by M. A. Hunter
‘It’s just a stupid baby toy anyway. I don’t need it and I don’t need you!’
With that, she’d kicked the skateboard back to Emma and had crossed her arms, turned and climbed over the railing.
Emma had asked where she was going, and Anna had given her a snide look. ‘I’m going to Grandma’s house, so there!’
‘And which way did she go?’ her mum’s voice cut through the memory. Keeping her eyes closed, Emma thrust out her arm and pointed to the left, picturing Anna stomping off. At one point she’d glanced back, but hadn’t slowed her pace. Emma had watched until she disappeared, having passed the Jeffersons’ house further down the road, her attention then falling back on her skateboard.
‘She didn’t say anything else?’ her mum asked.
Emma shook her head.
‘Then where on earth is she? We really don’t need this. Not today!’
Emma remained where she was, watching as her mum pulled at her head, pacing the yard as if the answer would suddenly present itself. After three circuits of the small square space, inspiration struck, and she once again reached for Emma’s wrist before settling for the cagoule-covered hand. Emma had to hurry to keep up with her mum’s strides as they tore out of the yard and back onto the pavement in the same direction she’d seen Anna pursue. They followed the bend in the road, stopping only when they reached the alleyway that cut through to Grandma’s road.
The alleyway was lined by the tall fences of the two properties that bordered it, but both had large trees and bushes which hung over the fences and seemed to come together at the highest point of the path, creating a kind of leafy wooden arch and blocking out the light. Emma shivered as they stepped under the arch, the air suddenly much colder, as if they’d gone through a tunnel and entered a vast cave. Keeping her head bowed, Emma counted the steps as she took two for every one of her mum’s. A variety of weeds and grasses shot out from beneath the rotting fences, creating a green trim along the walkway, adding to the sense of foreboding.
At step one hundred and fifty-two, Emma knew they’d reached the midway point, where the alleyway seemed to be at its darkest. The overhead foliage was so thick that it blocked out the sky, meaning the only visible light was the hole directly ahead of them, and the one equidistant behind. Keeping her eyes on the ground, Emma continued to count until they reached the entrance to Bletchley Street, and two minutes later they were standing outside her grandma’s house.
‘Mum, it’s me,’ Bronwyn said, as she used her key to enter the old property. ‘Is Anna here?’
Emma’s grandma was in the sitting room at the back of the house, and promptly lowered her knitting as the two of them entered.
‘Still no sign?’ Emma’s grandma asked.
Bronwyn shook her head. ‘John’s out looking for her now. She definitely hasn’t been by today, has she?’
‘No, dear, it’s just been me and the wireless.’
Bronwyn studied her mum’s face. ‘And you’re sure, Mum? You know your memory isn’t what it once was. It isn’t possible that Anna stopped by, and you simply forgot about it?’
Emma saw her grandma’s cheeks flush. ‘Thank you, Bronwyn, but I’m not ready to be put out to pasture just yet. I think I’d remember if my granddaughter had stopped by. Besides, look on the windowsill. I always leave two pound coins out for when they come and visit me, and I already checked; both pound coins are still there. If she’d been by, at least one of the coins would be missing.’
Emma eyed the gold coins on the windowsill.
‘It’s okay, Emma, you go and collect them,’ her grandma encouraged, ‘but be sure to give one of them to your sister when she turns up.’
Emma glanced at her mum for confirmation, before hurrying to the windowsill and collecting the two coins, securing them in the Velcro pocket of her cagoule. ‘Thank you, Grandma,’ she said, climbing onto the old woman’s lap.
‘You’re very welcome, my darling.’
‘Mum, will you watch Emma for me for a few minutes while I help John look for Anna?’ Bronwyn asked.
‘Of course I will. Don’t worry, darling, she’ll turn up.’
Emma’s mum didn’t look so convinced, but kissed the top of Emma’s head before heading back out. For the first time, Emma wasn’t so certain this story would have a happy ending.
Chapter Five
Now
Market Harborough, Leicestershire
I blink at Oakley several times, before my mind tells me she’s going to need to repeat her last statement.
‘What did you say?’
Oakley nods at Yates to stop the recording. ‘You didn’t know then,’ Oakley says as if I need it explaining to me.
‘There must be some mistake,’ I challenge, as I feel a burning roar rising in my throat.
‘We checked and checked again. The samples taken from Kylie Shakespeare are a definite match to the IDENT1 database. From what I understand, strands of hair from a comb and saliva from your sister’s toothbrush were taken, analysed, and added to the database five years after her disappearance. The case was under review and because DNA testing was becoming more prevalent in the UK, it was decided that her DNA be added in the event…’
She doesn’t finish the sentence but I assume it was taken in case a comparison to a dead body was required.
Oakley crosses her hands on the desk. ‘I’m sorry for the manner in which you found out. We had to be certain that you didn’t know, and I can see from how pale your face has turned that this has come as quite a shock. Are you going to be okay?’
I’m not even ready to consider whether I’ll ever consider myself okay again. I don’t know how to feel. A large part of me still doesn’t believe what I’m being told. I have spent twenty-one years clinging to the hope that Anna is still alive out there somewhere, but to have it handed to me on a plate like this feels too convenient.
