by M. A. Hunter
‘Here,’ she says, ‘you need to plug these into your laptop.’
I accept the cable and study the hard drive she’s handed over. I plug in the cables, before carrying them over and attaching them to my charging laptop. Switching on the screen, I allow the device to download software, before a window opens on the screen. I already know what I’m staring at before the filenames begin to sort on the screen.
‘How did you get hold of these files?’ I ask, mesmerised as the screen fills.
‘I wasn’t sure how much Kylie would tell you last night,’ she begins, ‘but I’m guessing by the looks on your faces that it wasn’t a lot… Probably safer that way, so you wouldn’t have much you could let slip to the police.’
‘We didn’t manage to get into the safe,’ I begin, playing last night’s scene over in my mind again, looking for how Anna could have got hold of Beauchamp’s files and kept them away from the police.
‘I downloaded the files on my computer, and backed them up to this external drive,’ Daisy now explains.
‘Yeah, but I thought you didn’t know his password?’ I challenge.
‘I didn’t, which is why we needed the alarm system to be triggered, so it would reset itself. Your sister really is a sly old girl, you know,’ she adds, smiling. ‘I wasn’t convinced it would work, but sure enough, as soon as the alarm sounded, the system rebooted itself and asked me to save a new password. As soon as I was in, I made a copy of everything and brought it to you.’
I daren’t click on any of the files, but I need to test the authenticity, and use my finger on the trackpad to hover the cursor on a date-named MP4 file. I try and read Daisy’s face as the cursor flashes on the screen, but she can’t quite bring her full gaze to remain on the screen.
A new window opens with the video, and I immediately have to close it as I realise what has opened.
‘Oh God,’ I stammer as a face fills the screen, before I can close the window.
‘I can assure you the rest of the files are similar,’ Daisy warns.
‘W-why bring this to me? You should take it to the police.’
Daisy shakes her head. ‘Are you having a laugh? Do you realise what we have here? This is all of Ian’s involvement with his traffickers here. It isn’t just video files.’ She steps forward and turns the laptop towards her, her finger darting across the trackpad, as she searches for specific files. Excel and Word files now fill the screen as she opens one folder after another. She double-clicks one such file, and a Word document opens. ‘There are names, and addresses, and descriptions of what they’ve bought. This is everything you need to bring him down.’
No wonder Anna kept this a secret last night, as I absolutely would have told Oakley about the real reason we were at Beauchamp’s estate, had I known. I feel used by Anna, but suddenly her reckless stabbing at the safe pad makes a little more sense. She wanted to get caught, so that the security system would trigger and then have to be rebooted so that they could get the two of us out of the room, but little did anyone realise that Daisy was waiting in the van to harness all the files she was trying to copy.
‘The police can’t do anything with stolen files,’ I point out, as I had tried to reason with Anna when she’d broken into the house in search of the safe.
‘Maybe not, but it will show them the sort of detail that’s available if they go looking for it. Kylie said you had friends in the force you could trust. Those are the people you need to get this to, but I’d suggest making a back-up copy before handing it over. I know it’s not the sort of thing anyone would want to make duplicates of, but it’s important to keep the evidence safe.’
I have to remind myself that she’s only fourteen, and her view of the world is probably based on poorly researched books and TV shows, but I do admire her optimism in the face of such wickedness. And she does have a point about me taking this to Jack. Despite the illegal way in which the data was obtained, he might know how the intelligence could be used to our advantage. At least I hope he can.
‘We could publish the list of these files online,’ Rachel suggests, looking at the filenames. ‘That would prevent a cover-up. Force these people into the spotlight, and let the shit land where it falls.’
I shake my head. ‘And probably see us mired in civil suits for years to come.’ I sigh. ‘No, we have to tread very carefully… Presumably your uncle doesn’t know you’ve made a copy of all of this?’
Daisy smiles. ‘I covered my tracks. He’ll have no idea what we did, I promise.’
