TLC Manufacturing was based in an industrial building that had been plonked down in the middle of a farmer’s field. Or that’s what it looked like to Gemma, who’d been forced to park the rental car further up the laneway, tucked alongside an overgrown hedge. She’d decided that after the Uber incident, a rental car would be a better option, although she hadn’t planned on being stuck with a bright-green Fiesta. Not ideal for undercover work.
Still, it didn’t seem like the employees who worked for Nathan Curtis had any interest in her or the car, as one by one, they pulled out onto the main road to make their way home for the night. Lucky things. Gemma’s legs were cramped, and she longed to get out and stretch, but she didn’t dare. She glanced at her phone. It was almost five, but according to the phone call she’d made to Rita, TLC’s office manager, the workshop didn’t close until seven when the second shift of workers finished.
Of course, Rita didn’t know that she had been talking to Gemma. Instead, she thought it was regarding a maintenance request for one of the machines. It had all been a little too easy and Gemma had to assume that the place was poorly run. As for getting Rita’s name and number, it had all been there on the company website.
Now Gemma just needed Nathan Curtis to go home so she could try and talk to some of the workers. All part of plan B.
Her original idea had been to confront him about the roller doors that his company had supplied to Stan Butcher for his lock-ups and take it from there.
And she’d almost done it as well. She’d driven up to his beautiful family home first thing in the morning and waited across the street, determined to make him give her the answers she needed. But then a good looking, middle-aged man with short hair suddenly appeared in a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt. He stopped in the driveway to do a couple of stretches before taking off and jogging down the road.
It was him.
She’d seen several photographs of him online but nothing prepared her for her body’s visceral response. It was like a knife carving deep into her gut, trying to drain away her life force. Despite herself, Gemma had clutched at her stomach and leaned forward, desperately trying to catch her breath.
It had taken fifteen minutes before she’d managed to compose herself and by then he was long gone. Part of her knew how stupid it was. Even if Nathan Curtis really was Colin’s son, it didn’t mean he was responsible for his father’s crimes. After all, Ian had only been five when Colin was caught.
And yet her skin had still crawled at the idea of talking to him.
Was this how victims felt in court when they watched their assailants get sentenced? Gemma had no idea but it was clear she couldn’t face him. And so she’d gone back to the hotel and doubled down on her research, looking for everything she could find about Nathan and his mother. But there hadn’t been a wealth of information. Just a few photographs of them at public events which had ended up in the newspaper, along with several of him, Libby and their two children, Sam and Sienna.
Ironically, she’d had more luck finding information about Nathan’s father-in-law from his first marriage. Adrian Fuller had been a successful sailor, at first making sails before branching out into building industrial warehouses and sheds. Nathan had started working there not long after getting married to Adrian’s daughter, Julia, and then eighteen years ago, double tragedy had struck.
Adrian had been killed in a car accident and six months later, Julia had died while giving birth to the twins, leaving Nathan sole heir and owner of the business. Which is why she’d decided to speak to some of his employees in case they had insight into Nathan and his background.
The pitch of her ringtone made her jump and Stephen’s name flash up. A jab of guilt nudged at her. She’d sent him a brief email last night and then put her phone on silent. He’d left several messages, each more concerned than the last. If she didn’t talk to him soon, he’d probably do something stupid like come down after her.
‘Are you determined to give me anxiety? What happened to calling every day?’ he said by way of an answer.
‘I know you had a busy day at work. I didn’t want to bother you.’
‘Correction, you knew I’d tell you to come home. Your life is up here, along with your job and your guinea pigs. Who both miss you, by the way. The run in you had with the landlord yesterday could have ended badly. You can’t go digging through people’s lives based on a theory.’
‘It’s not a theory. I know what Colin Wallace did.’ Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel. The urgency of the situation was echoed by her pounding heart. She knew he meant well but it wasn’t his life. His history. It was hers. And she wanted it to be over.
‘But the bones were never found,’ Stephen reminded her. ‘No matter how likely it is on paper, without forensic evidence to link Wallace to the other missing boys, even posthumously, he can’t be called guilty.’
Gemma swallowed. She knew he was right. Just as much as she knew even if Nathan was Colin’s son, it didn’t mean he’d been behind the attack on Hayley. Yes, there was research to suggest certain genes could lead to violent inclinations. But the genes weren’t enough. Epigenetics had proven what a difference upbringing and environmental factors made as well. And for most of Ian’s life, he’d been away from his violent father.
But… that didn’t mean he was innocent.
And it certainly didn’t mean she could turn her back on what she’d found. But before she could tell Stephen any of that, a black Audi slid out of the driveway and turned right onto the road. The coast was clear.
‘Sorry, I’ve got to go,’ she said and finished the call before Stephen could protest. She waited until the car had disappeared before opening the door.
Show time.
The grass was wet and hadn’t been cut in a while and her plain white sneakers were soon covered in muck as she trudged down the road and crossed over to the large industrial building. There were at least ten cars and vans parked up there and the giant doors were open so that light spilled out, along with the screeching sound of metal being cut.
It was still light enough to see two guys in their early thirties standing at the far end of the building, their faces highlighted by the bright glow of cigarettes. They were deep in conversation and judging by the lace-up shoes and button-up shirts, she guessed that they worked in sales instead of on the factory floor. Neither of them had noticed her so she turned towards them.
It seemed as good a place as any to start.
‘I wouldn’t.’
Gemma cautiously turned to where a small woman wearing a large blue apron was standing, tucked into the side of the building, as if she was hiding. Her grey hair was in tight curls around her head and her legs were covered in thick, gravy-coloured stockings, reminding Gemma of the dinner lady at her old school.
