The Agreement, page 23
I am back at the police station. I tap my fingernails on the reception desk and the receptionist summons Bekah Bradley. I can feel the words that I need to say to her pushing against me, revving up my anger. It’s a bittersweet mixture of desperation and helplessness at being conned by someone you thought you were in love with, and the building excitement at realising that you are discovering the truth.
I should have written down what I wanted to say. That’s my usual MO, but this is not a usual situation. No, this is a shot in the dark from someone who is used to sitting in the darkness. Someone who has acquired the torch of experience. So, I’m just going to tell her.
I wait. The receptionist looks up from time to time and smiles. Five then ten minutes pass. Then she appears on the other side of the door with DC Sharples. I wave and smile. I have nothing to lose here. She will either take this on board or she won’t, but I know I am right.
In the same way that Holly compiled a case, I am building the evidence. Like Bekah said, he’s covered his tracks. However, there are still things that can be uncovered. Holly’s fire rose too quickly, and she burned out. But if Collette gave me anything it’s tenacity. I’ve spent most of my life pushing that fire down. Practising the calmness that is water instead of oil.
I glimpse myself in the Perspex partition. I look confident and collected, yet inside everything is swirling around and threatening to sink if I don’t get it out soon. I wait while Bekah opens the door and comes around the reception desk.
‘Kate, what can I do for you?’
She has a ‘this had better be good’ tone about her and I smile.
‘I need to speak to you about Jake.’ She looks at DC Sharples and nods. I continue. ‘It’s not about what happened the other day. It’s about my mum.’
A frown forms on her brow and she pauses. ‘Oh. About the money?’
‘Yes. That. And something else.’
She takes a key ring and opens a door to a side room. I follow her and it is like the triage room at my local A&E, right down to the smell of disinfectant. She moves a cup from the table to the windowsill and sits. DC Sharples takes the seat beside her. I sit opposite them. They stare at me.
‘I met with my brother. He texted me about the money. We talked a little about Collette.’ I feel her name on my lips, unusual and sweet after all this time. ‘About how Dad died. He told me a CCTV camera that was usually on was out that night.’
I see Bekah’s eyes narrow almost indescribably. Her lips are pursed. ‘Go on.’
‘So, I got in touch with Holly, asked her if she knew Jake before she started seeing him. She said she met him at a party when she worked in Dubai. He knew she was loaded. And Veronica. I couldn’t work out why he would even bother with me until I thought about the insurance money. So someone needs to find out if he was working for Union Insurance around the time my dad died.’ Her lips curl a little into a smile. I continue. ‘And would the CCTV for that area still be on the file for my mum’s case? Not just that street. The streets around it, too.’
She leans back into her chair. ‘This might all come to nothing, you know.’
‘I know. But it might not. You told me the other day he had covered his tracks, and it could be that he had back then because no one knew him. But if he’s on the CCTV now, he’s connected.’
She turns to DC Sharples. ‘Would you? It’s Collette Palmer and Harry Palmer.’
He leaves. She straightens up and leans over.
‘What are you expecting from this? I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’
I smile at her. ‘Nothing. I’m expecting nothing. I could be wrong, but my brother told me he didn’t think Collette killed Dad. And neither do I. I didn’t know he’d hit her until the other day, but believe me, there were plenty of other times she could have done it before then. Plenty.’
She logs on to the workstation next to her. She taps in a password and then her eyes flit across the screen. The noise of a mouse scroll wheel is loud in the silent room. Finally, it stops, and she speaks.
‘I’m applying for a warrant to run a background check and some other checks. That should tell us where he worked. Let’s see what Posh comes up with.’ She looks me in the eye. ‘I don’t need a warrant for looking at past case CCTV, but if we find anything, you need to keep quiet about it, right? Not a word.’
Her usually pale skin is flushed red.
‘Would that mean you could arrest him?’
