Close Your Eyes

by Rachel Abbott

  I’ve made such a mess of this. When I turned right on the motorway towards Lincolnshire instead of left to Northumberland I was thinking only of putting an end to it all – of freeing myself finally from Aram’s control by destroying the evidence he holds. But he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with what he did. A wonderful young woman died, and I have said nothing.

  Right now I have to focus on getting out of here, getting Alfie to safety. I close my eyes and picture my son giggling at a silly face I drew on his boiled egg; his look of concentration, tongue sticking out, as he decorated a pizza; his eyes filling with tears when he saw a neglected puppy on the television. If I confess that I have hidden knowledge of Leah’s murder for years, there is no happy ending for him, and I’d still have to convince the police that I am the one telling the truth; that Aram’s evidence proves only that I touched Leah and pulled out the knife. There’s nothing that points to Aram being her killer, so it would be my word against his.

  I can’t do it. I need to save my son from his father.

  I have no more time to think. I hear the lock on my door clunk. Someone is coming.

  It’s the kind officer from last night – either at the end of his shift or starting a new one.

  ‘Come on, Ms Porter. The policeman from Manchester, DS Cumba, wants to talk to you.’

  I stand up too quickly and have to reach out for the wall.

  ‘Steady on,’ the officer says. ‘I’ll get someone to bring you some tea. You had your breakfast, didn’t you?’

  I shake my head and nod towards the tray, where I left it.

  ‘Sorry,’ I whisper.

  ‘I’ll get you a sandwich, then. Can’t have you passing out on us. Come on.’

  He extends an arm – not to touch me, but to let me know he’s there if I need help.

  When I walk into the interview room, DS Cumba is there with another policeman that I don’t recognise.

  ‘Martha, I have some news,’ DS Cumba says. ‘My colleagues in Manchester are about to arrest someone else for Genevieve’s murder. We’ll be checking your story against theirs and hopefully we’ll have more information soon. I’m afraid they’ve not been charged yet, so I can’t tell you who it is.’

  He doesn’t need to. I’m sure I know. My head spins again and I hold on to the desk. I know they still have to check my story, but I’m telling the truth. Maybe it won’t be long before I can go and get Alfie.

  ‘But that’s not the only reason we want to talk to you. While we have you here, this officer would like to pick your brains about someone who we think may have stayed at Lakeside a few years ago.’ DS Cumba nods at his colleague.

  ‘Ms Porter, I’m DI Oldbury from the Lincolnshire Police. A few years ago, someone came looking for her friend, a young woman who she believed had visited Lakeside, perhaps even stayed there for a month or so. No one had heard from her for quite a long time, which was apparently unusual, so the friend became concerned and wasn’t sure if she should report her missing. The woman had no close family, so we decided to make some routine enquiries and went along to speak to Mr Forakis. He confirmed that she had indeed been a visitor, but she’d left to go travelling. It’s now an open missing person’s case, so any light you can throw on it would be helpful. I thought as the two of you are close in age, she might have mentioned to you where she was planning on going.’

  I know what’s coming, and I don’t know if the horror I’m feeling is showing on my face.

  ‘Her name’s Leah Medway. Do you remember her?’

  The room turns black. I feel hands grabbing me as I slide to the floor.

  75

  ‘What the hell happened?’ were Tom’s first words as he marched into the incident room. ‘How did he get away?’

  Keith stood up straight. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I got the search warrant, and Cass went with some uniformed officers to arrest Johansson and seize his car about thirty minutes ago. When the officers buzzed his apartment from the entrance to the building, he answered and told them to come to the fourth floor. While they waited for the lift, he must have run down the fire escape to the underground garage. They reached his door, but he didn’t open up. It took a while for them to realise he’d gone.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Tom looked at Keith’s crestfallen face. ‘No one’s fault. At least he has a distinctive car. We’re on it, I assume?’

