(2011) Only the Innocent

by Rachel Abbott

  I really wanted to help her, but I didn’t know how. All I could think of doing was giving her something to eat and drink, and then organising a car to take her home. But I did promise to do the best I could to find out what might have happened to her friend. I was so embarrassed by my lack of knowledge about the Allium Foundation.

  ‘Did you ever meet my husband, Sir Hugo?’

  ‘Oh yes. We all meet him. He come to talk with us when we go to Allium. We line up and he choose some to talk to.

  ‘Did he talk to you?’

  ‘No. I am unhappy that he did not. But he talk for a long time to Alina, and he also talk to Mirela a bit. But not me. Perhaps I am too ugly.’

  ‘Of course you’re not ugly, Danika. Do you have a photo of either of your friends?’

  ‘No. But pictures are taken. They should be at Allium offices.’

  Since Danika went, I’ve been sitting and thinking for a long time about what I can do. And I’ve decided. Here is an opportunity to help somebody. To do something useful. If Jessica can’t be bothered to help Danika, then I will. I won’t tell Hugo, because he’ll only find some reason to stop me. But I don’t really see why he should mind. After all, I’m sure he doesn’t want these girls to just disappear.

  I’m going to leave this letter open, then I can tell you what happens with my investigation!

  *

  It’s now six days since Danika came, and I decided that as Hugo is away yet again I’d go to the Allium offices and see what I can find out about Danika’s friend, Alina. I can’t go to the office when Hugo’s there, so this is the first chance I’ve had.

  When I arrived at Egerton Crescent, I went straight up to the apartment and I bumped into Rosie. She often leaves papers on Hugo’s desk there. He studies them in the evening, with the lamps lit and a single malt on the desk next to him. I used to think it was bliss just to sit and watch him. That was a long time ago.

  I asked Rosie to have a cup of coffee with me. She’s a nice girl, even if she is a bit obsessed with shopping. I explained why I was there, and she told me that Danika and Mirela had been to the office just over a week ago, which I knew of course. She told me that several girls go missing every year, but they’re not investigated if they leave a note. Hugo says there’s no point going to the trouble as they’ve obviously left out of choice. Danika’s friend left a note - so that was it.

  I asked Rosie if she knew the date Alina disappeared. She could remember that Hugo was out that day, but that was all. As he’s out several times a week, that wasn’t very helpful. Then an idea came to her, and she pulled the diary towards her. She pointed to a date.

  ‘This is it. I remember because we’d just heard she was missing when the BBC called to ask if Sir Hugo would be interviewed for Panorama - a special on people trafficking - and I couldn’t get in touch with him to ask.’

  I asked why she couldn’t contact him for something so important, and she pointed to some letters in his diary - LMF. Rosie explained that when the diary says LMF she can’t call him, and no other appointments can be made for these days - under any circumstances. She assumed I would know what it meant, but I haven’t a clue. The L could stand for Laura, I suppose - but I don’t have a middle name, and anyway he’d be highly unlikely to see anything to do with me as a red-letter day.

  Whilst we were chatting, Jessica called up the stairs. She didn’t know I was there, and she certainly wouldn’t have been happy that I was asking all these questions.

  ‘Another girl’s gone AWOL, Rosie. She’s left a note, but I need to go and see the family. You’ll need to come down and man the phones. God knows what you’re doing up there, anyway!’

  With that, the front door slammed. Rosie gave me an apologetic look, and went downstairs. I decided to have a look at his diary for myself. I know he’s in ‘non contact mode’ today, and sure enough, it says LMF again in his diary. Just as it did on that date three months ago when Alina went missing.

  I don’t know if it’s me - but that seems like a hell of a coincidence. He’s out of touch when Alina goes missing, and today when he’s incommunicado another girl goes missing. If I hadn’t known so much about Hugo - if he’d been an ordinary man - I would never have thought anything of it. But he’s not.

  I decided to look back through his diaries. It was strange. Every few months there was an LMF in ink, underlined. There was even one in for three months ahead. But looking backwards there were other entries in pencil that said LMF. So I took the current diary downstairs and asked Rosie about these. She said they appeared quite randomly, usually only a day or two in advance, and when he wrote them in pencil he was happy to move them for other appointments. Only the ones in ink were fixed and not to be changed under any circumstances. But in either case, once the day arrived, he could not be contacted.

  Then bloody Jessica came back, because she’d forgotten some papers or something. She couldn’t exactly ask me what I was doing there, but her face said it all. I told her I would like to see the files on all the girls that have gone missing. She refused. I said Hugo had asked me to do it, but she clearly didn’t believe me.

  I need to know whether there is any link between these girls running away, and Hugo disappearing for a couple of days. If he’s taking these girls as a mistress - even temporarily - I want to know. I don’t care - at least not from my perspective (I pity the girls, though) - but it could be very useful ammunition if that’s what he’s doing.

  I had to give up on Jessica. I know she’ll tell Hugo, so I need to think of some excuse. I’ll tell him about Danika then say that Rosie explained about the notes, and feign a lack of interest. But I want to know what those initials stand for.

