‘Money laundering,’ Nick had explained. ‘Coffee shops are perfect vehicles because so many people pay in cash. On paper she can legitimately take a few hundred quid a day, whilst letting the businesses run at a loss.’
‘How much do you think her husband knew?’
‘I guess we’ll find out when we bring him in.’ Neil West was overseeing the installation of a multimillion-pound IT system at a law firm in Manchester. His diary, conveniently synched to his wife’s, and easily accessible from her computer, told them he’d be flying in to London City airport the following day, where police would be waiting to arrest him. On his computer, upstairs in the home office, were files relating to each company Neil had worked with, each including an expansive contact list. The firms employing Gordon Tillman and Luke Harris had both contracted Neil in the past, and there was every expectation that further parallels would be drawn between Neil’s contact list and the list of findtheone.com customers found on Melissa’s computer.
‘Do you think she’d have left him to pick up the pieces?’ Lucinda said. Zoe had outlined the plans Melissa had shared to leave the country, and Cyber Crime had identified flights to Rio de Janeiro that she had looked at online.
‘I think so,’ Nick said. ‘I don’t think Melissa West cared about anyone but herself.’
Kelly thought about what Katie had told her, about the bitterness in Melissa’s voice when she talked about looking after Zoe’s children; about not having children of her own. ‘I think she did. I think that was part of the problem. Setting up the website was strictly business, but involving Zoe and Katie? That bit was personal.’
‘I hate that she got away with it,’ Lucinda said, reaching for the peanuts.
‘She was stabbed in the carotid artery and bled to death,’ Nick said. ‘I wouldn’t call that getting away with it.’
Kelly gave a half-smile. ‘You know what I mean. She put Zoe and Katie Walker through hell, not to mention the hundreds of women who had no idea they were even at risk. I’d have liked to have seen her in the dock.’ Kelly’s phone flashed, and she swiped the screen to unlock it, idly scrolling through notifications she didn’t have the inclination to respond to.
‘What’s this? A celebration or a wake?’ Diggers appeared at the table, and Kelly sat up, as though standing to attention. It was the first time she’d seen him since the dressing down in his office, and she avoided making eye contact with him.
‘Can I get you a chair, sir?’ Lucinda said.
‘I’m not stopping. I just dropped in to buy you a drink. You’ve all done a grand job; I’ve already had the commissioner on the phone congratulating us on a good result. Well done.’
‘Thanks, boss,’ Nick said. ‘I was just telling them the same.’
‘And as for you …’ Diggers looked at Kelly, who could feel herself going red. ‘I hear we’ve got a lot to thank you for.’
‘Everyone was working on it at the same time,’ Kelly said, reluctantly looking up, relieved to find genuine warmth in Diggers’ face. ‘I just happened to be there when the final piece dropped into place, that’s all.’
‘Well, that’s as maybe. You’ve certainly made a valuable contribution to the team. Now, what’s everyone having?’ The DCI went to the bar, returning with a tray of drinks and another bag of nuts. He hadn’t bought one for himself, and Kelly realised she risked missing her opportunity if she didn’t ask now.
‘Sir? Do I have to go back to BTP?’ As she spoke, she realised how much she was dreading it; how much she’d loved being part of a team again, without the gossip and suspicion that plagued her time in her home force.
‘Three months, we said, didn’t we?’
‘Yes, but I thought that, with Melissa dead and the website blocked—’ Kelly knew there was work to be done – that Laura Keen’s murderer was still on the loose, and Cathy Tanning’s prowler remained uncaught – but at the back of her mind was the telling-off she’d had in Diggers’ office. Was this the opportunity he needed to bring an end to her secondment?
‘Three months,’ Diggers said briskly. ‘You can lead on the interview with Neil West, then let’s have a proper talk about your career. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start in a new force, eh?’ He winked at her and shook Nick’s hand, before leaving them to it.
Sheer relief prompted tears to form in Kelly’s eyes. She blinked them away and picked up her phone, swiping through apps in search of distraction. She scrolled through her Facebook feed, filled with photos of decorated Christmas trees and tiny snowmen made from the pathetic smattering of snow they’d had the previous night. A status update from Lexi caught her eye.
A few more wrinkles, she’d posted, but still the same Durham gang!
They’d recreated a photograph from their student days; Lexi posting the two side by side, prompting a stream of amused comments from the friends and family of those tagged. In both pictures Lexi had the biggest grin of anyone in the group, and Kelly couldn’t help but smile.
Great photos, she typed. You haven’t changed a bit.
41
Matt drives carefully, taking every corner slowly and approaching speed bumps as though I’ve broken a bone. The hospital insisted on checking me over thoroughly, in spite of my insistence that – aside from the cut on my neck, which required no stitches – Melissa hadn’t touched me.
