Chapter Thirteen

Parking in the reserved spot for Tony Hayes’ posh Kensington apartment, Jasmine smiled to herself, pleased that everything was going to plan. Don’t go anywhere without telling us, that dozy DS Collins had told her. We might need to have another chat with you.

Honestly, they were so dense. The lot of them. They’d have a hard time chatting to a ghost, wouldn’t they? Jasmine was now officially gone. She’d have to keep up appearances to keep Connor onside, but as far as the police were concerned, Jasmine Francis had disappeared without a trace. And when they caught up with Adams, his policemen friends would undoubtedly be keen to question him about where she’d disappeared to. The finger would be pointed squarely at Adams. The police would be running around in circles, looking for her, assumptions being made that it would be her poor battered body they might find next. He’d killed once, after all, and desperate men do desperate things. Meanwhile, they wouldn’t be able to disprove the accusations Jasmine had made, which, along with the video, quite clearly pointed to him having warped sexual predilections. Adams would be sick to his gut by now, knowing the evidence was mounting against him, knowing his career was over, that his family was suffering; his precious baby. Swallowing back a bitter lump in her throat, Jasmine’s hand travelled down to her tummy. She’d sworn Adams would pay for all she’d suffered one day, and now he was, dearly. He was probably wondering whether he should do the only decent thing and leave his perfect wife with some life insurance now he’d stolen everything else away from her.

Not quite everything. Yet. Jasmine cautioned herself not to jump ahead. There was still a lot to be done, providing Connor played ball, which Jasmine was sure he now would. She’d have to avoid making any stupid mistakes though, she thought, worrying whether Connor was really reliable. One moment’s carelessness might just give Adams some hope. And that was something she definitely didn’t want him to have.

Maybe at the end. A fleeting second’s hope? She pulled down her visor and checked her reflection in the mirror. That might be a nice touch. Would she feel any compassion, she wondered, raking her fingers through her short crop of hair. Had Adams had any? No, was the answer to that. When push came to shove he hadn’t even paused for thought. It was all in a day’s work for him, destroying people. And then, his report filed and his conscience clear, he’d climb into his car, go home and eat his dinner with his nice little family. Well, no more. It would be interesting, though, to see if the copper was too proud to beg once he was down on his knees. ’Course, it did all depend whose life he was begging for, she supposed. Reaching into her shoulder bag, Jasmine extracted her lipstick. Then, selecting Connor’s number on her hands-free, she made a neat ‘o’ with her mouth.

‘Why did you hang up on me?’ Connor asked as soon as he picked up, his voice wobbly and high-pitched. Lord give her strength. Pausing in her lipstick application, Jasmine sighed wearily. Trust her to choose a mummy’s boy. But then, that would have its uses, she reminded herself, gliding lustrous blood red across her bottom lip.

‘Jasmine?’ Connor sounded almost hysterical when she didn’t answer.

Jasmine rolled her eyes. ‘Because I was desperate for the loo,’ she said, and outlined her top lip.

‘She’s dead,’ Connor said, his voice fading away to a frightened whisper.

Natalie, Jasmine assumed he meant. ‘I know. Isn’t it awful? I can’t believe it.’ She paused, and sniffled tearfully. ‘I told you that copper was loco, didn’t I? A woman hater, obviously. Definitely got a screw loose. He’ll probably try to blame you.’

‘Me?’ Connor croaked.

‘Well, obviously.’ Jasmine stopped, sniffling again, and then pressing her lips together to distribute her lippy. ‘He’s not likely to hold his hands up to it, is he?’

Connor didn’t answer straightaway. Struck dumb with shock, obviously. ‘But he can’t! I didn’t touch her,’ he eventually spluttered.

‘Um, I think you did actually, Connor. And he can. Or he’ll try, I bet. Your DNA will be everywhere.’

More stunned silence from Connor. Jasmine used the time while he pondered to smooth her eyebrows.

‘But I …’ Connor faltered, obviously replaying details of his sordid little sexual shenanigans with the tart. ‘I didn’t … you know …’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, think about it, Connor,’ Jasmine snapped. ‘Fingerprints? Clothes fibres? Skin particles? Saliva?’

