The Silent Twin (11 page)

J
oanna fastened
the flower-shaped buttons on the front of the pretty summer print dress. It had been a steal at seventy-nine pounds, and she had bought it from an online shop which specialised in 1940s clothing.

She checked her appearance in the mirror before sliding the iPad from underneath a magazine in her bottom dresser drawer. Her Twitter feed was alight with notifications, and almost none of them good. The red circle flashed to show that there were 142 tags for her username, and her heart sank as she scanned the poisonous messages, many of them orchestrated by the user @Truth00Seeker. His image displayed a hooded faceless man, and his profile listed him as someone searching for answers. It didn’t list his location. But there was something about his tweets that made Joanna believe this was personal. The fact he had tagged her into the posts suggested he wanted them to be seen. Was he goading her into a response? Hundreds more tags were attached to #FindAbigail, and she gasped to see that the hashtag had gone viral. It was ironic. She had tried for months to get her online business viral on Twitter, and it took something like this to come up in an instant. She raced through the messages, resisting the temptation to reply. Police would be monitoring the account, although she could not see anything of value in the hate-fuelled bile.

She turned off the app, switching to her emails. Joanna pored over the messages of sympathy and hate, wishing her email address was not broadcast so publicly on her parenting site. It had only been a few days, but her website was losing revenue as advertisers cancelled their contracts, and her online supporters were dropping off as the trolls attacked them without mercy. She searched for the email she was looking for, her eyes growing wide as it pinged up on her screen. It was from Marcella Kelly, clairvoyant psychic – a woman known for her contact with the dead. Famed for a string of books and her travelling performances, Marcella could be just what she needed. She greedily scanned the message. Marcella would be happy to attend at a moment’s notice, just name the time and she would be there. No fee involved. Joanna snorted. No fee indeed. Psychics were lining up to come to her home since Joanna leaked the paranormal activity to the press. No doubt Marcella would already be penning the title of her next book. Joanna typed up a quick response, telling Marcella things were up in the air but tonight should be fine, pending developments. She pressed the send button without hesitation. Her nail polish cracked as she bit into her thumbnail, trying to work out the best social media strategy for what was ahead. Somewhere deep inside, she knew her actions were wrong. A memory played, as if hidden behind a thin fog, cast away by a sudden breeze.
Half a pound of tuppenny rice
,
half a pound of treacle.
Joanna stared entranced as she absentmindedly hummed the tune.
Wrapping her fingers around the steel handle of her Jack-in-the-box, her heart gave a flutter. She knew what was coming but was excited just the same. Tomorrow was her birthday. She was a big girl now. Soon she would have ten candles on her cake . . . her hands dropped from the Jack-in-the-box and it fell on the floor.

Joanna snapped back to the present as a commotion erupted downstairs. Had they found Abigail? No, she thought sadly. That wasn’t very likely to happen. She swallowed hard, returning her attention to the computer. If they wanted her, they’d call her. Everything was just fine and dandy, she thought, typing pleasant responses to the hateful online campaign.

‘Joanna.’ Jennifer knocked gently on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

She huffed with impatience. She had yet to update her blog.

‘Very well,’ she said, sliding the iPad under her pillow. ‘Come in.’

The detective’s face told her that there had been a significant development. And it was not good news. ‘Can you come downstairs and join the rest of us?’

‘Can’t you tell me now?’ Joanna said, unsure if her legs would support her. A war was waging in her head and she fought to remain in control.

Jennifer shook her head grimly. ‘It’s best if you come downstairs.’

‘Very well.’ She interlocked her fingers and stretched them out before her. ‘I’ll be with you in a second.’

The detective nodded, her inquisitive eyes sweeping the room. As if Joanna couldn’t see the suspicion they held. Her bed, the wardrobe, the open en suite door. She caught Joanna’s gaze, and had the decency to look embarrassed before she retreated through the door.

Joanna sat at her vanity table and undid the clasps of her hair. She fingered her long blonde locks, allowed them to slide through her fingers. Her hair was soft and untangled, her pride and joy. Her fingers found the nape of her neck, and she began to comb. She touched a tender spot of skin, before winding her index finger around a bunch of hairs. On she wound, until the tip of her index finger turned blue. Gritting her teeth, she pulled sharply until a handful of hair broke free from her scalp. Muffling a yelp, she savoured the sweet sting of release. It took only two calming breaths before she could face herself in the mirror again. Smiling, she picked up the old-fashioned paddle brush and worked it through her hair with long sweeping strokes. A quick squirt of hair spray, an application of lipstick, and she was ready. She smiled for the mirror, running her tongue over her teeth as she leaned into reflection.
Tick tock, let the cogs turn, wind me up and off I go.
The words rebounded in her head like a mantra. It would be all right. Keep winding until you could not stop. Everything would be all right.

