‘Becky, the search team must have gone through the nook off Martha’s office where the knife was kept. Can you call them to see if they saw a knife? If it’s still there, that’s the end of it. If it’s not, get on to Spencer Johansson and ask him if he can describe it.’
Tom sat back in his chair. They were closing in on Martha Porter as their number-one suspect. All they had to do now was find her.
36
Tom should have been getting back to his office – there was a stack of paperwork waiting for him, and Philippa would want an update on progress – but he wasn’t shifting from the incident room. There was too much happening, and he was staying put until they had some results.
Rob was on the phone to Naomi Simpson, who had been every bit as easy to track down as they had thought.
‘Can you tell me how you know Martha Porter?’ Tom heard him ask.
He could hear a voice at the other end of the line, slightly raised as if anxious at speaking to the police.
‘How old is Alfie?’ Rob asked.
Desperate as he was to hear everything being said, Tom moved away before he was tempted to reach for the phone and take it from the detective. Alfie must be Martha’s son – a child about whom her work colleagues knew nothing. That was strange. Everyone liked to talk about their children – to show photos, to boast about the things they’d achieved or the funny things they’d done to make their parents laugh.
And speaking of parents, where was Alfie’s dad?
Tom was pacing, waiting for the nugget that would get them all moving in the right direction, but his team knew what they were doing without him hanging over their shoulders, so he steered himself towards the board.
What was the evidence against Martha Porter? She appeared to have been obsessed with Niall. She’d been seen arguing with Genevieve, although they still didn’t know what about. The phone issued to her had been used to call Genevieve and lure her from the house. It seemed possible that the knife used as the murder weapon came from the kitchen area off Martha’s office.
It all added up, but it was also circumstantial, and he doubted it would stand up in court. But if Martha wasn’t implicated in Genevieve’s death, why had she run? They needed more. Whoever killed Genevieve must have been covered in her blood, so what had happened to their clothes? If they could find them, they would have a solid case.
Tom stared at the photos.
Did they have any reason to believe Niall had killed his wife? It would be a mistake to rule out the husband, but although there had been a couple of suggestions that things were not perfect, there was no evidence of domestic violence, or that either of them was having an affair. Indeed, it seemed Martha had offered herself to Niall, and he had turned her down. If he was telling the truth.
Becky had been sceptical and said he didn’t seem the kind of guy who would turn a woman down, although Tom had no idea on what she based that assertion.
‘I can’t explain it, Tom,’ she’d said. ‘There’s something about certain men that women often pick up on. It’s not that they specifically want an affair, but they’re thrill-seekers, and usually they like themselves a bit too much. An offer of free sex is something they wouldn’t be able to resist.’
‘And you don’t think that’s a bit of a generalisation?’ he’d asked. ‘Apart from anything else, it doesn’t just apply to men, in my experience.’
‘Don’t get all defensive. I didn’t say all men are like that. To some self-indulgent types it seems that casual sex is just a bit of excitement. It means nothing, so why not? He struck me as a guy who was a bit full of himself. When he talked about his business it was as if he’d totally forgotten that his wife had just been murdered.’
Their conversation was interrupted as Rob hung up the phone and spun round in his seat, passing a Post-it note to Cass, the latest recruit to the team.
‘Boss, we might be getting somewhere.’
Tom walked over to join him. ‘What have you got?’
‘Martha Porter has a five-year-old son, Alfie. The contact number that Naomi has for Martha is not the number of the company mobile. I’ve given it to Cass and she’s trying it now. Naomi doesn’t have an address for Martha – she always pays for Alfie’s childcare in cash – and she only looks after him in the school holidays. The thing is, Martha was very strict about there being no pictures of her son, but Naomi says he’s so gorgeous she wasn’t able to resist. She’s sending me photos right now.’
As if on cue, Rob’s phone pinged and up on the screen came the first of the images – a profile of a little boy with wild black curly hair. The next photo was full face, the child looking serious.
‘That’s not all,’ Rob said. ‘Alfie apparently said they live over a place where “a man does feet”. Naomi didn’t know what he meant, and he wasn’t able to explain further, but she thought it might be useful. Martha doesn’t have a car, and Naomi is certain they walk to her house every day.’
‘A man who does feet. What do we think? Podiatrist? Chiropodist?’
‘Possibly someone who does pedicures,’ Rob said with a shrug.
‘Does anyone only do pedicures, though? Not manicures too?’ Tom asked, then shrugged. ‘How the hell would I know the answer to that? We can’t rule it out, but let’s rule in the most obvious first. Google Maps, Rob. Find anywhere relevant that’s walking distance from the childminder. And did she say which school he goes to? There may be someone there, even though it’s the holidays. They’ll definitely have an address.’
Cass, the young detective who had been asked to check out the mobile phone number provided by Naomi, had reported back that there was no answer, and Tom had the feeling that even if they put a trace on the phone, they would find nothing. This woman seemed expert at hiding.
