by Maggie James
Five minutes later, she’s back, carrying a tray laden with mugs and toast. To her relief, Dana takes a slice and manages a small bite. ‘I don’t understand.’ Her fingers shake as they hold the food. ‘Three properties, all connected to me? No way is that a coincidence. No wonder the police are suspicious.’ She clutches her daughter’s hand, her palm sweaty, presumably from fear. Lori’s also afraid. The fires are moving ever closer to the Goldens, becoming intensely personal. But if so, who’s behind them, and what’s their motive? Why would anyone target her mother?
As though she’s read her daughter’s thoughts, Dana moans, the sounds wracked with pain. ‘I’m being punished. I’m being punished.’ No matter what Lori says to comfort her, Dana rocks back and forth, muttering her mantra of distress.
Without warning, Lori’s pyrophobia flares up, hot and terrifying. Could this house be next? The thought is unbearable, forcing her to run to the downstairs toilet, terror twisting her stomach. She retches uncontrollably, despite not having touched her coffee or the toast. ‘Oh, God, oh, God,’ she moans as her tears fall. Will this nightmare never end?
Later that morning, Lori’s in her room, her stomach still queasy. Please, God, she thinks, let the police catch this maniac, and soon. To think she felt hounded by those journalists; it’s nothing compared to knowing an arsonist has her family in his sights.
At that moment, her mobile rings. Lori sighs when she sees it’s Aiden again. She can’t avoid him forever, though.
‘How are you?’ he says when she answers. ‘Been a while since we last spoke.’
‘Not good. Something awful has happened.’
‘Can you talk about it?’ Concern in his voice. Despite her irritation with him, Aiden’s always been a good listener, and she’s desperate to unburden herself. Lori recounts the arson attacks, how the police believe Dana is being targeted.
‘God, that’s awful,’ he says, clearly angry. Aiden fires questions at her, his voice rising all the while, until at last she hears wheezing. Then several puffs on his inhaler.
‘Sorry,’ he manages, when he’s breathing normally again. ‘I just can’t believe this is happening. Listen, can we get together soon? Please?’
After the call ends, she replays Aiden’s behaviour in her head. Is it her imagination, or is he behaving weirdly again?
Later, at Ryan’s flat that evening, she tells him about the latest arson attack at Copper Beeches, along with what Lightfoot said about being targeted. ‘I’m terrified, Ryan,’ she concludes. Her voice shakes with the effort to stay calm, to avoid the mental images of fire, blisteringly hot and terrifying.
‘Come here.’ He opens his arms, a smile on his lips, a welcome on his face. As Ryan holds her close, relief overwhelms Lori. If she could, she’d stay this way forever.
‘Can I make a suggestion?’ he says.
Lori pulls back, staring at him. ‘What?’
‘Move in with me. Wait,’ he continues, on seeing her surprise. ‘Let me look after you, Lori. Keep you safe.’
Oh, if only. It’s impossible, though. ‘Mum needs me,’ she says, regret in every syllable. ‘To make sure she eats, drinks, goes to dialysis. I can’t leave her on her own.’
He nods, disappointment in his expression. ‘You’re right. Sorry, sweetheart. I wasn’t thinking.’
‘It’s OK.’ Happiness pierces Lori, however. She examines the idea of the two of them living together, finding she likes it. A lot. As well as what it says about Ryan’s feelings for her. As for her own, she suspects they’re moving towards love. He’s not perfect; he snores like a bear with a bad cold and he’s moody in the mornings, but Lori doesn’t care. This man’s a keeper, she decides.
Chapter 8
ARREST
The next day sees Lori and Dana sitting in the living room, nursing mugs of coffee. It’s midday on Saturday, and Jake has gone out, meaning the two women are alone. Spencer also left earlier in an obvious attempt to avoid Dana. Most likely Lori too; they’ve barely spoken since he strode out of her room and slammed the door. The winter sunshine streams through the blinds, reminding Lori that for the rest of the world, life goes on whether she’s grieving or not.
‘God, I miss her.’ Dana’s face is tear-streaked, pale, but her voice is steady. ‘Her smile, the way she’d toss her hair off her face, you know? My baby girl. I can’t believe she’s never coming back.’