Jack’s voice is in my head again: just when we thought they were shutting us down… up pops the key to all our problems.
Oakley pushes her chair backwards, the feet scraping against the tiled floor in anger. ‘DS Yates, I think Miss Hunter would benefit from a cup of strong, sweet tea. Would you mind fetching her one, and not the drivel from the vending machine next door?’
Yates stands without question and excuses herself.
‘You’ll have to forgive my young sergeant,’ Oakley says, removing her glasses and folding the arms in, before placing them on the table in front of her. ‘She can come across as cold, but she has huge potential. A real go-getter, and one day I think it’ll be me referring to her as Ma’am.’ She smiles at me. ‘There’s no one better in my team when she has the bit between her teeth, even if you do have to scratch beneath the ice-cold veneer to find her charm.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘Do I need to get you a bucket to be sick into?’
I open my satchel and pull out a packet of tissues, removing one and dabbing the sides of my mouth. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Good. When Ky— Sorry, when Anna turned up at the police station and gave her name, all she would tell us is that she wanted to speak to you. It’s not the sort of demand I would usually consider, but my superintendent told me to get her confession by any means. Whilst Sir Anthony rose to fame in the Met Police, he was from these parts originally, and when he retired to the town, he played an active part in the local community. I think you’d be hard pressed to find anyone with a bad word to say against him. So you can imagine the pressure that comes with being charged with solving his murder. That’s why I asked Sarah to call you and get you up here by hook or by crook. It was about an hour later that we heard the DNA results and realised that the two of you were sisters. It was one of our DCs who mentioned your books and your search for Anna. We couldn’t take the risk that the two of you have been in contact, and that you were also involved in what happened this morning. I can’t say for certain that you’re not involved, but my instincts are rarely wrong when it comes to people.’
So that’s why Jack and I
had been made to wait in the reception area for Yates to come down: they thought I had conspired with my long-lost sister to murder Tomlinson. My heart races as I process the implications of such an accusation. Given the draft email to Maddie containing the conspiracy and potential links to Tomlinson, the plot outline of my next two books screams motive. It’s just as well I haven’t mentioned his possible connection to our investigation. That said, the way Oakley describes Tomlinson, it’s like we’re talking about different people. The man we know is potentially linked to a ring of traffickers and paedophiles; hardly Mr Community Spirit.
But then, maybe Jack and I are wrong about his involvement with the ring. All we have to positively tie him to the conspiracy is that photograph I was anonymously sent showing Arthur Turgood, the Reverend Peter Saltzing, and a much younger Anthony Tomlinson. Just because we know two of the three had nefarious dealings, doesn’t automatically mean the third did too. That said, why else would my long-lost sister kill him this morning?
I used to think my instincts were pretty accurate when it came to people, but now I’m not so sure. If you’d asked me five minutes ago, I’d have described DI Marina Oakley as an austere headmistress, but now I’d say she’s much more like an aunt who makes a big fuss of you when you visit for Christmas.
‘I-I don’t know what to say,’ I tell her, sipping from the paper cup of water. ‘This feels like a dream.’
She cranes her neck and looks at the printed image of the mugshot. ‘You’d never know the two of you were sisters,’ she says.
My eyes return to the image. When I first saw it, there was no recognition, but blessed with the insight I now have, there is something vaguely familiar about the deep-set eyes. A few years ago I spent a lot of money having a company create aged versions of Anna using a host of images I sent to them. I uploaded them to the site where I post information about her, but in all of the pictures, whether with natural brown locks or with highlights, she always had longer hair. I never thought to have a version of her with her head shaved. Picturing those artificially aged pictures, I can now see how this one might fit in with the selection. But then, maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see.
‘D-does she know?’ I ask, my eyes remaining on the image.
I see the shadow of Oakley’s head shaking on the desk. ‘We don’t believe so, but as I said, she hasn’t said anything other than that she wants to speak to you. We tried to conduct an interview with her, but all she’d offer was a “no comment”. She refused legal representation as well.’
In the years that have passed, I’ve never been able to determine the reason why Anna wouldn’t have tried to make contact with me or Mum if she ever managed to escape the clutches of the men who forced her to make that video we found on Turgood’s hard drive. Would she have repressed memories like Zara Edwards, and therefore not remembered us, or would it have been too painful to confront her former life, as Aurélie Lebrun found?
I guess there’s only one way I’m ever going to know.
‘Can I see her?’ I ask, but am not surprised when Oakley shakes her head again.
‘I’m sorry, but no. Whilst I’m ninety-nine per cent sure you had no involvement in what caused Anna to go to Tomlinson’s home this morning, she’s part of an active investigation, so I can’t allow you to speak to her.’
I’m not surprised, and I should probably be grateful she’s shared as much as she has so far.
‘I understand,’ I tell her. ‘Is she okay otherwise? Healthwise, I mean? Is there anything you can tell me?’
She stands and opens the door, peering out into the corridor, but with no sign of Yates returning any time soon, she closes it again, turning back to face me.
‘Go ahead and ask me anything you want. If I deem it to be operationally sensitive, then I will say as much, and you can move on to a different question. How does that sound?’
