by Susan Lewis
‘No, he’s just left.’
‘So what did he say?’
‘Did someone tell you she’s in an actual coma and you didn’t pass it on?’ Emma asked accusingly.
‘What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Farraday just told me that they’ve stopped sedating her, but she still hasn’t come round.’
‘Oh Jesus,’ he murmured. ‘So what does that mean?’
‘It means she’s in a coma,’ she tried not to shout.
There was only silence at the other end.
‘They’re talking about taking her off the ventilator to see if she can breathe on her own.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow or Thursday.’
‘And if she can’t breathe on her own they’ll put her back on it, right?’
‘I don’t know, he said something about a trach ...’ She looked at Berry.
‘Tracheotomy,’ Berry supplied.
‘What the hell’s that?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t know, I didn’t get a chance to ask.’
‘OK, we need some proper answers. See if you can find the consultant, Yuri Nelson, and call me back.’
Unable to stop herself, she said, ‘It would help, you know, if you were still here.’
‘I was waiting for that.’
‘Well, don’t you think you should be?’
‘Yes, but I happen to have a business to run, and I also need fresh clothes.’
‘For God’s sake, Jemima can handle the business, and you could have bought clothes. There are shops down the road and she needs you here.’
‘That’s funny, because you keep giving me the impression you’d rather I was a thousand miles away.’
‘What I’d rather is that none of this was happening, but it is, and I really don’t appreciate being ordered about ...’
‘OK, OK, talk to who you want. I’ll find out my own answers when I get back,’ and the line went dead.
After clicking off Emma bit down on her temper as she said to Berry, ‘He’s right, we have to find Yuri Nelson, but I’m scared to, in case his answers aren’t what I want to hear.’
‘That’s perfectly understandable,’ Berry assured her. ‘We’re all afraid ...’
‘But I’m her mother. I need to deal with the facts ...’ Breaking off, she put her head back and blinked away the tears. ‘He seemed quite positive about her breathing on her own, didn’t he?’ she said. ‘And if she can, it has to be a start, doesn’t it?’
Reaching for her hand, Berry said, ‘Yes, of course.’
Wishing Berry had sounded as convinced as she’d needed to hear, Emma turned away, feeling increasingly alone in her belief that Lauren was going to make it. She wanted to go to Lauren right now and push everyone aside as she connected with her daughter in a way that only she could. She needed Lauren to listen and understand that she could do this; she could pull back from whatever brink she was balancing on, and return to the world as the beautiful, happy-go-lucky girl she’d always been. There was no reason for her not to; everyone loved her and she had so much to live for. She wasn’t going to be in a coma for years, or left brain-damaged, she simply wasn’t.
You need to read your messages, she told Lauren in her mind. You’ll know then how much you mean to us all, and how desperately we want you back.
It was only as she let the intensity go that she found herself wondering about the lies Lauren had told last Saturday. What had been making her so happy, and yet had to be hidden from her mother? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be as important as her survival, because nothing, but nothing, could ever be as important as that.
Chapter Seventeen
INSPECTOR JACKIE DENNIS wasn’t easily impressed, but the rambling old fancy manse in Kew that the Osmonds called home could have knocked her inspector’s cap off, if she’d been wearing one. Not that she ever allowed wealth or status to sidetrack or even intimidate her, far from it, because in her long experience she’d often found that the richer, or more aristocratic people were, the nastier they could be. And currently Mrs Osmond wasn’t exactly coming across as nice. Her husband, on the other hand, appeared a little less hostile, though he was letting his cold fish of a fifty-something wife do most of the talking.
‘As I told you on the phone,’ Rachel Osmond was running on in a bored sort of way, ‘we have never heard of this girl, much less sent her our address by text. So I really don’t know why you’ve bothered coming all this way to ask the question again.’
Jackie Dennis only looked at her.
‘Well?’ Rachel Osmond prompted.
