The Death of Me

by Natalie Hames

  It had been the only major development listed in Deptford and he knew it must be the one Guy was involved in. Did he know about Grace? The question made him shudder. He knew his brother had an unquenchable thirst for money and success but to think he would be involved in the kidnapping of an innocent fourteen year old girl, was unthinkable. Her disappearance had made all the headlines, triggering an outcry of sympathy from the general public and making it almost impossible to just simply release her. One thing was certain, if Grace was still alive now planning permission had been passed, she wouldn’t be for much longer.

  No one took any notice of him when he arrived back at the office. Mick was busy on the phone, not even sparing him a glance and Jason was nowhere to be seen. He relaxed into his mundane chores while his mind was elsewhere, the lateness of his lunch break making the second part of the day more manageable. He wondered if Mick knew about Tom Dalton’s death. No one had any reason to check up on him since his release and so he assumed he probably didn’t know.

  Why didn’t they send him their demands? They might have returned Grace?

  The first thing he checked in any missing persons’ case was if a ransom letter had been received and Tom had denied receiving anything of that kind. He had always struck Phil as being an ethical man and not one to walk a crooked path. He found it unlikely he would conceal any attempts of blackmail, he wasn’t brave enough to play games with his daughter’s life. If only he could ask him again, but it was too late now. The only person who may know would be Julie Dalton. She had left him soon after his release from prison and he knew he had written down her address in case he needed to give her any updates on Grace. He opened up his incident book and flicked backwards till he reached the page where he’d jotted it down.

  “Hmm, Muswell Hill,” he muttered, the irony of it mocked him.

  Katherine’s friends, Henry and Jane lived a couple of streets away and he decided to drop by on his way back home. If he parked near their house he would walk the rest of the way to Julie Dalton’s new address without alerting the tracker. He mentally battled with the vision of Molly and Katherine, the risk he would be taking if the secret eyes which were watching his every move were to find out.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Simulated Victorian street lighting added to the exclusive feel of Hereford Crescent as he walked along the pavement. Large houses, set back from the road fringed with perfectly trimmed Leylandii to protect their privacy, only coming into view when he drew level with their electronic wrought iron gates. The names of each house were carved onto marble plaques mounted onto the brick pillars supporting their gates and he read off each one until he reached The Beeches. He pressed the intercom and waited.

  “Yes?” a voice answered.

  “Ah, hello. It’s Detective Harris, is Mrs Dalton available please?”

  The intercom cut off without an answer and the gate clicked and started to open. He made his way down the herringbone driveway towards the wide, perfectly varnished oak door and it opened as he reached the sheltered porch.

  “Is it about Grace?”

  A man appeared at the door still wearing a suit from his day at work as Julie lurked in the background wearing a full length black satin dressing gown clutching a glass of wine.

  “Mrs Dalton, can I have a quick word? I just need to ask you a couple of questions,” he called over the man’s shoulder, ignoring his question.

  He opened the door wider and gestured for him to come inside and Julie stood frozen to the spot, her eyes wide.

  “Is she…?” her voice trembled and the man placed his arm around her shoulders.

  “No, there’s no update I’m afraid, but I’m pursuing a new line of enquiry and need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “You better come through.”

  Her frosty demeanour returned and she flounced across the hall and into the living room while Phil followed. There was a bar at the far end and Julie helped herself to another large glass of wine while Phil looked around the room. He had only ever seen properties like this in magazines and he tried to conceal his feelings of awe as he marvelled at the extravagance of the design. It was clear she had come a long way from her respectable house in Greenwich and her new found lifestyle had gone to her head.

  “Drink?” she asked.

  “No,” Phil replied, shaking his hand. “I’m driving.”

  She huffed slightly under her breath and walked from the bar towards the centre of the room, a sway in her walk indicating this wasn’t her second glass of wine.

  “That’s my fiancé by the way,” she slurred, gesturing over to the man who had greeted him at the door.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Phil replied, stretching out his arm to shake his hand, and the man reciprocated.

  “John LeVac. I’ll leave you to talk in private.”

  The man politely left the room and he noticed Julie curl her lip slightly as soon as he’d gone. Phil pretended he hadn’t seen the mild sneer, all couples fall out and with the addition of alcohol things always blew out of proportion.

  “He’s an investment banker, in case you’re wondering,” she boasted, taking another swig of wine. “He was the man I should have married all those years ago instead of listening to my mother’s advice.”

  ‘Work with money to attract money,’ Guy’s mantra ran through his head.

  Phil fidgeted in his chair. The atmosphere was uncomfortable and despite her reconnecting with a past love and now surrounded by wealth it was obvious it hadn’t brought her happiness. He wanted to go. The tension in the air reminding him of how he and Katherine were when they hit rock bottom after losing his promotion and their unborn son.