I don’t like placing such faith in the words of a child, but my technological knowhow is so little that I can’t argue. It makes me wonder whether he does know, and his little surprise visit this morning was to check whether the drive was here.
My finger returns to the trackpad, and I look back through the dates of the video files. There are so many files, and amending the metadata filters, it shows there are three versions of some of the files. The lengths of the files go from thirty or so seconds to five minutes in some cases, and worse still, up to an hour in others. In my head I’m picturing trailers, previews, and then full-cut movies. I want to retch, but this is not the time for self-pity. Potentially what I’m staring at is the entire back catalogue of the work undertaken at the Pendark Studios, but maybe it stretches further than that. But if someone – I don’t think I have the courage to do it myself – were to watch each one, how many more victims would be identified in addition to those we already found from the much smaller collection on Turgood’s confiscated computer? Ultimately, that’s more important than bringing those responsible to justice. How many victims are there out there – just like Zara Edwards – who have repressed the abuse they suffered?
The mouse hovers over the first file, dated 14 February 1974. I remember when Jack and I first started going through the paperwork Freddie rescued from Pendark; this was the first record on file. I feel sick to the stomach at what might appear on the screen, but I double-click the link anyway, and watch through gaps in the fingers covering my eyes. I have to know if this really is what we believe, even if I’ll never be able to look at the world in the same way again.
A scared little girl walks into a child’s bedroom and picks up a spinning top, which she proceeds to play with, while sitting on a frilly pink rug. She can’t be much older than seven or eight. The scene cuts away to the door to the bedroom opening, and a pair of feet entering. The scene cuts back to the little girl’s face, and her eyes well with sorrow and terror. I have to close the file. I wipe my own eyes.
‘Kylie told me we could trust you to do the right thing,’ Daisy says, placing a protective hand over the hard drive. ‘She sacrificed herself for this information, so the question is, Emma, what are you going to do?’
I head back to my room and collect the new phone Rachel bought, opening the contacts app, and finding Jack’s number. It connects on the second ring.
‘Have you seen?’ are Jack’s first words. ‘They’ve arrested your sister for abducting Daisy Beauchamp.’
‘I know, Jack,’ I say quietly into the phone. ‘I was there when they arrested her.’
‘Oh, I see,’ he replies, confused.
‘Listen, Jack, there’s something I need to show you.’
‘O-kaaay,’ he says, drawing out the vowel sound.
‘Yeah, but it’s a little bit… sensitive.’
‘Ooh, now I’m intrigued. What is it?’
I’m conscious that anyone could be listening at his end, so I need to tread carefully.
‘Do you remember what was found at Turgood’s house when he was arrested?’
He doesn’t immediately reply. ‘Sure.’
‘I may have come across something similar… but I’m reluctant to say any more over the phone. Can I meet you somewhere safe where I can show you what I have?’
‘Is everything okay, Emma? You’re speaking cryptically and don’t sound like yourself.’
Given everything that’s happened in the last week, that sh
ould hardly surprise him, but then I haven’t got him up to speed with last night’s fright yet.
‘I’m fine, Jack, but it’s really important that I see you. Today.’
‘Okay, but I’ve just arrived at work having taken Mila to school. Can you come to me instead? I’m not sure what time I could get to Weymouth today.’
I lower the phone to relay the message to Rachel and Daisy. ‘He wants us to come to him.’
‘I can drive you,’ Rachel offers without a second’s thought.
‘I should head back to Southampton,’ Daisy interjects, already eyeing the front door. ‘I’ve delivered the drive like I promised Kylie I would. What you do with it from here is down to you.’
I put the phone back to my ear. ‘Okay, Jack, we’ll come to you,’ I tell him, ‘but it can’t be your new office. As I said, this is sensitive.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Then
Weymouth, Dorset
Emma had already been awake for hours when her mum knocked gently on the door before pushing it open and poking her head through the gap. She didn’t speak at first, instead staring at Emma, maybe trying to sense just how much comforting would be required this early in proceedings. She was already terrified by the maelstrom of emotion that was going to devastate them before the day was through.
