Dead End (11 page)

‘My name is Erin Blake,’ she whispered to herself. ‘My name is Erin Blake.’ It didn't make her feel any better.

17

Arrangements

H
alf way through the morning Geraldine received a response to the email she had sent to the adoption agency. She picked up the phone and paused before replacing it firmly on the cradle. She was crazy to even consider making the call from her desk in the Incident Room.

‘I'm nipping out,’ she told the duty sergeant who nodded and returned to the duty roster he was working on.

A chill breeze made Geraldine shiver as she wandered outside, unlocked her car and drove away from the centre of town in the direction of the recreation ground. She parked in a quiet side road and fumbled with her phone where she had saved the number of the adoption agency.

‘Hello? I'd like – I'm calling to enquire about –’ It hadn't occurred to her beforehand that a simple request for information might be so difficult to make. She took a deep breath. ‘I was adopted and I want to find out about – it.’ The words were out. With an overwhelming sense of relief Geraldine allowed the voice at the other end of the line to take control. The woman asking questions was kind but dispassionate. This was clearly a routine enquiry. Geraldine was suddenly aware of how cold she felt and was surprised to see her free hand trembling against the steering wheel.

She forced herself to speak slowly and calmly. ‘Are you able to access my file now, or shall I call back?’

‘I'm afraid we can't disclose any details over the phone.’

‘What can I do then? I must know, whatever you have. I'm entitled to know what's on my file.’

‘Of course you're entitled to that information, but you need to make an appointment to discuss your case with a social worker. I can book an appointment now.’

‘I can't possibly come to the agency. I don't have time.’ Geraldine knew she was being ridiculous. The woman was only doing her job. But having psyched herself up to make the call, Geraldine was swept up in a raging tide of impatience. She did her best to persuade the woman to fetch her file then and there, explaining that she was a detective inspector involved in a murder enquiry who couldn't be spared from the investigation. ‘I just want to know why I was adopted,’ she insisted, but the woman remained adamant. Adoption files were only discussed face to face.

‘I'm sorry, Geraldine, but it's for your own protection. These situations can be very emotional so it's best to have appropriate support on-hand, just in case you feel you want to talk to someone. Many adoptees – most – are happy to discover their history, but sometimes the situation can be difficult or even upsetting.’

Rigid with disappointment, Geraldine made an appointment to discover her birth history, face to face with a stranger.

Ian Peterson glanced up as Geraldine returned to the Incident Room and she felt a sudden longing to escape to a new location where no one knew her, a busy city where she could be consumed by work and no one would know or care anything about her. She thought of the private office in Abigail Kirby's home and sighed.

‘We off to see what we can find out then, gov?’

Geraldine nodded, thinking that she hadn't found out anything about why she had been adopted. Only a social worker in an adoption agency was privy to that information. A social worker and Geraldine's birth mother. If her birth mother was still alive.

‘Come on, then, Ian. Let's see if David Whittaker can tell us anything we don't already know.’ Neither of them expected the witness who had discovered Abigail Kirby's body to have any new information for them, but he had been too shocked to give a detailed statement at the scene and they had to go through the motions and question him. There was always a possibility he might remember something that would help them in their enquiries.

David Whittaker worked in a garage near the station. He thanked them for interviewing him at work. ‘I don't want my wife to find out what happened. This way, no one needs to know. I know it's daft but the wife gets so nervous about, well, everything really. I suppose it's bound to come out. I've sworn Zac to secrecy,’ he shrugged, ‘but you know what kids are. She's going to find out sooner or later isn't she? Once she knows what happened, she'll give me hell. She thinks I let the kid take unnecessary risks, but it doesn't do any good, mollycoddling him like she does. And it wasn't my fault I happened on that dead woman, is it?’

‘I can't see that you let your son take any unnecessary risk –’

‘I didn't, but you try telling her that. She'll never let me take him to the rec ground again, and I've bought him a new kite. Where the hell else are we going to fly it? I mean, I'm taking him there and that's that, but there's no point stirring up a hornet's nest if I can possibly avoid it. I know she's only trying to protect the boy, but he can't stay in the house all the time, stuck in front of the telly. It's not healthy for a young kid. And it's not as if he saw anything. He was waiting on the grass when I went into the trees looking for the kite and that's when I found it. Her, I should say. It gave me quite a turn. I mean, you don't expect to find dead bodies lying around like that, do you?’

