Tom said none of this to Becky.
‘I thought I loved him,’ she continued. ‘He was so attentive, so thoughtful. We could only meet three or four times a month, but he rang me all the time when I was off duty, and he just made me feel great.’
Tom closed his eyes and stifled a groan. He knew Peter Hunter was married. He had met his wife, who seemed pleasant enough, but in spite of that he wasn’t one little bit surprised about his extra-marital behaviour. He was more surprised by Becky.
‘I know it was stupid. I knew he was married, but I think I was mesmerised by him.’
Becky was quiet for a few moments, and Tom thought maybe it was time for him to speak.
‘You’re not the first to be dazzled by somebody like him, you know. It’s the old wealth, power and fame bit, renowned for being huge aphrodisiacs, and Peter certainly had power. I gather it’s over now?’
Becky gave a bark of unamused laughter.
‘And how. His wife came to see me.’
Tom didn’t know whom he had the most sympathy for – except it definitely wasn’t Hunter.
‘She told me her husband was unfortunately addicted to adoration, and that I wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. I said that I loved him, and she laughed at me. She said I was confusing infatuation with love, and it was time to grow up; that I have an idealised concept of what love is, and it’s not all about passionate nights, and flowers. That was the general gist, anyway.’
Mrs Hunter had a point. It was all so easy when romance ruled the day. Tom’s mind flipped to Leo – terrified of letting him get too close in case being together was the very thing that would drive them apart. He couldn’t force her to drop her guard, though, so he could either wait it out or move on. He dragged his thoughts back to Becky, who clearly wanted to get it all off her chest.
‘I asked her why she put up with it, if this wasn’t the first time. Do you know what she said? She told me that she despised him for his weakness. He was less of a man in her eyes, and he’d hurt her very badly. But love was about so many things, and she had long ago decided that perfection was unattainable. What do you make of that?’
‘She could be right – I’ve certainly never experienced perfection. Have you? Even those we’ve loved all our lives are highly unlikely to be perfect.’
Becky was quiet for a moment, so Tom continued.
‘I’m sure that what you had with Peter felt great. Secrecy itself can be intoxicating. But in the short times you had together, it would have been all about giving each other your undivided attention. At home he might be the person who expects to be waited on hand and foot, or speaks with his mouth full, or picks the hard skin on his feet when he’s watching the television, or farts in bed.’
That, at least, raised the hint of a smile from Becky.
‘Some people can live with these things,’ he continued, ‘and some can’t. I once knew somebody who divorced his wife because she wouldn’t let him put his football trophies on the mantelpiece. Peter and his wife may have rubbed along just fine together, and she may prefer to live with somebody who she thinks less of for his infidelities than to be with somebody who on a daily basis irritates the hell out of her for his thoughtlessness and lack of consideration. We don’t know. We’re not in their marriage.’
Becky dropped her head. He gave her a moment.
‘What was the outcome?’
‘Basically, she told me to “get out of Dodge”. Either I looked for another position or she would have words with her uncle – who naturally just happens to be the Deputy Commissioner – and she would see to it that my career was stifled. I’m not sure she could do that, but it was all irrelevant because he never spoke to me again, other than to refer to me as Sergeant Robinson when, and only when, he had to.’
Tom could see how difficult it was for Becky to admit this.
‘I read a saying once,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure where it’s from but it goes something like this: “If a man tries to steal your wife, the best form of revenge is to let him have her.” Switch genders, and that’s how it might have ended for you and Peter. Imagine she’d chucked him out and he’d ended up on your doorstep. How long do you think it would have lasted?’
Tom watched Becky’s face as she weighed up what that would have been like. Poor kid still looked like death warmed over. ‘Thanks for telling me, Becky. It must have been hard on you and you must miss him.’
