by Tania Carver
Jessie tried to ignore the pain, thought. ‘So … what? They were angry?’
‘Oh, very angry. Very, very angry.’
‘Are you saying they killed their father?’
‘And their stepmother.’
‘And … what? Blamed Stuart Sloane? How could they have done that?’
Jessie heard a laugh in the darkness. ‘They had help. Help that turned on them.’
‘Why?’
‘That was later … ’ Her voice was drifting.
Jessie was worried the woman would become hysterical. She tried to keep her talking, keep her focused. ‘Who helped them, Helen?’
‘Graham.’
‘Graham Watts?’
‘And Jeff. Because Jeff did anything Graham said. But Graham was the one. He arranged it with Michael. He was on hand after the shooting. His job was to give the shotgun to Stuart. Let the retard take the blame, that’s what Michael said. Stuart wasn’t all there. Suggestible. Graham won Stuart’s trust, told Stuart he would help him. Then hung him out to dry.’ She gave out a noise that could have been anything between a laugh and a sob in the darkness. ‘But really Graham was making sure Stuart had the gun when the police arrived. And that was that. Or it should have been.’
‘What happened?’
‘With Jack out of the way, we all made a lot of money. The Sloanes, the Hibberts and Graham. Good times. Then it all went wrong.’
‘How?’
‘Because Michael had his own plans. And Graham didn’t like them.’
‘What does that mean?’
Helen Hibbert sighed. ‘I’m tired … ’ Her voice was beginning to tremble.
Jessie kept questioning her but she would say no more. She tried to think of something positive she could do to head off Helen Hibbert’s breakdown. She felt inside her jacket for her phone. Missing. Of course. ‘They’ve taken my phone,’ she said. ‘Anyone else got one?’
Helen Hibbert just sobbed.
Then came a sudden light. Jessie saw Deepak’s face illuminated in the darkness. Like a disembodied spectre, floating before her. She saw him smile.
‘Still think I’m stupid for carrying two phones, ma’am?’ he said.
Jessie smiled also. ‘Did I say stupid? No, you heard me wrong. Brilliant. That’s what I said, Deepak, brilliant.’
95
Marina stared at him, trying to read him. Couldn’t. She didn’t know if that was because of him or because of herself.
Franks had made the introductions, careful not to mention Marina’s connection with Josephina, then read him his rights. He had nodded along as he did so, answered when asked to and refused a solicitor. The only stumbling point had been his name.
‘Stuart Sloane?’
He had shaken his head. ‘No. Not that. No.’
Franks and Marina had shared a look. ‘What would you like us to call you, then?’
He put his head back, seemed to be thinking. ‘They said I was going to be a new man. Have a new life with a new name. They gave me a new name.’
‘And what is it?’ Franks was almost smiling, being patient.
‘Malcolm Tyrell.’
‘Right. OK. Malcolm it is.’
‘But I don’t want to be called that.’
Franks struggled not to show exasperation. ‘So how would you like us to address you?’
Marina picked up the undercurrent to his question. She was left in no doubt how Franks wanted to address him.
‘Just … Stuart.’
‘Stuart.’
‘For now.’
Franks bit back his reply. ‘Good. Then let’s get going.’ He gave a sideways glance towards Marina, raised an eyebrow slightly. She knew what it meant: did she want to start the questioning? She gave a slight shake of the head. Let Franks lead.
She could have done this through the two-way mirror. Watched from the observation room, guided Franks through an earpiece. That was how she usually worked with Phil. But this was different. She wanted to be in there, alongside Franks, working up close with him. It felt right, under the circumstances.
She stared, again trying to read Stuart. Again, she couldn’t. He seemed to be pleased about something yet at the same time worried. And the two seemed bound together. She didn’t yet know what that meant, so she thought it would be best if Franks started and she could make an assessment as they went.
‘So, Stuart. Let’s start with the most important question. Where’s Josephina?’
