After You Die (11 page)

She noticed the lock on the bedroom window and when she tried to open it found she couldn’t. No sign of a key anywhere. Going back to the girl’s room she encountered the same arrangement. The locks looked new, didn’t fit with the style of the windows or the impression Julia had given them of herself and her family.

As she headed back down the stairs she could hear them talking still in the kitchen, Julia’s voice rising into a shout occasionally, then more crying, impotent wailing. Zigic held steady, laying on the compassion. Ferreira let herself out of the cottage and smoked a cigarette while she waited for him to get what they wanted or give up the cause.

They needed to talk to the girl. Away from Julia, if it was possible.

Those locks on the windows … why were they necessary? To keep the kids in or somebody out?

A few minutes later Zigic emerged from the Hobbit-sized door, slammed it behind him.

‘She’s passing on my number to Nathan’s case officer,’ he said.

‘And who’s that?’

‘She won’t say.’

Ferreira eyed the bedroom window again. ‘There’s something very wrong about all this.’

Julia retreated to her workshop until the tears dried up and her heart stopped hammering. She sat in an old armchair she’d rescued from a skip outside a house in Oundle, taking deep breaths scented with pipe smoke and old perfume, the smell of its horsehair stuffing which was poking through a rip in the desiccated brocade.

She held the phone between her hands, wanting to dial but not quite ready to face the conversation they would have.

This time yesterday she didn’t think the situation could get any worse. Nathan gone, out there, God knows where, facing more dangers than an innocent eleven-year-old boy could even imagine. But the universe could throw endless new sufferings at you. She knew that, she’d seen the evidence even if she’d never felt the effects on herself.

In a few hours Nathan had gone from vulnerable runaway to, what, a murder suspect?

DI Zigic had tried to play the concerned detective, pretended he needed Nathan as a potential witness, but she knew he was lying, assuming she was naive about how the police operated. She understood their ways better than he could know.

As he badgered and cajoled her she thought back to the days before Nathan ran away. Had he been quieter, more introverted? She didn’t think so. He wasn’t a particularly communicative child – no surprise given his situation – but if he’d seen something that disturbed him he would have told her. He wasn’t strong enough psychologically to hide it.

The idea of him hurting Dawn and Holly was ludicrous. She wanted to tell DI Zigic that, explain how close they’d become in the months Nathan had been living here, the time he spent sitting with Holly or gardening with Dawn. She was always happy to take him and Caitlin in when there was nobody else to look after them for a few hours. Secretly Julia wondered if it was because she missed the normal mother-and-child interaction she didn’t have with Holly any more. If that was why she loved having them with her.

Not that she could tell Zigic anything about it. If he knew Nathan came and went there as he liked he’d become their main suspect. Assuming he wasn’t already.

This wasn’t helping.

Obsessing over things she couldn’t affect, looking for any reason to delay the inevitable.

Julia dialled the number she had committed to memory and waited for Rachel to answer.

‘What is it, Julia? We’re a bit busy here.’

‘The police have just left my house.’

Rachel swore, loudly. ‘Did you call them? I told you specifically not to involve the locals.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Julia said, her throat tightening. Rachel intimidated her at the best of times. ‘A friend of mine’s been murdered, her and her daughter, they—’

‘What’s this got to do with Nathan?’

‘The police want to talk to him, they think he might have seen something.’

A door slammed shut at the other end and Rachel’s footsteps moved fast across a hard surface. Julia could see the expression on her face, barely suppressed fury, the determined gait full of aggression.

‘What did you tell them, Julia?’

‘Nothing, I didn’t say anything. Somebody must have seen him there and mentioned it.’

‘Seen him when?’

‘I don’t know. Nathan did visit the house—’

‘We talked about that, didn’t we? I told you to minimise contact between him and outsiders. You know it’s not safe.’

‘But they’re friends of mine,’ Julia said, feeling the tears threatening to spill again. ‘They were nice people. Nathan liked them.’

‘Yeah, well, now they’re dead and he’s missing and you’ve got the local plod in your fucking house.’ Rachel let out a snarl of frustration. ‘Did you tell them about me?’

‘I had to.’

‘Did you give them my name?’

‘No, I said I’d ask you to get in touch with them, I thought that would be for the best.’

