Dark Place to Hide (23 page)

‘Of course, I do. But then the police should be making this request through the proper channels.’

I pull out what I hope will be my trump card and although it carries no real weight, I show her my university ID. ‘I am a specialist in criminology and forensics with connections to the police force in Hampshire and I could make life very difficult for you, Ms Hodder, if you don’t assist me with this matter.’

I sound more officious than I intended, but it seems to do the trick. She takes her eyes away from mine for the briefest moment, but long enough for me to know she is faltering.

‘What is it you need to know?’ Her arms are still folded, her chin jutting out.

‘I want to know who my wife saw that day and I want to speak to that person.’

She sniffs and moves over to the computer. ‘If you would sit down, Dr Penn,’ she instructs, clawing back a vestige of power. ‘Your wife saw the nurse. Lesley. I’ll see if she’s here. Please wait.’ She turns away sharply and leaves the room.

Lesley is wide-eyed and nervous at being brought before me and I feel sheepish interrogating her. Ms Hodder stands her ground, staying with us to make sure I don’t intimidate her.

‘My wife came to see you on the sixth of June,’ I say. ‘Can you tell me what it was about?’

Lesley looks terrified at the prospect of being expected to remember the encounter. Ms Hodder steps in.

‘You can refer to your records, Lesley – it’s not a test.’

Lesley logs herself on to the computer and scrolls down. ‘Okay. Yes, I remember.’ She turns to us, her hand still on the mouse. ‘Am I allowed to say?’

‘Yes – go ahead,’ says Ms Hodder, who now appears to have changed sides and is doing half my job for me.

‘Diane was worried when she woke up feeling terrible after a work do,’ Lesley informs me. I remember now, you rolled in very late one night, Dee, after a retirement party at work and you were sick before you got into bed. It wasn’t like you. You never overdo it with alcohol. ‘She passed out at a party and she didn’t know why.’

‘
Passed out?
’ I exclaim. I thought it was a rogue hangover. ‘Had she mixed her drinks or something…?’ I ask.

‘Diane said she hadn’t drunk anything alcoholic at all. I asked if she was particularly stressed, had had any headaches lately, any other symptoms, like a temperature or flu. She said no to all those. I said it might be food poisoning.’ She lowers her eyes. ‘We tested for the only other thing I thought it could be.’

‘Which was?’ I ask.

‘We did a pregnancy test. But it was negative.’

What Lesley has said makes my mind flip an internal calendar and I consider the dates. The miscarriage was on July 25
^th
– and seven weeks before then would have been around the time of this appointment.

Of course, there was always going to be another possibility – that you were forced into something without your consent. This idea has been fluttering round my head like a lethal mosquito right from the beginning, but I’d refused to allow it to settle and brushed it away. I
couldn’t let it in. I couldn’t allow my thoughts to go down that route – it’s been too upsetting to contemplate.

Lesley carries on, ‘I suggested she see her GP if she wanted to run any further tests, but from her records it looks like she didn’t.’

I’m not hearing anything coherently now; my mind has leapt elsewhere. I thank them both, even squeeze Ms Hodder’s arm and hurry out. By the time I’m on the pavement, Tara is answering my call.

‘Yeah – there was a school retirement party in early June, for Doreen Passmore, but I was taking my Salsa class that night and I didn’t go.’

‘Did Diane mention it at all? Talk about it?’

‘Not really.’ She hesitates. ‘She mentioned it in passing, but it didn’t sound like she’d had a particularly good time. Sometimes, these after-work dos are a pain. All paper plates and stale sandwiches. You feel you have to go, but it’s all a bit of fake camaraderie. I don’t think many people liked Doreen that much, to be honest.’

‘Well - apparently, Dee passed out at some point. She didn’t mention that?’

‘No…’

‘Who went to it – do you know?’

‘Not off hand – but I’ll try to find out for you.’

I cycle back home and before I know it, I pour myself a whisky. I don’t mean to, but my nerves are crying out for it. It’s standing on the draining board; golden and full of promise. I knock it back in one and wait for the dynamic rush – soothing and electrifying all in one.

