Anything for Her (13 page)

Jones blushes.

They pull up to the square, which is framed by five-storey townhouses. In the centre of the square sits a large garden for the residents.

The DIs hunt down a parking space that is nestled between two expensive cars and walk up the street to the address.

‘I wish I lived on a street like this,’ Jones says, looking up at the tall, grand homes.

‘They’re marketed at around thirty million pounds each. Keep dreaming.’

‘Shit! Thirty mil? How can anyone be that rich?’

‘It’s the beautiful divide – there’s the rich and there’s the poor. We’re the poor, working-class folk, Jones. Sorry for the reality check.’

‘This place is depressing,’ he responds. ‘I share a
small one-bedroom flat with my boyfriend and my cat, and these people get five floors.’

They arrive at the house and see the vandalised car outside.

‘This family just keeps getting more and more interesting,’ she says, her eyes scanning the damage.

‘Who would do this to such a gorgeous car?’

‘By the smeared cloud of red lipstick on the windscreen, I’m guessing his mistress.’

‘He has a mistress?’

‘Yeah. The wife mentioned they broke up due to his infidelity, with her
sister
.’

‘What an arsehole.’

They ascend the steps leading to the front door. Jessica rings the bell. After less than a minute, the door opens and Michael stands in the doorway. He looks exhausted.

‘Mr Leighton?’ Jessica asks.

He nods with an anxious expression.

She wonders if he is worried because he thinks they’re here for him and his crimes.

Perhaps Louise didn’t tell him, after all
.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Dean, and this is my partner, Detective Inspector Jones.’

‘Hi,’ Michael says, giving them his hand to shake. ‘Do come in.’

Neither of the detectives had expected Michael Leighton to be attractive.

They enter the house and can’t help but admire its elegance and grandeur.

‘We can go into my study,’ he suggests. ‘Or the living room? Which room did Louise see you in when you visited the country house?’

‘The study is fine, Mr Leighton, although when interviewing your son, I think a more comfortable room might be more appropriate.’

‘Yes, of course. He’s upstairs. I’ll call him down once we are finished.’

He leads the detectives down the hallway from the lobby and into his study. The walls are covered with dark wood panels and impressive bookcases. An enormous mahogany desk dominates the room.

He takes a seat behind his desk in a large black chair. The detectives sit in the two seats opposite him.

‘Nice office,’ Jessica says.

Shame you’ll be losing it soon
.

‘Thanks, my wife designed it.’

It’s a shame you’re losing her, too
.

Michael looks nervous. He clasps his hands together on the top of the desk, but can’t help but pick at his nails. They have been bitten and torn already.

‘Now, Mr Leighton, I’ve spoken with your wife about Brooke, but I think it’s important to get every close relative’s perspective.’

‘Of course, of course,’ he replies, nodding furiously.

‘Usually, we would interview you both together to
save time, but given your circumstances…’

‘Yes. Hopefully you will be able to address us both in the same room in the near future.’

‘Is your son okay with being interviewed?’

‘Yes. He only just found out about Brooke an hour ago. I didn’t know how to break it to him. This will all be a big shock for him.’

‘We will try and make it as simple and stress-free for him as possible.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Has your wife informed you of the search of this property that will be taking place today?’

‘Yes, she has.’

‘Okay, so let’s get started. Is that your car outside?’

‘Yes,’ he replies.

‘Have you reported—’

‘I know who did it,’ he interjects. ‘And I know why. I’ve got more important things to focus on; far more important than her.’

‘Her, being your wife’s sister?’

‘She told you, then.’

‘We’re not here to judge, Mr Leighton. We’re here to get the facts.’

‘Yes. My wife’s sister was my mistress. She did that to my car.’

‘Do you think she would want to cause harm to your daughter?’

‘Absolutely not. She might hate me, but not Brooke.
Not her own niece.’

‘Do you know anyone that might wish your daughter harm?’

‘No, I don’t.’

Jones writes down every response on his notepad.

‘Has your daughter been acting strangely as of late? Or your wife?’

Michael hesitates.

‘Yes.’

