by Jay Gill
Rayner and I looked at each other. Rayner nodded in agreement. I went ahead and stood next to Baker. Rayner brought Mrs Baker out through the door and into the kitchen. Baker kept his head down and said nothing. Mrs Baker glared at him as she walked past. At the kitchen doorway, she turned and spat at him.
“You’re finished. The world is going to know the truth – that you took my art and passed it off as your own. You talentless, worthless nobody. I hope you rot in hell.”
Baker said nothing. He sat a little straighter in his seat, lifting his eyes only slightly to watch his wife attempting to leave the house with pride and dignity.
“You know none of this is what it seems, Chief Inspector,” he said once his wife had left.
“Really?” I said in disbelief. I was curious, almost despite myself, about what he could say that would change what was clear for all to see.
“She asked to be locked in there. So she could work. So she wouldn’t be distracted. It was her idea. The sad thing is, I think she has been in there too long and become delusional. You see, she lived for the art. I begged her to come out and to enjoy life, to take some time off. But she’s obsessed. It breaks my heart to see her like this. The woman I married is still in there somewhere, I know it, but she’s buried deep inside a woman who has become obsessed with creating another and another and another piece of art.”
“While you profited?”
“I suppose that is how it could be perceived by the casual observer.”
“To the casual observer it appears that you as good as locked your wife in a room for years. That you told the world your wife was dead. That you passed off her work as your own. That her talent made you rich. That her talent made you a celebrated artist the world over. To the casual observer I would say you look a fraud.”
“What do you know of the art world?” Baker demanded huffily.
“Not a lot, I suppose. But I do know that if what you say is true and your wife is ill, most husbands would have sought treatment – not a padlock.” I’d heard enough from Mr Baker for the time being. I lifted him out of the chair and led him to a waiting squad car.
Chapter Two
Three Years Later
River Thames, London, England
From their manner you’d never guess the two men were driving to the river with the Albanian’s dead girl in the back of their Mercedes C-Class.
“I told her that’s how I’ve always made tea. Milk and tea bag in a mug, then pour on the bloody boiling water,” said Jimmy Kane. “You know what Aggie said?”
Chris Perkins shook his head. He couldn’t speak; he was laughing too hard. “Nah, go on, tell me.”
“She said I was ‘uncouth.’ So I asked her, ‘What does uncouth have to do with making a cup of bloody tea? Do you want a cup or not?’” The two men were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes, and Jimmy had to concentrate to drive in a straight line.
“You know what?” said Jimmy. “She then got all upset with me – yeah, with me. You know how she gets all huffy and puffs out her lips. Saying I was spoiling her Downton Abbey time.”
“You better watch it, Jimmy. I reckon she’ll have you dressed as one those Downton butlers the way she’s going. Sounds like your Aggie is getting herself sophisticated. I hear they call it Downtonitis.” The two men cracked up again.
Jimmy flicked on the indicator and parked up alongside the river. The two men put on their caps, lifted their collars and got out. Chris looked over the side of the bridge to the cold, black water of the Thames below.
“High tide. Just like I told you,” he said proudly.
Jimmy opened the boot of the car and the two men grabbed either end of the plastic sheeting the girl was wrapped in, then carried her to the wall, where they rested for a moment.
Chris checked the time on his phone: 3.25 a.m. “It’s my birthday today.”
“Really? Well, in that case you’re buying breakfast, mate,” said Jimmy.
The two men rolled the body back and forth and started to sing. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear whoever you are . . .”
They rolled the body off the bridge and waited for the splash. “. . . Happy birthday to you!”
That done, they jumped back in the Mercedes and headed off through the early-morning streets.
“So did your Aggie want a cup of tea in the end?”
“No. In the end she decides she wants coffee. And get this – I got that wrong as well. I made regular coffee but she now drinks decaf. I tell you, things are getting very complicated in my house. I love her to bits; don’t get me wrong. But things are complicated.”
“Sounds it,” said Chris sympathetically.
“Just you wait. Your girl will have you running ’round in circles soon enough. You mark my words.”
Chapter Three
I was feeling proud and at the same time there were butterflies in my stomach. Like the rest of her orchestra group, my little Alice was on stage clutching her violin. Her music teacher was at the piano and the performances were about to commence.
Faith was sitting on my lap, her eyes wide open, taking it all in. She adored her big sister and couldn’t wait to see what was going to happen. Faith’s little arm was up behind my neck and her fingers were making circles in my hair. In her other hand she was clutching Mr Puppy, her comfort toy, who smelled ready for another trip to the land of soap and water. Mr Puppy went with her everywhere and was looking pretty battered these days, but Faith didn’t care. She was probably a little too old to still have him, but Mr Puppy had comforted her through a lot of tough times and wasn’t going anywhere for the foreseeable future; he was a part of the family. Faith squeezed Mr Puppy and made sure he could see Alice up on the stage.
Alice caught my eye from the stage and we exchanged excited smiles. I gave her a wink, and she sat a little taller in her seat. She was a confident and pretty girl, looking more like her mother every day. I looked up and prayed their mother was with us tonight and could see her two little angels. I miss you, honey. I looked at Monica, and she put her hand on mine. We both had tears in our eyes, and she knew what I was thinking: I missed my beautiful wife Helena, who had been Monica’s best friend.
