Wrong Place Page 6

  10

  Caroline Dennison was in the kitchen preparing the vegetables for the family’s evening meal when Bea arrived home. She smiled as Bea entered the room but her face fell when she caught sight of her daughter’s expression.

  ‘What’s the matter, darling?’ she said, letting go of the courgette she was slicing and dropping the knife onto the wooden board with a clatter. She quickly wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘You look terrible.’

  ‘Don’t feel well,’ mumbled Bea.

  She had walked all the way from Sean’s flat instead of getting the bus, hoping the journey on foot would clear her head. Every step was an effort though, like she could barely lift her feet, and her excitement at not having to see Sean any more had given way to an awareness that she was in more trouble than she could imagine. She felt utterly alone.

  Bea slumped into one of the chairs spaced around the scrubbed wooden table that was covered in old newspapers, school textbooks, discarded receipts, hairbands, cap-less Biros and other bits of paraphernalia that proclaimed family life. The kitchen was the hub of their house, the room where Bea, her parents and her younger sister, Esme, migrated to at the end of every day. The rest of the house wasn’t as lived in, more pristine than messy, and didn’t exude the same warmth. Yet sitting at the table, her head in her hands, Bea found no comfort in its sunshine yellow walls and white, wood-panelled units. Not even the family cat, Smudge, could rouse her spirits as he rubbed against her legs, purring loudly.

  Caroline came over and asked Bea to sit up. She laid her palm on Bea’s forehead.

  ‘You feel very hot, darling. Did you start to feel ill at Clara’s?’

  Clara was the friend whose house Bea had lied about going to after school. Although Clara was willing to cover for her as payback for Bea keeping the secrets she’d shared herself, she didn’t like Sean and the girls weren’t as close these days. The mention of her friend’s name made Bea perk up – now she didn’t have to give all her time to Sean, maybe they could hang out again. The same went for all the other friends who had drifted away. Feeling slightly more optimistic, she gave her mum the most convincing smile she could muster.

  ‘I’m fine. I just haven’t eaten much today.’

  Caroline clicked her tongue and frowned.

  ‘Oh, Bea, you must eat. We don’t want you wasting away again. There’s nothing of you as it is. Look at your arms, they’re like twigs.’

  Bea knew her mum was speaking out of concern but she didn’t imagine Dr Reynolds would approve of how she was saying it. What was the advice he’d tried to drum into her parents? ‘If you want to help Beatrice to get better, don’t blame or judge her, and don’t comment on her appearance.’

  Naughty Mummy.

  ‘I’m hungry now,’ Bea lied. The thought of eating made her shake, even though her stomach growled appreciatively at the prospect.

  ‘Make some toast while I finish dinner,’ said Caroline, returning to the chopping board. ‘I’ve got some of that nice farmhouse bread you like. Oh, and Dad’s working late tonight, so I thought after dinner you, me and Esme could have a Friends marathon. I’ve bought some of your favourite Ben & Jerry’s too.’

  Tears streamed down Bea’s face so suddenly that they surprised her as much as Caroline, who stood frozen in shock, courgette in hand, as her daughter sobbed her heart out.

  ‘Bea, what on earth is going on?’

  ‘Don’t be nice to me,’ Bea howled, her thin little body wracked with grief as the torrent of emotion poured out of her. ‘I don’t deserve it!’

  She repeated the words over and over until her mum pulled her into an embrace. Bea melted into Caroline’s arms with relief, breathing in the sweet, almost chocolatey smell of the cocoa butter her mum rubbed into her skin every day after her morning shower. In her mum’s arms she felt safe again.

  ‘You’re scaring me, sweetheart,’ said Caroline, kissing the top of Bea’s head. ‘Whatever is the matter? What is it you think you don’t deserve?’

  Swaddled in her mum’s arms, Bea began to relax. But with calmness came the realization she mustn’t tell Caroline the truth. If she did, her mum would call the police, because she was the kind of person who would do that, who always did the right thing. And if the police came, they’d lock Bea up and she wouldn’t see her any more. She squeezed her eyes shut as her mum stroked her hair and made the same soothing noises she used to when Bea was little and upset. The soft, rhythmic stroking planted the germ of an idea in Bea’s mind.

