‘I’ll get on to the duty inspector, see what I can do. No other sightings?’
‘None. Is Carla there?’
‘Carla here. Go ahead.’
‘Carla, can you do a risk assessment on Eve? See if there’s anything we need to worry about.’
‘OK, although I’ve researched the hell out of her and nothing suggests she’s used violence before – not on our systems, anyway.’
‘Can you just double-check?’ They’d be wearing stab vests, but it was preferable to know what you were up against before it came at you.
‘I’ll have a dig, see what I can find,’ Carla replied before the radio went dead.
Nell put the radio back on the nightstand. Nothing to do now but wait.
The radio crackled. Nell let go of her phone.
‘Sergeant Jackson?’ Bremer joined them in the room again.
‘Jackson here. Go ahead, Control.’
‘I’ve got the helicopter for you. Five minutes. It’s the best I could do. It will be with you in fifteen.’
Five minutes wasn’t long, but if they shone the light right, it might be enough.
‘Thanks, Control, we’ll await their arrival.’ And turning down the radio, Nell leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and waited for the hum of the helicopter.
Sixty
Now – Mary
The kitchen is in darkness, clouds having smothered the moon so not even a shaft of light escapes. I listen for sounds from the upstairs bedroom, but all is silent. I pour a glass of red from a bottle on the side. I’m so tired my blood feels as thick as cement, crawling through my body with a slowness matching my thoughts.
Where is Aoife? She’s been gone too long and I need her here to settle me. I take a mouthful of wine and enjoy the quick hit of the alcohol. What if she’s up there with Joanne? What if she chooses her child over me, just like she did all those years ago? I feel panic start, so I down the wine and pour myself another. No, this is about me and her now, getting back to where we always should have been. She wouldn’t betray me. Not when I’m trying to show how sorry I am for betraying her.
Gerry appears at the door. He scans the room but finds only me.
‘Mary?’
‘Obviously.’
His shoulders look tight and anxiety practically jumps from him, electrifying the room.
He gives a short nod. ‘Where is Eve?’ His tone is tight.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Mary. Where is she?’
‘Why do we always have to talk about Eve. Eve, Eve, Eve.’ I mimic mouths speaking with my hands.
Gerry takes the seat opposite me. He clasps his hands in front of him, making a church steeple. ‘You know when we went away – from the beach – and we decided you should be called something else. To help you put the past behind you?’
‘Yes.’ I do, of course, although I’m not sure why that’s relevant.
‘And you wanted to be called Aoife so she would always be with you – do you remember that?’ He’s speaking carefully, as if worried his words are like stones on glass.
‘Yes.’
He looks at me, but I don’t know what he wants me to say, so I drink my wine.
‘Mary.’ His expression is one of measured patience and I want Aoife to hurry up and get back here.
‘Mary, it’s been thirty-five years since Aoife died and in that time I’ve watched you work yourself almost to the grave trying to live enough life for the both of you.’
I stare into the glass. I don’t want to hear him. I don’t understand why this matters now.
‘And you did it. You made an amazing life with an amazing career and you did it all while using her name.’
I stay silent.
‘But then things seemed to get a bit confused when—’
‘When Joanne came back,’ I finish for him, triumphantly. ‘So if we get rid of her, we get things back to how they were again.’
He looks at me sadly. Where is Aoife? I see his eyes glide over the table, resting on my phone. He pulls his from his back pocket and nods to mine. ‘Turn it off.’
‘What?’
‘They’ll be able to trace where we are, so turn it off.’
I nod and do as I’m told, but suddenly Aoife is back and she’s angry.
‘Don’t tell her what to do. We’ve both had enough men telling us what to do and look where that got us,’ she snaps.
‘Where is Joanne now, Mary?’
‘Don’t tell him,’ Aoife says. ‘Just get outside and dig the hole.’
I stand.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have to dig a hole.’
He stares at me. ‘For what?’
