Exposed

by M. A. Hunter

  I drop onto the mattress and my shoulders slump.

  ‘And it’s not like this is the first time we’ve shared a hotel room. Do you remember when we were searching for Cassie Hilliard and we had to share that cramped room in Torquay? At least this place is bigger.’ Jack opens one of the brown bags, examines the contents, and passes it to me. ‘Those are your chicken nuggets and fries.’

  I pull out a fry and shovel it into my mouth. I don’t have an appetite, but the smell of the fried food wafting up from the bag has the juices flowing in my mouth, and I eagerly reach for another.

  ‘Look, the room even has a mini bar,’ Jack says, nudging the glass-fronted refrigerator with his toe. ‘The rooms I usually stay in only have a kettle at best. I’d have a beer, but not at those prices.’

  He sits on the far corner of the bed, and tucks into his burger. He still hasn’t asked me what caused the emotional outburst outside the police station, but I sense he wants to know. Conversation has been stilted since he put me in the car, and that’s unnatural for him.

  ‘Anna is alive,’ I blurt out, and it’s all he can do to keep the mouthful of burger from flying out. ‘That’s who they have in custody. Kylie Shakespeare is, in fact, Anna Hunter. They have DNA results to prove it.’

  He chews quickly and swallows. ‘Jesus! I-I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I was pretty speechless too,’ I admit.

  ‘Did you speak to her? Where’s she been?’

  I reach for another fry and shrug. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. When Yates took me through to the interview suite, she introduced me to her DI, who said they couldn’t let me speak to her in case I’m somehow part of a conspiracy to kill Tomlinson.’

  He scoffs. ‘They really said that? What a joke! How could you be part of something with someone you didn’t even know was alive?’

  I roll my eyes and explain that they interviewed me under caution and the nature of the questions they were asking.

  ‘That is out of order,’ he says when I’m finished. ‘You should have phoned me; I’d have put them straight about you.’

  I appreciate his support, but I’m not sure they would have listened to him even if I had asked.

  ‘You must be delighted though; ever since I met you, you’ve always had that certainty that she was alive and out there somewhere, and you were right. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.’

  ‘I don’t know how I feel about any of it. Yes, she’s alive, but when they showed me her mugshot I didn’t even recognise her. I’ve always been adamant that if I passed her in the street I’d know, but her face now lacks the softness I remember. How could the girl in my memory, whose face I’ve stared at in photographs for as long as I can remember, have become the number one suspect in a murder inquiry?’

  I keep replaying that Sunday afternoon over and over in my mind. I’ve wasted so much time playing the ‘what if’ game for years and years, hypothesising how differently our lives would have played out had I just listened when she’d tried to tell me how to ride the skateboard properly. How could one such insignificant decision when I was a child have caused so much damage? If only I’d given in to her ultimatum, she wouldn’t have stomped off. If only I’d run in straightaway and told my parents that she’d gone to see Grandma.

  If only I’d started searching for her sooner. It was only when I was in my twenties and at university that I stared doing anything to try and find her. Why did I leave it so long? Why did I kick up a stink every time Mum wanted us to go into Weymouth town centre and hand out pictures of Anna, asking if anyone had seen her? I should have been championing Mum’s effort, but instead I bemoaned the fact that I was less lucky than the other children in my class. I should have realised how lucky Anna and I were to have a mum who spent every waking hour trying to get her little girl back.

  ‘Did Yates say whether they would let you speak to her tomorrow?’

  I shrug. ‘I guess that will depend on whether Anna continues to insist on speaking to me before she’ll speak to them.’

  ‘It probably also depends on how much evidence they have against her too,’ Jack ponders, shovelling a fry into his mouth.

  I stare blankly back at him.

  ‘All I mean is, just because she refuses to answer their interview questions, if the evidence against her is strong enough, they’ll still be able to make their case to the CPS to press charges. Did she say what they’re holding her on?’

  I shake my head. ‘DI Oakley wouldn’t share anything operational with me.’

