Often he cries, especially if anyone in school has been telling scary stories. He always runs off to play if someone starts all that. Ghosts and stuff.
His gran says there are no such things as ghosts but he’s not so sure. He tries to stop thinking about it. He needs a wee but he doesn’t want to go across the sitting room now that he has turned the light off.
He waits and waits and tries really hard but it’s no good. He remembers what happened last week after Stan found him in the laundry cupboard.
He turns on his torch. He gets out of bed and he creeps across the room, shining his torch out into the sitting room. It is as he is crossing the room that the knocking on the front door starts up again. Just like a couple of weeks back.
‘Hello? I know you’re in there.’ The voice isn’t very loud – just enough volume to be heard through the door.
He keeps very still. This has happened only once before. He kept quiet that time and the knocking and the voice eventually went away.
He should have told his gran but he was worried she would be cross that he was out of bed.
There is knocking again. One, two, three. It is not very loud knocking. Again, it’s just loud enough to be sure that it can be heard. Knock, knock, knock. One, two, three . . .
‘I can see the light under the door. I know you’re in there. Let me in or I’m going to phone the police.’
He keeps ever so still. The police? He thinks of his gran and how super-cross she will be if the police turn up. He tries to hold his breath but his heart is beating really, really loud. He thinks he should perhaps turn the torch off but he is too afraid of the dark.
And then someone is lifting up the letterbox in their door and he can just see a nose and someone trying to see right in. ‘I saw your gran go. I know you’re on your own. And if you don’t answer the door right this minute, I’m phoning the police.’
And now he recognises the voice. It’s Brian.
It’s fat Brian from next door.
CHAPTER 22
MATTHEW
‘What’s up? What is it you haven’t told me?’
Matthew doesn’t answer his wife immediately. Instead he stares at her and then stares at his plate. Steak and chips. She has cooked the steak perfectly, resting it well so that it is juicy and delicious. But for some reason he’s put off from cutting into the meat and so the steak is going cold.
‘Why is it I can never get anything past you, Sally?’ He looks again at the meat, wondering where his appetite has gone; he normally loves steak. But then he sees the red at the centre of the first slice of steak and realises . . . It is perfectly medium rare but the flash of rawness is making him think of something else. He is not normally squeamish but his mind keeps going back to that cruel fake attack. Flesh. Acid. The terrible moments when he was waiting for Alice’s flesh to change colour.
‘Witchcraft. On the quiet I’m a fully fledged white witch. Now, why not eat your steak while I check on our Pippy Pocket princess, and then you can tell me everything. Deal?’
He nods. He and Sally have been married a few years now. He loves her very much but wonders if he will ever truly understand how the female mind works. Sometimes he sits at breakfast and imagines Amelie all grown-up. The two of them speaking in an entirely different language. About who said what and when. About fashion and gossip.
And cushions.
He smiles at Sally and feels guilty that he does not always listen when she’s talking. He met her on a case – a difficult and quite emotional case involving two of her childhood friends. Sometimes he goes cold, thinking – what if Sal’s friend Beth had picked another private investigator to help them? What would his life be?
Fewer cushions, he thinks mischievously – picturing the puzzle of their bed, which has a mountain of silk obstacles.
‘Why are you grinning suddenly?’
‘Doesn’t matter. I love you, Sally.’
‘You too. Eat your steak.’
Sally leaves the kitchen-cum-dining room and heads upstairs. He can just hear their daughter’s voice protesting that she is not tired. Matthew smiles again. When does a child ever admit otherwise? There is some singing – Sally and Amelie together – and then a warning to go to sleep.
Finally Sally returns and he makes an effort with the steak.
‘Good. You need the iron, Matt; you’re looking a bit peaky. I was reading in a magazine the other day that iron deficiency is way more common than people realise. So – fire away. I’m listening.’ She reaches for the wine bottle but he puts his hand over his glass and shakes his head. He’s thinking once more of Alice and so is still unsettled. He may go out again; he hasn’t quite decided.
