Chapter 53
a blur, all performed to the wild rhythm of the wind and the sea.
Ben takes all our names and numbers as witnesses. We’ll each make a statement at police headquarters as soon as possible. He checks the flash drive Helena gave him. She’s clipped her car key to it. Planning.
“I’ll take charge of her car,” he says, “and anything in it for now.”
Then he starts making calls, getting instructions from higher up.
The rest of us are looking bewildered.
Hayden speaks. “I suggest we all go to a warm pub and get some food. Talking about it will help with the shock.”
What will we say?
“There’s a pub in Exmouth,” Charlie says. “Good food and private rooms. I’ll see if they have one for us.” He makes a call and books it.
“Is it The Case is Altered?” Hayden asks. “I know it. Every lawyer knows it.”
Charlie looks at me. “That’s the one.”
Lou-Lou has been silent the whole time and I take her arm as we all trudge up the steep slope to our cars. When we’re sitting inside and facing the sea, it’s hard to look away from the empty jetty. The significance feels profound. Helena’s gone.
On the way to the pub, Lou-Lou stares straight ahead saying nothing and I honour that. It’s awful to lose someone you didn’t get on with – it brings out a lot of mixed feelings, especially guilt if you don’t feel sorry they’re gone. The conviviality of the cosy pub might coax her out of her trance.
The Case is Altered is on a corner not far from the beach. Large windows show the welcoming timber-panelled space inside. The sconces on the wall create a warm glow. We’ve all grabbed parking spaces where we could and now we’re trickling in, walking in a kind of daze, glad to be following directions and not having to make decisions. The barman points down a short corridor. The room has one big rectangular wooden table in the centre and we take our seats around it. Charlie and Hayden leave to order share platters of battered fish-bites and chips. And a round of lemonade. We can indulge in alcohol when we get home.
No-one speaks. It’s something we’re sharing with Barracuda. The sense of shared shock is palpable. A stiffness caused by effrontery. An emotional bruising, staining our hearts. Helena did it to herself but she also did it to us. She requested each of us to be there today to witness her appalling final act. And we can never un-see what happened, never erase it from our internal video-loop. It’s something everyone sitting around this table is always going to share.
By silent agreement we put our final ‘gifts’ on the table. Pale-looking Perry, his pebble, a memento of his first case with Helena. Barracuda and Fletch each have a key. They both shrug. My envelope only has my name on it. It will reveal its contents later. We put them back in our pockets.
The closeness of the room after the battering gale is soothing. The platters arrive and we dive in, bringing fresh meaning to the term ‘comfort food’.
Then it’s time to leave.
We take turns to hug each other, murmuring best wishes, and soon Lou-Lou and I are running through a squall of rain with our heads down and bundling into my car.
Where is she going to go? She said she can’t stay at Number 24 but how can she stay at Helena’s after this? There’s no room at the Lympstone cottage – and I don’t think that would be a good idea even if there was. Tonight of all nights we need our own space.
But when I start driving, what Lou-Lou says changes everything.
“Helena told me something, Tiggy. Before she … jumped.”
“I remember. She had a surprise for you.”
“And you.”
“Really?
“She told me …” Lou-Lou starts sobbing. “You and I. I can’t believe it. She said … we’re … cousins.”
As soon as we shut the door of the cottage, I’m opening the envelope and looking at a DNA report. There’s also a small key but that’s for later. We go to the table and stare at the report, trying to make sense of all the numbers. Our names are at the top of a chart showing DNA codes down the left and numbers in rows under each name. At the bottom it states: 302 = High chance that LG and AJ are second cousins once removed.
It overwhelms our shock about Helena’s death. We sit up all night, drinking and talking, trying to figure out how it could be true. We’re so engrossed, we ignore Raider but he’s with us in spirit, following our conversation like a tennis match and taking micro-naps on the floor rug when we take turns to stare into space.
Lou-Lou knows nothing about her origins. I thought she’d found her birth certificate in France, but she says she couldn’t find it, only an adoption certificate and a file of documents about three-year-old Alex Loxton.
“Wouldn’t they get my birth certificate when they adopted me? I asked both of them but they wouldn’t answer. The notaire arranged for me to use my adoption papers for a temporary passport, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
Even if Lou-Lou did have information about her birth parents, how would Helena know the two of us are related?
“She did the DNA test on both of us,” Lou-Lou says, “but why would she?”
“I look like Electra but everyone has a doppelganger. And anyway, you’re adopted. And how did she get a sample of my DNA?” I’m racking my brain to think where it came from.
“Does she know anything about your family?” she asks.
“I only met Helena a few weeks ago and she knew about my inheritance.” I tell Lou-Lou about the boathouse. “She could have known my grandmother but my mother has never mentioned any other relatives, including her father. And I grew up without siblings or cousins.”
“Me too.”
Neither of us has said if we like the idea of suddenly having each other as a cousin. It’s too soon and the mystery is consuming us.
The talk goes round and round until I get her a blanket and a pillow. Before I climb into bed, she’s fallen asleep on the couch.
The dream is a version of one I’ve had before. About the mug with the arrow. Piper Halliday whispers in my sleeping ear. ‘Helena could only frame Tim because she collected saliva from the mug.’
My eyes fly open and the slight movement wakes the pooch. He creeps up the bed while I think.
I offered to put our mugs in the dishwasher. But Helena said, ‘Don’t fuss, Tiggy. Thank you for today. It’s been … memorable.’
She saved the fine china mug I drank from in her kitchen and took a sample of my saliva. Then at Frensci she even showed Baxter and me how she did it, while I was distracted by Fletch’s photo of the Dunlin on her wall.
It must be the real reason she invited me to her house. And the research and lost memory stories were a ruse? Rupert thought they could have been.
And it would have been easy to collect Lou-Lou’s saliva the same way.
That’s the how.
But why?
Over breakfast, I tell Lou-Lou. We have the same thoughts about the next step. Like cousins.
She picks up the phone and calls Clemence.
“Lou-Lou,” she cries. “I’ve been waiting for your call. When are you coming home?”
“I’m ringing to tell you about Helena. She … died by suicide yesterday.”
“Really?” Clemence laughs. It’s a horrible sound. “They’re dead. They’re all dead! Your mother, your father, now Helena. Dead, dead, dead. You’ve only got me.”
We both heard it. Lou-Lou’s real mother is dead.
She looks like she’s about to cry but pulls herself together. “That’s the other reason I’m calling. Before Helena threw herself into the sea, she told me a secret.”
“She’d have to have the last word, that one. But you can’t prove anything.”
What does she mean?
“It’s a DNA test,” Lou-Lou says. “It shows I have a cousin. Her name’s Tiggy Jones and she’s standing beside me. We don’t know how we’re related and it’s time for you to tell me who my birth parents are.” She takes a deep breath. “Please.”
“Helena didn’t tell you?” She laughs again. “It’s the Loxton’s secret not mine. You should have asked your father before someone murdered him.”
“You know I asked him,” Lou-Lou says. “I pleaded with him and he told me nothing. It’s not enough to have your name on an adoption paper, you actually have to care about the child. And that means telling the truth. Who am I? Don’t you think I have a right to know?”
“Come back when you’re happy to be my daughter. The one called Louise Gagner.”
She hangs up.