‘Thanks for all your help,’ Lucy said. ‘But I don’t want you to take it any further. I’m sure Will is right. It’s just a few silly phone calls and the rest is me imagining things.’
‘Lucy, I’m not sure that you’re the kind of person who imagines things,’ Millie said. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No, nothing,’ said Lucy, decisively. ‘I’ve just changed my mind.’
‘It seems to me that there’s enough for us to look into,’ Millie persisted.
‘No really, I don’t want you to.’
‘I’d prefer it if we could come and talk to Will, too.’
‘No, I’m fine. Please, I’d rather you didn’t.’ And Lucy ended the call.
* * *
She went into the house feeling relieved. It had been a moment of madness, but thank God, no harm had been done. Climbing the stairs to the bedroom she was instantly comforted by the sight of Will’s things lying around, his holdall dumped on the floor and spilling out dirty washing. ‘Will?’ she called out.
‘In here.’ His voice echoed back at her from the bathroom. ‘Why don’t you come and join me?’
Seeing him naked in the bath, any remaining worries Lucy had evaporated. His lean body was one of the things that had attracted her to him. He was as toned as she was. His dark eyes focused on her as she undressed slowly before climbing into the sunken roman-style bath facing him. Her toes explored him. ‘Well,’ she remarked. ‘You seem happy to see me.’
‘Oh I sure am.’ Will leaned forward and kissed her.
* * *
Mariner was on his way out of the office at the end of the day, when he noticed Millie sitting at her desk, holding the telephone receiver a little way from her ear and looking slightly dazed.
‘You okay?’ he asked
‘I think so,’ she said, uncertainly. ‘Lucy Jarrett has asked us to drop the case.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, she’s decided that it was all in her imagination, just as her husband has been telling her.’
‘That’s a sudden turnaround,’ said Mariner. ‘What do you think?’
‘Well, to be honest, I haven’t got very far,’ Millie said. ‘The calls to Lucy’s landline are from an unregistered mobile, so we can’t trace them. Apart from the first call, when someone spoke, it’s feasible that the others could just be wrong numbers or kids messing about. I think Lucy’s lonely. I’ve talked to her mum and her best friend. Neither of them seems that enamoured with her new husband and he does sound like a tit.’
‘Not much we can do about that,’ Mariner observed.
‘No. It’s just that, when you talk to Lucy, she’s the one who seems to do all the compromising in the relationship, and I’m pretty sure she’s called me off because she’s concerned about how he would react to us being involved.’
‘Have you managed to find anything out about him?’ asked Mariner.
‘There’s this.’ Millie clicked the mouse a few times and came up with the website for the Leigh Hawkins Band. It gave the dates of future gigs that were coming up in various parts of the country, and there were short biographies of each of the band members, including Will Jarrett. His profile described him as a guitar and mandolin player who hailed from Asheville, North Carolina. The closing sentence announced that he had recently married.
‘His name appears on one or two older sites as well,’ Millie added, ‘bands that he’s been in previously, though they only mention his name. I was just considering contacting the Asheville police department when Lucy phoned asking me to close the case. Should I make the call or do you think I’m wasting my time now?’
‘On what grounds would you be doing it?’ Mariner asked.
‘Well, I’ve never met the man, but I’ve got a feeling about him.’
‘A gut reaction?’
‘Yes, I guess that’s all it is,’ she admitted.
‘Well, go with it,’ said Mariner. ‘Nothing wrong with following your instincts. Just don’t take too much time over it. Maybe just make the call to Asheville and see what that throws up. If Lucy doesn’t want to pursue it there’s nothing much else we can do. She seemed sure about that?’
‘She sounded adamant,’ Millie said.
Mariner could sense her disappointment. ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her. ‘There will be plenty more cases where that came from, and other opportunities for you to take the lead. Meanwhile I can certainly use your skills on the Nina Silvero investigation.’
Millie shuddered. ‘I heard about that. Nasty.’