‘I sort of messed up today. Alice wouldn’t travel in my car. I should have insisted but I didn’t. There was a fake acid attack and it was horrible.’
‘What the hell is a fake acid attack?’
He explains about the motorcyclist and the iced water in the bottle. How they assumed the worst.
‘I guess it’s a sign of the times. The biker knew we’d think it was acid. A truly horrible thing to do to her.’
‘How absolutely dreadful. And strange too . . . to go to all that trouble for a fake attack? I mean – he could have been caught. Surely there will be CCTV?’
‘Not so far. And I think this was a warning. Sort of, see what I can do to you if I choose. It’s control-freakery. Classic stalker behaviour. This is about terrorising Alice.’
Sally looks shaken, and he tells her the rest of the news about Alice’s double identity.
‘So you’re off the case? Well – good, I say, if she can’t even tell you the truth about herself. It’s getting way, way too complicated.’
Matthew smiles at his wife’s loyalty. She wants to protect him and he likes that she’s angry on his behalf, but the truth is he is over the anger now. He’s read more about the Alex Sunningham case and feels sorry for Alice – or Jennifer, or whatever she wants to be called.
‘You are off the case?’ Sally leans in, trying to read his expression.
‘Well, her boyfriend sacked me so – yes.’
‘Good. We should do some more advertising. Try to get you some better work. It’s good that the money’s just come in from that corporate training you did. We’re fine for a few months. And I don’t like you taking on stuff outside your comfort zone. I always knew this was a bad idea. Borderline bodyguard work. That’s not you. And in any case, if the police can’t keep her safe, how are you expected to? On your own?’ She has stood up now and is clattering about with plates and other dishes as Matthew’s phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Melanie.
Can you make our café in an hour?
He puts the phone in his pocket and stares at his wife’s back as she loads the dishwasher. She will worry if he tells her he’s meeting Melanie. DI Sanders still wants him back in the force, but Sally’s not at all sure this would be healthy for him. She worries it will stir up old ghosts. Matthew left the force because he blamed himself over a child’s death. He still sometimes has dreams about it. Sally will get very twitchy if he mentions Melanie.
‘Just need to pop out. Nothing to worry about. Might be a new case. I won’t be long.’
She turns. ‘So long as it isn’t the man who thinks little people are trying to kidnap him?’
‘Might be.’ He winks and then moves across to kiss her, parking the thought that – come to mention it – he might actually call in on Ian and his little people. If not tonight then some time very soon.
At their regular café, there’s just an hour until closing. In the evening they serve burger and chips to boost takings, and Matthew is shocked to find he’s almost tempted, despite the steak. He is lucky to have a skinny gene and a good metabolism but he needs to be careful as he gets older.
No. Very bad idea.
Melanie is just a few minutes behind him and looks even larger than the last time he saw her.
‘Are you sure you have the energy for all this, Mel?
Wouldn’t it just be easier to go on mat leave early? Those triplets could be born any moment.’
She tilts her head and pokes out her tongue.
The waitress arrives to take their order – just coffee for him, though Melanie plumps for carrot cake again with her Earl Grey tea.
‘So – a pickle. Alice turning out to be Jennifer.’ He lifts a sugar sachet out of the little bowl on the table but checks himself and puts it back. No time for fidgeting.
‘Understatement.’ She pauses and then leans in. ‘My boss is going ballistic. So. Usual rules here. We are not meeting and we are not talking.’
He raises his hands in surrender. ‘Absolutely understood, and you know I won’t breathe a word.’
‘OK. So I’ve read Alice the riot act but, truth be told, I feel a bit sorry for her. Now I know the whole story. And given what happened this morning.’
He’s relieved to hear this. Melanie is not someone to fall out with. Nerves of steel beneath the soft and very pregnant exterior. He bets she gave Alice a tough time.
