by Rachael Blok
The gate at the entrance of the cottage is rusted, and swings with a screech. Maarten goes first, pushing it open and walking to the front door. He knocks quickly, preparing his smile. He’s got to be dressed for this. He does up the last few buttons on his coat. He’s poised.
The door opens and it’s the husband.
‘Mr Brennan.’ Maarten puts out his hand. ‘Thanks for agreeing to help us.’
‘Of course. We’re happy to help. I can’t believe the purse Jenny found has turned out to be important!’
‘Yes, we were surprised too. We’d already made a detailed search of the park, yesterday. After the river, we searched the whole area. Of course, it’s impossible to cover every inch.’ He smiles. Genial. Both have moved a pawn.
Mr Brennan stands back, and he can see Jenny Brennan behind him. She’s looping a scarf around her neck. Her coat gapes, and her husband gestures to the zip. ‘Best do that up, Jen, keep the cold out.’
Her eyes dart to him, and her fingers fumble on the zip.
‘I’ll go and get Finn. He’ll enjoy a walk out.’ Mr Brennan goes up the stairs, and they wait for him in silence.
Maarten looks at Jenny Brennan, who is staring at the floor. She looks up and catches Imogen’s eye, and smiles. It’s a half smile. Watery at best.
‘How are you?’ Imogen says, stepping closer. ‘You must still be exhausted after yesterday. It’s so good of you to help us. You can’t imagine how useful it could be.’
Nodding, this time the smile is warmer. ‘It’s fine. I want you to find her. I want to help.’
Mr Brennan comes down the stairs. Their baby is wrapped up in an outdoor bodysuit. He reaches for the baby carrier when he gets to the bottom, but his wife puts out her hands. ‘No, I’ll take him, Will.’
‘Really? Don’t you want to be free, to go ahead and help the police?’
‘I’ll take him.’ She slips her arms in the carrier and seconds later the baby is secured, wrapped up against her. She circles his tiny frame with her arms.
Maarten watches the husband’s face. The dynamic is not what he expected. The steel he had noticed earlier in her is gone. The energy comes from this husband. Chatty, joking, helpful: it’s almost a convincing display. Just a shade too bright.
Colour returns to Jenny Brennan’s face and she pushes past Maarten. He stands back quickly, letting her go ahead.
‘Let’s go,’ she says.
35
Jenny walks out into the park. Her feet cold in her boots. Jansen is behind her. He towers above them. His proximity feels threatening.
‘You walked this way?’ It’s the female police officer who speaks.
Jenny nods. ‘Yes, I think so. It was dark, but I remember the cluster of the trees, by the water, further up from the willow. I must have come this way.’
‘You don’t know for sure?’ Jansen says.
His voice carries an echo of Will’s tone: how can she not know? She has no answer. She shakes her head, catching the exchange of looks between the officers.
Will walks by her side. He doesn’t look at her. It snows, lightly.
Walking slightly down to the right, following the path that branches towards the lake, she moves apace.
‘Down here,’ she says.
‘You’re sure?’ Jansen says.
Is he being facetious? His face is flat. No expression.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
They all trudge the path, arriving at the cluster. She shivers. The bare willow hangs low. The DI darts forward, sweeping the ground with her eyes. Jansen moves more slowly, walking across, around and around. He takes out his phone and speaks quietly.
‘Careful about footsteps,’ he calls to the DI.
Will puts his arm around her. It’s stiff, and it doesn’t sink down, following the curve of her shoulders. He still doesn’t look at her. She can feel his body, like a rod.
‘Sir,’ says the DI. She’s bent low.
Jansen walks over to where she stands. They talk, like a sports team in a huddle. Their voices quiet. The odd words drift over, but nothing she can make sense of. Will is straining to hear. His head is comically cocked.
Jansen takes out his phone. He speaks more loudly this time, but he listens, mainly. After issuing a few instructions, his tone alters a fraction. It’s resolution, thinks Jenny.
‘OK, thanks,’ he says.
