Before It's Too Late (24 page)

“Was it sudden?”

His face tightened. “I found her in the kitchen, sitting in a pool of blood.”

“She killed herself?”

“Slashed her wrists. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

“Apparently she’d suffered from depression. Nobody told me that though. Took me years to work it out.”

I wanted to say something more, something comforting, but the words caught in my throat
.

“I didn’t speak for months afterwards. And when I finally did, it was in English.” He turned to face me. “My mother was English so my father hired British nannies to encourage me. As time passed I did speak in Cantonese too, but I’ve always preferred English.”

“That’s why your accent is so good.”

His mouth formed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes
.

“So you can stay here as long as you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“British mother. Chinese father. You get the best of both worlds.”

“No such luck. My passport says Chinese. Don’t you know, we’re not allowed dual citizenship?”

A shiver slipped down my spine. It reminded me of Lauren – she always said that happened when someone walked across your grave. Suddenly I felt very sad. “Do you think they’ll fly us back?”

“What?”

“We’re Chinese citizens. If we die down here, do you think they’ll fly our bodies home to our families?”

Chapter
Forty-One

Jackman stared at the magnolia walls around him and sighed inwardly. The high ceiling, wrought-iron fireplace, large sash window and polished floorboards were akin to his front room. But that’s where the similarities ended. The bookcase in the corner was filled with modern classics, the sort you bought in bound collections out of Sunday newspaper supplements and never read; the circular coffee table in the centre gave off a permanently unused sheen, the single painting on the wall of pink roses in a vase was flat and lifeless. Everything in this room had been meticulously arranged to afford basic comfort whilst discouraging distraction.

He cast a fleeting glance at Doctor ‘call me Richard’ Stephens who sat opposite him, hands folded on top of an A4 pad resting on his lap, a biro poking between his fingers. They were amidst one of those long silences where Richard would stare at him, angle his head if he made eye contact. It was tedious.

Jackman used the ‘silence technique’ and ‘open questions’ to incite conversation during interviews. In fact, when he thought about it, this part of their jobs was quite similar. Jackman worked hard to make his witnesses and suspects feel at ease, create an atmosphere whereby they were comfortable, encourage them to talk. He too broke down the barriers to find the truth. But that’s where the similarities ended. Once he had gleaned the facts, the justice system took care of the victim, witness, suspect. Richard picked away, peeling back each layer and rummaging through the emotions beneath until, eventually, there was nothing left.

Jackman’s eyes rested on the box of tissues on the sideboard in the corner, just within reach of Richard’s chair, and wondered how many times he’d stretched across and passed them over, or even whether he’d counted. Richard adjusted position. The pen rolled off his lap and rattled as it hit the floor. Jackman watched him reach down and retrieve it, sit back and cross one leg over the other, making him appear at a strange angle. His mind switched back to the investigation. He wondered how they were getting on at the new drop site. Whether they’d heard from the Embassy, or got a new lead on Min’s uncle.

Richard sniffed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’d like to talk about the night of the accident,” he said.

“Why?” Jackman asked.

“Because we’ve never gone into it in any detail. I think it might help.”

You or me? Jackman thought. But Janus’ words were still at the very forefront of his mind. ‘Just go along and keep the appointments. At least it’ll keep welfare off our backs.’ He bit back his frustration. “What do you want to know?”

“Why don’t you talk me through it?”

Jackman paused and shifted in his seat as if he was trying to recover some distant memory from the filing cabinets buried deep inside his mind. Problem was they weren’t buried deep. These were the memories that suffocated the suggestion of sleep and haunted his every waking hour.

Jackman cleared his throat. “I’d been to a retirement party in Leamington. My old boss. I didn’t intend to drink, but I got pulled into the joviality of the evening. In the end, I couldn’t drive, so I called Alice to come pick me up.”

“What was Alice doing?”

“Pardon?”

“When you called her?”

Jackman struggled to see the relevance. “She was in bed reading.”

