The Truth Will Out

by Jane Isaac

  “You see, I’m struggling a bit with this, Eva. It must have cost a packet to fly you both out there, put you up in an apartment, ferry you back - all for a vintage Mini? My knowledge of cars isn’t great, but I’m sure the vehicle can’t have been worth that much. He must have been expecting to make a fair bit on the deal?”

  Eva didn’t reply.

  Helen ploughed on, “Did he go out to the continent often? To collect cars?”

  “Now and then.”

  Thick silence sat between them. “You indicated that someone expected something more than a car. Something that made them torture Naomi and ransack her house for.” She halted momentarily, watching Eva’s eyes snap up to face her.

  “Tortured?” Eva whispered.

  Helen shouldn’t reveal details of a case to a witness and she knew it. She was pushing herself out on a limb. But, clutching at straws, she hoped the shock tactic would work. “Yes,” she said flatly. Eva’s mouth hung open. “Are you sure you don’t know what was in that car?”

  Eva lowered her head. Her shoulders shook as thick tears streamed down her face. Helen wasn’t sure how long they sat there. She reached into her bag for more tissues, passed them to Eva and patiently waited for the sobs to abate. And, as they did, Eva explained the problems with the window sticking, the small Frenchman who discovered the packages in the door panelling, describing their terror at driving through the border carrying the strange packets home. She explained how they delivered the car to Jules, the argument that ensued.

  When she had relayed the story she sat quietly for several moments. Eventually she looked up at Helen. “What’s going to happen to me?” she said weakly.

  Helen considered this for a moment. Even if they traced the vehicle and stripped it down, it was unlikely that there would be any trace of the packets. The description convinced Helen that they contained an illegal substance - probably heroin, although there were no photos or evidence to secure a conviction. And the two links to the smuggling, Naomi and Jules, were both dead. Even if they were able to trace the Frenchman, according to Eva’s account his behaviour with the girls suggested he didn’t wish to be involved, so there was little chance he would be forthcoming. But she had to be careful. She couldn’t be seen to advise Eva, or affect the investigation in any way.

  “My immediate priority is to keep you safe. When this is over, we’ll need to interview you formally. I would advise you to get yourself a solicitor and follow their advice.”

  A knock at the door made Eva jump. She shot Helen an anxious glance.

  Helen stood and approached the door. “Who is it?”

  “Me, ma’am.” Helen smiled to herself and opened the door to a rather disgruntled looking Pemberton.

  “It’s like a maze in this place,” he said. She moved aside for him to enter, then leant out and glanced up and down the corridor before retreating and locking the door behind her.

  “Eva? I’d like you to meet Detective Sergeant Sean Pemberton.”

  Pemberton nodded at Eva and turned to Helen. “Ready to go, ma’am?”

  “Sure.”

  “You’re not going to leave me?” Alarm chipped at Eva’s voice.

  “The sergeant and I are going to move your car to a safe location. We can’t leave it in the services tonight. Their security will be all over it. Now, remember what I said to you. Nobody knows you are here. You are quite safe as long as you keep your mobile phone switched off and don’t answer the door to anyone. She reached into her pocket for her card and handed it over. If you need me, call me on that number. Anytime, day or night. Use the hotel phone only.” She pointed across to the handset resting on the bedside table. “I will call you myself in the morning.”

  With a pained expression, Eva took the card and placed it on the table.

  Pemberton handed over a Tesco carrier bag. “Some provisions,” he said with a kind smile. “Just in case you get peckish.”

  Eva followed them to the door. Helen placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, before exiting. As the door closed, she paused in the corridor for a moment, until she heard the sound of the locks being applied and then strode after Pemberton.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Helen leant her elbow on the car windowsill. Eva’s account gave the case a new impetus. Was Jules working with someone to smuggle drugs into the country? Were they an accomplice to Naomi’s murder? It certainly explained the problems with the jacket size. The formal suicide note and Karen Paton’s mother’s words flashed into her mind, ‘… hope you catch the beggers who did this.’ Did Jules really commit suicide? Or was he murdered by a third party in order to conceal their involvement in Naomi’s murder?

