The Shape of Truth: A completely gripping crime suspense, page 9
Someone once told me that a good test of your attachment to a man is to ask yourself how you would feel if you never saw him again. For me, the answer is clear – if Joel were no longer around I’d be devastated. Yet such intensity of emotion is quite frightening; Joel has very quickly come to mean the world to me. It seemed perfectly natural to confide in him about Mum and Mark Appleton and it’s a relief to share it and no longer feel alone.
We’ve only been out together on a few dates, yet I anticipate these occasions with an excitement that’s entirely new for me. From being resolved to steer clear of a serious romantic relationship, I’m fantasising about being kissed, longing to be with Joel and looking forward to seeing him at work. These daydreams give me respite from the other weird episodes in my life, yet my concentration is still all over the place. Talking to Joel is a relief – his quiet wisdom and ready support are helpful – he possesses the rare gift of seeing things objectively and has enabled me to look at past events in a new and more positive light.
Mum’s revelations have undoubtedly been a huge shock, yet now I can finally understand the dilemmas she faced almost daily during my formative years. Past events take on a transformed perspective with this knowledge. It’s hard to describe – as if I’m seeing my childhood through a different coloured glass and finally appreciate that things were not what they seemed at the time.
Learning Ronald was not my birth father has answered many questions about my past, and many incidents I’d previously struggled to comprehend have now fallen into place. Reflecting on incidents from my childhood, it’s finally clear why Ronald couldn’t accept me as a daughter, even for the sake of his wife. To him, I was simply Mark Appleton’s bastard, a daily reminder of the time Ronald wasn’t there to protect the woman he loved.
What an impossibly sad situation. At least I’ve finally stopped blaming myself. Nothing I could have done would have changed how Ronald perceived me.
Having dwelt on my childhood so much of late, the picture emerging in my mind confirms that Mum’s efforts and energies instigated every good time and happy memory I have. To a great extent she was a shield from Ronald’s shortcomings as a parent and from his flaws which, knowing the truth, I now see differently. Whatever the circumstances of my conception, my mother made the best of it while having to deal with her husband’s negativity, and for her bravery and love, I’m grateful.
The paternity issue has taken me by surprise and become of paramount importance, even though the unsavoury reality of my conception has left me reeling and I need to work through the jumble of emotions it’s prompted. To anyone else in a similar situation, I would probably say a birth father is just a sperm donor – a clinical view born out of my work and previous involvement with genetics in the lab’s infertility section. But when it’s my own genetic makeup, it suddenly takes on much greater relevance. It’s personal, imperative and almost impossible to shake from my mind.
‘Hello, gorgeous!’ Joel startled me. As usual these days, my mind was anywhere but where it should be as I absent-mindedly checked off supplies in the storeroom. He slid his arms around my waist and kissed the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I wriggled free.
‘Not at work, Joel. Someone might see!’ I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘I’ve locked the door.’ He jiggled his eyebrows.
‘You haven’t!’
‘You’re right, I haven’t.’ Joel earned himself a playful punch. It’s incredible how comfortable we are together. Yes, our relationship is still very fresh and new but it’s a magical time – he’s brought a lightness into my life that I didn’t realise was missing. Have I really never known how to have fun?
‘Still on for tonight?’ he asked.
‘Can’t wait. Are you sure you can cook because, strictly from a work point of view you understand, we can’t both go down with food poisoning?’ I grinned at him, looking forward to an evening in his company.
‘You’ll be amazed. I’ve been cooking for myself for ten years and I’m still alive and kicking.’
‘Beans on toast doesn’t count as cooking, though…’ Joel silenced me with his lips and left the room before anyone came in and discovered us stealing elicit kisses.
A welcome warmth swept through my body. It’s ironic that the awful discovery of my true parentage – the very worst time of my life, coincides with the happiest time I can ever remember. With so much happening – impossible revelations and anticipation of future events crowding my thoughts and keeping me awake at night – Joel has become my rock. Not that I constantly talk about my problems, it’s unnecessary. We’ve slipped into an easy companionship and it’s sufficient to know that he’s there for me when I need him.
Tonight will be my first visit to Joel’s home and his claim to be a good cook will finally be tested. He’s off the hook even before the meal as it won’t take much to improve my culinary skills and I regularly survive on beans on toast. I’m keen for Joel to meet Mum too. Having told her all about him she’s excited for me, and probably already dreaming of a wedding. I need something good to offset the horrible events of the last few weeks and Joel is more than a welcome distraction.
Before my date I rang Mum. She’d left a message earlier asking me to ring back with her usual caveat that there was nothing to worry about, a habit of hers which always made me worry. She answered on the first ring.
‘I’m so sorry, love, but it looks like the police don’t have sufficient evidence to charge Mark Appleton.’ Mum’s words came as a blow – surely the allegation itself should be enough? ‘Samantha Freeman is disappointed and insists the case isn’t closed but unless something new turns up it looks like it might be a non-starter.’
‘Are you all right with this, Mum?’
