‘All right, yes. Okay,’ he said, shaking his head. He looked over at Jane and shrugged his shoulders, defeated. ‘Yes, yes. I’ll speak to your mother,’ he paused. ‘You too,’ he said, hanging up the phone. ‘I’m sorry about that, Jane. My daughter,’ he went on, gesturing at the phone. ‘She wants to borrow my car to move into her new flat. Apparently her car is too small and unsafe with a heavy load.’ He shook his head again. ‘God, I’m a soft touch.’
‘All parents are,’ she said.
‘There should be a course, some study group – a “how to” on parenting. How to spot emotional manipulation and avoid it.’ He laughed.
‘I’m pretty sure you’d still give in, sir.’
‘You’re probably right.’ He stood up, arched his back and looked out of his window at the view Jane had just been admiring. She wondered how he saw it, and what it meant to him. ‘So, what can I do for you, DS Bennett? You don’t want to borrow my car, do you?’ he asked, looking over his shoulder at her, smiling.
Words failed her. Roger was in a good mood, jovial even, especially for a Saturday morning. What she had to say was serious. Too serious. He didn’t need to know. It could wait until Monday, until after the morning briefing. She was overreacting anyway. She started to stand, opening her mouth to apologize.
‘Right, I see,’ he said. ‘It’s like that, is it?’ He walked around his desk, put his hand on her shoulder as he passed and closed the door to his office. Once he was back in his chair he shuffled forward and looked at her. ‘Let me guess . . . Lockyer?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, staring down at her hands.
‘Let’s hear it then. What’s he been up to now?’
She felt like a snitch, a child telling on a friend. This was wrong, but it was too late. Roger was looking at her, his eyebrows raised. He was waiting for her to speak. She had no choice.
Jane stood in the lift, massaging her temples, her eyes closed. Christina O’Reilly was waiting for her down in the interview suite. Her appointment wasn’t scheduled until Monday morning, but according to the desk sergeant, Maggie’s best friend couldn’t wait and had come into the station on the off-chance that, first, Jane would be in the office and, second, would have time to see her. She should be thinking about why Christina O’Reilly was so desperate to talk to her, but all Jane could think about was her conversation with Roger. Her SIO had been understanding, patient, considered – all the things you would expect someone in senior management to be – but she had sensed his concern. That wasn’t good. She would have preferred Roger to have dragged Lockyer into his office and given him a bollocking. End of discussion. But Roger wasn’t angry. He was worried. That meant her fears for Lockyer and his mental state weren’t unfounded. ‘Leave it with me’ was all he said.
As she stepped out of the lift her phone buzzed in her pocket. She walked over to the desk sergeant on duty as she took it out. ‘Christina O’Reilly,’ she said, looking down at her phone. She had a new email.
‘I put her in room three,’ he replied, gesturing towards the signing-in register lying open on the counter.
‘Great, thanks.’ She signed in, turned and stopped outside the door to the interview room as she opened the email on her phone. It was from Lockyer. She held her breath as she read: ‘I want to see you in my office ASAP.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The madness is back, eating away at my mind. It feels different. Not what I expected.
I can’t sleep, no matter how hard I try. I rock back and forth, humming to myself, but as my eyes begin to close I am jolted awake. My stomach flips, my breath catches in my throat, a cold sweat covers my skin. It takes a second, a minute or an hour to remember my predicament. I am nowhere. I am no one. I am not missed. I am not a picture on a carton of milk. I am not missing. I have already gone, passed over into the nothingness. All that awaits me is death. There is some comfort in that thought, but if I cannot sleep, how will I slip away? Will there be pain? I cry, but my face remains dry. There are no tears.
