‘Crystal’s sleeping,’ he said, by way of explanation.
Harriet nodded and opened the door wider, letting him in. He took up a spot on one side of her bed, head resting against her fluffed pillows. Harriet flopped down beside him and took the offered mug of tea.
‘How’d it go?’ she asked.
Billy sipped his tea. ‘Going home tomorrow, ‘ he said.
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’
Harriet nodded, savouring her tea. Billy had brewed a proper pot, not just an instant tea bag. She often forgot just how nice a proper brew was. Leaning back into her pillows, Harriet enjoyed the silent company of her brother. A odd sense of loneliness poked at her heart. No matter how messy and annoying Billy could be, it had been nice having him here, with her. She’d been alone in this apartment since he left to get clean. Why hadn’t she ever moved out? Found somewhere bigger, nicer? Got a roommate?
‘We’ll visit again soon,’ Billy said, as if sensing the shift in her mood. ‘And once Esmerelda is born, you’ll have to come up more often. She’s gotta know her Aunty Hare.’
Harriet smiled and shoved him playfully.
‘Why Esmerelda?’ she asked.
‘Crystal’s grandmother. She’s the one who came over from Spain. Died last year. Seems right.’
Harriet nodded. ‘And…’ she paused bracing herself for Billy’s usual hostile reaction to questioning, but she had to ask, ‘what about work?’ she finished.
‘Crystal’s got a cousin who’s starting up a new garage in Wrexham. Said he’s happy to take me on. He specialises in older cars, tractors and the like.’ Excitement buzzed in Billy’s voice as he described the work. And Harriet realised with a start that it was an excitement that had always been there when he talked about machinery, she’d just never heard it before.
’Sounds really good Bill,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed.
They fell silent again. Just two siblings alone with their thoughts, sharing space and tea.
Billy broke the silence, ‘Thank you Hare, for everything,’ he began. ‘I think I got scared. Of Esmerelda, of Crystal, of all of it, you know? I needed some time, some space to work through it all. Thanks for letting me stay.’
‘You’ve got a key,’ Harriet grinned at her brother, ‘anytime.’
Billy huffed a soft laugh and lowered his head to rest on Harriet’s shoulder as he had when they were children. Harriet leant her head on his and sighed.
‘I’m happy for you Bill,’ she said. ‘Truly.’
Billy sat up, looking into her eyes.
‘I see it,’ Harriet continued, ‘this job, this life… with Crystal with your baby girl. It looks good on you. I see it.’
Billy’s eyes seemed to fill with water. He turned away and coughed. Harriet smiled knowingly to herself. Composed, Billy turned back to her.
‘Thanks, Hare,’ he said, ‘that means everything.’
23: The scene of the crime
The sun was warm, the air cool and crisp. Salt and seaweed. Sun and sand. Harriet stared out at the waves of Beesand’s beach and took a moment to just breathe. Her eyes followed the coast, taking in the curve of the land reaching out to Start Point Lighthouse, another hour’s walk away. Would be a beautiful walk, she mused, one day.
She’d driven down over her lunch break, chicken wrap in hand. She’d been unable to focus on her paperwork, Eloise, the trial, fucking Robert Fields had all crowded in, demanding her attention. Frustrated, she had given up, told her secretary she had to see a witness and, wrap in hand, jumped in her car and drove. It would be nice to say she didn’t know where she was going until she pulled up at the car park at Torcross beach, but the truth was far less fatalistic.
Harriet couldn’t get Torcross and Beesands, Eloise and June, the murder of Grant Huxley and her doubt as to which sister was truly guilty, out of her head. She’d gone over the evidence, time and time again. She knew Randell Dawes was right, the evidence was clear. Her client, gentle sweet, blue eyed Eloise, was a murderer. All be it an unwilling one. Yet, try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were wrong. That there was something, something in the evidence that she had missed. The ‘smoking gun’ to Eloise’s innocence.
So she’d driven to Torcross and walked the coastal path to Beesands, following in the fateful foot steps Eloise took on November 15, down to the sands of Beesands. There she stood, surveying the sea, hair streaming behind her in the breeze, sunlight glinting on the blue currents. ‘What have I missed?’ she whispered to the waters. Only the gentle waves of a calm spring day replied.
