The Lies Within

by Jane Isaac

  Grace stared back at her blankly.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t remember Amy Sanders? Sometimes I wonder who she married, poor sod.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. Must be going through all my father’s stuff, making me nostalgic.”

  “No, it’s me. My mum and dad fostered. There were always kids coming and going at our house. I used to have people contact me after Mum and Dad died to say they lived with us for a while when I was young. Sometimes Jamie remembered them, he grew up next door, but I rarely did. I guess you can only remember so much, especially when you have children.”

  They moved aside to allow a jogger to pass, the lead of his headphones just visible above his sweatshirt.

  “Did you ever think about having children?” Grace asked.

  “I fell pregnant. Once.” Faye broke off, a faraway look in her eyes. She shook her head. “I lost him.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “I knew he was dead, even before the midwife told me. I think you do when they’re inside you, don’t you? You feel everything with them. I tried to talk myself out of it on the way to the hospital that day, pretend I was imagining it, that I could still feel him moving around… They made me give birth the normal way. Four hours I was in labour. I can still recall the pain, the agony. Only to deliver a dead baby.” She looked across at Grace. They’d almost reached the road that led back to Grace’s. “He was so tiny, he fitted into the palm of my hand. And so perfect. We called him Reece.”

  “How awful.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “You didn’t have anymore?”

  “Tried. Didn’t get pregnant again. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

  Grace reeled Lucky in as they reached the curb and waited to cross. Neither spoke until they’d reached the other side. “Any news on Jo?” Faye asked.

  Faye’s directness was one of the qualities Grace cherished in her. She treated Jo’s case respectfully, talked about it openly. She’d received numerous messages from friends and distant relatives offering her an ear, a place to stay if she wanted a break, but they all skirted around Jo’s case with their awkward conversation. It was little wonder she hadn’t returned their calls.

  Grace shook her head. “The police haven’t been in touch for a while.”

  “Really? What about the man they arrested for the attack on that girl years ago. What’s his name?”

  “Oliver Turner.”

  “That’s it.”

  “They believe he’s not the man who attacked Jo.”

  “That doesn’t make sense though, does it? Both were strangled. The papers talked about the same attacker for a while.”

  “I don’t know,” Grace said wearily. “They were talking to another guy, asked me if I knew him, but that seems to have blown over too. Someone named Anthony Kendall. I looked him up on Jo’s Facebook page. He was a friend of hers from Nottingham. I can’t find any details on him though.”

  “And you’re curious?”

  Grace nodded. “I’m not sure why. He’s obviously not a suspect otherwise the police would have been in touch, but… Oh, I don’t know. She mentions him in several of her Facebook posts and he feels significant somehow. As if he was close to Jo. I know so little about her friends up there. It seems like another world.”

  “Why don’t you visit?”

  Grace flinched. “Oh, I’m not sure about that.”

  “I’d come with you.”

  “You would?”

  “Of course. It’s not like I have a job at the moment.” Faye nudged her shoulder. “Come on. You might as well make the most of me while I’m not working.”

  It was tempting, Grace had to admit. Phil and Lydia wouldn’t like it. They’d think she was interfering again. Not leaving the police to do their job. But she could go during the week, when they were at work and school. They’d never need to know. It was only an hour’s drive.

  “I suppose I’ve nothing to lose.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Carmela rested her knife and fork together on her plate. “I needed that,” she said. “Didn’t know you could cook.”

  “It was only spaghetti bolognese.”

  “Still, very nice. I was expecting pizza or a bag of chips when you suggested a takeaway.”

  Jackman circled his plate with a spoon, scraping up the last remnants of sauce. “Do you cook?”

  Erik moved forward, resting his head on Carmela’s lap. She slid her chair back and stroked his ears. “Not much these days. Hardly seems worth getting the pans out for one. I’ve fallen into bad habits.”

  Jackman busied himself making coffees. When he turned around Carmela had pulled an A4 pad from her briefcase and was sitting expectantly.

  “You said you wanted to discuss something?” Jackman said, carrying the coffees across.

  “Yes. I’ve been out of the office a lot. I wanted to check how things were going with the investigation, but,” her face turned grave as she crossed one leg over another and leant her elbow on the table, “something else happened this afternoon. Something that has rather changed things.” Jackman sat down, placing a coffee cup in front of Carmela. “Our regional meeting was cut short by a call from Special Branch this afternoon. There’s been a terror threat in Leicestershire. Film footage was emailed to a journalist at the Leicester Herald this morning. It contained two masked men who said plans have been made to plant a bomb in Leicester city centre in the name of ISIS.”

  “And the sender?” As soon as the words dripped from his mouth, he guessed her answer.

  “Anti-terrorism are still working on it. They have some ideas, but the email appears untraceable.”

  “Odd,” Jackman said. “ISIS don’t normally advertise when they are about to strike.”

  “That’s what Special Branch said. They’re working on the theory that it might be amateurs.”

  “Do we have any idea of when, or where?”