  She considered Eva Carradine. Eva refused to be parted from her mobile phone. With no legal powers to take it, Helen had reluctantly left it with her under strict instructions not to switch it on, but its continued presence with Eva sat uncomfortably with her.

  Helen’s work had exposed her to many devious criminals over the years. From the little she knew of her, Eva didn’t display any attributes that marked her as a murder suspect. Her account of Naomi’s attack seemed credible, and the phone call explained why Eva ran away and changed her appearance. They also provided a motive. But a motive for who?

  She was sure of one thing: Eva’s life was in grave danger. But it was Dean’s case now. As tempting as it was to step up and show everyone how right she was, she had to pass the new information over to him.

  She pulled her phone to her ear and glanced across at McDonalds where Pemberton had gone to get them coffees. Helen tapped her feet with each ring until the phone switched to voicemail. She pushed out an irritated sigh and left an urgent message, then switched to text, snapping out another quick message. Where the hell was the inspector?

  ***

  Pemberton lifted the cup to his lips and stared out of the window. “This sounds like a case of ‘threat to life’, ma’am,” he said, flinching as the hot liquid burnt his tongue.

  After retrieving Eva’s car they sat in Helen’s Honda in McDonalds car park on the northern Hampton border. Whilst her drink cooled, Helen had given Pemberton a summary of Eva’s revelations. She sniffed her coffee. “God, that stinks,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  He allowed himself a wry smile. “What did you expect?” His face turned pensive as he continued, “Her nearest relatives are away on holiday, you say?” He stared into space not expecting an answer. “She can’t go home, since they undoubtedly know where she lives. You’ve secured her in a secret location. Job done, until tomorrow.”

  “At least it gives us tonight to figure what to do next.” She glanced at her phone. “Damn the inspector… Where is he?”

  Pemberton shrugged and scratched his temple uncomfortably. “Sawford was looking for you earlier.”

  Helen felt her hackles rise. Sawford was like a joint of rotting meat; he became more pungent the longer he lingered. “What did he want?”

  “He came up looking for you. And when you weren’t there, he asked me about your relationship with Dean, whether it was personal.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I told him that you’d met on a course last year and hadn’t seen each other for months.”

  “Thank you, Sean.”

  He gave her a knowing stare. “You’re welcome. Anyway, he started asking questions about the case.”

  “Like what?”

  “Who found the gun, the jacket… ”

  “Why didn’t he ask his inspector?”

  “He couldn’t find him.”

  “He’s on the duty stats for today.”

  “So Sawford told me. Apparently, they had a meeting this morning and he shot off at lunchtime. Some sort of family crisis.”

  Helen felt a crack expanding in her chest. That explained why she couldn’t reach him. Family crisis. Still lives with his wife…

  “Fitzpatrick’s been gone all afternoon,” Pemberton continued.

  Helen’s annoyance at Sawford pushed thoughts
of Dean’s family aside. She snorted dismissively. “He only needs to read the policy log.”

  Pemberton rubbed his chin. “That’s the thing. The policy log disappeared with him.”

  Helen grunted. The policy log was like a diary to senior investigating officers, where they kept a note of every aspect of their investigation, justifying the reasons why they made a decision at any given time. Dean had probably taken it with him on purpose to save Sawford breathing down his neck. Part of her didn’t blame him. “He’s probably just pissed off at Sawford nosing in.”

  Pemberton took a gulp of his coffee. “No, it’s more than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He asked me who allocated Dean to the case.”

  “Dean requested it!”

  “Exactly. Sawford didn’t seem happy.”

  Helen shrugged. “Maybe Sawford doesn’t want his resources used to build coroner’s files on solved cases.” She sighed. “Not my problem.”

  The sound of her mobile interrupted their conversation. She answered on the second ring.