Finn squirms at her chest. He’s hungry. He’s been dozy since Will woke him from his nap, but she can feel him wriggling.
Enough of this. Enough.
‘I need to feed Finn. He’s getting restless. Can I walk back up now? Are we done?’
No one speaks. Jansen searches the park with his eyes. There is noise on the horizon, and she can hear teams approaching.
‘We are done here; at least, we’re finished with your help. However…’ He takes a step towards her, to look her in the eye, and to include Will in the look. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to come down to the station with us. We’d appreciate it if you could come and help us with some more questions.’
Jenny can feel her arms close tightly on Finn.
‘But I need to feed,’ she says. ‘I need to feed him?’
‘Can you bring him to the station with you? Or your husband can take him home?’ Jansen says.
‘Sir,’ the DI says, ‘I’ll stay with her – walk back to the house with Mrs Brennan, and wait for her to finish. Then I can drive her down to the station.’
Will’s arm on her shoulder has become a grip. ‘Are you scared of letting her out of your sight? Is that it?’ His voice sounds hard, professional, tinged with scorn.
‘Your assistance would be greatly appreciated,’ Jansen says. His eyes still level. His face still blank.
The smile has vanished and in its place Jenny sees that his face has strong symmetry, giving it a sculpted look. And his eyes. His eyes stand out. Firm, clear. For the first time since looking at him, she feels fear. And she realises what is frightening Will. This man is fiercely bright, and determined. She will not be able to sidestep him, to cry and bow out. But what about Finn? She can’t be caught up in this, in something as crazy as this, she has to look after Finn.
‘Right, I’m calling a lawyer,’ says Will.
‘You’re welcome to do that, Mr Brennan. However, I do want to reiterate that we are not charging your wife. We are just interested in speaking with her further.’
‘What, because she came across a purse when out on a walk? And she handed it in? What about that makes her seem guilty, and in need of police detention?’
‘It’s not police detention, sir. We would simply like to speak with her further. And you ask why? DI Deacon?’
The DI steps forward. She carries something in a clear plastic bag, and she has put gloves on. Jenny has seen this before on television, and she knows it’s about evidence. The DI is carrying some evidence. She feels a thump to her chest, because as she looks towards the bag, as her eyes fall down to the level of the plastic, she can hear a sound in her ears. It’s the whimper of a girl. ‘Save her.’
And she knows what she will see. She closes her eyes, afraid to look. The smell of sweat, and of fear, frantic fear, assaults her. She hears the whimper again, a blink of darkness and a voice, a male voice, from elsewhere, hisses in her ear: ‘Be quiet!’
She staggers backwards, Will’s grip steadying her, holding her upright.
Her eyes open once more. Inside the plastic bag is a greyish, wet version of a pale blue rucksack, with a circle on the back showing a picture of a pop group. It’s a rucksack of a young girl.
‘Save her,’ says Jenny, in a whisper, and she falls against Will, her arms clutching Finn.
36
Maarten steps out of the evidence room with Becky Dorrington’s father. They’re roughly the same age, but Maarten can see the scribbles of sleeplessness papering his skin.
‘Maarten, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate…’ Kemmie Dorrington shakes his head.
&nb
sp; There’s nothing to say. Maarten places a hand on his shoulder. He sees his face; if this were Nic. Feels a stab of the pain as if it’d been Nic.
Time is passing quickly. He doesn’t know if Jenny Brennan is guilty. She has led them to important evidence and she has helped the case. But police investigations are littered with seemingly helpful citizens who can’t stay away from a crime they’ve had a hand in. Maybe she did find the purse by accident, and so in leading them to the same place, they found the bag. But from the start, there has been too much coincidence. With no real explanation.
There was a phone in the backpack. Becky’s father hadn’t recognised it. He had looked horrified when he had seen it. ‘Do you think…? Does that mean…?’ he had said.