‘Morning, my darling,’ she said softly, straining to keep her emotions in check. ‘The kettle is on if you want a cup of tea?’
Emma remained where she was on the bed but offered a simple nod, more for her mum’s benefit than her own; at least making tea would bring Bronwyn a small distraction from the spectre hanging over them.
‘Do you fancy a bit of toast too?’ Bronwyn asked.
Emma nodded for a second time, despite her lack of appetite.
‘Good girl. The car will be here to collect us in about an hour, so you should probably think about getting dressed. I’ve left your dress hanging on your wardrobe handle, but it looks like it’s going to be too warm for the cardigan. Just leave it on the end of your bed, and I’ll put it away later. I’ve cleaned and polished your shoes, and they’re by the front door drying.’
Emma still didn’t move, almost as if the signals from her brain couldn’t get past the wall of emotion so delicately created since that day on the beach when she’d run until her chest and legs burned, and had only stopped when her body could move no more.
Both Bronwyn and Hayley had tried to give chase but neither was in peak physical condition, and they’d kept going just so that Emma’s sprinting body was kept in sight. They’d finally caught up with her when Emma’s legs had given up and she’d crashed into the sand, unable to cry, so short of breath was she. Bronwyn and Hayley had dropped down beside her, scooping Emma into their arms, telling her it would be okay; offering promises of how they would get through it together; how they could never replace Emma’s dad but they would do everything in their power to limit the feeling of his loss.
They’d stayed there on the beach until the sun had eventually set, and Hayley and Bronwyn had listened as Emma had told them it wasn’t fair; how they’d already suffered enough with Anna; demanded to know what they’d done wrong to be punished in this way. Bronwyn had offered no excuses, save for the certainty that it was all part of God’s plan, and though they couldn’t understand it now, it would all make sense one day.
‘The kingdom of heaven is reserved for those who’ve suffered the most,’ she’d added, though it hadn’t had the soothing effect she’d intended.
Bronwyn returned what felt like a minute or so later, carrying a tray of tea and toast, but with greater urgency in her voice this time.
‘Come on, Emma, you’re still not dressed! The car will be here soon, and we don’t want to be late, not today.’
The glowing red digits on Emma’s alarm clock revealed just how much time had passed since the first disturbance, though she couldn’t believe it had been twenty minutes. Pushing the duvet back, she moved over to her bedroom window, opening it so she could breathe in the fresh ocean air and listen to the seagulls gossiping. If she could bottle both the scent and sound she would, so she could keep it with her wherever the wind took her. Stepping up to the window, she lifted the hanger from the handle, and held the dark dress to the light. It was so black that not even a speck of the rising sun reflected from it. She hated the colour usually, but today it seemed so emblematic of the shadow hanging over her heart. Slipping the nightdress over her head, she dressed quickly, considering herself in the mirror built into the wardrobe door.
Would Dad prefer she wear her hair up or down? She’d never asked him which way he liked it best, and as she tried to rack her memory for any expression of favour he might have bestowed on one way or the other, she was bereft. She watched as the tears pooled in her reflection’s eyes, the deep sense of loss swallowing her whole. She’d never now know whether he thought she was prettier with her hair tied or hanging over her shoulders as it was now. But how many other things would she never know about him? His favourite colour was brown, and he preferred curry over pasta, but there had to be more to him than two salient facts.
She wiped the tear from her cheeks and looked up to the ceiling to keep the rest at bay. Not yet. There would be plenty of time for tears later. She didn’t want to make today any more difficult for her mum. Taking a deep breath and wiping her nose, she composed herself in the mirror, instinctively reaching for the cardigan and slipping her arms into it. Like a warm hug, it still smelled like him, and regardless of what her mum said about how warm it was likely to get this spring morning, she needed it today.
