‘Did you ever wonder whether it was your husband who killed your child?’ Nell knew she was going a bit far – Paul’s look told her as much – but she had a train of thought now and it wasn’t going to stop. ‘If it wasn’t you, could it have been him? Did you ever consider that possibility? And maybe the guilt of that is what’s really eating him up?’
‘No, because neither of us killed our baby. She went to sleep and never woke up, and Eve Graham lied to make me guilty.’
Nell wanted to ask why? Why the hell would a respected and career-driven woman like Eve frame a grieving mother for murder? But she knew she’d lost Joanne now. All further questions would be met with a stony silence. Nell had been in enough interviews to know when she’d fucked up and in her considered opinion, she’d done so royally in this one.
‘Thank you, Mrs Fowler. Interview is terminated, you are free to go.’ And ignoring the looks of surprise from Paul and Joanne, Nell got up and left the room.
Twenty-eight
Now
All I seem able to think about now is Alf. I try to picture him sitting in his cell for what he did to me and Aoife. Or maybe he’s out now and living his life again, undeterred by what he turned us into. Maybe – and the thought makes me turn ice-cold – he’s walking past my door and I don’t even know it, or watching me from the corner of the street.
Would I recognise him? The face he used to have is burned into my dreams, soaking me in sweat as I wake screaming, but the one he has now may be different, thinner perhaps after years eating prison food, or fatter from the lack of exercise. I think back to the last time I saw him, standing in the dock as the judge sent him down, the words ringing through the courtroom, and I remember feeling nothing but guilt for being the cause of it.
‘This has been,’ the judge said, ‘the most depraved case of child cruelty and exploitation I have ever come across. You subjected these girls to months of abuse, but worse, you manipulated them to think you cared for them when in fact you were using them as one would a toy. You preyed on the most vulnerable children you could find and then shared them around like bags of sweets without one thought for their happiness, only for your own depraved gratification.’
I had wanted to scream, ‘No, he did care!’ because right then the idea he didn’t, after everything that had happened to Aoife, was too much to bear. I thought I’d lost her and I couldn’t stand to lose him too.
It took me years to finally accept what sort of man Alf was. To accept I had allowed him to treat me like that because no one had thought to tell me I was worth more, and longer still to feel I was. So it angers me to have him back in my life, my days filled with thoughts of him, and even Aoife can’t stop the waves of hate when they hit.
I stand and pick up my coat. Men like Alf deserve to die. Just as men like Connor deserve to die, and if the law can’t protect women like me and Aoife I’m happy to take on that role. But first I need to deal with Eve. The letters haven’t worked, she hasn’t even had the decency to respond, so I don’t care any more; I don’t care what her husband told me or how much he begged me to bide my time. I’m going to write Eve one more letter, and this time I’m going to hand deliver it myself.
Twenty-nine
Carla had been at her desk for three hours. She’d finally given up on sleep and decided she would distract herself with work. But looking at her empty notepad, she might as well have stayed in bed.
She typed Eve’s name into the intel database and noted every job she’d worked on in the last ten years in which a dead baby was involved: five in total, including the O’Brian case.
Carla opened each case file and scanned the text: infant found dead, parents accused, mother convicted. All serving prison terms of varying lengths, from two to seven years, depending on the severity of the child’s injuries.
Was it statistically likely that all five deaths would’ve been unnatural and that in each instance it was the mother who was found guilty? She’d have to check Eve’s ratio of female convictions against stats from other pathologists to be sure, but still, wouldn’t at least one of the five couples have experienced the sad yet natural death of their child? One would surely be innocent. But then she supposed that’s what Joanne was arguing: she was that one innocent woman.
Carla scanned the files, taking a mouthful of cold coffee brought in from home. Each one seemed pretty standard: pathologist file attached, judge’s comments at the end. She checked again. No, she was wrong, one of the reports was missing. She checked the case. Shit. Joanne. Why was the pathologist’s report missing from Joanne’s case but was attached in all the others?
