Keep My Secrets

by Elena Wilkes

  Chapter Fifteen

  Then

  April the sixth. Bright, cold sunshine, a brisk wind and white scudding clouds.

  The day is all wrong from the start.

  April the sixth. One year ago today she’d met Martin for the first time: a grinningly handsome dark-haired lad, full of front, and charm, and clever talk, and now here she was sitting in a courtroom, pregnant, staring down as they talked about death, and murder, and violence. How had it come to this?

  There was an open folder on the jury bench showing Charlotte’s body: the marks, the bruises, the report on her lungs, the contents of her stomach, the drugs in her system, the state of her clothes. Frankie sat, head bowed in her seat, her shoulders heavy with an invisible weight as every piece of evidence sliced and stabbed and punched into her as though she’d been physically beaten and might never stand straight again. She listened to it all, but became aware, even with her limited knowledge and understanding, that although this terrible, monstrous thing had happened, there was nothing to tie it to Martin. The DNA evidence showed that Charlotte had been in the cabin, but that was all. There was no transfer of fingerprints from Martin to her; neither her hair nor her blood were on his clothes; the drugs in her system could have come from anywhere. The Prosecution were struggling, and that was becoming more and more evident.

  The look on Jack’s face was enough to tell her how the family were feeling. Peter hadn’t been able to listen any longer and had walked out. Vanessa stayed mute and stony-faced, but the enormity of her hatred for Martin came off her in waves. They could all see this was a foregone conclusion – Martin Jarvis was going to get off. Vanessa and Peter would be eaten up with their own grief; they’d lost Charlotte, and now they would lose what was left of themselves to anger and sadness.

  Her hand came up to her throat to touch the pendant that Vanessa had given her. It felt strange and unfamiliar around her neck.

  Some forensic guy was talking. Nothing he said made any sense. Everything was swirling round in her head, making it ache. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek on her hand, feeling the bones of her knuckles digging in.

  ‘You okay, Frankie?’ She realised that Vanessa was leaning across to her, concerned.

  ‘Just a bit hot in here, that’s all.’ She smiled weakly back.

  Vanessa grimaced in sympathy, but her eyes were unbearably sad. ‘Not long now.’

  No, not long until they would be forced to live with the knowledge that the man that had killed their daughter was going to walk free – and then what? Then what would happen? What would she do?

  ‘I’m going to go for a walk during the lunch break,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Vanessa put her hand in the middle of Frankie’s back.

  ‘Would you mind if I went by myself? Is that okay?’

  ‘Of course! But if you still feel unwell, you ring me, yes?’ Vanessa frowned, concerned.

  She watched the judge’s face, waiting for the signs that he was about to wrap up the morning session. As soon as he leaned back in his chair, she gathered her jacket and was on her feet.

  ‘I’ll ring.’ She managed a quick smile back. ‘I promise.’

  Her quick footsteps echoed down the stairs as she made her way to the ground floor. Her palms were sweating and her hair was sticking to her forehead. Air, that’s what she needed. To be able to think straight, to be able to—

  The doors of the courtroom suddenly opened.

  ‘Ah good! I was hoping to bump into you!’

  She stopped abruptly.

  ‘You’re Ms Turner, am I right?’ A chubby-cheeked man with pale-coloured hair, stood there with an armful of papers. She realised it was Mr Saunders, Martin’s barrister. She felt her face colour.

  ‘I was on my way out.’ She made a weak gesture towards the door.

  ‘Yes, yes…’ he said distractedly as though that was of no consequence. ‘Mr Jarvis tells me that he’s been trying to get to speak to you.’ His voice boomed, unnaturally loud, and she winced, looking round nervously.

  ‘He saw you in the public gallery and said that if I saw you, I should have a word.’

  She suddenly felt very hot and dizzy.

  ‘Oh my goodness! Are you alright?’

  She thought she might throw up.

  ‘Dear, oh dear!’ He immediately ushered her to the row of chairs behind them. ‘Let me get you some water…’ Dumping the papers on the seat beside her, he went over to the water cooler and pulled a plastic cup from the stack. ‘Here we go.’

