Before I Say I Do

by Vicki Bradley

  She knew how he felt. There was a strange space where her warrant card used to nestle in her jacket pocket beside her handcuff key. Her shoulders were lighter without the covert harness she normally wore underneath her jacket. She was a civilian now – but she couldn’t stop being a police officer at heart.

  ‘I think you’re meant to travel the world,’ she said. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

  He laughed. ‘That may be so, but who would I go with and where?’

  There was no wedding ring on his finger. No photos on the walls. ‘Anyway, you’re not here on a social call. You mentioned an old case on the phone. How can I help?’

  ‘Anything I tell you . . . it’s confidential.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  ‘You dealt with a murder twenty years ago. The victim was a child – Rachel Hughes.’

  Fraser’s face dropped suddenly.‘Not that case. Anything but that one.’ Loxton recognized the tone. Every cop had this – the case they weren’t sure about. The case that left them questioning everything that came before it and went after.

  ‘Jonathan Cane is dead,’ she said. ‘It looks like he died of an overdose.’

  He shook his head sadly. She hadn’t expected that reaction.

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Fraser said. ‘He was never going to make old bones; I knew that when I first met him. He was feral. Those types always live fast and die too young.’ She thought she saw relief flicker in his eyes, and she realized that he was hoping that’s all she’d come for, to tell him Cane was dead.

  She wasn’t sure how much to tell him, but, then, they’d suspended her. If they wanted to treat her like a civilian, then she wouldn’t be bound by the same rules as an officer. Loxton knew she would have to tell Kowalski everything. He’d wanted her to keep working on this case, but she hoped this wasn’t a step too far, that he’d understand why she hadn’t been able to leave it alone. She needed to understand what had happened in the past before she had a chance of figuring out the present.

  ‘Jenny Hughes’s fiancé has gone missing.’

  ‘Really?’ Fraser’s complete attention was on her while she told him about the case. He didn’t utter one word as she spoke. Like all police officers, he was an intense listener.

  ‘I’ve read your old case papers,’ she said. ‘I have a few questions that I just need to clear up in my mind.’

  ‘That case makes me sick just thinking about it. That poor little girl. You wouldn’t beat a rabid dog to death like that. That’s the one case I got wrong.’

  Loxton frowned despite herself. ‘Wrong?’

  ‘I was a young detective, desperate for a result.’ Fraser looked into her eyes and whatever he saw there made him relax. His shoulders dropped as if he was finally letting a heavy burden go. ‘I retired as a superintendent a couple of years back. That case made me . . . but it broke me first. Looking back now, I think an innocent boy went to prison.’ He pulled a large bottle of whisky out of a drawer. There was a quarter left. ‘Fancy one?’

  ‘Why not?’ she said, after all she wasn’t working anymore, and it might help him to trust her.

  He poured her a generous measure and then one for himself. ‘Jonny Cane was a bad kid, everyone said so at the time. The psychiatrists said he was blocking out the trauma – that’s why he never admitted to the crime. The pathologist said he was the right size. His blood was found under the purple stone on the ring Rachel was wearing. I remember it hardly fit onto Rachel’s finger. It had been her sister’s ring.’

  ‘Her sister’s ring?’

  ‘Yes. Jenny said she’d decided to give Rachel the ring as she’d always loved it. The ring proved Jonny had been at the murder scene, that an altercation had taken place.’

  ‘Did Jonny have any of the victim’s blood on him?’ This was the question Loxton needed answering.

  ‘No. No, he didn’t. But the pathologist explained that away. In a knifing incident, you get spattering, as you well know. And if the knife hits an artery, well, blood goes everywhere. But in a blunt impact injury, like Rachel had, the blood spatter can be quite small. Contained. And it tends to go sideways, like squashing an orange with a rock, no spray upwards as it’s blocked by the impact weapon.’

  ‘But Jonny didn’t have a single drop of the victim’s blood on him?’ Loxton couldn’t believe it.

