Behind Closed Doors

by Susan Lewis

  So she’d done it, and neither Heidi nor Jackie Poynter had mentioned anything about running the usual criminal record checks, so Suzi had to presume they’d never happened.

  Thinking of Jackie Poynter, and what she would have to say about all this when she got back, was enough to make Suzi want to run away and hide. If she knew where to go she wouldn’t even hesitate, but there was nowhere, and in her heart, in spite of how scared she was, she didn’t want to be a coward. Much better to stay and face the music, and if Jackie did end up firing her . . . Well, she’d have to cross that bridge when she came to it, because right now she had absolutely no idea what she’d do if it happened.

  Chapter Seven

  MUCH LATER IN the day Andee was finally driving towards home when Graeme rang. Seeing his number was so pleasing that she felt the frown leave her face like a bird taking flight. ‘Hi, are you home yet?’ she asked cheerily.

  ‘At the shop,’ he replied. ‘And you?’

  ‘On my way to check on my mother, change after a long day at work and hopefully to make myself presentable in time to see you at eight. Are we still on for that?’

  ‘Indeed we are, if you’re sure you can make it. I’ve just been watching the news. I take it you’re involved in the missing girl case?’

  ‘I am, so I’m afraid my evening might not turn out to be my own. But for as much of it as I can control, I’d like to spend it with you.’

  ‘Now that’s what I want to hear. So I thought I’d prepare a frittata rather than the more exotic fare I had in mind, and I’ll go easy on the wine just in case you have to desert me.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve had to spoil the original plan.’

  ‘Don’t be. I know what your world is like, I watch Midsomer Murders.’

  Laughing, she said, ‘I have some other news, but it can wait till I get there.’

  ‘Really? I’m intrigued. Actually, I also have news, but that too can wait. Call me when you get to the gate. Apparently the buzzer’s still not working.’

  She was still smiling as she ended the call, her mind flying off in all sorts of romantic directions, until the phone rang again and she saw it was Martin.

  Why on earth should she suddenly feel guilty about talking to another man, and why was she feeling in the least bit bothered about seeing him with another woman?

  Knee-jerk reactions, both, nothing to do with reality.

  ‘Hi, how are you?’ she asked, realising too late that her breezy tone was unsuited to someone who’d just lost his father.

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK,’ he replied, the low timbre of his voice stirring up feelings she’d tried so hard to defeat. Why wasn’t it possible to erase them like chalk from a board, or dead flowers from a garden, when they were no longer required?

  ‘I know you saw me with Brigitte,’ he told her, coming straight to the point and pronouncing the name Bridge-eet. Much more exotic than plain old Bridge-it.

  ‘She’s very pretty, from what I saw of her,’ she responded, finding it easy to speak the truth in spite of not liking it much. Except what difference did it make to her how the woman looked? She’d moved on, she had someone else in her life now . . .

  ‘I was hoping we could get together,’ he said.

  Her eyebrows arched. ‘What, the three of us? I can’t imagine why . . .’

  ‘Actually, I meant you and me.’

  Swallowing the rest of her protest, she asked, ‘And what would Brig-eet think of that?’

  ‘She’s fine with it.’

  Childishly detesting her, Andee said, ‘Oh, well then there’s no reason for me not to be, is there? Unless, actually, I’m not sure why you want to get together. Is there any point? It’ll only be awkward for both of us, and I don’t think you need to be dealing with any more right now.’ His father’s dead, Andee, you really don’t have to be this hostile.

  ‘I’d like to see you. That’s all.’

  She’d already taken breath to answer before realising she wasn’t sure what to say.

  ‘I miss you,’ he told her. ‘I miss us.’

  Thrown, and almost, for an instant, drawn into it, she quickly reminded herself of how skewed a person’s perspective could be after suffering a loss, especially one as close as a parent.

  Before she could stop herself, she said, ‘So that would be why you brought Brigitte here, to show her how much you miss me?’ What the hell was she saying?