  ‘We are. Every officer on the streets is looking for him, and the area’s well covered with CCTV. I’m amazed we’ve not spotted him yet, but if I were a betting man, which I’m not, I would say he’ll ditch the car as soon as he can.’

  Keith was probably right. But what had made Spencer think they were about to arrest him? They could have been going to ask him some more questions. Tom was fairly sure the officers hadn’t rolled up with sirens and flashing lights, so how had he known he was under suspicion?

  ‘If you ditched the car, what would you do? Anybody?’

  ‘Head for the nearest train station,’ Becky said. ‘And I wouldn’t worry about where I left my car. I’d just dump it as close as I could get.’

  ‘Closest to Ancoats is Piccadilly. Agreed?’

  Becky nodded. ‘There’s not much in it by car, but if I was on foot and trying to stick to the back roads to avoid being spotted, I’d definitely head for Piccadilly – get the other side of the ring road first, and then abandon the car.’

  ‘Get on to British Transport Police. Send them Johansson’s photo. We need them to scour CCTV at both stations and be ready to arrest him the minute he’s spotted.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ Becky said. As her partner, Mark, was an officer in the BTP, she knew many of his colleagues.

  ‘Keith, did we find out who Niall Strachan was seeing – this other woman of his?’

  ‘We did,’ Keith said. ‘I asked her to come in this morning. She arrived about ten minutes before you did, but I thought I should check with you before we talk to her, in case there’s anything specific.’

  ‘No, only the obvious. Come on. You’re with me. Let’s see if Strachan let slip any thoughts about his wife.’

  Keith looked a little puzzled, as well he might since the man had a cast-iron alibi and they had the perfect suspect in Spencer Johansson.

  ‘For Johansson to run, he must have had a reason,’ Tom said. ‘No one other than us knew about the tyre tracks, or that we’d traced the location of his phone when he called Strachan. But one piece of information crucial to the investigation is the fact that the call was made from a phone which had the Strachans’ WiFi password on it. The only person who knew we were interested in that list was Strachan himself. I’d put money on him telling Johansson. He may have let it drop in conversation, but equally he may have had a specific and rather more urgent reason.’

  Keith’s eyes opened wide for a second as he realised what Tom was suggesting.

  Half an hour later, Tom was back in the incident room. He pulled out a chair next to Becky’s desk and flopped into it.

  ‘That was thirty minutes of my life that I’ll never get back.’

  ‘No use, then?’

  ‘Bloody waste of time. Do you know, she told me off for using possessive pronouns? “I’m not his mistress or his lover. In fact, I’m not his anything!” Apparently, Strachan was a convenient, if rather uninspired, occasional shag.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  ‘I do, actually. She says she’s writing an article on sex with older men.’ Tom rolled his eyes. ‘Niall Strachan is thirty-four!’

  Becky laughed, and Tom pulled himself upright.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what she said, to be honest; I don’t think this is anything to do with Strachan’s sex life. Here’s what I’d like you to do…’

  They were interrupted by Becky’s phone. She picked it up, listened, grinned at Tom and punched the air.

  ‘Thanks, mate – just what we wanted to hear.’ She hung up. ‘They’ve got him, Tom. Johansson. Piccadilly, trying to board a train to London. He’s being brought here as we
speak.’

  Tom breathed out. Progress at last.

  ‘What was it you were going to ask me to do?’

  Tom gave a slow, satisfied smile. ‘I want you to take someone and go and arrest Niall Strachan.’

  Her eyebrows nearly shot through the roof, but she nodded. ‘I presume the grounds are conspiracy to commit murder?’

  ‘Correct. If I’m wrong, we can let him go without charging him. But I’m not.’

  76

  As Tom took his seat opposite Spencer Johansson, he could see a thin film of sweat on the man’s skin and his pupils were dilated. Tom had absolutely no doubt that he was looking at Genevieve’s murderer.

  He had decided to leave Becky out of these interviews. Both she and Tom had already formed opinions – not at all favourable – of Johansson and Strachan, and it would be good to get someone else’s assessment of both characters.

