Sleep Tight (31 page)

Even though they were certain that Danush Jahander’s body had been taken away from the house in Robert’s car, Jumbo had got his way and a team was out in the back garden now, using the radar equipment to check the grounds. The rationale was that if Robert had killed once, they had to check for other bodies.

Tom had told Becky he was convinced they would find nothing, but this had become a murder enquiry and therefore they needed to explore every possibility. He was fairly certain that if Robert had killed Olivia and the children, he wouldn’t have buried them there. But until they knew for sure that this family was safe, they couldn’t take the risk.

Becky looked across at Tom. He had been quiet this morning too. He’d been puzzling over something in a file, but as yet he hadn’t shared the details with her.

They also had the feedback on Robert’s credit card activity from the previous week. Tom had reasoned that he must have stopped for petrol on his route from Newcastle to Manchester on the Wednesday night, but he hadn’t used his credit card once. That was certainly outside his normal practice, and it suggested he wanted no evidence of his trip to be found. However, they did know he had bought some items from John Lewis in Newcastle on Thursday, and the shop had looked into the details. He had bought a knife – and it
seemed it was the one in the knife block at the house.

The store had been incredibly helpful, and had managed to track down the member of staff who had served Robert. Becky had spoken to her on the telephone.

‘Was he looking for a
specific
knife,’ Becky had asked, ‘or was it just a certain
type
of knife?’

The sales assistant had sounded slightly breathless, as if she had been running. But Becky knew that it was a kind of strange excitement at being asked questions by the police.

‘Oh no. He was very precise,’ she said. ‘Even to the point of having the product code with him. I do remember him, because he kept looking at his watch, as if he needed to be somewhere. He said he was running some kind of event and had nipped out during the lunch break. I tried to get him interested in comparing two or three different knives – you know, just to show that I wasn’t trying to push him into buying an own-brand item.’

‘Wasn’t he interested in the Sabatiers?’ Becky asked, remembering that Jumbo had said the rest of the knives were all the same type.

‘No. They do look very similar, but he said his wife would “flay him alive” if he came back with the wrong one. He laughed when he said it, though.’

‘So was the product code written down then?’

‘Yes, he had it on a piece of paper.’

Becky thought for a minute.

‘Could you see if it was written, or was it typed in an email, or printed from the website – do you have any idea?’ she asked.

‘It was written in blue pen,’ the assistant said. ‘I know because he asked me to hold the paper while he checked out the knife. That wasn’t the only item on the list, but it was the only one from our department. I’m afraid I did take a peek at what else was on there. Only to see if there was anything else I could help with, of course.’

‘And…’ Becky said.

‘The only other item I can remember was in bedding, I think, but nothing else in the kitchen department.’

‘So somebody had written a list for him then,’ Becky said.

‘I don’t think so. I think he must have written the list himself, because he seemed concerned to check that he hadn’t transposed any of the numbers. There was one number that he couldn’t read, and he said he’d been trying to balance the paper on his knee as he wrote. I got the impression that somebody had dictated it to him.’

Becky wasn’t sure at all where this got them, but she thanked the shop assistant and
wrote up her notes.

Tom appeared to be waiting for her to finish.

‘Becky,’ he said, a frown of concentration adding years to his usual relaxed expression. ‘Can I run something by you please?’

‘Course. Anything that gets my mind moving because frankly it feels like it’s sunk in the mire at the moment. Please – some light relief.’

‘Hah. I’m not sure I can offer that, but there’s something that’s puzzling me, and I would really like your take on it. It’s about the death of Olivia Brookes’ parents – Mr and Mrs Hunt. It’s nearly nine years ago, but at the time there was something about it that felt wrong. I couldn’t get a handle on it, but I think I have now. I just don’t know if I’m fantasising for all the wrong reasons.’

Becky leaned back in her chair and picked up the mug of cold tea that she had meant to drink half an hour ago. She took a sip and shuddered, but it was better than nothing. ‘Go on, I’m all ears.’

