Exposed

by M. A. Hunter

  ‘Emma Hunter,’ I say reluctantly.

  In the back of the police car on the way here I had considered whether I should try and come up with a pseudonym to protect my real identity, but it probably wouldn’t have taken them long to go through my personal effects and find my driving licence and bank cards.

  When the alarm was reset and the metal shutters lifted, I’d half expected to see an angry Ian Beauchamp standing on the other side, rather than three officers in Kevlar pointing automatic weapons at the two of us. The fight had left me instantly, and as soon as they’d barked at us to drop to our knees and put our hands on our heads, I’d obeyed. Anna hadn’t tried to fight either, though there’d been more of an air of nonchalance about her submission.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ was the only advice she’d offered when the alarm had ceased. A casual, throwaway line in keeping with her previous experience of a similar situation two days before. I remember Oakley and Yates saying Anna (or Kylie as she was back then) refused to comment when interviewed about Tomlinson’s shooting.

  I never should have followed her in through the gate, and I definitely shouldn’t have crawled in through the balcony door. While my motivation was to try and help keep her from getting herself in more trouble, it seems she wasn’t so concerned about my wellbeing. I feel like a prize fool for trusting her.

  ‘Do you understand why you’ve been brought here today?’ the custody sergeant asks, his eyes not leaving the screen.

  The officer who has her hand on my shoulder has already explained to him that I’ve been arrested for attempted burglary, and am to be detained while they carry out further investigation and prepare to interview me about the allegation.

  ‘Yes,’ I mutter, feeling very sorry for myself, and desperately hoping this is just a nightmare from which I’ll wake in a minute.

  I was relieved there were no reporters or camera crews outside Beauchamp’s house when we were led out with our wrists tightly secured behind our backs. But I doubt my anonymity will remain much longer. At least one of the uniformed officers we passed on the way in here gasped when she saw me, and I wouldn’t blame her for cashing in on that sweet titbit of information; probably worth several thousand pounds to the right editor.

  ‘Are there any underlying medical conditions we should be aware of?’ the custody sergeant asks, finally looking straight at me, his eyes looking as tired and arid as mine feel.

  I shake my head.

  ‘No anxiety, diabetes, respiratory illnesses?’

  I shake my head again. ‘No.’

  ‘And apart from being here today, how are you feeling?’

  I feel like the rug has been pulled from beneath my feet, I don’t say. I feel like someone took my dream of finding Anna, turned it on its head, and is now forcing me to wish I hadn’t found her. I feel ashamed for being so stupid, for putting my career on the line over something so stupid. I can see my entire life being flushed down the toilet and there’s nothing I can do to prevent it. I can hear my father’s voice – a prison guard exposed to criminal life for more than twenty years – constantly reminding me to keep my nose clean. How disappointed he would be if he could see Anna and me here now. I can see Jack’s face the moment the news is bestowed on him, and how frustrated he’ll be that I didn’t find a way to contact him the second I found Anna in Alton. I feel like I’ve let everyone down, and I just want to bury my head between my legs and sob.

  I don’t say any of these things, just fight to stop my bottom lip from trembling. ‘I’m fine.’

  The custody sergeant finishes updating his computer file, and then explains that I am now under his care, and that I will be taken to a cell where I will be held until the officers in charge are ready to speak with me again. He tells me my fingerprints will be taken, and I will be asked to give a voluntary DNA swab.

  This cannot be happening! They’re the only words turning over and over in my mind. I’ve watched so many real-life documentaries about criminals being arrested and going through these exact steps, and yet most of the time they look so calm and casual. All I want is to reach for my mum and dad and tell them how sorry I am, and for one of them to tell me everything will be okay. But with them both gone that isn’t even an option anymore.

  I am taken to the cell, like I’m being escorted to a hotel suite by a porter. I’m almost surprised when the woman in the stab-proof vest doesn’t proffer her hand for a tip.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she advises. ‘Can I get you a drink? Cup of tea or coffee?’

  A large glass of Pinot Grigio would be more appropriate to the occasion, but I thank her and order a sweet tea, only because I know it’s supposed to be good for shock. I shudder as she closes the door and raises the screen, shutting out the outside world. Is that a sound I’m going to have to grow accustomed to? Being shut in every night?

  I can’t see any way this ends in anything other than a scrupulous interview, court appearance, and custodial sentence. We were caught red-handed trying to break into Beauchamp’s safe, in his private home to which we’d gained unlawful access. Anna’s pouch of picks was placed in a clear plastic evidence bag, so there really is no defence for either of us. And worse still – well, worse for us – is that as the police car was driving me from the scene, I saw the campervan surrounded, which means they also discovered Daisy. It’s good that she’s now safe, but there’s every chance I’ll also stand accused of conspiring in her abduction or illegal detainment.

  I look around the small cell space. A concrete block jutting out from the wall has been lined with a wipe-down mattress and pillow. The place certainly wasn’t designed with comfort in mind. I can see there is a small camera housed in the corner of the ceiling pointing down at me; all of my movements are being recorded and documented for posterity. A small gap in the wall leads to a doorless toilet, and I can only hope that there is some kind of mask on the lens so they won’t see me totally exposed when I use it.