  Sighing, he replied, ‘I didn’t bring her, as you put it. She came because she wanted to show she cares.’

  How nice of her. ‘And what about you? Do you care? I mean, about her.’ Had she really just asked that? What the heck was the matter with her? ‘Of course you do,’ she ran on before he could reply. ‘She wouldn’t be here otherwise. How are the children getting along with her?’

  ‘They’ve only met her briefly, but I’m not expecting . . .’

  ‘Hang on, hang on, I’m following this now,’ she interrupted. ‘What you’re asking is for me to give your relationship my blessing so the children will feel all right about making friends with her.’

  ‘Andrea, I was hoping you might . . .’

  ‘Don’t patronise me.’

  He actually laughed. ‘How was that patronising?’

  ‘You called me Andrea.’

  ‘And I don’t always?’

  As a matter of fact he did. ‘It was the way you said it. Anyway, when, where would you like to meet?’

  ‘I’m happy to fit in with you.’

  A typical response from him, casting the net too wide for her to get out of. ‘It’s hard to set a date while I’m involved in this case,’ she reminded him.

  ‘The missing girl? I just saw it on the news.’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll end up getting her back. In fact, I won’t let it go until we do.’

  ‘So you reckon she’s with this Perkins guy?’

  ‘Let’s just say we definitely need to speak to him.’

  ‘What about the other guy, the Pole, they’re talking about online?’

  ‘They are?’ Of course, how could she have imagined that wouldn’t happen when so many questions had been asked around the camp about Sikora? ‘We’re not sure about him,’ she said. ‘What sort of things are they saying?’

  ‘That he’s part of a gang specialising in trafficking women.’

  She groaned inwardly. ‘Based on what evidence?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. There are other girls being mentioned with foreign-sounding names. It’s all about procurement, apparently.’

  ‘Well, it’s good to know the cyber detectives have a proper handle on things,’ she retorted. ‘I thought you, at least, wouldn’t be so easily taken in.’

  ‘I’m just asking,’ he protested. ‘No need to bite my head off.’

  No, no need. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to. We don’t know anything about those girls at the moment, and as they’re not British nationals, and no one from their own countries has reported them missing our main focus has to be Sophie.’

  ‘Of course.’ Then, after a beat, ‘Will you let me know when we can meet? The funeral’s been set for next Monday, by the way, it would be great if you could make time between now and then.’

  How could she not? How could she be so cruel as to make him doubt it? ‘Of course I can,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll – I’ll call when things are a bit clearer.’

  After ringing off she called through for an update on the online rumours and was told that they were still being closely monitored, but nothing substantive had presented itself yet. However, they were staying on it, and would report immediately if anything changed. So now she was free to carry on feeling wretched and upset on too many levels over Martin. She remembered how he used to remind her of how important it was for her, the family, even the investigation, that she take time away from it once in a while. She’d fought him about it sometimes, but had always ended up loving him for understanding when a fix of her home life and her real priorities had become vital.

  How come he’d ju
st stopped loving her? Why hadn’t she realised it was happening?

  I miss you, he’d said. I miss us.

  Determined not to think about him any more, she connected to the incident room again. ‘Jemma,’ she said when she got through. ‘Anything new from Krakow?’

  ‘All I can tell you at the moment,’ Jemma replied, ‘is that the local police have run a blank on the hospital in Krakow. Several Sikoras listed – it’s a big place apparently – but every one of them is male, apart from one who’s only twenty, so hardly our Sikora’s mother.’

  ‘I see,’ Andee murmured. ‘Have you tried his number again?’

  ‘Yes, frequently and no reply.’

  ‘Any movement on his bank account?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘OK, get on to the girlfriend and find out if she’s heard any more. What about Perkins? Any sightings?’

  ‘Plenty, but still nothing positive, and nothing to say he’s gone through any of the channel ports, or taken a flight to Poland. We’ve had a couple of callers claiming to have seen Sophie, one in Hull, the other in Hereford, but it turns out both are known to their local police as regular responders to helplines.’