  “Helen, it’s me. I’m tied up with family stuff. I just got your message.”

  Cursing the ripple his soft intonation stirred in her stomach, Helen gave Pemberton a hard stare as she spoke, “Hello, Dean. Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “Don’t ask. You know teenagers. What’s up?”

  “There’s been a development in your case.”

  The line crackled. “What kind of development?”

  “We’ve located Eva Carradine.”

  The phone went silent. She could sense him thinking, working his options. “Where is she?”

  “She’s safe now,” Helen said. “But she has raised new issues that turn Operation Aspen upside down.”

  “In what way?”

  “There’s a lot more to it.”

  Another hesitation. “It sounds like we need to question her.”

  “I’ve already done that.”

  “Come on, Helen. Don’t be difficult. I don’t need to remind you the assistant chief constable passed the case to me.” He paused. “Just give me the address.”

  His persistence irritated her. She refused to be pushed aside again. “No need, Dean,” she said firmly. “She’s safe for tonight. As you said, you’re busy. The urgency has gone for now. Get your family sorted. It sounds like they need you. We’ll hook up in the office tomorrow and decide what to do next.” And with a feeling of discomfort, Helen clicked to end the call.

  ***

  Eva was lying on the bed, half watching the television when she heard the husky cough. She jerked forward. Her eyes shot to the door.

  All was quiet. She glanced about the room, her gaze resting on the untouched carrier bag of food on the table in the corner. There it was again. The same grating cough. It came from the corridor.

  Eva rose and tiptoed slowly across the room, pressing her hands, fingers splayed, onto the door, leaning her right ear against it. She heard someone fumbling with a door lock, the squeak of an open door…

  She exhaled with relief, cursing her shattered nerves. Was this her life now?

  She turned and rested her back on the door. Tears blurred her eyes. Eva was angry. Angry with Jules for putting her into this situation, angry with Naomi for dying, angry with whoever it was that was after her, angry with the police for leaving her here, alone.

  She squeezed her eyes together. There was something else. She was also riddled with guilt. Maybe she shouldn’t have shared the whole story with the detective. Maybe she should have missed out the part where they’d discovered the packages in the door panels. But she was tired. Tired of running.

  Memories of driving through the official pillbox of passport control at Calais, snaking the route to the ferry and riding its ramp, crowded her mind. Passing the port staff in fluorescents, she’d half expected dogs to come running, an arm to whip out and pull her over.

  Eva recalled the palpable relief when the ferry crossing drew to an end and she glimpsed the white cliffs of Dover. She didn’t dare look at Naomi as they drove off the ferry towards the British customs tunnel. She could see the copper, on the edge of the tunnel, as if he was standing in front of her right now, trussed in enough fluorescent for a dark night on a motorway. But she kept driving, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

  She remembered red brake lights flashing up in front of her, slowing to a crawl and seeing the customs officers in bright jackets, their beady eyes watching the vehicles in their path.

  Eva had read somewhere that, unless they saw something suspicious, customs officers only stopped every twenty-fifth car. The odds were stacked in their favour. Naomi’s trembling knee knocked against the door. They crawled along, leaving the officers behind. And then she saw it, just before the end of the tunnel, the arm stretched out.

  A rush of adrenalin pumped her veins. This is it. Don’t look guilty. She slowed more, tilted her head at the officer, but he shook his head and waved her on. It was the car behind her that he was interested in - the one visibly weighed down with five young men.

  They left the tunnel and headed into Dover. Naomi sputtered out sobs, her whole body trembling, but Eva ignored her, pressing on through Dover town. Her fingers still glued to the steering wheel. She had to stay focused, to get as far away from the port as possible. Only then would she feel like they’d made it.

  It wasn’t until they left the town behind them and rose up into the hills that Eva had pulled over, pushed the door open, hung out her head and retched.

