CHAPTER TEN
I’d been sitting in the car for longer than I’d realised, ignoring a call on my mobile from Dad, wanting, I guessed, to see how it had gone with Margaret. Eventually, I sent him a text saying that everything had gone fine. I knew Margaret wouldn’t discuss the details of our get-together. It would all remain a secret, undiscussed, as everything that was important seemed to do within our family.
Throughout my life I’d separated my dad emotionally from Margaret. I touched the scar that continued to burn after my earlier encounter with her. I’d allowed my dad’s version of the ‘accidents’ to become truth because I’d had no wish for him not to love me. I wanted to make things easy for him, as children do with someone they love, someone they wish to please. But after Joe’s murder, detaching my dad from my mother had become increasingly difficult; our relationship had changed – subtly – but it had. Knowing that my parents had effectively fostered Michael Hemmings had remoulded my thoughts. Memories that had seemed hard-wired began to unravel and re-form.
My mother had no love for me but she’d had love for Michael Hemmings, and yet in Joe’s picture of Hemmings and Margaret there had been fear on his face, anger on Margaret’s.
I finally started the engine and made my way home to Liam.
—
Autumn had begun early. A wet and grey summer had passed me by, merging imperceptibly into the next season. Earlier than normal the fruits were forming on the Judas tree. The September leaves were already starting to fall, gathering on the kids’ play matting beneath Joe’s Christmas present.
The blinds were closed in Liam’s den, but I knew he was in there. I sat on Joe’s swing, shivered without my coat and waited to feel a sense of my son.
I swung gently for a while when, suddenly, I heard the creaking of metal, felt a jolt and nearly fell from the swing. I held onto the chain holding the seat and looked up. One of the rings securing the chain had broken with my weight. As I stood, Liam opened the door of his den.
‘I didn’t know you were back.’
‘Just.’
‘Gillespie called while you were out.’
I knew he would have; he’d tried me on my mobile, too.
‘I’ll call him back later.’
‘You’re planning to go back to work, aren’t you?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I’m planning, Liam. You’re not interested.’
‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked.
‘To see Margaret.’
‘I don’t want to hear about it. She looked after the mad bastard who killed our son, and said nothing.’ He watched me. ‘I want nothing to do with her, or your dad. Ever again.’
‘Or me, that’s what you mean, isn’t it? Where are your balls, Liam? Why are you still here?’
‘Where are my balls? Have you told Gillespie about Margaret and Alan looking after Hemmings as a child?’
‘No, I haven’t.’
His shoulders suddenly fell. ‘You have one weird family, Rachel. And I’m finding it difficult to cope.’
I watched my husband, a man I had once loved, and felt only revulsion.
But I couldn’t deny that he had good reason to feel like he did.
It was time to find out the truth about at least one thing.
I pulled at the sleeve of his shirt. ‘You were having an affair before Joe went missing, weren’t you? Admit it.’
As I spoke, a deep purple fruit dropped from the Judas tree. Liam placed his foot over it, flattening it.
‘Yes, I was, Rachel.’ I wondered why he no longer felt the need to deny it. ‘And I’m sorry. More sorry than you’ll ever know.’ His eyes moved away from mine and focused on the squashed fruit. ‘Everything has gone bad, hasn’t it?’
‘You made it go bad ... before Joe.’
‘You’re a difficult woman to live with.’
‘You chose me.’ I leant against the frame of the swing. ‘Do I know her?’
He faltered only for a second. ‘No, no you don’t.’
‘You’re a bastard.’
‘And you are self-centred and self-righteous. And like your mother ... cold.’
‘So who could blame you, eh?’
I turned and walked back up the garden.
Liam would have to go. There was no way I was leaving Joe.
—
Later, I went around to Tom Gillespie’s home. Luckily Rosie and their youngest, the only one left at home, were out overnight; lucky, because seeing Tom’s wife with their daughter would only make me feel more desolate than I already did about my relationship with my own mother, and that day I couldn’t have born it.
