I have no idea how much of what Art is telling me is the truth, but I can’t take the risk of Lorcan getting hurt. Suppose she’s already got to him somehow? I cancel the half-dialled 999 call and scroll to Contacts.
Keeping my eyes on Art, I find Lorcan’s name and press Call. He answers on the first ring.
‘Gen? I was just about to call you. Are you at the police station yet?’
‘Lorcan? Are you all right?’
Art backs away. ‘Go,’ he whispers. ‘Be safe.’
I press the phone to my ear but my eyes are on Art.
‘What is it?’ Lorcan says. ‘Don’t they believe you?’
‘Are you really okay?’ As I speak, the rain starts again – a light drizzle.
Art squints up at the sky and turns away.
‘I’m fine.’ Lorcan’s voice is full of concern. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Are you still at the house?’
Art vanishes behind a tree. I move sideways, trying to keep him in view, but I can’t see him.
‘Yes,’ Lorcan says. ‘There’s no sign of the boy or the nanny.’
‘Okay.’ I walk to the edge of the trees, but Art has gone, presumably through the lock-up and out onto the road. ‘Bernard called me,’ I explain. ‘He followed Art to Shepton earlier. He said he’d seen Art and a blonde woman so I came to meet him but Art was here—’
‘Art?’ Lorcan’s voice rises. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, he admitted everything but, oh, Lorcan. It’s Bernard.’ As I walk towards the lock-up, the body comes into view. I stop, feeling sick.
‘What about Bernard?’
‘She killed him. Art said the woman he’s with murdered him.’
Lorcan sucks in his breath. ‘Where exactly are you?’
I give the address. ‘It’s just a few minutes away from where you are right now. I’m going to call the police.’
‘No,’ Lorcan insists. ‘Not now. Art and this woman could come back any second.’
‘No, that doesn’t make sense. Art said it was the woman who killed Bernard. And she isn’t here any more. Plus Art wants me to leave. He said everything would be okay if I backed off . . . went away for a bit. But I can’t leave Ed.’
‘Listen to me, Gen.’ Lorcan’s voice is strained with emotion. ‘Think about it logically. If Art came to warn you off, then he and this woman are going to wait to see whether you take the warning, aren’t they? They’re not going to abandon everything and vanish with your son until they absolutely know they have to. Art has far too much to lose. He’s not going to leave Loxley Benson behind unless he thinks there’s no other choice. So the first thing you need to do is get out of there.’
‘Okay.’ I start retracing my steps towards Bernard’s body and the lock-up entrance. ‘You need to be careful too.’
‘I can look after myself,’ Lorcan says. ‘Just get out of there.’
‘If he’d wanted to kill me I’d already be dead. He just wants me to walk away.’
‘Then walk away. Please, Gen, I’m begging you. I’m starting the car now. I’ll be there soon.’
‘What about Ed?’
‘We can come straight back here. You just said it’s only a few minutes away.’
‘Okay.’ As I end the call, I reach Bernard’s body. His phone must still be here, where I dropped it when Art startled me earlier. Maybe there will be useful information stored inside it. Bracing myself, I look down. But the phone is nowhere to be seen.
I shiver. Lorcan’s right. Art could be hiding nearby, watching to see what I do.
I’m still holding my own phone in my hand. ‘Okay,’ I say loudly into my mobile. ‘No police. I’ll see you soon.’
Somehow I make myself walk back through the dark of the lock-up and out the other side. The world is carrying on as normal. A lone car speeds past. The sun has come out and is warming my back through my jacket but my hair is horribly wet and my jeans are clinging damply to my legs.
Two minutes later, Lorcan speeds round the corner. He screeches to a halt, keeping the engine running as I get in. As we roar away, I put the heating on. We drive back to the house. We’ve only been away a few minutes but I’m still overwhelmed with relief when I see the large car still parked just inside the gates. I strain my eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ed at one of the windows, but there’s no sign.
‘This house backs onto others,’ Lorcan says, parking a few metres along the road. ‘I don’t think there’s a way out to the woods. Anyone leaving would have to go through the gates.’