  Jack frowns. ‘If you’re lucky, then all they have is her in his house, which on its own wouldn’t be enough.’ He pauses, and looks down at his food. ‘But if they have her prints on the murder weapon, and traces of GSR on her clothes or person, then…’

  He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Pushing myself off the bed, I head over to the table and drop down to the small refrigerator, opening the door and selecting one of the three small bottles of wine inside. I also pass Jack a bottle of lager. Unscrewing the cap on the wine, I press the bottle to my lips and take a long slug, welcoming the cool, spiky liquid as it flows down my throat. I grimace at the bitterness, but take a second gulp.

  Jack is watching me, still holding his bottle. ‘Are you all right?’

  I nod and take the bottle from him, twisting off the cap and handing it back. ‘I want to drink to forget tonight, and I can’t do it alone. I’ll settle the bill in the morning. Cheers.’ I hold out the bottom of my bottle and he clinks his against it and takes a sip of his drink.

  The voice in the back of my head is relentless with questions and I need to shut it up if I’m ever going to get any sleep. I finish the nuggets and fries and have moved on to the second small bottle when Jack lies back on the mattress.

  ‘Well, I think it’s good news that you and Anna have found each other after all this time. Granted, it’s not necessarily the circumstances any of us would have wanted, but ever since we met, you’ve had this drive to find her, and regardless of how it’s happened, you’ve succeeded. I still remember when you first told me about your sister. It was right after Leroy Denton told us about Cassie Hilliard still being alive. I was sceptical to say the least, but not you. You told me there was nothing I could say to make you stop believing Cassie and Anna were still out there. I thought you were just overly optimistic, but once again you’ve proved me wrong.’

  I know he’s just trying to offer me the reassurance he thinks I’m craving, but there’s more to it than that. I’m not looking for someone to tell me that everything will be okay. I’m too much of a realist to believe in happy endings. God knows I’ve seen enough stories end in tears.

  Freddie Mitchell’s face momentarily flashes before my eyes. I need to get hold of him somehow. Our friendship might have become strained in recent months, but he was the only one who never doubted the possibility that I’d find Anna one day. He’ll probably see it as another win against the ring, but is it that? Are there any traces of my sister left in the woman with a shaved head and swollen eye currently locked up in a police cell?

  She clearly managed to get away from the men who forced her to make that video when she was thirteen, but how long has she been free? Why hasn’t she come looking for me before now? If she isn’t aware that we’re sisters, why did she ask for me upon her arrest?

  I finish the second bottle of wine, and practically fall off the bed as I attempt to stand. I’m not a big drinker, and despite the meal, the alcohol has gone straight to my head. Yet, even with the light-headedness, the voice in the back of my head is as loud as ever. Choosing to stay on my hands and knees, I crawl to the mini bar and open the door, reaching for the final small bottle.

  ‘You want another beer?’ I call out to Jack, but he doesn’t respond.

  Eventually, I turn to look and see the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and hear the rumble of his snoring.

  ‘Lightweight,’ I whisper mockingly, opening the new bottle and taking a long sip, slumping back agai
nst the side of the bed.

  Freddie isn’t the only person I’m going to have to break this news to. There’s one other person who never gave up hope of being reunited with Anna, but how is Mum going to react when I tell her Anna is back but in prison for murder? With her health worsening, it could be the final nail in her coffin.

  Chapter Seven

  Then

  Portland, Dorset

  The house reminded Emma of gatherings her parents had hosted on New Year’s Eve. Pockets of people talking loudly; one conversation drowning out another, which drowned out another. It was impossible to discern any specific topics of conversation, though the subject matter was obvious: the missing girl. She hadn’t returned home last night, and so her parents had reported her disappearance to the police. On account of her vulnerability, they’d dispatched two uniformed officers to the property instantly. They’d arrived just before seven last night and had asked about what Anna was wearing, whether she’d ever run away from home before, and whether she had any friends she might have been staying with.

