The Things You Didn't See_An emotional psychological suspense novel where nothing is as it seems

by Ruth Dugdall

  She tugged at the navy shirt lapel of his uniform, unable to keep it in any longer. ‘So what were you up to today? Still guarding Innocence Farm?’ She asked the question, knowing there was no longer any guard placed there, but she couldn’t think how else to ease him into the subject. Luckily, he didn’t need coaxing.

  ‘Not at the farm, but I’m still involved. More of us are, now they think it wasn’t suicide.’

  Holly’s breath caught. ‘They’re sure?’

  ‘Not certain, but the man who works for her has a record for gun crime, so he has been questioned.’

  ‘Do you mean Ashley Cley?’

  Leif raised his eyebrows. ‘Wow, this really is a small town.’

  ‘And he’s actually shot someone before?’

  For the first time he looks uncomfortable, pulls back slightly. ‘This is confidential, Holly. I shouldn’t really . . .’

  Two routes flash before her, the second one wins and she moves closer to him, kisses his cheek. ‘You can trust me,’ she says. ‘Who did he shoot?’

  ‘Look, I don’t know any details. But it shows he’s used a gun before, that he has some tendency . . .’

  Holly’s heart was beating fast. ‘Are they going to arrest him?’

  ‘It’s possible, what with that, and his fingerprints being found on the rifle. But they’re also interested in his mother, they’ve taken her in for questioning.’

  ‘Janet?’ Holly pictured the poor woman, baking scones for Maya. ‘But why?’

  ‘Because she was the one who called 999. She swears she never went beyond the kitchen that morning, yet they found her blood on the gun.’

  21

  Cassandra

  ‘It’s a horrible drizzly evening, Mum, and the rain is getting heavier. All of the parents and children, waiting in Christchurch park for the firework display to start, how disappointed they’ll be. Their sparklers will fizzle out, they’ll be cold. Younger ones will want to go home before the show is over. It’s such a shame. Do you remember taking me to the display in Felixstowe? How we cried “ooh” and “aah” at the colours blooming in the sky, the explosives as bright as flowers? I have flowers for you now. I wish you could see them.’

  I hold the bunch of freesias close to the misted mask covering your mouth so you can catch their scent, and place one flower in your cupped hand. I’m doing what Nurse Lauren told me to, trying to stimulate your senses, though it seems pointless. You’ve already left me, I’m sure of it.

  ‘Not so close to her face, love, you’re smothering her,’ says Daniel, taking the flowers from my tight grip and placing them on the bedsheet covering your inert body. I can’t help thinking that you look like a corpse awaiting burial. ‘You’re shaking like a kitten, Cass – why don’t you sit down?’

  I take the seat, gripping the rim. Dad sits, then stands, then sits again. He hates this – he wants to be outside where he belongs but the rain is stopping him.

  Lauren arrives to check the machines. ‘Now then, Maya, I’m just going to move this pillow, love, so you don’t get stuck in one position. There we are.’

  She talks to you as if you’re awake, but I’m losing hope. As if she can hear my thoughts, she turns, beams broadly and says, ‘Now then, family! Why don’t you talk to this lovely lady about a happy holiday memory, or something you all enjoy watching on TV?’

  Her suggestions are endless and exhausting. I’m mute, there just seems no point, but Daniel sits on the edge of the bed and leans over you.

  You and he, always so close. He’d saved you from the knife, from the indignity of hair loss and nausea. He cured you gently with meditation, massage and nutrition so pure and healthy your body healed from within. He was the son you never had, so gifted. It was your idea that you speak on the radio together, which was such a success that afterwards he was offered his own show – though to be fair, Alfie Avon’s listeners were already dwindling and Radio Suffolk was looking for someone new. The Samphire Master was a hit. How could you lose your faith in him, Mum? Please wake up so he can cure you again.

  ‘You’ve missed a big twist in Broadchurch, Maya,’ Daniel says, taking your hand and stroking it. ‘All my clients are talking about it. There’s this character, he’s managed to convince everyone that his wife is imagining things when really he . . .’

  ‘Maybe something else,’ Lauren interrupts in her sing-song voice, heading for the door and raising a wagging finger. ‘Positive and cheerful, that’s the ticket.’

