The Lies Within Page 19

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.” The young man moved past them.

  The line of Edwardian villas that formed Devonshire Promenade faced the railings enclosing Lenton Park beyond. It was a private, unmade road and tufts of grass pushed through the gaps in the broken concrete. Leaves crunched beneath their feet in the porch area as they reached the door. Grace rang the bell.

  To her surprise, a middle-aged man with bare feet answered. He was dressed in shorts, in spite of the cool weather. Grace looked past him. “I was looking for Anthony Kendall.”

  “And you are?”

  “Grace Daniels. This is my friend, Faye.”

  The man switched his gaze from one to another.

  “Is Mr Kendall in?” Grace asked.

  “You’re speaking to him.”

  “I meant Mr Kendall junior.”

  The man stood back, narrowed his eyes. “There’s only one Anthony Kendall here and that’s me. What can I do for you?”

  Grace’s breath caught in her throat. She’d expected a younger man, late teens maybe. Not somebody who looked almost old enough to be Jo’s father. It took her a moment to recover herself. “My name is Grace.”

  “So you said.”

  “I’m Jo Lamborne’s mother.”

  His smirk faded. “Oh.”

  A beat passed.

  Faye stepped forward. “Aren’t you going to ask us in?”

  He looked at them a moment, as if he wasn’t sure, then stood aside.

  An oversized sofa covered with an Indian throw dominated the small front room and a colourful rug covered the laminate floor in front, giving it a cosy feel. Grace imagined Jo sitting there with him, chatting. The air smelt strangely sweet. Grace caught the edge of a coffee table as she sat. It wobbled slightly causing a spray of ash to skip into the air from an overflowing ashtray.

  Anthony pulled up a wicker chair from the corner. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said awkwardly. “Is there any news?”

  Grace shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck in her throat.

  “Grace just wanted to visit a few of Jo’s university friends,” Faye said gently. “Get a feel for her life here.” He nodded, said nothing. “How long had you known Jo?” Faye continued.

  “A few weeks. I met her in the student union bar.”

  “You’re a mature student?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you close?”

  He cleared his throat. “We got together a few times.” His eyes turned sad.

  “Were you her boyfriend?”

  “No. We were just friends.”

  Grace leant forward. “The police said Jo came back to Market Harborough for an appointment once a week,” she said. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “I know she went to Market Harborough. But, no, I don’t know what it was for.”

  “Did she mention anyone that she didn’t get on with, someone that she’d had an argument with maybe?”

  “No.” His face hardened. “Look, I’m not sure what this is all about. I’ve already spoken to the police.”

  Grace pressed on with a few more questions about Jo, and their friends, desperately trying to glean something to make her trip worthwhile. Anthony responded with short answers, his reluctance obvious.

  Suddenly, the sound of excited voices outside caught her attention. They grew louder as the front door crashed open and two young men appeared. “Sorry, mate,” one of them said. “Didn’t realise you had company.”

  Anthony stood, nodded at them and held out an open hand towards Grace. “This is Jo Lamborne’s mother and her friend.” The two men stared at Grace. Anthony’s face clouded. “I think they were just leaving.”

  Neither spoke as they walked back towards the car. Grace took the keys out of her bag, but turned off at the last minute and walked around the corner and into the park opposite.

  “Where are you going?” Faye asked, scurrying behind her.

  “I need some air.”

  Grace found an old bench and sat. A woman walked past, battling with a toddler in reins who wanted to walk in the opposite direction. She watched them disappear up the path. “Did you see that photo on the side of the mantel?” she asked Faye eventually.

  Faye shook her head.

  “It was Jo.”

  “Do you think they were together?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t think straight. Why would Jo get together with a man almost old enough to be her dad?”

  “Maybe they were just friends?”

  “You don’t usually have a photo of a friend you’ve only known for a few weeks on your mantelpiece.”

  The image of Anthony Kendall filled Grace’s mind. She’d travelled to Nottingham to find out more about Jo, yet so far it had served to remind her just how little she knew about her daughter. Anthony’s clear discomfort at her questions troubled her. He couldn’t wait for them to leave, practically pushed them out of the door. Did he have something to hide? The wind swirled around the trees opposite, causing the bare branches to rustle against each other. It sounded like they were whispering secrets, just out of earshot.

  “Come on,” she said to Faye. “Let’s go home.”

  ***

  Later that evening, Phil let Lucky in from the garden and wandered through to the front room. “Has somebody been smoking?” he asked. “There are cigarette butts outside the back door.”

  Lydia looked up from her position on the sofa. “Well, they won’t be Mum’s. She doesn’t approve.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Grace said. “They’re Faye’s, I meant to pick them up.”

  Lydia rolled her shoulders as the television credits flashed up the screen. “I’m going up to finish my homework.”

  Phil waited for the sound of her bedroom door closing and scratched his head awkwardly. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

  “Oh?” Grace could feel him on her tail as she walked through to the kitchen and placed her empty glass beside the sink, and was surprised when he took her hand and guided her to the table. “I had a phone call this evening. From Detective Parsons.”

