by Sibel Hodge
He was called George, and he was put in my class. I’d watch him all the time, copying what he did. How he held his pencil. How he ate his packed lunch. How he talked. The way he tilted his head to the left and poked his tongue out of his mouth slightly when he concentrated on spelling words. The way he laughed from his belly. If I could actually be George, his mum would take me away and I could have a new home. So I watched and learned some more.
I was the first kid to rush out of school one day, and I ran through the playground pretending to be a plane, like George did, with an excited grin on my face. The picture I’d drawn earlier flapped in my hand, one I’d copied from George by looking over his shoulder. I think the picture was supposed to be George, but he had a big round head and no hair and eyes that took up most of his face. Next to him was lovely Mum, with bright red lips in a smiley curve, and his dad, holding George’s hand and carrying a briefcase. I ran towards George’s mum and threw myself at her, hugging her legs, looking up into her surprised face and telling her how much I’d missed her.
‘Well, now.’ She crouched down in front of me. ‘What have you got there?’ She looked at my picture as I thrust it towards her, pride swelling inside my chest.
‘It’s a picture of you and Daddy and me!’
Her face wobbled a little bit, but the smile was still in place. ‘And who are you?’
‘I’m your new George!’ I declared brightly.
Her smile faltered then.
They found George locked in the cupboard at the back of one of the classrooms a little while later. No matter how much I swore it wasn’t me that did it, they didn’t believe me.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 5
‘It was about midnight,’ Alissa said. ‘Max was doing some work in his office while he listened to music on his laptop, and I went to have a bath in the en-suite in our bedroom.’
‘Did he often listen to music when working?’ I asked.
She sniffed and nodded. ‘Yes, all the time. I fell asleep in the bath and then, when I woke up, the water was cold, so I don’t know how long I’d been in there for, but . . .’ She took another shaky breath. ‘I got out and dried off, wrapped a towel round me, and went into the bedroom, but Max still wasn’t in bed, so I . . .’ She clutched at the bedsheet.
‘It’s OK. Take your time,’ DI Wilmott said.
‘I . . . I wanted to pop my head in the office and tell him it was late and that I was going to bed, but as I walked out into the corridor, I saw . . .’ Her eyes widened, dark lashes flashing against tanned skin. Her face contorted with sadness.
‘What did you see?’ I asked.
‘It was a man. He was coming out of Max’s office and heading right . . . right towards me! I screamed and ran back to the bathroom and locked the door. Then I climbed through the bathroom window and down on to the roof of the orangery and jumped to the ground. Then I just ran. Through the garden into the woods, along to our nearest neighbours so they could call the police.’ She ran shaky fingertips down her cheeks to bat away the tears. ‘If I’d stayed . . . if only I’d . . . maybe Max would still be . . .’ She inhaled a hiccupping breath.
‘You did the right thing to ensure your safety.’ DI Wilmott lifted his hand as if to place it on hers, before changing his mind at the last moment and running it through his hair instead.
‘Did you get a good look at the intruder?’ I asked.
She swallowed, blinking rapidly. ‘He wore black. And he had this . . .’ she pointed to her face, ‘this balaclava on, which covered all of his face apart from his eyes. I thought I was going to d . . . die. I thought . . . he had a knife in his hand, you see.’
‘Did you have time to recognise whether the knife came from your house?’ DI Wilmott asked.
She shook her head. ‘No, it was too quick.’
‘Did you notice anything else about him?’ I asked. ‘Height, build, eye colour? Did he say anything?’
‘Um . . . it was all so quick, but I think he was about my height . . . maybe five foot nine or ten. I don’t know what kind of build . . . it’s hard to say because he had a puffy black jacket on. He didn’t speak.’
‘So, he was average height?’ I suggested.
She bit her lower lip and nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if to block out the picture that would be forever burned in her mind.
‘Did you notice anything else?’ I asked.
‘Um . . . yes. He wore gloves. Black ones. And he had these things on his feet, like plastic covers. They were dark blue. They rustled when he walked.’
‘Plastic shoe covers?’ I asked.
She nodded.
‘Anything else?’ DI Wilmott asked, wearing a sympathetic frown.
Her eyes flashed open and I was hit again by her beauty.
‘No. Like I said, it was too quick, and I was trying to get away from him.’
‘We think the offender entered the house through the kitchen door at the rear, which was unlocked when police arrived on scene,’ Willmott said. ‘The alarm hadn’t been set. Was it unusual to leave that door unlocked?’
‘No. Max smoked outside. I didn’t like him smoking in the house, and now . . . well, now it’s all just . . . maybe I should’ve let him. Maybe then that man wouldn’t have got in! Max didn’t usually lock the door until he was going to bed.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Nothing ever happens in our little village. It’s quiet and . . . well, it was quiet.’
‘And what about the alarm? When was that usually set?’ I asked.
