The Widow (29 page)

When she reached TallDarkStranger she stopped. ‘TaI do remember him. It made me laugh when I saw his name. Such a cliché. I think we emailed once or twice outside the chat room. There was nothing romantic. He was nice to talk to when I felt low once, but we didn't stay in touch.'

Sparkes went out of the room and phoned Fry. ‘Look for TallDarkStranger. Could be him. They emailed outside the chat room. Text if you find anything.'

It took a while, but finally his phone beeped. ‘Found him' was the message.

One of the Forensics team was waiting to see Sparkes when he arrived for work. ‘We've found the email contact between Dawn Elliott and TallDarkStranger – just three emails, but there is mention of Bella in them.' Sparkes wasn't a punching-the-air kind of man, but at that moment he came close. ‘Next step is linking the email address to Taylor, Sir.'

They were also all over Dawn's Facebook site. There were hundreds of photos of Bella on it, but Dan Fry had been brought back to the team and was helping search for the images available before the kidnap and working his way through the friends for signs of their man.

It's the new version of footslogging, Sparkes thought as he watched the team at work.

A weary-looking techie came to see him later that day. ‘Problem, Sir. Dawn Elliott didn't put any security on her Facebook page until after the little girl went missing, so anyone could have looked at her info and photos without becoming a friend.'

‘Christ. Have we looked anyway?'

‘Of course. Neither Glen Taylor nor any of the identities we know about appear. The odd thing is that Jean Taylor is there. She's a friend of the Find Bella campaign.'

‘Jean? Are you sure it is her?'

‘Yes, security was put on the page by then. She not only ‘liked' the page, she posted a couple of messages.'

‘Messages?'

‘Yes, she told Dawn she was praying for Bella's safe return, and later sent a message on Bella's fourth birthday.'

Sparkes was mystified. Why would Jean Taylor befriend Dawn Elliott? ‘Are we sure it's her, not someone posing as her?'

‘The email address is one she uses, and the IP address matches her area of London. We can't be rock solid, but it certainly points that way.'

Sparkes considered the possibilities. It could be her husband posing as her, but it was after the kidnap. Maybe he was just making sure he heard all the info about the hunt.

‘Great work. Let's keep digging,' he told the technician and closed his office door to get some thinking space.

He needed to talk to Glen and Jean. Separately.

I
WAS DOING
some hand washing in the sink when Bob Sparkes knocked. I stuck my hands under the tap to rinse off the soap and then shook them dry as I walked to the door. I wasn't expecting anyone, but Glen had put in a little camera so we could see who was on the doorstep on a video screen. ‘Saves us wasting our time opening the door to the press, Jeanie,' he said, putting the last screw in the bracket.

I didn't like it. It made everyone look like criminals, all distorted like in the back of a spoon, even his mum. But he insisted. I looked and saw DI Sparkes, his nose filling the screen. I pressed the intercom and asked, ‘Who is it?' No point making it easy for him. He sort of smiled. He knew it was a game and said, ‘It's DI Bob Sparkes, Mrs Taylor. Can we have a quick word?'

I opened the door and he was there, his face restored to normal proportions – a nice face, really. ‘I didn't think I'd see you again, after the compensation settlement and everything else,' I said.

‘Well, here I am. It's been a while. How are you both?' he said, bold as brass.

‘Fine, no thanks to you, but I'm afraid Glen isn't here, Inspector. Maybe you should call ahead next time, if you want to come back.'

‘No, that's fine. I just want to ask you a couple of questions.'

‘Me? What can you possibly have to ask me? The case against Glen is closed.'

‘I know, I know, but there is something I need to ask you, Jean.'

The intimacy of using my first name threw me off guard and I told him to wipe his feet.

When he came in, he went straight into the living room – like he was family. He sat down in his usual place and I stood in the door. I wasn't going to get comfortable with him. He shouldn't have come. It wasn't right.

He didn't look sorry for coming, harassing us after the courts had said it was all over. I suddenly felt frightened. Having him here was like it starting all over again. The questions starting again. And I was afraid. Afraid he'd found something new to hound us with.