  They’d taken the information they’d discovered, and reported the disappearance to their colleagues who had spent the night searching the streets for her, but to no avail. Then, before seven this morning, two new uniformed officers had arrived, swiftly followed by three people – two men and a woman – in the sorts of suits Emma’s dad wore to funerals and weddings. And the throng of arrivals had continued throughout the morning. The latest group – dressed in what resembled spacesuits – had been upstairs going through Anna’s things and occasionally carrying large brown envelopes down the stairs and out to their large van parked on the road outside the house.

  Emma’s mum had said Emma didn’t have to go to school today, and so she’d been sitting on the sofa, hunched over a colouring book for most of the morning, while the grown-ups had splintered into their groups for their lengthy and noisy discussions. Emma’s mum was beside her on the sofa, talking to one of the men in a shirt and tie. He had a black moustache, which resembled a caterpillar crawling above his lip, and he wore the most serious expression. Emma would catch him looking at her every now and then, and as soon as their eyes would meet, he’d offer that sad look her mum usually reserved for when she hadn’t come first in one of the races at Sports Day.

  ‘We found some suitcases upstairs,’ the caterpillar-wearing man says now. ‘Were you and Mr Hunter planning a trip away?’

  They hadn’t mentioned anything about a holiday that Emma could recall, though she briefly recalled the exchange between the two of them yesterday afternoon when they realised Anna wasn’t home.

  So, we’re agreed, we go tonight and we don’t look back?

  ‘No, no trip planned,’ her mum replied now. ‘They’re just out from when we were away for half-term a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been telling John to put them away in the loft.’

  Emma frowned at this statement, and wanted to ask her mum why she was lying to the kind policeman, but thought better of it. She’d been told off for interrupting grown-up conversation before, so remained quiet, and reached for the next felt-tip pen.

  Emma spotted her dad standing in the doorway to the kitchen, talking to another man in a suit. The police had insisted on speaking to her parents separately, though Emma hadn’t understood the reason why. She couldn’t understand why all these people were gathered in her house asking questions, when they should be out on the street calling Anna’s name. If she’d got lost while walking to Grandma’s house, she could be anywhere out there now, trying to find her way home. If they shouted her name loudly enough, she might just hear it and find her way back. It had rained heavily last night, and Emma had eventually drifted off to sleep hoping Anna had found somewhere to shelter from the rain.

  ‘And how was Anna when you last saw her?’ the policeman asked her mum next. ‘Was there any indication that she wasn’t happy?’

  Emma listened intently, waiting for her mum to tell the man about the silly argument over the skateboard, but there was no mention of it.

  ‘She was like any normal, happy girl. She wouldn’t run away; I keep telling you all. Someone has to have taken her.’

  Emma’s pen drifted outside of the black line, and she screwed up her mouth, angry that the picture of the vase and flowers would now carry this mistake. What did her mum mean that someone had taken Anna? Who? Why would someone take her? Did they mistake her for their own daughter, like when Emma accidentally brought home Suzie Fenster’s duffle coat that day after the school trip to Monkey World? In Emma’s defence, it wasn’t her fault that Suzie Fenster had happened to buy the same coat from C&A, nor that the label had fallen out. It was only when the coat wouldn’t fasten up that Emma’s mum realised the mistake. But how could someone have mistaken Anna for their own daughter? It didn’t make sense.

  ‘What are you colouring?’ A woman’s question caught Emma’s attention.

  Looking up from the page, she saw the woman in the jacket and trousers crouching beside the coffee table. It was a silly question to ask, as the picture was quite obviously flowers in a vase. Emma glanced at her mum to check whether she was allowed to speak to the strange woman, but her mum didn’t seemed to have noticed.

  ‘It’s very pretty,’ the woman continued, craning her neck for a better view, and smiling warmly. ‘Do you like drawing and colouring?’

  Emma nodded. In truth, she preferred reading and writing, but with so many people swarming downstairs, she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on either.