Stuart’s eyes clouded over, brow furrowed, mouth turned down at the edges. He seemed to go into himself.
‘Stuart?’ Franks leaned forward, keeping his face open, his features as neutral as possible. ‘Where’s Josephina?’
‘I … I don’t know.’
Marina sat back, trying not to let her frustration show. She wondered, again, whether she couldn’t read him because of what was going on inside her own mind rather than his. She was trying to be as professional and detached as possible and finding it more difficult that she had expected. Perhaps Franks was right, she thought; perhaps she should have just gone home.
‘Come on, Stuart, you can do better than that,’ Franks said. ‘Where’s Josephina?’
‘I … I don’t know. Honest.’ He looked like he was about to cry.
The other two waited.
Stuart spoke again. ‘I was … was trying to protect her … ’
‘By holding a gun on her?’ said Marina. ‘Looked like it.’
Franks shot her a look, but she already knew she had said the wrong thing, allowed her emotions to get the better of her. She fell silent.
But Stuart didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘No, no … ’ he said. ‘I was protecting her. All the time, I was protecting her. When … when Amy was … ’ his face twisted up, ‘not nice to her, to me — I would protect her.’ His eyes became downcast. ‘And then when we got to the, the barn place … ’ He sighed, shook his head. ‘She … she gave me the gun. Said, said … said she would hurt Josephina if I didn’t do what I was told.’
‘Hold the gun to her head?’ said Franks.
Stuart nodded. ‘So, yes. I did it … to protect her.’
Franks was about to ask another question, but Stuart keep talking.
‘Amy made me. Amy. I hated her. She was … horrible. The other one, Jiminy Cricket … ’
Marina’s eyes widened at his words.
‘ … he was nice. I liked him. Or at first I liked him.’
‘What happened?’ asked Franks.
‘He met me out of prison. Took me to the caravan. Told me I was going to have a new life. And he was all nice about it.’ Stuart smiled. Then his face darkened once more. ‘Then I saw Josephina. Tied up. And … ’ He shuddered. ‘Amy wasn’t being very nice to her.’
Marina’s stomach was turning over. ‘In what way, Stuart?’ Her voice was calm, quiet, like an oncoming storm.
‘She … had her tied to the door handle. Said, said if she didn’t shut up, she would … ’ He shook his head.
‘Go on,’ said Marina.
‘ … said she would throw her to the dogs.’
Marina remembered the two dead dogs and was suddenly thankful for whoever had killed them.
‘And I didn’t like that. No.’ Another shake of the head. ‘No. So when we had to leave the house, when Jiminy got … ’
‘Killed,’ said Franks.
Stuart nodded. ‘ … we went … I don’t know where we went. But then Amy went mad. Even madder. And I said, I said I wouldn’t do anything unless she was kind to Josephina. Told her she mustn’t harm her or I wouldn’t help her. And she didn’t. And I helped her.’ He smiled.
‘Good for you, Stuart,’ said Marina. She was trying not to think that her daughter’s well-being — her life, even — had been in the hands of a man such as this. That was for later. There were more pressing demands.
‘Thank you,’ said Stuart, beaming. ‘And I told Amy, no more. My mind was made up then.’
‘When?’ asked Franks.
‘At the barn place. When she gave me the gun. I wasn’t going to hurt Josephina, even though Amy wanted me to.’
Marina’s stomach flipped once more.
‘But I was going to hurt Amy.’ He smiled. ‘I was going to kill her.’
Neither Franks nor Marina spoke.
‘I know it’s wrong, that you shouldn’t do that. I know. But she was … ’ He sighed. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’ He nodded, as if confirming that his action would have been the correct one. ‘But the police stopped me. And brought me here.’
‘Yes … ’ said Franks.
‘I knew who she was. It happened then. It all came back. All the good things, and the horrible things too.’
Franks shot Marina a glance: help me out here.