It’s an olive branch, and I imagine it will be quickly retracted when Yates does reappear so I need to take advantage but be succinct. I run my hands up my face and through my loose hair. I’m sure I tied it earlier, but there’s no sign of a hair tie now. I stand and begin to circle the small space between my chair and the wall; I always think better on my feet.
‘The bruising around her eye in the photograph,’ I say, ‘is the wound fresh today?’
She rests her bottom on the edge of the table and considers the question. ‘Given the latency of the swelling, we believe that was an existing injury, so not sustained today.’
‘The radio said that neighbours called the police when they heard gunshots, but are there any witnesses who saw Anna entering his home?’
She shakes her head. ‘I can’t provide any details of witnesses or information specifically relating to this morning’s operation.’
I figured she’d probably say something like that, but thought it was worth a punt.
‘Okay, sorry. Let’s focus on Anna herself. Can you tell me what kind of state she was in when she was arrested?’
Her lips tighten. ‘I can’t go into specifics, I’m afraid.’
‘She wasn’t injured in the incident though?’
‘No specific physical injuries were recorded by the on-call doctor.’
‘And her mental health?’
She squirms. ‘She was given a full examination when she was booked in, as per procedure. Anything she disclosed to the doctor, I can’t tell you about, but we have a duty of care to all in our custody, so that should give you comfort that she’s doing okay.’
Hardly surprising. I up my pace, trying to kick-start my journalist’s brain.
‘Clearly this has been a huge shock to me, finding out Anna is still alive after all this time… Is there any way of finding out where she’s been or why she adopted this Kylie persona?’
Oakley shrugs. ‘Maybe when she decides to talk to us about what’s happened today… but it’s too early to say.’
I stop still as a question leaps to the front of my mind. ‘You said when she was arrested she asked to speak to me.’
Oakley nods, and I’m sure I can see the faint trace of a smile forming.
‘Why?’ I say, leaving the question hanging.
‘That’s precisely what I want to know, Miss Hunter, and the reason we asked to meet with you this evening. Why you? If she knows that you’re her sister, why go through the pretence of giving a false identity? There’s no logic to it. She must have known we would check her fingerprints and DNA, so the false name just delays us identifying her by a few hours. I don’t see that she’d have anything to gain from that.’
She stands and moves behind the chair she was previously seated on, and presses her fingers into the back of it, leaning forwards. ‘But if she doesn’t know that you’re her sister – and there’s no way to know for sure – why would she ask to speak to you? What ties you to her being in Tomlinson’s house?’
I will the heat not to rise to my cheeks, certain her inner lie detector will pick up on any fluctuation. ‘I don’t know,’ I say.
She studies me for a long moment, before releasing the chair from her grip. ‘Nor me. And unfortunately I’ll now have to wait until the morning to find out, because it’s getting late and we are required to give arrestees beauty sleep when they’re in our care. For your awareness, I plan to request to extend her stay with us by a further twenty-four hours to give my team more time to find out what set Anna on this path.’
‘Are you planning to tell her about me being her sister?’
Oakley raises her eyebrows but doesn’t answer as Yates opens the door and brings in a mug of tea.
Chapter Six
Now
Market Harborough, Leicestershire
Entering the hotel room, I throw my overnight bag onto the mattress as Jack places the brown bags of fast food on the table next to the wall-mounted television. We both stare at the double bed for too long.
‘Listen,’ Jack says, clearing his throat, ‘I can see if there’s another hotel with a room nearby. You
need your space.’
I was physically and emotionally drained when I stepped out of the police station, and as soon as Jack got out of the car and came to greet me, I crumpled into his arms. He didn’t pepper me with questions, just held me firmly and allowed the tears to flow. I couldn’t speak, but he was okay with that, and eventually ushered me back into the car, telling me he’d managed to find us a room for the night, but it hadn’t been easy due to a concert being held nearby. I was just grateful he’d even looked. I’d nodded when he suggested we collect a burger and fries on the way here, and it was only the awkward moment at the check-in counter – when we were told the room was a double – that has distracted me from my thoughts.
‘It’ll be fine,’ I tell him, trying to visualise whether there will actually be enough room for the two of us to lie still without touching.
‘Are you sure? Worst-case scenario, I can always sleep in the car.’
I cock my eyebrow at him. ‘Not with those injuries. If either of us should give up the bed, it’s me.’
He waves away the suggestion. ‘Not on your life, Emma Hunter! I won’t have it. It may be old-fashioned, and I’m comfortable admitting that my viewpoint is out of touch with the new world, but I won’t have you suffering for my sake. I can kip on the floor.’
I wish he wouldn’t be so stubborn. ‘Fine,’ I huff, lacking the will to argue over something so pointless. ‘We’ll just have to share the bed. We’re both adults. I’m sure we can figure out a way to share a bed without anything untoward happening.’
I feel like such a grown-up, and that’s not a feeling I experience often enough, despite my age.
‘You’re right, of course,’ Jack agrees. ‘You’re an adult, and I’m an adult, and we’re friends, so there’s nothing wrong with us sharing a bed. It doesn’t mean anything.’