I sit back and go over what Art told me. It comes down to this: he wants me to act as if nothing has happened. He wants me to go home and pick up the pieces of our life together – or leave him and start again, on my own or with Lorcan.
‘How can Art just believe I’ll walk away?’ I ask.
‘From what you say, he sounds desperate, like he’s been backed into a corner by something.’
‘Or someone.’
I close my eyes. Why does this woman to whom Art has given our child have such power over him? What did he mean when he said it was atonement?
Lorcan and I talk some more. I have no idea what we should do next. Part of me wants to break into the house and take Ed. Now.
And yet I know that isn’t the right thing to do. If we attempt to remove Ed from his house by force, we will inevitably frighten him. Plus, if even half of Art’s warnings are true, then by forcing the issue, I will be putting myself – and Ed, and Lorcan – in severe danger.
‘You know, we could just dial 999,’ Lorcan suggests. ‘You could just report Bernard O’Donnell’s body . . . tell the police what Art told you . . .’
‘Then the police will start swarming all over that lock-up and Art will know I went to them and he’ll take Ed away and she will have me “taken care of” before I can give evidence.’
I peer along the road, towards Art’s house. Her house.
‘Who the hell is she, Lorcan?’
He shakes his head. ‘Did Bernard say what she looked like?’
‘He said she was slim and blonde. It sounds like Charlotte West, but Art denied she had anything to do with it.’
‘Of course he denied it,’ Lorcan says.
I take a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘It’s time to go to the police, like you said. We need to tell them everything and we need to make sure Art thinks I’m being reasonable and doing what he asked.’
‘How are we going to do both those things?’ Lorcan asks.
To answer, I pick up my phone and scroll to Art’s mobile number. He’s there on the first ring.
‘Gen, are you all right?’ He’s whispering. I’m suddenly certain he’s with her again. I strain my ears, hoping to catch a sound of her voice, but there’s no background noise at all, as if Art is speaking in a vacuum. Then I hear a door shutting in the distance.
Fury grips me. A fist inside my guts.
‘Meet me again, Art,’ I say, trying to keep my voice soft. I glance sideways at Lorcan. He’s raising his eyebrows. ‘Meet me in that pub along the road . . . the Dog and Duck it was called. Meet me and let’s talk it through. I won’t ask about her again. It’s . . . it’s just that I don’t understand this, Art. I know you want me to walk away, but I can’t go without understanding this better.’
There’s a long pause. At last Art speaks.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
‘Make it fifteen,’ I say. ‘I need time to get away from Lorcan. I don’t want him to know I’m seeing you.’
Another long pause. ‘Okay,’ Art says finally. ‘But hurry.’
We ring off and I turn to Lorcan, still sitting beside me. Outside the skies are clouding over again. The light is fading from the day.
‘That is a seriously bad idea.’ Lorcan sounds incredulous. ‘You can’t—’
‘I’m not really going to meet him. I just wanted to make sure he thinks there’s a chance I’ll back off . . . I don’t want him to panic and . .
. and Ed get taken away.’
Lorcan glances across to the house. ‘So he thinks you’re doing what you’ve been told, while in reality we go to the police? What will you say to Art when he rings asking where you are?’
‘He won’t,’ I say. ‘Because we’re going to get the police to come with me. And they’ll arrest him and make him talk before he gets a chance to speak to me again.’
‘Right,’ Lorcan says. ‘Then we’d better hurry.’ He revs the engine.
It’s hard to drive away from the house that contains my son, but I have to trust that the police will help me. Lorcan and I head for Enshott and the nearest police station. The journey only takes ten minutes or so but, once we arrive, it’s impossible to find a parking space. The station is in the middle of a busy High Street already jam-packed with parked cars.
I check my watch. I’m supposed to meet Art at the pub in a few minutes. We can’t afford to lose any more time.
‘Drop me here,’ I say. ‘I can get the ball rolling while you find somewhere to park.’
