by Fiona Barton
Alex stood silently, grim faced.
“What? What else?” Mama said. “I am too busy for this.”
She reached up to scratch her scalp and Alex noticed she was wearing her missing earrings.
“Where did you get those?” she snapped, pointing at the girlish flower-head studs, and Mama put a hand to an earlobe.
“Rosie,” she said and half-smiled. “They were a good-bye present. Now go away.” Mama waved her off.
“Was Rosie sleeping with Jake?” Alex blurted. The question had been burning a hole in her stomach.
Mama’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”
“Jamie. He told me to ask you.”
“You are a bad girl. Making trouble for Mama’s Guesthouse.”
“Where is Jake?” Alex’s voice was suddenly louder. “Did he have anything to do with Rosie leaving?”
“Not your business,” Mama snapped. “I want you to leave now. I need your room.”
* * *
• • •
Alex couldn’t settle anywhere. She paced the corridor from her room to the dorm, then back again. She wouldn’t talk to Jamie beyond asking where Jake was.
“When is he getting back?”
Jamie repeated that he had no idea, irritation making his voice more clipped, his breath shorter.
Alex watched him. When he thought she’d gone, she could see he was counting slowly with his eyes closed, like a child playing hide-and-seek. When he opened them, he looked startled to see her so close.
“What?” he said. She carried on staring.
“Nothing. Do you think Jake is avoiding me? I really want to talk to him before I go home.”
“Stop talking about going home. We can sort this out. I can have a word with Mama if you like.”
“No, I’ll ask Jake to do it when I see him. He’s worked here for ages. He knows Mama best.”
“I can’t believe you want anything to do with him after what he did.”
“You don’t know what he did, Jamie. You’re just making it up.”
“Well, I know what I saw. And heard.”
“What? What did you hear?”
“Rosie shouting at Jake. Saying she would tell you about sleeping with him.”
“Shut up!” Alex shrieked.
“If you don’t want to believe me, that’s your problem.”
Alex turned away. “I’m going to see if I can find him.”
“I’ll come, too,” Jamie said. “You shouldn’t be on your own.”
She wouldn’t walk with him, so he trailed behind her. They went to all the usual places, but Alex noticed that he didn’t really bother looking.
* * *
• • •
When they got back, Alex checked her phone again for a message from Rosie. Nothing. She phoned the airline to find out about changing her ticket. There were seats, but it was going to be expensive. She’d have to ask her parents to do it—and to pay the extra cost. When she rang them.
“I’m hoping I can take a flight home tomorrow,” she told Jamie when she ventured back into the empty bar.
He looked stunned. “But we were going to talk to Mama about you staying.”
“No, we weren’t, Jamie. You were. I don’t want you to. Even if Rosie comes back. How can I trust her again? I’m going to ring home and tell them and then get on the plane . . . I’m sorry, but I’ve got to leave. You’ll be fine.” She went to put her arm around him, but she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
“I won’t,” he said, his voice muffled by emotion. “I want you to stay, Alex. Please stay with me . . .”
She pulled back and straightened her crumpled shirt.
“No, that’s not going to happen.”
He looked like he might cry. “Look, I’m going to start packing. Maybe we can have a drink together later.”
“A bit of a party?” Jamie said.
“Well, maybe,” she said doubtfully.
SIXTY-TWO
The Reporter
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2014
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” I ask, not wanting to go. He looks smaller somehow, curled in against the pain.
“No, I could do with some company,” he says. “Even a hack . . .” He tries to smile.
“Ever the charmer.” I smile back, trying to keep the gentle joshing going. It’s what we do when things are blacker than black. We make a joke. A bad one. It’s bravura, I suppose. Showing we can laugh in the face of anything.
“Shall I pack your bag?”
“Thanks, Kate. Is there another brandy in the minibar?”
I fish all the bottles out and lay them on the carpet in front of him. “No brandy, but there’s whisky or gin. Or a beer?”
I leave him choosing and start emptying his drawers into his suitcase. I’m surprised he’s had time to unpack—most blokes don’t bother—but his underwear and socks are neatly sorted and his shirts are hanging in the wardrobe.
“Looks like you were planning to stay for a month, Bob,” I say. “Not a light packer, then?”
“I couldn’t concentrate when I was getting ready, so I put everything in. I shouldn’t have come, should I?”
I go and sit opposite him on the bed and automatically stroke his arm. I can’t help it. It’s muscle memory for this sort of situation, but it makes me prickle with embarrassment and I go to pull my hand back. But he doesn’t recoil. He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Thanks for being here, Kate. I appreciate it.”
“Why don’t you FaceTime Sam?” I say. “Then you can see Eileen for yourself. Speak to her . . .”
He puts on a clean shirt, turning away from me as he takes off the old one. The skin on his back is still damp and the fabric clings immediately.
I find my phone tripod in my bag and set it up on the desk. Using it will be easier than trying to hold the phone in shaking hands. “I’ll go in the bathroom, shall I?”