I lie back and blink my eyes, my pupils straining to focus on the blackness. When someone is deprived of one sense, their other senses are meant to develop to compensate. It is true. More than I ever thought possible. I cannot see, but I can hear everything: my breathing, creatures burrowing in the earth, footsteps, my heartbeat, water dripping through rocks, my teeth chattering. Each sound overlaps the other, creating an almost deafening roar. I can smell the earth, the stale air, the cold on my skin. Every breath filling my head, until I think it will burst open. My fingers are constantly moving, caressing my numb skin and the glass-like walls that surround me. I taste the soil, the air and my body as it disintegrates from the inside out, but nothing can hold my attention, nothing can give my mind or body what it craves. The thing I wish for – even more than death – is daylight. Even a brief glimpse would nourish me, more than a thousand hamburgers or an entire lake of cool water. To be able to see for even a second would be enough. Then I can let go. Then I can die in peace.
I wrap my arms around my body. There is no comfort. My body is numb.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
26th April – Saturday
Jane chanced a look in Lockyer’s direction. He was sitting in his office, his back to her. His blinds were closed. He was waiting for her. She ducked back behind the partition on her desk and continued with her interview report.
Christina O’Reilly had tried her best to be helpful, but Jane had learned very little. She had half-hoped that the premature visit might have meant more. But no. Jane had seen grief manifest itself in a thousand different ways, and Chrissie’s behaviour wasn’t really that unusual. She had just been desperate to talk about Maggie, as if it would somehow bring her friend back. However, there was one piece of information that had got Jane’s attention. According to Chrissie, Maggie had dated a PhD student, Terry Mort, the previous year, but the relationship had only lasted for a few months.
Jane had just hung up the phone after speaking to the head of psychology at the university, Professor Cresswell. He was due to come in for an interview first thing on Tuesday, but had been happy to email over details of Maggie’s tutors, modules, coursework and results to date. It seemed Jane wasn’t the only one who worked weekends. From a brief look, the drop-off in Maggie’s work was evident and was more serious than either her parents or Chrissie knew. Maggie had missed a number of classes and had been late with three separate coursework proposals. The downward trend appeared to start around the time of the break-up with Mort, the PhD student. Was that a coincidence?
Jane clicked into the ‘Action’ list on her computer. The head of administration was organizing class lists for Maggie’s modules and a full student list, separated into degree, Masters and doctoral level, together with a map of the university detailing communal areas and where each subject was taught. Penny was making sure that got followed up, and was collating information from the interviews already carried out. William Hungerford had dropped off Maggie’s laptop, mobile phone and Kindle this morning. Jane had asked the Computer Forensics team to check Maggie’s email accounts, social media activity, online dating and any photographs of men taken in the last twelve months. Chris would oversee this and report back. Franks and Sasha were finalizing the door-to-door enquiries at Maggie’s home address and in Elmstead, and maintaining security around the tomb. And Whitemore was liaising with the Exhibits team. Jane was going to need more help, especially after last night’s press conference naming Maggie and asking the public for help. Roger had agreed to sign off on a provisional eight to twelve officers, based on her estimates, but even that might not be enough.
She put her head in her hands. There was so much to do, and she hadn’t even begun to allocate duties relating to Mark’s disappearance. Mind you, there was at least a ray of hope on that score. Sue had confirmed that she and the children never went away without Mark, certainly not since his retirement – something Jane had thought odd. What were the chances that his attacker just happened to cho
ose a day when Mark was home alone? That suggested that the attack was premeditated, and that the attacker must have had access to, or at least knowledge of, Mark and Sue’s schedule. Did that mean the attacker had access to their emails or telephone, or was he or she using the local resident grapevine to get information? Jane didn’t know the answer to that question, but she knew where to start. Mark was bound to have made more than a few enemies during his career in the murder squad. She would need to go over his old cases, checking convictions, jail terms and cross-referencing current residence status. But that would have to wait. She pushed herself away from her desk. It was now or never.
Guilt slowed her steps as she walked towards Lockyer’s office. She had almost managed to convince herself that she had no choice; that his erratic behaviour had to be reported. But it wasn’t that simple. She was worried about him, but she couldn’t deny she was also pissed off with him, for acting like a nut-job on the Stevens case and for lying to her about his brother. She was also running two major investigations, and the truth was that she was floundering. She needed Lockyer’s help and he hadn’t been there for her, so she had gone running to Roger, like a coward. She knocked her knuckles on the glass door a few times and waited. Lockyer turned and motioned for her to come in.