It certainly pointed to an adult being involved, and the phone was very like the one that seemed to belong to Leigh. Maarten will not jump to conclusions, so tests will need to be carried out, but the similarities sting like a paper-cut: someone clever enough to have convinced her to take another phone. That is how these meetings must have been arranged. And, presumably, the same for Leigh. If both had phones, the same kind, he would bet he will find one and the same phone number in the call log, on both. They were still working on bringing Leigh’s phone back to life. He was more hopeful with Becky’s. It had been in the backpack and was not as drenched.
But how did someone have such easy contact with both of these girls, hidden in plain sight? There was no evidence to suggest that the girls even knew each other. One fourteen-year-old, one nine-year-old. Leigh from the other village and Becky at the city primary with Nic. Who could have had contact with both, and why could they not see it? The phone was being analysed: fingerprints, numbers, registrations. It’s a long shot, that whoever gave out the phone has been stupid enough to leave a trail. But it’s all they’ve got now.
And how does Jenny Brennan fit into all of this? How did she know where to find these things? There must be some route of involvement. This amount of coincidence…
Maarten checks the clock on the wall as he walks back to his office. Jenny Brennan will be here soon. The husband has slowed things up by calling in a lawyer. They could have let her go quickly, if nothing had turned up; now she might have to wait at the station if the lawyer is delayed. If the station is busy, then the usual route would be to place her in a holding cell, but that’s a step further than he wants to take.
Walking through the office, his phone buzzes.
‘Liv,’ he says, answering.
‘Maart, I’ve just had a call from Klaas to confirm your interview time for tomorrow, with Rotterdam. This is the main interview?’
‘Yes, kak, sorry. I haven’t had a chance to speak to you. They want to interview before Christmas, so they can finalise the offer. Liv, we need to talk about it…’ He ducks into his office and closes the door.
‘I’ve told you, Maart. Make your mind up and then we’ll speak. I need to know what you want to do, not what you think you should do. We’ll discuss then. My parents are coming over for Christmas lunch, but only staying the one night. We’ll have enough time on our own. We’re going out for lunch. I’ve booked it.’
‘Great,’ he says, thinking of Becky waiting to be found. Hopefully still breathing. Boxing Day lunch seems beyond reach. ‘How’s Nic?’
‘She’s devastated. They all are. The school have been great. They opened up this morning and brought them all in for a big assembly. They’ve been talking about Becky and said prayers for her. They’ve started putting together a big mural for her, based on Star Wars, made up of everyone’s individual drawings. It’s to give the kids an outlet, to be able to show Becky how much she was missed… when she comes back. And they’ve organised some counselling for groups who are upset. We all went in this morning. I took Sanne too. Luckily, she’s too young to understand. It’s a mess, Maart. Anything else turn up?’
‘Yes. I’ll fill you in later, when I’m home, but we’ve got another lead. I don’t know where it’s going just yet, but we’ll see.’
The phone buzzes again.
The landline in the office rings. ‘Brennan’s downstairs.’
37
Jenny waits. It’s the same room she sat in that morning. This time the clock ticks more loudly; the chairs scrape across the floor with an iron rasp. The table upon which she rests her hands wobbles, and the coffee she has been handed is both bitter and weak. It’s a cheap brand of instant. She can’t swallow it. There are footsteps in the corridor and, somewhere, a phone is ringing. The sound is shrill.
Beside her sits Azeem. She knows she’s met him before at one of Will’s work things, but she can’t remember him. A bit bald, a bit podgy. It’s not necessary; she’s not being charged, as Jansen had kept saying, but Will’s face had been ghostly as she’d been driven away. He’s terrified. And Finn…
She can’t think about that now. Azeem is speaking, saying things to her, and she’s trying to concentrate. Her skin feels hot, as though she’s just stepped out of a sauna; she fans herself with the pad on the table.
‘… really nothing to worry about… you don’t have to answer… to stop raise your hand, you’re entitled to a break… great you handed in the purse… just a formality…’
Will’s tone on the phone had been light-hearted. So light-hearted his face had almost cracked as he’d forced himself to smile into the receiver. ‘Azeem! Hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience…’
Will had helped him out with his divorce last year so is owed a favour.
