by M. A. Hunter
I’m incredulous. ‘An anonymous phone call? That’s what has you ready to judge and sentence my sister? Have you even traced who made that call?’
Jack must sense how frustrated I’m growing because he attempts to put his arm around my shoulders to calm me.
‘No, Jack,’ I say, shrugging off his arm. ‘You know as well as I do how hard they’ve worked to shut us down. And just as we’re getting closer to the truth, they produce my missing sister from out of the woodwork and set her up as some crazed avenger.’
Oakley stands and hands me a business card. ‘There’s a lot of pressure coming from above to recover Daisy as quickly as possible. If you want to help your sister, Miss Hunter, I’d suggest you find her and have her hand herself in. Otherwise, I don’t see how this ends any way but with more pain for all concerned. This is my number. You can reach me any time, day or night.’
She moves out of the living room and I show her to the door.
‘There’s just one more thing, Miss Hunter,’ she says, stepping out and onto the doormat. ‘When Anna was arrested at Mr Tomlinson’s house two days ago, she was carrying a copy of one of your books. You asked me whether she knew the two of you were related, to which I don’t have an answer. But one thing’s for sure: she knows who you are. If she gets in touch, please let me know.’
Chapter Sixteen
Then
Weymouth, Dorset
Emma watched her mum in awe as she moved from person to person, forcing them to take one of the homemade leaflets bearing Anna’s angelic face and their home telephone number. How anyone could withstand so many rejections and uninterested acknowledgements was beyond her. And yet it didn’t seem to matter how many shoppers politely declined her advances, assuming she was trying to sell them something, still she pursued. It was as if somebody had told her that the only way she would find Anna was to make sure that she’d spoken to every visitor to Weymouth.
Emma was standing alongside the wooden board her dad had hammered together. It too bore a picture of Anna’s face, her school photograph from last year, along with the words: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL? Emma also had a handful of the leaflets that her mum had designed on their home computer and subsequently printed off. Each leaflet was A5 in size. Polly had lent Bronwyn a paper guillotine so she could save paper by printing two to one page. That only encouraged Emma’s mum to print double the quantity needed. They’d already walked the lengths of all the roads within a five-minute radius of home, fastening the leaflets to every available lamppost and telegraph pole with Sellotape. They’d then had to retrace their steps and replace every one after it had rained and the ink had run. The new laminated versions wouldn’t weather so easily.
Whilst Bronwyn had been sad and distraught the first few days after Anna’s disappearance, she’d been resolute ever since, going out every day to pester anyone who was willing to listen. Because it was now Saturday, and her dad was working at the prison, Emma had been dragged along, which is why she was now standing in the middle of the street, one hand firmly gripping the wooden board with the A3 print-out of her sister’s face. It had barely stopped raining all morning, and so most of the shoppers her mum approached quickly hurried on past. Most accepted the leaflet, but Emma had witnessed more than one of them then depositing it in the waste bin fifteen metres along the road when they thought nobody was looking. Emma didn’t like to think how many copies of the leaflet were now in bins across the town.
‘If anyone has any information, you be sure to send them over to me,’ her mum had said shortly after they’d arrived in the town centre, and set up base on St Thomas Street, the main pedestrianised strip. ‘I have a good feeling about today,’ she’d added with a deep breath.
Emma had hoped she was right, but as the day dragged on, it didn’t seem like her mum’s optimism had been well placed. Emma thought about the other children in her class, and what they were probably doing at this very moment. Most probably would have slept in, and would be gorging on cartoons and books. Emma would love to have been home reading about Lucy, Edmund, Susan, and Peter’s adventures in Narnia, but instead she was trapped in the fine rain, beside the public bench. She would have sat down but the seat was all wet.
She’d asked why she couldn’t have gone to her grandma’s house while her mum came into Weymouth town centre, but her mum had refused, saying Grandma was in no condition to watch her all day. She’d asked whether she could stay with Polly instead, but Polly had said she was going home to get fresh clothes and see her daughter for the day, so that hadn’t been an option either.
Emma gripped the edge of her hood and gave it a shake to clear the latest puddle of rainwater before brushing the side panels. It wasn’t fair that she had to be standing out here, where she could easily catch a cold. She’d complained about the conditions about an hour after they’d arrived, but hadn’t been prepared for the snappy rebuke her mum had delivered.
‘Don’t you want to find your sister?’
Emma hadn’t been able to answer. Of course she wanted Anna to be found and brought home, but if most of the people who accepted a leaflet weren’t even bothering to read them, what was the point in them being out here? Was it all just for show? Emma could still hear the words of the Year 6 girls in the library: The police will probably find her body buried in their garden.
Was all of this – the tears, the arguments, the public appeals – was it all just to push the spotlight away from the possibility that Anna could already be dead? Emma hated to think such thoughts, but her mum would never discuss it with her. That night after the first day back at school, she’d tried to talk to her mum about what the other girls had said, but she’d instantly dismissed the possibility that Anna was anything but fit and healthy.
