The Lies Within

by Jane Isaac

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Grace stared out of the windscreen at the sea of cars that clogged the supermarket car park. This was Phil’s work. The staff knew her as the manager’s wife from social evenings and events they’d attended together. Some of them were even guests at their wedding. She’d always loved coming here, chatting to people on the way around, passing the time of day.

  Not today though. Her stomach churned. This was her first outing since they’d lost Jo, apart from the odd walk with Lucky, and the thought of people flocking towards her with their sorry eyes made her suddenly want to leave. But she needed to do this. To show her family that she could function. That they mattered too.

  Phil cut the engine and released his seatbelt. “I’ll just get us a trolley.”

  The car door slammed shut behind him. Grace summoned all of her energy in order to gather her bag and walk the short distance across the car park towards the entrance where Phil was waiting. He was talking to David, the trolley gatherer who turned and smiled as she approached. “Good to see you, Grace,” he said, and moved away to help an elderly lady load her shopping into her car.

  Grace took the trolley from Phil and crossed the threshold. She immediately spotted the familiar faces of Steve and Ruth re-stocking the grocery section. They smiled, gave a simple greeting. Ruth winked. No head tilts, no pained faces. Phil had obviously prepared them for her visit and she was grateful for his tact. They moved up and down the aisles. At the deli counter, Sharon touched her wrist and said, “It’s good to see you.”

  Grace felt her shoulders slacken and immersed herself in the familiar routine, asking Phil to reach up to the high shelves, taking time to browse the shop’s different offers. Grace had always loved to cook and was rarely happier than when she was in the kitchen, creating some new dish for everyone to try. To her, the supermarket was like a sweet shop to a child, and she savoured the experience, cruising up and down the aisles, selecting just the right fruit and vegetables, picking out new ingredients to try.

  Phil’s constant presence at her side though was starting to irritate her. Food shopping was something she’d always done alone and she enjoyed the time to herself. She sent him off to select some wine and started to peruse the baking section. She would make bread. Both Lydia and Phil loved her homemade loaves and the delicious smell that wafted through the house. It seemed months since she had made one. She was reading the back of a packet of organic strong bread flour when she heard her name. A figure loomed in front of her.

  “I thought it was you!”

  Grace stared at the woman, desperately collecting her thoughts. She was dressed in denims. An open shirt hung over a fitted white t-shirt. No supermarket uniform, not one of Phil’s staff then unless it was her day off. But there was something about her that looked vaguely familiar.

  “Faye. Faye Campbell,” the woman said, pressing her hand to her chest.

  A hazy recollection of the name filtered into Grace’s mind, although she couldn’t place her.

  “Goodness, it’s been years.” Faye’s blue eyes lit up as she smiled. Soft wrinkles marked an attractive face. Wisps of hair escaped from a messy ponytail and somehow looked demure as they decorated her cheekbones. Grace suddenly felt drab.

  The light smile on Faye’s face faded, replaced by a wistful sadness. “I was sorry to hear about Jo.”

  Grace’s chest tightened. This was the conversation she’d dreaded. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper.

  “It must be so hard.”

  Grace said nothing. She wasn’t ready for this. She glanced down the aisle for an escape route, but Faye’s trolley was pulled in front of her at an inadvertent angle. It would have been rude to push around it.

  Faye had pulled her bag open, was rummaging through for something. She pulled out a pen, scribbled a number on a piece of paper and passed it over. “Look, if you ever want to talk or just fancy a break-”

  “Everything all right?”

  Grace hadn’t noticed Phil sidle up beside her. Her gaze passed from him to Faye and back again. “This is…”

  “Faye Campbell.” The woman smiled, stepped forward and shook Phil’s hand, before moving her trolley away. “Give me a call, Grace. I’ve just moved back into the area. Be great to catch up.” She turned the corner and was gone.

  “Who was that?” Phil asked, only half interested as he smiled at a passing member of staff.

