(2011) Only the Innocent (42 page)

I need to know whether there is any link between these girls running away, and Hugo disappearing for a couple of days. If he’s taking these girls as a mistress - even temporarily - I want to know. I don’t care - at least not from my perspective (I pity the girls, though) - but it could be very useful ammunition if that’s what he’s doing.

I had to give up on Jessica. I know she’ll tell Hugo, so I need to think of some excuse. I’ll tell him about Danika then say that Rosie explained about the notes, and feign a lack of interest. But I want to know what those initials stand for.

I need to be careful, though. If Hugo finds out, I’m dead (quite possibly literally).

*

I have made a stupid mistake and now I’m very scared. This
isn’t
like researching a television programme. This is real life. My real life. And it’s not just
my
life I need to think about. I got carried away with my own cleverness, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.

After my visit to the office, I decided the only sensible thing to do was to hire a private detective. I would have Hugo followed. I’ve always believed he has a mistress. But what if it’s something more sinister? I need to know.

I thought I’d done my research into private detectives thoroughly. I thought I’d found somebody reputable. I should have known better.

Hugo returned from wherever he’d been, and of course I was quizzed about my trip to the office. Jessica wouldn’t have wasted any time. I think I covered it reasonably well, although I was told in no uncertain terms that the charity is none of my business and they have procedures, of which I know nothing.

And then the worse thing happened. Hugo had hired a bodyguard for the evening. I should have realised that he wouldn’t be up to anything as he had a potentially talkative minder with him - but I stupidly asked the detective to follow him anyway, and he was caught! And not only that, he told Hugo - no doubt with some persuasion - that it was me who had employed him.

Hugo’s fury was something that I can’t even begin to describe. And I could find no reasonable excuse. I couldn’t say I was concerned that he had a mistress. He knows I would be delighted. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I just sat there and let his torrent of verbal abuse roll over me. I have never seen him so furious - even more furious than that time when he locked me away.

And now I think he’s trying to decide what to do with me. I need to act, and quickly. Not for me - I don’t care anymore. But there’s more than my life at stake.

I have to tell somebody. I have to make somebody understand. It’s no good telling you - what could you do? And I don’t have any other friends. If I told my mum or Will, I don’t know what Hugo would do. He’d find some way of making them lose all credibility, possibly something really dreadful. So it needs to be a person with authority. It needs to be somebody who will protect me - and not just me, of course. Oh, I know what Hugo will say. He’ll point back to my depressed state, and explain away my over active imagination. I need to be convincing - and all without a scrap of evidence.

So I’ve decided. I’m going to go to the police. Affairs with prostitutes are not illegal, I’m sure, but if they’re disappearing they’ll have to investigate it. There’s a Chief Constable that I’ve met a few times at charity dinners. Theo Hodder. I’m going to go to him.

I’ll tell him everything. Then he’ll have to act.

And I’ll leave this letter somewhere where only you would ever find it, Imo - in case something happens to me. There’s one place that Hugo would never think to look, but you would. Who would have thought all those years ago when we hollowed out that old copy of The Secret Garden to hide my diary that I’d need to use it again!

In fact, all my letters to you are hidden there - so if you’re reading this, I wonder what’s become of me?

I probably didn’t tell you this often enough, Imo - but I really love you. And I’m so, so sorry. Xxxx

A SMALL VILLAGE IN CRETE

Less than two thousand miles away on the island of Crete, a small group of middle-aged holidaymakers were having a pre-lunch drink in a small bar, perched on the side of a hill and well off the beaten track. Although late in the year, the sun was warm enough to sit outside at mid day, and the surrounding countryside was still parched awaiting the winter rains.

‘Bit of a find, this place. Look at that view!’ one of the women said.

‘I bet the food’s good too. Look, there’s a couple of locals just coming in, and that’s usually a good sign, so they say.’

‘Only three more days, and it’s back to the rain for us.’

‘And on that jolly note - cheers everybody!’

The two couples continued to talk companionably about the holiday and about some of the people they’d met, the wives making thinly disguised catty remarks about a particularly glamorous woman who they’d caught their husbands chatting up in the bar.

