Tom managed to draw out everything Nathan did know about his sister, which was essentially confirmation of her age, height and the natural colour of her hair, and he felt a pang of concern for the man. The scant description matched Penny’s.
‘I may not have seen her in a while, Tom, but I would recognise my sister. I’m sure of that. So why are we faffing around guessing? I want to know for sure if it’s her. You’d better let me take a look.’
25
Tom had informed the mortuary that he was bringing someone to possibly identify Penny and suggested that Nathan travel with him in his car. They hadn’t spoken on the journey, Tom leaving Nathan to his own thoughts, but as they stepped out of the car Tom felt a familiar tension. Although he had never been a fan of Nathan’s pugnacious character, he knew how difficult the next few minutes were going to be for him. Being asked to identify someone close was a dreadful experience, and he remembered having to do it himself not long ago when a woman very closely resembling his ex-girlfriend Leo had been found.
He would never forget how it had felt: the sick dread that he was going to see the face of someone who mattered to him lying lifeless, the colour drained from her cheeks. At least Penny, as he continued to think of her until proven otherwise, didn’t have any damage to her face. There were no visible signs of trauma.
He had suggested looking at photographs first, but Nathan didn’t feel that would be conclusive. Had he seen Hannah recently, he would have felt more comfortable with the idea, but he wasn’t confident that it would be enough.
‘If you’re still unsure after you’ve seen her, we can do a DNA analysis, so please do say if you have any doubts, one way or another.’
Nathan nodded, his eyes staring straight ahead as they entered the mortuary where Penny’s body was being held. Forensic evidence had already been taken, but Tom advised Nathan that he wouldn’t be able to touch her.
Tom couldn’t tell from his face or his demeanour how Nathan was feeling. His eyes were fixed, his mouth a straight line, and he walked with his hands by his sides. Only one aspect of his behaviour suggested that there was more than ice water running through Nathan’s veins: when they reached the trolley he seemed unable to look at the face of the woman lying on it. He gazed above her at the wall, psyching himself up for the moment when he would see what might be his sister’s body.
Tom looked down at her, not for the first time. She looked serene, at peace, and he knew that her appearance in itself wouldn’t be the cause of any distress. He waited, looking away from Nathan to take away any pressure. He felt, rather than saw, Nathan lower his head.
‘No.’ The voice was loud, decisive. Nathan turned away, heading towards the door.
‘Hang on,’ Tom said. ‘Speak to me, Nathan.’
‘It’s not her.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course. The face shape is wrong. The nose is too big. She was the lucky one; she didn’t inherit the family’s worst feature like I did. I’m glad I saw her. It’s not Hannah.’
Tom let out a long breath. He was relieved for Nathan, but it meant their search for Penny’s identity was not over yet.
As Tom pulled into the drive of his Edwardian semi, his thoughts were of Nathan Gardner’s sister. Where could she be? Nathan had given him details of everything he had done to try to find her and in the end had agreed to report her to the missing-persons team, after considerable persuasion. He was right: she wouldn’t be a priority, but if she turned up they would at least know who to contact.
Nathan’s appearance had inevitably filled Tom’s head with thoughts of Jack. Not a day went by when he didn’t think of him, although usually it was a fleeting memory. The earlier conversation with Becky and the unexpected appearance of Nathan Gardner, however, had left him with memories tumbling over each other to get to the surface.
Jack had been a wild kid who had given up on school at an early age. His brain seemed to be hard-wired for technology, and he had built his first computer before most people had even seen one. Tom had been in awe of his brother, with his intense pale blue eyes, as if the brain behind them never rested. Jack had gone on to make a fortune in Internet security, but try as he might, Tom couldn’t block out thoughts of his brother’s less than honest methods. He had built his business by hacking into the computer systems of large corporations and then going to them as a legitimate expert to sell his security services. His justification was that if he could hack their systems, so could somebody else – he was actually doing his clients a favour. But Tom seriously doubted many people had the skills Jack had, and the systems were probably safe enough.
