‘I’ve been doing this a long time, Harriet,’ Robert hedged, ‘It’s easy to be drawn into a story…’
She cut him off, ‘A lot of people have been telling me that lately. But that’s not what I am doing. Regardless, I don’t think we have the whole ‘story’ yet either way.’
‘Harriet, we shouldn’t…’
‘… Talk about the case, I know. And the day is getting on. I should get back to the office.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Robert said, bewildered and defeated. Her mood had shifted so quickly. He hadn’t wanted to upset her, to seem rude. But there she was, eyes aflame, because of him. He watched as she rose from her chair, shucked on her jacket and coat. Bundled against the day, and against his belief she turned to leave.
‘Say hi to June for me,’ she called over her shoulder as she walked out the door.
Margaret Ives stood at her front window watching the wind whip across the lake that sat before the waters of Torcross beach. The sky was darkening, the temperature pushing zero. Across the way she watched as a tall figure clad in a dark jacket pushed a pram around the lake, again.
Every day June walked that route, whatever the weather. It had become like a ritual since all that unpleasantness with Eloise. Probably doesn’t want to even think of Beesands, Margaret mused, I don’t want to think of Beesands.
The horrible murder of Grant Huxley had reached into her peaceful little world and exploded a bomb of gossip, rumour and fear. Selfish girls, both of them, Margaret thought, taking a baby out in this weather!
She shook her head in distaste and pulled the window firmly closed.
Tonight there would be snow, her joints told her so.
March
15: Unexpected evidence
‘Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Now lower yourself into the stretch. Hold.’
PC Tracy Berry moved with the confident fluidity of practice from downward facing dog, lengthening her hamstrings, into a curl and down, down, down to the floor and cobra pose. Her muscles burned, her lungs heaved, her face was lacquered in sweat. God she loved Hot Yoga.
An hour later, brightly coloured active wear swapped for her modest police uniform, Tracy exited the humid sweat of the Salcombe Health Club. Savouring the crisp bite of the early morning air Tracy mounted her bike and headed for the station. Her route took her down Sowton Park and Ride, the beautiful tree lined lane, ferns reaching out to her through the fading mists, up to Rydon Lane and eventually the Devon and Cornwall Police Station.
The health club was a new thing. Not the fitness, just the method. Tracy, a Yorkshire girl to her bones was born ‘well built’. Unlike the other teenagers in her peer group, who focused on diets and skinniness, Tracy had always seen her powerful legs and broad shoulders as an advantage, elected captain of the hockey, netball and tennis teams every year. Rounding a corner she sprung from her bike and walked it up the station drive. Pulling out her bike chain, she tied off her vehicle and headed inside.
‘Morning, Trace,’ Angela Cummins, the desk clerk waved an age-swollen hand, nails bedecked in purple with silver glitter today.
‘Nice nails, Ange,’ Tracy smiled as she moved past the front desk and into the office proper.
‘I knew you’d like ‘em,’ Angela called back, a grin breaking out over her face.
‘Brilliant,’ Tracy replied. Thumbs up. Through the door. Before the eye roll could break through her façade. Tracy liked Angela, a lot. They were of an age. Both called from a life of motherhood and cafe catch ups, back into the office by the shock of divorce. They enjoyed a regular pint and pie at their local pub on a Wednesday evening, conversation and laughter flowing with the beer. Angela was a delight to be around. Her nails on the other hand…
Tracy entered the office, large high-ceilinged, lined with desks and strode to the notice board: nothing new. She placed her lunch: yogurt and fruit, chicken and avocado sandwich (wholemeal of course) and a slice of cheese, in the staff fridge between the milk and leftover birthday cake (Benny turned 25 yesterday), and headed to her desk.
She surveyed her correspondence, all in order. Tracy smiled to herself. It really was beginning to feel normal again, being here, doing this job. Over the last few months, since the Hiddley Drive incident, she’d felt shaky, doubting her choice to return; feeling too old for the drama. But sitting at her desk, the quiet murmurs of the office around her, muscles heavy and warm from yoga, Tracy remembered she could do this. She could do all of this.
