The Lost Girl (Brennan and Esposito) (31 page)

T
he house was a new-build, as Malcolm had said. Part of a development called Meander Mews. All different sizes and shapes, designed to give the impression of individuality, but all the same shapes repeating every so often. Some looked Georgian, some more rustic. The one they were interested in was beige brick. Small, insignificant. Not nearly as ostentatious as most of the houses on the street, and very easy to overlook. Just the kind of place you’d want, thought Anni, if you were planning something illegal and you didn’t want to attract attention to yourself.

Again, the curtains were closed.

Anni had driven there and parked directly outside it. The street was quiet, almost like a toytown village. They got out of the car.

‘You got a key for this one, then?’ she asked Malcolm.

‘No, I haven’t.’

He looked warily at her. Uneasy around her since they had left the flat. Good, she thought. So he should be. Considering what he’s done. Then, looking at his confused face she relented slightly. He didn’t know he was having sex with a murderer, she thought. Give him the benefit of the doubt. But just as that was sinking in, another thought struck her: would it have made any difference if he had known? Or would that have made it even more exciting for him?

She cleared those thoughts from her head, concentrated once again on the job in hand.

‘Right,’ she said, looking up and down the street and taking a leather roll from her inside jacket pocket.

‘What’s that?’ asked Malcolm.

‘Lockpicks. Tools of the trade.’

Malcolm looked alarmed. ‘But… that’s illegal. Breaking and entering.’

‘I know,’ said Anni, standing up against the front door, trying to finesse the lock to open, ‘but I thought you liked crime? Got a thrill from it, a buzz, all that.’ She hadn’t meant her words to come out as harsh-sounding as they did. Too late to take them back now.

Malcolm just looked confused, hurt even. ‘Well, yes, but…’

‘There you go then.’ Anni stepped back. The door opened. ‘After you.

He entered with Anni following.

The first thing that hit them was the smell. And Anni knew exactly what that kind of smell meant.

‘Jesus, what’s that?’ asked Malcolm, stuffing his sleeve against his face.

‘Upstairs,’ said Anni, trying not to gag.

The air was rich with decay. Putrefying meat that had been left to rot in an enclosed, unventilated space for too long. The buzzing of flies, the air thick with them.

She moved upstairs, a reluctant Malcolm following. They swung open the main bedroom door. And there, on the floor, were the decaying bodies of a woman and a small boy.

‘Oh God… Oh God…’

Malcolm turned and ran back downstairs.

‘Malcolm, wait…’

Anni turned and followed him.

He raced into the deserted street and fell to his knees, vomiting into the gutter. ‘Oh God… Oh God…’ Gasping between heaves until there was nothing left inside him, just dry heaves after that. ‘I just… oh God, that… that sight, that… that smell…’

Anni stood behind him. ‘Congratulations. Your first actual murder scene.’

He slumped back on the pavement, started to cry.

‘Not like it is in the movies, is it?’

‘Oh Christ… it’s… it’s awful… it’s… oh my God…’ He kept crying.

‘Welcome to real life.’

Her back to the house, she took out her phone. Called Marina.

‘J
ust you and me now,’ said Matthews. ‘Sir.’ He frowned. ‘Should I still call you sir?’

Beresford stared at him. A slight smile began to gather at the corners of his mouth. Matthews knew what he was thinking. Marina was gone. Little Simon Matthews was left. Little, easily manipulated Simon Matthews.

‘Doesn’t really matter, does it?’ Matthews said before Beresford could reply.

He settled back, folded his arms. Studied Beresford.

Beresford spoke. ‘All bollocks, this, isn’t it? Eh? All bollocks.’

Matthews kept staring at him, unsmiling, not speaking.

‘All bollocks.’

Still no reply from Matthews.

‘You don’t believe all her shit, do you? All that psychological shit?’ He laughed. ‘She’s a right one when she gets going, though, isn’t she? I bet her old man was glad to get away from her, eh?’

Nothing. Beresford began to look slightly worried. He still continued.

‘Still, bet she bangs like a shithouse door in bed, though.’

Beresford laughed. Matthews didn’t join in. Silence fell once more.

‘You know,’ Matthews said, eventually, ‘I used to look up to you.’ His voice quiet. No drama, no histrionics. Just a small sadness, regret.

