by M K Farrar
She had to change lines, and though she was relieved to be off the train, the almost empty underground passageways felt threatening. Her shoes clipped, loud and sharp, against the tunnel floor. Ahead, a small rat scurried along the point where the wall met the tiled floor, running in the same direction she was heading, and Amy tried her best to supress a shudder.
The hot air and screech of a train arriving blasted at her down the tunnel, and she picked up her pace. The train was already at the station, and she jumped on board just as the doors were shutting. There was no possibility anyone could have followed her onto this train, and even though she was fairly sure her sense of being watched was in her head, she still found herself releasing a long, shaky breath.
Why had Gary come to the office yesterday? He’d said it was because he was worried about her, but he never came to meet her at the office. Had there been more to it? Could it have been him outside the flat yesterday? She didn’t think the figure had had his build, but it had been dark, and the light in the flat had made it hard to see outside, plus they were at a distance.
But why would he creep around like that?
Unless he was making sure Timothy hadn’t come to the flat after he’d left. Could it be that he’d thought they were having an affair and wanted the proof to justify himself?
The train pulled up at the stop she needed, and she got off and headed down the platform, towards the escalator that led to the exit.
In the ticket hall, a man was behind the counter. She waited until he’d finished serving the person in front of her, then stepped forwards.
“Excuse me, do you know where Ingford Street is?”
“Yeah, love,” he replied, his London accent strong. “Go out of here, down the high street, and then it’s your first right.”
“Thanks so much.”
She followed his instructions.
This area was a far cry from the expensive streets of Kensington. Several people were lying on folded down cardboard right outside the station, their bodies covered with grubby sleeping bags. One man had a mongrel dog tucked in beside him, the animal looking better fed than the man. A bin opposite spilled rubbish from its sides, empty drinks cans and crisp packets collecting in the gutter. Even the smell here was different—poverty and neglect. The shops lining the streets had windows filled with faded posters and notices that were peeling at the edges.
Amy tightened her grip on her handbag strap on her shoulder, put her head down, and kept going. She followed the directions she’d been given, leaving the run-down high street and stepping onto a side street which seemed equally neglected.
Number seventeen.
She stopped in front of a red-brick, Victorian terrace, and looked up at the frontage. Nothing about the house said who lived there. There wasn’t even a football or a bike in the tiny walled space that served as a front garden, but mainly just contained the bins.
No, she was wrong. A single white trainer lay on its side near the wall that marked the tiny garden from the road. Did the shoe belong to Edward, or another child? If it was Edward’s, where was the other one, and why had he lost it out here? She imagined him being grabbed by his father and dragged inside, kicking and yelling, until one of his shoes fell off. Why hadn’t he been back to pick it up? Was it because he was hurt?
She pulled her attention away from the single shoe and focused back on the house. A large bay window led onto what she assumed would be the lounge. The red door was in need of a repaint, flaking and chipped, as were the wooden frames around the windows. Weeds grew with abandon out of the cracked paving leading up to the front door. The neighbouring houses didn’t appear to be in any better state than the Swain’s property. Everything had a cloud of neglect hanging over it.
No wonder Edward was depressed and Susan Swain chose to leave—if, in fact, that was what had happened to her.
Amy sucked in air through her nose and released it again. Then, with determination, she marched up to the front door and lifted the stiff, rusted knocker and rapped three times.
Heavy footsteps thudded down the hallway, and then the door opened.
Robert Swain stood in the doorway, frowning down at her. “Doctor Penrose. What are you doing here?”
“Edward missed his appointment today.”
His frown deepened, his eyes growing hard. “So?”
“I wanted to make sure he was all right.”
Robert snorted in derision. “Do you do that with all your patients?”
“If I’m worried about them, yes. You could have called to let me know Edward wasn’t coming.”
“I didn’t even know he had an appointment today.”
She realised something. Why was he even home? “I thought you had to be at work during the day.”
“I do. I took a little time off.”
Suspicion rose inside her and lashed its tail. “Why?”
That glint in his gaze, like the sun catching on ice. “I’m allowed to take time off without having to explain myself to you.”
Amy stood her ground and braced herself for his reaction about what she was about to say. “I saw Edward on Saturday, Mr Swain. I saw the bruises and red marks on the side of his neck.”
Robert Swain’s expression darkened. “What are you trying to say?”
“I want to see Edward. Now.”
“No. You’re not just barging into this house and demanding to see my son.”
But she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Not giving Robert time to slam the door in her face, she shoved past him and stepped into the hallway beyond. The floor was traditional tile but looked like it could do with a good clean. Rods held a narrow carpet to the stairs beyond.
Robert’s exclamation of annoyance came from behind her. “Hey!”
Amy ignored him.
“Edward?” she called. “Edward? It’s Doctor Penrose.”
