Sleep Tight

by Rachel Abbott

  When the terms of the will were actually made known and Melissa had fought and lost her battle for Jack’s money, she had said that even if she couldn’t have the money she wanted something of Jack’s and had applied to the solicitor for him to release Jack’s papers to her. The solicitor had refused, and Tom had forgotten all about it. Until now.

  Without really knowing why, Tom pulled his mobile from his trouser pocket.

  ‘Steve? Tom Douglas here. Sorry to bother you, but I wonder if you could do me a favour?’

  Tom asked Steve to go to the house and retrieve the spare key from its hiding place, then remove all the papers to somewhere safe. He didn’t know why this felt like a good idea, but it did. And as soon as this case was over, he was going to give those papers the time they deserved.

  Tom ended the call with a promise of a pint sometime soon, and pushed all thoughts of Jack’s papers out of his mind. He needed to get back to work.

  Something had been bugging him all day, something to do with the death of Olivia Brookes’ parents.

  He retrieved his briefcase from the hall and pulled out the file.

  46

  Sophie was relieved that her mum had been advised to stay in hospital for another day. She had so much to do, and she would have been really worried about leaving her at home on her own. The poor woman would probably be terrified from now on.

  Sophie had arranged for an alarm company to come out to the house, and they had recommended a panic alarm next to her mother’s bed. They were also going to change the Yale lock for a five-lever one, so she could ensure the doors were secure when she had to go out. At least if Robert Brookes decided to pay them another visit, there would be some resistance.

  But Sophie didn’t think he would come back. He was a man on a mission, and she hoped Liv had covered her tracks well enough. With any luck, she would stay hidden from Robert forever, because she couldn’t go back to a life with no freedom, a life in which every minute of her day was closely observed and scrutinised by a man mad enough to plot and scheme to keep her by his side. He was also a man who seemed capable of great violence, although as far as she knew he had never laid a finger on Olivia. Yet.

  In the meantime, there were a few things Sophie had to do, and one of them was to pay a couple of people for their services. She had already sorted out payment for the false papers in the name of Lynn Meadows. They were cash on delivery. But the video work was different. That had been edited and uploaded remotely.

  Sophie couldn’t think of any reason why she would be spotted or recognised, but she felt uncharacteristically nervous as she made her way down a narrow alley in Manchester’s newly revived Northern Quarter, casting furtive glances over her shoulder every now and again. Somehow, this lane seemed to have been overlooked in the local regeneration, and it lacked the excitement and creative vibe of the surrounding area. She wasn’t given to being fanciful, but she felt as if pale faces were lurking behind the black windows, watching and wondering what she was doing there. It was just starting to get dark, and it didn’t feel like a good place to hang around – particularly when she wasn’t exactly fighting fit. She was limping badly, and would seem like an easy target to anybody looking for one.

  She approached a dark brown door, flaking with old paint. There was a buzzer on the wall. No name. She pressed and waited.

  After what seemed to be a long thirty seconds, she heard a buzz and a click as the door opened. She hadn’t been asked to announce herself, but she knew she was being observed. Stuart would never let anybody in unless he was sure they were safe.

  She trudged up the two flights of dark concrete stairs, her bad leg sending stabbing pains that seemed to travel right up to her head with each and every step. Bastard Robert Brookes. Fucking nut job. When she reached the top, she paused to recover her breath. It wasn’t the exercise that had exhausted her, it was the pain. Sweat dripped off her forehead, but she grabbed a tissue from her bag and, tutting with irritation at her own weakness, she scrubbed her face dry.

  When she had recovered, she pushed open another door, and was met by the gloom of Stuart’s studio. Although the stairwell had been dark, this was taking darkness to another level, and the only light came from the monitor that was partly obscured by Stuart’s head. He didn’t turn round.

  ‘Got the money, then?’ he asked, while still spinning the controller on his editing equipment.

  ‘Why else would I be here?’ she responded in a similar dismissive vein.

  As she moved further into the room, she could see Stuart’s face illuminated in the flickering screen. His huge, prominent eyes seemed about to pop out of his head, but they were the only large thing about him. He was as emaciated as a twig, and his head was shaped like an inverted triangle – wide at the top to accommodate the eyes, then narrowing to a pointy chin with a tight mouth. His greasy hair flopped down across his wide forehead, and was tucked behind his ears like a girl’s. As he rotated his controller with one hand, he picked at an angry-looking zit on his chin with the other.

  Stuart was the best, and Sophie had no doubt at all that he would never say a word to anybody about what she had asked him to do. His life outside of one of Her Majesty’s prisons depended on it, because she had far more on him than he had on her. She could have forced him to do it for nothing, but there was always a chance he would have booby-trapped the work, and it seemed fair to pay him.

  She leaned against the wall, taking the weight off her bad leg as she watched him weave his magic. Much as he was a totally unprepossessing git of a man, she was mesmerised by his skill. He could choose the exact spot for the perfect edit, and he was so quick it left her breathless.

  ‘You did a great job, Stu. It was perfect.’

  ‘Of course,’ he answered, not taking his eyes from the screen.