But each step down the stairs felt like crossing a chasm, her legs taking her somewhere she did not want to go. But they carried on, bringing her closer to what she already knew. Abigail was dead. And it was all her fault.

T
he clock
in the kitchen seemed to pause between each tick as Joanna’s leather shoes tapped on the stairs.
Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .
It felt as if the house was slowing down, allowing them time to digest what lay ahead. Jennifer stared at the white linen tablecloth. She had gradually adjusted to the heavy oppressive cloud, but she felt like an outsider as she ushered extended family and friends to wait in the living room. They had regarded her with some suspicion, as if she was responsible for the pain she was about to inflict. Good news would have been shouted from the rooftops, but bad news was spoken in quiet tones, away from prying eyes. They must have known that, but it didn’t stop them searching her face for clues. Avoiding eye contact, Jennifer kept her expression neutral.

Around the table were Fiona, Nick, his colleague Karen Corbett, and the young man Jennifer had seen on her first day to the farm. Brother and sister, both had come up squeaky clean during police background checks. It was hardly surprising, given that Karen was a trainee investigator from Lexton CID. Her tresses were a couple of shades darker than her brother’s tousled auburn hair, but they both shared the same striking green eyes. She was barely out of her probation, and working under Nick in CID. Nick’s voice softened when he spoke to her, as if it were a relief instead of a strain. Jennifer would rather have spoken only to Nick and Joanna, but Nick had asked for Fiona, Matt and Karen to be there too.

Joanna appeared sombre as she joined them at the table. The fragrance of her floral perfume overtook the sweet smell of damp timbers burning in the Aga, and the only sound was the crackle of the range and the wind whistling through the cracks in the back door.

Jennifer stared, seeing rigidity behind Joanna’s expression – her eyes glazed, as if she was somewhere else.

Joanna wrapped her fingers around the solid oak chair before robotically sitting down. Every movement came under Jennifer’s scrutiny, and cracks were starting to show in her veneer. Nick coughed to clear his throat, and Jennifer could feel his eyes boring through her skull as he awaited the news.

‘We’ve had a significant update,’ Jennifer said, seeing no point in delaying the news. ‘As you know, the divers have been searching a stretch of the river.’

A whimper came from her left and Fiona clasped a hand over her mouth to contain it. Nick bowed his head, and Jennifer watched as Karen wound her hand around his back, rubbing in circular soothing strokes. They seemed oblivious to Joanna, whose eyes were on Jennifer, waiting for her to continue.

Jennifer took a deep breath, the words distasteful as they rolled onto her tongue. ‘They’ve found a body.’

She quickly followed up the words with reassurance, trying to offer them the little hope she could. ‘There’s been no identification yet, so it may not be Abigail. But you’ve asked to be updated every step of the way.’

‘Right,’ Joanna said, clasping her hands together. ‘Well, in that case we wait to find out more.’

‘Of course. There was also a journalist in the area of the search. We didn’t want you hearing it from anywhere else.’

Joanna’s face lit up at the mention of journalists. Jennifer bit her lip, holding back the scolding on her tongue. This was about Abigail, not Joanna, or some poxy publicity.

Jennifer took a deep breath. ‘Obviously we recommend you don’t speak to journalists just yet. We’re just starting to claw back public support, and you don’t want to do anything to jeopardise your relationship in the community long-term.’

Nick spoke a flat drawl, as if someone had just stamped on the last spark of hope. ‘So what you’re saying is that you think the body is Abigail.’

Jennifer reddened, realising that her comment about settling into the community long-term didn’t offer much hope.

‘I’m sorry if it came out like that. I . . .’ Jennifer sighed, considering her words carefully. ‘I meant that, whatever happens, even if Abigail is returned to the family safely, people will remember what was said in the press. I know as much as you do right now. I’m just advising caution as far as the press is concerned.’

