Her Last Secret
Her Last Secret
P L Kane
Everyone has something to hide When Jake learns of his troubled daughter’s death, he is determined to find out what really happened on that fateful night. But Jake hasn’t seen Jordan for over three years and, with secrets of her own, there was a lot he didn’t know about his only daughter. Jake’s ex-wife Jules is reluctant to let him waltz back into her life. But when Jake makes a shocking discovery, he is convinced that there is more to her murder than they are being told. Grief stricken and full of regret, Jake is desperate to protect his daughter’s memory – to understand her final hours… With a question mark hanging over the case, will Jake be able to piece together the fragments of evidence, uncover the truth behind Jordan’s death – and make amends for the time he has lost? Readers LOVE Her Last Secret ‘I couldn't put this down once I started!!’ NetGalley reviewer ‘Hooked from the start’ NetGalley reviewer ‘I was on the edge of my seat’ NetGalley reviewer
About the Author (#ud10819ce-0289-56d6-a931-fbf2b21e3a7a)
P L KANE is the pseudonym of a #1 bestselling and award-winning author and editor, who has had over ninety books published in the fields of SF, YA and Horror/Dark Fantasy. In terms of crime fiction, previous books include the collection Nailbiters and the anthology Exit Wounds, which contains stories by the likes of Lee Child, Dean Koontz, Val McDermid and Dennis Lehane. Kane has been a guest at many events and conventions, and has had work optioned and adapted for film and television (including Lions Gate/NBC, who picked up a story for primetime US network TV). Several of Kane’s stories have been turned into short movies and Loose Canon Films/Hydra Films have just adapted ‘Men of the Cloth’ into a feature, The Colour of Madness. Kane’s audio drama work for places such as Bafflegab and Spiteful Puppet/ITV features the acting talents of people like Tom Meeten (The Ghoul), Neve McIntosh (Doctor Who/Shetland), Alice Lowe (Prevenge) and Ian Ogilvy (Return of the Saint). Visit www.plkane.com (http://www.plkane.com) for more details.
Praise for P L Kane (#ud10819ce-0289-56d6-a931-fbf2b21e3a7a)
‘His stories will take you to the edge of your seat and beyond … so sit tight!’
Paul Finch, author of Strangers
‘Original, engaging, unique. A fine read’
Joe R. Lansdale, author of Cold in July
‘Scarily original’
Peter James, author of Dead Simple
‘An exciting new voice on the crime scene’
Elly Griffiths, author of The Crossing Places
Her Last Secret
P L KANE
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © P L Kane 2020
P L Kane asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © January 2020 ISBN: 9780008368234
Version: 2019-10-22
Table of Contents
Cover (#u1bc03ddc-fcba-5abf-af06-39312957093e)
About the Author
Praise for P L Kane
Title Page (#u5b19c6e3-1187-5cea-b8fc-1374503f7a17)
Copyright (#uf641d597-b7d9-5fc0-9414-4758a7f5ce78)
Dedication (#u5a06467a-f0ec-572a-8cc7-790b6a210744)
Prologue
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
PART TWO
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
PART THREE
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Dear Reader … (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher
For Marie, who encouraged me to write this book, and Jen, who thankfully was a joy to bring up.
Prologue (#ud10819ce-0289-56d6-a931-fbf2b21e3a7a)
As the girl stumbled forward, she had one name on her mind.
She’d lost her mobile back there on the street and didn’t have time to stop and search for it; didn’t have the strength. She just needed to get to some help, maybe make it to the clubbing part of town – though that seemed like a very long way away. And she was getting tired now, breath misting in the autumn air, hardly able to focus. Little wonder – because as she touched the wounds on her chest, brushing the handle of the knife that was still sticking out, that had been left in there as she’d attempted to escape, her hands came away wet. Totally black in the moonlight.
Blood … so much blood.
Pain that had been unbearable only minutes before was dulling now, making her numb. She clutched at a wall, leaving a handprint behind her. There’d be someone soon, she’d find someone who could help her. In fact, yes, there up ahead the street was opening out. Even in her confused state, she knew where she was: the market square. Ahead of her were the stalls, empty now at night-time – not that many were used in the waking hours, either, apart from on certain days – rows of wooden skeletons, looking like the carcasses of long-dead monsters.
Monsters like the ones she’d been so afraid of when she was little. Silly really, being scared of imaginary things like that, when there were so many real things to be frightened of after you grew up. She wished more than anything at that moment – as she slipped on her own blood, righted herself and lunged towards the stalls – that she could go back in time to those days. Back when make-believe creatures under the bed were the only things to worry about. Back when life was so much simpler.
She used the stalls to drag herself along, still searching the space for … there! Someone was waiting in the middle. Or at least she thought it was someone, only to get there and realise it was just tarpaulin hanging down on yet another frame. Things were getting hazy now, her vision blurred. Time was running out. If the monsters here were dead, then she wouldn’t be far behind them. And wasn’t there a part of her that felt relief at that, because living was so, so hard? She’d always assumed it would get better, but it never really did; always thought there would be a brighter day to come. Instead, it was getting darker by the second.
She flopped onto that stall with the canvas sheeting, pain shooting through her again and waking her up momentarily. Forcing her onto her back, because the knife wouldn’t let her lie down on her front.
If I could just go back. If I could just see him one more time.
The man who’d always chased away those monsters back when she was tiny, who’d picked her up and put her on his shoulders when they’d go for walks in the park. Who’d tried to teach her right from wrong, set an example. And whom she’d treated so, so badly.
That’s why the name that had been on her mind, the name that came out – as she finally went blind, as the last of her vital lifeblood seeped out – wasn’t that of the person who’d done this to her. Their name was as far from her thoughts as possible.
No, the name she uttered with her last breath was that of the man she thought might come, as if they shared some kind of psychic bond and she was sending out a distress call. It was the person, when all was said and done, that she still trusted most in this world; the irony being that he probably didn’t even know that anymore, regardless of how true it was.
No, the name on her lips was simply this, uttered as if she was 5 again: ‘Daddy.’
Then all she knew was the dark.
PART ONE (#ud10819ce-0289-56d6-a931-fbf2b21e3a7a)
The historic town and borough of Redmarket is situated thirty miles west of Granfield, and is so called because of its association with the meat trade, dating back to its founding in 70–100 AD. Originally the site of a Roman fort, later on an Anglo-Saxon village grew up around the area. However, it wasn’t until the early thirteenth century that it received its official market charter. Known for its friendly locals, Redmarket is surrounded by beautiful countryside and yet is only a stone’s throw away from a number of other thriving towns and cities.
Chapter 1 (#ulink_0bea0aff-050d-512a-b693-0a2ec102cb1c)
It always had been, and remained, the worst part of this job.
Some coppers called it the ‘Death Knock’ or delivering the ‘Death Message’ – but whatever name you gave it, the result was the same. You were delivering news that would devastate a family, changing their lives forever. Once the words were out, there was no taking them back again. The knowledge would have an impact on everything, from doing the groceries to whether you even wanted to get up out of bed in the morning.
So, DC Mathew Newcomb paused before rapping on the wood of that door. It wasn’t simply the gravity of what he was about to impart, although it was the worst thing anyone could ever tell another human being; the worst thing they could possibly hear, as well. It wasn’t even the effect on him; that wasn’t – shouldn’t be – what this was about. He’d done this dozens of times, although selfishly on this occasion he knew it would upset him more than any of the others. For the same reason he’d volunteered to come here in the first place, along with the Family Liaison Officer Linda Fergusson. Because he owed this family, knew them personally.
Because he knew the victim.
Linda was looking at him, those brown eyes of hers questioning. Mathew couldn’t put the moment off any longer. He brought his knuckles down on the wood, hard, a couple of times. It was ridiculous, but he didn’t want the knock to sound flippant – he wanted it to somehow convey the seriousness of his business. Wanted it to have told them some of what he needed to impart even before the people inside had answered the call.
Sadly, when the door opened, and standing there was the one person he would have gone to the ends of the earth not to see, she only frowned momentarily, then was suddenly smiling. ‘Matt?’ said Julie, and it was as if the decades hadn’t really passed at all. They were still at school together. She had been his first crush – those freckles and that flaming red hair. Both had faded in the intervening years, the latter to an auburn colour. But in spite of a few wrinkles here and there, the beginnings of crow’s feet at the eyes, she was still beautiful – even in those jeans and a loose shirt. She was still Julie Brent … Jules. How could he have thought he’d ever stood a chance with her? She’d only had eyes for one bloke, right from the start. ‘I can’t believe it. What are you doing …? I haven’t seen you since the reunion a few …’ Her gaze flitted from Mathew to his companion, but now she was frowning again. ‘Mathew, what …?’
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Mathew realised he was standing there like an idiot, yet there was nothing he could do about it. The words simply wouldn’t come.
This had been a bad idea, he said to himself. He’d wanted to … what, break the news to Julie gently, make sure it was delivered in the right way? Was there even a right way? Didn’t feel like it at the moment. Not at all. Wanted to be there for Julie, then? Even after all these years. But he was making such a cockup of it, leaving the poor woman just standing there, wondering what was going on. Looking from him to Linda, then back again. All Mathew could do was shake his head.
‘Matt? Matt, you’re scaring me.’
You should be scared, he couldn’t help thinking. He opened and closed his mouth again, looking for all the world like a ventriloquist’s dummy whose owner had laryngitis. In the end, he managed a strangled, ‘I’m so sorry.’
But, as it turned out, he didn’t need to say any more than that. She’d already realised he was here in an official capacity, from his expression, from the fact he wasn’t alone; knew what his job entailed. There were really only three people this could be about – and Mathew had heard that Julie’s dad was in a home somewhere, so if something had happened to him, she would have received a phone call from there. That left a choice of two, and probably only one of them hadn’t been in the house all night. Wasn’t an uncommon thing, if what he’d heard about the girl was correct – which was why Julie hadn’t been worried …
Until now.
It was Julie’s turn to shake her head, going into denial: ‘No … no, it can’t …’ Mathew had seen this on more than one occasion as well. Julie’s hand was going to her mouth, tears were already welling in her eyes.
‘Who the bloody hell is …’ The voice drifted through even before this newcomer followed, dressed in a vest and pyjama bottoms. Mathew recognised him as Greg Allaway, Julie’s husband. Hair closely cropped to hide the fact he was going bald, and with a well-cultivated beer belly – even more so than the last time he’d seen the man – he was totally the opposite of what Mathew would have expected Julie to end up with. Mathew might not have stood a chance back in school, but he could run rings around Greg Allaway as it stood today. If he hadn’t been married himself, of course. The thought made him uncomfortable, and wasn’t welcome in any way, shape or form. But when Greg snapped, ‘What the bloody hell is all this? I was just getting ready for work!’ it surfaced again momentarily, and just for a second Mathew wanted to punch him squarely in the face.
Julie couldn’t speak, was having trouble even standing. She toppled sideways against the open front door, and it was only when Mathew moved forwards to try and catch her that Greg did something to help – getting there first and grabbing her by the arm to steady her. Grabbing a little too forcefully for Mathew’s liking.
Greg looked from his wife, back to Linda and Mathew. And was there a hint of recognition now that he could take the latter in properly? Did he remember him from the last time they’d met? Remember his vocation? Even if he didn’t, Mathew had been told after all these years on the force he definitely looked like a policeman; didn’t even matter that he was plain-clothes. ‘What’s happened now?’ Julie’s husband asked gruffly.
Linda spoke up this time, doing the job that she’d been trained for. ‘I think it might be best if we came in off the street to talk about it.’
Greg looked back at his wife, who was on the verge of collapsing altogether – her green eyes rolling back into her head – and nodded.
***
Twenty minutes later, and they were all sitting in the living room: Greg and Julie on the couch, him with his arm around her; Mathew and Linda on the chairs opposite. Linda had made them all a tea, after asking where the kitchen was. An especially sweet one for Julie because she was in shock, although the woman hadn’t touched a drop yet, kept staring at the mug in front of her on the coffee table.
‘I just … I just can’t believe it,’ she kept on saying. ‘Not our Jordan.’
All Mathew could do was shake his head in reply. Not that he hadn’t done all the talking he needed to for now, hoping that what he’d said had helped a little. Of course, hearing that your daughter had been stabbed to death was never going to be easy to take in. But the fact that they had a suspect in custody, that he’d been picked up covered in blood not too far from the crime scene, must have been some sort of comfort to her. He left out the fact that they’d found fingerprints on the handle of the murder weapon for now, because it was currently being tested, but Mathew had no doubt whatsoever that they would end up belonging to one Robert ‘Bobby’ Bannister: Jordan’s boyfriend.
‘But … but why?’ Julie asked again, gazing up at him with eyes that looked like they’d been scrubbed raw. All he could do in answer to that was give another shake of the head, because Mathew Newcomb didn’t have the first clue. What he did know was that it was only a matter of time before it all come out in the wash. Things usually did.
‘That young lass was always getting herself into some kind of trouble,’ was Greg’s reply. ‘I’ve … we’ve done our best to try and help her, but, well, some people just don’t seem to want to be helped, do they?’ Before anyone could say anything to that, he added, ‘Oh, Christ – work! I need to give them a call and tell them I’ll be late in.’ When he saw the look Julie cast him, he changed that to: ‘Tell them I won’t be in, I mean.’
He let go of his wife then and went out into the hallway to use the phone on the table there. It was only now that Mathew got up, went over and sat down next to Julie as she broke into another fresh bout of tears. ‘Hey, hey … it’s okay, Jules. Everything’s going to be okay.’ Hollow words and they both knew it. Nothing would ever be okay again as far as Julie Allaway was concerned.
The sound of Greg’s voice on the phone wafted through to them and it was suddenly as if a light bulb had gone on in Julie’s head. ‘Has … has anyone let him know?’
Mathew was puzzled for a second or two, then realised who she meant. ‘Someone’s contacting him, from the station.’
As Julie nodded slowly, Mathew caught the look of confusion on Linda’s face. ‘Greg is Jordan’s stepfather,’ he told her, and she nodded.
‘He … he’ll be in bits,’ Julie mumbled, as if she hadn’t even heard Mathew’s words to the FLO.
‘I know,’ said Mathew, patting her knee. ‘I know.’ She broke down once more, leaning across and sobbing into his shoulder. There were words, but he couldn’t really make them out at first. Then Mathew realised what she was saying.
‘What are we going to do?’ Julie was repeating over and over. ‘What are we going to do?’
***
Jacob Radcliffe yawned as he sat waiting for the other members of his team to get their act together, to get there. It was like trying to herd cats, getting the producer, reporter and sound person all in one place at the same time so they could set off to their destination – this time to do a thrilling piece about an old married couple who’d been together for seventy years. Lucky them. Typical kind of thing for the local news sections on TV. Jake was so looking forward to pointing the camera at them and listening as they gave sage advice like: ‘Never go to bed on an argument’ or ‘Try not to worry about things you can’t control’. Jesus.
Where was all the big news? he had to ask himself. He’d been on more exciting gigs when he’d been a photographer for The Granfield Gazette back in the day. There was even that report about mob boss Danny Fellows and his operations that Jake’s old colleague Dave Harris had been lining up until it got squashed. It had been exciting though, going round and taking pictures of the places Fellows owned, like that casino or the strip joint. Felt like they were doing something important, something worthwhile … Probably a good idea it stopped where it did though, if Fellows’ rep was anything to go by, Jake often thought to himself. At least when you were interviewing old married couples there was no chance of ending up at the bottom of the river wearing concrete slippers.
He looked at his watch again, then out across at the newsroom at the various people who were in at this hour: only a handful so far, checking emails, answering or making calls. Jake yawned again. What was the point of arranging a time to set off on their long drive when nobody was going to show up but him? He had been hoping they could get this in the bag and out of the way before lunch, so he could sneak off and do some more editing on the short film he’d been making in his spare time. It was just something he was doing for fun at the moment, not really thinking it would go anywhere – and certainly not thinking along the lines of BAFTAs or Oscars – but maybe if he could get it up to scratch he could hit the festivals with it. Jake had mostly recruited students from the local unis and colleges to help with it all, people who’d work just for credits over several weekends. And it wasn’t shaping up too badly at all, if he said so himself: a film about young people today and their thoughts about the future, where everything was heading. Fiction, but in a documentary style.
But he was never going to get it finished at this rate, not if Sarah, Phil and Howard didn’t get their arses in gear so they could get this over and done with. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said, stifling yet another yawn.
They were lucky he was in at all, the restless night he’d had. It had taken him ages to actually get to sleep and he’d only been in the land of nod a short while when he’d woken up, panicking and sweating. He could have sworn someone had been calling out his name, but when he turned on the light he felt quite silly for answering. Jake had struggled to get back off, tossing and turning, rolling onto his front, his sides. Thank Christ he didn’t share a bed with anyone anymore, because they probably would have kicked him out onto the couch. In the end, he’d got up at stupid o’clock and made himself several cups of coffee – which was probably why he’d got here so early that morning, and why it seemed like he’d been waiting ages. Couldn’t blame the others for staying tucked up in bed a little while longer, he supposed, but all the same …
Jake was relieved when he saw Sarah, their reporter, come through the doors, looking immaculate as usual (he’d once joked that she probably got out of bed looking like that, and she’d scowled and filled him in at great length about all the prep it took). She held up a hand in greeting, then pointed to indicate she was going to grab a drink before coming over. He sighed … but then neither of the others had even shown their faces yet.
Phil and Howard turned up together, laughing and joking as usual – not a care in the world – and Jake was just rising to go and join them when someone actually did call his name. It was their IT person, Alison, holding up a phone for him to come over. Jake touched his chest and she nodded, face quite serious.
‘Who’s calling me here?’ he asked her as he trotted over. He had his work mobile on him, so why not use that? ‘What’s it about?’
Alison shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t say. Sounded official, though.’
Jake took the phone from her, his brow creasing. ‘H-Hello?’ He nodded when they asked if they were speaking to the right person, before realising they couldn’t see him. ‘Yes, that’s me.’
Then, as the words came through the receiver, it was as if time stood still. Jake tried and failed to process them. Instead, he dropped the phone which hung down the side of Alison’s desk by its cord. Then he walked away, leaving Alison and everyone else mystified, ignoring their calls.
He had somewhere to be.
He had something to do.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_61935f97-23c3-5776-9792-42671c152f22)
How Jake got to his Silver Toyota, got on the road, and made it to the motorway was something of a mystery in itself.
There were just too many thoughts racing through his mind. Memories especially, winding back time to the day he’d first seen Julie at school, and they’d shared that moment – the one that told them both they’d be together forever (hadn’t made seventy years, though, had they). Hanging out with her and Mathew after hours – the Three Musketeers – then him and Matt getting into all kinds of trouble as they started to gravitate towards the wrong kind of company. Graffiti, bit of pickpocketing, joyriding; the usual juvenile stuff. In Jake’s defence, he’d lost his father back when he was only 10 to bowel cancer and his mother was so busy working all the hours God sent, she couldn’t keep a proper eye on him. That was the excuse those lawyers had used at any rate. Then they were caught with a stolen car, and Jake had carried the can for Matt. It had seen him get away with a suspended sentence and community service, thank Christ, though it had probably contributed to his mum having her heart attack a couple of years after that.
None of this had put Julie off him, though. In fact, it only seemed to make her want him more, despite the fact he’d dropped out of school and she was trying to get her A levels. Maybe it was the bad boy thing a lot of young girls went through? He hadn’t been that bad, though, not really. In any event, they’d ended up spending more and more time together – at the local skateboarding area, at the park after sunset, at the woods nearby. Her parents, the Brents, who to him were like something out of the 1950s, definitely didn’t approve. But it was getting to the point where they couldn’t really tell her what to do anymore. He and Julie started sleeping together, and it was amazing … right up until the point that the condom they were using one night split; Julie had been too scared to go to the doctor’s and get the pill, so that had been their only method of birth control.
Jake remembered the night she’d told him, having hidden it from everyone for months – right up to the time when it was too late to do anything about it but have the baby. Not that they’d have done anything differently, he didn’t think. So there they were, not even 18, green as grass, and they were looking at being a family. Naturally, Julie’s parents had freaked the fuck out – her dad even handing her an ultimatum, to give Jake the heave-ho or get out, much to her mother’s distress. He hadn’t meant it, he’d told her later, just hadn’t known what else to do to get her to see sense. Stubborn Jules and that fiery temper, which matched her hair. She’d been his little girl, and the man had seen it as a violation (Jake didn’t get that until much, much later). He wasn’t exactly a catch anyway …
However, Julie had chosen to be with him – put her faith in Jake even though it scared the crap out of him. It had forced them both to grow up overnight, for Jake to take some responsibility and get whatever above-board job he could (and now he could finally understand what his mum had been doing to put clothes on his back, to put food on the table). He’d done all kinds of work back in those days, from manual labour on building sites to packing goods on a conveyor belt in a factory.
Julie had to give up on the A levels, of course, abandoning her ambitions of becoming a vet. But oh, it really was worth all the struggle in the end. Because when Jules gave birth that afternoon in January, it was like their lives had only really started. The love they’d felt for her … for this girl they’d named Jordan – becoming The Three ‘J’s now – well, it was just indescribable. Like he would do anything for her, anything at all. Step in front of a bullet, a train …whatever, gladly.
She’d been Jake’s pride and joy, had brought so much happiness to their tiny little home: a two-bedroom flat, in quite an undesirable part of town. They didn’t have much, but they had each other, they had love. More love than some folk had with mountains of cash.
And, in time, Jake had found himself in better – more regular – employ, while Julie had gone to work part-time at a local vet’s, just while Jordan was in school. Jake began to think about bettering himself, and Jordan had made that happen. He wanted to be somebody she could look up to, not just ‘Daddy’ but a guy who had a vocation. That was when he’d taken the night-school classes in photography, something he hadn’t thought about in years but had been quite keen on as a young kid. He soon found he had an aptitude for it – composition and framing came as second nature to him (this was back in the days of single lens reflex and developing fluids, back before digital photography became the norm). Some of his work had even been sent with the classes’ offerings on a touring exhibition abroad.
It gave him the encouragement he needed to apply for work at all the newspapers in the surrounding areas, especially now they’d finally managed to afford a small car. Julie’s parents had started to chip in as well, not vast amounts but at least they were trying – probably so they could gain more access to their grandchild. By then, Jake’s mum had passed away, so really they were all Jordan had in terms of grandparents.
He’d got his job as a junior at The Granfield Gazette, and worked his way up, becoming one of the most trusted photographers on the staff. They got a house, a real house with stairs and everything. Jordan was doing well at school, showing signs of Jake’s own creativity – especially painting and drawing, some writing too – but also a love of animals that she got from her mother. Always wanting to take in strays, look after them. Things were good, life was good.
But then came the teenage years.
In the space of just a few months – so little time – when Jordan was coming up to her fifteenth birthday, her whole personality had changed. She’d always been so sweet, so thoughtful, but the kids she’d started hanging out with at school were just idiots, plain and simple. Jake and Jules had tried to instil in her a sense of right and wrong, a moral core, but that was soon eroded away by the need to be popular – to not look like one of the eggheads who were always studying. And those fucking smartphones, bloody social media … They’d been able to police it to some extent when she first got one, which they’d thought was a good idea to begin with, a way of keeping in touch. Jake had even bitten the bullet and got one himself at the same time, just to try and hang on to some of that closeness they’d once had as father and daughter.
Gradually, and inevitably it seemed, guys showed up on the scene. Jordan went from not really being interested, to plastering herself in make-up when she was heading out, even just down the road to a mate’s, or staying over at a friend’s (which they would later usually find out was male). Photos would appear all over her online pages: Jordan with groups of both girls and boys, some they didn’t even know from other schools, or older lads from college. Some of the comments beneath them were absolutely disgusting. They’d confronted her about it on several occasions, but her answer was always to point to their own teenage years. And, no, Jordan hadn’t got pregnant, but there had been a couple of scares at least that they knew about. All of which had Jake pulling his hair out.
It was also putting a hell of a strain on his marriage, the constant worry and the arguments. Each relying on the other to try and sort this mess out before it was too late.
