Chapter Fourteen

Matthew pulled up his collar and tugged his cap down. The rain was falling softly against the grey light of dawn. The kind of rain that makes you damp, Becky would have said, nonsensically. Trying not to think of her, of his need to just hold her before he did this, he walked purposefully on, a cold shiver of foreboding snaking its way down his spine as he made his way through the part of the cemetery where once proud Victorian headstones submitted to the elements. Walking on, past weathered stones and wingless cherubs, he avoided reading the inscriptions. God knew, he didn’t need reminding how short life was.

Finally, he reached his destination, a simple pearl granite headstone, a floppy carved teddy bear hanging over the back of it. It had broken his bloody heart when he’d first viewed it. He’d tried to like it, for Becky’s sake, for Lily’s sake, whose bedraggled Pooh Bear had gone everywhere with her. It had broken his heart each and every time he’d seen it since.

He had no idea why he’d come, other than he’d needed some thinking space. Here was where he came when he needed that; even Becky didn’t know how often he sought the tranquillity this place offered him. Was he here now to say goodbye, maybe? If he did what he now thought he needed to do, he had no idea when he’d come again. He had no faith in the system. How could he have, when attempting to ‘go through proper channels’ had already cost his family so much? Crouching down, he dusted debris and damp leaves from the stone, then lowered himself to sit next to it. He didn’t have a choice though. His one man crusade to get to the truth was hopeless. He couldn’t do that as a wanted man, trying to keep under the radar. It would be impossible now Jasmine seemed to have disappeared. According to Steve, she hadn’t shown up at college or at her flat. She hadn’t drawn money from cashpoints or banks. She’d vanished. Concern for her welfare was mounting. And the finger was pointed directly at him.

If there was a hell on earth, this was it. Matthew had been living it. He’d keep living it, if that’s what he had to do to keep Becky and the kids safe, though he couldn’t imagine how he’d survive prison. If there was someone on the inside with grievance enough, and there were plenty, he might not, but he had to go in. Assuming whoever was behind all of this wanted him, then he had to deliver and pray it ended there. Matthew’s gut told him it wouldn’t though. Somehow, he had to convince Davies and whoever it was passed up to at major homicide that his family was in danger, because he simply couldn’t keep them safe on his own.

Déjà vu. The Sullivan nightmare all over again. He’d exposed his family to that maniac too. Matthew pressed a thumb hard against his forehead as he remembered the absolute terror in his wife’s eyes, the noose around her neck, which would have broken her spine in an instant if he’d made one wrong move. Sullivan’s snarling taunts: On your knees, copper. Or wifey might just fall off her shoes. Click, clack, crack. Comprendre?

Matthew clamped his eyes shut, willing the tears back, wishing he’d got off the force back then. It’s your life. It’s who you are, Becky had told him. She’d tried to hide her concerns, to stay optimistic, because that was who she was. They’d never have had Mia but for her determination to have another child. Even after all she’d already lost, Lily, the miscarriage afterwards, she’d never given up hope. Never given up on him. And now this. How could she ever see him in the same light again? Even accepting he, a ‘great strapping bloke’, had been drugged, he was worried Becky might never be able to. She’d certainly never come to terms with his being convicted of the inevitable charges against him. He’d ruined her life. Steve was right, he really was a useless prat, wasn’t he?

No, you’re not, Daddy. Hearing Lily’s voice, childlike and melodic, above the rustle of leaves on the wind, Matthew’s head snapped up. Christ, he was losing it. Was it possible he really was going out of his mind? That he might be more involved in all of this than he’d considered possible?

Glancing around for any likely origin of the voice he could have sworn he’d heard, Matthew’s breath hitched in his chest. You’re not useless. He heard it again, Lily’s voice, as if she were standing right next to him. He could feel her. He could swear he could feel her arms slipping around his shoulders, her kiss on his cheek, feather-light, like the soft brush of a butterfly’s wings. Don’t cry, Daddy, she whispered. It’s only a game.

Matthew reeled inwardly. He remembered her saying it. Just that, the time they’d all trooped to the park stuffed full of Christmas turkey to play football. He’d missed a penalty, he recalled it vividly. Seriously man crushing ego stuff. Becky, who’d been videoing his humiliating defeat, had leapt about like a lunatic when Lily had saved the goal. ‘YeesSS!’ she’d whooped, punching the air. ‘You’re useless, Adams!’ she’d shouted.

‘Daddy’s useless.’ Giggling, Lily had repeated it, and then been mortified when Matthew had dropped to his knees, groaning in absolute mortification at being thrashed by the girls.

Concerned that he really was upset, Lily had come over to him. ‘You’re not useless,’ she’d assured him, peeling his hands from his face and peering worriedly into his eyes. ‘Don’t cry, Daddy. It’s only a game.’

Unable to resist her, he’d pulled her to him. Breathing in the scent of his child, he’d wanted to hug her so hard. His sense of wonderment at having produced her, this perfect little replica of Becky with her wide, innocent blue eyes, was so overwhelming, he’d wanted to hold her and never let go. He’d tickled her, he recalled, until she’d squirmed and squealed with delight. They’d both ganged up on him then, sitting on him and dishing out the same treatment until he’d begged for mercy. Jesus. Shocked by the clarity of the recollection, Matthew looked to the skies. Please let this be the right decision. He prayed silently. Please God, keep my family safe.

