by Julie Corbin
‘How did the police know it was a woman?’ Julian says.
‘The priest had an appointment that morning. Every week for three months a woman who called herself Lucia Ivanova had been coming to him for spiritual guidance. She was described as around five feet six, slim, regular features. In this case she had blonde hair and blue eyes, but’ – he shrugs – ‘doesn’t count for a lot. She’s never been caught.’
He turns to the other set of photographs. They show a child, a boy not much older than Bea. His hair is black and curly; his dark lashes lie on cheeks that are the colour of alabaster, unnaturally pale and waxen. They would feel cold to the touch. I shrink back from the sight of him. ‘Shit.’ I grip the edges of the sofa.
‘Sweetheart,’ Julian says. ‘If you’d rather not see this, Mac and I can—’
‘No. No,’ I say forcefully. ‘I need to know what’s happening. I’m fine.’ My blouse feels as if it’s constricting my throat. I try to undo the top button but find it’s already undone. ‘I can do this.’
‘The boy was five. He was murdered four years ago,’ Mac says flatly. ‘His father was an Italian businessman, funding an organisation that tracked and rescued girls who’d been trafficked. Again the killer was a woman. She had been hired as an au pair and had been working there for almost a year. Her references had been checked and double-checked and they were genuine.’
‘And she’s in prison now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has she spoken about how she came to be recruited by Georgiev?’ Julian asks.
‘She met him in Paris. She was an au pair for a couple he did business with. Legitimate business. A cover for his more lucrative illegal ones. Georgiev was charming company and seduced her. I expect he recognised something in her that he could use to his advantage.’
‘Sezen worked in Paris,’ I say. ‘In the embassy.’
Mac nods.
‘And was this woman willing to testify against Georgiev?’ I ask.
‘Not even close. She insisted the whole thing was her idea.’
‘She was completely under his spell,’ I say.
‘He enjoys manipulating people,’ Julian says, looking at me. ‘In fact he not only enjoys it; he’s a master of it. He’s being held in Belmarsh pending his trial and already one of the guards is convinced that the police are fitting him up.’
Mac looks at Julian. ‘Your witness has told us that Georgiev has several people working for him who have infiltrated government organisations.’
‘Like the police service?’ I say.
Mac nods. ‘They gain people’s trust. They’re patient. They plan for months, sometimes even years.’
I look back at the photographs. ‘Who kills a child?’ I say, feeling heartsick at the suffering his parents must have gone through. ‘It goes against everything in human nature to take a child’s life.’
‘It does,’ Mac agrees.
I think of the email that describes Bea and me walking back from nursery. ‘So some woman has infiltrated our lives.’ I start to tremble. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘Take a couple of deep breaths,’ Julian instructs me.
His words sting. They feel patronising. ‘This just keeps on getting worse.’ I stand up and look down at him. ‘We’re lucky she hasn’t been snatched already.’
‘The emails are warnings, Claire,’ Mac says, standing up too. ‘The blackmailer is letting us know that she can get close to you. That’s why we need to look again at everyone who’s in your life at the moment.’ He takes a sheet of paper from his file. ‘Julian already gave us some names. They’ve all been checked out and there are no direct links to Georgiev or any organised criminal, but there might be something we’ve missed, especially with Sezen.’
‘I only found the passports because I went looking,’ I say. ‘She hadn’t been telling me the truth. A man came to our front door last night, and when I asked her who he was, she wouldn’t give me his name. She said he was nothing to her, but then I saw them together at the roundabout today. They were kissing. He handed her a wad of cash.’
‘Did you take a photo of him?’
‘No. I didn’t have a camera, just my dad’s old binoculars.’
‘Would you recognise him again?’
‘Yes.’
‘We have photos of a number of Georgiev’s men on file. If there is a link between Sezen and the blackmailer, then that might be the way to prove it. Will you come along to the station and look at them there?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s unlikely to be Sezen,’ Julian says. ‘She has a child.’ He looks up at me. ‘And you told me she’s afraid of the sight of blood.’