By the time he’d decided to go and do more night-classes – now in camerawork, an attempt to move sideways into that field – Jordan had already failed most of her GCSEs and was looking to attend college herself for resits. That only made things worse, increased her contact with boys. A string of them stretching back and every single one interchangeable; same shit, different day, all because of the influence of her man-mad friends. Apparently, it was okay to jump straight into bed with someone, they were part of the so-called ‘hook-up generation’; try before you buy, before you put a label on it … all of that bollocks. Even with those guys who threatened to hurt her, that Jake had wanted to pummel on a regular basis – ride in like some kind of half-arsed knight on a white charger or something, when it was the last thing in the world Jordan wanted; she’d made that plain.
She’d started dressing in what he thought were totally unacceptable clothes, swearing and smoking like a chimney. Talking to her became all but impossible, the generation gap obvious, and she would disappear for days on end. They’d even called the authorities on a number of occasions, fearing the worst, only for her to crop up or call them to say she was okay and just staying with friends again. What could they do? She was lost, but she was also practically a grown-up. He’d lie there in the dark at night, time ticking away so slowly, wondering if his daughter was okay; his contact with her amounting to a green dot on a screen to show if she was online, to indicate whether she was alive or dead.
And yes, if he was honest with himself, he was jealous that she had this whole other life that didn’t involve him; that she actively kept away from him because she knew he wouldn’t approve. It seemed a million miles away from the relationship they’d once shared as dad and daughter, the time – the years – between them stretching out further and further.
There had been more rows, Jake’s imagination running wild and accusing her of all sorts – drugs were a particular suspicion – not that Jordan ever realised, because she wasn’t around. Her mother would always give her the benefit of the doubt. ‘What do you want me to do? We have no proof about any of this!’
‘By the time we find out the truth, it’ll be too late,’ Jake would always argue. Chicken, egg. Egg, chicken.
The other thing Jules would say time and again was: ‘She’s not doing any of this to get at you, it’s not personal. She’s just trying to find her way …’ So why did it all feel so fucking personal? They’d spent all that time trying to bring Jordan up right, and she was basically throwing it back in their faces.
It had all hit the fan one night when she returned, having missed her eighteenth birthday. This time she’d pushed Jake too far and he’d offered a few home truths, which had made the girl cry but also ended with her telling him that she hated his guts. ‘I never want to see you again!’ she barked into his face.
Jake had taken one look over at Julie for support, but she’d turned away. And then so did he. Turning and walking out through the front door, going off to stay in a hotel that night. He’d returned the next day, of course he had – but Jordan hadn’t been around, and he could tell by the frosty reception he got from Jules that things would never be the same with them again either. He’d tried a few more times, to make their marriage work, to talk to his daughter, but in the end, he had just headed off because he thought that was for the best. Julie’s parents had been delighted by the news, naturally; probably thought it was his fault in the first place that Jordan had gone off the rails and they would now get her back on track. They never had been able to see what was right in front of their eyes.
Contact with the two ladies who’d been in his life, who’d been his life, had turned out to be minimal since the divorce. The odd strangled phone conversation, calls on birthdays or at Christmas – nothing more. Jake hadn’t seen Jordan in almost three years now, he got the feeling she preferred it that way. He’d deleted his social media accounts as well, got rid of his old mobile so he didn’t have to watch the continued self-destruction of his baby girl. He’d moved away, found a job at the local TV company and was doing all right … At least that’s what he told himself. He hadn’t even been fazed – much – by the news that Julie had got married again. Maybe at some point they could all sit together again in a room and talk like adults. At some point, that’s what he’d thought. His daughter’s twenty-first was fast approaching, so maybe …
But then the phone call. The news.
Another landmark birthday they’d miss. (No, it wasn’t true!)
He’d dropped the receiver, he remembered that much. Had to get in the car, get back – just to make sure it wasn’t real. Some kind of practical joke, it had to be. It couldn’t be right. Just couldn’t be!
Where’s all the big news?
You had to ask, didn’t you? Well, it’s here, this is it, his conscience taunted.
In any event he had to get back there, to the town he’d once called home. Get back.
Get to Redmarket.
***
In his haste to reach the place, pulling off the motorway but barely slowing down, he’d almost had a collision with a blue Sierra.
Jake heard the blast of the motorist’s horn, but it was muted. This whole journey had been like driving through a fog. But now he was emerging out of the other side, driving down that familiar dual carriageway, spinning off the roundabout that had only been small when he was growing up, but was now controlled by a lights system. Then up and into town proper, where the traffic was slowing to a crawl.
He craned his neck to see what was going on, but this scene was also familiar to him. He’d filmed ones just like it, with the police flitting around, tape flapping and crowds gathered. There were even TV crews setting up in the distance, vans with logos on the side that he recognised – some of them competitors. How long before his station showed up? he wondered. And he thought briefly then that he should have let someone there know where he was going, what he was doing.
But he didn’t really know what was happening, did he? Not for sure. Had to find out for definite – that’s what all this was about. Something had clearly happened here, but that didn’t mean it was Jordan. Let it be someone else’s daughter, he thought, then felt terrible for even contemplating such a thing.
Enough. Time to get this over and done with, get rid of the lump in his throat and the fist that was opening and closing in the pit of his stomach. It was time to really go home.
Except it wasn’t his home anymore. The house he pulled up outside, when he’d finally got past the jams that were snarling up the centre of Redmarket, belonged to other people now. He remembered coming here with Julie, looking around with the estate agent: a simple three-bedroom semi, but it seemed like a palace to them after their flat. It had not long been built back then, but looked so old and tired now, maybe reflecting all the sorrow it had witnessed over the years.
Nothing as sad as this, though. Not if it was true.
It couldn’t be. Just couldn’t …
Even as he was getting out of the car, another door was opening. The front door he’d entered through and exited from so many times; once permanently. It wasn’t Julie standing there, however, it was Mathew Newcomb. A blast from the past, an old mate he hadn’t seen in …
A policeman.
That was when he knew for sure, when the lump and the fist became permanent additions.
That was when he knew it was his little girl they’d found dead in the market square last night.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_2704fe79-53ee-54c4-b90f-cb80abefd63e)
The darkness was his friend tonight, he welcomed it.
That was one of the reasons Jake was sitting with the lights off, hadn’t bothered to even turn them on when he crashed in through the door. There was still enough light coming in from the window to see, to make his way to the edge of the bed, casting off his jacket as he went. He’d thought about one of the chairs, but reasoned – while he was still capable of doing so – that he would end up on the bed at some point anyway. Sooner rather than later, he hoped; he’d put the whole of this wretched day behind him and wake up the next morning to find it had all been some horrible nightmare. An anxiety dream, didn’t they call them?
Jake took another swig from the full bottle of whiskey he’d opened back in the corridor, pulling it from its plastic bag and ignoring the filthy looks some of the other people staying in the hotel were giving him. A place that hadn’t even been there when he was young, back before he and Jules had …
That was why he needed the darkness, because unlike those memories, unlike the past – dulled by time, by heartache – the ones from today were so, so bright. Like they’d been seared into his brain, would probably never, ever fade. And they hurt. By Christ, did they hurt, worse than anything physical he’d ever endured. These were wounds that wouldn’t, couldn’t ever heal as far as he could see.
And now, in spite of the way he was working his way down that bottle – having already been in the hotel bar the last few hours – those memories were playing out in front of him like a projector throwing out images on the cinema screen. Or a home cinema, like he had back at his own place: hi-def, the sound crystal clear. Maybe it helped to think of all this as a movie … No, he decided, shaking his head and almost falling off the end of the bed, it didn’t help at all.
That was still Matt, his old friend, now a copper, waiting for him when he pulled up outside his old home. Not some character in a script, not an actor playing a part, but his actual best buddy. Waiting there in the doorway to confirm his worst fears. That there hadn’t been some kind of mistake, a mix-up; you heard about those all the time in cases like this. Mistaken identity, people getting the wrong end of the stick. Families suing because of the trauma of getting it wrong.
But no. Matt’s face said it all. He knew this particular family, knew Jordan as well. He wouldn’t be putting them through this if there wasn’t just cause.
Jake couldn’t remember getting out of the car, or even closing the door again, locking it – that didn’t matter anyway, not in the great scheme of things – but suddenly he was at the door with Matt, who was just shaking his head. Didn’t have the words, clearly.
So Matt was stepping aside instead, letting Jake pass through. It felt weird to be back, and if this really had been a film he was directing or something, he would have noted how the carpets had changed; the wallpaper and pictures, photographs hanging from those walls. All reflecting how things had moved on, how it was no longer a place he shared with—
Suddenly there she was, in the living room: the woman he’d spent so many years with. The love of his life, he would have said at one time – still was, probably, there’d been no one else who’d been serious since her anyway. She was rising, albeit shakily, getting up off the couch. He was aware of someone else in the room, another woman standing, Matt saying something behind him, maybe trying to introduce her, something about liaising? Jake wasn’t really listening, because all he could see and hear was Jules.
Standing there, as striking as he remembered her with that auburn hair falling about her shoulders. Those freckles on cheeks that were still wet with tears, reminding him again why he was here. Her green eyes doing the same, moist, cloudy; looked like they could barely focus on him. Yet she knew who he was, instantly, just as he had when he walked in. There had always been that unspoken connection between them, they could always tell when the other one was nearby.
If he’d needed any more proof that she recognised him, she provided it by saying his name, though it came out as more of a squeak than anything; a noise that would have been comedic in any other circumstances. ‘Jake … Oh, Jake.’
She was shaking her head as well, just as he was back in that hotel again now – mirroring her actions, playing them out with her. Jake drank deeply from the bottle and watched as more of it unfolded, as he was about to go to her. About to take her in his arms and try to comfort her, if that was at all possible, drawn by that look on her face he’d seen many times before (not least when she’d told him she was pregnant), scared and in desperate need of a hug.
But then realising that there was yet another person in the room with them, someone who’d come through from the kitchen or even upstairs; yes, the sound of a toilet flush. Someone who’d shoved past Matt and caused Jake to start. Someone who’d skirted around this newcomer in his house. Who was stepping between them, ensuring that Jake could not reach Julie. Someone snaking a hand around her waist, not to try and tell her that it would all be okay, but telling everyone else that this woman was his property … that’s very much how Jake saw it, anyway.
The action made him feel physically sick and his eyes flicked away, coming to rest on another new addition to the décor of this house: their wedding photograph, Julie and Greg Allaway, the happy fucking couple. About two stone lighter in that, there was a meanness to the man’s face even back then. Jake had to ask himself again, as he did when he first heard the news: what the hell had Julie been thinking? And the answer, not that it was anything to do with him anymore, was that Greg had been there for her when Jake had not. But he also knew that in times of stress, people act hastily, act without thinking, and he had to wonder whether she regretted her decision now.
Especially when he forced himself to look back at them again, Greg still holding her in a vice-like grip. Her pleading face.
Jake steeled himself, then replied to her, his name still hanging in the air. ‘Jules. Is it …?’
She closed her eyes, squeezing more tears out, and nodded. His ex-wife also leaned in more closely to Greg, though whether that was because he was pulling her in Jake couldn’t tell.
‘It can’t be,’ said Jake, a part of him still unwilling to believe it. ‘What … what happened?’ He knew the broad strokes, though he’d had trouble taking them in over the phone. Jordan found on the market square, stabbed in the chest.
Dead.
That was when he was aware of Matt behind him again, moving into the room and joining his colleague … Linda something? Had that been her name? Everyone was standing now in that room, everyone paired up – except him.
‘All I can tell you at this time is that we have someone in custody who was fleeing the scene. Jordan’s boyfriend.’
‘Her what?’ Jake shook his head. ‘She had a new … I didn’t know.’ There had been a couple of guys she’d mentioned the last time they talked, but then there always were. Always had been. But nobody serious that Jake was aware of. Nobody she’d put that label on.
‘Why would you?’ This was Greg, grunting out the words.
Jake ignored him. ‘And … and he did this? Why?’
Matt shrugged. ‘We don’t know yet. He claims he didn’t do it, but …’
‘I … What was she even doing with this bloke, if he was … What was she doing out at all, at that time of night?’ It was a general question, speaking out loud, but without thinking he directed it towards Julie.
Then he saw it, the strength there as her face changed, as she straightened up and dried her tears with the back of her hand. Saw the feistiness that had been so attractive once, but could be lethal if you were on the wrong end of it – as he so often was towards the end. ‘What was she doing out? She was nearly 21 for heaven’s sake! Jordan could come and go as she pleased, she had her key.’ Twenty-one, key to the door and all that, though Jake knew she’d had one of those for a long, long time. She had been an adult, or acted like one anyway, for a good while. ‘And we don’t vet who she sees, Jake!’
‘Maybe you should have.’ The reply was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He couldn’t help it, a knee-jerk reaction.
‘Maybe you should keep your big mouth shut.’ Greg again, letting his wife go and moving forwards. In spite of himself, Jake was doing the same, teeth gritted. He needed someone to take all this out on; it might as well be the twat in front of him. His fists were already clenched, and now he couldn’t see anyone else apart from Greg.
Not even Matt, as he stepped between the two men and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. It wasn’t a tight grip, but there was strength there as well – enough to stop Jake and Greg in their tracks. ‘Maybe you should both calm down,’ he suggested.
Jake looked from Matt to Greg, and then gave a nod. He backed off, but it was a moment or two before his opposite number did the same, shrugging off Matt’s hand. It was only then that Jake glanced over at Julie again. She was looking daggers at the pair of them, didn’t need anyone to fight her battles for her. When she said her next words, she held Jake’s gaze and didn’t blink. ‘This wasn’t my fault,’ she said simply.
He sighed, and even after everything, he couldn’t help himself. Jake said, ‘No, it’s ours.’
She looked away, drawing in a breath and trying not to cry again. Trying not to let him see that she was crying. Love, hate. Two sides of the same coin.
‘Again, not really helping,’ Matt whispered to Jake.
He’d like to know what would at that precise moment in time.
There was silence for a few long minutes, then Linda suggested they all sit down again. Maybe have some more tea? But nobody did either of those things. In the end it was Matt who spoke again, breaking that silence which felt like it had gone on forever.
‘I hate to bring this up, but it’s probably as good a time as any.’ He paused before continuing, as if realising there would never be a ‘good’ time for whatever this was. He took in each of their faces one by one, putting off what he was about to say next. ‘There’s … folks, there’s still the matter of a formal identification.’
Julie let out a small wail at this, while Greg just stared at Matt. Jake frowned, processing the information, and then realised this was actually good news. If they hadn’t made an identification yet, didn’t that mean there was a chance – however slim – that it could still be someone else? Someone else’s kid? Once more, as he had done on the journey here, he felt that guilt at thinking such a thing. ‘I can do it,’ he said, eager to put this whole nonsense to bed. So he could take a look for himself and prove that it wasn’t Jordan.
Julie was gaping at him, probably wondering why he was in such a rush to see the dead girl, but he couldn’t explain it right there and then. That might ruin the hope building again inside, particularly if Matt was to say to them: ‘It’s just a formality, we’re 99 per cent sure it’s her.’ He couldn’t afford to hear that right now. Didn’t want to hear anything that might ruin the fantasy.
‘There you go, then,’ said Greg.
Julie was facing her husband now, still staring. ‘What?’
‘Let him do it, love. No need for you to get any more upset.’
‘Get any more …’ She couldn’t finish her sentence, Julie’s mouth was hanging open.
Greg obviously realised he’d said something wrong, but couldn’t figure out quite what. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘It’s okay, Jules … Julie,’ said Jake. ‘I’ve got this.’
She shook her head, first at Greg, then Jake. ‘W-We should both do that. Together.’
‘Julie,’ Greg said; it sounded more like a warning than anything. She flashed him another look that told him she was doing this, no matter what.
‘Okay,’ said Jake. In his own way he’d been trying to spare her the pain of this, if it did turn out to be Jordan – but she had the right to come along. More right than him, if anything.
Greg sighed. ‘Right, fine. Well, I’ll come too.’
‘Actually …’ It was Matt this time, chipping in. ‘It might be better if this was just family.’ Jake could see Greg was going to say something, going to point out that he was family, when Matt added, ‘Immediate family.’
Jake didn’t know whether those were actually the regulations – he didn’t think they were; not judging from the way the liaison woman’s eyebrows were raised – or Matt was just trying to avoid more trouble at the hospital, though it might cause trouble for Julie later on …
‘We can drive them,’ Matt said finally. No, thought Jake, it’s just that he hates this bloke as much as I do. Who could blame him?
Greg sighed again, though it came out more like a snort. ‘Right. Well, I suppose I’ll head off to work after all. If I’m not needed anymore.’ He looked to Julie and she didn’t say anything. This probably would all come back on her later, but Jake had to admit he was glad Greg wouldn’t be tagging along. ‘I’ll go and make sure they haven’t burned down the factory.’
Made it sound like he owned the bloody place, rather than just being an ‘operative’ as they called it at GWR Plastics just outside of town. Not that he could talk, Jake had worked his fair share of crappy jobs to help keep his family together back when they still were his family. A family that had included his wife and …
Julie still didn’t answer, just folded her arms.
‘Off to work it is, then,’ said Greg, and gave Julie a kiss on the cheek, like it was a normal weekday and their world wasn’t really falling apart. Jake couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected the merest hint of a smile on Greg’s face as he left the room to get ready. Probably one of relief that he’d been let off the hook, that he could go and do something practical instead of having to deal with all this emotional shit. He would prefer to be at work with his mates anyway; wasn’t really his kid they’d found, at the end of the day.
Once Greg was out of the way, they waited for Julie to get her purse and coat, then Matt gestured for them to follow him. Julie was the last one out, with the liaison woman by her side, watching her like a hawk as the woman locked up; an automatic thing, done in a zombie-like way. Wasn’t a bad thing, they didn’t want the place burgled on top of everything else. But Jake couldn’t help thinking about the key to the door stuff again. How Jordan would never be using that again when she came home.
If it was her, he reminded himself. That’s what you’re going to find out for sure. Going as a family; the only one he’d ever really known since his mum had gone.
In the present, Jake drank more of the alcohol, feeling it burn as it went down his throat. Back then, in the car, they’d been in a little bubble and he could still pretend it wasn’t his little girl on that slab. He hadn’t yet seen her likeness. Once he had, and once he’d seen those marks, those scars, there’d been no denying it …
But he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from that face. That pale, blue face. It looked for all the world like she’d just wake up at any moment, like she used to do sometimes when she was little and he’d look in on her after a long shift at work. She’d open her eyes and blearily say: ‘Da … Daddy?’
‘Hey pumpkin,’ he’d reply, then kiss her on the head and tell her to go back to sleep.
He wanted anything but now. No more sleep, just wake up! People had been known to do that, right? There was a case not that long ago where a woman woke up in one of these drawers in a morgue. That could still happen, Jordan might still …
But Jake knew that all the straws were gone. No more clutching.
And still the tears wouldn’t come.
Time seemed to work so strangely that day, somewhere in the back of his mind he observed. Like the journey to Redmarket, which was quite a distance away but went by in the blink of an eye, with Jake lost in thoughts and remembrances. Lost in regrets. Then that walk up to the doorway, towards Matt, would only have been seconds in reality, but to him it took forever, because he didn’t really want to arrive at his destination. Didn’t want to know what – in his heart of hearts – he was already certain of. Similarly, the identification couldn’t have lasted more than five, ten minutes, including arguing with Julie (who’d come right out and said it: ‘You left her when she needed you the most!’), but was stretched out into a lifetime. And afterwards, in that hospital café, that went by so quickly as well, but by the time they’d left the hospital most of the afternoon had been eaten up, even if none of the food Matt bought them had.
They’d ferried Julie home again where the female police officer was going to stay with her. Probably make sure she had yet more tea. For his part, after he and his wife had said a cool goodbye to each other, Jake felt like he could definitely use something a lot stronger.
‘Listen,’ said Matt when his colleague had taken Julie back inside the house, turning to face Jake, ‘why don’t you come back to ours? Katherine would be fine with it, I’m sure.’
Jake was struggling to understand, to remember. Katherine was Matt’s wife, right? And … and didn’t they have a little kid? A boy? That was the last thing he wanted, to be around someone else’s happy family. He shook his head but managed to thank his friend for the offer.
‘You could have some dinner there or something and—’
Jake held up his hand. ‘I’m good thanks. I’m still not really that hungry.’ The thought of that sandwich Matt had placed in front of him back at the café had turned his stomach, let alone a full meal.
‘I just don’t think you should be on your … Hey, where do you think you’re going?’ Jake stared back, unblinking, the passenger door open. ‘You’re definitely not driving, mate. I don’t want to be getting called to a traffic accident today as well.’
Jake thought back to the journey here again, his mind elsewhere – on anything but his driving – and his near miss. Maybe Matt had a point.
‘Let me take you somewhere, a hotel for the night. I assume you’ll be sticking around for a while?’
He just continued to stare at Matt. He hadn’t been thinking further ahead than identifying Jordan, if he was honest.
‘Okay, listen. I know a good place on the outskirts, quite reasonable. I’ll take you there.’
Jake locked up his car and then placed a hand on Matt’s arm. He knew above everything else what he needed the most right now. ‘Can … can we make a stop off along the way?’ he asked.
Matt nodded, a little reluctantly – almost as though he could hear what Jake was thinking. He’d slanted it that they were stopping off at the supermarket for a toothbrush, perhaps some pyjamas – he obviously hadn’t had time to pack anything – but Matt knew what the real agenda was here, and although he looked on disapprovingly when Jake returned with just the one thing in the bag, there was no way on earth he was going to blame his friend for buying what he had.
Jake took yet another swig from that very bottle he’d purchased, that he promised not to start until he got to his room … and he’d pretty much stuck to that promise, hadn’t he? Matt hadn’t said anything about not making another pitstop in the hotel bar beforehand, had he? Had simply urged him to get some food inside him first, even if it was just a bag of crisps or two from a vending machine inside.
But Jake’s appetite still hadn’t returned by the time Matt was called away, a summons from the station he’d had to answer straight away apparently. Maybe something to do with the case? He hadn’t been allowed to say, but told Jake he’d be in touch again tomorrow.
‘Now, are you sure you’ll be all right?’ he’d asked, then from the look on his face he’d realised it was relative, that phrase. All right. ‘I can get someone out to come and stay with you if you—’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Jake had told him, knowing exactly what Matt was worried about – that he might do something stupid, especially after a few drinks. Stupid … that was also relative; he might do a lot of stupid things, but not that stupid. And when they locked eyes one final time, Matt could see Jake was still Jake. That wasn’t his way, even when things were at their lowest ebb he hadn’t even thought about something like that. He wasn’t a quitter.
Oh yeah? You bailed on her, though, didn’t you? Gave up on your only daughter when she needed you the most …
‘I’ll be fine,’ he repeated again. ‘Just need to be alone for a while. I need sleep, need this day to be over.’
Matt nodded, gave him his card in case he needed to reach him, said goodbye and drove off, leaving Jake to check in (Matt had brought him to some generic ‘Lodge’ or another) and then hit the bar. He was two or three pints down, having enough sense to start with lagers first, ease his way into oblivion, when he remembered his phone. Remembered that he hadn’t let work know where he was or what he was doing, although they’d probably figured it out by now. Had probably been camped out here all day, doing reports.
He’d turned it on and immediately found several voicemails from colleagues, Alison, Phil, Howard – even Sarah. And Trev, his boss – the media studies graduate who looked about 12. All concerned about him, wanting to know if he was okay and if he needed anything. Jake had sighed. Yes, he needed for things to go back to the way they had been. Not yesterday, or the day before, but many years ago when they’d all been happy: a happy family. Could they possibly sort that out for him please? Or perhaps that weird time thing that was happening could wind itself back instead of playing around with the speed … do some editing of the movie.
Jake had turned the phone off again, not wanting to speak to anyone at the moment, but vowing to put them in the picture tomorrow.
He’d been well into his mission to drink the hotel bar dry of their house whiskey, however, putting double after double on his room tab, when the TV had been turned on in the corner and the local news had thrown back pictures of the market square, of presenters who looked like Sarah doing their piece to camera. On any other day, it would have been him pointing that camera, but not today. He’d squinted at the television set, then at the barman who was looking sideways at him, looking at him funny like he was making that connection with the drinking.
