Talking to Strangers, page 14
And they’d been right. She should never have let them be alone here—or anywhere. But Annie hadn’t seen the danger. Only the freedom. It was one of the reasons she and Henry had bought the place—the gate onto the footpath and the trees just beyond. When they had kids, they’d wanted them to have the sort of childhood that wasn’t ruled by screens and video games. The boys were in and out of the wood all day long that summer—it was a brilliant place to play, and Annie had let them eat their sandwiches in the various dens they’d built. They’d known not to go farther than the big yew with the broken branch so they would be within earshot when she called them in. It’d been family law.
Her worries had been that they’d hurt themselves climbing trees. Not that something horrible lurked, waiting for them. That a Nicky Donovan lurked.
Annie had been shocked when she’d seen his photograph in the paper. Nicky Donovan had been so young—twenty-four—with curly hair like Archie’s, smiling for the camera with an ice cream in his hand. Someone’s son. And she remembered thinking: They’ve made a mistake. Why would this smiling boy hurt my children?
Henry had been furious when she’d said it out loud. But he’d been angry about everything then. He hadn’t cried. He’d shouted to vent his feelings. Blaming everyone for failing to protect his boy. So she hadn’t said it again. And the police had been so sure they’d got the right man. But no one could tell Annie why. Why the smiling boy had killed Archie. She’d told herself she’d have to wait for the police and a jury to get to the truth. But Nicky Donovan hadn’t let her. He’d hanged himself in his cell at the station while the shifts changed and no one was watching, they said. So she would never know.
Annie realized she’d been there for ages, sitting in the damp dirt. And she was no further forward. Her boy was still dead. But the questions had resumed their insistent drumbeat in her head.
When she emerged, Annie sensed rather than saw the man at her elbow and turned sharply.
“Mrs. Curtis?” the man said in a soft voice. “I don’t know if you remember me.”
It was the man from the vigil. Annie still had no idea who he was and looked around nervously for passersby. But they were alone.
“My name’s Ash Woodward,” the man said, standing an inch too close.
“What do you want?” Annie replied, her voice shrill.
“Just to say how sorry I am for your loss,” he said. “I wanted to say it last night, but I didn’t get the chance. I understand how you must feel. My mother died last year—and now Karen.”
Annie could feel her chest tightening, shortening her breath. “Thank you,” she managed to say. To end the bizarre moment. “But I have to go.”
As she turned, her foot went over and the stranger caught her before she clattered to the ground. “Careful,” he murmured, and his kindness tipped her into tears. “Where’s your car?” And she let him take her arm and guide her back to the street where she had parked.
“Do you live in Ebbing?” Annie said to break the silence. She thought she sounded like a royal. Have you come far?
“All my life,” Ash said. “But you moved away, didn’t you? After your little boy was killed.”
Annie stared at him, shocked at his directness. He clearly had no filter. “Yes, that’s right.”
“It was an awful time, wasn’t it?” he was saying. “And now Karen’s death has made it all come back.”
He sounded close to tears, and Annie just wanted him to let go of her arm and escape, but pity won out.
As they reached the end of the street, a police car drove slowly past, and Ash Woodward watched until it disappeared. “The police were everywhere back then as well, weren’t they?” he mumbled to himself. “They came to the house.”
“Your house? Why?” Annie said and struggled to remember his name again.
“Oh, I had nesting boxes in the wood. They wanted to know if I’d been up there that day.”
“They talked to a lot of people, I think.”
Ash looked away.
“Mum told them I was shelling peas with her at home,” he murmured. “She said I shouldn’t put myself in the picture. It never went well when I did. I always said something wrong. She said I talked myself into trouble.”
Annie’s head jerked up to look him in the face. What was he telling her?
“But you weren’t with her?” she heard herself say.
“No. I was watching birds in Knapton Wood,” Ash whispered, and Annie grabbed his arm so hard he yelped and wrenched it away.
“You were there?” she cried. “Did you see my boys?”
Ash’s mouth opened but no sound came out.
“And why are you here today?” Annie was shouting now. “How did you know where to find me? Have you been following me?”
A sudden roar of “Oi! You!” from behind them made them jump apart. “Is that your car?” a white-haired man with a red face was yelling through his open window. “My wife can’t get out of our garage.”
“Sorry,” Annie mouthed and fumbled for her keys.
“I need to go,” Ash muttered. “Take care of yourself.”
“No, wait,” Annie called after him. But Ash kept walking.
THIRTY-FIVE
ELISE
Thursday, February 20, 2020
The footage from the camera outside the Indian restaurant on the corner of Creek End had been downloaded, and Elise dragged Caro away from her spreadsheet to have a look.
They watched as Mina and Karen walked past, arm in arm on their girls’ night out. “Not great quality, is it?” Caro said. “The owners of the Golden Gate must have gone for the lowest frame rate.”
“Higher spec would eat up too much storage space, I suppose—and it’s not an Amazon warehouse. Whizz it on.”
The evening in Creek End unfolded like a badly made flick book.
