‘Well, they say they know about Eve’s grief, which suggests they know about the babies. Could she have told anyone?’
He considered this for a moment. ‘I don’t see who she would have told that wouldn’t have also mentioned it to me.’
‘What about you? Anyone you casually mentioned it to, even in passing?’
Gerry gave her a measured look. ‘It’s not exactly something you casually mention, Carla. And no, I’ve told no one.’
Carla remained silent. She thought about the letter writer saying they’d spoken with Gerry; the half-empty wine glass at his table last night.
‘I haven’t met anyone, Carla.’
He sounded definite and she knew she should believe him. Yet, she didn’t.
‘What about the doctors?’ he said. ‘They would have known about the deaths.’
‘OK, can you get me a list of their names?’ She didn’t hold out much hope they would be relevant, but she should probably cover all angles. ‘What about Joanne Fowler?’ she asked.
‘Fowler?’
‘Yeah. She has an axe to grind with Eve, so maybe she found out about the babies and is using that against her.’ But then that would mean Gerry had spoken with Joanne and surely he’d tell her that?
‘It’s nothing to do with Joanne Fowler.’ He sounded so sure it took a second for Carla to reply.
‘But she was released around the same time the letters started and she has a reason to hate Eve. She must be in the frame?’
Gerry considered this for a moment. ‘I don’t think so. How would she know about the babies?’
‘Well, the letter doesn’t actually reference a baby, so maybe they’re just fishing? People suffer grief all the time. Maybe Joanne was putting her grief onto Eve. I don’t know.’ She stopped, frustrated.
Gerry pointed to a letter. ‘This one mentions a baby.’
Dear Eve,
I know you lost a baby too but I also know that isn’t the only pain you carry and that pain goes much deeper. You’re trying to make it right but I beg you to stop. Stop increasing others’ pain to alleviate your own. Please.
Because until you do, I won’t stop. I won’t let you continue. If you don’t reconsider, I will have no choice but to stop you myself. You don’t want that, Eve. You want control of your life, so take it, control the things you can change and let go of those you can’t.
This is my final plea to you.
Mary.
Stunned, Carla looked to Gerry. ‘Mary?’
Gerry held up his hands. ‘I’ve gone through everyone we’ve ever known. Neither of us knows anyone called Mary.’
‘Is Eve sure?’
‘She says so.’
‘And do you believe her?’
‘Of course I believe her, she’s my wife.’ His raised voice drew glances from the two uniforms sitting behind them. Gerry leaned forward, hands together on the table.
‘Eve doesn’t know who’s doing this, Carla. Trust me on that.’
Carla studied his face. He had to know – how could he not? The signs were all there. Eve knew the identity of the letter writer. But maybe she hadn’t told Gerry and he genuinely believed it was some random stalker.
Gerry pushed back his chair. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve given you the letters. That’s all I wanted to do.’
Carla stood. ‘Will you let me know if you get any more?’
‘Of course.’ He looked uncomfortable.
‘You did the right thing, showing me,’ she said.
He half smiled. ‘Did I?’
‘I promise I’ll find out who is sending them.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.’
And before she could ask him why, he gave a brief wave, picked up his cold coffee, and left.
Nineteen
Nell could see Bremer in his office, but there was no sign of Carla. Irritated, she took two more pills, swigging them down with a cold coffee from her desk.
‘What the hell’s the point of having an analyst if she’s never here?’
Paul glanced up from his phone. ‘Even civvies are allowed to eat.’ Seeing Nell’s questioning look, he added, ‘I saw her in the canteen as we went past. Talking to that big sergeant from downstairs.’
‘That doesn’t narrow it down much.’
‘Eve’s husband.’
‘Oh. What’s she doing with him?’
‘I asked her to speak with him.’ Bremer was leaning against the frame of his office door. ‘Is that all right with you, Sergeant?’
Paul looked away from Nell, lowering his eyes to his phone. She was on her own then.
‘Of course. There’s just a few things I’d like her to check out for me.’