  I need to be careful, though. If Hugo finds out, I’m dead (quite possibly literally).

  *

  I have made a stupid mistake and now I’m very scared. This isn’t like researching a television programme. This is real life. My real life. And it’s not just my life I need to think about. I got carried away with my own cleverness, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.

  After my visit to the office, I decided the only sensible thing to do was to hire a private detective. I would have Hugo followed. I’ve always believed he has a mistress. But what if it’s something more sinister? I need to know.

  I thought I’d done my research into private detectives thoroughly. I thought I’d found somebody reputable. I should have known better.

  Hugo returned from wherever he’d been, and of course I was quizzed about my trip to the office. Jessica wouldn’t have wasted any time. I think I covered it reasonably well, although I was told in no uncertain terms that the charity is none of my business and they have procedures, of which I know nothing.

  And then the worse thing happened. Hugo had hired a bodyguard for the evening. I should have realised that he wouldn’t be up to anything as he had a potentially talkative minder with him - but I stupidly asked the detective to follow him anyway, and he was caught! And not only that, he told Hugo - no doubt with some persuasion - that it was me who had employed him.

  Hugo’s fury was something that I can’t even begin to describe. And I could find no reasonable excuse. I couldn’t say I was concerned that he had a mistress. He knows I would be delighted. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I just sat there and let his torrent of verbal abuse roll over me. I have never seen him so furious - even more furious than that time when he locked me away.

  And now I think he’s trying to decide what to do with me. I need to act, and quickly. Not for me - I don’t care anymore. But there’s more than my life at stake.

  I have to tell somebody. I have to make somebody understand. It’s no good telling you - what could you do? And I don’t have any other friends. If I told my mum or Will, I don’t know what Hugo would do. He’d find some way of making them lose all credibility, possibly something really dreadful. So it needs to be a person with authority. It needs to be somebody who will protect me - and not just me, of course. Oh, I kn
ow what Hugo will say. He’ll point back to my depressed state, and explain away my over active imagination. I need to be convincing - and all without a scrap of evidence.

  So I’ve decided. I’m going to go to the police. Affairs with prostitutes are not illegal, I’m sure, but if they’re disappearing they’ll have to investigate it. There’s a Chief Constable that I’ve met a few times at charity dinners. Theo Hodder. I’m going to go to him.

  I’ll tell him everything. Then he’ll have to act.

  And I’ll leave this letter somewhere where only you would ever find it, Imo - in case something happens to me. There’s one place that Hugo would never think to look, but you would. Who would have thought all those years ago when we hollowed out that old copy of The Secret Garden to hide my diary that I’d need to use it again!

  In fact, all my letters to you are hidden there - so if you’re reading this, I wonder what’s become of me?

  I probably didn’t tell you this often enough, Imo - but I really love you. And I’m so, so sorry. Xxxx

  CHAPTER 31

  A SMALL VILLAGE IN CRETE

  Less than two thousand miles away on the island of Crete, a small group of middle-aged holidaymakers were having a pre-lunch drink in a small bar, perched on the side of a hill and well off the beaten track. Although late in the year, the sun was warm enough to sit outside at mid day, and the surrounding countryside was still parched awaiting the winter rains.

  ‘Bit of a find, this place. Look at that view!’ one of the women said.

  ‘I bet the food’s good too. Look, there’s a couple of locals just coming in, and that’s usually a good sign, so they say.’

  ‘Only three more days, and it’s back to the rain for us.’

  ‘And on that jolly note - cheers everybody!’

  The two couples continued to talk companionably about the holiday and about some of the people they’d met, the wives making thinly disguised catty remarks about a particularly glamorous woman who they’d caught their husbands chatting up in the bar.

  The local couple hadn’t been given a menu, and were just presented with a plate of food that looked quite delicious. They were keeping themselves very much to themselves, and talking quietly in what the English contingent could only guess was Greek. Unlike the Brits, who were talking at full volume on the basis that nobody would understand a word they were saying.

  ‘I tell you what, though, it’s been good to get away from the news. It’s so depressing. Bombing in Pakistan, banks going bust, unappealing politicians trying to capture our votes whilst stabbing each other in the back - at least here we can just relax. I know it’s all a bit ostrich-like, but I do prefer not knowing all this stuff when I’m on holiday.’

  The man’s wife put her glass down.

  ‘I must say I’d like to know what’s been happening in the Hugo Fletcher murder case, though. We’ve missed all that. I couldn’t believe it when we saw the newsflash at the airport. Who would want to kill a man like that? I bet it was something to do with a woman. He was a bit of a dish, wasn’t he?’

  The other woman nodded her agreement.

  ‘He’s got a young daughter too. She’s only about eleven or twelve, I think. Poor kid.’

  Trying to get away from the subject, the more rotund of the two men tried to move to a topic that was closer to his heart.

  ‘Why don’t we all agree to forget the news for now and enjoy this wonderful place. Okay? Let’s order some lunch. I want what they’re having.’ He rudely pointed to the only other occupied table.

  The Greek couple said nothing. Their eyes met, and the man reached his hand across the table and tenderly stroked the arm of the woman sitting opposite him.

