by Jane Isaac
‘Daniel tried. I know he did. He tried hard to talk to me. To pull me out of my depression. I just wanted to be alone with my memories. I remember asking him to move into the spare room. It must have been two, maybe three months afterwards.’
‘When did you separate?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. Maybe five or six months after Alicia’s disappearance. The police visits had dried up. Everyone had moved on. His mother had taken to letting herself in and cleaning the house. I ignored them all. Then, one day, I walked into the bedroom to find she’d stripped the cot. All the beautiful pink covers on Alicia’s bed, the ones that were there on the day she was taken, had been removed.’ She lifted her eyes to meet the detective’s gaze, tightening her hands. ‘She hadn’t even asked.’
‘It was all I had left of our last day together. Suddenly, I wanted them gone. The lot of them. With their sympathy glares and their lectures about moving forward, getting on with things. I ordered them all out, asked his mother for her key back. And when Daniel came home, I told him to go too.’
The faces swam in front her. Pained, sympathetic faces. ‘They all thought I’d lost it. Daniel must have phoned my mum because days later Mum turned up on my doorstep, without warning. She stayed a week and tried to persuade me to go back to Australia with her, to take a break, but I couldn’t leave. I mean, what if they found Alicia and I wasn’t here? I’d abandoned her once; I wasn’t going to do it again.
‘And then there was Vic. The only person who treated me normally. He used to come around two or three times a week when Daniel was here, for coffee, or maybe they’d watch football together. After Daniel left, he kept coming. To see me.’
Vivid memories danced before her. Of a tiny light of happiness at the end of a long dark tunnel. ‘It was awkward at first. Sometimes he’d bring groceries and cook, although I barely touched the food. I was living on cornflakes and porridge. And he listened. I’ll never forget that. Daniel couldn’t bear to talk about Alicia – every time I mentioned her, the pain was visible on his face. So, I tiptoed around the subject. Vic was the one person who I could say anything to.’ She could see Vic’s face now, the caring creases in his forehead as he sat for hours listening to her talk, question, speculate, cry. She’d cried heaps. Wept until the tears dried up and her lungs were spent.
‘When the press wrote nasty articles, implying I’d neglected my baby, or the television programmes aired, discussing what happened to Alicia, Vic didn’t ignore them, or pretend they weren’t there. He’d watch them with me. And hold me and tell me it wasn’t my fault. Daniel kept me from everything. But I needed to see it, to feel it. Because it’s all I had, and I was desperately holding on to the tiny thread of what was left.’ She released her hands, opening them to find an arc of nails imprinted on her right palm.
‘Vic and I became close. I don’t think either one of us ever expected it to lead to this.’ She rubbed the little dents in the skin and looked around at their comfortable room, the photographs of them together on the wall, of Zac, their son, smiling. ‘We were friends. He was Daniel’s best friend. In the beginning, he was our go between. As time progressed, I stopped asking about Daniel and he saw less of him.’
She remembered him encouraging her to go back to work, driving her there on that first day to quell her nerves. Playing tracks from Oasis on the stereo, her favourite band, to distract her. ‘Suddenly the mist started to clear. There were always foggy patches, darkness around the edges. But I started to interact with others and feel human.’
‘What about Daniel?’ Beth asked.
‘He called by occasionally. I think he still expected us to reconcile. But there was too much sadness, too much pain between us. In the end I asked him to stop coming. His mother became angry, warning me not to cut him out. Marriage was a sacred oath. But it was the only way I could cope.
‘Vic and I no longer talked about Daniel. He would tell me about his work, his business and I would talk him through my day. I suppose that’s how it all started. And when the house was sold, Vic suggested I stay at his until I got sorted. Over time, one thing led to another. It wasn’t sudden, didn’t happen overnight. We slowly realised we had feelings for each other. Eventually, I moved out of the spare room and into his.’
‘How did Daniel feel about you living there?’
