I can’t help smiling and congratulating myself; but it’s still only been acknowledged privately, and this needs to go public. The other thing I suddenly realise, sitting here in the police station with them looking ‘into it further’, as DC Percy told me, is that whereas the first picture could reasonably have been anyone who knows you and Christine posting the photos for some kind of sick joke, the second set means that Monica has the journal. She must have if she has photos of the multiple exes that are recorded there. If Jack has actually told DS Percy that he kept a journal of his sexual conquests, both he and the police will know Monica has it.
Part of me tells me that it’s over. On Facebook, anyway. That I’m going to have to find another way of making you and them pay, something not so public. All your Facebook friends will be focused on made-up Monica now and it will gradually sink in that this is the tip of your cheating fucking iceberg. Meanwhile, I’m making it more personal. Much more personal. I want you to suffer the way I have, the way I still suffer, because me sitting here in a police interview room is an extension of everything you did to me. But it isn’t over. If you hadn’t treated me like shit then I wouldn’t have had to do all this, would I? Oh yes, you’ll suffer, all right, not just through some private Facebook messages and some pictures of you and your not even perfect-ten girlfriends, but really suffer like I have. All I have to do is to think of how I can do this even more publicly.
DS Percy comes back with a woman who introduces herself as Linda Jones. She turns the recorder on and identifies me and them.
‘OK, Caroline. Here’s the situation. The men in the photograph that you’ve been sent have all reported stolen items: credit cards, money, watches. So we want to talk to you about a substantial amount of property being stolen from the men you met at the Premier Inns.’ Fucking hell. I’ve only taken credit cards. Haven’t I? I try to visualise my in-between self but none of it is clear. I need to check what’s in that hole. But at least it isn’t about your holdall. ‘Linda is our tech person and she’s going to show you some CCTV.’
I feel my heart beat faster and my face redden. It’s going to be me with the first guy two weeks ago. I just know it. The screen opposite flickers to life and I watch as CCTV footage begins. A picture of me and the first guy appears. I’m wearing a tight red dress and high black heels and, actually, I don’t look as bad as I thought I had made myself look. The footage moves to another frame of us kissing around the back of the hotel, his hands everywhere.
Then we are inside the hotel, drunkenly stumbling up the corridors until we reach his room. I see myself, head thrown back in laughter, grabbing at his crotch. The time in the corner of the screen reads 2.30 when we go in, and I come out alone at 5.30. I carry my shoes up the corridor and leave.
The screen flickers off, then on again to the next set of footage. Different hotel, same routine. This time pissed-up dancing, then snogging, then to the room around at 2.40 and I come out alone at 5.36. The frame changes to me getting in the lift, then to the street outside and me flagging a taxi at 5.42.
Linda switches it off with a remote control and DS Percy turns to me.
‘So. Let’s go over things again. Why didn’t you mention that you know Brian Patterson? The man in the other picture?’
I force the words out.
‘I thought it would look bad. I mean, it already looks bad that I go around picking up strange men and sleeping with them. But I didn’t do anything illegal.’
They both nod. DS Percy continues.
‘So you knew neither of these men beforehand? This is very important, Caroline, so think.’
‘No. I didn’t. I just wanted a good time. Being on my own, and all that. Just … lonely.’
‘Right. Did you take anything from either of these men? Or any other men that you … slept with?’
Fucking hell. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Think, Caroline.
‘No. I didn’t. I had sex with them. They didn’t pay me. I’m not a—’
DS Percy holds up her hand.
‘No. Of course not. For the purposes of the recorder I am not suggesting that Mrs Atkinson is a prostitute. It’s just that Mr Patterson’s bank card was stolen the same day and used for fraudulent transactions. You must understand that I have to ask you if you took it.’
‘No I didn’t.’ It slips out automatically and I know as I say it I should have said that I did. But how would that look? Like I’m some kind of criminal, that’s what. Not like I’m teaching them a lesson. Anyway, he’d be insured, wouldn’t he? ‘Look, it’s bad enough having to air my private business like who I sleep with in public without—’
She holds her hand up again, and it’s becoming a little bit irritating. But the screen lights up again. It’s the corridor outside one of the Premier Inn rooms. The door opens and I come out at 5.36.
This time the camera stays on the corridor in fast forward. At 6.26 Peter Daubney opens the hotel-room door and walks towards the camera. I see his black wiry neck hair and I can almost smell his body odour. He puts a plastic cup under the ice machine and takes the ice back to his room.
My whole body cringes. I swear to myself that I’ll never drink so much fucking vodka that I can’t see ever again. I’ll stay away from Premier Inns and hopefully, after I’ve proved you are a complete bastard publicly, I won’t ever need to seek revenge.
The film flickers on, now in fast forward again. I watch as a couple of people leave their rooms and pull their cases up the corridor. Kagoule-clad tourists or football fans setting out on a new day.
At 7.10 the entry door to the corridor opens and a figure clad all in black hurries towards room 416, pulling a cap further over their face as they get nearer to the camera. I watch transfixed as someone enters the room. The woman in the opposite room leaves, then, at 7.25, the door opens again and the black-clad figure walks up the corridor. Change frames to the lift area, where they stand with their back to the camera. Then to the exit, where they walk through, again with their head turned away from the camera. They walk away to the right and are picked up on Oldham Street, walking along, head down.
