She couldn’t stop shouting that same sentence over and over, until long after the bony figure had disappeared, leaving the front door swinging in her wake, Cheerios scattered all over the tiled kitchen floor. Jessie’s thumb was rigid as she tried a couple of times to slide it across the screen to answer when her mum called again.
‘Hi darling, how are you?’
All Jessie could do was wail down the phone, failing to form any words that made sense.
‘Someone – someone in the flat! Mum, there was someone here,’ she eventually managed to garble. ‘I just saw someone who’d broken in run away.’
Her mum, sat behind her desk over a hundred miles away, pushed the volume on her phone up as loudly as it could go.
‘Jessica, are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ Jessie whispered hoarsely.
‘Then call the police – and leave that flat right now.’
Jessie’s mother gritted her teeth together and shot a worried look at her colleague, who had walked over and was hovering nearby with concerned curiosity.
‘I’m in pyjamas,’ a quiet voice replied. ‘I need to change.’
‘Then lock the door. Can you at least do that?’ her mother implored. ‘Do you know your neighbours?’
‘I’ll call the police and phone you back,’ Jessie replied, clawing back some control.
The woman was gone, she was alone now. Hearing her mum panic had given her a renewed determination to stay calm. They couldn’t both lose their heads at the same time.
Sergeant Fiona Langley knocked on the door just after Jessie had zipped her jeans up. She was a woman in her late thirties with sandy blonde hair and a ruddy complexion. Her colleague, PC Oliver Phillips, a younger man with a stubbly jawline and kind eyes, stood next to her, arms folded. They’d received a call from a distressed woman who said she’d come downstairs to find a stranger in her home with no signs of a forced entry. It was as though whoever it was had let themselves in using a key.
A brunette with a blunt fringe and pleasant face opened the door, clearly shaken. Her slim-fitting jeans were neat, as was the casual silk blouse she’d thrown on over the top, with a tiny polka-dot pattern. The officers introduced themselves and Jessie let them into the house, leading them into the kitchen to take notes and ask questions.
‘I’m sorry to have called. I feel like I’m wasting your time,’ said Jessie, ever conscious of being a nuisance.
She knew what had just happened was by no means normal, but this woman hadn’t actually stolen anything apart from food, which probably meant she was desperate. Her previous dealings with the police had left her unsure whether they would be able to help.
‘We’re glad you called, Miss Campbell,’ Sergeant Langley reassured her. ‘Please tell us again exactly what happened.’
Jessie went into detail, mentioning the possible break-in she thought had happened a couple of months previously which they’d all dismissed as someone having not locked up properly. She then described the woman’s dirty clothes and wild, glittering eyes, the bruising on her hands and wrists too. And her face, it was one she recognised. Why did she know her face?
‘I think,’ Jessie said, thoughts knitting together as she spoke, ‘I think it might have been a homeless woman I’ve seen around town. She sometimes sits outside Subway.’
Sergeant Langley glanced across to her colleague, whose interest had clearly been piqued.
‘Do you have any connection to this woman?’ PC Phillips asked, leaning forward. ‘Can you describe her in more detail for us? Height? Colouring?’
He held a small notepad in his hand and a miniature pen in the other, and resumed scribbling notes down.
‘Not at all; I think I just remember seeing her begging in town. She shouted at my friend in the street once too.’
The police officers nodded, looking thoughtful.
‘Can you tell us about the security of this flat? And the other people who live here?’ Sergeant Langley pressed.
She was due to start her detective training soon and relished a challenge. It was intriguing that the entrance lock didn’t appear to be at all damaged and yet this young woman, who upon first impressions seemed to have it relatively together, was certain the front door had not been left open.
‘The front door is one of those that locks when you slam it shut. There’s a tiny balcony off of the kitchen but that’s always locked too – it’s only really my housemate, Lauren, who goes out there to smoke,’ Jessie continued, smoothing down the non-existent creases in her silk shirt. ‘She and the others who live here are out at work.’
