Exposed

by M. A. Hunter

  I can’t tell what she’s looking for, but she crosses the room quickly, looking behind the frame of a large landscape portrait before lifting the frame down from the wall.

  ‘Bingo!’ she says triumphantly.

  As she moves the lighter over the wall, I see there is a metal safe door, no bigger than forty centimetres wide, by twenty tall. A numerical pad and thumbprint sensor reflect the flame’s glow.

  ‘Just because he has a safe, doesn’t prove anything,’ I challenge, but she isn’t listening. She’s studying the number pad.

  ‘There are ten thousand possible combinations, assuming the passcode is four digits,’ she observes, focusing on the pad. ‘But there is grease on the numbers four, three, two, and eight, which certainly improves the odds for us.’

  I’m about to argue that there are still fifteen possible combinations, assuming she’s right that the PIN is only four digits long, but she’s already started typing in guesses. I head into the room to try and stop her, which isn’t the only mistake I’ve made all day, but potentially the most costly. Because that’s the moment an ear-splitting alarm sounds overhead, and metal shutters drop inside the door and windows, trapping us like sardines in a can.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Then

  Portland, Dorset

  Emma kept her eyes on the television as she heard her mum open the front door and immediately huff.

  ‘Mrs Hunter?’ the young woman’s voice enquired, staring in through the door.

  ‘Yes?’ she replied, as if she had no idea who the woman was, nor why she had darkened the doorstep.

  ‘Oh good,’ came the reply. ‘I wasn’t sure if I had found the right house as there’s no number on the door.’

  Emma had lost count of the number of delivery men and women who’d made similar comments when they’d come searching for the address.

  ‘Well, that one beside us is number thirty-seven,’ her mum began, as she always did, ‘and the one the other side is number thirty-nine, so obviously we’re number thirty-eight. You do count, don’t you?’

  Emma could only assume her mum didn’t realise just how rude this response was. Either that or she simply didn’t care.

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ the young woman replied, sounding flustered. ‘That’s what I assumed, and why I knocked. You were expecting me, weren’t you? I know I’m a couple of minutes early, but I figured it was better to be prompt than late.’

  Ordinarily, good timekeeping would have won the poor woman a brownie point, but Bronwyn wasn’t in a generous mood.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Bronwyn replied, stepping to one side, allowing the young woman to enter so she could get a better look at her under the light beside the front door.

  Putting on her glasses, Bronwyn took in the woman’s appearance. Long blonde hair, hanging loose, but at least recently cleaned; clear skin and no obvious makeup; the thick coat she was wearing bore a sheepskin lining, which was practical for the cold temperature but unlikely to resist rain.

  ‘How old are you exactly?’ Bronwyn asked.

  ‘Nineteen,’ she replied evenly. ‘I’m just back from university over the summer and looking to earn some money for books.’

  ‘And what are you studying at university?’

  ‘Child psychology, but I’m planning to convert to a PGCE when I graduate.’

  Bronwyn wasn’t impressed by her credentials, and Emma could tell she was looking for reasons to dismiss the girl and change her mind about going out for the evening. The last thing Emma needed was for her to change her mind about going out, and she quickly sprang from the sofa, introducing herself to the potential babysitter.

  ‘I’m Emma.’

  ‘Hi, Emma,’ she responded warmly. ‘I’m Paula. It’s nice to meet you.’

  ‘I like your hair,’ Emma commented.

  Paula instantly ran her hand down the locks. ‘Thank you. Yours is nice too.’

  Bronwyn’s shoulders relaxed slightly with the exchange, but that didn’t stop her biting the tip of her finger as she once again considered whether she could justify leaving Emma here so that she could attend the appointment she’d been forced to rearrange after John had been admitted to hospital on Saturday.

  ‘Do you have much experience babysitting children?’ Bronwyn asked next.

  ‘Oh yes, loads,’ Paula replied, meeting her stare. ‘I have a younger brother and sister that I regularly watch for my mum and stepdad. I can see you’re concerned, Mrs Hunter, but I assure you I know what I’m doing. Your daughter will be perfectly safe with me.’

