‘Where is your son now?’ he said, knowing full well he had been living in New York for the last four years. ‘Edmund, did you say his name was Edmund?’
‘Did I? Yes, he’s our son. Ralph’s and mine. He’s in New York. He works for a bank.’
Ralph Probisher interjects. ‘He’s not been home for a while, he’s busy with work and all that. And Ingrid doesn’t like to fly.’ There was a sadness in his voice.
‘How long is it since you’ve last since him?’
‘Four years, perhaps more. He has an important job, high up,’ Ralph Probisher looks down at the palms of his hands, ‘he doesn’t get much time off. We speak on the phone about once a month.’
Irritation crosses Ingrid Probisher’s eyes, she opens her mouth to speak. Sam interjects.
‘And how about your daughter?’
‘We don’t talk.’ The woman glares at her husband, as though daring him to contradict her. ‘We haven’t for over thirty years, not since the early seventies. We thought it best to close the door on that relationship.’ She looks out of the window and into the distance. ‘Given her problem with drugs.’ She returns her attention to Sam. ‘Serious drugs. Class A.’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘You seem to be well acquainted with drugs, Mrs Probisher.’
‘No, no.’ She flashes a look at him, her lips twist. ‘Just what I hear on TV.’
Sam tilts his head to the side, transfers all his attention onto Ralph Probisher.
‘And how about you Mr Probisher, when did you last hear from your daughter?’
A look of confusion settles on the man’s face. He shrinks back into his seat, lets out a sharp cough, his head drops, he scratches the back of his neck. There is no eye contact.
‘Last week.’ The words are barely audible.
‘Could you repeat that Mr Probisher, I didn’t quite hear it.’ A warm feeling fills Sam’s chest.
‘Last week, on Friday.’
‘What—’ Ingrid Probisher, in the process of swallowing a mouthful of tea, almost chokes. She rounds on her husband. The words splutter out of her mouth.
‘You… you… didn’t tell me.’ Her cup and saucer clatter back onto the coffee table. ‘You’ve not been—’
‘Giving her money? No, I haven’t.’ Ralph Probisher’s mouth hardens as he stares into this wife’s face. ‘She’s my daughter, mine and Penny’s daughter and there is no reason at all why I shouldn’t talk to my daughter. And if I want to give her money I bloody well will do. I’ve worked hard enough for it.’ His hands curl into fists.
Sam represses his urge to smile, he knew he was right. Given the wife’s reaction, this was clearly a revelation she didn’t want to hear. Sam doesn’t know whether the man wants to let it all out or slap his wife around the face. It was hard to tell. He’d certainly not been expecting the man to be so open so quickly. Normally, in situations like this, they walk to the car with him, leak out their secret when their partner is out of earshot. Ralph Probisher was clearly a man who didn’t want to lie to the police.
‘I think it would be better if Mr Probisher and I spoke alone about this matter.’ Sam focuses his eyes on the woman in front of him, her cheeks burn with anger. ‘Don’t you, Mr Probisher?’
She wipes a spittle of tea off her chin and lips, it smears her lipstick.
‘I—’
‘Yes,’ he interjects. ‘Ingrid, leave me and DS Ingleby alone for five minutes.’
‘What?’ she folds her arms across her chest, sinks back the pile of cushions behind her back.
‘Leave us alone, please.’ He rubs his hand over his mouth.
She gets to her feet, throws him a look fit to kill. ‘This isn’t finished, Ralph,’ her voice drips with indignation. She slams the door behind her.
Ralph Probisher takes his head in his hands, inhales a slow breath. ‘I’d divorce her if I could, that woman drains the life out of me.’ He looks up at Sam, pleads with him, ‘Please, don’t tell her that.’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘She’d take every single penny I have.’
Sam decides not to explore that subject.
‘Your daughter, Mr Probisher, you said you spoke to her last week.’
He nods, a small smile crosses his lips. ‘Yes, we’ve been in touch for years. I speak to her every week.’ He rolls his eyes towards the door. ‘She doesn’t know. Lily turned up one day after I’d finished work. Back in the 1980s. Said that she was getting married, that she wanted me to give her away. Apparently, she and Edmund had been in touch for a while.’