PC Phillips read back the description Jessie had given of the young woman she’d found in the kitchen once more. Sergeant Langley’s eyebrows shot up. She was often called to incidents involving Brighton and Hove’s homeless community or chatted to them on her rounds. A picture had formed in her head.
‘Excuse me for a moment, I’m just going to call one of my colleagues at the station and ask them to run a name through the system,’ Sergeant Langley said, heading out into the hallway for some privacy.
Jessie and PC Phillips sat on the sunken sofas as they waited. The policeman gave her another of his supportive smiles.
‘It’s a nice place you have here,’ he lied.
‘Thank you,’ Jessie replied. ‘It’ll do for now.’
He pretended to read back over his notes until Sergeant Langley returned a couple of minutes later, with a triumphant look on her face.
‘Does the name Elizabeth Holliday mean anything to you, Miss Campbell?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘What’s going on? Jessie, are you okay?’ Lauren asked, sounding alarmed.
She stared at the two police officers who’d stood up when she came into the kitchen and tried to remain calm. They weren’t necessarily here about Magda. She had to keep a cool head.
‘This is Lauren,’ Jessie said after introducing Sergeant Langley and PC Phillips. ‘One of my flatmates.’
The ruddy-faced woman regarded Lauren carefully. Sergeant Langley had a photographic memory and a keen eye for faces. There was something about this flat that just wasn’t sitting quite right. She couldn’t put her finger on it yet. But she would. She always did. It’s why she was so excited to start her detective training.
‘We received a report from a resident here …’ PC Phillips looked down at his notepad, having already forgotten the address of the flat. ‘Here at 4 Maver Place, saying an unknown person was in the kitchen area of the flat, possibly attempting a robbery. However, there are no signs of a break-in. Is there any chance you might have forgotten to close the door earlier on your way out, Miss …?’
Jessie’s face was still alabaster white. The female police officer had narrowed her eyes when she’d denied the name Elizabeth Holliday rang any bells.
‘Miss McCormack and I definitely would’ve shut the door,’ Lauren confirmed. ‘We’ve all been hyper-vigilant about it since someone accidentally left it open not long after New Year. Nothing was taken, though.’
Realising she’d been holding her breath, Jessie exhaled.
‘Have you lived here for a long while, Miss McCormack?’ Sergeant Langley queried. ‘Might the name Elizabeth Holliday be recognisable?’
Lauren nodded, slowly at first.
‘No … I do know a Beth Holliday though, if it’s the same person. She lived here before …’ Lauren stopped herself. ‘But that was a couple of years ago. I don’t understand why she’d come here.’
Now that Lauren had referred to her as Beth, Jessie remembered the box in the storage room with ‘Beth’ written on one side. She hadn’t put the two together. Had Lauren just deliberately stopped herself from mentioning Magda? Jessie looked at her again. She was clearly uncomfortable with the police being in the flat and bringing up the name of a possible suicide victim who also once lived there presumably wouldn’t help to alleviate the tension. Maybe calling the police had been the wrong thing to do.
‘I haven’
t seen her in years,’ Lauren added swiftly. ‘We’re not in touch.’
‘Mind if I take another little look around the place?’ Sergeant Langley enquired. ‘Just to check there are no other signs of forced entry that we might have missed. We’ll have a chat with your neighbours afterwards too.’
Lauren looked startled, but Jessie nodded, grateful that she’d given her bedroom a tidy earlier on.
Sergeant Langley poked her head into Marcus’s room and grimaced at the smell. This occupant clearly didn’t open the window all that often and there was minimal floor space available for her to walk on, but nothing looked obviously amiss. There were lots of photos on the wall of that blonde woman in the kitchen, Lauren, only her hair was darker and she looked much younger in them. In the storage cupboard, Sergeant Langley rummaged through the bags and boxes of leftover possessions, drawing a blank, then headed upstairs. Lauren bit her lip.
‘Why would this girl be in our house?’ Jessie asked Lauren, who took a seat next to her on the sofa. ‘Could she have left something here?’
There was an intensity radiating from Lauren.
‘I don’t know,’ she muttered in response, avoiding eye contact. ‘Beth was horrible to live with, always coming into my room off her face.’
