‘I haven’t moved,’ I said plainly.
‘But you aren’t sleeping at the flat.’ It wasn’t a question, but I gave a slow nod all the same. ‘What’s going on, Sar?’
I half-sighed. ‘I’m working on a new book. Actually, I’m nearly finished with a new book.’ I tried to inject excitement into the announcement. ‘But there are more distractions at home, and, I just thought I’d work better out of the flat. I’m renting a place, still in the city, though, and it really isn’t permanent. It’s a week a time thing.’ I kept adding details until Jessie’s eyebrow lowered back to its natural resting place.
‘How dangerous is it, Sarah?’
I nearly laughed. ‘Mama bear, look, it isn’t dangerous but–’
She held up a hand to stop me. ‘Don’t, okay? Over the last year, I’ve made my peace with the fact that there’s shit you don’t tell me anymore. I don’t know whether it’s me, or because of the kids, or – I don’t know, Sarah, maybe you’re really trying that hard to keep us safe. That’s the option I prefer to believe.’ She fumbled with the zip of her bag as she spoke and pulled out a white envelope. I felt my stomach muscles knot with worry. ‘Whatever the reason for that distance, you’re still one of the most important people in my life,’ her emphasis felt like a cut, ‘so I’d really like it if you were there.’ She slid the envelope across but didn’t wait for me to open it. ‘Tyler and I weren’t going to tell anyone. But we thought, I don’t know, it might just be a nice thing, as we didn’t have a baby shower and all.’
I pulled apart the lips of the envelope and fished out a neat white card, splashed with watercolour marks of pink, blue and yellow.
‘It’s a gender reveal kind of thing. I know it’s American of us.’ Jessie had gone from confrontational to soft-boiled in a second turnaround. I didn’t know whether it was the hormones or the topic, but either way I was thankful. ‘It would mean everything if–’
‘I’ll be there.’
She smiled. ‘I know you’re busy, and away a lot.’
‘I’ll be there,’ I repeated, and I reached for my diary. ‘I’ll pencil it in right now, which basically means it’s chiselled in stone, and I’ll be there. What can I bring?’
‘You. Just bring you.’
On Jessie’s way out of the office we shared an awkward hug – around the belly – and I promised that I’d see her before the gender reveal party happened. It was only three weeks away, and I think we both knew I’d likely just told a lie – but I hoped that Jessie would see the kindness of thought was there at least. After she’d left, I opened the top drawer of my desk – the opposite side to where the cigarettes were stashed – and pulled out my second diary, hidden right at the back of the space. I placed the two books side by side and flicked through the pages of the second one until the dates married with the first. I was meant to be out of the city that weekend – for him. But a lot could happen in three weeks. I might catch him, I thought. Or he might even catch me.
47
Jessie must have sent the invite in the last week or two, if not longer. It wasn’t until she’d gone that I did the maths, and realised how long it really must have been since I was last at home. On the way home from the office, then, I decided to detour to the old place to collect post and check messages – and to tell the doorman not to tell people I was probably moving. It had been a while since I walked through the city as the sky was closing in. On my best days it was a nice enough activity. But on the worst days, I wondered whether every man, woman and person-who-could-pass-as-a-child might know something I didn’t. It was paranoia; objectively, I knew, but subjectively the concerns were hard to shake. By the time I’d got to the front door of my old building I’d managed to steady my breathing into something close to normal. My watch had vibrated twice to alert me of a worrying heartrate, but things looked more stable now as I keyed in the door code and pushed in.
The front desk was unmanned – ‘Back in twenty minutes’ – so the chat with the doorman would have to wait. I climbed the stairs, to avoid the closeness a lift would create, and took a look left, right, then left again when I pushed through into the corridor. Landon had guessed why I was leaving. ‘He knows where you live, doesn’t he?’ he’d asked, plainly. I’d brushed it off, instead leaning on the lie that it was a matter of wanting to get the book finished before the year was out, and not having the self-control to do it at home.
