The Family Lie

by Jake Cross

  ‘Not my cup of tea, this bias thing. And that’s a pretty wild theory. Your Nick didn’t ask for any money in that text.’

  ‘So what do you think is going on? I know you believe it was Nick. But why do you think he would send a text like that?’

  ‘My only concern is finding him, dear. The rest, it’ll all fall into place afterwards. It’s best not to assume this or that until we know better. I’ve got a couple of people coming that I need you to speak with. There will also be others from my team coming and going. Now, so you know, I’ll be your contact here, okay? I’ll need to bring the crime scene people in, with their little brushes and sprays and such, you know, but I’ll insulate you from all these new faces. You won’t see a crowd and you’ll just deal with me, dear. That’ll make it easier. And I’ll make sure my people use the back door and move quietly so none of the busybody neighbours see. Okay. Apologies, though, but I also need to run through some things with you in terms of negotiating with the kidnapper.’

  ‘The kidnapper? But you all think my husband is behind this. Why would I need to be told how to talk to him?’

  Miller tried to scrape the tiny chin scab away with a short fingernail. ‘Thing is, dear, your man might not be the next person to contact you. And you must know that because you don’t believe he sent that text. It’s also a protocol thing. As is bringing in a Family Liaison Officer.’

  ‘I don’t know about this. I don’t need someone’s pity. I’d rather this liaison person talked to my sister. It must be hard for Jane. She loves Josie, and she never likes to see me in trouble. Or Nick. She’s worrying for three. I should get back inside to her.’

  ‘Truth be, dear, there’s a chance this thing could take a while. My people might soon have to fly the nest so we can do our jobs properly. The FLO will be your bridge between us. And she can take care of any arrangements you need. My boss has already picked a lady called Gwen. She’ll be in the house if you want her for anything. A tech chap will be popping by, too.’

  Anna glared at her. ‘Arrangements? You mean Josie’s funeral?’

  Miller forgot her scar and touched Anna’s arm. ‘Not what I meant, and not going to happen. We’ll both be bones by that day.’

  ‘Don’t make promises.’

  ‘I don’t do this to lock up the bad guy, Anna. That would make this just a job. I do this to give a family member good news. Painkillers. I need to see that happy look on your face when you hug your daughter again. I need it, dear. Some scumbag is going to leave me high and dry? Not going to happen.’

  Anna shook her head and repeated: ‘Don’t make promises.’

  Miller didn’t respond to that. There was a moment of silence and Anna said, ‘You didn’t answer earlier when I asked you about a husband and children. You don’t have a family, do you? This job is your life, isn’t it?’

  The scar needed attention again, this time without the mirror. ‘No, dear. No. No marriage partner and no little ones. Complicated. I guess I’m a career woman. But it doesn’t mean I don’t understand what you’re going through, sweetie.’

  Exactly what she’d been thinking. She didn’t want promises from this woman because a broken one would plummet her like a stone, and she believed the detective didn’t realise that. But she gave herself a mental reprimand, because she’d been like the detective once. Long ago, back in London. Striving for a career, no thought to a family. And then everything changed. Something maternal broke anchor and surfaced. Maybe this woman’s dedication was about more than just doing a good job. Maybe there was a maternal instinct that, shy of a child all its own, strove to look after everyone else.

  As if reading her thoughts, Miller said, ‘I do promise, Anna, dear. I do promise to get your little one back to you.’

  Before Anna could rebuke her, Miller’s mobile rang. She apologised and answered it, but only listened for a few seconds and then hung up.

  ‘I’m sorry, dear. Another awkward moment coming. You mentioned Nick was at work yesterday afternoon, right? He called you from Sheffield city centre at lunchtime. Is that right, dear?’

  ‘What? Yes. He was on a job. They’re building a wall at a nursing home. He called me about one o’clock, on his break. He mentioned coming to my darts night on Friday. That’s not someone planning to run away, is it?’

  ‘We put his van’s reg number in the Automatic Number Plate Recognition system. We got a hit. His van was logged at 1.21 yesterday afternoon. So, twenty minutes after he called you from, he said, Sheffield city centre.’