Quickly, she checked the lounge, but the room was empty. A peep into the kitchen revealed the same. Not bothering to ask, she ran up the stairs. Her heart was pounding, and she could barely believe she was running around someone else’s house. Robert Swain was still standing by the front door, his mouth open, as though he couldn’t believe what she was doing either. Perhaps she had lost her mind, but her gut told her something about this wasn’t right, and she wasn’t just going to turn around and walk away.
She pushed open a couple of doors, revealing a bathroom and a bedroom with a double bed that clearly belonged to an adult, and then finally opened the door onto a dimly lit space. Though it was the middle of the day, the curtains were drawn, shutting out the already muted London sunlight. A musty smell hit her—taking her back to her secondary school years where she’d had the occasional misfortune of having to go into the boys’ changing room. In fact, the whole house smelled like it hadn’t had a good clean in a very long time. Maybe that was normal for an almost teenage boy and a single father to live with, but she wouldn’t have been able to live in a house like this for too long.
A shape was under the blanket on the bed.
“Edward?”
The shape groaned, and she left the doorway and crossed the room. From the length and breadth of the form under the covers, it could have been a grown man she was approaching. It suddenly occurred to her how vulnerable she was right now. If Edward was incapacitated, his father could easily hurt her, and she’d have no way of fighting back. She should have told him that her office knew she was here, and that if he tried anything, they’d know where to look for her right away. But so far, other than being angry about her barging in, he hadn’t tried to harm her. She hoped it would stay that way, but she still had to get out of the house, and if Edward was hurt, there was a good chance she’d be taking Robert’s son with her.
Cautiously, she sat on the edge of the bed. “Edward, are you all right? You can talk to me.”
He groaned and turned over in the bed, taking the blankets with him.
She couldn’t demand to check him over. Despite her credentials, she
wasn’t a medical doctor.
“Edward, are you hurt at all?” She lowered her voice. “Did your father hurt you?”
“No.” His voice was muffled by the blankets. “I’m fine.”
Robert’s voice came from the bedroom doorway. “You need to get out of my house, woman.”
“I will when Edward speaks to me.”
“Edward,” he snapped. “Tell her you’re fine.”
“I’m fine,” came the mumbled reply.
She turned to look over her shoulder at the father. “And I’m just supposed to accept that?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. The kid’s depressed, that’s all. You’re his therapist. I’d have thought you’d have been able to recognise a depressed child when they’re right in front of you.”
“And why is he depressed? Because his mother left and his father won’t even let him talk about it? Because he’s been bullied at school and expelled when he was trying to stand up for himself? Or because he has a curious mind that others don’t appreciate?”
Maybe she shouldn’t have been saying all these things in front of Edward, but the words kept spilling from her mouth.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Now get out of my house.”
“Edward?” she said, ignoring Robert. “Do you want to come with me?”
“No. I’m fine. You should go.”
She was torn. She didn’t want to leave Edward like this, but she couldn’t drag him from the house. He was saying he was fine, though she didn’t believe it. Maybe it was just that he was depressed and he was hurting himself, and that was where the bruises and marks came from, but Robert Swain had shown himself to be aggressive and a liar—he’d told her he needed to be at work during the day, which was why he couldn’t attend their sessions, and yet here he was.
She didn’t trust him in the slightest.
“Okay, Edward. I’m going to leave now, but you know where my office is, so you can come and see me whenever you need to, okay? Even if I’m with another patient and we don’t have an appointment scheduled, you can still come to the office, and I’ll make time to see you. Do you understand?”
The top of his head bobbed up and down as he nodded.
That was the best she was going to get. She let out a sigh and turned to his father. “Fine, I’m going. But I’m keeping a close eye on this situation.”
Robert pursed his lips, shaking his head, his arms folded across his broad chest. She brushed past him on her way out of the room, and back onto the landing. At the top of the stairs, she deliberately held on tight to the stair rail, certain she’d find a pair of meaty hands in the centre of her back and then the bottom of the stairs racing up to meet her.
She reached the bottom without him pushing her and went to the front door. She thought of something and paused, her hand on the door handle.
“Where were you last night—around eight o’clock?”
Robert had followed her down the stairs, clearly wanting to make sure she left. “What are you, the fucking police now? I don’t have to tell you where I was.”
He didn’t, but his silence still made her suspicious.
“I’m going to get my receptionist to reschedule Edward’s appointment and I want him there, no matter what, or I’m going to have to go back to social services.” She was probably going to have to do that anyway, even though Ros Sampson hadn’t believed her concerns about there being violence in the home.
“You need to stay the hell away from my family. Do you hear me? You’re asking for trouble if you keep interfering like this.”
She started back. “Is that a threat, Mr Swain?”
“No, it’s a warning,” he growled, his lip curled. His fists were bunched, his shoulders rigid. He looked as though he was fighting every instinct not to take a swing at her.
She was terrified but she wasn’t going to let a man intimidate her, simply because he was physically bigger. She had other positives on her side—that she was educated and had a respectable job role. She’d also been given the task of taking care of his son’s mental health, and right now this certainly didn’t feel like a safe and nurturing environment for Edward to be in.
