This Girl, That Girl, page 21
She told her now, the words spilling out in her haste to bring Lindsay up to speed.
Lindsay’s face fell. ‘You mean, he might be the one who took Gina?’ She wrapped her arms around her body and swayed backwards and forwards. ‘I can’t believe I went out with him. I actually went out with him. Jesus Christ, Dee! How sure is she about this?’
‘She isn’t sure about anything, but you should have seen her, Lins. She was in a real state. It’s possible he might have something to do with what happened to Rebecca and Clive too.’ Lindsay gasped. ‘She was going to call the police as soon as I’d left. That’s why I was looking for you. To let you know.’ Dee clasped her hands together under her chin. ‘It might still be nothing, of course. It could turn out to be another false lead.’
‘It won’t be nothing,’ Lindsay said. Her voice was quiet and solemn. ‘I don’t mean to get all Mystic Meg on you, but I can feel it in my bones. We’re getting closer to finding out what happened to Gina.’
49
Scarlett’s skin prickled with fear. Was she hearing right? Was Mickey North threatening her?
‘Leave her out of it,’ Ollie said. ‘You lay one finger on my sister and I’ll kill you.’
Mickey laughed. ‘Bit late for that, mate.’
Ollie looked at her, aghast, but all she could do was shake her head. ‘What are you looking for, Ollie?’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
‘Her diaries. The ones she promised to get rid of.’
Scarlett’s mouth went dry. ‘Why did she promise you that? What’s in them that you’re so scared of?’
Ollie yanked the drawer clean out of the chest and threw it on the floor in frustration. Scarlett tried again. ‘What makes you think she didn’t get rid of them?’
‘Because she kept that fucking card, didn’t she? The one you found in the summer house. And she kept her stupid novel. What’s the betting she kept her diaries too? I should never have trusted her.’
His eyes had a haunted expression. Scarlett no longer knew what to think or feel. How was it possible to have landed here, in this terrible moment? A woman like her, who’d never done a bad thing in her life. How was it possible to feel afraid of her own brother? Her own flesh and blood.
Her heart kept banging away. An image of Rebecca flashed into her mind. She was carrying one of her endless cups of tea into this very sitting room, her reading glasses perched low on her nose, her long grey hair fastened at the nape of her neck. Her beloved aunt. What in God’s name had Ollie trusted her with?
The fear took hold of her then. Her eyes drifted towards Rebecca’s bedroom door. She felt disorientated and weak, as though her bones weren’t strong enough to keep her standing, but somehow she mustered the energy to stay on her feet. She couldn’t collapse now. All she could think of was what had happened behind that door, barely seven weeks ago. Surely her aunt wouldn’t have protected Ollie if he’d done something truly awful, if it was anything at all to do with Gina Caplin? But what else could be making him act like this?
Mickey, who’d been standing right behind Scarlett on the landing at the top of the stairs, squeezed past her and took a step towards the sitting room. His fists were clenched at his side. ‘Too right you shouldn’t have trusted her! If you hadn’t blabbed to her in the first place, none of this would have happened.’
Scarlett wanted to go into the sitting room with Ollie, to try to calm him down, but Mickey was now standing between them, blocking the doorway.
‘None of what?’ she cried, dreading the answer but needing it all the same. ‘What did happen?’
Mickey glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘Trust me, some things, you’re better off not knowing.’
Scarlett swallowed nervously. Whatever Ollie had done, Mickey knew all about it. He was in on it too.
‘What’s so important about those diaries? What are you frightened of? Please, Ollie, tell me. Did you two have something to do with what happened up here?’ She clamped her hands either side of her nose and backed away. ‘Tell me you didn’t kill Rebecca! Oh, Ollie, tell me you didn’t!’
Mickey rounded on her so fast she stumbled back near the top of the stairs and almost lost her balance and fell. It was Mickey who caught her. He held her in his arms, his face just inches from her own. She could feel his breath on her neck, see the blood vessels in the whites of his eyes.
‘What the hell are you talking about, you stupid cow! Of course we didn’t! He murdered her, that loser Hamlyn. You know he did.’
Ollie was at her side in an instant, pulling her out of Mickey’s grasp. In his haste to get her away from him he pulled her too hard and she slipped sideways on to the floor, crashing down on her hip bone, but all his attention was now on Mickey. ‘What the fuck are you doing? Let her go!’
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Mickey yelled. ‘You’re losing it, mate. You’d better get a grip before it’s too late.’
Scarlett struggled to her feet. ‘Too late for what? Is this something to do with what happened to Gina Caplin?’ She was sobbing now. ‘Oh God, Ollie, Mickey, tell me you didn’t …’ She saw the look that passed between them – a look of despair – and she knew she was right.
Ollie sank to his knees. He hooked his forearms over his head and clamped the back of his scalp as if he were bracing himself against a blow. All he kept saying was ‘no, no, no.’
Scarlett tried to fight the wave of nausea rising up inside her. She looked at him in horror. ‘You knew her, didn’t you? You liked her.’
