by Helen Fields
The slap was hard, although not entirely unexpected. If Verity had time to rationalise it, she might have realised she wanted her mother to hit her. It would make the final act of leaving all the easier. Her face stung and her mother was panting hard, looking pained, as if she had sustained the blow rather than dealing it.
‘Who is he? If you’re so proud of him, why not do the decent thing and bring him here to meet me?’
Verity took three small, silent steps towards her mother. ‘You really want to know? I didn’t introduce him to you because you’d have hated him. You’d have taken one look at him and passed judgment. That’s what you do.’
‘So what’s the problem then? Tattoos? A skinhead haircut? You might as well tell me now,’ Rachel snarled.
‘He’s black, Mum. Just let it sink in for a moment. After all those years of listening to you and Uncle Samson spouting your racist comments, I’m going out with someone you hate, for no reason other than your own pathetic small-mindedness and prejudice. We’re going away. We’re going somewhere you’ll never find us, and I’m never coming back.’
‘I don’t think you are. I don’t think you’re going anywhere at all. You’ll go upstairs to your room, right now, and you’ll stay there. You can eat in your room and when I think you’ve learned your lesson we’ll pray together for God’s forgiveness,’ Rachel said, pointing her daughter towards the stairs.
‘No. That’s the last order you’ll ever give me. You don’t love me. If you did, you’d have protected me better and put my needs before Bible study and prayers and your pride. I’ve hated you for so long now, I’d almost forgotten how it felt to love. Then I met Ade. He’s a good, decent man and he’ll look after me. I’m going, and you’re not going to stop me,’ Verity said, taking a step to her mother’s side and reaching for the door handle.
‘I don’t think so, madam,’ Rachel said, gripping her forearm hard and pulling her away from the door.
‘Fine. I’ll go out the back. You can’t keep me here. I’m done with you.’ Verity turned round, picking up her backpack and walking down the hallway towards the kitchen and the exit to freedom.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Rachel hissed from behind her. ‘You ungrateful little bitch. I’ll see you in hell before I let you leave this house.’
‘Whatever you say, Mum,’ Verity replied, smiling as she glanced around to take a last look at her mother’s face.
The bottle caught her on her right ear. Elderflower cordial, Verity had time to notice. The crazy old cow is actually going to hit me with the elderflower cordial, she thought. That blow sent her to the floor. She raised her hands enough to lessen the effect of the next blow, but by then her mother was standing over her, blowing hot air from her nose like a bull, shrieking a high, thin noise, the whites of her eyes bloody with the tension in her body.
‘God will forgive me,’ she paused to say, before smashing the end of the bottle on a countertop. ‘He’s the only one who matters.’
She brought the piercing shards down into her daughter’s neck and watched the flowing of the blessed red river that would wash away Verity’s sins. And as she watched, she prayed.
Chapter Fifty
They found Verity’s body a week before Christmas Eve, buried beneath the greenhouse where Samson Jerome had held his sister’s victims. Jonty Spurr attended, and treated the girl’s body with sweet tenderness. No missing person report had ever been filed. A future had simply been wiped out in a flurry of blows to her skull and neck. Ava stood at the unofficial graveside and issued silent apologies for not having brought Rachel Jerome to justice. One day I will, Ava promised Verity. Whatever it takes, I’ll find her and make her pay for what she did to you, and to Zoey, Lorna and Kate.
There was no news from the ports, no sightings, no leads. Rachel’s bank account had been emptied soon after she’d been interviewed, and her passport hadn’t been found at the house. It was easy enough for a middle-aged woman to travel the UK in relative anonymity. Harder to cross an international border unnoticed. The only lead they had was a list of other quasi-religious groups who supported the extremist views Rachel held, found on an old calendar. Ava was following them up, one by one, but the level of secrecy under which they operated within foreign jurisdictions made progress painstakingly slow. She could do slow, Ava told herself. Rachel had gone to ground but she couldn’t hide forever. Interpol had been alerted. Sooner or later, she would reveal herself again. The monster always showed its face eventually.
Jonty Spurr phoned on 23 December.
