She didn’t bother to take her eyes off the screen. As leads went it was weak so she needed more, but it was only when the pair had left the office that she settled into her stride.
Carla checked to see if O’Brian’s flat had any registered vehicles – none, good, that narrowed down his transport options, legal ones at least. Then she wrote down all known telephone numbers for him based on his criminal record papers and all intel logged about him. Three in total. She’d need to get the Telephone Unit to check their activity but she wanted to get the basics out the way first.
She went back to his criminal record. O’Brian had been put away for assault on a previous girlfriend, Gloria Benote, and then later for possession with intent to supply. Carla wrote down Gloria’s address – not far from O’Brian’s flat, she noted – then Gloria’s telephone number before phoning Council Tax to check the number and address were still current. They were. So far so good, but would a victim of assault harbour her assailant? Carla had seen enough domestic abuse victims to know the answer was yes, very likely.
She looked down at her notes. There was something familiar about one of the numbers. She wrote it out again, then again, before underlining it. Carla rarely forgot a number from a case, so there must have been one she’d worked on where Gloria’s number had featured heavily, but which one? Frustrated, she ran through cases in her mind, each logged, checking numbers, car number plates, addresses, for a clue as to which it was.
And then there it was. It hadn’t been her case at all, but it had been the first time she’d ever taken the dock, and she remembered now the look of fear on the victim’s face as she recounted the number of times the defendant had called her; the number of text messages Connor O’Brian had left in the run-up to his assault on her—
‘Carla?’ Bremer was standing next to her. ‘You look a million miles away.’
‘I was involved in the original O’Brian assault case.’
Bremer stared at her. ‘What?’
‘I know. I feel awful I didn’t remember her. Awful I didn’t remember his girlfriend, Gloria Benote.’
Gloria’s face came at her, tight, drawn, eyes pleading with Carla to stop saying the words that would help put her boyfriend away.
‘Go on.’
‘It was the number I recognised. That’s why I didn’t connect the two.’ She felt shame rise to her cheeks – how could she not recall a victim but remember their telephone number? When had that happened? ‘I was called in to do telephone analysis on this domestic violence case. They needed phone evidence as he’d harassed the hell out of her using his mobile.’
Carla remembered the rows of numbers – the highlighted ones indicating O’Brian had called Gloria – and how she’d been shocked at just how many there were.
‘But that was all it was to me. Numbers. And now he’s killed a child.’
Bremer didn’t speak for a second or two, but when he did he spoke quietly and deliberately. ‘If we held every case in our head we’d go insane. If we didn’t let go of victims, or perpetrators, after each case was closed, then how could we function? I’d give us each two years, and that’s being generous. We deal with as much shit in a week as most people deal with in their whole lives. You save lives with numbers, so if that means you remember them above the victim, then I for one am glad of that.’
Carla didn’t know how to reply. Bremer put a hand on hers.
‘You’ve got the number. Now find out if it means we can catch him. OK?’
And in those few words he managed to refocus her. She had the number. ‘OK. I’ll need half an hour.’
Bremer smiled. ‘Good. See you back here in thirty.’
Carla picked up the phone.
‘Telephone Unit.’
‘Carla Brown. I’ve got a murder and need some telephones checking.’
‘Go ahead.’
Carla read out the phone numbers she’d got for Connor and Gloria. ‘Oh, and check out his girlfriend’s while you’re there.’ She gave Kelly-Anne’s number on the off chance Connor had contacted her and the woman knew more than she was letting on. ‘Incoming and outgoing calls, please.’
‘Got it. What about the victim’s phone – want me to run that too?’
‘Too young.’
‘Shit.’
‘Yeah, three months old.’
‘Jesus.’
They paused to acknowledge the magnitude of the crime, but in truth they’d both been there before.
And there Gloria was again. Seated in the corridor, hands clasped between her knees, her son playing with a fire engine at her feet. Shit. She’d forgotten the woman had a son: small, brown-haired, always alert, looking to his mum for direction. What had he been then, two?