  They got up quietly to leave, the man throwing a twenty euro note on the table, their plates still half full of uneaten food.

  CHAPTER 32

  It didn’t take the police team long to plough through the files on the Allium girls - either accounted for or missing. There was a sense of urgency, as if everybody knew that something was about to happen. Tom received the all-important call whilst he was still in Oxfordshire. He wasn’t relishing what he knew he had to do next.

  ‘Laura, I don’t know how you’re going to react to this, so please sit down. You should have somebody with you. Shall I get your mother or brother?’

  ‘No thank you. I’d rather just hear it myself, whatever it is.’

  He took up a seat next to her again. He really wanted to hold her hands again, but he knew it wasn’t appropriate. Instead, he tried his best to convey his deep sympathy through the warmth of his voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Laura. It’s not often that being right is the worst option, but in this case I think it’s true. And it would seem that you were right about Hugo. There’s still some chance that it’s coincidence, but it’s highly unlikely. On or around every date in the last five years that Hugo has an underlined LMF in his diary, a girl has disappeared. They’ve each left a note, so there was no investigation.’

  Laura had bowed her head, as if she felt the acute shame of being associated with this man, and whatever he had done. She didn’t speak, so Tom continued.

  ‘Only Rosie was really in a position to make the connection, and there were quite lengthy gaps - at least in the early years. And of course there were other girls that went missing in between these dates, which I think we can assume are unrelated. Given that the girls weren’t necessarily reported missing immediately, it’s understandable that she didn’t realise the significance. And why would she even begin to think that he had anything to do with it?’

  He was quiet for a moment, giving Laura the space to make sense of her own thoughts, if that were in any way possible. Finally she looked up. There was no hint of surprise at these revelations on her face, and it was clear to Tom that she had always known that something had been happening. Why else would she have reported her husband to a Chief Constable. So why had Theo Hodder not acted? He posed the question to Laura.

  She shrugged. ‘He refused to listen. He said that Hugo was a saint, and nothing I said would convince him otherwise. But I hadn’t realised just how close he and Hugo were.’

  Tom was slightly puzzled by this remark.

  ‘What do you mean, close? I wasn’t aware that they were actually friends. You should know, Laura, that Hodder isn’t a very popular man, and is actively disliked in some quarters.’

  ‘I think he owed Hugo a favour. But I don’t know more than that. In ways that I can never explain to you, he probably did me a very good turn.’

  Mystified as he was by this comment, Tom had more to reveal. He was sure that now this was all out in the open, Laura would be willing to help.

  ‘We think LMF has to represent a place. The underlined dates correspond to the dates they went missing, so we reckon the pencilled in dates are probably when they met subsequently, but we don’t know for sure. We’re getting Brian Smedley to pull together a list of all the properties owned by the company to see if we can make a link. And we’re looking for hotels with those initials too.’

  He was disappointed to see Laura shake her head.

  ‘No Tom. He wouldn’t have gone to a hotel. He’d have been spotted.’

  Tutting with exasperation, Tom made one last plea.

  ‘I’m sure we’ve got to solve this mystery to get to the bottom of his murder. Laura, if there’s anything else you know, you must tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know anything. It was always supposition on my part. I do know that you need to be looking for somewhere remote. Somewhere he wouldn’t be recognised. Where nobody could see him coming and going.’

  ‘The thing is Laura, if the girls went with him willingly, what do you think happened when he got tired of them, which he must have done as he seemed to take a new girl every three months or so? And would it be a motive for murder? It wouldn’t be the first time that somebody has died at the hands of a woman scorned.’

  CHAPTER 33

  It felt to Laura as if a year had passed
since Imogen had been taken to the police station, so when she saw a police car pull up in the drive and a weary Imogen emerge from the back seat, her relief was overwhelming. She rushed to open the front door.

  ‘Imogen! Are you okay? I’ve been so worried. What did they ask you? What did you say?’

  She gave her friend a hug, and held on tight. Despite his warmth and understanding, when Tom had left to return to New Scotland Yard, taking Becky with him, he had declined to tell her when she could expect Imogen back, simply asking her to be patient.

  Imogen moved away from the embrace, and gave Laura a look of such concern that the panic lying just below the surface threatened to engulf her again.

  ‘I’m fine, Laura. But the letters? What about the bloody letters? Christ I’m so sorry, Laura. There was one on my bed! Did they see it when they came for the laptop?’

  Relaxing slightly, Laura answered.

  ‘Becky found it. It was the one about Danika. I’ve spoken to Tom about it - I’ll tell you later.’

  Imogen let out an audible breath.

  ‘Thank God I’d shredded the earlier ones! But what about the rest - the ones you wrote after that?’

  ‘They were in your drawer, and they hadn’t asked if they could search your room. So I shredded them. You know most of it anyway. It’s all the stuff I told you in the home.’

  Imogen looked at Laura keenly. ‘I’d assumed the later ones would fill in the gaps - and there are some. When are you going to tell me the rest - it’s like you’ve given me a jigsaw but kept back the vital piece that make sense of the picture.’