‘You didn’t tell your wife, then?’
‘What do you think?’ bitterness floods into his voice. ‘She’d have made the whole thing an absolute misery.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘I told her I’d been invited on a golf trip up in Scotland, that’s where the wedding was, that’s where she still lives. Ingrid hates golf, she took herself off to a spa for the weekend.’
‘When did Lily first contact you?’
‘1984, summer I think. She got married in 1985. She’d straightened herself out, managed to get into one of those government-funded rehab clinics. The ones we paid for never worked. Then she went to Canada for a bit. That’s where she met Tom, the man she married. He doesn’t know, you know, about the heroin. She’s a completely different person now.’ His face suddenly glows with pride. ‘She’s lovely, a bright smart girl. She went back to university. I have grandchildren too – Bella and Will.’
‘Does your son know all of this?’
He nods his head in accent.
‘Yes, it’s because of him she got in touch with me. He hired someone over here to find her. He’s sworn to secrecy. When he lived here we used to visit her. Father and son weekends away – fishing.’ He gets to his feet, goes to stand by the window, looks out into the garden. ‘He’s not overly fond of his mother either, Lily had doted on him, before the—’ There’s a tremor in his voice. ‘I–I’ve got two great kids and have to lie to my wife whenever I want to see them.’
Sam rests his notepad on his knees. He lowers his voice. ‘So, what was your daughter like, before she left?’
Ralph Probisher gazed off into the distance. ‘She was a handful. I’ll admit that – she would never be the girl that Ingrid wanted her to be.’
‘And what was that?’
‘Quiet, she wasn’t quiet. Ingrid wasn’t used to little girls, not boisterous and full of energy ones. She’s not the maternal type. Penny and Lily, they spent all their time together, they adored each other. Lily was broken-hearted when her mother died, as was I. And of course, Lily took after my wife,’ his eyes light up, ‘she had beautiful red hair and a beaming smile.’
‘How did she get into heroin?’
‘At school, one of her friends, I think that was it, anyway. I never asked. I was a different man after Penny died.’ He looks down into his hands. ‘Weaker, I was weaker. That’s why I married Ingrid, everything was falling apart. I was about to lose my job. I thought Lily needed a mother.’ He lets out a sigh, hangs his head. ‘Worse mistake I ever made.’
‘I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but were you aware that the police rang you after your daughter tried to commit suicide?
The man is taken aback, he looks aghast. ‘Suicide? No.’
‘They spoke to your wife.’
‘Suicide? Lily?’ His eyes widen in disbelief. ‘No, she’s never tried to commit suicide. What the hell are you talking about?’
Sam flicks the pages back in his notebook. ‘Our records show that she tried to commit suicide on the fourth of December 1999. The booking sergeant rang your wife. She refused to help, said that she didn’t have a daughter anymore.’
The colour rushes to Ralph Probisher’s face. ‘That can’t be true—Lily would never do that.’ He strides across the room, away from the window, stands directly in front of Sam. ‘But Ingrid, that’s typical bloody.’ His hand balls into a fist. ‘No, she didn’t tell me that there’d been a call.’ His spits the words out. ‘I know it w
as years ago, but I would have remembered if she had. Lily moved out of Edinburgh after she got married, to the north of Scotland. She would have been pregnant with Will. He was born that year, on Christmas Eve. It must have been a mistake, someone with the same name.’ He looks down on Sam, a sheen of sweat covers forehead and cheeks, his agitation clear to see.
‘I’m sorry this is difficult, especially after all this time.’ Sam makes some quick notes and stands up. ‘I know it’s been uncomfortable for you, but you’ve really helped. I’ve just got a couple more things to ask of you. I need to take a DNA sample, is that okay with you?’
Ralph Probisher, steps back, pulls himself up, takes in a deep breath. ‘Of course, no problem at all.’
Sam removes a testing kit from his shoulder bag and takes a sample from Ralph Probisher’s mouth. He labels it up before placing it in an evidence bag. ‘So why did you come to see us. It seems a long way from Manchester?’