  ‘It’s not as odd as it sounds. He went straight home from the woods, took a shower, and then threw all his clothes onto a makeshift bonfire in the back garden. He’d poured half a bottle of vodka on it and it was smouldering when we got to him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cane said he’d been terrified Jenny was going to accuse him of rape and he panicked. He said he’d left her and a few minutes later he’d heard this awful screaming. He thought she was hysterical and was going to make something up out of revenge, because, in his words, “he’d come on to her a bit strong”. He kept saying he hadn’t touched her, and it was her that scratched him, causing the cuts to his face. He said he never saw the little sister after he left Jenny. Said he didn’t know how his blood had got on her ring. It was a ridiculous story; it didn’t make sense that he’d burn his clothes like that. Jenny said he’d kissed her, wanted to do more but she’d told him she wasn’t interested, and he’d become angry and then ran off towards where they’d left Rachel. Jonny’s story was discounted as a teenager trying to come up with a defence and failing badly.’

  ‘So, it was Jenny’s word against Jonny’s.’

  ‘At the time I accepted it all, but now, looking back, I don’t think Jonny ever had that in him. He didn’t kill that girl. I watched him in prison and after he was released. There was a nagging feeling I had about the whole thing. He was no angel, that’s true, but he wasn’t a sadistic sexual predator. He always maintained his innocence, even when it meant the parole board wouldn’t release him. I started to think I’d got it wrong.’

  ‘I read his psychiatrist reports from prison,’ Loxton said. ‘The theory was that he attacked the older sister but lost his nerve, so then went after the younger sister – an easier target. In the moment he lost control and killed her. But in prison his behaviour was normal, no indications that he was a predator. He was out on licence for over a year and there was nothing involving attacking women.’ Except for the photographs, Loxton thought to herself. Stalking Julia Talbot. But then he blamed her for his conviction – perhaps he’d tried to blackmail her and Rowthorn into helping him with his appeal. ‘But if it wasn’t Cane, who did kill Rachel Hughes?’

  ‘That’s the question.’ He stood up and went over to his bookcase, pulling out a large leather-bound scrapbook. He sat down and opened it. ‘I kept going back to that case. Got a pathologist friend a few years back to look at the special post-mortem notes, unofficially. He said that the assumption it was a teenager was just that – an assumption. An adult could have crept up behind her, crouched low to make sure they hit her. Perhaps it was their first time, so they hesitated. The blows weren’t particularly hard, but a child’s skull is fragile.’

  ‘The parents?’

  He leafed through his scrapbook. ‘Alibis, both of them. Good ones, too. They were both working. The father worked at the council offices in town planning; colleagues vouched for him. The mother was a receptionist at a doctor’s surgery. Her colleague had to go home sick, so she got called in last minute. The doctor confirmed that she was there from late morning until seven in the evening. That’s why the parents had to get Jenny to look after Rachel at such short notice.’

  ‘Did anything stand out as odd?’

  ‘At the time I just believed everything Jenny said. She was a good kid. Never in trouble. But when I started to look back at the case, I began to doubt her account of what happened.’

  ‘You think Jenny did it?’

  ‘Jealousy in siblings can have tragic consequences. Jenny didn’t seem the type; she was bright, well brought up. She was known for exaggerating, according to her parents, but we didn’t think she’d hav
e lied about her sister getting murdered. But, then, there was always something about her . . .’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I don’t know who that girl was, what was really going on inside her head. She always had a mask on. At first I thought it was shock, but she never showed much emotion. She seemed to bury everything inside, so deep that even she couldn’t find it again.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Loxton thought of the first time she’d met Talbot. How she had been so quiet and closed off.

  ‘Cane was obsessed with Jenny. He thought she could help set him free. He was convinced it was a tramp living in the woods. There was evidence of a rough sleeper in Ashurst Wood, but Jonny’s blood was on the ring Rachel was wearing, and he had a deep cut to his face and scratches. He kept on that Jenny did it to him, but she denied it and she didn’t have a mark on her.’

  ‘It sounds like you had a strong case against him,’ Loxton said.

