Bad Apple, page 22
Is it Tamsin?
If she is back, I need to go to the police with her and take the deepfake photos. I’ve been telling myself that holding off is the only option because I can’t risk going to the police too early and implicating myself in the process. If I’m locked up, accused of Tamsin’s murder, I won’t be able to gather all the evidence needed. I push my palms into the mattress to lift my shoulders and chest, pausing for a moment in this cobra-like yoga pose to listen. Somebody’s definitely in the flat above. I get out of bed, pull on the discarded tracksuit bottoms off the floor, put my mobile in the pocket, then snatch a sweatshirt from the chair and rush to the kitchen to get my keys. The cold air takes my breath away as I stride to the end of the building. It’s then that I become aware of blue flashing lights. My pulse picks up, increasing even more as I race up the steps, across the corridor.
I’m stopped by a uniformed officer.
Fear paralyses me as the one thing I don’t want to consider crashes into my mind.
Tamsin’s dead.
Chapter 45
NOW
BECKY
The realisation that the noises I heard were the police sends a shock wave through my body – the scene in front of me blurs and wavers, and my limbs weaken. I put my hand against the wall to prop myself up. They’ve been inside Vince and Tamsin’s flat. Why? I crane my head to look around the cop who’s halted my passage and see more response officers moving in and out of the property. I take a few steps backwards, my mind racing to consider what could be going on here at the same time it debates whether a hasty retreat is required.
Have they found a body?
No. They can’t have done. Too many uniforms here that would create scene contamination; there are no CSI in white paper suits.
Drug bust?
Possible.
Did I ask Charlie or Hannah to instigate this?
Sleep deprivation is affecting my memory; the anxiety meds have kicked in too – my thoughts are muddled, as if they’ve been smudged. I push the heels of my palms into my eyes, inhale and exhale slowly. Start backstepping.
‘You live in this block?’ The man in uniform asks. I take more backward steps. ‘Excuse me. Can you give my colleague here a statement please?’
As he shifts his attention to speak with said colleague, I turn, slip away and dash down the steps, pleased my reaction to this situation hasn’t pushed me into an anxiety attack. I have to be anywhere else but here. I try to order my thoughts as I go: I need to get back to my flat, grab my rucksack, Fran’s mobile and any other evidence and disappear for a few hours until I know what’s going on. As I’m about to turn the corner of the building, I hear radios and voices. I peek around to see a couple of uniforms close to my front door. Shit. I flatten myself up against the wall, look to the sky as my heartbeat thuds. Maybe they’ll walk away in a minute and I’ll have a clear run to my flat. Is it coincidence they’re outside mine? While I feel confident there’s no dead body upstairs, that’s not to say there’s no other incriminating evidence in there. Something that points to me being involved in illegal activity. If I’ve got photos of Fran’s apparent murder, there could be similar images inside their flat too.
None of the scenarios playing out in my head make walking to my front door right now a good idea. I have to decide: wait and hope I’m not spotted entering my flat, questioned and possibly arrested; or bolt, and when I’m out of the vicinity of the police activity, give Hannah a call to find out if this is bad news for me? The sound of approaching footsteps forces my hand and I whip across the grass verge and take the long way to reach the road and head towards my garage.
Once inside the car I catch my breath then make the call.
‘What’s going on, Hannah?’
‘It’s all kicking off. I can’t . . . you know I can’t divulge anything. But, Becky, we have to rein it in. You need to lay low for a bit.’
‘Christ, have you found Tamsin?’ My voice trembles almost as much as my hands are doing. While there may not be a body in the flat, that doesn’t mean they haven’t found her elsewhere. I don’t want to hear the worst. ‘Is she alive?’
‘What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘The police? They’re here, at my block of flats. At Tamsin’s – you know, the woman who I asked you to—’
‘That’s not what I’m talking about, Becky.’
There’s an element of relief following this statement, but it’s short-lived.
‘What is it? Give me something. What’s this all about?’
