Page 54 of Worse Than Murder (DCI Matilda Darke Thriller #13)

A fter taking the dogs for a long walk with Carl, I’d worked up an appetite.

I make myself scrambled eggs on toast. Sally has given me her access code to the CCTV cameras, so I look at the footage around the exterior of the restaurant.

As I suspected, the intruder knew exactly what he was doing as he’d managed to find a blind spot at the rear so he wouldn’t be seen as he reached up with a stick or pole and adjusted the camera’s position away from the back door.

Sneaky bastard. The sooner Philip upgrades the better.

I walk into the restaurant with my second black coffee of the morning to find Adele sitting at a table by the window. She’s chipping away at half a grapefruit and drinking orange juice. I think she looks the picture of health until I notice the remnants of a bacon sandwich on a plate beside her.

I pull out the chair opposite and sit down. Sally has already taken Carl to school and is then going to pick Philip up from the hospital. The cleaners and restaurant staff have yet to arrive, so it’s just us.

‘Tell me what happens to bodies that have been in the water for thirty years.’

‘I’m eating.’ She pulls a face.

‘Adele, I’ve known you to make dinner plans while draining a stomach of its contents. There’s no way you’re squeamish.’

‘You know the effects of water on a body,’ she says, putting her spoon down.

‘I know, but what will the pathologist be looking for in Celia and Jennifer?’

‘There’ll be no organs to take samples from, no blood, no bodily fluids at all.

All that is left is bone. If Celia and Jennifer were shot or stabbed, they might be able to tell where the bullet entered and left the body, or the trajectory of a knife if it hit bone.

If they were beaten or suffered a blow to the head, there might be broken bones or a fractured skull.

Anything else like suffocation, drugging or even if they were raped, is not going to be found. ’

‘Damn.’

‘I’ve done a google search and I know who the pathologist is for this area. I’ve worked with him in the past. I’ll pop along later to see him. But don’t get your hopes up.’

‘Thanks.’

A car pulls into a space outside the restaurant. We turn to look out of the window to see who the early morning visitor is.

‘Who’s that?’ Adele asks.

‘PC Alison Pemberton. Daughter of Jack. Sister of the missing twins.’

‘Bloody hell. I bet she’s going through the wringer right now.’

‘Wouldn’t you? I was going to pop round and talk to her later. I’ve got some very sensitive questions to ask.’

We make eye contact through the window. I signal to her and tell her I’ll be right out.

‘By the way,’ Adele begins. ‘If you’re going out and you pass a chemist, will you pop in and get some of those nasal strips that stop people snoring?’

‘Why? You don’t snore.’

‘Precisely.’

‘You’ve gone very bumptious since you got an all-over tan and found your waistline again.’

‘I’ve always had a waist.’

‘True. We all have a waist. It’s just some of us hide it beneath a huge layer of bacon sandwiches.’ I wink as I head for the door.

Adele picks up a crust of the sandwich she’s left and throws it at me. We share a giggle before I leave. It’s almost like old times. Almost.

* * *

‘Good morning,’ I trot down the wooden stairs of the restaurant. I’m trying to sound friendly and light-hearted. I want Alison to feel at ease and that she can trust me.

‘Hi. How are you? I heard about the break-in.’

‘I’m fine. Erm, look, Alison, I was going to call you later. Do you think we can have a chat?’

‘Of course. What about?’

‘Shall we go for a walk?’

‘Okay.’

We set off for the woods. We’re plunged into a shadowy world and the density of the woodland cuts off the sounds of the surrounding village, the canopy of trees in full leaf takes the edge off the morning sun. It’s a couple of degrees cooler in here.

‘I want to ask you about the night your father disappeared,’ I begin.

‘There isn’t much to say.’

‘Will you let me try something out on you?’

‘Like what?’ she asks with a suspicious frown.

We walk out of the woods and onto the shingle of the shore.

‘This was where your father’s car was parked when he disappeared, wasn’t it?’

Alison nods.

‘I’m guessing you were on that road up there and you came down to the water’s edge through that narrow road over there.’ I point.

‘It’s the only way down to the lake.’

‘Let’s sit down here,’ I say once we’re close to the middle where I roughly remember the car being from Tania’s blurred photographs.

‘I want you to close your eyes and think back to when you were in the car on the night of the storm. Don’t think of anything else.

Just concentrate on the sound of my voice and the questions I’m asking you. ’

‘Okay.’

‘Take me through that day. You went to see your gran– and left early, right?’

‘That’s right. Mum said that Gran told her, because of the storm coming, we should leave after we’d had our lunch.’

‘Do you remember that?’

‘I…’ The fight to search her memory is etched on her face. ‘I remember being strapped in the back of the car and driving through the rain. It seemed dark, darker than it should have been for the time of day.’

‘Did your dad speak to you?’

‘I… I don’t know. I… Do you know something, I don’t think he did.’

‘Did he usually?’

‘He usually had the radio on. We used to sing along.’ There’s a hint of a smile on her face.

‘But it wasn’t on going home?’