‘DCI Turner,’ he said. ‘I thought you should know. Verity’s DNA profile showed that Samson was her father and Rachel her mother. The sickness in that family goes back a long way. Decomposition was quite extensive, but I’d estimate she was buried four or five years ago. She’ll be laid to rest properly now, somewhere quiet. There was no extended family traced so it’ll be a state funeral.’
‘Keep it light on the religion, would you, Jonty? I have a feeling the last thing Verity Jerome would want to hear is more scripture.’
‘I hear you, and I’ll leave instructions. I’m back off to Aberdeen tomorrow. Dr Ailsa Lambert will be back from leave, so I’m not needed any more. I can’t say it’s been a pleasure to work with you, not on this case, but I hope we meet again under happier circumstances.’
‘Thank you, Dr Spurr,’ Ava said. ‘Have a good Christmas. I know Luc will miss you.’
Callanach walked in as they said their goodbyes.
‘You all right?’ he asked.
‘The perfect end to a perfect case,’ she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘What’s up?’
‘Christie Salter asked to see us both together,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure what it’s about.’
‘I think I do,’ Ava said, as DC Salter knocked the door and entered.
‘Ma’am, Sir,’ Salter began. ‘I’m sorry to do this. I know I said I was ready to come back to work, and it’s been good being with the squad – in lots of ways it was what I needed – but I know now that I was just running away from losing the baby and from how my life has changed. I’ve come to hand in my notice.’
‘Good for you,’ Ava said gently. Salter looked surprised. ‘But not your notice. It’s too soon for that. Take more time. Your place here stays open as long as you need. I have something else for you to think about. I was waiting for the right time to give this to you, and you chose the moment yourself.’
Ava reached into her desk and pulled out a large brown envelope with DC Salter’s name in bold print on the front.
‘I hope you’ll forgive me for what I did,’ Ava said. ‘I think you’d be about the best mother Tansy Shaw could want. It’s not a done deal, but you’re a match in terms of culture, race and geography. You know her background. You tick all the boxes. It’s up to you to apply, but they are looking for a forever family for her. I made some preliminary enquiries and they’re waiting for your application, should you feel this is right for you.’
‘Ma’am,’ Salter said. ‘That’s …’ She ran a hand down the set of documents in her hand, smiling through the tears. ‘They’ll consider me?’
‘They will. In fact, you’re everything they’re looking for. No pressure. It’s a big commitment, but you were ready to become a parent a while ago.’
‘I can do it for Lorna,’ Salter said. ‘Make sure her daughter grows up with a mother and father who’ll love her and protect her.’
‘And there’s still a job here for you. Women get to do both, these days. Don’t forget us, Christie. You’re a brilliant police officer.’
‘Thank you,’ Salter whispered, standing up. ‘You’re the most amazing boss. Everyone thinks so. Even Lively, and I never thought he’d put up with having a woman above him.’
‘You have no idea,’ Ava said. ‘Go home, Christie. Spend more time with your husband. And have a wonderful Christmas.’
Callanach watched Salter go before he spoke.
‘That was an extraordinary thing to have do
ne, in the middle of the horrors of the last few weeks,’ he said.
‘It made sense, both for the baby and for Salter,’ Ava said. ‘Pure pragmatism, before you start polishing me up a halo.’
‘I’m actually rather relieved. I have a confession to make. I might have overheard you asking about adoption at the mother and baby unit, and it’s possible I’d assumed you were referring to …’
‘Myself?’ She laughed. ‘I don’t think I have the expletives to express how ridiculous that is.’
‘Really? I think you’d make a great mother. Police Scotland hasn’t exactly been kind to you recently. No one would blame you for wanting a break.’
‘A break is the last thing I want. I have a month of paperwork to catch up on, and then I’m going to make bloody sure Rachel Jerome is found.’
‘She could be anywhere by now, Ava. Every police force in the world has been alerted. No one’s going to want to deal with the diplomatic nightmare of letting a wanted serial killer across their border, but Rachel’s good at hiding. It could be years before we get a lead. You did all you could and you know the deal. File it for now and solve the next case. The ones that got away will drive you crazy. You need some time off after the stress of running two investigations concurrently.’