‘Bloody phone rang off the hook all night,’ Benny slumped against her desk. ‘More reports of white cars seen around Beesands last November. Like anyone bloody remembers seeing a white car on a specific day 3 months ago!’
Tracy’s confidence wavered. Two women, pale-faced, wild eyes… the blood. She shut out the image that sprang up before her. Scissors, blades long and sharp, the white hand reaching down for them…
‘Sure they do,’ she answered hoping her voice sounded light, nonchalant. ‘You see one everyday round here.’
Benny snorted, ‘Don’t think these public appeals for info really do much other than take up my time…’
Tracy looked at the young man, fatigue sat beneath his eyes. Night shift did suck.
She strengthened her resolve. She could do all of it.
‘Want a hand with the leads? I could spare an hour…’
’Nah, nah. Thanks though Trace. Ahmed’s on it for now. A shop hold up needs follow up though. Thought I could throw that your way?’
Relief flooded through Tracy’s limbs. She hoped it didn’t show on her face. ‘Sure thing boss. What’s the address?’
Hours later Tracy strolled back passed the front desk. Angela glanced up at her surreptitiously.
‘All good there, Trace?’
‘Yeah, yeah, long day that’s all.’
‘Wanna grab a bite after work?’
‘Sounds good, Ange.’ Tracy patted her friend’s back as she passed, mind already thinking of a hot cup of tea and her dried apricots. That shopkeeper had been an arrogant pig. Yes, I am here to help you. No that doesn’t mean you can blame the entire police force for the break in. Yes, I need to know where you were. No, you aren’t a suspect… yet.
She heard the station door open and waved to Ange as she moved for the office.
‘Hello,’ Ange’s bright voice called. ‘Can I help?’
Such a former sales girl. Tracy grinned, pushing the door. Then paused. A familiar voice drifted through the office.
‘Um, yes. Well, maybe. Actually, no. Thank you, no. I’m fine.’
Tracy turned, striding forward passed Ange’s quizzical face and into the foyer.
‘Helene?’ she called.
The woman was already half way out the door. She turned back. Definitely Helene, Tracy would know those eyes anywhere. Eyes were the key to a good yoga instructor, you had to believe their bullshit about energy and vibes, even if just for the hour you were sweating in their class. Helene’s kind but tired face registered Tracy with a brief moment of surprise, then a warm smile.
‘Tracy? I didn’t realise you worked here,’ she said, then shook her head, embarrassed, ‘I mean, of course I knew you were a… I’ve seen the uniform after class… but I never put it together.’
‘Not our usual meeting ground,’ Tracy replied smoothly.
Helene smiled, stuck in the doorway, frozen.
‘So,’ Tracy ventured, ‘what’s up?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing. I was just listening to the radio and… But, no, honestly I don’t want to waste your time.’
Tracey saw the hesitation, the glow of concern in Helene’s eyes. She had something to say, but she was unsure.
‘Well,’ Tracy said, ‘I’m actually on a break,’ she shot Ange a glance. Ange nodded subtly, she would cover for her. ‘How about we grab a coffee? There’s a nice little cafe just down the road.’
‘I…’
‘Be lovely really,’ Tracy pushed, ‘a chat out of the Health Club. Just you and me. We can talk ab
out anything.’
Tracy read the understanding and gratitude in Helene’s eyes. ‘If you are sure you have the time?’
‘Always.’
Silently Tracey sent thanks to DS Fields. Sometimes someone just needed to talk, out of the office.
Angela’s nails clacked on the keyboard. Not long now before end of shift. Oooh, she couldn’t wait for a cider. I hope Tracy isn’t much longer, she thought, eyes flicking to the clock in the bottom right of her computer screen.
As if summoned by thought Tracy stepped through the station door, freezing wind trailing her.
Her face was pale, drawn. She looked defeated.
Instantly Angela was on her feet, face enquiring. Tracy barely glanced her way as she moved through the foyer and came to her side.
‘I think I need to ring DS Fields,’ she said.
16: The white car
The driveway was empty, Robert noted. June’s Land Rover was parked just up the street. He filed that little fact away in his brain. Surprised but welcoming, June led Robert and Anita into her dining-lounge.
