by Linda Coles
Julie had then called the hospitals to check again, but no, they didn’t have Susan Smith recovering in a nice, warm bed. The thought of her lying in a cold mortuary made Julie’s blood run cold. She’d phoned as many of Susan’s friends as she knew of, but, like most people, she and Richard had replaced the little black book kept in the dresser with their own phones. And without Susan’s phone, who else could Julie call to ask if they’d heard from her?
It was mid-morning when Julie got a call back from Marcus. He asked if she could go around to their house and retrieve a toothbrush or hairbrush, something with Susan’s DNA on it, and courier it down to the forensics team that was working on the incident. He gave her the front-door code and alarm code to gain entry. In the meantime, Marcus would be on his way back from Hong Kong to see what else he could do. Julie doubted Susan’s toothbrush or hairbrush would be still at home if she’d gone away for a few days, but there’d be something of use, surely. She didn’t relish rummaging through her friend’s belongings in her absence, but there was no choice in the matter.
“Why can’t they just match her driver’s licence from her handbag with her picture on it, why can’t they just match her that way?” Julie asked Richard, who was paying little interest, an article in the Financial Times holding his attention. “It just seems it’s going to take forever, and I can’t see why when they know who they are looking for. Surely her handbag must be there as well?”
A grunt from behind the newspaper, nothing more.
“Richard, are you even paying attention at all?” Julie asked, her voice rising in annoyance. His newspaper rustled noisily as he dropped it down on to his lap and stared over his half-moon glasses at her like she was a child that had disrupted his train of thought. He was working from home for the day, supposedly.
“They have a process to follow. They can’t just do what they feel like to appease relatives,” he said. “They have to follow procedure because if they didn’t and a family member identified a body incorrectly – because the person lying in front of them looked a bit like them – imagine the stress that would cause. Not to mention they’d be a bit banged up having gone through an accident and all, and with the family member somewhat stressed, maybe not thinking or seeing too clearly,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Can you imagine how stressful that would be, that the body was identified wrongly?”
“I understand that it just seems kind of pointless really. I mean they’ve got a description of Susan. They must have people lined up that can say ‘yes’ or ‘no’, she looks or doesn’t look like the missing person we are searching for.”
“Yes, but as I said, could you imagine if someone’s got blood on their face or has been cut or worse? Imagine if somebody identified me wrongly, what would you do then? It’s a bit late when I’m part of some other family’s funeral procession to get my body back.”
Richard had a point, Julie knew. “I guess we’ll have to wait for the process, but it could take days, maybe weeks even. If they have to rely on DNA, it won’t happen overnight.”
“No, but if they think that they have a victim they are looking for, dental records will be readily available so it will only be a matter of comparing the two. And still we’re assuming Susan is a part of this mess. She might not be.”
“What other explanation can there be?”
“I’m just saying maybe you’re jumping ahead a little. Maybe she has gone off to a retreat, has not listened to the news, and has no idea that people are looking for her. Remember that last retreat you went to? You had to hand your mobile in at reception so that you could have complete tranquillity. Maybe she’s done something similar.”
It was a possibility though Julie wasn’t convinced. “Marcus is on his way back. I can’t do much more, I’m not next of kin. It’ll be up to Marcus now.”
“Then let him deal with it. Look, Julie,” Richard said, “I know she is your friend, but this could literally take days before you get an answer. Can I suggest you find something else to focus on? Work maybe? Because you didn’t get any sleep last night, and you’re not much further forward today apart from alerting Marcus, who’s on his way back. Keep your mind busy.”
“But I feel so helpless. Susan’s my friend.”
“I know she is, and I feel for you, really I do. But like I said earlier, there may be some perfectly obvious explanation, she may well be sat at a retreat unaware that everyone’s worrying about her.”
Newspaper rustled as he picked it back up again, the conversation over. Julie could see why Chrissy often pulled her tongue out when Richard wasn’t looking. She felt like doing it herself. Conversation over, move on, don’t be part of it. That was the message Richard was sending loud and clear. Then Julie had a brainwave – the passenger list. There had to be a record of who had gone through passport control.
But would they tell Julie if Susan Smith was even on it?
Chapter Fourteen
Julie wasn’t about to sit around all day. She had things to do. And since Marcus had asked for her help, she intended to help. She dialled Chrissy to fill her in on events so far.
“So I’m going over to their house. And I could do with some moral support since I’m not looking forward to going through her things. Fancy coming?”
Chrissy was in her attic office working when Julie called. She checked her screen for the time.
“Where does she live?” she asked.
“Richmond. Not too far from the shop. Do you have time?”
“If you think it will help, okay. I’ll set off in a couple of minutes. Shall I pick you up or make my own way?”
“Perhaps make your own way, I’ll text the address to you. I might nip to the shop afterwards and I don’t want to hold you up.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll get my things and go. Meet you outside, I guess?”
“Perfect. And thanks, I know you’ve got things of your own going on. I do appreciate it you know.”
