I, Witness

by Niki Mackay

  ‘Oliver.’

  Emma nods. ‘Disaster just seems to follow that boy everywhere, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Oh, and Denise called for you from Sandcross, by the way. She wanted to know if Martha had been found. I said yes, but didn’t go into detail.’

  I sigh. ‘Looks like we spoke too soon on that one.’

  ‘No sign of her?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  Emma tuts. ‘She has to be with Oliver.’

  ‘The police are looking for her now.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that lovely Deanie Ockham rang as well – the rooms where Claudia and Bethany were found belong to David and Amelia Horfield. They were her therapy rooms, apparently.’

  ‘And you’ve still not managed to get hold of David Horfield?’

  She shakes her head. Her sensible hair stays exactly in place as she does so. ‘Not yet, no. I have his address, and he works at Sainsbury’s in town. I’ve called there and he’s on shift as we speak.’

  ‘Right, I’ll head out there now.’

  I light up another cigarette in the car and dial Denise. She picks up on the first ring.

  ‘Hi, Denise, it’s Madison Attallee.’

  ‘Thanks for returning my call,’ she says.

  ‘It’s not great news, I’m afraid. Martha’s currently missing and is also implicated in a kidnapping.’

  ‘Dear God, you’re kidding me?’

  ‘I kid you not.’

  ‘How awful.’

  I start the engine and swerve out into the road. ‘Denise, did anyone visit her, other than family?’

  ‘Not really, not that I can think of.’

  ‘So just family, doctors – no one else over the years?’

  ‘Well, there was that criminal psychologist, I think he worked on her sister’s case? He came a few times, lovely-looking chap.’

  ‘Dean Hall?’

  ‘That’s the one. Wanted background on Kate’s family.’

  He hadn’t mentioned it to me. I suppose I hadn’t asked.

  ‘Thanks, Denise, I’ll let you know when we find Martha.’

  ‘Appreciated.’

  I ring off and pull up outside Sainsbury’s. Inside, I ask a middle-aged woman with bleached-out hair if she knows where I might find David Horfield and she takes me over to him straight away. He’s stacking shelves. I introduce myself and he doesn’t bat an eyelid.

  ‘I assume this is about my son?’ He sounds resigned. I say it is and he nods but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. ‘I can’t talk to you now though, and I’m on a late. Come to mine tomorrow.’

  ‘Mr Horfield, we have a missing woman who we think might be hurt. If there’s anything you know that could assist I need to know now.’

  ‘I don’t have to talk to you,’ he replies, ‘but I do have to get paid – my wife’s welfare depends on me earning every penny I can, so I’ll be happy to help but I can’t see you today.’

  I notice bleached-out hovering at the end of the aisle. He nods when he sees me watching. ‘The walls have ears here, miss.’

  47.

  Dear Ruth,

  All this trouble for that bloody diary. What a disaster and nothing but pages and pages of nonsense. Why I expected anything else from her I don’t know. It’s your stupid son’s fault. I thought there must be something more. Just amused line after amused line about his hurt feelings, scrawled in Naomi’s acidic prose on every page. He deserved it. For being so stupid. I feel sort of sorry for him though. He’s had to put up with you, his pathetic sisters, and then his stupid, vain wife.

  Marcus should never have got involved with Naomi, that girl was trouble. But he seems to have learned from the experience I’ll give him that, Claudia is in hand. She does what he tells her, like women ought to, although Kate may have put an end to that. See, Ruth, your daughters are just as much of a pain as you were. I suppose Naomi worked out well for me, for a while. I know how to deal with a child like that. I instilled a fear in her that no one had tried before and, usefully for me, she liked narcotics. She developed a nice little habit pretty fast. Do you know she tried to tell me that she loved me on the night she died, after threatening to tell Kate everything! I’d used her for access to the family. Nothing more and she was very easy. All it took was flattery, gifted drugs, and a feigned understanding of the pathetic things that bothered her idle mind. I wasn’t going to have her making demands of me, or ruining what I had worked to achieve.