Becky turned to him with her eyes wide open. ‘You think I’m like this because I’m missing him?’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘You’re wrong. I feel wretched for so many reasons, but mainly I feel so guilty. I don’t know who I am any more. That’s what’s been eating away at me. I’ve always thought of myself as a kind, thoughtful person, but I’m sure Ruth Hunter sees me as a callous, manipulative bitch. So which one of us is right?’ Becky paused. ‘And then there’s my total stupidity, which obviously needs no further explanation.’
This time her smile was more genuine, and it seemed to Tom that this might be an appropriate moment to change the subject. He didn’t want Becky to think he was dismissing her confession lightly, but there was little he could say. She was going to have to come to terms with it herself.
He watched her as she took a huge gulp of coffee, and he could almost see her dragging her mind away from the dark place that was still haunting her.
‘Speaking of dodgy marriages,’ she said, ‘there was one thing I noticed last night when we were talking to Brookes. It seems he always chooses to call his wife when the children are out of the way. Either before they get up, or after they’ve gone to bed. And then, on top of all of that, he kept going on about finding his wife. He’s barely mentioned his kids. Have you noticed that?’
‘I certainly have.’
‘It seems odd, seeing as how last time it was the children he appeared to care about. Unless he knows exactly where the children are, of course, which brings us neatly back to my theory.’
Becky turned to Tom with a trace of a cheeky smile, but before he could respond Tom glimpsed some movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look through the windscreen just as Robert’s Jag swung through his gates.
‘Hang on, Becky, here he is, and unless I’m mistaken, that’s our very own DC Tippetts chasing him up the drive. Come on,’ Tom said, scrunching his now empty coffee cup and thrusting it into a paper bag. ‘We can’t wait for bloody Ryan to put his foot in his mouth again.’
15
The drive back from Anglesey had seemed much quicker than the journey there. Why was it always the case that when you want to get to a place it seems to take forever, but when you don’t the trip flashes by? He hadn’t been in a rush to get home because he knew he was going to have to face some backlash from the police. They hadn’t asked him to stay at home, but they wouldn’t be pleased that he had questioned Mrs Evans.
At least he was reasonably confident that the landlady wouldn’t say anything she shouldn’t to the police now. He was sure she had understood the implications of repeating everything she had told him.
He patted the breast pocket of his suit jacket and felt the resistance of the photo that was nestling there. What luck that he had happened to notice this picture on Mrs Evans’ noticeboard, crammed in amongst so many others. There was no way he was leaving it there for the police.
Robert pulled into the drive and glanced in his rear-view mirror. A man was jogging behind the car, speaking urgently into his mobile as he ran. Not one of the police who had been there the night before, but he was sure he was a policeman nevertheless. What now?
As Robert opened the car door and started to get out, his ears were assaulted by a racket coming from his neighbour’s garden.
‘Sir, I’m glad you’re back. Can we go in the house, please?’ the policeman shouted. ‘I need to talk to you, and I’d rather talk inside, if it’s okay with you. It’s a bit noisy out here.’
Robert tutted with frustration. Typical that his neighbour had chosen this weekend to
hire a digger and demolish his front drive ready for some fancy new cobbles.
He walked into the porch, retrieved a bunch of keys from his pocket and hunted through them, taking his time to find the right one. He needed to get his thoughts together and be ready to explain himself. Finally he inserted the key in the lock and opened the door.
As he turned back to the porch to invite the policeman inside, he noticed a small box with Olivia’s name on the top.
‘What’s this? Do you know anything about it?’ he asked the policeman.
‘Yes – your neighbour across the road has been keeping hold of it for your wife. The head teacher from the school called round earlier in the week with it. She’s stuck an envelope on the front, with a note in it.’
Robert bent down to pick the box up. What the hell did he need with school stuff now? He carried it inside and dumped it in the hall, ripping the envelope off and shoving it in his pocket. He turned back towards the policeman.
‘What?’ he said, planting his legs firmly apart and folding his arms. The policeman could make what he liked of his stance, but he was damned if he would apologise for what he had done.