‘I didn’t hear much from Daniel. Vic and he had drifted. I assumed he knew about us, with me living there and all. But when I went to see him, about eighteen months after Alicia disappeared, to tell him I wanted a divorce, he asked me to give it another go. I’ll never forget his face when I told him I had feelings for Vic. It froze so hard it was like looking at a statue. He asked me to leave. I didn’t realise how upset he was until afterwards.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He took an overdose the following day. Cara found him at home. They reckoned he’d taken several boxes of paracetamol.’ She shook her head. ‘I tried to visit him in the hospital. Cara wouldn’t let me in. Called me every name under the sun, said it was all my fault. I haven’t seen Daniel since. I stalled on the divorce afterwards, afraid of upsetting him further. When I did finally apply, he signed the papers straight away but refused to have anything to do with either of us.
‘I sometimes think Daniel thought we were having an affair, Vic and I, while we were still married. We weren’t though. I never saw Vic in that way. Not until afterwards. He was a family friend.’ Another gaze into the garden, a quiet moment as the guilt clawed its way back to the surface. There were so many things Daniel didn’t know. And if they came out now, she couldn’t bear to think what they would do to him. ‘I know it was a long time ago, but someone needs to look out for Daniel. I’m worried how this news of Alicia might affect him.’
24
Beth pressed a button on her computer and slowly scrolled through the statements from the original investigation, re-reading everything that mentioned Daniel Owen. It was as she thought, his suicide attempt wasn’t mentioned in the case records. But then, if it happened some time after Alicia’s disappearance, the police might not have been informed. She flagged it up on the file records. Thirteen and a half years was quite a time lapse but if Daniel had been vulnerable once, he might still suffer from bouts of depression and be at risk. She needed to ensure he had support close by when they shared news with him in future.
Beth finished writing up her notes on her meeting with Marie Russell. Pete had worked his way through the farm labourers employed around the time when Alicia went missing and hadn’t found anything so far to suggest they were involved. Now it seemed they were no further forward than the original investigation.
She opened her pad and scribbled down the names, Daniel, Marie and Vic. The love triangle. If their accounts were to be believed, they were three people who’d certainly experienced more than their fair share of heartache. But Beth had been in law enforcement long enough to know people weren’t always completely truthful: sometimes they lied, or adjusted their version of events to suit their own needs.
What did each of them have to gain from Alicia’s disappearance?
Daniel appeared the doting father and was at work on the day Alicia disappeared.
The aftermath of Alicia’s disappearance had caused a rift between the Owens, leaving it open for Vic to marry his best friend’s wife. He had called in to see Marie on the day Alicia disappeared and was the last person to see them at home. But he was back at work, covering the counter with a colleague, by the time Alicia was taken.
And then there was Marie.
She tapped the pen against the side of the pad, the tendrils of her mind stretching further afield, to Cara, Scott… The clue to solving this murder lay close to the family, she was convinced of it.
A tap on her shoulder. She looked up, surprised to find Nick and Freeman beside her. They’d been absent awhile and, engrossed in her work, she hadn’t heard them enter the room.
‘We’ve been discussing your meeting with Edwards this afternoon,’ Nick
said. ‘Might be an idea if I accompany you.’
Beth frowned. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘We’re unlikely to get anything out of him if we go mob-handed.’
‘Where are you meeting him?’ Freeman asked.
‘2 p.m. Outside Kingsthorpe Cemetery.’
‘Strange location.’
Beth shrugged. The same thought had crossed her mind.
‘Okay, we’re going to need to play this one carefully,’ Freeman said. ‘Either he’s fishing, or he’s got a bloody good reason why he hasn’t come to the office.’
‘I don’t trust him,’ Nick said. ‘Especially after that newspaper article. He must have dug deep to get the details of the builder.’