  She found out about Martha. She had tried to tell me she felt sorry for her which wasn’t the truth. She disliked my attention going elsewhere. Her vanity was her downfall in the end. And I certainly enjoyed it if I’m honest, killing her. I had thought Martha might take the fall, I was confident she wouldn’t mention me. Too many shared secrets for that. But they got her out before the police arrived. No matter, silly Kate not only stumbled in but actually confessed too! I couldn’t have planned it any better. There hadn’t been any others since you, Ruth. But don’t worry, even if there are more – and I think the next ones are likely to be your awful girl children – no one will ever match up to you. My first.

  Maybe he’s not quite as thick as your other children, Marcus. Not as clever as me, of course. Whatever else you might call me it wouldn’t be stupid. I blame their father. And I blame you, of course I blame you.

  The girls will be gone soon, as I’ve said. Martha’s been on her way out for a while. I can’t forgive her for seeing the awful, brash policewoman – sorry – PI. Martha apologised, but the damage had been done. I pretended to forgive her. She was grateful, of course. Pitiful as ever but still compliant. I might find a use for her yet but I’m undecided. As I am about Kate. It’s all about to topple down on me either way, but since I’m different from the rest of you, I have a get-out plan. It’s been in place for years and while it’s rather sooner than I hoped I can honestly say I’m almost looking forward to it.

  A fresh start is often just what we need, isn’t it?

  48.

  Claudia Reynolds

  The doctor calls and says both Bethany and I had Rohypnol in our system. It sounds shocking but he says it shouldn’t do any long-term damage. I’m to keep an eye on her and call if there are any problems. Kate took me into the police station. I wasn’t scared. I felt strong, and brave, and free. I answered all the questions they fired at me. I implicated Marcus and told the detective about his savage beatings and that we had been living in fear. I felt the weight lift from my shoulders just to say it aloud.

  He keeps calling Kate’s flat. I haven’t got a phone any more and I’m in no hurry to replace my old one. Kate is fielding the calls – it’s not a long-term solution but it will do for now. When we have everything more settled I’m going to start divorce proceedings and get a restraining order. The thought of it sends happy shivers up and down my spine.

  Kate is sad. She’s scared of Oliver turning up and scared that he won’t. Everyone is looking for him but he seems to have disappeared into thin air. I’m doing what I can to help Kate and I think we have become sort of friends. It’s been so long since I’ve had one I’d forgotten how it felt. I am worried for her now, but pleased it looks as though her name will be cleared eventually. The DCI, the one I get the feeling is soft on Madison, said as much. But things need to be tied up first. I would have thought the manhunt would be extensive and urgent but to be honest Madison is looking harder than the police. It seems they have other priorities.

  Today, Bethany and I are on our way to go and see my mum and dad. Kate and Madison both offered to drive us there but we are on the train. It feels like something I have to do by myself. I’ve had so many years of things being done for me, even the things I wanted to do alone, that I think it has to stop. I’m going to live by myself – well, with my daughter, but I’ll be the adult. I’ll find a job, manage my own money. Maybe I’ll use
that law degree after all. The thought is terrifying and exciting. In my heart it seems that this trip to Mum and Dad’s is the start of it all.

  I am full of nerves, which increase at every stop. Bethany is excited, colouring and talking to herself on the journey. She claims to remember her grandma and grandpa but I know she doesn’t – she was a babe-in-arms last time they met. I wrote them an email to let them know we’re coming and to tell them what had happened. Not in detail, just enough. They’d written back and said they couldn’t wait to see us.

  I ring their bell and stand clutching my small daughter’s hand. The door swings open and I’m pulled into familiar arms. It’s as if no time at all has passed and relief floods through me. Letting me know I am safe.

  49.

