by Jane Isaac
44
Reporters were starting to gather by the time Beth left the Russells’. They rushed forward, clearly wondering if her early visit heralded news, and called out. Beth ignored their questions, relieved she’d parked on the driveway, and revved her engine, crawling forward for them to part to allow her to pass through. There wasn’t much chance of poor Zac sleeping in with that din outside.
Around the corner and suitably out of sight of the press, she pulled over, grabbed her phone and dialled Daniel Owen herself. Sighing when his voicemail clicked in, then tried Nick.
‘Everything okay with the family?’ Nick said. ‘You dashed off quickly this morning.’
‘The Russells had an argument last night.’ Beth explained Vic’s absence. ‘Can you get someone to check the ANPR cameras and put a message out to the patrol cars, get them to look out for his Volvo?’ she asked. She passed along the number plate. ‘How are things there?’
‘Just gearing up for briefing. I’ll let Freeman know where you are.’
‘Okay. I’m going to drive around here and see if I can locate Vic. Could you do me a favour? I’m concerned about Daniel Owen. We still haven’t reached him. Can you check with Pete and maybe try Cara again to see if she’s heard from him?’
Beth rang off, continued out of the estate and made a left onto the main road at the bottom, heading for the first pub on her list: The Windmill. It was 7.39 a.m. Kingsthorpe was sleepily coming to life. There were few cars on the road, and she was able to take it slowly, glancing about as she drove. The Windmill was closed, the car park empty.
She turned off into a recreational field nearby called The Pastures. Vic grew up near here. The Pastures would have likely been one of his regular haunts as a kid. The car park was empty and apart from a couple of dog walkers the park appeared clear too. She drove around Acre Lane and up to the shops. A couple of people milled in and out of the supermarket, but there was still no sign of the Vic or his Volvo.
Beth was about to head into the centre of Kingsthorpe, to the Old Five Bells, the next pub on her list, when a comment Marie made, nudged her. Vic prefers the quiet county pubs. She made a right at the junction and headed out of town, past a long line of houses until she was surrounded by green fields.
The Windhover was a gastro pub on the very fringe of Kingsthorpe’s border with the countryside. Beth steered into another empty car park and climbed out of the car. Maybe the manager was here and would remember if Vic had been in. She was crossing the car park when she caught a movement around the back of the building. She paused. A man was facing the wall, taking a piss.
Beth approached him, more to ask how long he’d been there and whether he’d seen Vic than to warn him about the laws on public urination, when she noticed his denim jacket, dark jeans, athletic stance. It couldn’t be…
‘Vic?’ she called out.
Vic Russell jumped and hastily zipped up. ‘What are you doing here?’
Dark circles hung under his eyes. His usually groomed hair was lank and dishevelled, his clothes creased into deep grooves.
‘Looking for you. Marie called me. She was worried.’
He hung his head back, muttered something inaudible under his breath.
‘Where’s your car?’
‘Parked around the back.’ His face turned sheepish. ‘Didn’t want anyone to spot it.’
‘You slept here last night?’
‘Tried to. It was bloody freezing.’
‘Marie’s really upset.’
‘She ought to be.’
Beth imagined the conversation the night before. Marie telling him the DNA confirmed a match with Alicia. Then sharing that Daniel wasn’t her father. He still looked angry, tense.
‘She’s had a tough time.’
‘Haven’t we all.’
‘I don’t think you completely understand, Vic. Let me explain.’ He levelled Beth’s gaze, almost as if he wasn’t sure whether he could trust her. Rain started to fall, spotting Beth’s shoulders, sending a shiver down her back. She inwardly cursed herself for not putting on her jacket. ‘Why don’t we sit in my car a minute?’
Vic stood rooted to the spot for several seconds, surveying her warily. The rain picked up.
‘Come on.’
Reluctantly, he followed her.
It was warmer in her Mini and in the confined space the scent of alcohol emanating from Vic was stronger. ‘What did Marie tell you about Alicia’s father?’ Beth asked.
He glanced at her askance. ‘What? I know it wasn’t Daniel, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘She didn’t give you any more details?’
‘No.’ He stiffened. ‘I’m not interested in the gory details of her love life.’
‘Then you won’t know, she alleges she was attacked.’
‘What? And you believe her?’
‘We’re investigating it, yes.’ Steam crept up the window as she filled him in on the basics of Marie’s attack, careful to leave out names. When she finished, nobody spoke for a while.
‘She was raped,’ Vic said eventually.
Beth nodded. ‘That’s the allegation she’s made.’
‘Why didn’t she tell anyone at the time? Or at least when Alicia disappeared.’
‘People experience a range of emotions after a rape. Sometimes they feel guilty, worry they sent out the wrong signals and blame themselves. Sometimes they can’t face reporting it and relaying the whole episode again. Sometimes they put it out of their mind, try to pretend it never happened.’
‘She could have told me.’
‘I believe she wanted to. Tried to even. But it was something she buried years ago. It’s very difficult for her to talk about.’
‘What about the father. I mean if he’s connected to Alicia—’
Beth raised a flat hand. ‘We’re looking into it.’
His jaw hung a second. ‘She really said she was attacked?’