Shocked into taciturnity when he had stumbled on Abigail Kirby's corpse, David Whittaker had recovered from his alarm and was eager to talk. But for all his chatter, he had nothing new to tell them. ‘All I wanted to do was get my boy home. I couldn't think about anything else.’

‘We know the body had been lying there overnight when you found her,’ Peterson said. ‘But killers often wait around to watch what happens so it's possible you may have seen him. Can you remember anyone hanging around the area?’

‘No. As far as I can remember, it was deserted, apart from me and Zac.’

‘Did you notice any cars parked along the road when you arrived?’ The mechanic shook his head. ‘No cars at all?’

‘There might've been, but I don't remember. I usually notice cars,’ he waved his dirty rag at the one he was working on. ‘But to be honest, I was more concerned about my boy. I'm sorry I can't be more help.’

They thanked David Whittaker and left, disappointed but not surprised.

‘That was a waste of time,’ Peterson blew out his cheeks and crossed his arms as he sat back irritably in his seat. Geraldine stared out of the window, thinking about David Whittaker and his son, excited about flying a kite together. She wondered who her own father was, and whether he was still alive. Perhaps even her birth mother didn't know his identity.

That evening, Geraldine assumed Paul Hilliard was calling to tell her the body had afforded some new piece of evidence. She wondered why he was phoning her on her private number.

‘Have you found something?’

‘No, nothing new – but I have a few ideas. The thing is, Geraldine, I find it hard not to think about cases like this when I'm involved, doing the autopsy I mean. I can't help wondering what could have possessed someone to do this. It's been playing on my mind.’ He paused. Geraldine waited, uncertain what he was getting at. ‘It must be the same for you. It must be hard to switch off.’

‘Well yes,’ Geraldine answered awkwardly. Usually she did tend to obsess over the victims in her cases, but she had allowed Abigail Kirby's fate to be overshadowed by her preoccupation with her own past – and by her interest in Paul Hilliard. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘But you've got your sergeant, and a whole team to talk it over with.’

Geraldine smiled, remembering the doctor's clear-cut features, and the way his eyes had held her gaze. ‘It must be hard for you, wondering about it by yourself,’ she ventured.

‘Well, yes, I suppose, when you put it like that –’

‘We could discuss your ideas, if you like?’ She held her breath.

‘That would be great. I'd really like to mull it over, if you have time. Perhaps we could meet up for a drink?’

Geraldine grinned but she kept her voice steady. ‘Why not?’ It never did any harm to see the evidence through another pair of eyes, and the doctor's views might help them start to find a lead to the killer.

‘That's the only reason I agreed to meet him on Friday,’ Geraldine explained to her friend, Hannah, when they spoke later.

‘Oh yes, a date with a sexy doctor and you only want to talk about work,’ Hannah laughed.

‘It's not a date. We're meeting for a drink at lunch time to discuss the victim's injuries.’

‘And you're hoping that isn't the only body he's interested in –’

‘Hannah, stop it. That's ridiculous, and you know it. I've barely spoken to the guy. And we're not meeting in the evening. It's hardly a date.’

Hannah laughed again. ‘Your eyes met across a bloody corpse…’

‘A mutilated corpse, actually.’

‘What?’

‘Shit, I shouldn't have mentioned it. Look, this woman's tongue was cut out, I know it'll be all over the papers soon enough but, in the meantime, don't say anything to anyone.’

‘Her tongue?’

‘Please, Hannah, forget I mentioned it. Not a word. It's really important you don't tell anyone.’

‘Of course I won't, if you say so.’

‘I do. In fact, just forget about it, will you?’

‘You think it's possible to forget something like that?’

‘Welcome to my world, Hannah.’

18

BEN

B
en Kirby's life, which had always revolved around football and food, changed in one moment, with one terrible announcement. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the dark-haired detective who had brought the news that his mother was never coming back. Life would never be the same again.

