Safe No Longer

by Gayle Curtis

  Gloria signed the relevant paperwork that had been pushed in front of her, for the items being removed from the house. It was all a blur and she had no idea what was being taken – although she’d seen officers with some laptops, files and boxes of tapes.

  ‘Mrs Player, is there somewhere you can stay for a couple of days?’ The young detective pulled out a kitchen chair and sat opposite her. Gloria had been sitting in the same spot all night. She looked up towards the ceiling; she could hear people walking around upstairs. ‘Mrs Player?’

  Gloria glanced at the detective and caught her reflection in the glass of the door behind him. She reached up to touch her face. Her make-up had smudged where she’d been rubbing her eyes; she was tired from last night’s events and the alcohol hadn’t helped. Her blonde hair that was usually full-bodied and glossy was sticking up in all directions where she’d run her fingers through it in despair. She was a mess, inside and out.

  ‘What are they doing up there?’

  ‘Mrs Player, I need you to listen to me. We’re going to seal the house and grounds off, so you’ll need to make other arrangements.’

  ‘When is my husband coming home? What if he comes back and I’m not here?’

  ‘Mr Player is being detained for now, Gloria.’ The young man was beginning to sound patronising and he was irritating her. She was neither old nor stupid. ‘He’s going to be interviewed later this morning.’

  ‘Huh.’ Gloria fiddled with one of the napkins she had screwed up tightly in her hand. They had all the money they could ever want, but she had nowhere to go.

  ‘We do need to ask you a few questions, Gloria.’ The detective shifted in his seat. ‘Is it okay if I call you Gloria?’

  ‘You already did,’ she said, her voice croaky.

  ‘How long have you and Mr Player lived in this house?’

  ‘I’ve lived here for over twenty years, but Adrian has been here longer than that.’

  ‘He owned this before you got together?’

  ‘Yes, with his ex-wife. It was part of his divorce settlement; it’s his favourite house.’ Gloria recalled how easily the woman had given it up.

  The detective nodded as he jotted everything down in his pocketbook.

  ‘And have you or Adrian ever made any significant alterations to the house? Any building work, partition walls, that kind of thing?’

  ‘No.’ Gloria shook her head, trying to think. ‘Why would we do that? It’s huge.’

  ‘You haven’t altered the layout upstairs?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Gloria sighed. She was tired and dehydrated. She reached across the table and grabbed a glass that contained what she thought was water but turned out to be vodka. The harsh edge from the alcohol was comforting.

  ‘Do you know anything about the mirrored wardrobe in one of the bedrooms situated at the end of the house?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. The house is exactly as its always been.’

  ‘And the loft?’

  ‘What about it?’ Gloria leant on the table and pushed herself up. She needed a coffee.

  ‘There appears to be a partition wall in part of the converted attic. Do you know what’s behind it?’

  ‘I don’t go up there, officer. Adrian stores old files in various places and he doesn’t like anyone interfering with his things.’

  The young man stopped writing and looked at Gloria. ‘Have you ever been up there?’

  ‘Once. When he was at work. I was briefly curious.’

  ‘Did you notice anything odd?’

  ‘No! It’s just a guest room.’

  Another detective tapped on the kitchen door and walked in. ‘Can you come upstairs, Tim? I need you to take a look at something.’

  ‘What? What have you found?’ Gloria followed the detectives as they went up to the top-floor bedroom.

  It had never occurred to Gloria there was anything odd about the fitted wardrobes, that only the two doors in the middle slid open. She thought the two mirrored doors each side were there for decoration. The room was too small for the footprint of the one downstairs, leaving a huge gap towards the gable end. Now it had been pointed out to her, she could see it clearly. Both doors stood wide open, and a police officer in a white suit appeared, followed by another.

  ‘It leads to a room behind the partition wall,’ the other detective said to the one who’d been sitting with her. ‘You better take a look at what’s in there.’