“Thank you,” I mouthed. Before I could continue, Faith began bouncing up and down excitedly and tugging at my hair with her little fingers. “Daddy, it’s starting. Daddy, look at Alice.”
The three rows of children got to their feet and, tentatively, the first piece of music began. Alice was in the back row and one of the tallest. I remembered when she was one of the little ones in the front row; even then she seemed to have a confidence beyond her years. The courage of all the children always surprised me; they showed no nerves and took in their stride the fact they were playing to a hall full of parents, grandparents, siblings, friends and teachers.
Throughout the performance the children took it in turns to play a solo or duet. Faith watched in wonderment as her big sister Alice’s turn came and she walked to the front to play her solo. She played the grade two piece that she’d been practising for weeks. It sounded perfect to me, and I was ready to burst with pride and admiration. I felt like shouting out to the room, Do you truly appreciate what she just did? Do you know what she’s been through? Can you comprehend at all what she just did? Instead, I filled up and gave Faith an extra big squeeze and perhaps clapped a little louder than I should have. I didn’t care.
Performance over and after a few announcements from the deputy head teacher, we said our goodbyes. Later than usual, we arrived home and sat down to Monica’s homemade lasagne.
“To Alice,” I said, raising my glass of water, “whose performance tonight was perfect, and who looked beautiful. Yes, I noticed the new dress,” I said, and nodded to Monica.
“Speck-tack-leeyer,” added Faith.
“Spectacular,” we all agreed.
“I kind of messed it up a little in the middle, but it was okay,” added Alice modestly.
“Well, if that’s t
rue, then none of us noticed. We all loved it. I’m so proud of my girls. Well done, baby.”
Glasses of water raised, we toasted the evening and being together. The girls loved to hear the chink of glasses as we toasted around the table, and we used any excuse to do it.
Later, I read stories to the girls and cuddled them. We talked for a while about school and friends and Mummy. I cuddled them some more and tickled them a little.
Usually the girls shared a room. As a treat tonight, they were sleeping in my double bed. As usual when that happens, I’d sleep on the pullout sofa bed or, more often than not, on my big old recliner chair – although, if I do that and the girls catch me, I’m lovingly scolded.
Monica slept in Faith’s box room, which still had Winnie the Pooh curtains and wallpaper. My daughters had been pressing me for a while to change the rooms around and organise a more permanent room for her. In their childish imaginings, unaware of the bigger picture, it seemed only logical. After all, Monica effortlessly filled the role of surrogate mum.
Monica slipped in to say goodnight to the girls as I poured myself a single malt and listened to the girls chatter. Life felt complicated, but I knew she was good for them. They needed a woman around, and at the moment Monica needed us. It sometimes felt that since Helena’s death I was getting more wrong than right. I often felt guilt for not being there for my girls, but they knew I had a job to do and that job meant keeping people safe, and they were okay with that.
A few months back it felt like I was only just keeping my head above water. If it hadn’t been for my girls, who knows – I might have been ready to give in and drown. Right now, though, things felt good. I might still be struggling with the balance of life and all the emotions, needs and wants of a family, but life was returning. Occasionally, I still felt like I was being stretched in too many directions and sometimes didn’t know all the answers, but that was normal. I knew I couldn’t give the girls everything they needed, but I knew I’d do all I could for them, unconditionally and without hesitation.
Life hadn’t been fair. Their precious mother had been snatched away from them, and God knows I wanted my wife back. But we were feeling strong again. We were close and all together and filled with love. Yes, I’d got things wrong, and yes, I’d made all kinds of mistakes during the darkest days, but nothing major. So, on days like this, when the house was filled with so much happiness, so much love and so much laughter, the way it used to be, I knew I must be getting it mostly right. Days like this were now far outweighing the bad days. So, each day I counted my blessings, worried a little less and felt more confident we were going to be all right.
Chapter Four
Ice skating was not a favourite activity of mine, but Alice and Faith loved it. Helena used to bring the girls and go out on the ice with them. Today it was me on the ice, and I wished I had done it when the girls were small; that way I’d be pretty competent by now.
The girls didn’t care about my skating ability, however; all they cared about was that they had me all to themselves for a few hours. They whizzed around the ice and held me up as I slipped and staggered from one wall to another. I looked over at Monica, who laughed and videoed me on her phone from the safety of the benches.
“Looking good, Detective Inspector,” she called, laughing.
“Your turn to put on the skates,” I called back.
“Sorry, I can’t hear you!” She grinned at me.
“Look, Monica! See what we can do,” called Alice and Faith in unison. The girls took it in turns to do jumps and skate backwards and do all sorts of fancy stuff. I watched in exhausted admiration. I, on the other hand, concentrated all my energies on the not-so-simple task of hanging onto the wall and not landing on my backside.
I watched how the girls adored Monica. Monica had been staying with us since before we lost Helena. Monica was Helena’s best friend; they had been like sisters from the day they met as toddlers in nursery school. So when Monica’s new husband, Scott, had turned to drink and become violent, she had moved in with us.