Attempting to compose himself, he dragged an arm across his eyes, got to his feet and reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet. Retrieving the plastic package containing a lock of Lily’s hair he kept there, he fingered it, taking some comfort from the lustrous soft feel of it, and then steeled himself to part with it. They’d take all his belongings. He didn’t want them to take that, to analyse it, looking for whatever DNA it might offer up, which they would. They’d only have his word it was his daughter’s hair, after all.

‘For safekeeping,’ he said, gulping back his heartbreak as he eased the marble flower urn to one side to place the package underneath it. ‘I’ll be back for it, sweetheart,’ he promised, swearing that one day he would.

Time to do this. Straightening up, Matthew pulled out his mobile. He couldn’t do it without talking to Becky though, hearing her voice. Bracing himself, he selected her number and waited.

‘Becky?’ He checked it was her, when the call picked up.

‘Oh God, Ma—’ she started, and stopped. There were still uniforms at the house in case he showed up, Matthew deduced, which was actually of some comfort. They’d be safe, for now. ‘Where are you?’ Becky asked.

Matthew couldn’t bear the pain he heard in her voice. ‘I’m going in, Becky,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m going to the station now.’ Swallowing back his own emotion, he prayed again that she’d understand why he wouldn’t try to see her first. Arrested in public, in front of her … Matthew would do what he had to do, but he couldn’t do that.

Becky didn’t speak, but the shaky intake of breath told Matthew she was quietly crying.

‘I have to go,’ he said, knowing he was too close to tears himself. ‘Whatever happens, please know that I love you. Will. Always.’

‘Wait,’ Becky implored him. ‘Please …’

Feeling as if someone was physically tearing his heart from him, Matthew forced himself to end the call. He had no idea what she might have been about to say, what her feelings now were for him. He would have known though. Talking to her any longer, he would have known whether her trust in him had been broken, and that was something he definitely couldn’t bear.

Steve massaged his forehead, frustrated. ‘There’s not much to go on here, Ash,’ he said, flicking through the photos on her mobile. ‘No close-ups. It could be anybody.’ He looked across to where she sat in his passenger seat, her huge cognac coloured eyes wide and beseeching.

‘But you have to admit it’s a possibility,’ Ashley insisted, desperate for him to go into the supermarket and somehow get access to the security tapes. The only way Steve could achieve that, he’d already pointed out, was to impersonate a police officer, which was actually breaking the law. ‘Any possible sighting has to be followed up, doesn’t it?’ she went on, clearly not about to give up.

‘Yes, but legally, through the proper channels, Ash,’ Steve said. Blimey, he was beginning to sound like Davies, he realised, erring on the safe side, doing everything by the book. Glancing again at her, he debated. Clearly, Ashley thought this girl was Jasmine and she was pretty astute. Matthew hadn’t given him all the grisly details around the kidnapping. The guy had found it difficult to talk about. Steve got why. He had told him it was Ashley who’d found Sullivan’s Achilles heel, though, creating a diversion long enough for Matthew to turn the situation around. She might be wrong, grasping at straws, but she just might not be. In which case, this could possibly turn things around for Matthew now.

Making up his mind, Steve blew out a sigh. ‘Okay,’ he said, reaching for his car door. ‘But the only way I’m going to achieve this is with a huge dollop of bullshit. I’m not a copper any more, Ashley. If they don’t play ball, we’re going to have to put this through the proper channels, like it or not.’

‘Yeah, I seem to recall Matthew tried that once,’ Ashley reminded him. ‘Didn’t work out so well for him, did it?’

That it hadn’t. Matthew had come close to losing his family and his sanity, Steve was well aware of that. He’d been out on a limb on his own then too, thanks to insufficient evidence and endless red tape. His instincts had been right though. One hundred per cent spot on. No one had been listening. Without exception, everyone had him down as a loose cannon, unfit to do his job. They’d been wrong. They were wrong this time, Steve’s instincts were telling him that. ‘Come on,’ he said, climbing out. ‘I’ll try using my powers of persuasion.’

‘And if that doesn’t work?’ Ashley asked, scrambling out to join him.

‘I’ll flash my police ID.’

‘You still have it?’ Ashley looked at him, impressed.

‘Yep, and if I’m caught using it, we’ll both probably end up nicked, which won’t really help anyone, will it?’ To say little of the fact that his wife would have his balls on a plate if she knew what he was up to. He couldn’t blame her. Him getting shot five minutes before they were due to walk down the aisle would be enough to put any would-have-been a copper’s wife off for life.

He had no choice but to walk the gauntlet, Matthew supposed. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it obviously. At least then whoever wanted him brought to his knees would know he had handed himself in. Losing the cap, attempting to quell the sick feeling in his gut, he reached for his door handle and climbed out. Then, warily surveying the reporters camped outside the station, he raked a hand through his hair, steeled himself, and headed towards them.

