Chosen Child (30 page)

Amanda felt her eyes widen. For a moment it was difficult to
breathe. Rick had buried Gareth
under the garden shed
…
That was just – sordid. She could have accepted Rick leaving Gareth in the shed
for a little while… but not this.

Sergeant Jacobs put a clear plastic bag containing a
stainless steel SOS pendant on the coffee table. Amanda’s breath caught and her
hands were shaking as she reached to touch the plastic with one finger. She’d
forgotten all about the pendant. But it wouldn’t make any difference, would it?

‘The information inside has your husband’s name and your old
address. Can you identify this?’

‘Yes. Gareth’s – he was allergic to penicillin. I told you.
I didn’t think… he didn’t always wear it…. Are you sure it’s him?’

‘A DNA test’s being done to confirm the identification.’

‘And this shed…?’ Amanda sat with her hands clenched under
her chin. This was tricky. Ella’s neighbour was a policeman, and he knew she
was aware that Ella was worried about her shed. Did these men know too? Should
she be suspicious – or should it be a complete surprise – shock – that Gareth
was under Ella’s shed? Shock would be best. And there was no need to act here,
she was genuinely distraught. Poor Gareth, what had he done to deserve being
buried under a shed? Damn Rick to hell.

‘It’s at 43 Cedar Road.’

She could see they were watching her, waiting to see what
her response was. She leapt to her feet. ‘That’s Ella’s address – she was
talking about the shed earlier – why was Gareth under Ella’s shed?’

That was good, she could see their faces relax. DI Martin
answered.

‘We’re investigating that. We’re still looking for Mr Baxter
– he may have information that would help us. Mrs Baxter has already been
interviewed.’

Amanda flopped back into her chair. Think, think. She’d met
‘Rick’ after she came here… Holding her hands over her mouth, she looked from
one man to the other.

‘Do you think that
Rick
– I always
thought he was a bit odd… But why would he bury… Did he
kill
Gareth?’

‘We’re still investigating. What made you think Mr Baxter
was odd?’

‘It was – he was so jumpy. He must have known Gareth was my
husband because I told Ella about losing him before I even met Rick…’ She
couldn’t remember if this was true or not, but they weren’t likely to check it,
were they? The two men on the sofa were gazing at her benevolently, and Amanda
burst into noisy tears. A little more drama wouldn’t hurt.

‘I don’t understand! Gareth disappeared miles from here!’

Sergeant Jacobs put the pendant back into his pocket. ‘You
last saw him at Lamorna, but we don’t actually know where he disappeared – or
died. That’s what we need to find out. Is there anyone you can call to be with
you?’

Amanda wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I’ll call my – my
mum-in-law. She’s in Glasgow but she’ll come down straightaway.’

The two men rose.

‘Your husband’s name won’t be made public yet. We’ll be in
touch tomorrow,’ said Detective Inspector Martin.

Amanda showed them to the door, then went back to the living
room and burst into genuine tears. They didn’t suspect her, but oh, what had
happened to her life? Fierce longing for the old days swept through Amanda, the
simple days when she was a bored stay-at-home mum with a baby, and she grabbed
a sofa cushion and squeezed it to her chest. She had turned into a monster.

Gradually, the sobs subsided and she wiped her eyes. She had
to make things work, for her children. All she needed to do was stick to the original
plan made by her and ‘James’. Hopefully Rick wouldn’t drop her in it… but then
she could deny everything. It would be her word against his. She’d need to get
rid of her phone again, in case the police decided to investigate her. But now
for Susie.

Amanda picked up her mobile then dropped it again. It would
be cruel to phone at this time of night when Suze couldn’t get a plane until
the morning anyway. Had there been anything on the news? But if Suze had seen
anything she’d have called straightaway.

It was half an hour later when Amanda was lying in bed, eyes
wide open and mind still racing, that she realised what her one mistake had
been.

She had told Soraya the St Christopher was Gareth’s.

