The Secret

by Debbie Howells

  He tries to work it out. ‘My birthday’s the first week in August. Everything was fine, then. The Buckleys even came to my party. I remember catching Stephanie talking to him.’ He says it venomously. ‘It seemed harmless enough at the time and I didn’t think anything more of it. But after that she was different somehow.’

  ‘Do you have anything more to back up your assumption that the affair started then?’

  He nods. Then he frowns. ‘A week later, I was at the pub having a drink with a couple of people. Buckley was one of them. Just before he left, he bought me a pint …’ His laugh is hollow. ‘Then, when I got home, I saw his car was pulling out of our drive. When I went in, Stephanie said he’d called in to drop off some blood test results. I had no reason not to believe her and I had other things on my mind by then …’ His voice trails off as he stares blankly at the table.

  *

  After leaving Hampton, I make the phone call that will tell me everything I need to know.

  *

  In contrast to James Hampton, Andrew Buckley’s demeanour is one of outrage when I see him later. When I walk in with the DI, he immediately gets up and starts speaking angrily. ‘As soon as I’m out of here, I will be reporting this – and all of you – for the appalling way I’ve been treated.’

  The DI stands there, an imposing figure as he stares across the table at Buckley. ‘Sit down, Doctor Buckley. Before you go anywhere, we have more questions we need you to answer.’

  ‘I’m not saying a word until McClure gets here.’

  The DI folds his arms. ‘Fair enough. In that case, we’ll wait.’

  An hour passes in which I watch as Andrew Buckley starts to behave like a caged animal. Experience tells me he’s close to cracking.

  As the time approaches eleven fifteen, he gets up. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he snaps, just as the door opens and McClure comes in.

  ‘Apologies for keeping you.’ Meeting Buckley’s eye, he takes off his jacket and sits down.

  The DI shuffles the papers in front of him. ‘Right. Shall we get on with this? A question for you, Doctor Buckley. When did your affair with Stephanie Hampton begin?’

  ‘I can’t remember exactly.’

  ‘Well, give me a month – or a season, even. Spring? Summer?’

  I wouldn’t mind betting Buckley knows the exact date.

  ‘September.’

  As the DI glances at me, I catch his eye. ‘So Hollie must have made the appointment with you sometime after that, the one where she caused such a song and dance?’

  ‘It must have been.’ His eyes swivel between me and the DI.

  ‘I called your practice this morning, Doctor Buckley. According to their records, the incident with Hollie took place on the thirtieth of May.’

  When he doesn’t respond, the DI leans forward. ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt that Hollie had an axe to grind, but it wasn’t about your affair with Stephanie Hampton. So my question is, what was it about? And was that the reason you killed her?’

  Rigid, Andrew Buckley leans back in his chair, his arms still folded. ‘I’d like a moment with my lawyer.’

  *

  Outside the interview room, the DI congratulates me. ‘Nice work, May.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but we still don’t know what Hollie had against him. It could be connected to Mason … There’s definitely something he’s not telling us.’

  Back in the interview room, the DI gets straight to the point. ‘Doctor Buckley, I understand you often drink in the village pub with one or two other villagers. Anyone in particular?’

  At this new line of questioning, Andrew Buckley appears to relax slightly. ‘Not really. There are a number of locals who I regularly see in there; James Hampton being one, as you already know.’

  ‘What about Julian Calder?’ The DI’s face is implacable. ‘And Philip Mason?’

  As Andrew Buckley nods, his eyes narrow very slightly. ‘As I told you, Detective Inspector, there are a number of regulars.’

  The DI pauses, but only briefly. ‘Did you know that James Hampton was investing in a business that belongs to Philip Mason?’ As he speaks, he scrutinises Andrew Buckley’s face.

  ‘I’d heard some vague mention of it, yes.’

  ‘What exactly did you hear?’

  He shrugs. ‘It wasn’t specific. Mason makes a lot of money – I don’t know exactly how – and he was trying to give Hampton a helping hand. It’s obvious the man struggles.’ His brusque, patronising manner does him no favours.

