‘You’re living on the other side of the world, she might not have wanted to worry you …’
‘Yes, but I’m starting to wonder how much I really know about her. You said she might be working as a prostitute – maybe even that’s true.’
‘Well, we haven’t found any evidence of that, so far. The thing is, Sheila, we’re trying to form a picture of your sister, some idea of her life, what sort of person she is. So – we have a young woman who’s lost her job, lost her baby … In the middle of all this emotional upheaval she decides to uproot and move to London, start over.
‘But she can’t provide a good reference so she’s having trouble finding permanent work, she’s having to dip into her savings. She goes out to pubs, she’s being sociable, looking to make new friends, but maybe that isn’t happening either, she’s not connecting with anyone. She’s feeling lonely, depressed maybe … in this situation she could very easily fall prey to a man intent on doing her harm …’
‘Well, that’s what I’ve been saying all along. It’s you who has been suggesting she’s just shacked up with him somewhere …’
Neil smiled. ‘Well, that’s still a possibility. But Sheila, there is … another scenario …’ He paused. ‘What if this encounter went wrong, too, but in a different way? What if he stood her up, or they had a row and he left her high and dry? Would that push her to the end of her rope? You said that she’s impulsive – in a fit of despair, might she …?’
‘No!’ Sheila’s hands had gone to her face, her eyes were round with horror. ‘No … she never would … she never would … she’s made of stronger stuff than that.’
‘Sheila, how do any of us know how we might act in our darkest moment, when life seems utterly, impossibly bleak?’
‘Is this an attempt at making things easier for me? Giving me a more palatable option to cling to? Because it’s not. I think … I think I would rather believe Katie was abducted, tortured and murdered than that she would take her own life. I’m her sister … if she was ever in that much despair she could come to me, she would know that …’
‘Sheila, please understand that I’m just being honest with you. We have to look at this from every possible angle. Anyway, we have the name of the hotel in Brighton where she was staying, or supposed to be staying, by tomorrow we should have some more information.’
‘Tomorrow …’
‘And we’ve been able to trace the friend you mentioned – Kirsty Douglas. Except … she’s on her honeymoon. She’s gone on safari to Africa, she’ll be back in three weeks.’
‘Three weeks!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well … it’s hardly your fault, is it? But … three weeks …’
‘I wish you had someone here with you,’ he said fervently. ‘That you weren’t facing this all by yourself.’
She brightened. ‘It’s all right. I’ll Skype my boyfriend at eight o’clock. It will be five in the morning back home, we’ll have an hour before he has to get ready for work. He’s being a tremendous support, really wonderful. Thank God for modern technology!’
‘Yes.’
As he took his leave, she said, ‘I’ve decided not to move into Katie’s flat after all. It will just make things worse, underlining the fact that she’s not there. And besides, I found the man living opposite a little bit creepy. The manager at Cranford’s has found me a cheap little bedsit instead, just a couple of streets away.’
He felt a profound sense of relief. ‘I think that’s a much better option, yes.’
Chapter 8
As Neil opened his front door that evening a wonderful aroma assailed him. He stood there a moment, breathing it in, identifying onion, garlic, coriander, ginger.
Janey came in from the kitchen.
‘That smells absolutely delicious. What is it?’
She laughed. ‘It’s a chicken casserole. I’ve only just put it in the oven. It’ll be another hour, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s all right. You don’t need to apologise.’ He hugged her, then suddenly tightened his grip and pressed her against his chest. ‘Oh, Janey … Janey …’ he murmured.
She pulled away. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. Tell me about your day.’
‘No, Neil. Is it … is it a bad case? The woman who was missing – have you … found her body?’
‘No. Nothing like that. Janey, it’s all right. Come on, let’s have a drink.’
But she shook her head. ‘If I’m to tell you when things are troubling me, then surely it works the other way round, as well? No more secrets, you said.’
He looked at her helplessly. ‘The sister of the woman who’s missing – she’s staying at the Strathmore Hotel …’ he saw her tense but he was committed now. ‘I went there to talk to her, and we … sat out in the courtyard … and all I could think was … what that man did to you … where people were drinking … talking …’
Janey closed her eyes. She knew what he was asking of her, but did she have it in her to tell him? ‘Let’s sit down,’ she said.
She faced him. ‘One minute I was standing in that courtyard alone, thinking about going back inside, having a nice, hot bath, and the next I was caught, a prisoner, at his mercy. When he threatened to kill me if I tried to get away, I could feel the strength in his hands, his arms, in his whole body, and I knew he could do it. So I gave in. Without a whimper, I gave in. I told myself, I can endure this, he’ll do what he wants to do and go away, and it will all be over. I tried to … to disassociate myself, from what he was doing, to … to not feel it. What you have to remember is that just a few days before Dan had been rough with me in bed, hurting me, knowing he was hurting me. And to me, that was so much worse. That was such a betrayal, that someone who was supposed to love me could be so cruel. That man was almost gentle in comparison.