The thin man, whose uniform was hanging off him like washing on a line, looked like he was about to say something. It would have been the only thing he’d said in all this time, if he had, apart from ‘What’ll it be?’, with a kill-me-now expression on his face …
Kill me …
But he’d wandered off to serve a couple of other customers instead. People were starting to filter in, because it was early evening now, and Jake knew that it wouldn’t be long before the TV people who were camped out in Redmarket started to check into hotels themselves.
Light was giving way to darkness, and it was time to take this ‘party’ back to his room. Time to welcome in the dark to get rid of those bright memories of the daytime. So Jake had levered himself off the stool, gripping his carrier bag tightly, and begun his trek to the lifts, swaying slightly as he went. He’d stabbed at the button for his floor once he was inside, then waited for the lift doors to open again. He’d reached into the bag, opening up the full bottle he still had and ignoring the glances from people who were just on their way out to start their evening proper. He didn’t give a shit, just needed to get to the room. Needed to get to the bed, needed to start on this bottle now, bring on the real darkness.
Because this was no good; the dark in the room wasn’t chasing away those bright memoriesthe movie still playing out in front of him. Only the booze could do that. More and more of it, with Jake wondering if maybe he should have picked up a couple of bottles rather than just the one.
Especially when he started having those telepathic conversations, not with Julie, but with Jordan. The kind he’d play out mentally whenever she wasn’t listening to him or wasn’t even around. Asking those questions again:
‘Why were you out on a weeknight, and with that guy?’
Getting answers like: ‘That’s my business, it’s got nothing to do with you, Dad. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Try me … I was young once.’
‘I love him!’
‘No, you just think you do. Like all the others that ended up causing so much trouble.’
‘What, like you thought you loved Mum? That why you left and never came back, why she had to turn to a guy like … like him.’
‘I left because she didn’t want me around. You didn’t want me around, remember? Christ!’
Some part of him knew it was his own mind filling in the blanks, but it was based on knowing her like he did. Based on previous arguments they’d had, which he could trot out word for word.
And finally, that last one which neither of them could ever answer: ‘How did we get to this? How did we become strangers?’
Both at fault, neither giving any ground. He thought they’d have time – there it was again, that word, the strangeness, the trickiness of time. He thought they’d be able to fix things once enough time had passed. But time also had a way of running out.
Just like he was passing out, losing consciousness. His friend, not Matt, the other one – the darkness – embracing him.
Only to let go again in the middle of the night, the darkness outside almost matching the oblivion he was rising from. Waking up when he heard noises, sounds that his rational mind would have told him were people in the next room, or in the corridor …
Except, when he looked over into the corner of the room he thought he saw someone there. A shape.
‘Who …who’re …?’ he managed, but there was no reply. His hand, still wrapped around the practically empty bottle of whiskey, tightened its grip. If this was someone here to rob him, they’d really picked the wrong night.
However, as the figure moved closer, further into the room, he recognised its delicate features. A mixture of him and Jules, the figure holding out her hands – a different kind of darkness staining the middle of her chest. Opening her mouth, though he didn’t want to hear what she had to say:
‘You left me when I needed you the most. You left me …’
Not him putting words in her mouth now, but Julie’s from earlier, recycled.
‘You left me,’ she kept repeating over and over. ‘You left …’
Jake put his hands to his ears, still holding the bottle in one of them so that it stuck out at an odd angle. ‘No … No!’ he shouted, then when the voice wouldn’t stop, he threw the bottle at the opposite wall. But he couldn’t even get that right, and instead of smashing it just bounced off and hit the floor.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said for each accusation. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You left, you left, you left …’
‘I know, I’m sorry.’
The darkness, or this darkness at least, wasn’t his friend at all. It was showing him things he really didn’t want to see. His dead daughter getting closer and closer, so close he could see marks on her outstretched arms, and imagine the knife there sticking out. There was no getting away from today, from the memories, nor from what had happened.
‘No … please God, no!’ The tears were finally coming now, thick and fast. There was no holding them back at all. ‘No, I’m sorry. I … I can make it up to you,’ Jake said quickly, as if that would will the vision away. ‘I … I can … I can be there for you now, sweetheart.’
What was he saying? How could he be there for her when she was lying in that cold drawer with all the other corpses. What help could he be now? What use?
But that was the thing, he hadn’t been around when she’d needed him; hadn’t been a real dad to her. Hadn’t been there in the run-up to this, nor on the night of the murder itself when he should have been protecting her. (how, how could he have done that? She would never have let him!) It was all getting tangled up in his drunken mind, her words, Julie’s words, his; all mixed up and jumbled.
Except for one thing – how he could do something now. How he could help … Not to save her, because it was way too late for that – was probably too late even before he walked out of that front door … But to get to the bottom of this, find out what happened. Perhaps even avenge her. No, back to that stupid image of a knight on a white horse, riding to the rescue … not rescue, not this time.
It was there, though, that germ of an idea. Something he could do that wouldn’t leave him feeling completely useless. Something he could … And almost immediately, the image of his daughter faded, and he felt more at peace than he had all day – than he had in a long while. The worst thing he could have possibly imagined had happened, he couldn’t do anything about that now – there was no winding back time. So, moving forward, he had to get his head around what had happened. Knew what he needed to do, even though the police, even though Matt, had told him they were doing everything they possibly could.
And that thought, the thought that there was something positive Jake could do, sent him off to sleep again. Gave him the oblivion he sought.
Made the darkness his friend once more.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_bc5afb90-ac65-57a2-afc4-c3e81170e79f)
Julie felt numb.
There was no other word for it, she was simply numb. Still cold from visiting the hospital, frozen solid: as if she’d brought some of it back with her. She was sitting there on the couch where she’d been since she returned, the FLO having made her a cup of tea which had also probably gone cold by now because she hadn’t even touched it.
She knew she shouldn’t be doing it, but she was going over and over the events of that day in her head. Like picking at a scab, except even if she left this one alone it would never, ever heal. And she felt cold, numb, like it hadn’t really happened to her but someone else.
Opening the door and seeing Matt there, a figure from the past. Then realising what it meant – some kind of trouble, definitely – and finally realising just how big that trouble was. Not being able to hold herself up, Greg catching her. Strong, solid. Supportive.
She just hadn’t been able to take it in, couldn’t believe it even as they were talking about it in that living room. Not their Jordan, it couldn’t be. They’d made a mistake. And Bobby? No … it couldn’t be. He’d seemed so …
And it had popped into her head at that point, his face. The other person who needed to know. No sooner had she asked whether he’d been informed than he was there, at the door and in the house. A ghost of relationships past.
Still as handsome as she remembered him, the man she’d fallen in love with when they were just kids themselves. Who she’d loved even when he walked out through that door after that final massive row that had broken everything. The row to end all rows, and she was glad of that at least because she was so, so tired of the circular arguments over Jordan. Why couldn’t he just see that she was going through what so many girls of her age went through? That one day it would all be over, she’d get her head together and they’d be the best of friends again? Instead of which, they’d hardly spoken to each other in all this time: so much wasted time. And now it was too late.
It was the reason he was there, standing in front of her. ‘Jake … Oh, Jake.’ She could barely get the words out, couldn’t make her voice work properly. All she’d wanted then was for him to take her in his arms and tell her it would all be okay, that it wasn’t really happening at all. That it had been a bad dream and they were still together and their daughter wasn’t really …
There’d been a moment when she thought he was actually going to move forwards and do that exact thing. But he wasn’t moving because of that, he was moving out of the way of her husband, who – quite rightly – was joining her. Who wanted to be with her for this, knew she’d be even more upset once Jake arrived. Greg was there, holding her close again, making sure she was all right. Probably wanted to make sure she didn’t keel over again.
Jake was doing the same thing as her, couldn’t believe what had happened – and it wasn’t long after that the accusations had begun, same as before. Interrogating her about Bobby, wanting to know what she was even doing out, for Christ’s sake! Like she was still a child. Why did everything always have to be her fault, Julie had thought. Jordan was a grown woman, she made her own decisions; had done for a long time, if Jake would just wake up and see it. Telling them they should have been vetting who Jordan saw? Absolutely bloody ridiculous!
Matt had done his best to referee, but her back had been up. She’d wondered then, and not for the first time, whether it was possible to love and hate someone at the same time. In equal amounts. ‘This is not my fault,’ she’d told Jake, locking eyes with him. But did she even believe that herself? Perhaps she should have been keeping a closer eye on her daughter; those seeds of doubt Jake was always so good at planting. Making her feel like shit, as always.
‘No, it’s ours,’ had been his reply, which actually had been a fair comment. They hadn’t been able to make it work, and she had to wonder if they’d stayed together whether this would have happened. Impossible to know, and one of those things that if you thought about it too much would drive you stark, staring mad.
Just when Julie thought things couldn’t get any worse, Matt had raised the subject of the ‘formal identification’. That’s what he’d called it. Identifying the body was what he meant, as if there could be any doubt about whether it was Jordan or not. If it wasn’t and the police had put them through all this torment, she might just scream until there was no air left in her lungs, though that would also mean their daughter was still alive.
Jake had offered to do it so eagerly, like they were keeping him from something. As if he had a prior engagement somewhere – and she realised then that she knew absolutely nothing about his personal situation. Was there someone waiting back home for him, worrying about him? Strangely she felt a twinge of jealousy at that.
Greg had wanted to spare her the pain of going, was all for just letting Jake head off alone, but Julie needed to be there. Needed to see this, for her own sake. Needed to find the inner strength from somewhere. She hadn’t wanted to sit with Jake though, so had asked the liaison officer to come as well; with them in the back of Matt’s dark blue BMW and Jake in the passenger seat.
No one really spoke on the way to the hospital, except for when Jake’s mobile buzzed in his pocket and he’d reached in and switched it off. Work trying to reach him, he explained, but he didn’t want to talk to them. He wanted to get this done, it seemed. Get it out of the way … That just made Julie even angrier.
Matt had steered them up one familiar road and down another, spinning off on another roundabout that would take them to The Royal. Even up to the point that they were let into the morgue, let into the ice-cold room where the body was being kept, Julie had dared to hope. But not once the body had been pulled out of one of those huge things that looked like giant filing cabinets, drawers containing not papers and documents but frozen corpses. Julie had even expected the man in the white clothing to walk down the length of the wall of drawers rubbing his chin and saying: ‘Now where did we put her? O … P … Q … R! Here we go, R for Radcliffe!’
Jordan had never taken Greg’s name, had been too old for that really, adoption – if she’d even wanted it. R instead of A for Allaway … Putting off the moment once more, in her head at any rate. But there had been no denying anything once that drawer had been opened, the slab dragged out on those wheels which somehow kept the body horizontal, like some kind of magic trick where you dragged a hoop down the floating woman.
Then the man was ready to pull down the sheet, the one last barrier to the truth. Julie had moved closer to Jake, was at the side of him, couldn’t have been closer, and – without even thinking – she’d snaked her hand into his. Holding it tightly, so tight she was practically cutting off her circulation, then reaching across and grabbing his arm with the other one – squeezing that too. Praying, as he probably was, that this wasn’t Jordon splayed out in front of them.
And even when the sheet was down, the magician’s curtain swept back, revealing her face – even as Julie’s hands released their grip and went to her mouth, a stifled scream emerging – for a moment or two Jake looked like he refused to believe it. As if this was a special effect from one of those movies he liked … Prosthetics, life-casts, weren’t they called?
Jesus, she was so, so, pale: creamy-white skin, verging on blue. The lips definitely blue. Hair dull, eyes closed.
‘I-Is it Jordan?’ asked Matt, knowing the answer already.
‘It’s her,’ replied Jake, because Julie couldn’t even speak.
Then suddenly she was in his arms, completing what they’d started back in the living room. Jake held her as she turned away from the sight, as each sob wracked against his body. Yet there had been no tears from him.
‘Our baby.’ She spoke it into his shoulder. ‘Our baby!’
‘What happened?’ she heard Jake whisper to their child. ‘What were you doing out there, sweetheart? Why? Why did this have to happen …?’
Julie finally pulled her head away, saw that he was looking at something else and followed his gaze. One of Jordan’s arms, the closest to them – her left – was uncovered also. The skin of the hand and arm matched that face: drained, lifeless. But he’d definitely spotted something. Something a little higher, past her elbow. On her upper arm were some scratches. No, not scratches … cuts.
More wounds that had been inflicted during whatever struggle occurred? In her mind’s eye, Julie pictured their daughter fighting for her life, maybe even gouging an eye or two … she hoped. Only these looked a little older, more faded. They didn’t look defensive, either.
‘W-What are those?’ asked Jake suddenly, his voice cracking. The hand that had been on Julie’s back, rubbing and patting, fell away and he was pointing at the scars. Matt and the liaison officer were rounding the table, as was the man in white. All craning their necks to see.
‘I … I’m not sure,’ said the doctor, getting closer, then looking to the police officers in the room.
‘We’ll know more after the post-mortem,’ Matt informed Jake. Standard detective patter.
‘Are they … They look self-inflicted,’ he said by way of a reply.
Julie was frowning, sniffing back the tears, swallowing dryly.
‘Did you know about this?’ Jake asked her. ‘Was Jordan self-harming?’
‘Jake …’ said Matt. ‘Take it easy.’
‘Was she?’ Jake asked again.
‘I … I don’t know,’ Julie replied honestly. If she had been, she’d hid it well, there had been no signs of it.
Jake was stepping back, rubbing his forehead. ‘Good God. What could have made her …?’
‘I … I don’t …’ Julie was repeating.
‘Well, something was clearly worrying her – quite a bit if she was doing that to herself.’
Matt walked around to Jake. ‘Look, we don’t even know that—’
‘You can see it, as plainly as I can. Just what the hell was going on?’
Julie was getting mad again, glaring at Jake accusingly. ‘You might have found out, if you’d been around.’
‘Been around? Julie, she didn’t want me around!’
Is that what he thought? What he’d thought all this time? ‘That’s … That’s not true. You’re both as bad as each other. Both so stubborn, you’re …’ Julie had realised that she was talking in the present tense about her daughter, when it should have been in the past. But then she changed tack completely and her last words were intended to hurt: ‘You left her when she needed you the most.’
There was silence again, broken only when Matt said, ‘I think we’re about done here.’
About done. They were definitely about done.
Julie didn’t remember a lot of the next bit, probably because there wasn’t that much to recall. The pair of them being taken to a small café inside the hospital, away from the main drag and inside a little nook. Being furnished with more tea by the liaison woman, Matt insisting that they should eat something and when nobody replied buying them sandwiches anyway which Julie and Jake simply stared at like they no longer understood what food was, or how to process it.
How to process anything.
Every now and again they’d look up, at each other – accusatory stares saying everything that needed saying without words. A telepathic tennis match, words batted back and forth across the net.
Him: I told you, I said this so many times. That something like this would happen if we didn’t do something.
Her: And what exactly was I supposed to do? She was a grown woman … Maybe if you’d tried listening to her, talking to her instead of at her!
Then they’d look away, off to the side until it built up again. More arguments that would get them nowhere, because there was simply no winner of this particular match. They’d just go round and round in circles until there was nothing left to say or do.
And afterwards, when they’d dropped her off at home, she’d thought again about those scars. About what they’d meant, what had been on her daughter’s mind that had made her do that? Something serious? Something about Bobby, or something else? How had she not known? How could Jordan not have told her? Not telling Jake, she could understand, but her? She thought they were closer than that? After all, she’d been the one who’d stayed – who’d done her best to look after her when Jake just upped and left. Who’d always defended her, seen her side of things even when it was a struggle to do so. Who’d always tried to sympathise.
What did it have to do with the murder of her child? she wondered. A murder she’d only found out about that morning, which brought her round – yet again – to the beginning of all this. Remembering Matt at the door, her reaction … Going through it all again and again.
And sitting there, just feeling cold and numb.
Completely numb.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_ef38799f-76e0-52e8-be0d-4e9a00d72388)
His friends had been on his mind all night.
How could they not have been? Jules, Jake … Jordan. How could he just switch off and relax with the family, forget about it all, when they couldn’t? Apart from anything else, he’d been needed back at the station until late – and Katherine had understood that. It went with the territory, though it wasn’t usually as rocky as it had been yesterday.
Matt had swung by after leaving Jake (leaving him to get drunk back at the hotel!) and checked on Linda, who’d come to the door to talk to him in hushed tones, to answer his question about how Julie was.
‘How do you think? Not great.’
‘Yeah, I figured.’
‘How’s the dad? The real dad.’
‘’Bout the same,’ he admitted, telling her which hotel he’d checked into so she could pass that on, but leaving out the bit about the bottle he’d bought to take with him.
‘Poor sods,’ said Linda.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Matt.
She’d told him she was sticking around for a while, maybe even until the husband came back, because at least then she wouldn’t be alone – and Matt had thought about Jake again, who’d wanted, insisted on being by himself. How that probably wasn’t a great idea, but how he’d almost definitely sleep that night. Probably better than Jules would, especially with that pillock of a partner by her side. They’d said their goodbyes, Matt telling her to ring for a squad car when she was done, and he’d headed off back to the station to answer the call.
Matt’s boss, DS Channing, who looked like he should be selling used cars somewhere, or in a toothpaste commercial because he had far too many teeth and they were far too polished, had greeted him when he got there. With his slicked-back hair, and smile he kept flashing – which was very rarely genuine – he was a PR person’s dream, and had spent most of the day talking to and ‘handling’ the press with regards to this case. He had a habit, especially where women were concerned, of introducing himself as ‘Channing. Like Tatum …’ (Not that he bore even a passing resemblance) ‘Only better looking …’ (He really wasn’t).
‘The big news is, we got the prints from the knife back,’ he’d said to Matt, which surprised him because it usually took at least forty-eight hours. They’d been fast-tracked, Channing explained, and were pretty clean. They were also a perfect match for Bobby Bannister. ‘Now all we need is a match for Jordan’s blood on his clothes, and we’re sorted. You don’t see many open-and-shut cases on the force, Newcomb, but I think we’re looking at one here,’ Channing had concluded.
It certainly seemed that way. Wouldn’t be long now before Bobby was officially charged, the whole thing done and dusted. That should be some sort of silver lining for the family, surely? Shouldn’t it?
Matt couldn’t help putting himself in their position, in Jake’s position. Would it be a comfort to him at all if he were in that man’s shoes? His daughter – his estranged daughter – was still dead. It had been on his mind the rest of his shift, on the drive home, and when he let himself in through the front door.
Katherine had been in the living room, watching the TV, watching the news reports that were still full of the story. They were bound to be, it had only broken today and was the most exciting thing that had happened in years around here. Wasn’t exciting for Matt, though; wouldn’t have been for any of those reporters either if they’d had to deliver the news to the family. Although some of them had rocks where their hearts should be, so maybe it wouldn’t have bothered them one bit.
‘Bad business,’ Katherine had said. Katherine, not Kate, not Kitty; she hated abbreviations, his wife. Always called him Mathew, rather than Matt, and their son was Edward, not Eddie or Ed.
He’d nodded, then wandered over, loosening his tie and tossing his jacket onto a nearby chair as he did so. Matt picked up the remote. ‘Do you mind if I …’
Katherine, with her neatly cropped hair, still in her own work clothes – blouse and slacks, ironed to within an inch of their lives – rather than in pyjamas or whatever normal people might be chilling out in at this time of night, had nodded as well. She worked at a solicitor’s in the finance department, which was where they’d met initially. Hadn’t been anything police-related, but rather a hearing for his dad’s will, sorting out the sale of the family house now that both his parents had passed away. He’d bumped into Katherine quite by accident, and quite literally, on his way out. They’d both laughed, looked into each other’s eyes – like one of those crazy rom-coms he couldn’t stand. She’d been on her way out too, for lunch, so he’d chanced his arm and asked if he could buy her something to eat. That had turned into drinks and dinner some other time, and before they knew it they were living together, then married, then along had come Edward.
After changing channels, finding some kind of inane quiz show where the contestants were answering questions to try and win a speedboat, he’d kissed Katherine and slumped down on the sofa beside her.
‘Rough day, I guess,’ she’d said.
‘You could say that.’
‘I saved you some lasagne, just needs heating up.’
‘Cheers.’ To be honest, all he was thinking about was the couple of bottles of lager still in the fridge from the weekend.
‘You okay?’ she asked.
He shook his head then. ‘I … I knew them. The family,’ he admitted.
‘Oh. I’m sorry, sweetheart. That’s rough.’
Another nod.
There was a moment or two when he thought she was going to lean over to him, maybe put her arms around him and give him a hug – because, Christ, he could use one – but in the end she didn’t. She wasn’t the most demonstrative of people, Katherine, but she’d hid that well … at the start.
‘Eddie … Edward in bed?’
Her turn to nod again. ‘He wanted to wait up for you, but, well …’
Matt understood, it was way past his bedtime and routine was important. So he’d been told. ‘I think I’ll just go and look in on him,’ he said to Katherine.
‘Do you think that’s a good idea? He’ll be asleep by now.’
‘I won’t wake him,’ Matt promised and stood, making his way to the door. He looked back only once at the doorway, to see Katherine rising and picking up his jacket, brushing it down with her hands. And he thought again of Julie, her face – how she’d hardly changed that much. Then he thought about the tears she’d been crying, thought about her and Jake at the morgue, how they’d held each other, and his friend standing there at the entrance to the hotel where he’d left him. Then he’d carried on upstairs to see his son. Safe, in bed.
Alive.
As careful as he’d been opening the door to Edward … Eddie’s bedroom, the child had still stirred when he heard the noise. Not enough to wake up properly, which Matt was grateful for, just enough to turn over and face his father – something Matt was also thankful for. He studied his son’s sleeping face, eyes closed, content, at peace. Eddie knew nothing of the world or its horrors yet, the things people did to each other on a daily basis. But the time would come when he did, and Matt wondered what he’d make of that. Would he be shocked or take it all in his stride?
And Matt thought then about the fact that Bobby Bannister had once been a kid in a bed like this one, innocent and at peace (or had he? Matt realised he knew very little about their main suspect’s background yet). Flash forward a few years and, for whatever reason, he’d stabbed his girlfriend in the chest with a knife. Maybe she’d been cheating on him, a crime of passion – and Matt thought then how much of what was wrong in this world came down to love, to sex … either that or money.
They just had to make sure, somehow, that Eddie never went down that path. Teach him right from wrong, although there were some who said this kind of stuff was inside kids from the get-go; the whole nature vs. nurture debate. Looking at him here, his sweet, sweet kid, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, Matt found it hard to image Eddie doing anything like that when he grew up. But given the right circumstances, the right push, couldn’t anyone snap? He saw it all the time in his line of work, though never usually this dramatically it had to be said. If life threw enough shit at you, maybe one day you’d just lose it and …
Matt shook his head and closed the door. You could drive yourself mad thinking thoughts like those. Which was why he tried his best not to; he thought he’d gotten quite good at it, but …
Even as he warmed up his food and ate (he didn’t bother with the lager) then attempted to watch a movie with Katherine – some political thriller about a president being in danger – what had happened to Julie, Jake, Jordan, was going round and round in his head.
Katherine was first in bed that night, and by the time he’d brushed his teeth and climbed in, she was sound asleep. It had been a long day for her as well, Matt understood that, working, then picking up Eddie from the sitter who took him after school, before cooking. But he could really have used some form of affection that night, even just a cuddle would have done the trick. It was like Katherine had this switch she’d flip when she went to sleep, out like a light – while he’d be there for hours staring at the ceiling or the clock, just trying to nod off.
Then, after it felt like he’d only just got to sleep, the alarm went off early for another day. Seconds later, Eddie was in their room, bouncing around on the bed. Matt felt like crap, but still laughed and hugged the kid to his chest – he never wanted to let go. Never wanted him to grow up.
‘Come on,’ Katherine said, already up and alert and holding out her hand for Eddie, ‘we’d better get you some breakfast.’
And, even though they – his son especially – were only downstairs, Matt felt a sudden sense of loss. A fraction of what Julie and Jake must have been feeling that morning. All he had to do was follow his family to the kitchen, while they would never see their kid ever again.
He grabbed some toast and ate with them, showered, said goodbye – another big hug from Eddie, a peck on the cheek from Katherine who was dropping the lad off at school – and headed to work himself.
It was around eleven when he got the phone call. Jake had been on his mind again, and he’d been thinking about calling him at the hotel, or just going there to see how he was when his mobile had gone off.
