by Paula Daly
As they walk to the bar their heads are dipped. A fine drizzle fills the air, rain which seems to stay suspended rather than hitting the ground, rain which typifies Manchester. The climate is wet and mild. Perfect conditions for the manufacture of cotton and the reason so many mills sprang up across the north of England during the Industrial Revolution. Tess remembers learning about the properties of cotton in school in Morecambe. It is hygroscopic – meaning it absorbs or releases moisture depending on the relative humidity of the surrounding air. So if the surrounding air is dry, the cotton will relinquish its water content and become thinner, weaker, less elastic and more brittle, and if the air is moist, then the cotton is workable. Workable by the many thousands of millworkers, their lungs filled with cotton dust, workers who would head by steam train from the industrial towns surrounding Manchester to Morecambe. They came for one week’s respite, hoping that by some miracle a few days by the seaside would stave off the tuberculosis and brown lung disease, diseases that were killing their comrades in droves.
They enter the bar and take off their coats. Tess grabs some napkins from a waiter’s station near the door and dries off her hair, handing a couple to Avril too, before finding an empty table. Clive makes a big show of going for his wallet before Tom stops him. ‘My round, Clive. You got them last time, remember?’ and Clive pretends as though he can’t recollect. ‘Ladies,’ Tom says, ‘two white wines? And what about you, Clive? A pint of John Smith’s?’
‘Oh, I think I’ll join you in a glass of Peroni this time, Tom, if you don’t mind.’
‘One Peroni.’
Tess watches as Tom heads to the bar. He wears an expression of mild confusion, as if he’s been had in some way, but he’s not sure how.
‘So, Avril,’ Clive says, clapping his hands together. ‘What’s your gut feeling on this? Carrie Kamara, innocent or not?’
‘Oh, she’s innocent,’ Avril replies, delighted to have been asked her opinion. She’s blushing under Clive’s gaze, absently touching her hair, moistening her lips, and Tess wonders how Clive does it. He’s certainly no Clooney. And there is an age gap of around twenty-five years between Clive and Avril. And yet here is Avril, ready to offer it to him on a plate, if she weren’t so besotted with William. ‘Carrie’s definitely innocent,’ Avril reiterates to Clive. ‘You only have to look at her to know she’s telling the truth.’
Clive is amused. ‘You seem quite certain … Tess?’
‘Jury’s still out,’ she says.
Clive is naked beneath the sheets. He is sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows, watching as Tess re-dresses after sex. He always watches her put her clothes back on, and this makes her feel self-conscious and awkward. ‘Which is exactly why I do it,’ he says. Clive insists this is Tess at her most appealing. When she’s not wearing her authoritative hat, when she’s not in control of the room, but when she’s aware she’s being looked at, like really looked at, and she can’t handle it. ‘You’re so bloody beautiful,’ he tells her now, and he laughs. Of course, Tess could avoid being on show like this by remaining in bed until after Clive leaves, but therein lies the problem: Clive won’t leave. He’ll stay in bed all day. He will call his wife and make an excuse, and though Tess knows what she’s doing with Clive is wrong, wrong on a lot of levels, she draws the line at depriving two young children of their father – particularly because he is the chief cook and bottle-washer, and she thinks they all deserve a decent hot meal in the evening at the very least.
She has told Clive to go home. ‘Go home and tidy the house for your wife. She’s been at work all day, Clive, she’ll be tired.’
‘I want to stay with you.’
‘If you keep staying here all the time, she’ll begin to suspect.’
‘I keep telling you, Rebecca has no idea.’
Tess is struggling to fix her left earring in place. She pauses and turns. ‘This is exactly why men get caught, because they think they’re too clever to get caught.’
‘I was a detective for twenty-two years,’ he says, pulling a face. ‘I think I know a thing or two about stealth. Anyway, you said we were going to do this at your place from now on. Why am I always here in this godawful room?’
Tess turns her back on him, buttoning up her shirt. She said no such thing to Clive, but it does strike her again that perhaps she is being unfair to him by continuing this when she has no intention of letting it go further.
But then, she thinks, they did discuss all of this right at the start. And Clive assured her he wanted a no-strings coupling. He told her he wasn’t in the market for a full-blown relationship, that he had neither the time nor the inclination. Which was exactly why she agreed to it.
Except now Clive has changed his mind. He wants more. He wants to leave Rebecca and to be with Tess. And if Tess were capable of giving Clive what he wanted then she would. Because she is so very fond of him. But she cannot.
‘I don’t even know where you live,’ she hears him say quietly. ‘We’ve been doing this for close on two years now and I don’t even get to know that?’
She regards him in the mirror, then looks away. ‘I don’t understand why it’s so important.’
‘It’s important because what if you need me? What if you need someone? No one knows where you are, Tess. No one knows how to reach you.’
‘Clive, this is all I have. This is all I’m able to give right now. You know that. You said you understood. Don’t make it difficult. Please.’