‘We were called to the Hunts’ home at about two o’clock in the afternoon on the day of their death. I’ve told you how they died and how Olivia found them. But for some reason, I was never entirely convinced it was an accident. We couldn’t find anything to prove otherwise, and I wasn’t sufficiently confident back then to go with my gut, plus there was absolutely nothing to go on. Until I read through the transcripts last night.’

Tom closed the file and put it back on his desk. ‘I’ve read through it so many times, but there are a few things I remember too. While I was talking – or trying to talk – to Olivia, who was practically hysterical, her phone rang. It was Robert Brookes. She was pretty much incapable of speaking, so I took the phone from her and explained what had happened. He said he’d be right there.’

‘Wow. That’s impressive for somebody who’s just buying a house,’ Becky said, slightly in awe of Robert’s dependability in the face of adversity. ‘Most people would just have said, “Let me know when it’s sorted,” I’d have thought.’

‘Well, he turned up about half an hour later and I spoke to him. He seemed very concerned for Olivia. Even though it was still hot in the house, she was shivering, and he took off his jacket and put it round her. When the policewoman who had been looking after Jasmine brought her back to hand her over to Olivia, she just ignored her baby so Robert took her. We were quite impressed. Anyway, I asked him if he had been in the house previously so we could rule out his fingerprints. He said he’d never been there before.’

‘And?’ Becky said, looking at Tom but not having a clue where this was going.

‘I was the one who spoke to him on Olivia’s phone, and I just gave him the bare facts about the parents. Nothing more.’

Becky waited. Tom’s eyes were boring intently into hers. He was obviously expecting her to make some connection, but whatever he was thinking was eluding her. She waited.

‘If he’d never been there before, how the hell did he know where they lived, Becky?’

*

Tom couldn’t think how he’d missed this the first time round. It could have been the fact that Olivia was in such a terrible state, alternating between screaming that something wasn’t right and collapsing, sobbing to the ground. Not that it was surprising. She was weak and bewildered by everything that had already happened to her, so this must have left her reeling.

It was no good berating himself now, though, and he was sure that if he’d asked, Robert would have had an answer. More than likely he would have said that Olivia had left some papers in the flat with her parents’ address on, or that she’d mentioned in passing where they lived. There would have been an excuse – and one that would have been entirely plausible.

But why would Brookes harm the Hunts? How would he have got in, because the towel in the air inlet was definitely one from the house, and if somebody had removed those batteries it had to have been after the parents had gone to bed.

For a while, the investigation had centred on Olivia. First her boyfriend had gone missing, and then her parents had died. If she had done anything to hurt them, though, hers would have been an Oscar winning performance of monumental quality when she found their bodies.

Robert had been discounted. He was just the guy buying the house. Why would they have even looked twice at him?

The fact is that they didn’t.

But maybe they should have.

48

Finally
, Robert thought as he stepped off the boat in Alderney harbour.
What a pig of a journey
. He had never intended to spend a night on Guernsey, but by the time he had arrived there was little choice. He wished he had just taken the risk and flown, but the police must be looking for him by now. This way he could slip on to the island relatively unnoticed.

Then all he had to do was to find Olivia. He smiled at the thought.

He didn’t know if he would have to find somewhere to stay. It all depended on how quickly he could track her down. He tried to drag the picture of the beach she had shown him into his head, but as they had sailed into Alderney he had seen plenty of beautiful beaches, and it could have been any one of them.

Asking one of his fellow passengers on board the tiny ten-person ferry for an idea of where he might stay, he was pointed in the direction of the town. As he set off with the sea on his left, there was a smart-looking hotel, but his funds wouldn’t run to that without using his credit card. He was sure there would be some cheap rooms somewhere on the island. He could start asking around about Olivia too. He couldn’t risk leaving it too long, but on the other hand he had to have a plan of what to do when he found her.

