They stared at each other, Ellie’s horrified expression reflected in the widening of his gaze and the droop of his mouth as he banged his head gently against his hand.
He’d thought he’d been clever in taking her here, a place that no one wanted to remember. A house that his mother couldn’t even give away at the current knockdown price. He’d been stupid or naive – most likely both. Someone knew and, with the person walking in their direction, they were completely trapped. There was nothing to defend themselves with apart from a pencil-thin torch and a pile of rags only fit for the bin.
‘Quick, the ladder …’
But it was too late. The noise had stopped along with what felt like his heart. He’d certainly stopped breathing. His fingers stretched to flick off the torch even as he pointed for Ellie to hide behind the tea chest. For all his careful planning someone must have either followed them or tracked them down. He couldn’t imagine who or to what purpose. What next?
Chapter 41
Marie
Tuesday 4 August, 11.30 a.m. St Asaph Police Station
Marie searched in the bottom of her bag for her make-up and the tube of bright shimmering pink lip gloss that she rarely wore – certainly never to the office. With a slash of the brush, she coated her lips to maximum effect, taking an extra moment to fluff up her hair and straighten her jacket, her mind fixating on the need to make Ivo suffer for what he’d put her through. While she liked to look good, she rarely spent more than a couple of minutes getting ready in the morning. With an easy-to-manage haircut and a staple of coordinating separates hung in her wardrobe, she didn’t need to. Now she thrust her shoulders back and rearranged her features into the semblance of a blinding smile. Ivo wouldn’t know what had hit him.
‘You wanted to see me?’
She didn’t announce her arrival, instead tiptoeing across reception until she was standing right in front of him, her eyes travelling over his designer suit and conservative tie. Ivo, the man who’d begged her to date him in the early days of their acquaintance when she’d been too busy living it up with her friends to even think about a steady relationship. Ivo, the man she’d finally given her heart to only for him to mash it up along with any feelings of trust and respect. Marie could understand the devastation he’d felt at the thought of never being a parent – she felt the same devastation – but she would never be able to forgive him for the way he’d handled it.
Shoving his laptop on the chair beside him, Ivo jerked to his feet, his whole demeanour softening into the expression she knew of old, the same one he used for awkward clients. With that thought her heart hardened, the cracks merging into a consolidated mass of anger. The selfish bastard was in for a shock. The days were long gone when he’d been able to sway her with a pair of grey eyes and a fake smile. She knew him now, where before all she’d seen was what he’d wanted her to.
‘Marie.’ He lifted his arms, spreading them wide. ‘What do I have to do to convince you of my mistake if coming to this place isn’t enough? I’m all the fools rolled into one to think that another woman could ever give me what we had together. If you want me to crawl on bended knees …’
‘Go on then.’
‘What?’ She watched his expression lose a little of its lawyerly patina, the hint of moisture above his top lip the only indication that being dressed in a three-piece suit wasn’t the greatest of ideas with the temperature heading for the high seventies. Instead of focusing on his eyes – the most difficult part for her – she let her gaze drift to the knot on his Italian silk tie only to wonder if he’d worn it on purpose. Knowing him, probably. She’d bought it as part of last year’s Christmas’s gifts, the designer label costing her more than she’d wanted to spend. She’d thought him worth it; the biggest joke of all.
‘If you’d like to go on bended knees there’s nothing stopping you but I won’t be around to pick up the pieces if you struggle to get back on your feet. You’re not getting any younger, after all,’ she added, allowing her attention to drift to his receding hairline. In the old days, the reality of which was less than two months ago, she’d never have dared refer to the state of his hair. Now she didn’t care. He’d walked out on her within a week of finding out that the likelihood of them conceiving was an impossibility without medical intervention. At thirty-six, she could almost feel her eggs shrivelling at the thought of having to find another partner before it was too late. She wasn’t stupid. It was already too late.
‘You never used to be this hard.’
‘No, well, perhaps that was part of the problem.’ She shifted from one foot to the other, casting an overlong glance at her watch. ‘I do have somewhere I need to be so, unless you have something to say – which isn’t a repeat of asking me back – then I suggest you leave.’
‘If only you’d see sense. It was a mistake all right, a stupid error of judgement.’
‘And one you made with gusto, Ivo. You made your decision. Now you have to accept the consequences. I have. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. Sooner rather than later if you continue with this ridiculous behaviour.’
Marie was a snivelling mess by the time she reached the pool car that Gaby had kindly agreed to let her use, both in and outside of work. The only thing that helped to dry up her tears was the increasingly firm notion that Ivo was a complete arse – she was mad at herself for taking so long to realise it. By the time she’d arrived at St Gildas school in Beddgelert, she’d managed to swallow her tears over the bump of pain that had taken up permanent residence in the back of her throat. All that was left of the deluge was a slight pinkening around her eyes and nose, which could be easily explained away as a touch of hay fever to anyone who asked.
