by Niki Mackay
‘Oh yes, I told her it was out of hand. She said she’d speak to him.’
‘When was this?’
She thinks about it. ‘Christmas 2004. Amelia was in a terrible accident shortly after. Apparently she hasn’t been the same since.’
‘No, I believe it shattered the whole family. Her husband had a breakdown.’
‘David?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sad to hear that, I saw him when we went to visit the boy. A lovely man. Not keen on taking the lad in but utterly devoted to Amelia from what I can tell.’
I ask her, ‘Did the letters stop?’
Her eyes fill. ‘I don’t know. She was gone three months later. The last time I saw her I had been badgering her to tell James.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
She shrugs. ‘It’s as it is, isn’t it? You can’t change the past, can you? It should be her alive and in the world, not me. I wish that I’d been a better mother sooner but I like to think in the end I was able to show up, even if it was too little too late.’
I say, ‘I’m sure she was glad to have someone to talk to about it, especially when the letters started.’
‘You think it’s him.’ It’s not a question.
‘Who killed Naomi?’
‘Yes. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’
I nod and tell her, ‘I do, yes. He started a . . . friendship of sorts with Kate and I think he may have used Ruth’s other daughter to make it happen, I’m not entirely sure how yet.’
She pauses. ‘Martha?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ruth said she was unwell. I’m sure all of the children suffered. That was what the letters were about, you know.’
I ask, ‘The children?’
‘Yes. He didn’t want her to love them.’
I am incredulous. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s what he asked of her, he wanted her to show them the same lack of love she showed him.’
I think about what Kate has told me, about Ruth sitting around unconnected. Unable to love them. I say, ‘Oh God.’
‘Yes, awful, isn’t it.’
‘James said she suffered some kind of depression and then became distant . . . is that why?’
She nods her frail head. ‘Yes, I would suspect so. She sobbed to me about it. About not being able to hold them, but she said he spied on them. He always seemed to know what she’d been up to. She was quite certain that James could love them enough for them both. I didn’t agree.’
‘What did he threaten her with?’
‘Exposure.’
I say, ‘But none of it was her fault.’
She shrugs. ‘That’s what I told her. Over and over, but she wouldn’t hear it. I begged her to go the police, she begged me not to. I felt it wasn’t my place to force her.’
‘How did she know he was watching her?’
‘She saw him.’
‘In the house?’
She nods. ‘Once, more usually when she was out and about. Though he’d never speak to her. He’d include details of her life in the letters. Things that had happened at home so she knew he’d been watching somehow. She lived in fear, I’m afraid, Ms Attallee, again – as if Raymond’s destruction of her hadn’t been complete enough.’ She purses thin lips and asks me, ‘Do you have enough to arrest him?’
‘I think we will. He’s missing at the moment, even his wife doesn’t know where he is.’
‘His wife?’
‘Yes, they’ve been married for five years. She’s expecting her first child. You didn’t know?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Have you any idea where he might have gone?’
‘I don’t think I do, no.’
‘Mrs Hanover, if you think of anywhere significant that Oliver might head to it would really help.’
Her eyes widen and she says, ‘Oliver?’
‘Yes.’
She’s shaking her head. ‘Oliver was the Horfields’ biological boy, not Ruth’s son.’
And something clicks in my mind. Little things have suddenly started adding up: the visit to Martha, not mentioning it to me, the fact that he had been up to date on everything as it unfolded. At that very second I know the answer even as I ask, ‘Mrs Hanover, what was Ruth’s son called?’
‘Dean. The name she gave him was Dean.’
50.
Dear Ruth,
It’s all happening, isn’t it? I’m writing this in a hurry, so you’ll have to excuse my cursive. She’s on her way over here now. Kate. Martha is with me as I write but she’s really only here in body. Don’t worry, she’s still breathing. For now. I’ll leave them both here. That meddling, tarty bitch Madison has likely found my bastard grandmother, Margaret, and my fake family by now, so it won’t be long until they work out I’m here. If they haven’t already. Tick tock, tick tock.