  ‘It’s fine, Mum,’ Emma echoed, keen to seal the deal. ‘I’ll be fine with Paula. You don’t need to worry.’

  Bronwyn hadn’t been keen on the proposed Tuesday evening appointment, and was now regretting agreeing to it. She crossed the room to the sideboard where she scooped up the list she’d spent most of the afternoon writing. Handing it to Paula, she carefully recited each item.

  ‘That’s my mobile number at the top. It will be switched on all evening, and you’re to call me if you have any questions or worries. The next number is for Emma’s dad, but I don’t know if his phone will be switched on, as I’m not sure what time he’s being discharged from the hospital. He might already be out, but I haven’t heard yet. Given his condition, he probably won’t be any use, so I’m your best bet. The third number is for my friend Hayley. She lives five minutes away, but has a family of her own. Only phone her if you can’t get hold of me for any reason.’

  ‘I’m sure I won’t need to phone,’ Paula replied evenly, ‘but I will keep the list handy. There really is no need for you to worry.’

  Bronwyn did look reassured, but pressed on with the list. ‘I’ve left instructions on how to operate the central heating system. I tend to keep the thermostat on twenty-two degrees, but it can be turned up if Emma complains of being cold. I’ve checked the weather forecast for this evening, and no cold front is expected in Portland tonight; however, it isn’t like the BBC weathermen haven’t been wrong before.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘I’ve also left instructions about where you will find cups, tea bags, and the kettle. You’re welcome to help yourself to any beverages in the fridge, but please do not drink any alcohol. I know there is an open bottle of wine in the door of the fridge, but I will know if any has been—’

  ‘I’m teetotal anyway,’ Paula interjected with a smile. ‘I have a sort of allergy to alcohol-based drinks, so I tend to avoid them. I promise you, Mrs Hunter, your daughter will be in great hands. I’m a qualified first aider too, and if you want to phone my mum and stepdad to check, I’m happy for you to do so.’

  Bronwyn looked down at Emma and then back to Paula, her eyes welling up. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just I haven’t… This will be the first time of me leaving Emma with someone who isn’t a relative or at school, so I’m a little nervous.’

  Paula didn’t seem put off by Bronwyn’s neuroses. She scribbled something on the bottom of the list and tore it off, handing it to Bronwyn. ‘This is my mobile number. I’m happy if you want to phone and check how things are going once you arrive at your destination. If that will make you feel better, then it’s okay.’

  Bronwyn clutched the note to her heart. ‘Thank you for this.’ She turned and lifted her coat from the peg. ‘Emma has some homework to complete, and I put her to bed by eight o’clock because it’s a school night. I probably won’t be back before that, but I will definitely be home before nine.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Emma, be good for Paula while I’m out, won’t you?’

  Emma mock saluted. ‘Of course, Mum. Go out and have some fun. Everything will be fine.’

  ‘Fun is the last thing on the agenda,’ Bronwyn said, straightening her coat, but her finger was soon back in her mouth as she looked from one to the other, uncertainty returning and knocking her off balance like one of the large waves that always made the beach look so threatening during storms.

  ‘I’ll see
you at nine,’ Paula offered encouragingly, nodding for Emma to offer something equally supportive.

  Emma hugged her mum. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Mum. Love you.’

  Bronwyn squeezed her tightly. ‘I’ll check on you as soon as I’m back. You know my number by heart, so if anything is wrong and you need me, you are to use Paula’s phone to call me. I mean absolutely anything.’

  She eventually released her daughter and headed out the door, with Emma and Paula waving reassuringly until she was out of sight.

  ‘Oh look, Hollyoaks is just starting,’ Paula commented, closing the door and nodding at the television. Do you fancy watching it with me?’

  Emma shook her head, pleased to finally have her mum out of the way and remembering her dad’s words in the hospital: before I moved out, I left something in the garage… I need you to get it for me.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m going to go and finish my homework in my room. Mum doesn’t like me watching Hollyoaks anyway.’