  Presumably they’ll allow me to make a phone call at some point, but I don’t know who to phone. One call just doesn’t seem enough. I suppose I should contact a solicitor for legal advice, but I’m not sure whether Saira Mistry would be able to represent me and Anna, or whether she’d even be willing to come down all this way to do so. I want to phone Rachel and explain what happened and where I am so she doesn’t worry. I want to phone Maddie and warn her that she will probably have to start fielding calls from journalists about this whole sorry escapade. And I want to phone Jack and apologise for being so stupid, and to ask whether there’s anything he can do to soften the blow of the charges I’m facing.

  I’ve just thought: what if I’m not released, and therefore unable to plan or attend Mum’s funeral? Imagine the shame of having neither daughter at the funeral because they’re both serving custodial sentences. Dad would turn in his grave.

  I drop down onto the mattress and stop fighting the pain that’s growing in my heart, and then I cry until the tears dry up.

  I can’t say how long passes before the shutter on the door is slid down and a pair of eyes stare through the gap at me. The door opens a moment later and I see a woman with the words ‘Detention Officer’ plastered over her uniform.

  ‘You have a visitor,’ she says. ‘Would you like to follow me?’

  I stand and put on my shoes before heading out of the room and following her along the corridor, until we arrive at a brown wooden door. I wipe my face as best I can, but without a mirror and makeup bag, I’m going to look like a panda no matter how much rubbing I do with the sleeves of my jacket.

  She opens the door and holds it there so I can enter. I immediately recognise the hunched shoulders and stocky frame of DI Marina Oakley, standing with her back to me against the far wall of the interview suite. The detention officer closes the door behind me.

  I’m confused, as I’m sure it isn’t common practice for detectives from other forces to be granted access to detainees, certainly not without some kind of explanation. I haven’t been a
dvised that this is an interview about my crimes, and the fact that Oakley isn’t sitting at the desk ready to start recording the exchange has me rubbing at my temple.

  I’m about to ask what’s going on when she suddenly turns, unwilling to mask the despondency in her expression. ‘You should sit,’ she says.

  Against my desire to pace the room, I follow her advice, dropping into the nearest chair – the one traditionally reserved for the interviewer in such occasions.

  ‘What a mess,’ she sighs, as she moves closer and slips into the seat across the table from me. ‘When I told you to find your sister, I didn’t actually think you’d manage it.’ She laughs slightly to herself. ‘But it seems I should have given you more credit.’

  Has she come here to gloat? If so, I’m not in the mood, and would prefer to be sitting in my cell awaiting the inevitable conclusion to this story.

  ‘Daisy is safe and well, by the way,’ she adds, ‘so I guess I should thank you for that. Apparently, the Beauchamp family are so relieved to have her back in their care and want you to know how much they appreciate what you did for her.’

  My brow furrows instantly. ‘What I did?’

  ‘Yes. Daisy was interviewed once she’d been examined by the medical team in Southampton, and she gave a statement explaining how you’d found her with Anna, and were unwittingly taken hostage by your sister. Daisy was full of praise for the way in which you selflessly took care of her throughout the horrific ordeal, and how it was you who insisted Anna leave her in the campervan, knowing that she could contact the police once the two of you were gone. She said she owes you her life.’

  I blink several times, unable to process the words I’m hearing. I’m about to open my mouth and correct her on what really happened, but something stops me, and I bite my tongue instead.

  ‘It’s lucky I received the call from your friend Rachel, explaining how you found Anna in Alton. Unfortunately, you were already gone by the time we got there, so then it was just a matter of waiting for you to resurface. Daisy’s statement corroborates Anna’s account of what happened, and how she forced you to come along with her as she broke into Ian Beauchamp’s house in an effort to steal jewellery that Daisy had led her to believe was stashed in the safe, knowing that the alarm system would engage, trapping the two of you inside.’

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing, nor how Anna and Daisy have managed to concoct such a story when they can’t have spoken since we left her in the campervan. The only conclusion I can draw is that they fabricated this account prior to my arrival in Alton, but I don’t know how they could have foreseen this is how things would turn out.

  ‘You’re to be de-arrested momentarily, but I just wanted to personally thank you for helping us get Daisy back. Even though it wasn’t my case, I felt personally responsible as we were the ones who allowed Anna out on bail in the first place.’

  ‘She didn’t kill him,’ I say earnestly. ‘She told me he was killed by someone else.’

  Oakley strains a smile and holds up her hand to cut me off. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done today, Miss Hunter. I’m sure without your intervention things might have gone a lot differently and both Daisy and your sister owe you a debt of gratitude.’

  I feel I need to correct her, and to advise her that Anna’s and Daisy’s accounts aren’t wholly accurate, but as I’m starting to process their motivation for doing what they’ve done, the only conclusion I can draw is that they want me out so that I can help expose Ian Beauchamp for his crimes, though how I’m supposed to do that without the hard drive of files they spoke about is beyond me.

