Stolen (32 page)
‘Okay.’ She was about to hang up when she suddenly thought of something else to say, something she needed to know. ‘Did he do it?’ she asked and Gardner didn’t say anything at all. ‘Did Simon kill him?’
Gardner let go of his breath. She could picture him running a hand across his face like he did so often. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Gardner got home after midnight and collapsed onto the settee. He couldn’t even be bothered to get a beer, despite it being all he’d thought about the entire drive home. He wanted to drink until he’d forgotten this day had ever happened and then climb into bed and stay there for a month.
The interview with Simon had gone as well as could be expected. He’d denied killing Paul Henshaw, of course, but the fact that two police officers had found him crouching over the body with blood on his hands wasn’t good. That he’d stated to Gardner himself that he was going to kill Paul was a whole other matter. It didn’t prove he was guilty. But it didn’t help.
But there was still the lack of a murder weapon. The entire house and surrounding gardens had been searched and no weapon had been retrieved. From Gardner’s calculations, Simon couldn’t have arrived at Henshaw’s much earlier than the police. Gardner wasn’t that far behind him. And then there was the time of death. It was never precise but the pathologist suggested Paul had been dead for approximately two to four hours. It didn’t quite add up.
He peeled himself off the settee and made his way to the kitchen. Instead of grabbing the beer he’d been hankering after he just stood at the sink, staring out of the window at the night sky. He wondered what Abby was doing. He’d called her on his way back, offering to go round, but she’d refused. She wanted to be alone, said she was tired and would speak to him tomorrow. He doubted she was sleeping. He doubted he’d sleep himself even though he was exhausted.
If there was one thing that could be said for the day it was that Chelsea Davies was fine. Physically, anyway.
Chelsea hadn’t been harmed and from the little information they’d got from her so far she’d been treated well and had even been given some cool new toys. Louise Cotton was alright, a bit bossy like her mum, but alright. Anything else Chelsea had to say would have to wait for the next day. She had to rest.
Cotton had been taken into custody and was to be charged with false imprisonment and kidnap. Harrington said she’d cried and insisted she hadn’t harmed Chelsea and had only done what Jill Hoffman had asked her to do. She hadn’t wanted to get involved but needed the money. Jill Hoffman was being questioned. A third woman was being looked for in connection to the conspiracy.
Gardner walked out of the kitchen, back to the settee and lay back and stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t quite the happy ending he was after.
Chapter Eighty-Five
Abby sat at the window. Her back was hurting from sitting in the same position all night. The only time she’d moved was to lean over to pick up the phone. Gardner had called with an update on Simon’s situation. He didn’t mention Paul’s name at all.
For the rest of the night Abby had been sitting there by the window just thinking. When the numbness had worn off she found herself crying and wondered who she was crying for. She hadn’t seen Paul for almost five years but to know he was dead didn’t seem right. She couldn’t imagine him not being in the world somewhere. And then she cried some more except this time she was angry because the man she’d devoted her life to had betrayed her. Except she didn’t really devote her life to him and that was why he’d done it. But he still did the worst thing imaginable and she wanted to hurt him, make him suffer like she had. Only now she couldn’t because he was dead, someone had got there first. And the police thought Simon had done it and maybe they were right. Maybe he did do it.
And I don’t blame him.
Only thinking about killing someone and actually doing it is totally different and she didn’t really believe she could do that, not even to Paul. Especially to Paul. But Simon? She didn’t know what he was capable of. She’d seen his temper before. She’d seen what he did to that man outside that nightclub when she was a teenager. But that was different, wasn’t it? He couldn’t kill.
But she never thought Paul could do what he’d done either.
She sat there looking out into the dark street, watching lights turn on and off in the houses across the road, and all she could think was: I just don’t know anymore. None of you know. All of you across the street saying goodnight to your husbands and sons or mothers and wives. None of you know. The people you sleep next to every night, they’re not the person you think they are. Your brothers and sisters and friends and neighbours, none of them are who you think they are. You think they’re good people and they’re not.
None of us are.
Chapter Eighty-Six
‘What did he say to you?’ Abby asked as Jen curled up in the chair. She’d called her wanting, or needing, to know what Paul had told her. Whether he’d seemed guilty. If he had any regrets.
‘I didn’t speak to him,’ Jen said, still looking dazed. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead. I just can’t get my head around it.’ She wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘I can’t believe he was involved at all. I just...’ She shook her head. ‘It’s my fault, isn’t it? If I hadn’t told Simon where he was, he’d still be alive.’ Jen wiped her nose. ‘I guess now I know why he didn’t want to see me. She was blocking the door. She said he wasn’t there but I knew she was lying.’