She shakes her head. ‘It would mean he’d be under suspicion of murder. We would have to go over the evidence again with his DNA.’ She checks the screen. She is seething. ‘This is how they work. Ducking and diving. Lying. Scamming. I thought this one was an opportunist who just got cockier, but now…’
I suddenly feel scared. My God, if he had killed Dad I had been living with a murderer for years. He could have killed me. She continues.
‘He’s been clever, for sure. But even if he knew your parents were insured, and he had his eye on you, how would he know about your past? Someone would have had to tell him.’
I slump. The people I have gone into detail with about my past I could count on one hand. Paula. A therapist I saw for a couple of months. And Ian. I scour my memory for anyone else I might have poured my soul out to, but there is no one. Ian has worked at the same job for years. No chance of him working at an insurance company or in software.
Then I see it. Clear as day. Jake didn’t talk about his job a lot but told me he had worked for Jenkins Stuart for years. His boss confirmed it when I went to see him. He worked on client accounts. He wrote bespoke software and IT solutions. I vaguely remember Ian saying his company, Lansdown Engineering, had a new system and that he’d struggled to use it. That he sat for weeks with the software people fine tuning it.
But Jake also worked on maintenance contracts. Audits and upgrades. He could easily have offered to work for the insurance company, chosen a big policy and then hunted down the beneficiaries. I will never know the full details of how he chose my parents’ policy, or how he heard about my life story and designed a way to get that cash. I straighten.
‘Do you need a warrant to ask Jake’s last employer for their client list?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. Unless they don’t co-operate, and we already requested it once.’
My gaze moves to her mobile phone.
‘He worked at client offices. We need to know if he worked at Union Insurance and Lansdowne Engineering.’
She smiles. ‘I’m already in enough shit. I guess this won’t make too much difference.’
I pass my phone across the table with Jenkins Stuart’s number visible.
‘It’s Dave Lord you want. He’s worried about Jake. He left there a couple of months ago, suddenly.’ I try out her limits. ‘He’ll think you’re worried about him, too. You could mention you’ve spoken to me. He won’t know what it’s about.’
She snorts and nods. Then she dials. She maintains eye contact as she speaks.
‘Yes, hello there. This is DS Bradley from GM Police. I wonder if I could speak to Dave Lord?’
Her voice is bright and crisp and my heart beats though my chest.
‘Hello, Mr Lord.’ A pause. ‘No, nothing to worry about. I’m calling about a Mr Jake Clayton. I believe he worked for you and left suddenly. I’m trying to trace his whereabouts, and I wondered if you had a list of all the clients he worked with. I think we already requested it, but your staff haven’t…’ Another pause. ‘No, no, I completely understand. GDPR. But yes, just the company names would be fine.’ She listens. ‘Yes, I did speak to Mrs Clayton. I’m sure everything is fine. It’s just routine. It’s just in case anyone remembers anything he said.’
She is good. And I have a feeling she has done this before.
‘Actually, could you send it to my private email so I can see it on my phone? Yes. BBradley3535 at gmail.com.’ Another pause. ‘Of course I will keep you informed, and you can ring me on this number anytime. Thank you so much.’
She sighs. She’s a pro. Her own email address and her own mobile number.
‘I don’t like doing it, but he gave that info of his own free will.’ She swipes a screen on her phone and leaves it face up on the table on her Gmail screen. DC Sharples returns. She moves her phone to the side.
‘Any luck?’
He nods. ‘Yep. It’s all been digitised so it’s still there. I sent it through.’
She taps on the keyboard and turns the screen around. I was shown the footage back then to see if I recognised anyone, but I didn’t. There were people about – Dad was living in a shared house on a terraced row in Ancoats. The houses were built on a grid of eight streets beside a mill. The end of each street turned onto a major artery road into the city, so there were speed cameras and, because of the high crime in the neighbourhood, observation cameras covered a lot of the area. The camera that pointed down Dad’s street was broken the evening he was killed, but the police appealed for any of the people on the other cameras to come forward.
