“Is it safe?” he asked in a low voice, once they were clear of the kitchen.
She was so tired she almost told him the truth. “Is what safe?”
“The diary. It was what he was looking for, wasn’t it?”
An hour of lies and she had almost convinced herself that this had been a random attack. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This was an opportunist crime, nothing more.”
“I suppose you could be right,” he said. “After all, the guy only had to get past the security system on the main entrance, the guard sitting at reception, switch off all the CCTV so that he wasn’t caught on camera and finally get through your apartment door. Which I assume you locked before you went out?”
She remembered the empty reception. “Phil! Is he all right?”
“We found him unconscious on the floor behind the front desk. Luckily he managed to press the panic button before he passed out. It’s how the police got here so quickly.”
She must have walked right past his unconscious body. “Oh God, poor Phil … ”
“His pride is hurt but he’s OK.”
They had reached the sitting room. To her relief, it was as much as she’d left it. The cushions on the sofa were fluffed up, the square of Afghan carpet lay straight against the polished dark wood and the pictures were perfectly aligned.
It was the pictures which caught his attention. “Water lilies?”
“I like Impressionist prints,” she said.
He made no comment but, as she walked slowly around the room, checking for anything out of the ordinary, she knew he was drawing his own conclusions.
“Everything seems to be OK.” She was careful not to look at him directly. “I think I must have arrived home shortly after the intruder broke in. He didn’t have the chance to go further than my study.”
“You were very lucky.”
Not quite how she would have described it, but nothing had been taken and she’d only suffered a few bruises. It could have been a lot worse.
She headed into the guest bedroom, which was immaculate, as usual. The next room was hers. Seeing her suitcase in the corner, still waiting to be unpacked, gave her a strange feeling. Her trip to London could have been a lifetime ago.
“Where do you keep your jewellery?” he asked.
She pulled out the middle drawer of her dressing table. There were a few jewellery cases, which she flipped open to show their contents were still intact.
“I don’t have much. A few pendants, earrings, bangles … ”
He shuffled the contents with his fingers. “Doesn’t your boyfriend buy you jewellery?”
What did that have to do with anything?
“Simon buys me books.” Realising this could be misinterpreted, she added, “It’s what I prefer.”
Her study was the last room to check. This time the Monet reproductions received only a cursory glance. As Natalie ran her fingers along the shelves, trying to spot if any of her CDs, DVDs or books were missing, she saw Bryn crouch down to pick something off the floor. He held it up to the light; a tiny shard of glass sparkled between his fingers. He must have the most amazing eyesight.
She held her breath, awaiting the inevitable, but he dropped it into the waste basket without comment.
As far as she could tell, nothing was out of place. Her books were still arranged in alphabetical order. Her files - the hard copies of her manuscripts and all her research notes - were neatly in place, although her shelves appeared to have acquired a layer of dust, presumably when the SOC officers checked for fingerprints.
Her attention flicked to her desk. Her laptop was where she had left it, along with her eReader, MP3 player and a bag of sweets.
Sweets?
She scooped them up. A scrap of paper fluttered to the floor.
Bryn missed nothing. “Did someone pinch one of your humbugs?”
He was only teasing but Natalie felt unsettled.
“It’s liquorice,” she said slowly. “I bought them for my father.” So what the hell were they doing here?
Except the bag had not been opened.
He caught on about the same time she did. “Is it the same packet?”
“No. The intruder didn’t take anything. He left these behind.”
“As some kind of warning? And now your fingerprints are all over them.”
“You think he’s going to leave fingerprints?” she snapped. “This is the work of a professional.”
“At last we agree on something.”
Their raised voices brought DCI Bloom into the study. “What have you found?”
She explained the significance of the bag of liquorice. While he appeared unconvinced, he instructed his colleague to put it into an evidence bag.
“And there’s nothing else?” he asked, almost disappointed. “Nothing taken, nothing untoward?”
“I don’t think so.”
“OK, we’ll be on our way.” A signal to his colleagues and they began packing up and filing out of the apartment.
That was it?
The last to leave, he paused and looked back. “Be sure to bolt your door after we’ve gone,” he said, “and I would recommend that you change your locks.”
He thought the intruder might return? That was terrific.
“We’ll be in touch,” he added, and was gone.
She watched the door swing silently shut. Finally she was alone - or perhaps not. Sensing someone behind her, she turned her head.
“We need to talk,” said Bryn.
“All right,” she said, pulling opening the front door, leaving him with no excuse to remain. The police, still waiting for the lift, glanced around curiously. “Two o’clock tomorrow, Tom’s Coffee Shop on the quayside.”
He seemed surprised at her easy acquiescence but allowed himself to be hustled out. “OK … I guess I’ll see you there.”
Apparently he had not realised that she would have tangoed naked down the High Street if it meant she could finally fall into her bed.
After closing the door on him, she locked and bolted it, before shoving the telephone table in front of it. That should keep out marauders.
There was one thing left to do.