‘You’re never at home, Sarah. You’re always crime fighting in a different city.’
‘I am not crime fighting,’ I spat back, trying to borrow from his aggression. But I’d been too tired for the argument. And when Landon pulled me into a too tight hug, I knew he’d seen the tiredness, too. ‘I’m sorry,’ I had said into his shoulder, ‘but I have to do this.’
‘Whatever this is, just try to bring my best friend back from it, would you?’
I shook away the last of our conversation as I slid my key in the door. It budged an inch, but I had to lean my shoulder against it to move it the rest of the way. However long it had been, the post had piled up while I was gone. I flicked through the first few things on the pile – and spotted Tyler’s scrawl on the party invitation – and then arrived at a handwritten envelope that made the back of my throat burn with worry. He’d carried on sending things here, but he knew I wouldn’t get them. From the letters he’d sent to work already it was clear he knew I was living elsewhere. But he either didn’t know, or hadn’t yet gone to the trouble of finding out, where the new place was. I wedged my thumbnail under the corner of the envelope as I trod through the hallway, still juggling the other items: flyers; advertisements; bills. In the living room, I landed hard on the sofa and took the paper from its sheath. But then dropped both the letter and envelope on the coffee table.
I doubled over with it, the feeling of blood rushing to my ears in panic. With my elbows sitting awkwardly on my knees, I took a deep breath in – counted to three – and then another out. On my fourth belly breath – that’s what Mum had always called them – I felt a tear roll from duct to nose, before dropping on the floor. When one had come, it wasn’t long before others followed, and I found that my forearms were leaning against my knees, then, while my shoulders juddered like a skipping record.
‘I just miss you both so much,’ I howled to no one at all. And I cried until I physically couldn’t cry anymore. And after that, I slept.
When I woke up hours later the only light in the place was an atmospheric throw-off from a street light outside. I checked my phone for the time and saw that I’d slept through two messages from Landon – the first asking me for dinner, the second asking whether I was alive – and a phone call from Wren. She’d left a voicemail, but after the breakdown earlier in the day I couldn’t decide whether it was a today-problem, or something best left for my next spin on the earth. It was late, after all, and she likely wasn’t expecting a call back.
I put my phone on the table next to the letter, with my voicemail server on the screen. I was a button away from hearing her. It would be the first time since we stopped sleeping together, though, and I wondered what sort of a change in tone that might cause. The optimist in me wondered whether there would be a change in tone at all. But given that we’d managed to avoid each other personally and professionally for the last six months, it seemed unlikely that she was calling for a catch up.
‘You don’t have to push me away, do you know that, Sarah?’ She’d been trying for supportive, but somewhere her feelings had got mixed up and she came over as angry. ‘Like, not everyone is going to up and die on you.’ She clamped a hand on her forehead after she’d said it. ‘I’m sorry, I– I’m just– I’m frustrated.’
‘I can see.’
‘What do you want from this, Sarah? What do you want from me?’
‘Why should I want anything different to what I’ve wanted all along?’
‘Because– because you’ve lost Madison, and you cared for her, and all you’ve done since is– is shut down on me, b
it by bit. So, what, do you want us to carry on like we always have? Sleep together and avoid talking about work and– Christ, avoid talking about our feelings while we’re at it?’ She ran a hand through her hair and paced the length of the living room. I looked from one end of the room to the other as though I could see her all over again; as though we were still having the argument. ‘Are you fucking me because you like me, even, or just because you want to overhear leads?’
My eyes had stretched wide, then, but they clamped shut at the memory.
‘I think you should leave,’ I’d told her.
And I ignored all her good reasons for why she should stay.
I leaned forward and tapped the play button, then dropped back on the sofa.
‘You have one new message. First message. Sarah, it’s DS Brooks here…’
The formality made me wince. ‘You’ve seen me naked.’ I covered my eyes.