‘That’s his job,’ Freeman said. ‘Ours is to make sure we glean whatever he has. Be careful, Beth. He was just starting out in my early days in the force. Always cropping up in difficult situations. Sometimes, he even got to jobs before we arrived. Never known a reporter with a nose for a fresh crime like him. Take a note of his information but don’t engage in conversation. It’s surprising how easy something can slip.’
Beth passed on her latest discussions with Marie and glanced down at her pad. ‘I’d like to take a closer look at the family members and their movements after Alicia’s disappearance,’ she said.
Freeman turned down the corners of his mouth. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. The original case focused on the movements at the time. I’d like to explore their behaviour before and afterwards. Like Scott, the younger brother.’
‘He was at work when Alicia was taken,’ Nick said. ‘There’s nothing to suggest he was involved.’
‘I realise that. I don’t know… I can’t put my finger on it. The family seem uncomfortable when his name is mentioned. He left under a cloud soon after Alicia disappeared. The family think he’s in London but none of our usual checks have located him.’
Freeman placed his hands on his hips, an action that pulled his shirt across his stomach, straining the buttons. ‘What exactly are you saying?’
‘I’m not really sure. He was close to the child.’
Freeman held her gaze for several seconds. ‘Okay. I’m happy for you to dig deeper into the family as long as you are discreet.’
‘What about Scott?’
‘How long’s he been missing?’
‘Almost fifteen years now.’
Freeman chewed the side of his mouth, percolating the information. ‘We could do an anniversary appeal for any sightings of him on the force Facebook page. If he’s living with anyone locally, or even if he’s moved away, someone might have his contact details. Let’s leave it until we have the child’s identity confirmed. Otherwise, the press will jump on it, make assumptions.’
Beth thanked him and Freeman headed back to his office. A phone rang, pulling Nick back to his own desk. Beth watched him go and set about thinking how to prepare a Facebook appeal, when Pete called her from across the office.
‘Have you got a minute?’ he said, eyes fixed on his computer screen.
‘Sure, what is it?’ She zigzagged through the other desks to reach him.
‘I’ve been examining the photos of the crowd you took outside the Russells’,’ Pete said. ‘Most of them can be identified as reporters, working for the news channels. There are a few faces in the group that don’t look familiar – might be they’re nosey locals – plus some that aren’t clear.’ He brought up the picture of the group on his screen and pointed out a bunch of individuals at the back where only shoulders or the sides of heads were visible. ‘No distinguishing features; nothing that could identify them. It’s the same with those taken at the building site.’ He pressed a button and another photo graced the screen. The photo had been taken secretly from the side. ‘Nothing stands out.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ Beth said. ‘Run it by intelligence, will you? See if anyone there recognises anything.’
‘Sure.’
Her eyes rested on a fuzzy figure at the crime scene, partially hidden at the back far right. The man was thick set and wearing a baseball cap, the image too blurred to give anything else away.
Faces around him were blurred too. ‘Any chance you can enhance that area?’ she said, encircling it with her finger.
‘I’ll give it a go.’
‘Great, thanks. Let me know how you get on.’
25
There was something calming about walking among the dead. Wandering across the damp cemetery grass. Weaving in and out of the graves. Those with cut flowers, plants and ornaments adorning their little patch. The bare graves with tufts of weeds reaching up the headstones; the freshly laid mounds with wooden crosses marking their spot. Beth took her time, pausing to read the sentiments, ‘in loving memory’ and ‘always in our hearts’; words lovingly chosen by friends and families harbouring an aching emptiness within.
Every one of them belonged to someone. Every one of them missed. The thought of a baby girl buried among the stone and soil of a building site, with no crafted headstone or flowers to mark her short life, made Beth’s throat constrict. She really hoped for a positive DNA result so the child could finally be reunited with her family and laid to rest properly, with the dignity she deserved.
The earlier snow had melted, and a frail afternoon sun hung in the sky. A brutal wind whipped the trees. Beth tugged her coat across her chest. Getting to know the family meant all the family, even the deceased.