‘Saddened really, although perhaps it’s not meant to be. I know you were keen to see him charged but maybe now with Joel on the scene you can let it rest? It would have been tough going to trial, so it seems we’ve been spared that ordeal at least.’
‘But, Mum, that man isn’t fit to hold office! It’s not just personal. What he did to you… he should be exposed for the monster he is.’ I was angry rather than upset. Poor Mum had been so brave to go this far and now the police were backing off, saying there was nothing they could do. Forever the peacemaker, she tried to put forward the police point of view and look for the positives while I felt frustrated and totally impotent. Mum explained that Samantha needed more evidence to proceed yet neither of us could think of anything to add to make a weightier case.
‘There’s no point in worrying, Anna. Let’s just see what happens, shall we?’ In her usual caring way, Mum tried to make light of this disappointment and we ended the call.
Seeing Joel later suddenly took on greater importance. I longed to share this new development with him and feel his comforting arms around me. But I couldn’t only think of myself and needed to visit Mum soon. These days our roles were reversed as she’s the one who’s alone with no one to share her deepest thoughts – how she must be missing Ronald. I didn’t want Mum to worry about me as she usually did so I would see her as soon as possible. Perhaps the coming weekend was a good time, and introducing her to Joel would hopefully provide another focus to take her mind off this latest setback.
17
JENNY
Jenny Newcombe’s day proved to be one of the most frustrating since her move to the rank of detective constable. The Appleton case started as a dream – an investigation with the potential to make a difference, the very reason she joined the police force. Jenny believed strongly that people in public office should be beyond reproach and after hearing Caroline Greenwood’s account of Appleton’s darker side, the young DC was fired up and keen to pursue justice. Not generally a political animal, Jenny voted for the person who appeared most worthy of her vote rather than the party they represented and the previous year, she’d voted for Appleton. The revelation of his true character and her DS’s disappointing news that pursuing the case was unlikely was a bitter blow.
Jenny’s day went from bad to worse when she was called to assist in an arrest which failed to go to plan. The suspect in question was accused of insurance fraud, and DS Matthews’ team had been working to gather evidence and were on the point of arrest. The approach was to attend the suspect’s residence, where he lived with his wife and children. A female officer was required and as no one else was available, Jenny was asked to assist.
It should have been routine, a simple reading of rights and cuffing of their suspect, but the man unexpectantly turned violent, lashing out at the nearest officer, who happened to be Jenny. A flying fist caught her eye, and the impact unbalanced her enough to stumble down the front two steps of the house, twisting her ankle in the process. The arrest was successful but Jenny’s pride was injured as much as her eye and ankle.
Back home, a soak in a hot bath and lounging on the sofa in her fluffy pyjamas didn’t make Jenny feel much better. With an ice pack on her eye and a packet of frozen peas on her ankle, Jenny’s boyfriend, Stuart, was fussing, irritating her even more.
‘It’s no big deal.’ Jenny sighed. ‘You’ll just have to order a takeaway or something tonight. I’m not up to cooking.’ The incident was more embarrassing than painful.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Stuart’s face was arranged in what Jenny supposed was a sympathetic expression, which for some reason annoyed her even more.
‘Actually, this isn’t the worst experience of my day. What hurt more is that that bloody MP has slipped through our fingers. Without enough evidence to arrest him, we can’t get a DNA sample which is all we need to prove his guilt.’ Jenny thumped the cushion she was hugging.
‘Can’t you just ask him for one? If he’s innocent he shouldn’t have a problem with it, should he?’
‘Strangely enough we thought of that, Stuart.’ Jenny gave a tight, mocking smile. She was beginning to wonder about her relationship with her boyfriend. Perhaps letting him move in with her wasn’t a good idea. It was too soon in their fledgling relationship and regrets were already creeping in. ‘We asked him to come in voluntarily to answer the allegation, which rather reluctantly he did, but on request, he refused to give a sample, which he was perfectly entitled to do. So it looks like we’re scuppered – and believe me, it hurts far more than this stupid ankle.’
‘Didn’t you give him a coffee or something to get his DNA from the cup, as they do on the telly?’
‘If it were up to me, I would have, but taking it without permission would render it inadmissible as evidence, so why bother?’
‘I think the police should hold everyone’s DNA profile on record. It would make your job so much easier.’ Stuart grinned. Jenny had initially found his view of life as simply black and white endearing, but such naivety gradually became exasperating.
‘And you’d have the human rights and civil liberties lobby breathing down your neck for even suggesting it. There’s such a thing as a right to privacy, Stuart – we are a democracy.’
‘But if you’ve got nothing to hide why would it bother you?’
Jenny sighed. Stuart honestly didn’t appear to understand and she couldn’t be bothered to get into a discussion on such matters. They’d been there before and generally ended up going round and round in circles. Maybe it was time to call a halt on this relationship; if Stuart was irritating her so much now when they should still be in the honeymoon period, what hope was there for their future? She longed for the comfort of being alone and having only herself to please.
‘Forget it, Stuart. I shouldn’t have mentioned it anyway – I’d just have loved to see Mr High and Mighty’s self-righteous face splashed across the newspapers with the headline Rapist. And to think I even voted for the pig. Still, it looks like it’s not going to happen so let’s drop the subject.’
