Her Deadly Secret

by Chris Curran

  ‘You see, at the end, when your mother came to visit me, I realized I had to get out. And if you keep maintaining your innocence, they say you’re in denial and the parole board won’t even consider recommending you for release.’

  Rosie couldn’t hold back a tiny laugh. That tone, so superior, how well she remembered it. She forced herself to look hard at him. ‘You told them you did it so you could get out, but at the same time you were saying you were innocent to Mum? I don’t suppose that had anything to do with the fact that she wouldn’t take you in if she still thought you killed Alice?’

  As he shook his head she realized there had been a slight tremor there all along, so maybe he was ill. She stopped the thought. His health has nothing to do with any of this. ‘With Mum going on about it these last weeks, I’ve been thinking back and I remember worrying because I might have got you into trouble, somehow, by saying the wrong thing. You seemed very keen to make sure the police thought we’d got back home at more or less the same time. Why was that?’

  Marion was beside her, sliding a tray with three mugs and a plate of biscuits onto the glass table in front of Bernard. She sat on the armchair next to him, so close their knees touched, reaching out to take his hand.

  But he carried on looking at Rosie: unblinking. His only movement was that gentle shake of his head. The silence and the look seemed to go on forever as if he wanted to read Rosie’s mind. ‘I was trying to protect you. To make sure they didn’t upset you.’

  Marion broke the silence. ‘Go on, Bernard, love, tell her.’ Then, without waiting for him to speak, she turned to her daughter, eyes wide, lashes flicking furiously. ‘He’s got proof. He can show you.’

  Bernard placed his other hand on top of Marion’s for a moment. Then moved both hands away and folded them under his chin, the way he used to when she or Alice asked for extra pocket money. ‘I’m sorry, Marion, my love. I’m sorry, Rosemary, but I don’t think I should say anything more.’

  Rosie turned to leave.

  ‘No, darling, don’t go … Bernard, tell her,’ Marion said. ‘About the letters.’

  Her mother was pulling at his sleeve like a little girl, but his eyes were still on Rosie. He spoke slowly and steadily. ‘I got a series of letters, while I was inside. As time went by it became clear they were from someone who knew the truth.’

  Rosie allowed herself to meet his eyes. A long moment passed. ‘OK, let me see them.’

  His voice was very soft. ‘Can’t you take my word? Mine and your mother’s?’

  Marion’s head jerked round to look at her. ‘I’ve seen them. It’s true. You’ve got to believe us.’

  This was ridiculous. ‘But they censor mail in prison. Someone would have seen.’

  He smiled at her very gently. ‘They were brought to me by my solicitor and, anyway, they were too vague for anyone who wasn’t involved to understand the subtext.’

  Subtext, Christ, he was giving her a lecture. ‘But not too vague for you or Mum?’

  Marion, now, her voice breathy. ‘That’s right. The final letters anyway. It was obvious to me.’

  Rosie’s throat seemed to have closed up, but she managed to say: ‘What was obvious?’

  ‘That whoever wrote them could prove your dad was innocent.’

  It had felt draughty where Rosie stood near the door, but suddenly the room seemed stifling and she wanted only to get out, to get away from here, but she had to go on. ‘So who wrote them? Who did they say did it?’

  Instead of answering, her mother made a little noise and turned away. Her husband touched her hand, looking steadily at Rosie. ‘The letters were anonymous, and they didn’t identify the killer.’

  Her mother’s voice was gruff. ‘But it was clear they knew. And yet he’s prepared to leave it like that. Didn’t even want me to tell you.’

  Her dad’s eyes were unwavering. ‘Your mother got herself into a bit of a state. And I don’t want you to go through that.’ He looked back at Marion and rested his clawed hand on her knee. ‘It’s past history and digging it up will do more harm than good.’

  For some reason Rosie wanted to cry. Why were they still keeping things from her? What did they have to hide? ‘Is that it? Well then, I’m sorry, Mum. If that’s the best there is …’ She willed him to meet her eyes again, but she might have been invisible. ‘It’s just not enough.’ As she turned there was a whimper from her mother.