‘Oh, shit,’ Connor’s tone was terrified.

‘There will be her DNA on your clothes too,’ Jasmine went on worriedly. ‘There might even be one of her hairs. Crap, what a mess.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Connor’s voice cracked. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Get rid of them,’ Jasmine said decisively. ‘The clothes.’

‘Can’t I just wash them?’ Connor asked timidly.

‘No! Good Lord, Connor, you don’t want your poor mum wondering what you’re up to, do you?’ Jasmine waited a second for that conundrum to hit home. ‘I mean, it’s bound to arouse her suspicion, isn’t it? Imagine what it would do to her if she thought you were involved in any of this.’

Connor was clearly imagining. She heard his tight intake of breath. ‘It would kill her,’ he said hoarsely.

Guessing he’d finally realised he was deep in the proverbial, Jasmine softened her tone. ‘Look, Connor, don’t worry, I’ll help you,’ she said kindly. ‘We’ll think of something. I’m not sure what yet, the police are bound to believe his word against yours, aren’t they, but—’

‘He was here,’ Connor said suddenly. ‘The copper, he was here, outside the house. Do you think he’s already told them I was there?’

Shit! ‘What did you tell him?’ Jasmine felt a surge of panic. She hadn’t considered that.

‘Nothing,’ Connor assured her. ‘Me mates jumped him. They thought he was mugging me.’

‘Did they?’ Jasmine couldn’t quite hide her delight. ‘Good,’ she said, hoping they’d put the boot in hard. ‘Don’t worry. That will just add weight to the theory he’s gone loco. As long as you’re sure you didn’t tell him anything?’

‘I didn’t. Do you think he’s said anything though? About me being at the hotel and … you know?’

‘No. I told you, he won’t remember.’ Jasmine was adamant. ‘Not yet,’ she added and waited for the implication to sink in. ‘You just need to stay calm. Keep your head and we’ll get through this. Okay?’

It was too soon to tell Connor they had to make sure Adams never remembered, Jasmine fancied. She had to spoon-feed him the details of her planned fate for the not-so-good detective. Meanwhile, she needed to reel him in nice and tight. Connor would soon come to the conclusion silencing the copper was his only hope. If he ever managed to come to any conclusion unassisted that was. ‘Connor?’ Noting he’d gone quiet again. Jasmine’s tone was firm.

‘Okay,’ he said shakily.

‘Good.’ Jasmine nodded, satisfied. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Connor. Not really. Just try not to panic, especially around your mum. I’ll ring you back as soon as I’ve … visited my gran.’ Jasmine hurriedly invented one. ‘We’ll meet up, yes?’

‘Yes. All right. I’ll try.’ Connor blew out a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, Jasmine.’

‘Not a problem. I care about you, Connor,’ she said, with feeling. ‘Call you back soon.’

Got him, the gullible great wuss.

‘I’d give them a brush each and make them finish painting the hall walls, if I were you,’ Melanie said into the phone, huffily informing Rebecca what she would do with the two policemen who were currently ensconced in her lounge.

Glancing at the officers through the lounge door, both of whom were seated comfortably and trying very hard not to chuckle along to the animated film Mia was watching, Rebecca smiled, despite her bone weary exhaustion.

‘Better not,’ she said, moving from the hall to the kitchen to take her call in private. ‘So far, one of them has spilt tea on the carpet and put his foot in the paint tray and the other one has dropped the only photograph I have of us all together.’

‘Oh, Becky …’ Melanie sighed sympathetically.

‘Do you think it’s an omen?’ Rebecca asked, only half-joking.

‘I’m so sorry, Becky,’ Melanie said, her voice catching. ‘I can’t believe any of this. I would never have repeated what Ashley said at the hospital if I’d thought for a second …’

That Matthew might actually be with a trollop, Rebecca finished mentally, swallowing back her heart, the fractured pieces of which were raw in her chest.