  ‘There was some concern when he was released on life licence. Jenny Hughes had chosen not to be informed by probation; she wanted to stay out of it. To all intents and purposes, she’d done a great disappearing act. The parole board deemed him safe to release.’

  ‘Did the authorities find her?’

  ‘No. They asked Kayleigh Webb, I mean Lucy Webb; she started using her middle name when she became an adult. Suppose she wanted to distance herself from it all. Anyway, they asked her if she knew where Jenny Hughes was and Kayleigh claimed that she didn’t. The parents didn’t know where she’d gone either. The parole board decided that Cane wouldn’t be able to find her either. He’d turned over a new leaf by this point, talked about his future, seemed excited. All thoughts of Jenny seemed to have been forgotten.’ Fraser sighed.

  Loxton thought of the hundreds of photographs in Cane’s flat. ‘Do you know how he got on after he was released from prison last year?’

  ‘I’ve been retired for two years. I kept an eye out for the first six months but lost track of him after that. My mind’s not what it used to be.’ He held up his empty glass.

  She nodded and stood up. ‘Thank you for your time.’

  ‘No problem. And here’s some more free advice.’ He poured himself another glass but didn’t offer her one this time. ‘You need to watch yourself, Loxton.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘After you first called me, I gave your nick a ring,’ he said. ‘Found out you’ve been suspended. There’s very few cases you need to walk away from, but this is one of them.’

  ‘Why?’ Loxton asked.

  ‘As I say, it made my career – but it destroyed my conscience, my marriage, my life. At the time I was so ambitious to progress and Cane’s head was served to me on a silver platter. Everyone wanted it solved. We all needed justice for Rachel. Someone to blame. I didn’t question the case enough, test the evidence properly. Inexperience, I guess. Ambition.’

  ‘And me?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re the opposite of me. You can’t stop worrying about the evidence; picking at it as if it’s an old scab. You need to let it go or this case will ruin any chance you have of saving your career. I don’t know what trouble you’ve got yourself into already, but interviewing witnesses when you’re suspended isn’t going to help.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘What did you tell the officers who you spoke to?’

  ‘Said I must have got the name wrong and that I hadn’t heard back from you. They told me not to speak to you if you did come by.’

  ‘You don’t take orders well.’

  ‘Nope, and neither do you.’ He paused. ‘Here, take this. I don’t want to have to hold onto it anymore.’ He passed her a photograph and stared into his whisky.

  It was of a little girl holding a blue-and-white polka-dot rabbit. ‘The mother gave me a copy of it. That’s the last photograph ever taken of Rachel alive. She was a bonny little thing.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Loxton was drawn to the girl’s sky-blue eyes. So full of life.

  ‘What happened to the rabbit?’ she asked.

  ‘Funny you should mention that,’ Fraser said. ‘She had it the day she died, but we never found it when we searched the woods. It had disappeared.’

  Loxton put the photograph in her pocket.

  ‘Don’t tell me what happens,’ Fraser said. ‘I like to pretend sometimes that I didn’t get it wrong.’

  Chapter 39

  Julia Talbot

  Friday

  The Royal London Hospital Accident and Emergency was chaos. Beds were shoved against walls and every available chair was taken. Drunk people argued with hospital staff and security had to come and march the worst offenders away. I’d had blood taken, had to urinate in a plastic beaker. I’d used the name Sarah Jones, although I suspected I wasn’t fooling anyone. I’d been waiting on a trolley in the triage ward for three hours for a bed.

  Another doctor came in and stood over me, scanning her clipboard. She looked about my age. Her curly black hair was tied up in a hurried ponytail.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

  ‘Better.’ The pain had subsided.

  ‘May I?’ She reached her hands to my abdomen and pressed one side and then the other. ‘Any pain?’

  ‘Not really. It aches but the sharp pain’s gone.’ ‘That’s good. I’ve booked you in for an ultrasound to check everything’s all right. How far along are you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ My shock made my mind go blank.