However he made his money, he was still Tom’s brother, and the intense pain Tom felt when he learned that Jack had been in a speedboat accident and was missing, presumed dead, was almost matched by his anger, confusion and joy six years later when his world had been tipped upside down again.
Because Jack wasn’t dead at all.
His accident had been a set-up to protect the people he loved from some of the most evil criminals in the north of England. The world had to believe that Jack Douglas was dead, including those closest to him, and even now only a handful of people knew the truth.
Tom would never forget the moment when he had seen Jack with his own eyes on a monitor in the police control room. One of the most dangerous operations Tom had ever been involved in was under way, and right there, in the middle of it all, was the man he had been mourning for years. The pain and pleasure had hit him with equal force.
Now he felt an overwhelming need to speak to his brother, but he couldn’t. Tom hadn’t spoken to him face to face since the day he had hurled insults and recriminations at him for causing them all so much pain, but he knew Jack had hacked his home computer. He could tell Jack was watching, listening, because folders were sometimes moved on his desktop. It was Jack’s way of letting Tom know that he was still there. So tonight, as Louisa was working, Tom was going to get a message to him, something he did infrequently and at irregular intervals because, although he didn’t believe anyone could detect how they were communicating, it wasn’t a good idea to make a habit of it. Better just to know that Jack was alive than to risk everything for the pleasure of this one-sided communication.
He had a folder called ‘Jack’ on his desktop, filled with images of the two of them over the years. Tonight he would create a document in that folder telling Jack all that had happened recently – perhaps about Louisa and his dilemma but also about Nathan’s visit. He always wrote as if it were a personal diary. ‘A friend of Jack’s came to see me today,’ or, ‘Something happened today that I think Jack would have enjoyed,’ rather than addressing the content directly to his brother. It was better to be safe.
As he walked into the house, he felt his spirits lift a little. He would give anything to get together with Jack for a few beers to argue about music, politics and the difference between right and wrong, as they always used to. That wasn’t possible, but although he might not be able to see or talk to him, it would feel good to know that his brother was listening.
26
I’m going nowhere this morning.
Much as I had wanted to go into town to try to restore some kind of order to my life, I can’t bring myself to get out of bed. I’m lying here shivering, even though the room is warm. I don’t know what happened to me last night. From the moment I discovered my boots had disappeared, everything seemed to collapse.
I felt trapped. I didn’t know whether to run along the corridor and barge into the room where I had heard Thea and the doctor talking, or to hunt around for my boots, but it felt so wrong to be sneaking around this massive house with its unlit corridors. I felt like a burglar, and my panic was out of all proportion to what was happening. I tried to explain away the empty shoe rack, but I couldn’t get away from the fact that I was sure Thea had been talking about me earlier, and I began to feel as if the dark walls of the house were crowding in on me. I slumped onto the bottom stair, trying to get
a grip, trying to work out what on earth I was going to do. I felt trapped. A prisoner.
I didn’t hear Thea approaching. The first I knew she was there was when a hand came down on my shoulder.
‘Thea,’ I squealed. ‘You frightened me.’
I looked up into her kind face and realised what an idiot I was being. I was making things up – weaving all kinds of evil thoughts around these people who had only shown me kindness. Admittedly the doctor can be a bit strange, but maybe all psychiatrists are. I don’t know.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Thea asked, briskly rubbing the top of my arm.
‘I wanted some fresh air. But my boots have gone, and I didn’t bring any other shoes with me.’
She gave a light tinkling laugh. ‘They’ve not gone, dear; they’re in the utility room. They were muddy after your walk today, and I was sure you were going to want to go into town soon. I was going to suggest a trip tomorrow, so I thought I would give them a quick clean for you.’
I felt such a fool. She was being kind, and I was being an idiot. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was thinking of going in the morning, before the cleaners arrive. You said there’s a tram stop nearby, didn’t you?’
‘There is, but you don’t need to worry about that. You can take my car any time you like. Come with me, and I’ll show you where the keys are kept. If I need a car, I’ll take the doctor’s. He doesn’t go out much on his own. Come on. Get up off that cold step and come into the kitchen.’