‘I miss her too.’ Lori squeezes her mother’s hand, leaving her own clasped in Dana’s. It’s true; she grieves for Jessie every second. The mental pictures of her sister, half naked, fighting as her attacker rapes and kills her, torture Lori. Jessie begging, pleading, as her killer winds the length of flex around his fingers. Her strangled protests. The light draining from her eyes as he chokes the life from her.
Lori gives herself a mental head slap. Be strong, she tells herself. You have to. For Mum’s sake.
‘Did you have breakfast today?’ she asks.
Dana shakes her head. ‘No.’
‘You must eat. Keep your strength up, stay healthy. In case they find a donor.’
Neither of them says the words out loud. Everything leads back to Jessie’s corpse lying in the police morgue, and what it represents.
Dana frowns. ‘I’ve got too many other things to deal with. I can’t think about a transplant right now.’
Lori is at a loss as to what to say. OK, so this isn’t the right time, but she needs to block the awful images of her sister’s murder from her mind. She draws in a breath before tackling what she knows will be a difficult conversation. ‘Mum, I have an idea.’
‘What, love?’
‘I want to try to find Uncle Ross again. Listen,’ she says as Dana opens her mouth to protest. ‘I know you don’t want me to. But it makes sense. If I can track him down—’
‘No.’
‘We can harness the power of the Internet. I’ll do another Facebook appeal. Twitter too. If the post goes viral, someone, somewhere, will know where he is.’
‘I said no.’
Lori flinches at her mother’s vehemence, but presses on anyway. ‘Are you sure you don’t have any photos of him? They’d be really useful.’
‘Leave it, darling. Please.’ The exhaustion in Dana’s voice tugs at Lori, but what choice does she have?
‘Why won’t you help me? It’s the obvious solution. If we can find Uncle Ross, get him tested to see if he’s a match for donating a kidney—’
‘For God’s sake, Lori, give it a rest, will you?’ Dana bites her lip, clearly aware of her harsh tone. In a softer voice, she continues, ‘I doubt you’ll find him. He’s long gone from my life.’
Lori’s aware of that. Ross Reynolds is a man who, throughout her childhood, remained a shadowy, unknown figure. One she doesn’t recall much about. She decides on a different tack.
‘Will you at least tell me why you don’t want to find him?’ Lori’s aware of the petulance in her voice, but she needs to delve deeper into this.
Dana blows out a resigned breath. ‘You’re not going to let this go, are you?’
‘No. Help me understand, Mum. Please.’
Her mother takes a sip of coffee. ‘I’ve no idea where your uncle is, other than abroad. And no, I don’t have any photos. I lost them all years ago when we moved house.’
‘Why don’t you want me looking for him?’
‘Because he’s not even in the UK. I don’t want you going on a wild goose chase searching for your uncle. Or getting your hopes up. It won’t do any good, even if you find him.’
‘Why not? He’s your brother. There’s a strong possibility he’ll be a match. Why wouldn’t he want to help you?’
‘It’s a big thing to ask, love. Donating a kidney while you’re still alive – not many people are comfortable with the idea.’
‘But isn’t it different if the person needing the organ is a relative? If there was the smallest chance I could give you one of my kidneys, I would, in a heartbeat.’
Dana smiles. ‘I kno
w, darling. But you’re not a tissue match. And that’s all there is to it.’
‘So let’s find Uncle Ross. He’ll want to help, if we can only find him.’
‘He won’t. We were never close, Lori. Just because people are related doesn’t mean they share a bond. Don’t waste your time looking for my brother. There’s no point.’
The finality in her mother’s tone floors Lori. She senses Dana is approaching the end of her endurance. Best not to press the issue. Not today, anyway.
‘Besides,’ her mother continues, ‘we’ve not buried Jessie yet. Her death is still so raw, so unreal. My baby girl is lying in a mortuary, with her murderer on the loose. I can’t think about my kidneys or your uncle right now. You understand, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Lori almost protests that Ross Reynolds should be told his niece is dead, get the chance to attend the funeral, but doesn’t.