‘Might she still have a key?’ Jessie pressed.
‘I-I’m not sure, there are always so many sets with people coming and going, it’s hard to keep track.’
Sergeant Langley called down to PC Phillips, asking him to join her. He returned to the kitchen a minute later to ask if they could be granted access to the bedroom opposite the bathroom. Lauren’s bedroom.
‘Is it really necessary?’ Lauren asked politely, after what felt like a minute of silence.
PC Phillips gave her a kind smile. If he thought something was awry, he hid it well.
‘We’d really like to be able to say we’ve done a clean sweep of the place.’
Lauren, who’d dropped her keys onto the table when she’d walked in, stood up and handed the bunch to him.
‘It’s the one with a blob of red nail varnish painted on it.’
‘A very clever trick,’ he said, giving another smile. ‘Please don’t worry, this is all routine.’
Jessie and Lauren heard the two police officers’ footsteps creak on the floorboards overhead and a lock click open.
‘I just don’t like the idea of strangers going through my stuff,’ Lauren said. ‘This is completely bonkers.’
Upstairs, PC Phillips checked the windows in Lauren’s bedroom. He didn’t really think they’d find anything in there, but was interested in Lauren McCormack’s reaction when they’d suggested looking around the rest of Maver Place. The other flatmate didn’t seem to mind – then again, she’d been the one to make the call, after all. But if there was one thing he’d learnt during his time on the job, it was that people are full of surprises. Hidden behind a curtain on the windowsill was a small silver object. A phone, plugged in to charge. It looked too dated to be anybody’s primary phone. If he had to guess, he’d say it was a burner. The type of phone he’d seized from people’s homes who were making calls they shouldn’t be. Phillips scribbled something on his notepad, then stopped in front of Lauren’s easel and stared at the painting attached to it. He was no art critic but he could tell a lot of hard work had gone into the piece. The subject of the painting had a mouth twisted in horror and it was incredibly lifelike. He touched a finger lightly to a splatter of crimson oil paint in the right hand corner which hadn’t yet dried. There was an artist’s signature on it: Truth Teller.
Sergeant Langley tapped his shoulder.
‘Here’s a photo of Elizabeth Holliday. Surely you recognise her too?’
Sergeant Langley had pulled up an old news report on her phone, which had a picture of a young woman with dark, sunken eyes.
PC Phillips took the phone and used two fingers to zoom in on the image. Yes, it was a face he knew well. He’d seen it on his patrols around the city centre numerous times. Elizabeth Holliday was a particularly sad case, a twenty-something who’d become well-known to him and the other guys down the station, for being locked in the vicious cycle of petty crime, prison and begging on the streets. Elizabeth, or Beth, as she was also known, had some nasty habits to feed. The report was about her ban from the local shopping mall, having being caught shoplifting. Phillips always felt a little callous arresting women like her, who had nothing, and who hadn’t committed a violent crime, until they started screeching and scratching at him with their dirty nails. Then, he didn’t mind roughly pushing their heads down and telling them to get in the back of the police van.
‘Should I put the kettle on?’ Jessie asked, desperate for something to do while the search took place upstairs.
Lauren’s stunned silence was only adding to her anxiety and Jessie really wanted to call her mum back. Sergeant Langley reappeared in the doorway.
‘Thanks, ladies,’ she said, deliberately neutral. ‘We’ll be referring this on to the investigative team back at the station. They’ll be in touch soon.’
She handed Jessie a card with something handwritten on the back.
‘Here’s your crime reference number and my contact details. If you think of anything else that might be helpful, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.’
PC Phillips stepped out from behind her.
‘Someone will be round either today or first thing tomorrow to dust for prints which we can then run through the system, to see if there’s a match with anyone on our database. We’ll let ourselves out.’
Jessie took care not to step on the cereal which was still scattered across the floor.
‘We need to get the lock changed,’ Lauren said, lips pursed. ‘I can’t believe it. Let’s call the letting agent now.’
Jessie poured the boiling water into two mugs and added a teaspoon of sugar, the way Lauren always did for her when she was hungover. She hoped it would help lessen the shock.