A cluster of clouds drifted over the sun, casting the land in pale shadow. Harriet suppressed a shiver, the sun was warm, but she was still on the coast and the breeze was brisk. Pulling her jacket closer around her she turned and began her walk back up the hill to Torcross.
It was a beautiful walk, really. All green pastures, dazzling blue waters and crisp horizons. Harriet’s breath came hard as she topped the hill. She paused gazing back over the vista, catching her breath and taking in the view. The perfect route for Ramblers, she thought, imagining the groups of retirees dressed in their bright rain jackets, hiking sticks in hand, strolling the coast, stopping at the various pubs dotted along the way for refreshment and sustenance. She hoped the murder wouldn’t impact tourism to the area too much in the coming season.
Ducking under the heavy foliage of the hill top, she began her descent to Torcross beach. It was a steep descent. Dry now in the warmer spring winds, but on the night of Grant’s death the path would have been muddy, slick with winter rains and rotting leaves. Treacherous. Yet Eloise, driven mad by the fear of losing her son, had scaled this cliff as the dark clouds of an offshore storm gathered over head. Crafting scissors clutched in her palm. Swift and sure-footed.
A cluster of stones gave beneath her foot and Harriet clutched a low hanging tree branch to steady herself, narrowly missing landing in the dirt and ruining her work trousers. Her gym trainers were not for hiking. Shaking off the shock, she continued down the path to the small group of beachside restaurants and cafes of Torcross proper. The sun was still high overhead, but the clouds had grown thicker, casting more and more of the pebbled beach into shadow. Walk completed and no witness worth visiting (June would not appreciate her dropping in she was sure) Harriet found herself at a loss. She should return to her office in Exeter. Work late, finish her documentation but… she found herself turning into the small pub on the water front and ordering a glass of wine.
A young girl with hazel eyes poured her a generous glass and Harriet made her way outside to sit in the breeze that blew in off the bay. It had been a long winter, and even the gathering shadows couldn’t convince her to stay indoors. She took a seat and settled into her own company, sipping her wine and gazing out to the horizon. A few fellow walkers ambled past, throwing her the occasional nod, wave, or ‘good day’. One especially fluffy and friendly golden labrador snuffed her hand and gifted it a lick before her owner caught up and pulled the dog away, smiling an apology which Harriet waved off. She loved dogs. In the waters, a lone swimmer, wetsuit glistening in the sun, cut determinedly through the waves. Harriet felt the warmth of the wine coil along her limbs and breathed out the tension of the day. Slowly a heavy acceptance settled into her bones. The trial would go ahead. Eloise would be found Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity and sent to The Orchard indefinitely, and Harriet would go on. On balance, it was the right outcome. Though her heart persisted in its misgivings, the evidence pointed to Eloise, not June. No matter what Harriet wanted to believe. It was time to accept it.
The door to the pub creaked open and the young lady who had served her wine came out bearing a cup of coffee. She smiled at Harriet as she approached and placed the cup down before her.
‘Oh,’ Harriet said, ‘no sorry, I didn’t order this.’
‘On the house,’ the girl smiled again, ‘from dad.’ She gestured inside with one hand, flick
ing her fringe out of her eyes with the other.
Harriet nodded slowly, ‘Your dad is David then?’
‘Yep,’ the girl confirmed. ‘Said you deserve it. We all know how much you’ve done for Eloise… She did an awful thing, we know. But she was still a part of us here. We know she needs help.’ The girl paused. Harriet smiled, ‘Well, thank you for saying that,’ she said, chest tight. ‘I wish there was more I could do.’
A small frown creased the girl’s brow then smoothed quickly, ‘Not sure how that could be true,’ she said and smiled again, warmly.
Harriet nodded and took a sip of the coffee. Hot and bitter.
’Oh, delicious. You made this?’
The girl grinned, ‘I took a barista course in Salcombe over the winter. Glad you approve.’
‘Very much. Tell your dad thanks,’ Harriet said, as acknowledgement of the free coffee and to indicate the end of their conversation. But the girl didn’t move. Just stood before Harriet, eyes scanning her face.
Harriet waited a moment, giving the girl space. She was clearly working up to something.
Finally, she breathed in, ‘I was there, you know. That day when Eloise…’ She trailed off.
Ah, Harriet thought.
