by M. A. Hunter
Turning the final corner into the large grey playground, I immediately see Jess in her wheelchair at the far side of the perimeter, looking around, as if searching for someone; me. I knew she’d be here waiting, and that’s another reason why I’ve waited until the last minute to bring Daisy inside the gates. I don’t know how much of my conversation with Tommy she overheard, but even if she isn’t working for him, I don’t like that she saw me in such a vulnerable state.
The children are now lining up in front of their teachers, ready to be escorted inside. I stoop and hug Daisy tightly, but she offers little affection in return. I hope one day she’ll understand why I took her away from that situation; that I only had her best interests at heart.
‘Have a great day, wee one,’ I whisper into her ear, holding back the urge to allow the emotion to escape the lump in my throat. ‘I love you, Daisy.’
She doesn’t respond, but I feel her hand gently pat my back, before pulling away, school bag on her shoulder and lunch bag in her hand, hurrying to join the line directly in front of her teacher Miss Danvers. She’s Canadian, from what I recall, and such a pretty young thing. Her long caramel-coloured hair is tied in a thin ponytail; her high cheekbones and small pointy nose make her stand out from the other teachers beside her. Her beauty and thin frame wouldn’t be out of place on a Parisian catwalk, but what stands out most is how young she looks. Does she really have the necessary experience to take care of a class full of four- and five-year-old children? Surely she was one of them fewer than twenty years ago. How can I be certain that she’ll be able to cope with Daisy’s little quirks, and give her all the attention she deserves?
Jess is still scanning the playground, searching, so I side-step, ducking down behind a couple of the other mums where she won’t be able to see me, but where I can watch her, and see if she makes any kind of move on Daisy.
‘Did you hear the latest?’ one of the two women in front of me says to the other. ‘She only went and got herself arrested yesterday. It’s true, babe. I was there. Saw them wheeling her up the ramp and into the back of the paddy wagon myself!’
I catch a glimpse of Nadine, who I had the misfortune to be sat near at the parent-teacher meeting on Monday. Even at this early hour, her hair is straightened to within an inch of its life, and her lip gloss sparkles with glitter. The white denim jacket is too short in the sleeves, and doesn’t cover the round bottom squashed into ridiculously tight white leggings. Anyone would think she was going out for the night with much younger friends, rather than dropping her daughter on the school run.
‘I told you she was bad news. I just wish my Ava wasn’t such good friends with her Grace. Don’t get me wrong, babe, Grace is as sweet as they come, but if she’s anything like Jess, then she’s going to be trouble.’
I remain where I am, pretending to watch Daisy as she waits in line with the other children, but my attention is now diverted to the conversation between these two women.
‘What was she arrested for?’ the second woman asks.
‘Don’t know for sure, but the police van was parked in the middle of the street, and there was nothing subtle about the way they cuffed her hands and pushed her in. Here, I’ve got some photos of it on my phone.’
I lean a little closer as Nadine pulls out her mobile and thumbs the screen until she finds what she’s looking for. It’s not easy to see the image properly from where I’m standing, but I instantly recognise the boutique shop, where she happened to bump into me yesterday, in the background. Even from this distance, it’s definitely Jess in the frame, but I still don’t know what could have happened to lead the police to intercept her. And if they did arrest her, why is she freely moving about today?
I pull back as my conscience kicks in. There could be any number of reasons for the police to have spoken to Jess, and it isn’t necessarily true that she was arrested at all. I can almost hear my own mother’s words warning me of the dangers of idle gossip, particularly between mothers in the school playground.
The phone Angus has given to me beeps, and as I look at the message, I see it is from Lawrence, telling me he has arrived for our morning meeting. It was his idea to meet us at a café in town, as it’s closer than me going all the way home. I also think he’s keen to keep us away from that place in case Tommy has people watching it.
The lines of children are now being led into their respective classrooms. Standing at the back of the furthest line, Daisy towers above the blond boy in front of her, but there are others in the line of a similar height and build, so I’m certain nobody will question her age. As far as Daisy knows it is her birthday on Friday, so if anyone asks, she’ll tell them it is so. She doesn’t look back as she disappears behind a wall, and I let out the sigh that has been building inside me since I woke this morning. She is safe now. I’ve got her here, and for the next few hours I can rest easy, knowing he can’t get to her.
Gripping the phone tightly, I back away from gossiping Nadine, and retrace my steps back out through the school gates. My gut is full of nervous energy at the prospect of the deal Angus thinks we can make with Tommy, but what choice do we have?
Chapter Forty-Four
Now
Mike headed back through the secured door, stopping when he reached the interview room, knocking twice and entering. The woman sitting across the desk wasn’t what he had been expecting. In her early forties, her hair was a hive of sorts, but with loose ends straying out in all directions, making it look like she’d literally been dragged through a hedge. The half-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose were held by a beaded braid around her shoulders, and amazingly the woman had a scarf draped around her neck despite the late summer climate.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Mike Ferry,’ he said, sitting across from her and dismissing the uniformed officer who’d been standing patiently by the door. ‘And you are?’