  He handed her a half-filled cup. She drank greedily and then held the wet plastic against her cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry… I’m really sorry.’ She swallowed thickly. ‘I’m fine now. It was a bit too warm in there, that’s all.’ She fanned her face and smiled.

  ‘Ah good. As I was saying…’ His eyes were sympathetic and kind. ‘Mr Jarvis has asked—’

  ‘I can’t talk about it all right now,’ she interrupted and made a move to get up. ‘It’s too difficult. He’s acting as though what happened is nothing – he’s already saying that after he gets out, he’ll want—’

  ‘Gets out?’ Mr Saunders gave her an odd look. ‘I’m not quite following—’

  She took a deep breath. ‘The way the case is going, I mean. They’ll release him, won’t they? He’ll be out.’

  ‘I think…’ He faltered a little. ‘I think we should have a little chat.’ He took the cup, refilled it, and passed it back. ‘That’s why Mr Jarvis wants to speak to you so urgently I believe, so that you’re fully aware of how the case has changed.’

  ‘Changed?’

  ‘Regarding the charges. He hasn’t told you?’

  ‘No.’ She started to feel dizzy again.

  ‘Oh now, now! Don’t upset yourself!’ He stopped, suddenly making a decision. ‘Look. Miss Turner, I know this is a little irregular, but I have to go and speak to Mr Jarvis now and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?’

  ‘Me? Here?’ she sniffed, drying her eyes. ‘Is that allowed?’

  ‘It is if I say it is,’ he smiled kindly. ‘He’s downstairs in the cells. Would you like to see him? It would give us a chance to talk, just the three of us, and I can explain what’s happened. It can only be literally a few minutes but perhaps it might make this whole horrid situation feel a little better.’

  ‘Okay.’ Her head was buzzing.

  ‘That’s settled then.’ Mr Saunders bent and swept up the papers from the chair. ‘Come with me.’

  He strode away with her trotting behind trying to keep up. He halted at a plain wooden door with no handle. There was just an intercom and a bell-button that he pressed and then waited, staring impatiently off into the middle distance. It felt like an age. There was a faint fizzing noise and then a bored voice crackled.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mr Saunders and Ms Turner to see Martin Jarvis.’

  More silence and then the door buzzed and opened.

  They made their way down a blank set of concrete steps to where two prison officers sat; one had his feet on a chair that he only just managed to lift in time for them to pass. The narrow corridor had nothing of the ornate grandeur of upstairs. Here, the plain tiled walls were grimed with the hundreds of bodies that had passed by them. The lino floor was the colour of dirty luncheon meat.

  ‘Cell three,’ the officer called out behind them.

  Mr Saunders raised his hand in mute response as they stopped at a cell door. The officer came up behind jinking a set of keys, and with a metallic clatter, the door swung wide.

  The man sitting there wasn’t the Martin she knew. Her heart cleaved wide. He looked up, startled, and the eyes she knew caught hers. He looked small and beaten.

  His expression changed. ‘Why’s she here?’ He gave Mr Saunders a nettled, questioning stare.

  ‘You wanted to speak to Ms Turner, and I just happened to bump into her.’

  Martin gave a sullen nod.

  ‘Please.’
The barrister gestured and pulled out a plastic chair for her to sit. Martin perched on the end of a narrow bed that jutted from the wall.

  Frankie sat with her knees pressed together. She was within inches of Martin but they didn’t touch.

  ‘What’s going on?’ She tried to read his face. ‘Mr Saunders says the case has changed?’

  ‘Things have got complicated.’ Martin couldn’t look at her.

  ‘What? How complicated?’ Frankie’s eyes moved from one to the other.

  ‘Shall I go through it with her?’ The barrister moved around the small space like a caged animal. She found her thighs were shaking. Martin gave a brief nod.

  ‘The night of the party, I don’t know if you’re aware, but Martin allegedly broke into a property. A leather belt was recovered at the scene. The said belt has Mr Jarvis’s fingerprints on it. Mr Jarvis’s fingerprints are on the police database and there is no doubt about the match.’

  She swallowed involuntarily.