  ‘How long do you think it will take the police to spot it?’

  ‘It all depends whether they’ve got any of the good guys working on it. Some of them are as sharp as needles, some are total tossers who wouldn’t spot the obvious if it was shoved up their arses.’

  ‘Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,’ Sophie responded. It had to work, though.

  ‘I must say, somebody is one very smart cookie,’ Stuart said.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, there was lots of subtle stuff in the shots. The vase of daffodils was an inspiration, really. It wasn’t centre screen – nothing obvious – but there it was. A good guy who is concentrating will have spotted that. And the next day the flowers were gone, and the day after they were back again in the same position. Then there were the clothes – there was just a lot of stuff I would expect even an experienced continuity girl to get wrong, let alone somebody who’s never done anything like this before.’

  ‘Probably bought Continuity for Dummies or something,’ Sophie said dismissively, pushing herself off the wall.

  Stuart turned round and looked at her. ‘Is there such a thing?’ he asked, with a note of wonder.

  ‘I don’t sodding know. I made it up, you wanker.’ Sophie grunted. ‘Anyway, genius guy, here’s your money. All there, and a bit of a bonus because you really pulled it off.’

  Sophie placed an envelope on the desk, moving aside a cardboard box that looked to have at least day-old pizza in it. She was careful not to move any of the half-full coffee cups. She’d done that once and Stuart had yelled at her. If she’d spilled anything on his precious equipment, she was pretty sure she would be dead by now.

  ‘You paid Mack yet?’ Stuart asked, without turning his head. ‘Cos when I pass on my contacts, I like to check they’ve been treated right.’

  ‘Course I have.’ Sophie looked at Stuart’s strange, extra-terrestrial face with the flickering images from the monitor sending patterns of light across it. ‘Is he really called Mack?’ Sophie asked. ‘Or is that just his moniker – you know, Mack the Mac Hacker?’

  ‘Never asked. Don’t much care either, but he’s a bleeding magician. Was in and out of
that guy’s FaceTime logs without leaving a trace. Fucking brilliant,’ he muttered. ‘Make sure the door closes properly behind you.’

  Stuart didn’t glance her way again and, realising that this was her dismissal, she braced herself for the return journey down those bloody stairs.

  47

  Tuesday

  By Tuesday morning, Becky was feeling as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. They had heard back again from the Alderney police, who were continuing with their enquiries but, as yet, nothing had come to light. The sergeant confirmed they had spoken to the accommodation agencies, hotels and B&Bs. A few names had been put forward and they had investigated each of them, but as yet they hadn’t tracked Olivia down – if indeed she was still there. They had to accept the fact that she may never have been there at all, or might well have moved on since she had spoken to Robert the previous week. Which meant she could be anywhere, including under the terrace.

  Even though they were certain that Danush Jahander’s body had been taken away from the house in Robert’s car, Jumbo had got his way and a team was out in the back garden now, using the radar equipment to check the grounds. The rationale was that if Robert had killed once, they had to check for other bodies.

  Tom had told Becky he was convinced they would find nothing, but this had become a murder enquiry and therefore they needed to explore every possibility. He was fairly certain that if Robert had killed Olivia and the children, he wouldn’t have buried them there. But until they knew for sure that this family was safe, they couldn’t take the risk.

  Becky looked across at Tom. He had been quiet this morning too. He’d been puzzling over something in a file, but as yet he hadn’t shared the details with her.

  They also had the feedback on Robert’s credit card activity from the previous week. Tom had reasoned that he must have stopped for petrol on his route from Newcastle to Manchester on the Wednesday night, but he hadn’t used his credit card once. That was certainly outside his normal practice, and it suggested he wanted no evidence of his trip to be found. However, they did know he had bought some items from John Lewis in Newcastle on Thursday, and the shop had looked into the details. He had bought a knife – and it seemed it was the one in the knife block at the house.

  The store had been incredibly helpful, and had managed to track down the member of staff who had served Robert. Becky had spoken to her on the telephone.

  ‘Was he looking for a specific knife,’ Becky had asked, ‘or was it just a certain type of knife?’

  The sales assistant had sounded slightly breathless, as if she had been running. But Becky knew that it was a kind of strange excitement at being asked questions by the police.

  ‘Oh no. He was very precise,’ she said. ‘Even to the point of having the product code with him. I do remember him, because he kept looking at his watch, as if he needed to be somewhere. He said he was running some kind of event and had nipped out during the lunch break. I tried to get him interested in comparing two or three different knives – you know, just to show that I wasn’t trying to push him into buying an own-brand item.’

  ‘Wasn’t he interested in the Sabatiers?’ Becky asked, remembering that Jumbo had said the rest of the knives were all the same type.

  ‘No. They do look very similar, but he said his wife would “flay him alive” if he came back with the wrong one. He laughed when he said it, though.’

  ‘So was the product code written down then?’

  ‘Yes, he had it on a piece of paper.’

  Becky thought for a minute.

  ‘Could you see if it was written, or was it typed in an email, or printed from the website – do you have any idea?’ she asked.