  ‘My little girl loves colouring in too,’ the woman continued, her accent reminding Emma of the Scottish lady who reported the weather on the television. ‘She’s four, so she’s not good at keeping within the lines like you are.’

  Emma’s vision darted to the smudge where her pen had strayed, and hoped the woman didn’t notice it.

  ‘I’m Polly, by the way,’ the woman said. ‘And you’re Emma, aren’t you?’

  Emma nodded again.

  ‘All this must be a bit weird for you, right? Having all these strange people in your house, I mean.’

  Emma nodded for a third time, putting the lid on her pen and reaching for the next one in the packet.

  ‘So this is one of those colour by numbers pictures, right? Where you colour shapes based on the number printed inside the shape.’

  Emma’s grandma had bought her the colouring book for her birthday last year, but this was only the second time she’d had it out to colour in.

  ‘I bet it really helps with maths at school, knowing what all the numbers look like. What’s your favourite subject at school, Emma? Art? Maths? PE?’

  ‘English,’ Emma muttered, glancing at her mum again, half expecting to be told she shouldn’t speak to strangers. But then, the woman worked for the police and had been allowed into the house, so surely that meant it was okay for Emma to talk to her?

  ‘English? That was one of my favourites too. I loved reading books as a kid. I was always dragging my mam to the library to get new books out. I bet you’re the same, aren’t you?’

  Emma loved going to the library in Weymouth, but she’d managed to read most of what they had there, and these days they often had to look books up on the computer and have the library order them in from other local libraries. Nothing thrilled her more than when Mum received a phone call advising a book was available for collection.

  ‘When I grow up, I’m going to be a writer,’ Emma said proudly.

  The woman looked impressed, and nodded encouragingly. ‘What a fantastic job that would be! I must admit I envy anyone with the imagination and ability to create stories like that. I could never do it, which is why I joined the police instead. I love puzzles and mysteries, me.’

  Emma enjoyed helping her grandma complete jigsaw puzzles when mum and dad would drop her there for a few hours. They’d even managed to finish a five-hundred piece puzzle while Mum and Dad had been out looking for Anna last night.

  ‘My job is a bit like completing a jigsaw puzzle.
Whenever something bad happens, it’s my job to find the pieces – the clues – and work out how they all fit together. Do you understand, Emma?’

  Emma nodded. She’d caught glimpses of her parents watching Inspector Morse on the television, so she understood how the police solved crimes like murder.

  ‘And so, I’m here to try and understand what happened yesterday, and find out where your sister Anna is. I understand that you were the last person to see Anna yesterday, is that right?’

  Emma poked out her tongue as she concentrated on keeping within the thick black lines.

  ‘I know you’ve already spoken to your parents about what happened, but do you think you could tell me too?’

  Emma returned the lid to the pen, but held onto it. ‘She told me she was going to walk to our grandma’s house.’

  The woman produced a small notepad and pen. ‘Can you tell me what was happening before that? Where were you both and what were you doing? Think about it like writing a story. Do you know what I mean? We know that you and Anna are the main characters in the scene, but you need to give the audience a setting and a conflict that they’re dealing with.’

  Emma frowned. ‘We were playing with my new skateboard, and Anna was telling me that I wasn’t doing it right, and kept trying to pull me off it, so she could show me how to do it right.’

  ‘And how did you react to that?’

  ‘It isn’t her skateboard, and I told her that.’

  ‘Does Anna tell you what to do a lot? Is she a bit bossy?’

  Emma wouldn’t have described her sister as bossy, but it seemed to be what the policewoman wanted to hear, so she nodded along.

  ‘So what happened when you told her you didn’t want her help?’

  ‘She wasn’t happy, and that’s when she climbed over the railing and said she was walking to Grandma’s house. I’m not allowed to walk there by myself because I’m only seven, but Anna is nine, so she’s allowed.’

  ‘Has Anna walked to your grandma’s house on her own before then?’