‘Matt?’ the croaky voice said, then more clearly, ‘Matt. You said to ring if I needed anything.’
‘Jake? Hey mate, yes. Yes of course. I was just thinking about you.’ Hadn’t stopped, especially since most of his work that morning revolved around Jordan’s case again. Organising uniforms to keep the press at bay around the Allaway house … and it was only a matter of time before they found out where Jake was, as well. The fact the blood on Bobby’s clothes had now come back a match for Jake’s daughter’s. ‘How’re you doing?’
Jake ignored the question and said, flatly, ‘I need to see him, Matt.’
‘See who?’
‘The guy. The one Jordan was seeing. The one who …’ His words tailed off.
‘Bobby?’ Matt switched the phone to his other ear, lowered his voice. ‘Jesus, I can’t … It’s just not possible.’
There was a sigh at the other end. ‘I just need to see him. Look in his eyes, you know?’
‘I do, and I understand. Really I do, but—’
‘You said whatever I needed.’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t … Look, why don’t I come to you and we can talk about this. About what a spectacularly bad idea it is.’
‘I’m not asking to be put in a cell with him.’
‘Good job, because that’s never going to happen,’ spluttered Matt.
‘Just … what do you call it, a supervised visit. I need to see him. Ask him a few questions.’
‘That’s our job,’ Matt reminded him.
‘I know, I know. I just … Matt, I just need to do something.’
It was Matt’s turn to sigh. ‘Like I said, I understand. But it’s impossible, Jake.’
‘Matt,’ the man said then, ‘you owe me.’
Now that was low. Matt knew exactly what he was talking about. Not the fact that they’d done all sorts for each other, always been there looking out for one another … at least until they drifted apart and then eventually Jake moved away. He was talking about that time with the car, taking the rap for it, covering for Matt. But to bring it up now … ‘Jake, you might want to think about what you’ve just said.’
‘I know. I don’t think I’m being left a lot of choice.’
‘Might want to think about what you’re asking. I could lose my job here.’
‘You never would have had one, if it wasn’t for me. Hiring a lot of guys with records these days, are they?’ There was an edge to Jake’s tone he hadn’t heard in a long time, possibly not since they were rough and ready teenagers.
‘Fuck you,’ said Matt, all sympathy gone for a moment. ‘I’m trying to help here.’
‘I-I’m sorry … but put yourself in my position,’ Jake said then. It was exactly what Matt had been doing all day yesterday, all evening.
‘Trust me, I am. I’ve been trying to. But it’s really not fair of you to—’
‘Please,’ Jake broke in, his voice pathetic. ‘I’m begging you.’ Threats, then pleading. He had to remember what his friend was going through, what it was doing to him. But seeing the guy who’d done this, would that really help? Matt doubted it very much. ‘For me, for Jules … For what we all used to mean to each other. Just for a second. A glimpse. I just need to see him, I’ve never even seen the guy. I just need to understand.’
Matt was silent for a moment or two. Channing was out most of the day again, and he was pretty sure he could square it away with the sergeant on duty, Sharpe, who owed Matt a favour or two himself (it didn’t hurt that Sharpe had a daughter about the same age as Jordan). Bring in Jake under the guise of asking a few routine questions, then slip him out to the cells for just for a few minutes. It was a small station, hardly Fort Knox, and their camera system wasn’t exactly state of the art, was prone to glitches now and again. It could be done, wouldn’t be the first time. But if they were going to do this, it had to be soon – before their prime suspect was charged, possibly transferred. Matt supposed he owed Jake that much, if it’s what he wanted. Needed.
Anything you need …
‘I’m going to regret this, I know I am,’ he said.
‘Thanks, Matt. Really.’
‘I’ll come and pick you up,’ Matt said, and he cut off the call. Then thought to himself: and there I was worried that he’d do something stupid …
***
When Matt arrived at Jake’s hotel, he was standing outside waiting for him, wearing the same clothes as the day before.
Or rather, he wasn’t so much standing as leaning against the fencing outside; holding on to it for support. He looked dreadful. His skin was drained of all its colour, and his eyes were red, with dark rings around them. Just how much had he had to drink last night? More than one bottle, that was for sure, but it didn’t look like it had helped any with his sleep.
When Jake saw the car, he held up a hand – which almost immediately went to his stomach. As he reached the vehicle, Matt wound down the window and said, ‘I hope you got it all out of your system?’
‘I’m fine,’ Jake tried to assure him, the same crap as yesterday – but it sounded even less convincing today.
He opened the glove compartment, pulled out a pair of sunglasses and handed them to Jake as he climbed in. ‘Maybe we should do this another time.’ Like never, thought Matt.
‘I said I was fine,’ snapped Jake, putting on the shades. Then apologised. ‘Please …’
‘Sure.’ Anything but the begging again.
On the way back to the station, he thought about telling Jake the news: the fingerprint and blood match. Then he thought better of it. That probably wasn’t the kind of thing you needed to hear just before seeing the person in question. So they rode in silence.
But then Jake suddenly piped up: ‘Has … has he said anything else?’
Matt looked across at his friend in the passenger seat. ‘Bobby? Only that he’s innocent. That he didn’t do it.’
‘Weren’t there any … I mean there must be CCTV footage of all this?’
‘There’s been a spate of vandalism attacks recently. The cameras were smashed in the square the previous weekend – haven’t been fixed yet.’
Jake let out a slow breath, then asked, ‘And what do you think?’
Matt faced front again, indicating left. He shrugged, thought again about telling Jake what they’d discovered, but didn’t.
‘You must have some sort of idea, some sense as to whether or not he did it. I mean … you’ve been doing this a while now.’
‘And I owe it all to you, right?’ Matt couldn’t help that one, picking up on what he’d said about people with records joining the force.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jake said again. ‘I was desperate.’
The truth was he probably did owe it to Jake. Not just because he took the fall for stealing that car, but because he set an example. Got himself together and worked his arse off when Jules had fallen pregnant with Jordan, which in turn had made Matt realise he needed to get his own act together. Jake might not have steered him towards the force, but he’d made him see that there was more to life than just dossing around. And on the occasion he’d seen them all together, it had made him want a family as well. Had been one of the things he’d had in common with Katherine when they’d eventually met. ‘I wasn’t just covering my own back, you know. I’m not sure you’re ready for this.’
Jake let out a bitter laugh. ‘When am I ever going to be ready for it?’
‘I just meant—’
‘Matt, yesterday I saw my daughter for the first time in God knows how long, and … and she was lying dead in the morgue. Today, I just want to understand. To know why.’
‘You won’t get that from just looking at him,’ Matt promised.
‘Maybe not. But it’s a start,’ Jake told his friend. ‘It’s somewhere to start.’
Matt thought about asking just what it was Jake thought he was starting here; after all, they were the ones conducting the investigation. If anyone was going to uncover the reason why this had all happened, it should be the police – and Jake had to trust them to do that. Had to trust him. Perhaps this was the first step in getting him to do that, a start in that respect as well.
And it had all been going so well.
Matt had got Jake inside, and in the cells – thanks to Sharpe’s assistance. Then Matt had opened up the metal slot in the door to Bobby’s cell, holding Jake back with one hand until he was sure it was okay for him to come forward – having made him promise not to do anything rash. ‘I’ll be there watching the whole time, and I’ll rush you out of there so fast your feet won’t touch the ground,’ he’d said to him.
To be fair, Jake had kept that promise. It hadn’t been him who’d caused the fuss. Bobby had been on his bunk, facing the concrete wall, dressed in a grey pair of sweats and top, having been relieved of his clothes the previous evening. He looked to be asleep – another person who’d had a bad night; the worst night … though not as bad as his victim, it had to be said. The timing for this little ‘visit’ couldn’t have been more perfect, in fact. Jake wouldn’t get to see his eyes, look into them as he’d mentioned, but he’d get to see the boy, and Matt would have fulfilled his promise to his old friend, not to mention built up that trust.
Matt looked at Jake and nodded for him to move closer, to look through the slot. Then he watched his friend, watching the boy. Sunglasses gone now, Matt could see just how bloodshot those blue-grey eyes were up close and personal like that, just how black the circles were that framed them. He looked like a shadow of the man he’d seen even yesterday, the toll of events – not to mention the alcohol he must have consumed – weighing him down. Jake’s eyes were wide, staring, taking in the lump on the bunk. But he didn’t say anything to draw attention, didn’t rouse the boy.
Just watched. As if being in his presence might tell Jake whether he’d done the deed or not, some sixth sense that could detect a person’s innocence or guilt.
And what do you think? You must have some sort of idea …
What did he think? Matt wasn’t entirely sure. Open-and-shut cases like this appeared to be were a bit too … neat for his liking. Katherine would have loved them, tying everything up with a bow on top. But, like Jake said, Matt had been doing this a long time, actually did have a sense for these things. One of the first things he’d done that morning had been to go through the background on Bobby, who’d been adopted at the age of 5 – so there could be something to that, he’d have to look into who the real parents were – but to all intents and purposes had been brought up in a stable home environment. Had parents who loved him a lot, going by the way they were trying to get back from their holiday abroad to come and see him after they’d been notified. So what had gone wrong …?
The noise interrupted his thoughts and he followed Jake’s gaze into the cell. Like his son the previous evening when he’d looked in on the kid, Bobby Bannister had rolled over when he sensed he was being observed. But unlike Eddie, Bobby had opened his eyes, had seen the figure peering into his cell, and he’d clambered to his feet.
‘You’re … I can tell, you … You’re her dad,’ said the boy, whose short black hair was sticking out at odd angles due to the way he’d been lying on it. ‘I can see her in your face.’
Jake’s eyebrows knitted together, breaths coming in short gasps. Matt looked down to see the man’s hands balling into fists, then opening again. Clenching and unclenching.
Bobby was stumbling towards the door now. ‘I didn’t do it, Mr Radcliffe, I swear! I didn’t do what they said I did.’
More heavy breathing from Jake.
‘Easy,’ Matt warned him, placing a hand on his shoulder which the man didn’t even notice.
Bobby wiped his nose with the back of his arm, eyes wet with tears. ‘It’s like I’ve been trying to tell them, we just arranged to meet, see? To go clubbing … I-I found her like that, I swear! I couldn’t have done that to Jordan. I honestly couldn’t.’
‘Jake …’ Matt was squeezing that shoulder, knew he should be getting his friend away from there. That he’d done what he could for now, what he promised. Jake had even got to look into the lad’s eyes.
‘I tried to … to pull it out, but there was so much … I thought I might make things worse. I was about to call an ambulance, I was. But then I heard sirens anyway, only … Only it was his lot. And … and I panicked, I ran. I knew how it would look, ’course I did!’ He stepped up closer to the open rectangle, voice rising. ‘But I swear—’
That was it: the third time Bobby swore that he’d had nothing to do with Jordan’s death was the trigger. Jake shrugged off Matt’s hand and tried to reach inside the space, barely able to get his hand in and yet he was able to grab Bobby by the collar. Matt, in turn, grabbed Jake’s arm to tried and wrench it away from the hole. But the man was stronger than he looked, even in his weakened condition, hatred and adrenaline obviously fuelling his attack.
How could he ever have thought it would end any other way, this encounter? How could he have been so naive as to think Jake just wanted to see the guy; obviously he was going to go for him, but as he was behind a thick metal door … At this particular point in time, though, Matt wouldn’t have put it past Jake to just ram down that barrier to get to Bobby. He was like a thing possessed, bucking and jerking to get a better angle, perhaps to try and wrap his fingers around Bobby’s throat and get his revenge. Snap his neck sideways with a satisfying crack.
Matt was tugging and tugging, but Jake’s grip on the boy was vice-like. In the end, what broke the spell, what broke into the moment, was the cry from behind them all. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ It carried weight that voice, authority, especially when it followed this up with: ‘What the actual fuck is going on here?’
They both turned as one, and Jake finally let go of Bobby, who retreated into his cell, still pleading his innocence. Needing Jake to see that he hadn’t done this terrible thing.
Matt and Jake stared at the figure of DS Channing standing there with his arms folded. You couldn’t tell how many teeth he had now, because the fake smile was gone – replaced by a look of condemnation. He wasn’t so much a PR person’s dream right at that moment, as a DC’s nightmare.
‘Sir, I can explain,’ Matt began.
‘Can you? Can you now …’ He unfolded his arms, leaned forward and cupped the side of his head. ‘Well, I’m all ears.’
‘Jake … Mr Radcliffe wanted to …’ Matt realised how ridiculous his explanation would seem, even as he was saying it.
‘It’s my fault,’ said Jake, looking down. ‘Don’t blame Matt. I talked him into it.’
Channing ran a hand over his face, then let it fall to his side. ‘I can’t believe this, I really can’t! Do you know what you’ve done here? We were this close.’ Now he held up that same hand, creating a tiny space between his thumb and forefinger. ‘This close to it all being over.’
‘It’ll never be over for me,’ said Jake.
Channing gaped at him, then waved his hand towards the exit. ‘Come with me, both of you!’
As they began to walk out, Matt could hear Bobby one final time back in the cell, his voice barely a whisper: ‘Wasn’t me … I swear!’
***
Channing took them to an interview room, the one with a two-way mirror running the length of one wall, and told them to sit down – though Matt remained standing initially.
‘I said sit down, DC Newcomb!’
Matt reluctantly did as he was told.
Channing proceeded to pace up and down in front of them as he spoke. ‘Now, let me see if I’ve got this straight. You, DC Newcomb, thought it would be a good idea to let the father of our victim – and yes, I do know who you are, Mr Radcliffe – have access to the person we believe to have committed the crime? Is that about the size of it?’
‘Well,’ said Matt, looking at his folded hands in front of him, ‘when you put it like that …’
‘When I …’ Channing banged on the table with his fist, causing them to start. ‘And this was, what, because he asked you to?’
‘Matt … DC Newcomb was just trying to help,’ offered Jake. ‘I needed—’
‘I don’t care what you needed,’ snapped Channing, face turning crimson. Then he saw Jake’s mournful expression and relented. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’ Matt couldn’t tell whether it was because the DS was genuinely sorry, or he was just frightened of the repercussions; of what he’d said getting back to his superiors. ‘Of course I care, but you might just have ruined everything. We’re readying to nail that guy to the wall, but now he could bring charges himself for assault – and all while under our noses! All because of you, Newcomb.’ He rounded on Matt, jabbing a finger in his direction. ‘All because of some misplaced sense of loyalty to a friend.’
‘I’m … I’m sorry, sir.’
‘This could mean your job, you know.’
‘I know.’ It was what he’d told Jake when he’d been trying to persuade Matt; there was always a chance this could go south. That the ramifications would include his job, his career. Christ, how was he going to explain this to Katherine?
‘And it happened on my watch, so it could mean my neck as well. Okay, damage control … damage control,’ muttered Channing, concentrating. Then he stood up straight, leaning back. ‘What if … what if none of this had ever happened, eh?’
It sounded like he was asking their advice, like he had a time machine or a way to wipe out the last twenty minutes, and was sounding them out about whether they should use it or not.
‘I’m assuming there’s no footage of what took place back there. You’re definitely not that stupid, Newcomb.’
Matt said nothing, he didn’t want to get Sharpe into more trouble than he clearly already was.
‘So, it’s just the kid’s word against ours, right? Wouldn’t be the first time. It’s not like you were able to do any real harm … He’s been screaming the place down about his innocence since he got here, has had hardly any sleep, probably imagined the whole thing – wanting to apologise to the father or whatever. Only natural, right? Maybe he even heard you were in the building, Mr Radcliffe.’
Again, Matt didn’t say a thing; neither of them said a word.
‘Yeah, didn’t happen.’ Channing clapped his hands together. ‘And all is right with the world.’ He saw Jake’s expression once more, realised that his world would never be right again. ‘That is … Look, Mr Radcliffe, can I give you some advice?’
Jake remained silent.
‘I get where you’re coming from, I really do. But I’ve seen this kind of thing before. I’ve seen that look you had in your eye before, and it never ends well. It ends with people waiting outside law courts with guns to shoot the person they want punished. Ends with those people in jail instead of the ones who should be, the bad guys. Let things take their course, let us do our jobs. Punk kid like that won’t last long inside, particularly when they get wind of what he did. Killing a young girl? That’s a big no-no.’ Channing allowed his words to settle. ‘Let us do our jobs, Mr Radcliffe. We might not be known here for dealing with fancy high-profile cases, but we do get things done. What I’m saying to you is do us all a favour and leave it alone, okay? Please.’
Still no response.
‘Or the next time I might not be so understanding, you see. Now, I think maybe it might be best if you leave to have a think about things. I’ll have one of our uniforms drop you off where you’re staying. I assume you’re remaining here for the time being?’
Jake gave a slow nod.
‘And as for you,’ Channing continued, directing his attention towards Matt again, ‘I’ll be keeping a closer eye on you from now on.’
Matt swallowed, and also nodded, knowing he’d dodged the bullet … this time. As Channing opened the door again and called for a uniform to escort Jake, his friend looked back at Matt, still seated.
His eyes said he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant for him to get into trouble. But they also said something else. They still held that same look, the anger, the need to understand. A desire for revenge.
It told Matt all he needed to know. That there was no way he was going to just drop this, as Channing had told him to. Not that easily.
And Matt knew something else as well, that Jake, that all of this, was going to be on his own mind for some time to come.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_855627ac-8acf-595b-9b53-4e5b4329f4b6)
He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about everything.
He’d let them drop him off back at the hotel, the couple of uniformed officers Channing had ordered to escort him ‘home’. But Jake hadn’t stayed there. Couldn’t face going back to that room he’d woken up in, feeling rougher than he’d ever felt in his life. Half-dead …
Better than totally dead.
Though it was also the place he’d decided enough was enough. That it was time to concentrate on his mission, on what he had to do – which was dig out Matt’s card and ring him. There were no two ways about it, he’d needed to see the boyfriend. He hadn’t meant to cause problems at the station – or thought about the consequences for Matt if they were caught – but when the guy had got in his face, Jake had just seen red.
It was almost like he was watching a movie again, someone else reaching out and grabbing the boy by the collar, dragging him to the door. Jake wasn’t a violent person, or at least he hadn’t thought he was … until that moment. He’d assumed that once he saw the guy, this Bobby Bannister, he’d know one way or the other about Jordan. Had wanted to look him in the eyes, he’d told Matt, but even just seeing him would be enough to know … But it hadn’t really worked out like that, had it?
Jake still didn’t know one way or the other whether this boy had actually committed the crime, although everything was pointing in that direction in spite of his claims of innocence. Claims that were actually pretty convincing. He should have felt something, sensed whether this was his child’s murderer, surely? Instead, he’d just felt an overwhelming hatred towards him. But Jake wasn’t just seeing his face, he was seeing all the faces of all the guys who – in his mind – had corrupted his daughter. Had turned her into something she really wasn’t, something she shouldn’t have been. Something that had got her killed.
And he’d snapped.
The rest, like a lot of things since he’d got that phone call the previous morning, was a bit of a haze. Matt trying to pull him away, Channing, the interview room. Jake was aware then of how much trouble he’d got his friend into, was sorry, but at the same time glad he’d got the opportunity – however brief it had been – to confront Bannister. It was only afterwards he’d thought about what that might have cost Matt: his job, his family … He hadn’t needed to stick his neck out for Jake, but had anyway. That was true friendship.
Luckily, Jake’s actions hadn’t landed him in too much hot water – Channing was more concerned about his own neck than anything. More than willing to cover things up.
Wouldn’t be the first time …
Which didn’t exactly inspire confidence, made you wonder what else they’d swept under the carpet in this town. Jake guessed he’d probably never know.
It would be awkward probably at work for a while, but things would calm down. Jake would make it up to Matt, somehow. He wasn’t sure how.
What if … what if none of this had ever happened, eh?
If only.
But it left him right back at square one in figuring this all out. Figuring out why it had happened. The cops didn’t seem that interested in the reason, they had their man (caught red-handed … yes, red as in Jordan’s blood). It was like Channing had said to him, they were so close to nailing him now.
What had really happened, though, that night? Why had Bannister done it, if he even had? If he never admitted he’d killed Jordan, then none of them would find peace. She would never find peace.
Jails were full of convicts claiming they hadn’t done it, swearing just like Bannister had sworn it.
I-I found her like that, I swear!
Nobody ever got to the bottom of those cases, nobody punished the truly guilty party or parties. Nobody really cared. There were people who cared about this one, though. Who had cared about Jordan. Who would find the truth, whatever that was.
Where to start, though? He had no idea. Where would Dave Harris have started? His old colleague from The Gazette … ‘A story starts at the beginning,’ Dave used to say. And even as he thought that, Jake saw a flash of Jordan as the happy little girl he’d known and loved (still loved, in spite of everything, but this was different). Before the world had swallowed her up, before social media, friends who led her down the wrong paths, boys. Back then, back at the beginning, things had been simple.
They probably hadn’t been, Jake knew that – people always looked back with rose-tinted glasses. But they’d seemed it. Easier, happier. Happier than later on. Happier than now, that was for damned sure! There had been hope, anyway – for the future. That everything would turn out okay.
When he’d set off from the hotel, Jake hadn’t really known where he was heading. He had some vague notion about buying a change of clothing, actually getting that toothbrush he’d told Matt he was after when whiskey was the only thing on his mind; plus a charger for his phone, as he’d left without one. And he’d done all that, found somewhere and purchased what he’d needed for now – had carried them around with him in plastic bags like somebody who’d just been to the sales. Or been made homeless.
But still he hadn’t returned to the hotel, he’d carried on wandering. Realised at some point that he probably should eat; again, he’d be no use to anyone – especially Jordan – if he simply collapsed. How would he get to the bottom of anything then?
It wasn’t the healthiest, but he grabbed a burger and some fries at a fast food place. Jake sat for a while just staring at the meal in front of him, felt like doing anything else in the world but this. The body was a machine, though, and like any other machine it needed fuel. So he picked up the burger, something he would have relished before, enjoyed on the hop between shooting gigs, and he forced himself to bite into it. Jake chewed mechanically, swallowing, fighting the sensations when he thought he was going to throw up again.
In the end, he wolfed the whole meal – he’d underestimated just how hungry he was – and washed it down with diet coke this time, alcohol the furthest thing from his mind.
Then he wandered once more, up and down streets so familiar to him but which now seemed alien and hostile. He barely noticed when the sun began to set; more darkness, which he could embrace. His feet hurt, but he kept going. Maybe if he walked long enough, far enough, he really could turn back time. Make it so this whole thing hadn’t happened.
Had it been the noise that attracted him, he wondered afterwards. Redmarket coming to life and doing what it did best, welcoming the lost souls to bars and clubs. The one thing it was known for now, legendary nights out – bucking the trend of other towns and cities that found their streets virtually empty since the recession started to bite. Instead, Redmarket had blossomed; he’d seen that start to happen even before he left the area. A reinvention for this former market town that had once been known for its meat more than anything else, hence its name.
Now there were meat markets of a different kind, where young men could hook up with young women on any given night of the week. Jake observed some of them off out that evening: gaggles of girls wearing shiny skin-tight dresses that barely came down past their waists, clutching tiny handbags, already clearly drunk (not that he could talk after last night), tottering on high-heels, wearing make-up the Joker would have been proud of. Similarly, the lads out on the pull: skinny jeans and shirts open to their belly buttons practically. All they were missing were the medallions and flares and it could have been the 1970s rather than this day and age.
Jake heard the music being pumped out, the thumping bass that would have made your internal organs vibrate if you were close enough to it. Saw the flashing lights, all the colours of the rainbow. Mesmerising, drawing people in as effectively as those sirens used to do to the sailors of old – and there’d be just as many crashes later on. Perhaps not on rocks, but people crashing into each other. Dancing to begin with, then later in alleyways and in flats; bodies crashing against each other in another way. Kids who hardly knew each other, screwing like it was some sort of hobby or pastime, a new sport.