Emma had thought about asking Polly about what the girls had said, but she didn’t want to get her mum and dad into trouble, so when Polly had asked how school had been, Emma had said everything had been fine. She’d dreaded going in every day since, and had made a point of keeping her head down in class, and her breaktimes hidden away in the library. Mrs Murray had been right; by Friday the stares of the other children had stopped, and Emma was no longer the hot topic of discussion.
Emma’s stomach grumbled, and she clutched her hands to it. All this fresh air and drizzle had built up an appetite, and although Polly had made her a bowl of porridge for breakfast, she was desperately craving a pasty from the bakery a stone’s throw away. She watched as person after person emerged from the shop, the paper bags rustling in their hands as they opened and devoured their purchases. Steam erupted from their mouths as they tucked in and carried on with their lives without another care in the world. What she would give to swap places with them for only a minute.
Looking up the road, Emma saw her mum was now engaged with a blond-haired man grasping an umbrella. He was holding the A5 piece of paper, studying it closely, and listening intently as Emma’s mum spoke with him at length. Was that a positive sign? He hadn’t simply walked on by like so many of the others, and he was now speaking to her as well, though Emma was too far away to hear what they were talking about.
Emma imagined how good it would feel if her mum came trundling over to say that the blond-haired man had spotted Anna hiding out somewhere and could now lead them to her. Wouldn’t that be the best news they could receive today? It would mean Polly and her colleagues could leave them in peace, and she’d be able to prove to the world that her parents had nothing to do with Anna’s sudden disappearance. It would certainly shut up those girls from Year 6.
‘What’s all this about then?’ a gravelly voice said, startling Emma.
She looked to her left and quietly gasped as her eyes fell on the owner of the voice. He was wearing a green and brown camouflage jacket, like she’d seen soldiers wearing on the television. But that was where the resemblance to military personnel ended. His grey hair was long and straggly, resembling a mop head that had been chewed and spat out by moths. His long and pointy nose reminded her
of how she’d first pictured Mr Tumnus when she’d read about Narnia.
There was a disgusting smell starting to claw its way around the two of them, and although she didn’t like to think it, she was pretty sure the smell was coming from him. It reminded her of the smell that cloaked the walls of the public toilets down by the beach. Whenever her mum had taken her in there before, Emma had always insisted on pinching her nose, and she desperately wanted to pinch it now.
‘What’s that you’re holding?’ the man spoke again, sniffing and wiping the end of his nose with the back of his hand.
Emma didn’t move, glancing back to where her mum was still talking to the man with the umbrella. She could shout out but didn’t want to interrupt the prospect that the man was telling her where Anna could be found, but more so because the fear wouldn’t allow any sound to escape her throat.
‘You don’t need to be so scared,’ the man said to Emma, ‘I won’t bite. Who’s the girl in the picture? Your sister? Your friend?’
Emma’s eyes slowly returned to the man. ‘M-my sister.’
She noticed now that he had a rolled-up sleeping bag beneath one arm and a four-wheeled shopping trolley, not dissimilar to the type she’d seen her grandma use on occasion. The T-shirt beneath the camouflage jacket was torn and faded, and the longer he stood so close, the more she could smell the stale pong of tar and tobacco.
‘And what’s she done then? Run away?’
Emma nodded as it was easier than trying to explain.
‘Let’s have a look at her then,’ he said, thrusting out his hand for a leaflet.
Emma reluctantly handed him one, taking a slight step closer to the wooden board, so at the very least she could kick it to make noise if he lunged at her.
The man pushed the leaflet up so it was barely an inch from his face. ‘That’s better. I can see her now. Pretty young thing, isn’t she?’ He lowered the image once again, and fixed Emma with a look. ‘My eyes ain’t what they once was, you see?’
Emma remained where she was, willing her mum to hear the silent call she was making.
‘What’s your sister’s name then?’
‘A-Anna,’ she stammered.
‘And you? What’s your name?’
‘Emma,’ she said, finding confidence she hadn’t expected.
‘I bet you’d love to find your sister, wouldn’t you, Emma? What if I told you I think I’ve seen her? Here in Weymouth. Not far from here as it goes.’
Emma’s hands stopped trembling. Was it possible that her mum had been right and today would be the day they’d find her?
‘W-where?’
‘As I said, not far from here. I could take you to her now if you like? We could be there in a few minutes if we go now?’
Emma looked back to her right, but her mum still had her back to her, now handing the blond man a handful of the leaflets. Maybe he wasn’t giving her good news after all, but had agreed to help hand out leaflets.
She thought about her mum’s words when they’d arrived: if anyone has any information, you be sure to send them over to me.
‘Can you take my mum to Anna?’ Emma asked, turning back to the man with the shopping cart and sleeping bag.
‘We haven’t got the time,’ he replied, cautiously looking up the road. ‘Come with me now and we could be back here with Anna before your mum even realises you’ve gone. Imagine how pleased she’d be to see that you’d found Anna all on your own.’
She could almost picture her mum’s look of joy and surprise, but instinctively she knew better than to go anywhere with this perfect stranger.
‘But if we could just tell Mum where Anna is, I’m sure she’d be just as happy,’ she said, raising a hand and waving frantically in her mum’s direction.
The man began to move away.
‘No, please wait. If I can just get her attention, I know she’ll come. Please, mister, don’t go.’