‘Would you like to take a seat? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’
‘Sara, thanks.’
Sara slipped her lithe frame down onto the bench opposite Harriet and clasped her hands before her. She picked at a fingernail a moment then continued, ‘I dropped Masie off. We live together in Kingsbridge. She does art school in Salcombe. She’s almost always late back on Thursdays so I drove her down. Stayed and took Benny for a walk, Benny’s my Westie.’
‘Lovely dogs Westies, when I was a child a neighbour of mine had one,’ Harriet said. Something was clearly troubling the girl, finding common ground was always helpful to calm nerves.
Harriet waited.
‘I was down on the beach when I saw her, Eloise, I mean. She was walking along the foreshore, fast.’
‘Yes, Mason said she saw her through the window of the hotel,’ Harriet said gently, suppressing her annoyance. I know, I know she was seen there, she thought, don’t rub it in.
‘She looked, stressed, worked up. I don’t know. Not like normal Eloise,’ Sara paused. ‘I thought of talking to her. She seemed to need something. But I didn’t… I was tired and it was cold and Benny had rolled in some seaweed so I knew he’d need a bath. So I just got back in the car and went home.’
She looked up at Harriet, her eyes dark with guilt, hands wringing before her. ’When I heard the news I…’ she swallowed. ‘Maybe if I’d stopped,’ she said. ‘Maybe if I’d have taken a moment and said hello. Asked how she was. Maybe then she would have known someone cared, you know? Maybe she wouldn’t have… and Grant would still be…’
‘Sara, no,’ Harriet said, leaning forward and placing her hand over Sara’s own, the warmth of her palm seeping into Sara’s icy knuckles. ‘This isn’t on you, love. Eloise was in what is called a ‘fugue state’. She wasn’t herself. Probably wouldn’t have even known it was you if you had talked to her. In fact,’ Harriet paused, set her features with serious sincerity and fixed Sara with her eyes, ‘in that condition who knows what Eloise may have done if you had interrupted her? It’s better that you didn’t.’
Sara’s eyes scanned Harriet’s face, searching for truth. Slowly the tension in her face slackened and she slumped visibly before Harriet. She nodded, small and sad.
Harriet leaned back, ‘So,’ she said, voice light, ‘I guess you are sure it was Eloise? No doubt? Hood didn’t conceal her face?’ She huffed a laugh and sipped her coffee again.
Sara looked up in confusion, brow furrowed again.
Harriet waved a hand. ‘No, no sorry. Bad joke. Just my regret,’ she said. Geez Harriet, get it together, she chastised herself.
Sara shook her head. ‘No, that’s not it.’ A pause, expression perplexed. ‘It’s only, well, Eloise wasn’t wearing a hood.’
Harriet cocked her head at Sara. ‘Well I guess she didn’t have it up then, it wasn’t raining until later.’
‘No, as in she wasn’t wearing a jacket with a hood. Only a light cotton dress jacket. I remember thinking how cold she must have been. It really was chilly that night.’
Harriet stared at Sara, her thoughts had slowed, like they were trying to move through molasses. ‘Light dress jacket,’ Harriet whispered to herself. Something clicked in her memory. ‘Sara, can I show you something?’ she asked, voice urgent.
‘Sure.’
‘Just give me one second.’
Harriet scrambled to her feet and raced to her car parked behind the pub. She threw open her car door and pulled out her folder of notes. Flicking through she found the two photographs she wanted and rushed back to the pub. Sara was still sat on the bench, eyes watching the swell of the sea. She smiled as Harriet approached, question in her eyes.
‘You remember the jacket Eloise was wearing?’
‘Yes, well, I think I do.’
‘Was it think one?’
Harriet swivelled a large photo of a dark blue rain jacket, white inner lining stained with deep red blood. Sara grimaced, eyes flicking up to Harriet.
‘Sorry,’ Harriet said, ‘I know it’s graphic. But this is important. Is this the jacket you saw Eloise wearing?’
‘Well, no. This is clearly a rain jacket. Eloise was in a tight jacket. I remember thinking just how small she was. I was more than a little jealous of Eloise’s body…’ she frowned, guiltily.
‘What about this one?’ Harriet pushed a second image before Sara. A dark green cotton dress jacket with three quarter sleeves, golden buttons down the arms. The red of blood less obvious on the dark material, but still visible.