  ‘It was written in blue pen,’ the assistant said. ‘I know because he asked me to hold the paper while he checked out the knife. That wasn’t the only item on the list, but it was the only one from our department. I’m afraid I did take a peek at what else was on there. Only to see if there was anything else I could help with, of course.’

  ‘And…’ Becky said.

  ‘The only other item I can remember was in bedding, I think, but nothing else in the kitchen department.’

  ‘So somebody had written a list for him then,’ Becky said.

  ‘I don’t think so. I think he must have written the list himself, because he seemed concerned to check that he hadn’t transposed any of the numbers. There was one number that he couldn’t read, and he said he’d been trying to balance the paper on his knee as he wrote. I got the impression that somebody had dictated it to him.’

  Becky wasn’t sure at all where this got them, but she thanked the shop assistant and wrote up her notes.

  Tom appeared to be waiting for her to finish.

  ‘Becky,’ he said, a frown of concentration adding years to his usual relaxed expression. ‘Can I run something by you please?’

  ‘Course. Anything that gets my mind moving because frankly it feels like it’s sunk in the mire at the moment. Please – some light relief.’

  ‘Hah. I’m not sure I can offer that, but there’s something that’s puzzling me, and I would really like your take on it. It’s about the death of Olivia Brookes’ parents – Mr and Mrs Hunt. It’s nearly nine years ago, but at the time there was something about it that felt wrong. I couldn’t get a handle on it, but I think I have now. I just don’t know if I’m fantasising for all the wrong reasons.’

  Becky leaned back in her chair and picked up the mug of cold tea that she had meant to drink half an hour ago. She took a sip and shuddered, but it was better than nothing. ‘Go on, I’m all ears.’

  ‘We were called to the Hunts’ home at about two o’clock in the afternoon on the day of their death. I’ve told you how they died and how Olivia found them. But for some reason, I was never entirely convinced it was an accident. We couldn’t find anything to prove otherwise, and I wasn’t sufficiently confident back then to go with my gut, plus there was absolutely nothing to go on. Until I read through the transcripts last night.’

  Tom closed the file and put it back on his desk. ‘I’ve read through it so many times, but there are a few things I remember too. While I was talking – or trying to talk – to Olivia, who was practically hysterical, her phone rang. It was Robert Brookes. She was pretty much incapable of speaking, so I took the phone from her and explained what had happened. He said he’d be right there.’

  ‘Wow. That’s impressive for somebody who’s just buying a house,’ Becky said, slightly in awe of Robert’s dependability in the face of adversity. ‘Most people would just have said, “Let me know when it’s sorted,” I’d have thought.’

  ‘Well, he turned up about half an hour later and I spoke to him. He seemed very concerned for Olivia. Even though it was still hot in the house, she was shivering, and he took off his jacket and put it round her. When the policewoman who had been looking after Jasmine brought her back to hand her over to Olivia, she just ignored her baby so Robert took her. We were quite impressed. Anyway, I asked him if he had been in the house previously so we could rule out his fingerprints. He said he’d never been there before.’

  ‘And?’ Becky said, looking at Tom but not having a clue where this was going.

  ‘I was the one who spoke to him on Olivia’s phone, and I just gave him the bare facts about the parents. Nothing more.’

  Becky waited. Tom’s eyes were boring intently into hers. He was obviously expecting her to make some connection, but whatever he was thinking was eluding her. She waited.

  ‘If he’d never been there before, how the hell did he know where they lived, Becky?’

  *

  Tom couldn’t think how he’d missed this the first time round. It could have been the fact that Olivia was in such a terrible state, alternating between screaming that something wasn’t right and collapsing, sobbing to the ground. Not that it was surprising. She was weak and bewildered by everything that had already happened to her, so this must have left her reeling.

  It
was no good berating himself now, though, and he was sure that if he’d asked, Robert would have had an answer. More than likely he would have said that Olivia had left some papers in the flat with her parents’ address on, or that she’d mentioned in passing where they lived. There would have been an excuse – and one that would have been entirely plausible.

  But why would Brookes harm the Hunts? How would he have got in, because the towel in the air inlet was definitely one from the house, and if somebody had removed those batteries it had to have been after the parents had gone to bed.

  For a while, the investigation had centred on Olivia. First her boyfriend had gone missing, and then her parents had died. If she had done anything to hurt them, though, hers would have been an Oscar winning performance of monumental quality when she found their bodies.

  Robert had been discounted. He was just the guy buying the house. Why would they have even looked twice at him?

  The fact is that they didn’t.

  But maybe they should have.

  48

  Finally, Robert thought as he stepped off the boat in Alderney harbour. What a pig of a journey. He had never intended to spend a night on Guernsey, but by the time he had arrived there was little choice. He wished he had just taken the risk and flown, but the police must be looking for him by now. This way he could slip on to the island relatively unnoticed.

  Then all he had to do was to find Olivia. He smiled at the thought.

  He didn’t know if he would have to find somewhere to stay. It all depended on how quickly he could track her down. He tried to drag the picture of the beach she had shown him into his head, but as they had sailed into Alderney he had seen plenty of beautiful beaches, and it could have been any one of them.