‘Something I’m curious about,’ Jackie Dennis said, ‘is, when I take into consideration the size and splendour of this house ... Well, what I don’t quite get is the minuscule one up, two down in Somerset.’ It might not be relevant, but there again, it might.
Rachel Osmond’s eyes, and tone, were withering. ‘Forgive me for asking, Inspector, but is there a law against owning a small residence in Somerset?’
Dennis gave an amiable shake of her head. ‘Not as far as I know,’ she conceded, ‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’
‘Actually,’ Ian Osmond came in with a reproving glance at his wife, ‘it was bought by my father-in-law for his children’s old nanny in her retirement, which she then left to her former charges in her will.’
Dennis jotted down the information, and said, ‘So, if neither of you texted the address to Lauren Scott, can you perhaps shed some light on who might have?’
Ian Osmond glanced at his wife again as he said, ‘We’ve asked one another that several times since your calls, and I’m afraid we have no idea.’
‘Perhaps another member of the family?’ Dennis suggested.
With mounting impatience, Mrs Osmond said, ‘Our daughter is married to a US senator and living in the States, and our son is with the Foreign Office, currently stationed in Cairo, so I rather doubt either of them has ever heard of your girl either.’
Dennis was bristling. ‘Can I remind you that Lauren Scott’s life is hanging by a thread? Would it be too much to show a little respect, even if you don’t know her?’
Rachel Osmond flushed deeply.
‘I apologise,’ Ian said gruffly. ‘Of course it’s a terrible thing to have happened to someone of her age – of any age, in fact.’
It wasn’t much, but better than nothing, Dennis decided, and moved on. ‘Is there a neighbour down that way who might have a key?’ she asked.
‘There’s the cleaner, of course,’ Rachel Osmond replied, ‘maybe you should talk to her.’
‘Yes, thank you, she saw our officers at the house yesterday morning and was very helpful. I was thinking more of a friend from around those parts, or from around here, or anywhere in fact, who you might let use the place once in a while?’
‘There isn’t anyone,’ Rachel Osmond said sharply.
‘I see,’ Dennis responded. At this point she might have put down, or even picked up her cup of tea, had she been offered one, but she hadn’t. So instead she made do with a bit of a scribble in her notebook, and when she abruptly looked up again she caught an interesting exchange of glances between her hosts.
‘I should get that,’ Mrs Osmond stated as the phone started to ring, and without excusing herself she left the room.
‘So,’ Jackie Dennis said, turning her attention back to the man of the house, ‘how often do you actually visit this cottage?’
‘Actually, hardly at all,’ he replied, fiddling with his tie. ‘My wife and her brother have been talking for years about selling it, but they’ve never quite got round to it. Busy lives, you know.’
Dennis nodded her understanding. ‘What exactly is it that you do?’ she enquired.
His face seemed to twitch. ‘I work in the City,’ he said shortly.
‘As?’
‘A banker.’
‘Oh dear,’ she sympathised, mentally giving him a point for balls, since it took some these days to admit to bein
g one of the bandits who’d brought the country to its knees. Even harder to admit to if, like him, you were still sitting in a multimillion-quid mansion, and raking in the bonuses, while the innocent lesser folk lost their jobs and homes. Let them eat cake, just not from my table. ‘And your wife, what does she do?’
‘She designs and manufactures interior dressings such as wallpaper and fabrics.’
‘You mean a bit like the Chancellor’s family?’
Stiffening, he said, ‘Something like that, yes.’
She smiled and nodded. ‘Can you remind me again where you were on Saturday night?’ she threw at him.
It seemed to hit him on the nose – a blink and a twitch – but by the time he answered he was managing to sound more weary than startled. ‘As I said on the phone, we were visiting my parents-in-law in Suffolk.’
‘So nowhere near Somerset?’
‘No.’
He didn’t seem to be lying, but blowing the cover off these types when they banded together often required something nuclear. ‘Aren’t you in the least bit curious to know how your address could have ended up on Lauren Scott’s phone?’ she asked bluntly.