  Before she closed the door she heard her father’s voice, not a tremble in it. ‘It’s all right, darling. Let her go.’

  Chapter Eight

  Loretta

  This was the first time Loretta had been able to cook a proper meal for the kids, and eat it with them, for days. The kitchen table was covered with Pearl’s books and papers, and Loretta had to stop herself from moaning that there was no space to unpack the shopping.

  It was her fault, not Pearl’s. The kitchen was too small, with hardly any work surfaces. After her divorce, she and the kids had moved from the rambling old place they all loved to this modern box on a bare new development: the best she could get close to their schools. It was soulless and cramped, but at least it was easy to keep clean.

  As if she knew what her mum was thinking, Pearl began to tidy her things, the coloured beads at the end of her black braids clicking together. Her friend, Jade, had done her hair a couple of weeks ago and Loretta felt a pang when she saw it. She had always been in charge of Pearl’s hair. Doing it in plaits or a stiff little ponytail when she was young. Still, she had to admit it looked good and she’d made a point of telling Pearl so.

  She unloaded the mince and bread, but first, oh yes, a big glass of red wine. She took a gulp then got to work on the garlic and onions. Pearl looked round at the sound of the knife. ‘Spag bol all right, Pearl?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She grabbed the books in an armful, somehow managed to hook her bag over her fingers and, with a long look at Loretta’s wine glass, headed for the stairs. ‘Do this in my room.’

  As she cut, stirred, and added herbs, Loretta tried to focus on what she was doing, but her mind kept circling the case. Planning ways to get Hannah to open up to her. It wasn’t until she put the water on for the spaghetti that she looked up and saw it was already 6 o’clock. She called up, ‘Dex is late. Did he say anything to you, Pearl?’

  Pearl came to the top of the stairs. ‘Nah. I’ll go up the road. See if I can spot him.’ Always the big sister, her daughter sometimes made her feel totally inadequate as a mother and, thinking about it, she probably should worry more about Dexter. He’d got so quiet lately.

  The spaghetti was just about done when the two of them appeared, Pearl with her arm round Dexter’s shoulders. Loretta waved a spoon at him. ‘Hi, Dex, just in time. It’s spaghetti.’ She would talk to him as they ate; find out if anything was wrong.

  He didn’t look at her, just made for the stairs, his rucksack bouncing on his back, open as always, with the sleeves of a sweatshirt hanging out. ‘Not hungry.’

  Her phone rang as she was heading after him. She was going to ignore it, but when she saw Andy’s name she answered. ‘Hi, what’s up?’

  ‘Thought you’d want to know. Seems they’ve got the DNA results on your case. And surprise, surprise, there’s no match with the dad. Traces of the mum, as you’d expect, but none of his. Davis is livid.’

  She was climbing the stairs, but stopped and sat on them when she heard this. ‘Wow. What about the boyfriend? Have they got anywhere with him?’

  ‘Give me a break, love. I’m not supposed to know this much. But Davis is bound to hold off telling you as long as possible. Make you look stupid. And you can do that fine on your own.’

  ‘Ha ha. But, seriously, thank you, Andy.’

  She disconnected and sat for a few minutes, still holding the phone. Well, well, so it looked like Joe was off the hook. But then why was Hannah being so off with him?

  She was still thinking when a door opened upstairs and Dex thundered down, shoving past her. ‘Hey,’ she ca
lled. ‘Hang on, will you.’ But he was already gone, slamming the front door behind him, and by the time she got it open again, he was shooting round the corner on his bike. No chance of catching him.

  She called Pearl. She’d know what was up.

  Her daughter walked slowly down, head to one side.

  ‘Have you talked to him?’

  ‘To Dex? No. Didn’t get a chance. He just charged out.’

  Pearl pulled her mobile from her pocket and sent a text. ‘I’ve told him to come back. He can’t keep running away.’

  ‘What’s going on with him?’

  Her daughter shook her head, with a little laugh. ‘Haven’t you listened to your messages? He’s obviously been tearing up the letters and deleting the messages they’ve left on the home phone, but they’ve called your mobile too. I only know because Dad rang me.’