I’m most sad about losing this place, I must admit. The house you grew up in. The house you made me in. The one I didn’t get to spend my childhood in. I’ve made it my own. The décor was a bit dated – not to my taste at all. I was surprised when I found out Margaret had kept it, to be honest, after he died. I used to visit her as well as visiting you, you know. Not when she was in, mind. She never guessed. I even took a few knick-knacks over the years. When she sold it I waited and then made an offer the new owners could hardly refuse. I had a feeling she might want rid of it eventually but she shouldn’t have. It was her husband’s house after all. Seems she was as unsentimental as you, eh? I can’t really remember her, though apparently we’ve met. Amelia said she used to accompany you on visits. She stressed over and over again that you both loved me.
I think I would have preferred to have met him. Raymond. My father. The man you both despised. I can see why you’d have been cross but my guess is, Ruth, that you encouraged it. I bet you were like Kate. She hugs and squeezes, bats her eyelids and makes all the right ‘poor little girl’ noises. They’d be hard to resist for a different kind of man. I’m immune. But I can see how it might test a man who wasn’t.
I don’t delight in women. Not at all.
I’ve got to go. I can hear your daughter knocking.
51.
Madison Attallee
As soon as I get outside I break into a run. I need to call Emma. My efficient helper picks up on the second ring and is halfway through hello when I butt in, struggling to breathe and wishing not for the first time that I didn’t have a thirty-a-day fucking habit.
‘Peter, you need to call Peter,’ I say, breathlessly.
She asks, ‘DCI Branning?’
‘Yes. If you can’t get him, Deanie Ockham.’ I rush her through what I’ve just discovered. ‘We need to find out where Dean lives ASAP. They’ll do it quicker than we will, but I want you to stress to Deanie that I want in on it, okay?’
‘Of course. Where are you going to be?’
‘I’m going to go and get Kate.’
‘Okay, got it.’
I hang up and swing clumsily into my car. I dial Kate as I go. It rings and then goes to voicemail. Fuck. I call the landline and back out, almost hitting a car heading towards me. She picks up just as I shout an obscenity at the other driver. Shit.
‘Pardon me?’
‘Fuck, sorry, not you, Claudia.’
‘Madison?’
I say, ‘Claudia, is Kate there?’
‘No, you’ve just missed her.’
Oh God. ‘Where did she go?’
‘She went to meet Dean for dinner.’
Fuck. ‘Claudia, I don’t suppose you know where she’s gone to meet him?’
‘His house.’
‘Do you know where that is?’
‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. Madison, what’s going on?’
‘I’ll e
xplain later. I need to keep calling her.’
She says, ‘There’s no point.’
‘What?’
‘Her phone’s here. I just heard it ringing in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, shit.’
She says, ‘Madison, what can I do?’
‘Nothing. Stay there. If she comes back, call me.’
Emma’s on call waiting. I let Claudia go and pick up Emma’s call, narrowly swerving to avoid a stupidly large SUV.
‘Emma.’
‘We have an address for Dean in North Kingston. Deanie says they are sending officers over there straight away. I got the address, though I must say she was a bit sniffy about sharing it.’ A PI solving their case probably isn’t going to look good. I wonder if Malone’s had a go. Oh well.
‘Okay, text it to me. I need to call David Horfield. I’m not going to make it to him today.’
‘Okay. Are you driving?’
I sigh like a naughty child, caught out. She tuts. ‘Be careful.’
‘Fine.’
I suddenly realise I have no idea where I’m supposed to go. I pull over to the side of the road to put the address into my phone’s satnav and light a cigarette with a shaking hand. Just as I am fumbling trying to put in the postcode my phone rings. ‘Peter, I’m on my way,’ I snap, annoyed that he’s delaying me while I’m trying to get my damn map to work.