‘She could be a good actress.’
‘You told me her face was pale when you cut your hand,’ he replies, standing up alongside me. ‘You can’t act a pale face.’
‘Then she could be giving the blackmailer information.’ I look at Mac. ‘That’s a possibility, isn’t it?’
He nods.
‘Sezen might simply be doing it for the money. She has a child to bring up and no dad around.’
‘Was she pushing for you to hire her?’ Mac asks.
‘No. I got her through an agency. Her references were excellent. But still. And apart from the man at the roundabout, there was something else not right. She’s been working for years, in well-paid jobs, and yet she was living in such a run-down place, as if she had no money to pay rent.’
‘What’s your gut feeling?’ Mac asks me.
I think for a moment. ‘My gut says she’s honest, but my head tells me there’s a chance that she’s so skilled at deception she can look me in the eye and make me believe she’s innocent.’
‘As soon as she arrives back tomorrow, call me and I’ll send someone to pick her up.’ He sits back down and reads another name on his list. ‘Mary Percival.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s not her.’
‘I thought she was behaving strangely around you?’ Julian says, also retaking his seat.
‘She was and then I saw her outside and I went out to speak to her and . . . Anyway’ – I let out a big breath – ‘I now have an explanation for her strangeness.’
There’s a silence. I’m looking down at my feet.
‘Claire?’
‘What?’
‘What’s the reason?’ Mac says.
‘Well, apparently . . .’ I start to laugh. I know it’s completely inappropriate and I try to squash it down underneath my ribcage, but it won’t stay there. It rumbles up into my throat and erupts from my mouth. I keep this up for about thirty seconds, aware that both men are staring at me as if I’ve lost it. ‘Apparently . . .’ I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand, where the cut is still tender. The pain is enough for me to be able to hold my face straight. ‘She’s my sister.’
Neither of them says anything. They are both frowning as if they’re in the process of translating what I’ve just said.
‘On my father’s side.’ I widen my eyes. ‘Obviously.’
‘What?’ Julian throws his head back, his expression incredulous. ‘How has this come about?’
‘Well, you know what my father was like.’
‘I don’t mean that. Why did she tell you this now?’
‘I all but forced it out of her. I still think it’s possible she’s making it up, but then’ – I sigh as the post-hysterical low hits me – ‘she had a letter my dad had written to her.’
‘What did it say?’ Mac asks.
‘I don’t know. I didn’t read it. It was all a bit surreal. I was taken aback.’
‘You’ve always wanted more family,’ Julian says.
I give him a weak smile. It’s true. I’ve always envied Julian his raft of siblings and cousins and second cousins once removed, on and on, a horizon filled with family, while my family tree was little more than a branch.
‘When are you planning to have her meet everyone?’
‘She’s already met everyone.’
‘But not as o
ne of the family.’
‘Julian, apart from the fact that I haven’t even begun to get my head around it, how can you possibly imagine we can invite her here with this going on?’ I pretend to open a door. ‘“Welcome to our happy family! In three days we’ll be moving to a safe house. Don’t open the door to men with guns, will you?”’
Julian’s face stiffens.
Mac clears his throat and says, ‘I’m sure it took a great deal of courage for her to tell you.’
‘Have you told Lisa about her?’ Julian asks.
‘No.’
‘But you will tell her?’
‘At the moment all I am able to think about is getting through this crisis,’ I say sharply, gesturing towards the emails. ‘So could we please stop talking about this now?’
Julian sits back. I can see that he wants to say more but won’t. Not in front of Mac.
‘I think it needs to be handled carefully and now is not a good time to do that,’ Mac says.
‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘Apart from anything else, there’re Wendy’s feelings to consider. Mary is my father’s infidelity made flesh.’
Julian shakes his head at this. I know he thinks I’m being overly dramatic, and there’s a part of me that agrees with him. He’s about to say something else, then changes his mind and pats the space on the sofa beside him.