Chrissy smiled at her sister’s consideration. The two of them had mellowed in each other’s company so much since the death of their father. It seemed they were finally growing up. It had taken forty years.
Julie jumped in her car and headed over to Susan’s place, which was about a thirty-minute drive north of where she lived. Richmond was an old town teeming with affluent people and beautiful homes, though it had been some time since she’d last been to Susan’s place. They tended to meet at a neutral venue somewhere and go on from there. Or meet at the shop. Julie had never given it another thought as to why that might be. When she finally pulled up outside, she was first to arrive. Chrissy wouldn’t be far away.
It was a huge, white detached property sitting back from the road with smart black-wrought iron fencing interspersed with a tall, red brick wall around the front. Leaving her car, she headed through the small pedestrian gate which was nestled under a stone archway. It squeaked a little as she entered. She clicked it shut behind her and made her way to the front door to wait for Chrissy. It would be weird going inside without her friend being there but there was little choice. The sound of another car pulling up caught her attention and she waved at her sister as she made her way to the front door.
“Wow, nice place,” Chrissy said and reached out to give Julie a quick hug. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. I didn’t sleep much.”
“Well, you look great as always,” she said chirpily, trying to be positive for her sister’s sake.
Julie pulled out the scrap of paper where she had jotted down the security code and let them both in, the shrill beep-beep sounding of the alarm in the hallway to her left. She punched the numbers into the keypad and the noise stopped. Julie took a moment to stand in the hallway and feel the coldness of the place. It didn’t appear to have any personality and certainly didn’t feel welcoming, feeling more like a museum almost.
“Chilly in here,” Chrissy added as they moved on down the passageway towards the living room, taking it all in. Huge double wooden doors, beech pr
esumably, led through to the main lounge. Big swathes of gold fabric adorned the windows, giving the room a rather formal regal style. It was immaculate – not a thing out of place. Each highly polished surface shone brilliantly. Photographs, decanters and other odds and ends were displayed around the room. But it wasn’t the living room they were after, it was the bathroom or the bedroom, so they made their way up the stairs.
The bathroom itself felt as cold as the rest of the house, unlived in, nobody home, and again it was spotless. Not a hair in the bathtub, not a speck of fluff on the windowsill.
And not a toothbrush in the toothbrush holder.
“Well, just as I thought. If you’re going away for the weekend you generally take your toothbrush with you,” Julie said, confirming what she’d already suspected.
“Is it me or is the whole place cold and a bit weird?” asked Chrissy.
“Not particularly comfortable, is it,” Julie agreed as she opened a drawer to see if there was a hairbrush, a comb or even a spare toothbrush. There was very little inside; Susan would have her toiletries with her. Satisfied there wasn’t much in the bathroom that would be of use, they went through to the bedroom, which was decorated similarly to the rest of the house though a little bit more modern. A giant bed almost filled the room. While the decor was a bit more modern and informal, it reminded Chrissy of a hotel room – clinical, functional and not much more. She wandered over to a tallboy and opened the top drawer, but it was filled with Marcus’s things, as were the second and the third.
“This is all Marcus’s things. How about over your side?” Chrissy asked, pointing to another set of drawers. Julie opened the top one on the left. Again, there didn’t seem to be anything of Susan’s.
“Strange, Marcus’s things again,” she said, closing the last drawer. She checked the bedside cabinet and opened the top drawer – Marcus’s side. Moving round the bed to the other side, Julie opened the top drawer and found a few belongings of Susan’s. Face cream, hand cream, a book and some other odds and sods, but nothing of any use from a DNA point of view.
Chrissy opened the wardrobe. It was filled with beautiful clothes, many of which looked like they hadn’t been worn, some still had their price tags dangling from the cuffs, but Julie flicked through them to see if there was anything of use. Chrissy watched on.
“My goodness! What does a woman need quite so many clothes for? There’s got to be thousands and thousands of pounds’ worth in here!” she said, reaching in and looking at a price tag. “This dress is over a grand on its own.”
Julie turned and smiled, her sister really didn’t get fashion and the importance of looking great all the time. “And the shoe boxes, how many do you think there are?” Awe coated her words.
“She’s been a good customer of mine of recent,” Julie said, opening a familiar box, one of her own. Would a pair of shoes carry DNA? Surely from sweat they could pick something up? She took out a pair of simple, neutral pumps. They had been worn.
“These should work, don’t you think?”
“I’d think so. But that looks like a laundry basket in the corner?”
“Good thinking.” She lifted the lid. “Damn, it’s empty.” It seemed that Susan Smith was a very tidy person, everything just in its place, even the dirty laundry had been dealt with.