‘But as it went on, and he took his time – or maybe it just felt like a long time – and I could hear the laughter, the music, coming from the reception room, people enjoying themselves … I started to feel so alone, and I began to think, what if he kills me anyway? What if I’ve just completely given in to him, and he kills me anyway? Will these be the last sensations I ever have? The cold ground against my bare legs, the sound of him in my ears, his breath hot on my skin? And I imagined him finishing with me and throwing me away like a discarded toy, like a piece of rubbish. I imagined people finding me, with my dress up around my waist, my body exposed for everyone to see. And the shame and humiliation of that, that imagined scene that hadn’t even happened, that if it did happen I wouldn’t even know about it, because I’d be dead, the shame and humiliation was almost too much to bear …’
She was crying and so was he. He held her against him, his tears flowing into her hair. ‘Janey,’ he whispered.
‘And then it was over. He straightened my clothes, said “Thank you, that was very nice”, and walked off into the dark, disappearing as quietly as he had come … And I felt numb … just completely numb … I curled up on the ground, I couldn’t move … I knew I should go back inside, but the thought of telling people … telling Dan … what had happened, was too enormous, I couldn’t face it … And then I started to think – he hadn’t marked me in any way, not on the outside, why should I say anything? No-one need ever know, it would be my secret … I mean, it wasn’t like I could identify him or anything. And … and then, you found me, and I was able to tell you, after all …’
‘And what did I do? Started acting like a cop …’
‘You held me, comforted me. And, you know, a … a cop was just what I needed. When you started talking about getting me to a clinic, taking evidence, taking my statement, it … well, it normalised things for me, made it manageable. I realised … there were procedures, this was something the police, doctors, dealt with every day, that I wasn’t unique in my experience, the only person this had ever happened to, I wasn’t alone …’
‘No … And I think … I think, it was a coping mechanism for me too
… To find you like that, in so much anguish, realising in that moment how much I loved you … I wanted to keep you with me, keep you safe … but instead I had to let you go with Dan, I didn’t want to, I didn’t trust him for a minute, but he was your husband … and the bastard walked out on you, and I nearly lost you forever …’
She gave a little shudder, remembering the black despair of that night … When Neil had declared his love for her the following day, asked her to be with him, she had already decided she had to go away, but she had made a promise to herself, that when he joined her in Wales, she would not let what her rapist had done, what Dan had done, affect her – in bed – that right from the start she and Neil would have a full relationship. And in the end, it had all come naturally, because how could she not want Neil close to her, how could she not trust him, or feel safe with him. It had all come naturally … and now, instead, it was this deeper fear that was taking hold …
‘Thank you,’ Neil was saying. ‘Thank you for talking with me about that night. I … I needed to understand … I’m so angry, I can’t be objective about it, that man’s in jail, but I feel it’s not good enough … I needed to know that I was angry about the right things, about what you were feeling …’
‘Then be angry that he’s robbed me of my confidence, my sense of personal safety. For him showing me that when I walk down the street it would be so easy for someone to grab me from behind, or drag me into a car. Be angry that you’re left with this timid little mouse.’
‘Janey, don’t.’
‘But it’s true. You keep saying no – no, I’m not pathetic, no, I’m still the person I was … but it’s true, please, you have to accept that it’s true, that this is what I am. And I don’t know what to do. There are always going to be people out in the street, walking behind me, there are always going to be cars passing me by. I don’t know how to deal with that. I feel that while I might learn how to stop this fear from overwhelming me, I’ll never be free of the fear itself, it will always be a part of me, for the rest of my life.’
He was silent a moment. Was he doing it again, thinking that a few sessions of counselling were going to make the problem disappear, things would be as they were? Except they had never been as he thought they were. Was his implicit belief in her an exercise in denial on his part? Was it putting her under an added pressure, because she didn’t want to let him down? A life lived with fear kept under control, rather than a life without fear – how would that affect her future, their future together? He knew he would never break the promise he had made to her.
‘Janey,’ he said, ‘you haven’t started your counselling yet, let’s take things a step at a time. I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, you can’t see things getting better. But I do believe you have this inner strength, that has seen you through so much in the past, it will see you through this. And I do understand what a tremendous undertaking it is for you to walk out of that door, when you know it’s going to make you feel ill. But look,’ he smiled, ‘you’ve been out today, haven’t you? You’re wearing one of your new outfits.’
‘I only dashed across to the park and back, to take some photos of the flowers so I could paint them. I wasn’t out for long.’
‘But you were out. And maybe that’s what it takes. Maybe every time you confront your fears like that, over time they will diminish. But Janey, don’t ever, don’t ever feel that you’re letting me down, if you just can’t make it outside on any particular day, because that is absolutely not the case. Do you understand that?’
She nodded. ‘And I … I’m not going to give up. I don’t want to live like this.’
‘No. Janey … nothing has changed for me. I mean that. I am … so very lucky to have you.’
She looked slightly disbelieving. ‘How?’
‘Because I am just a simple, unimaginative cop, while you’re so creative and talented. You make me see the world in new, refreshing ways.’
‘You’re not unimaginative. You couldn’t be the good detective you are if you couldn’t see beyond what’s immediately in front of you. And you’re creative in the kitchen, a better cook than me – there, I said it.’