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P L Kane
Everyone has something to hide When Jake learns of his troubled daughter’s death, he is determined to find out what really happened on that fateful night. But Jake hasn’t seen Jordan for over three years and, with secrets of her own, there was a lot he didn’t know about his only daughter. Jake’s ex-wife Jules is reluctant to let him waltz back into her life. But when Jake makes a shocking discovery, he is convinced that there is more to her murder than they are being told. Grief stricken and full of regret, Jake is desperate to protect his daughter’s memory – to understand her final hours… With a question mark hanging over the case, will Jake be able to piece together the fragments of evidence, uncover the truth behind Jordan’s death – and make amends for the time he has lost? Readers LOVE Her Last Secret ‘I couldn't put this down once I started!!’ NetGalley reviewer ‘Hooked from the start’ NetGalley reviewer ‘I was on the edge of my seat’ NetGalley reviewer
About the Author (#ud10819ce-0289-56d6-a931-fbf2b21e3a7a)
P L KANE is the pseudonym of a #1 bestselling and award-winning author and editor, who has had over ninety books published in the fields of SF, YA and Horror/Dark Fantasy. In terms of crime fiction, previous books include the collection Nailbiters and the anthology Exit Wounds, which contains stories by the likes of Lee Child, Dean Koontz, Val McDermid and Dennis Lehane. Kane has been a guest at many events and conventions, and has had work optioned and adapted for film and television (including Lions Gate/NBC, who picked up a story for primetime US network TV). Several of Kane’s stories have been turned into short movies and Loose Canon Films/Hydra Films have just adapted ‘Men of the Cloth’ into a feature, The Colour of Madness. Kane’s audio drama work for places such as Bafflegab and Spiteful Puppet/ITV features the acting talents of people like Tom Meeten (The Ghoul), Neve McIntosh (Doctor Who/Shetland), Alice Lowe (Prevenge) and Ian Ogilvy (Return of the Saint). Visit www.plkane.com (http://www.plkane.com) for more details.
Praise for P L Kane (#ud10819ce-0289-56d6-a931-fbf2b21e3a7a)
‘His stories will take you to the edge of your seat and beyond … so sit tight!’
Paul Finch, author of Strangers
‘Original, engaging, unique. A fine read’
Joe R. Lansdale, author of Cold in July
‘Scarily original’
Peter James, author of Dead Simple
‘An exciting new voice on the crime scene’
Elly Griffiths, author of The Crossing Places
Her Last Secret
P L KANE
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © P L Kane 2020
P L Kane asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © January 2020 ISBN: 9780008368234
Version: 2019-10-22
Table of Contents
Cover (#u1bc03ddc-fcba-5abf-af06-39312957093e)
About the Author
Praise for P L Kane
Title Page (#u5b19c6e3-1187-5cea-b8fc-1374503f7a17)
Copyright (#uf641d597-b7d9-5fc0-9414-4758a7f5ce78)
Dedication (#u5a06467a-f0ec-572a-8cc7-790b6a210744)
Prologue
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
PART TWO
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
PART THREE
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Dear Reader … (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher
For Marie, who encouraged me to write this book, and Jen, who thankfully was a joy to bring up.
Prologue (#ud10819ce-0289-56d6-a931-fbf2b21e3a7a)
As the girl stumbled forward, she had one name on her mind.
She’d lost her mobile back there on the street and didn’t have time to stop and search for it; didn’t have the strength. She just needed to get to some help, maybe make it to the clubbing part of town – though that seemed like a very long way away. And she was getting tired now, breath misting in the autumn air, hardly able to focus. Little wonder – because as she touched the wounds on her chest, brushing the handle of the knife that was still sticking out, that had been left in there as she’d attempted to escape, her hands came away wet. Totally black in the moonlight.
Blood … so much blood.
Pain that had been unbearable only minutes before was dulling now, making her numb. She clutched at a wall, leaving a handprint behind her. There’d be someone soon, she’d find someone who could help her. In fact, yes, there up ahead the street was opening out. Even in her confused state, she knew where she was: the market square. Ahead of her were the stalls, empty now at night-time – not that many were used in the waking hours, either, apart from on certain days – rows of wooden skeletons, looking like the carcasses of long-dead monsters.
Monsters like the ones she’d been so afraid of when she was little. Silly really, being scared of imaginary things like that, when there were so many real things to be frightened of after you grew up. She wished more than anything at that moment – as she slipped on her own blood, righted herself and lunged towards the stalls – that she could go back in time to those days. Back when make-believe creatures under the bed were the only things to worry about. Back when life was so much simpler.
She used the stalls to drag herself along, still searching the space for … there! Someone was waiting in the middle. Or at least she thought it was someone, only to get there and realise it was just tarpaulin hanging down on yet another frame. Things were getting hazy now, her vision blurred. Time was running out. If the monsters here were dead, then she wouldn’t be far behind them. And wasn’t there a part of her that felt relief at that, because living was so, so hard? She’d always assumed it would get better, but it never really did; always thought there would be a brighter day to come. Instead, it was getting darker by the second.
She flopped onto that stall with the canvas sheeting, pain shooting through her again and waking her up momentarily. Forcing her onto her back, because the knife wouldn’t let her lie down on her front.
If I could just go back. If I could just see him one more time.
The man who’d always chased away those monsters back when she was tiny, who’d picked her up and put her on his shoulders when they’d go for walks in the park. Who’d tried to teach her right from wrong, set an example. And whom she’d treated so, so badly.
That’s why the name that had been on her mind, the name that came out – as she finally went blind, as the last of her vital lifeblood seeped out – wasn’t that of the person who’d done this to her. Their name was as far from her thoughts as possible.
No, the name she uttered with her last breath was that of the man she thought might come, as if they shared some kind of psychic bond and she was sending out a distress call. It was the person, when all was said and done, that she still trusted most in this world; the irony being that he probably didn’t even know that anymore, regardless of how true it was.
No, the name on her lips was simply this, uttered as if she was 5 again: ‘Daddy.’
Then all she knew was the dark.
PART ONE (#ud10819ce-0289-56d6-a931-fbf2b21e3a7a)
The historic town and borough of Redmarket is situated thirty miles west of Granfield, and is so called because of its association with the meat trade, dating back to its founding in 70–100 AD. Originally the site of a Roman fort, later on an Anglo-Saxon village grew up around the area. However, it wasn’t until the early thirteenth century that it received its official market charter. Known for its friendly locals, Redmarket is surrounded by beautiful countryside and yet is only a stone’s throw away from a number of other thriving towns and cities.
Chapter 1 (#ulink_0bea0aff-050d-512a-b693-0a2ec102cb1c)
It always had been, and remained, the worst part of this job.
Some coppers called it the ‘Death Knock’ or delivering the ‘Death Message’ – but whatever name you gave it, the result was the same. You were delivering news that would devastate a family, changing their lives forever. Once the words were out, there was no taking them back again. The knowledge would have an impact on everything, from doing the groceries to whether you even wanted to get up out of bed in the morning.
So, DC Mathew Newcomb paused before rapping on the wood of that door. It wasn’t simply the gravity of what he was about to impart, although it was the worst thing anyone could ever tell another human being; the worst thing they could possibly hear, as well. It wasn’t even the effect on him; that wasn’t – shouldn’t be – what this was about. He’d done this dozens of times, although selfishly on this occasion he knew it would upset him more than any of the others. For the same reason he’d volunteered to come here in the first place, along with the Family Liaison Officer Linda Fergusson. Because he owed this family, knew them personally.
Because he knew the victim.
Linda was looking at him, those brown eyes of hers questioning. Mathew couldn’t put the moment off any longer. He brought his knuckles down on the wood, hard, a couple of times. It was ridiculous, but he didn’t want the knock to sound flippant – he wanted it to somehow convey the seriousness of his business. Wanted it to have told them some of what he needed to impart even before the people inside had answered the call.
Sadly, when the door opened, and standing there was the one person he would have gone to the ends of the earth not to see, she only frowned momentarily, then was suddenly smiling. ‘Matt?’ said Julie, and it was as if the decades hadn’t really passed at all. They were still at school together. She had been his first crush – those freckles and that flaming red hair. Both had faded in the intervening years, the latter to an auburn colour. But in spite of a few wrinkles here and there, the beginnings of crow’s feet at the eyes, she was still beautiful – even in those jeans and a loose shirt. She was still Julie Brent … Jules. How could he have thought he’d ever stood a chance with her? She’d only had eyes for one bloke, right from the start. ‘I can’t believe it. What are you doing …? I haven’t seen you since the reunion a few …’ Her gaze flitted from Mathew to his companion, but now she was frowning again. ‘Mathew, what …?’
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Mathew realised he was standing there like an idiot, yet there was nothing he could do about it. The words simply wouldn’t come.
This had been a bad idea, he said to himself. He’d wanted to … what, break the news to Julie gently, make sure it was delivered in the right way? Was there even a right way? Didn’t feel like it at the moment. Not at all. Wanted to be there for Julie, then? Even after all these years. But he was making such a cockup of it, leaving the poor woman just standing there, wondering what was going on. Looking from him to Linda, then back again. All Mathew could do was shake his head.
‘Matt? Matt, you’re scaring me.’
You should be scared, he couldn’t help thinking. He opened and closed his mouth again, looking for all the world like a ventriloquist’s dummy whose owner had laryngitis. In the end, he managed a strangled, ‘I’m so sorry.’
But, as it turned out, he didn’t need to say any more than that. She’d already realised he was here in an official capacity, from his expression, from the fact he wasn’t alone; knew what his job entailed. There were really only three people this could be about – and Mathew had heard that Julie’s dad was in a home somewhere, so if something had happened to him, she would have received a phone call from there. That left a choice of two, and probably only one of them hadn’t been in the house all night. Wasn’t an uncommon thing, if what he’d heard about the girl was correct – which was why Julie hadn’t been worried …
Until now.
It was Julie’s turn to shake her head, going into denial: ‘No … no, it can’t …’ Mathew had seen this on more than one occasion as well. Julie’s hand was going to her mouth, tears were already welling in her eyes.
‘Who the bloody hell is …’ The voice drifted through even before this newcomer followed, dressed in a vest and pyjama bottoms. Mathew recognised him as Greg Allaway, Julie’s husband. Hair closely cropped to hide the fact he was going bald, and with a well-cultivated beer belly – even more so than the last time he’d seen the man – he was totally the opposite of what Mathew would have expected Julie to end up with. Mathew might not have stood a chance back in school, but he could run rings around Greg Allaway as it stood today. If he hadn’t been married himself, of course. The thought made him uncomfortable, and wasn’t welcome in any way, shape or form. But when Greg snapped, ‘What the bloody hell is all this? I was just getting ready for work!’ it surfaced again momentarily, and just for a second Mathew wanted to punch him squarely in the face.
Julie couldn’t speak, was having trouble even standing. She toppled sideways against the open front door, and it was only when Mathew moved forwards to try and catch her that Greg did something to help – getting there first and grabbing her by the arm to steady her. Grabbing a little too forcefully for Mathew’s liking.
Greg looked from his wife, back to Linda and Mathew. And was there a hint of recognition now that he could take the latter in properly? Did he remember him from the last time they’d met? Remember his vocation? Even if he didn’t, Mathew had been told after all these years on the force he definitely looked like a policeman; didn’t even matter that he was plain-clothes. ‘What’s happened now?’ Julie’s husband asked gruffly.
Linda spoke up this time, doing the job that she’d been trained for. ‘I think it might be best if we came in off the street to talk about it.’
Greg looked back at his wife, who was on the verge of collapsing altogether – her green eyes rolling back into her head – and nodded.
***
Twenty minutes later, and they were all sitting in the living room: Greg and Julie on the couch, him with his arm around her; Mathew and Linda on the chairs opposite. Linda had made them all a tea, after asking where the kitchen was. An especially sweet one for Julie because she was in shock, although the woman hadn’t touched a drop yet, kept staring at the mug in front of her on the coffee table.
‘I just … I just can’t believe it,’ she kept on saying. ‘Not our Jordan.’
All Mathew could do was shake his head in reply. Not that he hadn’t done all the talking he needed to for now, hoping that what he’d said had helped a little. Of course, hearing that your daughter had been stabbed to death was never going to be easy to take in. But the fact that they had a suspect in custody, that he’d been picked up covered in blood not too far from the crime scene, must have been some sort of comfort to her. He left out the fact that they’d found fingerprints on the handle of the murder weapon for now, because it was currently being tested, but Mathew had no doubt whatsoever that they would end up belonging to one Robert ‘Bobby’ Bannister: Jordan’s boyfriend.
‘But … but why?’ Julie asked again, gazing up at him with eyes that looked like they’d been scrubbed raw. All he could do in answer to that was give another shake of the head, because Mathew Newcomb didn’t have the first clue. What he did know was that it was only a matter of time before it all come out in the wash. Things usually did.
‘That young lass was always getting herself into some kind of trouble,’ was Greg’s reply. ‘I’ve … we’ve done our best to try and help her, but, well, some people just don’t seem to want to be helped, do they?’ Before anyone could say anything to that, he added, ‘Oh, Christ – work! I need to give them a call and tell them I’ll be late in.’ When he saw the look Julie cast him, he changed that to: ‘Tell them I won’t be in, I mean.’
He let go of his wife then and went out into the hallway to use the phone on the table there. It was only now that Mathew got up, went over and sat down next to Julie as she broke into another fresh bout of tears. ‘Hey, hey … it’s okay, Jules. Everything’s going to be okay.’ Hollow words and they both knew it. Nothing would ever be okay again as far as Julie Allaway was concerned.
The sound of Greg’s voice on the phone wafted through to them and it was suddenly as if a light bulb had gone on in Julie’s head. ‘Has … has anyone let him know?’
Mathew was puzzled for a second or two, then realised who she meant. ‘Someone’s contacting him, from the station.’
As Julie nodded slowly, Mathew caught the look of confusion on Linda’s face. ‘Greg is Jordan’s stepfather,’ he told her, and she nodded.
‘He … he’ll be in bits,’ Julie mumbled, as if she hadn’t even heard Mathew’s words to the FLO.
‘I know,’ said Mathew, patting her knee. ‘I know.’ She broke down once more, leaning across and sobbing into his shoulder. There were words, but he couldn’t really make them out at first. Then Mathew realised what she was saying.
‘What are we going to do?’ Julie was repeating over and over. ‘What are we going to do?’
***
Jacob Radcliffe yawned as he sat waiting for the other members of his team to get their act together, to get there. It was like trying to herd cats, getting the producer, reporter and sound person all in one place at the same time so they could set off to their destination – this time to do a thrilling piece about an old married couple who’d been together for seventy years. Lucky them. Typical kind of thing for the local news sections on TV. Jake was so looking forward to pointing the camera at them and listening as they gave sage advice like: ‘Never go to bed on an argument’ or ‘Try not to worry about things you can’t control’. Jesus.
Where was all the big news? he had to ask himself. He’d been on more exciting gigs when he’d been a photographer for The Granfield Gazette back in the day. There was even that report about mob boss Danny Fellows and his operations that Jake’s old colleague Dave Harris had been lining up until it got squashed. It had been exciting though, going round and taking pictures of the places Fellows owned, like that casino or the strip joint. Felt like they were doing something important, something worthwhile … Probably a good idea it stopped where it did though, if Fellows’ rep was anything to go by, Jake often thought to himself. At least when you were interviewing old married couples there was no chance of ending up at the bottom of the river wearing concrete slippers.
He looked at his watch again, then out across at the newsroom at the various people who were in at this hour: only a handful so far, checking emails, answering or making calls. Jake yawned again. What was the point of arranging a time to set off on their long drive when nobody was going to show up but him? He had been hoping they could get this in the bag and out of the way before lunch, so he could sneak off and do some more editing on the short film he’d been making in his spare time. It was just something he was doing for fun at the moment, not really thinking it would go anywhere – and certainly not thinking along the lines of BAFTAs or Oscars – but maybe if he could get it up to scratch he could hit the festivals with it. Jake had mostly recruited students from the local unis and colleges to help with it all, people who’d work just for credits over several weekends. And it wasn’t shaping up too badly at all, if he said so himself: a film about young people today and their thoughts about the future, where everything was heading. Fiction, but in a documentary style.
But he was never going to get it finished at this rate, not if Sarah, Phil and Howard didn’t get their arses in gear so they could get this over and done with. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said, stifling yet another yawn.
They were lucky he was in at all, the restless night he’d had. It had taken him ages to actually get to sleep and he’d only been in the land of nod a short while when he’d woken up, panicking and sweating. He could have sworn someone had been calling out his name, but when he turned on the light he felt quite silly for answering. Jake had struggled to get back off, tossing and turning, rolling onto his front, his sides. Thank Christ he didn’t share a bed with anyone anymore, because they probably would have kicked him out onto the couch. In the end, he’d got up at stupid o’clock and made himself several cups of coffee – which was probably why he’d got here so early that morning, and why it seemed like he’d been waiting ages. Couldn’t blame the others for staying tucked up in bed a little while longer, he supposed, but all the same …
Jake was relieved when he saw Sarah, their reporter, come through the doors, looking immaculate as usual (he’d once joked that she probably got out of bed looking like that, and she’d scowled and filled him in at great length about all the prep it took). She held up a hand in greeting, then pointed to indicate she was going to grab a drink before coming over. He sighed … but then neither of the others had even shown their faces yet.
Phil and Howard turned up together, laughing and joking as usual – not a care in the world – and Jake was just rising to go and join them when someone actually did call his name. It was their IT person, Alison, holding up a phone for him to come over. Jake touched his chest and she nodded, face quite serious.
‘Who’s calling me here?’ he asked her as he trotted over. He had his work mobile on him, so why not use that? ‘What’s it about?’
Alison shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t say. Sounded official, though.’
Jake took the phone from her, his brow creasing. ‘H-Hello?’ He nodded when they asked if they were speaking to the right person, before realising they couldn’t see him. ‘Yes, that’s me.’
Then, as the words came through the receiver, it was as if time stood still. Jake tried and failed to process them. Instead, he dropped the phone which hung down the side of Alison’s desk by its cord. Then he walked away, leaving Alison and everyone else mystified, ignoring their calls.
He had somewhere to be.
He had something to do.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_61935f97-23c3-5776-9792-42671c152f22)
How Jake got to his Silver Toyota, got on the road, and made it to the motorway was something of a mystery in itself.
There were just too many thoughts racing through his mind. Memories especially, winding back time to the day he’d first seen Julie at school, and they’d shared that moment – the one that told them both they’d be together forever (hadn’t made seventy years, though, had they). Hanging out with her and Mathew after hours – the Three Musketeers – then him and Matt getting into all kinds of trouble as they started to gravitate towards the wrong kind of company. Graffiti, bit of pickpocketing, joyriding; the usual juvenile stuff. In Jake’s defence, he’d lost his father back when he was only 10 to bowel cancer and his mother was so busy working all the hours God sent, she couldn’t keep a proper eye on him. That was the excuse those lawyers had used at any rate. Then they were caught with a stolen car, and Jake had carried the can for Matt. It had seen him get away with a suspended sentence and community service, thank Christ, though it had probably contributed to his mum having her heart attack a couple of years after that.
None of this had put Julie off him, though. In fact, it only seemed to make her want him more, despite the fact he’d dropped out of school and she was trying to get her A levels. Maybe it was the bad boy thing a lot of young girls went through? He hadn’t been that bad, though, not really. In any event, they’d ended up spending more and more time together – at the local skateboarding area, at the park after sunset, at the woods nearby. Her parents, the Brents, who to him were like something out of the 1950s, definitely didn’t approve. But it was getting to the point where they couldn’t really tell her what to do anymore. He and Julie started sleeping together, and it was amazing … right up until the point that the condom they were using one night split; Julie had been too scared to go to the doctor’s and get the pill, so that had been their only method of birth control.
Jake remembered the night she’d told him, having hidden it from everyone for months – right up to the time when it was too late to do anything about it but have the baby. Not that they’d have done anything differently, he didn’t think. So there they were, not even 18, green as grass, and they were looking at being a family. Naturally, Julie’s parents had freaked the fuck out – her dad even handing her an ultimatum, to give Jake the heave-ho or get out, much to her mother’s distress. He hadn’t meant it, he’d told her later, just hadn’t known what else to do to get her to see sense. Stubborn Jules and that fiery temper, which matched her hair. She’d been his little girl, and the man had seen it as a violation (Jake didn’t get that until much, much later). He wasn’t exactly a catch anyway …
However, Julie had chosen to be with him – put her faith in Jake even though it scared the crap out of him. It had forced them both to grow up overnight, for Jake to take some responsibility and get whatever above-board job he could (and now he could finally understand what his mum had been doing to put clothes on his back, to put food on the table). He’d done all kinds of work back in those days, from manual labour on building sites to packing goods on a conveyor belt in a factory.
Julie had to give up on the A levels, of course, abandoning her ambitions of becoming a vet. But oh, it really was worth all the struggle in the end. Because when Jules gave birth that afternoon in January, it was like their lives had only really started. The love they’d felt for her … for this girl they’d named Jordan – becoming The Three ‘J’s now – well, it was just indescribable. Like he would do anything for her, anything at all. Step in front of a bullet, a train …whatever, gladly.
She’d been Jake’s pride and joy, had brought so much happiness to their tiny little home: a two-bedroom flat, in quite an undesirable part of town. They didn’t have much, but they had each other, they had love. More love than some folk had with mountains of cash.
And, in time, Jake had found himself in better – more regular – employ, while Julie had gone to work part-time at a local vet’s, just while Jordan was in school. Jake began to think about bettering himself, and Jordan had made that happen. He wanted to be somebody she could look up to, not just ‘Daddy’ but a guy who had a vocation. That was when he’d taken the night-school classes in photography, something he hadn’t thought about in years but had been quite keen on as a young kid. He soon found he had an aptitude for it – composition and framing came as second nature to him (this was back in the days of single lens reflex and developing fluids, back before digital photography became the norm). Some of his work had even been sent with the classes’ offerings on a touring exhibition abroad.
It gave him the encouragement he needed to apply for work at all the newspapers in the surrounding areas, especially now they’d finally managed to afford a small car. Julie’s parents had started to chip in as well, not vast amounts but at least they were trying – probably so they could gain more access to their grandchild. By then, Jake’s mum had passed away, so really they were all Jordan had in terms of grandparents.
He’d got his job as a junior at The Granfield Gazette, and worked his way up, becoming one of the most trusted photographers on the staff. They got a house, a real house with stairs and everything. Jordan was doing well at school, showing signs of Jake’s own creativity – especially painting and drawing, some writing too – but also a love of animals that she got from her mother. Always wanting to take in strays, look after them. Things were good, life was good.
But then came the teenage years.
In the space of just a few months – so little time – when Jordan was coming up to her fifteenth birthday, her whole personality had changed. She’d always been so sweet, so thoughtful, but the kids she’d started hanging out with at school were just idiots, plain and simple. Jake and Jules had tried to instil in her a sense of right and wrong, a moral core, but that was soon eroded away by the need to be popular – to not look like one of the eggheads who were always studying. And those fucking smartphones, bloody social media … They’d been able to police it to some extent when she first got one, which they’d thought was a good idea to begin with, a way of keeping in touch. Jake had even bitten the bullet and got one himself at the same time, just to try and hang on to some of that closeness they’d once had as father and daughter.
Gradually, and inevitably it seemed, guys showed up on the scene. Jordan went from not really being interested, to plastering herself in make-up when she was heading out, even just down the road to a mate’s, or staying over at a friend’s (which they would later usually find out was male). Photos would appear all over her online pages: Jordan with groups of both girls and boys, some they didn’t even know from other schools, or older lads from college. Some of the comments beneath them were absolutely disgusting. They’d confronted her about it on several occasions, but her answer was always to point to their own teenage years. And, no, Jordan hadn’t got pregnant, but there had been a couple of scares at least that they knew about. All of which had Jake pulling his hair out.
It was also putting a hell of a strain on his marriage, the constant worry and the arguments. Each relying on the other to try and sort this mess out before it was too late.
By the time he’d decided to go and do more night-classes – now in camerawork, an attempt to move sideways into that field – Jordan had already failed most of her GCSEs and was looking to attend college herself for resits. That only made things worse, increased her contact with boys. A string of them stretching back and every single one interchangeable; same shit, different day, all because of the influence of her man-mad friends. Apparently, it was okay to jump straight into bed with someone, they were part of the so-called ‘hook-up generation’; try before you buy, before you put a label on it … all of that bollocks. Even with those guys who threatened to hurt her, that Jake had wanted to pummel on a regular basis – ride in like some kind of half-arsed knight on a white charger or something, when it was the last thing in the world Jordan wanted; she’d made that plain.
