Dark Place to Hide (32 page)

‘You found something?’ she whispers as we cross the road by the post box.

‘I know what they did to Diane that night.’ I explain about finding the capsules. ‘Within about ten minutes the amnesia would have set in and after about half an hour, Diane would have been heavily sedated.’

‘The bastards!’ We round the corner of the church car park.

I’m choked with grief and vehemence; my words tumble out like a growl. ‘If I discover that scum of the earth isn’t in Monaco, I’m going to rip his slimy body to pieces to find out what actually happened.’

‘But you found the evidence – we’ve got them!’

‘It’s not enough. Gillian has a legitimate prescription and there’s no other reason for either of them to be investigated. Elaine didn’t witness anything untoward at the party. It was all executed very carefully. Anyone seeing them would think Gillian was taking her home. Dee isn’t even here to go to the police.’

My body is heavy as I sink into the passenger seat. Tara pulls out onto the main road.

‘Right now, what I know is worse than useless, because I can’t prove a thing.’

The grumbling sound of the engine hangs between us for a while.

‘The party happened weeks before she went missing,’ Tara says eventually. ‘Is it related?’

‘That’s the bit I can’t work out.’ I slump down, feeling numb.

‘Do you think Morrell was concerned about a paternity test? Could he have known you had one?’

‘If he had, he would have stepped in sooner, surely.’

‘What about the results you got?’

‘They can’t help us. The lab team at the hospital were clear that the foetus would be cremated and they wouldn’t be able to make any other DNA comparisons after mine.’ My voice is strung tight with exasperation. ‘And the Morrell’s have an alibi for the night Dee disappeared, remember?’

‘That blows that, then.’ She taps her nails on the steering wheel. ‘It’s the last thing you’d think of, seeing Gillian – she seems so classy and proper.’

‘The perfect cover.’

Tara sighs. ‘She might be going along with it to please her husband – some women do, don’t they? Put up with things to keep the marriage going.’

‘Or maybe her sexual tastes lean that way too. You never know what couples get up to behind closed doors.’ A police car passes us and I’m relieved Tara is driving within the speed limit for once. ‘What it does mean is that Dee is innocent. She didn’t knowingly sleep with anyone.’ My voice breaks. ‘She was telling the truth. She was raped and she didn’t even know it.’

There is little comfort – right now – in this knowledge. I know I will be forever haunted by my guilt for doubting you.

There is a sharp bang at the door at first light. I feel like I’ve only just got into bed. I race downstairs wearing only my boxer shorts with one thought on my mind.
They’ve found you!

It’s the sergeant who came before to record your disappearance; Sgt Howis and another officer I remember, PC Mole.

‘Dr Penn…’ Howis growls.

‘Yes.’ This doesn’t sound good.

‘We’d like you to come down to the station with us, sir.’

‘Why? Is it Diane? What have you found?’

‘We need to ask you some questions, sir. If you could come with us.’ I hadn’t noticed before how intimidating Howis is. He has a pudgy face with overhanging jowls beneath tight lips that don’t know how to smile.

All I could think of was my unauthorised visit to the Morrell’s house. We must have been seen. Has Tara been identified and hauled into the police station, too?

‘Let me put some clothes on,’ I protest. The younger officer follows me upstairs and waits by the door as I slip on a pair of chinos and a polo shirt. I squint at the clock; it’s not even 7am.

I pick up my phone and remember the shots I took of Morrell’s appointment diary. I’ve been preoccupied with finding the Rohypnol and haven’t looked at them yet. The officer is talking on his radio, so I slip behind the door, briefly out of sight. I haven’t got long. I swiftly flick through them looking for more ‘QE’ entries. There are five of them altogether, and I know for certain that the final entry, August 11
^th
, was the same date Clara was last seen at the hospital. Morrell was there too. Fancy that – he’s been making regular visits. I conjure up the CCTV footage in my mind and try to imagine whether the figure of the man with the apple in his pocket could have been Morrell. It’s certainly possible.

There’s a tap on the door and the officer is keen to get moving.

Not now. I need to follow this up.
Another officer joins us and takes my arm. I have no choice.

Once I get to the station I’m taken through to an interview room, passing faces I know in my usual role as criminologist. They look up, smile gingerly and look away as I walk past: Krishnan, one of the lads I see at the gym, Roland and Johnny Mack. I’ve asked for my old friend, Martin Hackett, to attend as my solicitor, knowing this is going to be rather embarrassing. Neil and Paul are probably here, too, but I won’t be allowed to speak to them, it’s a conflict of interests.