Clive wants more. But she can’t give him more. He wants to save her from something. Herself? She doesn’t want saving. And what Clive fails to grasp is that the reason she agreed to this in the first place is because Clive is unavailable. He has commitments. Places he needs to be. People who rely on him. She agreed to this affair precisely for these reasons.
‘Don’t you ever feel alone?’ he asks her.
And Tess doesn’t answer. She dampens a tissue, running it beneath her lower eyelashes to remove the mascara that’s bled into the lines there. She probably needs to buy a new tube. Like replacing toothbrushes regularly, it’s something Tess forgets to do. She tucks in her shirt and smooths down her skirt, before turning to Clive and smiling as brightly as she is able.
Clive’s expression is one of deep sadness. ‘Who are you running from, love?’ he says.
Now
AVRIL IS IN the passenger seat with Tess’s folder – a summary of the pertinent points of the case – open and resting on her lap. They have returned to Morecambe and unusually for November the sun is out. Hurray! Tess looks up and the sky seems bigger here. More expansive. Tess is feeling buoyed after weeks of foul weather and she’s ready and eager to begin. It’s one of Tess’s favourite aspects of the job: revisiting the prosecution’s facts and theories, retesting them for herself to see if they hold up against further scrutiny. She’s looking to find inconsistencies, she’s looking to challenge assumptions made, and, if she’s really lucky, she’s looking to expose shoddy and substandard policing.
‘So, Ella Muir was murdered some time between five and six thirty p.m.,’ Avril reads. ‘But it says here that the phone records show Carrie’s mobile was in the general area of her home during that time. That’s good, isn’t it? That there’s no record of her phone being near Ella’s house? Surely that means—’
Tess cuts her off. ‘The prosecution argued she left it there on purpose – this being a premeditated attack and all. They said Carrie would have been aware her phone would’ve been traced to Ella’s so she didn’t take it along with her. For now, forget the phone. Start with the CCTV.’ Tess follows the instructions given by the satnav and within a couple of minutes she is outside Pete Kamara’s house. Well, what was once Pete and Carrie Kamara’s house. It’s an oversized, mock-Tudor detached, crammed on to a small plot. There is barely any room between Pete’s house and the one next door, probably just enough to drag a wheelie bin through. Tess leans across and flicks through the notes on Avril’s lap until she finds a copy of the highlighted
map she printed out last night. ‘We’re here,’ she says, pointing, ‘and this is Ella’s house, here.’ Avril follows her finger and begins to nod. ‘And the first CCTV camera that picked up Carrie’s car was here, at the Eagle and Child pub.’ Tess flicks to the following page. It’s a side-on still of Carrie’s white Honda SUV. ‘This image was taken at seventeen forty-seven from the camera outside the pub.’
‘No registration plates?’
‘Not visible from this angle,’ says Tess. ‘But the driver’s a woman. Blonde too, they reckoned.’
Avril pauses, and Tess keeps quiet while the cogs in Avril’s brain begin to turn.
At the beginning of her career, Tess would find these initial stages almost unbearably thrilling. The whole puzzle would lie ahead of her and she couldn’t wait to take a piece of evidence and play with it. Everything looks very different outside of the courtroom. Each ‘fact’ can be read so many ways when you’ve not got a pompous barrister in a black gown and a horsehair wig instructing you what to think.
‘Do we know how many white Hondas there are in Morecambe driven by women?’ asks Avril.
‘Not yet. But let’s assume for now that this is Carrie driving. Let’s assume she’s lying, and she did go out that evening.’ Tess flicks over the page to show the next CCTV image. ‘Is this her at eighteen oh six coming back in the opposite direction? And …’ Tess pauses while she adds up the time difference on her fingers. ‘And is nineteen minutes enough time to get from this camera here, to Ella’s house here, stab her eleven times, and get back to this camera again?’
Tess puts the car into gear. And Avril looks at her expectantly. ‘Get your iPhone on to stopwatch,’ Tess tells her, ‘and I’ll tell you when to press start.’
She sets off towards the pub and after a short time she glances in her mirror. There’s a car. A dark-green car. A Subaru perhaps? Tess has a feeling of déjà vu wash over her – she’s sure she saw this same car as she drove towards home the previous evening. She looks again in her mirror and the driver pulls back a little, creating some distance between them. When she checks her mirror once more, he drops his sun visor so that the top half of his face is hidden.
Tess frowns. How odd.
‘William’s taking me out tonight,’ Avril says.
‘That’s nice,’ replies Tess, distracted.
‘It’s a surprise.’
‘How is it a surprise if you’re telling me about it?’
‘It’s a surprise where we’re going,’ explains Avril, unoffended. ‘I’m hoping we’re going to that new place in the Trough of Bowland. It’s had really good reviews and I want to try the cuttlefish ravioli … William’ll have the steak. He always has the steak. I try to persuade him to go for something different what with the cancer risk from red meat but he can really be quite stubborn when he wants t—’
‘Stop talking.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Stop talking, Avril. We’re nearly at the first camera.’
Avril’s thumb hovers over the start button as she awaits Tess’s instruction.