‘…I know it’s been some time since there was anything to report regarding your mother’s case. But I think, given some recent developments, it may be worth you and I having a talk. If you can give me a call back at the office when you have a second, and we can arrange for a time for you to visit the station, I’d be grateful.’ There was a long pause before she added, ‘I hope you’re okay, Sarah…’
‘End of message.’
I listened to the recording four times before I deleted it. She’d be at home by now. But that ‘…give me a call back at the office…’ rang in my ears. She didn’t want me to call her at home. I turned my phone off in case temptation simmered over into action. Then I balled up and went back to sleep wedged into the corner of the sofa.
48
It took me two days to return Wren Brooks’ voicemail, and she called me four times. After that many missed calls, it crossed my mind I was in dangerous territory for her arriving at the office unannounced. So I called at 5.15pm on day two, in the hope that it would be too late to schedule a meeting. But I should have known better. She answered – ‘Sarah, finally.’ – without the courtesy of a polite hello, on the second ring, as though she’d been sitting on the handset. I would have made a joke out of it. But it sounded like we weren’t in that sort of place anymore.
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Of course. Thanks for getting back to me,’ she said, as though making a concerted effort to soften her tone. ‘I really need a catch up with you, though, busy-ness aside. Can we talk, face to face? Sooner rather than later?’
There were cracks of worry in her questions. ‘What’s he done?’
A rookie officer who didn’t know my history escorted me to Brooks’ office, from front desk through to her closed door. I wondered whether Brooks had requested that door-to-door accompaniment, in case something spooked me along the way. The junior officer tapped twice with knuckles and awaited instructions – ‘Yep.’ – before opening the door and stepping aside for me to walk in first, throwing me into the wide-open mouth of the lion.
Brooks looked up with a fierce expression that at least became a touch more neutral when she saw me. I flashed a tight smile and looked to my side, to gauge whether the junior was likely to hang about.
She looked at him. ‘Thanks.’ It worked as though she’d barked a complete instruction at him. He gave her a curt nod and left the room, pulling the door to with a click behind him.
‘Do you want a seat?’ she asked, gesturing opposite her.
‘That depends. How anxious are you about to make me?’
She smiled. ‘Straight down to business.’
‘You always liked that about me if I remember right.’ I sat down, then, and raised an eyebrow when she looked at me. It was a knee-jerk reaction to flirt with her.
Brooks moved about her desk like I hadn’t spoken. She opened a cardboard folder and withdrew a plastic wallet, inside which there was what looked to be a handwritten letter. The whole meeting had a touch of the uncanny to it; the letter itself was familiar but sharing the experience with someone else wasn’t something I’d been able to enjoy before. I shook my head. It wasn’t enjoyment.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, setting the letter down.
‘Of course, absolutely,’ I lied. ‘He sent a letter?’
She handed it over. The plastic creased and crackled as I pinched its corner.
‘You’re welcome to read it for yourself but the basic idea is that there are more victims than the ones we already know about.’ I skimmed the letter while she spoke and tried to uphold a poker face. There were more victims than they knew about. But nothing in the opening of the letter was a surprise to me. ‘The reason I thought you should be filled in about all of this, though, is because–’
‘He’s named Mum,’ I said as I arrived at the bottom of the page.
The handwriting was shaky. But it was unmistakably his. Every letter that had a tail looped all the way down to the line below it; every capital took up two allotted spaces on the page. The tone of familiarity was the same, too, with the occasional splash of something patronising. If the physical markers weren’t proof enough for me, though, the content gave him way further. He mentioned Herefordshire, Cardiff; the missed opportunity in Oxford, even, although he didn’t mention his spouse, and I wondered whether that was for his own protection, or whether some things really were sacred between the two of us.
‘Do you know why he’d say something like that about her?’
I read the comment on repeat: ‘“Evelyn was a truly special one…”’
‘I don’t know.’ I shook my head, then, and looked up at her. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘As far as I can see,’ she said, talking to me like I was a suspect for something, ‘the thing that makes Evelyn special, out of all the women we know about – and even the ones we didn’t know about – is you.’