I was placed in a bed next to Katie; treated for shock but otherwise unharmed. The ward nurse gave up on keeping us separate, eventually opening the dividing curtain so we could see each other. We’d only been there half an hour when Isaac arrived, racing through the doors without any of his usual assurance.
‘Kate! My God, are you okay? I came as quickly as I could.’ He sits on the side of her bed and takes her hands, his eyes travelling over her face, her body, looking for injuries. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I’m fine. I’m so sorry about tonight’s show.’
‘Christ, don’t worry about that. I can’t believe what you’ve been through.’
‘But everyone’s tickets—’
‘I’ll give them a refund. Forget about the play, Kate. It’s not important. You are.’ He kisses her on the forehead, and for the first time he doesn’t look as though he’s putting on a performance. He really does like her, I realise. And she likes him.
He looks up and our eyes meet, and I wish the curtain hadn’t been pulled back after all. I can’t read his expression, and I don’t know if mine says all I want it to.
‘You’ve had quite a time of it,’ he says.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad it’s all over for you.’ He pauses, emphasising what comes next. ‘Hopefully you’ll be able to forget about it now. Put everything that happened in the past.’ If Katie is wondering why her boyfriend is taking such care over the way he speaks to her mother, she doesn’t comment on it. Isaac holds my gaze, as if wanting to make sure I’ve understood. I nod.
‘I hope so, too. Thank you.’
‘Nearly there,’ Matt says now. Simon, sitting next to me in the back seat of the cab, puts his arm around my shoulder, and I rest my head against him.
I told him in the hospital I had thought he was the one behind the website. I had to – the guilt was consuming me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say now.
‘Don’t be. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. You must have felt as though you couldn’t trust anyone.’
‘That notebook …’ I remember the scribbled notes I’d seen; the woman’s name, her clothing. How convinced I’d been that I was holding evidence of a crime.
‘Jottings for my novel,’ Simon says. ‘I was creating characters.’
I’m grateful that Simon has taken it in his stride; that he seems not the slightest bit offended to be accused of something so horrific. On the other side of Simon, Katie gazes out of the window as we near Crystal Palace; Justin is in front of her, in the passenger seat next to Matt. Isaac has gone into town to handle the disappointed theatre-goers and convince them to come and see the s
how tomorrow evening, when Katie is adamant she’ll be fit to go on stage.
How can everything look as though nothing has happened?
On the edge of the road, grey slush dirties the pavements and drips from the top of buildings. A sorry excuse for a snowman sits in the walled yard outside the primary school, its carrot long since lost. People are heading out for the evening, while others are still coming home from work, checking phones as they walk, oblivious to the world around them.
We drive past Melissa’s café, and I can’t stop the intake of breath; the tiny cry that escapes me. All the times I’ve joined her there after work for a cup of tea; given her a hand with the lunchtime prep. There’s a light on in the café, casting dark shadows as it falls on the unstacked tables and chairs.
‘Should you go and close up properly?’ I ask Justin. He turns to look at me.
‘I don’t want to go in there, Mum.’
I can understand that. I don’t, either. Even just being in Anerley Road is making my pulse quicken, and I feel a fresh wave of hatred for Melissa for sullying the memories of a place in which I’ve loved living. I never imagined moving again, but now I wonder if we might. A fresh start for Simon and me. Space for Justin and Katie, of course, but a new chapter for us all.
We pass the Tube station. I’m seized by the image of Katie, walking towards the entrance and looking up at the cameras; terrified, yet determined to succeed. Determined to save me.
I glance at her, wondering what she’s thinking, but her profile gives nothing away. She’s so much stronger than I gave her credit for.
‘What will happen now?’ Matt asks. It was all over by the time I called him, and he walked into the hospital to find his ex-wife and his daughter in a bizarre assortment of garments that Simon had hastily gathered from home. The police seized the clothes we’d been wearing at Melissa’s house. They’d been gentle about it, explaining that i’s had to be dotted, and t’s crossed, and that I shouldn’t worry. Everything would be fine.
‘I’ve got to give a voluntary interview next week,’ I reply, ‘then the Crown Prosecution Service will look at the file and make a decision over the following few days.’
‘They won’t charge you,’ PC Swift reassured me; the furtive glance over her shoulder suggesting she was overstepping the mark with this assertion. ‘It’s very clear you were acting in self-defence.’ She stopped talking abruptly as DI Rampello appeared on the ward, but he nodded in agreement.
‘A formality,’ he said.
As we near the end of Anerley Road I see a police officer in a fluorescent jacket standing in the road. A line of cones closes off one lane, in which two police cars and a white forensics van are still parked, and the police officer is allowing cars to pass in turn. Matt pulls up as close as he can get to the house. He gets out and opens the rear door, helping Katie out and keeping his arm around her as they walk towards the house. Justin follows, his eyes glued to the blue-and-white police tape that flutters in the breeze outside Melissa’s house.