‘OK, go.’
They follow the route on the map. The route Carrie Kamara took the evening she allegedly murdered Ella. As she drives, Tess tries to put herself in the mindset of a killer. There’s a temptation to come at these cases from the opposite direction. To think through all the reasons why the murder could not have been committed by their client. But in Tess’s experience, focusing solely on this aspect is short-sighted. Far better (and more fun) to play at being the murderer for a time. Better to imagine she’s inside Carrie’s mind, better to try to get beneath her skin and experience what she’s feeling on her way to execute her husband’s lover. In the past this approach has produced some surprising results.
She pulls into Ella’s road and she feels a shiver of excitement. She stops at the kerb outside Ella’s house and she thinks: Is this how the killer felt that day? Excited? Is this how Carrie felt that day?
‘Stop the clock,’ she says to Avril, feeling very Anneka Rice.
‘Eight minutes and four seconds.’
Tess blows out her breath. ‘Eight plus eight is sixteen. That leaves … three or four minutes to kill Ella.’ And Tess’s heart sinks. ‘That means it can be done,’ she says to Avril. ‘Carrie could have killed Ella in that time. Four minutes is adequate.’
‘Yes, but it’s not a very big time frame.’
‘It’s big enough,’ Tess says. ‘Which means we need to drive the route again. As the killer would have done. At rush hour.’
When she checks her rear-view mirror, the Subaru is gone.
Five Years Ago
FAMILY THERAPIST: Are you all warm enough? This room never gets any sun. You are? Good. Yes, it doesn’t matter which chair you sit in. Wherever you’re most comfortable … I usually pick this one because it’s nearest the radiator. All OK? Great. So, Mia, your assessment has been discussed with the wider team and they feel you could benefit from some sessions of family therapy. My job is primarily to listen to the concerns you and your parents have – I believe you’ve been facing some challenges of late – and then we’ll work out a programme that suits you, hopefully give you some tools to help you overcome these challenges. That all sound OK? Excellent. Let’s—
PETE: She doesn’t come out of her bedroom.
FT: It can be very worrying for parents when they see their child disengage from the world. Mia, are you able to explain to your dad why you’d rather spend time alone right now?
MIA:
PETE: She won’t go to school. She won’t see her friends. She won’t get dressed.
CARRIE: Pete, give her a chance to answer.
PETE: I’m trying to explain what the problem is. What’s the point in coming here if she’s not going to speak? We’re wasting everyone’s time.
FT: Try not to be too concerned about time. I know you’re very worried and anxious about Mia right now but we’ve got plenty of time. The important thing in these sessions is that everyone feels heard. Mia? Are you able to vocalize the reason you don’t want to go to school at the moment?
MIA:
PETE: This is what she’s like. She won’t speak, she won’t go out, she won’t eat. We’re being held hostage.
FT: Carrie, do you feel as though Mia is holding you hostage too?
CARRIE: I just want her to feel better.
PETE: So you really don’t mind when you have to leave work early because you’ve got another call from school telling you to come and get her? You do mind. You told me you mind. And that’s the other issue we’re dealing with: school. They don’t know what to do with her. She’s missed, on average, three days a week since the start of term. How can they educate her if she won’t go?
FT: Let’s put the issue of exams to one side just for now. Mia? Can you help us understand what you’re feeling? I know it’s hard. The first time you speak it out loud is the hardest.
MIA: I feel scared.
FT: When do you feel scared?
MIA: All the time. That’s why I don’t want to leave the house.
PETE: Well, we’re all bloody scared. Life is scary.
FT: Can you remember when this feeling of being scared first started, Mia?
MIA: Not really. I don’t remember feeling like this when I was little.
FT: So, you were generally happy to go to school, play with friends, when you were in primary school?
MIA: Yeah.
FT: You can’t remember being scared at all?
MIA: I’d get nervous about swimming lessons. Sports day. But I can’t remember feeling dizzy like I was going to pass out. Like I just wasn’t brave enough to face the world. I can’t remember being too afraid to go out of the house.
FT: That’s what it feels like to you? That you’re not brave enough to face the world?
MIA: Pretty much.
FT: That must be difficult. I can see how you’d prefer to stay at home. I think I would too.
When you were assessed there was also an i
ssue raised about your relationship with food. Do you think you would be able to think about this and perhaps talk about it a little? It would be great if you could talk about why you find it difficult to eat sometimes.
MIA:
FT: Try to describe for me how you feel when you don’t eat. Do you feel better about yourself? Is it a good feeling?
MIA: No.
FT: It’s not a good feeling?
MIA: It’s not that I don’t eat on purpose.
FT: Do you feel the need to purge after eating? Does that ever happen to you?
MIA: I’m not anorexic.
PETE: Oh, what would you call not eating, then?
FT: Pete, if you could just give Mia some time to answer it would really help.
MIA: My tummy feels in knots all the time. It hurts. I get pain when I walk. It hurts when I sit in class. Sometimes I need to lie down because the pain is so bad.