  “Is there some news?”

  Phil paused, a look of concern creasing his face. “I understand you’ve been up to Nottingham, to see a Mr Kendall?”

  Her secret was out. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or angry. She’d been bursting to share the details about Anthony Kendall with him all evening. But not like this. The very fact that the police knew made her stomach churn.

  “He’s made a complaint that he’s being harassed. Apparently you aren’t the first person to land on his doorstep.”

  “That’s not my fault. I only went to see him because he was a friend of Jo’s.”

  “He’s not a suspect in the case, but he’s apparently said he feels he’s being targeted as one.”

  Grace scoffed.

  “Look love, I know you’re hurting. But you have to accept that if he was a friend of Jo’s, he might be grieving too. He’s never met you, and you turn up at his home asking questions. Can you imagine what that would feel like?”

  Grace pictured Anthony Kendall’s face when she’d introduced herself. Over the hours that followed she’d analysed every bit of his reaction, wondering if his discomfort was due to a guilty conscience. But maybe Phil was right. His actions could have been coloured by grief.

  Phil edged nearer and stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Why not think about going back to work?”

  “I can’t.” Grace turned away, before the tears swelling in her eyes, spilled down her face.

  “Then we need to get you back to the doctors. You’ll need to get another certificate for work, and perhaps you can talk things through with them, see if there’s some other way they can help. I’ll come with you.” He wiped away the tears with his thumbs. “I saw Beryl in the driveway earlier. She was asking after you.”

  Grace looked away.

  “She was telling me it’s the book cl
ub meet next week. Why don’t you go along? I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

  Grace stiffened. “I can’t face them.”

  “Maybe just see Beryl then, for a coffee? It might be good for you to get out a bit more?”

  “I am getting out. I went out today. With Faye.”

  “Perhaps it’s time to see some of your other friends.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that we don’t know Faye very well.”

  “I know her. She understands me. She seems to be the only one who understands me at the moment.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Grace turned the box of Sertraline over in her hands. For years she’d stood by and watched Jo take antidepressants. When the doctor had offered her Citalopram that morning, she’d asked for something different, the familiarity of them too raw. But right now, these didn’t hold much appeal either. “I’m not going to take them,” she said.

  Faye smiled comfortingly. She’d listened as Grace had relayed Phil’s conversation with her the evening before. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It all seems so unnecessary.”

  Grace rubbed her eyes. She’d omitted the part where Phil had pressed her to go out more, see other people. There was no point in upsetting Faye.

  “Does make you wonder why Anthony Kendall kicked up such a fuss though. Do you think he’s got something to hide?”

  “I don’t know. We can’t visit Nottingham again to find out, that’s for sure.”

  “Did the detective give Phil any news about Jo?”

  “Nothing. I just wish I could do something,” Grace said. “I feel so useless.”

  “I’ll help you. Whatever you want to do.”

  “What about the other attacks? Perhaps we should look into them? We have a list of names of Jo’s friends and associates. We could see if any of them feature on the other girls’ Facebook pages? I’m sure the police will already have looked into this, but they won’t be as familiar with some of the names, certainly the local ones, as I might be.”

  Faye nodded, opened the laptop and logged into Facebook. “What were their names?”

  “I don’t know the first one. The police never released her name. But the second girl was called Eugenie. Eugenie Trentwood.” She moved across and sat beside Faye on the sofa. A list of names instantly popped up on the screen. She clicked on the first one who listed their address in Arizona, went into the second and the third. Neither showed their location or photographs. She disregarded an elderly lady, the next was around the right age, but didn’t show their location. “This might be more difficult than you thought.” Faye sighed.

  “Wait, she did an interview for the press shortly after the attack,” Grace said. “I remember it was big news at the time. I’m sure there was a photo with it.”

  Faye tapped away, scrolled through a couple of news reports and eventually brought up her interview, accompanied by a photo of a young woman. The sight of her curls made Grace gasp. “You sure you want me to carry on?” Faye asked.

  Grace nodded. Faye brought the Facebook list up on the screen next to the article and started scrolling through. It was a tedious task. They were almost at the bottom when a photo of a girl came up. Her curls were tied back. No location was shown.

  “Could be this one,” Faye said. She clicked on the profile, but couldn’t get any further. “You have to be friends with Eugenie to see her full profile. Not surprising really.” Faye switched back to the article, browsing slowly. “Such a shame. The papers seem keen to point out the links between the attacks.” She scrolled down. “I don’t know… The only similarities I can see are the ages. They look different, apart from the curly hair, and don’t seem to know each other.” She clicked a few more keys, her eyes searching the screen. “The papers say they both had ligatures placed around their necks. Both were sexually assaulted.”

  Grace closed her eyes, placed a hand over her face. She’d put those details of the attack out of her mind. Hearing them again, read out loud, made her feel light-headed.

  Faye looked across at her. The laptop wobbled on her knees. “I’m sorry. This must be really painful for you.”

