It’s early evening and Rose is drinking full-sugar Coke and taking another two of the painkillers, fretting about how quickly they are going down. She needs to keep going – that’s all – until they can find Gregory and get him safely home again.
The atmosphere has been frenetic all afternoon, since the car that Heather Doyle was driving, which almost certainly contained Gregory, went off radar briefly after Perth.
A different approach was needed. Speed cameras also clock number plates but the information gets overwritten quickly and getting hold of the information from local police involves GDPR permission and authority at superintendent level. This was secured fairly quickly because of the seriousness of the crime, but still added on a little time.
Now all available eyes are on where the car went between Perth and Inverness. They’re closing in, but the north of Scotland is a big place with plenty of blind spots in terms of cameras.
Rose has been on the phone all day, talking to everyone connected with the case and trying to find out whether there’s any connection at all with that part of the country where Heather seems to be headed. Freya can’t help at all, saying her mother ‘went to all four corners of the country in that thing until her eyesight got bad’. But she couldn’t specifically recall a Scottish trip.
Rose becomes aware of a change in the air and looks up from the desk that’s her temporary home to see Anton and Gwen Fuller arriving in the office. There’s a woman with them. She’s in her forties, with such a thick thatch of long ash-blonde hair that it can only be extensions, lots of make-up and long silver earrings. Her expression is a strange sort of benign but superior one.
Rose rises and goes over.
DCI Mortimer comes to greet them and Rose introduces the people she knows, looking expectantly at the mystery woman. Gwen is looking even thinner and more exhausted than when Rose saw her last. Anton has an imperious expression on his drawn face, lips pursed tightly. He gives Rose a nod.
‘Thanks for coming in,’ says Mortimer. ‘We’re going to try and make this as quick and painless as we possibly can.’ He pauses. ‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘and you are?’ to the woman.
She holds out a plump, freckled hand and smiles, revealing small, even teeth.
‘Felicity Gordon,’ she says, ‘intuitive healer.’
There’s a moment of perplexed silence, broken by Gwen. ‘She’s helping us to find out what happened in the house,’ she says, eyes flicking to her husband and then away again. He looks straight ahead, jaw set.
‘Like a researcher?’ says Mortimer.
‘Like a medium,’ says Rose and the woman’s eyes meet hers. ‘Am I right?’
‘Yes, some people call me that,’ says Gordon and there’s an edge of steel to her voice now. ‘But I work across the board on promoting wellness and harmony in all dimensions.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ says Anton quietly but loud enough that everyone hears it.
Felicity’s smile remains fixed.
‘Anton,’ says Gwen in a tone Rose has never heard her use with her husband before. ‘Can you just do this one thing, this one time, without making one of your bloody big fusses about it? Please?’
Anton Fuller’s cheeks colour but he raises both hands as though warding off an attack.
‘Whatever you say, dear.’ Sarcasm drips from his voice but Gwen doesn’t seem to hear.
‘Felicity has the answer for what has been going on in the house,’ she says, addressing Rose now. ‘I thought we could tell Gregory in the press conference and then maybe it would, I don’t know, help.’
Rose and Mortimer exchange glances.
‘And what do you think has been going on?’ Mortimer asks, expression neutral.
‘I think there is a very unhappy soul in the house,’ says Felicity with a great deal of self-importance. ‘I communicated with it and it is the spirit of a girl who died of TB there when the house was first built.’
‘A girl?’ says Adam, who has crept up and joined the conversation, clearly catching up with what has been going on. ‘Because Gregory seems to think whatever it is, is male.’
Felicity’s eyes flick around the room and she licks her lips.
‘I think in the other realm, gender has no real meaning,’ she says.
‘Right,’ says Mortimer after a moment. ‘Well …’ he seems uncharacteristically lost for words before recovering himself. ‘I think we need to get this press conference started. But please don’t confuse things by bringing your, um, research into this. Keep it simple, okay? Like we discussed on the phone?’
‘But I hadn’t spoken to Felicity then,’ says Gwen. ‘I simply want to get my son home.’
‘We all do, Mrs Fuller,’ says Mortimer. ‘But if you start talking about the ghosts of Victorian kids, the press is going to have a field day with this. Do you really want that? It’s crucial that you get the public on board with this appeal, do you understand?’
‘Listen to the man,’ says Anton drily. ‘If we don’t handle it the right way, my dear, the public will turn against us like a pack of wolves. It’s happened before.’
‘Okay,’ says Rose hurriedly as the little remaining colour in Gwen’s face blanches away. ‘Look, you don’t need to think about any of that, just concentrate on speaking from the heart. And stick to specifics for now.’
‘It’s okay,’ says Gwen surprisingly firmly. ‘I know what I have to do.’