He says, ‘Don’t bother, that’s what I’m calling to say.’
‘They’re not there?’
‘No, but Dean’s tenant is.’
I let it sink in and say to Peter, ‘He doesn’t live there?’
‘No and isn’t registered anywhere else either, nowhere we can find anyway. Deanie’s doing her best.’
‘Shit.’ I tell him about Kate.
He says, ‘We need to find him.’
‘I know,’ I almost shout.
I hang up and sit for a moment. Feeling impotent. Emma messages me with the same information I’ve just got from Peter. Fuck it, I need to do something. I floor the accelerator. The tyres squeal as I U-turn out and cross lanes. I get to David’s at almost the same time as he does. I half expect him to turn and run or at least tell me to get stuffed but he doesn’t. He stands looking at me. Hands in pockets.
52.
Anthea Andrews
I am still fuming from Damian’s outlandish behaviour around the PI. I hate it when he talks about Naomi like that. He thinks it’s because I have a skewed view of who our daughter really was. It’s not that at all. I of all people knew that girl’s failings, which were legion. I know that, on some level at least, we must have been at fault, or perhaps it was just me. I had been so happy to have my little girl. I was so overwhelmed with the pleasure of motherhood. I didn’t mind the two a.m. nursing and rocking. So grateful was I to be permitted into the Mummy Club.
I had jumped every time the baby had whimpered. I’d run in, guns blazing, to fix every problem before it erupted. That was a mistake. I know that. Damian had chastised me along the way and I’d rolled my eyes at him playfully and carried on letting our princess child do whatever she wanted. And she’d turned into a young adult who did exactly the same. Damian thinks I don’t know it but I do. By the time the weight of it had sunk in it felt too late to fix. And besides, it never stopped me loving the girl. Not even a little bit.
The funny thing is, Damian doesn’t even know the half of it. There were plenty of things that I had kept away from him: finding her in bed with various boys, watching her pick on Kate, knowing she was sleeping with Kate’s boyfriend – though it turns out he knew about that. Naomi never had an ounce of shame either. I’d walked in on her and Marcus right in the middle once. Poor lad had nearly died, jumping up, grabbing at covers. My daughter had stood up naked, stretched, and breezed past me with a smile. I’d threatened to tell her father and Naomi had shrugged ‘upset him if you like’. And I hadn’t. It was just another thing I’d kept to myself.
This morning I feel jittery and panicky. Tailing Kate has led me to a bad place, a place of doubt where I had been so sure. Because coming out of that office I had suddenly realised why that psychologist had seemed familiar at the trial. He was a man I’d encountered before. One I’d found holding my daughter against the kitchen wall by her throat, not long before Naomi died. We’d come home early and heard our daughter sobbing in the kitchen. We’d walked in and seen a grown man pinning her to the kitchen wall. I’d only seen him briefly, from behind, which is how I’d just seen him coming out of the office. It had jogged my memory. His face had been covered with glasses then and he’d dropped Naomi when he saw me. Pulled a large baseball cap down over his eyes and hurried out the back door, hunching his shoulders exactly as he’d been doing coming out of the glass building. I had run to my daughter, trying to comfort her as she sobbed, asking if I should call the police. I’d gained a slap around the face for being stupid and had been left, dazed. Damian had chased Naomi up the stairs, fuming, the man forgotten.
Now I’d seen that man again. I’d followed him for long enough to be certain it was the same one. He’d headed into that office shortly after Kate, and I’d googled him later to make sure. Dean Hall. The man I’d seen with my child two days before she died.
53.