‘Well, you know where her computer is.’ He smiled brightly and she wished the pills would kick in quicker. What was it with him and Carla? Was she his pet project or something?
‘Sure, I’ll take a look.’
Bremer smiled again. ‘Good. She’ll be back any minute now. I asked her to speak to Sergeant Graham about his wife and the letter we received.’
Paul looked up. ‘Has there been a development relating to the O’Brian reference in it?’
Bremer walked over and sat on the edge of Carla’s desk. ‘No. But when I found out she was the pathologist on his murder I wanted to make sure our backs are covered.’
‘You think Eve is involved?’ Nell’s tone was meant to suggest that she didn’t.
‘No. But the letter writer clearly knows a lot about our Eve and our work, so I think it’s an angle we ought to pursue.’ He smiled at her. ‘Even if we do only send a civvy to do the job.’
There it was again, that smile, the one that didn’t bother hiding the obvious point behind his words. What was his problem? Was it because she wasn’t going to succumb to his charm – because he certainly had that – and Carla might?
‘Mary.’
Carla was standing by the door, her face even paler than usual. ‘The woman writing the letters is called Mary.’
Bremer stood. ‘You’ve got a name?’
‘Yes.’ She threw her notebook on the desk and explained what she’d learned from Gerry as she passed the letters around the team. When they’d all finished reading, Bremer turned to Nell.
‘We know of any Mary linked to the O’Brian case?’
‘Not yet, no.’
‘Do you want me to look into it? Or focus on O’Brian?’ Carla asked.
Bremer kept his eyes on Nell. ‘Thoughts? You’ve just come back from the scene. Do you think looking into a potential link is worth it yet, or do we just focus on what we know so far?’
‘I’d like to focus on the scene first. Leave this development until we’ve got more of a hold on the case.’
Bremer nodded. He sat down and folded his arms. ‘Tell us what you’ve got.’
Nell relayed all they had learned from Terry and the CCTV: the figure they’d seen arriving at the flat just before Connor was killed, and the fact she bore no resemblance to the picture Nell had seen of Gloria.
‘Have you got the CCTV footage?’ Bremer asked.
‘Yes.’ She pulled the evidence bag out of her jacket pocket. ‘It’s not good quality, but it’s good enough.’
Bremer turned to Carla. ‘You know this Gloria, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but I haven’t seen her in a few years.’
‘But you’d recognise her if you saw her?’
‘Yes, I think I would.’
‘Right, I want you to confirm the woman on the tape isn’t her. And when you’ve done that, you and I are going to pay Gloria a visit. Find out why she’s been paying the rent on a flat she’s supposedly not using.’
Nell stared at him. He was kidding, right? What was Carla going to do in an interview?
‘I’d like Paul and me to speak to Gloria, if that’s OK?’
‘No. I want you both on Kelly-Anne. You’ve had contact with her and I like consistency. She’ll just be thrown by new faces. Besides
, as you rightly pointed out earlier, Carla is a civilian, so she’d not be any good in an interview.’
His words were pointed. Well, fine, if that’s how he wanted to play it. Bloody Met cops coming to Thames Valley and thinking they know best.
Bremer was staring at her. ‘I’m also aware, after a bit of research, Gloria has a tendency to clam up in the face of authority, so a friendly female face might do a bit to assuage that.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
Nell clenched her jaw and shook her head. ‘No, sir.’ Clearly her face wasn’t female or friendly enough.
Bremer stood. ‘And don’t be fooled by Kelly-Anne’s grieving-mother routine – she knows something and I want you to find out if there’s a connection between her and Gloria.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Nell could hear the irritation in her voice, but Bremer just flashed her a smile before looking down at Carla.
‘Get your coat,’ he said.
Nell’s boots squeaked on the polished floor as they walked to the interview room. She didn’t want to sit in a stuffy room interviewing a distraught mother; she wanted to be out there finding Connor’s murderer. But that seemed to have become Carla’s job.