‘Is it a threat to life?’
Carla sighed. ‘He’s a danger to his current and ex-girlfriend,’ she said. ‘But I wouldn’t go as far as a threat to life.’
‘Got it. I’ll do it as soon as I can, but—’
‘Yeah, I know, it’s lower on the list. Just as soon as you can,’ she added.
She hung up and turned to find Bremer at his door, watching her.
‘It all points to Gloria,’ she said, ‘where else would he go?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll tell them to go easy on her. Thank you.’ He pulled his mobile phone from his back pocket. ‘Now go home. Back in early doors.’
As he walked off, Carla checked the clock on the wall. Shit. She was already an hour late for her fiancé, Baz. It was a wonder the man hadn’t left her by now. But as she grabbed her bag her desk phone rang. She paused. Shit. Shit shit shit.
‘Carla speaking.’
‘Telephone Unit. Got a partial result.’
‘That was quick.’
‘I had O2 on the phone while I was speaking with you and asked them to run O’Brian’s numbers over.’
‘Can you send them across? Anything interesting?’
‘Yes and no.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well the only call he’s made in the last twenty-four hours is the one he made to 999.’
‘What, nothing at all since then?’ She hadn’t expected miracles but had hoped for the start of a lead. A number he’d called to indicate where he’d gone. But no calls at all? Where the hell was he then?
‘You said yes and no. Is the yes a little more helpful?’
‘It is, as a matter of fact. There’s a number O’Brian called just before 999—’
‘How much before?’ Carla interrupted.
‘Two minutes, thirty-nine seconds. And that number called O’Brian three times in the last twelve hours.’
‘But he didn’t pick up?’
‘No, all unanswered.’
‘Can you trace the number for me? As a matter of urgency?’
‘Well that’s the thing. I don’t have to.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a number from the list you gave me.’
Carla rested her head in the palm of her hand, because of course she knew the answer.
‘Who?’
‘Gloria Benote. I’ll send it all over now.’
Carla snapped her head up. ‘No.’ She glanced at Bremer’s closed door. If she got the call data now she’d have to tell him Gloria was definitely involved and that would mean her hauled in to a cell overnight and her kid carted off by social services. If she waited until morning that would give Nell and Paul time to check out Gloria’s flat, and if O’Brian wasn’t there then they could just ask Gloria about the calls in the morning.
‘Carla?’
She realised she’d been biting her lip. ‘Sorry. Can you send it over in the morning? I’ve got what I need and can pass that to the team to action tonight, yeah? If you send me the whole lot I’ll never get out of here.’
‘Sure thing. I’ll send off the others to Vodafone now.’
Hanging up, she sat for a moment. The morning would be fine; one sheet of call data wasn’t going to change the whole case. And still trying to convince herself of that, she picked up her bag
and left.
Ten
Now
I’m wondering if I should regret sending the letter to Eve. I’ve had no reply and it’s obvious the police are rattled. I can hear my husband reprimanding me.
‘But that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To get the police involved?’
Except, of course, he wouldn’t because he doesn’t know that was my intention; he doesn’t know I referenced Connor O’Brian or that Eve is working the case. As far as he’s concerned I only want to get Eve to acknowledge what she did and stop her doing it again. But I need help to do that and who better than the police? They’ll look closely at Eve now I’ve piqued their interest, so all I need do is sit back and wait.
But I’m still uneasy. I feel I’ve started something yet have already lost control. I pour myself a glass of wine and stare out of the kitchen window at the fading light. A moth hits the window, again and again, relentlessly trying to get through the glass. I take a sip and wait for it to give up, but when it doesn’t I turn my back to it. I’ve had my fill of watching people try to escape the future they’ve been given, so I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste my time watching an insect do the same.
As I take a seat at the kitchen table my husband looks round the door.
‘You OK?’
He’s frowning so I smile as brightly as I can.