The imposing, gothic grey stone building came into view, the long sweeping drive bordered with hydrangeas in full bloom, their large balls of assorted mauves and blues bringing a glint to her eye for a completely different reason. She loved gardening. They’d had a little square of green behind their house where she’d spent most of her time planting and pruning. It was only the sight of the splendour in front of her that made her realise how much she missed it. Malachy’s roof terrace was a sterile space with two designer chairs set around a wrought-iron table, a great bonus after a long day at work but hardly a replacement for the oasis she’d lost. It wouldn’t take much to brighten it up. A planter or two and perhaps some winter-flowering pansies now that autumn was only around the corner. She’d discuss it with him as soon as she returned to the station and, if she had the nerve, she might pinch some hydrangea cuttings on her way back to the car.
The playground to the left was deserted as were the sports fields in the distance, hardly surprising as it was the height of the holidays. But schools like this never closed. Most of the teachers might be off enjoying their well-earned vacation but the headmaster lived on site as did the groundsman. She’d even learnt during her quick phone call that the clerical staff took it in turns to man the phones, working through the stream of paperwork that never seemed to reduce whatever the time of year.
Within minutes, she found herself sitting at an empty desk in the front office.
‘Tell me again exactly what it is you need,’ Mrs Newton said, her eyes sharp behind her tortoiseshell-framed glasses.
‘It’s a long shot really but a chat with anyone who would have known Katherine Jane prior to her retirement and move to Llandudno.’
‘The old teacher who went missing last year? Poor soul. Well, not me for one. While I knew her, of course, we weren’t by any means friendly. What exactly is it you want?’
‘That’s the problem.’ Marie opened the envelope she’d been holding and, withdrawing some photos, handed them over. ‘These were taken soon after her disappearance. Obviously we’re aware that she worked at the school in the years up to her retirement. We were wondering if there were any of her friends still among the staff who would know if these images ring true as to the kind of possessions she’d have on display?’
‘Isn’t it a bit la
te to be asking?’ she said, sitting back, her lips compressed. ‘Surely …?’
‘It’s never too late to re-examine what happened. You may have read in the papers that it was a very unusual case? People of that age don’t usually up and disappear into thin air like that. We’re looking for closure.’
Mrs Newton picked up the first photo, studied it a moment and repeated the action with both the second and the third. ‘Miss Jane was a bit of an oddity. As clever as you like, a Latin scholar with an Oxford degree, but a loner all the same who didn’t tend to mix with the other teachers.’ She glanced up briefly. ‘And certainly not with the likes of the humble office staff. The students hated her en masse – not that she’d have bothered about that sort of thing. I think you’ll be lucky to find any who would have been invited across to her flat except the students she used to take on privately to tutor up for their exams. There was a steady stream of those but, of course, as we don’t keep records of any private arrangements between parents and teachers, that’s not going to help you.’ She returned to the first photograph, which featured the lounge and the wall-to-wall bookcases. ‘As I said already, we weren’t close but I did see the inside of her flat on one or two occasions when I had to gain access for the maintenance team.’
‘And?’
‘And I would have to say that she had a fine collection of silver frames, genuine at a guess. Also some crystal. Yes. I remember now, quite a nice collection.’
‘What about jewellery?’
‘I never saw her wear any, maybe a gold watch but I can’t really remember and I don’t think anyone else would.’
Marie stood, holding out a hand for the photos and returning them to the envelope.
‘There is her leaving present, of course.’
‘Her leaving present?’
‘Yes, here. I happen to have one ready for the next presentation.’ She pulled out the bottom drawer of her desk and removed a long slim box. ‘These are quite a collector’s item and nearly worth working at the school until retirement to get one.’ She managed a laugh. ‘I have a few years left until I get mine. Made especially by a firm in London.’
Marie focused on the gold pen, a flicker of interest flaring into a bright flame. ‘What’s that on the top?’ she said, her fingernail pointing to the red and blue engraving.
‘The college crest.’
Chapter 42
Ronan
Tuesday 4 August, 11.50 a.m. Caernarfon
‘Mother, what the hell do you think you’re doing here! You scared the sh—’
‘Mind your language! You’re not on the streets now, my boy. I could ask the very same thing about you and, believe me, I fully intend to.’
Peering down through the hole in the ceiling, Ronan felt as if he’d woken up from a nightmare. No. He hadn’t woken up. The nightmare was still continuing just like his life. One big, long fucking nightmare with no end in sight.
He turned his head, suddenly remembering that it wasn’t just the two of them. ‘It’s okay, Ellie. You can come out. There’s no need to be scared, it’s only my mum.’
Back in the kitchen with the kettle on – why adults always had to resort to hot drinks in times of crises was one step too far for his juvenile outlook – he asked the question that had been filling the gap in his mind.
‘How did you find me?’
‘I saw you yesterday morning in the clos. I knew then that something must be up but by the time I returned, after dropping the boys off, you’d disappeared. It didn’t take me long to discover that the key to the farmhouse was missing out of the top drawer in your fa— in the office.’
She couldn’t even mention his name now. That’s what hurt the most. The man his father had been, wiped out of the memory banks. And Ronan’s main problem? He couldn’t forget.