  “I’m sorry to hear about Tom,” he said, cautiously.

  She nodded and for a moment a little emotion leaked through her arrogant expression.

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Yes, in a fashion. I wanted to know if you ever received a letter. Something strange which you possibly put down to being a hoax.”

  Julie grimaced a little and took another swig of her wine then got up from her seat and headed for the door.

  “You better follow me.”

  She swaggered across the hall and into an enormous, pristine kitchen and Phil tried to suppress his prickle of jealously as his high street branded shoes squeaked on the polished tiled floor. She opened up a door and fumbled for the light switch, clicking it down to illuminate a garage which was easily as big as his house. A dark grey Bentley with a private plate was parked inside next to a red Mercedes convertible and she staggered along the side until she reached a set of shelves where two boxes sat.

  “There,” she said, gesturing to them. “That’s all the letters we received when Grace disappeared. We gave up opening them after the first hundred, the police advised us to ignore them.”

  Phil’s mouth dropped open.

  “Why?” he exclaimed.

  “Frankly, they were upsetting. There’s a lot of lunatics and weirdos out there, you know?!” she snapped. “They said they’d collect them and go through them but no one ever did. Here, take them. I was going to burn them so you’ll be doing me a favour.”

  She picked the first box up, splashing her wine on the unblemished garage floor as she struggled and Phil stepped forward to help.

  “Are you sure you don’t want them returned?” he asked when they reached the door for him to leave.

  “Positive.”

  The door shut behind him and he staggered down the drive with the boxes in his arms as the electronic gates opened to let him out. Elspeth watched from her bedroom window as he left with the boxes. It was only a matter of time until the letter was found and she tried to guess what would happen. It was the day she had been both wanting and dreading. Would he come back and arrest her? If she denied it and suggested it had been an oversight by her parents they might arrest her mother. She had already had to go through the experience of having a parent in prison and she doubted if she would have the
strength to go through it a second time. All she could do now, was wait and hope.

  The boxes were heavy and he grunted as he made his way back down Hereford Crescent, along the dividing road and back up to where he had left his car. He bundled them onto the back seat then sat in his car for a few moments to get his breath back.

  Why didn’t the police seize these? There might be evidence amongst the letters. A ransom note, maybe?

  It was standard procedure and the more he thought about it as he was driving home, the more is stank of a cover-up. He knew there was no way he would be able to hide the boxes in his small office at home and by the time he pulled onto his drive he had decided he would have to stand up to Katherine and tell her he had to work on a case at home. He knew she wouldn’t like it but right now the prospect of her sulking was not a deterrent. Besides, Guy and Claire would be coming over for dinner tomorrow evening so he knew she wouldn’t be able to keep the silent treatment up for long.

  He tugged the boxes out from the back seat and placed them at the front door as he fished for his key, then staggered inside, picking each one up individually.

  “What are those?” Katherine said, popping her head around the living room door.

  “Boxes of letters which should have been opened,” he replied.

  She stepped into the hall for a closer look.

  “Are they from work?”

  Phil braced himself, ready for a lecture followed by her stropping back to the living room and slamming the door.

  “They’re from a missing person’s enquiry. You remember when Grace Dalton went missing? Well these are the letters her parents never opened and there might be a clue to where she is inside one of them.”

  He waited for her response but instead of reacting as he’d imagined she dropped to her knees and stared into one of the boxes.

  “Do you want any help? There’s a lot to get through.”

  Phil hesitated, taken aback by her reaction.

  “If it were Molly, I’d like to think someone was trying their best to find her,” she added.

  Phil smiled and offered her his hand. Pulling her to her feet he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her lovingly.

  “I’m sorry I brought work home. I know I promised but this is so important and I can’t do it at the office.”

  “I understand,” she replied, softly.

  She opened her mouth slightly, as if she was about to say something, then paused for a moment.

  “You know I love you, don’t you?” she said.

  Phil nodded and he knew she was warming up to say what was really on her mind.

  “I should have told you before but couldn’t seem to find the right moment so please don’t be angry.”

  “If it’s about Tom Dalton, I already know,” he interrupted, not wanting to put her through the anguish when he already knew what she was about to say. “I know he was the driver of the other car the night of the crash.”

  “You knew?” she exclaimed.

  “I hated him for a long time, blaming him for shattering your pelvis and our son’s death. But I’ve let it go. It turned out he was quite a decent man and I’m sure if I had ever told him about our connection he would have been genuinely upset and I would have compromised the case.”

  “You’re not cross with me, then?” Katherine asked, still a little uncertain.

  “All I’m concerned about now, is finding his daughter.”

  He set to work opening each one carefully, making sure he wore latex gloves to avoid contaminating any traces of prints there may be left on the paper. He worked his way through the first box but there was nothing but letters of sympathy, cranks claiming she had contacted them from the dead and wild unsubstantiated claims of sightings. It was a sad exercise and he understood why many of the letters had remained unopened especially as some were downright cruel.