“Business doesn’t look great, does it?” Elise muttered as virtual tumbleweed blew down the cul-de-sac. “Oh,” she said, and hit pause. A figure had jerked onto the screen and stepped toward the door. And her heartbeat picked up.
“Who’s that?” Caro said, peering closer.
“Um,” Elise squeaked, and had to clear her throat. “That’s Mal Coles, the man who’s moved in next door to my place. He’s renting. Did I mention him?” She knew she hadn’t. Didn’t want to discuss him with anyone yet.
Caro raised an eyebrow.
“No, you’ve kept him quiet. He’s nice-looking, though. Why’s he going to a restaurant on his own?”
Elise felt a flush rising up past her collar. “He’s single and it’s where he gets his takeaways.”
“Okay,” Caro said. “Is he on your list?”
“No,” she snapped.
“I meant to call in case he saw someone or something that night.” Caro grinned. “What’s this other list?”
“Shall we get on?” Elise tried to barrel past the awkward moment, but her finger still hesitated before pressing the play button. He was ringing tonight about going out for dinner. She felt her stomach flip and told herself she didn’t have to go. For God’s sake, she had a murder investigation as an excuse if she changed her mind.
She and Caro sat in silence, watching Mal reappear with his meal, and then sped up acres of nothing. “Shit, we’ve gone past the time Karen texted Mina Ryan,” Elise said, shaking her head to clear it.
“Well, I didn’t see her, did you?” Caro muttered as she rewound to check.
“We’re both tired,” Elise murmured, rubbing her eyes. They were still gritty after another night of jolting awake every hour.
“We didn’t miss her. She’s not there, is she?” Caro said. “Could she have come back another way? Without passing the restaurant camera? Her road’s a dead end, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but there’s a footpath at the end—the locals call them twittens,” Elise said.
“How very twee.” Caro laughed. “I don’t know how you stand all this picture-postcard nonsense. We call them dog shit alleys where we live.”
“Hark at you, living in the urban badlands of Horsham.” Elise grinned. “Anyway, there are loads of them linking the harbor and High Street with some of the residential roads. They go round the back or down the sides of gardens. There are lights at some of the entrances and exits, but I wouldn’t use them on my own after dark.”
“No, but Karen had been drinking.” Caro sighed. “She may just have taken the shortest route and that’s why no one saw her.”
Christ, they hadn’t even got her returning to the flat. Elise cast about for alternative explanations and wanted to scream with frustration. There used to be tabulated, cross-referenced files in her head—she was the go-to when colleagues couldn’t remember a name or make of car in an old case—but it was now just a ragbag of ideas.
“We’ve got to nail her movements that night,” Elise said wearily. “Where are the witnesses? What about staging a reconstruction tomorrow? I know it’s short notice, but it’ll be a week on. Get someone dressed as Karen to sit in the Neptune and walk the walk home. Get the media involved. We need new energy, don’t we?”
“Yep,” Caro said, stifling a yawn and sitting up straighter. “I’ll get on with the arrangements.”
“Good,” Elise muttered and glanced back at the images still flickering on the screen.
“Okay, stop!” she barked, catching the blur of a vehicle passing the now darkened windows of the Golden Gate. “Is that her car?” Caro replayed the segment, and they both saw the blur of a small vehicle. “Looks the right shape for a Fiat Cinquecento,” Caro said, noting the time for the technicians to have a closer look.
“And what’s that?” Elise jabbed at the screen. There was a dark shape in the restaurant doorway as the car passed. But only for one frame. It was gone by the time the film flickered on.
“Was she being watched?” she asked, her synapses finally awake and whirring through the possibilities. Her hand reached for the phone to flag what they’d spotted to the digital crew.
“Yep, got the Fiat,” the techie said. “At eleven forty-one.”
“On her way to Brighton?” Caro wondered aloud. “But what made her change her mind?”
“Or who?” Elise murmured.
THIRTY-SIX
KIKI
Thursday, February 20, 2020
“Are you all right?” Miles says as he walks past my desk. “You’ve gone all red in the face.”
“Bit hot in here, actually,” I snap and close my screen. He’s caught me googling beautiful matchy-matchy underwear—a different universe from my own jumble of old and older.
“Perhaps we could save the planet and turn the heating down?” I tell his retreating back.
I look down at my outfit. Black trousers and pink jumper. Mum clothes. I’ve got an hour. I grab my coat and bag and run down the stairs to the shops.
I’m rattling through the racks at H&M when my phone goes.
Kiki? It’s Zoe’s mum. Nothing to alarm you, but Pip’s a bit upset. Could you come and take her home?
But I’m at work, I say, pulling a silky blouse off a hanger. Have she and Zoe had a row? They’ll be over it in half an hour.
Well, her first period has started, actually. I’ve sorted her out with pads but I think she needs you.
The terrible mother puts the blouse back.
“I’m on my way,” I mutter.
I stand outside the store and message Rob.
Very sorry, family thing has come up. Can we rearrange?
Sure. Family first. How about a drink tonight? There’s a lovely little bar just up from the café.
I’m still smiling when I get to Zoe’s house.