But Jennifer’s thoughts were racing ahead. If the body in the river was Abigail, Jennifer could be pulled away from the family very soon. How were they going to pick up the pieces after this? If the police didn’t catch the person responsible, Olivia could be in real danger. It was possible she had witnessed the whole lot, and her attacker could be in the home, just waiting for the opportunity to silence her. She needed to speak to Olivia, to see if she could glean any further clues.

Nick grabbed his car keys from the hook on the wall as he made towards the front door.

‘Where are you going?’ Jennifer said, wondering why
she
was asking the question and not his wife.

‘To the mortuary. They’ll need someone to ID the body. If it’s Abigail, then I should be with her.’

Jennifer followed him into the hall, keeping her voice low.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. There’s . . .’ She lowered her voice as she approached him. ‘The body’s decomposed. I think they’re going to ID by other methods, probably dental records.’

The instruction was to wait for further updates with regards the identification procedure, but Jennifer knew it was a waste of time trying to stop him.

‘I’m a sergeant,’ Nick said. ‘I’m more than capable of dealing with this and I’m not waiting around for any dental records.’

He turned on his heel and left. Karen paused at the door.

‘It’s OK,’ she said, glancing back into the kitchen. ‘I’ll go with him. Matt, you may as well go home. I don’t think there’ll be any more searching tonight.’

Jennifer waited for the front door to close before calling Zoe and arranging for her to be there to greet them. Zoe was a lot nearer to the mortuary, and the last thing they needed was Nick turning up and creating a scene. That taken care of, she plugged her feet into her wellingtons to go outside and speak to Olivia.

The little girl had been brought outside by her grandparents in an effort to distract her from everything going on in the house. The rain pitter-pattered against her umbrella as she checked her phone. Twitter was already streaming suspicions of a body being found, and it didn’t take long for it to be linked it to Abigail’s disappearance. She glared at the tweets in disbelief, as @Truth00Seeker spewed their hateful messages.

O
livia didn’t have a phone
, but Jennifer didn’t want to take the chance of her hearing the news from anyone else. Joanna had given her permission to speak to their daughter alone, and she was going to make use of it.

‘There you are,’ she said to Olivia, who was standing with her hands on her hips, surveying the inside barn. Nick had done a good job converting it into a cosy stable and tack room for the pony that was coming on loan. ‘Wow. This looks great, doesn’t it? Fit for a king,’ Jennifer said, happy to see a smile on Olivia’s face, even if she didn’t reply.

Heavy rain hammered on the galvanized roof, and Jennifer folded her umbrella. The sweet smell of hay filled the barn. Nick had replaced the rotten bales with fresh ones, and cleaned the cobweb-laced timbers overhead. She signalled to Olivia’s grandparents Bob and Wendy that it was okay to leave her with the child. Their grief was painfully prominent, and with each day that passed the elderly couple looked increasingly gaunt.

‘Have you found her?’ Bob asked, his voice thick with emotion.

Jennifer followed them to the front of the barn, keeping her voice low. ‘We don’t know. They’ve recovered a body in the water but there’s not been any identification yet. We just have to wait and see.’

‘You want to tell Olivia? Is that wise?’ Wendy whispered sharply. Her tightly permed white hair made her look more like Nick’s grandmother than his mother, and Jennifer had heard that she was quite forthright with her opinions.

Jennifer glanced over at the little girl, who was busy stuffing a hay net in the corner. ‘Yes, I think she deserves to know what’s going on.’

Wendy grasped Jennifer’s hands, holding them tightly in hers. Her skin was cold as she squeezed hard. Inhaling a sudden breath, she pulled them towards her.

‘I know why you’re here. It’s because you think they did it.’

Jennifer gasped, desperately wanting to pull her hands away. She opened her mouth to speak, but Wendy carried on, determined to have her say.

‘Joanna’s a good girl. I know she acts odd, but she would never hurt the children, and Nick . . .’

Bob placed a hand on her shoulder and shot her a warning glance. ‘C’mon now, love, the officer doesn’t need to hear this.’

Wendy squeezed Jennifer’s hands, as if her husband had never spoken. ‘Nick . . . he’s made mistakes in life, wicked ones at that. But he’s putting things right now. He loves those girls, we all do.’

‘Wendy,’ her husband said, squeezing her shoulder. She blinked twice before releasing her grip.

‘I just thought you should know. That’s all.’

‘Know what?’ Jennifer said, none the wiser.

‘Just what she said,’ Bob said. The couple turned to leave, their faces devoid of hope.