The local couple hadn’t been given a menu, and were just presented with a plate of food that looked quite delicious. They were keeping themselves very much to themselves, and talking quietly in what the English contingent could only guess was Greek. Unlike the Brits, who were talking at full volume on the basis that nobody would understand a word they were saying.

‘I tell you what, though, it’s been good to get away from the news. It’s so depressing. Bombing in Pakistan, banks going bust, unappealing politicians trying to capture our votes whilst stabbing each other in the back - at least here we can just relax. I know it’s all a bit ostrich-like, but I do prefer not knowing all this stuff when I’m on holiday.’

The man’s wife put her glass down.

‘I must say I’d like to know what’s been happening in the Hugo Fletcher murder case, though. We’ve missed all that. I couldn’t believe it when we saw the newsflash at the airport. Who would want to kill a man like that? I bet it was something to do with a woman. He was a bit of a dish, wasn’t he?’

The other woman nodded her agreement.

‘He’s got a young daughter too. She’s only about eleven or twelve, I think. Poor kid.’

Trying to get away from the subject, the more rotund of the two men tried to move to a topic that was closer to his heart.

‘Why don’t we all agree to forget the news for now and enjoy this wonderful place. Okay? Let’s order some lunch. I want what they’re having.’ He rudely pointed to the only other occupied table.

The Greek couple said nothing. Their eyes met, and the man reached his hand across the table and tenderly stroked the arm of the woman sitting opposite him.

They got up quietly to leave, the man throwing a twenty euro note on the table, their plates still half full of uneaten food.

It didn’t take the police team long to plough through the files on the Allium girls - either accounted for or missing. There was a sense of urgency, as if everybody knew that something was about to happen. Tom received the all-important call whilst he was still in Oxfordshire. He wasn’t relishing what he knew he had to do next.

‘Laura, I don’t know how you’re going to react to this, so please sit down. You should have somebody with you. Shall I get your mother or brother?’

‘No thank you. I’d rather just hear it myself, whatever it is.’

He took up a seat next to her again. He really wanted to hold her hands again, but he knew it wasn’t appropriate. Instead, he tried his best to convey his deep sympathy through the warmth of his voice.

‘I’m sorry, Laura. It’s not often that being right is the worst option, but in this case I think it’s true. And it would seem that you were right about Hugo. There’s still some chance that it’s coincidence, but it’s highly unlikely. On or around every date in the last five years that Hugo has an underlined LMF in his diary, a girl has disappeared. They’ve each left a note, so there was no investigation.’

Laura had bowed her head, as if she felt the acute shame of being associated with this man, and whatever he had done. She didn’t speak, so Tom continued.

‘Only Rosie was really in a position to make the connection, and there were quite lengthy gaps - at least in the early years. And of course there were other girls that went missing in between these dates, which I think we can assume are unrelated. Given that the girls weren’t necessarily reported missing immediately, it’s understandable that she didn’t realise the significance. And why would she even begin to
think
that he had anything to do with it?’

He was quiet for a moment, giving Laura the space to make sense of her own thoughts, if that were in any way possible. Finally she looked up. There was no hint of surprise at these revelations on her face, and it was clear to Tom that she had always known that something had been happening. Why else would she have reported her husband to a Chief Constable. So why had Theo Hodder not acted? He posed the question to Laura.

She shrugged. ‘He refused to listen. He said that Hugo was a saint, and nothing I said would convince him otherwise. But I hadn’t realised just how close he and Hugo were.’

Tom was slightly puzzled by this remark.

‘What do you mean, close? I wasn’t aware that they were actually
friends
. You should know, Laura, that Hodder isn’t a very popular man, and is actively disliked in some quarters.’

‘I think he owed Hugo a favour. But I don’t know more than that. In ways that I can never explain to you, he probably did me a very good turn.’

Mystified as he was by this comment, Tom had more to reveal. He was sure that now this was all out in the open, Laura would be willing to help.