  ‘Mr Johansson, you and I have met before, but this is Detective Inspector Sims. We’d like to ask you a few questions. I understand they read you your rights when you were arrested.’

  ‘Arrested! Isn’t that a bit extreme? I’m perfectly happy to answer your questions, but you didn’t need to arrest me. What motive could I possibly have to kill Genevieve?’ He tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt.

  ‘That’s what we’re hoping to find out. You can start by telling us why you ran when our officers came to your apartment.’

  ‘I didn’t run, exactly. I was planning a trip to London for the weekend and I suddenly thought that if you had a lot of questions, it would delay me. It made sense to leave. I was planning on phoning you from the train to say I’d pop in on Monday to answer anything outstanding.’

  ‘You’d pop in! How very considerate of you. This, if I might remind you, is a murder enquiry. It doesn’t wait for three days while you go off on a jolly.’ Tom could feel his temper rising. It had been a tough week but it wouldn’t help the case if he lost it with a suspect.

  Spencer had dropped his head and was fiddling with a signet ring, spinning it round and round.

  ‘Tell me about your investment in XO-Tech,’ Tom asked, trying to take the heat out of the interview a little.

  Spencer lifted his head. ‘I wanted in. It’s a brilliant concept, and I’m a good marketeer. I had access to some money, so I bought my way in.’

  ‘Except you didn’t, did you?’

  Spencer flushed slightly and shuffled in his seat. ‘The shares haven’t been transferred yet, but Niall’s on it. It will happen soon.’

  ‘And if Genevieve had divorced him?’ Tom asked.

  Spencer tried to chuckle, but it didn’t quite work. ‘She wouldn’t have done that. She loved him.’

  ‘She was going to do that, and I think you knew it. According to my financial wizards, of which we have a fair number in the police, if she took him for half the perceived value of his shareholding and half the house – although that’s mortgaged to the hilt – he would have precious little left, having given away a massive chunk to a second lot of investors. Have I got that right?’

  ‘That’s not my problem, though, is it? That’s Niall’s problem.’

  ‘It is, but he used the cash from you to pay back money he took from the business. If he’d converted your so-called investment into shares for you, it would have diluted his own shareholding even further. Genevieve knew, didn’t she – what he’d done? She tried to get Martha Porter to give her information. Martha refused, but somehow Genevieve found out. She would have demanded half of the book value of his shares, and my guess is that by the time Genevieve had finished with him, he’d have ended up with next to nothing.’

  ‘As I said, his problem.’

  Spencer’s jaw was clenched, but he kept twitching. Tom knew his theory was spot on.

  ‘Not if there weren’t enough shares left to go round. When you gave him the money, did you have an agreement in writing?’

  ‘Not in writing, no.’ The words were mumbled, as if Spencer didn’t want to admit to his own gullibility. ‘You don’t need contracts if you trust someone, do you?’

  ‘Maybe not, although I’ll be interested to know if you still think that by the end of the day.’

  Spencer didn’t respond, but he clearly knew the game was up. Not only would Niall have told him they were checking up on the WiFi password, the Strachans’ bedroom window had a good view of the field where the CSIs had been searching. Tom watched his face carefully as he spoke.

  ‘We’ve got your car, Mr Johansson, and we’re checking the tyres for mud that matches a field close to the Loopline.’ There was no reaction. Tom was right – he already knew. ‘We’re also checking the interior for any trace of blood – and no matter what you did, there will be a trace. We have your phone. Even if you’ve deleted the password to the Strachans’ WiFi, we’ll be able to prove that you did have it. Don’t doubt that for one second. I just need the answer to one question. Was it your idea to kill Genevieve, or Niall Strachan’s?’

  77

  MARTHA

  I must have only lost consciousness briefly, but when I came round there was a glass of water in front of me, and the kind officer from the custody suite was offering me a banana.