  I hear her shoes squeaking along the corridor, then they stop. She’s talking to someone and the sing-song has gone. ‘No, sir,’ I hear her say, ‘I’m sorry but there are already three family members in with Maya . . .’

  ‘I’ve got to see Hector!’

  Ash, demanding to be let in. How dare he come here, now he’s a police suspect? He has no right.

  Dad lifts his head, registering. ‘In here, boy!’

  Ash doesn’t need any further encouragement, he’s through the doorway in a flash, face red. At first, I think it’s from anger, then I see his puffy eyes and realise he’s been crying. Dad immediately stands to comfort him, his bad right hand finding awkward purchase on Ash’s shoulder. ‘What’s wrong, son?’

  Ash mumbles something. The only word I can make out is Mum, and Dad has his arm further around him, saying, ‘Tell me what’s happened. Whatever it is, we can fix it.’

  I think I see your eyelid twitch, Mum. I want to tell you it’s okay, but I don’t believe that. Ash shouldn’t be here, he’s dangerous. Why can’t Dad see through the snivelling schoolboy routine?

  I don’t know what Daniel makes of this – he looks concerned, but he keeps that detached air he’s so good at. ‘Has something happened, Ash?’

  It takes Ash a few swallows and a bit more coaxing before he can speak. He’s in the grip of panic. ‘They’ve arrested Mum. They came to our house, and took her away in a police car.’

  Despite my suspicions, I’m stunned. Janet. All those hours and weeks and years she’s spent at the farm with you. Her, arrested?

  ‘Why would the idiots do that?’ Dad says, his voice rising in anger.

  Ash wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand and says quietly, ‘They found her blood on the rifle.’

  Dad clears his throat and looks at Daniel, as if he might be able to explain it, but Daniel puts his hands in his pockets and turns to the window. I want him to fix this, I want him to make sense of it, but he remains silent.

  ‘Shit,’ Dad says.

  I can’t believe his reaction – anger pushes all other emotions away. ‘Is that all you can say, Dad? Shit? They think Janet shot Mum!’

  Daniel doesn’t turn around. He quietly says, ‘Calm down, Cass, and let me think about what to do. We need to help Janet.’

  Dad is reassuring Ash, blind to the possibility that Janet might actually be guilty.

  ‘That don’t matters, a spot of blood can be explained away, son. Janet cleans our house, she cooks for us, ’course her blood could get on my gun!’

  This is such bullshit – she didn’t clean in the gun cupboard! It was kept locked.

  ‘Or maybe she shot Mum,’ I say, bitterly. Already I’m thinking I was wrong to focus on Ash: Janet is the obvious suspect. Cooking, cleaning, skivvying . . . Who knows what resentment builds up? Two women, living out in the sticks with only each other. And if you sold the farm, Janet would lose her home, her livelihood . . . her life. Who could deny that as a motive for murder? A spontaneous act, then she panicked, ran from the house, called 999.

  Daniel tries to pull me to him, a silencing move and nothing about giving me comfort. ‘Shush, love.’

  Ash is crying hard now, his hands pressed to his eye sockets. ‘She only ever wanted to help.’ Tears roll down his nose.

  No, I won’t be silenced. I turn to my father and my lover, desperate for one of them to listen to sense. ‘Janet and Ash are the only ones with a motive. If Mum dies, the farm won’t be sold, they keep their cottage and Ash takes over!�
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  I see the full force of Dad’s rage in his grey eyes, he steps towards me and in that moment I know that he wants to hit me, that the only thing stopping him is Daniel’s presence. In that splintered second the door opens, shocking us all, and Holly stands in the doorway in her green uniform, her face registering the violent atmosphere in the room. She looks from me to Dad.

  ‘Hector, what’s wrong? What’s happening?’

  I’m euphorically happy to see her, close to hysterical with relief.

  ‘Janet’s been arrested, Holly. The police have finally woken up to the fact that this isn’t attempted suicide. Don’t you see, I was right!’

  ‘You bitch!’ Dad’s anger makes me flinch, and Daniel moves a protecting arm around my shoulder, and Holly moves between us, alert to the possibilities of violence.

  Nurse Lauren marches in. ‘What is all this shouting? Please, if you want to talk like this, go outside! It’s not fair on Maya.’