There was only one way into the street, and one way out. The houses were back-to-back too; there was no back exit – the alley gates were locked and visible. The other end of the street was a solid mill wall as the houses were built right up to it. My mum wasn’t on that footage, I was sure of that, but other people were. It was closing time at the local pubs and people were up and down the main road and that street.
The prosecution in Dad’s case suggested that she might have hidden in a crowd of people who turned the corner. They didn’t offer a route out of the street, but the jury must have believed it.
It is on the screen now and I see the familiar street angles in six cameras. There is 24-hour footage on each side and I see the CCTV has been tagged with those people who came forward. Bekah looks at me.
‘Just the pre-footage for now, a couple of hours before. Four times faster. Posh, can you cover?’
He looks excited. ‘Yep. We’ve gone on surveillance out on King Street on the Mallory case, have we?’ She nods. He punches some details into his phone. Then she grabs his arm.
‘No, scratch that. Book it to this case.’ He raises his eyebrows. She snorts. ‘I know, I know, but I feel like we have to do it. Even if it’s to close it off. You in?’
He nods and changes his booking. She presses play, and the frozen figures move on the screen in front of us. I watch as they move super-fast to their destinations. Couples and groups of people walking along the main road from pub to pub. A normal night in a normal area. Cars whizzing by and the odd ambulance on its way into the city.
Bekah slows the footage at each single figure that turns into Dad’s row and zooms in just before they become invisible. Last time we did this we were looking for a middle-aged blonde woman. This time it’s my husband. I know his walk. His gait. All the things about him you can’t change. The slight droop of his shoulder and the way he shoves his hands in his pockets.
We sit for more than an hour staring at the monitor and suddenly my heart skips a beat. I look up at the time. Ten twenty-one. Familiarity pricks me and I point at the screen. She winds it back until the exact point the figure appears and then zooms in and progresses the frames slowly. I lean in. I see him. I see his shoes and the slight turn in of his toes as he walks. It’s February and the scarf across his face is not out of place. My heart beats faster as I watch. The curl of a stray lock of hair across his forehead that I have touched so many times.
Bekah looks at me. ‘Is that him? Can you make an ID?’
I feel the fire in my throat.
DC Sharples holds his hand up. ‘Okay, the warrant is available for the background check.’
Bekah checks her phone. She reads an email as the figure flickers on the screen. She throws her phone down. ‘No Union Insurance on the Jenkins Stuart client list. But Lansdowne Engineering is.’
DC Sharples speaks. ‘Oh, and we’ve got the insurance company records. No sign of Mr Clayton at their end. And it says here the insurance money is still sitting in the account unclaimed.’
I shrug. ‘I never took mine. It didn’t seem right.’
We turn back to the screen. She moves the figure on frame by frame. I am mesmerised, and he turns the corner to Dad’s house. My whole life flashes through my mind. Things I intentionally buried resurrect themselves against the backdrop of this. I take a breath in and nod.
‘Yes, that’s him. That’s Jake. I’ll testify in court.’
The room is quiet, and the CCTV footage still tracks a quiet Saturday night in Ancoats as Flynn rounds the corner to our father’s house.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Two weeks later, Paula and I are sitting in a Pizza Express in the city. Jake was arrested and bailed. He had no alibi for the night my father died. Bekah Bradley interviewed Ian, and he told her that Jake had worked on the new software system with him and brought up the subject of money and partners. They had in-depth conversations about my ‘inheritance’, as Ian called it, and Ian confided in him I wouldn’t take the money.
Bekah isn’t sure what will happen or if there will be enough evidence to convict him. What I do know is that my mother’s conviction for murder is unsafe. I went to see a solicitor, and he told me that there could be an appeal.
It’s the first time I have been out socially since all this happened and I am nervous. Flynn text me last week and asked if I would come along to meet him, Patrick and Michael and their wives. I wasn’t sure and I couldn’t tell anyone why. I can’t even confide in Paula because this is something just for me to turn around in my mind. Something to consider and mull over.