  ‘Might be easier to eat than a sandwich right now,’ he said, peeling the top of the skin back and passing it to me. I didn’t want to eat it, but I needed some strength. ‘We’re going to leave you in peace for a while until you feel a bit better. Would you prefer to stay here or go back to your cell?’

  Not the cell – please, not the cell.

  ‘Can I stay here, please?’

  ‘Of course. There’s an officer outside the door, if you need anything, and DI Oldbury will be back to talk to you in a while.’

  Since he left, I’ve been sitting here alone. They know Leah is missing. They’re looking for her. I’ve never been asked about her before, and I don’t know if I can lie – she deserves so much more. She was kind to me, the only friend I ever had. Should I say she left to go travelling, or is this my opportunity to tell them the truth? If I do, will that change their view on the murder of Genevieve Strachan? They may have arrested someone else, but it will inevitably make them wonder if I’m more involved than they think right now. I don’t know what to do!

  I drop my head into my hands. Since I was ten my life has been confusing. It’s impossible for me to forget all the times I was told I was selfish, thoughtless, inconsiderate. For years my only goal in life was to please one man and make him proud of me. I find it so hard to identify who the real me is, as opposed to the demoralised, oppressed version, and making decisions for myself is so difficult.

  I have no more time to think, because the door opens and DS Cumba and DI Oldbury are back in the room.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ DS Cumba asks.

  I grasp my hands tightly together so they can’t see how much they’re shaking. ‘A little better. I’ve been worried about my son all night. I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit pathetic.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Not at all. And before we go any further, I have more news. DCI Douglas has called and asked me to tell you that you are now free to leave.’

  He gives me a wide smile, and I just stare at him.

  The words take a minute to sink in, but while I’m absorbing them, DI Oldbury speaks: ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you about Leah Medway when you’d just spent a night in a police cell for something that it now seems clear you didn’t do. You must have been feeling very unsettled. If you do think of anything, though – anything that might help us track Leah down – can you let me know? Here’s my card.’

  I reach out to take it and it’s obvious to everyone how much my hand is shaking. ‘Sorry. I should have eaten my breakfast.’

  ‘And last night’s dinner, I’m told,’ DI Oldbury adds with a sympathetic look.

  ‘Are you up to leaving now?’ DS Cumba asks. ‘You need to pick up your things from the desk, and then we can arrange a car to take you back to Lakeside, or to the B and
B, if you prefer.’

  ‘I need to find my father. Alfie’s with him. Can I call the B and B, please?’

  ‘Of course,’ DS Cumba says. ‘I’ve got the number stored, in case we needed to get in touch with him.’ He scrolls up his screen and passes the phone to me.

  ‘Victoria House,’ a woman says in a sing-song voice.

  ‘It’s Martha Porter. Is my father there, please?’

  ‘Oh, hello, Ms Porter. Your dad’s such a nice man, and what a cute little boy you have.’

  I know she’s being pleasant, but I just want to speak to Dad.

  ‘Thank you. Is he there, or have they gone to the beach?’

  ‘No, he had a call last night. The woman who asked to speak to him said she was his wife. I wasn’t listening, of course, but I did hear him say “I’ll be there first thing in the morning”. I don’t know where he meant, I’m afraid.’

  She might not know, but I do.

  He’s gone to Lakeside, and he’s taken my son.

  78

  A faint cheer went up when Tom and Keith returned to the incident room. While they were in with Johansson, Jumbo’s team had confirmed they had found traces of blood in the car. They didn’t yet have an analysis proving that it was Genevieve Strachan’s, but there was little doubt in anyone’s mind – including, it seemed, Spencer Johansson’s – that they soon would. The tyre tread marks matched, and they could pinpoint where Spencer was when he called Niall Strachan shortly after the murder. The digital team were also confident they would be able to find evidence of the message to Genevieve on Spencer’s phone, even if they couldn’t locate the cloned SIM. He knew the game was up, and he was keen to put the blame squarely on Niall Strachan, who was by then sitting in another interview room.