‘What came back, Stuart?’ asked Marina.
‘The memories. Because of Amy. And that’s why I was going to shoot her.’
‘Why, Stuart?’
‘Because I know who she is.’
Marina was about to ask another question, but Stuart kept talking.
He smiled. ‘And I know who I am now.’
96
Amy sat on the floor of what used to be the living room. Head against the damp, rotting wall. She had taken back her earlier thoughts. The house she used to know was still there. Even in the short time she had been back, the layers had peeled away, like the blackening wallpaper behind her, and the house had begun to reveal itself to her as it once was. As she remembered it.
She swung her torch round, the light illuminating only in patches. She kept trying to make out what was in the shadows, the darkness. She thought she could see things moving in there, jumping out of the way of the beam, trying not to be caught by the light. But they didn’t scare her. She welcomed them. Because she knew what they were.
Ghosts. Memories.
The ghosts were all around her. In the darkness, the shadows, when the light moved away from them. She could hear them, see them running from room to room. Feel the warmth from them. Almost touch them. The happiness. Like paradise before the fall.
Before it all went wrong. A dead mother. And a retarded boy.
Then the end of everything.
And this was the room where it had happened.
She looked to where she had once stood. And she saw the ghosts live again.
There was Michael standing in front of her, holding out the shotgun. Pointing it at her. He had already taken care of their father and his new wife. Now he just had to do her and Graham would do him and everything would be set.
‘It’s going to hurt,’ he had said.
‘Just do it. Get it over with.’ She had closed her eyes. Opened them again just in time to see the look in Michael’s eyes, the smile on his face. Just in time to realise that it was going to hurt a lot. That soon she would be as dead as her father.
She had tried to jump out of the way, but the shot still hit her. Michael had been right. It had hurt. And that was the last thing she remembered about that day.
She blinked, back in the present. Looked round again. Saw the house as it was now. Left to rot. To waste away. To decay. To die. Unloved and alone.
She knew just how it felt.
‘No … ’ she screamed. The sound echoed and died around the walls. ‘No … ’ Much softer, just for her ears alone.
No. It couldn’t be the end. It couldn’t. There was still one thing she could do. One more roll of the dice, as her father used to say.
Or two, actually.
She took her phone out. Dialled a number she wasn’t supposed to know but could never forget.
Waited. For the end.
Or the beginning.
97
Michael Sloane threw the last of his things into the leather holdall on the bed. That would have to do, he thought. It was only stuff he was leaving behind. He could always buy more stuff to replace it later. He could buy more of anything.
Dee was in the bathroom making herself beautiful. He looked at her bag next to his on the bed. Matching. His and hers. Two parts of the same being. Completing each other. That was how he had always felt with her. But he had felt like that before.
His thoughts were interrupted. His phone was ringing.
He took it out, checked the display. Recognised the number. He knew he shouldn’t answer. But knew he also had no choice. He put it to his ear.
‘Yes.’
‘Hello, Michael.’
The voice was ruined and ravaged, but still unmistakable.
Dee came out of the bathroom, looked at him, raised an eyebrow. Wanting to know who was on the phone. She saw the look in his eyes. Knew.
‘What d’you want?’
‘Is that any way to talk? To me?’
‘I’m in no mood for games.’
A laugh. Harsh. Bitter. ‘Then you’ve changed, Michael. You always used to have time for games. Didn’t you?’
‘What d’you want.’ Not even a question, just a flat sentence.
She detected the change in his tone. Knew better than to toy with him any further. ‘You,’ she said.
‘Goodbye.’
‘No. Wait. I want to talk. Please. We … we have to talk.’
‘Why does it have to be now?’
‘You know why … ’ She paused, seemed to be gathering herself up, stopping herself from unravelling further. ‘It has to be now. After everything that’s happened. We have to talk.’
Michael looked at Dee. Mouthed the words: she wants to talk. A smile crept on to Dee’s features. Her fingers clasped and unclasped. She nodded.