Finally alone with Olivia, Jennifer sat down on bale of hay. She pulled a loose strand and threaded it between her fingers. Wendy’s comments had given her food for thought, but right now her priorities lay with Olivia.

‘It looks so cosy,’ she said to the little girl. ‘Do you want to sit down? You must be tired after all that work.’

Olivia had only taken a few steps before her face clouded over. It was as if she was in a hypnotist’s stage show, and someone had just clicked their fingers.

‘Why haven’t you found me?’ she said, her words distant and hollow.

‘What?’ Jennifer shuddered, as an icy shroud formed around her. ‘Is that you, Abigail?’

‘Yes, it’s me. Why aren’t you coming to get me?’ the voice responded, with chilling lucidity.

It
was
Abigail. It
had
to be. Jennifer’s heart began to pound as the sense of urgency hit home. She resurrected the questions she had planned to ask.

‘Were you in the water? Please, Abigail, describe where you are.’

‘I’m in deep in the ground. The water’s coming in and I can’t get out. I’m so hungry. Why have they forgotten me, why?’

‘Who, Abigail?’ Jennifer said. ‘Who took you?’

Olivia took in a sharp breath and tears began to prick her eyes. It was heartbreaking to watch her connection with her sister. Olivia’s fingernails dug into the flesh of Jennifer’s hands.

‘I . . . I don’t know . . . You’ve got to find me, pleeease.’

‘I’m trying, sweetheart, we all are,’ Jennifer said. But the life left Olivia’s hands as they dropped to her sides, and she gave a small jolt before returning to herself.

‘Olivia?’ Jennifer said, testing her reaction. ‘What just happened, sweetheart?’

Olivia shrugged, maintaining her usual silence. The connection was gone. And was she any further on? Frustration bit into Jennifer as thoughts ran riot in her head. Storm clouds rumbled overhead, and in the distance Jennifer could see the headlights of the police search teams drive away. There would be no more searching this evening, not in this weather. But what did she mean, the water was coming in? She tried to elicit further communication, but Olivia stared blankly, taking Jennifer’s hand and showing her around the newly converted stable. After a few minutes, she sat her down on a bale of hay.

‘I’ve got something to tell you, but I don’t want you to worry, because it might not mean anything.’

Olivia nodded, pushing her fingers under the blue strand of baling twine as she sat on the hay.

‘You know how the police divers were searching the river? Well . . . they’ve found somebody in there. I need you to be a brave girl until we find out who it is. Can you do that?’

Olivia nodded, a sad half-smile on her face. She stood up and stared mournfully at the rain-soaked wastelands. Jennifer didn’t know if Olivia’s thoughts were seeping through to her, or if it was empathy that brought her to the conclusion, but she felt that Olivia wanted to search for Abigail herself. The little girl’s eyes were wide and pleading through her gold-rimmed glasses as they met Jennifer’s, who instinctively responded, despite the lack of a question.

‘You can’t go looking, sweetie. What would happen if you got lost too? Who would look after Toby?’

Olivia nodded, visibly wilting before her. She really was a pitiful sight. A lone twin, with no knowledge of her counterpart. Jennifer had tried gently coaxing her for information, but all she could come up with were the occasional snatched whispers meant only for her.

Jennifer wanted to tell her that there were no promises that they would find her sister alive, that she needed to prepare herself, and she would meet her again, one day. But as she stared into her haunting blue eyes, the words formed a lump in her throat. She had no right to utter them . . . and the truth was too harsh for a little girl to face. All she could do was nod. Jennifer was loath to bring Olivia back inside while her mood was so low. Instead, she called her aunt and, putting her on speaker, talked about the arrangements for the pony’s delivery. Pony nuts, tack and mucking out: such topics were enough to temporarily brighten Olivia’s mood.

J
ennifer was
grateful for the confines of her car when Olivia was finally called inside. Waiting for an update on the identity of the body was torturous, because she knew she would be the one to deliver the news. She needed respite from the cloud of despair weighing heavy on the Duncan family home. She pushed back the driver’s seat, stretching her legs and easing off her heels. She had gained new blisters from walking over the uneven ground, but she couldn’t substitute her beloved high heels for flats every day. They bolstered her confidence, strengthening the professional image she strived so hard to maintain as a woman in the police force. Without them, she was the same as everyone else: fallible, emotional, and susceptible to mistakes.