‘It’s not your fault, Mel,’ she assured her, attempting to pull herself up, though, in truth, she desperately wanted to cave in, to curl up under her duvet and stay there. As if the essence of Matthew, the man she’d loved with all of herself, the man she’d thought she knew intimately, wouldn’t permeate her very soul. As if the images on that video wouldn’t pervade her every thought, the newspaper reports, Matthew’s photograph, alongside that of a pretty, smiling young girl. Natalie. Whatever she’d been, she didn’t deserve that. She would never smile again. Never laugh or love again. It wasn’t Matthew. Trying to dispel the image her mind conjured up, the girl’s body bloodied and beaten, to not feel the terrible fear she must have felt, Rebecca repeated it silently. He couldn’t have. And yet … And yet …

‘He didn’t do it, Becky,’ Melanie interrupted her thoughts. ‘He’s just not capable. This is all wrong. They’ll get to the truth. Just give it time.’

‘What truth?’ Rebecca asked tearfully. ‘How much time, Melanie? Whatever he’s done, why doesn’t he just damn well …?’

Glancing at the ceiling, Rebecca stopped, willing herself not to give in, not to crumple and weep like a child. Where was he? If he hadn’t done this terrible thing, then why was he running? Rebecca had gone over and over it, and still she arrived at the same answer. Only guilty men run. Matthew would have concurred with her. Would have? Was she already using past tense?

It was all gone. Rebecca could almost feel the ground shifting beneath her. All of it, stolen away: just like their beautiful daughter, the quiet country house they’d built together in hopes of providing Lily a better life, the house they’d laughed together in, loved in, cried together in. Their dream home. Unable to let go of the memories, they’d tried to hold on to it, to keep Lily alive in their minds. And then the animal in the guise of a man had destroyed it, taken everything and sullied it. Still, they’d stayed, refusing to give in. The break in had been the final straw. Finding their memories had been desecrated, personal things arbitrarily, heartlessly, strewn about or stolen – even photographs and videos which could mean nothing to anyone but meant everything to them – had opened their eyes to the fact that their dream house had become a nightmare. And now it was happening again, but this time the very foundations were crumbling, slipping through her fingers like sand through a timer; she couldn’t hold onto it.

‘Do you want me to come over?’ Melanie asked, concerned. ‘I can get off early.’

‘No. No, I’ll be fine,’ Rebecca lied, probably not very convincingly, but what use could anyone be in reality, unless to offer a shoulder?

‘You’re sure? I don’t think A&E will fall any further apart without me.’

‘Actually, it might. You’re already short staffed,’ Rebecca reminded her. ‘You could pop into Radiology for me, though. Tell them I’ll let them know as soon as I can when I’ll be back at work.’

‘Will do, but don’t rush. Everybody understands, Becky. They’re on your side.’

Are they? Becky smiled wryly. The hate mail she’d received told her otherwise. According to a few who’d felt compelled to share their thoughts, she couldn’t have not known she was married to a monster, therefore she was equally culpable and ought to be locked up. Or worse. A fate akin to those the poor victims had suffered at her husband’s hands would be too good for her, one righteous soul had suggested.

‘Thanks, Melanie,’ she said, glad she had at least one friend who did believe Matthew was innocent, possibly more than she herself did right then. ‘I’d better go.’ She glanced through the opaque glass of the back door as a figure approached. Another reporter, Rebecca supposed, climbing the fence as the previous one had, eager to pick mercilessly at the wide open wounds.

Expecting whoever it was to knock on the glass, as had the previous hot news reporter, Rebecca waited, and then hesitated as the person, short and slim in stature and obviously female, didn’t knock, but waved. Who on earth? Glancing over her shoulder for signs of the officers, who had strict instructions to vet everyone at the door, but who were clearly still engrossed in their viewing, Rebecca reached for the handle, and then stepped back, surprised to find a young girl with short, cropped hair standing there. No microphone, she noted, which would have been thrust in her face by now anyway. No camera. She cocked her head curiously to one side.

The girl smiled tentatively. ‘Rebecca,’ she said. ‘It’s me, Kristen. Matt’s sister.’

Rebecca blinked in astonishment. ‘Kristen?’

The girl glanced over her shoulder and then quickly back to her. ‘Do you mind if I come in?’

‘No, of course not. Sorry.’ Rebecca moved back from the door. ‘I didn’t recognise you.’ She managed a smile. ‘You look different. Great, in fact.’ Taking in her healthy complexion, Rebecca could hardly believe it. She hadn’t seen Kristen since … forever, and then she’d been drinking, a fair bit judging by the abuse she’d hurled at Matthew when he wouldn’t put his hand in his pocket to fuel her addiction. She’d looked a complete mess then, undernourished, sallow to the point of yellow, which had really scared Matthew.