‘Frankly, never having another day of leave would be a small price to pay if I could put her in handcuffs,’ Ava said. ‘But I know you’re right. I’m not giving up hope though. Rachel has a taste for killing, but what will trip her up eventually is the fact that she believes she’s entitled to kill. She’s obsessed. You can’t put out that sort of fire.’
‘Will you settle for just one day of leave?’ Callanach asked. ‘Natasha has invited me for lunch on Christmas Day after all. I’ve agreed.’
‘What happened to Spain with Selina?’ Ava asked.
‘Sunshine and relaxation? Are you kidding? That sounds awful. You’ll be at Natasha’s too, right? Then I thought we could watch an old black and white movie at mine in the evening. Or, at least, you can watch it while I pretend to be interested and hold your popcorn. My Christmas present to you.’
‘Sounds about as good a Christmas as I could imagine,’ Ava said.
‘It’s a date?’ Callanach grinned.
‘Not exactly, but I’ll be there,’ she replied.
It should have been quiet and sombre with just the three of them after so much of terror and grief, so they made it the opposite. They laughed and joked, and were rude to one another as only good friends can be. Natasha cooked a Victorian-style feast, with goose and beef and a ton of vegetables, and more mince pies than an army could have consumed. They hugged and kissed her goodbye at eight in the evening. She was off to see other friends, and Callanach and Ava made for Luc’s apartment, where It’s a Wonderful Life and The Shop Around the Corner awaited on DVD, with mulled wine, popcorn and an unopened bottle of Glenlivet.
Ava kicked off her shoes and settled herself on the couch as Callanach heated the popcorn. He returned to the lounge to find a small, silver parcel with red ribbon where he’d been planning to sit. Handing Ava a glass of steaming mulled wine, he stared at it.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘Um, is that a trick question?’ Ava smiled.
‘We all agreed – you, me and Natasha – no presents.’ He picked it up and planted himself on the sofa, shaking the box.
‘Just open it, you idiot,’ Ava said. He unwrapped it, ripping open the box, to find a bottle opener with a ceramic tartan handle. ‘Wind it,’ she grinned.
He turned the corkscrew as strains of ‘Ding Dong Merrily On High’ played on the bagpipes issued from a minute concealed speaker.
Ava began laughing, clutching her sides, struggling not to spill her drink. ‘It’s the single most Scottish yet Christmassy thing I could find. You love it, don’t you? Come on, admit it.’
‘How soon until the batteries run out?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘That’s what’s great. It works on movement, so when you wind the corkscrew you generate the energy!’
‘So … never.’ He whistled. ‘Wow, that’s clever.’
‘I know, you can’t thank me enough. I’ve been waiting all day to see the panic on your face. It was absolutely worth it. There’s something to be said for delayed gratification. Now come on, where’s my movie? You promised me black and white and some proper old-fashioned acting.’
‘This first,’ he said, pulling another package from beneath the sofa. This one was longer and thinner, wrapped in gold paper with a floppy white bow. He threw it to her end of the couch.
‘You cheated too!’
‘Did you think it was only you the rules didn’t apply to? Come on, open it up.’
Ava ripped the paper, peeping inside at soft brown leather and sheepskin. ‘Gloves,’ she breathed, smelling them and rubbing them against her face. ‘They’re so soft. I love them! But what’s this for?’ She held up a white wire that attached to each glove.
‘You put the pin into each glove at the wrist, then put the wire into your car charger. They’ll be hot by the time you arrive at an outdoor crime scene. No more cold hands. You’ve been moaning at me for the last year that you can never find your gloves. Problem solved.’
‘Problem solved,’ she said quietly, throwing herself forward and kissing him on the cheek. ‘Thank you. That was so thoughtful. Now I feel kind of bad about the musical corkscrew.’
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I’m going to bring it every time I come to your place.’
‘Selina will hate it. She’s so sophisticated. I have no idea how some women turn out like that and other women turn out like … like me.’ She laughed. ‘You must be missing her.’
‘Actually, this has turned out to be one of the best Christmases I can remember. And what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t wait around forever for you to ask me out.’ He winked at her and picked up the remote.