‘I have to agree with the DCI that it’s suspicious, but we’ve got no sense of who could be behind it yet,’ Mariner said. ‘We have a mystery visitor on the evening that she died, so he or she will be our priority.’
Millie slowly shook her head. ‘Why do people do these terrible things to each other?’
‘If we knew the answer to that our lives would be a hell of a lot easier,’ Mariner said. ‘And don’t sit here all evening fretting about Lucy. You’ve got your own husband to go home to.’
‘Right. See you in the morning, boss.’
* * *
On his way home that evening, Mariner stopped off at what he still referred to as the ‘video shop,’ even though the shelves had long been taken over by computer games and DVDs. He spent a while perusing the shelves, deciding what would hit the mark just at the moment. Watching DVDs was something he and Kat had done a lot of. She had settled well into her new life at his house, but evenings were always tricky, followed as they were by the point at which she would be going up to bed.
With help from Millie and Lorelei, a counsellor from the refuge centre where Kat had initially been cared for, Mariner had tried to make Kat’s bedroom look as far removed as possible from the one in which she’d been incarcerated, when she’d been brought to Birmingham and forced into prostitution. But it had still taken months until she was relaxed enough in the evening to climb the stairs. Until then Kat had stayed up very late, often falling asleep on the sofa, where Millie at first, and then Mariner, would cover her with a duvet and leave her. DVDs had been a good way of passing the long evening hours without putting too much pressure on Kat, and they had helped to improve her already fairly good knowledge of English, which in turn had helped her to secure a job as a freelance translator based at a city-centre language school.
Mariner had always taken care in his choice of films and in the early days they had been pure escapism — anything to get Kat’s mind away from the horrors that she and her friends had endured. She had quickly developed a taste for the Ealing comedies because, Mariner supposed, they were quaint and ridiculous and so very English. It was during those that he’d first heard her laugh. Since then they had progressed to meatier dramas and contemporary thrillers, but he was careful to try and judge her mood and usually offered at least one alternative. It had encouraged him to broaden his horizons too, encapsulating costume dramas — a genre he normally went out of his way to avoid. And Kat’s preferences of late veered towards light romantic comedy, which was far removed from Mariner’s taste, but he went along with it to indulge her. After the life she’d had, she deserved some indulgence.
It was a good time to observe her, too. Often when she lost herself in the films that they were watching Mariner could tell her true state of mind. He’d talked at length about it to Lorelei, who had advised him to keep a close eye on her body language at this time. It had been a revelation. In the first few weeks Kat had positioned herself as far away from Mariner as she could, curled up tight and seemingly squeezing herself into the corner of the sofa, and often hugging a cushion. Gradually, over the weeks, through Alastair Sim and Margaret Rutherford, Jack Lemmon and Marilyn Monroe, Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds, Mariner had watched her unfurl like a flower in the sun. Now she would often choose to sit beside him, her long legs stretched out before her while she chuckled along. Sometimes, usually in response to some sarcastic comment about a costume drama, she would playfully punch him, and if the te
nsion was high, she would grab his arm and squeeze tight. It occurred to him once that this was what it might have been like if he’d had a teenage daughter.
Now Kat was beginning to make her own choices too, films that her work colleagues had told her about or recommended. He tried to remember which film it was she’d mentioned at the weekend. Then he saw it: Girl with a Pearl Earring. Mariner scanned the case. He didn’t hold out much hope. Colin Firth and Vermeer — probably about as exciting as watching a Dutch Old Master dry. Still, if that was what she wanted . . . he picked up a couple of cartons of Haagen-Dazs as well and went to pay.
Mariner was pleasantly surprised by the selection. Notwithstanding the leisurely pace, the film was absorbing and beautifully photographed, but tonight it was Kat who was edgy and distracted from the plot, and a couple of times he had to remind her of who the characters were. Every few minutes she would jump up to get something from the kitchen, take off her jumper, put it back on. Mariner began to wonder if she was having a relapse. Up until recently her mobile phone had rarely been used, but this evening it was like an extension of her hand as she continually texted her friends throughout the film. Mariner tried to assess her mood, but this wasn’t one of his strengths, especially where women were concerned. On the other hand, Kat didn’t seem unhappy. And for once, as soon as the film ended, she went up early to bed.