I came to the conclusion that Jake will get what he deserves. And I will let go now and let it unfold. No doubt he has already lined up his next victim. Bekah told me it’s like an addiction and each time it gets riskier. She told me that he would have seen me as a challenge. Something to control into claiming that insurance and, with it, any savings. A dangerous game to play, but she doesn’t think he will stop unless he is formally charged with murder and jailed.
I watch now as my brothers file in. Big men now, all broad shoulders and stubble. Their wives follow. Women I feel like I know through social media now come to life, their curiosity piqued as they spot me. I get up out of my seat and walk towards them. In a moment we are huddled together, holding each other, their strong arms around me like my arms were around them all those years ago.
I step backwards. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry for leaving you. I…’
Patrick laughs. ‘Bloody hell, Cathy, I would have too if I’d been old enough. No one blames you.’
Michael laughs too. ‘No one except Grandma. But she blames everyone.’
I nod and smile, but I am thinking she didn’t blame everyone, did she? She didn’t blame the person who, at the bottom of all this, was responsible. She didn’t blame her son.
Flynn stands at the back, letting it all go on in front of him. His wife holds his hand and smiles at the scene. I catch his eye and nod. His face asks me a question, but I turn back into the crowd and introduce Paula.
Soon we are surrounded by pizza and garlic bread, and this is clearly not the environment for questions and recriminations. I drink some fizzy water and laugh as Paula downs a large glass of wine. My brothers tell me about their kids and how they can’t wait to meet Aunty Cathy. No one mentions Collette or the time that has passed between her leaving and now.
The dessert is served, and Flynn goes outside and lights a cigarette. I follow him and stand beside him in the cool afternoon air. I touch his hand.
‘I know.’
He glances at me. ‘What? What do you know?’
I don’t look at him. ‘I know it was you. I saw you on the CCTV.’
He visibly slumps. ‘But I thought…’
‘Yes. My husband. I need to tell you that little story someday. But I wanted to let you know it will go to the grave with me.’
He is quiet for a moment.
‘I didn’t think they’d find her and blame her. I thought they wouldn’t find out. I was careful.’
I nod. ‘They are able to enhance footage these days, but they would never know it was you. Unless they knew you like I do.’
I see a tear trickle down his cheek. ‘Would she have seen it? The footage?’
My God. My God! Of course she would. She would have recognised her own son. The woman who I thought had abandoned us. She saw him and said nothing. She took life. For us.
‘I don’t know.’ I squeeze his hand. ‘I was there all those years ago. I saw what happened. That’s all I’m saying.’
We sit in silence for a while. Then he speaks. ‘She was seeing him again. She was going round there.’
‘I know. The police told me.’
He shakes his head. ‘He was using her. He was still using her. She was getting dressed up and going round there. But at times he had other women there. And… I saw her crying. I’d been searching for her and eventually I found her. In some scruffy backstreet boozer asking around for him. I was asking for her and she was asking for him.’ I nod. The same as me, then. He continues. ‘I followed her and saw her come out of his house crying and I just… something just came over me and I saw red…’
I squeeze his hand again. I don’t want to know what happened. I don’t know if it will change anything if I hear the details.
‘No, Flynn, no. I don’t want to know the details. I’m not saying it’s right, what you did. But… but… you need to forget it now. Like it never happened. Need to put it behind you. All this. You’ve… we’ve carried it all for so long now. All of us. And now we need to put it away. It’s done and it can’t be undone. None of it. But we can change what happens next.’
He nods and scratches his head. ‘So what happens now?’
I turn around and see the scene inside the pizza parlour. Paula is entertaining everyone with her stories, and everyone orders more drinks. It seems like only Flynn and I are weighed down by the past, but I know that is not true. None of us took the insurance money. None of us wanted the dirty cash that would not recompense us for our lost childhood.