She’d started dressing in what he thought were totally unacceptable clothes, swearing and smoking like a chimney. Talking to her became all but impossible, the generation gap obvious, and she would disappear for days on end. They’d even called the authorities on a number of occasions, fearing the worst, only for her to crop up or call them to say she was okay and just staying with friends again. What could they do? She was lost, but she was also practically a grown-up. He’d lie there in the dark at night, time ticking away so slowly, wondering if his daughter was okay; his contact with her amounting to a green dot on a screen to show if she was online, to indicate whether she was alive or dead.
And yes, if he was honest with himself, he was jealous that she had this whole other life that didn’t involve him; that she actively kept away from him because she knew he wouldn’t approve. It seemed a million miles away from the relationship they’d once shared as dad and daughter, the time – the years – between them stretching out further and further.
There had been more rows, Jake’s imagination running wild and accusing her of all sorts – drugs were a particular suspicion – not that Jordan ever realised, because she wasn’t around. Her mother would always give her the benefit of the doubt. ‘What do you want me to do? We have no proof about any of this!’
‘By the time we find out the truth, it’ll be too late,’ Jake would always argue. Chicken, egg. Egg, chicken.
The other thing Jules would say time and again was: ‘She’s not doing any of this to get at you, it’s not personal. She’s just trying to find her way …’ So why did it all feel so fucking personal? They’d spent all that time trying to bring Jordan up right, and she was basically throwing it back in their faces.
It had all hit the fan one night when she returned, having missed her eighteenth birthday. This time she’d pushed Jake too far and he’d offered a few home truths, which had made the girl cry but also ended with her telling him that she hated his guts. ‘I never want to see you again!’ she barked into his face.
Jake had taken one look over at Julie for support, but she’d turned away. And then so did he. Turning and walking out through the front door, going off to stay in a hotel that night. He’d returned the next day, of course he had – but Jordan hadn’t been around, and he could tell by the frosty reception he got from Jules that things would never be the same with them again either. He’d tried a few more times, to make their marriage work, to talk to his daughter, but in the end, he had just headed off because he thought that was for the best. Julie’s parents had been delighted by the news, naturally; probably thought it was his fault in the first place that Jordan had gone off the rails and they would now get her back on track. They never had been able to see what was right in front of their eyes.
Contact with the two ladies who’d been in his life, who’d been his life, had turned out to be minimal since the divorce. The odd strangled phone conversation, calls on birthdays or at Christmas – nothing more. Jake hadn’t seen Jordan in almost three years now, he got the feeling she preferred it that way. He’d deleted his social media accounts as well, got rid of his old mobile so he didn’t have to watch the continued self-destruction of his baby girl. He’d moved away, found a job at the local TV company and was doing all right … At least that’s what he told himself. He hadn’t even been fazed – much – by the news that Julie had got married again. Maybe at some point they could all sit together again in a room and talk like adults. At some point, that’s what he’d thought. His daughter’s twenty-first was fast approaching, so maybe …
But then the phone call. The news.
Another landmark birthday they’d miss. (No, it wasn’t true!)
He’d dropped the receiver, he remembered that much. Had to get in the car, get back – just to make sure it wasn’t real. Some kind of practical joke, it had to be. It couldn’t be right. Just couldn’t be!
Where’s all the big news?
You had to ask, didn’t you? Well, it’s here, this is it, his conscience taunted.
In any event he had to get back there, to the town he’d once called home. Get back.
Get to Redmarket.
***
In his haste to reach the place, pulling off the motorway but barely slowing down, he’d almost had a collision with a blue Sierra.
Jake heard the blast of the motorist’s horn, but it was muted. This whole journey had been like driving through a fog. But now he was emerging out of the other side, driving down that familiar dual carriageway, spinning off the roundabout that had only been small when he was growing up, but was now controlled by a lights system. Then up and into town proper, where the traffic was slowing to a crawl.
He craned his neck to see what was going on, but this scene was also familiar to him. He’d filmed ones just like it, with the police flitting around, tape flapping and crowds gathered. There were even TV crews setting up in the distance, vans with logos on the side that he recognised – some of them competitors. How long before his station showed up? he wondered. And he thought briefly then that he should have let someone there know where he was going, what he was doing.
But he didn’t really know what was happening, did he? Not for sure. Had to find out for definite – that’s what all this was about. Something had clearly happened here, but that didn’t mean it was Jordan. Let it be someone else’s daughter, he thought, then felt terrible for even contemplating such a thing.
Enough. Time to get this over and done with, get rid of the lump in his throat and the fist that was opening and closing in the pit of his stomach. It was time to really go home.
Except it wasn’t his home anymore. The house he pulled up outside, when he’d finally got past the jams that were snarling up the centre of Redmarket, belonged to other people now. He remembered coming here with Julie, looking around with the estate agent: a simple three-bedroom semi, but it seemed like a palace to them after their flat. It had not long been built back then, but looked so old and tired now, maybe reflecting all the sorrow it had witnessed over the years.
Nothing as sad as this, though. Not if it was true.
It couldn’t be. Just couldn’t …
Even as he was getting out of the car, another door was opening. The front door he’d entered through and exited from so many times; once permanently. It wasn’t Julie standing there, however, it was Mathew Newcomb. A blast from the past, an old mate he hadn’t seen in …
A policeman.
That was when he knew for sure, when the lump and the fist became permanent additions.
That was when he knew it was his little girl they’d found dead in the market square last night.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_2704fe79-53ee-54c4-b90f-cb80abefd63e)
The darkness was his friend tonight, he welcomed it.
That was one of the reasons Jake was sitting with the lights off, hadn’t bothered to even turn them on when he crashed in through the door. There was still enough light coming in from the window to see, to make his way to the edge of the bed, casting off his jacket as he went. He’d thought about one of the chairs, but reasoned – while he was still capable of doing so – that he would end up on the bed at some point anyway. Sooner rather than later, he hoped; he’d put the whole of this wretched day behind him and wake up the next morning to find it had all been some horrible nightmare. An anxiety dream, didn’t they call them?
Jake took another swig from the full bottle of whiskey he’d opened back in the corridor, pulling it from its plastic bag and ignoring the filthy looks some of the other people staying in the hotel were giving him. A place that hadn’t even been there when he was young, back before he and Jules had …
That was why he needed the darkness, because unlike those memories, unlike the past – dulled by time, by heartache – the ones from today were so, so bright. Like they’d been seared into his brain, would probably never, ever fade. And they hurt. By Christ, did they hurt, worse than anything physical he’d ever endured. These were wounds that wouldn’t, couldn’t ever heal as far as he could see.
And now, in spite of the way he was working his way down that bottle – having already been in the hotel bar the last few hours – those memories were playing out in front of him like a projector throwing out images on the cinema screen. Or a home cinema, like he had back at his own place: hi-def, the sound crystal clear. Maybe it helped to think of all this as a movie … No, he decided, shaking his head and almost falling off the end of the bed, it didn’t help at all.
That was still Matt, his old friend, now a copper, waiting for him when he pulled up outside his old home. Not some character in a script, not an actor playing a part, but his actual best buddy. Waiting there in the doorway to confirm his worst fears. That there hadn’t been some kind of mistake, a mix-up; you heard about those all the time in cases like this. Mistaken identity, people getting the wrong end of the stick. Families suing because of the trauma of getting it wrong.
But no. Matt’s face said it all. He knew this particular family, knew Jordan as well. He wouldn’t be putting them through this if there wasn’t just cause.
Jake couldn’t remember getting out of the car, or even closing the door again, locking it – that didn’t matter anyway, not in the great scheme of things – but suddenly he was at the door with Matt, who was just shaking his head. Didn’t have the words, clearly.
So Matt was stepping aside instead, letting Jake pass through. It felt weird to be back, and if this really had been a film he was directing or something, he would have noted how the carpets had changed; the wallpaper and pictures, photographs hanging from those walls. All reflecting how things had moved on, how it was no longer a place he shared with—
Suddenly there she was, in the living room: the woman he’d spent so many years with. The love of his life, he would have said at one time – still was, probably, there’d been no one else who’d been serious since her anyway. She was rising, albeit shakily, getting up off the couch. He was aware of someone else in the room, another woman standing, Matt saying something behind him, maybe trying to introduce her, something about liaising? Jake wasn’t really listening, because all he could see and hear was Jules.
Standing there, as striking as he remembered her with that auburn hair falling about her shoulders. Those freckles on cheeks that were still wet with tears, reminding him again why he was here. Her green eyes doing the same, moist, cloudy; looked like they could barely focus on him. Yet she knew who he was, instantly, just as he had when he walked in. There had always been that unspoken connection between them, they could always tell when the other one was nearby.
If he’d needed any more proof that she recognised him, she provided it by saying his name, though it came out as more of a squeak than anything; a noise that would have been comedic in any other circumstances. ‘Jake … Oh, Jake.’
She was shaking her head as well, just as he was back in that hotel again now – mirroring her actions, playing them out with her. Jake drank deeply from the bottle and watched as more of it unfolded, as he was about to go to her. About to take her in his arms and try to comfort her, if that was at all possible, drawn by that look on her face he’d seen many times before (not least when she’d told him she was pregnant), scared and in desperate need of a hug.
But then realising that there was yet another person in the room with them, someone who’d come through from the kitchen or even upstairs; yes, the sound of a toilet flush. Someone who’d shoved past Matt and caused Jake to start. Someone who’d skirted around this newcomer in his house. Who was stepping between them, ensuring that Jake could not reach Julie. Someone snaking a hand around her waist, not to try and tell her that it would all be okay, but telling everyone else that this woman was his property … that’s very much how Jake saw it, anyway.
The action made him feel physically sick and his eyes flicked away, coming to rest on another new addition to the décor of this house: their wedding photograph, Julie and Greg Allaway, the happy fucking couple. About two stone lighter in that, there was a meanness to the man’s face even back then. Jake had to ask himself again, as he did when he first heard the news: what the hell had Julie been thinking? And the answer, not that it was anything to do with him anymore, was that Greg had been there for her when Jake had not. But he also knew that in times of stress, people act hastily, act without thinking, and he had to wonder whether she regretted her decision now.
Especially when he forced himself to look back at them again, Greg still holding her in a vice-like grip. Her pleading face.
Jake steeled himself, then replied to her, his name still hanging in the air. ‘Jules. Is it …?’
She closed her eyes, squeezing more tears out, and nodded. His ex-wife also leaned in more closely to Greg, though whether that was because he was pulling her in Jake couldn’t tell.
‘It can’t be,’ said Jake, a part of him still unwilling to believe it. ‘What … what happened?’ He knew the broad strokes, though he’d had trouble taking them in over the phone. Jordan found on the market square, stabbed in the chest.
Dead.
That was when he was aware of Matt behind him again, moving into the room and joining his colleague … Linda something? Had that been her name? Everyone was standing now in that room, everyone paired up – except him.
‘All I can tell you at this time is that we have someone in custody who was fleeing the scene. Jordan’s boyfriend.’
‘Her what?’ Jake shook his head. ‘She had a new … I didn’t know.’ There had been a couple of guys she’d mentioned the last time they talked, but then there always were. Always had been. But nobody serious that Jake was aware of. Nobody she’d put that label on.
‘Why would you?’ This was Greg, grunting out the words.
Jake ignored him. ‘And … and he did this? Why?’
Matt shrugged. ‘We don’t know yet. He claims he didn’t do it, but …’
‘I … What was she even doing with this bloke, if he was … What was she doing out at all, at that time of night?’ It was a general question, speaking out loud, but without thinking he directed it towards Julie.
Then he saw it, the strength there as her face changed, as she straightened up and dried her tears with the back of her hand. Saw the feistiness that had been so attractive once, but could be lethal if you were on the wrong end of it – as he so often was towards the end. ‘What was she doing out? She was nearly 21 for heaven’s sake! Jordan could come and go as she pleased, she had her key.’ Twenty-one, key to the door and all that, though Jake knew she’d had one of those for a long, long time. She had been an adult, or acted like one anyway, for a good while. ‘And we don’t vet who she sees, Jake!’
‘Maybe you should have.’ The reply was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He couldn’t help it, a knee-jerk reaction.
‘Maybe you should keep your big mouth shut.’ Greg again, letting his wife go and moving forwards. In spite of himself, Jake was doing the same, teeth gritted. He needed someone to take all this out on; it might as well be the twat in front of him. His fists were already clenched, and now he couldn’t see anyone else apart from Greg.
Not even Matt, as he stepped between the two men and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. It wasn’t a tight grip, but there was strength there as well – enough to stop Jake and Greg in their tracks. ‘Maybe you should both calm down,’ he suggested.
Jake looked from Matt to Greg, and then gave a nod. He backed off, but it was a moment or two before his opposite number did the same, shrugging off Matt’s hand. It was only then that Jake glanced over at Julie again. She was looking daggers at the pair of them, didn’t need anyone to fight her battles for her. When she said her next words, she held Jake’s gaze and didn’t blink. ‘This wasn’t my fault,’ she said simply.
He sighed, and even after everything, he couldn’t help himself. Jake said, ‘No, it’s ours.’
She looked away, drawing in a breath and trying not to cry again. Trying not to let him see that she was crying. Love, hate. Two sides of the same coin.
‘Again, not really helping,’ Matt whispered to Jake.
He’d like to know what would at that precise moment in time.
There was silence for a few long minutes, then Linda suggested they all sit down again. Maybe have some more tea? But nobody did either of those things. In the end it was Matt who spoke again, breaking that silence which felt like it had gone on forever.
‘I hate to bring this up, but it’s probably as good a time as any.’ He paused before continuing, as if realising there would never be a ‘good’ time for whatever this was. He took in each of their faces one by one, putting off what he was about to say next. ‘There’s … folks, there’s still the matter of a formal identification.’
Julie let out a small wail at this, while Greg just stared at Matt. Jake frowned, processing the information, and then realised this was actually good news. If they hadn’t made an identification yet, didn’t that mean there was a chance – however slim – that it could still be someone else? Someone else’s kid? Once more, as he had done on the journey here, he felt that guilt at thinking such a thing. ‘I can do it,’ he said, eager to put this whole nonsense to bed. So he could take a look for himself and prove that it wasn’t Jordan.
Julie was gaping at him, probably wondering why he was in such a rush to see the dead girl, but he couldn’t explain it right there and then. That might ruin the hope building again inside, particularly if Matt was to say to them: ‘It’s just a formality, we’re 99 per cent sure it’s her.’ He couldn’t afford to hear that right now. Didn’t want to hear anything that might ruin the fantasy.
‘There you go, then,’ said Greg.
Julie was facing her husband now, still staring. ‘What?’
‘Let him do it, love. No need for you to get any more upset.’
‘Get any more …’ She couldn’t finish her sentence, Julie’s mouth was hanging open.
Greg obviously realised he’d said something wrong, but couldn’t figure out quite what. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘It’s okay, Jules … Julie,’ said Jake. ‘I’ve got this.’
She shook her head, first at Greg, then Jake. ‘W-We should both do that. Together.’
‘Julie,’ Greg said; it sounded more like a warning than anything. She flashed him another look that told him she was doing this, no matter what.
‘Okay,’ said Jake. In his own way he’d been trying to spare her the pain of this, if it did turn out to be Jordan – but she had the right to come along. More right than him, if anything.
Greg sighed. ‘Right, fine. Well, I’ll come too.’
‘Actually …’ It was Matt this time, chipping in. ‘It might be better if this was just family.’ Jake could see Greg was going to say something, going to point out that he was family, when Matt added, ‘Immediate family.’
Jake didn’t know whether those were actually the regulations – he didn’t think they were; not judging from the way the liaison woman’s eyebrows were raised – or Matt was just trying to avoid more trouble at the hospital, though it might cause trouble for Julie later on …
‘We can drive them,’ Matt said finally. No, thought Jake, it’s just that he hates this bloke as much as I do. Who could blame him?
Greg sighed again, though it came out more like a snort. ‘Right. Well, I suppose I’ll head off to work after all. If I’m not needed anymore.’ He looked to Julie and she didn’t say anything. This probably would all come back on her later, but Jake had to admit he was glad Greg wouldn’t be tagging along. ‘I’ll go and make sure they haven’t burned down the factory.’
Made it sound like he owned the bloody place, rather than just being an ‘operative’ as they called it at GWR Plastics just outside of town. Not that he could talk, Jake had worked his fair share of crappy jobs to help keep his family together back when they still were his family. A family that had included his wife and …
Julie still didn’t answer, just folded her arms.
‘Off to work it is, then,’ said Greg, and gave Julie a kiss on the cheek, like it was a normal weekday and their world wasn’t really falling apart. Jake couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected the merest hint of a smile on Greg’s face as he left the room to get ready. Probably one of relief that he’d been let off the hook, that he could go and do something practical instead of having to deal with all this emotional shit. He would prefer to be at work with his mates anyway; wasn’t really his kid they’d found, at the end of the day.
Once Greg was out of the way, they waited for Julie to get her purse and coat, then Matt gestured for them to follow him. Julie was the last one out, with the liaison woman by her side, watching her like a hawk as the woman locked up; an automatic thing, done in a zombie-like way. Wasn’t a bad thing, they didn’t want the place burgled on top of everything else. But Jake couldn’t help thinking about the key to the door stuff again. How Jordan would never be using that again when she came home.
If it was her, he reminded himself. That’s what you’re going to find out for sure. Going as a family; the only one he’d ever really known since his mum had gone.
In the present, Jake drank more of the alcohol, feeling it burn as it went down his throat. Back then, in the car, they’d been in a little bubble and he could still pretend it wasn’t his little girl on that slab. He hadn’t yet seen her likeness. Once he had, and once he’d seen those marks, those scars, there’d been no denying it …
But he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from that face. That pale, blue face. It looked for all the world like she’d just wake up at any moment, like she used to do sometimes when she was little and he’d look in on her after a long shift at work. She’d open her eyes and blearily say: ‘Da … Daddy?’
‘Hey pumpkin,’ he’d reply, then kiss her on the head and tell her to go back to sleep.
He wanted anything but now. No more sleep, just wake up! People had been known to do that, right? There was a case not that long ago where a woman woke up in one of these drawers in a morgue. That could still happen, Jordan might still …
But Jake knew that all the straws were gone. No more clutching.
And still the tears wouldn’t come.
Time seemed to work so strangely that day, somewhere in the back of his mind he observed. Like the journey to Redmarket, which was quite a distance away but went by in the blink of an eye, with Jake lost in thoughts and remembrances. Lost in regrets. Then that walk up to the doorway, towards Matt, would only have been seconds in reality, but to him it took forever, because he didn’t really want to arrive at his destination. Didn’t want to know what – in his heart of hearts – he was already certain of. Similarly, the identification couldn’t have lasted more than five, ten minutes, including arguing with Julie (who’d come right out and said it: ‘You left her when she needed you the most!’), but was stretched out into a lifetime. And afterwards, in that hospital café, that went by so quickly as well, but by the time they’d left the hospital most of the afternoon had been eaten up, even if none of the food Matt bought them had.
They’d ferried Julie home again where the female police officer was going to stay with her. Probably make sure she had yet more tea. For his part, after he and his wife had said a cool goodbye to each other, Jake felt like he could definitely use something a lot stronger.
‘Listen,’ said Matt when his colleague had taken Julie back inside the house, turning to face Jake, ‘why don’t you come back to ours? Katherine would be fine with it, I’m sure.’
Jake was struggling to understand, to remember. Katherine was Matt’s wife, right? And … and didn’t they have a little kid? A boy? That was the last thing he wanted, to be around someone else’s happy family. He shook his head but managed to thank his friend for the offer.
‘You could have some dinner there or something and—’
Jake held up his hand. ‘I’m good thanks. I’m still not really that hungry.’ The thought of that sandwich Matt had placed in front of him back at the café had turned his stomach, let alone a full meal.
‘I just don’t think you should be on your … Hey, where do you think you’re going?’ Jake stared back, unblinking, the passenger door open. ‘You’re definitely not driving, mate. I don’t want to be getting called to a traffic accident today as well.’
Jake thought back to the journey here again, his mind elsewhere – on anything but his driving – and his near miss. Maybe Matt had a point.
‘Let me take you somewhere, a hotel for the night. I assume you’ll be sticking around for a while?’
He just continued to stare at Matt. He hadn’t been thinking further ahead than identifying Jordan, if he was honest.
‘Okay, listen. I know a good place on the outskirts, quite reasonable. I’ll take you there.’
Jake locked up his car and then placed a hand on Matt’s arm. He knew above everything else what he needed the most right now. ‘Can … can we make a stop off along the way?’ he asked.
Matt nodded, a little reluctantly – almost as though he could hear what Jake was thinking. He’d slanted it that they were stopping off at the supermarket for a toothbrush, perhaps some pyjamas – he obviously hadn’t had time to pack anything – but Matt knew what the real agenda was here, and although he looked on disapprovingly when Jake returned with just the one thing in the bag, there was no way on earth he was going to blame his friend for buying what he had.
Jake took yet another swig from that very bottle he’d purchased, that he promised not to start until he got to his room … and he’d pretty much stuck to that promise, hadn’t he? Matt hadn’t said anything about not making another pitstop in the hotel bar beforehand, had he? Had simply urged him to get some food inside him first, even if it was just a bag of crisps or two from a vending machine inside.
But Jake’s appetite still hadn’t returned by the time Matt was called away, a summons from the station he’d had to answer straight away apparently. Maybe something to do with the case? He hadn’t been allowed to say, but told Jake he’d be in touch again tomorrow.
‘Now, are you sure you’ll be all right?’ he’d asked, then from the look on his face he’d realised it was relative, that phrase. All right. ‘I can get someone out to come and stay with you if you—’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Jake had told him, knowing exactly what Matt was worried about – that he might do something stupid, especially after a few drinks. Stupid … that was also relative; he might do a lot of stupid things, but not that stupid. And when they locked eyes one final time, Matt could see Jake was still Jake. That wasn’t his way, even when things were at their lowest ebb he hadn’t even thought about something like that. He wasn’t a quitter.
Oh yeah? You bailed on her, though, didn’t you? Gave up on your only daughter when she needed you the most …
‘I’ll be fine,’ he repeated again. ‘Just need to be alone for a while. I need sleep, need this day to be over.’
Matt nodded, gave him his card in case he needed to reach him, said goodbye and drove off, leaving Jake to check in (Matt had brought him to some generic ‘Lodge’ or another) and then hit the bar. He was two or three pints down, having enough sense to start with lagers first, ease his way into oblivion, when he remembered his phone. Remembered that he hadn’t let work know where he was or what he was doing, although they’d probably figured it out by now. Had probably been camped out here all day, doing reports.
He’d turned it on and immediately found several voicemails from colleagues, Alison, Phil, Howard – even Sarah. And Trev, his boss – the media studies graduate who looked about 12. All concerned about him, wanting to know if he was okay and if he needed anything. Jake had sighed. Yes, he needed for things to go back to the way they had been. Not yesterday, or the day before, but many years ago when they’d all been happy: a happy family. Could they possibly sort that out for him please? Or perhaps that weird time thing that was happening could wind itself back instead of playing around with the speed … do some editing of the movie.
Jake had turned the phone off again, not wanting to speak to anyone at the moment, but vowing to put them in the picture tomorrow.
He’d been well into his mission to drink the hotel bar dry of their house whiskey, however, putting double after double on his room tab, when the TV had been turned on in the corner and the local news had thrown back pictures of the market square, of presenters who looked like Sarah doing their piece to camera. On any other day, it would have been him pointing that camera, but not today. He’d squinted at the television set, then at the barman who was looking sideways at him, looking at him funny like he was making that connection with the drinking.
The thin man, whose uniform was hanging off him like washing on a line, looked like he was about to say something. It would have been the only thing he’d said in all this time, if he had, apart from ‘What’ll it be?’, with a kill-me-now expression on his face …
Kill me …
But he’d wandered off to serve a couple of other customers instead. People were starting to filter in, because it was early evening now, and Jake knew that it wouldn’t be long before the TV people who were camped out in Redmarket started to check into hotels themselves.