  In other words, time-wasters.

  ‘In light of what’s happening in the online community,’ Jemma ran on, ‘the press office wants to know if they can put out a statement saying Sikora has now been traced and is helping with enquiries, but I’ve asked them to hold fire on that.’

  ‘Absolutely. We’d look pretty damned stupid if it turns out he’s given us the slip again. Is Gould around? Do we know if he’s contacted Interpol?’

  ‘Actually I heard just now that he’s referred it upstairs, but I don’t think we’ll hear back on it until tomorrow morning at the earliest.’

  ‘By which time Sikora could be anywhere.’ Pulling up outside Briar Lodge, she remained in the car as Jemma spoke to someone at her end.

  ‘Are you still there?’ Jemma asked, sounding excited as she came back on the line.

  ‘I am. What was all that about?’

  ‘Apparently someone’s just rung to say they think they saw Sophie going into Kesterly station last Monday or Tuesday with a bloke who fits Perkins’s description.’

  ‘Do we have the station footage from last week?’

  ‘No, but I’ll send someone to get it now.’

  ‘OK, talk Yaz into staying on to view it. I’ll come back if it turns out the sighting’s real.’

  An hour and a half later Andee was in Graeme’s stylish Georgian home overlooking the botanical gardens, not quite sure why she was feeling odd about being alone with him, when she’d been so looking forward to it. It had to be some sort of fallout from Martin’s call still hanging around to unsettle her; contact with him had a way of doing that, which was extremely annoying when she shouldn’t be thinking about him at all.

  And she wouldn’t be, she told herself firmly, had she not just told Graeme about Dougie’s passing.

  They were sitting on a plush velvet sofa at one end of the impressive kitchen, and as Graeme’s warm grey eyes searched hers inquisitively, but not intrusively, she was reminded of why she found him so attractive. He was a quietly confident and elegant-looking man, with a voice and manners to match, and an unhurried manner that was always calming to be around.

  She knew, because he’d told her, that he had two sons, aged twenty and eighteen, and from the photos scattered around the place she could see that they resembled him. Both were at uni, one in London, the other in Edinburgh, and apparently they rang their father regularly. Though Graeme tried hard not to talk about them too often, she could tell when he did how proud he was of them. It was another reason she’d fallen for him. He was clearly a great father, as well as a good, kind, humorous man with a way of making people – her, anyway – feel very glad to be with him.

  ‘I’m sorry my news wasn’t . . . Well, a bit happier,’ she grimaced.

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ he said, ‘I mean, for your loss and for how difficult I think you’re finding this.’

  Feeling herself flush, she said, ‘I’ll miss him. He was a huge part of our lives.’

  ‘I’m sure. He meant a lot to a great many people.’

  Her eyebrows rose. ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘A little. Not well. He was a good mayor, that’s for sure.’

  Andee smiled. ‘He enjoyed his time in office. We were living in London then so we didn’t get to see so much of him, but we always heard about his accomplishments – and his failures. He could be very loud about them.’

  Graeme’s eyes twinkled. ‘How are your children taking it?’

  ‘They’re upset, obviously, but I think having their dad around is helping. It’s where they are this evening, with him and their grandmothers. I’m not sure I’d have found it easy to get away otherwise.’

  ‘It’s good that your families have stayed close,’ he commented. ‘It’s always been a source of regret for me that my ex-wife refuses to be friends.’

  ‘Why do you think that is?’

  ‘It’s a good question, when she’s the one who left me. Though I think it probably has something to do with me not wanting to take her back when her new relationship fell apart. However, that’s water under the bridge. We speak when we have to about the boys, otherwise we’re in very separate worlds. Now, are you ready to eat?’