  ‘There’s something else I feel you should know. I considered telling you when we first met. At the time I wasn’t sure it was in your best interests, but now I feel like it might help put all of this mess into a bit of context. Are you aware of Anna’s recent medical history?’

  I frown at the question. ‘No, how would I be?’

  ‘So she didn’t choose to mention her referrals for mental health issues, nor the name of the prescribed medication she’s taking?’

  Given everything she’s been through, it doesn’t surprise me that she’s receiving support to deal with matters, but I shake my head.

  ‘Sertraline is a strong SSRI used in the treatment of anxiety, but it can have side effects including paranoia, anger management issues, and, in some, mild hallucinations.’

  I think back to the limited conversation we had in the front of the campervan, but at no point did it feel like Anna wasn’t in full control of her faculties.

  ‘How do you know all this?’ I ask, now not certain whether I can totally trust Oakley’s motivation for coming to speak with me. Maybe I’m the one now being overly paranoid.

  ‘When she was arrested at Sir Anthony Tomlinson’s house, the bottle of pills was on her person. The label on the bottle was in the name of Kylie Shakespeare, and after some further digging, it appears she has been living under that identity for a number of years. She was registered at a clinic not far from Reading in Berkshire.’

  It feels like I’m only now being informed about this as a means of influencing how much credence I give to my sister’s story, but my brain is so tired, I don’t have the strength to argue.

  ‘What happens next?’ I ask, trying to keep the obvious relief from my voice.

  ‘There are a few formalities to go through. You’ll be asked to make a statement confirming what happened today, but then you’ll be free to go home.’

  ‘And Anna?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain, but I imagine she’ll face a bail hearing in the morning, and will probably be remanded in custody for the foreseeable future.’ She pauses and rests one of her hands on mine on the table. ‘You shouldn’t feel guilty about any of this. You did your best to find her, but you weren’t to know what life choices she’d decided to make.’

  She’s wrong about Anna, but I’ll be wasting my breath trying to convince her otherwise.

  ‘Do you have any means of getting home?’ she asks next.

  I’m about to say I could phone Rachel, but by the time she’s driven all the way here, and then back again, it would be just as quick to take a taxi and train.

  ‘I don’t mind driving you back to Weymouth, if that would help? I’m unlikely to be able to speak to Anna again about Tomlinson’s murder until the morning, so I’m at a bit of a loose end until then.’

  My instinct is to decline the offer, as I don’t want to put her out, but maybe the journey will allow me to convince her of Anna’s innocence. Yet, once we’re in the warm car, and her radio is playing classical music, it’s only a few minutes until I fall fast asleep, waking as she kills the engine outside my flat.

  Thanking her for the lift, I bail out of the car and head inside, trying to stay quiet so as not to wake Rachel, but I shouldn’t be surprised to find she is still awake and wearing a hole in the carpet. The moment I’m through the door, she is at my side, throwing her arms around my shoulders.

  ‘Oh, thank God. I was terrified about what might happen to you. Even when Oakley said she’d get you out, I wasn’t totally convinced.’

  I want to tell her everything, and yet the relief in my system is just too great and I crumple into her arms, burying my head in her shoulder. The feel of her hand rubbing my back reminds me of how close I came to losing everything.

  ‘I’ve been so worried,’ I hear her mutter, before she pulls away slightly. ‘Oh, but I got you a present.’

  She moves away and searches for something on my desk, before producing a mobile phone that she hands over. ‘It’s got a temporary SIM card in it until you speak to your provider and have them send you a new one out. I’ve input my number, Jack’s number, and Maddie’s numbers, and I’ve messaged the two of them to let them know they can reach you on this until further notice. That way, if you tear off on another hare-brained scheme, at least I’ll be able to get hold of you.’

  I don’t know what to say. It’s such a simple gift, but it mea
ns so much that she’d go to that much effort for me. Fresh tears leak out, and I hug her again. Turning the phone over in my hands, I allow her to explain its basic functions, and she shows me how to set my security so that my thumbprint can unlock it. Maddie will be so proud when she sees me embracing technology for a change.

  ‘Oh, and before I forget,’ Rachel adds, ‘there’s an answerphone message for you from some guy.’

  ‘Ah, that’s probably Rick,’ I conclude. ‘Did he say he’d recovered my old phone?’

  Rachel frowns. ‘No, I don’t think that’s what he said his name was. He said he’s a private investigator and that it has something to do with your mum. I called him back, but he wouldn’t give me any further information. He said he’ll phone again to make you an appointment.’

  I’m too exhausted to consider why a private investigator would want to speak to me about my mum, and I retire to bed, my eyes closing the second my head hits the pillow.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Then

  Swanage, Dorset

  Emma clutched the satchel tightly on her lap as the bus trundled along the road, bouncing, and causing her knee to knock against her mum’s. Despite packing the small green case at the very bottom of the satchel, she was certain her mum would work out what she’d taken. She’d kept it hidden under her bed all week, checking it was there every day when she returned from school. To now be so close to Swanage… If her deceit was discovered now, she would have wasted the week walking on eggshells and being on her best behaviour.