  I can’t stop now, even if it’s disturbing you. I turn to Daniel, pleading. ‘You can see, Dan, can’t you? The police wouldn’t have arrested Janet without evidence.’

  ‘You’re crazy.’ Dad jabs a finger at me and Daniel holds me tighter. ‘If your mother can hear you, God help her!’

  ‘Mr Hawke, really,’ says Lauren. She reaches past me to press the call button on the wall by your bed. ‘I’m calling for assistance.’

  ‘Lauren, please don’t. I’m afraid Cassandra isn’t well.’ I can’t believe Daniel is making this about me, about my health. Why is Holly the only other person who can see the truth? ‘Where are your tablets, love?’

  ‘I don’t want tablets. I want you to be on my side!’

  Daniel seems desperate to pacify me. ‘Cass, look at the facts: the police let Ash go. They didn’t charge him with anything. They don’t think he’s guilty.’

  ‘But they still have Janet! And we found the contract, didn’t we, Holly? Mum had signed away the farm.’

  Daniel’s fingers squeeze my shoulders. ‘Where is it, Cass? It’s best if you give it to me.’

  ‘No, Dan.’ I move away from him, closer to Holly. ‘It’s best if we give it to the police.’

  Holly’s face remains neutral, though her dark eyes are assessing everything that’s going on. I want to know what she’s thinking, what she’s making of this, when Ash starts blubbing again. He wipes tears and snot with the back of his hand.

  ‘This is a witch-hunt,’ spits Dad. He lifts his damaged hand and points a gnarled finger at my face. ‘And I forbid you to show the police that contract. It will only make things worse for everyone!’

  Lauren has had quite enough. She turns to leave in a squeak of rubber soles. ‘I’m fetching Dr Droste. This shouting has to stop. We have a very sick patient in the room.’

  Daniel is trying to manage the situation, trying to calm Dad. ‘I’ll call Jackson’s Solicitors and get someone down to the police station straight away to help Janet.’

  There’s a bang outside, a firework exploding, and I think I hear you moan softly, but when I turn, you’re still inanimate, still unaware of anything.

  ‘It’s me who’ll need a solicitor. I’m going to end this.’ Dad stands, bones cracking as he does so. ‘I’m off to that police station to sort one or three things out.’

  Daniel stands too. ‘Hector, you can’t go alone,’ he says.

  And then both men walk out of the hospital.

  DAY 6

  THURSDAY 6 NOVEMBER

  22

  Holly

  It had been twelve hours of focused hard work, but as the sun rose, her shift was finally over. As she worked, Holly tried to forget about Innocence Lane, she made herself not wonder what Hector and Daniel had said to the police, and what had happened about Janet’s arrest.

  Jon said nothing about Holly’s tardy arrival for the night shift, though she felt his questioning gaze. She set her shoulders back, kept her face neutral, keen to show him that she was the professional he believed her to be. She was shadowing him and Hilary again, and their first call came just after seven; a home birth that wasn’t progressing, where the midwife had asked for assistance.

  They found the woman pacing the hallway, breathing on an Entonox mouthpiece for dear life. Her husband, deathly pale and banished to the corner of the lounge, pleaded with his eyes for them to fix this and Holly went to speak with him. The whole house reeked of lavender, and scented candles burned on every surface. ‘First-time mum,’ the midwife whispered to them when they arrived. ‘In her thirties. Wanted to do it the natural way.’ She held up her index fingers to show them the quote marks she was putting around ‘natural’.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ said Jon.

  As it happened, the woman didn’t need any persuasion – she was quite ready to abandon her plan and get a spinal block at the hospital. The husband was already blowing out the candles in relief.

  Around eleven there was an inevitable call-out to a bonfire party. They treated a man for third-degree burns; he’d been hosting a display for his teenage grandchildren and had foolishly returned to an unexploded firework only to have it detonate in his face. His reddened skin would heal quicker than his pride.

  In the early hours of the morning came one of the more common calls, a suspected heart attack, and luckily they were in time to stabilise the man, who was in his seventies and had already had a bypass.