‘I’m better standing.’ I feel like I’m about to cry. Out of nowhere, I want my dad. I want to be seven. I want him to lift me up. I want to be carried, cosseted and cuddled like a baby. I grab my wine glass and tip what’s left into my mouth. My hand shakes and two drops land on my blouse. ‘Shit.’ Mac and Julian are both staring up at me. ‘What?’ I snap.
Mac clears his throat and looks back at his list. ‘Amy Barker.’
‘She’s gone back to her university accommodation.’
‘Did you ask her to leave?’
‘She was snooping around in Julian’s office and . . .’ I shrug. ‘I don’t know whether it’s just that I don’t much like her or whether she’s a possible threat.’
‘Well, let’s keep her out of your home in the meantime,’ Mac says. ‘Is Charlie on board with that?’
‘He’s not happy about it,’ I say, ‘but I don’t think he would sneak her back in.’
‘I had a word with him,’ Julian says. ‘He understands the need to keep everything simple around here.’
‘OK.’ Mac gives us both an encouraging smile. ‘Jem Ravens. She also comes in and out of your house a lot?’
‘She’s a friend,’ I say. ‘And she’s done a lot of work for us too, but she’s mostly a friend.’
‘She has a police record.’
‘Does she?’ I frown. ‘What did she do?’
‘She spent five months in prison for grievous bodily harm.’
‘What?’ I start back. I was imagining possession of marijuana or episodes of teenage shoplifting. ‘Was it her first offence?’
‘It was.’
‘What did she do?’
‘The victim’s head was stoved in with a golf club. I think she would have been given a longer sentence if he hadn’t fully recovered. That and the fact that two bystanders gave evidence to support her assertion that she was provoked.’
‘That’s unbelievable!’ I start pacing again. ‘How could I not have known about this?’
‘It’s not exactly something you would advertise,’ Julian says drily.
I think of all the coffees Jem and I have had, the lunches, shared childcare. And she’s spent weeks at a time working around here. She built the patio, painted the hallway and tiled the family bathroom. ‘When was this?’
‘It was back in 2002.’
Eight years ago. She has been with Pete for seven of those years. He works for the council. He’s a burly, good-natured bloke. Everybody’s mate. I suppose he must know about this. And I suppose too that Julian is right – GBH is not something to advertise. Especially around mothers with small children. But only days ago she told me she’d never been in any serious trouble with the police.
‘She knows almost everything about me,’ I say. ‘Apart from Lisa there’s no one I confide in more.’
‘She could have met anyone when she was in prison,’ Mac says. ‘You know what it’s like for making contacts.’
‘A contact from eight years ago? Seems unlikely, and anyway, I just can’t believe she would have anything to do with this.’ I look at Julian. I want him to back me up. I want him to say that it couldn’t possibly be Jem. I want him to go further and say that in fact he’s had a light-bulb moment and now he knows exactly who the blackmailer is. I want him to make this all disappear before it gets any worse.
‘I’ll have a chat with her,’ Mac says. ‘Just in case.’ He stands up and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘I know this is hard, Claire. You’re doing really well.’
I give him a tight smile.
‘We will catch this woman.’
‘The Bulgarian police never caught the killer, and the Italians caught her too late.’ I shrug. ‘What chance do we have?’
‘A good chance.’ He nods to let me know his thoughts have travelled this way too. ‘Systems grow better all the time. Exchange of information. Forensic evidence. And sheer, dogged, old-fashioned police work. We will get this right.’
I nod my thanks, but inside I feel desolate. I think of Bea asleep in the room along the hall, Lisa on one side, Bertie on the other. I see her hand still clutching the switch for the light. I imagine her dreams full of Douglas and the park and summertime. Her life thus far has been about love and laughter. She was born at a time when my dad had recently died and having a child, especially a daughter, could not have been more of a gift. She completely trusts her parents and her brothers to protect her. My mind flashes to an image of her standing in a room, rigid with fear, experiencing emotions she’s never felt before, asking for me, for her daddy, being ignored, being told to shut up, being denied a drink or a blanket. Being tortured.