  Madison Attallee

  There are some things that people are better off not knowing. I guess that’s the long and short of it. My mother used to pour out her childhood woes, her bitterness at her parent’s desertion after I was born. She’d rage about my dad, later it was her boyfriends. Things I didn’t need to know. I, on the other hand, probably didn’t talk to Molly enough. I was always so eager to be away from her. Our relationship seemed to be a long series of goodbye hugs and hurried pick-ups before bed. Lots of ‘good mornings’ and ‘night nights’ with little in between.

  Now I don’t have the time with her, I savour every word we trade. I listen in a way I should have done before. If only I’d known. I felt trapped by motherhood, by marriage. Work felt more like home than they did. I was good at work, and so lacking domestically. In retrospect it was hardly surprising. I had no template of parenthood. Rob’s capability made me seem unnecessary. He could get a smile and a giggle out of her when I couldn’t. He’d stay up half the night singing to her, rocking her, whereas I’d be crying or shouting after half an hour. He’d come rushing in, quick to take her, giving me a sympathetic look, ‘it is hard’, and she’d shush and settle. I felt excluded, pointless. When I got to the station I knew what to do, people asked me questions and I had the answers.

  I wonder if it would have been better for Kate if the truth about Oliver could have remained buried. Too late now. You can’t un-know things. I can at least try and get her some answers. Help her to make some sense of it.

  By the time I arrive at the home I’m late. When I head to reception to sign in I’m reminded of the fact by a dour-faced woman in a nurse’s uniform. Then I am shown through to Margaret Hanover. She is old. Really old. Papery skin and hair so thin I can see pink scalp. She is also impeccably dressed and her back is ramrod straight. Despite her years you can see that she was a beauty in her day. Good scaffolding, high cheekbones, eyes wide apart. Like mother, like daughter, like granddaughter.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hanover. I think they told you I’d be coming.’

  She looks at me and nods. ‘You’re here about Ruth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s dead, you know.’

  ‘I know. I’m working for her daughter, Kate.’

  She makes a snorting sound which turns into a heavy, phlegmy cough. She reaches for a tissue but the box is just out of her reach; I pick it up and hand it to her. She snatches it and tells me, ‘Getting old is a terrible thing, you know.’ She wipes and I see thick snot layer the tissue. ‘Unfortunately for me, I still have all my marbles. Most of them in here are as mad as hatters. Ignorance would certainly be bliss.’

  I say, ‘I think I’d rather still be sane.’

  ‘You say that now, wait till you’re wearing nappies. Everything has packed up, it’s a life without dignity. No, I’m looking forward to it being over.’ She leans over and slips the sodden tissue into a small metal bin by her feet.

  She says, ‘I haven’t met Ruth’s children. Well, I met the first boy. She gave him away, you know.’

  ‘I heard.’

  She smiles but it’s a sad gesture. ‘Ah, so you know all about our dirty family secret.’

  ‘I do.’

  She looks at me for a moment and then says, ‘My husband was a bad man, Mrs Attallee.’

  ‘Ms.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  I smile and ask, ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

  ‘Not really.’ She coughs again. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘You know Kate, your granddaughter, has been in prison?’

  She nods. ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘She has hired me to prove her innocence.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘I’m close, though I’m afraid it looks like Ruth’s first son is implicated.’

  She laughs, which breaks down into phlegmy wheezes again. ‘Considering how the poor bastard came about it’s hardly any wonder, is it?’

  ‘You said you met him?’

  She wipes at her nose, tucking the tissue this time up a woolly sleeve. ‘Oh yes. I used to take Ruth to visit him at his foster parents.’

  ‘The Horfields?’

  She nods. I am surprised at this; there is no mention of Margaret Hanover in the file I read. Finding her has been reasonably tricky. Ten years ago she had been in assisted living accommodation in Richmond.

  ‘Was this when Ruth was still at home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I ask her, ‘What was he like?’

  ‘He was a little boy. Needy in the way that children are. Loved Ruth.’

  ‘Did she love him?’

  Margaret sighs. ‘As much as she could, I suppose.’

