Selecting a key from the keyring, she held it up and looked at it for a long moment. This was an invasion of their privacy and Mia would be furious if Cleo simply marched in. It was, after all, her house and not Mark’s, as she frequently reminded everyone. She probably didn’t even know Cleo had a key. But what could she do?
Cleo made her decision. Mark would be well on his way to the airport and was probably miserable because of everything his wife had put him through that morning. She was going to sort it for him. It was what she had always done when he had a problem.
With determination she put the key in the lock and turned it.
59
Stephanie was back in uniform and not enjoying being out on patrol in the squad car with Jason the probationer. It seemed he hadn’t moved on much in the months she had been on secondment to CID, and was intent on grilling her about life ‘on the other side’.
‘Can we talk about something else, Jason?’ Stephanie asked, knowing she was taking out her grumpy mood on the poor guy. ‘I enjoyed the investigative side – it was a great experience, in spite of working on a particularly tricky case. But it’s over, and given the crap we’re going to have to deal with today I’d rather not dwell on the delights of being a detective. Okay?’
Jason lifted one corner of his mouth in an unattractive snarl, but stopped talking for a few minutes.
Stephanie felt in limbo. She loved being a police officer, but her time in CID had convinced her that it was where she wanted to be. The only way it could happen – unless she was prepared to work for Gus – was if she moved. Gus still wanted them to talk, but as she was no longer seeing him every day she was giving herself a bit of space to try to work out whether the current low-level ache of loss was better or worse than the piercing pain of a broken heart if they split up again. She still hadn’t worked it out, but she missed him. Gus was exasperated by her stubbornness, but if they were going to give their relationship another chance, she had to be one hundred per cent sure of herself and of him.
She shook the thought from her head as she noticed a short, wiry man with ginger hair scurrying along the pavement, turning his collar up against the thin drizzle that seemed to be hanging in the air rather than falling to the ground. There was something familiar about him, and she couldn’t think for the life of her what it was. He dodged into a coffee shop on the high street, and then she got it. She pulled the car over to the kerb.
‘Just going to get coffee, Jason. Flat white, as usual?’
Jason looked slightly shocked at the fact that she was going for the coffee instead of sending him, but she didn’t give him a chance to answer as she jumped out of the car, slammed the door and ran across the road.
The windows of the café had steamed up and she couldn’t see where the man had gone, so she pushed the door open and found him giving his order to the surly-looking waiter at the counter.
‘I’ll be sitting over there,’ the man said, pointing to the furthest table.
‘If you hang on, your coffee will be ready in a couple of minutes,’ the waiter said. ‘You can take it with you.’
The man raised his eyebrows, slammed a few coins on the bar and walked over to the table.
The waiter tutted and muttered something that sounded remarkably like ‘tosser’, before turning his sullen face to Stephanie.
‘Yes?’
‘A flat white and a large espresso to take out. I’m going to join your customer for a chat.’
The waiter looked as if he was going to object to her sitting down without buying anything to drink in, but then took in the uniform and thought better of it. The young girl making the coffee put a cappuccino on the bar.
‘Take him his coffee, then,’ the waiter said, which only served to remind Stephanie that she wouldn’t be back in this particular café for a while.
Picking the cup up from the bar, she walked over to the table and placed the coffee in front of the man. He didn’t look up from the newspaper he was reading, but muttered his thanks.
‘Mind if I join you?’ Stephanie asked.
For that, he did raise his head. He gazed around at the empty tables and chairs and then back at Stephanie, not showing any surprise that a police officer wanted to sit with him.
‘As you wish,’ he said, returning to his paper.
‘Can I talk to you for a moment?’ she said.
With a sigh, he folded his paper and placed it on the table. ‘What about?’
‘I saw you a few weeks ago at the Crown Court. The trial of Evelyn Clarke. You were in the gallery.’
‘And?’
‘I wondered about your interest in the case. Do you know Evie?’
‘I’m just nosy, okay? I saw there was a big trial on, so I decided to check it out. I’m interested in people, that’s all.’
Stephanie took her hand out of her pocket and stretched her arm across the table. ‘Sergeant Stephanie King,’ she said.
‘How do you do,’ he answered, raising a heavily freckled hand to shake hers, but saying nothing more.
‘And you are?’
‘Is there any reason why I might be compelled to give you that information?’ he asked. ‘As far as I’m aware, I haven’t broken any laws and I haven’t witnessed any crimes. So I’m not entirely sure why you need to know.’
‘Just call me nosy,’ she said, echoing his words.
The man lifted his coffee cup and took a long drink. ‘Well, I’m leaving. Nice to have met you, Sergeant.’
As he rose to his feet, Stephanie remembered the torn scraps of paper.
‘While you were listening to the trial, you were tearing up a letter.’
Suddenly, she had his attention. He stopped and looked at her.
‘I have the pieces. I picked them up.’ She omitted to tell him that the scraps were a soggy mess and illegible.
To Stephanie’s surprise, the man leaned in towards her, his voice low and urgent.
‘Look, it doesn’t mean anything – okay? She must have had her reasons. Forget it.’
Before Stephanie could ask him what he meant, the man turned and hurried out of the coffee shop.