During the night, Mariner woke with a jolt. Something had woken him. For a moment, and not for the first time, he was disorientated, thinking he was in Anna’s bed at her old house in Harborne. Disappointment swept over him as his mind adjusted. He got up for a pee and walking back to the bathroom he heard the noise that had woken him, a terrible animal wailing. It was coming from Kat’s room. The door was open, as she always left it. After more than a year of captivity she couldn’t bear the door to be closed. Mariner gently pushed it wider and went in. By now the sound had diminished to a whimpering, but he couldn’t judge whether she was awake or asleep.
‘Kat? Kat?’ Mariner said, softly. She didn’t respond and her breathing was becoming even now. Mariner perched for a moment on the chair by the bed, uncertain about what he should do; he could never remember the best strategy with someone having a nightmare. Should you wake them or leave them be? If he did wake her and she was in distress, how could he help? He wasn’t a stranger any more but a man in her bedroom at night was the last thing she needed. Also the sight and smell of her was doing things to him that he wished they weren’t. The curtains were open and in the moonlight he could see her bare shoulder and the strap of her vest, the curve of her breast. Suddenly instead of Kat he saw Anna’s head on the pillow. Kat murmured and stirred a little, and shocked by the power of his own imagination, Mariner stole out again.
* * *
Lucy and Will surfaced hours later to order a takeaway curry and were lying comfortably together on the sofa watching TV. But as they talked Lucy could barely stay awake. It was, she realised, the most relaxed she had felt for weeks.
‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ she said.
Will smiled, lasciviously. ‘Mm, me too.’
For some reason the woman’s voice on the phone came back to her. ‘Really?’
‘Sure, I get to spend some time with my wife.’ He slid a hand under her robe.
‘You could spend even more time with her,’ Lucy said.
‘Oh yeah, how?’
‘Don’t go away again.’
Will withdrew his hand. ‘What?’
‘Joke!’ Lucy grinned, hoping he couldn’t tell that it was only half-true. ‘It’s just that this is so nice.’
‘Maybe it’s this nice because I do go away.’
‘Hmm, could be,’ Lucy conceded. ‘Who were you out with last night anyway?’ she asked, carefully.
‘Uh? Oh, just the guys in the band.’
‘Oh, I thought I heard women’s voices.’
‘We were in a bar. I guess there were probably some women in there.’
A note of tension had crept into his voice, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know; just some women. What is this? Come on, honey, you promised you would never do this to me.’
‘Do what?’ Lucy was all innocence.
‘Interrogate me about where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing.’
‘I’m not interrogating you.’
‘Really? That’s how it feels. How do I know that you’re not hanging out with some guy while I’m not around?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Lucy protested. She tried to snuggle up to Will, but the atmosphere was broken and he got up.
‘Do you want a coffee?’
Lucy had no choice but to go along with it. ‘Yes, thanks that would be nice.’
She heard him clattering around in the kitchen, but quite abruptly, the sounds stopped. Did she hear him swear? Something he couldn’t find. Smiling to herself, she got off the sofa and walked through to the kitchen.
Will looked up as she came to the doorway. ‘Is there something you need to tell me?’ His voice seemed unnaturally calm; a stillness in the air before the storm broke.
Lucy’s stomach turned to lead. Did he know that she’d been to the police?
‘What do you mean?’ she asked. Then she realised it wasn’t something Will couldn’t find, it was something he’d found. A drawer was open and several plastic-wrapped catalogues lay on the countertop. He was holding something in his hand, turning the small cardboard box over and over, while they both stared at it.