‘Thanks.’ Kristen checked behind her again, clearly keen to avoid reporters too, and then stepped in. ‘Matt doesn’t look so great,’ she said as she did. ‘He looks like shit, to be honest.’

‘Matthew?’ Rebecca searched her face, incredulous. ‘You’ve seen him?’

Kristen nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have come otherwise. Not out of the blue. I know it’s awkward, especially now.’

Rebecca glanced towards the door to the hall, and then led Kristen across the kitchen. Ashley was upstairs plugged into her laptop, so she wasn’t likely to overhear, but the two officers might.

‘I won’t stay long.’ Kristen obviously sensed her nervousness.

‘But why … How did you …?’ Rebecca was struggling with this. Why would Matthew contact Kristen and not her? And he must have been the one making contact, because he’d abandoned using his own mobile, meaning Kristen wouldn’t have had a number for him.

‘He needed cash,’ Kristen supplied. ‘I think he also needed someone to believe in him, to be honest.’

Dragging her hair back, Rebecca pressed a hand to her forehead, and looked at Kristen, bewildered. ‘I …’ do, she wanted to say, but couldn’t. Her heart was in turmoil. Her head was too. She had no idea how she felt, other than terrified. Terrified and so very, very lonely.

Kristen scanned her eyes, appraising her. Hers were so like Matthew’s, soft velvet brown, always perceptive. ‘He said to give you a message,’ she offered, after a second.

Rebecca closed her own eyes briefly, not sure she wanted to hear it, yet desperate to.

‘He said to tell you he loves you. That he always will, no matter what.’ Kristen paused. There was no let-up in her penetrating gaze.

Rebecca dropped hers. Every instinct inside her screamed, No! He couldn’t have done the awful things he was being accused of. The man who made such passionate, sweet love to her, cradled her children in his arms, laughed with them, cried for them, kissed away their bruises and wiped away their tears. A man who cared, cared so much he physically hurt for those young girls on the streets, he wouldn’t, couldn’t have. The evidence, though.

‘If you want to know whether he mentioned his involvement in any of this shit, I didn’t ask him,’ Kristen went on, still eyeing her carefully. ‘I didn’t need to. Just so you know, he wasn’t even aware about the rape allegation. He was shocked, Rebecca, to the core. He didn’t do it. Any of it.’

Rebecca nodded uncertainly. She felt faint, disorientated. She needed to sit down. Needed to eat, if only she didn’t feel nauseous every time she thought about food. ‘The video?’ she started falteringly. ‘He …’

‘He was drugged, Rebecca!’ Kristen said forcefully. ‘You’re his wife. Obviously you’re going to know more about his preferences in the bedroom than I do, but do you honestly think he’d get involved in that stuff?’

‘Drugged?’ Her heart lurching in her chest, Rebecca stared at Kristen horrified. ‘But …’ A turmoil of emotions hit her all at once, horror, fear and fury, vying with utter confusion. ‘Then why doesn’t he tell someone? Surely there are tests? He needs to go to the station. He has to tell them.’

‘Tell them what? He won’t remember most of it. Trust me, Rebecca, I know. I’ve been there. As for the tests, maybe if he’d gone in straightaway. I doubt there’ll be any trace in his system now. Possibly they could run tests on the hair, but I honestly don’t know, Rebecca.’

‘So why didn’t he go in straightaway? He would have known he should, surely?’ Rebecca was trying hard, desperately trying to stay in control, to understand.

‘Because he’s scared. Think about it, he has nothing but disjointed memories of what happened, no proof of his innocence, and I’m assuming they have a truckload of evidence against him, including DNA.’ Kristen stopped, allowing Rebecca to digest. ‘He’s being set-up. Systematically set-up. And if you know him half as well as I think you do, you’ll know it’s not himself he’s scared for.’

Rebecca’s stomach tightened at the implication of that statement.