‘Take a seat at the table. I’ll just check on Jacob and I will be with you.’
She bustled across the room and into Jacob’s nursery. Presumably the boy was sleeping.
Robert strolled across the room, eyes scanning the photo frames along the wall, the book shelves stuffed full of brightly coloured picture books, the odd teddy-bear or plastic dinosaur crammed between the spines. Idly he ran his finger across the books, The Hungry Caterpillar, Winnie the Poo, Alice in Wonderland, Grimms’ Fairy Tales. Jacob would be read widely from the classics of childhood literature.
June slipped quietly from Jacob’s room and, spying Robert at the book shelf, gifted him a warm smile. ‘Ours, Lou and me, from when we were little. Mum kept them all, brought them over when Lou moved in here. Feels special to share our books with him.’
Robert nodded, Thomas’ books had all been newly bought, same titles, updated editions. Gemma had insisted. ‘Your books were yours. These are Tom’s.’ The corner of his mouth quirked privately at the memory. She’d been such a protective and assertive mother, glowing with the joy of the new role. Tom all rolls and squeals. The boy had never sat still for a moment, not much had changed there. Robert shook his head, bringing himself out of the memory and into the present. He needed to focus.
‘I see you have multiples of several of these,’ he said conversationally, indicating the book titles. ‘Family presents?’
June pursed her lips. ‘Not exactly. Lou wasn’t big on sharing when she was little. Didn’t like that they’d been mine before. So mum bought her new copies of some of her favourites, like Peter Rabbit. Still,’ June shrugged, ‘means we have a back up now.’
Smiling she made her way to the table and took a seat opposite Anita. Robert stayed at the book shelf, browsing in silence, purposefully, letting the lull in conversation stretch uncomfortably. Anita followed his lead.
‘So,’ June eventually began, ‘I wasn’t expecting you today. Was there something in particular that brought you here?’ She addressed the question to Robert who remained impassive at the book shelf. Her eyes swung to Anita, sitting calmly at the table, eyes watching.
Unsettled, June shuffled on her seat. Robert waited, watching her from the corner of his eye. She ran a hand through her hair and leaned forward, hands subconsciously tapping on the wooden table. Now, he thought.
Turning, he strolled slowly towards the table, unhurriedly taking his seat and settling down, eyes fixed on June.
‘Why did you lie to us about taking the bus back to Torcross on the night of Grant Huxley’s murder?’ Robert stated simply.
June’s mouth dropped open in shock, colour draining from her face.
Instantly her hands began to tremble. ‘It’s not like that… I.’ She pressed a hand to her hair again, eyes flicking between Robert and Anita. Neither spoke or moved.
‘I was going to take the bus. That was the plan,’ June stammered. ‘But then the weather came in so blustery and I didn’t have my jacket… So I rang Helene. She’s a friend from school, we went to Exeter University together too. And I borrowed her car.’
‘And drove straight home?’
‘Yes, straight home.’
Anita took up the questioning, ‘Are you aware, Ms Lane, that a small white car fitting the description of Helene’s vehicle was seen outside the Beesand’s hotel on the night of Mr Huxley’s murder? At the time you said you were on the bus?’
June swallowed, face pale, ‘I think I saw something about that on the news…’
Anita paused for one beat, two. ‘By my calculations, if you were driving from Salcombe you’d have had plenty of time to make it to the hotel that night and then return home before PC Tracy Berry arrived on the scene.’
June stared, a deer in headlights.
‘This breaks your alibi somewhat, June.’ Robert prompted.
Her eyes flashed to him. ‘You don’t think I…? Oh god.’ She covered her mouth with her hands, breathing short.
‘So, let’s start again,’ Anita said. ‘After dropping your car at Nelson’s Garage. What did you do?’
June stared at her wide-eyed. ‘I, just like I said to you. I caught the bus. But then the weather came in, so I rang Helene. I got off the bus and went to hers. Borrowed her car.’
‘And then?’
‘We talked a while. As I said, we’re old friends. And then I drove home. Here,’ she emphasised. ‘I didn’t go anywhere near Beesands. Why would I have?’