‘If we can’t find an address for her in the next hour, I’m going to issue a Child Rescue Alert. We have a small child missing in the company of a suspected murderer, so it’s justified. If we find out where Porter lives and she’s not there, we’ll get a picture of Alfie out to the media, plus the one of Martha from the XO-Tech files.’
He walked over to where Becky was still on the phone to the search team and mimed that he wanted to say something.
‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘The boss wants a word.’ She lowered the phone and looked at Tom.
‘Tell them I want to see if we can get Martha Porter’s DNA from the stuff in her office. There has to be some reason why this woman is going to such enormous lengths to hide her whereabouts. Let’s run it through the database and see if we get any hits.’
Becky raised her eyebrows and nodded. ‘Good idea.’
Tom moved away. Finally, they were making progress. Within the next hour he was confident they would have Martha’s address, and the picture of Alfie would make all the difference when it was released to the media.
The scales were always tipped when a child was at risk.
37
MARTHA
Condensation fogs the windscreen, and it feels sticky in the small, stationary car, so I nudge open a window to let out some of the hot, damp air and rub the glass with the back of my hand, wondering why it isn’t as light outside as it should be. The reason becomes clear when I lean forward and look up. The sky is black, and there is a distant rumble of thunder. At least a storm will freshen the dead air.
I turn to look at Alfie, who is lying on the back seat under my jacket, his curls sticking to his forehead. I’ve been watching him all night, my neck stiff with turning to gaze at his face, storing every cell of his skin in my memory. I can’t believe what I’m about to do, but how can I do anything else? It’s taken me a long time to realise it, but I have to accept that loving my son isn’t enough.
He stirs and mumbles and I reach over a hand to rest on him so he will settle again. Sleeping in the car isn’t ideal, but the money on the prepaid debit card will run out if I’m not careful, and I can’t risk using any cards in the name of Martha Porter. Not yet. Although it will take the police
a while to unravel the complexities of my banking, I know they’ll succeed. Eventually.
The debit card has been my lifeline, and I remember Dad giving it to me all those years ago. I haven’t spoken to him since that day, but I’ve worried about him ever since.
And now, nearly six years later, I’m back, close to the place in which my life changed beyond recognition when I was only a few years older than Alfie is now.
LAKESIDE
It’s surprising how adaptable children are. After my eleventh birthday, the bitter disappointment of not going to school slowly faded. Lessons with Aram became the new norm. He was an excellent teacher, and our study periods were the one time he didn’t default to his usual obsession of building me into a better person – just a smarter one. The only exception was during the obligatory religious education lessons. It was then that I began to understand Aram’s ideology and how he was influencing my mother.
‘As humans, we’ve been taught to believe some actions we take are right and others wrong. We’re expected to acknowledge that these rules have been communicated to us by some supreme being, whoever that might be – Jehovah, Allah, Krishna. But the rules were actually set by men in the name of their god: rich, influential men who wanted to control the lives of those around them, to protect what they had – what they owned.’
He dragged the final word out, creating a perfect circle with his lips. I didn’t understand who these men were who had set the rules, but his voice was compelling.
‘We’re taught that what we have is ours. That no one should take it from us. Whether it’s our homes, our possessions, our wives, we’re made to believe that we should hold tight to whatever we think belongs to us. Let me ask you: why do people steal?’ He paused for only a few seconds before answering the question himself. ‘Because some people have everything, and others have nothing. Do you think that’s right, India?’
I didn’t know. Questions like that were too complex for me, but I shook my head because I knew it was what he expected.
‘We arrive on this earth with nothing, and we leave with nothing. Everything we have in between is borrowed and should be shared.’
This reminded me of something Mum had said months ago after one of her sessions with Aram: about how everyone wanted to own things; how our lottery win had turned friends into enemies; how jealousy was rife because people believed they owned their family, their friends, their lovers. I didn’t know what to think. I thought of my mum and dad as mine. Was that wrong? This house was ours, wasn’t it?
‘Why do people kill, India?’ he asked, and those ice-grey eyes bored into mine.
‘Because they’re angry?’ I ventured. Something else I didn’t know. I only knew what I’d seen on the television, when we had one. We didn’t any more.
‘Angry about what? Because someone has taken something from them – their wife, their child, their money? Or do they hate each other because their religions are at war with each other? If we share what we have, loosen the ropes tying us to our possessions and throw away the books that define our beliefs, our souls will be free.’
I stared at him, not knowing whether I was listening to words of great wisdom or total nonsense. Mum would say he was right about everything. Dad would be more sceptical, but would he go so far as to say Aram was wrong?
Aram pushed his face right up to mine, less than an inch away, nose to nose.
‘Even killing someone can be the right thing to do, and some religions accept this. If a person threatens to disrupt lives for no reason other than their own glorification, there is clear justification for their elimination. We should plunge in the blade and twist.’ He thrust his hand forward and flicked his wrist as if he were holding a knife. Then he pulled back. ‘Not for greed, jealousy or anger, but for truth and justice.’
He stopped talking, but didn’t move back. I wanted to turn my head away, but his eyes were staring straight into mine, and I felt myself sag in my chair. For a moment I didn’t know where I was and whether the last few minutes had been part of a dream. The edges of my vision blurred. I could hear, but I couldn’t react.