‘Who?’ Abby asked, her heart suddenly in her mouth. ‘Who was with him?’
Jen shrugged. ‘Some woman. His girlfriend or whatever. She just kept saying he wasn’t there and then slammed the door on me.’
‘Was there a little girl there too?’
‘Yeah,’ Jen said. ‘She answered the door.’ Realisation dawned on Jen’s face. ‘Oh my God.’
Abby grabbed the phone. Gardner picked up on the third ring. ‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘Helen and Beth were at Paul’s house. Jen saw them.’
Gardner arrived twenty minutes later. ‘Paul was alive at that point? You saw him?’ he asked Jen.
‘Only through the window, but yes, he was definitely alive.’
‘Did you see Helen leave?’
‘No. I left after she slammed the door on me. There was no point staying. He wasn’t going to talk to me.’
‘Did you notice her car?’
Jen shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry.’
‘Okay,’ Gardner said. ‘DS Carlisle will want to speak to you too.’
Jen nodded. She looked at Abby. ‘I’m sorry, Ab. I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was her.’
‘I know,’ Abby said.
‘We’re checking CCTV around the area. Unfortunately, there isn’t any that close to Paul’s house so we can’t see her coming and going. But we are checking the surrounding areas. I still think Whitby is our best bet. Her mother’s house is there, she must know the place well, and I think she sticks to what she knows. She came back to Redcar for a reason.’
‘What if she’s not there? She’s not stupid. She could go anywhere.’
Gardner nodded. ‘We’re still looking nationwide, Abby. We will find her.’ He pulled his phone out. ‘I need to make a few more calls and then we’ll get going, alright?’
Gardner turned up the radio that was helping to maintain a comfortable atmosphere in the car, hiding the silence that sat wedged between him and Abby. He didn’t think small talk was appropriate considering what they were going to do, and got the feeling Abby didn’t want to talk anyway.
Abby leaned against the door, half closing her eyes. A few minutes later the news came on the radio and Gardner’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Chelsea was safe and sound. His boss was telling anyone who’d listen what a good job his team had done. But there were still people asking why it had taken as long as it had to find her. Especially when she was so close by. Why hadn’t they checked there before? Why didn’t they notice something was wrong with that woman, with the girl’s mother? The same woman they’d been supporting until a day ago.
The case had been passed on to someone else to sort out now the hard work was over. And he was back here sorting out this mess. Again. The media hadn’t got hold of it yet. Thankfully. But it wouldn’t take too long. There’d been reports of a murder but the victim hadn’t been named so no one had connected the dots. He hoped that it would all be over with before anyone picked up on it, for his sake as much as Abby’s. But he doubted it.
Abby leaned over and switched off the radio. He gave her a half-smile but said nothing. He didn’t know if she was doing it for his benefit or her own. He’d never really considered how the Chelsea case made her feel. He wondered if she’d started to question him. How many cases he’d been involved in. How many he’d solved. Maybe she thought the papers were right. That the police, that he, had made a mess of this case. That it was his fault Chelsea Davies had not been found. That Beth had not been found.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Helen watched Casey playing on the floor of the bedroom in the B&B, making the doll and the purple octopus have a conversation. All she wanted was for her daughter to be happy, to be safe. To be a family. All Paul wanted was to destroy it.
He was always the weak one. She should’ve known he couldn’t be trusted. Just because he wasn’t getting his own way, he was willing to destroy all of their lives. He didn’t care about Casey, about how it would hurt her. How could he? He wasn’t her father. She should’ve known when he backed out of taking her to the play that something was wrong. He was always whining about how he never got to see Casey anymore and then when he had the chance he walked away.
Helen wondered how she had been so blind. Right from the start he’d faltered. He wanted to send notes, let his wife know the baby was alright. How stupid was he? She’d put a stop to that. And what right did the woman have anyway? She’d proved she wasn’t worthy of a child. Paul had told her himself how she’d put herself first. How she planned to abandon the baby as soon as she could so she could get back to her own life, her career. He’d told her all about his selfish wife.
Helen closed her eyes, picturing Paul beside her, his hand brushing lightly against her skin. There was a time when she loved him, truly loved him. The day she told him that his wife had cheated on him, that his daughter wasn’t his own, he’d wept. They’d been walking through the park, still just friends. He broke down and begged her to say she was wrong. She wiped his tears and held onto him like a child. He’d been so vulnerable then. They both were.