I’ve barely eaten all day. This can’t be good for me. I check the freezer – there are ice-cubes – trays and trays of them for some party or barbeque that is never going to happen. There
are frozen peas and a packet of apple sauce. That’s all. I pour out a bowl of Shredded Wheat instead; my mainstay for the last two weeks. I open a can of dog food and fill Frank’s bowl. His head nuzzles my hand as it’s holding the fork, so that half of it ends up on the floor. I pat him, then throw both arms around him, overwhelmed suddenly with the need for warmth and comfort. He half ignores, half tolerates me, his body jerking with every gulp of food.

‘Oh, mate – I don’t know how much more of this I can take,’ I tell him. He turns and licks my face with meaty breath and I leave him to it.

The doorbell rings and a round of shots blast around my ribcage. I’m always expecting news, yet the sound still makes me jump.

For a split second I think it’s you. The same height, the long dark hair tied back at the side with a clip, the broad sculpted shoulders. It’s Alexa.

‘Peace offering…’ she says, holding out a bottle of red wine, not looking at me. She nudges the door open with her foot and steps inside without my invitation. She’s wearing denim shorts like the pair you have and a black lacy top I’m sure I’ve seen upstairs.

‘That bloody dog still here?’ she chides. Frank charges towards her, his tail wagging and she draws her arms into her body to avoid him. ‘Please – can you?’ She huddles against the sofa hoping I’ll take him away. I enjoy a rare, but brief, moment when Alexa looks vulnerable.

‘Frank – here boy…’ I entice him with chews and he curls into his basket. I return from the kitchen with two glasses and a corkscrew, although I’m not convinced that Alexa turning up like this, is a good idea.

‘Have you heard anything?’ she says helping herself to the centre of the sofa. ‘I feel like I’m out of the loop.’ She kicks off her sandals and slides her feet beneath her, like she lives here. It irritates me more than it should.

I put the glasses down beside the unopened bottle and sit on the arm of a comfy chair a foot or so away from her. ‘I don’t know what the police have told you, but it looks like Diane was in the bell tower at the church recently.’

‘What? The church here?’

‘Yes. A little girl saw her – in fact the same little girl who has just gone missing from the village – it’s extraordinary…’ I fold my arms.

Alexa shuffles forward, bringing her legs out from under her. ‘What was she doing there?’

‘No one seems to know.’ I tell her Clara’s story – that she said you weren’t well and were upset – and explain about the hairclip. ‘I had a call about half an hour ago – the forensics team found one of her hairs on the rooftop, too.’

‘So what does that mean?’

I think back to the call I took from Howis as I was putting my bike away. ‘The senior investigating officer thinks it could have been attached to the hairclip I found. There was no blood or anything. It doesn’t give us any time frame.’

‘And this kid who says she saw her – have you spoken to her?’

‘Yeah – she’s very bright and sparky – Clara, she’s seven.’

Alexa turns her nose up. ‘Oh, God – that’s no use. She’s probably making it all up.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Can’t you pull any strings? Diane said you knew guys in the local force.’

‘For God’s sake, Alexa – I’m doing everything I can…’ Sweat prickles like a tribe of ants under my armpits.

Alexa leans forward and opens the bottle of wine. She fills both glasses almost to the brim and passes one to me.

‘Here’s to finding her safe and well,’ she says, clinking it against mine. Several drips fall to the carpet and she rubs them in with her toes. Alexa normally leaves the instant she gets what she wants, so I’m perplexed by the fact that she looks set in for the rest of the evening. Is this some kind of reconciliation? I take a long slug of the wine – it tastes expensive – and sink back. I don’t have much scope for conversation and I’m happy to sit in silence until she decides it’s time to leave.

Alexa’s voice breaks into my consciousness. ‘…or Chinese?’

‘Sorry?’ I’m feeling slightly woozy and don’t want to be in this state with Alexa here.

‘Do you fancy Indian or Chinese? A take-away – I assume you haven’t eaten.’

‘No – I’m fine thanks.’ I don’t want to sit eating out of cartons, like we’re mates. What’s she doing here? We never spend social time together – ever – she hates me.

Alexa’s glass is empty and she is helping herself to more. When she leans forward I catch sight of the dip in her milky cleavage. It looks just like yours, Dee – so do the nipples poking out of the silk camisole. I blink to make sure it’s not you. I take a small sip then put the glass down on the table. Following the whisky on a near-empty stomach, this is not a good idea.

‘Did Diane ever talk about a retirement party at the beginning of June?’ I ask, determined to make better use of this uncomfortable situation.