  The sound of a door slamming in the car park outside brought Eva back to the present. Her thoughts turned to her mother. What would she think? Her daughter - the little girl she’d raised single-handedly in the early years after her first husband left her, when Eva was just a baby. They’d neither seen, nor heard from him since. The little girl she picked up when she had fallen, cleaned her grazed knees, sent to the best schools, worked extra hours to pay for driving lessons. Even when she left university her mother and stepfather supported her decision - after doing their best to talk her out of it. They just wanted her to find the right path, to be happy. An image of the newspaper stand in Glasgow flashed into her mind. She could imagine the headlines, her parents’ disappointed faces. Eva shuddered.

  And what good would it do? Naomi and Jules were dead. Neither could support nor deny her story. And worse still, she could face a charge or even prison. The thought made the dull ache in her head sear. Years ago she read a book called Inside Out about middle class college student, Rosie Johnston, who was given a custodial sentence in Holloway after being convicted of possession with intent to supply illegal drugs. Her description of the cold cell, the terror of prison inmates, the lack of dignity and freedom had stayed with Eva, terrifying her to this day.

  But Eva had liked Detective Chief Inspector Lavery. She had an easy way about her. She came to meet her alone, without an entourage of panda cars or uniformed officers like they did in TV dramas. And somehow, sharing the story, her story, a story that had corroded her insides, slowly poisoning her over the past week had felt like a huge relief.

  She slid down the door, into a seated position, teardrops spotting the pale pink carpet. How had she got herself into this? Two weeks ago, she was a normal twenty-three-year-old, down on her luck perhaps, working a job she hated with a bank balance that couldn’t meet the rent. But she was safe. Now she was all of the above and her life was at risk. When the detective met her earlier she felt like a fish, stranded in a rockpool when the tide receded. Now she felt like the tide was rushing back in to meet her, but she wasn’t sure what it was bringing with it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was almost eight o’clock when Helen arrived home that evening. As she inserted the key, the door opened from the inside to reveal Robert’s anxious face. Helen started. “Hi, you,” she said. “Everything alright?” It had been many years since her boys had come to meet her at the door.

  “Gran’s sick,” he said, moving as
ide to let her through.

  “Oh dear.” Helen crossed the threshold and dropped her briefcase below the coat stand. “How sick?”

  “She’s gone to bed with a bucket.”

  Helen pulled her coat off and threw it over an empty hook. “I’d better go check on her.”

  “I’m supposed to be at Jack’s for a sleepover,” he said, sheepishly.

  “Oh. Where’s Auntie Jo?”

  “An old friend collected her. Won’t be back until late.”

  “Right.” She half recalled her mother mentioning something.

  “Can you take me to Jack’s?”

  She rummaged through the pocket in her coat to retrieve her mobile before turning to face her youngest son. “I need to check on Gran.”

  Helen heard him huff as he slunk off into the lounge, and sighed. He was probably still smarting from their argument the night before. A heavily hormonal teenager was the last thing she needed at the moment.

  She crossed to the kitchen and through a door into a small utility room. A pair of black shoes sat neatly beside the door. The stairs opposite led to Jane Lavery’s adjoining flat.

  Helen took the stairs two at a time. At the top they opened into her mother’s front room. Black and white photos of the boys adorned the pale pink walls. The surface of the sideboard in the corner was barely visible through a collection of other framed photos, including a large one at the back of Helen in mortar board and gown. The pink and grey chintzy curtains behind the television were open, the grey two-seater sofa untouched and a vase of tired-looking yellow roses sat on the coffee table. Two white panelled doors led off the lounge - one led to the bathroom, the other the bedroom. The bedroom door was ajar.

  “Mum?” Helen halted. No response. The air in the room was calm.

  As Helen approached the bedroom she saw the curtains were only half drawn, allowing the soft evening moonlight to penetrate the room. Helen’s mother lay on the near side of the bed, eyes closed, hands tucked beneath her chin. She looked peaceful. Helen drew nearer, bent down. Finally, she witnessed the gentle rise and fall of her chest and breathed an instant short sigh of relief.