‘I chose you for many reasons, not least of which was your intelligence. You are not a stupid woman. You’re curious about what I’m up to. As you should be.’
‘What game you playing, bitch?’ Tanya asked, narrowing her eyes.
‘Oh, it’s no game, Tanya, I can assure you of that,’ Alex said, combing her hair. ‘I know all about you.’
‘You know fuck all about… ’
‘I know everything, Tanya. I know that your mother died when you were twelve years old. I know that you fought tooth and nail to stay with your ten-year-old sister, even staying in the system with no hope of foster care or adoption for you both. I know you protected Tina from everything you could. And when you were old enough you left the care system and still protected her. But you couldn’t protect her from everything, could you?’
The comb was no longer tapping against the palm. Her left hand had closed around the teeth, the knuckles whitening.
‘How many men raped her that night, Tanya?’
Tanya said nothing.
‘Of course, it was three, wasn’t it? And you and your sister killed them all, didn’t you?’
Tanya continued to stare as the hate filled her eyes.
Alex tipped her head. ‘And which one of you cut off their penises before you killed them?’
There was no answer, and Alex didn’t really need one. The fact that both Tanya and her sister, Tina, were equally vicious was good enough for her.
‘Did you ever find out which one of them was the father of your nephew, Kai?’
And there was the next bombshell. Just dropping his name between them changed everything. The most precious things to Tanya, her sister and her nephew, were now here in the room with them. It was no longer just about her.
Alex waited for an answer. The air was charged between them. If ever Tanya was going to launch across the room and grab her by the throat it was now.
The rage of everything that had happened to the two of them danced in her eyes. Her hand was still gripped around the comb.
Alex smiled.
‘So I do know everything, Tanya, but the most important thing is that I know that you and your sister had to be separated. But you’re still in contact with her.’
And that was a vital part of the plan.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
‘So, what’s with the desk furniture?’ Bryant asked, as they passed the turning to the Clent Hills.
She should have known he’d seen the cactus plant in her office.
Other people had chosen to dress their desks up to make their workplace more homely. Photographs, ornaments, plastic motivational cards with clichéd messages. She saw all kinds of personal objects that she simply didn’t understand. It was as though people needed to remember who they were to get them through the working day. If she were to bring reminders from home there would be a socket wrench, a dog chew and… she really couldn’t think of anything else. And that was fine with her.
‘It was left on my doorstep,’ she said by way of explanation. It had been quicker to bring it with her than reopen her house.
‘I mean it kind of fits, if you know what I mean. You’re a bit—’
‘Bryant, do not finish that sentence in work time,’ she warned, as realisation dawned.
‘It’s from Gemma,’ she said.
‘Who on earth is Gemma?’
Kim offered him a brief rundown of the events when she’d returned home from Deanna Brightman’s crime scene.
‘You don’t half attract them,’ he said, slowing down the car as they approached the address in Middlefield Lane, Hagley.
Being back in Alex’s old stomping ground was unnerving, and she couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable that the woman’s home and office was only a mile west of where they were now.
Kim pushed the thought away and focussed on the property. It was by far the largest and most luxurious-looking house they had visited so far.
‘Another visit to the poor and impoverished folks of the Black Country,’ Bryant said.
A high wall surrounding the house rose gradually towards – and ended at – seven-feet brick pillars and a double gate.
Bryant approached the gate and spoke into an intercom fixed to the wall. The family had been informed of the death of Maxine Wakeman, and the gates began to swing back promptly.
The house was white in colour, and Kim counted eleven windows on the upper level. A sizeable garage was fixed to the left-hand side.
The doorbell chimed throughout the house.
It was a good minute and a half before they heard heels on a tiled floor. Kim guessed that if you were at the other end of the house it could take a while to reach the front door.
Eventually the door swung back and revealed a woman in her early sixties despite efforts to appear to the contrary. The lips had been plumped and the face had been lifted. Kim was reminded of the autumn flowers she’d seen in the woods the night before. Almost done but just trying to reach towards that last bit of sunlight.
But her age showed in the neck skin like the rings inside a tree.
The woman’s face was attractive but a little too made up. The lipstick a shade too red. Navy trousers and a floral blouse clothed the petite body.
Three thin gold bangles clanged together on the left wrist.
Kim noticed a proprietary air surrounding the woman as Bryant introduced them both.
This was not Maxine’s mother, but she was Maxine’s something.
She held out her hand. ‘Amelia Trent. Geraldine’s mother.’
Kim noted the attachment to the name of her daughter, not granddaughter.
Bryant offered their condolences as they stepped into the hall.
The woman barely nodded before pointing to the floor.
‘Oh, be careful of that tile there, it’s just been replaced. Had to be flown all the way from Milan.’
The hallway would have eaten Kim’s entire lower floor for breakfast and still had room for dessert.
The staircase spiralled out of the space and led to a viewing balcony.
‘It came from Marseilles,’ she said, following Kim’s gaze up to the chandelier.
‘Mrs Trent, may we speak with your daughter?’ Kim said. They were not here for a guided tour of the property.
‘Of course,’ she said, coolly, as she headed to the left of the staircase.