‘He’s not sure who the target is,’ Kristen drove her point home. ‘He is sure he won’t be believed. He’s worried he’ll get remanded and …’ She trailed off, her gaze travelling towards the hall as the volume on the TV dropped. ‘I’d better go. You have my number, but be careful what you say on the phone, Rebecca.’

Heading for the door, she stopped and turned back. ‘Tell Ashley I’m sorry, will you?’ she asked, shrugging sadly.

Rebecca nodded and watched Kristen leave, too stunned to speak. Her mouth was dry, her heart weighed down by guilt. Even as Ashley came into the kitchen, she couldn’t coordinate any thought other than she’d doubted him. He’d walked into a madman’s clutches ready to die for her, and when he’d needed her …

‘I heard,’ Ashley said quietly. ‘Becky? Are you okay?’

‘Yes,’ Rebecca assured her shakily, trying to rein in her spiralling emotions.

Ashley glanced over her shoulder, to where one of the officers was finally emerging from the lounge. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said, giving Rebecca a meaningful glance and then heading swiftly through the back door.

Kristen was disappearing over the back gate when Ashley came out. Typical Kristen, she thought, scrambling up after her. Matthew had been obsessed with security since the burglary at the last place, meaning the traditional exit wasn’t an option. Her mother had always been good at this crap though, sneaking out to top up her booze levels. Miraculously, she’d stayed at the last rehab centre, probably because Matthew had threatened to have nothing more to do with her if she didn’t. More miraculously, she seemed to have stayed off the booze.

Seeing her mum heading off through a throng of reporters, her head low, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, Ashley followed, rather than call out and alert their attention to who Kristen was, which would have them all over her in an instant. That worked, she thought, her heart sinking as some intrepid reporter shouted, ‘That’s Adams’ sister!’ and the whole throng descended on Kristen as one.

‘Can you tell us about your brother?’ one of them shouted. ‘Do you think he’s capable of the atrocities he’s accused of?’

‘Have you been in contact with him?’ shouted another.

Another stuffed a microphone practically up Kristen’s nose. ‘Would you like to make a statement?’ he asked her.

Looking him over, Kristen narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to one side. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling flatly. ‘I’d like to make a statement. Matthew saved my life. Now why don’t you piss off and get one.’ With which she gave him an ‘up yours’ sign and turned on her heel.

YessSS! Ashley whooped silently and set off after her. She wasn’t ready to do the mother-daughter bonding thing, but she had to admire her cool. ‘Kristen,’ she called, not yet ready to address her as ‘Mum’ either.

Kristen didn’t turn around. Probably assumed she was one of the newspaper hounds. Wolves, more like. Dragging her hair from her face, Ashley curled a lip contemptuously as the pack followed her. ‘Kristen!’ she called again, but Kristen just quickened her pace.

Sod it. ‘Mum!’ Ashley yelled, causing all eyes to swivel in her direction. And, actually good, she thought. Let them add ‘saving her, a schizophrenic basket case’ to Matthew’s list of ‘atrocities’.

Kristen turned then, her eyes growing wide as they travelled over her. ‘Ashley? My God, you’ve grown.’

Ashley stopped in front of her. ‘Yeah. It’s what kids do,’ she imparted facetiously.

Kristen nodded, looking embarrassed and obviously getting the point.

‘Are you driving?’ Ashley asked, raising her voice as an overzealous reporter bobbed in between them.

Kristen nodded in the direction of her car. ‘Over there.’

‘Go!’ Ashley shouted, skirting around the jabbering reporter, as Kristen turned to set off at a run.

Throwing herself into the driver’s seat, Kristen leaned across to push the passenger door open, and then started the engine and pulled off almost before Ashley was inside.

‘Idiots.’ Ashley twisted in her seat, glancing through the back window, as Kristen drove away at breakneck speed.

‘They can’t help it,’ Kristen offered, swerving spectacularly to avoid yet another too keen reporter.

Fending off the dashboard, Ashley glanced at her askance.

‘It’s what Tosser Training School does,’ Kristen elucidated. ‘Seatbelt,’ she instructed, nodding in Ashley’s direction.

Her mouth twitching into a small smile, Ashley grappled for it. ‘You sound like Matthew,’ she grumbled.