‘Fine by me.’ Stuart sounded remarkably chirpy, again something which grated on Jenny. ‘Do you want Chinese or Indian?’ He smiled.
‘I think I’ll give it a miss and have an early night. You order what you want, I’ll see you in the morning.’ Jenny escaped to their bedroom; she’d elevate her foot and read the latest Victoria Hislop she’d just started. Perhaps it would take her mind off the day’s events and the unfairness of life, with the hope of transporting her to a sunny beach somewhere. But the smug face of Mark Appleton intruded into her thoughts and she couldn’t help but wonder how Caroline Greenwood was feeling. If Jenny was so cut up about Appleton, how must his victim and her daughter be taking the news?
18
MARK
The Honourable Mark Appleton was in a foul mood, not an unusual occurrence when he was confined to the constituency office, forced to meet with the community and hear their tedious complaints. Interaction with the public had never been his favourite part of the job – in fact, he loathed the necessity of it. Some of the constituents were frightful and their expectations were totally ludicrous at times.
Still, his agent, Tim Baker and the party whips insisted on a minimum number of ‘surgeries’ when the House wasn’t sitting. Appleton had just managed to get rid of a particularly obnoxious little man who wanted him to intervene in a dispute he was embroiled in with his landlord when Mark’s solicitor rang. Mark didn’t like Arthur Jenson and had no time for the man, but he was good at his job and asked very few questions, which was essential to the MP who valued his privacy highly. Mark’s secretary, Lindsay, put the call through and Appleton listened and smiled at what Jenson had to tell him.
‘I’ve spoken in length to the DCI at New Middridge police station who’s assured me they will not be pressing charges. Of course I’m not surprised; the police have nothing of substance to go on and were simply on a fishing expedition. So, we shouldn’t hear any more about the incident.’
Mark thought he sounded somewhat superior. ‘There was no incident, Jenson, that’s the whole point! The woman was a chancer, out for her ten minutes of fame no doubt, but not at my expense. Did the police apologise?’
‘Not in so many words. Perhaps it’s best not to push it.’
‘Surely we have grounds to make a complaint. They shouldn’t be allowed to embarrass people indiscriminately. It might have got in the papers!’
‘But they didn’t actually arrest you, and it is their job to look into these allegations; they’re only public servants as you yourself are, Mark.’
‘Don’t class me with the police!’ Appleton was angry at the comparison. He found it quite unpalatable to think of himself as a public servant. ‘Okay, we’ll let the matter drop; it’s probably for the best.’ With the call concluded the MP decided he’d had enough for the day. He picked up the phone again and told Lindsay he was going home.
The secretary whispered into the phone. ‘But there are two more constituents here and they’ve been waiting over an hour.’
‘Tell them an emergency’s come up. I’ll leave by the back door.’ Appleton did as he said and headed for his comfortable home in the suburbs, ready to put up his feet and open the bottle of Jack Daniel’s Tennessee whiskey he’d recently purchased. Gold No 27 – an extravagance he felt he deserved after a stressful couple of days.
The request from the police had been nothing short of irritating yet Mark was confident it could be consigned to history. He could do without such accusations – politicians seemed to draw out the worst in people, which Mark generally put down to jealousy. The public assumed they had the right to pick up on any minor incident, past or present, and make an issue of it. Mark generally shrugged such attention off. He’d learned to obfuscate matters with skill or sweet talk his way out of situations, whichever tactic was appropriate. Still, he was glad to have wriggled out of this one.
Mark’s career was going well and he held ambitions to reach the top. A scandal would be most unwelcome. A general election was due sometime within the next twelve months and Mark’s seat was a safe one. Another win would provide the springboard to move up to the next level. Tim Baker was confident Mark could make it all the way – a heady notion that brought a smile to the MP’s lips each time he thought about it. But for now, he needed time alone and headed home, glad to escape his tedious responsibilities.
19
GEORGIA
Georgia Appleton was startled when she heard the front door. Mark was early and a change in routine was always a concern. Her husband had been more than usually jumpy since the police asked him to go to the station to ‘informally’ answer questions about an allegation. He told her it was nothing, just some stupid woman inventing stories and trying her luck for compensation.
Georgia had married Appleton at the tender age of nineteen, wildly in love with an attractive older man and dazzled by his wealth, ambition and charm, all of which he appeared to have in spades. She was an intelligent young woman whose plans for a career, the chance of a university place and a previously longed-for degree were abandoned to become a full-time wife to a budding politician. Georgia all too readily persuaded herself that her ambitions were inconsequential compared to Mark’s aspirations and that she’d find fulfilment in being his wife, sharing his ambitions and helping him obtain his goal.
Mark was not an MP when they’d married yet steeped in local politics he swiftly rose to the position of leader of the town council, the youngest in New Middridge’s history. With what Georgia considered an eye-watering generous salary and family money behind him, Appleton afforded a luxury home and a certain standing in the community, presenting a glittering lifestyle to captivate his young and impressionable wife.