  There were two voicemail messages, one from Willard, her ex, and another from Dexter’s school. She felt a chill run through her.

  ‘Oh yes, Mrs Peterson. It’s Mrs Taylor from Brampton School. I’ve written and called you several times without result. Could you please come in to see me as soon as possible? We need to talk about Dexter’s behaviour.’

  In his message, Willard just said that the head teacher had been on to him because she couldn’t raise her. He’d made an appointment for tomorrow evening. ‘You should be there, Loretta, we both should.’

  Joe

  Hannah flinched towards Joe, burying her face in his chest, as the cameras flashed. ‘Just ignore them, love. This is for Lily,’ he whispered, pressing her arm tighter to his side.

  This was where she was found: a little wood, out in the country. And whether the photographers had been there all the time, or they’d got a tip-off, he didn’t know. Loretta had organized a police car to bring them here and she, the driver, and the other PC, were asking the reporters ‘to give the family a bit of peace’.

  The bunch of flowers Hannah was holding trembled so much Joe put his hand over hers to steady it. ‘Do you want me to hold it?’

  Hannah shook her head, staring down at the flowers, her eyes wide.

  ‘Come on, Joe, Hannah, this way,’ Loretta said, parting some bushes to let them through. They followed her to the clearing and, thank God, they were alone now. The strange thing was that it was a lovely spot, the leaves above them making the dapples of sunlight dance on the grass. Green scents in the air. Hannah made a noise that could have been a groan or a sigh and turned to Loretta. She nodded towards the tall tree in front of them: this was it.

  Hannah pulled her arm free, whispering, ‘Let me do it.’ She walked forward to prop the flowers against the tree. Then stood for a moment, one hand stroking the bark. Joe waited, looking at the back of Hannah’s black skirt, all crumpled from sitting in the car. Then she reached for him and, when he was standing behind her, she rested her forehead on the tree and encircled it with her arms. He did the same, enclosing Hannah and the tree. And something about the feel of her, a sliver of softness against the bulk of the trunk, brought a sob surging into his throat.

  He fought to keep it inside. At least Hannah wanted him now and that was a comfort. He could sense Loretta standing back, keeping her distance. And he was grateful for that too.

  This was where it happened. The bastard hit her over the head from behind. They said there was no sign of a struggle, so she must have been taken by surprise. One blow, probably from a big stone, was enough. It would have been so quick, she was unlikely to have had time to be frightened, or even feel much pain. That’s what they kept saying anyway. And he desperately wanted to believe them.

  He could feel Hannah’s body heaving and he whispered her name, telling her it was OK, he was here. Her hair brushed his lips as she turned and looked into his face, her eyes very bright.

  ‘Let’s go home, Joe.’

  Back in the car she leaned into him, and he smoothed her hair. There was nothing to say.

  Loretta sat in the back with them. She had been good today, he had to admit. Warmer, somehow. Or maybe everything just seemed a bit less awful now Hannah was with him again.

  Loretta shifted towards them. ‘Hannah, Joe … You should know they’ve located Lily’s boyfriend. He was staying at one of The Children’s other houses, a sort of retreat, I gather. No TV or anything allowed. Apparently, he didn’t know about Lily.’

  Hannah clutched his hand. ‘What’s happening?’ he said.

  ‘They’re going to talk to him.’

  ‘And do DNA tests and that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Loretta leaned closer, looked like she didn’t want the two uniforms in front to hear. ‘Probably.’ Then a bit louder. ‘I’ll let you know more when I can.’

  Hannah pulled away, leaning her forehead against the window: staring.

  Loretta

  After she’d taken them to see the place where Lily was found, Loretta went back to the house with Hannah and Joe. They were desperate to hear what was happening with the boyfriend and she talked them through the little she could. She felt bad about the way she’d assumed it was Joe. Knew he’d guessed as much too. But, although Philips had okayed her telling them the basics, he told her to be careful. Until they were certain they had the killer no one close to Lily could be ruled out.