When my eyes cleared, I was sitting in exactly the same position, but Aram was standing behind me, his thumb gently rubbing the back of my neck. I hadn’t seen him move.
I sat frozen in my seat. He had never touched me before, and I didn’t know how to react. He must have felt my body stiffen because he removed his hand, but I could still feel the burn of his fingers.
‘It’s time for mathematics, India. Please take out your exercise book.’
He said it as if nothing had happened, but I knew time had passed. Before, the sun had been shining through the window. Now it had moved to one side, and the room felt cold.
I didn’t know what had happened, where I had been in my mind for the last few minutes or maybe hours. It wasn’t the last occasion that I would experience that same loss of time and reality.
I had been having lessons for about two months when Aram announced that he was leaving us.
Mum spun round from the Aga, where she was stirring sauce for our pasta, and dropped her spoon with a clatter. ‘But why, Aram? Have we done something to upset you?’ Her gaze flickered from me to Dad and back again.
I instantly felt guilty. Had I done something wrong? If I had, I didn’t know what it was.
‘I need to spread the word further than these four walls, Nicola. There are others who need me.’
‘But how long will you be gone?’ she asked, her voice little more than a squeak. The pasta water was boiling over and sizzling on the hob. Dad stood up and reached behind her to remove it from the heat.
‘I’ve no idea, I’m afraid. As long as it takes for me to help those who are looking for a way forward. It takes time to bring people to their own personal fulfilment.’
I could read the horror on Mum’s face. He had been with us for months, and she still didn’t believe she had found what she was looking for.
Did this mean he would be gone for a long time? I felt slightly sick. My emotions had shifted: no more did I long for him to be gone; now I lived in fear of what we would be without him. All I wanted was to please Aram. When he was displeased with me, I felt desolate, aching to get his approval again, and I would do anything for one of his rare smiles. I had the impression that without him we would all be lost.
‘Was it me?’ I blurted out.
Aram turned to me, his mouth a straight line. ‘Why would it be anything to do with you, India? Do you think you’re so important that I would desert Nicola, who needs me, because of something a mere child had done?’
I dropped my head. He was angry and I burned with shame. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.
Mum ignored me. ‘You’ve just said that I need you, Aram. So how can you leave?’
‘I have to help others, and unless they’re with me – in my presence – for a prolonged period, I can do little.’
Mum’s face lit up. ‘Bring them here!’ She beamed at Dad. ‘We’ve got loads of room, haven’t we, Joel?’ Her head swivelled back towards Aram. ‘I mean it. We’d make them very welcome. They could all muck in with taking care of the place, and it would be good for everyone. We could learn from each other.’
I was holding my breath. More people, maybe other kids; Aram still here; Mum happy. I looked at Dad. He seemed smaller to me than he used to, and I wondered if that was because I was growing up and getting bigger. He was staring at Aram, and as their eyes touched, I saw Dad’s pupils dilate and a strange look came over his face, as if he was no longer with us in the kitchen.
‘Joel would be delighted with that arrangement. Wouldn’t you, Joel?’ Aram said.
Dad nodded slowly and, as Aram stood to leave the room, flopped back in his chair, his eyes closed.
And that was the start of it. They came, two or three at a time – a few couples, although mainly they came alone, but there were no children. I knew Aram’s views on how disruptive children could be, and I swallowed my disappointment. Soon
the house was bursting at the seams.
I understand now that they were all searching for something that was missing from their lives, and with Aram to guide them, they believed they would find themselves. And I watched as he picked each of them apart – both publicly and privately – until they were mere shells of the people who had arrived. Then gradually he showed them his love, so that – like me – all they wanted to do was please him.
38
There was only one chiropodist within walking distance of the childminder’s house, and despite the early hour he was already in his surgery when Rob called.
‘Martha Porter? Yes. She rents the flat upstairs with her son, Alfie. I don’t know much about her. She keeps herself to herself. I’m not sure if she’s in. I haven’t heard anything, but she’s always quiet. Do you want me to check?’
‘No, sir. We’ll send an officer, so please leave it to us.’
Rob immediately dispatched a car. If Martha was at home, he asked that she be kept there until he arrived.
‘Okay, you know what to do, Rob,’ Tom said. ‘You should be able to get a magistrate to sign a search warrant in the next hour, and then we need to go over every inch of that place for evidence, and find out anything and everything about this woman: who she is and where she came from. Let me know as soon as you’re at the flat, and if she’s not there I’ll issue the Child Rescue Alert. Let’s see if anyone’s seen the boy.’
‘Boss,’ Becky called as Rob picked up his things and headed for the door. ‘Just had a call from one of the other lawyers at the offices in Manchester, Deborah Bridges. She heard about our enquiry. She wasn’t in the meeting with Niall Strachan, but she was in the offices working on another case and went outside for a cigarette. She disturbed Niall, who was lurking round a corner speaking to someone on the phone. He walked away when he saw her and carried on talking further down the road.’
Close Your Eyes Page 15