Dean Hall
I can see the look of surprise on her face when I open the door. And why wouldn’t she be surprised. The house doesn’t match me. Not from the outside anyway. I know how I present and this small terraced two-up two-down isn’t fitting of a man who wears handmade suits. She lets out a low whistle once she’s in though. As well she might. I have a flair for aesthetics and I’ve made the most of the small space. Everything is knocked through, the kitchen is cordoned off but the rest of it is one big open space. White, simple and beautiful. I’m looking at it now, trying to take it in through her eyes. It really is nice. I’m broken from my thoughts by the vile sound of Kate snivelling. I turn and try to look at her sympathetically as she sobs. I lead her to the sofa and gently help her sit. She sinks down immediately and I ask if she wants tea. She nods and I go and prepare her a cup and one myself, careful not to mix them up. I sit down opposite her and tilt my head to one side, a look I’ve practised often enough in the mirror, along with smiling, looking sad, and other things that don’t come naturally to me. I ask her, ‘What’s happening?’
‘My dad and Marcus were covering for Martha.’
I make my eyes widen and find myself having to push aside a genuine laugh. ‘She killed Naomi?’
She’s shaking her head. ‘No. Oliver did.’
‘Bloody hell. I’m so sorry.’
She laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. She sips at the tea, evidently savouring a moment of relaxation.
‘Why did they think it was Martha?’ I ask.
‘She was in the room. She must have stumbled on Naomi before I did.’
I shake my head, the perfect portrayal of outrage, and mutter, ‘Goodness me.’
‘She helped Oliver take Claudia and Bethany as well. At least, she helped him keep them captive. Stupid girl.’
I say, ‘He must have been manipulating her.’
Kate snaps back, ‘We all have choices, Dean.’
‘You’re angry with her?’
‘Of course I’m bloody angry. Sorry. It’s not your fault.’
‘Who else are you angry with?’
We’ve done this dance before and she replies exactly as I’ve pushed her to. ‘Myself.’
‘Why?’
‘I brought Oliver into our lives.’
‘Because you just had to have him?’
She shakes her head, I suspect she’s starting to feel dizzy. ‘I was so lonely, Dean.’
‘And so needy. There he was served up on a plate.’ She looks suitably chastised.
‘Naomi introduced us,’ she stammers. I smile at that. I remember sendin
g Oliver in. He’d been reluctant at first, whining that it wasn’t right. He’d taken a shine to Naomi after he’d seen her, though. I had had to have strong words with my foolish fake brother about that. It was Kate I’d wanted access to. Not Naomi. Oliver had nearly wrecked everything with his pathetic lust. I had had to come in, start afresh with Naomi and make it all like a mysterious game. One where Kate would end up being the victim. Nasty girl that Naomi was she hadn’t even questioned it. Just laughed at the thought of setting up her new, older boyfriend with her best friend and keeping it all shtum. I shudder at the memory of the stupid girl. So full of herself but ultimately so pathetic. I’d been so very glad when I saw the last scrap of life drain out of her eyes. Some people were just asking for it.
I say to Kate, ‘So you went for the first interested bloke that came along?’ It’s spiteful but she doesn’t pick up on it.
I suspect she feels sick now, as well as dizzy. She’s only drunk half the cup but it will have been enough. ‘Could I have some water?’ she asks me.
‘Not feeling well?’
‘No.’
I pour her a glass of water in the kitchen. By the time I get back to her she looks awful, damp and blotchy. She grasps at it but struggles. In the end I hold it to her lips. She glugs gratefully. ‘Thanks.’
She slumps backwards mumbling, ‘Sorry.’
‘Maybe it’s everything catching up on you?’
‘Yes.’
‘The realisation that it’s all your fault.’
She shakes her head, trying to clear it and asks, ‘What?’
‘I said worrying that it’s all your fault.’
She wipes a hand over her forehead. ‘It is. No one would have known Oliver. Or Naomi, for that matter.’
There is a crash. Bugger. I stand quickly. ‘Let me just go and check that out.’
When I come back down the stairs I see her fumbling in her bag.
She nearly jumps out of her skin when I speak. She hadn’t realised I’d come back into the room. I’m so close to her I can see sweat glisten on her stupid face. I ask, ‘Are you okay?’ My face is screwed up in concern.