Rachel sighed and remained silent for a few seconds. When she spoke again she sounded calmer. ‘Do they know why Nathan’s with you?’

‘No, of course not.’ Julia stood up and walked to the work table overlooking the garden, focused on a sparrow bathing in the dust. ‘Are you going to speak to them?’

‘Yeah, this needs straightening out before they post a public appeal or something stupid like that.’ Rachel asked for Zigic’s details and as she took the number down Julia felt some of the weight lift from her shoulders. ‘Did this DI Zigic ask you where Nathan was when the murders happened?’

‘Yes, I told him Nathan was here with us.’

‘Good,’ Rachel said. ‘Okay. And where was he really?’

Julia ran her fingertips along a gouge in the work table’s surface. She saw the tool which made it, held in a small fist, heard the despairing roar as the awl struck the wood.

‘He was here,’ she said. ‘The whole time.’

‘Julia, I need you to be honest with me.’ Rachel turned on her other voice, the one she used with Nathan, softer and higher, the one she probably used with her own kids. And people she thought were stupid enough to trust her. ‘If there’s any chance Nathan’s involved I need to know about it now. Not when Zigic throws it at me. So, where was he?’

Julia bowed her head. ‘I think he was here. I’m sure he was. But Zigic asked me where he was from Thursday afternoon until he went missing on Saturday. It’s two days, he might have slipped out.’

‘We’re paying you a lot of money to make sure he doesn’t “slip out”,’ Rachel said. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘Matthew was here, he was looking after Nathan. I’m sure he didn’t let him out on his own.’

‘Is that what he says?’

‘I …’ She felt bile rise in her throat, swallowed it down. ‘He’d tell me if something happened.’

She could feel the wheels turning in Rachel’s head. Trying to decide whether she should smooth this over or bring her full wrath down on Matthew. Julia prayed she didn’t do that. He was ready to turn Nathan over already and once he’d made a decision there was no moving him.

‘I’ll deal with this,’ Rachel said finally.

‘What about Nathan? Is there any news? Do you know where he is?’

Footsteps again, Rachel preparing to end the call. ‘We’ve had a positive sighting in Grantham.’

Julia dropped onto the stool. ‘Oh, thank God he’s safe.’

‘He isn’t safe,’ Rachel said. ‘Not by a long way.’

She ended the call, leaving Julia staring at the phone, smiling with relief. Part of her wanted to jump in the car and drive up to Grantham right away. It was a ninety-minute journey and a small city, she felt as if she could find him if she looked hard enough.

Rachel had it under control, though.

Nathan could be home within hours, tired and scared, but she knew how to soothe him. She’d make the sausage pasta he liked and chocolate cake for dessert, covered in frosting an inch deep and studded with Maltesers. She wouldn’t be angry with him, not even once the relief had passed.

Julia went into the kitchen, flipped the kettle on and cleared away the remnants of her visit from the police. The woman hadn’t touched her tea, neither of them ate the biscuits. She cursed herself for welcoming them into her home so warmly. But it was what you did when you were a good person, you helped the police.

The kettle came to a boil and she didn’t hear the footsteps crunching down the gravel at the side of the house. Didn’t realise there was someone in her garden until Warren banged on the back door. He was wild eyed and dishevelled, his T-shirt on inside out and when Julia opened the door he lurched inside as if he was drunk.

Immediately she regretted letting him in.

‘Where is he?’ Warren said.

‘Who?’

‘You know who, that delinquent you let loose on my fucking daughter!’

‘Nathan isn’t here and he isn’t a delinquent.’ Julia backed away from him, got the table between them. ‘Warren, I wanted to call you, I’m so sorry about Dawn and Holly.’

He wasn’t listening to her. He stood with his head cocked, trying to gauge where in the house Nathan was. For the first time since he’d run away Julia was glad he wasn’t there. Warren looked capable of ripping him apart.

‘Please, Warren, I think you should go home—’

‘Not until I’ve talked to him.’

‘He isn’t here,’ Julia said, trying to stay calm. ‘And he didn’t hurt Holly. Or Dawn. He isn’t that kind of boy, honestly. He’s very sweet.’