She pushed open the door. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
‘Yes, Jane. Have a seat,’ he said, turning his back on her and opening his blinds. It was raining. Rivulets coursed down the windows, obscuring Lewisham High Street and the buildings on the other side of the street. ‘I’ve spoken to Sue Leech,’ he said. Jane remained silent. ‘I have a stack of cold-case reviews, so I won’t have time to get to Bromley and back. I’ve told Sue you’ll call to confirm, but that you will go over and update her.’
‘Of course. No problem, sir,’ she said.
‘The three cases you’re winding up are still under my direct supervision, so I will need to know when they are finished.’
‘I should have all three done by the end of next week at the latest, sir.’
‘Good. You’ll need full resources on the Hungerford case.’ He looked over his shoulder at his computer screen. ‘Roger has agreed to having another six members of the team, but will increase that to eight, depending on the outcome of the morning briefing on Monday.’
‘Right,’ she said, not wanting to contradict him.
‘This lot is going to keep me pretty busy,’ he said, gesturing at a messy pile of files on the edge of his desk. ‘You will report directly to Roger on the Hungerford and Leech cases.’
Jane didn’t know what to say. She wanted to walk straight into Roger’s office and recant everything. This wasn’t what she wanted.
‘Did you hear me, Jane?’ Lockyer said.
‘Yes, sir. Of course, but I’ll keep you informed. I know I’m going to need your help.’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She sounded pathetic, her tone whiney, like a child.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Roger will keep me up to date, I’m sure.’
Jane swallowed hard, holding back the tears that wanted to come. If she had kept her mouth shut, talked to Lockyer directly, this wouldn’t have happened. He didn’t need her regrets or tears. He needed her loyalty and support.
‘That’s all,’ he said.
She stood and backed out of the office. She walked over to her desk, numbed by the experience.
‘Jane?’
She looked up. Penny was standing by her desk, waiting for her. ‘Yes, Pen. What’s up?’ she said, without enthusiasm.
‘Your mother called. She wants to know what time you’ll be home. And I’ve got a lead on the boyfriend.’
‘Mort?’ she asked.
‘No. Lebowski,’ Penny said, looking down at a notepad she was holding. ‘He’s a lecturer at Maggie’s uni, teaches psychology. We’ve had two calls on the inquiry number naming him.’
Jane raised her eyebrows. ‘What do we know about him?’ she asked, already thinking ten steps ahead. She was pretty sure that sleeping with a student was a sackable offence for a tutor. And therein lies a motive, she thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY
27th April – Sunday
Jane put her Peugeot in gear, turned to check the road behind her and backed out of the driveway. There wasn’t a lot of traffic on the road. If her luck was in, it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to get to Sue’s house in Bromley.
There just hadn’t been time yesterday. Roger had called her into his office straight after her uncomfortable conversation with Lockyer, to get updates on the Hungerford and Leech cases. By the time she got out it was gone eight o’clock – too late to see Sue.
She waited for the lights to change and then pulled onto Lewisham Road. She stopped to let two women cross in front of her. Yesterday’s bad weather hadn’t lasted. The sun was out, warming the pavements, creating a steamy haze around the women’s feet. One held the hand of a little girl who was skipping alongside her mother in a pretty summer dress. The other woman was pushing a double stroller. A child sat in one side, but the other was crammed full of Sainsbury’s bags and a picnic blanket. Everyone seemed to be migrating to their closest patch of green to enjoy the sunshine, whereas Jane was left with the smog-stained buildings and oil-soaked roads and working on a Sunday.
