| M R . J USTICE M C C ANN | I understand what you are saying, but I would prefer it if Miss Bartlett were directed to stick to the events in question. Please continue. |
| M RS. S COTT | Mr. Brightman came into the room and told you he was going to find Catherine. What happened after that? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | He went. He locked the door behind him and he went. He left me there. I tried to get out, I tried banging on the door but nobody could hear me. I couldn’t get out. |
| M RS. S COTT | I believe you were there for four days, is that correct? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | Yes. |
| M RS. S COTT | So you had access to water but he left you no food? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | No. |
| M RS. S COTT | Thank you. Your Honor, I have no further questions. |
| M R . J USTICE M C C ANN | Thank you, Mrs. Scott. Ladies and gentlemen, we will take a break at this point. We will reconvene at three o’clock. |
—CROSS-EXAMINATION—
| M R . N ICHOLSON | Miss Bartlett, how did you and Mr. Brightman first meet? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | Catherine introduced us. |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | When you commenced your relationship with Mr. Brightman, was he still romantically involved with Miss Bailey? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | Yes, but he told me— |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | Thank you. And you were aware that he was continuing his relationship with Miss Bailey while he was also seeing you? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | Yes, but— |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | Would you describe yourself as a truthful person, Miss Bartlett? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | Yes, of course. |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | In 2005, did you give a statement to police concerning your friendship with Miss Bailey? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | Yes. |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | Do you recall stating that in your previous years of friendship with Miss Bailey, you were aware that she had harmed herself by cutting her skin with a knife? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | Yes. |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | Was your statement truthful, Miss Bartlett? |
| M ISS B ARTLETT | No. |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | You admit that you lied in a police statement? |
| M RS. S COTT | The witness has already answered that question. |
| M R . J USTICE M C C ANN | Mr. Nicholson, I must say I’m very concerned about this line of questioning. |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | Your Honor, I would suggest that there is a point of law that needs to be raised and I would ask for a private hearing. |
| M R . J USTICE M C C ANN | Very well. Ladies and gentlemen, at this point we are going to discuss a matter further, and I would ask that you all go to the jury room. I will ask that you are called back in as soon as we are able to continue. Thank you. |
—The jury departs—
—PRIVATE HEARING—
| M R . J USTICE M C C ANN | Mrs. Scott? |
| M RS. S COTT | I would like to point out that Mr. Nicholson is fully aware that there is a second statement made by Miss Bartlett in which she states clearly that she was directed to lie by the defendant. Miss Bartlett has been interviewed under caution about this very matter. |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | Your Honor, it is clear that Miss Bartlett cannot be relied upon to provide a consistent testimony. That is merely the point I am keen to bring to the attention of the jury. |
| M RS. S COTT | She was terrified of Mr. Brightman, Your Honor, I would suggest that she would have made a statement denying her own existence if he had told her to do so. |
| M R . J USTICE M C C ANN | Mr. Nicholson, my feelings on the matter are that if Miss Bartlett gave a second statement which provided an explanation of why she was untruthful in the first, then that too should be put before the jury. |
| M R . N ICHOLSON | Very well. |
| M R . J USTICE M C C ANN | Thank you, would you please call the jury back? We will continue where we left off. |
Sam Hollands was waiting for me outside.
“Morning,” she said, as I slid into the passenger seat. “Nice day for a mystery tour. Where did you say we’re going?”
“St. Albans.”
We drove off toward the main street.
“I’m really grateful for this. I know you’ve probably got better things to do on your day off, Sam.”
“Tell me again. You got a letter?”
It had been waiting for me when I got home from shopping yesterday. Nothing at all to indicate the nasty surprise that it contained—an ordinary envelope, my name and address typed on the outside, a first-class stamp, a smudged postmark. I read it aloud to Sam.
Dear Catherine
I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about everything that happened. I’m sorry for lots of things and I have a gift for you which I hope might make things better.
You need to go to the Farley Road industrial estate to the north of St. Albans. Unit 23 is right at the northern end of it. If you park in front of the unit you should be able to walk around the side of the building. At the back is an open space with trees. Follow the line of trees to the end and you’ll find what I’ve left for you.
