by D. E. White
“I think we have enough to arrest both of them!” DI Lincoln said.
“Jenna Essex definitely knows more than she’s letting on, ” Dove piped up, “and she was close to telling us more when we spoke to her today. Her excuse for visiting Caz was old photographs. What if she found evidence Bravery was responsible for Mickey’s attack, and took it straight over to Ship Street? By her own and Caz’s admissions, they hardly saw each other in the five years Mickey has been in a coma. Why reach out now? Steve and I could bring her in for interview tomorrow to try and tie up loose ends.”
“Are you two still going to talk to Jamie’s parents?”
Steve nodded. “They’re both home from work at seven, so we’re going straight over now.”
* * *
Dove slammed the car door— twice — so it actually closed properly, and followed Steve towards the houses. These were on the very edge of a large sprawling estate. She could see washing still fluttering on a line, an elderly man walking a dog, and a few teenagers gathered around a rusting white van with one wheel jacked up. There was wasteland to the right, grass dried yellow in the summer heat. Beyond that were the woods, and further to the west, the old quarry where Mickey’s body had been found.
The aftermath of the earlier rainstorm lingered, lending a chill to the breeze. But the clouds were now thin, ragged streamers across the evening sky, promising the return of fine weather. In her thin shirtsleeves, Dove shivered. “I wonder why the parents didn’t move?”
She turned to look in the direction of the woods. A group of kids were playing on a rusty old swing set, screaming with laughter as they swung on the ominously creaking metalwork. More kids were kicking a ball around near the hedge.
“I’ve seen it before. Either the family starts again somewhere new, or stays right where they have memories to keep alive,” Steve said. “Come on, let’s get this done. I’m starving and I was hoping to get back to do Grace’s bath time tonight.”
They stepped straight off the road into the front garden, and Dove noted the tall grass gone to seed, dandelion clocks nodding in the breeze. A rambler rose hung in long straggly loops from a rotting trellis. To the right of the front door, next to the hedge that divided the property from next door, was a shallow depression, the grass a different colour. Maybe a previous pond or perhaps a shed had stood there, she supposed, as Steve knocked briskly.
Minutes later, Dove could see Steve had been correct in his assumptions. Claire’s and Russ’s home was like a shrine to their daughter. In the living room, where they were offered tea and chocolate biscuits, one wall and almost every surface was covered in framed photographs of Mickey. Only in one corner of the mantel could Dove see any pictures of Jamie and his new family.
Shelves loaded with trophies added to the claustrophobic feel in the small room. Piles of newspapers and magazines surrounded the sofa. Peering into the kitchen area, Dove could see similar piles of recipe books, kitchen appliances and other clutter.
Steve politely took a biscuit and smiled at the nervous pair. “As I said on the phone, we’d just like you to take us through the events leading up to Mickey’s attack.” He paused, but the couple made no move to talk. “We appreciate this is very difficult for you, but it would be helpful in our current investigation.”
Russ leaned forward, hands planted on his knees. His hair must once have been as red as his children’s but now all that remained was a few grey wisps, and shaggy white eyebrows, flecked with ginger. “Jamie called us, of course.”
“Of course,” Dove nodded. “Then you’ll know Jamie is also helping us with our investigation.”
Claire spoke for the first time. She was hunched into an oversized pastel pink sweater with KL Gym inscribed across the front. Like her husband, her face looked older than her actual age, grief and loss scrawling harsh lines around her hazel eyes and drooping mouth. Dove could see from the photographs that her daughter, Mickey, had been her double. The snub-nosed, vivacious face, petite slender frame and rosebud mouth looked triumphantly down from the wall right behind the sofa, now a devastating contrast to her mother. “Jamie said Ellis Bravery was killed . . . But I don’t understand.” She glanced at her husband, and he took her hand, gently squeezing her fingers. “We don’t understand why he would be at the escape rooms . . . Jamie’s business. Was he threatening Jamie or something? There was some stuff about planning and permits when they first put in for permission, but I thought that was all sorted out . . .”