  ‘What’s in there? What have you found?’ Gloria was becoming very distressed. ‘This is my home!’

  The young detective turned to her. ‘Gloria, did you know what your husband was doing in this room?’

  ‘How can I? I didn’t even know it was here!’

  ‘Is it usual for children to visit the house?’

  ‘Well, yes, we have grandchildren. What are you trying to say?’

  ‘Is there anything you want to tell us about your husband, Mrs Player?’ The young man cornered her. ‘Have you ever known him to be inappropriate with a child?’

  Gloria was floundering, looking for some kind of defence for Adrian, furious that anyone could suggest such a thing. ‘He’s an international celebrity, he has an OBE for fuck’s sake. He gives scholarships to underprivileged children. Of course they come to the house, they love him. This is utterly ludicrous!’

  ‘Then can you explain to me why this room contains a large chest full of children’s toys, underwear, sex aids and a video camera? What are we going to find on the footage, Gloria?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The street was lined with parked cars. Intermittent trees ran the length of the pavement on both sides, where rows upon rows of Edwardian semi-detached houses stood with their topiary and pristine windows, giving Rachel the sensation she was on a film set. Everything felt and looked weird, as if it were scenery moving around in the wind.

  Rachel walked up the driveway of number 53 and rang the bell. It was late afternoon, and just as she was beginning to wonder if anyone was at home, a teenage girl answered the door.

  ‘Mum! It’s for you!’ the girl shouted.

  ‘No, I was looking for Jason.’ Rachel reached out, as if her hands would quieten the girl, but it was too late.

  Jason’s wife appeared in the hallway. ‘Who is it?’ she said to her daughter before she got to the front door.

  ‘Dunno, some teacher from our school.’ The girl shrugged and walked away.

  ‘You’re . . . you’re Helen, yes?’ Rachel said. ‘I . . . I’m looking for Jason.’ She was losing her nerve. She had expected Jason to answer the door. Rachel knew they were separated and that he shared his time between the house and the flat, but there’d been no answer there so she’d assumed he was here instead. He’d told her not to call, but she desperately needed to speak to him and his phone number was coming up as unrecognised. She was understandably confused by what had happened to Cara and she wanted answers.

  ‘Jason doesn’t live here anymore.’ Helen was slightly breathless, as if she’d run up a long flight of stairs.

  Rachel was baffled by the woman stood before her. Jason had described her as a boring, mousy type who thought a takeaway on a weekday was a bit exciting. But Helen didn’t appear to be any of those things. She had straggly blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, with dark roots showing through that looked deliberate rather than from a lack of pride, bright red lipstick and carefully applied eyeliner. She was wearing dungarees torn at the knees and a loose-fitting vest top – her arms and chest completely covered in tattoos. Rachel could see that she was paint-splattered and had what looked like clay stuck to her fingers.

  ‘Look, he tells everyone he lives here, but he hasn’t done for about eighteen months. He lives on the Brooksway mobile home park – just outside the town, near Morrisons? That’s where you’ll find him.’

  Rachel just stood there, so intimidated by this woman that all the confidence she’d had seemed to slide back down the driveway and into th
e drains. He’d never mentioned a static caravan.

  ‘If there’s nothing else? I’m actually in the middle of something.’

  ‘The Brooksway mobile home park? I don’t think so,’ Rachel blurted, hoping that the woman was lying to get rid of her.

  Helen laughed and folded her arms, leaning against the door frame. ‘Look, I couldn’t care less what my ex-husband gets up to – his life is his own – but I’m telling you, that’s where he lives and has done ever since he was nicked and found guilty of misconduct in a public office.’

  Rachel felt blindsided, and she automatically touched the small swell of her stomach, suddenly feeling slightly nauseous.

  ‘Know what that means?’ Helen shouted. ‘It involved little kids.’

  ‘But it wasn’t true. He was set up.’ Rachel’s voice sounded small, the words childlike and pathetic.