His grizzled eyebrows rose. ‘I can only assume someone sent it to the wrong number,’ he responded coolly.
‘And yet she was in Somerset that night, so it would seem she’d followed the directions ...’
‘Do you know if she actually went into the house?’ he interrupted.
‘Not yet, we’re waiting on forensics to tell us that. Do you know if she did?’
He regarded her askance. ‘How on earth could I when I wasn’t there, and have no idea who she is?’
Coming back into the room, Mrs Osmond said, ‘I’m very sorry, Inspector, but something urgent’s come up that I have to attend to.’
Wondering whose wallpaper was hanging off, or sofa covers didn’t fit, Dennis tucked away her notebook and got to her feet. ‘I think we’re about done here anyway,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your time. You’ve been most ... helpful.’
Mrs Osmond cast a dubious look at her husband. ‘I’ll see you out,’ she said, leading the way.
‘If anything else should come to mind,’ Dennis said, handing her a card at the door, ‘feel free to call me any time.’
Taking it, Mrs Osmond replied, ‘I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, but I did tell you on the phone that we have no idea who this girl is.’
‘And they really don’t seem to care much either,’ Dennis told Clive Andrews when she rang from the car to appraise him of the visit.
‘So do you think they’re telling the truth?’ he asked.
‘Actually, I don’t, at least not entirely, but their alibis are borne out by the in-laws, and no one at Lauren’s school seems to know who they are, nor does anyone from around the Scotts’ old neighbourhood. It’s going to be interesting finding out whether Lauren went into the cottage, because if we can place her there, they really will have some explaining to do.’
‘I take it no news on that yet?’
‘No, you know what forensics are like, overworked, underpaid and like to tell you all about it. And this isn’t a murder, so we’re hardly a priority. In fact, we really don’t know what it is. Any hunches coming up for you yet?’
‘Not really. Did you manage to get an ID on the number the text was sent from?’
‘I’ve got someone chasing the phone company. I don’t know what’s taking them so long, because we should have had something by now. Again, I suppose we’re low priority. What news on Lauren?’
‘I’m guessing she’s hanging in there, because I haven’t heard from Emma Scott since I dropped her at the hospital this morning.’
‘OK, let’s presume then that it’s good. If we lose her, you realise this’ll have to go to CID, because something’s definitely being covered up here?’
‘Of course.’
‘So, how close are you to Melissa Hunter’s place now?’
‘I’m ready to go and knock on the door as soon as you give me the word.’
‘Great. I reckon I’m about twenty to thirty minutes from Donna Corrigan’s place. I take it Melissa’s mother is expecting you?’
‘Affirmative.’
‘Same goes for Donna’s mother, so I’ll give you a call when I get there,’ and ringing off she began programming the satnav to take her to Hammersmith where, unless Mrs Corrigan had spilled the beans, young Donna was about to receive a surprise visit from the police at the very same time as young Melissa down there in North Somerset received one too. Dennis had decided to do it this way to make sure neither girl had a chance to get on the phone for a tip-off session before the other one was questioned.
Forty minutes later, after battling the usual snarl of London traffic made worse by rain, Jackie Dennis was sitting on a very comfy sofa in the Corrigans’ conservatory with a welcome cup of tea and plate of biscuits on the table in front of her, and an extremely edgy, though stunning, ash-blonde teenager perched on an opposite chair. Together, Dennis was thinking, Donna Corrigan and Lauren Scott must have presented a vision to take anyone’s breath away. When she added in their musical talents and the air of rampant femininity this girl exuded, no doubt shared by Lauren until less than a week ago, Dennis could only contemplate the injustice of beauty allocation: some girls seemed to have it all, while others were woefully overlooked.
‘Is Lauren going to be all right?’ Donna asked nervously. ‘She is, isn’t she?’