“Hello, gorgeous girl,” I say, and Pip bursts into tears.
“I’ve got tummy ache,” she weeps, “and everyone knows. Zoe’s brother kept looking at me.”
I pull her close. “Come on, let’s go home and talk about it. We can find your old panda hot-water bottle. And watch Frozen.”
* * *
—
She’s mouthing “Let It Go” and I’m waiting beside her on the sofa for my mum to arrive when I open the BOBs forum to do a quick check on X-Man and crew.
There’s a new thread: “Vigil.”
Eamonn has posted: “Nice to finally meet you. Froze my nuts off up at the wood, though.”
Where the hell was he hiding that night? I definitely didn’t see him. I stand up and scroll down frantically to see who has replied. And when I spot the thumbs-up emojis, I sit down again heavily.
It’s Lenny and the Captain.
So they were there. In the darkness.
I pull up the vigil footage and stare and stare again for their faces.
THIRTY-SEVEN
ELISE
Thursday, February 20, 2020
Ash Woodward was in the interview room. He’d turned up at the front desk and asked to see DI King. “He says he’s got some information, ma’am,” the officer on duty said. “Shall I bring him up?”
Elise shot up in her chair so fast her vertebrae clicked. Andy Thomson had been back to Sunny Sands twice since Monday, but there’d been no sign of Ash. Now he’d come to them. Had he heard they were digging into his past? What had he come to tell them?
She rubbed her eyes as she strode the corridor, feeling the papery skin under them pull and crease. She’d have to put concealer on for her date with Mal at the weekend or she’d look like her mother. If he ever called…
Woodward was shuffling in his seat, and she noticed him touching a silvery ladder of scars on his left forearm.
“Mr. Woodward, we’ve been trying to talk to you for days,” Elise said crisply as she took her seat. “Did you not get my messages?”
Ash shook his head.
“I see. So why have you come?”
“You should be talking to Barry Sherman about Karen’s killing,” Ash gasped as if he had been holding his breath too long.
“Why is that, Mr. Woodward?”
He took a breath, and Elise could see the strain making his lips twitch. “He was seeing Karen,” he replied, looking her in the eye for the first time. “I wasn’t supposed to know. No one was. Sneaking around. But he’s been going to her flat.”
“How do you know? Were you watching Karen’s home?” Elise asked quietly, her senses now on full alert. What was this man really telling her? Was he the shadow in the doorway the night Karen died?
“No, no,” Ash insisted, dropping his gaze. He clearly knew he’d said too much. “I’m out and about round there at night, that’s all. I’ve been keeping a record of a pair of barn owls nesting in an old shed on the allotments round the back of Creek End. So I was up and down the road. On my bike.”
Too many excuses and so much detail. Almost as if he’d practiced it before sitting down…
“Right.” Elise stretched the word as she made notes, and his hands began rubbing his knees under the table. “So why didn’t you tell us about Barry before? When we asked you about Karen’s relationships.”
“I was worried he might hear it was me who’d said something. And I thought he’d tell you himself. But he hasn’t, has he?”
He hadn’t. In fact, Sherman had outright denied being anything more than a friend when she and Caro had interviewed him at the weekend.
Elise leaned forward to force Ash to look at her. “Why don’t you tell me everything you saw, Mr. Woodward?”
“Everything I saw?” Ash yipped, eyes wide.
“Yes,” Elise pressed. “You said Barry Sherman was at Karen’s flat.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, and his face relaxed slightly. What did he think she’d been asking about? What else had he seen? But before she could ask, Ash launched into his story.
“Right. Well, on the Thursday, the night before Karen was killed,” he mumbled, “I saw him ringing the bell to her flat, late and all secretive, and being let in. And saw him leave again. It didn’t take long—twenty minutes. He was only there for sex. It’s what he’s like. He uses women, but Karen wouldn’t listen.”
Elise’s ears pricked.
“You talked to Karen about it? When was that?”
Ash looked away again. “After I joined the Free Spirits,” he murmured. “I just warned her to be careful with men like him, but she said I didn’t need to worry.”
“But you did, didn’t you? You were watching her. Watching her visitors.”
Ash shook his head, but he couldn’t meet her eye now.
“I told you. I just passed by on my bike sometimes,” he insisted. “I wasn’t stalking her or anything.”
The word seemed to echo round the walls.
THIRTY-EIGHT
ELISE
Thursday, February 20, 2020
The smell of overheated oil caught in Elise’s throat when she and Caro walked into the Lobster Shack.
A heavily made-up woman behind the bar smiled a weary welcome.
“What can I get you?” she asked, wiping her hands on her “Cracking Claws” polo shirt.
“Mr. Sherman, please.”
“Oh, he’s out the back, wrestling the accounts into submission. Who shall I say?”
“DI King and DS Brennan.”
“Right-ho.” She went out and quickly reappeared. “Just go through. It’s the last door on the left.”
The pub manager was sitting with his back to them. Screwed-up pieces of paper formed a ripple of frustration around him.
“Er, hello again,” Sherman sighed, raking his hair with both hands. “How can I help you today?”