‘Yes, that’s it!’ Sara said, ‘It’s such a cute cut. Or at least it was. See? Only light. She would definitely have been cold. I was in my winter coat.’
Harriet stared at Sara. ‘You are sure?’
‘Positive.’
Harriet swallowed and stood up. ‘Thanks again for the coffee,’ she said gathering up her folder. She turned and began to stride away, then paused and looked back at a surprised Sara.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Sara. It wasn’t.’
Sara nodded. ’Safe drive home.’
‘Thanks,’ Harriet waved and rushed to her car. It wasn’t home time yet.
Back in her Exeter office she scanned through the witness statements hands shaking. ‘Come on, come on, come on’!
She stopped dead.
There it was. The mix up. The oversight. She grabbed up her phone and dialled.
‘DS Robert Fields.’
‘Robert, it’s Harriet. Are you in your office?’
‘Harriet, hi, I was actually going to call you.’
‘Are you in your office or not?’ Harriet snapped.
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t leave, I’m coming over.’
Harriet bustled into Robert’s office. A quick scan of the desks found his dark hair and handsome face. Her stomach flipped, her mouth dried. Lord but he was attractive. ‘Enough,’ she hissed to herself and crossed the room, determination in her stride. He looked up and saw her. Smiled. Harriet didn’t respond. His smile faded and she saw the dark smudges under his eyes, the fatigue lining his face. Sympathy reached out to him, an ache pulsing in her heart. She slapped it away. He didn’t deserve it.
Flopping her notes down before him, Harriet’s gaze bored into him. ‘The jackets are wrong,’ she began.
‘Jackets?’
‘Eloise’s jacket. I just spoke to a witness in Torcross. Eloise wasn’t in a rain jacket at Beesands. She was in her dress jacket. The one she was wearing when you brought her in for questioning. She was never in the rain jacket.’
‘Harriet, wait, slow down,’ Robert held up a hand to placate her.
Harriet stared down at him. So close she could smell his aftershave. Her mind emptied. Get it together Harriet! she snapped
to herself. A quick shake of her head and she reset.
‘Ok, look,’ she pulled over a chair from a neighbouring desk and flicked through the photos. ‘My witness saw Eloise at Beesands that night too. Saw her in this jacket.’ She pointed to the image of the green cotton jacket. ‘Not this one,’ she indicated the rain jacket.
‘So, I checked the witness transcripts. In her first statement Mason said she saw Eloise in a ‘dark jacket.’ It was only later when she was reinterviewed that it changed to a ‘rain jacket’. Which was after the neighbour, Margaret Ives, was interviewed about seeing Eloise in her hood returning home. Read the transcript.’
Robert flicked his eyes up to her, wary. ‘Read it!’ Harriet insisted.
He scanned the follow-up interview. Closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath.
‘You see? PC Stevens didn’t ask Mason what Eloise was wearing. He stated it to her. ‘So you saw Eloise in a dark rain jacket?’ and Mason agreed. He put the rain jacket into her statement. Not intentionally, probably. But it wasn’t what she originally saw. Which means it wasn’t Eloise that Margaret Ives saw retuning home in a rain jacket at 6:30 p.m. on the 15th of November. It was June. June in a rain jacket that was covered in blood. June lied.’
Robert looked up. Their eyes met. Hers alight with discovery, his dull with resignation.
He shook his head.
Harriet sat back. ‘What?’ she demanded.
‘Like I said, I was going to call you…’
‘Look, I don’t care. Things between us aren’t important right now. Robert, focus…’
‘Harriet,’ he said, voice firm.
Harriet stopped.
‘Not about… us. I was going to call you about the case. There’s been a development.’
‘A development?’
Robert ran a hand through his hair, sighed. ‘We’ve just arrested June Lane.’
24: June Lane
June Lane sat across the table, blue eyes wide, hands neatly folded in her lap. Robert watched her face as Anita performed the interview formalities. June’s legal aid lawyer, a Mr Adam Peters, looked on with barely concealed disinterest. She looked up at Robert, eyes full of questions. Robert rolled his shoulders, worked to keep his face neutral and calm, to hide the turmoil of emotion that raged within him.
The Unsound Sister Page 16