Lorcan reluctantly agrees and lets me out of the car. I scurry along to the police station. It’s positioned to the left of a shopping centre. I have, this time, remembered my bag, and before I go inside I check myself in my tiny pocket mirror. My hair is still damp and my make-up is smudged. I spend a few seconds fixing this as best I can. I’m determined to make the officers I meet believe me. I need them to see that I’m as sane as they are.
The police station looks exactly how I’d expect. Concrete walls, harsh lighting, with some seats over to the left and a counter to the right. An officer stands behind the counter, speaking softly into the phone. He glances over to let me know he’s clocked me.
I walk over and wait for him to finish.
Two uniformed woman come through the door behind him. They’re talking to each other in hushed tones. One carries a sheet of paper.
‘The call just came through. The body was found in those woods just out of Shepton Longchamp,’ says the younger of the two women who is still clutching the piece of paper.
I look up, startled. Are they talking about Bernard O’Donnell?
‘And she’s the prime suspect?’ The other woman points to the piece of paper. ‘That was quick.’
My heart skips a beat. Could this be the woman Art is involved with?
The younger woman shrugs. ‘There was an anonymous tip-off giving her name and placing her at the scene.’
She holds the paper up. It’s a colour picture of a woman’s face with a few lines of print to the side. She pins it to the notice board at the far end of the counter. From where I’m standing I can’t see the detail of the woman’s face. The officer I’m waiting to speak to is still on the phone, so I move over to the notice board. As the two women drift away through the swing doors, I catch the younger one’s words.
‘They’ll be trying to trace her now.’
And then I reach the print-out and I stare at the picture and all my insides seem to shrivel and collapse. Because I know the photo well – it’s the one from my driving licence.
I stare and stare, forcing the realization to sink in.
The woman wanted by the police for O’Donnell’s murder is me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I quickly turn away. Head bowed, I tear out of the police station.
I’m almost hyperventilating as I reach the pavement. I don’t know which direction Lorcan will appear from so I stand against the wall, glancing furtively up and down the street. I’ve never known such fear as I’m feeling right now. It’s consuming me . . . eating me from the inside.
I force myself to go over what I just heard. The police received a tip-off that I was the murderer, that I was seen at the lock-up. And I was there. My fingerprints are on Bernard’s things. If they find his mobile phone, they will find my voicemail message saying I’m actually at the lock-up and looking for him.
Trying to trace her now.
The female PC’s words echo in my head. My mind trips over itself, running on ahead to my being arrested and charged.
Still no sign of Lorcan. Come on. Come on.
Panic rises in my throat. I force it down. Lorcan appears, striding round the corner towards the station. I race over to him. Grab his arm.
‘We have to get out of here.’
He stares at me. ‘What are you talking about?’
I try to turn him around, but he resists. He’s too big and tall to force, so I stand in the street, and explain as quickly as I can.
‘So Art’s set me up,’ I finish. ‘Or the woman he’s with has.’
Lorcan frowns. ‘But all you have to do is explain why you went to meet O’Donnell,’ he says. ‘Give your side of the story.’
I shake my head. ‘They’ll find my fingerprints all over his stuff . . . I called him from outside the lock-up. God, I must have arrived minutes after he died.’
‘So?’ Lorcan holds out his hands. ‘That doesn’t make you guilty. How will they even know they’re your fingerprints?’
‘If I go in there they’ll take them. Even if I don’t, they’ll be able to get a set from Loxley Benson,’ I explain. ‘My fingerprints are on record there . . . the entry system with the doors.’
‘But—?’
‘They’ve got a Wanted poster of me.’ My voice breaks.
‘Jesus, Art’s a lying bastard,’ Lorcan growls. ‘I knew he was stringing you along with all that “backing off” shite.’
I feel sick. ‘I don’t know. He said he and that woman had argued . . . that he was trying to convince her to leave me alone if I went away. Maybe he lost the argument. Maybe she’s gone behind his back.’
‘Or maybe he just lied to you, Gen. Again.’
