‘More serious than running someone over?’ I asked. ‘Than a hit and run?’
‘You'd have done the same,’ he said quietly, and I was silent for a moment as I thought over the enormity of what had happened.
‘You ran him over,’ I said after a while. ‘You left him for dead. You wanted to kill him. And I understand, you're right, I would've wanted to do the same. I would've wanted to murder him, drive a knife into his chest after seeing what he made Katie do, but you shouldn't have done it.’ I shook my head. ‘You should've just taken it all to the police! Right then. Immediately. You should have driven to the police station.’
He grabbed my hand again tightly. ‘Don't you think it's easy to say that now? To look back and know what I should've done? I'm trying to make it right, I'm trying my best, Rachel, I'm fixing it. Yes, I made a mistake but now I'm sorting it so it won't be yours, won't be Katie's.’ He stared at me intently. ‘I've an alibi of sorts and I've got rid of the car. If you hadn't have been so interfering, if you'd not gone on Twitter, if you'd just stayed asleep last night instead of…’
‘Phil!’ I yanked my hand out of his. ‘Listen to yourself.’
He stood. Went back to the window, his shoulders tense. We stayed in silence for an age. My mind wasn't capable of processing it all: the images of Katie, the fact that she'd posed for those pictures, had undressed for them to be taken, that she'd been abused.
He came towards the bed, sitting on the edge. ‘You think Katie is the only girl he's done this to?’ he asked me. ‘You think she was the first? The last? Rachel, there was a website full of girls like her. He's a master of his game.’ Phil leaned forward and wiped my cheeks that were wet with tears. He blinked a few times, trying to push back his own tears then took a sigh.
‘I could go to the police,’ he said quietly.
‘Police?’
Phil nodded. ‘Perhaps if I confess I won't get long, five, six years…’
‘I don't want you to go to jail!’ I was startled by the force of my words.
We stared at each other, my heart thumping. ‘That man who did that to Katie. He hurt our daughter and I don't want you to go to prison for hurting him.’
Phil opened his mouth to say something but I shook my head. ‘Just wait a minute,’ I told him. ‘Just stop talking a moment. Just give me a minute to think.’
I imagined a life where Phil went to jail, his crime public knowledge. A life where Katie was the subject of gossip, where we all were.
Walking through the city centre and people pausing to watch us as we did: the family of the man who ran someone over. We'd be judged. I'd be the reckless mother who wasn't keeping her daughters safe, I'd be the woman on the news that I'd previously shaken my head at. I was the one who wasn't watching the ball, who had let this happen and who would want that kind of person catering and planning their event? My business would fail. I wouldn’t get work anymore. I’d have to take up some other, menial job to pay the bills.
Katie would be forever known as the girl who was taken in by the paedophile. Everyone would know what had happened to her. Jessica would have to deal with the fact that her little sister had been the victim of abuse, that as a family, we’d let her down. As a mother, I’d let them down. People would know that about us before they knew anything else. My scalp prickled, my body hot and sweating.
‘Fuck!’ I put my hands to my face.
Phil pulled them away.
‘I might not get that long, I could be out –’
‘Phil, I don't know if I can do it,’ I said and the thought of losing him, of losing everything, was suddenly terrifying.
He stared at me a moment. ‘If I don't confess, we can't talk about any of this to Katie,’ he said. ‘We have to keep quiet. Until we can perhaps get her into some kind of therapy, make up some reason. And we have to pray there's nothing on CCTV of me at that station. We have to pray that the police won't find out what I did.’
I swallowed, my mind running, I could hear the sound of Sergeant Bailey saying he’d need to speak with us again, the way he paused on the answer machine.
‘And we have to pray he doesn’t wake up,’ Phil said. ‘Because if he comes out of his coma, if he tells the police that he saw me…’
‘Could he do that?’ I asked quickly. ‘Did he see you? See it was you driving the car?’
‘He’ll remember meeting me,’ Phil said slowly. ‘He’ll remember I was there.’
‘Fuck!’ I hissed again and we were quiet for a moment.
‘It’ll be my word against his,’ Phil said. ‘I’ll deny it. Say I was never there, but then…’
I thought about the photographs. If he should come out of his coma and accuse Phil what course of action would the police take? They’d find the photographs of Katie and begin to unravel everything.
‘Can we stop it?’ I asked him. ‘Is there time for us to get rid of these,’ I pointed to the photographs, ‘to get rid of the association?’
Phil shrugged and I felt like screaming. I couldn’t see a way out. I didn’t know what to do.
‘What's best?’ I asked quickly. ‘Think of Katie. Nothing else. Think of Jessica, what's best for our daughters?’ I grabbed his hands. ‘Would it be better for them if we talked about this? Confessed what you did, tell Katie we know and make sure she's okay? But then she'd have to watch you go to prison as a consequence, or is it best for the girls if we keep quiet? Say nothing and pray he doesn’t wake up, or if he does, that he doesn’t remember? Katie would have her father at home, but she'd have to deal with what happened to her alone and we’d have to deal with the uncertainty of him accusing you and what that could bring.’
‘In time,’ Phil said slowly, ‘Katie might come to us. She might want to talk to us about it.’
