‘But what if she is a suspect? What if he’s called it all wrong? We’ve lost days, Matt. It’s unforgiveable for him to withhold this from us.’
There’s a pause. At last Mel looks up from her drink and Matthew’s trying to read his former colleague’s expression. He knows she’s just blowing off steam. If she really planned to arrest Ed Hartley, she would have done so already. But she does still look very tired.
‘You sure you’re OK, Mel?’
‘Just a bit tired. George has decided now’s a good time to become allergic to sleep.’
‘Oh dear.’ Matthew remembers the ‘no sleep’ phase all too well. Small child. Big case. Not an easy combination. Suddenly he understands why Mel’s not quite herself.
‘I’ll be fine. Just really need to get somewhere with this case.’
Matthew checks his watch. Gemma’s father has agreed to meet Mel at the police station around noon to answer questions about his first wife. It took all of Matthew’s negotiating skills to achieve even this. To be frank, he’s no idea himself what to make of this new twist; Ed Hartley shared only the bare bones of his story before dashing off in a huff to the hospital.
‘Look. You have the first wife’s full details now, Mel. We know there was some kind of mental-health crisis and Ed Hartley gave us the name of her clinic. So is there any word from Canada?’
Matthew has tried the clinic himself but drawn a blank – patient confidentiality. He’s praying Mel’s had more luck.
‘She discharged herself. A good while back.’
‘You’re kidding me?’ Now he understands her mood.
‘I wish. Also – the paperwork’s missing. The clinic’s had some bad media coverage lately over standards and security. Patients being released without proper supervision and follow-up. An undercover reporter did some secret filming, posing as a nurse. It’s been something of a scandal over there.’
‘Oh no, that’s not good. So do you know where the ex-wife is now?’
‘We’re liaising with the Canadians but you know how slowly those wheels grind, especially as I don’t yet have the full picture – proper grounds, I mean. They’re doing me a favour at this stage, checking the family address he gave you. But it seems out of date.’
Matthew twists his mouth to the side and narrows his eyes. ‘So why didn’t you arrest him, really? If you’re that cross. That worried. Why did you want to meet me instead?’
Melanie Sanders takes a deep breath and leans back in her seat. ‘OK. Cards on the table; I have something to ask you, Matt.’
He’s full-on curious now, widening his eyes to signal that she should continue.
‘As I said before I have the rare treat of a proper budget. They want this sorted so I have carte blanche to run this inquiry the way I want.’
‘Grief. The suits upstairs must really be worried.’
‘They are, Matt. We’ve got universities and tourist boards all over the country in meltdown. They know it’s not terrorism but some are worrying about copycats. They’re worrying about absolutely everything, to be perfectly honest with you. There’s loads of chatter online among students and parents, none of it good. And now I need to worry if someone in Canada is involved. So I need to work fast. And I need help.’
‘So?’
‘So I want to hire you, Matt. Officially. As a civilian expert. Profiler. Whatever you want to be called. I know I’m always joking about this but I’m deadly serious this time. I need you.’
Matthew pulls his chin back into his neck. ‘Can you even do that?’
‘On this one, I can do what the hell I like so long as I get the job done. Please say yes, Matt.’ A pause. ‘I really need you.’
Matthew feels a wave of something travel right through his body and cannot make out whether it is adrenaline, excitement or blind panic. Ever since he left the force, he’s wondered if there would be a road back one day but has always pushed the thought away. Setting up the business and working as a freelancer have created financial pressures that have demanded an entirely different mindset.
He looks at Mel and realises that deep down he’s hoped for this moment. But what about Sally? With Amelie playing up she’ll be wary, especially after the danger he put himself in at the cathedral.
‘This is a surprise, Mel. I honestly don’t know what to say.’ Fact is they’ve cooperated together informally on several cases and Mel’s forever joking about getting him ‘back on the force’, but never officially. Never openly.