Light was giving way to darkness, and it was time to take this ‘party’ back to his room. Time to welcome in the dark to get rid of those bright memories of the daytime. So Jake had levered himself off the stool, gripping his carrier bag tightly, and begun his trek to the lifts, swaying slightly as he went. He’d stabbed at the button for his floor once he was inside, then waited for the lift doors to open again. He’d reached into the bag, opening up the full bottle he still had and ignoring the glances from people who were just on their way out to start their evening proper. He didn’t give a shit, just needed to get to the room. Needed to get to the bed, needed to start on this bottle now, bring on the real darkness.
Because this was no good; the dark in the room wasn’t chasing away those bright memoriesthe movie still playing out in front of him. Only the booze could do that. More and more of it, with Jake wondering if maybe he should have picked up a couple of bottles rather than just the one.
Especially when he started having those telepathic conversations, not with Julie, but with Jordan. The kind he’d play out mentally whenever she wasn’t listening to him or wasn’t even around. Asking those questions again:
‘Why were you out on a weeknight, and with that guy?’
Getting answers like: ‘That’s my business, it’s got nothing to do with you, Dad. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Try me … I was young once.’
‘I love him!’
‘No, you just think you do. Like all the others that ended up causing so much trouble.’
‘What, like you thought you loved Mum? That why you left and never came back, why she had to turn to a guy like … like him.’
‘I left because she didn’t want me around. You didn’t want me around, remember? Christ!’
Some part of him knew it was his own mind filling in the blanks, but it was based on knowing her like he did. Based on previous arguments they’d had, which he could trot out word for word.
And finally, that last one which neither of them could ever answer: ‘How did we get to this? How did we become strangers?’
Both at fault, neither giving any ground. He thought they’d have time – there it was again, that word, the strangeness, the trickiness of time. He thought they’d be able to fix things once enough time had passed. But time also had a way of running out.
Just like he was passing out, losing consciousness. His friend, not Matt, the other one – the darkness – embracing him.
Only to let go again in the middle of the night, the darkness outside almost matching the oblivion he was rising from. Waking up when he heard noises, sounds that his rational mind would have told him were people in the next room, or in the corridor …
Except, when he looked over into the corner of the room he thought he saw someone there. A shape.
‘Who …who’re …?’ he managed, but there was no reply. His hand, still wrapped around the practically empty bottle of whiskey, tightened its grip. If this was someone here to rob him, they’d really picked the wrong night.
However, as the figure moved closer, further into the room, he recognised its delicate features. A mixture of him and Jules, the figure holding out her hands – a different kind of darkness staining the middle of her chest. Opening her mouth, though he didn’t want to hear what she had to say:
‘You left me when I needed you the most. You left me …’
Not him putting words in her mouth now, but Julie’s from earlier, recycled.
‘You left me,’ she kept repeating over and over. ‘You left …’
Jake put his hands to his ears, still holding the bottle in one of them so that it stuck out at an odd angle. ‘No … No!’ he shouted, then when the voice wouldn’t stop, he threw the bottle at the opposite wall. But he couldn’t even get that right, and instead of smashing it just bounced off and hit the floor.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said for each accusation. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You left, you left, you left …’
‘I know, I’m sorry.’
The darkness, or this darkness at least, wasn’t his friend at all. It was showing him things he really didn’t want to see. His dead daughter getting closer and closer, so close he could see marks on her outstretched arms, and imagine the knife there sticking out. There was no getting away from today, from the memories, nor from what had happened.
‘No … please God, no!’ The tears were finally coming now, thick and fast. There was no holding them back at all. ‘No, I’m sorry. I … I can make it up to you,’ Jake said quickly, as if that would will the vision away. ‘I … I can … I can be there for you now, sweetheart.’
What was he saying? How could he be there for her when she was lying in that cold drawer with all the other corpses. What help could he be now? What use?
But that was the thing, he hadn’t been around when she’d needed him; hadn’t been a real dad to her. Hadn’t been there in the run-up to this, nor on the night of the murder itself when he should have been protecting her. (how, how could he have done that? She would never have let him!) It was all getting tangled up in his drunken mind, her words, Julie’s words, his; all mixed up and jumbled.
Except for one thing – how he could do something now. How he could help … Not to save her, because it was way too late for that – was probably too late even before he walked out of that front door … But to get to the bottom of this, find out what happened. Perhaps even avenge her. No, back to that stupid image of a knight on a white horse, riding to the rescue … not rescue, not this time.
It was there, though, that germ of an idea. Something he could do that wouldn’t leave him feeling completely useless. Something he could … And almost immediately, the image of his daughter faded, and he felt more at peace than he had all day – than he had in a long while. The worst thing he could have possibly imagined had happened, he couldn’t do anything about that now – there was no winding back time. So, moving forward, he had to get his head around what had happened. Knew what he needed to do, even though the police, even though Matt, had told him they were doing everything they possibly could.
And that thought, the thought that there was something positive Jake could do, sent him off to sleep again. Gave him the oblivion he sought.
Made the darkness his friend once more.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_bc5afb90-ac65-57a2-afc4-c3e81170e79f)
Julie felt numb.
There was no other word for it, she was simply numb. Still cold from visiting the hospital, frozen solid: as if she’d brought some of it back with her. She was sitting there on the couch where she’d been since she returned, the FLO having made her a cup of tea which had also probably gone cold by now because she hadn’t even touched it.
She knew she shouldn’t be doing it, but she was going over and over the events of that day in her head. Like picking at a scab, except even if she left this one alone it would never, ever heal. And she felt cold, numb, like it hadn’t really happened to her but someone else.
Opening the door and seeing Matt there, a figure from the past. Then realising what it meant – some kind of trouble, definitely – and finally realising just how big that trouble was. Not being able to hold herself up, Greg catching her. Strong, solid. Supportive.
She just hadn’t been able to take it in, couldn’t believe it even as they were talking about it in that living room. Not their Jordan, it couldn’t be. They’d made a mistake. And Bobby? No … it couldn’t be. He’d seemed so …
And it had popped into her head at that point, his face. The other person who needed to know. No sooner had she asked whether he’d been informed than he was there, at the door and in the house. A ghost of relationships past.
Still as handsome as she remembered him, the man she’d fallen in love with when they were just kids themselves. Who she’d loved even when he walked out through that door after that final massive row that had broken everything. The row to end all rows, and she was glad of that at least because she was so, so tired of the circular arguments over Jordan. Why couldn’t he just see that she was going through what so many girls of her age went through? That one day it would all be over, she’d get her head together and they’d be the best of friends again? Instead of which, they’d hardly spoken to each other in all this time: so much wasted time. And now it was too late.
It was the reason he was there, standing in front of her. ‘Jake … Oh, Jake.’ She could barely get the words out, couldn’t make her voice work properly. All she’d wanted then was for him to take her in his arms and tell her it would all be okay, that it wasn’t really happening at all. That it had been a bad dream and they were still together and their daughter wasn’t really …
There’d been a moment when she thought he was actually going to move forwards and do that exact thing. But he wasn’t moving because of that, he was moving out of the way of her husband, who – quite rightly – was joining her. Who wanted to be with her for this, knew she’d be even more upset once Jake arrived. Greg was there, holding her close again, making sure she was all right. Probably wanted to make sure she didn’t keel over again.
Jake was doing the same thing as her, couldn’t believe what had happened – and it wasn’t long after that the accusations had begun, same as before. Interrogating her about Bobby, wanting to know what she was even doing out, for Christ’s sake! Like she was still a child. Why did everything always have to be her fault, Julie had thought. Jordan was a grown woman, she made her own decisions; had done for a long time, if Jake would just wake up and see it. Telling them they should have been vetting who Jordan saw? Absolutely bloody ridiculous!
Matt had done his best to referee, but her back had been up. She’d wondered then, and not for the first time, whether it was possible to love and hate someone at the same time. In equal amounts. ‘This is not my fault,’ she’d told Jake, locking eyes with him. But did she even believe that herself? Perhaps she should have been keeping a closer eye on her daughter; those seeds of doubt Jake was always so good at planting. Making her feel like shit, as always.
‘No, it’s ours,’ had been his reply, which actually had been a fair comment. They hadn’t been able to make it work, and she had to wonder if they’d stayed together whether this would have happened. Impossible to know, and one of those things that if you thought about it too much would drive you stark, staring mad.
Just when Julie thought things couldn’t get any worse, Matt had raised the subject of the ‘formal identification’. That’s what he’d called it. Identifying the body was what he meant, as if there could be any doubt about whether it was Jordan or not. If it wasn’t and the police had put them through all this torment, she might just scream until there was no air left in her lungs, though that would also mean their daughter was still alive.
Jake had offered to do it so eagerly, like they were keeping him from something. As if he had a prior engagement somewhere – and she realised then that she knew absolutely nothing about his personal situation. Was there someone waiting back home for him, worrying about him? Strangely she felt a twinge of jealousy at that.
Greg had wanted to spare her the pain of going, was all for just letting Jake head off alone, but Julie needed to be there. Needed to see this, for her own sake. Needed to find the inner strength from somewhere. She hadn’t wanted to sit with Jake though, so had asked the liaison officer to come as well; with them in the back of Matt’s dark blue BMW and Jake in the passenger seat.
No one really spoke on the way to the hospital, except for when Jake’s mobile buzzed in his pocket and he’d reached in and switched it off. Work trying to reach him, he explained, but he didn’t want to talk to them. He wanted to get this done, it seemed. Get it out of the way … That just made Julie even angrier.
Matt had steered them up one familiar road and down another, spinning off on another roundabout that would take them to The Royal. Even up to the point that they were let into the morgue, let into the ice-cold room where the body was being kept, Julie had dared to hope. But not once the body had been pulled out of one of those huge things that looked like giant filing cabinets, drawers containing not papers and documents but frozen corpses. Julie had even expected the man in the white clothing to walk down the length of the wall of drawers rubbing his chin and saying: ‘Now where did we put her? O … P … Q … R! Here we go, R for Radcliffe!’
Jordan had never taken Greg’s name, had been too old for that really, adoption – if she’d even wanted it. R instead of A for Allaway … Putting off the moment once more, in her head at any rate. But there had been no denying anything once that drawer had been opened, the slab dragged out on those wheels which somehow kept the body horizontal, like some kind of magic trick where you dragged a hoop down the floating woman.
Then the man was ready to pull down the sheet, the one last barrier to the truth. Julie had moved closer to Jake, was at the side of him, couldn’t have been closer, and – without even thinking – she’d snaked her hand into his. Holding it tightly, so tight she was practically cutting off her circulation, then reaching across and grabbing his arm with the other one – squeezing that too. Praying, as he probably was, that this wasn’t Jordon splayed out in front of them.
And even when the sheet was down, the magician’s curtain swept back, revealing her face – even as Julie’s hands released their grip and went to her mouth, a stifled scream emerging – for a moment or two Jake looked like he refused to believe it. As if this was a special effect from one of those movies he liked … Prosthetics, life-casts, weren’t they called?
Jesus, she was so, so, pale: creamy-white skin, verging on blue. The lips definitely blue. Hair dull, eyes closed.
‘I-Is it Jordan?’ asked Matt, knowing the answer already.
‘It’s her,’ replied Jake, because Julie couldn’t even speak.
Then suddenly she was in his arms, completing what they’d started back in the living room. Jake held her as she turned away from the sight, as each sob wracked against his body. Yet there had been no tears from him.
‘Our baby.’ She spoke it into his shoulder. ‘Our baby!’
‘What happened?’ she heard Jake whisper to their child. ‘What were you doing out there, sweetheart? Why? Why did this have to happen …?’
Julie finally pulled her head away, saw that he was looking at something else and followed his gaze. One of Jordan’s arms, the closest to them – her left – was uncovered also. The skin of the hand and arm matched that face: drained, lifeless. But he’d definitely spotted something. Something a little higher, past her elbow. On her upper arm were some scratches. No, not scratches … cuts.
More wounds that had been inflicted during whatever struggle occurred? In her mind’s eye, Julie pictured their daughter fighting for her life, maybe even gouging an eye or two … she hoped. Only these looked a little older, more faded. They didn’t look defensive, either.
‘W-What are those?’ asked Jake suddenly, his voice cracking. The hand that had been on Julie’s back, rubbing and patting, fell away and he was pointing at the scars. Matt and the liaison officer were rounding the table, as was the man in white. All craning their necks to see.
‘I … I’m not sure,’ said the doctor, getting closer, then looking to the police officers in the room.
‘We’ll know more after the post-mortem,’ Matt informed Jake. Standard detective patter.
‘Are they … They look self-inflicted,’ he said by way of a reply.
Julie was frowning, sniffing back the tears, swallowing dryly.
‘Did you know about this?’ Jake asked her. ‘Was Jordan self-harming?’
‘Jake …’ said Matt. ‘Take it easy.’
‘Was she?’ Jake asked again.
‘I … I don’t know,’ Julie replied honestly. If she had been, she’d hid it well, there had been no signs of it.
Jake was stepping back, rubbing his forehead. ‘Good God. What could have made her …?’
‘I … I don’t …’ Julie was repeating.
‘Well, something was clearly worrying her – quite a bit if she was doing that to herself.’
Matt walked around to Jake. ‘Look, we don’t even know that—’
‘You can see it, as plainly as I can. Just what the hell was going on?’
Julie was getting mad again, glaring at Jake accusingly. ‘You might have found out, if you’d been around.’
‘Been around? Julie, she didn’t want me around!’
Is that what he thought? What he’d thought all this time? ‘That’s … That’s not true. You’re both as bad as each other. Both so stubborn, you’re …’ Julie had realised that she was talking in the present tense about her daughter, when it should have been in the past. But then she changed tack completely and her last words were intended to hurt: ‘You left her when she needed you the most.’
There was silence again, broken only when Matt said, ‘I think we’re about done here.’
About done. They were definitely about done.
Julie didn’t remember a lot of the next bit, probably because there wasn’t that much to recall. The pair of them being taken to a small café inside the hospital, away from the main drag and inside a little nook. Being furnished with more tea by the liaison woman, Matt insisting that they should eat something and when nobody replied buying them sandwiches anyway which Julie and Jake simply stared at like they no longer understood what food was, or how to process it.
How to process anything.
Every now and again they’d look up, at each other – accusatory stares saying everything that needed saying without words. A telepathic tennis match, words batted back and forth across the net.
Him: I told you, I said this so many times. That something like this would happen if we didn’t do something.
Her: And what exactly was I supposed to do? She was a grown woman … Maybe if you’d tried listening to her, talking to her instead of at her!
Then they’d look away, off to the side until it built up again. More arguments that would get them nowhere, because there was simply no winner of this particular match. They’d just go round and round in circles until there was nothing left to say or do.
And afterwards, when they’d dropped her off at home, she’d thought again about those scars. About what they’d meant, what had been on her daughter’s mind that had made her do that? Something serious? Something about Bobby, or something else? How had she not known? How could Jordan not have told her? Not telling Jake, she could understand, but her? She thought they were closer than that? After all, she’d been the one who’d stayed – who’d done her best to look after her when Jake just upped and left. Who’d always defended her, seen her side of things even when it was a struggle to do so. Who’d always tried to sympathise.
What did it have to do with the murder of her child? she wondered. A murder she’d only found out about that morning, which brought her round – yet again – to the beginning of all this. Remembering Matt at the door, her reaction … Going through it all again and again.
And sitting there, just feeling cold and numb.
Completely numb.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_ef38799f-76e0-52e8-be0d-4e9a00d72388)
His friends had been on his mind all night.
How could they not have been? Jules, Jake … Jordan. How could he just switch off and relax with the family, forget about it all, when they couldn’t? Apart from anything else, he’d been needed back at the station until late – and Katherine had understood that. It went with the territory, though it wasn’t usually as rocky as it had been yesterday.
Matt had swung by after leaving Jake (leaving him to get drunk back at the hotel!) and checked on Linda, who’d come to the door to talk to him in hushed tones, to answer his question about how Julie was.
‘How do you think? Not great.’
‘Yeah, I figured.’
‘How’s the dad? The real dad.’
‘’Bout the same,’ he admitted, telling her which hotel he’d checked into so she could pass that on, but leaving out the bit about the bottle he’d bought to take with him.
‘Poor sods,’ said Linda.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Matt.
She’d told him she was sticking around for a while, maybe even until the husband came back, because at least then she wouldn’t be alone – and Matt had thought about Jake again, who’d wanted, insisted on being by himself. How that probably wasn’t a great idea, but how he’d almost definitely sleep that night. Probably better than Jules would, especially with that pillock of a partner by her side. They’d said their goodbyes, Matt telling her to ring for a squad car when she was done, and he’d headed off back to the station to answer the call.
Matt’s boss, DS Channing, who looked like he should be selling used cars somewhere, or in a toothpaste commercial because he had far too many teeth and they were far too polished, had greeted him when he got there. With his slicked-back hair, and smile he kept flashing – which was very rarely genuine – he was a PR person’s dream, and had spent most of the day talking to and ‘handling’ the press with regards to this case. He had a habit, especially where women were concerned, of introducing himself as ‘Channing. Like Tatum …’ (Not that he bore even a passing resemblance) ‘Only better looking …’ (He really wasn’t).
‘The big news is, we got the prints from the knife back,’ he’d said to Matt, which surprised him because it usually took at least forty-eight hours. They’d been fast-tracked, Channing explained, and were pretty clean. They were also a perfect match for Bobby Bannister. ‘Now all we need is a match for Jordan’s blood on his clothes, and we’re sorted. You don’t see many open-and-shut cases on the force, Newcomb, but I think we’re looking at one here,’ Channing had concluded.
It certainly seemed that way. Wouldn’t be long now before Bobby was officially charged, the whole thing done and dusted. That should be some sort of silver lining for the family, surely? Shouldn’t it?
Matt couldn’t help putting himself in their position, in Jake’s position. Would it be a comfort to him at all if he were in that man’s shoes? His daughter – his estranged daughter – was still dead. It had been on his mind the rest of his shift, on the drive home, and when he let himself in through the front door.
Katherine had been in the living room, watching the TV, watching the news reports that were still full of the story. They were bound to be, it had only broken today and was the most exciting thing that had happened in years around here. Wasn’t exciting for Matt, though; wouldn’t have been for any of those reporters either if they’d had to deliver the news to the family. Although some of them had rocks where their hearts should be, so maybe it wouldn’t have bothered them one bit.
‘Bad business,’ Katherine had said. Katherine, not Kate, not Kitty; she hated abbreviations, his wife. Always called him Mathew, rather than Matt, and their son was Edward, not Eddie or Ed.
He’d nodded, then wandered over, loosening his tie and tossing his jacket onto a nearby chair as he did so. Matt picked up the remote. ‘Do you mind if I …’
Katherine, with her neatly cropped hair, still in her own work clothes – blouse and slacks, ironed to within an inch of their lives – rather than in pyjamas or whatever normal people might be chilling out in at this time of night, had nodded as well. She worked at a solicitor’s in the finance department, which was where they’d met initially. Hadn’t been anything police-related, but rather a hearing for his dad’s will, sorting out the sale of the family house now that both his parents had passed away. He’d bumped into Katherine quite by accident, and quite literally, on his way out. They’d both laughed, looked into each other’s eyes – like one of those crazy rom-coms he couldn’t stand. She’d been on her way out too, for lunch, so he’d chanced his arm and asked if he could buy her something to eat. That had turned into drinks and dinner some other time, and before they knew it they were living together, then married, then along had come Edward.
After changing channels, finding some kind of inane quiz show where the contestants were answering questions to try and win a speedboat, he’d kissed Katherine and slumped down on the sofa beside her.
‘Rough day, I guess,’ she’d said.
‘You could say that.’
‘I saved you some lasagne, just needs heating up.’
‘Cheers.’ To be honest, all he was thinking about was the couple of bottles of lager still in the fridge from the weekend.
‘You okay?’ she asked.
He shook his head then. ‘I … I knew them. The family,’ he admitted.
‘Oh. I’m sorry, sweetheart. That’s rough.’
Another nod.
There was a moment or two when he thought she was going to lean over to him, maybe put her arms around him and give him a hug – because, Christ, he could use one – but in the end she didn’t. She wasn’t the most demonstrative of people, Katherine, but she’d hid that well … at the start.
‘Eddie … Edward in bed?’
Her turn to nod again. ‘He wanted to wait up for you, but, well …’
Matt understood, it was way past his bedtime and routine was important. So he’d been told. ‘I think I’ll just go and look in on him,’ he said to Katherine.
‘Do you think that’s a good idea? He’ll be asleep by now.’
‘I won’t wake him,’ Matt promised and stood, making his way to the door. He looked back only once at the doorway, to see Katherine rising and picking up his jacket, brushing it down with her hands. And he thought again of Julie, her face – how she’d hardly changed that much. Then he thought about the tears she’d been crying, thought about her and Jake at the morgue, how they’d held each other, and his friend standing there at the entrance to the hotel where he’d left him. Then he’d carried on upstairs to see his son. Safe, in bed.
Alive.
As careful as he’d been opening the door to Edward … Eddie’s bedroom, the child had still stirred when he heard the noise. Not enough to wake up properly, which Matt was grateful for, just enough to turn over and face his father – something Matt was also thankful for. He studied his son’s sleeping face, eyes closed, content, at peace. Eddie knew nothing of the world or its horrors yet, the things people did to each other on a daily basis. But the time would come when he did, and Matt wondered what he’d make of that. Would he be shocked or take it all in his stride?
And Matt thought then about the fact that Bobby Bannister had once been a kid in a bed like this one, innocent and at peace (or had he? Matt realised he knew very little about their main suspect’s background yet). Flash forward a few years and, for whatever reason, he’d stabbed his girlfriend in the chest with a knife. Maybe she’d been cheating on him, a crime of passion – and Matt thought then how much of what was wrong in this world came down to love, to sex … either that or money.
They just had to make sure, somehow, that Eddie never went down that path. Teach him right from wrong, although there were some who said this kind of stuff was inside kids from the get-go; the whole nature vs. nurture debate. Looking at him here, his sweet, sweet kid, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, Matt found it hard to image Eddie doing anything like that when he grew up. But given the right circumstances, the right push, couldn’t anyone snap? He saw it all the time in his line of work, though never usually this dramatically it had to be said. If life threw enough shit at you, maybe one day you’d just lose it and …
Matt shook his head and closed the door. You could drive yourself mad thinking thoughts like those. Which was why he tried his best not to; he thought he’d gotten quite good at it, but …
Even as he warmed up his food and ate (he didn’t bother with the lager) then attempted to watch a movie with Katherine – some political thriller about a president being in danger – what had happened to Julie, Jake, Jordan, was going round and round in his head.
Katherine was first in bed that night, and by the time he’d brushed his teeth and climbed in, she was sound asleep. It had been a long day for her as well, Matt understood that, working, then picking up Eddie from the sitter who took him after school, before cooking. But he could really have used some form of affection that night, even just a cuddle would have done the trick. It was like Katherine had this switch she’d flip when she went to sleep, out like a light – while he’d be there for hours staring at the ceiling or the clock, just trying to nod off.
Then, after it felt like he’d only just got to sleep, the alarm went off early for another day. Seconds later, Eddie was in their room, bouncing around on the bed. Matt felt like crap, but still laughed and hugged the kid to his chest – he never wanted to let go. Never wanted him to grow up.
‘Come on,’ Katherine said, already up and alert and holding out her hand for Eddie, ‘we’d better get you some breakfast.’
And, even though they – his son especially – were only downstairs, Matt felt a sudden sense of loss. A fraction of what Julie and Jake must have been feeling that morning. All he had to do was follow his family to the kitchen, while they would never see their kid ever again.
He grabbed some toast and ate with them, showered, said goodbye – another big hug from Eddie, a peck on the cheek from Katherine who was dropping the lad off at school – and headed to work himself.
It was around eleven when he got the phone call. Jake had been on his mind again, and he’d been thinking about calling him at the hotel, or just going there to see how he was when his mobile had gone off.
‘Matt?’ the croaky voice said, then more clearly, ‘Matt. You said to ring if I needed anything.’
‘Jake? Hey mate, yes. Yes of course. I was just thinking about you.’ Hadn’t stopped, especially since most of his work that morning revolved around Jordan’s case again. Organising uniforms to keep the press at bay around the Allaway house … and it was only a matter of time before they found out where Jake was, as well. The fact the blood on Bobby’s clothes had now come back a match for Jake’s daughter’s. ‘How’re you doing?’