‘Didn’t your wife tell you I’d rung?’
‘No.’ Ralph Probisher shakes his head, the edges of his lips turn down. ‘God knows how many calls I’ve missed over the years. You must think I’m really foolish – weak.’ He looks expectantly at Sam, as though seeking some form of denial.
‘You’re not the first, shall we leave it at that?’ Sam smiles, ‘and at least it’s out in the open now. Could I have your daughter’s phone number?’
‘Yes, of course. It’s in my office upstairs.’ He hurries off to get it.
Sam hears raised voices out in the hallway. Moments later, Ralph Probisher comes back into the room, red-faced, a sheet of paper in his hand. He shuts the door behind him.
‘Here it is. Lily Jamieson, she’s probably at work right now.’
‘Thanks,’ Sam takes it from him, pockets it. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Mr Probisher, I’ll be speaking to your son later. He’ll confirm your version of events?’
The man stares into his face for a moment. ‘Right, yes, I’m sure he will.’ He turns his head, looks towards the door. ‘I’m glad it’s out in the open now. Edmund has asked me to go and spend some time with him and his partner in New York. I’m going to go.’
Sam smiles, offers out his hand, the man takes it in both hands, shakes it vigorously.
‘I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you.’
For a second, Ralph Probisher’s eyes light up, then they dim. ‘You never said why you needed to know all this. Has someone else been pretending to be my daughter?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to tell you that right now. All I can say is that it’s linked to another case. But when it’s all over I’ll let you know more, I promise. I won’t leave you in the dark.’
Ralph Probisher’s shoulders slump down, he stands immobile for a moment, then rubs his thumb along his lower lip. He seems lost in his thoughts. ‘It seems that I’ve been in the dark for a long time anyway. A couple of months won’t make much of difference. I’ve always worried that Lily’s past would catch up with her. I’ve put my private mobile number on there too. Just in case you need to get in touch with me. Clearly, I can’t depend on Ingrid.’ He shows Sam to the door, his wife nowhere to be seen.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ says Sam, shaking the man’s hand again. Then another question pops into his mind.
‘Mr Probisher, did Lily have many friends?’
He touches Sam lightly on the sleeve, ‘Ralph, call me Ralph,’
‘Ralph, then. Did Lily have many friends?’
He shakes his head in response. ‘You’ll have to ask her that one yourself. There were some, but heaven knows where they are now.’
‘Right, thanks, bye again then.’ Sam strides off in the direction of his car. When he’s settled in the seat, he calls the number on the piece of paper. Lily Jamieson answers, he briefly explains the purpose of his call. He hears her voice break, clearly unsettled by his call. She asks if she can ring him back, she’s at work, can’t talk. They agree that he’ll ring her tomorrow, her day off.
He starts up the car, switches on the satnav, makes his way back to the M1. His mind wanders as he drives, he imagines Ingrid screaming at her husband, he sees the tall grey figure of Ralph Probisher leaving with a paltry suitcase, just like he had when he’d broken up with his wife. She’d thrust it into his arms as he’d walked through the door, her face blazing with anger.
‘You can go and live with that tart you work with.’
As usual, his wife had got the wrong end of the stick. He wasn’t Mel’s type. And, of course, he couldn’t explain; some things are best left unsaid.
Thankfully, they’d made up. He checks the time on the dashboard if he’s lucky he’ll be back by dinner.
43
Mel’s jaw tightens as she reads over her notes. The list of queries seemed endless. Back in 1973, the investigating copper’s interest must have dissipated within weeks. In the case of Karen, at least one witness had come forward and said that they’d seen her with an older boy. There was no sign of it being followed up – probably brushed aside as tittle-tattle. The witness, probably long dead.
Veronica, on the other hand, was portrayed as a druggie, yet there was no investigation into who supplied the drugs. The fact that both the mother and grandmother stated that Veronica would not have run away went unacknowledged. No wonder they had felt abandoned, let down by the very people who should have been helping them. Mel lets out a sigh of frustration. At the least, both cases have been reopened – fresh eyes, better science and even better policing hopefully will find them closure.