‘Jean, I want to ask you why you became Dawn Elliott's friend on Facebook.'

I hadn't expected that. I didn't know what to say. I'd started using the internet after Glen was charged and taken away. I wanted to understand how it worked – put myself in Glen's shoes, maybe – so I bought a little laptop and the man in the shop helped me set it up with an email address and Facebook. It took a while to get the hang of it, but I bought an idiot's guide to help me and I had lots of time to spend figuring it out. It whiled away my evenings and was a change from the telly. I didn't tell Glen while he was in Belmarsh. I was worried he'd think I was doing it to try and catch him out. He might think I was being disloyal.

I didn't use it much, anyway, and when he came out he was surprised, but not in an angry way. I suppose there was too much going on for anything I did to matter much.

But he certainly didn't know that I was a Facebook friend of Dawn's, and now Bob Sparkes was here to make trouble about it. It was stupid of me – ‘reckless', Glen would say if he knew. I did it one night after I saw Dawn on the news. I just wanted to be part of the campaign to find Bella, to do something to help, because I believed she was alive.

I didn't think the police would see me in the middle of all those hundreds of names, but of course they see everything. ‘You never think, Jean,' Glen would say if he was here now. I shouldn't have done it, though, because it's going to make the police look at us all over again. It's going to cause Glen problems. DI Sparkes is looking at me, but I think I should say nothing and look stupid and let him blunder on.

And on he goes. ‘Did you sign up to the campaign, Jean, or did someone use your identity?'

I suppose he means Glen.

‘How would I know, Inspector Sparkes?' Need to keep my distance. No first names. Where's Glen? He said he'd only be ten minutes. Finally, I hear his key in the lock.

‘We're in here, Glen,' I call. ‘DI Sparkes is here.'

Glen looks in, his coat still on, and nods to the inspector. Bob Sparkes stands and goes into the hall to talk to him on his own. I sit, petrified that Glen will explode about the Facebook thing, but there are no raised voices and then I hear the door click.

‘He's gone,' Glen says from the hall. ‘He shouldn't have come. I told him it's police harassment and he left. What did he say to you?'

‘Nothing. He wanted to know when you'd be back.' Well, he did.

I go upstairs to put my rinsed tights on the airer over the bath, then get my laptop out to see if I can delete myself from Bella's Facebook page. Bit pointless really as the police have already seen it, but Glen hasn't. I don't think Inspector Sparkes said anything to him. That was good of him.

I expect he'll be back, though.

Glen is rummaging in the fridge for something to put in a sandwich when I come downstairs and I jokily push him aside so I can do it for him. ‘What do you fancy? Cheese or tuna?'

‘Tuna, please. Have we got any crisps to go with it?'

I fix up a plate of food with a bit of lettuce and tomato. He needs to eat more fresh veg. He's looking pasty and putting on weight with all this sitting around indoors.

‘Where did you go?' I say as I put the plate in front of him. ‘Just now?'

Glen puts on that face, the one when I'm irritating him. ‘Down to the paper shop, Jean. Stop checking up on me.'

‘I'm just interested, that's all. How's your sandwich? Can I have a look at the paper?'

‘I forgot to buy one. Now let me eat in peace.'

I go off into the other room and try not to worry, but I think it's all starting again. His nonsense. He has begun doing his disappearing act again. Not in the house – I'd know. But he sometimes goes out for an hour or two and comes back unable to say what he's been doing and gets cross if I ask too many questions.

I don't really want to know, but I need to. If I'm honest, I thought that was why Bob Sparkes came today. I thought Glen had been caught doing something on a computer again.

I try so hard not to doubt him, but some days, like today, I struggle. I start imagining what could happen. No point thinking the worst, my dad says to my mum when she gets in a state, but it's hard not to. Hard when the worst is just out there. Just outside the door.

I should do something to stop it. If I don't, we'll both be lost.

T
OM
P
AYNE CALLS
me back at the hotel and says the contract looks OK but he's worried about what they'll write. It's hard to talk with Kate in the room, so I go in the bathroom for a bit of privacy. ‘The press are not your friends, Jean,' he says. ‘They'll get the story they want to write. There is no copy control in the contract, so you've got no comeback if they twist things round. I'm concerned that you are doing this alone. Do you want me to come over?'