“Maybe there’s a mug still in the dishwasher?” Chrissy offered as they made their way back downstairs. But it seemed Susan had taken care of everything. The kitchen was as spotless as the rest of the house. Then Julie spotted something of interest. Looking out at the long garden from the kitchen window, she saw two small buildings, one on either side of the path, though one looked a bit more substantial than a place where you might pot plants. A bunch of keys hanging on a small rack nearby caught her attention and Julie wondered if one would work. Chrissy read her thoughts. “It’s worth a look,” she said and the two headed off down the bowling-green-striped lawn to the little brick building at the bottom. There were no blinds or curtains pulled across the windows so they were able to see in as soon as they reached it. It looked like some sort of studio, a reading room, perhaps, and wonderfully feminine, though why Susan would need such a place with the many rooms in the large house was puzzling. And with Marcus away half the time it didn’t make sense. But still, Julie slipped a key in the lock and turned it.
The click told her she was in. The morning sun had warmed it, the interior quite toasty, and they scanned the room that was no bigger than a double garage. It was tastefully kitted out with a rather different look and feel than the rest of the house; it was feminine and stylish.
“What is this place?”
A studio, a personal space of some kind, perhaps. In any case, it was obvious Susan spent time there. Books filled shelves almost floor to ceiling on one wall. The woman obviously liked to read. A coffee machine and a small fridge made a tiny kitchen area, and the sofa looked large and soft enough to sleep on. The little space that Susan quite obviously frequented wasn’t as clinical as the rest of the house and on the table next to the comfy chair was a mug – complete with smeared lipstick mark. They’d be able to get DNA from that for sure. They had to assume it was Susan’s. Julie picked it up gingerly by the handle, checked the contents had gone and slipped it into her bag on top of the pumps, careful not to smudge anything.
“Well, that’s a result. Shoes and a mug should be enough,” Chrissy offered as they both did a final glance round.
“I hope so. Time to go,” said Julie. “Thanks for coming. I feel much better now I am helping. And this lot should help with ID so we may hear something sooner than later.” Her weak smile wasn’t fooling Chrissy, but Chrissy was powerless to make her feel any better. Satisfied they had what they needed, they both made their way back up to the mausoleum of a house, locked up and headed out to their cars.
“Strange,” Julie said as they stood looking back from the pavement. “Just strange.” The whole set-up seemed quite unlike the Susan Smith she knew. Apart from the one studio room down at the bottom of the garden. Maybe that was why Susan always insisted on meeting up elsewhere.
“You can’t do any more now, sis, so try and take your mind off worrying. Go to the shops for a few hours.”
“I think I will. Thanks again.”
Chrissy waved and watched Julie pull away before getting in her own car. It was her turn to wonder about the missing woman. The room at the bottom of the garden spoke volumes about Susan.
Chapter Fifteen
As a new day broke, Susan was up with the larks and walked down to the to the beach to blow her cobwebs off and just enjoy five minutes’ peace before she headed off. What appeared to be white-painted sheds lined the shore and stared off into the sea. Two rows deep, they looked out on to the ocean like square white birds waiting for the tide to come in and take them. She assumed they were old-fashioned changing sheds left over from the Victorian era, but trendy to have now as a kind of poor man’s beach house. There were plenty of them along the British coastline and people that owned them generally stored their deckchairs, blankets and picnic equipment in them. Many sat with their flask of tea and a book, taking in the sea air with a blanket across their knees. The morning breeze was welcome on her face, the squawk of seagulls high in the sky sounded cheery, and the sea air deposited tiny salty particles on her lips. She licked them, enjoying the taste of the sea.
Susan hadn’t planned on being on the beach this morning. She’d planned on waking up in Paris, but life threw curveballs and she’d chosen to take this particular one and roll with it, not entirely sure where she was going to end up.
But now it was time for her to move on. The shops would be open shortly and so she made her way towards the town centre to wait. If there was a 24-hour supermarket that sold cheap clothing and the few bits and pieces she needed she could be on her way sooner, but not knowing the town, not knowing the brands, she was clueless. She need not have worried.
Within the hour she had purchased a small backpack, two chan
ges of clothes to take with her, another set she changed into in the fitting room, and other basic necessities. She used the credit card again, reasoning that if anybody was looking for Tabitha Child, they’d already know that she’d landed in Calais. Thank goodness for PINless technology. It would be the last time she’d use it. Susan debated cutting the card up, but reasoned if there was an emergency later on, she’d be thankful she’d kept it. With everything she now owned strapped to her back, she set off towards the main trunk road in search of a suitable prospect to give her a lift further south. At least that way she wouldn’t leave a trail. It was less than twenty-four hours ago that she’d been sat in the same carriage as the now deceased Tabitha Child, heading off on an adventure, one so polar opposite to the one she was on now it was almost comical. Up ahead, she could see a petrol station and figured it would be the easiest place to get a lift from. There would be folks starting out on their journeys after leaving the ferry, hopefully a family with room to spare for her to travel with. She stuck her thumb out anyway. That’s how you caught a lift, wasn’t it? Susan would never have had the balls to do something so reckless in her old life, but Tabitha Child found herself smirking at the adventure ahead. If Marcus could see her now, he’d have a hissy fit of nuclear proportions. The thought of his beet-red face screaming at her ‘stupidity’ made her shudder. He was ugly when he shouted.