The office is a buzz of noise, Kinsi and Jenny are on the phone. The HOLMES team are entering data into the system. She loves days like this, when everyone is on board, on purpose, and all those other terms she’d learnt on the management development course she attended last year. Veronica Lightfoot is proving an interesting case – for everyone on the team, she can see it in their eyes. Concentration, determination. They want to be let off the leash, they want to get on with it.
There was still one big unanswered question – when did Veronica become Lily Probisher? Those early police files, did they relate to the real Lily or to Veronica using her name. They hadn’t been able to find anything to guide them in that direction. She’d hoped Sam would bring light to that.
Badger pops his head around her office door, fresh from fighting his way through Lily Probisher’s financial files. ‘Can I see you for a few minutes, boss?’
He places a plastic storage box on the floor by the door, parks himself in the chair opposite her desk. He pulls the metal rimmed glasses on the top of his head down to his eyes.
‘Her financials gave up some surprises; she owns a couple of properties.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Although, as far as we know she’s not legally Lily Probisher, so I’m not sure who actually owns them.’
Mel gives a wry smile. ‘Let’s hope the Probishers don’t find out.’
‘That’s a point, I’d not given much thought.’ A pained look crosses his face. ‘Some interesting legal issues will definitely raise their ugly head whichever way this case goes. Anyway, she owns the place she runs her business out of, the one on Bennetts Road. It’s split into two flats. Downstairs is her practice. I assumed that she would have rented the top flat out, especially as she has that place on St. Georges Road, the one you visited.’
Mel listens with only half her attention; the other half wants to get back to checking out the medical records.
‘Well, I was wrong.’ He smiles, taps his knuckles lightly on her desk as though to bring her back to the conversation. ‘It’s not rented out. She’s had work done on it. There was a desk, a couple of chairs, a single bed, no sign of an occupant. That was about it. The desk drawer was full of receipts, the woman never seemed to throw any of them away,’ he sniffed, took a tissue out of his pocket, blew his nose noisily, ‘going back years. Among them, there was bill for a garage door repair. Clearly, it wasn’t attached to the house. I thought it might be worthwhile having a look to see what she’
s been using it for. I contacted the repair company; they gave me the address of the garage.’
‘Right, when Sam gets back, you and he have a look. I want to finish these.’ She places her hand on the pile of medical records.
He coughs, raises his voice an octave. ‘Been there already, boss. Thought I might try out the remainder of those keys that we couldn’t find anything to fit.’
‘Oh, right.’ Mel’s attention is fully focused now, she pushes the pile of documents off to the left, leans back in her seat. ‘Tell me what you found?’
‘These.’ He places the plastic box on the table. ‘Locked away in a filing cabinet. Very old school technology, I had to use one of the tape machines in the interview room to play them back on.’
She lifts the lid, peers inside in the box.
‘Lots of cassettes, I played a few. Recordings of some sort of therapy sessions.’ He peers through his glasses, ‘A bit weird, if you ask me. Unusual name too – Mnimi – it’s Greek for memory.’
Each cassette has been bagged for evidence. Mel picks one up after another, they look as though they’ve been played repeatedly. The thin brown tape is creased in parts. The labels are stained with age. No dates, just five words, handwritten in the same hand on every cassette.
The Mnimi Project – Patient Number Eight.
‘Did they come in individualised cases?’
He shakes his head. ‘I wondered about that, too. I think someone must have thrown those out. They certainly weren’t in there,’ he points to the box.
She leans forward. ‘Fingerprints?’
‘Some… but they’re badly deteriorated. Nothing identifiable.’
She frowns, sinks back into her seat. ‘What’s on them? Her clients?’
‘No. I had another look in her office, I found her client records locked in a wall safe. She recorded everything, video, a camera hidden in the room sensor. All on DVD, everything labelled, name, date, time, organised in alphabetical order and then by date. Very OCD. I doubt that her clients knew she was doing that.’
She Lies Hidden: a spell-binding psychological suspense thriller Page 19