“No, stay. I might balls the FaceTime thing up and need you.”
He rings his daughter and I catch a glimpse of her on the screen, puffy eyes and Bob’s mouth.
“Can I see Mum?” he says. I can see the strain in his face in the mirror above the desk as he searches for her.
“Hello, love,” he says when Sam arrives at the bedside. The figure in the bed stirs at the sound.
“I’m here, love,” he breathes. “I know you can hear me, Eileen. I want you to know how much I love you and that I’ll be there in person in the morning. You promised you’d be all right until I got back. Will you wait for me? Please, love.”
He’s crying and I try not to look, but I catch myself glancing at the tragedy in the mirror.
“Move the phone, Sam, so I can see all of her.”
Sam runs the phone over her mother, starting at her sleeping face, as white as the pillowcase, and moving over her curled hands on a rosebud duvet cover.
“We’re all here,” Sam says, panning round to show the others, looking shyly into the camera. “And we’ll all be here when you get back, Dad.”
“All right, darling. See you in the morning,” he says.
* * *
• • •
I make him get into bed and rest afterward. He’s exhausted and he closes his eyes against it all, lying on his side with his hands held together under the pillow. I turn the main lights off and sit quietly until I think he may be asleep.
Then I tiptoe into the bathroom and make my own call home.
SIXTY-THREE
The Mother
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 2014
She switched on the kitchen television as she made the second tea of the day, standing in her nightie and old cardigan, turning up the sound a bit so she could hear above the kettle’s rumble. Their Family Liaison Officer, DC Wendy Turner, had rung at the crack of dawn wi
th the news there’d been a major breakthrough.
“Lesley, Jake Waters has been found in Bangkok. He’s in prison.”
“What? As well as Jamie Lawrence?” Lesley had said, trying to make sense of the words.
“No. The police thought it was Jamie Lawrence, but it was really Jake Waters.”
“I don’t understand, Wendy. What do you mean?”
She’d thought she’d got it straight when she put the phone down and turned to Malcolm.
“They’re not looking for Jake Waters anymore,” she’d said. “He’s in prison in Bangkok. It is Jamie Lawrence they want to talk to now. It’s him they think killed Alex.”
* * *
• • •
Hours later, the Scottish referendum buildup was playing in the background as she stirred Mal’s sugar in. As she lifted both cups to take them upstairs, Alex’s face appeared on the screen. She slopped both back onto the counter in her haste to get to the remote control.
It was suddenly blaring into the room, the “astonishing development” in the backpacker murder.
“Mal,” she screamed. “Come down here. It’s Alex.”
Malcolm ran down the stairs in his T-shirt and boxers, his face creased with sleep.
“Look!” she said pointing at the screen. “The press have heard they’ve got Jake Waters.”
Malcolm sat down on a chair and rubbed his eyes.
“Can we turn the telly down?” he said. “I’ve got a terrible headache.”
Lesley muted it and rang Wendy Turner’s mobile phone. Engaged. But as soon as she put the phone down, Jenny called.
“It’s doing my head in, Lesley,” she said. “It’s awful. Just when I think I know what happened, everything gets thrown up in the air again. I just want to know who killed our girls. That’s all.”
“I’ve tried Wendy again just now, but her phone’s engaged. There’s no one else I can ring for information. DI Sparkes and DS Salmond are in Thailand. I don’t know how to get hold of them.”
“Ring Kate Waters. She’ll know.”
* * *
• • •
Kate’s mobile number rang out and Lesley tried to sit still.
“Hello, Lesley,” Kate answered. “Have you heard?” There was no call for pleasantries now. Mother shorthand was all that was needed.
“Yes. It’s unbelievable. Do you know what happened?”
“I went to see Jamie Lawrence earlier and found Jake in the prison.”
“But how was this mistake made? Do they look the same?”
“A bit—same sort of height and hair color. But Jamie’s passport was in Jake’s bag. And Jake went along with it, told the police he was Jamie. He didn’t want us to know he’d been arrested. And the police didn’t question it. He was a skinny foreigner with a small bag of cannabis in his backpack. I don’t think they were too interested in checking his ID. They just locked him up.”
“And it was Jamie in the hospital?”
“Yes, with Jake’s passport. And Jamie at the hostel when the fire started. Jake had nothing to do with that, Lesley.”
There was silence as both women reran the last shouted phone call in their heads.
“I’m sorry I said those things, Kate. I was so desperately upset . . .”
“I know. It was a terrible time for all of us. But the police will catch Jamie now. Now they’re looking for the right man.”
“What are they doing? Are you with DI Sparkes and DS Salmond?”
Kate went quiet again. Then she whispered down the phone: “Look, Bob Sparkes has got a family emergency—he’s flying back tonight. Zara Salmond is finishing things up here. Give her a ring in an hour or so.”
“Oh goodness, what has happened?”
“It’s personal, Lesley. I’m not sure Bob would like people to know. Is that okay?”
“Of course. What did Jake say about the girls, Kate?”
“He was very upset when I told him about Alex. I think he liked her a lot.”