Mickey advanced on her again, his face distorted in anger. He took hold of the neck of her T-shirt and pushed her until she was standing at the very top of the stairs, her back towards them. ‘You’re not helping, Scar. You don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ll tell you what you need to know and no more. You got me?’
Scarlett heard the fear in his voice. The desperation. Still holding her by her T-shirt, he pushed her again so she was dangling over the stairs. Her toes were barely touching the floor. He only had to let go of her and she’d tumble backwards. ‘You want to be careful what you say.’
Ollie uncurled himself then, slowly and deliberately, until he was on his haunches. Scarlett flashed a warning to him with her eyes. She was in too precarious a position. If he made any sudden moves, Mickey might let her go. Surely he could see that?
She forced herself to speak. ‘Whatever you’ve done, we can work it out. The three of us.’ She was looking directly at Mickey now, imploring him with her eyes. He was the one in charge here. She had no doubt about that. Maybe he’d always been in charge and she’d been too blind to notice.
A bead of cold sweat trickled from her left armpit down the side of her body. Fear and revulsion were all she felt now, but somewhere in the back of her brain a small, quiet voice was telling her what to do, giving her directions.
‘We’re family, aren’t we?’ She glanced at Ollie, willing him to understand. ‘You too, Mickey.’ The words almost stuck in her throat. ‘Family comes first, right?’
Mickey narrowed his eyes, then hoisted her back on to her feet. He flipped her round so that now she was facing the stairs. She edged backwards down the corridor leading to the kitchen and the back of the house, her breath loud and ragged.
He nodded grimly. ‘Good girl. You’ve got more balls than your brother. We’ll sort this out.’ He looked at Ollie. ‘Like we’ve sorted everything else out. No need to panic.’
In an instant, Scarlett saw what was going to happen. Ollie’s fist flew through the air towards Mickey’s face. Mickey, quick as a flash, intercepted it with his hand and the two of them teetered on the top of the stairs.
‘Stop it, for Christ’s sake! Stop it!’ she cried, but it was too late. Mickey lost his footing and tumbled backwards down the stairs.
She rushed forward, hardly daring to look. Ollie held her back. Mickey lay in a crumpled heap. He’d crashed through the half-open door to Rebecca’s apartment and landed on the floor. For a few seconds there was no sound at all. Then he started writhing and groaning in agony.
Ollie looked at her in horror. His skin had turned a horrible shade of grey and he was shaking uncontrollably.
Scarlett wrenched herself free. ‘We have to call an ambulance.’ She waited a beat. ‘And we have to call the police. You know that, don’t you?’
Ollie wouldn’t stop shaking. She put her hands on his face, looked directly into his eyes. ‘What happened, Ollie? You can’t keep this to yourself any more. You need to tell me what happened.’
She moved her hands down to his shoulders, gave him a little shake, but still he wouldn’t speak to her. Mickey’s groans were getting quieter and quieter, then they stopped altogether. Scarlett peered down at him. He was no longer moving. She was about to go and check he was still breathing when Ollie put his arm out to stop her.
‘He killed her,’ he said.
They both started at the sound of the doorbell and turned, wordlessly, to face the front door. Two dark shapes filled the stained-glass panel.
Scarlett watched her brother’s face go slack.
50
It had been Dee Boswell who’d called the police, Scarlett later discovered. She obviously hadn’t trusted Scarlett to keep her word. Mickey was now in hospital and Ollie had been taken in for questioning. As soon as Scarlett had finished giving her statement to the police, she’d collapsed from the stress. Now, coming round on her sofa after a sleep, she was unnerved to find the police gone and her dad sitting in the chair opposite, observing her.
She struggled to sit up. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘The police contacted me. They were worried about leaving you alone. What’s going on, Scarlett? What have you told them?’
‘I want you to leave,’ she said. ‘Now.’
His eyebrows knitted together in a concerned frown. ‘Leave? Why? They said they were investigating an unsolved crime. They’re coming back with ground-penetrating radar equipment. What the hell is going on, Scarlett?’
‘You told me the last time you saw Ollie was when we were all here, talking about the funeral, but it wasn’t. You were lying. Mickey said you turned up at the yard, that you and Ollie have been at loggerheads.’
Her dad gave a long sigh. ‘One of my business contacts wanted Ollie’s firm to do some renovation work for him. Ollie asked him if he’d consider paying for it in cash and he was quite rightly put out. As was I when he told me. I was so embarrassed. My own son, whom I’d recommended. So I went round there and had it out with him. Told him what I thought of his shady dealings, how he’d better smarten up his act before he got himself into very deep water. But, but what’s that got to do with all this? I don’t understand.’
‘There’s something else going on too. What do you know about Gina Caplin that you aren’t telling me? Is she buried under the summer house?’
Her dad’s face blanched. ‘Dear God! Is that what you think? Is that why they’re … But who … how …?’
She watched his face crease in confusion and knew he wasn’t faking it. He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
‘I thought you might know something … that you might be …’ Her voice faltered. She couldn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. Her dad knew exactly what she’d meant and he was stunned. Dismayed.
‘Dear God! How could you think for one second that I …’ He brought his hands to his mouth and pressed his fingers against his lips. He shook his head from side to side.