  Puzzled, Anna said nothing.

  Miller looked at her. ‘I really do apologise. The van was in Sunderland.’

  Sunderland? They were saying that Nick was in Sunderland when he claimed to be lunching in Sheffield? ‘That must be wrong. Must be.’

  Miller reached down to unclasp Anna’s seatbelt. She hadn’t realised she’d put it on. ‘If you don’t mind, dear, now we’re alone and getting used to the awkward dollops, I need to do another. I need proof that you’re Josie’s mother.’

  Her head snapped round. Miller had pulled a plastic packet from her pocket. Anna knew she was looking at a swab kit. ‘You want my DNA?’

  Miller opened the packet and said, ‘That’s right, dear. Not that we don’t believe you, of course. Dotted Is and crossed Ts. We have to officially make sure you’re her mother. You want to do it, or I can?’

  ‘It’s the other way round, isn’t it? You need to make sure she’s my daughter, don’t you? In case you only find a body.’

  Hope you’ve got good pictures of Josie in your head. You’ll need them.

  For a time the sheer absurdity and fantasy of that text message had kept it anchored far below the surface of her mind, but now it floated into the open.

  The first thing she had heard when she returned to the house was Father continuing to interrogate the police, so she slipped into the bedroom. Jane had appeared moments later. Lying side-by-side on the bed, they had talked about anything and everything not involving the kidnap, or Josie, or Nick. It had helped Anna shed nerves to the point where she felt dozy. It had put Jane to sleep.

  Her poor sister, pushed headlong into this nightmare. But at least she looked at peace now. Because she’d been sightless since the age of three, her dreams were always set on a beach burned impossibly bright by the sun, like a washed-out TV image. Jane theorised that her dreams were always burning white because there was too much black in the rest of her world. Anna had noted the irony of her sister’s situation: the world was meant to turn from black to white when the eyes closed, but for Jane it was the opposite. Anna hoped the beach was in her head now and not a nightmare about Josie.

  As she lay, she watched the clock turn forty minutes. Within that time, people arrived at her house, just as promised. She didn’t hear a single knock at the front door, suggesting they’d sneaked in the back way, like burglars, to avoid stoking the neighbours’ curiosity. But she heard new voices out there and imagined her house filling up as the machinery of a major police investigation whirred into life. Just the visible part of the iceberg, of course: those running the show, veteran detectives directing from the top. Beneath the surface would be the greater mass: those making calls, knocking doors, hitting keyboards. Dozens, maybe, all hoping to find a lost little girl. All hunting Nick.

  The Family Liaison Officer, a skinny lady with big eyes, poked her head in to say hello. She would be around for a chat if Anna needed a friendly ear or had any questions. Anna told her that would be great, thanks, maybe later. The woman didn’t insist, and maybe that was part of her skill set, and maybe Miller had pre-warned her that Anna, though confused and dejected, was level-headed and knew what she needed.

  Miller leaned in to offer a cup of tea and to show her a collection of cards about the size of electronic tablets, with large printed text. The detective explained what they were and looked somewhat apologetic doing so. The tea Anna accepted; the cards she tried not to look at. Miller didn’t push it, clearly sensing Anna’s contempt.
She praised Anna’s strength, told her to try to memorise the information on the cards, even if it seemed silly, and then left when a colleague called for her.

  Anna drank and nervously feared a visit by her father, whose accusations and that well-practised look of disappointment she wasn’t ready for. But he didn’t show himself. She couldn’t fully convince herself he was busy trying to shoehorn himself into the thick of the investigation.

  Hope you’ve got good pictures of Josie in your head. You’ll need them.

  She lay and listened to myriad muted voices, and mobiles ringing, and the thud of many feet, and tried to evict that terrible text message threat from her head. Nothing worked until she heard someone knock on the front door. She jumped up so fast her tea spilled, but the urgency was gone half a second later: Nick wouldn’t just knock.

