Confessions

by Caro Land

  Finally registering she was blocking the doorway, she stood to one side to allow the glaring woman in, then turned back to Cassandra. ‘She loved us all dearly,’ she’d just said. ‘She didn’t want to get any of us into trouble.’

  Us.

  ‘Mel was your friend?’ she asked her.

  Cassandra looked at Nat steadily. ‘My best friend since primary school. Thanks again.’

  37

  Sins

  Still tremulous from a mix of slithering sensations, Nat parked behind Goldman Law’s offices and sent her mum a text.

  Really sorry but we’re running late. Now in Didsbury and collecting Kath from the office.

  Don’t worry, Anna replied. The zrazy took me longer than I thought. No need to rush.

  Nat stared at the screen. Flipping heck, Kath was truly the guest of honour; her mum’s beef roulade was usually reserved for first-born Perfect Philip. She smiled; it must indeed be a happy day.

  Though an emergency was unlikely, she climbed out of the car to check she wasn’t blocking anyone in. Six months ago, she’d had a spat with Wes over this very issue. The memory of his handsome, moody face made her chuckle.

  It felt strange to slip into the rear entrance of the corner building and take in the old aromas. She sniffed. Today it was oranges, coffee and the lavatories, a combination that would have made her nauseous last month, but was acceptable now. She trotted up the first flight of stairs, pausing to let the dizziness pass before taking the next. It wasn’t until she was standing at the conference room door that she thought of Max. She’d forgotten he used it these days. How did she feel about seeing him? Her emotions were so confused after what had happened this morning, she no longer knew what was real or imaginary. Did Max assault Cassandra? Did he blithely lie about his innocence? And what about Cassandra? Was she really the clingy, possessive girlfriend he’d described? One who threatened to expose a sex tape? More to the point after today: ‘My best friend since primary.’ Would a ‘best friend’ allow another to be in considerable pain while she saved up the lethal dose? Indeed, was the drug stockpiled? Or did Cassandra supply or even administer it to end Melanie Selby’s life?

  Some probable, all possible, but what did Nat know.

  She shook her head. It was so difficult to judge what went on beneath people’s faces, that facade which hid emotions, evasions, lies. And was there such a thing as ‘the truth’? No; it was incredibly subjective and everyone had their own spin on it – one only needed to read through a controversial Twitter feed to see that. Then there was imagined truth. JP’s story had clearly been very real in his mind, but she guessed it had been skilfully planted by Chen. Who knew why? Perhaps he couldn’t face making the allegations himself; maybe he hoped to rattle Harrow’s cage enough for a confession, or find other victims through his exposé. Or perhaps nothing had happened back then at all. Maybe Harrow was just a kindly piano tutor who’d taken a photograph. But what about Jose? Why was there an identical image of him? She didn’t want to dwell on his reaction and why he had vomited.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the meeting room door. It was empty but a steaming coffee, thick-framed spectacles and an open folder were on the table, like the Invisible Man. Sitting in her old chair, she peered at the file, then turned a few pages, quickly scanning the latest.

  Dwayne, the young lad who’d been tasered, was now pursuing a claim for a racially motivated attack, a hate crime, no less. She whistled softly as she read. Poor PC Plod. His career in the police force was ending with a loud and public bang. She glanced up to see Jack watching her silently from the door. His eyes were electric blue and, for the first time ever, she wondered if he really did need those trademark glasses.

  ‘So, what did this poor copper do to get on your wrong side?’ she asked lightly, suddenly remembering the time.

  ‘I thought you’d have worked it out by now.’

  She smiled. ‘Ah, so there is a reason?’

  ‘There’s always a reason, Natalie.’

  Going back to the paperwork, she flicked through the pages as the pieces of the puzzle snapped into place. ‘The taser PC was based at Wilmslow,’ she murmured. She looked at Jack. ‘Julian’s case. You asked me to find out the name of the arresting officer. I’m not sure if I ever found out–’

  ‘PC Abbot.’