  Carmela shook her head. “Not at the moment. The threat level has been increased to critical. This is in the strictest confidence, Will. We are only sharing with DCI level and above at present until Special Branch know what they are dealing with. But it means we need to dispatch more officers to patrol Leicester centre, certainly until we know more. Which means I’m going to have to scale down your team.” She paused to sigh. “Will, you know what it’s like. Threats like these are countered all the time. But we can’t afford to ignore the risk right now.”

  “Clearly. What are we talking about in terms of numbers?”

  “I can leave you with eight initially. Four detectives, four support staff. Then we’ll see.”

  Jackman nodded. While disappointed, he couldn’t argue with the requirement. “And I thought you were giving me the push.”

  “I’m going to be keeping hold of you for as long as I can,” Carmela said with a wink. “Even if you’re not technically mine. Now, why don’t you let me know where we are with the investigation?”

  Jackman felt a mild sense of relief as he gave her a quick update of their current position.

  “No new strong leads then?”

  “Not at the moment. We’ve put another press appeal out for the hooded witness seen across the road on the night of the murder. She was well positioned to see something, even if she wasn’t involved. And we’re still battling through the shift workers, hoping something might come up there.” He relayed Davies’ feedback on the support group. “There are some members there that haven’t come forward. We could apply for a production order, force their arm?”

  “I think we’ll focus on the shift workers for now. Based on the profile, that’s our priority.”

  “Okay.” Jackman sat back in his chair. “Who was the journalist?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The journalist who received the email this morning.”

  “Oh, the Herald’s lead crime reporter. What’s his name?”

  “Artie Black.”

  “That�
�s it.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why?”

  Jackman’s explained his earlier concerns regarding Artie Black.

  “Hmm. If he is involved, the threat would be the perfect distraction. I take it this is speculation? There is no evidence at this stage?”

  “No evidence. I can’t find anything that suggests he knew either of the girls beforehand. Either he has an unnatural interest in the attacks, or he’s a very diligent journalist. I can’t be sure which. I can’t see him manufacturing a film about a terrorist threat though. Especially if he came straight to the police with it. If he wanted to create tension, draw public attention away from the case, he’d have tried to leak something.” Jackman explained about the earlier difficulties when Artie had refused to give up his source.

  “Okay. We’ll certainly need to tread carefully. Get everything checked and double-checked. And we’d need firm evidence before we can take any kind of action, otherwise the press will rip us apart. Find me something I can use and I’ll discuss a plan of action with the assistant chief constable. In the meantime, I’ll feed it back to Special Branch as intelligence.”

  Jackman gathered the plates and moved across to the dishwasher, battling with Erik who was trying to curl his tongue around them as he stacked them away.

  Carmela carried the mugs over to the sink, grabbed a cloth and wiped the table.

  “You are a bit domesticated then?” Jackman said.

  “Well, I don’t have an Erik to assist with the washing up in my house.” They laughed as Jackman closed the dishwasher door and stood. He felt the warmth of her presence beside him. She smelt good. He turned. Too quickly. Just as she did. They bumped. Laughed again. “Why is it that in such a large room people always choose to be in the same spot?” she said. Her eyes were warm. Inviting. She pushed forward. He caught a whiff of her hair before she kissed him. Gently at first, then long and hard. Hungry.

  Before he knew it she was unbuttoning her shirt, revealing the depth of her cleavage. Jackman felt a stirring in his groin, pulled her towards him. Her bra unlatched. He felt her bare breasts against him. The cutlery crashed across the tiles as he swept it off the kitchen side, hoisted her up. The urgency was overpowering, pulsing through him.

  She grappled with his belt. Neither of them noticed the cafetière teetering on the edge, before falling from the kitchen side. The sound of glass smashing on the floor snapped Jackman to his senses. He drew back, blinking hard as he looked around the kitchen. Broken glass crunched under her feet as Carmela climbed down and pulled her shirt around her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” Jackman said. “I can’t do this.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Grace. The lights are green.”

  Grace blinked, pressed her foot on the accelerator. The car moved forward.

  Faye twisted in her seat to face her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Grace didn’t answer. The closer they got to the university, the more her hands tightened on the steering wheel. Suddenly, this covert trip didn’t seem such a good idea after all.

  They turned left into the campus and were greeted with the sign for The University of Nottingham. The last time she’d passed that sign she’d brought Jo up for the start of her first term. The car had been brimming that day, a duvet blocking the view out of the rear window. It took several trips to empty it and carry bundles of kit across the large campus. Jo’s excitement had been palpable; the thrill of the big adventure laid out in front of her. Grace recalled meeting her room-mate, Emily, a mousy-haired girl with a shy smile. Hovering awkwardly for a second as the two girls chatted, before heading off with the promise of a visit in a month or so, when Jo had discovered all the best places to visit.

  “Do you want to speak to any of her tutors?” Faye’s words cut through her memories as they swept into the visitors’ car park.

  Grace shook her head. “The police will have interviewed them. We’ll try her room first.”