‘How so?’

Spill it, Leighton
.

‘They have both been acting oddly for the past year. Brooke used to be a party girl – popular, always out. Unfortunately she liked to dabble in things that parents don’t approve of—’

‘Drugs?’

‘Yes, drugs.’ He clears his throat. ‘But one day she transformed into a completely different person: sad, nervous, introverted. She didn’t see any of her friends and stopped going out altogether. If she isn’t at college, she’s in her room. She cries a lot. And she’s much closer to her mother now.’

Jessica slyly glances at Chris’s pad to check he is getting everything down. He is scribbling every word in shorthand with great haste.

‘What about your wife? How did she change?’

‘It was around the same time. I woke up one day and my wife and daughter had changed; it was as
though they were entirely different people. My wife and I… we had a great relationship: great sex, we laughed a lot, went out to dinner and shows, and went on romantic getaways; we had kept the spark alive, even after twenty years of being together. Then one day I woke up to a woman that kept secrets from me. She was nervous, stressed, distracted – and utterly depressed.’

‘What kind of secrets?’

‘She and Brooke, they have their own bond. They would be talking about something, and once I walked in, the conversation would stop abruptly. I might be being paranoid, but it’s been difficult to live with…feeling like an outsider in my own home.’

‘You said they both changed around the same time?’

‘I remember it was after a party Louise and I went to. We had a great evening and went to bed happy. When I woke up, my wife was distant and cold, and my daughter was a nervous wreck. It was as though I woke up in a completely different life.’

‘Your separation from your wife, it’s quite recent, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Three days.’

‘I’m only asking because it may connect to Brooke’s disappearance, so I apologise if any of my questions touch some sensitive areas.’

‘No, I understand.’

‘What has family life been like for the past few days?’

‘Well… awful. Louise left, then Brooke left, and now she’s missing.’

‘Why did Brooke leave?’

‘We had an argument.’

Bingo
.

‘What was the argument about?’

‘She screamed during the night. I went downstairs to check on her, and…’

He hesitates. He remembers something. His forehead creases. His eyes widen. The colour drains from his cheeks.

‘Shit.’

‘Mr Leighton?’

‘I didn’t believe her. I thought she was going mad.’

‘What is it, Mr Leighton?’

‘She said she saw a man at the back door looking in.’

‘Here?’

‘Yes, in the kitchen. She went downstairs for a glass of water and saw the man standing at the French windows. She screamed and dropped the glass.’

Jessica watches him play back the scene in his mind.

‘Then what happened?’

‘I came down when I heard her scream. I was frustrated.’

‘Why frustrated?’

‘She had screamed earlier that day, but wouldn’t tell me why.’

‘So you went downstairs…’ she says, repressing her questions about the initial scream.

‘And she was a mess, a real mess. She told me she saw a man at the window. I thought… I thought she had stopped taking her medication for her depression and anxiety. I thought she was really losing it, a delusion or something.

‘We started shouting. She was upset that I didn’t believe her. I was upset that she wouldn’t tell me what was going on. It got nasty. She said some really spiteful things and, before I knew I had done it, I hit her. I slapped her face.’

Jessica widens her eyes in shock for a second, before returning to her professional, neutral expression.

Remain impartial, Jess
.

‘I’ve never hit my child before. I’ve never hit anyone. I was so shocked and ashamed. It was as though I didn’t even make the decision to do it, like something dwelling within me took control and made me violent. The burst of anger vanished as quickly as it appeared. I apologised and she ran upstairs.’

‘When did she leave?’

‘Early in the morning. I had been up all night, beating myself up about what I’d done. She crept
down the stairs, trying to leave unnoticed. I was in the kitchen and saw her. I asked her not to leave. She told me she had to – she said she was going to stay with her mum. I told her I loved her. She left.’

‘You said she screamed earlier that day. Tell me about it.’

‘I had been in here, working, when I heard her scream. I came out into the hall and she was by the front door. She was really terrified about something. A delivery man had left a parcel with her, but it wasn’t about that, because the parcel was for me – a new printer, as my last one broke. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. I shook her. She sobbed and ran away.’