‘Everyone’s certainly hoping so,’ Dennis assured her, putting her cup down. ‘It was a very serious accident though, and if she does come through her injuries are likely to take a long time to heal.’ If they ever do, she considered adding, but decided that Donna was pale enough already.
‘I wish there was something I could do,’ she said brokenly. ‘I mean, if it was a kidney or something, I could let her have one of mine, couldn’t I?’
Touched by such generosity, perhaps naivety, Dennis said, ‘If it was a match, probably you could, but as it is, the only way you can help her really is to tell us why she wasn’t out with Melissa on Saturday night, when there’s quite a bit of chat on her Facebook page to say that was where she was going.’
Donna’s eyes immediately went down. ‘I don’t know why she changed her mind,’ she answered softly. ‘She didn’t text me or anything, so I only knew what had happened when Melissa’s mum called mine to tell her on Sunday morning.’ She used a finger to dab a tear from the corner of one eye and continued to stare down at her lap.
‘You’re her best friend, Donna, and she didn’t tell you where she was going, or why?’
Still not looking up, Donna shook her head.
‘Is that usual? Do you normally have secrets from one another?’
‘No, hardly ever. I mean, not that I know of.’
After wondering whether to shock her into looking up, Dennis chose to let things ride for the moment, simply saying, ‘So who do you think she might have told?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Melissa?’
‘Maybe. I mean, I don’t think so, because if Melissa knew I’m sure she’d have told me by now and she hasn’t.’
Dennis feigned a look of surprise. ‘Is there a chance Melissa’s keeping a secret from you too?’
Donna took a breath to answer, but only ended up shaking her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I was here all weekend. I’m not ... I can’t tell you what happened down there.’
‘So what can you tell me, Donna? I mean, there must be something going round in your mind about all this. You’ve surely got some sort of theory about why she showed up at Melissa’s house, but didn’t end up going out with her, so why don’t you share it?’
Donna swallowed noisily. ‘I – I can’t. I mean, I don’t have one.’
‘Now that, I’m afraid, is a lie.’
At last the girl’s eyes came out of her lap. Her face was turning crimson. ‘I – I don’t understand.’
With a friendly smil
e, Dennis said, ‘You’re an intelligent girl, you have an imagination, so it stands to reason you must have some sort of theory. All I’m asking is that you tell me what it is.’
Donna only looked at her.
Dennis stared back, but after a few moments the girl’s head went down again.
‘You understand that I’m a police officer, don’t you?’ Dennis said firmly. ‘Lying to me, or covering up for someone who’s been involved in committing an offence ...’
‘She hasn’t,’ Donna cried, ‘she’d never do anything wrong, so you shouldn’t be treating her as though she’s a criminal, because she isn’t.’
‘You can’t have it both ways, Donna. If you know she didn’t do anything wrong, you must know what she was doing, or at least who she was with?’
‘I just ... I just know she wouldn’t.’
‘Then what do you have to worry about?’
‘I’m not worried.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, I am about her, obviously, but I know she hasn’t done anything wrong.’
Dennis took another sip of her tea. ‘Do you know Ian and Rachel Osmond?’ she asked.
Donna frowned. ‘Who?’
Dennis repeated the names.
‘I’ve never heard of them. Who are they?’
‘Lauren received a text on Saturday evening giving her their address in Glastonbury and directions of how to get there.’
Donna’s colour vanished altogether.
‘You do know them, don’t you?’ Dennis said, watching her closely. ‘So who are they? And what are they to Lauren?’
‘I swear, I’ve never heard of them,’ Donna insisted. ‘That’s the honest truth. I really can’t tell you who they are.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Can’t. Honest to God, this is the first time I’ve ever heard their name.’
Unsure of whether she was being truthful or not, Dennis said, ‘Why would Lauren have taken her flute on Saturday night?’
Donna’s colour rose again. ‘I – I don’t know,’ she stumbled. She put a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. ‘Like I said, she never told me where she was going.’
‘OK. Then tell me about Parker Jenkins.’