‘Me, ask you out? Oh, hold on, that would be because of your startling good looks, natural charm and washboard stomach,’ she said, grabbing the bowl of popcorn from the floor and balancing it on her lap.
‘Are you saying you don’t find those things attractive or is there something wrong with me that counteracts all of the above?’ He pressed a button and film titles flared on the screen.
‘As much as I’d like to list all the things that are wrong with you, I’d prefer to watch the film before it gets to New Year’s Eve. Also, I don’t want to dent your ego too much because I’m going to need a popcorn refill soon and it would be rude to insult my host.’
‘That’s fine, you just keep making excuses,’ he said. ‘I know how you really feel about me.’
‘Open the Glenlivet and I’ll love you forever,’ she laughed.
They started the film, legs up on the coffee table, blanket across the top of them, sipping whisky and talking through the action.
When the knock roused them, they were both asleep, with Ava’s head on Callanach’s shoulder as he leaned on a cushion. The film, long since finished, was frozen on the credits.
‘Luc.’ Ava shook him. ‘You’d better get it. There’s someone at your door.’
He ran a hand through his hair, pulling his arm gently from behind Ava’s neck as he got himself fully awake.
He opened the door to reveal a uniformed officer looking nervous. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Sorry, sir, only you weren’t answering your phone and we couldn’t find DCI Turner. Oh …’ he said, as his eyes turned to Ava on the couch.
‘What’s happening, Constable?’
‘Sorry to disturb your Christmas night, ma’am, only there’s an incident happening over at Braidburn Valley Park. Superintendent Overbeck said she was sure you wouldn’t mind taking command.’
‘Ah, this is the Superintendent’s decision, is it? All right, Constable, I’ll be down in a minute.’ He disappeared, looking grateful not to have been on the receiving end of any verbal abuse. Ava stretched, then reached for her co
at.
‘I’m coming with you,’ Luc said.
‘No need,’ Ava told him. ‘It’s probably nothing serious. Just Overbeck getting her own back.’
‘Getting her own back for what?’ Luc asked, pulling on his own coat in spite of Ava’s protests.
‘Just a misunderstanding,’ Ava smiled, taking her gloves from their wrapping. ‘Looks like I’ll be needing these sooner than I’d thought. Happy Christmas, Luc.’
Acknowledgements
When I told my editor, Helen Huthwaite, the initial idea for this book, the look on her face as I said, ‘The murderer cuts the skin from their stomachs and makes dolls from it,’ was all I needed to inspire me to get writing. Sometimes it only takes a single sentence. Since then, Helen has disappeared for a short while and produced beautiful, bouncing baby Rupert. So Helen, whilst I miss you, I guess I can forgive you in the circumstances (oh, and congratulations, he’s just gorgeous). In her stead, Phoebe Morgan stepped in and had the unenviable task of providing structural notes and making sure the editing process ran smoothly. The more I write, the more I realise that most editors have to be diplomats above all else. Phoebe, thank you, both for the editing and for the careful handling.
Sabah Khan, I promised you this. Here goes … I will never, ever turn into some impossible diva who’s a complete pain in the arse. Sabah, publicity perfectionist, you are always a step ahead. And, as ever, to the entire awesome and ever gorgeous Avon and HarperCollins teams who made this book with me: Rachel Faulkner-Willcocks, Molly Walker-Sharp, Alice Gordge, Victoria Oundjian, Katie Loughnane, Oli Malcolm, Elke Desanghere, Hannah Welsh, Dominic Rigby, Anna Derkacz and Laura Daley. A special mention for the designer, Joseph Mills, at Black Sheep whose cover graphics are nothing short of stunning.
And to a few people whose support has meant a huge amount while I was writing this book. Cressida Mclaughlin, Twitter pal extraordinaire, you are one in a million. Fiona Sharp, champion of Durham and of books, you continue to throw your support behind so many writers. You are owed a debt of gratitude. To Ruth Chambers who went to Bloody Scotland with me last year, survived a potentially lethal situation and still came out laughing, I look at a map and wonder what might happen to us in any given corner of the world. To my mother – sorry I moved to California, and thanks for putting up with me whenever I venture back. To Andrea Gibson, first reader on this book (yet again), you are my heart’s twin sister.