“That’s one of the things we are trying to find out,” Dove said. “Ellis Bravery was interviewed in connection with Mickey’s death, wasn’t he?”
“It was just routine because he was our neighbour. Everyone along this stretch of road gave statements, and all the kids who’d been playing on the waste ground,” Russ said, rubbing his forehead with a pinched finger and thumb. “The gymnastics coach, Hawthorn, and Mickey’s best friend, Jenna, seemed to be the main suspects. They were questioned again and again, and Hawthorn was actually arrested, but nothing ever came of it. Not enough evidence, the police said.”
“In the end Ellis Bravery had an alibi for when Mickey was in the woods,” Claire added. “The forestry workers heard a scream at half past eight, but by the time they got up to the quarry and found her . . . They never heard or saw anyone else.”
“Any idea why Jamie is so absolutely sure Ellis was responsible?” Steve asked.
“There were rumours he had been involved in some child-porn ring at work, with another man. Initially we were worried, living next door with kids, but Ellis was never anything but polite and reserved.”
“Jamie didn’t like him,” Claire said strongly, “and the kids all said he was watching them . . . I think he was just a bit of an oddball.”
“We never saw any of it, and he was never funny with any of them that we saw,” Russ said wearily. “We’ve given up being angry. It does no good. It won’t bring Mickey back.”
“I’m sorry,” Dove said, flicking a glance at Steve.
“It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t there.” Claire reached for her mug of tea, but instead of drinking she simply cradled the warm mug in her hands, tired eyes fixed on Dove’s. “For a while after it happened we wondered if Ellis had fooled us all, but he had an alibi. Every year on the anniversary, we ask the police to reopen Mickey’s case. It can’t bring her back, but it would give us peace and closure to know who did it, to see justice done.”
Dove’s heart hurt for them, these sad, quiet parents who seemed to have lost the fight and fire they must have had. Budget cuts would have had a hand in refusing to reopen a cold case, but she guessed there had also been no new evidence linking Ellis to Mickey. Circumstantial simply didn’t cut it.
“How did Jamie cope after Mickey’s attack?” Steve asked.
“Badly, of course,” Russ answered. “He adored his sister. He was the one who taught her to jump from the bars, to walk along the wall on the waste ground like it was a balance beam. We reckon that was what started all the gymnastics.”
He was smiling fondly now, eyes distant as he recalled happier memories. “Jamie was so sure Ellis had hurt Mickey, and he used to rage and shout at the police when they came. He used to make diagrams of how Ellis could have driven back here to intercept Mickey. There was a very bad patch when he ran into Ellis one night, and threw a punch at him. Luckily Ellis never pressed charges, and Jamie agreed to get some counselling. Although I don’t think he ever did . . .”
“He went travelling after he left school, and was away for a few years,” Claire put in. “It seemed to help him come to terms with Mickey’s attack, but he drifted between jobs until he became a diving instructor. Jamie has always . . .” She paused, as though trying to find the words. “Jamie has a very definite idea of things and once he gets an idea into his head as far as he is concerned that is what happened.”
“And it was like that with Mickey’s attack?” Steve asked.
Claire nodded, “We asked and asked the kids if
they had any more evidence it was Ellis, but nobody had. It didn’t matter to Jamie. It was like he was blind to any other suggestions.”
“And he started a relationship with Caz while they were away travelling?” Dove said. She had been slowly letting her gaze drift around the room when she could, and so far had only clocked two photographs of Jamie. While Mickey, the shining star, the golden girl, leaped and stretched and posed around the walls, every picture a testimony to her brilliance. The two images of her brother were both school-photo headshots.
“Yes. Caz is a lovely girl, and they’ve known each other since they were kids. We were very happy when they opened the Beach Escape Rooms and had Lila. He seems to have settled down at last. He and Mickey were so close, despite the age gap . . .” Claire stopped abruptly, as though returning from her memories into a hostile and harsh reality.