Silence for a while. In her head, Lori lays plans. Dana may have her opinions, but Lori’s not bound to accept them. She’s an adult, so doesn’t need her mother’s permission to search for her uncle. Her first appeal on Facebook didn’t work, but there’s no reason she can’t try again. She’ll draft a new post, ask everyone to share it, in the hope that Ross Reynolds will come forward. Time isn’t on her mother’s side; the queue for a suitable donor is long, and Dana has been on the list for two years already. Dialysis may be fine as an interim measure, but what she needs is a kidney transplant, and the sooner the better. Her illness isn’t a condition that takes any prisoners.
The front door opens, startling both of them. Lori looks up, catches Spencer’s eye as he walks into the hallway, clocks his furtive expression, before he heads upstairs. Her mother’s hands clench in her lap, but she doesn’t glance towards the doorway.
‘I know you think I’m being hard on him,’ Dana says.
‘I don’t think he did it, Mum.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Spencer’s not a killer. He couldn’t hurt anyone.’
‘Rubbish.’ The sharpness in her mother’s tone startles Lori. ‘He’s an ex-junkie, he drinks like a fish, and now, from what Jake says, he’s dabbled in arson as well. You think it’s a coincidence three of my houses have been set on fire? Who’s to say he didn’t turn his attention to Jessie, that he’s not a murderer as well? Hardly surprising I’m kicking him out.’
Lori fishes for something to say that won’t upset Dana. ‘It’s your house. You must do what you believe is right.’
‘It’s impossible to be in the same room as him anymore. I can’t help thinking he was involved in Jessie’s death. He’s acting guilty, you must admit. His behaviour’s been really weird.’
So has Aiden’s, Lori thinks, swiftly quashing the thought. She received another text from him this morning, to which she sent a cursory reply. ‘Don’t go there, Mum,’ she says. ‘Please. Is this why you and Jake are arguing so much? Because you suspect his son, because you’ve told him to leave?’
‘Yes. Why didn’t Spencer answer his phone that weekend? Why rush off again after coming home, without calling DC Campbell?’
‘He’d never hurt Jessie. He said once she was like a sister to him.’
‘Didn’t they argue that night, though? Isn’t that what you told the police?’
‘So? Doesn’t mean he killed her. Hardly unusual for Spencer to go on a weekend drinking bender, is it? Besides, he’s given a saliva sample, talked with the police. The DNA test will eliminate him, then DC Lightfoot and her colleagues can concentrate on finding Jessie’s killer.’
‘I guess.’ Dana wipes a tear from her eye. ‘But I still want him gone. I’ve never been comfortable around the guy.’
Before Lori can answer, her mobile beeps. She squeezes her mother’s hand, before letting go to pick up her phone. A text from Ryan. Any news? Thinking of you, gorgeous. Can’t wait to see you again. She types a quick reply: No news, thanks, you too. When?
‘That Celine?’ Dana asks.
‘No. Ryan.’
‘Ah, your new man.’ Her mother manages a small smile, a sight that warms Lori’s heart. ‘Are things going well between you two?’
‘Brilliantly. He’s been a rock, Mum. He says he’d like to meet you sometime.’
‘I’d like that too.’ A tired note hovers in her mother’s voice. ‘Not for a while, though, OK? I’m sorry, love. I don’t feel up to it right now.’
‘I know. That’s what I’ve told him. Anyway, it’s too soon for him to do the whole “meet the parents” thing. He’d like to come to Jessie’s funeral, even though they never met, but he says attending wouldn’t be appropriate under the circumstances. He’s thoughtful, Mum. Definitely a keeper.’
‘You met him at a fundraiser, right?’
‘Yes. His mother suffers kidney problems too. He volunteered at an event I organised for the dialysis unit. We got chatting, and one thing led to another.’
Dana smiles again. ‘I’m pleased for you, love. Got any photos I can see?’
‘Yeah. On my tablet. I’ll show you later, when you’re not so tired.’
‘Are you seeing lover boy tonight?’
Lori shakes her head. ‘No.’
‘A cosy night in, then. Just the two of us. Jake’s got a business dinner.’ Her tone turns sour. ‘Or so he claims. Probably got a poker match lined up.’
Guilt tugs at Lori. She hopes Dana won’t get upset over what she’s about to say. ‘Mum, I forgot to tell you. I’m meeting Dad this evening.’