  The DI frowns. ‘What did you know about the Hamptons’ finances?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He stares straight at us. ‘Stephanie didn’t mention anything, if that’s what you’re asking, Detective Inspector.’

  And so it goes on. An hour later, we’re none the wiser. On the subject of his relationship with Mason, Andrew Buckley refuses to be drawn, insisting on his story that they see each other only occasionally in the pub. When it comes to Hollie, other than declaring her emotionally unstable, he can supply no reasonable explanation for her behaviour in the surgery.

  ‘Where were you the day Hollie died, Doctor Buckley?’

  There’s a split-second delay before he answers. ‘I took the day off.’

  The DI glances at me. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I was at home. Catching up on this and that.’

  ‘I assume your wife or daughter will confirm this?’

  Buckley looks uncomfortable. ‘There’s no need for you to speak to them.’ He hesitates. ‘If you must know, I spent the afternoon with Stephanie.’

  ‘Where, Doctor Buckley?’

  ‘At her salon. Not that it makes any difference.’

  ‘Can anyone verify that?’

  He visibly tenses, then mutters the words quietly. ‘Not now.’

  *

  I drive over to see Elise Buckley that afternoon and when she opens the door, she looks as though she hasn’t slept.

  ‘I really wish I hadn’t started this.’ Overnight, her bruised face has taken on a gaunt look, making her eyes seem even bigger and more desperate. ‘I’ve made everything so much worse.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ I tell her, knowing her guilt stems from years of brainwashing by her husband. ‘And you haven’t done anything wrong. This is all about your husband. You need to remember that.’

  But my words seem to go over her head. ‘Niamh’s beside herself. She went to school, but she’s worried that when she comes out, Andrew will be waiting for her.’

  ‘Andrew won’t be going anywhere fast,’ I tell her. ‘We’re still interviewing him.’ I pause, watching as she fiddles with her hands. ‘Listen. You have to take action. If you don’t, what are you saying to Niamh? That it’s OK to be bullied and beaten by your husband? That you’re supposed to stay put instead of leaving him?’ Pausing, I look at her sympathetically. ‘Imagine Niamh’s relationships in the future. You and Andrew are her blueprint. Yes, it will be difficult, but if you act, you will be empowering her. You have the chance to show her you’re strong and that it’s OK for her to be, too.’ Pausing again, I watch the faintest flicker of hope in Elise’s eyes. ‘No-one’s going to believe Andrew when he claims you’re unstable. More and more people are seeing through him. And you’re not going to lose your job.’

  ‘But you know what he’s like. We won’t be safe.’ There’s desperation in her voice.

  ‘He knows we’re on to him. And you’re not going to be doing this alone,’ I say gently. ‘You need a good lawyer who understands coercive control and domestic abuse, so that you can get things set in motion as soon as possible.’ I pause. ‘I was hoping to talk to Niamh. Has she said anything else about when Hollie took her to Mason’s property?’

  As Elise shakes her head, our conversation is interrupted by my phone buzzing with an unfamiliar number. ‘Excuse me a moment.’

  I turn away from Elise. ‘May.’

  After listening with interest, I end the call. ‘I’m sorry. I have to make another call. I won’t be
a minute.’ Going outside, I put a call through to the DI.

  ‘Sir? I’ve just heard from the estate agent who measured up Mason’s house. Mason’s been in touch – apparently he’s asked the agent to meet him there later today.’

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Elise

  Just as there are two hundred and fifty-six shades of the colour grey, there are as many permutations of our ideas about what’s right. But most of us know what’s wrong.

  The thought reminds me of the magazine headline once again. Only Ten Per Cent of People are Good. Out of the ninety per cent that aren’t, I imagine most of them are ignorant rather than bad. But that’s not the same as the percentage who know something’s wrong and do it anyway, calculatedly and coldly, the way Andrew does.