‘Could we ask you, Mr Brookes, not to leave the house without letting us know where you’re going in future? We were concerned last night when we discovered that you’d gone.’
‘Am I under arrest?’ Robert was struggling to keep his temper at bay. He had enough to worry about without this ape telling him what to do.
‘You managed to get me a right bollocking for not noticing you’d gone out and I didn’t know where you were. Don’t do it again – okay?’
Robert was tempted to smile, because the policeman had failed to realise that in the few minutes they’d been standing on the doorstep the two detectives from the previous evening had walked up the drive, their footsteps masked by the sound of shattering tarmac, and had witnessed this comment.
It was the woman who leaned forwards and spoke as quietly as she could. ‘Thank you, DC Tippetts. We’ll take it from here.’
Robert saw the man’s eyes close as if in disbelief that he’d been overheard. Dropping his head, he turned and walked out of the house without raising his eyes to either of his senior officers.
‘Sorry about that, sir,’ the inspector said, with a smile that didn’t go further than the corners of her mouth. ‘DC Tippetts is correct, though, Mr Brookes. We would prefer to know where you are. We may have news; we may need your help. There are any number of reasons why we might need to speak to you – and not only did we not know where you were, but you had your phone switched off.’
‘So why were you watching me then? Surveillance, is it?’
The senior policeman spoke for the first time.
‘It’s not surveillance of you, sir. It’s the house. We want to know if and when your wife returns.’
Robert shook his head.
‘Well, as you can see, she hasn’t. Okay?’
Tom Douglas was looking at him carefully, and Robert could tell he was weighing him up.
‘Really, sir? And how do you know she hasn’t returned? We can only see the hall – she could be in the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom. I didn’t hear you call out. Did you, DI Robinson?’
Robert felt a sudden rush of blood to his head. Crap. He should have thought of that.
*
Tom was watching Robert very carefully, and could see how uncomfortable the man was. He was absolutely certain that Robert knew his wife and children would not be here. How could he know that?
Robert was quickly trying to cover his mistake by talking; shifting the emphasis away from the fact that Olivia wasn’t here.
‘Well, no doubt you’ve heard the news from Anglesey that I’m not a liar. Mrs Evans got it wrong, as I’m sure she’s told the local police. Perhaps you believe me now? Perhaps when I say I haven’t seen my wife since I left here two weeks ago you might give some credence to my story?’
Tom stayed quiet, knowing Becky would step in.
‘I’m sure you appreciate that in a case like this we have to check everything. We have to suspect everybody. Mrs Evans has confirmed that she has never seen you before, so I’m sorry for the mix up, sir.’ Tom knew Becky was softening Robert up by apologising.
‘Well, believe it or not I knew I hadn’t been there, so I wasn’t mixed up in the slightest.’ His brief smile indicated a sense of victory.
‘So why did you go to Anglesey, Mr Brookes?’ Tom asked. ‘We’re investigating a missing woman and three children, and to have somebody – no matter who it is – interviewing potential witnesses is at best unhelpful, and at worst detrimental to the investigation. Do you want us to find your family?’
Robert looked shaken. Good, thought Tom. And so he should be.
‘I’m sorry – but I wanted to know why the landlady had lied. I couldn’t see any harm in it.’
‘If you want to know anything, you ask DI Robinson, or you ask me.’ Tom gave Robert a moment to absorb what he’d said. ‘Now, before we jump to the conclusion that something has happened to your wife, one thing we need to do is look into your financial situation. We need to know if she had enough money to disappear and leave everything behind her.’
Robert’s face relaxed. He looked almost as if he thought that was funny. Somehow, Tom wasn’t surprised. Given the locked study door and the schedule on the wall, he was beginning to realise that Robert Brookes very much liked to be in control.
‘You’d better come in then, I suppose,’ he said, with little grace. ‘Look, you know I’ve been up all night – so I’m going to need some coffee to keep me going. Sit down, check the house, do what you like. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
Robert disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Tom and Becky standing in the hall. Becky just looked at Tom and he frowned.