I don't want Tom there. He'll want me to change my mind, but I know what I'm doing. I'm ready.

‘I'm fine, Tom, thanks. I'll let you know how I get on.'

Kate's back in my room, clutching the contract again. ‘Come on, Jean,' she says. ‘Let's get this signed and get on with the interview.'

She's determined and I want to go home so I reach for the piece of paper and sign my name on the dotted line. Kate smiles and her shoulders relax and she sits herself down in one of the armchairs.

‘That's the formalities out of the way, Jean,' she says and pulls a battered tape recorder out of the bottom of her handbag. ‘You don't mind if I tape the interview?' she says, putting the machine in front of me. ‘Just in case my shorthand blows up,' she adds, smiling.

I nod dumbly and try to sort out how to start, but I needn't have bothered. Kate's in charge.

‘When did you first hear about Bella Elliott going missing, Jean?'

I'm all right on this. I think back to the day in October 2006 when the story came over the radio as I stood in the kitchen.

‘I'd been working that morning,' I tell Kate. ‘But I'd had the afternoon off for working the Sunday-morning shift. I'd just been pottering around, tidying, peeling potatoes for supper. Glen came home for a quick cuppa and I got ready for my class at the sports centre. I'd just got back and was putting the oven on when the news came on the radio. They said there was a massive police search for a little girl who'd gone missing in Southampton. A little girl who'd disappeared out of her garden. I felt really cold and shivery, a little girl like that, still a baby really. Didn't bear thinking about.'

I feel cold again now. It was a shock to be confronted with that little face, the plaster and the curls. Kate is looking anxious so I start talking again.

‘The papers the next day were full of it. Lots of pictures and some quotes from her grandma about how sweet she was. Heartbreaking, really. We all talked about it in the salon. Everyone was upset and interested – you know how people are.'

‘And Glen?' Kate asks. ‘What was his reaction?'

‘He was shocked about it. He'd been making a delivery in Hampshire that day – of course, you know that – and he couldn't get over it. We both loved children. We were upset.'

The truth is we didn't have much of a conversation about the disappearance beyond what a coincidence it was that he'd been in Hampshire. We had our tea on our laps, while he watched the news on the telly, and then he went back upstairs to his computer. I remember I said, ‘I hope they find that little girl, Bella.' And I can't remember him saying much else. I didn't think it was odd at the time – it was just Glen being Glen.

‘And then the police came,' Kate says, leaning forward over her notebook and looking at me intently. ‘That must've been terrible.'

I give her the story about me being too shocked to speak and still being stood in the hall an hour after the police left, like a statue.

‘Did you have any doubts about him being involved, Jean?' she asks.

I swallow another mouthful of coffee and shake my head. I've been waiting for her to ask this – it's what the police have asked me over and over again – and I've prepared my answer. ‘How could I believe he would be involved in something as awful as that?' I say. ‘He loved children. We both did.'

But not in the same way, it turned out.

Kate is looking at me and I suppose I've gone quiet again. ‘Jean,' she says, ‘what are you thinking?'

I want to say I'm thinking about when Glen told me he had seen Bella, but I can't tell her that. That's too big to say.

‘Just about things,' I say. And then I add, ‘About Glen and whether I knew him at all.'

‘How do you mean, Jean?' she asks and I tell her about Glen's face that day he was arrested.

‘His face went blank,' I say. ‘I didn't recognize him for a few seconds. It frightened me.'

She writes it down, glancing up to nod and look me in the eye. She lets me talk as the stuff about the porn spills out. She sits, writing quickly in her notebook but never taking her eyes off me. Nodding, egging me on with her eyes, all sympathy and understanding. For years, I accepted the blame for what Glen did, telling myself it was my sick obsession with having a baby that made him do terrible things, but today he's not here to give me that look. I can be angry and hurt by what he did in our spare room. While I was lying in bed just across the way, he invited that filth into our house.