‘So the husband killed her, and the wife’s been living with that dreadful knowledge ever since.’
It said a lot about their lives and their jobs that Jumbo neither blinked nor commented when Tom responded, ‘He’s not her husband; he’s her brother.’
68
Becky was exhausted. All she wanted was to finish processing Callie Baldwin’s statement, go home, have a warm bath and go to bed. Mark would fuss over her, making her cocoa and toast, and she would revel in every moment of it.
She had finished preparing the paperwork. She had to get it signed, then they could call it a night. She opened the door to the interview room where Callie was slumped in a chair, looking as if her body had been drained of blood.
‘I think we’re done, Callie. You’ve been amazingly helpful, and I’m so sorry that you’ve had such a terrible time. We can arrange for you to see someone, to help you come to terms with it. Your house is no longer a crime scene, so I can get someone to take you home if you prefer? You can’t take Thea Atwell’s car. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘I don’t want to touch anything Thea’s had her grubby fingers on ever again,’ Callie said, a shudder running through her body. ‘And I’d prefer to go straight home, please, if that’s okay.’
Becky reached out and touched Callie’s clenched fist where it lay on the table. There was something else she needed to say, and she wasn’t sure how Callie would take it. While Becky had been preparing Callie’s statement, she had heard from Tom. He had told her what had happened at the house, and they had decided Callie should know. It would be all over the press tomorrow anyway.
‘The good news is that, thanks to you, both the other girls have been rescued. They’ve been drugged for a lot longer than you, so they’re suffering from withdrawal symptoms. But they’re on their way to hospital and doing well. Hannah has been reunited with her brother, who sends his apologies for – in his words – “being a dick in Burma”.’
That at least brought a brief smile to Callie’s lips.
‘Did they find Judith?’ she asked.
‘No. Not yet.’ There was no point telling her about Judith until they knew more. A team would be there from first light, complete with cadaver dogs, to see if she was in the grounds somewhere.
‘What’s going to happen to Thea and Garrick?’
Becky took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this, Callie. I have to tell you that they’re both dead.’ For a second Callie stared at her, then her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry. I should have realised it would upset you.’
Callie shook her head. ‘I’m not upset. I’m relieved. I’ll never have to see them again, and at least they can’t hurt anyone else now.’ She brushed the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘Who killed them? That man Vincent?’
‘They took their own lives, sadly.’
‘It’s not sad,’ Callie said with conviction. ‘They controlled us. The doctor played with our minds and then offered a “solution” to anyone who thought her life had no purpose. I didn’t get it to start with. I didn’t understand the allusions to an alternative, even though Hannah practically spelled it out to me. The doctor was always talking about whether I was any use to the world, and if I wasn’t, then why should I take up space. I think he convinced some women to take the easy way out – a clean and painless death when they ceased to dance to his tune. They could hardly allow them to return to the real world, could they? For some of the poor souls, it was the best option. To be honest, if I’d had to stay there for much longer, I think it might have become my choice too. I wonder how many he helped to die?’
‘We know of two, but there may be more from his days as a practising psychiatrist. We’re going to have to go through records from years ago, and that will take time.’
Callie slumped back in the chair, her burst of energy spent.
‘It’s over now, Callie. You can go home and forget all of this.’
Callie’s face closed in. ‘Not really. What about Ian? You’re going to have to let him out – I get that – but how am I going to get rid of him?’
Becky felt for the girl. This is where it had all begun: Ian refusing to leave, not contributing in any way, threatening Callie and making her life miserable.
‘Although his emails were threatening, he didn’t actually say he was going to kill you. If he had, we would have been able to charge him with threats to kill, and a judge could issue a restraining order. But without that we can’t, I’m afraid. I think you’re going to have to get an injunction, but that can take time.’
Callie’s eyes flooded with tears. ‘I don’t want to see him again. Not ever. You don’t know him. He’ll be the one feeling hard done by. He’ll see himself as the victim, and it will all be my fault. He’s not going to listen to reason, and if you can’t stop him from coming back, what chance have I got?’
Becky knew that the hands of the police were tied. All they could do was offer support.
‘Okay, so here’s what I suggest,’ she said. ‘Ian’s not going to be out until tomorrow. Get your locks changed first thing, and that will keep him out while you get your injunction. In the meantime, we’ll have a word with him. We’ll advise him to stay away from the house or we might have to arrest him to prevent a breach of the peace. That might make him pause for thought. Hopefully it will be enough to put him off. I’ll give you some contact information – people who will help you through the injunction process. Get a good night’s sleep and sort it in the morning.’
Becky could see the relief in Callie’s eyes and wished they could hold Ian Fullerton on remand for another couple of days to give her time to recover from her ordeal and begin to get her life back on track. But there was no way they could do that. The best thing she could do would be to organise a ride home for Callie and get herself away too.
Tomorrow was likely to be another long day.
69
Tom was beyond tired. He had been at the Atwell house all night, and had spent the morning filling in all the gaps. He needed some sleep and had left the team working at the scene, trying to find Judith’s remains. They had called to report that they were now focusing on the rose garden.
