I get up from the chair, return to bed, and squeeze my eyes closed. But my brain still won’t close down, and for the rest of the night I barely sleep. When I do, vivid nightmares where Willow is trapped in a white room by a faceless man invade.
*
I get up early, shower, dress in shorts and a stripy blue and white T-shirt, and tie my hair up in a ponytail. I poke my head around Becky’s door to see she’s still sleeping, and close her door gently, deciding to let her have a lie in.
I make some coffee, and sit on the sofa, going over and over what’s happened. Still making no sense of any of it.
‘Morning, Mother,’ Becky says, and I turn to see her slouching into the room, her hair a fizzy mess, her dressing gown tied tightly.
‘Did I wake you, sweetheart?’
She flops down next to me, smelling of sleep. ‘Not really, I couldn’t sleep anyway,’ she says. ‘How are you?’ She touches my head gently. ‘Are you going to the hospital? I really think you should.’
I shrug. ‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘In fact, I’m wondering if we should go home, let the police do their job.’ But even as I say it, despite my fears and lack of sleep, I know I must stay at Ocean View Cottage. I can’t let Willow down. She turned to me for help, and I need to find her.
It’s clear Becky feels the same way. ‘No! No! We can’t, Mum. Don’t you see? That’s exactly what whoever’s doing this wants us to do.’
She’s right, but we’re hardly Rizzoli and Isles.
I realise I haven’t let Inspector Jones know about Willow’s text saying she’s in Newquay. But even as I type the words into my phone, I don’t believe them.
When Becky goes upstairs to shower and change, I get out the photographs of the four men. Surely one holds a clue to Willow’s whereabouts.
I stare at Willow’s father, Justin. If he recently came out of prison, where would he have headed? I recall the conversation with Inspector Jones – the way he hinted that Justin has abducted Willow. If anyone knows where Justin is now, it will be the gossiping owner of the village store.
I climb the stairs and poke my head around Becky’s door. She’s sitting on the bed with her laptop. ‘I’m going out,’ I say.
‘Where?’
‘Just to the shop.’
‘OK,’ she says with a smile. ‘I’d come, but I’m about to Skype Tamsyn.’
‘Don’t for God’s sake tell her about Willow,’ I remind her. ‘I don’t want it all over social media.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘I won’t,’ she says. ‘Although maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, Mum. Someone may have seen her.’
‘Yes, but Eleanor may see it,’ I say, raising my hand in a wave. ‘I won’t be long. Bolt the doors after me.’
‘Later!’ she calls, as I hurry down the stairs. It’s good to hear despite everything, she sounds upbeat.
*
A bell rings out when I open the door to the village shop. There’s nobody behind the wooden counter, and nobody in the store buying up the dusty tins.
‘Hello?’ I call through a beaded curtain, which would look more at home in the Seventies.
‘Hello again.’ The woman I saw before appears through the beads, bringing with her an aroma of heavy perfume. She’s wearing a flowery sundress, her ginger hair pulled back, fastened with a slide. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘Beautiful … sorry, I can’t recall your name.’ It wasn’t strictly true. I had worked out she must be Mrs Powell.
‘I don’t think I told you it,’ she says, eyes narrowing. After a pause, her face breaks into a bright smile, revealing a smudge of red lipstick and something green on her teeth. ‘I’m Megan Powell. And you are?’
‘Rose Lawson,’ I say, unsure whether to go on. But I have to – for Willow’s sake. ‘I wondered if you know or knew Justin Havers. He used to live around here.’
She nods. ‘Yes, I know Justin – well more knew of him really. He went down for armed robbery about eighteen years ago, just after Ava died.’
‘That’s a long sentence …’
‘Mmm, I read in the paper a long time ago how he lost his chance for parole. Smuggling drugs into prison, apparently. He was a wrong ‘un, and no mistaking.’ She pushes a tendril of hair from her face, revealing a sprinkling of freckles.
‘I heard he was released recently,’ I say.
‘Well, God save us all,’ she says, crossing her chest. ‘Are you looking for him?’
I lift my gaze to her face again. ‘I am, yes. But I haven’t got a clue where he might be.’