60
Throughout the remainder of her shift, Stephanie hadn’t been able to put the face of the man in the café out of her mind. She had deliberately mentioned the note to try to get a reaction, and sure enough his rather sarcastic manner had changed to one of minor panic. He hadn’t liked the thought that she might have read whatever was on the paper, and now more than ever she wished she had taken more time drying it out and piecing it all together. But she hadn’t, and she had no legitimate reason to start nosing around now. The case was closed. On the other hand, going strictly by the rules had never been her forte.
In truth, she hadn’t stopped thinking about Evie Clarke. She had heard that Evie had rented a cottage facing the sea wall, and wondered if anyone had warned her that from time to time waves could crash right over the top. It might put Lulu at risk. Stephanie had thought often about Evie’s baby and how the enforced separation from her mother during the remand period might have affected her. She had never understood why Evie had voluntarily chosen prison over bail – denying herself precious time with her child. It was none of her business, though, and it would be entirely inappropriate for her to seek Evie out to warn her about the possible danger from the sea. She had to forget it.
The rest of the day held few surprises. She introduced Jason to the delights of teenage shoplifters and their cockiness, although their lack of remorse shocked even him, but in truth, Stephanie couldn’t wait for the day to be over so she could get home and check if she still had what remained of the soggy scraps of the paper torn up by the man in court. They had been in the pocket of her jacket, but her whole suit had been such a mess after the rainstorm that she had sent it off to the dry cleaner’s. She always emptied her pockets into a bowl on her dressing table but she couldn’t remember whether she had thrown the paper away, believing it was no good to anyone.
At the
end of her shift she hurried home and, taking the stairs to her bedroom two at a time, rushed over to the dressing table and sighed with relief. The scraps were still there. She should have known, really. Housework of any description wasn’t her thing, and the paper would undoubtedly have remained in the bowl until the next time her conscience struck her and she got a duster out. But for now, it was where she had left it.
Grabbing a pair of tweezers from her mug of oddments next to the bowl, she made her way downstairs and sat at the kitchen table. The scraps were dry now and quite brittle, but easier to separate than when they were nothing more than a sodden mass.
Carefully and slowly, Stephanie tried to pull each piece of paper away from the next, using the tweezers to grasp the edge of the scrap and damping it slightly with a cloth to stop it from ripping.
The ink seemed even more badly smudged than before. The pieces had torn where they had become frail and slightly crumbly, and she couldn’t work out how they might join together. Gus may have been able to help, but he already thought this was a wild goose chase so she had no intention of giving him anything to tease her about.
She was ready to give up when she saw two pieces that looked as if they might be in the wrong place. If she swapped them around she could see a word starting on one scrap and finishing on the one next to it. There was an ‘L’ and a smudge on one piece, and on the other the letters ‘ester’. Could the missing letters form the word ‘Leicester’? Wasn’t that where Evie had lived before she came here?
Stephanie leaned back, lifting a hand to massage the stiffness from the back of her neck. She rotated her head a few times, hearing some slightly alarming clicks, and decided it was time to stand up and move around. She walked across to the kettle and switched it on. Why was she wasting her time on what was undoubtedly a fool’s errand?
She poured boiling water over a tea bag and swished it about a bit, staring sightlessly at the darkening ripples. She should throw the scraps of paper into the wood burner and forget about them. But somehow she knew the letter would continue to bug her.
She took the cup of black tea back over to the table and sat down again. All she had was a suggestion that the letter had something to do with Leicester. And it told her precisely nothing.
61
The days were dragging slowly by, merging into each other, and Cleo was struggling to motivate herself to get out of bed every morning. At night she lay awake, tossing and turning, trying to lie still and relax each part of her body deep into the mattress in the futile hope that her taut limbs would finally succumb to exhaustion. The only thing keeping her going was the belief that at some point Lulu would come back to her. Evie was bound to slip up, and she would finally be seen for the monster she was. Cleo had to at least keep herself alive, if not healthy, so she could enjoy that day to the full.
The threat of what Evie might tell the police about Mia still hung over Cleo’s head, and she needed to understand what Evie knew – or thought she knew. She couldn’t risk having the enquiry into Mia’s death reopened. It was four years ago now; four years of wondering whether she had done the right thing.
The memory of that day had burst into her dreams every night for months afterwards, and it was only by exercising herself to the point of collapse that she had been able to make it through a whole night without waking up screaming.
That dreadful morning, just minutes after she had let herself into Mark and Mia’s house with her own key, she had found herself tearing back down the cliff path and into the gallery, locking the door behind her and flipping the closed sign to discourage customers. Her heavy breathing had been nothing to do with the run along the uneven sandy surface of the path. It was pure fear.
Mia was dead.
Cleo hadn’t hesitated. She had known exactly what she had to do. Thank God she hadn’t taken her mobile with her. The police would have been able to check and would have placed her at the scene. She picked it up now, though, and dialled a familiar number.
‘Hi, you’ve reached Mia and Mark North but we’re not in right now. Leave us a message and we’ll call you back.’