But he was no longer listening, screwing up the flyer and dropping it to the floor, as he pulled the shopping cart behind him.
‘I need some more of your flyers,’ her mum said, suddenly by Emma’s side. ‘The nice man I just spoke to is the vicar at St Mary’s Church and he’s agreed to speak about Anna at tomorrow’s services. He’s going to leave some leaflets at the back of his church too. See, I told you today was going to be a good day!’
Chapter Seventeen
Now
Weymouth, Dorset
Jack is already on his feet when I return to the living room.
‘She wouldn’t do this,’ I say to him, pushing the hair out of my face with my hands.
‘I know, I know,’ he agrees, but I sense it’s more to placate me than because he believes it.
He comes over to try and offer a hug, but that isn’t what I need right now and I bat away his efforts. Why isn’t he as angry as I am? Can’t he see what’s going on here?
‘It’s the ring,’ I say pointedly. ‘It has to be. They’re terrified we’re getting close, and because they can’t see and hear what we’re up to since removing that hacking software they installed on our phones, they’re trying to discredit us. Running you off the road was to try and scare us, and now they’re upping their efforts. If I write what I know, who’s going to believe the sister of a convicted murderer and child abductor?’
Jack is nodding, but his frown is telling quite a different story.
‘You don’t agree, Jack?’ I ask, tilting my head.
He takes an unsteady step backwards. ‘No, it’s not that, it’s just… I don’t know.’
But I’m not going to let him get out of this hole so easily.
‘It’s just what, Jack?’
He closes his eyes and tilts his head upwards. ‘It’s just… Do you realise how paranoid you sound right now? I don’t doubt that the ring are beavering away to cover their tracks, but…’ He stops himself to spare my feelings.
‘I’m a big girl, Jack. If you have something to say, just spit it out.’
He sighs, bringing his gaze back to meet mine. ‘Playing devil’s advocate for a minute, what if you’re wrong about Anna? Putting the ring to one side for a minute, what if Anna really did murder Tomlinson, and has now gone after Beauchamp’s great-niece? What if these two actions aren’t as a direct result of the ring?’
I’m about to snap my response, but the question replays in my head, louder this time. I clamp my eyes shut as the voice grows unbearably louder.
‘What would her motive be?’ I say for my benefit as much as Jack’s.
‘I don’t know. Remember when you spoke to Aurélie, and she said how the group forced her to participate in the abduction of others? What if this is something like that?’
My eyes fly open in shock. ‘You think she’s still working for the ring?’
He shrugs pathetically, but I can see from his face that I’ve hit the nail on the head.
‘So she killed Tomlinson because they wanted him dead?’ I clarify.
‘Maybe, who knows? All I’m saying is – and the last thing I want to do is upset you – but we have to keep an open mind. The woman you almost met at the police station yesterday is not the Anna you remember. She’s twenty-one years older and has been through God knows what kind of tests since. If I were you, I’d stop thinking about her as your sister, and think of her as Kylie Shakespeare instead.’
My brow furrows further. It may be easy for him to compartmentalise his life, but finding Anna has been the driving force in my life for as long as I can remember, and I’m not going to give up on her just because it isn’t the heart-melting reunion I dreamed of.
‘Tell me about Beauchamp,’ I say, changing tack. ‘You said his name had come up, but had been dismissed. Why?’
Jack runs a hand over his patchy beard. ‘Um, it was near the beginning, to be honest, so you’ll have to bear with me while I try and remember. I think it was when we were first going through the filing cabinets from Pendark. We found initials on some of the lists of crew who had been present
at filming locations, suggesting some kind of effort to protect real identities, but couldn’t be certain. I think we managed to identify one film report that we were pretty sure was something… less than legal, and in some other notes we found references to senior figures. Not names specifically, but things like “Lord such and such”, or “MP”… I wasn’t heavily involved in chasing that down as it felt like a dead end.
‘One of the team was charged with comparing initials with lists of MPs and peers from the time. I think Beauchamp’s name came up as matching initials, and he’d been involved in some kind of marital scandal, which I don’t have the details on, but I think when checked he was abroad at the time of filming, so his name was removed from the inquiry. To be honest, if I could log on to the NCA portal, I could search. Can I borrow your laptop?’
I nod and point to the desk in the corner. ‘Help yourself.’
He rubs my arm before taking his leave. ‘If anyone can figure out what’s going on here, it’s us, right? Your sister couldn’t have asked for a better team behind her.’
Something tells me she’s going to need a lot more help than I can provide on my own. Jack kneels down beside the desk, leaving the chair vacant for me, but I remain standing where I am. I don’t want to rest until I find Anna and help bring her home. He stops when his phone starts ringing, and looks at the screen, placing it to his ear.
‘Hello? Oh, hi… No it’s fine, I’m with her now… Her phone was stolen… No, hold on, you’d better speak to her.’ He lowers the phone and looks at me. ‘It’s Rachel. She says she’s been trying to phone you all morning, and was worried that something had happened to you.’
I go across and take the phone. ‘Hi, Rach, everything okay?’
‘All good here, but what’s this about your phone getting stolen?’