  Someone appeared outside the ajar bedroom door. Anna approached and peered through the gap. Miller stood outside, giving a long yawn. She smoothed her hair, shrugged to get her suit jacket comfortable, and rubbed her eyes.

  Ready, Miller headed for the front door. Anna heard the detective’s raspy tones and the heavy Scottish accent of yet another new player. Miller led this person past the bedroom door and into the living room. He wore a long coat over a suit, very sophisticated, like her father, but a tuft of hair poking up on the side of his head suggested he’d rushed to dress after waking. Whoever he was, Miller had felt the need to avoid looking worn out.

  She approached the living room door but didn’t enter. She heard the new arrival introduce himself to the party as Chief Superintendent Allenberg, District Commander for Sheffield. The big boss, then. He sounded proud to announce that the chief constable, woken from slumber, had authorised the use of surveillance devices for this investigation. Surveillance? On who? Did they have a suspect?

  Pressed against the wall like an intruder in her own house, she listened as Miller outlined the call she had received about the possible kidnap and events since. Anna was surprised to hear that there had been a whole platoon of police officers on standby, ready to head out into fields and outhouses and lakes, the usual routine when a youngster went missing, but that Miller had ordered this approach scaled back in respect of evidence for a father-daughter abduction by Nicolas Carter. A media blackout was mentioned.

  Then, a rundown on the Carters. Nick: thirty-seven, landscape gardener, menial labour worker his whole life, no known mental illness, only brush with the law: a fine and a one-year driving ban for drink-driving when he was twenty.

  Anna: thirty-five, once-upon-a-time employee of Conservative Party member Marc Eastman – yes, that chap who just got made Secretary of State for Education – and now a stay-at-home mother. No psychological ailments and no dealings with the law bar one occasion in September of 2011 when her car was analysed amongst hundreds of others as part of a hit-and-run fatality enquiry in London.

  Here Anna decided she’d heard enough and was about to return to the bedroom when she heard voices ahead. Yet more new voices. Someone was in the cubbyhole at the end of the hall. Now she could hear shuffling paperwork. The little alcove was where Anna sat to stare out of the small porthole window at the neighbour’s trees and work on her poetry. She hated the idea of detectives reading her work and yanked the curtain.

  Two detectives she’d never seen before were sitting at the small table inside and dragging their fingers through her box of personal paperwork. Only one acknowledged her: a pregnant young woman, who she’d later learn was Detective Constable Ella Hicks, turned in guilty surprise. The male, a young Pakistani DC called Zesh Nabi, didn’t even look up from what he was doing. She was annoyed to see her stack of poetry jotters had been knocked over, one having slid to the floor.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  Hicks got to her feet. ‘I’m sorry about the intrusion. We’re just looking for anything that can help us.’

  ‘You’re behind with a lot of payments, aren’t you?’ That from Nabi, who continued to sit, and spoken without even a look around. His abrupt tone, so alien to what she’d encountered thus far, stayed her tongue for a few seconds. And made her nervous.

  ‘A holiday we had,’ she finally managed. ‘We’ll get back on track. It’s nothing.’

  Still giving her the back of his head, Nabi held up a sheet of paper. She recognised it as an old printout of a house for sale in Baltimore, USA. ‘There’s another connection to America here. We planning a move out there?’

  Again she had the urge to quickly explain. ‘No. That’s from years ago. Nick had this silly idea about buying one of those stupidly cheap houses the government had. To sell on. I talked him out of it.’

  ‘But this shows an interest in making quick money, right?’

  His tone was unmistakable: suspicion. Did they suspect her of hiding something? But what, possibly? Something about money? Strangely, the notion didn’t further unsettle her – it angered her. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’

  Hicks told her colleague to give Anna room to think. He apologised, although he still gave her his back, and that offered a chance to slow her breathing. But then Hicks, too, held up a sheet of paper. Anna recognised this, also. Hicks read from it.