Jake ignored the question and said, flatly, ‘I need to see him, Matt.’
‘See who?’
‘The guy. The one Jordan was seeing. The one who …’ His words tailed off.
‘Bobby?’ Matt switched the phone to his other ear, lowered his voice. ‘Jesus, I can’t … It’s just not possible.’
There was a sigh at the other end. ‘I just need to see him. Look in his eyes, you know?’
‘I do, and I understand. Really I do, but—’
‘You said whatever I needed.’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t … Look, why don’t I come to you and we can talk about this. About what a spectacularly bad idea it is.’
‘I’m not asking to be put in a cell with him.’
‘Good job, because that’s never going to happen,’ spluttered Matt.
‘Just … what do you call it, a supervised visit. I need to see him. Ask him a few questions.’
‘That’s our job,’ Matt reminded him.
‘I know, I know. I just … Matt, I just need to do something.’
It was Matt’s turn to sigh. ‘Like I said, I understand. But it’s impossible, Jake.’
‘Matt,’ the man said then, ‘you owe me.’
Now that was low. Matt knew exactly what he was talking about. Not the fact that they’d done all sorts for each other, always been there looking out for one another … at least until they drifted apart and then eventually Jake moved away. He was talking about that time with the car, taking the rap for it, covering for Matt. But to bring it up now … ‘Jake, you might want to think about what you’ve just said.’
‘I know. I don’t think I’m being left a lot of choice.’
‘Might want to think about what you’re asking. I could lose my job here.’
‘You never would have had one, if it wasn’t for me. Hiring a lot of guys with records these days, are they?’ There was an edge to Jake’s tone he hadn’t heard in a long time, possibly not since they were rough and ready teenagers.
‘Fuck you,’ said Matt, all sympathy gone for a moment. ‘I’m trying to help here.’
‘I-I’m sorry … but put yourself in my position,’ Jake said then. It was exactly what Matt had been doing all day yesterday, all evening.
‘Trust me, I am. I’ve been trying to. But it’s really not fair of you to—’
‘Please,’ Jake broke in, his voice pathetic. ‘I’m begging you.’ Threats, then pleading. He had to remember what his friend was going through, what it was doing to him. But seeing the guy who’d done this, would that really help? Matt doubted it very much. ‘For me, for Jules … For what we all used to mean to each other. Just for a second. A glimpse. I just need to see him, I’ve never even seen the guy. I just need to understand.’
Matt was silent for a moment or two. Channing was out most of the day again, and he was pretty sure he could square it away with the sergeant on duty, Sharpe, who owed Matt a favour or two himself (it didn’t hurt that Sharpe had a daughter about the same age as Jordan). Bring in Jake under the guise of asking a few routine questions, then slip him out to the cells for just for a few minutes. It was a small station, hardly Fort Knox, and their camera system wasn’t exactly state of the art, was prone to glitches now and again. It could be done, wouldn’t be the first time. But if they were going to do this, it had to be soon – before their prime suspect was charged, possibly transferred. Matt supposed he owed Jake that much, if it’s what he wanted. Needed.
Anything you need …
‘I’m going to regret this, I know I am,’ he said.
‘Thanks, Matt. Really.’
‘I’ll come and pick you up,’ Matt said, and he cut off the call. Then thought to himself: and there I was worried that he’d do something stupid …
***
When Matt arrived at Jake’s hotel, he was standing outside waiting for him, wearing the same clothes as the day before.
Or rather, he wasn’t so much standing as leaning against the fencing outside; holding on to it for support. He looked dreadful. His skin was drained of all its colour, and his eyes were red, with dark rings around them. Just how much had he had to drink last night? More than one bottle, that was for sure, but it didn’t look like it had helped any with his sleep.
When Jake saw the car, he held up a hand – which almost immediately went to his stomach. As he reached the vehicle, Matt wound down the window and said, ‘I hope you got it all out of your system?’
‘I’m fine,’ Jake tried to assure him, the same crap as yesterday – but it sounded even less convincing today.
He opened the glove compartment, pulled out a pair of sunglasses and handed them to Jake as he climbed in. ‘Maybe we should do this another time.’ Like never, thought Matt.
‘I said I was fine,’ snapped Jake, putting on the shades. Then apologised. ‘Please …’
‘Sure.’ Anything but the begging again.
On the way back to the station, he thought about telling Jake the news: the fingerprint and blood match. Then he thought better of it. That probably wasn’t the kind of thing you needed to hear just before seeing the person in question. So they rode in silence.
But then Jake suddenly piped up: ‘Has … has he said anything else?’
Matt looked across at his friend in the passenger seat. ‘Bobby? Only that he’s innocent. That he didn’t do it.’
‘Weren’t there any … I mean there must be CCTV footage of all this?’
‘There’s been a spate of vandalism attacks recently. The cameras were smashed in the square the previous weekend – haven’t been fixed yet.’
Jake let out a slow breath, then asked, ‘And what do you think?’
Matt faced front again, indicating left. He shrugged, thought again about telling Jake what they’d discovered, but didn’t.
‘You must have some sort of idea, some sense as to whether or not he did it. I mean … you’ve been doing this a while now.’
‘And I owe it all to you, right?’ Matt couldn’t help that one, picking up on what he’d said about people with records joining the force.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jake said again. ‘I was desperate.’
The truth was he probably did owe it to Jake. Not just because he took the fall for stealing that car, but because he set an example. Got himself together and worked his arse off when Jules had fallen pregnant with Jordan, which in turn had made Matt realise he needed to get his own act together. Jake might not have steered him towards the force, but he’d made him see that there was more to life than just dossing around. And on the occasion he’d seen them all together, it had made him want a family as well. Had been one of the things he’d had in common with Katherine when they’d eventually met. ‘I wasn’t just covering my own back, you know. I’m not sure you’re ready for this.’
Jake let out a bitter laugh. ‘When am I ever going to be ready for it?’
‘I just meant—’
‘Matt, yesterday I saw my daughter for the first time in God knows how long, and … and she was lying dead in the morgue. Today, I just want to understand. To know why.’
‘You won’t get that from just looking at him,’ Matt promised.
‘Maybe not. But it’s a start,’ Jake told his friend. ‘It’s somewhere to start.’
Matt thought about asking just what it was Jake thought he was starting here; after all, they were the ones conducting the investigation. If anyone was going to uncover the reason why this had all happened, it should be the police – and Jake had to trust them to do that. Had to trust him. Perhaps this was the first step in getting him to do that, a start in that respect as well.
And it had all been going so well.
Matt had got Jake inside, and in the cells – thanks to Sharpe’s assistance. Then Matt had opened up the metal slot in the door to Bobby’s cell, holding Jake back with one hand until he was sure it was okay for him to come forward – having made him promise not to do anything rash. ‘I’ll be there watching the whole time, and I’ll rush you out of there so fast your feet won’t touch the ground,’ he’d said to him.
To be fair, Jake had kept that promise. It hadn’t been him who’d caused the fuss. Bobby had been on his bunk, facing the concrete wall, dressed in a grey pair of sweats and top, having been relieved of his clothes the previous evening. He looked to be asleep – another person who’d had a bad night; the worst night … though not as bad as his victim, it had to be said. The timing for this little ‘visit’ couldn’t have been more perfect, in fact. Jake wouldn’t get to see his eyes, look into them as he’d mentioned, but he’d get to see the boy, and Matt would have fulfilled his promise to his old friend, not to mention built up that trust.
Matt looked at Jake and nodded for him to move closer, to look through the slot. Then he watched his friend, watching the boy. Sunglasses gone now, Matt could see just how bloodshot those blue-grey eyes were up close and personal like that, just how black the circles were that framed them. He looked like a shadow of the man he’d seen even yesterday, the toll of events – not to mention the alcohol he must have consumed – weighing him down. Jake’s eyes were wide, staring, taking in the lump on the bunk. But he didn’t say anything to draw attention, didn’t rouse the boy.
Just watched. As if being in his presence might tell Jake whether he’d done the deed or not, some sixth sense that could detect a person’s innocence or guilt.
And what do you think? You must have some sort of idea …
What did he think? Matt wasn’t entirely sure. Open-and-shut cases like this appeared to be were a bit too … neat for his liking. Katherine would have loved them, tying everything up with a bow on top. But, like Jake said, Matt had been doing this a long time, actually did have a sense for these things. One of the first things he’d done that morning had been to go through the background on Bobby, who’d been adopted at the age of 5 – so there could be something to that, he’d have to look into who the real parents were – but to all intents and purposes had been brought up in a stable home environment. Had parents who loved him a lot, going by the way they were trying to get back from their holiday abroad to come and see him after they’d been notified. So what had gone wrong …?
The noise interrupted his thoughts and he followed Jake’s gaze into the cell. Like his son the previous evening when he’d looked in on the kid, Bobby Bannister had rolled over when he sensed he was being observed. But unlike Eddie, Bobby had opened his eyes, had seen the figure peering into his cell, and he’d clambered to his feet.
‘You’re … I can tell, you … You’re her dad,’ said the boy, whose short black hair was sticking out at odd angles due to the way he’d been lying on it. ‘I can see her in your face.’
Jake’s eyebrows knitted together, breaths coming in short gasps. Matt looked down to see the man’s hands balling into fists, then opening again. Clenching and unclenching.
Bobby was stumbling towards the door now. ‘I didn’t do it, Mr Radcliffe, I swear! I didn’t do what they said I did.’
More heavy breathing from Jake.
‘Easy,’ Matt warned him, placing a hand on his shoulder which the man didn’t even notice.
Bobby wiped his nose with the back of his arm, eyes wet with tears. ‘It’s like I’ve been trying to tell them, we just arranged to meet, see? To go clubbing … I-I found her like that, I swear! I couldn’t have done that to Jordan. I honestly couldn’t.’
‘Jake …’ Matt was squeezing that shoulder, knew he should be getting his friend away from there. That he’d done what he could for now, what he promised. Jake had even got to look into the lad’s eyes.
‘I tried to … to pull it out, but there was so much … I thought I might make things worse. I was about to call an ambulance, I was. But then I heard sirens anyway, only … Only it was his lot. And … and I panicked, I ran. I knew how it would look, ’course I did!’ He stepped up closer to the open rectangle, voice rising. ‘But I swear—’
That was it: the third time Bobby swore that he’d had nothing to do with Jordan’s death was the trigger. Jake shrugged off Matt’s hand and tried to reach inside the space, barely able to get his hand in and yet he was able to grab Bobby by the collar. Matt, in turn, grabbed Jake’s arm to tried and wrench it away from the hole. But the man was stronger than he looked, even in his weakened condition, hatred and adrenaline obviously fuelling his attack.
How could he ever have thought it would end any other way, this encounter? How could he have been so naive as to think Jake just wanted to see the guy; obviously he was going to go for him, but as he was behind a thick metal door … At this particular point in time, though, Matt wouldn’t have put it past Jake to just ram down that barrier to get to Bobby. He was like a thing possessed, bucking and jerking to get a better angle, perhaps to try and wrap his fingers around Bobby’s throat and get his revenge. Snap his neck sideways with a satisfying crack.
Matt was tugging and tugging, but Jake’s grip on the boy was vice-like. In the end, what broke the spell, what broke into the moment, was the cry from behind them all. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ It carried weight that voice, authority, especially when it followed this up with: ‘What the actual fuck is going on here?’
They both turned as one, and Jake finally let go of Bobby, who retreated into his cell, still pleading his innocence. Needing Jake to see that he hadn’t done this terrible thing.
Matt and Jake stared at the figure of DS Channing standing there with his arms folded. You couldn’t tell how many teeth he had now, because the fake smile was gone – replaced by a look of condemnation. He wasn’t so much a PR person’s dream right at that moment, as a DC’s nightmare.
‘Sir, I can explain,’ Matt began.
‘Can you? Can you now …’ He unfolded his arms, leaned forward and cupped the side of his head. ‘Well, I’m all ears.’
‘Jake … Mr Radcliffe wanted to …’ Matt realised how ridiculous his explanation would seem, even as he was saying it.
‘It’s my fault,’ said Jake, looking down. ‘Don’t blame Matt. I talked him into it.’
Channing ran a hand over his face, then let it fall to his side. ‘I can’t believe this, I really can’t! Do you know what you’ve done here? We were this close.’ Now he held up that same hand, creating a tiny space between his thumb and forefinger. ‘This close to it all being over.’
‘It’ll never be over for me,’ said Jake.
Channing gaped at him, then waved his hand towards the exit. ‘Come with me, both of you!’
As they began to walk out, Matt could hear Bobby one final time back in the cell, his voice barely a whisper: ‘Wasn’t me … I swear!’
***
Channing took them to an interview room, the one with a two-way mirror running the length of one wall, and told them to sit down – though Matt remained standing initially.
‘I said sit down, DC Newcomb!’
Matt reluctantly did as he was told.
Channing proceeded to pace up and down in front of them as he spoke. ‘Now, let me see if I’ve got this straight. You, DC Newcomb, thought it would be a good idea to let the father of our victim – and yes, I do know who you are, Mr Radcliffe – have access to the person we believe to have committed the crime? Is that about the size of it?’
‘Well,’ said Matt, looking at his folded hands in front of him, ‘when you put it like that …’
‘When I …’ Channing banged on the table with his fist, causing them to start. ‘And this was, what, because he asked you to?’
‘Matt … DC Newcomb was just trying to help,’ offered Jake. ‘I needed—’
‘I don’t care what you needed,’ snapped Channing, face turning crimson. Then he saw Jake’s mournful expression and relented. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’ Matt couldn’t tell whether it was because the DS was genuinely sorry, or he was just frightened of the repercussions; of what he’d said getting back to his superiors. ‘Of course I care, but you might just have ruined everything. We’re readying to nail that guy to the wall, but now he could bring charges himself for assault – and all while under our noses! All because of you, Newcomb.’ He rounded on Matt, jabbing a finger in his direction. ‘All because of some misplaced sense of loyalty to a friend.’
‘I’m … I’m sorry, sir.’
‘This could mean your job, you know.’
‘I know.’ It was what he’d told Jake when he’d been trying to persuade Matt; there was always a chance this could go south. That the ramifications would include his job, his career. Christ, how was he going to explain this to Katherine?
‘And it happened on my watch, so it could mean my neck as well. Okay, damage control … damage control,’ muttered Channing, concentrating. Then he stood up straight, leaning back. ‘What if … what if none of this had ever happened, eh?’
It sounded like he was asking their advice, like he had a time machine or a way to wipe out the last twenty minutes, and was sounding them out about whether they should use it or not.
‘I’m assuming there’s no footage of what took place back there. You’re definitely not that stupid, Newcomb.’
Matt said nothing, he didn’t want to get Sharpe into more trouble than he clearly already was.
‘So, it’s just the kid’s word against ours, right? Wouldn’t be the first time. It’s not like you were able to do any real harm … He’s been screaming the place down about his innocence since he got here, has had hardly any sleep, probably imagined the whole thing – wanting to apologise to the father or whatever. Only natural, right? Maybe he even heard you were in the building, Mr Radcliffe.’
Again, Matt didn’t say a thing; neither of them said a word.
‘Yeah, didn’t happen.’ Channing clapped his hands together. ‘And all is right with the world.’ He saw Jake’s expression once more, realised that his world would never be right again. ‘That is … Look, Mr Radcliffe, can I give you some advice?’
Jake remained silent.
‘I get where you’re coming from, I really do. But I’ve seen this kind of thing before. I’ve seen that look you had in your eye before, and it never ends well. It ends with people waiting outside law courts with guns to shoot the person they want punished. Ends with those people in jail instead of the ones who should be, the bad guys. Let things take their course, let us do our jobs. Punk kid like that won’t last long inside, particularly when they get wind of what he did. Killing a young girl? That’s a big no-no.’ Channing allowed his words to settle. ‘Let us do our jobs, Mr Radcliffe. We might not be known here for dealing with fancy high-profile cases, but we do get things done. What I’m saying to you is do us all a favour and leave it alone, okay? Please.’
Still no response.
‘Or the next time I might not be so understanding, you see. Now, I think maybe it might be best if you leave to have a think about things. I’ll have one of our uniforms drop you off where you’re staying. I assume you’re remaining here for the time being?’
Jake gave a slow nod.
‘And as for you,’ Channing continued, directing his attention towards Matt again, ‘I’ll be keeping a closer eye on you from now on.’
Matt swallowed, and also nodded, knowing he’d dodged the bullet … this time. As Channing opened the door again and called for a uniform to escort Jake, his friend looked back at Matt, still seated.
His eyes said he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant for him to get into trouble. But they also said something else. They still held that same look, the anger, the need to understand. A desire for revenge.
It told Matt all he needed to know. That there was no way he was going to just drop this, as Channing had told him to. Not that easily.
And Matt knew something else as well, that Jake, that all of this, was going to be on his own mind for some time to come.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_855627ac-8acf-595b-9b53-4e5b4329f4b6)
He just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about everything.
He’d let them drop him off back at the hotel, the couple of uniformed officers Channing had ordered to escort him ‘home’. But Jake hadn’t stayed there. Couldn’t face going back to that room he’d woken up in, feeling rougher than he’d ever felt in his life. Half-dead …
Better than totally dead.
Though it was also the place he’d decided enough was enough. That it was time to concentrate on his mission, on what he had to do – which was dig out Matt’s card and ring him. There were no two ways about it, he’d needed to see the boyfriend. He hadn’t meant to cause problems at the station – or thought about the consequences for Matt if they were caught – but when the guy had got in his face, Jake had just seen red.
It was almost like he was watching a movie again, someone else reaching out and grabbing the boy by the collar, dragging him to the door. Jake wasn’t a violent person, or at least he hadn’t thought he was … until that moment. He’d assumed that once he saw the guy, this Bobby Bannister, he’d know one way or the other about Jordan. Had wanted to look him in the eyes, he’d told Matt, but even just seeing him would be enough to know … But it hadn’t really worked out like that, had it?
Jake still didn’t know one way or the other whether this boy had actually committed the crime, although everything was pointing in that direction in spite of his claims of innocence. Claims that were actually pretty convincing. He should have felt something, sensed whether this was his child’s murderer, surely? Instead, he’d just felt an overwhelming hatred towards him. But Jake wasn’t just seeing his face, he was seeing all the faces of all the guys who – in his mind – had corrupted his daughter. Had turned her into something she really wasn’t, something she shouldn’t have been. Something that had got her killed.
And he’d snapped.
The rest, like a lot of things since he’d got that phone call the previous morning, was a bit of a haze. Matt trying to pull him away, Channing, the interview room. Jake was aware then of how much trouble he’d got his friend into, was sorry, but at the same time glad he’d got the opportunity – however brief it had been – to confront Bannister. It was only afterwards he’d thought about what that might have cost Matt: his job, his family … He hadn’t needed to stick his neck out for Jake, but had anyway. That was true friendship.
Luckily, Jake’s actions hadn’t landed him in too much hot water – Channing was more concerned about his own neck than anything. More than willing to cover things up.
Wouldn’t be the first time …
Which didn’t exactly inspire confidence, made you wonder what else they’d swept under the carpet in this town. Jake guessed he’d probably never know.
It would be awkward probably at work for a while, but things would calm down. Jake would make it up to Matt, somehow. He wasn’t sure how.
What if … what if none of this had ever happened, eh?
If only.
But it left him right back at square one in figuring this all out. Figuring out why it had happened. The cops didn’t seem that interested in the reason, they had their man (caught red-handed … yes, red as in Jordan’s blood). It was like Channing had said to him, they were so close to nailing him now.
What had really happened, though, that night? Why had Bannister done it, if he even had? If he never admitted he’d killed Jordan, then none of them would find peace. She would never find peace.
Jails were full of convicts claiming they hadn’t done it, swearing just like Bannister had sworn it.
I-I found her like that, I swear!
Nobody ever got to the bottom of those cases, nobody punished the truly guilty party or parties. Nobody really cared. There were people who cared about this one, though. Who had cared about Jordan. Who would find the truth, whatever that was.
Where to start, though? He had no idea. Where would Dave Harris have started? His old colleague from The Gazette … ‘A story starts at the beginning,’ Dave used to say. And even as he thought that, Jake saw a flash of Jordan as the happy little girl he’d known and loved (still loved, in spite of everything, but this was different). Before the world had swallowed her up, before social media, friends who led her down the wrong paths, boys. Back then, back at the beginning, things had been simple.
They probably hadn’t been, Jake knew that – people always looked back with rose-tinted glasses. But they’d seemed it. Easier, happier. Happier than later on. Happier than now, that was for damned sure! There had been hope, anyway – for the future. That everything would turn out okay.
When he’d set off from the hotel, Jake hadn’t really known where he was heading. He had some vague notion about buying a change of clothing, actually getting that toothbrush he’d told Matt he was after when whiskey was the only thing on his mind; plus a charger for his phone, as he’d left without one. And he’d done all that, found somewhere and purchased what he’d needed for now – had carried them around with him in plastic bags like somebody who’d just been to the sales. Or been made homeless.
But still he hadn’t returned to the hotel, he’d carried on wandering. Realised at some point that he probably should eat; again, he’d be no use to anyone – especially Jordan – if he simply collapsed. How would he get to the bottom of anything then?
It wasn’t the healthiest, but he grabbed a burger and some fries at a fast food place. Jake sat for a while just staring at the meal in front of him, felt like doing anything else in the world but this. The body was a machine, though, and like any other machine it needed fuel. So he picked up the burger, something he would have relished before, enjoyed on the hop between shooting gigs, and he forced himself to bite into it. Jake chewed mechanically, swallowing, fighting the sensations when he thought he was going to throw up again.
In the end, he wolfed the whole meal – he’d underestimated just how hungry he was – and washed it down with diet coke this time, alcohol the furthest thing from his mind.
Then he wandered once more, up and down streets so familiar to him but which now seemed alien and hostile. He barely noticed when the sun began to set; more darkness, which he could embrace. His feet hurt, but he kept going. Maybe if he walked long enough, far enough, he really could turn back time. Make it so this whole thing hadn’t happened.
Had it been the noise that attracted him, he wondered afterwards. Redmarket coming to life and doing what it did best, welcoming the lost souls to bars and clubs. The one thing it was known for now, legendary nights out – bucking the trend of other towns and cities that found their streets virtually empty since the recession started to bite. Instead, Redmarket had blossomed; he’d seen that start to happen even before he left the area. A reinvention for this former market town that had once been known for its meat more than anything else, hence its name.
Now there were meat markets of a different kind, where young men could hook up with young women on any given night of the week. Jake observed some of them off out that evening: gaggles of girls wearing shiny skin-tight dresses that barely came down past their waists, clutching tiny handbags, already clearly drunk (not that he could talk after last night), tottering on high-heels, wearing make-up the Joker would have been proud of. Similarly, the lads out on the pull: skinny jeans and shirts open to their belly buttons practically. All they were missing were the medallions and flares and it could have been the 1970s rather than this day and age.
Jake heard the music being pumped out, the thumping bass that would have made your internal organs vibrate if you were close enough to it. Saw the flashing lights, all the colours of the rainbow. Mesmerising, drawing people in as effectively as those sirens used to do to the sailors of old – and there’d be just as many crashes later on. Perhaps not on rocks, but people crashing into each other. Dancing to begin with, then later in alleyways and in flats; bodies crashing against each other in another way. Kids who hardly knew each other, screwing like it was some sort of hobby or pastime, a new sport.
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Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Everyone has something to hide When Jake learns of his troubled daughter’s death, he is determined to find out what really happened on that fateful night. But Jake hasn’t seen Jordan for over three years and, with secrets of her own, there was a lot he didn’t know about his only daughter. Jake’s ex-wife Jules is reluctant to let him waltz back into her life. But when Jake makes a shocking discovery, he is convinced that there is more to her murder than they are being told. Grief stricken and full of regret, Jake is desperate to protect his daughter’s memory – to understand her final hours… With a question mark hanging over the case, will Jake be able to piece together the fragments of evidence, uncover the truth behind Jordan’s death – and make amends for the time he has lost? Readers LOVE Her Last Secret ‘I couldn′t put this down once I started!!’ NetGalley reviewer ‘Hooked from the start’ NetGalley reviewer ‘I was on the edge of my seat’ NetGalley reviewer