Not only was I clearly not a prisoner, but she was giving me free access to her car. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
As we walked along the corridor Thea pointed to a board on the wall on which hung all kinds of keys. ‘The bottom left key is the one to my car. The garage isn’t locked, and the car’s always full of fuel. No need to ask, dear. Just help yourself.’
She was so kind. All I wanted to do was crawl back up to my room and be ashamed of myself in private, but Thea was having none of that. ‘Come and sit with me. The doctor is in his study so we won’t be disturbed.’
I followed her into a huge kitchen with units along two walls, an Aga under a wooden mantelpiece and a dresser stretching the length of the third wall. The fourth wall consisted of windows looking out over the garden. A long table filled the central space. It felt warm and more than a little disorganised.
‘Sit down. I’m going to make you one of my special teas.’
‘There’s no need, Thea,’ I said. ‘I’m happy to go back up and make my own.’
On my first day Thea had presented me with a tin of home-filled tea bags. ‘These are my own brew,’ she had said. ‘They’re comforting and warming – perfect for just before bed. You’ll have a wonderful night’s sleep.’ And she was right. I always made a cup before bed and was out like a light every night.
‘I’m going to make you an extra-special version tonight,’ she said. ‘It’ll calm you, and if you’re going to be sorting things out tomorrow, you need to be calm, don’t you?’
I couldn’t argue with that, so I sat with her and chatted about nothing very much – I seem to remember she told me about some of the foibles of her car – while I sipped her delicious tea. It certainly did the trick because by the time I went upstairs to bed I was feeling much more settled.
But all that was to change.
I went straight to bed and fell into a deep sleep. Later I vaguely remember waking up feeling hot – too hot. I’m sure I threw off the bedclothes and then sat up. I was confused, I think, but I’m not sure why.
That is the last thing I remember until I woke up back in Thea’s kitchen, a blanket around my shoulders, shivering. She was in her dressing gown, rubbing my feet with a warm towel, and my chair was pulled close to the Aga.
I don’t know how I got there. One minute I was in bed, the next I was in the kitchen, cold, disorientated, with Thea in her nightclothes trying to warm me up.
‘Oh, my dear, I didn’t know you were a sleepwalker,’ she said, concern in her voice.
‘What?’ I said, struggling to make sense of her words. I’m not a sleepwalker, or at least I’m not aware of being one. And I didn’t understand how I had come to be in her kitchen with her fussing over me. I could see how dark it was outside, but it was only when I looked at the clock that I realised it was 2 a.m.
Thea pulled a chair close to mine and reached for my hand. ‘I found you outside, Judith. You were by the garage. I woke up because the security lights came on. I’m usually a heavy sleeper, so it’s lucky my knees were playing me up and I was awake. Don’t you remember?’
Thea seemed as baffled as I was, and hard as I have tried, I can remember nothing.
When she thought I had warmed up enough, Thea helped me upstairs and into bed, but although I’ve been curled up here ever since, I haven’t slept. I dread to think what might have happened if she hadn’t found me. Thea says I had her car keys in my hand. I must have been intending to go somewhere. What was I doing? It could have been a disaster.
I feel dreadful – nauseous, achy, my head is sore, even to touch. What happened to me? Have I got some kind of fever?
I don’t know, but all I can think is, thank God Thea found me.
I’ve finally managed to force myself to leave the safe haven of my bed. I had to get up because in reality it’s not my bed, it’s Thea and Garrick’s, and I need to find a way of getting my own bed – and house – back.
I’m getting the events of last night completely out of proportion. Yes, it was a shock to learn that I had nearly driven off in a comatose state, but I didn’t. It has never happened before, and I’m sure it will never happen again. I need to snap out of it.
After a shower I begin to feel human again, and I know I must start planning my future. I’ll ask Thea if I can borrow the car tomorrow to go into town for some legal and financial advice, and then I’ll go to see Ian. There’s so much to sort out, and I’ve been languishing here for far too long.