‘There will be proper paperwork. A contract. Invoices and all that jazz. I can get HR to sort it all out, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
It isn’t that he’s worried about. It’s Sally he’s worried about. Also Amelie’s nightmares and her reluctance to go to nursery. Will working with Mel make this all worse for his family? Or better?
‘I need to think about it. And talk to Sal. You know how upset she was after the cathedral.’
‘Right. Yes. Of course.’ She’s staring at him. Her pale face is strained which he now realises is pure exhaustion. ‘Look, Matt. I’m going to the university next to speak to the chancellor. We’ve liaised by phone but she wants face to face to make a decision fast about the final graduation ceremony this Friday. The press want to know what’s happening. I’m not going to lie to you, I’m feeling the pressure and I’m worried about making the wrong call. I can’t win. If we cancel, we’re admitting we can’t keep people safe. If we go ahead and anything happens . . .’ She takes in a deep breath. ‘Will you come with me? Sit in on this meeting and the interview with Ed Hartley afterwards. Tell me what you think?’
‘And how will you explain me tagging along?’
‘I’ll think of something. Please say yes, Matt. Sit in with me today, see how you feel, and give me your decision about a more formal arrangement tomorrow. How does that sound?’
‘But don’t you need approval for this, Mel? I thought the National Crime Agency supplied their own experts?’
‘We’re short on numbers, as well you know. It’s pretty hand to mouth out there; they’re hiring retired detectives all over the country.’
‘But I’m not retired.’
‘Ex-job. Same thing. This will be up to me, Matt. Please say you’ll at least consider it? I’m up against the clock here.’
‘OK. I’ll do today. See how we go.’ He downs the rest of his coffee, trying once again to put a label on the feeling in his stomach.
Is it excitement? Or is it a warning? A signal that putting himself in the firing line one more time might just be pushing his luck too far.
CHAPTER 14
THE MOTHER
I glance across Gemma’s bed at Ed. He’s pretending to read his book but hasn’t turned a page in ages. He arrived late this morning and looks tired. Snappy too.
Look – things just took longer than I thought, Rachel. It’s not easy you know, juggling everything.
I don’t rise to it. Does Ed really think Gemma wants to hear conflict? But it feels awkward sitting in silence today, both of us pretending to read. I know from his expression that there’s something very wrong.
Beyond the obvious, I mean.
For myself, I keep daydreaming; thinking about that little moment with DI Sanders and how I wanted to tell her about the odd woman who turned up not once, not twice, but three times this past month. I can’t honestly believe that some strange woman is going to have anything to do with all of this but I still feel guilty for not mentioning it. The problem is my mind goes round and round in circles. If I tell the police about the woman, I will have to tell them what I did afterwards about it and I don’t want Ed to find out.
I look across at my husband again. Make no mistake, Ed is a good man and a good father. I love him very much and I would say that we have a good marriage, but what is it really – a good marriage? Is it strong enough to survive what’s happening to Gemma? Is it strong enough to survive what I did over that stupid woman?
Is it strong enough to survive the fac
t that I don’t always tell the truth? Can’t. Won’t.
Certainly there’s sometimes this odd space between Ed and me which I can’t quite explain. When we first met, he said he’d been hurt badly in the past but he wouldn’t talk about it. Boy – if anyone can understand not wanting to talk about something from the past, it’s me. I didn’t push him and he didn’t push me. I just assumed it was classic commitment phobia. A guy making excuses. He lived in Canada for a bit and said a business venture had gone pear-shaped there; he didn’t like to talk about it because it made him feel a failure. He wanted a clean slate. A fresh start.
I remember feeling this extraordinary bubble of hope because that was exactly what I wanted too. A clean slate. A fresh start . . .
It was as if we were made for each other. Anyway, I was wrong about the commitment phobia because he’s the loveliest and most loyal of men. We did get married, we made a good life and, most of the time, we’re very happy together.
But every now and again, when I ask the wrong question – especially about the past – he gets like this. Defensive, wearing an expression that is warning me off. No. It’s worse than a warning. It’s like it’s not my Ed at all.