‘Didn’t realise being a TV shrink paid this well,’ Bryant mumbled as they passed through a formal, fully laid dining area beneath a glass apex that seemed to mark the centre of the house.
Kim could see what he meant.
‘Neeta, where are you?’ Amelia called. There was no reply. She turned and rolled her eyes. ‘She’s new and still gets lost around the house.’
Amelia guided them into a drawing room that was pleasant but comfortable. A warm cream rug contrasted with the solid oak wood flooring beneath her feet. Two caramel leather sofas were at a right angle before a marble fireplace. It was a room to crawl into on a dark, cold night.
Geraldine Hall stood at the window, leaning against the wall. A second female was propped up by pillows on the sofa nearest to the wall. Her left leg was encased in a plaster cast from thigh to ankle.
Geraldine Hall was thinner than she had appeared on the catch-up show Kim had watched the night before. Much thinner.
Her limbs were long and spindly. Her face was attractive but gaunt and appeared to be the wrong size for her body.
Her eyes were red, and she clutched a handkerchief.
‘My daughter, Geraldine Hill,’ said Amelia, as though she was introducing an after-dinner speaker. ‘And her friend, Belinda Hughes.’
Geraldine moved to the sofa and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
‘This is Belinda, my partner.’
Kim nodded in response to the woman who offered a smile in her direction.
A faint look of irritation on Amelia’s face was hidden beneath a tolerant smile.
‘Soon to be wife,’ Belinda added,
reaching over and covering her partner’s hand.
Kim couldn’t help noticing how Amelia’s gaze followed the hand on the shoulder and stayed there.
‘We’re here about Maxine,’ Kim said, sitting down.
Geraldine’s eyes reddened immediately as she removed her hand from Belinda’s to retrieve the handkerchief from her pocket. She sat down on the edge of the sofa.
‘I should think so,’ Amelia said, as a woman in her early twenties appeared in the doorway. ‘Neeta, where have you been?’ Amelia asked coldly.
‘In the guest wing… ’
‘Never mind. Please offer our guests some refreshments.’
Kim held up her hand to refuse.
‘Coffee – white, with two sugars, please,’ Bryant said, offering the girl a smile.
‘Same for me,’ Geraldine said, while Belinda shook her head.
‘Tch, green tea for my daughter,’ Amelia corrected, using her right hand to shoo the woman away.
Geraldine opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again.
‘How long had you been in contact with Maxine?’ Kim asked.
‘Four years now,’ Geraldine answered. ‘She was eighteen years old and full of angst.’
‘And drugs,’ Amelia interjected.
Kim ignored her.
‘And how had that been going?’ she asked.
Geraldine’s smile was sad. ‘Not well, to be honest. It was a bit of a surprise when she just appeared on the doorstep. I was less than gracious… ’
‘Understandably,’ Amelia said, frowning. ‘Adoption is supposed to mean—’
‘Ooooh, sorry to interrupt,’ Belinda said, moving her good leg to the side. ‘I need the loo, and my crutches… Amelia, would you mind… ?’
Amelia shot her future daughter-in-law a withering glance before stepping forward and offering her arm.
Belinda shot her partner a knowing look before hobbling away clutching the older woman’s hand.
‘Please continue,’ Kim said.
‘It took a while,’ Geraldine said, ‘for us to recover from that initial meeting,’ she said, honestly. ‘Neither of us seemed to know what to do or how to act, but eventually we found a way to communicate. If I’m honest, it wasn’t as mother and daughter. Maxine had a mother but we were growing close.’
‘Despite the drugs?’ Kim asked.
‘Maybe because of it,’ Geraldine answered.
Kim waited for her to explain.
‘I developed a drink problem in my early teens, officer. I understand addiction.’
‘You tried to help her?’ Bryant asked.
‘Of course. I may not have had the history and relationship of a mother with her but I certainly had the instincts.’
Kim couldn’t help but marvel at the complexity of human relationships. Especially the mother and daughter bond. Geraldine’s own relationship with her mother appeared no less complicated.
Her own was the exception. There was nothing complicated there.
‘Did Maxine seem troubled at all?’ Kim asked.
‘Officer, she was always troubled. It was only a question of degrees. In some ways she was very young for her age.’
‘Did she ever talk about having trouble with anyone, feeling threatened?’ Kim asked.
Geraldine thought for a moment before nodding. ‘She was a drug addict, Inspector. Most of the time she thought the whole world was out to get her.’
‘Anything in particular?’ Kim pushed. ‘Anyone that might want to hurt her, any enemies?’
Geraldine shook her head. ‘She didn’t mention anything specific to me. I don’t know if she mentioned anything at home.’
‘Her mother hadn’t seen her for quite some time,’ Bryant interjected.
Geraldine didn’t flinch at the term being used in relation to someone else. Kim couldn’t help the grudging admiration she felt for the woman’s complete acceptance of the fact it was a title she had not earned.
There was no bitterness that another woman had taken that role.
‘She wasn’t with me, unfortunately. Or I would have urged her to make contact. Maxine did that, you see. Initially she would play us off against each other, you know, come to me when she having trouble at home and then back home if there was a problem here.’