The woman confidently slid a business card across the table. ‘Gail Rowson, I’m a reporter for the Harrow Observer online newspaper. Jess Donoghue is a former colleague and friend.’
Conscious that he only had her say-so for that, Mike chose his words carefully, not wanting to confirm or deny his interest in Jess Donoghue, nor the reason she was at the station, in case this reporter was just rustling for an exclusive. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Rowson?’
‘It’s Ms, actually, but you can call me Gail. You said your name is Mike?’
‘Why are you here, Gail?’
‘I heard through a friend of mine that you’d brought in Jess on suspicion of murder, and I wanted to come down here and tell you it’s impossible. I’ve known Jess for more than five years, and she wouldn’t harm a fly.’
‘I don’t know who your source is, Gail, but nobody is currently being held at this police station on suspicion of murder.’
Pulling a sceptical frown, she reached down to her side and heaved a multi-coloured satchel, in keeping with her bohemian attire, onto the table. The bag jangled with key rings as she reached into it and withdrew a ring-bound notebook and flipped through the pages.
‘My source confirmed that you, Detective Inspector Michael Ferry, have been appointed Senior Investigating Officer for the suspicious death of an as yet unidentified male at a residential premises in Northwood late last night. Jess Donoghue, a witness discovered at the scene, was taken into police custody.’ She paused and fixed him with a hard stare. ‘Stop me when I get it wrong.’ Lowering the notepad and removing her glasses she clasped her hands together. ‘I am not looking to create waves here, Mike. I have come here to help, not to look for salacious gossip. Jess is my friend, and I can tell you exactly why she was at that house last night.’
Narrowing his eyes, Mike nodded to give her the benefit of the doubt. ‘Tell me what you know.’
Gail took a deep breath. ‘I spoke with Jess yesterday afternoon. She called me at work and told me that she believes she has found a child abducted from Belfast, currently being raised by an older couple going by the name Morag
and Angus Kilbride.’
Mike’s ears pricked at mention of their names. ‘Their daughter Daisy?’
Gail’s lips curled upwards. ‘So you know what I’m talking about? It was their house Jess was found at, wasn’t it?’
Mike wasn’t about to confirm any detail to a journalist he didn’t know. ‘Tell me about this missing child.’
Gail rifled through the satchel again, removing a handheld fan, small make-up bag, purse, cigarette case, lighter, two further notebooks, a diary, and a set of car keys. She finally removed an A4 envelope, which had been folded in half. Flattening the envelope, she pulled out two sheets of paper and handed them to him.
‘Mia?’ he questioned, scanning the top of the first page.
‘Reported missing by her uncle after her mother was murdered in a paramilitary attack in east Belfast. Father’s whereabouts are unknown.’
So much for her claiming she wasn’t working on a story, Mike thought. ‘And you think the Kilbrides’ daughter Daisy is this missing girl Mia?’
‘Jess did, and I believe she went to their house last night to confront them about it.’
It was hardly a smoking gun, but Mike wasn’t yet ready to rule any angle out of his investigation, especially with so many questions unanswered. ‘Do you have anything more concrete I can work with?’
‘Only my word that Jess isn’t a killer. Why don’t you tell me who the victim is, and then maybe I can—?’
‘No, no, no,’ Mike interrupted, now seeing through what he suspected was a fog of lies. ‘I appreciate you coming here and telling me about Jess’s suspicions about this little girl, but I’m not about to go on the record with you.’ He slid his business card across the table. ‘If you happen to learn anything else that might be useful to my investigation, then please do call, otherwise, I’d like to thank you for your time this morning.’
She didn’t budge. ‘There is one other thing you might be interested in.’
She was baiting him, and his gut feeling was to ignore it and leave the room, but time was not on his side. ‘I’m waiting.’
Gail remained silent a moment longer, but clearly couldn’t wait to share what was on her chest. ‘After hearing how panicked Jess sounded yesterday, I did some digging into this Morag and Angus Kilbride, and do you know what I discovered?’
Mike remained silent.
‘They don’t exist,’ Gail said triumphantly.
Mike frowned pessimistically. ‘They don’t exist, as in…?’
‘They have no digital footprint whatsoever. No social media accounts; they’re not registered to vote; and when I spoke to Bennett’s – the agency they’re letting through – it turns out they’ve paid their annual rent in advance. In cash.’ Gail raised both eyebrows expectantly. ‘Don’t you find that all a little odd?’
All Mike could hear was an insatiable journalist taking random facts and knitting them into some elaborate version of the truth. ‘Not at all. There could be a hundred different reasons why this couple chose to pay their rent in advance.’
‘Okay,’ Gail challenged playfully. ‘Name one.’
Mike thought quickly. ‘Maybe they’re conscientious tenants; maybe they came into some money, and decided they would invest it in their future; perhaps they don’t like the stress of paying monthly. It doesn’t mean they’re guilty of abducting a child.’
‘You must admit it does draw suspicion though. Why does anyone cover their tracks these days if not running from something or someone?’