  But if I maintain a status quo where my daughter sees her mother verbally abused and periodically beaten by her father, it’s the category where I belong, too. DS May was right. Andrew and I are Niamh’s blueprint – it’s a thought that fills me with shame. Most women would think me weak for staying this long. For them, the decision would be easy. They wouldn’t understand that, in so many ways, it’s easier to stay. They haven’t lived for years with someone who’s controlled their every move, crushed their self-esteem, made them believe they’re worthless. It’s why I love my job. Away from here, behind my uniform and mask of makeup, the Elise who’s married to Andrew disappears for a while.

  While Niamh is at school, I finish packing our bags. I begin with my clothes, packing what I need, then carrying the cases downstairs before going to Niamh’s room. The bracelet I brought back from Morocco, as yet unworn, lies in front of a photo on her dressing table. Picking up the photo, I study it. It’s a picture of Niamh, Hollie and Dylan from two or three years ago.

  Looking at it brings me up short. I don’t even know if Niamh is still grieving; whether she still misses her brother. I didn’t support her properly when he died. I was too lost in my own pain.

  As I pack some of her things, I suddenly work out why she refused to leave with me; why she told Andrew I’d rented the cottage. Maybe having heard him say it so many times, she believes his lies. Maybe Niamh thinks it was me who killed Dylan.

  *

  After I confirm the address of the B and B where Niamh and I are booked in to stay for a while, the rest of the day seems interminable. Knowing we’re leaving, I have no interest in anything here. In the end, I wander outside, but even the appearance of more roses and the wisteria’s lilac hues hold no interest for me anymore. All I can do is wait on tenterhooks for Niamh to come home, terrified that Andrew could turn up at any minute.

  Several times, I try to call DS May, needing to hear a reassuring voice, but it goes to voicemail. Finally, I hear the school bus slow to a stop then pull away, relief washing over me as Niamh’s slender figure walks up the drive. By the time she reaches the door, I have a lump in my throat.

  As she walks in, I swallow. ‘Hi.’

  Her eyes briefly flicker to me as she continues towards the stairs.

  ‘Niamh? I need to talk to you.’ My hands are shaking as I take one of hers and lead her over to the table, feeling sick, even though I haven’t been able to eat all day. Pulling out a chair for her to sit on, I perch on another. ‘We can’t stay here, Niamh. The police have found us somewhere to stay for a while. It may only be for a few days, but your father and I can’t be together. What he’s done to me – to both of us – is a criminal offence. It’s why the police have taken him in.’

  ‘If he’s being kept there, why do we have to leave?’ Her face is suddenly pinched.

  ‘The police say we have to. We’ll come back, I promise you. But I don’t know how long they’re going to hold your father. We’ll go somewhere safe until I’ve talked to a lawyer.’ I pause. ‘I’ve packed some of your things. Why don’t you check that I have everything?’

  She doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Niamh? It will be OK. The police know what he’s been doing. If he does it again, they’ll arrest him again.’ I pause. ‘He can’t come after us – you do see that, don’t you?’

  But as she looks at me, I know it doesn’t matter what I say.

  Niamh

  My mother thinks we can run away from him. She thinks she’s worked it all out, imagining us in a small cottage with pretty curtains and a front door my father doesn’t have a key to. But he doesn’t need one. If he wants to break in, a lock won’t stop him. Nothing will.

  I imagine my mother’s picture of sunlight and peacefulness ripped down the middle by my father’s cruel hands before he tosses the pieces aside.

  ‘We’ll go somewhere safe until I’ve talked to a lawyer.’

  But there aren’t any lawyers he will listen to, just as there isn’t anywhere that’s safe. However long the police keep him – however many weeks, months, years – when he gets out, he’ll find us. And this time, he’ll hurt her far worse than he has before. She doesn’t realise how bad it’s become, she doesn’t have to watch, like I do, as he hits her harder, as the attacks go on for longer. This time, she was unconscious when he’d finished. Next time, or the time after that, he’ll kill her.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Jo

  As police from the surrounding area conceal themselves among the trees and shrubs along Mason’s driveway, and wait in the woods behind to cover the area where his helicopter lands, I wonder if he’s already inside watching us. The time he arranged with Adam is less than an hour away.