I hope you will do this last thing for me and take it as my way of saying sorry.
“Is that it?”
“What?”
“It just seems like an abrupt way of ending a letter. You know, people who start a letter with ‘Dear Whoever’ usually end it with ‘love from Whoever,’ don’t they?”
We were on the M1, heading toward the M25. The traffic on the other side of the highway flashed past us. I bit my lip.
“Cathy . . . ?”
“There are a few more sentences on another page. It’s personal stuff.”
“What sort of personal stuff?”
“It’s nothing that will make any difference. Really.”
“Cathy. This isn’t just a letter, it’s evidence. You know that, don’t you?”
“Let’s wait and see what this is all about, shall we? It might be something really silly.”
“What does Stuart make of it all?”
“He’s away for a couple of days. Gone to a big new hospital in Belgium for a conference.”
She kept her eyes straight ahead and expressed her disapproval through the firm line of her mouth. I would end up showing her the letter anyway; I’d have to. But just for now I wanted to keep it between me and him.
“What do you think it is?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s anything good, put it like that.”
“Me neither. I’m glad you called me.”
“I wondered if it was a trap.”
“Well, he’s still safely inside, so you don’t need to worry about him being there to meet us. I called the prison this morning.”
“It’s not a prison letter,” I said.
“I noticed. He must have gotten someone to smuggle it out for him. Whatever happens, I’ll be putting in an intelligence report about that.”
We turned off the highway and listened to Sam’s satellite navigation telling us in a calm voice to take the next turn, left, right, continue straight for two point four miles.
“So how’s Stuart?”
“He’s fine. We’re fine.”
“What’s it like being married?”
I laughed. “Not much different from how it was before. Anyway, it’s only been five months, give us a chance.”
“No babies yet?”
“Not yet. Don’t tell me you’re feeling broody?”
“I’m not, but Jo is. We’re going to get married next year, I think.”
“Sam, you never said.”
“Well, we’ve been together ten years. It’s about time.”
“Have you asked her?”
“Not yet.”
“You should get on and do it. It’s worth it. Can we come to the wedding?”
“Of course you can. I was going to ask Sylvia, too.”
“She’d love it.”
“Anyway, we’re here.”
The Farley Industrial Estate was deserted, long wide streets empty of traffic, litter blowing across the potholed blacktop. We passed a kebab van, shutters down. Half the units were unoccupied, the whole area had a sense of desolation, and Unit 23 was no exception. It was as far as you could go, around a final corner. It was like the end of the world.
Sam parked the car in front of it.
“There, look.”
Among the weeds growing around the building, a narrow dusty path twisted off between the chain-link fence and the wall of the unit. Stinging nettles grew to chest height, swaying toward us in the breeze.
Sam went first, weaving her way along the path, one hand on the wall of the unit. A rabbit scuttled across the path in front of us and made me jump.
Behind the unit the narrow space suddenly widened into a patch of wasteland. We walked across a large expanse of concrete, weeds growing up through the cracks. The sun shone over our heads and a bird sang from somewhere high up. It was completely deserted, not a person anywhere in sight.
“Now where?”
I shaded my eyes from the sun and looked around, toward the trees he’d described, and saw it, a flash of color in a landscape of gray and brown and green.
“There. See it?”
It was a patch of red, scarlet, like a flag, and as we got closer it fluttered at us as though it were alive. I already knew what it was but it was still a shock to see it. I felt the tears start in my eyes and they were falling before I could stop them. It was like seeing an old friend, and a nightmare.
“What is it?” Sam said.
“It’s my dress.”
The edges of it were ragged, and it was dusty and filthy, but I still recognized it. All of the buttons were missing, and sections of it had been cut out, leaving the bare edges to fray and catch the wind. It must have been here for some time.
“That’s it? Just an old dress?”
It was anchored to the rocky soil by an old spade, rusted, which had been placed across it, and a heap of stones that had been laid over the top, like a cairn, like a grave.
“No,” I said. “It’s a marker.”