Ronan didn’t reply; he couldn’t. Instead he sat in front of his unwanted drink and waited for her to continue. There was too much history between them. Now he wasn’t sure if he knew how to put it right. Ellie remained silent by his side, her blank expression telling nothing of what she was thinking. She was his priority. If he could only discover why she’d run away, he might be able to protect her from whatever it was that had caused her to flee. He’d been so near to finding out the truth …
‘So, I take it there’s a reason why you’ve abducted a child, is there, Ronan? Because I’d very much like to know what it is.’ His mother placed her empty mug back on the table, her elbows resting on the surface, her linen dress pulling at the shoulders. She had a wardrobe full of the things and rarely wore anything else unless she was either cleaning the bathroom or prepared for bed. He hated them nearly as much as he hated her hairstyle, the memory of how it had used to flow down her back something he’d relegated to the cupboard in his head with a do not enter sign firmly in place. Any more skeletons and he’d have to get planning permission for an extension, he mused, his expression as grim as his thoughts.
‘You do know that there’s an APB out for her, don’t you, Ronan? The whole of the UK police are on high alert – she was even the top news item this morning on the BBC. There is no way that someone didn’t see something.’
‘She has a name, you know, Mother. Ellie. Ellie Fry.’ He risked another quick glance at his mum, not that it would tell him anything. She was the master of containment. Nothing ever got past her set features and composed lips. The only time it had was the day his life had come tumbling down – the day they’d picked him up from St Gildas following his expulsion. He’d never forget her expression of disappointment; it was what he thought about last thing at night before sleep claimed him. That and … other things. Shifting his head, he stared across at Ellie. He couldn’t tell much from her averted face. All that was visible was her ear and part of her jaw, but her jaw was rigid, her skin the palest he’d ever seen it. He wanted to reach out and take her perfectly formed clenched hand in his and tell her that it would be all right. But that would be a lie.
‘Leave him alone.’ The sound of Ellie’s thread of a voice almost had him knock over his drink in surprise. She lifted her head, her eyes unwavering as she sought out his mother’s face. ‘He was only trying to help. I think—’
‘Ellie, you don’t have to—’
But his mother interrupted him, her hand on his arm, her fingers firm but gentle. ‘Ignore my son, Ellie, and finish what you were going to say. No one is going to harm you, least of all me. You think …?’
Ellie dropped her head, all the fight suddenly draining away like an unblocking sink. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ was all she said, her words coming out in a mumbled rush.
‘And that’s why I’ve parked Ronan’s brothers with friends and taken the day off work – in order to help you to make the right decision. You must realise that the police will find you sooner rather than later. Let me help sort out what’s wrong and we’ll take it from there.’
The silence was intense, but only for a moment. Ellie sliced through the building tension with her next words.
‘I want my mummy.’
She dropped her head onto her folded arms, the sound of muffled sobs the only thing to be heard apart from the dripping tap and his mother’s deep sighing breath. Ronan felt as if someone had gained access through his chest wall and was even now attacking his heart with a shredder. It was finally his turn to meet his mother’s steadfast gaze, his own as easy to read as someone flicking through a large print book with a magnifying glass.
Help her.
Chapter 43
Gaby
Tuesday 4 August, 12.30 p.m. St Asaph
Gaby dumped her bag under the desk she usually used in the incident room, the one nearest the coffee machine. She didn’t even think about going up to her office; there would be little point. She needed to be where the action was and that meant the stale room with the window pushed open to the max in order to try and circulate the solid wall of hot air that seemed to have taken up residence.
After slipping off her jacket, she placed it o
n the back of her chair and settled behind her desk. She ignored her laptop for once, pushing it to one side and removing a thick A4 pad from the top drawer. Computers were all very well but she had some serious thinking to do and there was nothing better than paper and pencil to kick her brain into action. But instead of drawing up her usual timeline, she decided to try a different way of organising the information they had, to see if it would add something new to the mix. She wrote down the names of the detectives working the case as her starting point.
Jax hadn’t turned up anything of use from the neighbours on the estate, which was a surprise but not as surprising as finding that he wasn’t behind his desk. She picked up her phone to send him a quick text, her attention moving on to Marie and that unfortunate episode with Ivo Morgan. She would have preferred to have her sitting in on the interview with Janice Stevens but that couldn’t be helped. Diane had done very well as a substitute, she thought, staring across at the top of her neat blonde bob just visible behind two large screens that they used when looking through reams of CCTV footage. Gaby would really have to do something about Diane Carbone, probably the only positive that would come out of this mess of a case.
With a shake of her head, she turned to Mal and what he’d had to contribute. He hadn’t come up with anything from the small cohort of undesirables living locally, which had to be viewed in a positive light. She was interested in what he’d made of Ellie’s timeline. If they could just find out why she’d run …
She only added Owen as an afterthought. The inquiry into the two missing women was a headache she didn’t need right now but she had utter confidence in Owen’s ability to manage the situation – she had more than enough to cope with.
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