“And how did she react?”

Jackman shrugged. “Wasn’t best pleased. She asked if anyone else could bring me, but there wasn’t anyone, so finally she agreed to come out.”

“And what time was this?”

Jackman thought for a moment. “The accident happened at 12.49. I remember looking at the clock on the dash. She must have left around midnight and arrived with me half an hour later.”

“And how did she seem?”

“A bit snappy, but that was quite understandable.”

“The alcohol didn’t impair your memory?”

“I said I’d been drinking, not that I was drunk. I knew exactly what was happening.”

“What do you mean by snappy?”

“She was tired. Grumpy at being pulled out of bed. We bickered a little. I’d promised to be home early, said I wouldn’t drink.”

“Can you recall the conversation?”

Jackman shook his head to hide the lie. He could remember it, the exact words, as if it was yesterday, but he wasn’t about to share that with Richard.

“What happened next?”

“Not much. We drove in silence for a while. Then a car crossed the carriageway. It came from nowhere, hit us head-on.”

It was a moment before Richard spoke. “Can you remember what happened next?”

“I remember a pain in my head like my skull splitting in two. The car lay on its side. Alice was unconscious. I couldn’t get her to wake up. I just kept thinking: get her out of the car.”

The sound of a siren passing outside broke the stillness that saturated the room. Jackman suddenly realised that he’d become lost in his memories. He took a deep breath, regained his composure.

Richard sat back in his chair. “Will, who do you think is responsible for the accident that caused your wife’s condition?”

Jackman looked back at him. “The idiot that was driving too fast and lost control of his car, of course.” But his words were tainted with a soft sadness. The idiot was a young lad in his new car showing off to his mates. He had lost his life that night before he’d even reached his nineteenth birthday. It was a cruel injustice, an accident, just like Alice.

Richard surveyed him for some time. “Is there anyone else you feel was responsible?”

Jackman’s voice came out in barely a whisper. “If I hadn’t been drinking she’d never have been on the road that night.”

Chapter
Forty-Two

I felt Lonny’s eyes on me
.

“Do you know what I’d really like to eat now?” he asked
.

My eyes rested on the bread and biscuits in the corner. All that was left were the remnants of those nibbled by the baby rat. I shook my head
.

“McDonald’s fries. Large.”

A weak laugh escaped me. I was expecting him to come out with something deep and meaningful, or a Chinese dish he treasured. Not McDonald’s. I could feel him laughing next to me and giggled quietly. Suddenly, I realised I hadn’t laughed for so long. Even before the pit, all the problems with Tom and the baby. A dark cloud had prevailed over my life for what seemed like ages. I indulged in the loose feeling now and the release of those happy pips of endorphins shooting around my veins felt like a medicine
.

“What about you?” he eventually asked
.

I rested my head back on the concrete. A week ago I’d have probably said chocolate. Cadbury Dairy Milk. Many a dark evening I’d sat in my apartment, poring over my laptop, craving its velvety texture and rich sweetness. But now, oddly, I craved the crisp freshness of pear, papaya, lychee, banana
.

“Fruit salad.”

He laughed. “You’re so boring.”

“What about you, fries? Must be the British side of you.”

“Maybe.”

“I think it’s great. You get the best of both cultures.”

“Or you never quite fit in either.”

Just as I twisted to face him, he grinned. “You’re so gullible.”

I nudged his shoulder. A luke warm heat filled me. It was nice to have Lonny. He was good company. For a short moment, I forgot where I was
.

I stretched out my legs and felt a sudden stab of pain that made me gasp and grab my stomach. The baby
.

Lonny’s face dropped a little. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer. Another stab, harder this time, I drew my knees in. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and stared at the pockmarked concrete in front of me, trying to regulate my breathing
.

“Min, what’s wrong?”

The pain eased a little, but I still couldn’t answer. Instead I concentrated on my breathing, slowly in and out
.

“What is it? Are you sick?”