Hannah takes several breaths, and my heart beats like a bass drum in the seconds before she speaks again. ‘We think he knows.’
I swallow hard. ‘He? John? Knows what? Which part?’ The panic rises and erupts too quickly for me to control and my breathing shallows.
‘Yes, him. I’m really sorry, Becky . . .’ Hannah’s speech is so slow it’s stretching this moment of suspense to unbearable levels.
‘Just say it!’
‘We think he knows that Nina’s helping you.’ Her hushed, whispered words almost stop my heart. My vision dims, like a curtain is lowering over my eyes. Shit.
What have I done?
Chapter 46
NOW
BECKY
With Hannah unable to give details and our conversation being cut short by someone on her end, I’ve been left hanging. I blink rapidly to regain normal sight, then sit staring at the condensation on the inside of my windscreen, a numbness creeping up from my feet. It’s one in the morning now, the temperature is low and my ability to generate warmth lacking – my thoughts are permeated by violent judders and teeth chattering. Everything that’s happening is connected, I’m certain of it. But how?
What I do know, though, is that if John thinks his ex-wife and new girlfriend are working together to catch him out, trap him, he’ll have been forced to up his game. Whatever is going on at my block right now is very likely something related to him. He’s going to try to discredit me again, like he did before. And he’ll do the same to Nina. No doubt he has a contingency plan for every challenge.
My initial idea of staying in the car in my garage until sunrise doesn’t seem the best bet. To my knowledge, John hasn’t been pushed quite this far before, and I don’t know the full extent of his web of deceit and how far-reaching or high up it goes, but from what Marcus hinted at, and based on the redacted files Charlie spoke of, it’s kept him safe up until now. But if several sources come forward with evidence, it might not be enough protection this time. If he’s feeling threatened from multiple angles all at once, he may well be sensing the walls closing in on him. And that’s when people who’ve committed crimes are at their most dangerous. Like a cornered animal, the desperation to get away can mean they fight viciously in an attempt to escape. Suddenly, being in a car in an enclosed space feels foolish. It’s somewhere John could conceivably know about; it’s as good as serving myself up to him on a platter.
I rub my hands up and down my thighs, the thin material of the tracksuit bottoms not sufficient to hold in any heat. I jiggle my feet to circulate some blood, then start the car. I drive close enough to the block to see the eerie, flashing blue glow casting pulsating shadows on the side of the wall. It’s not a good idea to return to the flat yet so I head in the opposite direction. I cruise around for a bit, heater on full blast to bring some warmth back into my cold body and the radio on in case I hear something on the local news. When I’ve passed some time doing that, I park up close to Alan’s Autos to gather my thoughts.
There have been two big developments over the past few hours. I’m not yet sure if the police activity at Tamsin’s is good or bad, but the other is most definitely bad. Nina’s pale, frightened face takes up residence in my mind. It’s my like-a-dog-with-a-bone attitude that’s kept me digging, refusing to give up my attempts to bring John to justice by seeking Nina out, coercing her to help – shit – I’m not much better than he is. Did I learn this stuff from him? Even with the small car interior filled with warm air, I shiver.
Like attracts like. That’s the saying, isn’t it? Me and John were attracted to each other. What does that say about me? When I think about other couples with hideous shared crimes, the names Bonnie and Clyde, Myra Hindley and Ian Brady, Fred and Rose West, spring immediately to mind. While I haven’t had direct involvement with the awful things John has done – is that because I’m a good person? Or simply because he hadn’t had the chance to manipulate or coerce me further? He managed to keep me under his control for five years without me even realising that’s what he was doing.