‘Wouldn’t what?’ Gemma walked towards her, nerves giving way to curiosity. The woman was holding her own cigarette between two fingers but didn’t seem in a hurry to light it. Instead, she let her gaze drift down to Gemma’s ruined sneakers and back up to her denim jacket. Then she shrugged.
‘Ask them for a job. They’ve already done the interviews. And while women might have worked in the factories during the war… this lot have never hired a single lass ever since Mr Fuller passed.’
The dark glare the woman aimed in the direction of the two men suggested that they were only a step above grave robbers. Gemma couldn’t blame her. She didn’t have any intention of applying for the position but the fact she couldn’t because of her sex seemed outdated.
‘That’s terrible,’ she said, trying her best to look disappointed. ‘I guess that means you’ve worked here a long time?’
‘Too long.’ The woman put the unlit cigarette into the pocket of her work apron and picked up the large, plastic bucket filled with cleaning products. Her break was clearly over. ‘Anyway, sorry you wasted your time. You could try the hardware in Poole. My sister-in-law heard they were looking for staff.’
Gemma swallowed as the woman walked away. Then she glanced at the two men again. They were still deep in conversation and hadn’t even bothered to look over. And it was clear that the woman had a gripe against Nathan Curtis.
Decision made, she hurried after her, sifting through her thoughts. She’d worked in sales and telemarketing for long enough to know that the best lie was the one closest to the truth.
‘I’m not here about the job. I’m writing a book on… sailing, and want to speak with people who knew him as part of the research. Is it right that his son-in-law owns this place now? Do you think he would talk to me?’
The woman snorted but didn’t slow her pace as they reached the office block. She had a lanyard around her neck and fumbled with the swipe card. ‘Him that is too special to get his hands dirty? You’d be lucky if you even got past the door. His secretary is like a bulldog. Thinks she’s so far above the rest of us just because she has some fancy degree. Well… if she’s so fancy then what the hell is she doing working in this dump?’
It was clear this woman didn’t like the place, or Nathan, for that matter. Perfect. Gemma rubbed her chin and feigned disappointment.
‘Sounds like there are a few challenging people here. What a pity; from what I’ve discovered, Adrian Fuller was considered a local legend. What do you think he’d say if he was still here?’
‘The shock would probably kill him all over again. Believe it or not, this was once the place to work, but over the years, I’ve watched it descend into hell. I’m the only one left from back then and the reason they don’t fire me is because I was once known as the TLC girl. They used me in all the advertisements. Of course, that was back when I had a waist. Tiny, I was. Anyhow, as much as I hate it, without my Stanley, an old bird like me can’t afford to just walk out. Then again, the way things are going money wise, it might be me who needs that job in Poole.’
The scorn in her voice sent a shiver through Gemma’s spine. When she’d come up with the plan to talk to some of Nathan’s employees, she hadn’t quite expected to hit paydirt so quickly.
‘Is it really that bad?’
‘Worse.’ The woman peered around and then lowered her voice. ‘Mr Fuller never wanted his daughter to marry Nathan Curtis. He always said there was something about him that he didn’t trust. But she wouldn’t hear any of it. She’d fallen for him, hook, line and sinker. Then he died and something changed.’
‘What do you mean?’ Gemma’s voice was urgent as she leaned forward. The thud, thud, thud of her heart sending her whole body on high alert as the evening birdsong and chorus of insects all faded away. Something rippled across the cleaner’s face and her eyes darkened.
‘Julia loved her father but something changed in her… and not just from the grief. It was like she couldn’t bear to be near her husband. There was an incident at the funeral where he put an arm around her but she pushed him away. I was there, and I know what I saw. His wife feared him.’
Gemma let out a startled gasp. ‘Did she blame Nathan for her father’s accident?’
‘It’s not for me to say.’ The woman fiddled with the lanyard. ‘But nothing was right with those two after it, and then when she died while still in the hospital… well suddenly Nathan Curtis, who hardly knew his arse from his elbow, was the owner of this place. The fact he’s managed to keep it going for so long is a minor miracle but I can’t see it lasting.’
The implication was clear and Gemma’s thoughts began to swim. She’d come down to Bournemouth in the hope of getting answers for herself and the other families whose lives had been in limbo for so long.
But now… this was something even darker. Had Nathan somehow been involved in Adrian’s accident? Was that why Julia had tried to distance herself from him? More importantly, did it mean that Nathan had inherited his father’s darkness?
Gemma swallowed but before she could say anything else, one of the guys she’d seen earlier walked around the corner. Up close, she knew she’d guessed correctly about his job in sales. He had the smarmy look that so many of them got when they thought they were the king of flogging off whatever roller door or computer software that they’d been hired to sell. And it created some kind of dark, competitive spirit that usually saw them stab their colleagues in the back for any kind of advantage. In other words, they tended to massively suck up to the boss.
Gemma gritted her teeth as his smug gaze narrowed as he took them both in.
‘Mo, your break finished ten minutes ago, and who the hell are you?’ He turned to Gemma, mouth in a flat hostile line. Yup, definitely a suck up.
‘She came about the job. I told her it was filled,’ Mo said in a tart voice as she folded her arms in a battle stance. She was quite formidable and suddenly Gemma had no doubt how she’d managed to stay at the place for so many years. ‘She’s just leaving.’
‘Yes. Thank you for your time and for telling me about the place in Poole that is hiring.’ Gemma plastered on what she hoped was a jobseeker smile. Then she walked across the car park out to the road where her rental car was waiting. But the whole time her mind refused to slow down.
Nathan Curtis was in financial trouble and at least one person – Mo – seemed to think his father-in-law’s death was suspicious. And that his first wife feared him.