The Weymouth Crematorium was situated outside Weymouth in nearby Westham, and in the car it took fifteen minutes to get from home to the site. Thankfully her father wasn’t travelling with them, as the people at the crematorium needed to prepare the body ahead of the ceremony. Emma had overheard her mum talking to Auntie Hayley about it, before they’d heard her hovering on the creaking floorboards and had promptly changed the subject. There’d been a lot of sudden changes of conversation whenever they sensed Emma lurking nearby. It was so obvious that they’d switched topic, as their voices would go from low and rumbling to squeaky and positive. Did they really not think she could notice the difference?
That night on the beach, she’d eventually asked them what had happened; what freak turn of fate had caused her father to die. Had it been another riot? Had the same bad men rebelled again? Her mum had promised to elaborate at a later time, telling her the how wasn’t important. She’d looked too upset to push on it, but as the days had passed, she’d still not ventured any kind of explanation as to what had happened.
So Emma had been listening at every opportunity. Phone calls at strange hours of the day and night; Hayley and her mum whispering in corners of the living room; strangers at the door offering condolences for their loss. Mum had kept her off school all week, so she couldn’t even rely on the usual gossips at school to let something slip. But Emma was resourceful, and references to depression, anxiety, and never truly recovering from Anna’s disappearance told her more about his final hours than she’d ever garnered from their monthly visits.
The police officer who’d been waiting at Auntie Hayley’s house had stayed until the three of them had returned from the beach, before offering her heartfelt condolences to Emma and her mum. Her final words, ‘Let me know if you want any further information about coping mechanisms,’ hadn’t been what Emma had expected. Where was the team of detectives deployed to solve whatever had happened? They’d come in droves when Anna had gone missing, so why weren’t they hard at it trying to figure out who’d killed her dad? The question had troubled her into the early hours of the morning, until the pieces had slotted together. There were no detectives looking for a killer, because he’d killed himself.
Emma blinked as she followed her mum out of the car once they’d arrived, the sun disproportionately bright for the time of the year. And barely a modest breeze blowing. This was the sort of day
her dad would have loved. Before the separation, this was the sort of day he’d have spent on the beach from dawn till dusk, only leaving to fetch fish and chips, which they’d then eat out of the paper with little wooden forks. She smiled at the memory, her lips wobbling as she desperately longed to go back to that moment and relive it until the end of time.
‘There, there,’ Hayley said, offering her a tissue, one hand on her shoulder. ‘We’ll make it through today together.’
The crematorium was part of the larger estate of Weymouth Cemetery, and Emma followed the signs to the crematorium, dabbing at the tears on her cheeks. She allowed Hayley to lead her in through the double doors to find a wall of black either side of them, most crying or offering solemn nods of condolence to Bronwyn as she passed them. Emma couldn’t count the number of strangers who’d all decided to descend on the crematorium to pay their last respects to her dad. She’d had no idea he’d touched so many lives. Standing at the front, she dared to look around only once, where a number of mourners were having to stand against the wall as all available seating had been taken.
She’d never attended any kind of funeral service before, although her mum had tried to brief her on what to expect. When her grandma had died, Emma had spent the day at Hayley’s, only being returned to her mum as the wake had neared its end. There had to be at least a hundred mourners around them, many of whom seemed to be dressed in their prison officer uniforms; a show of solidarity for a fallen comrade.
Emma’s mum was clutching a small cream programme containing the order of service; on the front was a picture of Emma’s dad smiling and wearing a paper Christmas hat. He looked happy and peaceful, a side of him Emma hadn’t seen for a number of years. Allowing her eyes to wander to the gables, she wondered if he was up there now, smiling down on them. But then a thought jarred at her mind, and no matter how hard she tried to shake it, it remained: Anna would never know he’d died. It was possible she was up there with him now – father and daughter finally reunited – but Emma’s gut told her that simply wasn’t the case. Deep down, she couldn’t ignore the feeling that out there somewhere, her sister was still alive, but totally oblivious to the fact that she’d never again hear their dad tell her he loved her.