  ‘I’m surprised that didn’t make the list,’ Paula muttered under her breath, before quickly smiling, as she caught herself. ‘You’re not missing much. Do you need me to make you a drink or snack before you go?’

  Emma patted her tummy. ‘No, I’m still full from dinner. I have an essay to finish, and would prefer to get it done before I come back out.’

  Paula settled onto the sofa. ‘Okay, well, I’ll be out here if you need anything.’

  Emma checked she was watching the screen before making loud stepping noises as she approached her bedroom, leaving the door ajar and counting to sixty in case Paula immediately came to check on her. When she heard no movement, Emma slowly opened the door and crept out, closing her door to again, and tiptoeing towards the back of the house. She’d left the back door unlocked in preparation for this moment, and ever so quietly pulled the handle down, holding her breath as it slowly opened. She didn’t immediately step out, once again counting to sixty and straining to hear any movement from Paula. Satisfied that she was now engaged with the television, Emma squeezed through the small gap, quietly closing the UPVC door behind her.

  The bulb in the outdoor security light had blown months ago, and her mum had yet to brave a trip up the ladder to replace it, meaning Emma had to do less sneaking to get to the garage. There was just enough light still in the sky for her to follow the stepping stone path across the lawn. Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, she pulled out the long, rusty key. She’d hidden it earlier, and pushed it into the lock of the weathered wooden door. Before he’d moved out, her dad would remove the door from its hinges on an annual basis, sanding and repainting it before screwing it back in. But it had suffered in the years since he’d left, and was now crumbling with each passing day.

  It creaked open, but she was confident Paula wouldn’t be able to hear it on the other side of the house. Closing it behind her, she resisted the urge to flick on the light just in case Paula happened to head into the kitchen and glimpse it from the window. Instead, Emma switched on the small night light she’d taken from her bedroom. It cast a dim and eerie glow over the stacked boxes immediately in front of her, and the years of cobwebs that almost looked as though they were bearing the weight of the memories buried within.

  The night light’s two double-A batteries weren’t strong enough to brighten the shadows at the back of the garage, and for the first time Emma questioned whether she was really making the right choice coming in here so late at night. The rational part of her brain told her that she had nothing to fear, that the garage had been locked from both ends, and yet the cynical side of her mind reminded her that Anna had probably been equally naïve when she’d headed to their grandma’s that day.

  It would be easier for Emma to leave the garage, return to the house and her room, and just pretend none of this had happened. When her dad eventually asked where the case was, she could simply say she’d been unable to find it. He’d have no way of disproving it, but if he was telling the truth, and it really was a present for her mum, her not finding it might be the final nail in the coffin of their marriage. For that reason – and only that reason – she took a deep breath, and stepped around the tower of boxes. Holding the nightlight out in front of her, she peered through half-closed eyes, taking baby steps forwards towards the engulfing shadows, praying the night light would find more power.

  The garage had been used for storage, but she couldn’t recall her mum coming in here any time in the past year, which suggested that the boxes either held nothing of value, or items too painful to keep close by. Anna’s room still remained untouched, but as Emma ran the night light over the scrawled writing on one of the boxes by her feet, she spotted her sister’s name. Pausing her search, she crouched down and unfastened the interwoven panels on the top and peered inside.

  She was surprised to find two large photo albums, a small round box labelled ‘teeth’, a christening candle, and a metal tankard inscribed with Anna’s name. Appalled by the thought that her mum had been squirrelling away baby teeth under the guise of the tooth fairy, she heaved one of the albums out of the box, and, resting it on the ground, opened it up. She was immediately repelled by the mustiness of the pages, but couldn’t help smiling as she saw her sister for the first time in years, albeit much younger than she could recall. There were photographs of Anna as a baby, as a toddler, and then holding baby Emma in her arms with the widest gap-toothed smile. She continued turning the pages, trying to ignore the stabbing in her chest, before returning the album to the box and refastening the panels.

  Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she coughed as dust tickled her throat, but felt less scared as she moved further through the garage, as if Anna’s spirit was there by her side. Locating the shelving unit attached to the wall, she held the light overhead, searching for the small green case her dad had described, but nothing obvious leapt out. He’d mentioned it was hidden, but that didn’t mean her mum hadn’t already previously found it.

  It’s on the top shelf, right at the back. You might need to climb up to see it.

  If her mum knew that she’d snuck out here and was now considering climbing the shelves, she’d go ballistic, but Emma had made a promise to her dad, and she wasn’t prepared to break it. Placing the night light at the highest point she could reach, she gripped the ledge tightly, and stretched her right leg up until her foot rested on the first piece of wood. Hoisting herself up, she made sure to plant her left foot on the same shelf, before lifting her right again and moving it to the next one. It was so dark and dusty up here that it was all she could not to sneeze and alert Paula to the fact that she’d snuck out. Moving up to the next plank, her eyes were now in line with the items up here. She saw a couple of cobweb-covered bricks, a box of galvanised nails, a plastic pot of fence paint, and just behind it a small grass-coloured metal case. She gasped and coughed as the dust tickled her throat and nose again.

  Keeping her feet still, and her left hand clinging to the shelf, she reached out and pulled the green case clear of its hiding place. It weighed less than she’d expected and, pulling it clear, she was able to keep hold of it as she carefully lowered herself back to ground level. Reaching for the night light, she ran the beam over the case, studying it for any clues as to what it might contain or how long it had been hidden up there. Had she not climbed, she never would have known it was up there, and, given the height, she doubted her mum would have seen it without a ladder either. But why would her dad have hidden a birthday present in such a small box, and – judging by the rust-covered hinges – such a long time ago?

  Her mum’s words at the hospital reverberated through her head: nothing’s ever perfectly innocent where you’re concerned, John.

  Grasping the case by its sides, she attempted to lift the lid, but the small padlock remained firm. Lifting the box she shook it violently, even allowing it to drop to the floor, hoping the impact would break the case and allow her to look inside. She wouldn’t have an issue telling her dad she’d accidentally drop
ped it and it had opened, but it remained sealed, along with the secret it was protecting.

  Conscious that Paula might be tempted to check on her, Emma switched off the night light and returned to the garage door, creaking it open. She locked it behind her before hurrying across the now almost invisible stepping stones. Making it back inside, she tiptoed along the corridor, daring to peek into the living room, and shuddering when she saw Paula was no longer on the sofa. Emma’s eyes widened as her imagination immediately played out a scene where Paula had wandered into her room and was waiting for her to return, Bronwyn already on the phone demanding answers.

  ‘Oh, hi, I was just fixing a coffee,’ Paula said, her head popping out from behind the kitchen door. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  Emma kept the case hidden behind her back, her heart so loud in her chest she was certain her mum would be able to hear it no matter how far she’d ventured.

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ Emma managed to croak, the words sticking in her throat.

  ‘How are you getting on with your essay?’

  ‘Nearly done,’ Emma lied, willing Paula to disappear back into the kitchen so she could hide the case in her room.

  Paula continued to watch her for a moment, before boredom took hold and she ducked back behind the door. Emma didn’t wait to count to sixty this time, spinning and sprinting to her room where she buried the case in the bottom of her satchel. She no longer cared what it contained; she just wanted it gone as soon as possible.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Now

  Chichester, West Sussex

  ‘Name?’

  The custody sergeant behind the hardened plastic panel must be in his fifties, judging by the grey patches of hair just above his ears, the wrinkled face reminiscent of a dry chamois, and the thin moustache that looks more like a hairy worm. His gruff tone and unforgiving demeanour remind me of an old headmaster I had at school. Back then, I only ever had to see him for positive reasons, but his dour expression and disposition had remained as emotionless as if he had been giving me detention. The irony that the custody sergeant is about to detain me isn’t lost.