‘Again, when Max was going to bed, he’d set the alarm after he locked up.’
‘At this stage, it doesn’t look like a burglary, although I’ll need you to accompany me to the house when our scene-of-crime officers have finished to confirm whether anything has been stolen,’ DI Wilmott said. ‘It would appear that Max was attacked while seated at his desk and so wasn’t a threat of any kind to the intruder. And none of the other rooms appear to have been disturbed. If he was listening to music at the time, it’s most likely that he didn’t know someone was in the house until it was too late.’
She gasped. ‘Do I have to . . . I don’t think I could go back there!’
‘I know it’s going to be very difficult, but we need to explore all avenues, and we need to do it as soon as possible. Don’t worry, I’ll be with you,’ DI Wilmott assured her.
She bit her lip again. ‘Of course you do. I’m sorry, it’s just that . . .’ She reached for another tissue from the box on the cabinet by her bed and blew her nose, balling it up in her hand and clutching it afterwards. ‘It’s really hard.’ Her voice cracked.
‘We know, Mrs Burbeck,’ I said. ‘You’re doing great.’
‘Alissa. Please, just call me Alissa.’ She looked at DI Wilmott. ‘If it wasn’t a burglary, then what . . . why . . .’ She trailed off, as if unsure of how to phrase the question.
‘It’s possible you and Max could’ve been targeted specifically. Is there any reason you could think of as to why this might be? Any enemies or disgruntled employees?’
‘God, no!’ Her mouth fell open.
‘Have you received any threats recently?’ I asked. ‘Have you noticed anyone hanging around the property? Have you had any disagreements with people?’
‘Oh, no.’ She collapsed forward, her face falling into her hands.
‘What is it?’ DI Wilmott asked.
‘There were a couple of things, but . . .’ She shook her head. ‘I found out about something that was going on at Max’s company just after we got back from Australia.’
‘Australia?’ Wilmott said.
‘Yes. It was kind of a working holiday and honeymoon rolled into one. We only . . .’ She stared down at her wedding and engagement rings and swallowed hard. ‘We only got married eight weeks ago, in Australia. We wanted it to be a quiet ceremony, just the two of us. We didn’t want the fuss of arranging a big wedding, or the stress. So we had the idea of just going away on our own and doing it in Australia. Max wanted to get
into property development over there, too, so it was the perfect solution. We got married first, then travelled around, and he had some business meetings in between, which left me free to soak up the sun and have some pampering. We were there for a month, and two weeks after we returned, we had a party, a celebration at the house.’
‘Your husband owns Burbeck Developments, is that right?’ I asked.
‘Yes. His dad owned it first, but his parents died a couple of years ago in a boating accident and left the company to Max. He’d worked for them ever since he left uni and . . . well, anyway, I guess that’s not really important right now.’
‘So what was going on at the company?’ DI Wilmott asked.
‘I’m not really sure. He didn’t go into details with me. He didn’t want me to worry about anything, and I probably wouldn’t have understood it anyway. I’m not great with finances and planning things. And it was . . . you know, it was his business, and I’ve never been involved in it. But he said some customers weren’t happy about a development he’d built quite a few years ago. They were complaining about something. He said it wasn’t anything major, but he seemed quite stressed about it.’
I noted that down. ‘And you’re a writer?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you written anything that someone could’ve taken offence to, or that attracted unwanted attention?’
‘No. I’m working on my debut novel at the moment. I haven’t written anything else.’
DI Wilmott ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair again, the solid gel parting briefly before springing back into place. ‘You mentioned there might be a couple of things? What else can you think of?’
‘Well, my ex-boyfriend, but he . . . God, there’s no way he could do something like this.’ She took a sip of water and cradled the glass to her chest.
‘Tell us about him,’ DI Wilmott said.
‘Um . . . Russell was my first boyfriend. We met at primary school, and then we lost touch when we went to different secondary schools, but we met up again at a party when I was seventeen and started seeing each other. He was at college doing horticulture, and I went on to do my creative writing course.
‘We dated for four years, but then . . . I don’t know . . . it was just young love, I suppose, and it fizzled out. At least on my part it did. I . . . um . . . I met Max one night at a club and, well, nothing happened between us then, but Max was persistent and he . . .’ Her lips lifted in a smile, as if remembering her husband. Despite her grief, it was a dazzling smile. ‘He kept asking me out and sending me flowers and things, and the short story is I ended things with Russell and started seeing Max. Russell had become more of a friend to me than a boyfriend by that stage. I didn’t want to hurt him, but I knew it was over between us.’
‘How did Russell take it?’ DI Wilmott asked.