Back in her study, the slip of paper had wafted beneath her desk. She crawled on her hands and knees to retrieve it. It had been torn from one of her shorthand notebooks and had curled slightly at the edge. She smoothed it out on her desk. There were just two words, written in black biro:
Destroy it
27
At the Old Vicarage the following morning, Alicia didn’t feel so confident. She’d hardly slept, her stomach churned unpleasantly every time she remembered that photograph and she could barely look James in the eye. Not that he appeared to notice. He was too busy searching for his lost phone. Funny how he didn’t think to ask her where it was. Where the hell did he think he’d left it?
“Don’t forget I’m going to an education conference at the weekend,” he told her. “School will finish at lunchtime so you’ll need to collect the children. I should return Sunday evening.”
“Fine,” said Alicia, slapping burnt sausages and egg onto cold plates while her family regarded her warily. Not one of them said anything. Sometimes being a moody cow had its advantages.
She made up three sets of packed lunches and tried to regain her calm. She had to think about the children. For all Summer’s apparent sophistication, she was one of James’s students and technically still a child. If it got out, James would certainly lose his job, never work in teaching again and maybe even go to prison. Financially they’d cope, her inheritance assured that, but what about the children? Their lives would be ruined through no fault of their own. How could he put them all through this?
“Bastard!” She stabbed the breadboard with the knife. It sank into the wood and stuck there, quivering slightly.
“Mum?” Will held out his lunchbox. “You’ve given me the wrong sandwiches. I don’t like corned beef.”
“Then swap t
hem with someone who does.” Alicia plucked the knife from the breadboard and tossed it into the sink. “Why do I have to do everything? Why do I always have to sort out his mess? Why is it always me?” She wiped greasy hands down her new jeans without realising what she was doing until it was too late. “Perfect. I don’t know why I even bother to try and look nice. It’s a complete waste of time. I should save my money and slob about in a tracksuit. It’s not as though I go anywhere, or do anything, or meet anyone - ”
“I think you look nice, Mum,” said Will.
“Suck up,” muttered Lexi.
The kitchen had been so quiet she had forgotten she had an audience. The television was turned off and there was no music playing. Lexi had been calmly reading the newspaper and Will was stuffing an already overflowing rucksack with his school books. Where was James? His breakfast was still on its plate, congealing unappetisingly. Had he left for school already? What about the children?
“Where’s your father?” she demanded. “Why hasn’t he had his breakfast?”
As though in answer, there was the slam of a car door from outside.
“He’s in the car already,” sighed Lexi. She got up from the table and folded Will’s sausages into a slice of toast before handing it to him. “Come on, Will. You can eat that in the car. It looks like we’re late again.”
Will grabbed the sandwich, hoisted his rucksack over his shoulders and ran out into the hall. Alicia had barely enough time to hand him his coat before he took the front steps at a running jump. James was sat in his car with the engine running, his music at maximum. It was his beloved Kanye West again, this time lamenting about gold-diggers. Could it have been more appropriate? thought Alicia, ignoring his lethargic wave.
Lexi squeezed past her mother, simultaneously slinging a large bag over her shoulder and plugging her ears with the buds of her iPod. “Bye, Mum. See you!”
Alicia caught her sleeve. “The daughter of the school governor - what is her name?”
“Which governor?” Lexi regarded her blankly.
“Gabrielle Cameron.”
Lexi took out one of her earbuds. “There’s a girl in my class called Autumn Cameron. Is that who you mean?”
It was too early for this kind of conversation. “No, I think her name is Summer.”
Lexi sighed extravagantly, as though her mother was an idiot. “Summer is Autumn’s older sister.”
“Summer and Autumn? You’re joking, surely?”
“Mrs Cameron has three kids. Two girls and one boy. Right? Their names are Summer, Autumn and Wynter.” Lexi ticked them off on her fingers. Her short stubby nails were painted a non-regulation silver and severely chipped. It was oddly endearing. “Autumn’s cool and all the girls like Wyn. But Summer?” Lexi pulled a face.
James gave another lengthy blast on his horn.
Lexi re-inserted her earbud. “I’d better go now. Dad drives faster when he’s grumpy. It makes Will sick.”
“One last question. How old is Summer?”
“How should I know?”
“She goes to your school!”
“She’s a stuck up bitch. I’ve never spoken to her.” All said in a completely matter-of-fact way.
Alicia dredged up every last ounce of patience. “What year is she in?”
“6th form.”
“Which would make her seventeen or eighteen?”
“I guess so.” Lexi, who had recently grown a few inches taller than her mother, gazed down with wide grey eyes, which she’d heavily outlined in silver and black. Goodness knows what James would say - if he even noticed. “Why is it so important, Mum?”
James gave a third blast on his car horn.
“Your father’s waiting,” said Alicia, relieved that was a question she was never going to have to answer. “Have a nice day!”
Lexi rolled her eyes and ran down the steps to the car. Her short pleated skirt barely covered her bottom but at least she was wearing thick tights. Presumably it was the fashion. Alicia closed the door and leant wearily against it. What it was to be fourteen - without a care in the world.