The room chosen for the press conference is heaving with reporters, both seated and standing. Gwen and Anton file in after Mortimer and take their places at the tables. Behind them on a movable board are blown-up images of both Gregory and Heather Doyle, who looks about as sinister as she possibly could: greasy hair, squinty dead eyes. The picture was clearly taken in prison.
Mortimer introduces himself as the SIO on the case as Adam leans in to Rose and whispers in her ear.
‘Do you believe what that woman said?’ he says. ‘About the girl? I mean, the Victorian waif thing is a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?’
Rose shakes her head. ‘Exactly,’ she whispers. ‘Trust me when I say I’ve met her type before.’
They tune back in to the statement Mortimer is now reading out.
‘We believe that twelve-year-old Gregory Fuller has been persuaded by a woman called Heather Doyle to run away. At this stage we don’t understand why but believe Gregory has become fascinated by the details of a crime committed by Doyle at that property in 2006, when a fire caused a multiple murder. We are appealing to anyone who may have seen them, driving a red Volvo station wagon V70 and heading towards Scotland. I will now hand you over to Gregory’s mother, Gwen Fuller. After this there will be questions, which I would ask you to direct only at me. Thank you.’
Gwen clears her throat and begins to speak in a voice that is faltering to start with but gains strength as she goes on.
‘We have now been without our boy for forty-eight hours,’ she says, ‘and every moment has been agony. I want to make a direct appeal to you, Heather.’ Gwen’s eyes are fixed firmly on the camera in front of her, hands twiddling a tissue that she hasn’t used yet. Rose can’t help being a little impressed at how strong she’s being in this intimidating setting. So far anyway.
‘You can tell my son,’ she continues, ‘my beloved, darling boy – that he doesn’t need to worry about getting into trouble when he gets back. We just want to give him a hug and tell him … tell him how much we love him.’ Her voice wavers here but she clears her throat and when she continues her words come out in a fast stream, as though she’d been waiting for this moment above all else. ‘And, Gregory?’ she says. ‘If you’re watching? We’ll move away when you get back. We won’t stay in that horrid, haunted house a moment longer.’
Anton’s look of surprise is almost comical. Clearly, moving house wasn’t discussed until now. But Mortimer appears even more dismayed, raising a hand as questions from the press all start jabbing at the Fullers at once.
‘All questions to be directed to me, please,’ he says and the noise abates a little.
A reporter from the BBC goes first, asking if it is their belief that Gregory had gone away with a convicted murderer by choice.
‘We don’t have information confirming one way or the other and because of that we have to work on the assumption that he needs to be found and brought home as soon as possible,’ says Mortimer. ‘Next question.’
‘Surya Kahn, Sky News,’ says another reporter. ‘What did Mrs Fuller mean when she referred to the house as being “horrid” and “haunted”?’
‘We don’t have that information at this time,’ says Mortimer, ‘but we are aware Gregory perhaps felt disturbed by events that had taken place there in the past.’
‘Why would he go with the person who committed those terrible acts though?’ another reporter calls out. But Mortimer has had enough.
‘That will be all for now. Thank you for your time,’ he says, getting to his feet and hurriedly guiding the Fullers out of the room, which echoes with the buzz of excited conversation.
Rose and Adam walk to the top of the room and follow them out.
Felicity Gordon is waiting outside the door and she embraces Gwen, who collapses, weeping into her arms.
‘That wasn’t very helpful, Gwen,’ says Anton, expression thunderous. ‘What was all that nonsense about moving? And why did you mention the supposedly haunted house at all? The gutter press will be all over this.’
‘I’m sorry but the bad energy needs to be addressed!’ says Gordon, clearly loving every moment of this. She meets Rose’s eyes and Rose looks away.
A few moments later, the Fullers are in conversation with Mortimer. Gordon hangs back then comes over to where Rose is standing, leaning in to speak in a conspiratorial voice.
‘You think I’m a phoney, don’t you?’ she says, a small smile playing around her lips.
Rose coolly meets her eye. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ she says. ‘I’m just concerned that Mrs and Mrs Fuller aren’t exploited, that’s all.’
The smile drops off the other woman’s face. ‘I have nothing but good intentions for that family and that missing child,’ she says. ‘I hope you can look beyond all your prejudices about the kind of work I do and see that I am genuinely trying to help.’
‘Work.’ Rose can’t help the scornful way this slips out. Gordon takes a step forward, looking hurt. ‘Why are you so closed-minded? Why can’t you be at least open to the possibility that I am helping the Fullers. Don’t we all want the same thing? Gregory home safe and sound?’
‘Maybe,’ says Rose. She realizes her hands are shaking and her cheeks are flooded with colour. Something about this woman, standing there with her intuitive-this and her other-realm-that is pressing all of Rose’s buttons. Wasn’t this exactly what Adele did? Feed off other people’s pain for her own gain?