‘Good.’ I raise my glass to prove the point and he laughs. It’s good to see him smile after all I continue to put him through.
‘Popping to Sainsbury’s – need anything?’
Relief floods me – a couple of hours on my own is just what I need – but I try to look hesitant, play along so he doesn’t change his mind and stay.
‘No thanks,’ then add, ‘A bottle of red.’
He looks at the glass in my hand. ‘You sure?’
I smile. ‘I’m sure.’
‘OK, well, I won’t be long. Text if you think of anything we need.’ He hears the knock-knock of the moth on the window and points. ‘Why don’t you let it in? Put it out of its misery.’
I just smile. He walks over and kisses me on my forehead, rubbing my back.
‘Take your time,’ I say as he goes to leave. ‘No rush.’
When he’s gone, I drink steadily, letting the light fade around me. The moth has stopped its incessant banging, leaving me alone in the silence. I wait. Feel a blanket of calm settle round me.
‘Aoife.’
Her name fills the room, spinning into the edges and the cracks, like a spider’s web.
‘Aoife?’
The web stirs, a ripple running through it.
‘Am I doing the right thing?’ I ask. Silence is the only answer.
I wish I was by the sea, watching the possibilities roll towards and away from me, before the tide washed up death and horror; I wish I could go back to that night and stop the decisions we made from the choices we were given. I wish those choices had been different and our lives could have become the possibilities contained within them.
‘But isn’t that what everyone wishes?’ I say into the dark. ‘We were no different.’
I feel the silence judge me. Hanging there like a pointed stare.
Anger blows the web away.
‘I did my best with what we had. I’ve always done my best for us.’ My heart is thudding against my chest, but when I feel it creep to my throat I say, ‘Fine.’
Righteous molten anger takes over.
‘Have it your way.’
I pour what’s left of the wine and down it.
‘If a letter won’t bring an end to it,’ I stand, ‘I’ll stop her myself.’
Eleven
Arriving at the rooftop bar, Carla pushed her way through the crowd of city workers, students and tourists before placing her gin and tonic on a tall circular table. Hot, flustered and irritated, she kissed her fiancé Baz on the lips.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, taking a seat on one of the three bar stools. ‘Work.’
‘Fighting the good fight.’ He smiled, tipping his half-empty glass towards her, clearly two pints down and well on the way to a third.
‘How was your day?’
‘Two leaks and a minor flood,’ he replied.
‘Fighting the good fight,’ she grinned, watching him laugh.
Carla turned to look out at the view across the Oxford colleges, with their spires and arches, feeling the stress of the day falling away. God it was beautiful, like you’d landed in another world – if you ignored the McDonald’s round the corner whose doorway served as a makeshift homeless hostel.
She took another sip of her drink and was just about to start rolling a cigarette when she spotted Gerry, Eve’s husband, in the corner of the roof terrace. He was seated alone but two half-full glasses sat on the table in front of him and he was tapping his finger on the surface of the table as if waiting impatiently for someone to return.
‘Isn’t that Gerry?’ Baz said, following her stare. ‘What’s he doing here – not exactly his scene, is it?’
‘Maybe he and Eve are branching out, spicing it up a bit.’ She grinned at Baz’s horrified expression.
‘But imagine having sex with the ice queen. Terrifying.’ He looked back across the terrace. ‘Hey, Gerry, mate,’ he waved his pint in the air, ‘over here.’
Gerry looked over in surprise but waved back when he recognised Carla. Leaving both drinks on the table, he pushed his way through the crowd, taking the empty stool Baz had pushed towards him.
He looked tired, the stubble on his chin unusual, and Carla thought he’d put on even more weight, so that his stomach strained against the shirt he was wearing.
‘You OK?’ she asked, suddenly concerned.
‘Yeah, long shift, that’s all.’ He gave a wry smile and rubbed his hand across his chin.
‘You here with the missus?’ Baz nodded in the direction of the drinks. Gerry glanced back and then to the door leading to the toilets.