‘Joanne.’
Gerry stands. ‘For fuck’s sake, Mary, this is ridiculous.’
‘Aoife and I just want to start our lives again, lives as they should have been.’
‘Aoife and you?’
‘Yes.’
He studies me for what seems like ages before shaking his head and grabbing a wine glass. ‘I don’t know what to do any more. All these years I’ve stood by you, protecting you, and now I’m honestly at a loss as to how to help you.’
I’m unsure which of us he means.
‘Stood by us both,’ I correct. Gerry stares at me from over the rim of the wine glass. He’s drinking mouthfuls as if it’s squash. Aoife won’t like that. She doesn’t like a drunk, Gerry should know that.
‘So what are you going to do now, now that you have Joanne?’ He places the half-empty wine glass on the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Kill her, of course,’ Aoife replies.
‘Kill her, of course,’ I repeat.
‘And then what? You’re just going to ride off into the sunset and believe the police won’t come after you?
‘Mary?’
I’ve been lost in thought, unsure what Aoife intends us to do after we bury her. ‘Yes?’
‘Joanne is Aoife’s baby, she’s her child. And Aoife agreed for her to be your child too. Joanne is your baby, my love. Do you not remember holding her in your arms and begging me not to take her from you?’
I do remember. Like I remember all the other babies I lost as punishment for keeping her alive. ‘All my babies are dead, Gerry, you know that.’ I hold his stare. ‘They’re buried at the bottom of the garden without so much as a funeral. Four little bodies, neatly lined up in a row.’
‘Joanne’s not dead.’
‘And that’s worse because she, of all of them, deserves to be dead.’
‘No person deserves to die because of how they were conceived.’
‘She wants to hurt us, Gerry.’
He slams the wine bottle to the floor sending shards of red-stained glass across the tiles.
‘There is no “us”,’ he shouts, his face puce. ‘Aoife died thirty-five years ago and I helped carry her body off that beach. There is only one person, Mary, and that’s you.’ He moves towards me and I withdraw.
‘Mary, I love you, I’ll do anything for you. But I won’t do this. Joanne does not deserve to die.’
There is silence, and then Aoife tuts.
‘We should never have trusted him.’
I nod my agreement.
‘And now,’ Aoife says with a sigh, ‘we’re going to have to kill him too.’
Sixty-one
Now – Mary
After the rolling pin hits Gerry over the head, I hear the crunch of bone on ceramic as he hits the floor, arms splayed as if hugging the tiles. I stare at him: face down on the floor, rolling pin rocking silently by his side.
‘Come on,’ Aoife is saying, ‘we need to hurry now.’
I can’t stop staring at the pool of blood gathering beside Gerry’s head. It creeps from him, as if testing how far it can get without being caught.
‘Mary.’ Aoife’s voice is harsh and it jolts me away from Gerry’s blood. ‘Focus,’ she says. ‘Don’t let me down now. We need to
finish digging that grave.’
I still hesitate and when she next speaks, her tone is conciliatory.
‘Mary, have I not been with you all these years? When you weren’t sure if you could go to medical school, wasn’t it me who convinced you that you could? When you wanted to give up because it was so hard, didn’t I talk you through it? And what about when you lost a baby like I lost mine? Didn’t I whisper to you while you lay in bed, tears so bad you could barely breathe? I lost Joanne thirty-five years ago, but because of you she’s still here. I want my baby back, Mary. I want to rest with her in my arms like it always should have been.’
‘But then you’ll leave me.’
‘I said I would never leave you and I won’t. But you owe me this. You helped kill me, Mary, and then you took my baby.’
I bite my lip.
‘So don’t mess up again now, OK?’
I nod and stand, stepping over Gerry to get to the back door. ‘OK, I’ll do it.’
The bottom of the garden is dark and it’s hard for me to hold the spade when my hand is still shaking from her words. My mind is a whir of questions, but I ask the one that matters most. ‘Did you come back for me or Joanne?’