‘Yeah? Well, thanks. You’re a damned good copper, mate. Damned good.’

Matthews continued as if Beresford hadn’t spoken. ‘Really look up to you, you know? Admire you. I really did.’ His voice quiet, compelling. ‘Oh, I know you never noticed me in the office. Did you?’

Beresford made to answer, Matthews just talked over him.

‘I just kept my head down, got on with my work. I wasn’t one of your gang, didn’t go drinking with the boys after work, didn’t follow the rugby, none of that. I knew that. Not that type. Not me. Too quiet. Like I said, kept my head down, did my work, put my hours in. But I’m good at my job. I’ve always been good at my job. Bloody good. And that got me noticed. That got me promoted.’

Beresford nodded. ‘Right, yeah. I see your point. OK. Well, don’t worry, when we get out of this, I’ll take you down the boozer. We’ll sort it out. Don’t have to feel left out, now do you? It’ll be all right. You’ll see.’

Matthews shook his head. ‘No, no, you see, you don’t understand. You don’t get what I’m saying to you. Marina’s right. You don’t listen, do you?’

Beresford jumped at the mention of her name, like he’d been slapped.

‘What I’m saying is, you used to be my hero. And now look at you.’ He gestured dismissively at Beresford. ‘Sitting there, the wrong side of the table. How the mighty have fallen, eh?’

Beresford tried to keep his face impassive, but it seemed to be a losing struggle.

‘What’ll the rest of the office say about you now, eh? Your old mates, the lads you used to go drinking with, talk about the rugby with, what d’you think they’ll be saying about you? What kind of names d’you think they’ll be calling you?’

It seemed to be the first thing that had been said to have directly penetrated Beresford’s understanding.

‘I’m sure you can guess, anyway. Not that they’ll say them to your face. Because where you’re going, you won’t see them again.’

‘No. No, no, no, you’re wrong…’

‘I’m not wrong. You’re just like all the other bits of self-deluded scum we get in here. Got excuses for why they raped, or murdered. Just like you. Not wanting to face the truth about who they are and what they’ve done. Just like you. Well, you’re going to get a long time to think about it. The rest of your life, I reckon.’

Beresford’s head dropped. He shook it slowly from side to side.

‘Oh, and another thing,’ said Matthews as if it had just occurred to him. ‘You know all those nonces and child rapists who get put away? The ones who you think it have it so bloody easy? Them? Well, you’re going to get a chance to find out, aren’t you? Because that’s where they put the coppers, isn’t it? The vulnerable prisoners’ wing. There they’ll be, all the kiddie-fiddlers and nonces, the child-killers and fuck-ups, and there’ll you be. Slap bang in the middle of them.’ He sat back, frowned as if another question had just occurred to him. ‘I wonder if you’ll think they have it so easy then? Maybe you can drop us a line, all the boys in the office, all your old mates. Maybe you could let us know.’

Beresford looked completely broken.

M
arina walked into Franks’ office, expecting to find Anni, perhaps. But there was only Franks.

Marina frowned. Then started to get angry. ‘Why have you pulled me out of there? I was making progress, I had him about to —’

‘Please,’ said Franks holding up his hands in mock surrender, ‘before you start just listen. You’re making progress. Good progress. And I want you to keep going.’

The compliment moved Marina to silence. Franks continued.

‘I’ve had an email. From Caitlin Hennessey. Rainsford Children’s Home?’

‘Right. What —’

‘If I can get a word in, I’ll tell you.’ He handed her a printout. ‘This is the full report on Carol Woods. You can read it later at your leisure but I’ve read it and I’ll just go over the bullet points with you. Time is of the essence, and all that. And I want you back in there.’

‘Right.’ Marina glanced at the papers, Franks read from his copy.

‘Originally from the north of England, Yorkshire. Leeds, I think. Her father was a police detective. High-ranking, important. He pulled in a well-known gangster. Built up an airtight case against him. Naturally, this gangster didn’t like that. So he put out a contract on Carol’s father. And the rest of her family. They all had to go into hiding. They thought they were safe.’

‘But?’