The screen darkens and I’m dumbstruck. DS Percy turns to me.
‘So, Caroline, you’re not in any trouble. But the same footage was found at the previous scene of crime. And a few others. With what appears to be the same person committing the crime. As this is connected in some way to you, we need to ask you if you know who that person is. Do you recognise the person who went into Peter Daubney’s hotel room and came out again fifteen minutes later?’
I still can’t speak. The relief at not being blamed for this has washed over me and is now replaced by shock.
The ever-confident swagger, bordering on the Manchester monkey walk, could be anyone. The person who’s been following me around taking pictures could be fucking anyone. But I know you, Jack, and I know that you are at the bottom of this.
Chapter Twelve
‘So do you recognise him?’
I stutter my answer.
‘D-d-do I recognise him? Well, I er …’
I need time to think. Think what this means. I need to stall. DS Percy forges on.
‘Yes. That person. Do you recognise him? Look, I know it’s a shock seeing it like that, someone who has been stalking you, but I need to know if you saw anyone like that as you left the hotel? Or the evening before?’
I stare at her. She really has no idea. She hasn’t put it together. But why would she?
‘N-n-o. No, I don’t. It could be anyone, really. A man, obviously. I think so, anyway. It’s so difficult to see properly …’ I shrug. ‘It’s awful. My God. I feel a bit ill now, I’m afraid.’
DS Percy nods and tilts her head to one side. Sympathy. Good.
‘Right. I’m afraid we still have to take a statement. Do you want to go and get a drink and come back, or we could do it tomorrow?’
‘Oh no. I’ll do it now. I want to help out as much as possible. Find out who this person is and …and … well. But I’ll grab a coff
ee, if you don’t mind?’
She gathers her things together.
‘Great. I’ll show you where the machine is. And then we’ll meet back in reception in half an hour.’
We walk silently to the drinks machine and I get a black coffee. I need to be awake. I need to think about this in a calm way.
I thought you were out of the country. But these photos go back a while. I thought you only got back the other day. Schoolgirl error. Assumption based on the luggage arriving. The woman at the courier company had read out the address the luggage should have gone to: 23 Villa Place. Some posh apartments within a converted stately home up in Saddleworth.
I Google the number for United Utilities and dial. The tone rings for ages and I sip my coffee slowly, seething that I took my eye off the ball. Eventually, after a long interaction with an automated menu, the operator answers.
‘United Utilities customer services. How can I help today?’
‘Hello. This is Mrs Atkinson from twenty-three Villa Place. OL6 2BP. I haven’t received notice of my direct debit payment since I moved in. Can you tell me how much it is and how long the first instalment covers?’
She pauses.
‘I’ll just have to take you through some security, Mrs Atkinson. Can I have the first line of your address and postcode, please?’
I repeat the information.
‘And your date of birth?’
I tell her, but she sighs.
‘That’s not what we have on the account.’
I quickly interrupt.
‘Oh, I think you’ll have my husband’s, Jack Atkinson. I can give you that or …’
‘No. That will be fine.’
I read out your date of birth and she seems appeased.
‘Thank you. OK, I’ll just look at the file. Actually, your first payment has gone out. It was £17.05 to cover the first three weeks of the month, from when you opened the account on the tenth. And this month’s is due out next week for a full month. £23.17.’
I fake laugh.
‘Oh, yes, I can see it now. £17.05. I was looking for £23.17 for a full month. So sorry to bother you.’
‘No problem, Mrs Atkinson. Have a nice day.’
Oh, I will have a nice day. I will now I know how long you’ve been sneaking around. Six weeks. You’ve been back six weeks. Your luggage must have been lost all that time.
It doesn’t make sense. You must have been following me. Watching me, like the note said. Or getting someone else to do it. I cringe to think that you saw me with those men. Knew what I was doing. My habits. My foibles. I can imagine the fucking satisfaction you would have got out of it.
I can even understand why you did it. To make me look bad. Like a slut. What completely puzzles me is how you thought you’d get away with it? You’re not stupid. You know hotels have CCTV. Whoever did it disguised themselves but if they ever got caught, even if the police didn’t work out the obvious, they’d tell on you? I don’t get it.
I suppose it could be one of two things. The first one is that you are stupid enough to actually think there would be no cameras and no one would see. The other one is that you knew I would realise it was you behind it and you actually want me to say it’s you. That would be a very similar situation to what had already happened, to me accusing you of all the affairs and of colluding with your mother. Is that what you wanted, for me to make myself look mad again?
But you didn’t know I had the means to expose you then, did you? You didn’t know I had the journal. A wave of fear washes over me. If you’d do this just to get your own way, what else are you capable of? I know you’d never risk doing anything directly to me as you’d be the first suspect. The accusation I’d made against you would resurface and come true. In any case, that injunction you took out against me works both ways, doesn’t it, so you can’t come anywhere near me.
DS Percy’s back now, walking towards me. She gets herself a coffee out of the machine and hurries over.