Saturday 2nd August

It was after eight when Ella awoke in Owen’s box room the
following morning. His mother, of course, had the main guest bedroom. She
reached for her phone on the chair beside the bed, and stared in disbelief. She
had slept for
ten hours
. Had Owen spiked her drink?
And what had Soraya been doing all that time? Panic surged through her at the
thought of her child needing help, needing her mother – and in spite of
everything Ella was still hoping to be Soraya’s mother – and having no one but
her father to depend on. The father who had buried someone in his back garden.
Ella pulled on clothes and ran downstairs. Please, let there be news, let this
be the day her girl was returned safely, even if social services did whisk her
away again.

Caroline was at the kitchen table with her library book. ‘No
new news,’ she said at once, getting up to put the kettle on. ‘No, let me do
it, Ella. It’s good for me; I can’t be depending on Owen for the rest of my
life. He’s gone to the police station to see what’s happening.’

Ella dropped into a chair and accepted a mug of tea. No news
was bad news, as far as she was concerned. ‘The police said yesterday they’d
come and see me this morning. I should look out some photos for the appeal.’

It wasn’t much, but it was all she could do to help find
Soraya. She sat swiping through the images on her phone until she found two
good ones – one of Soraya alone, her little face bright but not smiling, and
the three of them in McDonald’s a couple of weeks ago. A family group. Ella
blinked furiously. This was horrible – she couldn’t even call on her mother for
help, and oh, poor Dad… But howling would help no one.

The sound of cars outside interrupted her thoughts, and Ella
saw Owen’s Ford and a police car pull up in the driveway. DI Martin went to
speak to two reporters who were lingering outside, and whatever he said made
them walk off towards their own vehicle. Ella sat straighter. Was there news?
Hope flared painfully in her chest.

‘You can go back into your house in an hour,’ said DI
Martin. ‘They’re finishing up now. We’re still looking at your husband’s laptop
and we’ve taken some paperwork too. Here’s your receipt for that.’

He slid a piece of paper across the table and Ella took it
automatically. It wasn’t important. ‘Are you any closer to finding them?’

‘I’m afraid not. Your husband’s mobile signals end after
Newquay. We’re putting out an appeal this morning. Do you have any images we
can use?’

Ella sent the pictures to his phone. She didn’t want to
sound as if she was telling him how to do his job, but... ‘Um – I’m worried
Rick might have concussion. Will you say something in the appeal about him
maybe needing medical attention?’

He checked the images, nodding. ‘That’s the plan. Your car
is also being checked. There are several finds – hairs and the like – being
investigated. We have to rule everything out.’

Ella clenched her fists. Had Rick transported a dead body in
their car? What a sick thought – and how had he managed to live with himself,
knowing what he’d done? When exactly had he buried this poor person – and was
it a man? Or a woman – the girlfriend? And
when
had
it happened?

Ella blinked despair away as another thought struck her.
This could be the reason for Rick’s time off work. She should tell them about
that. The police would have to talk to his colleagues, find out when Rick had
been absent. She only knew what he’d told her and that was a pack of lies. Over
the course of what should have been the happiest summer of their lives, her
husband had turned into a lying stranger. A murderer? Why else would he have
hidden a dead body?

Saturday 2nd August

Rick stood in the dimness of the reception corner, the
guesthouse phone jammed to his ear. It was an old-fashioned model with the
receiver attached to the base station, probably to stop people walking off with
it. The girl at the desk was clicking around on the computer and obviously had
no intention of leaving him alone to make his call. But complaining about the
lack of privacy would make him conspicuous and after all, they were letting him
use their phone. Rick peered at the paper where he’d listed his contacts and
keyed in Amanda’s number, imagining her at home in her flat with Jaden. And his
baby. Please answer, please take this, Amanda.

And she did, because of course she didn’t know it was him.
‘Hello?’

‘Amanda, it’s me, I’m - ’

He could hear her breath hiss as she inhaled and then she
was – not shouting, exactly, because thank God her voice was low – but he could
hear the fury all the time she was speaking.