‘Nor me, I’m afraid.’
The door opens, the bell ringing once more throughout the shop. A young woman with a baby in her arms walks in.
‘Morning, Sue,’ Megan calls out, with a flurry of her ringed fingers.
‘Morning!’ the woman says, grabbing a wire basket, and heading down the aisle towards the chest freezer.
Megan turns and struts into the back of the shop without a word, returning a few moments later. ‘My hubby says Justin and his dad lived on Cranberry Close before he went down.’ She says it in a whisper, as though it’s a secret. ‘So if you’re looking for him, that would be the first place I’d try. Hubby says Justin’s dad, Ian, died around the time his son went to prison. Cirrhosis of the liver, some say, although there was some talk that he took his own life.’
I feel my eyes widen. ‘How tragic.’
‘Mmm,’ she says, her tone unsympathetic. ‘The house would have gone to Justin, him being the next of kin, like. Apparently Justin got left a bit of money too, although I bet he’s injected the lot by now.’ She pauses for a moment. ‘Be careful though, love. As I say, Justin’s a wrong ‘un.’
‘Do you know what number on Cranberry Close?’
‘Well, there’s only a couple of semis and a farm down that way. I’m sure you’ll find it.’ She touches her necklace. It’s the same one she had on before with the large pink stone.
‘That’s a lovely necklace,’ I say, meaning it. It’s pretty.
‘What, this?’ Her chin doubles as she looks down at it. ‘My son bought it for me years ago now. I always wear it.’
‘You said he went out with Ava.’
‘Yes, that’s right. And I know it’s awful to speak ill of the dead, but she hurt him. He had such a crush on her, but she treated him terribly.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I guess it must have made things worse when he was suspected of her murder.’ I’m aware I’m pushing my luck.
‘Dexter?’ Her voice cracks up a notch. Her eyes fired. ‘He was with me the night she died,’ she snaps. I’ve hit a nerve. ‘His father was away, and we went to the wedding together, both of us left early. We watched The Office and Eastenders when we got home.’ It sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. ‘I can’t believe, even to this day, that Dexter was questioned. My little angel wouldn’t hurt anyone!’
‘Of course he wouldn’t.’ I step backwards, unable to think of anything else to say, my heart thudding, glad the counter separates us. ‘I’m so sorry for bringing it up.’ But she hasn’t finished.
‘Have you any idea what it can do to a family, to a young man, to be considered a murder suspect?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, turning to leave, her eyes burning my back as I dash through the door and into the heat of the day.
I make my way to Cranberry Close. I had the sense to print out a map of the area before I left Old Stevenage. I know where I’m going.
Megan Powell is right; two semi-detached houses and a farm make up Cranberry Close. For some reason, even from a distance, I know which house is Justin’s, and the rundown appearance of the place makes me uneasy.
I make my way up the gravel road, pebbles crunching under my feet as I go. The sun disappears behind a cloud as I reach the gate, which is barely attached to the post, and head up the path.
Once under the porch, stepping from foot to foot, I knock on the front door. After a few moments I sense movement inside.
‘Who is it?’ It’s a male voice behind the glass, a silhouette of someone hovering.
‘I’m looking for Justin Havers,’ I call out.
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘My name is Rose Lawson. I was hoping to talk to Justin about Willow.’
The door opens six inches and a man with white-blonde cropped hair looks me up and down. I know immediately he’s the man in the photo Willow sent me. He’s older, with heavy lines around his eyes and a greying complexion, but it’s definitely him.
‘Justin?’ I say. His name almost lodges in my throat, my heart thuds. ‘Listen, I’ll come back another day if it’s a problem.’
I go to turn, but he opens the door wide. ‘Come in,’ he says. My chest tightens, and I freeze on the step.
‘What are you waiting for?’ he goes on.
I take a deep breath and step inside.
The lounge smells of a combination of smoke and body odour. The surfaces are thick with dust, and an ashtray heaving with cigarette butts is on the coffee table next to a pack of Marlboro and a lighter. The sofas are worn down to the thread, and there’s no carpet, just grubby, patterned rugs scattered over scratched and battered parquet flooring. He doesn’t offer me a drink, for which I’m thankful. I prefer not to think about the state of the kitchen.