‘OK, then,’ said Michael. ‘We can talk.’
A sigh from the end of the line. ‘Good.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Guess.’
Irritation entered Michael’s tone. ‘I told you, no more games.’
‘Not a game, Michael. Guess.’
He knew. ‘The house.’
‘The house. I’m there now.’
‘See you soon.’ He hung up. Turned to Dee. ‘As I said. She wants to talk.’
Dee gave another smile. ‘That’s the last thing she’ll want to do when I’ve finished with her.’
Michael smiled. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’
‘I’ll go straight away.’
‘Take the Golem. He should be finished making our unwelcome guests disappear by now. Get her dealt with once and for all. I’ll finish up here. You know where to meet.’
She crossed to him, kissed him on the lips, biting down in the process. He pulled away. Smiled.
‘Later,’ he said. ‘Go.’
She went.
He watched her leave, then looked back at the bags on the bed. Side by side. Identical. Completing each other. But he had felt like that before. He thought of where he was going. Thought: it’s just stuff.
He could always buy more stuff to replace it later.
98
Mickey lay back and smiled. He couldn’t see Anni next to him, but he was sure she was smiling also. Or fairly sure. He checked. Yep. She was smiling too.
‘What?’ she said.
‘Nothing, just … nothing.’
She turned over, settled into him. He loved the feel of her warm naked body against his. Hoped he would never tire of it.
‘Nothing?’ she said. ‘Thanks a lot.’
She was smiling as she said it. Or at least he hoped she was. He checked again. She was.
After the call Mickey had made to Jessie James was abruptly ended, he’d got straight on the phone to the force in Suffolk, informed them of what had happened. He didn’t like leaving it and walking away, but he had no choice. He didn’t know where Jessie had been when she had taken the call — if indeed she had taken the call; if it had been a prank after she had lost her phone, perhaps, or if it had been genuine. Mickey’s gut feeling was that it had been genuine. The DI he had spoken to from Suffolk had agreed with him and assured him they would take it from there. Jessie and Deepak were their officers, after all.
/> Then, as they were finishing up looking through the files on the Sloanes at the station, Franks had called. A catch-up call. He asked them what they had discovered. Mickey told him about the call he had made to Jessie James, its abrupt end. Franks agreed that, procedurally, he had done the right thing.
‘Doesn’t make it any easier to cope with when you’re sitting on your own, though, does it, DS Philips?’ he had added.
Mickey had looked at Anni before answering. ‘No, sir. Doesn’t.’
Franks had then told them about the raid on the bareknuckle fight. And about finding Marina.
‘Thank God for that,’ Mickey had said. ‘Is she OK?’
‘Shaken. We’re still looking for the daughter, though.’
‘Oh God … ’
‘We’re working on it. It’ll be a long night.’
‘D’you want Anni and me to stay on, sir?’ Mickey asked. ‘Come and help?’
‘Stand down, DS Philips,’ Franks had said. ‘You two have done enough unpaid overtime for one day. At least I assume it’s unpaid.’
Mickey had agreed that it was.
‘Then leave it at that. Go home. Go to bed. Get some sleep.’
Mickey — and Anni — had done two of those things.
‘What are you looking at me for now?’ asked Anni.
Mickey smiled. ‘No reason. Just—’
His phone rang. Anni looked at him. ‘We’re off duty, remember?’
‘After the last few days?’ said Mickey. ‘You think so?’
He answered it, identified himself.
‘DI Adrian May. Suffolk Police. You phoned us earlier about DS James?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. What’s happened?’
‘We just wanted to let you know that we’ve heard from DC Shah.’
‘Thank God. They OK?’
‘The signal was very weak. He mentioned something about DS James being hurt and both of them being taken against their will.’
Mickey sat up. ‘Right … ’
‘But we’ve tried to put a GPS trace on his phone.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Harwich, we think.’