  The paper slipped out of her hand and drifted to the floor as Grace placed the packet of flour she was still clutching in the trolley. “Oh, just an old friend.” She pushed the exchange out of her mind and moved forward to finish her shopping.

  ***

  Jackman’s phone buzzed as he walked down the corridor. It was a text from Celia. He ached to give Celia the news about her mother’s further tests, but with no evidence of an improvement it wouldn’t be fair to raise her hopes. Not yet. He rounded the corner and immediately saw Carmela Hanson step forward and press the button on the lifts. For a split second he contemplated passing her, taking the stairs as normal, but she’d already seen him. She caught his eye and smiled. Best to get the awkwardness out of the way. They’d be working together soon enough.

  He returned her smile as he approached the lifts and waited.

  “How are you?” she said.

  “Good, thanks. First day?”

  “Sort of. Taylor doesn’t officially finish until Wednesday. I take over on Thursday morning. We’re doing a handover. I’m coming in for meetings and briefings beforehand. This morning it was to meet the chief constable’s team.”

  “Sounds fascinating.”

  “You could say that. I’ll give you a shout on Thursday morning, if that’s okay? I’ll also need a briefing on Operation Ascott.”

  He nodded. They gazed at the lift dial a moment. “I looked for you after the speeches the other night,” Carmela said. “Was hoping we could catch up.”

  “I left early. Had to head back to Stratford.”

  “Ah, I see. How’s your arm?”

  Jackman resisted the temptation to stretch out the taut skin on his upper arm. “Good, thank you.”

  The lift hovered on the floor above. He stared at the button, willing it to move.

  Carmela turned to face him. “You know, I could never understand why you didn’t return my texts in the summer.”

  Jackman’s mouth formed a thin line. He remembered their last meet vividly. It was a wet Saturday morning. He’d been both surprised and touched that she’d driven the forty-five minute journey from her home in Banbury to Stratford on her day off to deliver some last minute preparation notes for his interview board. He could still picture her, standing just inside the back entrance of Stratford station. Raindrops dripping from her umbrella. An awkward moment had followed as his colleagues had burst through the door and crashed their conversation. They’d parted. He couldn’t deny he enjoyed her company. Their working relationship morphed into a friendship. But when colleagues joked about a possible relationship, he had to put a stop to it. She’d texted him several times after she left Warwickshire. Sweet, friendly texts that he didn’t respond to. “I wasn’t sure what to say,” he said. “I didn’t make the interview board.”

  Finally, the lift pinged, the doors flung open and they both entered.

  “You going down?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  The aroma of her perfume filled the small area as the doors swung shut again and the lift juddered into action.

  The doors opened at the next floor. They both looked out, but the area was bare. Carmela pressed the button, twice.

  The lift rocked as they descended. Jackman could feel her eyes on him. He gave a half-smile. She held his gaze. He forced himself to look away. An image of Alice filled his mind. Her small frame in the chair beside her bed at Broom Hills. Jackman blinked and focused on the numbers, highlighted in turn as they moved down the floors.

  The lift creaked to a stop. The doors flung open. “See you on Thursday,” she sa
id. There was a glint in her eye as she stepped out. A smile tickled her lips.

  Jackman walked out of the back door to the station and gulped a mouthful of fresh air. There was a good reason why he hadn’t returned her texts. And right now, he couldn’t imagine how in the hell he was going to be able to work with her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A line of sunshine blinded Grace as she woke later that day. She blinked several times, rubbed the back of her neck as she sat forward. Lucky, curled up on the floor beside the sofa, raised her head. Grace recalled coming home, Phil making himself a cheese and ham sandwich for lunch. She must have fallen asleep on the sofa. The sound of voices in the distance caught her attention. Grace jumped up, glanced out of the window. Phil was stood beside her car, a dripping sponge in his hand, talking to their neighbour, Beryl.