  ‘“Notice is hereby given that by a Deed Poll dated 17th October 2011 and enrolled in the Supreme Court of England and Wales on 20th December 2011, ANNA SENIOR… abandoned the forename of Janice and the surname of Middleton and assumed the forename of Anna and the surname of Senior…”

  ‘I just wondered why you changed your name? I thought you became a Carter after Middleton through marriage.’

  Now Nabi turned his head, so they were both watching her. For a reaction.

  ‘I wasn’t married at that point. Do you know who I used to work for when I lived in London? Marc Eastman, the MP.’

  ‘Were you his girlfriend, too? One of the Witches of Eastman?’ Nabi said. And it was a serious question.

  ‘No. I was his caseworker.’

  ‘I thought that was his wife.’

  ‘His wife is his political aide. I was his caseworker, so I dealt with the public.’

  Anna explained that Marc Eastman had employed her in 2010–2011, when he was just a backbencher in the newly elected Liberal-Conservative government. In July of 2011, he got backlash for a remark made about a government document concerning the Bovine TB problem. He got death threats from anonymous members of the public.

  ‘I opened a lot of those letters. I felt threatened, too. When I quit the job, I didn’t want to be looking over my shoulder. I wanted a fresh start. I moved out of the city to start a family somewhere quiet and I changed my name so nobody would know me. My parents bought us this bungalow as a wedding present, but we didn’t get married until we’d settled here. Is that so wrong? I don’t like your attitude, coming into my house like this. My daughter and husband are missing, and this is how you speak to me? Like I’ve done something wrong. I’m going to tell your superior.’

  It was pleasant to see a little concern on their part now. Hicks smiled and shook her head.

  ‘We didn’t mean anything by it. Sorry if it sounded like that. We’re just trying to get a feel.’

  Anna shut the curtain. She felt guilty at her abruptness, but there was enough residual anger that her resolve was strengthened. She decided to take advantage and confront someone she’d been avoiding.

  She found her father in Josie’s room. On the bed, staring at the window. Strangely, she had feared coming in here, because the empty bed would spotlight what she’d had ripped away, and her father’s presence doubly made her want to flee. But she didn’t. He’d entered the house in frustration, but she could clearly sense that he was now feeling the impact of Josie’s disappearance. She wanted to console him but didn’t know how to.

  He didn’t register her presence until she sat on the edge of the bed. He gave her a quick glance and returned his gaze to the black window, now clear because the rain had virtually stopped. She felt the numbing power of the room. All of a sudden sh
e wanted to sleep. She knew he was avoiding her only because he didn’t like anyone knowing that even the great entrepreneur, Larry Middleton, was a slave to emotions.

  He scratched his left cheek, trying to hide the fact that he was wiping tears. ‘Why didn’t you sense that something was in the air?’

  Her heart sank. She had hoped this might be a rare moment, given their shared grief, where he actually treated her like blood. But his own father had pushed him to achieve greatness, and it had worked, so sympathy wasn’t his forte. He hadn’t changed his tune in ten years, so why would he do so now?

  ‘Why run from you, Anna? He loves you.’

  From anyone else, that would have been real puzzlement about why a loving dad would suddenly flee the family home. But she knew her father was building to an accusation. She didn’t want to hear it. Besides, being wound so tight for so long had sapped all her energy, leaving none to fight with.

  But people did not deny Father, and he would have his say. ‘Did you know he was doing this? Did he convince you to go along with this?’

  ‘“Go along with this”?’ she repeated, totally bemused.

  Now he turned to her. ‘Anna, is this about my money?’

  Remembering the puzzling attitude of the cubbyhole detectives, she let out a gasp as all kinds of understanding hit her. ‘Money? You think Nick wants money? That’s why those two detectives out there were talking about money. You put that idea in their heads, didn’t you? My god, do you… all of you… do you think Nick and I set this up? Do you think this is some kind of fake kidnapping? A ransom thing? That Nick and I came up with a stupid plan to get your money because you’re so tight with it.’

  She instantly regretted the insult, but he didn’t look injured by it. If anything, her words seemed to confirm things in his mind. Her obvious anger at his reluctance to offer financial aid triggered a focussed gaze and another allegation.