‘Okay.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Either he was lying to me about giving me a chance to back off – or the woman doesn’t want me to have that chance.’
Lorcan hesitates for a second. ‘I still think we should go inside and explain everything to the police. When it all comes out it’s going to be obvious that Art and this woman are the ones with the motive for killing Bernard O’Donnell . . .’
I glance over at the police station. I’m so overwhelmed with fear that I half expect officers to swarm out of the building towards me. My throat feels swollen. I take a deep breath.
My phone rings. It’s Art.
‘Where are you?’ His voice is desperate. ‘You said you’d be here and you’re not. I can’t stay for long. She doesn’t know I’ve come to meet you. Please, Gen, we don’t have time for—’
‘You lied to me.’ My voice is hoarse. ‘You said she was going to kill me. But you’ve set me up. The police think I killed Bernard and—’
‘No, Gen. I haven’t done anything. I don’t know anything about that.’
My mind is in freefall. I don’t know what to believe.
‘Gen, listen. I don’t have much time. Twenty minutes, max. I have to get back to . . . to the house. She thinks I’m there. I . . . I’ve persuaded her to go out before she leaves for good; see Bitsy, take care of a few things round here. But she’ll be back in half an hour and I need to be there, so I can tell her you’re doing what needs to be done and . . . and then they’re going abroad so there’s not much time.’
They.
‘She’s taking Ed? Abroad?’ My voice breaks over his name. No. Not after all this. I can’t lose my baby again. ‘She’s leaving with him “for good”? No, Art, please.’
‘It’s the best thing,’ Art says. He sounds desperate. ‘Please, Gen, it’s taken everything for me to get her to agree to leave Shepton and not come after you.’
‘But she has come after me. She’s gone to the pol—’
‘The police won’t be able to make any charges stick, Gen. If we’re going to meet it has to be right now. If I’m not home for when she gets back in half an hour she’ll panic – maybe even change her mind. You have to understand that I’m trying to protect you. I’m trying to keep you safe. Now, where are you? I can only wait
another twenty minutes. Then I have to go.’
‘I’m on my way,’ I lie. ‘I just need a bit more time to get away from Lorcan. Please wait.’
‘Okay, but hurry.’
I switch off the call and turn to Lorcan. ‘She’s going away. She’s taking Ed.’
He stares at me. ‘All the more reason to go back in and explain everything to the police.’
‘No.’ A beat passes. Lorcan is right, of course. We should go to the police and tell them everything. But being right isn’t the point. ‘It will take too long,’ I say. ‘By the time I’ve convinced them I didn’t have anything to do with Bernard’s death – if I can convince them – Art’s woman could have taken Ed anywhere . . .’
‘But—’
‘It’s happening now. Art said they’re meeting back at the house in thirty minutes and she’s going to take Ed abroad straightaway.’ I hesitate. The traffic is still rushing past, the street still full of busy shoppers. It’s a noisy, hectic scene but, for the first time since I set off from home yesterday, I see what I have to do.
Lorcan’s eyes fix on me. ‘So what are you saying?’ he asks, uncertainly. ‘D’you want to go away too, like Art said?’
‘Not if it means me living like a fugitive and knowing that Ed is alive and never seeing him.’ I close my eyes for a second, imagining that future . . . the upheaval of leaving my entire life behind . . . the agony of knowing my child is out there somewhere, growing up without me. ‘No,’ I say. ‘No way. I’m not running away.’
‘Then . . .?’
‘I’m so sorry you’re mixed up in all this,’ I say. ‘I will totally understand if you want to leave right now.’
‘Not a chance,’ he says. ‘Just tell me what you think we should do.’
I give him a quick hug, his stubble brushes, rough, against my cheek. And then we get back in the car and I tell him my plan.
Lorcan drives like a madman back to the house in Shepton Longchamp. He parks outside and I check the time. Art should still be waiting for me at the Dog & Duck I imagine him pacing up and down by the door looking out for me.
‘You sure about this?’ Lorcan asks.