She wanted him even before her world fell apart. She’d seen him in the shop, talked to him, tried to seduce him. But he was so loyal. He even wanted to introduce her to his wife. The woman who had everything she wanted. Who didn’t appreciate any of it. He imagined they’d be friends, share the joy of motherhood. She didn’t take pleasure in destroying what he had. He needed to hear it, needed to know the truth. And once he did, they could be the family they both craved.
Helen blinked as tears stung her eyes.
‘Mummy?’
Helen turned and saw Casey standing beside the bed, clutching the purple octopus, fear in her eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’ Casey asked.
Helen took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. ‘Nothing, honey,’ she said. ‘Mummy’s fine. Go back and play.’ Casey remained standing there, staring at Helen. ‘It’s alright, Casey. Everything’s fine. Go and play.’ When Casey still didn’t move Helen screamed, ‘Go!’
Casey ran into the bathroom and Helen tried to control her breathing. Look what he’d done. Look what he’d made her do. She slumped onto the bed, her head in her hands. She could hear Casey crying and she felt a pain in her chest.
He made me do this.
Helen got up and went into the bathroom. Casey was curled up under the sink, the octopus held against her face. Helen bent down and put her hand on Casey’s head.
‘I’m sorry I shouted at you, honey,’ she said. ‘Mummy isn’t cross with you.’ Casey didn’t move. ‘Mummy’s just upset. Will you give me a hug?’
Casey looked up at Helen. ‘I want to go home,’ she said. ‘I want to go and see Sara.’
‘We’ll go home soon, honey,’ Helen said.
‘When?’ Casey asked. ‘I don’t like it here. I want to see Daddy.’
Helen held onto Casey. How could she tell her she wouldn’t see her father again?
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Abby stood over the body. She was supposed to say yes, this is Paul Henshaw, but she couldn’t. He didn’t look right. She couldn’t tell if it was because he was dead, if it was his waxy skin and closed eyes that made him seem wrong; or if it was because she realised she didn’t know who he was anymore.
The man who’d shown them in, the pathologist she guessed, was standing opposite her, hands crossed respectfully in front of him, probably waiting for her to say something so he could cover Paul up again and get on with the rest of his day. Gardner stayed close to the door, giving her space.
She kept staring at Paul’s face. She could feel tears stinging her eyes but she didn’t want to cry. He didn’t deserve her tears. She wondered if the pathologist wasn’t standing there whether she’d touch him, slap him in the face. But she couldn’t touch him now. No one could. He’d got away with it, without ever having to face her and admit what he’d done.
A phone rang behind her and she looked up at the same time as the pathologist. Gardner excused himself and stepped outside. She could see him through the little window, pacing as he talked. He was nodding and then suddenly he stopped. Abby wondered what he was being told. Whether Simon had admitted killing Paul or if they’d found Beth and Helen, or if it was nothing to do with her at all. Gardner held the phone against his shoulder and pulled a notebook from his pocket, to scribble something down. He caught Abby’s eye and she turned away, back to her dead ex-husband. The pathologist was watching her now, getting impatient.
She gave Paul one last look and then said ‘Yes.’ The pathologist seemed surprised by her voice and dropped his pose. ‘It’s Paul,’ she said and the man nodded and covered him over.
That’s the last time I’ll see him, she thought. She hadn’t seen him for a long time but it seemed strange that she couldn’t anymore. But more than anything it meant she would never know why he did it.
Abby opened the door and stood behind Gardner.
‘Has he seen her today? She hasn’t checked out?’ Gardner said to whoever was on the other end of the phone. ‘Alright,’ he said eventually. ‘Thanks.’ He turned to Abby. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked.
‘Who was that?’ Abby said, ignoring him. He looked at the phone and notebook in his hand. ‘Was it about Helen?’
Gardner guided her out of the way as a porter wheeled a trolley, covered with a dark blue tarp, into the morgue. ‘Yes, we may have a lead on Helen.’
‘Where is she?’ Abby asked.
‘Some old guy who runs a B&B in Whitby saw her picture on the news. He thinks she’s been staying there.’
‘And Beth? He’s seen her?’
Gardner shook his head. ‘He claims she didn’t have a kid with her. I’m going to check it out anyway.’
‘I want to come with you,’ Abby said and Gardner started to argue. ‘Please. Please, I can’t just sit and wait.’
Gardner sighed.
‘Please,’ she said again, her hand on his arm. ‘We’re closer to Whitby than home anyway.’