  ‘How many weeks pregnant are you?’ She smiled at me, as if I should be pleased.

  ‘Pregnant?’ My heart stopped in my throat.‘There must be some mistake.’

  She glanced at her notes and then back at me. ‘There’s no mistake. Your hCG hormone levels from your blood test confirm that you are pregnant. I’m sorry, I assumed you knew.’

  I placed my hands on my stomach. I’d put on a little weight, but I’d put that down to stress and living off microwave meals for the past week.

  ‘I’m on the pill.’

  She nodded sympathetically. ‘It’s not a hundred per cent effective, I’m afraid.’

  I couldn’t be a mum. My life was falling apart. Mark was gone. How would I cope? I felt claustrophobic in the curtained little cubicle.

  ‘What other medicine are you on?’ She was frowning down at her clipboard.

  ‘Nothing else . . . Actually, sleeping tablets. Do those count?’ I wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

  ‘How long have you been taking them for?’ The doctor was looking at me strangely.

  ‘A week, maybe.’

  ‘You’ve got high levels of Benzodiazepine in your system. That’s what appears to have brought on your collapse.’

  ‘Are you sure these are my results? I don’t know what Benzo . . . what that is. I’ve only just started taking sleeping tablets – hardly any, and I’m sure I’m not pregnant.’

  ‘You are Sarah Jones, aren’t you?’ She was frowning at her clipboard again.

  I paused for a second, confused, but then nodded quickly.

  ‘And what’s your date of birth?’

  Shit. What had I registered when the paramedics had booked me in? I’d been in so much pain. I stared at her stupidly. ‘God, I’m having a mind blank.’ I put my hand on my stomach and tried to look pained.

  ‘The sixth . . .’ She waited expectantly.

  ‘Sixth of November 1992,’ I finished quickly. I’d given them Rachel’s date of birth. Why the hell had I done that?

  ‘Then these are your results.’ The doctor was looking at me sceptically; I couldn’t tell if she thought I was lying or just mad. ‘Have you got these sleeping tablets with you?’

  I fished them out of my handbag, trying to hide my cigarettes from the doctor. I passed the packet to her and waited while she peered at the words.

  ‘I skipped my last period but just kept taking the pill.’ I’d actually skipped my last two periods to avoid my skin flaring up on my wedding day. ‘Could that have made the results funny?’ I a
sked.

  ‘No.’ The doctor shook her head as she read the packet. ‘How many of these are you taking a day?’

  ‘My friend gave them to me.’

  ‘How many have you been taking?’ she repeated.

  ‘Mostly two.’ I’d been taking three, although her scorn put me off admitting to that.

  ‘These are prescription only and the maximum dose is one a day and not when you’re pregnant. They’re more for anxiety disorders or severe insomnia.’

  ‘I didn’t even know I was pregnant when I took them.’

  ‘Taking two of these a day could have serious side effects: confusion, severe lethargy and abdominal pain.’ She motioned to my stomach as she said the last one. ‘They can cause paranoia, depression and they’re highly addictive.’

  I stared at my hands in stupid silence. Lucy must not have realized. I felt sick and shaky.

  ‘What’s your friend’s name?’ The doctor’s frown grew even deeper.

  ‘It was a mistake. I remember now. I misheard her. She did say take one, but I thought they were harmless. It’s my fault, I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I’ll stop taking them right away.’

  ‘Is there anyone I can call to come and be with you?’ Now she was looking at me pityingly.

  ‘No . . . no. It’s late and I’m fine.’ This was going wrong. Did she think I’d tried to hurt myself? ‘You said I need an ultrasound? Is my baby okay?’ Saying ‘my baby’ sounded so strange.

  ‘You shouldn’t be taking Benzodiazepine when you’re pregnant; the truth is we don’t know if it would harm a foetus. The amount you’ve been taking makes it likely that what you experienced today are just side-effects of the drug. Your blood pressure is low which is what you’d expect with this dosage of sleeping tablets. I’d like to keep you in until it’s back to normal.’