‘I’m his sister.’ Kristen shrugged. ‘Maybe I share a few of his good points.’

Ashley buckled up. She didn’t answer. Possibly realising there wasn’t a fat lot she could have said to that. Kristen didn’t speak either, driving on in silence.

‘I heard you,’ Ashley said, after a pause. ‘Talking to Becky. I was in the hall. I heard what you said.’

Kristen nodded. ‘Do you believe he’s innocent?’

‘I never doubted it,’ Ashley stated categorically. ‘I don’t know why or how, but I know for a fact that Jasmine’s got something to do with the death of that girl.’

‘Jasmine as in the girl who made the rape allegation?’ Kristen sounded only marginally surprised.

‘That’s the one. Take a left here, will you? I’m supposed to be seeing someone.’

Kristen glanced curiously at her. ‘Relevant?’ she asked. ‘Or none of my business?’

Ashley was amused, she had to admit, but wasn’t about to let on. ‘Relevant,’ she told her. ‘Steve, Matthew’s ex-DS. I need to run something by him.’

‘You say you know for a fact?’ Kristen asked, taking the road as instructed.

‘Yup.’ Ashley didn’t offer any more, pondering instead whether Steve would believe her. She’d debated whether to go to DCI Davies direct, whether to tell Becky, but she hadn’t wanted to get Becky’s hopes up and the photos she’d got were crap.

‘Do you want to share?’ Kristen suggested hopefully. ‘I know you’ve no reason to trust me and I don’t blame you. I’m the one to blame.’ She paused, glancing again in Ashley’s direction. ‘And I’m guessing you don’t want to hear this right now, am I right?’

Ashley nodded. She wasn’t sure the time would ever be right, but this certainly wasn’t it.

‘This is my business, though, Ashley,’ Kristen reminded her gently. ‘He’s my brother.’

‘Take a right here.’ Ashley glanced tentatively back at her and decided it couldn’t hurt to tell her. Matthew was her brother and Kristen was trying to help him. ‘She’s not who she claims to be.’

‘Who?’ Kristen asked, puzzled.

‘Jasmine, I saw her. It’s a long story but basically she went into the loos to get changed and when she came out she was definitely changed: different clothes, different hair. Different. I’m not sure where it all fits in, but … Straight on at the roundabout,’ Ashley nodded ahead, ‘and then first on the right.’

‘Crap,’ Kristen said, her jaw set tight.

‘Exactly,’ Ashley concurred. ‘I tried to follow, but I lost her. I did get some photos, but they’re no good. Too far away. There was a security camera though, so … We’re here. The drive on the left.’

Kristen pulled up, glancing up the drive towards the dog kennels. ‘And you’re hoping this Steve bloke will help you get access to the tapes?’

‘That’s right. It might not be much. Might not be anything, but …’

‘Clever girl,’ Kristen said, looking impressed. ‘But then, you always were.’

‘Yeah.’ Ashley reached for her door. ‘Not a derbrain or a weirdo then?’ She turned to look accusingly at her.

Kristen looked shocked. ‘Did I say that?’ she asked, obviously not able to remember half of the hurtful things she’d said and done.

Ashley should have wanted to hurt her back. There was a time when she would have, but Matthew and Becky fostering her, making sure that she knew she was all right, that shit did just happen sometimes and that she wasn’t to blame … She didn’t feel like raking over old coals any more, analysing, self-analysing. It just wasn’t worth it.

‘You kept asking why I couldn’t be normal,’ she reminded Kristen, not bitterly, just because she thought that maybe she should know the damage she did.

Kristen glanced down. ‘I am so sorry, Ashley. Truly, I am. Getting sober doesn’t undo the hurts, I know that. It was me who was weird, not you. I should have helped you. I couldn’t even help my bloody self.’

Ashley took a breath. ‘You’ve made a start,’ she said, climbing out.

‘Becky has my number.’ Kristen leaned across, before she closed the door. ‘I’m not expecting to do the happy family thing, Ashley. I gave up the right to do that twelve years ago, but ring me if you need anything and you think I might be able to help. Anything at all. I might not have been there in the past, but I will be in future. If you want me to be.’

Ashley studied her and then nodded slowly. ‘I’ll keep you posted,’ she promised.