Jessica witnesses Michael think back to the time of the event. His eyes move through the memory, trying to catch a sight of anything he might have missed the first time.

‘She picked something up.’

Jessica waits.

‘A glove. A black glove.’

‘How big was the glove? A man’s glove? A woman’s? A child’s?’

‘Too small for me to wear. A woman’s glove, I think. It wasn’t Dom’s. I had never seen Louise or Brooke wear it, but then it was just a black glove, nothing special or memorable.’

‘Do you think your daughter would ever want to
harm herself? To take her own life?’

He stays silent for a moment.

‘I honestly don’t know. She’s been so disturbed for the last year. Maybe. Maybe she… oh shit.’ Tears begin to form in his eyes. ‘Do you think she’s killed herself?’

‘I honestly don’t know, Mr Leighton. I’m just asking as many questions as I can, to see your daughter’s disappearance from every angle. I must consider every possibility.’

If in doubt, think murder
, she reasons, repeating in her mind the mantra she was taught when she first took up her role.

Michael clears his throat, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He clenches his jaw and swallows hard.

‘Did your wife tell you about what we found at the station?’

‘Briefly. She can’t bear to talk to me.’

‘We will need to take DNA from you too, if that’s okay. We need to confirm that the blood is Brooke’s.’

‘The phone definitely was?’

‘Your wife identified it.’

She takes out a photo of the phone in its evidence bag. She places it in front of him.

Michael covers his nose and mouth with his hands. His breathing quickens at the sight.

‘Yep. That’s hers.’

Tears fall.

‘We’ll leave you to digest all of this, Mr Leighton,’ Jessica says. ‘I’m sorry that I had to ask some difficult questions.’

He nods furiously, as though he is terrified to speak in case he breaks down completely. His gaze is fixed on the photo before him.

‘We’ll go and interview your son. Is he upstairs?’

‘Three floors up,’ he says with a trembling voice. He looks up to see they are already standing by the office door.

‘First door on the right.’

‘Thanks.’

They close the door behind them.

‘I’m going to interview the boy alone,’ Jessica tells Chris, quietly. ‘I think two of us might intimidate him. You check out the kitchen. Look for any fingerprints on the glass of the French windows – outside, not inside. Look for clues of someone entering the courtyard.’

‘Will do.’

Jones makes his way down the hall towards the kitchen through the open doorway, as Jessica begins to make her way up the stairs.

She stops on the last flight of stairs and looks at an endearing family photo. It must have been taken several years ago. A sea of colourful wrapping paper surrounds them. A fire is burning in the fireplace behind them and red stockings hang from the mantle. The artificial branches and twinkling lights of a
Christmas tree creep into the corner of the photo. They are huddled together in front of the fire, all with beaming smiles. A young boy with a gleeful smile is holding a teddy bear, no doubt given to him that same day. A grinning, teenage girl sits under the arm of her father who holds her tight to his side. Louise looks young and carefree. Jessica sees how beautiful she once was. Now her beauty is shrouded by misery.

She continues up the stairs. When she reaches the third landing, she stops.

‘Dominic?’

‘Yeah?’ a cautious, young voice replies.

‘My name’s Jessica. I’ve come to say hi.’

He hesitates for a few seconds, unsure.

‘I’m in here.’

Jessica follows the voice into a bedroom, which is painted red and white with matching bed sheets and furnishings.

A young boy is sitting on a red rug, which is lit up by the sunlight pouring through the window. He is playing with some soft toys, toy cars, an Action Man and a Barbie. When she enters, he throws the Barbie under the bed, embarrassed.

‘That’s a shame,’ she says. ‘I wanted to play with the Barbie.’

He blushes and slowly retrieves it from under the bed. She sits down in front of him and takes the Barbie in her hand.

‘What have you called her?’

‘Louise.’

‘That’s your mum’s name, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. My other one is called Brooke, but I don’t know where it is.’

The irony doesn’t escape her. She wonders if the boy has purposely hidden it as a way of coping.

‘She’s very pretty,’ she says, stroking her hair.