‘I mean, have you ever heard of a civilian going out with a DCI to interview anyone?’ she said. ‘Let alone a potential murderer.’
‘Well, strictly speaking Gloria isn’t a suspect.’
Nell threw Paul a look. ‘Everyone is a suspect at this stage, you know that, Hare.’
‘Does it really bother you she went out with him?’
‘Yes, doesn’t it you?’ She couldn’t believe Paul didn’t get where she was coming from. An analyst visiting a suspect, witness, whatever – surely it broke some law, something that would get the case thrown out of court when they did catch the killer?
‘And what will the CPS say? They’ll have a field day.’
They came to a stop outside the room where Kelly-Anne Wilson was sitting, waiting for them. Paul’s hand was on the door handle, but he hesitated.
‘Got something to say, Hare?’
He pulled his hand away and leaned back against the wall. ‘Is your problem with Carla to do with that?’ He pointed at the scars that ran along Nell’s arm like tracks for a train.
Nell pulled her sleeve down.
‘Because it wasn’t her,’ he continued. ‘She isn’t responsible.’
‘Obviously I know that.’ She rubbed at her arm, trying not to see the man’s face.
‘Well, just so you know, it might be the reason why you feel resentful about Carla.’
‘Jesus. When did you become the force counsellor?’
Paul grinned and pushed himself away from the wall. ‘I’m a man of many talents is all.’
‘Yeah, right.’ She nodded to the door, pressing on her scars to stop the itch. ‘Let’s just do this, OK?’
‘Sure thing, boss.’ And with that he opened the door and they walked in to face Kelly-Anne.
Twenty
Then
Our after-school visits to Alf become a regular thing. The café is almost always empty and I sometimes wonder how he makes his money, but not often; mostly I’m just eating waffles and ice cream and listening to Aoife chat at him about her day.
‘So, this boy comes up to me today,’ she says with her mouth full, ‘and is all like, “Fancy a snog?” and I’m like, “Ew, back off, dude, your spots make me gag.”’ She swallows before laughing until she almost falls off her chair. I’m grinning at her, but then I notice Alf and he’s not smiling. Not at all.
‘You were wearing that short skirt?’ he asks, pointing to her uniform.
She looks up at him, laugh still hanging there. ‘Yeah, so?’
‘Maybe that’s why he said it.’
Aoife remains silent.
‘Maybe,’ he says, ‘you should be careful not to give boys a signal with what you wear.’ He smiles. ‘Not everyone is as understanding as me.’
The words aren’t threatening but his tone makes me tense. I see Aoife stop swinging her legs and bite her lip.
When he moves to the kitchen – pans clashing, dishes slamming against the metal sink – my mind goes on full alert, searching his body language, facial expressions, for clues, reading the coded pointers that tell you more about a person than their words ever could.
‘Are you saying I’m deliberately leading boys on?’ Her tone is belligerent, but I can hear the undercurrent: caution mixed with fear. She’s reading the codes too.
Alf stops what he’s doing and puts his hands on the counter. He has sweat patches on his white T-shirt, rolls of fat straining against it, and his thinning black ponytail looks held back by grease.
‘Course not. Don’t be so sensitive. You’ve just got to watch out what signals you go off giving. Men, and boys, are like foxes after a chicken when it comes to girls.’
We all relax a little, but Alf isn’t finished.
‘And I don’t want people talking about you coming here. You know what the locals can be like, so if you make them think you’re loose that’s going to look bad on me. And then you won’t be able to come here any more.’ He tries to look sad but it comes across as more of a threat and I put my fork down. I want to go home. Proper home, not care-home home.
‘And what would a nice Catholic girl like you do if you got pregnant?’ he continues. ‘You’d be stuck with a screaming kid before you hit sixteen. A single mum on benefits. That what you want?’
I look to Aoife. She is sizing Alf up, judging how best to get him to stop. Crossing her legs so her skirt gets even shorter, she smiles. ‘Alf. Boys my age wouldn’t get a look-in. I prefer my men to be more experienced.’