‘But this gangster had deep pockets and people everywhere. The family were at a safe house. They were given up. Associates of this gangster tracked them down, killed the mother and father and the two police officers guarding them. The two children, a boy and a girl, were allowed to live. These two children were split up. Given false names, put into care. For their own sakes and for those around them, they never saw each other again. They came with as little information as possible to avoid any further repercussions. Carol, as she was now called, was sent to Rainsford.’

‘What about the boy?’ asked Marina.

‘Doesn’t say. Doubt we’ll ever find him now.’

‘And no one told her who she really was?’ asked Marina, incredulously. ‘Not even when she came of age? No one told her why she was there, who she was? Surely there was no threat to her by that time.’

Franks looked at the paper once more as if it contained all the answers to Marina’s questions. ‘Doesn’t say.’ He shrugged. ‘Suppose we just have to assume that she slipped through the cracks in the system. Wouldn’t be the first. Doubt she’ll be the last, either.’

‘Slipped?’ Marina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘She didn’t just slip, she may as well have fallen through a crack in the Earth.’

Franks looked up at her. ‘It’s too late to help that little girl that we should have saved,’ he said. ‘But at least we can stop what she’s become.’

Marina nodded and left the room.

On the way down the corridor, her phone rang. Anni. She took the call.

Stopped walking, listened. Almost on shock.

She ended the call, carried on walking.

A new sense of urgency in her stride.

‘L
ook at me, Phil.’

He opened his eyes. Slowly, like they were stuck together. Like he was living in a dream he couldn’t escape from. It took him several seconds, or even minutes, to realise that he was actually awake. His mind felt like it was lost in a mist; he waited for it to clear. It didn’t, not fully. He had to concentrate hard to make out his surroundings, to differentiate waking from sleeping. His head spun, his stomach too. He didn’t know where he was, barely who he was.

‘Look at me, Phil.’

He tried to follow the voice with his eyes. Couldn’t yet make anything out. Gradually things around him came into focus. His memory drip, drip, dripped back into him and he realised where he was, who he was with. Or thought he did. Everything had changed. The room he had been in – his childhood one? His home? – had disappeared. He was still in bed, that much was the same. But even the bed was different. Plain white metal, like an old hospital bed. And the linen had changed too. He blinked, looked round. The room was completely white, almost clinically so. The bed linen matched.

‘Look at me, Phil.’

He looked. There stood a naked woman. He didn’t recognise her. But the more he looked, the more he thought she seemed somehow familiar.

‘You see me?’

He nodded. Or thought he did, his head was swirling so much he wasn’t sure.

She smiled. ‘See me for who I am. For who I’ve always been.’

He looked again.

‘You know me, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, somehow believing her words. ‘Yes, I know you.’

‘Of course you do. You knew who I was when I spoke those two words to you. The Garden. You knew.’ She started to move towards him. Slowly and stately, so he could watch her, admire her, as she came. ‘I’m the other half of you.’

He frowned. Tried to process her words. Didn’t know what they meant. ‘What… I… what d’you mean? The other… what?’

She smiled at him. ‘I’m me. Just me.’

She was right in front of him now. He could have reached out and touched her. He raised his hand. He was no longer restrained on the bed.

‘You’re free,’ she told him. ‘I’ve freed you.’

‘Who… the other half?’

‘Of you. Come. Rise.’

She bent down, pulled back the bed linen. He was still naked. Slowly, at her bidding, he swung his legs out of the bed, placed them on the white floor. They were trembling, weak from disuse.

‘You can do it, come on.’

She put her arms round him, helped him to his feet. Eventually he stood there before the bed, in her arms.

This is a dream, he thought. A dream within a dream.

She held him close, head buried in his chest. Breathing him in. ‘You thought you’d lost me, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, because it seemed like the right thing to say.

‘And I thought I’d lost you. Forever.’

She held him even tighter. He allowed her to. He would have collapsed back onto the bed otherwise.

He didn’t know how long they stood like that. Time had lost all meaning for him now.

‘Here we are…’ A whisper, a sigh. ‘Here we are…’

‘Yes…’

‘Together again. And this time, we’re not going to let anyone or anything pull us apart. This time we’re staying together forever.’

‘Forever,’ repeated Phil.

She clutched him tighter.

He closed his eyes.