She felt a rush of adrenalin – what if Joanne was right and Eve had faked her reports to apportion blame to the parents? But why on earth would someone do that? It seemed an extraordinarily cruel thing, and even if she had, why would Eve remove just one report from the files and not all of them?
Frustrated, she saw Bremer coming and wondered if she should run it by him now or wait for the debrief. The look on his face as he walked into the office told her it should be the latter.
‘I’ve got Eve to come in, but my God it was hard work.’ He threw his leather briefcase on the floor and sat down. ‘Gerry was determined she shouldn’t come to the station. “She’s a pathologist,” he kept saying, as if pathologists have the right to some sort of special treatment. He’s in the job, for God’s sake, so he knows full well we have to cover all bases, and anyway,’ he rolled up his shirtsleeves, ‘Eve doesn’t exactly strike me as the kind of woman who needs a minder.’
Carla almost laughed. But she didn’t. ‘He just loves her, I guess.’
‘Enough to argue with a superior officer for twenty minutes?’
Twenty minutes? Gerry really mustn’t have wanted Eve to be brought in. ‘Maybe he’s worried about the risk of upsetting her when we mention the miscarriages?’
Bremer sighed in clear frustration. ‘Possibly. Anyway, I want you in on the interview. Nell and Paul are with Joanne and it might help Eve loosen up a bit if she’s there with someone she knows.’
Carla doubted anything much could loosen Eve up, and she was irritated to be rolled out as the friendly face of the force yet again, but she knew Bremer well enough not to bother arguing. ‘Sure,’ she said, ‘just let me know when she arrives.’
Eve accepted the coffee with a sharp nod, took a sip, and didn’t wince at the heat. ‘White, one sugar – well done.’
Bremer got straight to the point. ‘Eve, we understand you have been receiving threatening letters?’
‘Plural? I gave you one.’ She smiled, then stopped almost immediately. She looked to Carla. ‘Oh, Gerry. I suppose he gave them to you?’
Carla nodded.
‘We have Joanne Fowler in the station now,’ Bremer said.
Eve turned back to him, not bothering to hide her surprise. ‘Because of the letters? I really don’t think it justifies that. I’m quite able to handle it myself. And anyway, how do you know she wrote them?’
‘Not just about the letters, about the murder of Connor O’Brian too.’
‘But what has that got to do with my letters?’
‘We are pursuing a line of enquiry which suggests Joanne wrote a note to Connor’s partner, Kelly-Anne, telling her you were going to falsify your report in order to make it appear she killed baby Georgie.’
‘Did she now.’ Eve took a sip of the coffee and nodded, more to herself than them. ‘And you know this how?’
‘Pardon?’
Eve placed her coffee on the table. ‘How do you know she wrote the note? Have you had it tested for fingerprints? Done forensics on the ink used or the handwriting?’
‘Not yet, no. As you are aware, forensics in a murder inquiry can often lag behind the real-time investigation.’
‘So you don’t know she wrote them. But you’ve dragged the woman in here anyway. That’s what you’re telling me.’
Why was Eve defending the woman threatening her? ‘Is there a reason you don�
��t want us speaking with Joanne?’ she asked.
‘Of course I have a reason.’ Eve looked as if it should be self-evident. ‘I made the biggest mistake of my career. That woman suffered because of it and now, quite understandably in my opinion, harbours a deep sense of injustice, which she, again rightly, directs at me. You bringing her to a police station, only months after she was released from what I imagine was a living hell, is only going to make matters far worse for all concerned.’
Bremer considered her for a moment. ‘But if she is writing the letters, why don’t you want her caught?’
Eve tipped her head back, clearly frustrated. ‘Caught for what, exactly? Using a pen? It’s not a crime I’m familiar with.’
‘Do you know the identity of the person writing the letters?’
Eve folded her arms. ‘No.’
‘And why didn’t you report them to the police?’
Eve studied him before speaking. ‘They contained personal information I didn’t want thrown into the gossip mill. If you must know.’