‘Not too well, at first. He couldn’t accept things were over. He kept turning up at my mum’s house where I lived at the time before she went into a nursing home. And he kept texting me and sending me letters, wanting us to get back together. It got a bit, um . . . awkward for a while. But then we met up one day and I told him it had to stop. I was with Max now and, you know, I was sorry about ending things with him, but we’d kind of outgrown each other. He seemed to be OK about it then, and the texts stopped when he decided to go travelling – backpacking round Australia for a year.’
‘How long ago was this?’
She tilted her head, thinking. ‘I’ve been with Max for three years now. Russell carried on with the pleading texts for about six months after we’d split up. He lives in the same village now, though, at the other end, so I’d see him occasionally out and about. If we were in the village pub at the same time, we’d say hello, but I never really heard from him properly again until recently. He knew Max and I were getting married and started texting me again, asking if I was OK, was I sure I was doing the right thing and all that.’ She looked at me, a trace of guilt etched on her face. ‘I wanted to be friends with Russell. He’d been a big part of my life growing up, and I didn’t mind him texting again, really. I thought it was innocent, friendly stuff at first, but . . .’
‘But?’ DI Wilmott asked.
‘He turned up at our wedding celebration uninvited. He was really drunk and he made a bit of a scene.’ She paused and fiddled with the bedsheet again. ‘He cornered me outside on the lawn and told me I was making a big mistake and that he still loved me and still wanted me back.’ She looked up at DI Wilmott. ‘I asked him to leave, but he wouldn’t stop talking and pleading, and then Max spotted him and came over. Russell got very emotional and shouted at Max that he wasn’t good enough for me and that it wouldn’t last and . . . God, the last thing Russell said was that Max deserved everything he got and that he should watch his back.’
‘What did you think he meant by that?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. At the time, I thought it was just words in the heat of the moment, but now . . . with what’s happened, maybe he meant he was—’ She hiccupped in some air. ‘It could’ve been a veiled threat to kill Max.’
‘Was Russell ever violent?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Only once. He punched a man in a pub one night because the man was making rude comments to me. But he was never violent with me. Max asked him to leave after he said that, and Russell did. I thought that was the end of it, and I haven’t heard from Russell since. But it seems crazy. Russell can’t have done this, can he?’ And then something seemed to spark behind her eyes. ‘Or do you think . . .’ She threw her head back, her chocolatey hair fanning against the pillow, eyes wild with terror. ‘Was that man after both of us?’
‘We’re not sure,’ DI Wilmott said. ‘It could be that Max was the target and you disturbed him, but I have to be honest with you: until we catch this person, your safety is of great importance. I’m told that you’ll be released later this morning and we’ll need to move you somewhere that no one knows about for the time being.’
Her lips trembled and she looked like a lost, frightened child you wanted to wrap your arms around. ‘But where? I don’t have anywhere to go now.’
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 6
DC Becky Harris was the only one in the office when I got back. She was poring over her laptop with a phone tucked in the crook of her neck, talking and typing at the same time.
I ran a hand over my face, fighting the tiredness. I’d only been up for six hours, but it was more if you counted the sleepless night beforehand. Or the many before that.
Coffee. I needed some caffeine to jolt through my bloodstream.
I switched on the kettle in the corner of the room and looked at the whiteboard that had been erected in my absence. A photo of Max and Alissa took centre stage. Underneath was a map of the Burbecks’ house and surrounding area, and in Becky’s handwriting was a list of the salient points we knew so far. Alissa’s eyes seemed to follow my every movement as I made the drinks.
I took a mug of coffee to Becky’s desk and then sat at mine, taking a sip.
She put the phone down and looked at me. ‘Do you want a Kit Kat with that?’
‘How can I refuse an offer like that? You’re going to make someone a great wife one day.’
‘You can’t say stuff like that any more. It’s not politically correct.’
‘Bollocks,’ I said. ‘I’m old school.’ I rolled my shoulders and moved my neck from side to side as if I was a boxer limbering up. ‘That’s just how I roll.’
She smirked and delved into her drawer. ‘I’ll report you to Acting DI Wilmott.’ She wagged a Kit Kat at me.
I shrugged.
‘You should be acting DI, you know.’
You see? It wasn’t just me who thought that. I shrugged again, this time shrugging off the issue. I’d deal with it later, or just put it in a box in my head with the rest of the stuff I tried to have selective denial about. Not that it seemed to be working. ‘No one should be acting DI. Spencer shouldn’t have been killed
and DI Nash should still be here.’ I’d worked with Ellie Nash for eight years. She wasn’t just an outstanding DI; she was a good person. One of the few you could rely on in a crisis. One of those friends who would always drop everything and come running if you needed them. She was solid. Until now. Now she was shattered.
‘You’re right. Sorry. Where is DI Wilmott anyway?’
‘He’s taken Alissa back to the house to check for anything missing, and for her to get some personal items. Then he’s taking her to a hotel.’
‘Yeah, I bet he’s going to love babysitting her.’