Tom opened the door and took me straight through to his study. Untidy and full of used coffee cups, it was a place I always felt at home. I plonked myself down on the two-seater sofa that sat underneath the window.
‘How’s Rosie, and Charlotte? Your other ducklings?’ I asked.
‘All well here, Rachel. It’s you I worry about. You and Liam. What’s going on?’
‘Our marriage is over. He’s finally admitted to an affair.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘Are you still thinking about coming back to work?’
‘Will you have me?’
‘Love to have you back.’ He paused. ‘But perhaps not on the high-profile stuff to start with...’
‘You mean the paedo ops, homicides?’
‘Not immediately, and you’ll have to go through some retraining and preliminary psych testing.’
I smiled. ‘Oh, good.’
‘I do worry about you. Start off with the easy stuff ... fraud...’
‘Does that mean I’ll be working with Morley and Mulhern?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
They were the least of my problems. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’
He poured himself a whisky. ‘Go on.’
‘A few months before Joe ... died, he spent the day with Margaret. My dad was supposed to be there, but he wasn’t.’
‘Was that a problem? Your dad not being there, I mean, when Joe was?’
‘Sort of ... yes.’
‘Go on.’ He took a sip of whisky and coughed.
‘Well, that day, Michael Hemmings came down from Chester to visit Margaret.’ I looked at him. ‘While Joe was there.’
‘Why did he visit Margaret?’
‘I went to see her earlier today –’
He interrupted. ‘How long have you known this?’
‘Since soon after the trial.’
‘And you said nothing?’
‘Come on, Tom, you know as well as me that there would be no point. It wouldn’t affect anything.’
‘Like you kept Joe’s state of mind from me. You don’t half make my job fucking difficult.’
‘I’m telling you now.’ I watched him. ‘In case you want to change your mind about having me back.’
‘We only ever questioned Margaret and Alan as a cursory gesture. Should I be revisiting this? Is there more you’re not telling me?’
Was there more? No, there was not. But I went on to tell Tom about Margaret and Alan looking after Hemmings as a child, before I was born.
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Fuck, the press would have had a field day.’ He poured another whisky. I’ll go and see Margaret unofficially. I’ve already booked you in for the psych tests. Nine o’clock next Monday.’
‘Thank you, Tom.’
‘Will you be OK with your mother ... after my visit?’
‘I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again in the near future, not by choice, anyway.’
He put his arm around my shoulder. ‘I always knew it was a poor relationship, but didn’t think it would come to this.’
‘Truth is, Tom, I’m glad it’s come to this.’
‘Whisky?’
‘Please.’
That night I drank whisky and slept on the Gillespies’ comfortable cream sofa. It crossed my mind to call Jonatha
n but I thought of Michelle and didn’t.
The next day Tom, unofficially, went to see my parents.
Tom, again unofficially, reprimanded both of them for not telling either him or my barrister about Hemmings’ visit when Joe spent the day with Margaret, or about having brought Hemmings up in his early childhood.
Tom was happy with Margaret’s explanation of events. Yes, she had looked after him as a child. Yes, he did visit occasionally as a teenager. She told him she had been a surrogate mother until he was seven, and later, occasionally, a teacher.
When Tom narrated the meeting to me, sitting on the patio of my house, I only nodded. I thought of the black and purple room, and tried to work out why I felt such unease about my mother’s connection with Michael Hemmings. I had to put it down as one of the many demons from my awful childhood.
I needed to go back to work.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Three Years Later
September 2004
As usual I’d slept badly and the traffic was light so I arrived early at the station.
I was still working in the fraud squad, where I’d been for the past three years. Tom had recently approved a move to murder but I’d turned it down. Give me another twelve months, I’d said. I was still struggling emotionally and often found myself in Joe’s bedroom as the sun came up, lying underneath the TARDIS cover fully clothed, waking with swollen eyes. Sometimes on those mornings, I smelt the toffee popcorn, I saw the petrol blue, but it wasn’t real, as Joe wasn’t anymore.