  She moved back, not wishing to be seen. The last thing she wanted was to engage in their conversation. She checked the clock on the mantel. Lydia would be home from school in a couple of hours. Perhaps she should get started on that bread.

  In the kitchen she started to pull her ingredients from the cupboards. The scales clicked and clattered as she weighed everything out in turn and placed them in a bowl. It wasn’t long before the dough had been kneaded and was proving.

  Grace was drying her hands, wondering what to do next when she saw the laptop plugged in on the edge of the table. The blue light indicated it was fully charged. Instinctively she flicked back the lid. She popped back into the front room, took another look out of the window. The neighbour had disappeared. Both cars glistened in the afternoon sunlight. Phil’s head was tucked underneath the bonnet of his Volvo, examining something. He was always tinkering with the cars. She glanced back at the clock. Lydia would be at least another hour.

  She dashed back to the kitchen, logged on and opened Jo’s Facebook page. The same group photo greeted her. Her eyes lingered on Jo’s wide grin, exposing her perfect white teeth, before she scrolled down. There hadn’t been any new messages since she’d looked last week.

  A thought struck her. The girls had persuaded her to open her own Facebook page, mainly so that they could share family stuff. She’d been reluctant at first, but eventually enjoyed the experience, especially when Jo showed her how to look up former acquaintances and she’d managed to trace some old school friends. It was fun and slightly addictive to check in and find out how everybody was doing. Although she’d rarely looked at it these past few weeks.

  She forced herself to scroll through her friends’ posts, interlaced with condolence messages about Jo. Time passed slowly as she browsed. She broke off, placed the bread in the oven. When she returned, an entry, some way down, caught her eye.

  I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. Children are precious. Thinking of you and your family at this sad time. Faye x

  Grace reread the message. It was similar to so many of the others on the page, but for some reason it intrigued her. Was this the Faye she’d met in the supermarket the other day? She’d implied she was an old friend. Grace peered in closer. The headshot looked younger, but it sported the same wispy blonde hair. She couldn’t be sure. She clicked on the picture to Faye’s profile. There weren’t many updates. A few pictures of clifftops and scenery, probably from a holiday, and a couple of a black and white cat. Grace flicked back to the top. And then she saw it. Former pupil at Welland Park. Perhaps she was an old school friend. Her age was forty, three years older.

  Grace eased back in her chair, satisfied she’d at least made the connection. The smell of the bread was starting to fill the room and for the first time in days she actually felt hungry. But something about the name, Faye Campbell, didn’t sound familiar. Was that the surname the woman in the supermarket used? She jumped up, grabbed her handbag, pulled out her purse and a packet of tissues as she searched for the scrap of paper Faye had given to her with her details on it. When she had no luck, she moved out to the coat rack in the hallway and checked her pockets. But apart from a few dog biscuits, it was empty. Grace was just cursing herself for losing it when the front door pushed open and Lydia appeared.

  “Oh, hello,” she said to her mother. “What are you doing out here?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Carmela was dressed in a dark trouser suit with a black and white spotted scarf arranged elegantly around her neck. But the formal appearance wasn’t the only difference Jackman noticed when he entered her office that morning. There was a sharpness to her that he’d not witnessed before as she welcomed him in and invited him to take a seat. None of the teasing smile, or sparkle in her eye from the lift.

  He rested back in his chair. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as tricky as he’d imagined.

  She collected a day book and pen from her desk and moved over to join him, pulling out the chair nearby and angling it so that they faced each other.

  “Right, Will,” she said, adjusting her jacket as she sat. “I want you to take me through Operation Ascott, along with the latest murder, in as much detail as you can. I’ve read the case notes, of course, but I’d like to know how the investigations unravelled and your thoughts on where we are now.”

  Jackman took a moment to cast his mind back to the cold case review, relaying each investigation in as much detail as his memory allowed. He finished with Oliver Turner’s charge. He then switched to the most recent crime scene. Carmela made notes as he spoke, glancing up on occasion, asking the odd question for clarification. He examined the similarities between Eugenie Trentwood’s and Jo Lamborne’s attacks as he went along.