‘Me?’ I feigned surprise.
‘Nice try, Sarah, but I know you.’
‘Knew me. A slip of the tense there, DS Brooks,’ I snapped back. ‘These women, or these murders, what do you know about them?’
‘We’re in the process of liaising with other police forces, to find out where they are in terms of their investigations into the deaths. Of course, this is the first whisper we’ve had of the murders all being connected across the years,’ she let out a half-laugh, ‘and across a bullet-point list of locations. So, it’s taking some effort to collate them, and there’s an added importance to some of the cases that wasn’t there before.’
I flashed a tight smile. ‘Because perish the thought that a woman get justice if it’s only a one-off murder.’
She shifted uncomfortably. But it wasn’t because of what I said, I realised, but because of what she was about to ask. ‘How much of this is new information to you?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Don’t play act with me, Sarah. I need to know what you knew.’
I rolled around the possibilities, then asked, ‘How much shit will I get?’
‘None. None at all. I won’t even call you out on it.’
It was a hard decision. But I chose to believe her. ‘I knew everything.’
Brooks leaned back in her chair and sighed. She opened her mouth two, three times to speak but then thought better of it every time. Instead, she pushed both hands back through her hair, and I thought of the last time I’d done that for her.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she eventually asked.
‘Because I didn’t know whether I was telling DS Brooks, or Wren.’
She nodded. ‘Okay, okay, that makes sense.’
‘I’m happy to co-operate with you however you need me to from now on,’ I lied. ‘I understand you’ll likely have follow-up questions and, if he happens to write again, then I’ll obviously be as involved as you need me to be.’
Without a word, Brooks stood up from the desk and crossed to the doorway of her office. I wondered whether I was about to be kicked out. But instead she opened the door, stuck her head around the doorway into the space outside, and took a good look around. As thoug
h seeing something that satisfied her, she closed the door and walked back around to the right side of her desk. She opened the same folder as earlier and pulled out a white envelope.
‘He already wrote again.’ She placed the envelope flat on the desk and pushed it towards me. ‘This was inside the larger envelope, that the other letter came in…’
And there it was in his cursive: Dear Wren.
49
Dear Wren,
I hope you don’t mind me writing, Wren. Although in many ways it feels a little overdue that I contact you. I thought I’d include both letters together, to save the cost of a stamp. It looked especially likely, from your media presence these days, that the letter(s) wouldn’t be seen by anyone but you to begin with anyway, so I could rest easy in knowing we’d have some privacy.
I wonder, though, whether you’ll tell anyone about this, Wren, or whether you’ll be too worried of the judgement that might spill from it. Because there would certainly be some raised eyebrows, wouldn’t there, if people were to find out about your relationship with Sarah. Given that you’ve done so well for yourself, in terms of your career, through trying to hunt me down over the years, although there were other contributing cases, I’m sure. But still, some might say you’d taken advantage of a witness. I don’t mind admitting I was a little surprised when I saw you skulking out of her home late one evening. It took some time to break that barrier, didn’t it, Wren? For her to let you keep her for an entire evening, I mean. Then it all fell apart anyway. Sad, really, after you’d tried so hard to spend that time getting to know her. Sarah doesn’t like people getting to know her, though, Wren, or at least I don’t think she does. I think I may have taken that from her.
For all your closeness with her, though, Wren, I’d be willing to bet she didn’t tell you about me. Sarah and I have a special kind of relationship, you see. I don’t know that either of us fully understand it. Although, as these weeks stretch out, it feels to me like that relationship might be drawing to an end somehow. I can’t quite put my finger on my reasons for thinking it, Wren. Maybe it’s intuitive – a feeling of worry that I haven’t had before. Whatever it is, I think Sarah might tire of all this soon. Who knows what she’ll do then, Wren? But there are times when I think when all this comes to an end, you might find yourself surprised at which one of us you’re arresting.
Sincerely, Yours Page 19