I take another deep breath and clear my throat, wishing now that I’d told Becky where I was going.
‘I’m Willow’s stepsister,’ I say. ‘She’s been staying down here at Ocean View Cottage.’
He nods. ‘I know.’ His voice is husky. ‘She’s searching for her mother’s killer.’ He stares down at his trembling hands. He’s nervy, and there are dark rings around his eyes. I think of the young lad in the photo Willow sent me. He’s now a husk of that boy. He’s wearing grubby denim shorts and a sweat stained black vest-top that reveals a tattoo on his left shoulder – it says ‘Willow’.
‘Willow asked me outright, when she visited, if I killed Ava.’ His blue eyes are on me. ‘I told her. Why would I kill the mother of my child?’
He’s not asking me, but I answer anyway. ‘Maybe Ava wouldn’t let you see Willow?’
He laughs, a sad laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes, and I realise I’m not threatened by him. ‘Well, that bit’s true,’ he says. ‘Quite honestly, I didn’t blame her. I was a bastard back then.’ He stares at me for some time, then picks up a cocktail stick and pushes it between his yellowing teeth before continuing. ‘You know what? When Willow came here, I felt a false sense of pride when I saw her. That I had a part in creating someone so vivacious, spirited – so beautiful. It did my heart good. I’d wanted to see her for years, a chance to explain why I couldn’t keep her.’
‘That you’d rather commit armed robbery?’ It was out before I could think straight.
He throws the stick on the coffee table. His swift movement makes me jump.
‘I’m not proud of what I did,’ he says. ‘My gun wasn’t loaded. I had no idea the Bristows were carrying loaded firearms.’ He lowers his head. ‘That they were going to shoot.’
‘They killed someone?’
He shakes his head. ‘The woman survived, thank Christ. But it was still attempted murder. I’d thought if I had money I could care for Willow, but it all went tits up. At the end of the day, I knew someone else could give her a much better life than I could.’
‘Eleanor’s been a good mum to Willow.’
‘Yeah, Willow said. I wish even now I could have been that person who gave Willow a decent life. But I wasn’t a good man. I treated Ava terribly, was a crap dad to Willow – I know that now. But you have to understand, I had nothing at the time.’
I nod, feeling a mixture of sadness and disgust for the man. A man who still has nothing.
‘Were you surprised when she visited you? Turned up after all these years?’
He shook his head. ‘I sent her a message on Facebook, attached an article about the murder.’
‘That was you?’
He nods. ‘I set up a fake account. I wasn’t sure she’d come here to meet her crap father. I haven’t exactly got a lot to offer her. In fact, some still think I killed Ava. But I thought if she knew what happened to her real mother, she might come – and with luck on my side, I would get to know her slowly.’ He shakes his head. ‘I was a bloody idiot. I just thought …’ He drags his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t know what I thought.’
I stare for some time, unable to take in that he drew Willow to Cornwall the way he had. ‘How did you find her?’
‘I saw her in the newspaper back when she was modelling. I didn’t know it was Willow first off. But the photo haunted me. I couldn’t believe how much she looked like Ava. When I saw her name was Willow and that she was the right age – I knew it had to be her. My daughter.’ He touched his forehead. ‘The scar clinched it for me. The scar I caused.’
‘Did you book the cottage?’
He nods. ‘Dad left me a bit of money when he died. I put it down on the cottage. I should have been more open with Willow, but instead—’
‘You lured her into danger.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Of course it matters.’ He’s suddenly animated, his eyes full of concern.
‘I just meant you lured her here with information about her mother’s murder. It could have been dangerous.’
He lowers his head. ‘It was a long time ago,’ he says.
A suffocating silence falls, covering more angry words lodged in my throat.
‘I spent all those years in prison thinking about Willow and Ava,’ he says finally, his knees bouncing. He rubs his forehead with the tips of his fingers. ‘They never really knew who killed Ava.’
‘I know,’ I whisper, looking at my hands. I should go.