‘How many times did she try to get clean?’ Kim asked.
Geraldine wiped at her eyes. ‘Too many to count. Sometimes she would stay one or two days. Other times she would stay a couple of weeks, and once or twice she almost completed the programme.’
‘And you kept trying?’ Bryant asked, disbelievingly.
‘Of course. It only has to work once.’
Kim thought that view was a little simplistic, as Neeta brought in a tray and placed it on the wooden coffee table.
Geraldine thanked her.
‘So, how long had it been since you’d last seen her?’
‘Seven weeks,’ she said, as her gaze fell to the ground.
Kim sensed the added sadness immediately. And the woman knew exactly how many weeks, probably days and possibly even hours.
‘We had a fight,’ Geraldine whispered, without looking up.
‘About what?’
Geraldine began to shake her head as colour flooded her cheeks.
‘Please, we need to know,’ Kim urged, gently.
Geraldine reached and took a mug from the tray. If Bryant noted that she’d taken his drink, and her original choice, he chose not to mention it.
‘Maxine asked me if I was ashamed of her.’
‘And were you?’ Kim asked, not unkindly.
Geraldine shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. But she wanted to know why she hadn’t yet met any of my friends. She wanted to visit me at the studio.’
Understandable, Kim thought.
‘I said no, and we had this huge argument. I thought it was just a culmination of us venting but then I didn’t hear from her for weeks.’
‘Why did you say no?’ Kim asked.
‘It’s difficult to explain, officer, but it has nothing to do with being ashamed.’
‘Damage to your public persona?’ Kim asked.
Geraldine smiled wryly. ‘No, that bothers other people far more than it bothers me. It’s about deceit. It’s about working backwards and explaining to your friends, colleagues why you said you have no children. As far as I knew she was lost to me for ever, and I lived my life accordingly. She was here,’ she said, pointing at her chest, ‘but I never dreamed that we would meet. I had a child in my heart but not in my head. I gave up that right when I signed those papers and gave her away.’
There was an integrity about this woman that Kim respected.
Geraldine swallowed. ‘I’m just glad that we made our peace before… before… ’
‘You saw her again?’
Geraldine shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t see her but eventually she answered my calls. I finally managed to explain and tell her the decision I’d made. The timing of her… ’
‘Decision?’ Kim asked.
Geraldine took another sip of the coffee and placed it back on the tray as they all heard Belinda cough from the hallway.
‘Yes, officer, I was about to publicly acknowledge my daughter.’
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
‘Well, that was interesting,’ Bryant said, as they headed towards the car. ‘Geraldine is a young forty-four, don’t you think?’
‘Some weird dynamics going on in there,’ she agreed. ‘Talk about controlling.’
‘You’re not that bad, guv,’ he said, with a smirk.
She raised one eyebrow.
He continued. ‘Not even allowing her a coffee so she stole mine,’ he observed.
‘Hardly stole and to be fair, Bryant, she’s a grown woman in her own home. It’s a situation she’s allowed.’
‘Oh come on, guv. Family undercurrents are a bit more complicated than that.’
‘And she’s a psychiatrist. I’m pretty sure that would have come up in her training. Jus
t like the quickest, cleanest, most efficient way to stab someone.’
‘You can’t think… ?’
‘Look, psychiatrists are real doctors too. They all do the same medical training before deciding which area to specialise in.’
‘But she’s the girl’s mother.’
Kim snapped the seat belt into place. ‘And mothers can kill their children.’
Bryant opened his mouth and then closed it again wisely. He turned to her. ‘Yeah, but she hardly—’
‘Don’t you dare say again that she doesn’t look like a murderer. Look at Ted Bundy. Half the prison guards and police officers were in love with that guy.’
He nodded, conceding her point.
‘The mother’s a bit mutton dressed… ’
Kim agreed. She was definitely trying to outrun the ageing process and appeared to be using her daughter’s money to do it.
Again, it was no concern of hers. She took out her phone and dialled Stacey.
‘Boss?’ she answered.
‘Let Dawson know that Maxine has been missing in action for a few weeks. We need to try and find out where she’s been and who with. Neither mother has seen her for weeks.’ She hesitated. ‘And see what you can find out about Geraldine’s contract. I want to know if there’s any scandal clause.’
‘On it, boss,’ Stacey said, before Kim hung up.
‘Where to, guv?’ Bryant asked, as the wooden gates closed behind them.
‘Head towards Wombourne,’ she said.
She wanted to see Jason Cross again. He was lying about something. That much she knew. About what she couldn’t be sure.
His defensiveness when she’d pushed him had set her instincts on fire.
It was time to see what happened if she pushed him too far.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Alex moved along the dinner line silently. The offering consisted of cottage pie. The fact that the tasteless mashed potato and overcooked mince had any name at all was purely aspirational. The peas were like tiny bullets, and the gravy was a thick greasy pool. As usual, she would eat what she needed to survive.
She had initially tried to trick her taste buds by picturing the oysters and lobster she had enjoyed on a regular basis. Even the delicious tortillas from the Mexican just along the road from her Victorian home in Hagley.
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