  “What’s wrong with people?” he muttered as he read one telling Julie and Tom to find God or else they would be cursed forever.

  It had turned midnight by the time he reached the end of the first box. His back had locked from kneeling down for too long and he stood up and rubbed it to ease the shooting pain. Peeling off his latex gloves, he made his way through to the kitchen still limping from the bullet wound and opened an ice cold beer from the fridge. He sat at the kitchen table and stared at the deluge of envelopes strewn over the hallway floor.

  He toyed with abandoning the task in preference for some food as his stomach rumbled. He had skipped his dinner and as the effects of the beer shot to his head he realised he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Unable to control his obsession, he grabbed a handful of biscuits from the tin by the microwave and stuffed them into his mouth, making his way back down the hallway as he munched. Grabbing a cushion from a chair in the living room to soften the pressure on his knees, he knelt back down and started to work his way through the second box. The tone of the letters were changing. The first ones he opened were mostly abusive, accusing Tom of murdering his daughter and the family of covering up their daughter’s murder but as he worked his way through the second box he came to realise they were dated nearer the time Grace first went missing.

  “I wish I’d have started on this box first,” he said, letting out a huff of annoyance at himself for not checking the dates printed by the post office’s franking system.

  Learning from his mistake, he decided to delve down to the bottom of the box and work his way up. If there was a letter containing demands it would surely have been sent soon after she was abducted. The first batch had been opened and contained nothing but words of support sprinkled with the odd letter of hate and they had dates covering the first week. He picked up a handful of unopened ones which had been placed directly on top and studied the writing on the front and one in particular stood out. Every letter had been sent in standard envelopes which were available from any high street stationers - cheap, cheerful and manufactured in bulk. But this letter was different. The envelope was made from a fine grade of paper, delicately coloured in a subtle shade of ivory. It was crisp and watermarked with an expensive brand. He stood up, holding the letter in his hand and made his way back to the kitchen, placing it carefully on the table underneath one of the recessed halogen lights. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed it but any scent it may have had originally was now gone.

  The emptiness in his stomach was now replaced by a mixture of tension, excitement and a little fear. What would he do if it turned out to be a letter of demand? He picked up the remainder of his beer and paced around the table as he considered his next move.

  “C’mon Phil, man up.”

  He picked up the envelope and gently lifted the seal. It had already been opened and it looked as if someone had tried to stick it back down with the kind of glue which usually comes as a white pop-up stick. There, as he suspected, demands were laid out in no uncertain terms.

  “Bingo,” he whispered.

  The terms were clear. Grant planning permission for application number 389635 and Grace would be returned to her family unharmed followed by the standard threat if they were to involve the police.

  There was something about the letter which pricked at his mind, a familiarity he couldn’t quite pin down, and he carefully placed it back in its envelope and into an evidence bag. Hunger nagged at his stomach and he decided to reward his efforts with some food. He went down the hall to the kitchen and started to open cupboard doors as he searched for something quick to heat and would be light on his digestion when suddenly it hit him.

  “I knew I’d seen that paper before.”

  He rushed through to the living room and opened the bureau where they kept important documents such as their passports and rummaged around until he found it. Taking it through to his office, he placed it next to the ransom letter.

  “It’s the same paper,” he whispered.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  The chat with Mrs Headland had revealed a key piece of information his initial inquiry had overlooked. He
had focused on asking her about the events surrounding Esme’s body being discovered but he hadn’t asked about Anthony’s personality, his hobbies and interests. Not long into the conversation, her train of thought had rambled on to his work within the community and how he had worked hard for people on low incomes in the area. Only a small entry deep within the newspaper had mentioned the protesters who had marched outside the planning department where Tom Dalton had worked. The local library had archives of all the papers and Phil diligently scrolled through all of them which had been published around that time until he came across a picture of the protesters. He zoomed in, enlarging the picture until he was able to see a clear image of Anthony Fletcher leading the crowd.

  “You got in their way,” he mumbled. “A fly in the ointment, screwing up their plans.”

  The Librarian let out an overly exaggerated cough, breaking Phil’s concentration, and he checked the time. The library closed at lunchtime on a Saturday and with less than five minutes to go, he took her hint. He quickly made a couple of notes in his jotter and left, giving the stony-faced Librarian a nod of thanks as he passed on his way to the exit. He had now discovered the link between Anthony and Tom but what would he do with the information? It wasn’t enough to reopen the two cases and he knew attempting to do so would get back to the crime syndicate who would carry out their threat.

  Katherine greeted him when he stepped back through the front door with Molly in her arms.

  “I’ve packed the cases. Would you bring them downstairs, please?”