Because he
was
going to find her.

During his journey south he had tried to think of all the reasons Olivia might have for choosing this island, but it wasn’t until he arrived that he finally understood the biggest attraction. Lack of fast and easy access. A lack of escape. She had thought he would never find her, but just in case, she had chosen somewhere that would make it difficult for him to carry out his plan and get clean away. But that was okay. He was adaptable. He would find somewhere locally that would fit the bill just as well.

His plan had always been that if the time ever came when he had to hurt Olivia in the way he had promised, he would maximise the period of threat – the time when her pain came somewhere close to his own. And it would all lead to the final act, the denouement
guaranteed to leave her in agony for the rest of her life as she realised she could have avoided it all. All she’d ever had to do was love him. That was all he had asked. He knew that he could never live without her and if he couldn’t have her, he had to make sure that until the day she died she would regret not returning his love.

It would be more difficult to fulfil his plan here, but he would formulate a new one. He needed a route and a final place to stage the scene. He closed his eyes, and he imagined it in glorious Technicolor.

Maybe he should make it a little different. It would be so much better if Olivia were an unwilling witness to the whole event.

He laughed out loud. Arriving by sea had been a good idea, because one thing he had noticed was that this island didn’t lack suitable locations for what he had in mind: a finale that would be imprinted on Olivia’s mind for the rest of her life.

But first, he had to find her.

As he passed the hotel he saw just what he was looking for – a pub. It was time to get to know the locals.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, eager to begin putting his plan into action.

49

It took me a long time to fully understand the depths of Robert’s obsession with me. To begin with, it felt as if he was simply the most thoughtful, caring and considerate man, and although nothing about him thrilled me, I had convinced myself that safety and security were the two most important features in a relationship. And Robert offered those in spades.

He had done everything any man could do to take care of me. Losing Dan and then my parents had drained the lifeblood out of me. Robert married an empty husk and yet he tried to give me a life that would in some way compensate for my losses.

What he failed to offer was excitement and passion. I persuaded myself that what we had was normal. Perhaps if Dan had still been with me, we too would have settled into a rut of twice-monthly sex with nothing more intimate than a peck on the cheek on the other nights.

This wasn’t Robert’s preference, though. He wanted to touch me all the time. When he came home from work and drew me into a hug I would try to reciprocate, but I always found an excuse to pull away – the children needed something, the dinner was burning.

How could I be married and yet recoil from my husband?

At night, when I turned away from him in bed, Robert liked to stroke my back. I hated it, and I knew he could feel my body tighten as I silently urged him to stop. I used to hear a small sigh as he drew his hand away. For for the last two years, though – ever since the night he took my children and had stood silently in the doorway of Jasmine’s bedroom, listening to me saying goodnight to my daughter – he no longer sighed. Instead he whispered softly against my neck, ‘sleep tight, my darling’. Four harmless words of love that were a reminder; a threat.

And he watched me.

If he was in the room with me and I glanced up, he would be looking at me. Sometimes I would be working in the kitchen – cooking a meal or doing the ironing – and Robert would
be outside in the garden, but still I would feel those eyes penetrating like cold darts. And if I quickly turned my head, his face would be at the window, just looking in. Watching. He would smile, give me a small wave, and turn away. As if it were normal.

I hated it.

I felt as if I was wrapped in a cocoon, or maybe a straightjacket – arms pinned to my sides, feeling sweat pour down my arms and my inner thighs. But the sweat was cold and clammy, and I knew if I tried to escape, the ties would be tightened inch by sticky inch.

I don’t know what made me realise that I couldn’t live like this, but I think it began when I was listening to some other mothers waiting to pick their children up from school. They laughed and joked, made rude remarks about their husbands being lazy sods or football mad or untidy pigs. But the love was shining in their eyes as they spoke. I couldn’t join in. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, other than, ‘He watches me,’ and I knew how that would sound.