Tom thought he had seen Jack briefly, standing at the end of the track as dawn broke, but as he made his way towards the figure, it had disappeared. Maybe Tom had imagined it, or perhaps he had just hoped that Jack was still around. He was relieved that his brother hadn’t been picked up lurking in the grounds of the Atwell property, but he was sorry not to have said goodbye.
All he’d had was a text: ‘I’m gone. Be seeing you, little brother.’
Tom had cursed Jack for a moment. Why did he always have to slip off into the shadows? Why could he never take his leave face to face? Tom had tried the mobile number the text had come from, but it was dead, so he had no choice but to wait to hear from him. He knew, though, that his brother would be watching, following the case, and would be expecting a message on Tom’s computer. And he had a feeling Jack would be back.
Tom had also had heated words with Nathan Gardner before he disappeared in the ambulance with Hannah, berating him for being so irresponsible.
Nathan had looked at him in the usual way, his face devoid of any expression. ‘You found my sister, Tom. For that I can’t thank you enough. But I don’t think I was irresponsible. It’s a matter of perspective, and mine is different from yours.’
Tom remembered as a boy how he had occasionally wished he was big enough to punch Nathan for being such a supercilious know-all. Tom was certainly big enough now, but it wasn’t in his nature to thump anyone without serious provocation, so he had walked away.
As he arrived home, desperate for a hot shower and to pull the duvet over his head, the last thing he was expecting was to see a familiar car in his drive and the outline of someone sitting in the driver’s seat. The engine was running quietly, no doubt to keep the heater going.
He opened the passenger door
and crouched down. ‘Louisa, why are you sitting out here? You should have let yourself in.’
‘I wasn’t sure if you would want to see me or if Jack was still here. I didn’t want it to be awkward for you.’
‘Jack’s gone for now, but I think he’ll be back, although I’ve absolutely no idea when. I’m sorry you didn’t get the chance to meet him properly, but he’s a law unto himself. Always has been. Turn the engine off and come in. Of course I want to see you.’
The tiredness he had been feeling melted away as he wondered whether Louisa’s visit was a good sign or a bad one.
He unlocked the door and stood back to let her pass. She headed straight for the kitchen, as he knew she would, but she didn’t sit down.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee? Something to eat?’ Tom asked.
‘Coffee would be great. Thank you.’ She looked uncomfortable, something that was rare for Louisa. He decided not to rush her. She could say what she needed to in her own time. It was hard to talk over the grinding of the beans anyway.
When the coffee was made, Tom walked over to the island and touched Louisa’s arm gently. ‘Take a seat. Whatever you’ve come to say, it’ll be okay. You’re still allowed to sit down.’
Louisa took a deep breath.
‘Tom, you know what I want from a relationship. I’ve never tried to hide it. Total trust and transparency is something that has come to mean so much to me, and although I realise few people ever experience it, it’s always been my aim. Perhaps that’s why I’m in my late thirties and still single. Perhaps I’m searching for the impossible.’ She shrugged, a look of hopelessness on her lovely face.
There was nothing Tom could say. He had to wait, knowing he had failed to live up to her dreams.
‘For someone so pragmatic, so capable of dealing with the horrors of life – and death – in my job, I have a streak of romanticism in me a mile wide. I want to look into my man’s eyes and see not one glimmer of opacity. I want to be able to look straight into his heart, without a trace of a shadow between us.’
‘I know. I get that.’ And he did. He wasn’t going to make excuses. He should either have told her everything, or explained that there was one secret in his life that was so big he couldn’t share it, that it was nothing to do with her and wouldn’t in any way impact on their relationship. Instead, he had allowed her to comfort him about the death of his brother, to speak words of reassurance, saying that although it would always hurt, it would become easier to deal with.
‘The thing is, over the last day or so I’ve been thinking about the eyes I want to gaze into. And I realise that no matter what’s happened – and honestly, I understand why you made the decisions you did – the eyes I want to see each morning when I open my own are yours.’
Tom was still for a moment. Louisa was smiling.
‘This is where I want to be, Tom. With you. If you’ll have me, my bags are in the car.’
He felt a stab of sheer joy. But she hadn’t finished.
‘I’m not apologising for walking out on you the other night, because I was being true to myself.’ Louisa held her hand up, the palm open towards Tom. ‘And I don’t want you to apologise either. You were doing what you believed to be right.’
‘Thank you.’
She leaned towards him. He lifted his arm and slipped it around her shoulders, pulling her closer.
‘Just don’t do it again,’ she whispered into his ear.
Tom laughed and bent his head to kiss her gently. ‘I won’t.’
70
I can’t believe the pleasure I feel at waking up in my own bed. I stretch out, then curl up. Pull the duvet up, wrap it around my body. It feels like heaven, and I start to believe that I will recover from the nightmare of the past few weeks. I have slept for twelve hours. It was midnight when the police dropped me off, and now I can see from the bedside clock that it is nearly noon.