‘For somebody who wants us to find his family, he’s not being exactly co-operative, is he?’ Becky said.
‘No, but there could be lots of reasons for that. If he thinks she’s just upped and left him, he could be feeling any emotion from shame to despair. If he thinks they’ve been abducted he could be scared, or feel guilty that he didn’t protect them better.’
Becky nodded. ‘And if he offed the lot of them, or even just the wife, he could be feeling scared, guilty and in despair.’
Before Tom had a chance to respond, the door from the kitchen opened, and Robert ushered them into the living room. Nobody sat down.
‘Right. What do you want to know?’
‘We’d like to know what money your wife has access to: credit cards, bank accounts, etcetera. Obviously we can check this, but it would be better if you could talk us through how the money is managed in the home.’
‘That’s easy. My salary is paid into an account in my name, and I use that to deal with all the household expenses – mortgage, utilities and so on – plus any other major expenditure. Olivia collects the bills and we have what I’m sure you can imagine is an exciting bill-paying day each month. There’s a separate household account that I put money into for food, and odds and ends for the children. Olivia has a debit card on that account, and when we do the bills we check what’s been spent and what’s left. If there’s any money in the account, it’s rolled over into next month, or if she needs more, we top it up.’
‘Have you checked the account recently, Mr Brookes?’ Becky asked. Robert’s top lip curled slightly as if it were a thoroughly stupid question.
‘Of course I have. I checked it yesterday. There’s nothing unusual. A cash withdrawal in Anglesey, probably for ice creams and stuff, and then this week a Sainsbury’s shop. Exactly as I would have expected. Nothing else at all, apart from filling up with petrol once.’
‘What day was the shopping done?’
‘Monday. And she spent £78.03, if you want to know.’
‘If the account was for food, what did your wife use if she wanted to buy herself something – a new dress, for example – just on impulse?’ Becky asked.
&nbs
p; Robert laughed.
‘Olivia is the least impulsive person you could ever wish to meet, Inspector. She buys stuff online. She does a bit of research and chooses a few things, then we complete the transaction on my credit card when I get home. Same for me and the children, except for their shoes. She likes to get them properly fitted. Olivia loves Internet shopping. Everything can be sent back, so she can try things on and show me, and if she doesn’t like something, back it can go. You don’t understand what she’s like. She hates responsibility. I like looking after her, and she looks after me.’
This just sounded like more evidence of control to Tom, but he knew he shouldn’t judge. If Olivia Brookes had issues, maybe this was the way they managed their lives.
‘Look, go and check her wardrobe if you’ve concluded that I’m a tight-arse.’ Robert extended his arm sharply upwards and stabbed with his index finger towards the bedroom. ‘It’s full of clothes. Good clothes. Designer, some of them. Check her make-up bag – all Chanel or Dior. Not that she ever wears much. She doesn’t need it. There’s nothing Olivia can’t have. She has everything she’s ever wanted.’
For just a second, Tom saw a faraway look in Robert’s eyes as if he had left the room and was visiting another place or another time. His eyelids dropped slightly, but not before Tom had glimpsed something that looked like regret in Robert’s eyes.
16
As he entered the incident room, Tom sensed a quiet buzz of energy from the ten or so people hunched over their desks, speaking softly on phones or sharing information with colleagues. Becky would have briefed the team by now, but his presence would indicate that she had his full support. The day-to-day running of the investigation was down to her, but with Philippa Stanley breathing down Tom’s neck given the history of this family, he also needed to keep up to speed.
Tom felt as if he had been up for hours, but it was still only eleven o’clock in the morning. He had a strange feeling that this day was going to get worse before it got better. Walking over to Becky’s desk, he nodded a polite ‘Good Morning’ to those he passed, and pulled out a chair.
Tom Douglas Box Set Page 88