  ‘It’s my hair. I hate it,’ she said. Her voice was muffled where her face was pressed against Caroline’s chest.

  ‘What?’

  ‘My hair,’ said Bea, reluctantly disentangling herself. ‘I don’t like it any more.’

  Caroline looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry.

  ‘That’s why you’re so upset, because of your hair?’

  ‘It’s awful. I hate the colour. I wish I’d never dyed it,’ said Bea.

  Another lie. She actually liked the blue-black shade because it made her look older than fourteen and more sophisticated. Someone in her class said she reminded them of Kendall Jenner, which was just about the best compliment ever. But if she wanted to not get caught, she needed to get rid of it. Four victims had seen her with this hair.

  ‘Can I dye it back, Mum, please?’

  Caroline looked doubtful as she picked up a strand and rubbed it between her fingers.

  ‘I don’t know, darling. It’s so dark now it’ll cost a fortune to strip out the colour, if it can be done at all. You’ll probably have to lose some of the length too, because the ends are so split now.’

  Bea knew the cost wouldn’t be an issue, whatever her mum protested. Her dad was CEO of a global design and marketing agency in London, commuting there every day from Mansell. His six-figure salary was why Caroline was able to quit her own job in marketing to be a stay-at-home mum. Her dad hated Bea’s dyed hair too, so she knew he would happily cover the cost.

  ‘Please, Mum. I can’t stand it.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll ring my hairdresser and book you an appointment. But I can’t take you until Saturday. I expect the process will take a few hours and there won’t be time to do it after school.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Bea. She threw her arms round Caroline and squeezed with all her might. Her mum laughed.

  ‘I’m pleased you want to get rid of it. I’ll be glad to get my little girl back.’

  Bea smiled too but inside she was gripped by fear. Yes, but for how long?

  11

  The ambulance swept into the bay outside A&E with its blue lights flashing and police outriders bringing up the front and rear.

  ‘Bit much, isn’t it?’ said the porter loitering next to Maggie. He sucked noisily on his cigarette. ‘I heard her old man was in a coma. Does she really need a police escort if he’s out of it?’

  Maggie ignored the porter as he exhaled a plume of smoke in her direction and instead kept her focus on the ambulance, impatient for the rear doors to open and reveal which officer had accompanied Eleanor Bramwell on her journey to Mansell. As they swung open, her breath caught as a familiar figure stepped down onto the tarmac.

  Belmar.

  Pushing her disappointment aside that it wasn’t Umpire, she smiled at her friend, who looked nervous as he approached, pulling at the collar of his navy wool overcoat, which he wore over a charcoal grey three-piece suit. Maggie always marvelled at how meticulous Belmar was in appearance, especially as she looked so ramshackle by contrast. He looked like a menswear model; her clothes were usually retrieved from her bedroom floor rather than her wardrobe and it was a good day if she remembered to brush her shoulder-length dark blonde hair before she left the house.

  ‘Hey, Maggie,’ he said. ‘Bit of a surprise, I bet.’

  ‘I’ll say. How come you didn’t tell me you were joining HMET? Last night, when we were talking about work, you didn’t say a word. Did you think I wouldn’t be pleased for you? Be
cause I am: it’s a bloody fantastic move.’

  Belmar grinned. ‘Thanks. I did want to tell you, trust me. I nearly blurted it out in the pub but I was told I couldn’t say anything until after I’d started. It’s actually my first day today so I thought we’d catch up at the weekend. I didn’t know we’d end up working together on day one.’

  Maggie frowned. ‘You couldn’t tell anyone or just me?’

  There was that sheepish look again.

  ‘Well?’ she pressed.

  ‘You. Ballboy didn’t want me to tell you.’

  Ballboy was the nickname bestowed upon Umpire by the ranks as a pun on his surname’s tennis connection. Maggie never used it.

  ‘Why not?’ she said hotly.

  ‘Haven’t a clue. He said I shouldn’t broadcast it to you until I’d started, so I didn’t.’

  Why the hell didn’t Umpire want her to know? But although she was reeling at the revelation, Maggie was careful to shrug it off in front of Belmar, sensing a fissure in the trust they’d built up. She didn’t want him running back to tell Umpire she was upset. What if they had laughed at her behind her back as Belmar agreed to keep their secret?