I walk across to the window, biting down hard on my lip.
‘And your neighbours, Claire,’ Mac says. ‘Julian told me—’
‘Our neighbours on the right are about a hundred and five,’ I say flatly. ‘Their groceries are delivered. They are a quiet, self-contained unit. They don’t go any further than their back garden. And the ones on the left work for a children’s charity. They’ve been living in Brazil for the past nine months. They haven’t rented their place out.
‘No one else has shown an unusual interest in your family?’
‘No.’
‘It’s more likely there’s a leak within the police or the CPS,’ Julian says. ‘I think there’s something else, someone else we’re not seeing.’
Mac sits down opposite him again and they go through a long list of thirty or so names of everyone who’s involved in the case. Most of them are like Megan with spotless, all-English backgrounds, but a few take longer to discuss, as links with Eastern Europe show up in their private lives. I watch them talk: one my husband, the other a former colleague. I have been a friend and a lover to both of them and yet I trust neither of them to put Bea first. Julian believes in our legal system – he is determined to play this straight – and Mac has his career to think of. Sure, he wants a positive outcome. He’s a good man. He doesn’t want a dead child on his conscience. But, bottom line, I am the only person who has Bea at the top of the list. They are juggling the professional and the personal, whereas for me it’s a hundred per cent personal. I don’t care about my legal career – or for that matter Julian’s. Ideally, I want Georgiev and all his henchmen banged up in prison for ever, but legal justice isn’t always human justice and I won’t sacrifice my daughter for the greater good.
And then, as I watch them both try to work this whole thing out, I have a moment of complete clarity. I won’t allow either of these men to render me powerless. They know who the witness is and where he is being kept. I need to know that too. I can’t trust Julian or Mac to get this right. I c
an’t trust Sezen, or Mary Percival, or Amy. And now, it turns out, I can’t even trust Jem. Lisa doesn’t have the strength to help me and I don’t want to put Wendy into a position where we may have to do something illegal. Same with Charlie and Jack. And in some ways having no one to help me makes it easier. I know my own motivations and my own strengths. I don’t have to worry about someone else not playing their part. This is up to me. And so I’ll do what I have to. I’ll get the information. I’ll find out who the witness is and where he is being kept and then, after the pre-trial on Monday, I’ll email the blackmailer. She’ll have what she wants and she’ll back off. Bea will be mine again. She’ll be safe.
‘Claire?’ Julian says.
I smile at him. ‘Yes?’
‘Is there anything else you wanted to ask?’
‘No.’ They both stand up and I step forward so that I’m between them. ‘Thank you for everything you’re doing, Mac,’ I say, holding out my hand. ‘It’s much appreciated.’
There is a questioning expression in his eyes when he says, ‘You’re clear about the best way forward?’
‘Perfectly,’ I say. I walk ahead of him to the door. ‘Let’s stay in touch.’
14
Sunday. Lisa is tired today and decides to spend the morning in bed. The rest of us have a late breakfast together: porridge with Hunza apricots, pancakes with blueberries or maple syrup and scrambled eggs. It’s only ten o’clock but already I’m on tenterhooks anticipating Sezen’s arrival back in the house. Charlie has stopped being frosty with me. He sits down next to me and I put my hand on his. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘Me too, Mum.’
‘I’m sure it won’t be long before you and Amy can be together again.’
‘Yeah. I’ve told her we just have to be extra careful until Dad’s trial is over. I think she gets it.’ He points down into his bowl. ‘Really good porridge.’
I smile my thanks and look over at Julian, who is at the hob cracking eggs into the pan, talking to Jack about rugby. I watch him, amazed that he can be so utterly unfazed by what’s happening to our family. We have a very real threat hanging over us and yet he is talking and laughing as if nothing is amiss. I had no idea he was so good at disassociating himself from reality.