‘June?’ She scratches her head. ‘Don’t think so. Why, what happened?’

‘I’m not sure – but she went to see a nurse the next day. She passed out, apparently.’

Alexa laughs. It has an unkind ring to it. ‘Doesn’t sound like my virtuous sister,’ she says. She’s starting to slur her words and it occurs to me that she might have had a drink before
she arrived. She straightens up, ‘Now you mention it, she was a bit down for a day or so. I thought she had flu, or something. Did she get herself pissed?’

‘You know Diane – she’s not one for overindulging.’

‘Maybe she was letting her hair down for once,’ she gives me a knowing look and reaches for the bottle again, her glass empty once more.

‘What do you mean by that?’ I lean forward, glaring at her. ‘What do you know, Alexa?’

‘Oh – this and that…’

A wave of rage rolls over me. ‘Come on! Tell me what you know. This is important.’

‘Diane has said a few things…’ I stab my fingers into my hair unable to believe what I’m hearing. ‘She hasn’t mentioned anyone else exactly – but she did say something about having doubts.’

‘What doubts?’ I protest.

‘About her marriage.’

It’s like she’s dealt a blow to my gut. I can’t possibly take this in – where were the signs? The little excuses, the absences, the avoidances? There were none.

‘I think you might have had a bit too much to drink, Alexa.’

‘You’ve known all along, haven’t you?’

‘What?’ I snap, taking a step back.

‘That you couldn’t father a child – that you and my sister could
never
have kids.’

‘That’s rubbish, I told you – I only found out a few weeks ago.’

‘That’s why, at the start, you weren’t keen on having children, isn’t it? Because, back then, you knew you
couldn’t
have them!’ She flings her arm up in a wild gesture. ‘You know
that more than anything she wanted children and you
cheated
her – you knew before you met her.’

I don’t bother to grace her outrageous accusation with a response. I shift my weight to one leg, sticking my hip out. ‘Why can’t you accept I’m here to stay? Eh?’ I snap my arms down defiantly and lean towards her. ‘Why am I such a big problem for you?’

Alexa throws back the last of the wine and does the one thing I least expect. She launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck, pressing her breasts into me.

‘Why do you think having you around has been so bloody hard for me?’ she hisses into my face.

‘What are you doing?’ I try to shake myself free without hurting her.

‘You can’t have
her
– she’s gone,’ she says, ‘but you can have me…’ With that she plants her lips firmly against mine.

I am so taken aback I don’t react immediately. She pulls away for air. ‘I hate the fact that you fell for her and didn’t see me. Why couldn’t it have been me?’

I step away from her, put my arm out to keep her at bay. ‘Alexa, this is not helping – this is not what I want.’

In an instant, her eyes harden.

‘You could have hurt her,’ she accuses, waving her finger at me. ‘After she had the miscarriage.’ I shake my head, jutting my jaw out in desperation at these ridiculous conclusions. ‘I can see the anger in you, Harper,’ she persists, coiling her hair around her finger, seductively. ‘Even if no one else can. I know that what you did at your mother’s house is only the tip of the iceberg. Smashing up her plant pots – Diane told me everything.’ She moves behind the sofa, stroking the top of it, keeping it as a barrier between us. ‘Is that why you visit those guys in
prison – because you think “there, but for the grace of God go I?”’ She’s slinking, like a cat, making her way behind another chair towards the front door. ‘Did you kill her?’ she finally snarls at me. ‘Was it during one of your violent outbursts?’

I try to hold my voice steady. ‘This is preposterous, Alexa – it’s the drink talking.’

‘You couldn’t face the truth, could you? Your wife turning to another man to get pregnant, because you couldn’t get it up?’

Something snaps – I’m sure I hear it inside my head. The next moment my wine glass explodes in a frenzy of crystals and Alexa is flat against the wall right beside where it landed, a stream of red cascading towards the carpet.

‘See?’ she says, running her finger through the trickling wine and licking it. She doesn’t move another inch. Alexa is strong and fit – her muscles are twice the size of mine. She doesn’t fear me. Her eyelashes flutter and a smile creeps across her lips. She’s enjoying this. ‘You killed her, didn’t you? You got angry
like this
, because you couldn’t cope knowing she was going to have another man’s child.’

For a split second, everything in the room goes underwater – thick and blurring.