  She returned to the file and searched for the newspaper article she’d printed off the internet, the one which reported the outcome of the PCC’s investigation. She tapped it with a pencil, Savage-like. ‘Ah. The taser PC and the guy who arrested Julian are one and the same.’ She smiled thinly. ‘The young officer who didn’t want to let Julian’s arrest go because of the name Goldman. The one who dug and dug until he found something.’ She squeezed her mind back to a conversation with Jack last year. ‘A long story about bad blood, you said. You never did get around to telling it to me.’

  Jack sat down. ‘The sins of the father. Not mine, but Abbot’s father, Detective Inspector Abbot. I acted for a client who made allegations of corruption against him. I had no doubt they were true.’ He slipped his glasses back on. ‘Like all bad cops, he took early retirement and a full pension, and to add to his satisfaction, he made a malicious complaint to the Law Society about me. It was rejected eventually, but you know how long these things take. It was… upsetting, both professionally and personally, so I’m sure he dined out on the tale for years. But the son. Well, you know more than anyone he made my life hell last year. Not just mine, but Julian’s, Aisha’s, Catherine’s. My family.’ He smiled grimly. ‘And I’m glad to do the same for him.’

  Nat inwardly sighed. Did Jack ever play by the rules? Still, she didn’t know if he was putting ideas into Dwayne’s head or words into his mouth. The young man might well have a genuine claim over and above the one for his injuries; if that was the case, it should indeed be pursued with fervour. If not; well, there wasn’t a lot she could do about it now.

  ‘I’d better go. I have two mothers coming for lunch,’ she said with raised eyebrows. ‘Who would have thought.’ She pecked Jack on his cheek. ‘See you soon and…’ she cast a last glance at her filing cabinet. Should she ask him to tread carefully with her other cases? Nope; there was absolutely no point, ‘… be good.’

  ‘I hope Anna’s doing the catering,’ she heard as the door clicked behind her.

  Picturing her mum’s kitchen delicacies, she glanced at Catherine’s office. Should she pop in and say hi? On her and Wes’s arrival at the brunch, Catherine had been sweet and charming, but had barely spoken to Nat after that. Had she given her and her bump a wide berth? Nat wasn’t sure; she wanted to be friendly, she wanted to say sorry about her dreadful losses at some point, but would that be appropriate right now? Unsure, she shuffled her feet. To knock or not? A blast of conversation decided it for her. Catherine was either with a client or on the phone. Phew; a one-to-one could be shelved for now.

  Bracing herself for another challenge, Nat tip tapped down the stairs to the first floor. Sharon was bound to have a thousand questions. She felt stupidly nervous; she hadn’t rubbed shoulders with her, Emilia or the bench boys for over three months. The weeks had flown. The last time she’d stood anxiously at this entrance, she’d just learned that Ruthie had been shot. But her little friend had healed, thank God; she was now back home, eager to return to school after the Easter break.

  Taking a breath, Nat swiped herself in, but she needn’t have worried: the open-plan area was almost empty. She smiled wryly. How out of touch was she? It wasn’t only a Friday lunchtime, it was end of the month payday, everyone on a high for the weekend, shopping or in the pub, enjoying their wages.

  Christine was holding the fort on reception, so Nat spent a few moments catching up with her news. Her son’s wife was expecting a baby; it turned out she would become a grandma the same month as Nat’s debut. Flipping heck, they were around the same age. ‘Who should be feeling ancient here?’ Nat asked. ‘You or me?’

  ‘Probably old Granny her
e,’ Christine replied. ‘But I’ll get all the nice bits, then hand him or her back. It sounds a good trade to me.’

  Nat made for Wes’s office. What, exactly, were the non-nice bits of parenthood? Her thoughts on the matter hadn’t got any further than the birth. She peeped around Sharon’s pod. Empty. Smiling at the thought of how disappointed her old secretary would be to miss out on the visit, she knocked at Wes’s door and opened it. But she stopped in her tracks. Their faces both stony, Kath and Wes were sitting either side of his desk.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked, stepping forward to see what they were looking at. A mobile? What on earth…?

  Wes turned and silently passed it to her.

  She looked at the screen. Oh God, a text, a text from Andrea. Like an unexpected slap, the name winded her even before she read the message.

  I meant what I said, Wesley. If you’re not here by two o’clock, you will be sorry, very sorry.

  Nat’s heart thrashed. ‘What does she mean?’ She read it again, then looked up at Wes. ‘She’s spoken to you too?’