‘She did. And explained the incident in detail.’
‘Christ.’ He covered his face with his hands. ‘Who was it?’
‘I’m not at liberty to share that, I’m afraid.’
Raindrops tapped the windscreen, the only sound to break the steely silence in the car. Beth gave him a minute to churn over the revelation. It wasn’t easy to hear your partner, the mother of your child had been attacked, even if the incident occurred before they were together. It was a part of her life, a part of her memories, a deeply embedded scar he wasn’t aware of.
The issue of Daniel Owen’s paternity slipped into Beth’s mind. She nodded towards the pub. ‘Were you here all night?’
‘Yes. I came straight here. Sat at the bar.’
‘On your own?’
A single nod. ‘There was only one company I was looking for last night.’ He swiped a hand down the front of his face, the calluses scratching and scraping against his stubble. ‘I’ve no idea how much I drank. A shot with every pint. One after another.’
‘What time did you leave?’
‘Don’t know. Must have been late. I started walking home, but I could barely see the road and there’s no pathway for the first stretch.’ He stared ahead, into the mist on the windscreen.
‘Was it busy here last night?’
‘I couldn’t tell you,’ he said. ‘There were a few cars in the car park when I arrived. No one at the bar inside, I think they must have belonged to diners in the restaurant. Why do you ask?’
‘Did you speak with anyone, or see anyone you know?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Vic, this is important. We haven’t been able to reach Daniel Owen about the issue of Alicia’s paternity. Marie was told to keep it to herself. Did you tell anyone?’
He frowned. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. But there’s so much of the evening I can’t remember, I couldn’t be sure.’
*
He wiped the cloth against the window, taking his time to work it into the corners of the glass, to eradicate the smears, before h
e turned and cast a fleeting glance at the house opposite. A woman stood at the window, anxiously looking out. It was the detective’s sister waiting for her daughter to arrive home from music school. He went back to his work, the cloth squeaking as he rubbed it up and down, the glass gleaming back at him. Music school was held at the village school around the corner on a Saturday morning. It finished at 10.30. Lily arrived home at 10.40. She’d left at 8.50 that morning, her rucksack bouncing against her back, waving at her mother until she reached the corner, just as she did during the week.
Another furtive glance. The child was running late.
He could see Eden in the window opposite now, leaning on the ledge, craning her neck to peer further down the street.
He pulled the peak of his baseball cap down, took another cloth and was running it along the window ledge when he noticed the reflection of a young girl in the glass. Lily was dawdling, humming a jaunty tune to herself, tousled wisps of blonde hair flying around her cheeks, her red coat billowing in the gentle breeze. She liked to sing and dance.
He’d watched her from afar as she’d danced around the room at her birthday party the other night, playing musical chairs with her friends. Her mother, Eden, had her hands full there. But she’d had help that evening – Auntie Beth was on hand to lend her support. Shame she wasn’t there more often.
He’d watched Beth leave the Russells’ earlier. Striding to her car. So confident, so self-assured, yet she was missing what was under her nose. She had no idea he was close by, watching the case and following her family. Waiting for the right time to strike.
She had no idea her world was about to upend.
He dropped the cloth in the bucket, gathered everything together and made for the car. It was time to make the detective sit up and take notice.
45
‘Damn traffic,’ Nick said. The road out of Northamptonshire to Bedford Prison was slow moving. Christmas was quickly approaching and shoppers were out in their hordes, visiting festive fayres and picking up last minute presents.
Beth stared out of the side window at the gloomy countryside. The car inched forward and juddered to a stop. Again. ‘How long did Jimmy Carvel work for the McNamara brothers?’ she asked.
The traffic moved again. Nick paused while he pulled out to overtake a lorry. ‘We’re not sure exactly,’ he said when they were safely back on their side of the road. ‘The intelligence archives indicate about seven years, before he was locked up again in 2006. Officially, he was working at Barton’s Snooker Hall, though reams of intelligence had him down as one of their senior enforcers.’
‘It’s a wonder he wasn’t picked up earlier.’
‘There were several allegations and a couple of arrests for assault. But it was the usual – witnesses withdrew, lack of evidence. He’s a nasty piece of work, by all accounts.’
‘Does he know we’re coming to see him?’
‘He’s been told. Whether or not he’ll speak to us is another matter.’
Beth rested her head back. Even after the McNamara’s deaths, the bubble of secrecy around them was tight. It seemed unlikely they’d get anything valid about Scott out of Carvel this afternoon.
Her mind switched back to the Russells earlier. She’d persuaded Vic to leave his car at the pub and collect it later, convinced he’d still be well over the limit to drive, and taken him home. He’d kept his head down when they’d steered through the reporters, moved into the house quickly when she’d parked up.
Marie was standing at the kitchen sink when they entered the house, Zac upstairs.
Vic didn’t bother shedding his jacket, his shoes. Instead he strode down the hallway, pulling his wife into his arms, holding her tight for several seconds. Neither of them uttered a word. Eventually, he’d kissed her hair and rested his chin on the top of her head. It was a touching moment and for some reason Beth was reminded of her and Nick. She’d made her excuses soon afterwards and left. They had much to talk about and she had a prison visit to prepare for.