I hold my breath as Alf considers her. The room feels hot from the oven and damp from the rain outside. I want to leave so much I have to dig my nails into my leg just to stop myself.
Alf claps his hands. ‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘What are you girls up to tonight?’
‘Nothing much. Any ideas?’ Aoife cocks her head to one side, resting her chin on her palm. She’s placating him in the only way she knows how but I see the look he returns and my stomach churns with the familiar fear. Leave it, leave it, Aoife, he’s stopped now. But when they continue to stare at each other, I stand.
‘I need the loo.’
Neither of them looks at me so I leave, pushing past the beaded room divide to reach the toilets that stink of damp and wee. I wet my face in the sink, trying to get rid of the feeling that presses against my chest. The girl who stares back at me in the mirror looks tiny and pale, her lips cracked at the edges, hair matted, dark circles ringing her eyes.
‘I just want my mum,’ I say to her and her face looks sad in return. I stand for a moment, hands on the sink, staring at the girl in the glass.
‘You’re just trapped like me, aren’t you? Stuck in there like I’m stuck out here.’
She nods and so do I. I hear Aoife laugh and it makes me jump.
‘Bye then,’ I say to the girl. But I don’t want to leave her.
‘Bye then,’ she says back, watching me as I walk to the door.
I go back to the table where Aoife is sitting close to Alf. His hand is on her thigh and she is laughing. It’s not her real laugh but I don’t think Alf knows that. It’s the laugh she will have done for every dodgy boyfriend her mum brought back to the flat – her survival laugh – and it makes me want to grab her and run.
‘Aoife?’ I move to the door. She turns to me, as does Alf, his expression amused.
‘We should go now. Homework.’
Alf laughs. ‘You pair don’t strike me as homework types.’
I can see a flicker of relief in Aoife’s eyes. She turns back to Alf, leans over and kisses him on the cheek, and I’m not sure if it’s a consolation prize or a promise.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she says, grabbing her bag from beneath the table. Alf looks irritated but flashes us his crooked teeth.
‘Sure thing, girls. See you tomorrow.�
�
As we walk back across the pebbled beach, the wind blowing our hair together so it becomes intertwined, red and brown indistinguishable in the dark, I ask her, ‘Are you Catholic?’
She laughs and the wind carries it away. ‘No. I don’t like God, remember? But he thinks I am because I’m Irish. And he is half right, I suppose. I was born a Catholic ’cos of my mum.’
I don’t really understand how you can be born religious but I don’t say that.
‘She came over from Ireland to have an abortion, though, so I suppose she wasn’t all that Catholic either. Didn’t manage it, mind. Spent the money on drugs and six months later I arrived.’
I want to say ‘I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,’ but what do I know? Maybe she does, but it still makes my heart squeeze tight at the thought of her not having a mum like mine.
‘Come on,’ she grabs my hand, ‘race you,’ and with that she’s off into the dark, waves crashing onto stones, wind spraying the sea onto our faces as we stumble and fall across the beach to our home.
Twenty-one
Kelly-Anne Wilson sat huddled in her chair: head down, arms wrapped around herself as if she wanted to disappear, which Nell thought she probably did. Discarded tissues lay on the table along with an untouched cup of tea. Someone had obviously told her about Connor.
Paul nodded at the tea.
‘Would you like a fresh one?’
Kelly-Anne looked at the cup as if seeing it for the first time, then shook her head. ‘No thanks, I’m not thirsty.’ As Paul and Nell took the seats opposite, she unfolded her arms and rested them – hands clasped – on the table.
‘Thank you for coming back in and I’m sorry we didn’t get to take a statement from you yesterday, we were a little,’ Nell paused, ‘busy.’
‘You found him. That’s why I was told to go home and come back. That’s why you were “busy”, wasn’t it?’
Nell shifted under Kelly-Anne’s stare. They should have been the one to tell her, not some random uniform turning up on her doorstep. But nothing she could do about that now. Mistakes happen.
When I Lost You Page 10