Behind Closed Doors (38 page)

It was the strangest thing, waking up and hearing Juliette’s breathing, steady and slow, coming from the bed next to her. It felt as though she had drifted off a few minutes ago, but she must have slept well because daylight was showing around the edges of the Travel Inn’s blackout curtains.

At six, the mobile phone she had left charging under her coat, next to her side of the bed, had begun to buzz. She’d grappled for it, trying to silence it before it woke her sister.
One missed call
– the number was the only one she had stored in her phone. Sam’s mobile. There was no message, no text, no response to all the messages Scarlett had sent last night when Juliette was asleep. What was Sam supposed to say, anyway? There was nothing she could say. She had a job to do.

Scarlett looked across at Juliette, who stirred and turned over. ‘Juliette?’ Scarlett whispered. ‘You awake?’

There was a murmur that might have been agreement, but then the breathing deepened again. Scarlett looked at Juliette’s watch. They would need to get up soon. They had to talk, had to work out a plan before Sam turned up. But for now she would let her sleep on while she could: today was going to be difficult enough to deal with.

Not for the first time, Scarlett wondered what would have happened to them both if she’d never gone into the house in Russet Avenue that Tuesday in March.

‘I knew you’d come back,’ Juliette had said. ‘I knew you’d come back for me.’

They were sitting at the kitchen table eating toast. It felt very domestic and civilised, and mind-bendingly strange. There had been tears at first, Juliette crying and holding on to her sister as if she would never let her go again. And then, quite suddenly, she had stopped.

She’d pointed at the clock in the living room. ‘They’ll be back soon; they won’t be out for long. You can’t be here when they get home.’

‘Come with me,’ Scarlett had said impulsively. Even as she said it, she’d thought how crazy it was to think like that. Was she going to take Juliette back to her tiny room in the flat? They had no money, no proper place to live.

But Juliette hadn’t wanted to leave. ‘No, I can’t, I can’t. It’s all right, it’s easier now. He doesn’t bother with me so much any more; and I like being left alone. I can read in my room and get food when I feel like it, or watch films. Other people have to go out and get jobs, don’t they? They don’t want me doing something like that. As soon as I left school they never said anything more about it.’

Juliette hadn’t asked anything about Scarlett. Where she’d been, what had happened to her, why she’d come back. Not that first day, nor on any subsequent visits. At first Scarlett, overwhelmed at seeing her sister again, didn’t notice; later she found it hurtful. But it took time for them to find each other again, to fit back together. And, after all, there were plenty of other subjects they didn’t discuss either: they didn’t need to. For example, why Scarlett waited until Clive and Annie went out before coming to see Juliette. It was just between the two of them, this bond, this understanding. The roles they had had once upon a time had changed and expanded, but at the core remained the same: Juliette knew what she wanted, was set in her ways. And Scarlett accommodated her.

Juliette moved again, stretched, sat up on the edge of the bed for a moment and then shuffled to the en-suite. Scarlett took advantage of the moment of privacy to get dressed. With the curtains open she felt more awake. She turned on the TV and the kettle, because she could hear Juliette crying in the bathroom. She had cried a lot last night too, had still been sniffing and trembling until she fell asleep. Nothing Scarlett said or did seemed to make a difference.

‘All right, Jul?’ Scarlett asked, when Juliette eventually unlocked the bathroom door and came back in. Scarlett had made them both tea, and it was getting cold.

Juliette mumbled something in reply, pulling on yesterday’s socks.

‘I know you’re upset,’ Scarlett said, ‘but I wish we could talk.’

‘Talk about what?’ Juliette said. ‘I want to go home. I want clean clothes. I don’t like it here. Do you think they’ll let me go home today?’

‘Me’
,
Scarlett thought.
Not ‘us’
…

‘I don’t know.’

But Juliette’s shoulders were shaking again and a second later she let out a loud, gasping sob. Scarlett went to sit next to her, to put her arms around her, but Juliette shrank back.

‘Jul,’ she said, ‘it’s okay. It’ll be all right, I promise…’

‘No,’ Juliette wailed. ‘It won’t, it won’t.’

‘It will,’ Scarlett persisted. ‘We can start again, just you and me, it will be good. You won’t need to worry about anything.’

Juliette said something then, and Scarlett thought she hadn’t heard correctly. She said, ‘What?’ quietly, not really wanting it repeated but at the same time hoping she’d misheard.

And Juliette’s voice, quiet, miserable, full of tears: ‘I want my mum…’

Lou was sitting in Rob Jefferson’s office with Zoe Adams, waiting for the DI to get back from the morning meeting. If it hadn’t already been going on for nearly half an hour, she would have gatecrashed it. As it was, everything would have to wait for the warrant, and Sam was busy putting the paperwork together.

‘I could really do with a network chart,’ Lou said. ‘I know it takes a while. But I think that’s the only way to see the links between all these individuals. And I’m sure you’d find more intel supporting it, especially given that some of our officers can’t spell and don’t seem to be able to link things up properly.’

‘I’ll get right on to it. I’ve finished the download analysis on the phone retrieved from the Volvo, anyway – I just need to email it out to you.’

‘Thank you, Zoe. I’m sorry to throw all this at you.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s my job, after all.’

That reminded her of her awkward conversation with Jason yesterday, and the likelihood that he’d had a conversation with Zoe about who was doing what and why Lou felt she had to pass extra work to another senior analyst who wasn’t even connected with the investigation.

‘Did you see that addendum to the previous phone analysis?’ Zoe added.

‘No,’ Lou said.

‘I sent it to you. Only about ten minutes ago, though. Some very interesting links there —’

Rob Jefferson came in, looking flustered. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said. ‘You been waiting long?’

‘No, you’re fine. How’s it going?’

‘Lots of things coming in. What was it you wanted to discuss?’

Lou explained about Reggie Stark, summarising the intelligence. ‘I’d really like Zoe to do me a network chart when she’s got a minute. I think it will help to clarify things. In the meantime, I’ve got Sam Hollands doing us a warrant.’

‘That’s great, thanks. Let’s hope that baseball bat is still tucked behind his door, and that it’s got McVey’s DNA on it.’

Zoe said, ‘The phone analysis I’ve been doing supports everything you’ve just said, too. I’ll leave you to read it, but basically it looks as if the phone in the burned-out Volvo can be attributed to Reggie Stark.’

‘Can you copy the phone analysis in to Sam Hollands, Zoe?’ Lou asked. ‘Anything extra to go on the warrant will help.’

‘Of course.’

‘And Rob – can I leave it to you to get Tac Team tasked for the warrant?’ Lou asked.

‘Yep, no problem. Just give me the nod when it’s ready. I’ll go and see what the availability is now. Are you able to help with the briefing later? Helen Bamber can do the interview; I’ll see who else is free to assist.’