‘OK, let’s get this over with. By the way, your ex-husband is still insisting that you have his bag. And that you’re posting pictures online. It looks like we’re going to have to come and have an Official look.’
She looks apologetic and pissed off at the same time.
‘Like I said before, anytime.’
We go back into the interview room and Linda Jones joins us. I go through everything again with DS Percy, letting her take the lead. But all the time I’m wondering how you knew what I was doing, where this person was watching me from. I pause for a moment.
‘Did you want me to have a look at earlier? I mean, I might remember something …’
They look at each other.
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘I was a bit drunk but I might be able to …’
Linda is already running the footage backwards. It starts to play as I come into the Premier Inn, and we watch as I order a drink and fix my gaze on Peter. I’m mesmerised by seeing in-between me, cheap and common but surprisingly steady after almost a bottle of wine and a half-bottle of vodka. But I’m searching the background for the someone common who I even vaguely remember. Each table. The windows. The people at the bar.
I watch a little longer but there are only people doing the same as me: haunting Premier Inn bars for company. DS Percy looks on hopefully. Eventually I shake my head.
‘No. Nothing. I’m sorry.’
She sighs. I can see that she’s been pinning all her hopes on this. She pulls her chair right up to me.
‘Look, Caroline, I’ll be honest, we have nowhere to go with this. Is there anyone at all who has a grudge? Anyone who would do this? It’s obviously something to do with you, but I just can’t work out what.’
The elephant in the room is you, Jack. But you want me to say it. You want me to accuse you.
‘No. I just go to work and come home and occasionally—’
She holds up her hand again. She really doesn’t like what I’ve been up to.
‘We’ve been through the obvious. People involved in your divorce. We’ve given your ex a knock and he has a solid alibi for both times and dates.’ Of course you have. ‘So we’re out of options and that could be anyone.’
I look her in the eye.
‘Yes. It could be anyone. It’s someone very clever, for sure. I feel a little bit scared, actually. To think this has something to do with me … that someone’s watching me.’
She puts her hand on my arm.
‘Don’t worry. We’re going to get to the bottom of this. It might not even be about you. But you do seem to be the link. And it does seem to be the same person. There have been so many reports and so much taken that we have no choice but to investigate it. And now, with this new development. Look, I can’t offer you specific protection, not at this point, but here’s my direct number. If anything happens, just ring it.’
Linda runs the footage again and zooms in on the man’s face, covered by a pull-down hat. The black cargo pants and T-shirt make him look like a teenager but he could be older. Who is he? Did you send him? We carry on with the interview and when she’s finished I sign the document.
‘Do I get a copy?’
She smiles. ‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Only, I think I’m going to have to get a solicitor. All this and then all the stuff with Jack, it’s just too much for me.’
They both look sad. Then DS Percy speaks up.
‘You know, you could do something about your ex. All this accusing you of things, when it clearly isn’t you is, well, harassment.’
I stare at her. She’s completely bought it. She’s completely on my side now.
‘I’ll have to think about it. I don’t want any fuss. After everything that happened before, I have my job to think about. And the children ...’
I’ve gone too far. I’ve said it before I think about it and just the mention of Charlie and Laura brings all the emotion to the surface. I start to sob, big heavy sobs. My nose is running and I’m a slobbering mess in
seconds. DS Percy hurries out and comes back in with some tissues.
‘It’s OK. You have had rather a lot to deal with. Is there anyone we can get?’
I shake my head and pull myself together, blowing my nose loudly.
‘No. There is no one.’
DS Percy waits until I’ve properly dried my eyes.
‘So. Well, I know it’s not a good time, but we need to come round and check out your place once and for all.’ I almost laugh. I’ve always wanted to say, ‘Have you got a warrant?’ But it isn’t the time or the place. She continues. ‘So I’ll need to have a look through your computer and bring it here for analysis. We might get your ISP records, if it’s OK with you? And a search of the property …’
ISP. They’re going to contact my internet service provider. They’re practically building a case to prove my innocence. I wave mid-air to hide the delight I’m feeling at this development.
‘Of course. You can do it now, if you want. If you give me a lift home we can all go together.’
She smiles. This is brilliant. She gets her proof to present to you – how annoying is that, Jack? – and I get everything recorded. Perfect.
Chapter Thirteen
We’re in the car on the way to my house and DS Percy is in the front, the young PC who’s driving us is eyeballing me in the mirror. I’m not worried because they won’t find anything. The hole has a thick layer of soil above it and the fire pit was actually designed to be submerged. They’ll never find it.
I watch as the city turns to town and the town turns to leafy suburbs, a mixture of terraces and semi-detached like mine. I’m at the better end of town. After all, two generous post-graduate salaries could afford a lot of house round here.
I haven’t processed what you’ve done yet. It hasn’t sunk in properly. I haven’t had a chance to fully analyse it, and why you did it. It suddenly strikes me that you must have been sneaking around, watching me through someone else’s camera lens. For one horrible second I think you’ve seen the hole, seen me putting things into it and taking things out. Then I remember the fucking dog next door. I would have heard it. Also, the game would be up. You’d have told the police where I had hidden the journal and your bag and I’d be in court by now.
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