Cleo hadn’t said a word, and after several minutes of silence, she hung up. All she had to do was erase the silent message on the answering machine in the house so that her phone records would prove that she had spoken to Mia long after Mark had left. That way no suspicion would be cast on him. She needed the police to think that Mia had answered when she called and that they had chatted on the phone.
She knew she would have to go back to the house very soon, that she would have to be the one to discover Mia’s broken body, lying at the foot of the basement steps. Cleo’s DNA might be at the scene, so she had to touch Mia again, ostensibly to check if she was still alive. But she already knew that she was dead.
She dialled another number. ‘Aminah, hi,’ she’d said, trying to sound as normal as possible. Fortunately the cry of a new-born baby disguised any unsteadiness in her voice.
‘Sorry, Cleo – it’s a bit hard to hear you. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve just spoken to Mia. We’re going into town at lunchtime for a quick bite to eat. With Mark away, I thought it would be a nice thing to do. Anyway, she seemed happy with the idea, so I wondered if you’d like to join us.’
‘Bloody hell, Cleo – I can tell you’ve never had a baby! He’s only two weeks old, so unless you want me to bring him with me and have him attached to my left breast throughout our lunch, because trust me he’s not happy to be put down for more than five minutes at a time, I will have to decline your kind invitation.’
Cleo had known she would say that.
‘Okay, well maybe next time.’
Aminah chuckled. ‘What’s the lunch in honour of anyway? You don’t even like Mia.’
‘Course I do. She’s Mark’s wife, and I know sometimes I have a moan, but that’s normal, isn’t it? You moan about Zahid all the time!’
‘Ah, but he’s my husband so he’s fair game.’ There came a louder wail. ‘I’m going to have to go, but say hi from me. I like Mia. She makes me smile with her “I’m so rich it hurts” attitude.’
With another laugh from Aminah, the call was ended. But Cleo knew that her friend would remember the conversation.
Next she called Mark. ‘Hi – are you at the airport now?’
‘Yes, we’re boarding in five minutes. Why?’
‘I wondered if you’d sorted things out with Mia before you left? Maybe you should give her a call before you get on the plane.’
Mark had gone very quiet on the other end of the phone, and Cleo wished she could read his thoughts.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said softly. ‘Maybe that would be a smart move.’
When he had rung off, Cleo put her head down on the workbench and sobbed. This couldn’t be happening. She had to get herself together, though, because she knew that Mark would call her back any minute.
‘Cleo, she’s not answering. I’ve left her a message, and I’ll call again when I land. I might need you to go to the house. Would you mind?’
‘Of course not. Shall I go now?’
Mark’s voice had sounded shaky. ‘No, best not. Let’s give it the hour of my flight.’ He paused. ‘I’m a fool, Cleo. I’m pathetic.’
‘You’re not, Mark. You’re wonderful and I love you. You know I’d do anything for you, don’t you.’
‘I know, and sometimes I ask too much. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.’
Cleo hadn’t moved from her seat in the hour it had taken Mark to call back with the inevitable request that she go to the house and check on Mia.
‘I think she was feeling a bit wobbly this morning. Obviously I wouldn’t normally ask you to check on her after a couple of hours of no contact, but I thought she looked a bit pale when I left.’
Cleo had kept a smile in her voice. ‘Of course, and when I see her, I’ll tell her how concerned you are. Don’t worry.’
How she had stopped herself from crying or gi
ving away what she already knew, she had no idea. As if in a trance, she locked the gallery again, but this time drove to the house, waving to a couple of acquaintances as she passed along the busy high street.
She had sat outside the house for ten minutes before she had been able to force herself to go through the door and do what needed to be done.
The priority was the answer machine. It was showing two messages and she knew the other one would be Mark. His would be the second message, and although she dearly wanted to listen to what he said, she had to leave that one intact. She selected the first message and deleted it.
It had been so very hard to find the strength to go back to the top of the basement steps. She stood there and stared down at Mia’s body, her eyes staring straight at Cleo in accusation. It probably wasn’t necessary to go back down the stairs. She had already felt for Mia’s pulse, but just in case there was something different – some fragment of clothing or anything which could prove that Cleo had been down there earlier – she made herself go through exactly the same motions again, forcing the sick feeling from her stomach as she touched Mia’s wrist, now cold.
And that was when she saw the watch – its face shattered – its hands showing a time that must never be seen. Finding a tissue in her bag, she altered the time to five minutes after she was supposed to have spoken to Mia.
And then she turned and walked back upstairs, pulling her phone from her bag, preparing herself to call the police.
62
Her recollections of the day that Mia died had left Cleo feeling weak. What could Evie possibly know? Even Mark didn’t know that Cleo had been to the house twice. So how could Evie? She had to talk to someone about this. Not about what really happened, but about what Evie might think she knew.
She grabbed her coat and made her way out into the wet and windy streets. It was freezing outside, and there were reports on the news of heavy snow in some parts of the country. But not this far south, especially on the coast. She could hear the distant boom of a fierce sea hitting the sea wall, and wondered if it would be coming over, into Evie’s cottage. Would Lulu be safe? She hoped Evie would have more sense than to take her outdoors on a day like this.
And So It Begins Page 25