‘Hard to believe, isn’t it, love?’ I say. I pull away from Simon’s embrace and slip my hand into Justin’s. He looks at me, still trying to process everything that’s happened today.
‘Melissa,’ he starts, but words fail him. I know how he feels; I’ve been struggling to find the words ever since it happened.
‘I know, love.’
We wait by the gate, until Simon catches us up and unlocks the door. I don’t look at Melissa’s house, but even without seeing it, I can imagine the white-suited figures in her beautiful kitchen.
Will Neil continue living there? The blood will have dried now, I think, its glossy finish darkening; the edges of each spatter crisping into flakes. Someone will need to clean it, and I imagine them scrubbing and bleaching; the tiles forever hanging on to a shadow of the woman who died there.
My front door swings open. Inside the house is warm and welcoming. I’m comforted by the familiar pile of coats on the banister, and the disorderly heap of shoes by the doormat. Simon stands to one side, and I follow Katie and Simon indoors.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ Matt says. He turns to leave, but Simon stops him.
‘Will you join us for a drink?’ he says. ‘I think we could all do with one.’
Matt hesitates, but only for a second. ‘Sure. That would be great.’
I wait in the hall, taking off my coat, and adding to the pile of shoes by the door. Justin, Katie and Matt go through to the lounge, and I hear Matt asking when the tree’s going up, and if there’s anything they want for Christmas this year. Simon comes out of the kitchen carrying a bottle of wine and a fistful of glasses, their stems precariously slotted between the fingers of one hand.
‘Are you coming through?’ He looks at me anxiously, not sure how to help me. I smile reassuringly and promise that I will.
The door is still ajar, and now I open it a fraction more, and stand with the cold air on my face. I make myself look next door, at Melissa’s front garden with its fluttering police tape.
Not to remind myself what’s happened, but to remind myself that it’s over.
And then I shut the door and go to join my family.
Epilogue
Melissa never could see the potential for expansion. Couldn’t, or wouldn’t. It wasn’t clear. It was the only thing we ever argued about. She was so clever in many respects; so willing to work with me, so ready to believe in me when no one else would. Yet so short-sighted, in other ways.
Things were fine as they were, she said, we were making money. Why rock the boat? But I knew we could do so much more, and it frustrated me that she wouldn’t accept that. Some entrepreneur she turned out to be.
She liked to think of herself as my mentor, but the truth is; she needed me more than I needed her. She would never have hidden her tracks as successfully without me.
Melissa was nothing without me.
The game of cat and mouse – hunting Katie across London; that was my idea.
The two of them wouldn’t let it lie, and the police were getting closer all the time. A final fling, I told Melissa. Do this, and you can disappear to Rio with 80 per cent of everything we’ve made, and no one will ever find you. It had been a good partnership, but it was time for us both to move on.
Oh yes, 80 per cent.
Ever the hard-nosed business woman. Even though it was me who placed the adverts, me who hacked the CCTV system, me who approached the clients – with a little help from Neil’s address book. And what did I get for all that? 20 fucking per cent.
Do this, I told Melissa. Play this game, and walk away. Do it for me. Do it because I’ve helped you, and now it’s your turn to help me.
And she did.
I saw Katie’s profile go out and I knew it had started. I felt my blood pulse and I wondered if Melissa was excited. We’d never done anything like this before, but it felt right. It felt good.
As for Katie … I considered this payback. Payback not only for her constant need for attention, but for being the favourite. For never being in trouble; never bringing the police to the door or getting thrown out of school.
It was payback for her, too.
Zoe.
From your loving son.
Payback for leaving Dad even though he’d sacrificed everything for her. Payback for taking me away from my friends. Payback for fucking a man she’d only just met, before she was even divorced, then bringing him into our house without caring what I thought.
They think they’ve won the game, now that Melissa’s dead. They think it’s all over.
They’re wrong.
This is just the beginning.
I don’t need Melissa, I don’t need adverts in the Gazette, I don’t need the website.
I have the concept, I have the technology, and I have a mailing list of customers all interested in the sort of niche service I can provide for them.
And of course, I have you.
Hundreds of thousands of you, doing the same thing every day
.
I see you, but you don’t see me.
Until I want you to.
Clare Mackintosh spent twelve years in the police force, including time on CID, and as a public order commander. She left the police in 2011 to work as a freelance journalist and social media consultant and is the founder of the Chipping Norton Literary Festival. She now writes full time and lives in the Cotswolds with her husband and their three children.
Clare’s debut novel, I Let You Go, is a Sunday Times bestseller and was the fastest-selling title by a new crime writer in 2015. It was selected for both the Richard and Judy Book Club, where it was the winning title of the readers’ vote for the summer 2015 selection, and ITV’s Loose Women’s Loose Books.
Clare Mackintosh, I See You
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