‘But she might not,’ I said. ‘And anything could have happened to her. Anything. We're only seeing the photographs. We're only seeing the one film he sent you.’ My hands went to my throat. ‘We might never know what he did to her. Phil, what if he did more? What if he did other things to her?’
Phil took in a deep breath, ‘I don't know,’ he said. ‘Rachel, I don't know what to do.’
I closed my eyes, trying to stop the panic.
What if he’d done more?
24
Suzie
It took a moment for Suzie to work out what she was looking at. It was fleshy and wet with a dark interior. She shifted uncomfortably for a moment and peered closer. It was only when she spotted the outline of a tooth, that she realised she was looking at an open mouth. A female mouth, it looked like, taken from the side, fleshy lips parted, tongue resting provocatively on the bottom lip. The picture was so close it was almost abstract and she frowned, not sure why Adam would have such a thing as his screen saver. He took so many impressive pictures, colourful landscapes, black and white atmospheric urban shots and numerous portraits so why he should have this gaping mouth as his screen saver was puzzling.
She tilted her head and the image became more apparent, perhaps he was experimenting. Blowing up a macro image until it became some kind of artwork. When he regained consciousness, amongst the things they had to urgently talk about, she'd tell him he was wasting his time with this. No one would want close-ups of open mouths on their walls. She swallowed to try and get rid of the taste of stale wine; it was getting late. She took her glasses off, gave them a quick rub with the hem of her jumper and then started to investigate his desktop.
There were several applications, many of them things that she didn’t recognise. Games, music players and other icons littered the left-hand side of the screen. Suzie ignored them all. She was only interested in where he kept the record of accounts, where the money could be. Adjusting the blanket so it was a little tighter around her shoulders, she navigated to the computer itself, looking at the hard drive. She went to documents and opened up the files, but there was nothing, just an empty screen. Adam had never used the office documents and had saved nothing to his hard drive. It was unused,
completely blank.
‘Shit,’ Suzie hissed.
Forgetting about how sweet and sickly the wine had been, she picked up her empty glass and held it to her lips, throwing her head back to get the very last drop. Her stomach was swirling, empty except for the alcohol. She needed some food, something to soak it all up. Walking into the kitchen, she aimlessly opened up a cupboard and stared inside. She'd so wanted this to be easy, to see exactly what Adam had been doing and for it to be fully explainable. His laptop was meant to give up all the answers, it was not meant to be practically unused.
Reaching up, she got a well-used pint glass that had been robbed from a pub many, many years earlier and filled it with water. After she had drunk greedily, she looked around at what there was to eat. She found a box of crackers and a tub of soft cheese just past the sell by date. It would have to do under the circumstances, she didn't have the money to order a takeout and she didn't want to venture out into the night on foot to go to the corner shop.
She took it back into the lounge where Adam’s laptop was, the desktop image of the open mouth gaping at her and the conversation with her mother still on her mind. Dave, her useless brother asking for money and her parents thinking that Suzie had thousands to play with and a new exciting venture that was beginning to be profitable. A wedding coming up and a whole new life to start. A self-pitying sob caught at the back of her throat.
‘That's how it should be,’ she said aloud to herself. ‘That's what should be happening, and it will happen.’
She shoved three crackers into her mouth, then, when the initial hunger had started to subside, she opened the soft cheese and dipped a cracker in, using it as a makeshift shovel before sitting back down with the laptop on her knee.
‘C’mon,’ she said as she ran her fingers over the keypad, her mouth full, ‘you wouldn't have this if you didn't use it. There's more than just photo editing software on here, there has to be.’
With sticky fingers, she searched several files, including ‘pictures’ and ‘music’ and all were empty. Perhaps he didn't even use the laptop to edit his photographs on, Suzie thought as she ate another cheese filled cracker, perhaps it was all done on the huge Apple iMac he had in the studio.
She clicked on the email icon but it wasn’t activated either.
The gas fire hissed at her feet and the wind howled at the window. She’d have to move back in with her parents. At thirty-seven she would be crawling back there again. The last time had been mortifying and she had only been there for five months whilst she waited for the sale of the house she owned with Carl to come through and the purchase of her flat to be completed.
Her parents had converted her old bedroom into an office. She’d slept on an inflatable mattress, her head by the side of a paper shredder. The evenings spent listening to her mother’s chatter about the neighbours. Trips to garden centres and small supermarkets at weekends. Endless talks about the dog’s health.
‘Not a fucking chance,’ she suddenly spat out. ‘I’m getting married.’ She gripped the laptop and stared at it.
She looked at all the icons on the desktop again and then, she started to laugh. It was so obvious. She shook her head at her own stupidity. Double clicking the internet icon, she waited whilst it loaded.
‘History,’ Suzie breathed as she navigated to Adam’s browsing history. ‘Of course you’ll have it all remote. In the cloud.’
The drop-down menu appeared and she took a sharp intake of breath. She thought she might see some porn, but didn't realise how hurt she'd be until she saw the triple x sign claiming what they were. She didn't read them. She didn’t look at them, but scrolled past them quickly. All men looked at porn, she told herself as she quickly went down the list, it wasn’t out of the ordinary.