He laughed. ‘I’ll have that in writing, please!’ Crossing the room to the CD player he put on some classical guitar. ‘Come on, let’s have that drink.’
After dinner, they sat on the couch, entwined together, reading from the same book, a Ruth Rendell mystery. Suddenly Janey gasped.
‘I know who did it!’
‘Then keep it to yourself, clever clogs.’
‘I would have thought you’d work these things out by chapter five.’
‘Sometimes I do. But usually I’m as bamboozled as the next person.’ He frowned. ‘Just like I’m bamboozled by this case. This missing woman.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, we just don’t seem to be able to find out that much about her. No-one where she lives has seen her much. Though I suppose that’s not unusual … we know our neighbours, but that doesn’t mean we necessarily see them that often, does it? We might hear them in the stairwell, coming and going, though even then I recognise who it is …’
She laughed. ‘That’s the detective in you. I wouldn’t know, except if it’s a man or a woman, and only then if she’s wearing high heels.’
‘OK. That’s good to know. And we can’t find out where she might have worked …’ he stopped. ‘You know, we only have her emails to her sister to say she did work, and what she has and hasn’t told her sister is proving very unreliable. What if she hasn’t been working … say, you became a vegetarian, bought only cheap brands of essentials like coffee, sugar, all that, didn’t go out much, walked whenever possible rather than taking the bus or Tube – you could make three hundred pounds last a few weeks, couldn’t you?’
‘Well … there’s still your rent, electricity …’
‘Yes, but those are all paid separately. I’m thinking of the cash amounts she would withdraw.’
‘Then – most definitely. I lived like that when I first came to London.’
‘You became a vegetarian?’
‘I gave up meat for a while, yes. What’s so astonishing about that?’
‘Only that I’ve seen you demolish a T-bone steak almost the size of a dinner plate!’
‘Right. I’m going to cook vegetarian for you for the next month and prove to you you won’t even notice there’s no meat in the meal.’
‘You’re on.’ He continued his musings. ‘So … if she wasn’t working, what did she do all day? There’s no television in her flat. She didn’t have a computer because she had to go to an Internet café to send emails … did she just wander the streets?’ He went to his jacket and took out the photo that now was always in his wallet. ‘I don’t suppose you recognise her, do you? She lives a few miles away, but you never know …’
Janey took the photograph, shook her head. ‘No. Sorry. She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is. But not … I’m not being mean … not memorably so. There’s nothing striking about her, nothing to distinguish her from any other average blonde haired young woman. And I’m not including you in that sweeping generalisation!’
‘Of course you’re not, a completely impartial police officer such as yourself.’ She ran a finger lightly over the photo. ‘What a beautiful coat.’
‘It is, isn’t it? You’d look smashing in that coat, Janey. It’s just your style.’
She didn’t answer but continued gazing at the young woman’s face. ‘Oh, Neil, do you think she’s dead – killed?’
‘I don’t know, Janey, I don’t know. In cases like this we’re meant to assume the worst, while encouraging the family to hope for the best. It’s very tricky. The sister’s almost beside herself with anxiety. And – shit – you know what?’ He groaned. ‘I’m supposed to be reading these diaries – her neighbour’s diaries – to see if there’s any clues. It’ll take me hours. I’m sorry.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’ She kissed
him goodnight. Picking up the novel, she said with a wicked smile, ‘I hope you have more success than you did with this!’
***
He started at December sixteenth, the day Katie moved in. Andrew Bryson had written, “Went back home at lunch time to pick up some library books that were due back. A young woman was moving into the flat across the hall. She seemed only to have a couple of suitcases with her, one green with pink spots, the other a green, blue and black tartan – the Campbell clan, I believe.” He went on to describe her coat in meticulous detail, though not Katie herself. There was no mention at all of her physical characteristics, nor whether Andrew considered her attractive or not. His account of his visit to her flat that evening matched almost word for word what he had said at the interview, with the addition of what she had been wearing – a short, tight black dress with a red scarf knotted at her throat – maybe the same dress that Josh Martin had enthused over. Again there was just a plain recounting of the facts, with no opinion offered as to Katie’s apparently unfriendly behaviour, not even an outraged remark such as “the rude bitch”. Still, it was facts Neil was after, not commentary.
He ploughed on, looking for further mention of Katie’s comings and goings. It was hard work. The routes Andrew would follow on his almost daily nature rambles would be fully outlined, complete with map references, the birds he saw described in the minutest detail, right down to their feather markings and, if he got close enough, the colour of their eyes. Neil had never known that a bird’s eye colour could change depending on how old it was, or if it was breeding season or not – he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know now.
He read one account of a visit to a lap dancing club and that was one account too many. The same attention to detail, applied to a woman’s body, reduced it to no more than an exercise in anatomy, her movements to those of a mechanical doll. Why hadn’t Katie been afforded this same level of scrutiny? Was this a mark of respect which Andrew didn’t feel these other women warranted, because of their profession? If so, Neil wondered if he realised they probably felt the same contempt for him. Anyway, he decided, if he had to read this stuff, this dry re-telling was far preferable to some heavy-handed attempt at erotica.
The Woman in the Peacock Patterned Coat Page 7