Rather than run out of petrol, I park up in a 24-hour supermarket and go inside to warm up – grabbing a bacon roll from the reduced section and wandering around as slowly as possible without looking as though I’m trying to shoplift. There’s only so much time I can conceivably kill in here, though. Eventually, I also get a drink from the machine, and go to pay. I dig into my tracksuit pocket to check if there’s any cash, but instead pull out a folded photo, my stomach lurching as I realise what it is. Without needing to look, I shove it back. I don’t have any memory of placing one of the deepfake photos inside my pocket. With my heart skipping along at a rate of knots I hold my phone up to the terminal to pay via Google Wallet instead, and then go back to the car, lock myself in and tuck into my roll, watching the time tick by.
The text notification wakes me. Seems I can fall asleep despite what’s going on and in an awkward position. The message from Charlie is short and to the point.
Same place as before. 8 a.m.
At first I’m reassured by its brevity, and that it didn’t mention the café name. Even if someone had cloned his phone, this doesn’t give away the location, so, at face value, the interaction feels safe. But my cautious mind throws up an inevitable counter: if Charlie even suspected he’d been hacked, why didn’t he ditch the phone and get another? But then I recall his assurances that it was a one-night stand of his answering my call. And that it was my suggestion it could’ve been cloned, my possible over reaction.
All of a sudden, my thoughts muddle, my recollections of conversations and events occurring over these past two weeks becoming blurry and mashed up. Starting to take the anxiety meds again now seems like it was a bad idea. Clarity of mind is something I need to get through all of this. Regardless of my concerns, I have to trust Charlie knows what he’s doing because what other choice do I have? I hold my head with both hands, gently putting pressure against my skull as though that’ll stop memories from spilling out. I’m woozy with tiredness, my body rocking in the seat.
A nap before driving might be a good idea.
Fifteen minutes ahead of the agreed time, and feeling better after some sleep, I drive slowly by Hamley’s café, peering in the large window to see if anyone is sitting inside. The morning is still breaking, though, so it’s too dark to make out individual figures. I do however, spot Elijah placing the café’s chalkboard on the pavement and my pulse begins to pound that bit harder. I swipe some strands of hair away from my face and carry on past, feeling the heat of a blush.
‘God’s sake. What are you, fifteen?’ I push my chin up in the air in a moment of self-indignation and start looking for a good place to park. Luckily, I find a space up a nearby side street, then do another sweep past the café by foot. As I’m standing looking at the flowers on display outside the florist a few shops down, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
‘I’d prefer some tinnies, mate.’
I shake my head, but the relief it’s Charlie must be evident as he then squeezes my arm and offers reassurance it’ll be okay. We probably don’t need to go into the café, we could say what’s needed to be said right here, but I begin to walk in its direction. Charlie gives me a knowing look.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I’m not judging.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Honestly, a woman doesn’t need a bloke you know.’
‘If you say so.’
I stop and turn sharply to look at him. ‘No. Really. Sometimes, they’re an add-on – you know, like an app, or tool that could help improve the system – possibly – but they’re not required for it to work well, it’s merely an enhancement.’
Charlie presses his lips together, like he’s stifling a laugh. Idiot. I walk on.
It’s warm inside the café, and together with the comforting smell of fresh coffee, I find myself relaxing my shoulders an inch. Daren’t fully let my guard down, and not sure I could even if I tried. Too much is going on for that. I tell Charlie I’ll order the drinks, then I stand waiting to be served, my eyes darting around, checking out each of the five other customers – analysing their faces, movements, seeing if anything stands out as strange. Is anyone showing an interest in me or Charlie? Their gazes lingering a few seconds too long? Or, conversely, is anyone blatantly not taking notice? Nose seemingly in a newspaper, or staring out the window so I can’t see them fully?
‘What would you like?’ the voice cuts in, lifting me from my deep scrutiny.
‘Two lattes, please.’ I smile at the female barista. She takes my payment, and turns to relay the order to the other person. It’s Elijah. I take a new loyalty card from the holder, then with my upper body leaning over the counter, I make the point that I’ve clocked him, but he doesn’t look in my direction. The woman is talking to the next customer, so I take this opportunity to speak.