  ‘The elderly lady at the house also gave a description of the intruder. She described Martin quite precisely.’

  The shake got worse.

  ‘The lady had a heart condition. She was hospitalised after the break-in. And I’ve just received notification that she very sadly—’

  The shake stopped.

  ‘—Died. Last night.’ He stopped pacing.

  Martin’s face was the colour of stone.

  ‘So there is talk from the prosecution that the added charge of aggravated burglary will be withdrawn and a charge of manslaughter laid in its place.’

  ‘I really thought it was best that you heard this from Martin or myself, in private, where you can ask anything you need to know. I thought it might come as a bit of a shock, and in your condition, along with everything else—’ He broke off as someone in the corridor called his name.

  ‘Ah sorry, just one second—’

  He flapped out of the door. Frankie stared after him but Martin grabbed her hand.

  ‘I will never, ever tell them that you were in that house, Frankie. Do you hear me? I will never tell them that you were anywhere near my boat. They’ve got me for all of this. That’s enough. You need to go out there and live your life. You and the baby.’ His hand dropped to her belly. ‘All I need in return is one thing; it’s a huge thing, but I need an answer.’

  ‘Martin—’ She couldn’t cope. This was too much to deal with.

  ‘No, listen, I’m deadly serious. I need to know that you’re out there waiting for me, Frankie. I need to know that our connection is still solid. I need that. I feel like I’m suffocating in this filthy place. I can’t breathe.’ He lifted his chin as though searching for air. ‘The thought of you is like oxygen. As long as I can hold onto that, I’ll be able to survive.’ He gripped onto her fingers even tighter. ‘I’m serious, Frankie. Without you I won’t even—’

  She saw his eyes startle suddenly. His hand slowly lifted to hover in mid-air at her throat.

  ‘Where did you get that necklace?’

  She instinctively touched the tiny crystal.

  ‘I said, where did you get it?’

  Her brain floundered for an answer. She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Frankie, this is important. Just tell me.’

  ‘I found it.’

  ‘Found it where?’ His face had gone white.

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘You can’t remember? What do you mean, you can’t remember?’ He grabbed her arm and shook her a little. His grip was tight, getting tighter. ‘Tell me, Frankie. Where did you get it?’

  ‘Martin, don’t, I—’

  ‘Where, Frankie? Where did you get it?’

  She watched his face go from white to angry red. He let go and stood suddenly. Her eyes jerked up with the movement. Her mouth mumbled over the truth. Vanessa. She couldn’t drag Vanessa into all this – she’d been through enough brutality and pain. She just couldn’t do it to her.

  ‘On-on the street,’ she stuttered. ‘Maybe outside the house where that party was. I-I can’t remember exactly.’

  The sound of voices from the other side of the door got louder and Mr Saunders bustled in.

  ‘Right. Where were we? Ah, yes.’ He seemed unperturbed as he riffled through the papers in his bundle and peered across at Frankie.

  ‘Miss Turner, would it be okay if I asked this very pleasant prison officer to escort you back upstairs, please? There are several points I need to go through with Martin before we resume this afternoon’s session.’

  Frankie stood; the room spun a little.

  Martin gripped her hand and pulled her to him. ‘And that’s the honest truth, Frankie?’ His eyes burned into hers.

  She swallowed, nodding. ‘Yes, that’s the truth.’

  ‘I’m sorry, you really need to say your goodbyes.’ Mr Saunders fluttered his papers.

  Martin dipped and kissed her full on the mouth, his hand snaking around her waist to draw her in. The taste of him was sweet like honey. She let the feelings flood in – they felt so easy – so simple. How she longed for things to be as they were.

  The officer gestured for her to go through the door. She glanced back; Martin was sitting, hands clasped and head bowed, not wanting to watch her leave. She could hear the barrister’s voice getting down to business. The door began to close behind her until all she could see was a tiny glimpse of Martin’s cheek in the gap.

  ‘Now…’ She saw the barrister lean forward a little in earnest. ‘Let’s look at this in the cold light of day. These rape charges—’

  She saw Martin nod. The door closed but the barrister’s voice resounded in a muffled echo.