Ben knew his father was trying to comfort him, but it didn't help. It was just words. ‘We've got to be strong for each other,’ his father said. ‘Life goes on. Your mother would want you to be strong. Lucy's going to need your support.’ He paused. ‘I need your support, son.’

‘I know, dad, but it's just so – so horrible.’ His voice wobbled. He bit his lip trying to prevent it trembling but couldn't stop his eyes filling with tears.

‘We have to look out for each other now.’ Matthew glanced towards the door and Ben knew his father was thinking about Lucy. Ben was fed up with her hostility towards their father. They only had one parent now, but Lucy never let up.

His father was about to say something else when the doorbell rang and he went to see who it was. Through the open kitchen door, Ben saw the police standing in the porch. He held his breath and clenched his fists, waiting to hear they had found the sick bastard killer.

‘Have you brought us any news?’ Ben heard his dad ask. He invited them in but the two detectives hovered on the doorstep.

‘We'd like to ask you a few more questions about your movements on Saturday,’ the woman said.

Something seemed to burst inside Ben's head and he leapt to his feet and raced up the hall. ‘Leave him alone!’ he yelled, feet pounding on the carpet. ‘We've been through enough! He hasn't done anything wrong. Go away and leave us alone!’ He was shaking with rage. Lucy came down the stairs to find out what all the commotion was about.

The woman detective looked at Ben sadly. ‘I'm sorry, Ben, but we really do need to ask your father a few questions.’

‘Ask him here,’ Ben knew he was crying but he didn't care. ‘Ask him right here, right now, and then go away. Go on. You said you only want to ask him a few questions. Ask him then. He's done nothing wrong.’

‘Don't worry, son,’ his father said. ‘It's got to be done. The sooner we go through it, the sooner we can get this cleared up and they'll leave us alone so we can start trying to get through this together. Don't take on so. It's not their fault. They're only doing their job.’

‘We all know whose fault it is,’ Lucy snapped. ‘Take him away. We don't want him here. You're welcome to him. You can lock him up and throw away the key as far as we're concerned.’

Ben knew Lucy was annoyed with their father, but he was shocked by her outburst. As for their father, he looked as though he was going to cry. He looked so pale and ill, Ben could have thumped Lucy for being so spiteful.

‘I think you'd better come in,’ Ben's dad told the police.

‘We can interview you at the station if that's any easier.’ The woman detective glanced at Ben who glared back at her.

Ben's father sighed. ‘Yes, that might be better. But I'd like to give my sister a ring first, if that's all right. She's offered to come over.’ He reached out and ruffled Ben's hair. ‘Someone has to keep an eye on the place, and sort out washing and things. I think now would be a good time for her to come round. She can make supper, and… Well, I'll go and call her.’ For a heady moment Ben thought his father might be planning to give the police the slip and escape through the back door, but the tall sergeant went with him. ‘Aunty Evie will be here in about an hour, Ben, Lucy,’ their father said when he reappeared a few moments later. He forced a smile. ‘Take care of each other till then, and I'll see you later. With any luck I'll be back before Aunt Evie gets here.’ Ben could tell his father was trying to sound cheerful. He remembered what his father had said earlier.

‘Don't worry about us, dad,’ he said, sniffing back his tears so violently that his nose hurt. ‘We'll be fine. I'll take care of Lucy.’

As the front door closed Ben raced upstairs to his room feeling utterly abandoned and threw himself on his bed. Lucy followed him and knocked on his door. He didn't respond but she came in anyway. Lying on his back, one arm flung across his face, Ben didn't answer when she called his name but hiccupped and turned over on his side to face the wall. He felt the bed jolt as Lucy sat down.

‘I'm glad he's gone,’ she said firmly. ‘We don't need him. It serves him right.’ She paused. ‘Ben,’ he could feel her breath tickling his neck as she leaned forward. ‘He killed mum.’

‘That's crap.’ His voice sounded muffled through his arm but she heard him all right.

‘It's true. He wanted to get rid of her. He wanted a divorce and she refused. He wanted to marry someone else.’

‘That's bullshit and you know it.’

‘No, it's not. It's what I've been trying to tell you only you won't bloody listen.’ Her voice rose, screechy with emotion. ‘He was seeing someone else. A woman called Charlotte.’