“Where was Jamie when Mickey died?” Steve asked. “You said he blamed himself for not protecting her.”
Russ rolled his eyes. “No more than I do. I was at the roadside strimming the verge, and saw Mickey walk off with Jenna.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts before he could continue. “Jamie was playing football with his friends. They’d set up a pitch on the other side of the waste ground. Twenty or thirty of them used to gather there for matches every other night in the holidays.”
“It was like one big party,” Claire said. “Jamie has always blamed himself for not being with Mickey to protect her that evening. But I brought her home from a competition at eight, and she went off with Jenna to meet up with their usual group. Jenna said they went down the path that leads along the side of the woods.” Claire took a deep breath, as though her thoughts were troubling her. “There’s a big hedge of brambles and scrub. Jenna said they could hear the football match and she wanted to join the crowd, but Mickey said she was tired and she needed to be alone to go through the competition in her head.”
Both her parents looked exhausted, Dove thought. They looked like they had been tired for a long time, and they must have been through the events before and after Mickey’s death so many times.
“Has Jamie kept in touch with Jenna over the years?” Dove asked.
“I don’t think so,” Claire answered, looking doubtfully at her husband, who shook his head.
“No, he and Caz haven’t had any contact with Jenna,” Russ said firmly.
Dove glanced at Steve and saw he was thinking the same thing. Had Jamie or Caz warned them not to say anything about Jenna’s late-night visit to Ship Street, or had Jamie not actually shared this with his parents?
“You must have read the reports, so you know who the suspects were,” Russ said suddenly. “Are we helping Jamie by answering your questions, or are you trying to pin Bravery’s murder on him?”
Steve shook his head. “We are following all lines of enquiry and at the moment nobody is accusing Jamie of anything, Mr Delaney. Three other people died on the twenty-fifth.”
“I think . . .” Claire spoke with an effort. “I think it must be a coincidence that Ellis and his friends broke into Jamie’s business, or perhaps they were drunk and intended to cause some damage . . .” She seemed to be aware how lame her words sounded, because she trailed off, still clinging to her untouched tea mug.
“Did Jenna Essex keep in touch with you?” Dove asked.
“Not really,” Claire said. “She thought we blamed her, but we didn’t. Mickey often went off on her own to clear her head. Jenna loved Mickey, despite their differences.”
Russ swallowed hard and added, “Jenna visits Mickey every week at the hospital, sometimes more, and she stays for an hour or so, talks to her, sometimes sleeps in the chair next to Mickey’s bed, holding her hand. I don’t think there is anything else we can tell you that hasn’t already been covered a thousand times.”
“Thank you for your time.” Dove stood up, closing her notebook. Steve did the same.
Claire showed them to the door. Suddenly she grabbed Dove’s arm, her eyes desperate and pain-filled. “Please, Detective, please find out what happened to Mickey. It’s killing us, not knowing the truth.”
Dove covered the woman’s cold hand with her own warm fingers, a rush of sympathy strengthening her resolve. But her training led her to be cautious. No false promises. “Claire, if we can find out who is responsible during the course of our investigation, we will.”
The woman nodded, slowly removed her hand and stepped back, the sudden energy and fire dying, shoulders hunching again as she opened the front door for them.
As they stepped out into the golden evening, Dove could see kids playing with a skipping rope on the waste ground, could hear their chant:
Down in the field where the summer grass grows,
There sat Janey
Sweet as a rose,
Along came Johnny
And kissed her on the cheek.
How many kisses
Did she get this week?
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6!
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
He should have gone right away, straight after Mickey’s attack, after all the press interest. Someone must have leaked his past to the press, because we had reporters asking us if we thought he’d done it, read stories speculating the whole investigation was being blundered because the police didn’t have enough officers to do it properly . . .
Each new article was like a fresh wound in my heart, and I know my parents felt exactly the same. “Not guilty, my arse!” Dad shouted, when the police told us Ellis had an alibi.