  ‘—Thankfully the amount of time the body was in the water has washed away all traces of DNA…’

  Her hand reached out for the wall. The officer’s footsteps ricocheted back at her. Her head turned back to the door.

  ‘Are you alright, miss?’

  But the words just kept on coming.

  ‘—The police won’t be able to substantiate the charges, Martin, so they haven’t been brought, but—’ floated through the air.

  She couldn’t breathe. The atmosphere felt thick, like treacle. She tried to drag oxygen into her lungs but it wasn’t happening. Stars began to burst in front of her eyes; a tunnel of darkness was moving towards her at lightning speed.

  ‘Oopsy-daisy.’ There was a man’s voice and she felt hands circling her waist as the stairs pitched and rolled.

  The tunnel zoomed up. She was enveloped in blackness. Flashes came back to her: that night, the boat, the pitch and swell of the water. There was a sudden stink of boat diesel… She saw the yellow rectangle of cabin light that her hands had reached for as her head dipped to go inside… She had the sudden recollection of the girl’s voice… Not just the voice this time, but the words.

  ‘You don’t want to do this. You know you don’t.’

  The way she had pleaded. She’d sounded scared: panicky.

  ‘You can do whatever you want, I promise I won’t say anything.’

  She knew in that split second: this was Charlotte begging for her life. This was Charlotte begging not to be raped.

  The last few stairs beneath her feet came back; her hands groped for the wall as she hauled herself back through the door and she collapsed: her cheek and chin hitting the marble floor, the shock of its coldness and the taste of blood as her lip split wide.

  ‘Jesus Christ! Bloody hell… Hang on there, let me get someone.’

  ‘Frankie…?’

  There was a squeal of shoes and she lifted her head. Peter was walking swiftly towards them. ‘Frankie? Are you alright?’

  She tried to lift her head but the floor kept dragging her down.

  ‘My god!’ Peter was kneeling at her side. ‘What the hell’s been going on?’

  She watched his face as though from very far away.

  ‘She’s been visiting a prisoner,’ the officer said.

  The at
mosphere instantly changed. The room was tilting around her, blurring, coming in and out of focus.

  ‘Can someone call an ambulance please?’

  ‘I don’t want an ambulance.’ She suddenly found her voice, tremblingly managing to sit up, and pushing the hair back out of her eyes. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and then took the tissue that Peter was proffering. It instantly went red. The tears started, running down her face, unstoppable. She needed to speak; she wanted to speak. She struggled, grabbing onto Peter’s arm for support as she saw a sweep of black gown about to walk past. It was the barrister for the Prosecution who turned towards her, clearly wondering what the commotion was all about.

  ‘Mr Bain!’ Frankie held up her hand to stop him. Everyone looked round. ‘Mr Bain!’ Her lip felt thick and stupid as she scrambled to her feet. She realised, in those seconds, he was going to keep on walking.

  ‘It’s about Martin Jarvis!’ she called to his retreating back. ‘I was there!’

  He paused and slowly turned. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I was there, that night, on the boat!’ She was aware of Peter’s eyes on her face, the paralysed shock, the disbelief; she was making some sick kind of joke, wasn’t she?

  ‘I’m sorry, do you know what you’re saying? Are you being quite serious?’ Mr Bain came towards her, the thick spectacles making his eyes look small and pig-like. They stared at her, unblinking.

  ‘I was there that night. The night that Charlotte died. I was on the boat. I saw them – Martin and Charlotte Vale. I was there when he—’ She stopped, bringing the tissue to her mouth. She couldn’t look at Peter, knowing the profound agony that would be drawn in his eyes. But she would say it; she had to say it; she’d make herself say it.

  ‘I saw things. I heard things. The night she was raped.’

  She was aware of the movement of her bruised lips forming the words, listening to the echo of a voice that didn’t sound like hers, saying things that couldn’t possibly be true, but knowing, until she was sick to her heart, that they were.

  Charlotte. This was for Charlotte.

  ‘I heard her crying out – she said-’

  She told him what she’d heard, and she told him what she’d seen. She watched as the last shreds of her love disappeared into the appalled frown on the barrister’s face.