She knows she needs to keep her mouth closed now because she is seriously close to calling the other woman a vampire but then she notices that Gordon has gone deathly pale and staggers a little, so she has to place a hand on the top of a chair.
‘Are you okay?’ says Rose, looking around for help, but Gwen and Anton remain in deep conversation with Mortimer. Everyone else is too busy to be paying any attention to the micro drama unfolding right here.
Gordon sways and makes a moaning sound.
‘Ms Gordon,’ says Rose, ‘Felicity … what is it? Are you sick?’
Gordon does a sort of heaving motion then shudders dramatically. Fearing for her shoes a little, Rose wants to step back but forces herself to reach out and touch the other woman’s arm.
Felicity Gordon flinches as though she’s been burned, then opens her eyes. Her eyeballs have rolled back into the sockets, showing only the whites, grotesquely. She starts to speak then, in a quiet, low hiss, all the words almost running into each other. Her accent is somehow rougher than the well-spoken voice she had before this bizarre episode.
‘You never listen; you never look,’ she hisses, ‘always busy-busy-busy, always turning away from it, always running. Too scared to know the truth. Never get your hands dirty, do you? Not really dirty, down in the muck with the worms and the dead things. Block it all out, ignore it ignore it ignore it. Pretend and pretend and pretend but you can’t get away. Have to stay have to stay have to …’
As abruptly as she started, Gordon stops speaking and her eyes snap open. She’s trembling all over, her skin ashen.
‘What happened?’ she says, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘What just happened?’
Rose tries to slow her galloping heartbeat. Her insides have turned to icy sludge.
‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘You had a sort of fit and were talking … nonsense.’
‘What did I say?’ says Gordon, looking terrified now. ‘That’s never happened to me before. I couldn’t control that. It was, it was … Oh God—’ she presses a hand to her chest ‘—really intense.’ Rose can see that her shock has turned into something else. She’s thrilled. ‘Someone in the other realm really wanted to communicate,’ continues Gordon, ‘and they used me as a conduit even though I hadn’t invited them in.’ She pauses and her focus on Rose intensifies. ‘Who was it?’ she says. ‘Who wants to speak to you, DC Gifford?’
Rose regards her icily.
‘I think it’s time for you to go,’ she says, turning away.
Hurrying down the corridor, Rose battles to get her breathing under control. Nausea roils in her stomach as she goes over what just happened.
It was as though Gordon was inhabited by someone else entirely back there; turned into a grotesque costume made of skin and bone and clothing, rather than a living breathing woman.
No prizes for guessing who that someone was.
Have to stay have to stay have to stay …
A deep shudder travels up Rose’s back, so intense it prompts a jab of pain from her ribs. Why is her mother so desperate for her not to leave that house? She doesn’t have time to dwell on any of this now. A bracing wave of anger replaces the cold horror.
There’s a missing boy who needs to be found. Rose needs to be on her best game. She walks into the briefing room and takes small, slow sips of breath as everyone else piles in.
Shut the fuck up, Adele, she thinks. Just leave me alone.
Needless to say, Mortimer isn’t happy about the way the press conference went.
‘For God’s sake,’ he says, ‘someone give me some good news.’
‘I wish we could,’ says Jamie. ‘We have a last sighting of the car from the camera at Kessock Bridge, Inverness,’ he says. ‘Obviously, the possibilities of where they can have gone after that are very wide. They have the whole of the Highlands. She hasn’t used the phone registered to her since the day before she left London, so we can’t track mobile phone use. She’s using cash rather than cards.’
‘What about getting petrol?’ says Adam. ‘It’s a long way to the north of Scotland so is it worth checking garages for someone who paid for a tank of petrol in cash? I mean, that’s probably unusual these days?’
‘Yes,’ says Rose, turning to him, heart quickening. ‘If you know the make of the car, maybe it’s possible to work out exactly where on the road they might need to fill up?’
‘Good idea,’ says Mortimer and gestures to a man sitting nearby. ‘Steve, can you work on that? We last have her on camera getting petrol near Birmingham, and yes, using cash.’
‘Small garages in the country might be more likely to remember though,’ says the officer called Steve, who is about Rose’s age, with a shiny bald head and neat beard. ‘We can call all the garages within a certain radius and see if anyone remembers.’
‘Good!’ says Mortimer. ‘And have we had any responses from the press conference? Gail?’
Gail grimaces. ‘Absolutely nothing useful so far,’ she says, looking down at her pad. ‘But I’ve had a persistent reporter from the Standard asking about what Gwen meant about the house. I’ve tried to put her off but now there are a few papers who are ringing about that.’
Mortimer grimaces. ‘Well, it’s unfortunate. But if there’s any chance at all of Heather Doyle seeing the press conference, it might nudge something in her and make her rethink whatever the hell it is she thinks she’s doing. Okay, people, let’s get back to it. I want every single garage in the Highlands contacted. It’s time to hammer those phones.’