‘I wish they’d send someone round to do all those tests quicker.’
Jessie took a sip, gearing herself up.
‘When did Beth live here?’ she asked, choosing to sit on the sofa opposite Lauren rather than next to her.
The sofa she’d lain semi-conscious on following her attack. She looked around the kitchen, a room she’d spent so much time in over the last few months, and felt her stomach tighten. This flat-share had been nothing like she’d hoped it’d be when she first moved in. She’d wanted to slot herself into a bustling, ready-made home full of exciting twenty-somethings like her, who she’d become good friends with. Apart from Lauren, she rarely saw anybody else. It felt like the walls were mocking her for making the wrong move. She replayed the horror that she’d felt coming down the stairs and seeing that strange, uninhibited woman in her kitchen. Maver Place was cursed.
‘Well, I’ve been here for four years and she was there in the beginning, when there were just three of us. Me, her and Georgia.’
Jessie nodded, Georgia must have been another flatmate who’d long since moved on. She couldn’t fathom why Lauren still lived here four years later. The flat was okay, but little more than a stopgap. Then again, what were the alternative options? Jessie thought back to all the countless other places she’d viewed before moving in, the one with the landlord who clearly wanted more than her rent money, the one with the hole in the floor. Even Priya and Zoe’s flat, which was far smaller than theirs, was just as expensive.
‘Just three of you?’
‘Yeah, Marcus’s room is the old living room. When the landlord put the rent up we had to figure out a way to cram one more person in here,’ Lauren lamented. ‘I really didn’t want him to live here at first, and he changed everything. The whole dynamic.’
That seemed fair. She certainly wouldn’t have chosen to live with Marcus if she could have helped it either. Jessie thought about the last time she’d seen Beth, prior to this afternoon’s events. When Beth’s friend had shouted something at Lauren. Was it re
ally possible that Lauren hadn’t known it was her former flatmate sitting in the street?
‘Lauren, there’s something I don’t understand,’ Jessie began, pulling her mug closer to her chest. ‘Why is Beth homeless now? I’m sure she was with that homeless woman who shouted at us in town when we walked past.’
Lauren considered her words for a while before speaking, not wanting lie but equally not wanting to scare Jessie with the truth.
‘Towards the end she was very unwell. It reached the point where she was taking drugs most days, then twice, three times a day.’ Lauren looked visibly upset. ‘It was horrible watching her turn into this shell of a person and being unable to do anything. We both went down a bad path together.’
All those references Lauren had made to her ‘old crowd’. This must be what she meant. There was so much more to her past than she’d ever let on.
Jessie gulped.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The following day, Jessie returned to work. Lauren’s studio didn’t have any major shoots booked in, so she had volunteered to wait around for the locksmith. Marcus had offered to swap his shift to keep Lauren company. What a surprise, Jessie thought to herself. Sitting at her desk, Jessie knew what she was about to do was wrong – on par with watching a neighbour undress through a crack in the curtains, sneaking a look at the most shadowed parts of their lives. But she needed to know who she was living with. She had a right to know, she reasoned to herself. Everything that had happened lately, her attack, Magda going missing, the break-in – all the bad things that had gone on seemed to lead back to Maver Place in one way or another, not Matthew after all.
Jessie’s finger hovered over the ‘M’ button of her keyboard, the monitor beaming out its usual blue welcome message and the Sussex NHS Trust logo. If anybody caught her searching for Marcus Ratcliffe’s name without a valid reason, she knew there was a high chance of receiving a disciplinary. Breaching patient confidentiality was a massive no-no. Pamela had drummed that into the head of each and every member of staff before they’d so much as taken their coat off on their first day. So, looking up her housemates in order to see whether or not any of them had ever been seen by a member of the psychiatric team or received treatment was most definitely against the rules. But something wasn’t right. Only a few months ago these people were relative strangers to her and now, having lived so closely with them, she was left wondering what secrets they might possibly be hiding. Even Lauren. She needed answers.
The Wrong Move Page 22