  Time passed, and very soon Jackman became aware that the light had faded. He paused, momentarily distracted as he gazed around the room. The sun had disappeared, wiped out by heavy rain clouds, casting a shadow over Carmela’s desk.

  She guessed his thoughts, jumped up and switched on the light. “I don’t know how Taylor coped in this dingy room.”

  She’d only just re-joined him when her phone rang. Carmela excused herself as she answered. Jackman glanced about the office. A landscape print decorated the far wall beside the bookcase. A cork board next to the door was littered with a few notices and a graph of some sort. He ran his eyes over the papers on her desk, arranged neatly in trays. It was interesting how much the absence of Taylor’s family photos changed the atmosphere of the room that now seemed stark and cold, and larger somehow. It struck Jackman how little he knew about Carmela’s background. She’d told him she was divorced. She’d never mentioned children, although that didn’t necessarily mean she didn’t have any. It seemed to him that during their fleeting friendship this past summer he hadn’t learnt much about her at all. And yet, thinking back, they’d delved pretty deeply into the events of his life.

  He rested his gaze on her. She was staring at the floor, her answers mostly one-worded, perfunctory, making it impossible for Jackman to second-guess the caller.

  She ended the call, placed her mobile back on the table. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

  “I think you’re pretty much up to date now,” Jackman replied. “We’re still working our way through the appeal calls.”

  “And we know nothing more about the attacker?” Carmela said.

  “Not at the moment.”

  Carmela focused on her notes for a moment. “I’d like to bring in a fresh profiler. I know they’ve had one before, but it’s different now that we’ve made an arrest on the Shelley Barnstaple attack. The ligature marks and bruising, age of the women and appearance, show very distinct links in the other two cases. I’ve a friend I met at one of the events I attended at the College of Policing. He’s very good. Perhaps he’ll spot something we’re missing, give us a new avenue to explore, especially if we’re focusing on a potential copycat.” She checked her watch and stood. “Okay, leave that with me. I’ll make some enquiries. I’ve a meeting with the assistant chief constable in twenty minutes. Be good to share some news.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Trust us to come to the busiest shopping
centre in the county,” Chloe huffed.

  Meggy fidgeted in her pushchair as they walked into yet another clothing store. Grace had initially hesitated when Chloe phoned and invited her on a shopping trip to the Highcross Centre to find outfits for a friend’s wedding. Apart from the supermarket visit, she hadn’t been out since the newspaper piece. Would people recognise her? Stop, stare, talk about her behind flat hands? But Highcross was in the heart of Leicester. It would be crowded. Phil had been so pleased to hear she was going on a trip, especially with Chloe. And Chloe had graciously not mentioned the newspaper article.

  They’d been at the centre almost an hour, wandering in and out of an abundance of shops. But in spite of the huge array of boutiques and chain stores with their enticing window displays, and Chloe picking, pulling and rifling through their wares, she still seemed unable to find something suitable.

  The shop was rammed, the air inside stuffy. Grace could hear Katy Perry’s voice in the background but couldn’t make out the tune. She ran her fingers down the side of a long floral dress. “What about something like this?”

  Chloe shook her head. “Too summery.”

  They moved further down the aisle, Chloe fingering the different dresses, trousers and tops, stopping occasionally to examine their tags. “There’s not much out this season, is there?”

  “I think we’re stuck between summer sale stuff and the Christmas glitz,” Grace said.

  The pushchair rocked as Meggy wriggled again in her seat. “Want to get out.”

  “Not in here, honey,” Chloe said. “It’s far too busy.”

  “Want to get out now!” Meggy wailed.

  Grace crouched down in front of her granddaughter. She’d pulled out her hair ribbon. Light-brown curls hung messily around her pink face. “Hey, sweetie. Would you like some cake?” Grace said, retrieving the ribbon from her lap.