  It was just after 10.30am by the time they’d crossed the open parkland to Cripps Halls. They walked past the admin office and headed into a quadrangle block of accommodation with a square lawn in the middle. Bare tree branches swayed in the breeze. Most of the students were in morning lectures.

  Grace approached the entrance to the far block and tried the door. It was locked. “Damn. I forgot about the keypad code.” She looked around, working through her options and was just considering trying the admin office when the door clicked open. Two students almost fell out of the door, laughing. Lost in their joke, they barely noticed Grace and Faye exchange a quick glance and move in before the door closed again.

  Grace surprised herself at how easily she found her way to Jo’s room on the ground floor. She knocked on the door. The hollow sound echoed around the walls.

  When there was no answer she knocked again. Nothing. Grace could feel her glimmer of hope trickling away. She glanced at the handle, just about to try it, when it jerked down and the door opened. The young woman that faced her was pale and gaunt. Her hair hung across her shoulders in a tangled mess. She was dressed in a long white t-shirt, her legs wrapped around each other as if she was trying to keep warm.

  “I think we have the wrong room,” Grace said. “I was looking for… err…”

  “We were looking for some friends of Jo Lamborne,” Faye said, stepping forward.

  The woman eyed them both suspiciously. “Who are you?”

  Grace peered in closer. “Emily, is that you?”

  The young woman folded her arms across her chest and nodded.

  “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Jo’s mother.”

  Recognition spread across the girl’s face. “Oh my God.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Sorry, do you want to come in?” She stepped back and opened the door wider for them to enter. The room was grey and smelt musty. Emily rushed forward and opened the curtains. “I work at a bar nearby. Was just catching up on some sleep,” she said nervously.

  Grace gave a kind smile. “Sorry to disturb you.”

  “It’s fine, really. I thought you were another journalist at first.” Grace pictured Artie Black with his affable manner and warm smile that had appeared so genuine, and cringed inwardly. The very thought of him, or another reporter, digging around Jo’s room for a story appalled her. “Can I get you a drink?” Emily moved towards a kettle on the bedside table.

  “No, thank you,” Grace said. “We won’t stay long.” Her eyes spanned the room, lingering on the empty bed opposite, devoid of bedclothes.

  Emily followed her gaze. “The university sent somebody to bag up Jo’s things. I’m afraid there’s nothing here.” Somewhere in the back of Grace’s mind she recalled a parcel arriving from the university, although she hadn’t mustered the strength to go through Jo’s personal belongings just yet. Emily scratched the back of her neck. “I’m so sorry for what happened. I wanted to write to you, but…”

  “It’s okay,” Grace said. They stood awkwardly a moment.

  “How are you bearing up?” Faye asked.

  Emily shrugged. “It’s been a huge shock for everyone. Jo was great.” She smoothed the duvet across her bed, invited them to sit, and moved a pile of clothes off a chair in the corner, settling herself down and burying her gaze in the floor.

  “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” Grace said.

  “Of course.” Her eyes widened.

  “Was she happy here? At the university I mean.”

  Emily nodded. “She settled quickly, much better than me. Seemed to make friends easily.”

  “Did she have any close friends, anyone in particular?”

  “Not that I know of. There’s a group of people from her course, they all hang around together. I was on a different course, so I don’t really know them well, just in passing. The police have already interviewed them though.”

  “Would you write their names down for me? University was a part of Jo’s life I didn’t know very well. It just helps, yo
u know, to chat to people.”

  Emily grabbed a pad from the side of the bed. “Sure. I don’t have phone numbers for them though. You’d have to ask admin.”

  “That’s okay.” Quiet fell upon them as Emily jotted down the details. “You two must have become quite close, sharing a room together?” Grace said as she was passed the list.

  Emily bit her lip. “I suppose. It wasn’t for very long. And she was out a lot. But I did really like her. When we were both in we’d watch films together.” She sniffed. “She was good company.”

  “Anyone she didn’t get along with?”

  Emily shook her head. “Jo liked everyone.”

  “What about a boyfriend?” Faye asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “It must be strange to have the room to yourself now,” Grace said, keen to break the awkward silence that followed.

  “It is. There was talk of someone else coming in, but I don’t think anyone wants to this term. Would feel a bit like taking Jo’s place, I think.”

  “Well, I think we’ve taken up enough of your time. Do keep in touch. It would be lovely to hear from you.”

  Emily pulled her robe around her as she rose, and nodded.

  They were just at the door when Grace turned. “Oh, one more thing. I wanted to have a word with Jo’s friend, Anthony. You don’t know which room he is in, do you?” She kept her tone casual, although inside she was battling to keep her nerves in check.

  “You mean Anthony Kendall? Yes, I know him. He doesn’t live here. He’s got a house on Devonshire Promenade, just off the Derby Road. Number 22, I think. I’ve only been there once.”

  ***

  A teenager was bent down, tying a shoelace as Grace turned into Devonshire Promenade and parked up opposite number 22 later that morning. They were almost within touching distance as she got out of the car and he looked up, startled.

  “Anthony?”

  He looked at her a moment, confusion spreading across his face, and shook his head.