Warren sneered at her. ‘I know what kind of boys you look after, Julia, so don’t give me that rubbish.’

She felt her face flush and Warren moved in on her.

‘Sweet, is he? Like that kid you had a couple of years ago, the one who cut up Mrs Arthur’s sheep.’ Julia backed away and he followed her. ‘I seem to remember you screaming his innocence until you found a bag of ears stuffed in your airing cupboard.’

His nose was inches away from hers.

‘Stop it! Just shut up about that.’

Warren smiled as if she’d capitulated and walked out of the kitchen, into the hallway, shouting Nathan’s name. She sat down, hands stroking her stomach, trying to ignore his heavy footsteps and raging voice. She told herself he was mad with grief, he didn’t know what he was saying, but all she could think about was the meaty smell as she’d opened the carrier bag and the split second of blissful ignorance before she realised what she was looking at.

But Nathan wasn’t like that.

He wasn’t.

‘We need to know who this boy is,’ Zigic said, standing at the murder board where Nathan’s name now sat in the Persons of Interest column, underneath Gary Westman, the builder who’d been having an affair with Dawn, and the labourer who worked for him.

‘If Julia’s protecting his identity it’s because he’s done something major,’ Ferreira said. ‘This isn’t a regular foster-care placement, she’s too evasive for that.’

‘So what’s the other option?’

‘Well, the kids’ bedroom windows were locked, that’s pretty unusual, I think. You’d only do it if you were worried about them absconding.’

‘Which he has.’

Ferreira nodded. ‘Or because someone’s going to come looking for them.’

‘Like who?’

‘Depends who he is,’ she said. ‘His parents maybe, if he’s been taken off them and they’re not happy about it.’

Zigic moved to the timeline of the murders they were working on, still very little information on it but the post-mortems would be finished soon and a preliminary report was due from forensics this afternoon. He added a spur at the time of Nathan’s disappearance; twenty-four hours before the bodies were discovered, roughly forty-eight after Dawn was murdered. It was a long delay if he was responsible or a witness, but until they had a concrete time of death from the pathologist Zigic would keep an open mind.

There was one other mark on there already. The point on Thursday morning when Westman left the house; the last-known person to see her alive.

Riggott had sent up another detective constable to help them out for a few days and she was with Westman now, taking his official statement and getting an alibi. They would request a DNA sample for elimination purposes, but if he decided to refuse and force them to step up proceedings that could be dealt with. It would give them time to check out his alibi too.

Julia’s comments about Dawn’s sex life suggested they’d be asking for a lot of DNA samples in the coming days. Assuming they could locate the men she’d been involved with. They were still waiting on the tech department to access her phone and laptop records before that particular task could start.

It was highly possible their killer would be hidden somewhere on Dawn’s contact list, partially screened behind a dating-site user-name. The ferocity of the attack suggested a man with a temper, one who’d been spurned or mocked and had lashed out. Statistically it was the most likely explanation.

But how did Holly’s death fit into that scenario?

Did whoever killed Dawn simply not know Holly was in the house?

Behind him Wahlia and Ferreira were still speculating on Nathan’s potential identity and the reasons for Julia’s stoic refusal to discuss the matter, running through ever more sensational possibilities; unhinged parents looking to get him back, witness protection, a new identity necessitated by him committing a high-profile murder.

‘Why else wouldn’t she give you his surname?’ Wahlia asked.

‘We should be able to find that out,’ Zigic said.

‘Do you want me to call social services? I know a woman down there, she’ll have access to the Campbells’ records.’

‘Yeah, try her now.’

Zigic waited while he dialled, looking at the space on the board where the murder weapon should have been. He took out his phone and checked the next few days’ weather forecast, rain due by the end of the week. If they were going to search the surrounding area it would have to be soon, but he wanted a better idea of where it might be before suggesting such an expensive operation to Riggott.

And for that he needed a concrete suspect.

Wahlia left a message on the answerphone and hung up. ‘She’s probably out on a call. I’ll stay on her.’

The computer in Zigic’s office chimed as an email came in and he found the preliminary report from forensics, flagged as urgent, waiting in his inbox. He set it to print out – needing to see everything in front of him on paper, the only way he could remember and process it fully – and went to get a fresh cup of coffee.