‘No. We didn’t have it on going, either. Understandable, really. He’d lost interest in a lot of things since Celia and Jennifer disappeared.’ Her face tenses. The smile has gone, replaced by worry and fear.

‘The road at the top of the lake, here, was that your usual route home?’

‘No. We had no reason to come this way.’

‘Why did you?’

‘I don’t… I don’t know.’

‘Did you say anything when you noticed your dad taking a different route?’

‘No. I was…’ she stops.

‘What?’

‘I was tired. I wanted to go to sleep. It was night after all.’

‘No, Alison, it wasn’t. It was mid-afternoon. It was dark because of the storm.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So, you weren’t tired?’

‘I was. I can remember. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes. I remember when I was being lifted out of the car. I was so tired.’

‘That would have been your mum.’

‘No. It was a man.’

‘A man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m positive.’

‘Your mum said she lifted you out of the car.’

‘No. It was Uncle Iain. I opened my eyes. The rain was in my face. He was wet and cold, and he had on this big blue coat that smelled of horses.’

‘Horses?’ I ask, distracted for a second. I wish my mind would focus on one thing at a time. ‘Do you remember your dad getting out of the car at all?’

‘No,’ Alison replies, firmly.

‘You don’t remember driving down onto the shingle and up to the edge of the lake?’

‘No.’

‘But you remember leaving your gran’s house, and driving along the road when it was dark, and then your Uncle Iain lifting you out in the rain?’

‘Yes. He handed me to my mum.’

‘What happened then?’

‘I remember getting into bed. Mum gave me a hot Vimto. I used to love that as a child.’

I smile. My mum used to make me a hot Vimto when I was off school poorly. I can’t stand the stuff now, hot or cold, but the smell always prompts a happy memory.

‘Can I open my eyes now?’

‘Yes.’ There’s something strange happening here.

There is no reason why Alison should have such a gap in her memory, or why she seems to have been so tired after leaving her gran’s house in the middle of the day.

The first thing that comes to mind is that she’d been drugged.

Had Jack given his daughter something to make her sleep so he could leave her in the car without her crying and calling him to come back?

‘I haven’t helped, have I?’ Alison asks.

‘I’m not sure. What can you tell me of the following morning? What time did you get up?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did your mum tell you that your father was missing?’

‘I think so, yes. She told me he’d gone away. He wasn’t feeling well. That’s what she told me for a while.’

‘What did you do that day?’

‘I really don’t remember much at all. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay. Don’t try and force a memory. That will only make things worse.’

‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ Alison says. ‘I can tell by your face that your mind is racing at a hundred miles per hour.’

I take a breath. ‘I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Alison. You could be suffering with false memories, getting your dates and events mixed up, which is reasonable and understandable. However, at the back of my mind, I’m wondering whether you might have been drugged.’

‘What?’ she exclaims. Her voice echoes around the open space. ‘Drugged. Why? Who by?’

‘Possibly by your father but, given the number of sightings of him over the years, that makes no sense. On the other hand, I’m starting to think your father is being painted as having a bigger role in the disappearance of your sisters, and he’s actually perfectly innocent in all this.

’ I suddenly forget Alison is there. It’s as if I’m just thinking aloud.

‘Jack suffered with depression. Back then, it was seen as a weakness. It’s possible someone could have taken advantage of that and used him as a scapegoat. ’

‘The sightings of my dad. They might not be my dad, might they?’ Alison asks, her voice cracking with tears.

I look at her. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘It’s been thirty years. If whoever it is has been living rough all that time, his appearance will have changed beyond all recognition. Maybe people are seeing a homeless man and assuming it’s my dad because he’s never been found.’

‘Is that what you’re thinking now? That the sightings are false.’

‘I don’t know.’

She looks despondent. The hope is fading from her eyes.

‘Who do you talk to about your past?’

‘I talk to my mum sometimes. We can’t talk about it for long. It upsets her. Iain is more receptive to ideas and theories. He listens to me.’

‘Does he offer theories of his own?’

‘Sometimes. He thinks the sightings might be of Dad. He’s angry with him. Still. Even after all this time. If it’s Dad, I’d love him to make contact, but I’m worried what Uncle Iain will do if he sees him. He hates Dad. I think…’

‘Go on,’ I prompt her when she stops.

‘I think Iain believes Dad killed Celia and Jennifer.’

‘Is that what you think, too?’

‘If he did, there’s only one clear motive, isn’t there?

’ She looks at me with tears running down her face.

‘He abused them and killed them to cover up what he was doing. My dad was a child abuser. And if that’s true, I have to ask myself if he abused me, too.

And I can’t remember, Matilda. I can’t remember anything. ’

Alison collapses into me and I hold her tight.

It’s not the right time to tell her my theory that the mystery man might not be her father but could be Travis Montgomery.

But then, I suppose it doesn’t matter which one of them it is.

If whoever it is was abusing the twins and possibly abused Alison, they’ve been lurking on the periphery all this time for a very dark reason which may come to light now that the girls have been found.