I’ve just finished dressing when I hear footsteps, and the door at the top of the stairs opens.
‘Hello, dear. How are you feeling?’ Thea asks. She is carrying what looks like a wide-necked Thermos flask.
‘Cross with myself,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have made such a meal of what happened. It was strange, and I felt weird, but I’ve got to get a grip. Do you think it would be possible to borrow the car tomorrow, please?’
‘Actually, I came up to suggest that we go this afternoon. I can come with you, do some shopping in town while you deal with the building society, and then I can wait while you go and see how things stand with Ian. How does that sound?’
‘You’re too kind,’ I say. ‘But you don’t have to trail in with me. I’m sure you have things you would rather be doing.’
Thea gives me a smile. ‘It’s no trouble. I’d like to come with you, and you might be feeling a bit shaky after last night.’
I’m beginning to get irritated with my indecision and how passive I seem to have become. I’m thirty-two years old. I shouldn’t be so pathetic, but I’m struggling to battle my way out of this indolence.
‘I’m fine to drive, thanks, but if you need something from town and you really don’t mind waiting while I try to talk to Ian, it would be good to have your company.’
Thea nods and turns towards my kitchen, beckoning me to follow her.
‘I thought you might need a bit of a pick-me-up after last night, so I’ve brought you some lovely home-made soup. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten today, have you?’
She’s right, of course. I haven’t. It seemed like too much effort, and although I’m hungry I prefer hunger to going to the trouble of making something to eat. I realised today that I have been losing weight. I don’t have much to lose, but my jeans seem loose.
‘Sit down, dear.’ She grabs a bowl from the shelf and a spoon from the drawer and then opens the Thermos and tips the contents out. The soup smells wonderful. It’s a deep orange colour and I presume it’s carrot soup, but T
hea tells me it’s roasted butternut squash.
‘Roasted with onions and garlic, then blended with stock and a hint of curry powder.’
My mouth is watering, and I take my first spoonful. It’s delicious – packed with flavour – and I begin to feel better. Thea sits and watches me eat, telling me in a jokey voice that I have to be a good girl and eat it all up or we won’t be going out today.
I know she’s teasing me, treating me like a child, but somehow I get the sense that she might mean it. So I eat every spoonful, and she’s right. I feel so much better – energised and raring to go.
‘Come on then,’ Thea says. ‘Let’s seize the moment while you’re feeling so positive.’
I grab my bag and jacket and follow her downstairs. My boots are looking very clean and I feel another pang of guilt for my suspicions the day before. How could I have imagined even for a moment that my boots had been taken?
We walk out to the garage. The doors stand open, and I can see Thea’s car parked next to a Land Rover.
‘We use that if we get snowed in,’ she says, ‘but we don’t need it today. We can take my car. The doctor’s is a bit big to park in town.’ She points to a black Mercedes on the other side of the Land Rover.
The lethargy has dropped away, and suddenly I feel I could take Ian on and win. I don’t realise I am driving too fast until Thea touches my arm and points to the speedometer.
‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. I was miles away, thinking of all the damage I would like to do to Ian.’ I take my foot off the accelerator and slow the car down to a respectable speed.
Thea laughs. ‘What do you think he deserves for everything he’s done?’
People say all the time, ‘I could kill him,’ but I don’t want to because I know it would hold a ring of truth.
27
Tom was no longer concentrating most of his energy on the Pennington Flash case. Philippa was right: there were other cases that demanded more of his time, and each member of his team needed a fair share of his attention. He hadn’t been ignoring them, of course, but he had been preoccupied with Penny and he needed to give the other crimes more focus. But Penny kept intruding into his thoughts simply because hers was the most intriguing case. All murders had to be solved and the perpetrators brought to justice, but most were relatively straightforward. His team often had an immediate idea where the guilt lay, and it was just a matter of amassing the evidence. But Penny was unique, and try as he might to focus elsewhere, she kept forcing her way into his head.
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