She pulled up to the roundabout, indicated and then took her chance and nipped out in front of a procession of empty buses. Sunshine hit the windscreen, blinding her for a second. She leaned over and pulled down the visor on the passenger side, then her own. Peter was sitting next to her in the passenger seat, his belt pulled tight, his hands wrapped around a multicoloured Lego helicopter. It was a pre-birthday present from his grandmother. Jane suspected it was a ‘good behaviour’ treat. ‘Let’s have some music, shall we?’ she said, turning on the stereo and then reaching over and smoothing down the wayward cowlick on the top of his head.
She wished she didn’t have to take Peter with her. She cursed under her breath when she got stuck at the temporary traffic lights straddling Bromley Road. She had already been into the office this morning and left Peter sitting at her desk while she briefed her team. Roger had signed off on fifteen extra officers ahead of Monday’s briefing, which meant she would need to go in again this afternoon to organize work schedules, and then she needed to go over Victor Lebowski’s background. Penny had forwarded his details. A tutor having an affair with a student didn’t surprise her, but it might explain why Maggie hadn’t told her parents or Chrissie. It was the kind of thing that could ruin a man’s career.
Fifteen minutes later she pulled up outside Sue and Mark’s house. ‘Okey-dokey. Here we are. Now you remember what we talked about,’ she said, unclipping her seatbelt and then Peter’s as she turned to face him. ‘Tom and George might be a bit sad, because they are missing their daddy.’
‘When will he be home?’ Peter asked. He had asked the same question at breakfast.
‘I don’t know, honey, but there’s nothing for you to worry about.’ She climbed out of the car and waited for Peter to join her. She took his hand, led him up the path, pushed the doorbell and waited. She could hear footsteps and saw a shadow appear behind the obscured glass in the front door. It opened to reveal Thomas, dressed in a red T-shirt, long white football shorts and a scruffy pair of trainers. ‘Hi, Tom,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘I know grown-ups always say, “Oh, haven’t you grown”, but in this case it’s true. You’re taller than me.’ He was a typical rangy teenager, rake-thin, all limbs, knees and elbows.
‘Mum’s in the kitchen,’ he said, pulling the door open wide to let them in. ‘Hey, Pete. How’s it going, mate?’
She felt the pressure increase on her hand as Peter tensed. She squeezed back to reassure him. ‘What games have you got?’ Peter asked, staring at his flip-flops.
Jane couldn’t help smiling. ‘I happened to mention that you and Georgie have a computer. Peter wants an Xbox for his birthday,’ she said. Thomas no
dded and retreated into the house until he was standing on the bottom stair.
‘Cool. We’ve got loads of games. George is upstairs. Mum won’t let me play Call of Duty with George, but we’ve got Lego Star Wars. You ever played that?’ Peter brandished his Lego helicopter as if it was a secret access device to the world of computer gaming. ‘Nice. Come on.’
Peter released his grip of Jane’s hand and followed Thomas up the stairs. He didn’t look back.
She was about to call out when Sue appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Hi, Jane,’ she said, wiping her hands on the tea towel that was tucked into the pocket of the apron she was wearing. ‘Thanks so much for coming over at a weekend.’ If anything, Sue looked better than she had on Tuesday night. She had some colour in her cheeks and her voice had some bounce to it. The boys, Jane thought – all this was a facade, a show of normality for Thomas and George.
‘It’s not a problem,’ she said, walking forward and putting her arms around Sue. She could have wrapped them round twice. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Oh, you know,’ she said, patting Jane on the back as if she was burping a baby. ‘Bearing up.’ The two women parted and looked at each other. This part was always difficult. Was Jane here as a friend or a police officer? She could see Sue wrestling with the same dilemma, because both applied. Both had to apply. As much as Jane wanted to support her friend, listen to her worries and dry her tears, she had a job to do. Everything that Sue said could be important. The private details of their marriage were now evidence – indicators that could lead to Mark. ‘I know,’ Sue said, as if reading Jane’s thoughts. ‘Business or pleasure?’ she added, smiling. ‘Come through. I’ve just made some lemonade. Do you fancy some?’
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