  ‘I’m not being funny, sweetheart, but you seriously need to wake up.’ Helen reached for the door, getting ready to close it. ‘Did he tell you he was sacked from his job?’

  Rachel hesitated, not wanting to be caught out. ‘Yes – yes he did.’

  The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Nice.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Asked you to give lifts to any children? Promised them a place at Player’s private club?’

  Rachel’s face reddened and she started to back down the driveway, her hand still on her stomach.

  ‘He’s a user, a manipulator, and he preys on vulnerable people to get what he wants. There’s been a string of women like you. He usually dumps them once he’s got them up the duff. Is that what he’s done to you?’ She gestured towards Rachel’s belly. ‘If that’s his, I’d get rid of it if I were you. That child is fucked if he’s the father.’

  Rachel didn’t have the energy to correct the woman, to tell her that she wasn’t having an affair with Jason and never had. It was probably better if she did think that, rather than the truth and what they’d really plotted together.

  The door was slammed, and Rachel stood alone on the driveway staring up at the house, a hot white rage bubbling up in her chest. She’d thought she had the control, not the other way around. That’s how she’d perceived it to be, believing that would never change – but having spoken to Helen, Rachel realised she wasn’t in control at all. She needed to speak to Jason and find out what had happened to Cara.

  Movement from an upstairs window caught her eye. The girl who’d answered the door was staring down at her. She was unmistakably Jason’s daughter, almost the spit of him; she had his unusual green eyes and auburn hair and wide, perfectly formed, symmetrical lips. The girl smiled at her and waved, and Rachel automatically raised her hand. Then the girl pulled a face and ran her forefinger across her throat.

  There was a boy standing directly behind her. It was a few moments before Rachel recognised Dean.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Back home, Rachel went upstairs into her office and switched on the computer, pulling her sleeve over her hand and wiping the dust off the screen while she waited for it to start up.

  Rachel carefully looked through all the social media websites, searching for Jason. She’d had a mad idea she could contact him that way and find out what was going on. Dean had once told her that there was private messaging on most of them. Her leg jiggling around with nerves, she scoured the sites for his name. Locating a Jason Brunswick on one of them, she clicked on his name but realised she would have to sign up herself and that would take too long. She had to think of something else.

  DS Hall, her ‘liaison officer’, appeared at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. The fresh air did me good.’ Rachel had told the officer she needed to go for a walk and had been surprised she didn’t stop her from leaving the house. She’d even helped her leave via the back gate to avoid the reporters camped out the front.

  ‘Everything okay?’ the detective said, walking into the office.

  ‘Yes. Just going through some photos of Cara, trying to find one for the flyers.’ Rachel tried to say it as calmly as possible but knew her voice sounded tight and forced, like an actor learning new lines.

  ‘You gave us a photo, remember?’ DS Hall said, frowning at her.

  ‘I know. I was looking for a more recent one.’ Rachel put her hands over her face as if she were about to cry, but no tears came so she rubbed her face and turned her attention back to the computer screen.

  ‘Why don’t you come downstairs and I’ll make some tea?’ The detective placed a hand on Rachel’s shoulder, seemingly convinced she was upset. Rachel nodded and followed her downstairs, but stopped at the bottom.

  ‘I’m just nipping outside for a smoke. I need to return my messages. I’ve had so many calls.’

  Outside, Rachel checked her phone for the millionth time. She was so desperate to speak to Jason – to find out what was going on, what she was supposed to do – but she knew that everything she did was being watched, especially now. She decided that if she didn’t hear from him by the end of the day, she’d call round to the flat again. She’d already been to the mobile home site that Helen had told her about, but he wasn’t there.

  Rachel went to the back door and looked at the police officer, who was practically a stranger, treating her home like it was her own. The reality of what was normal behaviour in these circumstances was slipping away from Rachel and she was losing her grip. She lit a cigarette she’d rolled earlier and dialled Jason’s landline number instead of his mobile, her stomach twisting as she tried to think of the right thing to say. She was surprised to hear Jason’s voice on the other end. She hadn’t imagined he’d ever answer the phone.