‘What’s this meant to be?’ He threw it down on the counter and it skidded towards her. It took Lucy a few seconds to work out what it was, but as her eyes came into focus she made out the words ‘Clear Blue.’ Oh shit. She had meant to throw it away.
‘A pregnancy test?’ He was incredulous.
Despite herself, she blushed. ‘It came in the post, a couple of days ago. I meant to throw it away. It just arrived.’
‘What do you mean, “it just arrived?”’ He picked up the padded envelope it had fallen out of. ‘It has your name and address on it.’
‘—which they’ve got from some list somewhere. That doesn’t mean anything. It’s probably tied up with the phone calls.’
Will spread his hands, exasperated. ‘What phone calls?’ He was right. Suddenly Lucy realised there hadn’t been any all evening.
She moved across to pick up the offending item, and at the same time Will took a step towards her and taking her arm, twisted it up towards him. Lucy gasped. ‘You’re hurting me.’
He leaned over her, staring into her eyes. ‘I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Lucy. We talked about it, and we both knew where we stood. Now you’ve hooked me, you think you can change your mind?’
‘Hooked you? What’s that supposed to mean? I feel the same way now as I did before we married. I’m fine about not having kids. Yes, I might have wanted them once, but now I’d rather have you. I told you that at the time and it’s still the truth.’
‘Which is why we have all these in the house, is it?’ There was something in his eyes. He didn’t believe her. He sorted through the catalogues. ‘Maternity clothes; nursery furniture? All addressed to you.’ Pushing her away from him, he scooped up the pregnancy test and threw the packet on the floor, before striding out of the kitchen. ‘Please don’t lie to me, Lucy.’
Lucy dropped down to retrieve the packet as a wave of nausea hit her, and she had to crouch there for a moment while it passed. She daren’t tell Will about that; she knew just what he’d think. Getting slowly to her feet she threw the Clear Blue into the bin in disgust; something she should have done the moment she received it.
She went back into the lounge but Will wasn’t there, she could hear him moving about upstairs. Following him up, she found him putting clean clothes back into his overnight bag. ‘What are you doing?’ She asked stupidly. ‘You can’t just walk away from this. We need to sort it out.’
‘We had an agreement,’ Will said, coldly. ‘You need
to give some thought as to whether you want to stick with that.’ He hurried down the stairs and moments later the front door slammed. Trembling with fear, Lucy heard Will’s van start up and pull out of the drive. As soon as it did, the phone rang and she cried out involuntarily, wrenching the line out of the wall socket to silence it.
Chapter Six
The 999 call came into the West Midlands call control centre at 11:40 p.m., the caller claiming to have seen a couple arguing. The row looked to be turning violent, and the caller was concerned that the woman involved might be in danger.
‘I’ve just seen someone being attacked,’ he said.
‘Where are you, sir?’ asked the operator.
‘The address is nineteen, Hill Crest. You need to get someone over there right away.’
‘Is that your address, sir?’
‘No, it’s where the attack is taking place.’
‘Could you give me your name, sir?’
The caller ignored the question. ‘I saw him attack her, she fell on the floor, and now he’s gone out and she’s not answering her phone.’
‘Are you a friend or neighbour, sir?’ But the line had gone dead.
* * *
Ten minutes later Lucy Jarrett’s doorbell rang. She peered out into the darkness. There were two emergency vehicles parked on the road, their lights flashing, and a group of people rushing towards her front door. What was going on? When the doorbell rang, she opened it cautiously. It was quite a party: two young policemen and a man and woman in green paramedic tunics, one carrying a bulky holdall.
‘Good evening, madam.’ The taller of the police officers spoke; he looked barely old enough to have started shaving, Lucy thought. ‘We’re just checking that everything’s all right. We received a phone call to say that a woman at this address was being attacked,’ the young officer went on.
‘What?’ Lucy was aghast. ‘They’re mistaken. My husband and I had a disagreement, that’s all. I’m fine.’
The officer peered behind her and into the hall. ‘Is your husband at home?’ he asked.
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