Robert rolled his shoulders. ‘There was no car in the driveway when we arrived on the scene on the night of November 15. Where was the car?’
‘Oh, just up the street. I always park on the street. Jacob likes to play in the drive… The Land Rover’s out there now.’
That fit with his observation on arrival today. Robert cast his mind back to the night of the 15th. Had he seen a small white car parked there when he and Anita finally made it to the house after dealing with the body at Beesands? Small white cars were so common. He couldn’t be sure. He and Anita glanced at each other.
‘That still doesn’t explain why you told us you took the bus,’ Anita said.
June shook her head slightly, eyes pressed closed. ‘I made a mistake. I was flustered. I’d just found my sister covered in blood and I’ve never been taken in for questioning before.’ She paused, hands fluttering at her heart, ‘The bus was the original plan. I, I just forgot the change in the moment. I was so distracted…’
Distracted seemed more a play from the Eloise Lane-Huxley handbook, rather out of character for June Lane. Then again, trauma could do that to a person. Robert leaned forward, eyes focused on June’s face. ‘And you didn’t drive to Beesands?’
‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘No, I didn’t. I talked a while with Helene and came straight back. I had no reason to go to Beesands.’
Robert rocked back into his chair, ‘So, you weren’t planning to meet with Mr Huxley? As you had several times over the previous few weeks?’
Horror washed over June’s face. Suddenly, she looked 10 years older. ‘Oh,’ she breathed, tears springing to her eyes, ‘how did you find out?’
‘Find out what exactly, Ms Lane?’ Anita said.
June turned sharply to look at DI Shan, ‘About Grant and me. We were…’
‘Fucking?’ Anita supplied, eyebrow arched, distaste twisting her lips. ‘See, what confuses me, Ms Lane,’ Anita continued, ‘is just how much you seemed to detest Mr Huxley. The anger you displayed when talking about his treatment of your sister and Jacob and his plans for custody. And yet now we find out you were having an affair with him. With your sister’s husband.’
June’s eyes darkened. ‘I do hate him. But I hate myself more. It was a stupid, stupid mistake. One I will never forgive myself for. But I had ended it. The week before. I was not going to see him that night. I was going home to Lou.’
‘Interesting timing, wouldn’t you say?’ Anita prodded.
June blew out a heavy breath. ‘Look, I know how bad this sounds. But it’s honestly not what you think. Yes, I made a mistake. A huge disgusting mistake. But I didn’t kill Grant. I wasn’t there.’
‘You came straight home,’ Anita repeated.
‘Exactly. Look, I’ve been a terrible, horrible sister. I betrayed Lou. But I couldn’t keep up the lie. So I put a stop to it. To the relationship. I didn’t kill him.’ Wild-eyed she scanned their faces, breath coming shorter and shorter. ‘I wasn’t there,’ she repeated desperately.
Robert relented, they had pushed her enough. ‘We know that June,’ he said softly. Anita flicked him a quizzical glance. ‘We checked the car, no DNA evidence to link it, or you, to the crime scene. Eloise was seen in Beesands and returning home that night with blood on her jacket. Her prints are on the murder weapon, Grant’s blood on her clothes.’ He paused, watching June’s face work through emotions of fear, confusion, hope. ‘There are millions of little white cars in Britain. White is the most popular colour of new car. The witness didn’t get the make or plates and there is no CCTV. From your testimony and Helene’s it’s doubtful you could have made it to Beesands in time anyway.’
June’s breathing calmed, she clenched her hands into fists, ‘I wasn’t there,’ she whispered.
Robert nodded, ‘This new information doesn’t change our view of the case. But June, ‘he fixed her with his eyes, ‘details like this? They matter. Your testimony has to be rock solid.’
‘I just forgot, I was so flustered…’
‘Even so, we can’t have missed details like this. Not when we go to court.’
June breathed out, ‘She’s my sister, DS Fields. I’m on her side.’
‘“Her side”, June, is proper treatment in a secure facility. “Her side” is safety for herself and for her son Jacob. I understand sibling loyalty. But it is also your responsibility to protect your nephew, is it not?’
The Unsound Sister Page 11