  ‘Fair enough,’ she replied as nonchalantly as she could. ‘He probably thought I’d try to talk you out of giving up Family Liaison. You’ve only been doing it for a year.’

  ‘You’d have been wasting your time. No way was I going to turn HMET down.’

  Over his shoulder Maggie could see the paramedics unloading Eleanor Bramwell from the ambulance. Even in her unconscious state she was still an arresting sight, with bright blonde hair, smooth, unblemished skin and pronounced cheekbones. Did Simon Bramwell have good looks to match, Maggie wondered?

  ‘How’s she doing?’ she asked Belmar.

  ‘She’s sedated but the doctors think she’ll be fine. The knife was still embedded in her right shoulder when she was found and she needed multiple stitches under general, but the other wounds were superficial by comparison.’

  Around the side of the ambulance came an older woman with blonde hair. She said something to one of the paramedics then looked over at Maggie.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Maggie murmured.

  ‘Trenton CID.’

  ‘You must be DC Neville,’ said the woman, smiling as she approached. ‘I’m DI Deborah Green, Trenton CID.’ They shook hands. ‘Someone was meant to warn you that we’re doing this in tandem with HMET.’

  Green’s accent was rich, Northern – Maggie guessed at Yorkshire – and she was almost disconcertingly cheerful.

  ‘Yes, DI Gant told me,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Good.’

  The paramedics pushed Eleanor into the hospital as Belmar, Green and Maggie fell into step behind them.

  ‘How’s the husband doing?’

  ‘He’s had his stomach pumped but it’s touch and go,’ said Green. ‘Docs are worried he might succumb to organ failure. They don’t know how many pills he ingested but it looks like a lot and he swallowed them down with neat vodka.’

  ‘You think a third party might be involved because of his line of work?’ Maggie directed this at Belmar. ‘DI Gant said that’s why HMET got the shout.’

  ‘That’s our brief, but there haven’t been any threats reported against him and so far no hint of shady dealings that could’ve incited retribution. We’re still looking though. The next-door neighbours heard the Bramwells rowing late last night and again in the early hours of this morning and didn’t hear any voices other than theirs. But that’s not to say someone else wasn’t there.’

  ‘Who found them?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘A bloke who lives across the street was backing his car out of his drive to go to work around eight this morning when he looks in his rear-view mirror and sees Eleanor Bramwell staggering out of her front door with the knife still stuck in her shoulder,’ said Green. ‘She told him she’d passed out in the bathroom but wasn’t sure for how long and when she came to she found her husband sparked out on their bed. Then she collapsed again and has been sedated ever since.’

  ‘Any kids?’ asked Maggie, thinking what a horrible scene for a child to bear witness to.

  Green shook her head. ‘They’ve been trying for a baby and are having IVF. Their third round just failed and Mrs Bramwell wants to try another but her husband thinks it won’t work again and costs too much. The neighbour who heard them rowing last night said they’d openly discussed it at another neighbour’s barbecue in the summer.’

  ‘He thinks they can’t afford it? I thought he ran a business that was doing well?’

  ‘Maybe it’s not,’ said Belmar. ‘And IVF isn’t cheap you know.’

  There was something in the brittleness of his reply that stopped Maggie short. His wife, Allie, had confided in her a couple of months ago that she was keen to start trying for a baby and said Belmar was eager too. Had they hit a stumbling block already?

  Belmar fiddled with the knot of his tie as he looked away. Maggie let it slide.

  ‘How old are they both?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s forty and she’s thirty-eight,’ said Green. ‘Been married nine years.’

  The hospital’s chief administrator was waiting in A&E with a consultant. After a brief discussion it was decided Eleanor would be taken up to a side room in HDU and a uniform officer posted outside her door.

  ‘Her going to HDU makes my job easier,’ Maggie remarked to Belmar in a low aside.

  He frowned. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘The victim of a case I’m working is already up there. I’ve got to interview her next of kin again, so waiting for Mrs Bramwell to come round gives me an excuse to hang around the ward until they’re ready to talk.’ Maggie glanced at her watch, a chunky silver men’s Seiko that was a present from her parents one Christmas. There was a scratch on the glass and the strap was too loose round her wrist. ‘Shit, it’s already gone three.’

