Beth opened her mouth to argue with Joanne, to tell her she wasn’t responsible, that no, it wasn’t all out, and there was something she still didn’t know. Before she had a chance to explain, her phone buzzed loudly. She was going to ignore it but thinking it might be Megan, Beth picked it up.
It wasn’t her name that appeared on the screen but an unknown number. With a grunt of frustration, she answered, shutting her eyes when she heard a voice she recognised, sorry she’d bothered answering at all.
‘It’s Medwyn Kendrick.’
Beth wondered if it wouldn’t be better to hang up.
‘Medwyn Kendrick,’ the caller repeated, and then, as if she might have forgotten who he was, as if his name might have slipped her mind, he added, ‘your Fed rep.’
‘Yes,’ she said and felt a tremor run through her. She gripped the phone, sensing something colder in his voice, something more critical. He’d stay neutral, he was her Police Federation representative after all, but she guessed, whatever he’d found out, he’d made up his mind about her. Whatever he was going to say next, she knew it wouldn’t be good. ‘Just a sec,’ she said, and holding her hand over the phone, she looked at Joanne.
‘It’s work,’ Beth explained. ‘Do you mind if I take it next door?’
Without waiting for the nod she knew would come, Beth turned to leave the room. She closed the lounge door, her eyes immediately drawn to the sofa where the previous day’s blood had dried, the dark red stains vivid against the white. There was a smell too. A slight metallic smell of blood, the stronger stink of despair. Was that coming from her? She sat on one of the chairs and lifted the phone to her ear. ‘Okay,’ she said, and didn’t say anything more, pressing the phone tightly to stop the tremble in her hand, waiting for him to speak.
There was the distinct rustle of paper in the background before he spoke again, seconds when she was tempted to hang up. When he did speak, it was with an abrupt question. ‘Do you remember Lydia Forest?’
Beth wanted to say that she didn’t forget any of them, ever. They were in her head; the damaged living ones, the tragic dead ones. All of them, all of the time. Lydia, the fourteen-year-old with the almost translucent skin, pale blue eyes and dark blonde hair that fell in curls down her back. Beth remembered the vicious bites to her tiny breasts, the horrendous bruising to her thighs and genitals. And those pale blue eyes, vacant with shock. ‘Yes,’ Beth said quietly, ‘I remember her.’
‘And her father, Bruno?’
Beth’s grip on the phone tightened, tips of her fingers whitening. Bruno. Had he told them? ‘Yes, I remember him too.’
‘He’s awaiting trial for the murder of Arthur Lewis,’ Kendrick said. ‘DI Ling went to speak to him this morning. She’d read the transcript of his interview and noted that he’d admitted getting Lewis’ address from the list of registered offenders. Lewis is the only one living within a two-mile radius so he said he suspected him. But Ling noticed, he hadn’t been asked where he got the list from. There are so many vigilante groups out there, he might have said he got it from one of them. But DI Ling,’ he continued, warmth in his voice when he spoke of her, ‘is one of those excellent officers who doesn’t like loose ends hanging about so she contacted his solicitor and got permission to go and ask him.’ More paper crackled. ‘DI Ling spoke to him at length and he eventually admitted he’d been given Lewis’ address.’
Beth wondered what Ling had promised Bruno. A shorter sentence if he told her the truth; less time in prison meant more time with his daughter. Beth wouldn’t have blamed him for taking that option.
Kendrick was still speaking. ‘DI Ling asked him who gave it to him. And do you know what he answered?’
Had the Fed rep been beside her, she would probably have ripped the pages he was holding from his hands, she might even have punched him. She liked to think she’d have had the bottle. It was tempting to keep playing his little game. To say, No, what did he answer, but she was weary and tired of it all. ‘I guess, he told her that I’d given it to him.’
There was a moment’s silence, as if Kendrick didn’t believe what he was hearing. That she was admitting to what she’d done. ‘Yes. That’s exactly what he said. You don’t deny it?’
She probably could have argued that the tragic little man had picked her name at random from the officers he’d met, that he was so distraught over his poor Lydia that he’d have said anything to stay out of prison to be with her. Beth felt no resentment towards the very efficient DI Ling, although if she hadn’t been searching with her suspicious mind, it possibly wouldn’t have come out. But, after all, if she hadn’t uncovered this particular incident, she’d have found a series of other infractions to bring Beth down. ‘No,’ she said to the patiently waiting Kendrick, ‘I don’t deny it. So, what happens next?’
‘The CPS wants to throw the book at you, DI Anderson. There’s a warrant out for your arrest.’ His voice was cold and detached as he continued. ‘The initial charge is that you intentionally encouraged or assisted an offence, which in this case is the murder of Arthur Lewis. In relation to the original charges, where it is alleged you provided evidence and information to victims and their families, you will be charged with perverting the course of justice. Other charges may be levied at a later date as the investigation unfolds.’ There was another shuffle of paper before he finished, his tone a little kinder. ‘It would be better for your case, DI Anderson, if you came in immediately.’
Beth wanted to laugh. Nothing she did was going to affect the outcome of her case. As he said, DI Ling didn’t leave loose ends. Megan had said there was speculation that Beth had planted evidence, Ling would work through all her cases and find the ones where she had. It wouldn’t be hard if you knew what to look for. It was over, the fat lady was singing in full voice, everyone could hear her.
‘Fine,’ Beth said. ‘I’m in Royal Tunbridge Wells visiting a friend, I’ll be back in a few hours.’
‘I’ll wait here in the station to meet you,’ Kendrick said.
Beth was going to offer her thanks but he cut the connection without another word. Throwing the phone onto the seat beside her, she stared at the stained sofa without blinking. Joanne hadn’t seemed to care that it was ruined. Maybe, now, Beth understood how she felt.
Grabbing her phone, she went back to see if Joanne had moved to get dressed. They should go after Megan. Beth frowned when she saw Joanne still sitting, clutching the half-empty mug of cold coffee in her hand as if she were really drinking it. ‘Get dressed, Jo,’ she said, reaching for the mug and prising it from her hand. ‘I think we should follow Megan.’
‘Follow Megan? How do you know where she’s gone?’
Beth reached for the article she’d tossed aside. ‘I think she’s gone here,’ she said tapping it with one finger.
‘Capel-le-Ferne,’ Joanne said slowly, and met Beth’s eyes. ‘To the coastal path?’
‘We have to get there before she does anything stupid, Jo. I have to tell her…’ She stopped and caught a breath. ‘Get dressed, we need to leave.’
When Beth was alone, listening to the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor overhead, she sat and crumpled the article in one hand. Everything was over. She wasn’t going back to meet her disappointed, shocked colleagues, to see them talking about her in hushed tones and listen to their snide bent copper as she walked past. And she wasn’t about to sit in a courtroom on the wrong side, seeing all those eyes condemning her. Just like in Joanne’s chamber of horrors.
Beth squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but first she had to stop Megan.
When Beth’s phone buzzed, she hoped it was her this time, hoped she wouldn’t have to go tearing down to that God-forsaken town. But it wasn’t Megan, it was Graham. Just a short text. We should meet.
We should meet? Not, I’m sorry for running out on you; not, I love you and miss you, I want to come back. It didn’t matter anyway, he’d waited too long, her life was a mess and it was too late. She quickly typed two words.
Sorry… Goodbye.