‘Because you were so worked up about the possibility of me moving the summer house. Both of you.’
‘Only because I was worried you were taking on too much, too soon. I might not be the most tactful man in the world, and I know I come across as overbearing sometimes – Claire’s always telling me that – but it’s only because I care about you so much. I thought you understood that.’
Scarlett began to cry. ‘Oh Dad, Mickey killed her and Ollie knew about it. He admitted it.’
The blood drained from her dad’s face. He closed his eyes.
Scarlett stood in front of the window, watching as her father left the house to buy some provisions, braving the scrutiny of the neighbours and those who’d come to gawp. Since their conversation two days ago about Ollie’s attempts at tax evasion, a suspicious-looking shadow had been detected under the summer house, and within hours the whole thing had been dismantled and a forensics tent erected.
Then came the breaking up of the concrete, with all the noise and dust that came with it. Every time Scarlett summoned the energy, and courage, to peep out between the slats of the wooden shutters, the level of concrete and soil inside the skip on the road had risen. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered on the opposite side of the street. Some of them were holding their phones in the air.
The whole circus had started up again. The tape across the front path. A police officer stationed outside. The gawpers on the bus. It was on the news and in the papers. She was a prisoner in her own home. Except, this time, it was ten times worse. People in the neighbouring flats and houses were watching the back of the house too. She felt like an animal in a zoo. If it hadn’t been for her dad looking after her, she wouldn’t have been able to cope.
The bedroom bloodbath story now had a terrifying new development. Ollie’s last words kept playing on a loop in her mind: ‘He killed her.’ It didn’t matter that Scarlett had known nothing about it; as far as the media and everyone else were concerned, she’d be tarred with the same brush. Her name would forever be associated with this horror. This death house. Whatever happened now, she would just have to live with the consequences. They all would.
She moved away from the window and resumed her position on the sofa. The TV had been on continually in an attempt to block out first the relentless whine of the angle grinder, then the trundling of wheelbarrows up and down the side passage. Not that she’d been watching it. Occasionally, something would hold her attention for a couple of minutes, but the reality of what was happening outside soon seeped back into her mind and obliterated all other thoughts.
And yet, in spite of the noise, she had slept, in short, fitful bursts, her dreams vivid and intense. After the nerve-wracking events of the past few days and the sleepless nights she’d endured as a result, she ached all over. But how she felt physically was nothing compared to the darkness in her mind. That terrible sensation of dread.
She heaved herself into a sitting position and made the short trip to the kitchen for another cup of tea and something to eat. She had no appetite but was forcing herself to graze at regular intervals to keep her strength up. Compelled to check on progress, she stood at the back door while she waited for the kettle to boil and her dad to return.
Scarlett’s eyes were now fixed on the end of the garden, which was crawling with police officers and specialist forensic scientists. It all seemed so surreal, like a scene from a movie or a crime drama. Except this was no fiction.
Someone came out of the massive blue-and-white tent and Scarlett caught sight of a square trench where the summer house had once stood. She saw the top halves of white-suited figures bobbing up and down. It looked like an archaeological dig, which was, of course, exactly what it now was.
The ringing of her phone made her jump. When she saw the name Ollie on the screen, she answered it straight away.
‘Where are you? Are you still in custody?’
‘No, they’ve let me go. Pending further investigation.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘They’re watching me.’
‘What are they going to find, Ollie?’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
‘You have no idea what you’ve done,’ he said.
‘Oh God, Ollie. Why did you …’
Her voice trailed off at the sound of a shout from outside. She moved back to the door, the phone slipping from her hand and dropping to the floor. An eerie stillness had descended on the scene. The figures that had been bent over in the trench now straightened up and made eye contact with those standing on the perimeter peering down. Scarlett went cold all over. They had found something.
Ollie’s voice shouted at her from the floor. The handful of officers milling around outside the tent now went in, their bodies blocking the entrance and Scarlett’s view. Now one of them was coming out again, phone clamped to his ear. Scarlett recognized him as DI Guyver, the one who’d taken her statement. He looked up at the house and seemed to be composing himself. Then he started walking purposefully towards it.
Scarlett’s knees buckled. She hauled herself upright by grabbing the edges of the countertop, her heart pounding so fast that for a moment she thought she might be having a heart attack.
‘Scar? Answer me. What’s happening?’
She picked up her phone from the floor and ended the call just as Guyver’s face appeared at the kitchen door. She opened it and stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to say the words.
He nodded at her grimly. ‘We’ve found a body.’
51
Scarlett held her breath. The detective inspector was still talking to her, but she no longer heard what he was saying. All she could see was his mouth opening and closing. Then she was aware of him stepping forward, catching her by the elbows.
DI Guyver led her gently to the sofa. Her hearing returned in a loud rush.
‘There’ll be a Home Office post-mortem, of course. Identification could take some time.’
Scarlett looked at him blankly. Surely the identification was just a formality.
‘He’ll be taken away soon, but our guys’ll be here for a while yet. I’m afraid the garden’s going to be out of bounds for a day or so.’