I huddled into myself. What was happening? And in that moment I knew. I couldn’t let my baby die, it was too much a part of me to let go. It wouldn’t be easy, but I’d have to find a way
.

“Min, please? Talk to me?”

I turned to face Lonny. I’d almost forgotten he was sat next to me. I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again like a fish out of water
.

“You’re scaring me now.”

I cleared my throat. The pain had lessened to a simmer, just beneath the surface. “I… I think it’s nothing really. Just a little indigestion. I need to sit quietly for a bit
.

He stared directly at me. The look in his eyes told me he didn’t believe a word I’d said. And why not? It wasn’t true. Something had stopped me from telling him the truth, but I had no idea why. He’d confided in me about his mother. Yet a little voice inside my head told me this secret was better kept. For now
.

Chapter
Forty-Three

Back home later, Jackman took a deep breath and eased back into the sofa.

Alice’s presence oozed from every room in the house. Not the mute, glassy-eyed shell that lay in Broom Hills. The real Alice. The vibrant Dane with the quirky nature, wicked sense of humour and smile that could light up a room. If he concentrated hard enough he could still feel her presence here – curled up with Erik on the sofa, feet tucked beneath her, chuckling at her beloved American sitcoms; in the kitchen, hair pulled back into a messy half-ponytail as she lifted a flapjack out of the oven; laid flat on the floor of her study, eyes clamped together, Bach playing in the background. Alice loved Bach. Whenever she had a research problem, she laid in the dark with her music, allowing the rhythms to concentrate her mind.

Jackman had never been keen on classical music himself. She laughed when he hiked up the volume on the radio to listen to the Foo Fighters, the Red Hot Chili Peppers or Kings of Leon. But right now, he felt a yearning to listen to Bach. He pulled the long curtains together shutting out the evening sunshine, laid prostrate on the hearth rug and pressed play on the iPod. Erik wandered over and slumped next to him as the soft ripples of music began to play. The case gently filtered into his mind.

He could see Min Li leaving the Old Thatch Tavern, her heels tapping the pavement as she moved in the direction of the police station. The black BMW appeared, the car whose occupants had spoken to her. Were they the words that encouraged her to move back to the pub? What would have happened if she hadn’t turned there, if she’d have continued down the road? Was she heading in any particular direction or just walking off a rage?

Jackman sighed. The music became louder, the tension growing. He imagined her reaching the pub. Did she hesitate, consider going back inside? He knew she’d continued, the camera footage showed she turned the corner into Greenhill Street. Yet she never reached the end of the street. She was taken somewhere along that stretch.

The music continued to work up to its crescendo as more thoughts crashed through his mind. Her kidnapper had picked her out, researched her family background, organised a location to store her, watched and trailed her for some time. Ready and waiting. What he didn’t understand was why she hadn’t been released. A business transaction. The ransom had been paid. So, where was she now?

The white Volkswagen with false plates, cloned from a similar van in nearby Coventry, passed through Greenhill Street just before her. It must have picked her up as she walked along that stretch. Where did it go next?

Track after track played as his mind kept going over and over the facts that were laid before him. Extra protection had been placed at the college, yet amidst all that activity, Lonny Cheung had also been taken. The ransom note indicated he was taken by the same abductors. What was the link?

Eventually the room became silent. The music had played out. All he could hear were Erik’s soft breaths next to him. He reached out and stroked his neck. The dog’s tail beat the floor, but he didn’t move.

Jackman jumped up and pressed repeat play before he resumed his position on the floor. Dusk crept in and slowly enveloped them in darkness. Alice used to tease him that he ‘lived’ his cases and she was right. He could already feel this one seeping through the pores in his skin until it sat beneath the surface. He’d joined the police force to make a difference, to help people in their darkest hour of need. But to live a case meant working it: interviewing witnesses, pounding the streets, visiting scenes, not sitting in an office, reading statements and setting strategy while delegating investigative actions to your team.