Carla braced herself for Bremer to mention the miscarriages, but instead he said, ‘OK. So back to Connor. Could you tell me where you were the night he was killed?’
Eve looked taken aback. She’d clearly also been expecting a different question. ‘In the lab.’
‘People there with you?’
‘No. But the signing-in book will show I was there.’
Carla knew all that showed was someone had signed in and out, not that it was Eve. Bremer would want more than that.
‘CCTV at the lab?’
‘Are you doubting my word, Detective Inspector?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector.’
‘I stand corrected. And yes, there is CCTV.’
‘Good.’
Eve studied Bremer for a couple of seconds before speaking again. ‘Why do you think I would kill Connor, Detective Chief Inspector? Why would I waste my time on scum like him?’
The words felt aggressive in the confined space. Carla glanced at Bremer, but he seemed unfazed.
‘Scum,’ he said. ‘You surmised that from the brief time you saw him?’
‘You’re telling me you don’t know a criminal when you see one?’
‘Maybe. But I’m a policeman and you’re not. Why did you think he was scum?’
Eve leaned towards the table. ‘Because he murdered his child, Detective Chief Inspector. If someone like that isn’t scum, I don’t know who is.’ She held his stare for three seconds before leaning back and folding her arms. The tension was almost unbearable. Carla glanced nervously to Bremer, who was looking unwaveringly at Eve.
‘I was under the impression you told Sergeant Jackson you believed the mother had killed the child?’
‘Yes. And I still maintain that.’
‘But you just said Connor did.’
When Eve next spoke, it was as if to a small child.
‘It was self-evident. The man had clearly groomed the poor girl to be with him. I mean, she was, what, seventeen?’
When Bremer didn’t reply she continued.
‘The man clearly targets vulnerable young women. He’ll have form for it, no doubt, and he’ll probably have a history of domestic violence.’
Carla flinched. Eve nodded to her, acknowledging she was right.
‘He moved on to a younger model and controlled her to the extent she questioned her sanity: “Did I come on to that bloke?” “Was I really to blame for the argument because I didn’t put the washing out right?” Men like O’Brian thrive on that shit. They don’t always know they’re doing it, but they make sure the woman they are with is crushed. She cannot put anything above him, and that includes a child.’ Eve paused and Carla could see she was trying to check herself, bring her feelings to heel. When she resumed speaking, her voice was level.
‘Men like O’Brian see a child as a threat to their control of the woman they’re with. If she puts the child’s needs above his own, he feels ignored, pushed out. Kelly-Anne may have killed her child, but she did it because Connor wanted her to. He might not have explicitly stated it – he’d have given her little cues she knew how to read. Codes, if you will. That’s why Connor is scum.’
Carla couldn’t fault her argument, but she’d never felt comfortable about writing someone off. Was the world a better place without Connor? Possibly. But not for the people who loved him, however misguided they were thought to be. Finding Connor’s murderer wasn’t just about justice for him, but for those left behind. Gloria would never fill the hole in her heart left by his death and whilst Kelly-Anne was young enough to find a new man, Carla doubted she’d ever see life the same way again. Their grief deserved an ending so their new lives could begin, and Carla wasn’t sure Eve got that aspect of justice at all.
‘You seem to be quite invested in the O’Brian case. Do you often get emotionally involved?’ Bremer asked.
‘Oh please. I’m not being emotional. I work with facts and the fact in this case is that Connor coerced Kelly-Anne into killing their child.’
‘I’m not sure the Fowlers would agree you only work with facts.’
Eve’s stare grew colder, blue eyes unblinking.
‘Do I need a lawyer, Detective Chief Inspector?’
Bremer smiled before replying. ‘No, of course not. I think we’re done here now. You’re free to go.’
And with that, it was over.
Thirty
Then
It’s Alf who hears about the social workers first.
‘They are sniffing around – why?’ He’s pacing the café but stops to put the question to us. I feel myself shrink back.
‘What do you mean?’ Aoife asks.