All I remember is stumbling through the front door, kicking it closed behind me and crawling on hands and knees up the stairs, too tired to even walk. I stripped off my clothes and got into bed, filthy but too exhausted to do anything about it. I need a shower, but first I have to have some coffee.
I don’t suppose there is any milk in the house, but there is bound to be coffee, and I can cope with drinking it black for once. I decide to get a cup now and think about going shopping and cleaning the house later. I don’t care how long it takes. But I’ll phone a locksmith before I go out. I suddenly feel empowered, as if I have reclaimed my life.
I know I should feel sorry for Ian. How awful for him to have been accused of killing me. How terrible to be held on remand. But I don’t suppose he suffered any more than I did. Both of us believed we were facing a life sentence of one kind or another. I can’t help wondering whether he’s been released yet. I wonder how he reacted to being warned to stay away from me. Not well, at a guess.
I saunter down the stairs, thinking of what I’m going to do with my time. I need to get another job, of course, and now that it seems clear Thea was responsible for the Facebook post, Tim, my ex-boss, will have to admit that I did nothing wrong. I don’t want to go back there, but at least I should get a reference.
I’m about three steps from the bottom of the staircase when I sense that something is wrong. I can neither hear nor smell anything out of the ordinary, and yet there is a sense that the air is thicker, heavier than it should be, as if something is dulling the hollow sound of an empty house.
I stop. The tune I was humming softly comes to an abrupt halt. Every hair on my arms is standing on end, the surface of my skin prickling.
‘Don’t stay out there,’ a voice calls from the living room, a voice I had hoped never to hear again. ‘Come in and say hello.’ There is a false cheerfulness to his voice that chills me.
I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t come back. I had assumed that not only would the warnings of the police be enough to keep him away, but this house must hold the worst possible memories for him – being handcuffed and led out in front of the staring neighbours, as I am sure was the case. Becky had told me to be vigilant and to bolt the door as soon as I got in, but I had thought of nothing apart from falling into bed. I thought he was still safely locked up and I had plenty of time to change the locks before he was released.
I was wrong. He is here now.
I creep down the last three stairs and push open the door to the living room with my toes. He’s sitting in his favourite chair. His eyes are black flints, and I know every scrap of his pent-up anger is going to be directed at me. All I can think is that I need to keep the situation as calm as possible until I can get help.
‘When did you get out?’ I ask, hating myself for the shake in my voice.
‘As if you care.’
‘Ian, I am genuinely sorry that they thought you’d killed me. I knew nothing about it because I was locked in a cellar, working as a skivvy in someone else’s house.’ I’m not intending to tell him that I believed I had killed him. ‘As soon as I found out, I went to the police.’ This isn’t entirely true but close enough.
Ian says nothing. He just scowls.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ I ask, thinking that the only way to get through this is to try to be civilised until I can get dressed, get out of the house and work out – all over again – what I’m going to do.
‘Yes. And make me a sandwich. I haven’t eaten – the food in prison is shit.’
‘I’ll get dressed after my coffee and go shopping.’ I’m keeping it normal. I need to be able to walk out of that door and have him believe I’m simply popping out to get him something to eat.
I manage to walk past him without getting close enough for him to touch me. It would be beyond my acting ability not to flinch if he did. The door between the kitchen and the living room stands open, and Ian starts to talk – or rather to shout, as he has his back to me. To my horror he is talking as if we are going to carry on living together – as if the events of the last few weeks have n
ever happened. He’s telling me I’d better get myself another job sharpish, and I need to get on to the police to see about getting the car back. He is enjoying the knowledge of what these words will be doing to me.
I switch the kettle on, not responding to a word he says. Then, from nowhere, I hear another voice in my head, one I want to forget.
Some people don’t deserve to live, Judith. They occupy space on this earth and give nothing in return. You know who I mean. What does he bring to this world?
I didn’t have an answer then, and I have less of one now. But the voice won’t be quiet.
How did it feel to kill him, Judith? I imagine it felt good, knowing how much damage he had done to you. And he was waiting to do more. Just waiting – anticipating the moment when you felt the pain.
I want to tell the doctor to shut up and go away, but I’m back in his study, lying on his couch, clothes loosened, listening to his voice.
Talk to me about the moment you hit him, he’s saying. Imagine it again in your mind, knowing that the life of this worthless man is being snuffed out. Does it feel good?
Even though I now know that I never touched Ian, apart from elbowing him in the stomach when I last visited, it had felt good, just for a moment, to think that he had got what he deserved.
I can only imagine the sense of euphoria – of release. With each blow the tentacles he had wrapped around you, growing tighter each and every day, suddenly slackened, loosened, finally fell away, and you were able to walk free. Was it the best moment of your life, Judith? I imagine it was. Trust me, Judith. You have to trust me. You did the right thing.
Ian is still shouting about all the things he has never had a chance to do, and how his short time in prison had shown him how much I owe him, and how he’s going to make sure that I pay for what he has been through, because it was all my fault.
I know I should go upstairs, get dressed and call the police. But the doctor is still hissing in my ear.
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