Lesley started to cry. She felt as if she was standing on a precipice in the dark, the stress of not knowing what would happen next crowding her head with what-ifs. She couldn’t see an end to it. She couldn’t bear to even try to step forward anymore.
“Try and stay strong, Lesley,” Kate was saying. “I’m going back with a lawyer to see him again, to try to get him out. He’ll be able to tell us more then.”
“Will you call me afterward?” Lesley asked. “Please . . .”
SIXTY-FOUR
The Reporter
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2014
I still haven’t heard from Don, and I drum my fingers on the hotel desk. He’s been busy all weekend with me snapping at his heels, urging him on. He’s got the lawyer on board and we’ve talked endlessly to the embassy, the police, and the press.
Give him another five minutes, I tell myself. He’s probably on the phone to the lawyer again. We’re taking him in to see Jake later this morning. I look at my phone, like a junkie, automatically checking every thirty seconds for messages or e-mails.
* * *
• • •
Bob sent a simple text yesterday to tell me Eileen had died. He didn’t say if he’d got there in time.
I hope he did. I’d waited for a long time after he headed off to catch his flight on Friday. I’d just stood there, weighed down by his quiet grief. He hadn’t cried again. He’d stitched it under his damp skin, holding it in until he reached home.
“Thanks, Kate,” he’d said as he shouldered his bag and put his passport in his breast pocket. “Better go through. Security can take an age . . .”
I’d wanted to hug him, but he looked too brittle to touch. “Have a safe trip, Bob. Try and sleep. You’ll be there sooner if you do.”
He’d tried to smile.
“Go on. There’s a car booked to pick you up at the airport.”
“Okay, good-bye.”
He’d reached out a hand and stroked my arm, then turned and disappeared into the throng.
I’d taken the train back into the city. After so much intensity, I couldn’t bear the isolation of a taxicab—I needed people around me, even strangers. Especially strangers. I watched their faces, writing their stories in my head.
It was very late when I got to my room and switched on my laptop. Jake’s face was everywhere again. But this time he was the victim, not the perpetrator.
“The Wrong Man . . .”
The press had had a field day, beating up the Thai police over the mistakes they’d identified: “Ten Reasons They Got It Wrong,” “The Devastating Mistakes in Full,” et cetera. It’s a complicated story but the editors had pulled out all the stops—adding value, the watchword on back benches—so there were sidebars, bullet points, and graphics to hammer home every line.
It looked amazing. But I’d wondered if it would do any good. Would it shame the Thais into releasing Jake?
I should have gone straight to bed when I got back to the hotel, but I poured myself a glass of château minibar and kept replaying Jake in my head. The moment we recognized each other. His reaction to the news about Alex. Rosie.
I’d ask him more questions when I got him out.
* * *
• • •
He doesn’t look any more rested when I see him again. But then neither do I.
All the plates are spinning now. The embassy is attempting to work its diplomatic magic behind the scenes, and the lawyer is doing all the talking at the prison. I have to wait my turn. When the lawyer and Don go off to talk to the prison authorities, I lean forward.
“Did you sleep last night?” I say. He shakes his head. His eyes are pouchy and the bristles on his face make him look old.
“Did you get the food I sent?” He nods.
“We need to talk, Jake.”
“W
hen I get out, Mum. My head is all over the place. I’m trying to make sense of it all.”
“We all are,” I say. “Especially about Rosie. Do you know what happened to her?”
He shakes his head slowly.
“The police are going to ask you the same questions. You do know that?”
“The inspector already has and I told him the same thing. I don’t know. She disappeared the night Alex got drunk and had to be put to bed. I was supposed to be taking Alex out but I ended up doing an extra shift. I was told Rosie’d gone to Myanmar on the bus to meet the Dutch boys.”
He rattles it off, this neat little tale. And I shiver.
“Did you believe that?” I say gently.
Jake looks across no-man’s-land at me. “Why are you asking that? What was I supposed to think? It was possible.”
“Who told you?”
“Mama, the woman who ran the guesthouse. She’s the person the police should be talking to.”
“And Alex?”
“She was alive when I left the guesthouse for the last time. Honest, Mum. She was talking about going home. It was a horrible mess.”
The bell clangs and he looks up. I can see on his face the relief that he can leave.
“Stay strong, love,” I call and put my hand up to the grille.
He nods and stumbles away.
* * *
• • •
Ross is nervous when we finally meet. Jittery. Slopping his coffee onto the table as he jumps up to greet me. He’d blown me off the last time and I wondered if he’d turn up today.
“Hi.” He pulls out a chair for me and I catch it before it tumbles to the ground.
“Watch out,” I say. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I’m all over the place. I’m trying to get clean. It’s only been a few days.”
“That’s great, Ross,” I say and smile encouragingly.
“I had some bad stuff the other day and ended up in hospital. Anyway, I’m trying . . .” He signals to a waiter for another coffee. “So, do you think you’ll be able to get Jake out of prison? Is he okay?”