She saw it just a few moments after I did. At the bottom of the ditch, the movement caught my eye as the wind blew against a hank of dark hair. At first it looked artificial, like frayed hessian, and the skin like old canvas. And then the sudden whiteness of the broken bone, and there was no confusion anymore.
“Oh, shit, shit.” Sam grabbed her cell and started phoning, calling for backup, and I sank to my knees among the dry soil and the stones, and stroked my fingers against the fabric.
“I think she’s called Naomi,” I said.
From the back pocket of my jeans I pulled out the second page of the letter.
“Sam. You’d better look at this.”
I’m sorry for what I did to Sylvia, and to the old woman who lived in the flat downstairs. They meant nothing to me other than as a means to find you. You should realize that nobody and nothing can ever stop me from finding you, Catherine. I’ve left you this gift as a sign that I am prepared to take the blame for everything. But it won’t stop me. However long it takes, I will wait for you. One day I will be free, and I will find you and we can be together.
Wait for me, Catherine.
I love you.
Lee
The book you’re holding would never have come into being if it were not for the help and support of many people. Most of all I’d like to thank Vicky Blunden, Candida Lacey, Corinne Pearlman, Linda McQueen, Dawn Sackett and everyone at Myriad Editions, for taking my original ramble and turning it into something I’m immensely proud of, and for taking a chance on a complete novice. The same goes for my amazing editor at HarperCollins, Jennifer Barth, and the brilliant team of people who have worked so hard to make it even better: Jonathan Burnham, Heather Drucker, Mark Ferguson, Douglas Johnson, Richard Ljoenes, Katie O’Callaghan, Kathy Schneider, Leah Wasielewski, and David Watson. Thank you all very much.
Into the Darkest Corner
was originally written in 2008 as part of the annual National Novel Writing Month challenge, run by Chris Baty and a brilliant team of people, and if it had not been for the encouragement of the NaNoWriMo website (www.nanowrimo.org) I doubt I would have made it past the first chapter. Thank you, guys! I hope you like it.
I would like to thank my friends Ellen Doughty and Linda Weeks, who read the first draft and thenceforth encouraged me every step of the way. It was the idea of my cousin Michael George to actually send it off (even though he hasn’t read it yet), so I have him to thank for that.
Greg Mosse, for his insightful and thought-provoking Crime Writing course at West Dean College, and in particular for his encouragement with regard to this book. Thank you, Greg!
Thank you, too, to Lillian Fox, a gifted and inspirational writer, who steered me in the right direction many times and kept me going when I most needed a push. Vanessa Very read the manuscript when it was nearing completion and came up with some brilliant suggestions that changed everything. This book would be nothing without Lillian and Vanessa, so thank you both.
Thank you to my lovely friend Alexia Fernholz, consultant clinical psychologist, who generously shared her expertise, and to Stephen Starbuck for assistance and advice with matters of procedure.
Thank you Mary, Vicky, Hannah, Sonja, Ella, Hanna, Fiona, Shelagh, Nadia, Mia, Sophy, Jenna, Steven, Janet, Alison, Sarah, Tricia, Michael, John and David, Nickie and all my online friends who were all so supportive of me throughout this enterprise.
To the wonderful and talented Medway Mermaids, thank you so much for your insightful comments, and for cheering me on.
Special thanks are due to the fantastic Moscicki family (Jackie, Julie, James, Phoebe and Anna), and to Jane Mellinger, Nicola Samson, Maxine Painter, Lou Bundock, Naomi and Will Lay, Chris Gambrell, Clare Howse, Russ Shopland, Alexandra Amos, Lucy Smith, Emily Mepstead, Patricia Cox, Katie and Wayne Totterdell, Matt Liston, Tara Melton, Clive Peacock, Claire Eastham, Phil Crane, Bob Sidoli, Gordon Lindsay, Emma Dehaney, Lindsay Brown, Angela Wiley, Karen Aslett, Jenny Harknett, Pam Wiley, Judy Swan, Robert Nicks, Trish Cross and all my other dear friends who kindly put up with me talking about my book and encouraged me far beyond the call of duty—thank you.
Last but not least, thank you to my mum, and to David and Alex, who put up with most of all, and still love me nonetheless.