‘What?’
‘Did you come back to get Joanne or to be with me?’
‘I came back long before Joanne arrived.’
‘Yes, but you would have known she’d come looking for us, wouldn’t you? That she’d trace Gerry from the press coverage, which would take her to Eve, and then us. Did you come back to wait for her?’
Aoife’s silence tells me the answer. I stop digging.
‘What’s the matter?’ Aoife asks.
‘You never cared about protecting my secret, did you? About what her being here means for me. You just want her dead and all to yourself.’ I’m fifteen again, jealous, bitter about the baby. ‘You said she was ours.’
‘She is. But you gave her up, Mary, so I’ve come to take her back.’
When I don’t reply, she snorts. ‘You’re such a let-down, Mary,’ echoing my mother’s well-worn words.
I clench my jaw.
‘Dig that hole,’ she yells. ‘Dig that hole and give me my baby back!’ She’s shouting now, but I don’t move.
‘Our baby,’ I correct.
And then there’s a sudden absence.
‘Aoife?’ I stand. What can I hear? I glance up to the bedroom window and in a rare slash of moonlight, I see Joanne standing there, her face staring down at me with a whiteness that matches the moon’s.
We lock eyes. The sound is getting nearer, and as the moon goes back behind the clouds, an unnatural light floods me.
‘NO,’ I shout, ducking underneath the tree. I look up at Joanne, her eyes locked on the sky. This can’t be the end. And throwing down the spade, I race back towards the house.
Sixty-two
Now – Mary
I sprint across the garden and the helicopter finds me as I reach the back door. I glance up, the pilot and crew a patch of dark behind the beam of the spotlight. Slamming the door behind me, I run to the kitchen sink and reach behind the plumbing, behind the plastic bags and the kitchen rolls, to find the rolled-up cloth I stuffed there.
I pull it out and unroll the faded yellow duster, the weight of its contents filling me with relief. Keeping low, I move quickly from the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind me to shut out the light and their view.
I take the stairs two at a time, my eyes searching for evidence that Joanne has escaped from the room I put her in. But as I reach the landing I see it remains closed, the rope around the handle and the latch still firmly in place. I untangle the knot and push open the door to see Joanne by the window, her hands up against the glass, mutely calling to the pilot and his crew who circle above us.
I know she’s heard me but she doesn’t turn, so I walk slowly towards her, the gun in my hand heavy and full.
‘Get away from the window.’
Joanne remains still, so I jab the gun in her kidney. She cries out in pain and half falls, half turns towards me.
‘Sit.’ I jerk the gun towards the bed and she does as she’s told. When she’s seated, I try to compose my thoughts, but the constant flashes of light into the room distract me. I need Aoife; she’d know what to do. I feel fifteen again, unsure, reacting to, not deciding, events, which are beyond my control.
‘Mary?’ Her voice is small and childlike, soft and gentle; light catches her face, like the burst of a Polaroid flash I saw when I was young.
‘Gerry told me I have you to thank for my life. How you saved me that night on the beach and carried me to safety. I came back to thank you. To ask you about my mum and what she was like when she was young.’ Her hands are shaking, her voice barely able to form the words as she pleads with me.
‘What was she like, my mum?’
I am back on the beach and I am cold. I have Aoife’s blood on my hands and I want to get it off so I rub it hard across my jeans, harder and harder until her blood mixes with my own.
‘Stop it, you stupid cow,’ Alf says.
I want to cry. I want to curl up next to Aoife’s body and make it warm again, wipe her face clear of death, breathe a smile back to her lips.
I am back on the beach and I am cold and I have Aoife’s blood on my hands. I can’t keep her warm; I can’t restart her smile, because I have failed us both.
‘Mary, I don’t want you to blame yourself.’ Joanne’s voice joins me on the beach. But I am still cold, so very cold. Where is Aoife?