‘Listen very carefully, Rick. You and I are over.
Finito
. I had two policemen here last night breaking the
news to me that Gareth’s been found
under your bloody shed
.
I can’t even begin to tell you how I feel about that. But it’s nothing to do
with me. I last saw Gareth when I waved goodbye to him at Lamorna and you can’t
prove otherwise. Now bugger off and hand yourself in.’

The line buzzed in his ear, and Rick gripped the edge of the
desk with his free hand. She’d hung up on him – he needed her help and she’d
told him to bugger off. What a cow. But quick, he should say something to
convince the receptionist the call had ended normally.

‘Perfect. See you soon, then.’ He replaced the receiver on
its base and managed a grin for the girl. ‘Thanks for that. I must have left my
mobile on the train yesterday.’

She smiled vaguely, and Rick turned away. Least said,
soonest forgotten.

Upstairs, Soraya was spooning her way through a tub of
strawberry yoghurt, a little frown on her face. ‘I like it better at home when
it’s cold from the fridge,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Is Mummy coming
very soon today?’

‘Very soon,’ said Rick. ‘That’s why we’re not having a
proper breakfast. We’ll go for a lovely walk, and then it’ll be time to meet
Mummy.’

She accepted this, but her expression was bleak and Rick
felt his temper rise. He should have taken her home days ago, dumped her at the
end of the road and disappeared. Alone, he could have left the area – he could
have left the country, started a new life somewhere else. He reached for the
bottle of paracetamol. The background pain in his head had gone on so long now
he was almost used to it, but Soraya whining every time she opened her mouth
made him see stars.

He stared at the girl, scraping the sides of her yoghurt
carton. She looked like – like a child nobody cared about. Her hair was a mess
and her clothes were rumpled, and this, combined with her natural thinness, had
turned her into a poor little wretch. Topping them both was drastic, but the
thought of spending the next however many years in prison was horrendous. His
life was ruined, and all because they’d started to adopt a child. Ella had
changed, then the dream changed too because the child he had wasn’t the child
he’d have chosen. In a way you could say that Ella and Soraya between them had
killed Gareth. A fresh wave of tension surged through Rick’s head and he
groaned. What had happened to him that he was even
thinking
like this?

‘Can we go now?’ Soraya’s face was pale.

Rick nodded, then stopped because it hurt. Stupid girl. She
only wanted to go because then they’d have started on the journey to Mummy. He
shook three paracetamol into his hand and grimaced as he swallowed them with a
slug of room temperature orange juice.

‘You brush your teeth while I finish packing. We’ll leave
the cases at reception.’

Her face brightened and she ran towards the bathroom.

The bus dropped them at the top end of Lamorna Cove, and Rick
grasped Soraya’s hand as they started the trek downhill.

‘Why did we come here?’ Soraya gazed unenthusiastically down
the lane stretching in front of them.

Rick groaned inwardly. Why indeed? He didn’t know, but part
of the reason was to somehow touch base with the man he’d buried under the
shed. Which was stupid, as Gareth had never made it as far as Lamorna this
summer. But the buzzing in his head was so loud he couldn’t think straight, and
anyway, a walk was something to do while he was deciding whether to jump off
the cliff or go to the police. Could he really face prison?

‘I told you. We’ll have a lovely walk first, and then we’re
meeting Mummy in the café further down here.’

He gripped her hand and she allowed him to lead her down the
narrow lane. For the first few yards they were in full sunlight and his head
shrieked in protest, but shady trees and bushes soon appeared on the verge, and
Rick crept along on their shadow. When they reached the cove he realised that
telling Soraya about the café had been a mistake. All she wanted now was to
have an ice cream and wait for Mummy, and Rick felt his temper desert him. He gripped
the child’s shoulder and hissed into her face.

‘This not all about what you want! Come on!’

She flinched, then nodded stiffly, her eyes huge. Rick
looked round. The last time he’d been here he’d been Gareth. The coastal path
from Lamorna to Mousehole was a tricky one, not necessarily something you’d
want to do with your six-year-old daughter. But he couldn’t stop now. They
would repeat Gareth’s walk and he would decide whether or not to end it all.
But deep inside he knew he wasn’t brave enough for that. It would be prison for
him.