Whatever Adam had been looking at that wasn’t to do with accounts or transferring money could wait. Then she saw it, an email address and a balloon of hope lifted in her chest. Everything would be in his online email account, all his correspondence, if she wanted to find out Adam’s movements with money, then it had to be in there. She felt a giddy quickening as she clicked it open.
It took her straight to Adam’s inbox account, automatically logging her in, no password needed and a page full of his emails was suddenly in front of her. She giggled with relief, here would be everything she needed.
There were several junk emails that she didn’t even open, the usual kind from online stores offering discounts and voucher codes.
She scrolled down, something from a magazine subscription, something from a phone company and then she saw it and a rush of adrenaline hit her.
‘Bingo,’ she breathed as she saw one titled, ‘Manchester Safety Deposit Box.’
Opening it up, she felt a stab of disappointment as she read it was just a polite, impartial email explaining new packages they had available. Nothing else. Nothing to show that Adam had a safety deposit box; the email wasn't even addressed to him by name. She stared at it a moment. But if he didn't, why would they be emailing Adam about new packages? She grabbed the phone and quickly dialled the number. It was after hours but after a moment an answer machine kicked in.
‘Thank you for calling, we are now closed. Our opening times are…’
Suzie hung up. Going back to his email account she went to the search box at the top of the screen and typed ‘safety deposit box’ and waited. A page of emails loaded and the disappointment she'd felt earlier was magnified. There were emails from safety deposit boxes in London, Chester, Liverpool and Manchester. A page of them. All sales emails, all impersonal.
She opened up the second email from the top of the list, one from a vault in Liverpool and looked for the contact number. It was listed at the bottom of the email along with the line, ‘Twenty-four-hour service’.
Suzie held her breath as she dialled.
‘Protecta Vaults,’ a woman answered after the fourth ring. ‘How can I help.’
Suzie's head swam. Her hand was sweating as she gripped the phone tight.
‘Can you tell me,’ she said, her words urgent, ‘if an Adam Staple has a safety deposit box with you?’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘I'm afraid that information is confidential,’ she said after a while. ‘We can't give out any personal information about our clients.’
‘But he's my fiancé,’ Suzie sputtered. ‘And he's been in an accident, and I think he's got a safety deposit box with you, and I need to get into it.’
‘Do you have his account key?’
‘Account key?’ Suzie asked. ‘What account key?’
‘Without his key to the safety deposit box and his PIN, I'm afraid if you're not down on the account, which I presume you're not as you don't have a key, we can't access the box. That’s if he has a safety deposit box with us at all.’
Suzie sat a moment, her mouth slightly open.
‘But he’s unconscious,’ she said. ‘You must have a procedure for this kind of thing. When a client is no longer able to function and they need someone to get the box on their behalf.’
‘In those circumstances, without a key, there’s not a lot we can do. If he should die…’
‘Die!’ Suzie’s voice was high but the woman went on as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘We'd need a copy of the death certificate and the executor of the deceased estate would be granted access so long as they have the right papers.’
‘But can you tell me if he has a box with you?’ Suzie asked. ‘Can you at least confirm that? Please?’
‘Unless you have the key, we can't do anything.’
Suzie ended the call. Unless Adam died or woke up, she was no wiser to if he'd taken out a safety deposit box. She looked at the page of emails, with no idea if he'd picked any of these companies or none, and no way of finding out.
There was a loud bang outside the door and she jumped, the crackers falling to the floor and the tub of soft cheese falling face down on the carpet. Going to the window she pulled the curtain asi
de and looked out at the black night. Wind howled and threw rain against the glass, making her jump back a little. It was vicious out there. An empty bucket was being thrown about by the wind, banging against the pavement. She shuddered. Was there a shadow behind the tree? A figure watching her? Her thoughts went to Mark. Would he come here demanding a repayment? She would call him tomorrow. Tell him that Adam was in hospital. That he was in a coma and she needed more time.
Suzie shut the curtains and went back to the door. She checked it was locked, and then put the deadlock on. She thought of calling the police but after waiting a moment, when there was no knock at her door, she went back to the laptop. She’d think about Mark tomorrow, when she’d found where the money was.
Her heart was pounding with desperation. She ran a hand over her face and with her head a little clearer from the water and crackers, she had one more idea. She went to the search bar at the top of the email screen and typed in ‘accounts’. This brought several emails back and she nearly wept with disappointment. Each email subject line had the word ‘account’ in and they were pathetic, mostly new accounts opened for games, or joining up to photography sites. There were no emails with spreadsheets or other bank accounts he had, nothing to do with moving money, no emails to tell her what to do next.
And then she saw it.
It was halfway down the page and was two years old.
An email from a web hosting company. An email with Adam's name, his contact details, his address. It was his account details for a site called ‘Remote Models’.
He’d never mentioned it, but Adam must have created a modelling business before he met her. Probably one of those businesses he opened up for a loan or credit but never actually ran. Regardless of what it was, if she could find out how he ran it, it might point to another bank account, which might point to something else. Or details of the safety deposit box. Something.
If He Wakes Page 19