‘Oh, hey. Here’s my card,’ I say loudly, holding it out towards Elijah. The hissing of the steamer must drown out my voice because he doesn’t acknowledge me. With my fingers drumming on the countertop, I gaze at Charlie while I wait. He looks almost as awkward as I feel. A thud makes me turn back. Elijah’s put both glasses down hard. He pushes them towards me, then pulls the loyalty card from my grasp. I open my mouth, but surprise renders me mute. He stamps it once, leaves it by the side of the lattes then moves on to the next order – all without a word spoken or any eye contact. Heat rises up my neck and I lower my head. I don’t blame him after I didn’t ever get back to him. Still, he’s acting like a spurned teenager. I give a ‘hmph’ and leave the stupid card on the counter. I’ve more important things to deal with right now.
Charlie tells me they got an anonymous tip about my upstairs neighbour. Nothing there when cops arrived. Hoax call, seemingly. A mix of relief and disappointment swoops in first, followed by the thought it was definitely another warning aimed at me from John.
‘To frighten the shit out of me, I suspect.’
‘It’s not all about you, you know.’ He smirks.
‘So it’s safe for me to return to my delightful abode, then?’
Charlie makes a face. ‘Not sure I’d class it as safe, Becks. Why would you think it wasn’t though? The police weren’t in your flat.’
‘Hmm. I know, but . . . ’ I think of the photo I found in my joggers earlier. Should I show Charlie? With a deep sigh, I pull the photo from my pocket, unfold it. My heart flutters wildly. He’s going to be mad I kept this from him and Hannah. Especially as I promised them I wouldn’t withhold information. ‘There’s a complicating factor, Charlie. But you can’t report it, okay?’
His features contort as I slide it across the table. I don’t say anything. Just wait for his response.
‘Where did this come from?’
‘It was left on my investigation board in my bedroom.’
‘Fuck’s sake, Becks. When?’
I rapidly explain the timeline of events. That last night I thought perhaps police had found something significant in Tamsin’s flat. Panicked it was a body until I realised no CSI were on site. Couldn’t rule out John had someone plant something like this inside though. Thought I’d be arrested. Was too afraid to tell anyone until I figured out how to prove they were fake. I run out of breath and sit back. Charlie’s staring at the photo, silently twisting it this way and that as my blood pressure rises. I wish I could hear what he’s thinking. Is any part of him querying if it’s real? That I did harm Tamsin?
‘He’s really upped his game. Shit.’ He leans back. ‘This isn’t good.’
I blow air from my cheeks, his words offering some reassurance. The fact he’s said that John’s upped his game makes it seem to me that Charlie believes it to be a fake, too.
‘No, not good at all,’ I agree. ‘And Hannah told me it’s kicking off. That you guys think John knows Nina’s helping me?’
‘Yep. It looks that way.’ He leans in now, a worried expression crossing his face. ‘Nina’s house – John’s current residence – was broken into last night.’
‘What? You’re just telling me this now? Is she okay?’ A crushing sensation spreads through my chest.
‘I was building up to it,’ he says. ‘She’s pretty shook up. She’s being . . . looked after.’
I nod my understanding, assuming she’s been taken into protective custody.
‘Are things finally happening then? Have you got enough to arrest John?’
Charlie puts his head in his hands and my heart immediately sinks. ‘Nina found evidence, Charlie. Proper, hard evidence. You’ve got it, right?’ I ask desperately. I swallow hard as a sense of dread rises. ‘Charlie?’ He looks up, his expression despondent.
‘Nina said when she got back to the property after taking Millie to her parents’ pub, it’d been ransacked. From top to bottom,’ he says.
Tears fall freely down my face. I don’t need to ask the question, but I do anyway.
‘All the evidence was stolen?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Air leaves my body, my shoulders folding in on themselves and I sink lower in the chair, deflated. My stomach twists thinking about Nina and Millie – the danger I put them in. And for what? I can’t let it be for nothing. I sit up, planting my palms down on the table.