  “When I think of the fear, the pain he subjected her to.” Grace let her hand drop into her lap. “She must have been terrified.”

  Faye’s eyes were set on her, examining every contour of her face. “Oh, God. It’s happened to you too.” A few beats passed. “You don’t have to tell me,” Faye said quickly.

  Grace swallowed. For a moment she wasn’t sure. But when she opened her mouth and started to speak, the words gushed out, almost of their own accord. She relayed the details of that awful evening, so many years earlier. An evening that had been archived in the depths of her memory until Jo’s death, when it was wrenched to the forefront. Now it sat there, between them, and the thought of her daughter experiencing the same terrible pain and anguish was haunting.

  The account filled her with renewed horror. She was petrified, re-living the force of him, the menthol smell on his breath. The voice became distant, no longer hers.

  Faye had taken hold of Grace’s hand and didn’t speak until she’d completely finished. “You poor thing.” She placed the computer on the floor, stretched her arm out and hugged her friend close. Grace expected tears, but none came, her senses dazed.

  She became aware of Faye moving away, leaving the room. The sound of a tap running. A glass of water was placed in front of her.

  “Are you okay?” Faye asked eventually.

  “I’ve never told anyone.”

  Faye widened her eyes. “What, never? What about your husband?”

  “Jamie? It was before we were married. And we weren’t together when it happened.”

  “Goodness. You did well to pick up the pieces, move forward.”

  “I got married soon after. Had the girls. Pushed it to the back of my mind.”

  “Still, an awful thing to have carried around with you.”

  Suddenly fear pricked the hairs on the top of Grace’s arms. A nauseas sense of unease rose inside her, closely followed by surprise at how easily she’d let the secret out after all these years. She gripped Faye’s hand. “You mustn’t tell anyone.”

  Faye stroked her friend’s forearm. “Of course not. I won’t tell a soul.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The phone woke Grace with a start. Somehow, sharing her secret had given her a strange sense of calm, but in spite of a full night’s sleep, the first since Jo’s passing, she was still tired this morning and had fallen into an exhausted slumber after Lydia had left for school. It took her a while to focus and register Faye’s voice on the end of the line.

  “Are you still coming over later?” she asked.

  “Yes, but I wanted to speak to you about something. It’s been on my mind all night. I think you should tell the police about your attack.”

  The words bolted Grace forward. “What?”

  “It might be important.”

  “I’m not telling anyone, Faye, and neither are you. You promised.”

  “But don’t you see, Grace? It could be connected to what happened to Jo.”

  “It was twenty years ago.”

  The phone line crackled. “But there may be more of a connection than you realise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is it possible your attacker could be Jo’s father? What if he found out about her? Came back.”

  “No. No, that’s not possible.”

  ***

  Jackman looked up from his notes. A deflated atmosphere pervaded the incident room. He glanced around at the handful of officers working at computer screens, pressing keys, desperately following up the last few lines of enquiry, hoping for a breakthrough that would lead them in a new direction. After working long hours these past few weeks, missing out on social events and valuable family time, they were facing the real possibility that the case they’d given all their precious hours to, was destined to be added to a long list of unsolved crimes. The pul
l-back on resources had left tension in its wake. But there was something else beside the strain.

  As soon as desks had freed up he’d commandeered one in the corner near the window, close enough that he could hear what was going on, but far enough away that his team didn’t feel as though he was breathing down their necks.

  McDonald brushed past. “The Super wants to see you. Said it was urgent.”

  Jackman thanked him, but instead of retreating he approached Dee Wilson at the far end of the room. He gestured towards a quiet area near the filing cabinets, indicating for her to follow. “What’s going on?” he said in a low voice when he was confident they were out of earshot of their colleagues.

  “The chief’s making changes.” Wilson gave a fervent glance across the room and back at Jackman. “Parsons passed her room earlier, overheard an exchange with the assistant chief constable. Sounds like they’re scaling down the investigation.”

  “What?”

  Wilson shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

  Jackman’s mind raced as he moved away and climbed the stairs to Carmela’s office. He hadn’t seen or heard from Carmela since their dinner. The terrorist threat was pulling on her time. They were both tired, the accumulation of hours on the waning investigation taking its toll on him. A flashback of Carmela in the kitchen, him pressing her against the cabinets, pulling up her skirt. The thoughts made him recoil. How could he have allowed that to happen? A part of him was relieved she hadn’t been in touch. Because he didn’t know what to say to her.

  He reached her room, gave a single knock and entered without waiting for an invitation. Carmela looked up from behind her desk. She was on the phone, her hair was pulled back into a messy pleat, her mouth tight. She nodded at a nearby chair.

  Jackman took a seat and waited for her to finish. The room looked different this morning, somewhat barer, more clinical. Carmela ended the call and managed a half-smile as she faced him. They weren’t moving over to the easy chairs in the corner today and her desk presented a barrier between them, reinstating their ranks, a gesture not lost on Jackman.