I still fondly remember how there hadn’t been any real discussion between Helena and me. Helena had simply told me Monica needed our help and that she’d prepared a room for her.
“Monica will be staying for a while. That’s okay, isn’t it?” she’d said, more telling me than asking.
That was nearly two years ago. A few months later Helena was dead. In the wrong place at the wrong time, she had been the victim of an addict’s need to feed his heroin habit. As she’d fought to keep him from snatching her handbag, he’d stabbed her. My beloved Helena had bled to death in the street, surrounded by good Samaritans, strangers and onlookers.
Monica was always a good friend; she was there for Alice and Faith when they needed her most. She adored them, and they adored her, welcoming her as a motherly figure. And the arrangement seemed to work for Monica while her divorce was being finalised. She didn’t want to go back to her parents’ home, which I understood. She wanted to stay in London but couldn’t have possibly afforded to rent on her own.
The arrangement worked for me as well; she was a good listener, and we both enjoyed talking about our memories of Helena. Having Monica around kept Helena alive for me.
After the skating, we all headed to a family restaurant that served high-quality burgers and milkshakes. All sorts of Americana adorned the walls. I couldn’t help (once again) boring the girls by explaining who was in some of the photos: Elvis, James Dean, Clint Eastwood, Marlon Brando.
They got me back by asking me questions about pop stars in their favourite groups.
“Which pop group did Zayn Malik belong to, then, Daddy?” Alice asked.
Then Faith asked, “Name three songs from Frozen, Daddy. That’s an easy one.”
Both girls giggled as I contorted my face, trying to think of the most famous one that everyone knows.
“Hang on, hang on – I’ve nearly got it. ‘Let it snow’?” I said finally. The girls booed and teased me. I held up my hands and admitted defeat.
My phone rang. I instinctively knew who it was without looking. I took the call outside, where I paced up and down as Rayner went over the situation he was responding to. A woman had been found murdered, and there was a strong possibility that I was going to be back on another slow, painful investigation. We agreed he’d go to the scene; if it turned out to be something of the nature he anticipated, then he’d call me back. This call, he told me, was just a heads-up.
I finished the call and watched through the large glass windows as Monica distracted the girls. She looked over and smiled knowingly. Her expression said it all. I’ve got this. If you need to go, then don’t worry. The girls and I will be fine.
As I watched my daughters drawing and laughing, I felt the feeling I often got before an investigation started. My limbs would grow heavy and the energy would drain from my body. Yet I knew that when the investigation began and the pieces started coming together, my energy would return. I once imagined it as a tide of emotion coming down on me, weighing heavily on my mind as fear and apprehension descended. Then, when the time was right and the tide began to turn, my need to win would take over and propel me forward.
Chapter Five
I walked to the river’s edge, which had been cordoned off by Forensics. It was a beautiful summer morning and, as the sun came up, I took a moment to look down and across the Thames to where I could see the Palace of Westminster and Elizabeth Tower, more commonly known by the name of its main bell, Big Ben.
In front of me tents and screens were in place. I felt the anxious knot in my stomach grow. Detective Inspector Rayner was talking to the forensics pathologist, Heidi Hamilton.
“Look who it is,” Rayner joked as he spotted me. “I know you’re supposed to be resting, but I thought you’d want to see this. How are you feeling?”
I was still recovering from a few injuries sustained while apprehending a lowlife who preyed on the elderly. “Bit bruised and sore, but I’ll live,” I
said. “Next time I’ll call for backup sooner. I promise.”
“You’d better,” said Hamilton.
“So what have we got?” I asked.
Hamilton looked at her notes and began to unzip the body bag as she spoke. “Young woman. Early twenties. Bruising around the neck indicates strangulation. Also, multiple stab wounds to the abdomen. I counted at least fifteen.”
I looked at the young woman’s face. It seemed familiar but difficult to place under the circumstances. My mind began racing, trying to place the face. Hamilton was still talking, but it was only background noise. I knew this young woman, I was sure of it. She was a sweet girl, foreign – Eastern European, perhaps Polish. I’d spoken to her only a couple of days ago. It finally fell into place. It was after Monica’s evening class. Monica taught English, and the girl was a student of hers, and an enthusiastic one. She and Monica had formed a sort of friendship; they’d chatted a lot. Monica had introduced her to me after a class. We had spoken on and off since then, usually when I was picking Monica up after a class, but only briefly.
“Delina,” I said finally.
Rayner and Hamilton looked at me. “Are you okay?” said Hamilton.
I put a hand out to steady myself. “Delina Berisha is her name. I know her. She’s become a sort of friend to Monica. She’s Eastern European. She attends one of Monica’s evening classes.”
This case was suddenly close to home. How had she ended up like this? Was this a random attack? Had she been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or had she known the killer? Could this have been done by a boyfriend? Was this related to her past, her life back in her country of origin? My mind began to race.
Rayner and Hamilton looked at each other. There was something they hadn’t told me. Something important.
“What is it?” I asked, even though I wasn’t sure I really wanted more bad news.