‘You’re in early, boss,’ DS Mulhern said. He was in early, too. He didn’t wait for my reply and carried on, ‘You need to get...’
‘A life?’
He had the good grace to redden. ‘Sorry.’
‘Is that what everyone thinks? Perhaps they’re right.’
He shrugged his shoulders.
DS Fred Mulhern didn’t like me. His best mate in the station, DC William Morley, was about to be pulled into the Detective Chief Superintendent’s office – Tom’s office. Tom had kept the lid on Morley for as long as he could, as had I, but it had always been destined to go higher.
DS Mulhern, along with others at the station, thought that Morley’s misdemeanours should be buried, even though everyone knew that was an impossibility. I was well aware that comparisons with ‘unethical’ behaviour were being made with one of my long-gone cases, before Joe was born, when evidence was found in a flat on the outskirts of Birmingham: evidence later found to have been ‘put’ there. The whole station thought it had been me who’d planted it. It wasn’t, but I knew who had: a criminal I’d known since what felt like the beginning of my career, whose profligacy in selling fake ID via the internet was legendary. Colin Masson was known as ‘Razor’ and I’d had a good relationship with him over the years. Colin had planted the evidence, hoping to get the guy who owned the flat rapped.
The owner of the flat was a paedophile and child trafficker. To a certain extent, my role had been to protect Colin Masson. Colin had a valid grudge against the paedophile. The flat owner/paedo had hacked into Razor’s account, using it for the distribution of paedophilic images and, we suspected, to traffic children from eastern European countries. Of course, I aided and abetted the evidence plant by knowing and saying nothing. Tom suspected, but he’d protected me; both of us protecting Colin. Colin had done us a favour; we’d been trying to nail the pervert for two years. But it didn’t stop the rumours about me, which re-emerged later after the Asian Bride case.
The paedo got ten years. I’d been pleased; everyone was pleased. Colin still sent me Christmas cards. He was due in the station today: fake ID again.
Colin Masson/Razor must have been making a fortune; the short sentences he did in prison were worth it, I could see that. Although I liked Colin, he was pushing it, and pushing me. If he’d picked another avenue in life I suspected he would have been very successful.
Mulhern threw his jacket over his chair and plonked himself down.
‘Colin’s due in at nine,’ I said.
‘He’s early – must be keen,’ he smiled slyly. ‘He’s already in the waiting room, ready to go, waiting for you. Made himself all cosy. A uniform’s ready to sit in on the interview.’ He flicked on his computer. ‘Off to prison again, you think?’
I was unsure if he was being sarcastic. Razor hadn’t done as much time as he should have. For years he’d stayed with driving licences, sometimes the odd birth certificate, bogus utility bills: he’d never been in the big league. But he had ventured forth, and was now roving into passports. The call we’d taken was from a disgruntled buyer. And it was Mulhern who was on that job. The buyer, a Mr Backhurst, we conjectured from the small amount of information we had, was buying fake passports for young girls coming in from east Africa. When Mulhern and his team had collated more information, we planned on inviting Backhurst in ‘for a chat’.
We knew there was a possibility that several of the girls whose fake passports Backhurst had complained about were working in illegal brothels in west London, and probably earmarked for transit to the States – that was why the fakes were needed. Backhurst had been stupid, arrogant or high on drugs when he made the call to dob in Razor and his less than worthy fakes.
I picked up my papers and shuffled them into a neat pile. ‘I shouldn’t be long with Masson, then we can go over the stuff we have on Backhurst.’ I looked up. ‘Can you get Alwyn to take Masson into the interview room, please?’
‘OK, boss,’ Mulhern said. He stopped at my desk. ‘I’m going to get tea, you want one?’
‘Coffee, please, two sugars.’ Mulhern knew I hated tea. He was making a point. About what, I could only guess. ‘Bring it in to me.’