Later, Fraser Golden and his daughter sit opposite each other in Pepe’s Pizza, the aroma of garlic heady in the air, the other diners’ conversations pulsing around them. Lori studies her father across the table. Like her mother, he’s aged ten years since Jessie’s death. Normally well groomed, tonight he’s dishevelled, unshaven, his hair long and uncombed. His skin is as pasty as his ex-wife’s. Red veins are scribbled across the whites of his eyes, under which hang heavy bags.
‘Has that Campbell woman said anything to you?’ he enquires. ‘I’ve been on the phone constantly, pushing for information, but I’m getting nowhere. Seems the police aren’t any closer to nailing Jessie’s killer. Although they’re expecting the DNA results any day now.’
Lori shakes her head. ‘If I’d heard anything, I’d have called you.’
Fraser’s expression sours. ‘What about Spencer Hamilton?’
‘The police have questioned him, but he’s not been charged. Besides, I don’t believe he’s a killer.’
‘Isn’t that what most people say? How so-and-so can’t be a murderer, they’re too nice, and then, wham! Turns out everyone got it wrong.’ He exhales noisily. ‘And what about these arson attacks at your mother’s houses? You can’t tell me they’re not connected with Jessie’s death.’
Lori doesn’t want to head down that route. Besides, she’s curious. ‘Dad, why are we here?’
Fraser exhales deeply before he replies. ‘I wanted to treat my daughter to a meal out. Is that so strange?’
Yes, Lori wants to retort. It’s not how they operate. Since her parents’ divorce, she always visits her father for coffee at his flat whenever his hectic travel schedule permits. She bites back the urge to stab him with words. Instead, her nails chip away at the wax-encrusted Chianti bottle that serves as a candle holder.
‘It’s just that we rarely do this,’ she says. ‘Eat out, I mean. You’re abroad so often.’ An old grievance for Lori.
Fraser reaches across the table, pulling her fingers off the bottle, grasping them between his. ‘What happened to Jessie . . .’ His eyes slide away, a sure sign he’s ill at ease. He clears his throat before continuing. ‘Made me realise how precious you are.’
The words stun Lori. Fraser Golden has never been verbally demonstrative.
‘Thanks,’ she manages.
Fraser laughs. ‘That the best you can do?’
Lori smiles. ‘Sorry. We should do this more often. I miss you, Dad.’
Regret snakes into her father�
��s expression. ‘I’m aware I’ve been an absentee father. What with being abroad so much.’
Don’t forget all the affairs, Lori wants to shout at him. ‘I wish you and Mum hadn’t divorced,’ she says instead. Her neediness slips out before she can suppress it. She means it, though, despite the bitter rows between her parents prior to their separation.
Her father drops her hand, his countenance sobering. ‘I’m not getting back with your mother, sweetheart. That ship has sailed.’
Disappointment washes over Lori. Don’t be a child, she admonishes herself. She understands he’ll never live with Dana again, but the realisation still hurts.
Her fingers resume picking at the Chianti bottle. ‘Sorry. It’s just that with Jessie gone, Mum’s health issues, these awful fires . . .’ Her tears are threatening to burst their banks. She can’t cry, not here, not in front of her father. She swallows hard, dredges every last molecule of self-control she can muster, driving her nails deep into her palms. If she concentrates on the pain, the tears will dry up. To her amazement, it works. When she speaks, her voice is steady.
‘I miss you,’ she repeats.
Fraser doesn’t respond at first, causing Lori to fear she’s pushed too far. Then he takes her hand again.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he says. ‘Jessie’s murder rammed home how little I saw of her before her death. Same with you, sweetheart. I’ve got a trip to Singapore coming up, but after that I intend to spend more time in the UK. So I can see more of my remaining daughter.’
Lori wants that, she really does. She loves her father, and if Dana’s health worsens, Fraser might end up being all the family she has. More than enough reason to grow closer to him. She remembers she has Ryan now, though. His suggestion that she move in was unexpected, yet wonderful, sparking thrills in her belly. Her boyfriend’s the polar opposite of Fraser; if things pan out between them, she won’t end up one of those women who choose a replacement father for a partner. Ryan’s different. Not interested in other women, and not the jealous type, either. Take her recent friendship with Aiden Scott. Instead of getting all territorial and green-eyed, Ryan had simply reassured her, with a kiss, that he trusted her. That meant a lot.