  ‘But she stopped seeing him?’

  ‘She stopped seeing all of us. She found a husband who loved her – at least I hope he did.’

  I tell her, ‘He did.’ Though I’m not certain that James’s cloying neediness and ability to brush over things is the sort of love Ruth needed.

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘That she married?’

  She smiles. ‘That she escaped.’

  ‘Why didn’t you leave, Mrs Hanover?’

  ‘I really don’t know. This is the first time I’ve ever been on my own. I’ve been here for ten years, you know, defying the odds, living on. I’m ninety-nine, nearly a hundred.’

  I say, ‘Very impressive.’

  ‘It’s not though, is it? It’s as unimpressive as my life has been. I’m here waiting to die. I’ve spent my life waiting to die. I can’t even get that right.’

  I try to keep the outrage out of my voice when I ask her, ‘You knew then?’

  ‘That my husband was raping my daughter?’

  I am shocked by her bluntness, but I nod.

  She shakes her head and I’m a little relieved. I quite like this sharp, well-spoken old woman.

  She says, ‘No. No, I’m that stupid I’m afraid. I didn’t know until afterwards. Until she came up pregnant. I should have. He was twenty years my senior, Raymond. I was barely sixteen when we met, didn’t look a day over eleven. It was quite normal in those days.’

  I try not to shudder. ‘You didn’t suspect anything?’

  ‘Why would I?’ She sighs. ‘Looking back, the clues were there. He tired of me quite early on and I was relieved, if I’m honest. I was never very keen on him.’

  ‘Why did you marry him?’

  She laughs. ‘He asked my father, my father agreed. Different times. I suspect money changed hands. Be grateful you were born now.’

  ‘I am.’

  She nods. ‘Anyway, Ruth came along and he doted on her. Was happy to look after her when he got in from work, played with her, put her to bed. I was pleased, he was a good dad at least. Little did I know.’

  I shake my head. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Were you close to Ruth?’

  She pauses and I see her considering her answer. ‘I loved my daughter, but no, you probably wouldn’t have called us close. I referred to her as a “Daddy’s Girl”.’ She flinches. �
��Poor taste as it turns out.’ She coughs again. ‘After she fell pregnant and he admitted what had happened I tried. I tried to talk to her, I tried to say sorry.’ She shrugs. ‘But the damage was done. Mainly I kept them separate, and I got her a therapist, on the understanding that we didn’t want to press charges.’

  ‘Amelia Horfield?’

  Her face breaks into a genuine smile then. ‘Yes, she was very good. Not judgemental. Helped get Ruth some help afterwards. Spoke to me as though I were on my daughter’s side, which I was. Didn’t make any judgements when I chose to stay.’

  ‘And then Ruth came home?’

  ‘Yes, and Raymond spent most of his time out of the house. I had a lock put on Ruth’s door and when he was in I watched him like a hawk.’

  ‘You must have been sad when she left?’

  ‘Only for myself. For her I was happy, and I told her to go, not look back, but also that she could contact me if she ever needed to.’

  I say, ‘And you never saw her again?’

  She shakes her head, looking confused. ‘Oh no, I saw her again.’

  ‘When?’

  Her eyes narrow. ‘I saw her when the letters started arriving.’

  ‘What letters?’

  ‘You don’t know? I assumed that’s why you were here?’

  ‘No, I don’t know.’

  Her voice rises slightly. ‘Letters, from the boy.’

  ‘Her son?’

  She nods, coughing. She wipes again with the tissue, still nodding at me. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Saying what?’

  ‘Threatening her, saying he was angry. He was upset she had another family. That he didn’t see her.’

  ‘Threatening what?’

  ‘Firstly threatening to tell James, which was her biggest fear. I thought she ought to have just told him. She was convinced he would see her as ruined goods, abandon her.’

  ‘But she wouldn’t?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No. She was quite adamant and it wasn’t my place. But I was worried. I called Amelia.’

  ‘You told her?’