And I know it’s completely hypocritical of me to push, given that I hate people doing that to me, but this is different. This is about Gemma.
‘Is there something wrong, Ed? Something beyond this, I mean.’ I glance at Gemma in the bed. ‘Something we need to talk about. Outside?’ I signal to the door but he doesn’t answer. Just looks at the floor.
OK. So here’s the truth. After I caught that really odd woman staring at me through the kitchen window, I had this flutter of suspicion that maybe Ed was having an affair. That maybe he had had enough of me flouncing off to the kitchen whenever we had a little upset; that the woman was his mistress and was checking me out. I tried to tell myself not to be so stupid but the whole thing got worse. This suspicion grew and grew because I caught her watching me on two more occasions. The second time was at the hairdresser’s about a week later. I had a head full of foil for my highlights so couldn’t go out on to the street to confront her, but it was definitely the same woman and she was watching me specifically through the window again. And the third and final time, I was just out in town window-shopping. I fancied a new coat in the sales and was just strolling from shop to shop when I caught her reflection in one of the windows. She was standing behind me, just staring again.
This time I’d had enough so I called out to her. Who are you? And why are you following me? She stepped forward then and leaned towards me to say something really odd.
He’s not who he says he is. I have to warn you. He’s not who he says he is.
So here’s the embarrassing confession. After that, I completely freaked out. There was no way I was having this out with Ed directly – he’d only lie – so instead I hired a private investigator to see if Ed was having an affair with her. The thing is, I started asking Ed where he’d been and what he’d been doing and if everything was alright with the marriage. If he would ever lie to me. He got quite defensive – and I read in a magazine that can be a sign of infidelity.
My suspicions just sort of spiralled and I found the PI online. I’m ashamed now because the private investigator charged quite a lot of money but found absolutely nothing. You have a faithful husband, Mrs Hartley.
‘Our daughter has been shot and you want to start this all up again? Questioning me? Navel contemplating? Picking at the marriage?’ He’s whispering, still looking at the floor.
‘No, Ed. I just feel a bit guilty that I find it hard . . .’ I pause. ‘Well, you know. That I find it so hard to talk about difficult stuff. But we need to be there for each other.’
‘I am here for you.’
‘Yes.’ I pause and take in a deep, slow breath, feeling even more guilty. ‘You are.’
I turn to look at our daughter, her skin pale and her eyes firmly closed. Can she hear this – even when we’re whispering?
For just a second, I drift away again. I can hear my father’s voice booming from the kitchen. I can hear plates and glasses smashing . . .
I am standing in the doorway, just a little girl, and I can see my mother’s eyes glaring at me.
Go to your room, Rachel. Go now!
I told Ed and Gemma too that I had a happy childhood, that my parents’ split was amicable . . .
I listen again to the smashing sounds from the kitchen all those years ago and I remember covering my ears and looking down at my rabbit slippers.
‘We really mustn’t squabble in front of Gemma. We should go outside.’
‘Oh, Rachel. For heaven’s sake. We can’t go outside every time we need to talk. It’s ridiculous. I’m sure she can’t hear whispering.’
I keep quiet for a while, just looking at Gemma, watching her chest rise and fall ever so gently. I can feel this tightening in my stomach, pushing away all the pictures from the past . . .
‘You know how much I love you both? Isn’t that enough?’ Ed’s tone is really strange.
‘I’m sorry, Ed. It’s the strain and the lack of sleep.’
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. ‘The police want me to go and meet with them again, Rachel. I said I’d go to the station; I know it upsets you when they come here.’
I spin my head to look him in the eye. ‘But what do they want? Do they have a lead? Is it to do with Alex? Shouldn’t they be talking to both of us together?’
‘I have no idea. They said they’d explain when I get there. Will you be all right this afternoon – here on your own, I mean? I can try to put them off, if you’d prefer?’