  ‘All right, Rachel?’ Jason spoke to her normally.

  ‘I’ve been calling your mobile. I was worried.’

  ‘Why would you be worried? Got enough to think about, I should imagine,’ he said, his voice monotone.

  Rachel was silent, the words sounding foreign to her. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Cara disappearing and all that. Any news?’

  ‘No. What’s going on? Is Cara there?’

  ‘What? Cara? No, why would she be? Listen, Rachel, I know you’re suffering right now, but I have some family stuff of my own to deal with . . .’

  ‘Right. So she’s definitely not there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s going on, Jason?’ Rachel said quietly into the phone. She could see DS Hall leaning against the kitchen cupboards, waiting for the tea to brew. ‘Are you bluffing? Is Cara really there?’

  ‘What?’ Jason eventually said. Rachel couldn’t help imagining him standing in the kitchen of his flat. He was such an imposing character – elegant in a lot of ways – but his features were sharp and his muted green eyes made him look cold, and she was beginning to wonder why she’d only just become aware of that fact.

  ‘Is she there? Let me speak to my daughter!’ Rachel couldn’t help herself, she was desperate, and her voice sounded unfamiliar to her.

  ‘I’m not lying. Cara’s not here.’

  ‘She has to be, you promised.’ Rachel’s whole body tightened.

  ‘The last time I saw Cara was when I dropped her off at her mate’s house.’

  Rachel moved down the garden and pressed her mobile hard into her ear. ‘We had an agreement.’

  It was a few excruciating seconds before Jason answered, and Rachel looked up to see DS Hall standing at the patio doors, a mug of tea in her hand. Rachel gave her an almost hysterical smile and raised her hand in acknowledgement, turning her back to the police officer, completely oblivious that her gesture was odd given what she was dealing with.

  ‘It wasn’t me, Rachel. Your daughter is missing.’ Jason’s voice was softer, quieter. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel. This is real and has nothing to do with me. I turned up like we agreed, and she never showed up. I gave it half an hour and left. Don’t call me again.’

  Rachel closed her eyes and squatted down before
she toppled over, as adrenalin caused blood to rush through her legs.

  There was silence at the other end of the phone. Jason had hung up. Rachel pushed her phone into her pocket.

  A prickling sensation rose up the side of her neck. She looked down to see she was on top of the rockery, and she knew when she turned around, DS Hall would be standing right behind her.

  ‘Is there anything you want to tell us, Rachel?’ the detective said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jody was enduring her second day of the new term. She had managed to get through the previous year having suffered a lot of ridicule and bullying over what had happened to her father. Even though there had been no conviction, it was common knowledge because the local papers had reported his police disciplinary hearing. It had all been made worse because her mother had thrown him out. But they’d got through it, a broken family but a family all the same. Jody’s brother Kieran hadn’t, in her mind, dealt with it at all, and had wanted nothing to do with their father after their parents separated. For some reason, Jody had been targeted at school rather than her brother, with students calling her old man a nonce.

  The summer holidays were over and, following the events during the end of the school break, things were bound to be bad, if not worse than before. Jason was being unofficially questioned about the murder of Raymond Hammond and the disappearance of Cara Fearon, and the newspapers printing this fact had fuelled the gossips again. Aside from the weirdo tramp from the church being accused, the locals had decided Jason was guilty. The headlines read ‘WILL HE SLIP THROUGH THE NET AGAIN?’

  Following some social media abuse, Jody had armed herself with a penknife. She wasn’t going to take any shit from anyone, not this year. The school bell signalling the start of lessons had just sounded and Jody, keeping her head down – as if doing this meant no one could see her – entered the classroom. She’d opened the knife and slid the cold metal into the sleeve of her school sweater while she’d been in the toilet.