‘Why are social workers getting it into their heads something is wrong with the pair of you?’
I’m suddenly angry he’s suggesting it’s somehow our fault. What did he think was going to happen when we rocked up at the care home off our faces at two in the morning? But as quickly as it comes, the anger goes, replaced by a chest-gripping fear they’ll stop us seeing him.
‘How should I know?’ Aoife replies. ‘They haven’t bothered us for years, so I haven’t a clue why they’re bothered now.’
I think of my social worker – Harriet – how nice she is and how much I like our sessions together. She reminds me this is all just temporary, that even though it feels like no one loves me, or I’ll always be the one with hand-me-down clothes and the ‘special ticket’ for school lunches, I can be more than this.
And then I remember. When I was with Harriet last week she’d mentioned my dress, one Alf had bought me.
‘It’s very pretty,’ she’d smiled.
I’d smoothed over the soft material. ‘It is, isn’t it.’
‘Where did you get it?’
I didn’t know which shop, so I said, ‘It was a present.’
‘How lovely.’ Another smile. ‘Who from?’
I’d panicked. ‘My mum. She left it for me to make up for missing me so much.’ The lie hurt because I’d wanted it to be true. I fiddled with the dress, avoiding Harriet’s stare, knowing she knew it wasn’t true. I hated my mum at that minute, hated her for making me sit in the office where a woman judged me for my lies, and pitied me.
‘Mary,’ Harriet eventually said, ‘workers at the home have said you and Aoife have been getting a lot of nice clothes recently.’
I stayed silent.
‘They are worried about you both.’
Anger built. No one was worried about us, that was a lie, they barely checked we got home at night. They were jealous of the clothes, that was all. Jealous because the money they got to be zookeepers wasn’t enough to get them nice things like me and Aoife had.
Harriet had sighed. ‘OK then, Mary. Let’s meet again next week. But please take care of yourself.’
I’d bolted from the room. I should have gone and told Aoife they were suspicious, but my anger got in the way. I ran home, consumed with hatred for my mum, dad, the care-home staff,
but mostly for myself for being so worthless that all I deserved was pity from a woman paid to look after me.
So, by the time I got back to our room, I’d forgotten about the clothes and what Harriet had said. I only remember when Alf talks about the social workers, and watching Alf’s anger, I’m not about to mention it now.
Alf stops pacing. ‘OK, we’ll just be more careful. The police aren’t going to be interested in a pair of girls like you.’ He isn’t looking at us so doesn’t see Aoife flinch at the truth of his words.
‘So it will blow over in a couple of weeks.’ He turns to look at us, his face set, tight. He points at each of us in turn. ‘They ask you anything, you stay quiet, yeah?’
We nod. His eyes flash – disgust, hate, I can’t tell.
‘One word you’ve talked to the police and I’ll find you and kill you, got it?’
We nod again. Both desperate to show him we wouldn’t; both equally certain he would.
Thirty-one
‘Eve is hiding something. I just know it.’ But what? That was what Nell couldn’t figure out.
‘Do you think Eve knows who wrote the letters?’ Paul asked Carla.
‘She seemed sure it wasn’t Joanne, but other than that I couldn’t say.’
‘I’m going to stick my neck out and say she does.’ Bremer was tapping his pen on the desk. Nell wished he wouldn’t. She was irritated enough as it was.
‘Are we any further with Connor’s phone bills?’ she asked.
Carla shook her head. ‘I’ll chase.’
‘And when you do, ask for Eve’s and Joanne’s phone bills, so we can see if they have been in contact.’ Nell turned to Bremer. ‘I want to go and check out the husband. I can’t think of better revenge than getting the woman you hate wrongly convicted for murder, and car salesmen are dodgy as hell.’
‘Generalisations, Nell,’ Bremer warned, but he looked interested. ‘OK, you and Paul do that, Carla check for calls and dig some more on Joanne and Eve. See if there’s anything in their backgrounds that suggests a connection prior to Joanne’s arrest.’
When I Lost You Page 14