‘I have yet to tell Alice the whole story, Matt. She’s determined we should keep calling her Alice, by the way. It’s her second name and she claims her sister and mother have got used to using it. Anyway. I’m tipping you off because it’s going to be all over the papers within twenty-four hours and I want to know what you think. Alex Sunningham has disappeared.’
‘You’re not serious?’
‘Afraid so. Failed to report to his probation officer more than once. And now he’s disappeared from his hostel. We were going to keep all this low-key for a bit but it looks like it’s going to blow up very quickly. And not just because we want to question him about Alice. She needs to know – has a right to know, now that he’s our principal suspect. I was rather hoping we would have found him by now . . .’
Matthew raises his left eyebrow. Melanie sighs and they both lean back as the waitress delivers their order. Once she’s gone, Melanie sips her tea, then continues.
‘The minor – the fifteen-year-old that he ran off with – has just disappeared from home as well.’
‘You are kidding me.’
‘I wish.’
‘But I thought she spilled the beans to the nationals to warn others about grooming. I thought she now hated the guy. So what are you thinking? That he’s got to her? Revenge?’
‘At this stage, we don’t know what to think. She’s eighteen now. She’s been doing A levels and has a place at university. Back on track. Her parents are in bits. It’s completely out of character for her to disappear without contacting them. No one knows what to think. Whether this could be a coincidence. An aggressive move by Alex. Or something else . . .’
Matthew lets out a long sigh and sips at his own drink. The stories about Alex Sunningham are swimming through his thoughts.
‘And you want to know what I think. Regarding the teenager and also Alice . . . Whether this is revenge?’
‘Yes, I do. Jeez – Matt. I so wish you were working on this officially with me. But as you’re sort of on the case anyway, I’m hoping you’ll help. I trust your instinct. You know that. So what are you thinking? What should I be thinking here? Obviously, the terms of Alex’s licence forbid him from having any contact with this girl. I’ll be liaising with the other team investigating this girl’s disappearance and Alex skipping parole. But do we assume he’s violent now? What do you think? My head’s all over the place, to be honest.’
‘A few years inside could have turned this Alex into a different character. We both know he’s a creep but he could have turned violent too. Plenty of time to get very bitter. Distort things in his head. I guess he could be capable of the stalking. And targeting the teenager for revenge. We daren’t assume otherwise.’
‘I agree. We have to find him very, very quickly. The plans are for a press conference if the girl doesn’t turn up by the morning.’
‘Which means the Alex Sunningham case will be hot news all over again.’
‘Yes. And Alice – or Jennifer, rather – will need to decide how she’s going to handle that. I’m happy for you to break this to her, Matt, but I want to know how she reacts. Agreed?’
Matthew finishes his drink and then gets out his phone. ‘OK. But she’s my client so it’s tricky.’ He pauses, remembering that this is in fact no longer the case; that he’s technically been sacked. But the truth? He looks up and stares at Mel. He’s not ready to let this case go. Not after the fake acid attack. And because he keeps seeing those dreadful pictures of the case from their training days too. Rachel Allen strangled in her shower. So young. Such a waste . . .
He strongly suspects it’s why Mel is so agitated now. Frustrated, and worried about getting it wrong.
‘I’m not sure quite where I am with Alice so I’ll be straight with her that I’m liaising with you. Oh – and just one more thing, Melanie. Favour for favour.’ He turns back to his phone and scrolls through the pictures folder. ‘I’d like to know who owns this car. Black Golf.’ He shows her a picture and she takes out her own phone to copy it as he zooms in on the number plate.
‘Why?’
‘Might be nothing. But I saw it twice in the hours I was keeping an eye on Alice. Might have been following us. I couldn’t be absolutely sure. Got distracted when the bike showed up.’
‘OK. I’ll check it out and let you know. Meantime I want to let Alice sweat a bit overnight over misleading us. As a favour, I’ll text you first thing if the girl doesn’t show up so you can warn her just before the media get it. But the deal is I need to know how she reacts. I’ll be honest, I think you’ve got a better chance of reading her than I do over this right now. I badly need to know whether you feel we can trust her going forward. Yes? And then I’ll need to interview her again officially. She might have ideas where he’s run to. She needs to cooperate with us, Matt. No more silly games. We need her to help us find him . . . for her own sake.’