  ‘Twelve minutes ago,’ Kath replied with tight lips. She nodded at Wes. ‘He stood firm, he told her he wasn’t going.’

  ‘Going where?’

  ‘To the house.’

  Wes’s jaw, his expression, his whole stance was rigid. ‘I wouldn’t have answered but she’d changed her number or called from somewhere else.’

  ‘Then nothing happened until this text a couple of minutes ago,’ Kath added, taking the phone. Her features heavy with anger, she peered intently at Nat. ‘He should ignore it, Natalie. She’s a manipulative bitch who’s playing him again.’ She turned back to Wes. ‘No more of her games, son. Don’t let her, I beg you. Look what happened last time.’

  Seeming to shake himself, he stood to give Nat his seat, then he stared through the window. ‘Exactly,’ he said, rubbing his face. ‘Look what did happen the last time. If I hadn’t turned up, she could’ve died. She might do something stupid again.’

  Mother and son looked at Nat, the C in yet another triangle. But she felt breathless, her pulse racing. She couldn’t think, let alone decide. Trying to clamber through the sludge in her mind, she spoke eventually. ‘Two o’clock. What time is it now?’

  ‘Nearly half past,’ Wes replied, pacing the room.

  Kath gripped his arm. ‘You have to stand firm, boy. You have Natalie and a new baby on the way. Andrea is the past; they are your future.’

  His expression torn, Wes stared and nodded.

  His mum caught him again. ‘I know you’re thinking of the boys, but Matty and Dylan are adults now, Wesley. Before long they’ll be living their own lives, which is how it should be. You have to live yours too. Give in this time, and she’s won forever. She’ll know she has the power to do it again and again.’ Her mouth was set as she glared. ‘Listen to your mother. You know I’m right, son.’

  Desperation in his eyes, he looked at Nat. ‘If she did something stupid, was harmed or injured, I’d never forgive myself.’ He paused. ‘Neither would my sons.’

  Breathing through the nausea, Nat attempted to focus on what was happening here. Andrea; Andrea. Was this a hoax or would she really do something extreme? Like Kath, her instinct was to ignore it and call her bluff. But this was a woman who’d had the gall, the guts or the madness to throw herself down the stairs.

  ‘What about calling the police?’ she asked. ‘Would they go if we said it was an emergency? A potential self-harming situation? They could check all was fine, intervene, call an ambulance if they had to.’

  No one replied for a beat. Then the silence was broken by a screech and the blare of a car horn outside.

  Kath abruptly scraped back her chair. She nodded as though making a decision. ‘No. I’ll go,’ she said firmly. ‘The police wouldn’t get there in time, and besides that woman has wasted enough of their resources. There are people with real problems out there.’ She dipped down to Nat. ‘You’re so pale. Are you all right, love?’ Then to Wes, her tone angry. ‘Get your priorities right, son. Natalie doesn’t look well; she’s having your child. This evil has to stop, right now.’ She held out her hand. ‘Keys, Wesley. Don’t nag me about insurance.’ Frowning deeply, she glowered at him. ‘It’s an emergency, remember?’

  Scooping up her huge handbag she bustled from the room. Nat’s eyes caught the two bottle bags she’d left on the floor, but the walls were closing in. She heard Wes’s worried voice, ‘Nat? Natalie?’ Then everything went black.

  A lovely smell. Lily of the valley or jasmine, Nat thought. Then she tuned into a voice. Catherine’s. What was she doing here?

  ‘How long has she been out for? I think it would be sensible to call an ambulance,’ she was saying.

  It took moments to focus on Wes’s crumpled face and more to realise they were talking about her. What the…? Swallowing, she tried to shake the haziness away. She was still sitting in Wes’s chair; he was crouched at the front, Catherine standing beside him.

  She’d fainted. Yes, that was it. She’d passed out for a moment.

  ‘No. Don’t call an ambulance, please. I’m fine,’ she said, remembering what had happened. The text from Andrea, strangely out of the blue after weeks of silence. The woman’s implied threat to harm herself. Then the sudden rush of her own anxiety and fear.