  ‘I hope the bastard hasn’t got wind of us,’ the DI mutters grimly. ‘We can’t afford not to get him. Not now.’

  ‘No. Sir, there’s a car coming.’

  He freezes briefly as he listens, then mutters into his radio. As we wait, the noise gets louder and then a black BMW estate comes into sight, speeding up the drive and stopping sharply at the gate. Immediately, twenty or so police surround it. Through the tinted glass, I see the driver’s head turning frantically, clearly thinking about reversing before realising the futility of even trying.

  The DI pushes through the officers surrounding the car, then knocks on the driver’s window. After a pause, it’s lowered.

  ‘Philip Mason? Detective Inspector Saunders, Chichester Police. I am arresting you on suspicion of the possession and distribution of pornographic images. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  Mason’s mocking laugh reaches my ears. ‘Porn isn’t a crime, Detective Inspector. Now let me get on, please.’

  ‘You’re right, Mr Mason. But possession of pornographic images of children is. Out of the car.’

  Behind Mason’s BMW, a police car pulls up.

  Maintaining his dignity, Mason gets out and stands in front of the DI. There’s no struggle and his face gives away nothing. A minute later, the police car drives him away.

  ‘Check Mason’s car, will you, May? Then we’d better get back to the station.’

  There’s a briefcase in Mason’s car and a few CDs in the glove compartment, all of which I remove. When I catch up to the DI, he’s talking on his phone. After he’s finished, he glances at what I’m holding.

  ‘Check the discs as soon as we get back. They might be innocent but I’ll bet they’re not.’

  *

  As we drive back to the station, something is puzzling me. ‘He was taking quite a risk, wasn’t he – coming back to the house, when he knows we’re on to him?’

  The DI stares ahead. ‘I imagine he had to get the cellar cleared out at some point. He wouldn’t necessarily have known we’ve already done it for him. He may have sensed he was running out of time and it was a risk he had to take.’ His face is grim. ‘We’re still no closer to knowing where those children came from. Maybe he can help us with that, too.’

  *

  Two hours later, after Mason’s lawyer arrives, I join the DI in the interview room.

  ‘R
ight. Let’s get this started. I’m Detective Inspector Saunders. This is Detective Sergeant May. We’d like to question you about the contents of a cellar on your property, Mr Mason.’

  Mason is cool as he looks at us. ‘I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Detective Inspector. What contents of which cellar?’

  ‘The cellar in the converted farm buildings just in front of where you land your helicopter.’ As I speak, something flickers across his face.

  ‘I know the buildings.’ His voice is calm, but he frowns. ‘But I don’t keep anything in there. I was going to do them up as holiday rentals. But as you obviously know, I’ve decided to sell.’

  ‘As you’re aware,’ I go on, ‘walls have been built leaving a space that’s unaccounted for on the floor plan. The door is around the back. We found it.’ I pause, watching Mason closely. ‘The key wasn’t among those you left with the estate agent, so we broke in. It was obvious from the floorboards that some had recently been replaced. When we lifted them, we found a staircase.’

  There’s a look of incredulity on Mason’s face. ‘This is news to me, Detective Sergeant. Did you find anything?’

  ‘Enough of this charade.’ The DI’s voice is full of contempt. ‘You know full well what was down there. We have witnesses, Mr Mason, who will testify about the business you encourage people to invest in, before blackmailing them when they find out children are involved and they want their money back. James Hampton, for one.’

  As Mason visibly pales, the DI goes on. ‘We’re currently matching your fingerprints with those we’ve found on various items of computer hardware found in your cellar. I’d say it’s a matter of mere minutes before we have proof.’ Still studying Mason, the DI gets up. ‘We’ll take a short break now, and carry on once we have those fingerprints confirmed.’

  *

  When we reconvene outside the door of the interview room ten minutes later, the DI says, ‘Mason’s fingerprints are on everything. Let’s break the news.’ He holds open the door for me.

  ‘Right.’ He sits down. ‘As we expected, your fingerprints were everywhere in that cellar, Mason. You may as well tell us what went on and who else was involved.’