It didn’t take them long to pick up the scent. ‘Bloody hell, it’s Adams!’ someone yelled as he approached. Seconds later, there were several reporters in front of him, thrusting microphones and cameras in his face, many more closing in on him from behind. Matthew tugged in a sharp breath, panic rising inside him as his chest tightened. Without his preventative meds an asthma attack was always more likely. Now really wasn’t the time.

‘Detective Adams,’ a woman in front of him shouted. ‘Do you have anything to say regarding the crimes you’re accused of?’

‘No comment,’ Matthew answered the only way he could.

‘Had you met either of the girls before the attacks, Detective Adams?’ someone else asked, incitingly.

Matthew clamped his jaw tight.

‘The girl you raped—’

Matthew saw red then. ‘Piss off out of my face,’ he grated.

‘Are you handing yourself in?’ another reporter yelled, all but climbing over the reporter in front.

Finding himself now being jostled fiercely from all directions, Matthew was actually relieved to see three uniforms emerging from the station steps.

‘Enough, guys. Back off, or you’re nicked!’ the officer closing in on Matthew’s right side warned them.

‘Move it!’ the PC to his left growled, while the third officer cleared the way in front.

Minutes later, flanked by the officers, Matthew arrived in reception, and his chest constricted in a whole new way. Christ, no. His stomach plummeting, he glanced down and then back, as Becky got shakily to her feet. She was pale, drawn, exhausted; beautiful. He watched as she dragged her glorious wild hair from her face, her expression uncomprehending.

‘Becky …’ he started hesitantly, wanting to tell her to go, to beg her to be anywhere but here right now to witness this, but his attempts to speak were cut short as Ashley cannonballed into him from across the room, throwing her arms around him and almost crushing his ribcage.

‘That bitch!’ she spat, her tears wetting his cheek as Matthew pulled her close, trying to reassure her in some way. ‘She set you up.’

‘Hey, hey, innocent until proven,’ he said, his voice catching in his throat. The girl’s involvement was a given. Matthew had no doubt Jasmine was involved in every sordid aspect, but he was convinced she wasn’t working alone.

Leaning closer, Ashley whispered something Matthew didn’t quite catch. Something about Steve and DS Collins, he heard that much, before a WPC stepped in to ease Ashley away from him.

Guardedly, Matthew looked past them, to where Becky waited. She looked so vulnerable, so petrified, Matthew felt something break inside him. He had no idea what to say. What reassurance he could offer her. Whatever his own involvement in what happened afterwards – and Matthew still didn’t know, his memories coming and going like wisps of smoke on the air – he had been in that video. How could he hope to convince her he hadn’t been complicit in it?

He tried again to speak, to offer her anything to hold onto, but before he could formulate anything coherent, Davies appeared, crashing through the back office door, his expression a mixture of fury and despair. Matthew looked back to Becky, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as Davies started to caution him himself, rather than pass it down to a subordinate. ‘Matthew Adams, we are legally obliged to inform you that I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder …’

Matthew kept looking at Becky. Don’t doubt me. Please don’t doubt me, he willed her. He wanted to say it. Desperately wanted to reach out and hold her, try to explain.

‘You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court,’ Davies went on, doing it by the book, every sentence humiliating him further. ‘Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand, Matthew?’

‘Yes,’ Matthew answered quietly, knowing Davies would need his affirmation.

Dropping his gaze, as an officer took hold of his arm, Matthew gulped back the cold fear in the pit of his stomach. They weren’t going to handcuff him then, in front of his wife. That was something, he supposed. How had this happened, he wondered dazedly? How had he let it? Feeling sick to his soul, Matthew couldn’t meet Becky’s gaze as he was led away. Couldn’t look into the eyes of the woman whose trust in him had never wavered, whose love for him had never faltered, even when he hadn’t been there for her. If he looked and he saw what he was bound to see, he’d be lost, utterly.

‘Matthew!’ Becky called wretchedly as they reached the door. ‘Matthew?’ she said his name tearfully again. A question almost. Therein a million questions Matthew couldn’t hope to answer.

He glanced questioningly at Davies, who nodded his acquiescence, and then turned to face her. ‘I didn’t do it, Becky. It’s a set-up. All of it,’ he said simply. ‘Do you believe me?’

Becky didn’t answer, just continued to study him, her expression now a myriad of emotion: bewilderment, hurt. Most of all uncertainty. She didn’t. How could she? ‘Becky!’ Panic twisting violently inside him, Matthew shouted it. ‘Do you believe me?’

Still she didn’t answer. Feeling as if the prison door had just slammed irreversibly shut on him, Matthew resisted for a heartbeat as the officer to his side urged him onwards, and then turned away.

‘Matthew!’ Becky shouted behind him. Then she was beside him, right next to him, her arms around him, as she moved in front of him, her face buried in his shoulder.

A sob catching her throat, she didn’t speak, but it was enough. His emotion threatening to spill over, Matthew swallowed back hard. He didn’t deserve her support. She had every right to walk away, but he simply wouldn’t know how to be without her. Wouldn’t want to be. Hoping against hope it wouldn’t be their last, he pulled her into a fierce embrace and prayed hard she knew how much he loved her.