  As she clocked out at 7 a.m., Jon told her what a good job she’d done that night. She’d felt it too: in control and calm, she’d managed to keep her synaesthesia at bay. It was only as she was driving home that thoughts about Innocence Lane once again began to intrude. She saw the sign for Kenley and slowed down.

  Leave it alone, she told herself. The police are on it now, there’s nothing for you to do. Go home and sleep! But their focus on Janet felt instinctively wrong to her, how could they think that a woman who had devoted her life to the Hawke family could suddenly turn on her employer so violently? Hector had certainly implied that he had some new information for the police, and in the twelve hours since they left the hospital something would have happened. She needed to know what.

  Minutes later, she pulled up outside Janet’s cottage, not thinking through her actions, not even sure who would be here. There was a light on downstairs, so someone was awake. She parked her car and went to the front door, tapping lightly.

  It slowly opened a crack and Holly saw Janet’s pale face. She was home then.

  ‘It’s only me, Janet. I know it’s early but I wanted to check you were okay? I heard what happened.’

  The door opened further and Holly went in.

  In the small front room, Janet returned to one end of the sofa, curling her small frame over as if her spine was broken, her face almost hidden on her chest. Holly sat beside her.

  ‘Janet . . .’ The woman may have been allowed to leave the police station but she had the haunted look of the condemned. Holly touched her leg, as if in support. Janet’s fear was strong enough for Holly to feel it crawl beneath her skin. ‘Where’s Ash?’

  ‘Still asleep,’ she said, in a quiet voice. ‘After he drove me home we stayed up talking, and he only fell asleep at about four. Poor boy, he’s worried sick. We both are.’

  ‘But the police have released you, so that’s good?’ She was fishing for information, and Janet moaned softly, not giving anything away. ‘Ash said you were arrested because the police found your blood on the gun.’

  Janet pulled her knees up, looking like a schoolgirl who’d been caught shoplifting, not someone capable of a violent shooting. ‘I don’t know – I can’t remember ever touchin’ it. When I arrived at the farm, Maya was at the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t go any closer, I never went further than the kitchen.’ Janet looked sheepish. Her voice was so low, Holly had to lean forward to hear.

  ‘Did you see anyone with her?’

  Janet hesitated, and Holly knew that whatever she said next was being revealed reluctantly. ‘It’s not a clear view from the kitchen
to the back hallway, and it wasn’t fully light. Maya was cryin’, I could hear her. I couldn’t see properly. I was afraid to get any closer. What could I do against someone with a gun? I ran and got Ash.’

  Holly felt a wave of understanding wash over her: Janet knew exactly who was holding the gun. She was protecting somebody.

  ‘Ash and me ran back to the farmhouse. ’Course, Ash is faster than me, so he ran ahead. He went straight in the house, regardless of who might be inside or if they was armed.’ There was a flicker then of pride for her brave son that Holly felt to be completely genuine. Was she protecting her son, surely the most natural instinct in the world?

  ‘And what did you see, inside the house?’ Holly nudged her back to the story.

  ‘Maya was lyin’ at the bottom of the stairs, bleedin’ from her head. So much blood . . . I was afraid she was dead, but Ash said she was breathin’ – he was so much more with it than I was. And there was Hector’s rifle, next to her. Ash went to pick it up, to get rid of it. I’ve seen it on TV, on Broadchurch, you shouldn’t touch anythin’, and I started shoutin’ at him, pullin’ it away, and the top of the sight, where the metal’s rough, scratched my arm. It bled a bit – that must be how my blood got there.’

  Holly watched the woman as she spoke, the way her eyes flicked up – the way they do when people are remembering something. Something true.

  ‘So you’re saying that Ash touched the rifle?’ Holly asked, realising the significance of this: his fingerprints.

  Janet sighed deeply, to the very bottom of her soul. ‘Ash loves that family. He’d do anythin’ for ’em.’

  There was a hush in the room.

  ‘Did you tell the police this, Janet?’

  Janet blanched. ‘I don’t want to get my boy in trouble, and we just panicked. But they needed to know how my blood got on the gun, and this is the God’s honest truth. I called the ambulance straight after – I just wanted to get help for Maya. My blood may be on that gun, but not for the reason they think.’

  ‘I believe you, Janet. But what you’re saying is that Ash wanted to remove the rifle. Was this to protect whoever did shoot Maya?’