  When she left them she just had time to stop off at the nick to bring Philips and DS Davis up to speed before she went to the meeting with Dexter’s head teacher. One of The Children’s minibuses was in the police station car park. It was an eyeball-searing orange with the sect’s name on the side in vivid blue. You couldn’t mistake their vehicles.

  She had a sudden memory of being in Blackpool with Willard when the kids were little and seeing one of their coaches. ‘Can’t get away from that lot even here,’ she had said.

  Will said it was a scandal that some kids’ only choice was between being exploited by drug dealers or by these kinds of cults.

  ‘The opium of the people, eh?’ She laughed and nudged him with her elbow. But he pulled away, probably thinking she was making fun of his Marxist beliefs again. It began to rain and he scooped Pearl into his arms and walked away, his long legs carrying him so fast that Loretta, struggling with the hood on Dexter’s pushchair, fell behind. Furious with him, with herself and with the rain, for spoiling the day.

  She shook her head to get rid of the memory. Didn’t want to think about that when she had to meet Will in an hour or so.

  She was about to get out of the car when she saw Pastor Jerome coming through the glass doors of the station. His arm was round a boy who must be Samuel Barnes. He looked very young and very scared. His face puffy as if he’d been crying.

  She stayed where she was. But when Jerome gestured to the boy to get into the minibus and came towards her, she climbed out of the car. Didn’t want to talk to him while she was sitting down. But it was a mistake. He towered over her and, just like last time, she felt a wave of heat from him. He stared down at her, not even pretending to be friendly today.

  ‘Good evening, Pastor.’ She clicked her door locked, then made to move past him. He blocked her path, his body almost touching hers, so close he must have felt her heart thumping. Ridiculous to be scared, this was the police station, for God’s sake.

  ‘Just a word before you go in, Lorraine.’ He smiled: making sure she knew the mistake was intentional. ‘I’ve spent the best part of the day here with Samuel. He’s a wonderful young man, an orphan with no family except our group. With the support of our community he’s made something of a life that started out in the least advantageous of circumstances. It’s scandalous he’s being treated like this.’

  She was damned if she was going to be lectured. This was her turf: she was the authority here. ‘Yes, well, that has nothing to do with me, sir. So …’

  He didn’t move. ‘But I’m not just talking about the way he’s been grilled by your colleagues. As you must know, the papers have got hold of the fact that a young man of his age is a possible suspect and that he’s co
nnected with our group. My photograph has been broadcast widely, too. If I find out you’re responsible, I won’t rest until you’re brought to book. I will not have him dragged through the mire. Or the community’s reputation damaged. And – for your information – Samuel barely knew that poor girl and he has a cast-iron alibi.’

  ‘As I said, I’m not involved in this aspect of the case, sir, so I can’t help you.’ She made to step round him again, but he stayed where he was and she looked up at him. ‘I suggest you let me pass. Unless you want to be arrested.’ It was pathetic and they both knew it.

  He smiled and moved aside with a sweep of his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Constable. Please, don’t let me keep you. Good day and blessings to you.’

  She was aware of him watching her as she headed for the door of the station, and when she turned back, his eyes raked her from head to toe.

  Chapter Nine

  She got to the school with a minute or two to spare, but that didn’t stop Will making a show of looking at his watch before he smiled and nodded at her. Dex was sitting beside him in the reception area, playing it casual, fiddling with his phone. Loretta noticed how like his father he was becoming. Although he was still very thin, his shoulders had broadened out recently to suggest he would eventually have the same solid build as Will.

  Loretta had no time to speak to either of them before the secretary told them to go in. ‘But can you wait here, Dexter?’ she said. ‘Mrs Taylor would like a few words alone with Mum and Dad.’ Loretta shot him a glance. The way he was behaving at the moment she wouldn’t put it past him to disappear.

  Mrs Taylor wasn’t young, but she was slim and stylish; at ease in her skin and her clothes. It was easy to dislike her.

  ‘Come in, Mrs Peterson, Mr Peterson.’ She motioned for them to sit in the easy chairs near a small coffee table overlooking the playing fields. It was clear she was trying to relax them. Loretta felt her stomach clench.