‘No, just with a friend.’
Carla looked at the drinks: one pint of beer, one small white wine. ‘Anyone we know?’ she asked, turning back to the table.
‘Nah, just an old mate from training school.’
Carla had never in her eight years with the police seen an officer drink wine – beer with a whisky chaser maybe, but never wine. Not even Nell.
She caught Gerry’s eye. He shifted on his seat.
‘So, how’s work?’ he asked. ‘Eve said she met your new DCI. She didn’t seem impressed, if I’m honest.’
Carla grinned. ‘Is Eve ever impressed with anyone?’
Gerry tipped his head towards her. ‘Good point, well made.’
‘He had me out on a job today,’ she said, adding, ‘which riled Nell.’
Baz stared at her. ‘What do you mean, he took you out on a job?’
‘To go out to speak to people.’ She put a hand on his arm, amused by his concern. ‘It’s fine, totally normal, and very safe.’ She pictured Joanne and couldn’t imagine a less threatening woman.
Baz looked unconvinced. ‘Well, be careful. You wouldn’t do that when you’re pregnant, would you?’
Carla was oddly offended that he was more concerned about their as yet unconceived child than about her. And anyway, pregnant officers went out on jobs, so what made her so different? Clearly sensing discord, Gerry interrupted.
‘It’s not that unusual. Some new officers like to take analysts out with them. Wouldn’t ever be to a dangerous situation, though, health and safety would have a fit.’ He looked towards the door again, finger tapping on his leg. ‘Besides, Bremer is probably just flexing his muscles and showing who’s boss, that’s all.’ He turned back to Baz and smiled, but stopped when he saw it wasn’t returned. ‘Anyway,’ he stood, stretching his back as he did, ‘best get back to my drink. Nothing worse than lukewarm beer.’ He offered an apologetic smile to Carla and she gave him a quick shake of the head to tell him it was OK.
As he walked off she wished he’d stayed long enough to ask ab
out the letter Eve had received, but then probably better not to while Baz was around. She looked over at her fiancé and took his hand.
‘I’ll be fine. Nothing is going to happen to me.’
He squeezed it and put his other hand on her thigh. ‘OK. But don’t let this Bremer bloke wheel you around like a trophy.’
Carla burst out laughing. ‘A what?’
‘Come on. Gorgeous civvy? Thames Valley’s answer to Marilyn Monroe? No wonder he wants you on his arm.’
She stopped laughing. ‘I think he wanted me there for my professional opinion.’
Baz shrugged and she couldn’t believe he was so annoyed.
‘All I’m saying is, don’t let him take the piss.’
Carla took his chin with one hand and turned him to face her. Leaning over, she gave him a long hard kiss and by the time she pulled back, she could see he’d relaxed.
‘I promise never to be a pin-up for anyone but you.’
Baz ran his hand further up her thigh, his eyes holding hers. ‘Let’s get out of here, shall we? That baby isn’t going to make itself.’
Carla kept the smile on her face despite the lurch in her stomach. She downed her drink and picked up her bag. ‘Come on then. I’m dying for a fag anyway.’
Baz followed her across the terrace. ‘You should write romance novels, you know that?’
Carla paused at the door and looked back to Gerry’s table. Empty, both drinks gone. Damn it. Now she’d never know who he’d been meeting.
‘You think he’s having it off with someone?’
Did she?
‘Man must have balls of steel if he’s going to cheat on the ice queen, though,’ he added.
She gave a little laugh. ‘Yeah, he probably isn’t. He loves her.’
Baz put his arm round her and pulled her in for a hug. ‘You’re such an old romantic – that’s why I love you.’ He leaned down and gave her a kiss. ‘Don’t stress it. Gerry’s as loyal as they come. He’ll just have been meeting an old mate like he said.’
Carla didn’t think so. Gerry had been meeting someone he didn’t want her to see. But who? And why?
Twelve
When I Lost You Page 6