I was surprised it took him a few months to leave, but the For Sale sign on his house was nothing but a relief to my parents. One of my mates got a job in a nursing home after school and he told me how Ellis would never come in and see his nan now, but everyone knew who she was.
Ellis Bravery did a pretty good job of vanishing, and a pretty good job of reinventing himself, I’ll give him that. From neighbourhood freak to loaded entrepreneur. Quite a journey.
Me and Jenna hooked up one night. I’m not sure what she was thinking, but she looked so sad, kept crying all the time. I told her I never believed she had anything to do with Mickey’s death, got her drunk and slept with her. It was a one-time thing, both of us looking for comfort in the wrong places, I guess, and she crept out the next morning without waking me.
I suppose she was also terrified of what her mum would say, always scared of displeasing the dragon matriarch.
Caz and I had a bit of a thing going, but despite being such a support to me, we drifted apart, and she started seeing someone else. It didn’t bother me. I went travelling straight after that, drifted through Europe, backpacked around Asia and wondered if I could settle somewhere where Mickey wasn’t. Sometimes I swear I saw her, dancing on the sand on some remote beach, smiling down at me from a jagged clifftop, or I could conjure her face in the deep blue of the oceans I dived in.
There were a few times when I thought Mickey was actually back with me, and I had been wrong about everything. A girl was murdered on the beach near one of the backpacking hostels in Palawan, in the Philippines. We had been travelling in separate groups, but I had seen her around, talked to her, made her laugh on the ferry to El Nido. She had long red hair, and a laugh like Mickey’s.
But one morning the police were on the beach and her photograph was everywhere, just like my sister’s had been. Everyone was crying and I found myself sobbing, really sobbing at the candlelit vigil someone organised the next evening in her memory. I can’t even remember the girl’s name now, but I know she was special. I couldn’t cry when I heard about Mickey, but this time I let my pain out in front of strangers.
Ellis stayed in my thoughts, but I was learning to let go, learning to live without my sister’s presence in my life. By the time I met Caz again, I was still scarred, but at the same time as healed as I ever would be.
She wanted to come back to the UK, not me, but I didn’t feel the same hatred for home as I once had, and Mickey haunted me less and less. My parents were happy
to see us, and when we started the business just a few miles down the coast and Caz got pregnant, they almost seemed excited for us.
My mum even moved a few of Mickey’s pictures and put up several of me, my family, and my baby. I felt Mickey was watching over us from her gallery in the living room.
And then I saw him again in the street. When he came into the escape rooms, my place, laughing with his sordid friends, dressed in an expensive suit and shoes, I couldn’t stop myself.
The others went ahead, and he lingered a little, staring at me. That was when I said it, when I accused him outright of attacking Mickey, asked him how he could live with what he had done.
But this was five years on, and he didn’t take it so well. He had power now, and I’d misjudged him, driven by my own rage and righteousness.
He leaned in close, eyes wary but disdainful. “Jamie, I think we both know exactly what happened that night. I let it go previously, but if you stir things up, well, who knows what might happen to you . . . and to your brand-new business venture. I have seen things, heard things, and as you probably knew back then, I was a watcher. Now I’m a player, so don’t screw with me, Jamie. Don’t even think about it.”
He smirked, knowing he’d wrong-footed me, knowing the balance of power had shifted. I didn’t say a word, but I could feel the rage and terror building in my chest, so I almost struggled to breathe. He took everything away once, and now thought he could do it again?
“I told the police about your hide in the woods, that you took photographs of us all,” I blurted out, hating the fact my voice sounded childish and unsure.
“Jamie, a word of advice. Let this go or you will only damage yourself. Police only work on facts, on evidence, and if you have none of that, they can’t act. Whatever you may have thought you saw, it was gone by the time they arrived, and to spell it out, I most definitely saw more than you did.”
He smiled. Perfect unnaturally white teeth, strong cologne wafting from his hot body as he slipped off his suit jacket. “And don’t flatter yourself. I was only interested in the pretty girls. You boys did nothing for me.”