  As though answering for her her tummy rumbled, and they both laughed.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, pulling her to her feet, ‘I’ve set up a table on the terrace, and I’ve even brought out the candles. If you’d care to light them, I’ll rescue the frittata from the fridge – do you mind having it cold?’

  ‘Not at all. Can I make a salad?’

  ‘All done. Just tell me if I can pour you a glass of wine.’

  She pulled a face. ‘A small one, and you don’t know how much it’s costing me to say that, because I’d love nothing better right now than to kick off my shoes, let down my hair and finish the entire bottle with you. But if something breaks tonight . . .’

  ‘I understand, but I’ll hold you to it for another night.’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘Maybe after the funeral,’ he suggested. ‘I have a feeling your family is going to need all the spare time you can manage until then.’

  Putting her arms around him, she gazed up into his eyes. ‘You’re probably right,’ she whispered, ‘but I want you to know that I’d much rather be spending it with you.’

  With a smile he pulled her in closer. ‘I haven’t told you my news yet,’ he reminded her.

  Since his mouth was very close to hers, she didn’t feel in too much of a hurry to hear it.

  ‘I,’ he murmured, ‘have found a house in Umbria that I’d like you to take a look at.’

  Her eyes widened as she drew back to look at him.

  ‘I’ve brought photographs to show you, and I shot some video while I was there, but you’ll get a much better idea if you see it in person. When you’re ready, of course.’

  Her heart was suddenly beating faster. A holiday in Italy. With him. How different her life could be if things were to work out for them.

  Maybe this was the road she’d been meant to travel.

  ‘I’ll get that frittata,’ he grinned, and pressing a lighter into her hand he turned her towards the terrace.

  Much later that night Andee came awake with a start. Sound was thrumming through her ears like a speeding train; her heart was racing, her mind was still clinging to the clouded chaos of dreams. Penny’s face undulating in water, her dark hair floating like seaweed. Sophie in a pit of darkness pleading with someone to come. Martin walking away with Sophie. Sophie turning around and staring at her. Her father urging her to find Penny. Sophie’s father yelling at her for failing his daughter. Penny laughing as she skipped down over rocks on to a beach. Sophie crying for her mummy. Alayna running from someone. Martin trying to catch Alayna. Luke turning on his father. Sophie still crying for her mother.

  What
had happened to the lovely gentle dreams she should have been having about Graeme and Italy?

  Taking soft, deep breaths she flipped back the sheet and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the jumbled madness to fade. Her pulses continued to race, but the shaking in her limbs was subsiding and the irrational fear flooding her head was slowly draining.

  It was only a dream. Nothing she’d seen or heard was real.

  Accepting it would be a while before she could sleep again, she put on a robe and let herself quietly out of the bedroom on to the landing.

  Seeing both children’s doors slightly open, she went to check on Luke and found him sprawled in all his youthful glory on his iron-framed bed, dead to the world. As she moved on to Alayna’s room she found herself wondering where Sophie was now, this minute, at this hour of the night. It would be wonderful to think she was safely sleeping somewhere. Or awake and planning her return.

  The CCTV from Kesterly station had shown images of two people who, in close-up, were clearly neither Perkins nor Sophie.

  Pushing Alayna’s door further open, she peered inside and felt a bolt of alarm shoot through her heart. The bed was empty. Her daughter wasn’t there.

  ‘Alayna?’ she whispered into the shadows.

  Turning around she checked the bathroom, but there was no light on.

  Realising she was in danger of overreacting, she ran down the stairs, trying to outdistance the voices and images from her dreams, and found her daughter curled into an armchair at one end of the kitchen, munching on a slice of toast while watching a nearly silent TV.

  Heaving a secret sigh of relief, Andee said, ‘There you are. What are you doing up at this hour?’

  Alayna shrugged. ‘Couldn’t sleep. I just boiled the kettle if you’d like some tea.’

  Deciding it was too hot for tea, Andee filled a glass with water and sat down at the table. After a moment Alayna licked the crumbs from her fingers, turned off the TV and came to join her.