  DS Renshaw was holding a briefing on the distraction burglaries in a few hours and she was expecting Maggie to have re-interviewed Della in time to report back. Renshaw had already made it clear during a tense phone call shortly after Maggie had spoken to DI Gant that she was not going to cut her any slack as she juggled the two cases. She’d even implied that by being the FLO on the Bramwell case Maggie was singularly letting down the elderly victims, conveniently overlooking the fact she did not volunteer to join the investigation.

  ‘What am I meant to tell Sadie Cardle when she comes round?’ Renshaw had sniped. ‘If she comes round, that is. “Sorry, we’re one man down now but we’ll do our best”?’

  ‘But you’re not an officer down,’ Maggie had shot back, not bothering to hide her irritation. ‘I’m still on the case; I’m just doing the other one in tandem. I’m struggling to see what the problem is. It’s me who’ll be stretched, not you.’

  ‘But what happens when Ballboy monopolizes your time? I can hardly tell him to take a run and jump, can I?’

  Maggie wished she could tell Renshaw to do exactly that herself, but she’d never get away with it now there was a rank separating them.

  ‘It’s up to me to manage my time and I’ll make sure neither case is neglected.’

  After that Renshaw had grudgingly dammed her tirade long enough to allow Maggie to repeat what Della had said when she questioned her.

  ‘Why would anyone lie about a photo?’ Renshaw had mused out loud when Maggie finished.

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  ‘Okay, let’s get Della to give us her movements for this morning and also for last night. Even though forensics believe the break-in happened this morning, I want to check her alibi for the entire time, in case she was at the house before she said she was. Then push her again on the photograph. Don’t say outright we think she’s lying, but imply that we do. Can you do that, DC Neville?’

  Biting back a sarcastic retort, Maggie had said, yes, she could.

  ‘In the meantime, I’ll go back to Audrey Allen to get her opinion on the relationship between the grandmot
her and the granddaughter – there may be some issues between them that she knows about. I’d bet good money on this being the Con Couple again but we need to cover all bases. I want you to speak to Della then report back to the station at six thirty for the briefing.’

  Maggie had hesitated. ‘I’ve been told to wait for Eleanor Bramwell to arrive from Trenton. I don’t know when that will be.’

  There had been a loaded pause before Renshaw spoke again.

  ‘As you said yourself, Neville, it’s up to you to make this work. See you at six thirty.’

  12

  The consultant entrusted with treating Eleanor Bramwell in HDU was perturbed to see the three officers waiting to speak to her.

  ‘I don’t know if it’s a good idea to present her with a crowd when she wakes up,’ he remarked.

  ‘Call it a welcoming committee,’ Green shot back, slipping off her overcoat to reveal a deep burgundy trouser suit worn over a cream silky camisole-style top. ‘No need to put out bunting though.’

  Maggie was rapidly warming to Green. She guessed the DI’s age to be somewhere in the late forties: faint vertical lines marked her décolletage and crow’s feet puckered around her eyes. She was about five foot four and all soft edges, from her round face and top-heavy build to the bobbed blonde hair that curled flatteringly round her face and into the nape of her neck. Maggie decided it would be a welcome change to work with a senior female officer who didn’t take herself as seriously as Renshaw did.

  ‘You might have a long wait,’ said the consultant exasperatedly.

  ‘Don’t you worry about us, we’ll be fine,’ said Green.

  As the consultant stalked off, Maggie suggested she would use the wait to speak to Della Cardle again and check on her grandmother.

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Green, as Belmar nodded. ‘We’ll call you if we need you.’

  Sadie was in a room with three other patients. The curtains had been pulled round her bed for privacy and Maggie spoke softly through the folds.

  ‘Are you there, Della? It’s DC Neville.’

  She heard movement on the other side of the curtains then a small hand appeared through a gap to pull them aside. Della greeted Maggie with a forlorn look, her bloodshot eyes revealing she’d been crying again. Behind her on the bed, Sadie’s chest rose with every whoosh of the ventilator.