A shower of gravel rattling against the door meant James had driven the car off at his usual breakneck speed. If Will threw up the sausage sandwich in his precious BMW it would bloody well serve him right.
Why was James in such a foul mood? It couldn’t be only the disappearance of his phone. There must be something else.
Something worse than being caught shagging one of his students?
Alicia sincerely doubted it.
28
Natalie was woken by someone hammering on her door, as though endeavouring to wake the dead. She tried ignoring it but, as they weren’t going away any time soon, she slid out of bed cursing. The long pink t-shirt she wore only reached about mid-thigh, so she grabbed a cardigan to throw over it. Whoever it was on the other side of that door, she did not want them to think she was issuing an invitation.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, making the floorboards feel warm underfoot as she padded down the hall. What time was it? How long had she slept? She felt so groggy it could have been a week. She was further confused by finding a table wedged in front of the door.
The hammering started up again before she’d got her head around the events of the previous night. She dragged the table away from the door and wrenched it open, fully intending to give the person on the other side a piece of her mind. She had assumed it was Bryn, not trusting that she wouldn’t stand him up. Instead, Phil stood on the other side, a cordless drill in one hand and a toolbox planted by his feet. But it was the flesh-coloured plaster on his bald head that caught her attention.
“Bloody hell, Phil! What happened to you?”
His easy smile faded. “Some bugger hit me over the head. I was lucky not to need stitches.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry!”
“He will be, when I catch up with him. But until that happy day I’m here to change your lock.”
“Now?”
He took in her bed hair and bare legs. “Uh oh. Were you asleep?”
She wrapped the cardigan tighter around her body. “No, not at all. I was having a lazy morning. Would you like a cup of coffee?” Hopefully it might wake her up too.
“That’ll be brilliant.” He squatted down to check the lock on her front door, before flipping open his toolbox and setting to work.
She would have left him to it but then Simon stepped out of the lift. He was wearing jeans, a thick grey sweater and his usual Converse trainers. The overhead light glinted on his glasses, masking his expression - but he was not smiling. Natalie felt herself tense. If only she’d woken earlier she could have avoided him.
Simon’s attention was on the tool box. “What’s going on?”
Where to start?
Phil raised his head. “Miss Grove had a break in last night.” He had wrestled the lock off and was now poking at the resulting hole with a short stubby finger. “We’re changing the lock as a security precaution.”
“What kind of lock?”
Phil held up a small cellophane packet.
Simon regarded it dismissively and said to Natalie, “Why didn’t you call me?”
So now he was a locksmith?
“It was the middle of the night,” she said carefully.
And then there was the little matter of her destroyed Monet print.
“You know I’d have come straight over; it’s what I’m here for. Did you contact the police?”
“Well … ” How to put this? “They were here, yes. But how about you? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“It’s my break. I’ve just heard the news about your father. Why didn’t you call me?”
Why hadn’t she called him? It hadn’t even occurred to her. Weren’t they supposed to be ‘finished’?
“So much happened last night, by the time the police had gone it was past midnight,” she told him. It was as good an excuse as any.
“What does that matter? I’d have come over. You
know I would.”
He reached out, as though to slide his arm about her shoulder but she stepped aside, looking pointedly at Phil.
Simon frowned. “I tried phoning you several times this morning,” he said, “to apologise for losing my temper and - ah, you know. But there was no answer.”
“I didn’t hear it ring.”
“I assure you, I did phone.”
“I believe you,” she said. Why was he getting so het up about it? “I must have slept through it. I was absolutely shattered.”
Simon was staring past her, into the hall. “It also helps if you have the telephone plugged in.”
The lead must have been wrenched from the socket when she’d moved the table. How many other calls had she missed?
She bent over to push the lead back in. The phone immediately rang, so she ripped it out again. When she stood up, it was to find Simon was standing so close behind her she almost fell over him.
He put out his hand to steady her. Instinctively she flinched away from him.
“I was trying to help!” he growled. “You’re not wearing underwear!”
She had an inappropriate desire to laugh at his outraged expression.
Phil, oblivious to everything, picked up his cordless drill and switched it on.
The high pitched whine went right through Natalie’s head and wiped the smile from her face. She tugged the t-shirt further over her bottom and glared up at Simon.
“Is that all you wanted to say? Because, at the risk of sounding like some old time newscaster, thank you and goodbye.”
His features assumed a hurt expression. “I’m here because I wanted to ensure you were all right.”
“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
“It’s lunchtime and you’re wearing your night clothes.”
“As I explained earlier, I had a rather fraught evening.”
“Are you alone?”
“What?” She hadn’t fallen tearfully into his arms on sight, so obviously she had another man in her bed? “Oh for heaven’s sake!”
Natalie stalked off, leaving him standing in the hall.
She had promised Phil a coffee, so set about filling the kettle and retrieving a couple of mugs from the dishwasher. The police may have eaten all her biscuits but at least she had coffee. They had even washed up after themselves, or at least loaded the machine, which left her feeling slightly more affable towards them. Her stomach rumbled, echoing the thought that she’d missed out on breakfast.
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