Beth looked across at Nick. He was staring ahead, eyes on the road.
‘Any news on the job front?’ she asked, forcing a smile. The fact they hadn’t spoken about his job search since their discussion outside Freeman’s office seemed odd. He’d been in homicide six years and had hinted it was time for a change.
‘What?’ He glanced fleetingly in her direction, forehead scrunched, as if he’d been deep in thought.
‘The National Crime Agency?’
‘I told you, I haven’t heard anything back. It’s probably long gone now.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I wanted you to know that I’ll support you if you want to move from homicide.’
‘Anyone would think you were trying to get rid of me.’ He passed her a wry smile and indicated to take the next turn.
‘Just saying.’
‘Well, there’s no need now. I mean once you get your promotion and I revert back, we’ll be the same rank. They’ll be nothing to stop us going public then.’
A car cut in front of them. Nick banged on the horn, swore under his breath and they pulled off towards the dual carriageway. And the moment was gone.
46
Beth’s stomach growled as the prison guard searched through his keys for the hospital wing. It had taken over an hour to navigate the traffic to Bedford Prison and pass through security. It was now almost 1 p.m., and having dashed out without breakfast that morning, her body was protesting.
The guard unlocked the door and led them through into a small hospital ward where patients lay in two rows of metal beds, facing each other. Several pairs of eyes followed them as they strode past and entered a private room at the end.
The difference between the image of Jimmy Carvel on their records and the man that lay before them now was striking. Gone was the puffed chest, the thick neck, square head and dark intimidating eyes of the once forty-something henchman. In front of them was a scrawny man, with pasty, paper-like skin and sunken cheeks. The hard man bones of his once thick skull jutted out of his bald head. He had no eyebrows or lashes, a legacy of the chemotherapy she guessed, which only accentuated the dark shadows beneath eyes that seemed to have faded, the colour drained out of them.
He lifted a sinewy arm, made to push himself up the bed, and the tube from the canula at his wrist to the drip beside juddered.
Beth and Nick introduced themselves. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see us today,’ Nick said. ‘How are you feeling?’
Jimmy eyed them suspiciously and said nothing.
‘We’re investigating the murder of Alicia Owen,’ Nick said shuffling into a chair. ‘The baby that disappeared in Northampton, fifteen years ago.’
‘I know it.’ His words were slow, breathless.
‘We’re trying to locate all the family members still living. Do you know Scott Owen?’
Jimmy gave a single nod.
‘Do you have any idea where we might find him?’
‘No.’ He stared back at them and blinked.
‘When was the last time you heard from Scott?’
‘Couldn’t say.’
Nick exchanged a deflated glance with Beth. Their journey was beginning to feel wasted.
Beth sat forward in her chair. ‘Please, Mr Carvel. It’s important we trace everyone who had contact with baby Alicia. The family have been through so much.’
A raspy cough. A gaze at the ceiling. ‘I had a daughter born the same year as that kid that disappeared.’
‘Then you’ll appreciate what the family are going through.’
‘Hannah, we called her. Lovely little thing, a wisp of a girl.’ His eyes were still averted.
‘That’s nice.’
He met Beth’s eyeline. ‘Haven’t seen her for ten years.’
‘I’m sorry. We’ve recovered Alicia’s body,’ she said trying to move the conversation back on track. ‘As you can imagine, the family—’
‘Maybe we can help each other.�
�
Beth didn’t falter at the interruption. ‘I’m not with you.’
He eyed her a moment. ‘Can you get a message to my Hannah? Tell her I’m ill. Her mother hasn’t brought her to visit me in years. Doesn’t even write anymore. I’d like to see her. One last time, you know?’
Beth could feel Nick shuffle uncomfortably beside her. They weren’t here to bargain. Although, there was no harm in passing along the message of a dying man to his next of kin. Especially if it encouraged him to open up and talk. ‘I can’t make any promises,’ she said, ‘but if you give me the details, I can certainly try to trace her mother and pass along your request.’
His face brightened slightly. He gave her the contact details for the mother and daughter and she jotted them down. ‘Now what about Scott Owen?’ Beth said.
‘Haven’t seen him for years.’
‘But you did know him?’
He coughed, wiped his mouth with a tissue. ‘He was a gambler. Small-time, we all thought. Borrowed money off Sean to feed his habit. I collected from him a few times… roughed him up once when he was short.’
Beth could only begin to imagine how he’d ‘roughed him up’. ‘Are you saying he borrowed off Sean McNamara?’
‘Yeah.’
‘When was this?’
‘Must have been… the summer of 2002. I didn’t hear the truth of it until afterwards.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Scott owed Sean a lot of cash – almost twenty grand. What Sean didn’t realise was that he’d borrowed from Richie too.’ Another rasp. He cleared his throat.
‘The other McNamara brother,’ Nick checked.
‘Yeah. He played them off against each other.’
‘Surely, they knew who their debtors were?’
He lifted a shoulder, let it drop. ‘They lent money to a lot of people. Kept their own accounts. Twenty grand wasn’t unusual, even in that time.’