‘And who would that be?’ Mike fired back.
Gail frowned, clearly not having got that far in her hypothesis.
Mike stood, keeping hold of the print-out from the missing people website. ‘Thank you for your time, Ms Rowson. I’ll have someone show you back to the front desk.’
Mike headed back upstairs and pinned the image of Mia to the soundboard near his desk. Was it possible that the Kilbrides – who he agreed looked too old to have a daughter so young – had in fact abducted a child? It seemed so far-fetched, but not impossible, and would certainly help explain why Jess was so agitated when confronted with Morag outside the station last night. What it didn’t explain was how Charlie Donoghue had wound up with a kitchen knife in his neck.
Chapter Forty-Five
Before – Jess
She thinks I haven’t spotted her skulking behind Nadine and Rita, but I have. I keep my eyes darting around the playground so that she doesn’t realise I have her in my sights, but as she unceremoniously sidesteps away from the playground, I am on to her. Holding my breath and counting to ten, I slowly wheel away in the same direction. I need to know once and for all why Daisy uttered those four little words, and why Morag made those threats on the phone in Harrow yesterday.
Breaking through the gates, she dashes suddenly to the left, as if she knows she’s being followed and is trying to escape. I have lost sight of her, and pump my arms faster in an effort to catch up. Slowing as I make it to the gates, I allow my gaze to casually scan the traffic in the road, before spotting a gap between the cars and hurrying across. I just make it before an approaching car blares its horn. The driver sneers through the window as he passes by, and I’m tempted to shout something back at him, but don’t want to draw attention to myself. Stupid driver was coming far too quickly off that roundabout, and has no right to question my crossing at the island.
Morag has stopped and is looking towards where the horn blared, but she can’t see me as I’m behind a stationary bus. It gives me a moment to get my breath back, and as the bus pulls away, I see that she is on the move again. We’re headed towards Northwood town centre, but it’s also the direction of her home, and it could simply be that that is where she’s returning. I’m happy to confront her in public or on her doorstep; makes no odds to me. The more public the encounter the better.
The traffic flows slowly, the majority probably parents returning from dropping children off, and the remainder running late for work. I miss the routine of waking up with a real purpose. If I’d had the choice, I never would have quit my job at the newspaper, but it wasn’t satisfactory for either party, and I’m not sure I have the energy for regular office hours at the moment. Charlie doesn’t realise how lucky he is to have the freedom to escape home life for a few hours each day. I don’t doubt his job is stressful – God knows Doug really makes him work for his wage – but I do envy him that.
Morag has upped her pace, and although she occasionally glances behind her, I’m pretty certain she doesn’t realise I’m on her tail across the road. Heading past the art and furniture store, she scurries along the pavement like a woman on a mission, but what is she really up to?
She pauses by the flower stall at the opening to Northwood Tube station without really looking interested in the flowers. It is as if she is waiting for someone, or something, to happen. After what must be a minute, she turns and stares back along the road she has just walked, but she doesn’t see me as I have ducked behind a vehicle parked outside the dry cleaners, just down the hill from the station. Her behaviour is very odd. It’s like watching some black and white spy movie, where the protagonist knows they are being tailed, and she is doing her best to shake it. Does she sense my presence?
She is on the move again, turning the corner past the station and proceeding towards the heart of the town. I give her a count of ten before emerging from my hidden position, and as I make it back up to the peak of the hill, I see her talking to an unfamiliar man. He is the same height as her, maybe twenty years younger and with the brightest ginger hair and beard I’ve ever seen. He is wearing a charcoal suit and matching blue shirt-tie combo. They are standing so close that they must know each other, but they aren’t moving so I need to duck out of sight again.
And that’s when the breath catches in my throat. Directly across the street from me, my eyes fall on Charlie. Bold as brass, arm looped around a Latino woman with a trim figure and tight red skirt. Her obviously dyed hair glistens despite the hidden sun, and as the two
of them laugh at something Charlie has said, I watch in stunned awe as she places her hand on Charlie’s cheek and rubs it intimately.
Blinking rapidly, I don’t want to believe what I’m seeing. Surely I’m imagining it, or stuck in some weird dream. Not Charlie. Not my Charlie.
She lowers her hand, and reaches into her handbag for something, as he leans forwards and kisses her cheek, before she withdraws a set of car keys and unlocks the fancy soft-top sports car they’re standing beside. The colour matches her bum-clenching skirt, and they laugh more as she heads around to the driver’s side, while Charlie – my husband – climbs into the passenger seat.
The soft roof lowers and I can see the backs of their heads as they continue to laugh – laughing at my naivety, no doubt. The engine roars to life and they disappear up the road with a screech of tyres.
This can’t be real.
My Charlie wouldn’t have an affair.
We fell in love together. We had a plan to start a family and slowly fall more and more in love with one another into old age. An affair was never on the cards.
Tracy’s words echo in my mind again: caught him shagging some client he was working for up in Barnstaple. Apparently they’d been at it for months behind my back.