She was still no closer to finding any proof about what might have happened to Susan Swain, but with every day that passed, she was becoming more certain that there was more to the story than her simply leaving.
Chapter Seventeen
Even though she’d be risking another encounter with Timothy if she was late back to the clinic again, she didn’t go directly there. Instead, she caught the Tube to the nearest main police station serving that area.
She couldn’t stop the shakes that had taken over her whole body. Adrenaline made her lightheaded, her heart still racing, and she kept turning over what she’d said to both Edward and his father. Had she gone too far, or hadn’t she done enough? She wished she’d been able to get a better look at Edward, to check him for any injuries, but she was aware he wasn’t a small boy—he was almost a teenager.
At least Robert Swain knew she was onto him. Hopefully, he’d watch himself a little more carefully around his son now he knew a professional was watching out for Edward. She could only assume Ros Sampson hadn’t had as much contact with Robert Swain as she’d had. The social worker was linked to the school and had most likely got most of her information from the headteacher rather than being directly involved with the family.
Amy stopped in front of the building and glanced up at the ‘police’ sign and the crest above the door. The grey rendering, glass doors, and metal frames made for an unwelcoming place.
The interior of the building was as inhospitable as the outside. The waiting area was surprisingly quiet, the plastic seating empty apart from a handful of lost souls. Corkboards filled with posters warning about drink driving, new laws requiring people to wear seat belts—that had only recently come into force—together with a handful of Have You Seen This man?’ sketched images were positioned around the walls.
An officer sat behind the front desk, his head bent to something out of view. He lifted his chin as she lurked in front of him. “How can I help?”
“Umm...yes...hello.” Now she was here, she wasn’t quite sure what it was she wanted to say. What was she reporting, exactly? Possible violence in the home? Child abuse? She didn’t have proof of any of that.
Instead, she said, “I might have information regarding a missing person’s case from two years ago. The missing person was local to here, so I’m hoping someone might be able to help.”
“A missing person’s case?” the desk officer parroted back.
“Yes, that’s right. I believe Detective Inspector David Norton headed up the case.”
“Just give me a minute. What’s your name?”
“Amy Penrose.” Then she added, “Doctor Amy Penrose.”
“Okay, Doctor Penrose. Take a seat and I’ll see if someone is free to talk to you.”
“Thank you.”
She sat on one of the cold plastic chairs. Her run-in with Robert Swain had left her shaken, but she reminded herself that she needed to come across as calm and professional to the police officers and not like some crazy, paranoid woman. It was important they take her seriously.
“Doctor Penrose?”
She looked up to see a man in plain clothes. He was in his mid-thirties, with a clean-shaven jaw and crinkles around his eyes.
“Yes, hello.” She jumped to her feet.
“I’m Detective Inspector David Norton.”
“You’re the DI who headed up the case?” She could hardly believe her luck.
“That’s right. Do you want to come through?”
She followed him out of the doors at the side of the reception area, to his office, where he gestured for her to sit.
“How can I be of assistance?”
“I’m not sure if you can, to be honest, but I had to speak to someone. It’s about a local missing person’s case, Mrs Susan Swain. She used to live arou
nd the corner from here.”
He frowned, the lines between his eyebrows deepening. “I remember that one. She went missing a couple of years ago, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. She left a son and husband behind. I’m currently treating the son, Edward, for mental health issues. I’m a psychotherapist, not a medical doctor,” she added hurriedly.
He folded his hands across the desk between them. “I see. And something has given you cause for concern?”
“I’m worried there may be violence in the home. Edward has mentioned that his mother and father used to fight before she went missing, and I’ve seen how Robert Swain treats his son. I’ve seen bruises on the boy, though both the family and social services are claiming he self-harms.”
David Norton leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows. “But you don’t think that’s true?”
“At this point, I’m not sure what to think, which is why I’ve come to you. I wanted to see if there was anything in the file that made you suspicious that anything strange had been going on?”
“Well, if I remember rightly, Susan Swain was a very isolated woman. Normally, in these cases, we’d be able to talk to family members or friends. People outside of the immediate family who knew the missing person well enough that they’d be able to go through the wardrobe and check that the items the missing person had taken were typical of what they’d normally wear. Often, when something like this happens, whoever is responsible will simply grab the first items of clothing they come across to make it look as though they’ve gone missing, but someone who knows them well would be able to tell if they’d left behind a favourite coat or dress or pair of shoes.”
“Unless the person who took the clothes in the first place knows that person well enough to already know what their favourite items are.”
He nodded. “That’s a very good point, but again, these things often aren’t thought through in that much detail. If a crime of passion is being covered up, the perpetrator will most likely be in a panic.”
“I see. But, in this case, it’s possible that the person closest to Mrs Swain was also the person who knew her the best.”