter. We always had him. We’ve always wanted Sean Martin. It will feel like a hollow victory if we don’t get him.’
‘But you’ll keep on investigating, right?’
‘Damn right. And I’ve got this,’ and she handed him a brown envelope. ‘The women you mentioned when you cross-examined me? Most of them knew Trudy. We spoke to the families last night. Either from her school or people she worked with, or girls she knew as a child. It was all Trudy. She was selecting them.’
‘Claire Watkins seemed more involved with Sean than Trudy.’
‘That was for Peter, to drag him in.’
‘But why would she select them?’
‘I don’t know. Revenge? She’s quiet, but there’s some anger in her, you can see that. Look at Rosie. What better way to ruin Karen’s life, the life of the woman who’d married her man, than to take away her child?’
‘No, Rosie was different. She was just in the wrong place. She went onto his boat, expecting to find him there, and she found something else instead. Whatever she saw made her bolt, and it was enough to make Sean run after her and kill her to silence her. Keep looking. There’ll be another missing woman from that day. My guess is that Rosie was murdered because of her teenage curiosity: she jumped onto her stepfather’s boat and caught them at it.’
‘And there’s Charlotte Crane, of course.’
‘Charlotte was married to one of Sean’s public critics. He threatened to sue her husband. I don’t know how he got to know her, but my guess is that he had an affair with her to get back at her husband. More revenge.’
‘There’s no sign of Trudy today.’
‘Of course not,’ Dan said. ‘Two liars contradict each other and their lies are exposed. He’s playing it safe, and it was always going to be him. He’s the celebrity after all.’ He raised the envelope. ‘Thanks for this.’
‘Just make sure you pin him down today.’
‘And Trudy?’
‘We’ll get her. Today, it’s about Sean.’ With that she left the courtroom.
Alone once again, he felt trapped. He should tell Murdoch about Bill, because getting the police involved was the sensible thing to do.
But if Sean and Trudy had Bill, he couldn’t stand the thought of triggering Bill’s death. If Bill was still alive, that gave him something to play for.
Sixty-five
Bill wondered about the time. The morning had taken an age to arrive as he shivered through the night, the new day visible only as a faint glow at the top of the stairs.
Trudy sat opposite, curled up in her coat and a blanket from the boat, but she wasn’t sleeping. She had been awake and alert all night, time marked by the slow tap of her knife on the floor.
She’d left him alone for a few minutes, and he’d pulled at the ropes, but they were too tight. His arms felt numb from being for so long in the same position.
There were footsteps on the stairs. Was it Sean coming back? No, the footsteps were too light. It was Trudy, her footsteps slow and faltering. Bill lifted his head. Trudy was carrying something heavy and it made her tentative on the stairs.
Bill tried to shrink away, but the chair stopped him from moving. As Trudy got closer, she lifted whatever she was carrying and threw it towards him.
The cold water hit him like a deluge. He gasped, his body in shock. It was dirty and rank, dredged up from the canal. Trudy threw the bucket on the floor. Bill shivered and moaned. The cuts on his chest and legs stung.
‘I thought you needed a shower.’
Bill closed his eyes. He couldn’t play these games anymore. ‘Stop, please. I can’t take it.’
Trudy knelt in front of him. �
�You’re desperate to get away, even die, but if I passed you a knife I bet you wouldn’t kill yourself.’ She reached into her waistband and took out her knife. She gripped Bill by the throat and pushed his head back, pressing the knife against the flesh just below his chin. ‘I could do it now. Slice your jugular. This will be the last thing you’ll see. This cellar. My face. My pleasure. Is that what you want?’
Bill didn’t respond.
‘I can, if you ask. Just nod, that’s all you have to do.’
Bill glanced down towards Trudy’s arm, the bulging vein that betrayed how firmly she was gripping the knife. The gleam in her eye told Bill that she was desperate to slit his throat, but something was preventing her.
It was fear. She was losing control of the situation. She’d lost it once before, when Sean went to prison for Rosie’s murder.
At least he was still alive.
‘No?’ Trudy said, as she pulled the knife away. She tapped it on Bill’s cheek. The sharp tip made small pricks in his skin not far from his eye, bringing small dots of blood to the surface, but he didn’t flinch. He wouldn’t give her that much.
As Trudy stepped away, it felt like he’d gained some ground. For as long as he was alive, he was going to beat this. He’d felt old before, not much heart for the fight left in him, but his anger was taking over, giving him energy. He couldn’t let them win.
Then something else occurred to him. If this was about not letting them win, there was only one way to do it: work out how to get away.
* * *
Jayne checked her watch as she drove too fast on the motorway. She’d overslept, her electricity card was out of money, so her radio alarm hadn’t gone off. She’d had to rush to the shop to top up the card so that she could have a shower and iron her shirt, a morning in court demanding that she wear better clothes than her usual gear of jeans and ex-army combat jacket.
Dan would already be there, dressed in his finery, and she was missing whatever was going on. She was frustrated, but angry with herself too. There were too many of these cock-ups in her life.
The Darkness Around Her Page 31