‘We think LMF has to represent a place. The underlined dates correspond to the dates they went missing, so we reckon the pencilled in dates are probably when they met subsequently, but we don’t know for sure. We’re getting Brian Smedley to pull together a list of all the properties owned by the company to see if we can make a link. And we’re looking for hotels with those initials too.’

He was disappointed to see Laura shake her head.

‘No Tom. He wouldn’t have gone to a hotel. He’d have been spotted.’

Tutting with exasperation, Tom made one last plea.

‘I’m sure we’ve got to solve this mystery to get to the bottom of his murder. Laura, if there’s anything else you know, you must tell me.’

‘I don’t
know
anything. It was always supposition on my part. I
do
know that you need to be looking for somewhere remote. Somewhere he wouldn’t be recognised. Where nobody could see him coming and going.’

‘The thing is Laura, if the girls went with him willingly, what do you think happened when he got tired of them, which he must have done as he seemed to take a new girl every three months or so? And would it be a motive for murder? It wouldn’t be the first time that somebody has died at the hands of a woman scorned.’

It felt to Laura as if a year had passed since Imogen had been taken to the police station, so when she saw a police car pull up in the drive and a weary Imogen emerge from the back seat, her relief was overwhelming. She rushed to open the front door.

‘Imogen! Are you okay? I’ve been so worried. What did they ask you? What did you say?’

She gave her friend a hug, and held on tight. Despite his warmth and understanding, when Tom had left to return to New Scotland Yard, taking Becky with him, he had declined to tell her when she could expect Imogen back, simply asking her to be patient.

Imogen moved away from the embrace, and gave Laura a look of such concern that the panic lying just below the surface threatened to engulf her again.

‘I’m fine, Laura. But the letters? What about the bloody letters? Christ I’m so sorry, Laura. There was one on my bed! Did they see it when they came for the laptop?’

Relaxing slightly, Laura answered.

‘Becky found it. It was the one about Danika. I’ve spoken to Tom about it - I’ll tell you later.’

Imogen let out an audible breath.

‘Thank God I’d shredded the earlier ones! But what about the rest - the ones you wrote after that?’

‘They were in your drawer, and they hadn’t asked if they could search your room. So I shredded them. You know most of it anyway. It’s all the stuff I told you in the home.’

Imogen looked at Laura keenly. ‘I’d assumed the later ones would fill in the gaps - and there are some. When are you going to tell me the rest - it’s like you’ve given me a jigsaw but kept back the vital piece that make sense of the picture.’

‘It’s honestly better if you don’t know everything until it’s all over, one way or the other.’

Laura could sense that Imogen wasn’t going to settle for this, so she quickly changed the subject.

‘Anyway, Imo - what about you? Was it really awful?’

‘Hah! To say it’s been a bit traumatic would be something of an understatement.’ Imogen wasn’t really concentrating on the conversation, though. She was looking around her. They hadn’t moved from the hall, and she seemed to be trying to look over Laura’s shoulder. It came as no surprise to her when Imogen asked the inevitable question.

‘Where’s Will?’

Still always Imogen’s first thought, and she was bound to be disappointed at Laura’s answer.

‘We were all getting upset and agitated, so he took Mum to buy some food. You know what she’s like - a good hot meal and all our troubles are over. I’ll ring him and let him know that you’re back.’

Laura moved towards the phone, but Imogen reached out a hand to stop her.

‘Leave it, honey, if you don’t mind. You know what I need? A stiff gin and tonic, and a very hot bath to remove the stench of the interrogation room. All I can say is there must have been a lot of very guilty people in there, judging by the stink of stale sweat.’ Imogen attempted a laugh. ‘It had ingrained itself into the walls. Come and talk to me, though, because I need to get it all off my chest. Unlike some people around her, I prefer to share.’

Ignoring the barbed comment, Laura volunteered to get the gin, whilst Imogen ran the bath. She shouted up the stairs to Imogen’s retreating back.

‘Use my bathroom, Imo, I’ve got some gorgeous Jo Malone stuff in there. Lime, basil and mandarin. That will get rid of any lingering odours. Just help yourself.’