He rolled his eyes thinking I couldn’t see him. At work I saw everything. It was in my home life that I seemed to be blinkered. Coldness ran through me. I shook myself and made my way to interview room one.
—
Razor sat at the small oblong table; the duty sergeant, Alwyn, who I’d been working alongside for the past three years, was already there. He’d applied for promotion and would sit his exams soon. I hoped he’d be successful. Alwyn was one member of my team I got on well with. And he was excellent at his job.
‘Ready, Guv,’ Alwyn said. ‘I’ll get the tape going.’ The sergeant set everything up.
I looked at Razor. He was ageing gracefully; he had attractive grey at his temples and the light lines on his face told me he laughed more than he worried. His face reminded me of an older Jonathan. I’d kept in touch with Jonathan sporadically but, as much as possible, I’d cut my connections with everyone, except Charlotte and my dad, although I’d begun to dread my meetings with him. I wanted no attachments and concentrated on my work.
Razor looked up. ‘Bloody hell, DI Dune, you’re not looking too good.’ He unclasped manicured hands and placed them on the table. ‘The extra weight doesn’t suit you.’
I knew he spoke the truth. I had put on weight around my hips and, to my horror, I thought I was starting to look like my mother.
‘I always look forwards to your directness, Colin.’
‘I was so sorry to hear about your son, Rachel,’ he said quietly.
‘I know you were.’
‘Fucking bastard, Michael Hemmings.’ The look of pity passed and his eyes glittered. ‘Won’t take you long to shift that weight. My wife did the no-carb diet, worked a treat.’
I heard Alwyn chuckle.
I smiled. ‘You should really give up your job, Colin.’
He grinned, ‘I keep picking the wrong punters.’ He seemed to study me. ‘Thing is about my job, I get to hear about a lot of things.’
I was taking out papers from my file. I sat down opposite him. ‘Like what?’
‘Like what’s happening in Littleworth.’
The fine hairs all over my body rose. The dark web was informative, as well as dangerous. I didn’t reply immediately. Razor looked over towards Alwyn, who seemed to have missed the mention of Littleworth.<
br />
‘Sergeant,’ I said jovially. ‘Before we start, do you mind getting a coffee for our guest? And get one for yourself, too.’
‘No prob, Guv.’
I knew Alwyn was a caffeine addict and would be gagging. He left eagerly.
Razor grinned.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘Michael Hemmings has grassed, it seems. Young kids being brought in to the hospital, groomed for sex over years with some “selected” patients. Hemmings pulled the lid off. Strong rumours now that he’s on the fast-track to his first tribunal review.’ He watched me. ‘Could well be in a less secure step-down unit within a year, I hear.’
‘How concrete’s your info?’
‘Very.’
‘I can’t intervene, Colin. This investigation, with you, I mean. Not this time. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘I do. After this I’m giving it up. I’m hoping six months max in prison. Then I get a proper job.’
‘Your CV’s not looking too good,’ I said, smiling.
‘You’d be surprised. In the computer world I’m highly employable.’
‘I bet you are.’
‘You must have gone through hell.’
‘Yes.’
‘Be so easy to get to Hemmings in a step-down unit.’
‘It would.’
‘If he didn’t know you.’
I looked through my paperwork. ‘I can’t get you out of this, Razor – Colin – but I appreciate your thoughts.’ I paused. ‘I really do.’
He looked towards the door, looking for Alwyn, pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen, wrote something down and gave it to me. ‘This is my email that you lot don’t know about.’
I slipped it in my jacket pocket. And then Alwyn came back with the coffees at the same time as Mulhern appeared with mine. Mulhern grunted and Alwyn smiled knowingly. He knew the score between Mulhern and me.
‘Thanks Mulhern, much appreciated,’ I said.
Alwyn gave a coffee to Razor. I put mine on the desk and leaned forwards, ready to switch the tape on. ‘Right, shall we start?’
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