‘I know why you, I mean Eve, put me in prison. I know your fear was if I came back, Aoife would somehow leave you. That she’d choose to go with me. I know you thought you’d be put in jail for your part in her death. But you must remember, you saved her child. You saved me.’ She tries to smile.
‘I’m cold,’ I say. The sea wind has reached my bones and they chatter to each other, telling the story of my betrayal.
Joanne slowly stands. She reaches behind her, her eyes all the while on my face, and pulls a blanket across.
‘Here.’ She offers it to me.
Sand from the beach is in my mouth, each grain like a tiny pill of salt. Alf is on top of me, his arm against my neck as I flail against him, trying to tell him I can’t breathe, but the sand gets in the way.
I’m on the floor. I try to tell Joanne I can’t breathe, but all I can do is cough up sand, over and over until the beach is underneath me.
An arm is round me. Aoife? I move my head a little and there she is, wrapping the blanket over my shoulders, saying soothing words I can’t hear but whose sound feels like a lullaby.
‘Forgive me, Aoife?’ I ask.
‘I forgive you,’ a voice whispers in my ear. Tears fall onto the sand, the cold steps back a little, and in the sound of her voice I close my eyes.
Sixty-three
‘I need to know the dates Eve Graham had off for maternity leave or sickness.’
The HR officer listed four occasions when Eve had spent time off work, then read out a fifth.
‘Oh, no, cancel that one. It was wrongly inputted as sickness rather than firearms training.’
Carla stopped writing. ‘Firearms training?’
‘Yeah, but it was four years ago, so she wouldn’t be authorised to have a gun now.’
‘Why would a forensic specialist need firearms training?’ She said it more to herself, but he replied.
‘How should I know? All it says was it was authorised and she spent three days in training.’
‘Which officer authorised it?’
‘Um, hold on. OK, here it is. PS Graham.’
Oh God, Gerry, what did you do?
What possible need could Eve have had for firearms training? Unless he’d felt Mary was such a threat to her that he wanted to make sure she could protect herself? And then, of course, what point would there be in training to use a firearm without having one to fire?
‘Bremer?’
Bremer came to his office door. ‘H
elicopter arrived?’
‘I don’t know, but I think we may have a problem. I think Gerry or Eve may have access to a firearm—’
Before she had finished speaking, Bremer was on the radio to Nell.
‘DS Jackson?’
‘Come in, Control.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Still in the OP.’
‘OK, don’t leave until I get you armed backup. Carla has found reason to believe there may be a firearm at the address. You are not to enter the premises until armed response have arrived. I repeat, you are not to enter the Graham address until I give the go-ahead.’
‘But, sir –’ the whir of helicopter blades sounded in the distance, ‘– the helicopter has arrived. If we’ve only got five minutes of light to work with, we won’t have time to wait for armed response.’
‘Armed response will be there in five minutes. You are not to enter, whatever happens.’ Bremer’s face was tense. ‘Do you understand, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Nell’s voice told them both what she thought, but Bremer was already in his office by the time the radio went dead. Carla sat for a second, staring at it. Nell wouldn’t go in, would she? Carla knew she wouldn’t put Paul in danger, or the uniforms waiting for her direction to enter, but would Nell risk it herself? Bremer’s voice shouted loudly from the office, directing armed response to get to the Grahams’ house. In five minutes it could all be over. If Nell could wait that long, she would be safe.
Nell had seen Eve sprint across the lawn, seen her give a short shout, her eyes fixated on the bedroom before disappearing inside. What had Eve noticed?
‘How long until armed response get here?’ she asked Paul.
‘Four minutes? Minimum,’ he added.
‘Shit.’ Four minutes was a long time. ‘So we just leave Joanne in there? That’s what Bremer is saying? We leave her alone with Eve?’
‘No, he’s saying we wait until we’re sure who’s in there, and until firearms can back us up.’ The tension in Paul’s tone overrode his reasonable words.
When I Lost You Page 24