Finn.
Finn.
Will had leaned in, just before Azeem had arrived. He had breathed into her ear, arms encircling her. She had thought he was about to whisper an endearment, and assurance: ‘Is there anything else to tell me? Anything? You better do it now.’
After that, she had said nothing. Her lips had locked of their own accord, and all she could say, when the DI had come to get her, was his name, over and over. Finn.
Her head falls, and she cries. The sobs come in great gulps. Azeem, next to her, is still for a second, embarrassment she assumes; and then, surprisingly able. He produces tissues, and calls for biscuits: ‘For the shock.’ He doesn’t plead with her to stop, and soon, it slows. Amongst her cries, her cries for Finn, to hold him, to be able to leave this place and walk to him, she hears another cry. The other cry.
She can still taste the fear, hear the scream.
The door opens and Jansen and the DI enter. Deacon’s face is pale, and she comes in with the scent of tobacco smoke. It’s odd, it’s the first time Jenny has smelt it. But this moment matters. Noticing matters. Foolishly, she had discounted the police. She has let them be peripheral.
Jansen makes the initial overtures, ‘For the sake of the recording…’
Then Azeem speaks: ‘My client is here of her own free will. She has willingly given up the evidence she found…’
And now Jansen turns to her, and looks at her. The smile has not reappeared. Now it’s the eyes, and the symmetry. Strangely, she likes him more. When he was trying to appear likeable he was fake, saccharine. Weak, ephemeral. Now he commands, seems insightful. Her opponent. He stands between her and Finn.
‘Tell me about the walking. Why did you take a walk so late? Your husband said earlier that you had gone to bed late, and yet you got dressed in the middle of the night?’
‘I didn’t get dressed…’ she begins, realising immediately that it’s the wrong way to begin.
‘You didn’t get dressed? You went out in your nightclothes?’ Jansen says.
‘I wear pyjamas. I went out in my pyjamas.’
Jansen taps his pencil on the paper in front of him, glancing down.
‘You went out, straight from your bed? You didn’t get dressed?’
‘No.’
‘Was it urgent, your need to be outside?’
Looking at him carefully, Jenny thinks before speaking. She’s not clever at this. She can’t outwit this man. And looking at him, at the clarity in his expres
sion, she suspects he’s not trying to outwit her. Maybe it is easier to just be honest. Maybe Will’s stonewalling is the weaker hand to play. Her skin prickles.
‘I found myself outside. Something pulled me there.’ She can’t quite bring herself to say the word ‘ghost’.
Azeem says something, but she doesn’t listen. She can feel the trees on her arms. The snow underfoot.
‘I found myself outside, again, under the trees. I knew I needed to get home… I ran. I had found the purse. I ran, and then inside, I changed, and I went to bed.’
‘Again?’ Jansen tilts a fraction forward, towards her.
‘Yes, I had been out earlier, the night before, and I woke in Will’s gym kit. I thought it had been a dream… being outside in the dark, the cold. But when I woke… well, it must have been real. I put on what I could find in the tumble drier… I was so wet.’
‘You were out before? The night Becky went missing?’
‘Yes. I haven’t told Will. I thought… well, I think, it does seem strange. That I wake in the park. I thought it was best not to say. People do sleepwalk. And I’ve found it hard to sleep sometimes. If Finn’s up. I’m more tired than normal… Sometimes during the day, I don’t even feel present, like I’m watching myself… Like I’m drifting between the world of sleep and day.’ She feels it now. Like everything is fluid. She could reach out her hand and push between the barriers of the waking world and the sleeping. The living and the dead. Maybe the boundaries are not so clear… her head feels full of voices, muffled, somewhere under the surface.
Azeem’s voice sounds loudly in her ear. ‘My client needs to take a break. She’s obviously very distressed, I would like a moment with my client!’
Jenny looks down. Her hands are shaking, and a bead of sweat falls from her face to the table. She’s suddenly cold. Something’s changed. Something’s been said. How long has she been in here?