CHAPTER 23
ALICE
We slept in the same bed but in that awkward way as if after a row, leaning outwards and being careful not to touch.
It’s Thursday. I am still in shock from the attack yesterday. I am mortified they know about Alex now, and the police and Matthew and Tom are so angry with me. But I am also so relieved that I look the same in the mirror. I keep touching my face, sort of amazed still that I wasn’t hurt; relieved too that I have a little time to regroup before anything else happens. Before next Wednesday.
‘Coffee?’ Tom’s voice draws me back to the room. To his mood, which is difficult to read. He is wearing pyjama bottoms for the first time and I wonder where he found them – I did not even know that he owned any.
‘Yes please.’ I watch him scurry from the room and then glance around, taking in the order and the very masculine style which is so different from my own home. His flat in Exeter is on the second floor of a waterside block, with a large balcony and view of the River Exe. It’s convenient for both the city centre and the station, which works well now that Tom spends so much time working in London. He used to work in criminal law but is now in corporate law. More lucrative and nearly all city-based.
Sometimes he talks about renting a place in London but, like me, he loves the country and the coast, and he is fond of this flat. It has good security so can be safely locked up when he’s away. It has video entry and cameras so is also perfect for me just now – almost as reassuring in terms of security as Leanne’s place in Dorset.
On the opposite wall to the bed there’s a huge wardrobe which Tom had fitted a few months back at vast expense to house his work suits and coats. Proper wood – none of your veneer nonsense. There are two matching bedside tables but none of the clutter of my own bedroom back at my rented house. I glance to Tom’s side of the bed where there is a framed photograph of his parents. Tom looks most like his father. His parents had him late in life and have retired early. His father was a surgeon, his mother a GP. No wonder all this is so outside his comfort zone. Tom doesn’t realis
e what a charmed life he’s lived.
At last he reappears with two mugs and I take one, trying to find a small smile.
‘So – do I call you Alice or Jenny?’ His tone is strained.
‘Alice. I’ve decided I’m going to stick with Alice. It’s my second name. My real second name, I mean, and I like it as my byline as a journalist. I’ve got used to it now.’
‘Right.’ He sips his drink, staring at the steam rising from the liquid, careful not to meet my gaze.
‘Look – you’re allowed to be angry, Tom. It’s a lot to take in. I do know that. Why don’t you just let it out. Be honest. If you need to be angry with me, be angry.’
He keeps very still for a moment and I can see hurt in his eyes, which is once again like a slap. That is what was most difficult after he picked me up from the police station and brought us back here yesterday. Hurt rather than anger.
‘I’m not exactly angry. I’m just a bit shell-shocked still. I mean – a paedo, Alice. You were seriously living with a paedo . . .’
‘There was no way I could know, Tom. Trust me, I beat myself up about it every single day, wondering if there was anything I could or should have done to protect those girls. But I had absolutely no idea. None.’
‘Right. Yes. Of course. I shouldn’t have said that. It must have been absolutely terrible for you . . .’ Finally, he looks at me. ‘Is that why you find it hard?’
‘Sorry?’
‘With me, Alice. I mean – I try not to push it. Give you space and let things move at their own pace. But the truth is I never really know where I am with you . . .’
I open my mouth to answer but my phone rings on the bedside cabinet and I check the screen. ‘It’s Matthew. I’d better take this.’
‘I’m surprised he has the nerve. Some help he turned out to be.’
I turn away towards the window and press the phone tight to my ear. I don’t blame Matthew for the fake attack, even if Tom does. It was my own fault for insisting on driving separately. I’m expecting him to want an update on the quizzing by Melanie Sanders so it’s a shock to find he sounds almost breathless.
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