‘No. No. Don’t put them off. It might be a breakthrough. It might be news about Alex . . . Maybe something’s come from his interviews. Or the phone footage.’ I frown, only now realising that I have a headache starting. ‘And would you ask again about the laptop? If we can have the laptop?’ Once more I’m thinking of all the visits. All the photographs. All of us smiling. ‘You don’t really think Alex was the one who did this, do you?’
Ed doesn’t answer and I look at the cabinet beside Gemma’s bed where he’s placed sandwiches from the deli. Crab for me and Brie and caramelised onion for him. I wonder if Gemma’s kept all the photos of her birthday celebration. Afternoon tea with Alex. All those fancy sandwiches.
It feels a lifetime ago; Gemma and Alex broke up soon afterwards but she never explained why. Did he really do this to her?
I look back at Ed and realise I will have to tell the police about the odd woman. Just in case. But will DI Sanders tell Ed about the private investigator?
Ed holds my stare and I can’t read his expression.
‘Whatever happens with the police . . .’ Ed’s voice is slower. Very quiet. ‘You know that I love you? You and Gemma? I love you both more than anything in the world.’
‘Why did you say that? What do you mean – whatever happens with the police?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
I turn to see that his eyes are distant and there’s this new and dreadful feeling deep in the pit of my stomach.
‘Why did you say that, Ed?’
He shakes his head and turns away from me. I stare at his profile, widening my eyes and willing him to explain, but there’s only the bleeping of Gemma’s machine breaking the silence. Bleep, bleep. I can feel the gap between Ed and me widening – stretching and stretching – bleep, bleep. I close my eyes and just don’t know what to do.
I’m thinking again about that strange woman.
He’s not who he says he is.
Was she just some loner? Some misfit.
Or did she really mean Ed after all?
CHAPTER 15
THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR
In the chancellor’s office, Matt’s head is still swimming with the news that Ed’s first wife is AWOL. Also Mel’s surprise approach.
They travelled in separate cars from the café and there’s been no time yet to ring Sally. He’s done a very qui
ck check of the diary on his phone – two surveillance jobs booked for messy divorce cases. It’s the kind of bread-and-butter work he despises but can’t afford to refuse. He’ll need to honour those bookings but can’t deny that working on this case officially is a great deal more appealing than fielding calls from rich widows.
The chancellor’s office isn’t small but manages to feel claustrophobic. So much wood. Matthew glances around at the panelling, the two huge wooden desks (why two, he wonders?) and the floor-to-ceiling bookcase entirely filling one wall. He doesn’t recognise the wood, which has quite a yellow tone. Yew, maybe? Whatever the timber, it makes him think of saunas. He feels hot suddenly, pulling at his shirt collar.
‘We have a meeting of the senior management team later.’ The chancellor’s repeating herself. Ms Emily Brockenhurt, as neatly confirmed on a small, inevitably wooden name stand on her desk, is dressed immaculately in a turquoise suit with white blouse and pearls and the foil of huge red glasses. She looks very focused but also hot, suddenly sliding off her jacket and hooking it over the back of her chair.
Matthew takes the coffee cup handed to him as Ms Brockenhurt holds up a bowl with sugar. He shakes his head to the sugar and watches Mel out of the corner of his eye. She’s playing her usual, clever game. Silent. Waiting.
‘We need to make this decision about the final graduation ceremony. Whether to go ahead on Friday. I need to let everyone know by the morning. Parents want to know whether to claim refunds on hotels. It’s getting tight.’ The chancellor clears her throat. ‘I’m sorry. Insensitive of me. I meant to ask first if there’s any more news on the poor girl’s condition. My staff have been in touch with the hospital, but not being family—’
‘Stable. No change. Gemma’s still in a coma.’ Melanie’s tone is steady, and Matthew likes that she emphasises Gemma’s name. ‘We’re all under pressure, Chancellor. I do understand. Been a tough weekend.’ Mel puts her own cup down on the edge of the desk.
Her Perfect Family Page 8