She paused at a small grave and crouched down. Little Liam Owen had died in the same week as her godmother; they were buried a few plots apart. Beth remembered walking past the tiny grave at her godmother’s funeral. The train made from yellow and white carnations laid atop the small mound of earth catching her eye while the vicar uttered his final prayer. It hadn’t meant much at the time, a young child passed before he’d had time to blossom; a family laying him to rest. They had no idea that, months later, he was to become known as the twin brother of missing Alicia Owen; a notorious case that shook the residents of Northamptonshire to the core.
Liam’s grave was tidy, the grass neat and free of weeds. A white headstone engraved with gold letters, Liam, forever in our hearts. A vase of old yellow carnations, past their prime, stood beside a plastic toy train, the red and yellow carriages faded by years of sunlight.
Beth dug her hands in her pockets and scanned the surrounding area. Was Daniel’s mother close by? She hadn’t seen the headstone when she’d walked in.
She moved up a few spaces and wiped dust from the letters on her godmother’s grave. Stalks of flowers, long past their best poked from a weathered vase. Beth knelt, replaced them with a bunch of fresh orange roses, taking a moment to arrange them before sitting back on her heels. She could still picture her late mother, her sister and her sitting around her godmother’s dining table eating dinner, a half-finished jigsaw puzzle covering the other end. Her godmother’s smiley face and rosy cheeks; the yeasty warm smell of her house. It seemed such a long time ago, almost a different lifetime.
Her phone beeped in her pocket, pulling her back to the present. Almost 2 p.m. Edwards would be there soon. She needed to make a move.
*
He peered around the edge of the chapel, watched the detective gather up the dead flowers, place them in a bin nearby and make her way out of the cemetery. Pressing his back to the rough sandstone to stay out of sight while she passed. Strange that they’d both chosen today to visit little Liam’s grave; their minds were so attuned. Some might say it was poetic. He viewed the graves around him, marvelling at the loss of so many.
And soon there would be more.
The wind picked up. He pressed a palm to his head to keep his baseball cap from flying off. He was rearranging it, pulling the peak low, when another figure appeared. Hair tucked into a black beret, red duffle coat fastened firmly across her chest, dark glasses covering her eyes. She was clutching a bunch of yellow and white carnations in her gloved hand. He slid around t
he chapel, mesmerised by the grace with which her svelte figure moved in and out of the graves. Held his breath when she stopped at little Liam Owen’s, knelt and traced the words on the headstone with her finger.
A glance back at the entrance. The detective was long gone. Interesting, he thought. Liam’s grave was particularly busy today.
26
Beth left the wrought iron gates of Kingsthorpe Cemetery behind her, crossed the main road and continued down a side road opposite, scanning the cars parked kerbside for Pip Edwards’ navy Saab. Freeman was right, it was an odd place to meet.
She walked down the road to the first turn, checked her watch. 2.01 p.m. Surely, she hadn’t missed him? She pulled her phone out of her pocket, about to check the messages, when an engine filled her ears. A Saab passed and pulled into a space at the top of the road, facing towards the cemetery gates.
The passenger side window lowered as she approached.
Pip Edwards was a scrawny man with bushy dark hair, peppered with grey, and wire-rimmed glasses that perched on the bridge on his nose. Close up he looked significantly older than his byline photo.
‘Afternoon, Detective.’ They’d never met and the fact that he recognised her was slightly disconcerting. He leaned across, opened the door. ‘Hop in.’
Freeman’s earlier warning flitted in and out of her head as she climbed into the car. Even the odd expression or comment could be misconstrued, taken out of context. No pressure there then.
‘You said you have some information for me,’ she said, closing the door.
‘How’s the case going?’
Alicia’s identity still wasn’t confirmed. The clothing found with her hadn’t been released to the public. As far as Edwards was aware, they were currently investigating an unnamed child. But he clearly knew Beth was on the team, supporting members of Alicia’s family, should the body turn out to be hers.
Beth raised a brow and said nothing.