  Taking the proffered glass of water, Nat tried to sip. Her hand was shaking. Not just her hand, her whole body was trembling. From the panic, that was all; she was fine, wasn’t she? No, something was wrong, something was definitely wrong. Her inner thighs felt sticky, her knickers were damp. She caught Catherine’s eye.

  ‘An ambulance is too embarrassing, but I think I should–’

  Catherine nodded, understanding. ‘Drive her to the Alexandra, Wesley. I’ll call Mr Hirsch or a colleague and say you’re on your way.’

  Wes stood, his expression lost. ‘Okay.’ Then after a moment, ‘Mum has taken my car.’

  Catherine squeezed Nat’s hand and smiled. ‘Even better, I’ll drive us.’ She glanced at Wes. ‘You can sit with Nat in the back. I’ll bring it round. See you at the door in two minutes,’ she said, leaving the room.

  Nat raised her eyes to Wes. The grief was there; already there in her chest. She was losing the baby, wasn’t she. On this ‘happy day’.

  His eyes shiny, he held out his hands. ‘Can you stand? Shall I help you up or…?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I can walk.’

  Yes, the sensation of leaking was palpable as she stood. She glanced at Wes’s worried face. She wanted to howl at the injustice, but she had to stay strong, walk through the inquisitive eyes of the office with her head held high and pretend her world wasn’t imploding.

  Catherine was waiting in her SUV at the front. ‘Hirsch is at his rooms in Bramhall today,’ she commented once they were in. ‘We’ll be there before you know it.’ An unimpressed driver leaned on his horn, but she smoothly slipped the car between the heavy lunchtime traffic.

  Taking in the distinct smell of dogs, Nat rested against Wes’s shoulder, closed her eyes and tried to float back into the faint’s emptiness. The hopelessness was easier that way. She couldn’t focus on Jose and Issa, the Selby’s and Lucy right now, but she hung on to the certainty that their pain was infinitely worse than hers. Thrumming almost silently, the car softly swayed along its journey, then abruptly stopped. Surprised they had reached Bramhall already, Nat lifted her head.

  ‘Are we…’ she began, but Catherine was turning from the driver’s seat and looking at Wes with a questioning expression.

  ‘Should we stop, Wesley?’ she asked.

  Nat looked through the window. Their lights flashing, police vans and other marked vehicles were parked along the opposite pavement. And if she wasn’t mistaken, there was the sound of a distant siren. A crime needing backup?

  Leaning forward, she glanced at the street both ways. There were no cars nor an injured pedestrian, so it wasn’t a road traffic accident. She followed Wes’s gaze. Uniformed peo
ple were milling at the front of a regency style house and passers-by had stopped to watch. Mesmerised, she stared too. The front door was opening. A woman in a green shirt appeared and lifted her arm to wave in… an ambulance.

  Bloody hell; an ambulance. Someone was hurt. And it was parking next to… a black Mercedes.

  Catherine’s words to Wes finally landed. Her sweat turning to ice, Nat snapped around to his face. She had never been to his Cheadle Hulme home, but even before she took in his strained expression, she knew this was it.

  Catherine spoke again. ‘Wesley? Should we–’

  He cleared his throat. ‘It’s fine, Catherine. Drive on.’

  As the car sped away, Nat turned to the rear window. Andrea. Oh God. What had she done? And why now after weeks of silence?

  Looking down at her stomach, realisation finally hit. She knew exactly why Andrea had taken action today of all days. Like Cassandra had done this morning, she touched her belly with a soft hand. It felt too, too much like a spell, a malevolent curse. Not by the young doctor but the customer who’d glared at her in the café doorway. Nat had been distracted by her conversation with Cassandra, but even from her peripheral vision she should have recognised her. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed. And staring with undisguised fury at her bump.

  38

  Honest

  The cottage kitchen was warm, the sense of love and friendship even warmer.

  ‘So basically, you pissed your pants.’

  Ignoring Gavin’s comment, Nat turned to Heather. ‘Not wishing to upset the apple cart and all that, but why on earth do you put up with him?’

  Heather laughed. ‘Good question.’ She put a finger on her chin. ‘Let me think very hard–’

  ‘So many qualities, she’s spoiled for choice.’ Gavin grinned. ‘Good looks, height, talent, huge–’