‘They thought it was her sister, Gail – that she topped herself after she’d killed Ava. Apparently they rowed. Someone even said they saw Gail take the cake knife, and a few witnessed her slap Ava across her face that night. Others said it was Dexter Powell. I mean his mother was his alibi, for Christ’s sake.’
I think of Megan in the store. How angry she was that he’d been a suspect. Was she the mother of a killer? Would she have given him an alibi?
‘I guess it was odd that he turned up in Cornwall with his mother, took Ava out, and she ended up dead,’ he says. ‘But I’ve had a long time in prison to think about it. I don’t reckon it was Dexter or Gail. In fact, I know who killed Ava.’
‘You do?’ I wait, but he doesn’t go on. ‘Tell me! Tell me who you think it was.’
‘Everyone will know soon enough,’ he says.
I wonder if it’s a bluff – if he killed her and is misdirecting me. But his silence says he’s finished talking. I get up and loop my bag over my shoulder. ‘Just one more thing,’ I say. ‘Have you seen Willow in the last few days.’
He shakes his head. ‘I’ve called her a couple of times, but her phone goes to voicemail. She’ll call me back when she’s ready. I’m not going to rush her. Our relationship – if you can even call it that – has a long way to go.’
I open my mouth to tell him she’s missing and close it again, deciding not to involve him.
He doesn’t get up as I leave the room and head into the hallway, just rests his head back in the chair, and closes his eyes.
I look up the stairs, suck in a breath, and make my way up, needing to be sure Willow isn’t here.
‘Willow?’ I whisper, when I reach the landing and cross towards one of the bedrooms. I turn the handle and open the door. Inside there’s a mattress on the floor, with an old blanket over it, and a pillow. Is this where Justin sleeps?
Back on the landing I attempt another door handle. It’s locked. ‘Willow? Willow are you in there?’ I call softly.
‘What are you doing?’
I twist round and let out a scream. Justin is far too close. His eyes are fired up with anger. ‘I was just …’ B
ut no words form.
‘Leave,’ he says in a horrible whisper.
I dash past him, and down the stairs, almost falling on my way through the front door.
Chapter 28
AVA
2001
‘You can take Willow home, Miss Millar,’ the young nurse said, handing Ava a letter. Ava had stayed at the hospital all night, lying on a mattress on the floor next to Willow’s bed. Despite the doctor insisting it was only precautionary, she had been too worried to sleep. Although there hadn’t been much chance of sleep anyway with little ones crying, nurses giving out medication, the hum of staff talking, and just when she was dozing off, the breakfast trolley had rattled onto the ward.
Now, she sat in a chair with Willow on her lap. ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the release letter from the nurse.
‘And here’s a list of things to look out for,’ the nurse went on, handing it over. ‘But, I’m sure she’ll be absolutely fine.’ She leaned forward to check the dressing on Willow’s forehead, and touched her cheek. ‘You’re a little beauty, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘And now you’ll have your very own Harry Potter style scar,’ she concluded, before walking away.
Fifteen minutes later Peter dashed onto the ward. ‘I’ve parked as close I can,’ he said, tweaking Willow’s cheek. ‘You don’t have to worry, Ava,’ he went on, lifting Willow from her arms. ‘I won’t let anything bad happen to her ever again.’
*
Ava didn’t want to go to work the following day, even though Willow seemed bright and happy. But she had no choice. Peter hadn’t found any plumbing jobs yet, so it was up to her to earn money.
The thought of leaving Willow with Jeannette made her uneasy, and despite her not blaming Peter for what happened, she couldn’t shake that Willow was his responsibility when it did. Would he even notice if Willow took a turn for the worse?
‘Stay, Mummy,’ Willow cried, grabbing Ava’s legs as she attempted to put on her duffle coat and boots.
‘She’ll be fine,’ Peter reassured, crouching down and reaching out his arms to Willow.
‘She loves you,’ Ava said, as the little girl went to her uncle, and Ava fastened the toggles of her coat, blinking back tears. ‘You’ll keep a good eye on her for me, won’t you, Peter?’
Traces of Her: An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a twist you'll never see coming Page 12