Martin arrives, out of breath and oily from a fresh shave. In his rush to leave the house, he’s splashed on too much aftershave. We are allowed a few minutes on our own and he explains it’s about my car. They’ve found it. He doesn’t mention the Morrell’s place – this isn’t about that.

Two detectives join us – Neil’s colleague, DS Mick Tolland and DC Susie Reichs, who is going to take notes. Martin clears his throat and straightens his jacket. DS Tolland switches on
the tape and recites the usual caution. He looks mild mannered and clean cut and I could imagine being friends with him in another situation. DC Reichs looks new and eager to get scalps under her belt. She has cropped dark hair and small eyes that dart from my feet to the top of my head, taking everything in. Her voice is brittle with the effrontery of youth; she’s decided I’m guilty of whatever it is, already. They start by asking for basic details like the date you went missing and when I last saw you.

‘What’s the registration number of your car, Dr Penn?’

I reel it off for them.

‘And when did you last drive it?’

I have to think. ‘Several hours before my wife went missing. I went out around lunchtime to get some vegetables from the market – the one in Horden.’

‘Can you remember what belongings you had in the car?’

‘Where did you find it?’

‘If you could just answer the question, Dr Penn.’

‘Er – there’s not much. I rarely leave anything in there apart from perhaps a spare umbrella, a blanket and plastic bags for the supermarket.’ I correct myself. ‘But Diane was driving it – she was in it last, so she might have left something I don’t know about.’

‘Did you leave a pair of shoes in the car?’

‘
My
shoes?’

‘Yes.’ DS Tolland is sitting back in the chair his arms folded. DC Reichs is poised with her pen, crouched low over the page.

‘I don’t…think so.’

DS Tolland produces a see-through evidence bag with a pair of brown brogues in it and places it between us on the table. ‘Are these your shoes, Dr Penn?’

I know the answer, but to be doubly sure, I peer inside at the label and the size, recognising the way my heel has rubbed a V-shape at the back. ‘Yes – these are mine.’

I’ve been moved. I’m no longer in the stable. I don’t know why, but I’ve been brought somewhere dark and stiflingly hot. There are no windows, only a hatch in the floor. It must be an attic, but where? Who knows I’m here?

It’s worse than before. The air is thick with dust and I can’t hear a single sound that belongs to the outside world. I have no way of differentiating night from day – it is one eternal black tunnel. I can’t bear being without light – it’s too much like being dead. I’m so disorientated, my mind has started to create shapes, colours and pictures to compensate – I can see how people go mad in situations like this. When will this incarceration end? What happens now? Is he waiting for something? Is he going to kill me or not?

The floor is hard and spiders make webs across my face. There are one or two bluebottles, buzzing incessantly – I can’t be sure if they’re real or inside my head. I’m only aware of disjointed chunks of time. I close my eyes and several hours seem to slip by. I blink and it feels like a new day, although I can’t be certain, because the darkness continues. Every waking moment, I’m tormented by questions, so it’s better to be asleep.

I’ve barely been aware of his visits. He’s definitely putting something in the food, but I have to eat. He peels away my gag and pushes the dish of food under my mouth. Baked beans, soup, porridge. If I don’t eat he takes it away and I’ve missed my chance. I do as I’m told. It is the only way I can stay alive. I tried screaming one time, but he dropped the tray, slapped the gag back on and I was left without food for hours.

When I feel stronger, I’m going to try something different. I imagine the moment when he slides open the hatch and that’s when I’ll give his hands a hard kick with my feet. The problem is he’s usually so quiet and I’m so drugged up that he steals up on me too quickly – every single time. I’m never ready. I can’t keep my eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time.

It doesn’t sound much of a plan – now I think of it – but it’s the only one I’ve got. Even if I was primed, I might startle and bruise him, but it won’t disable him. He’ll probably withdraw food for a day to punish me, but at least I’ll have tried. Unless I’ve tried it already. My mind is mush. I’ve been thinking about my plan so hard and so often that I wonder if I’ve already attempted it – and failed once again.

I have no other plan. Without any light, I can only feel my way around in a limited fashion, but it’s hardly surprising that there’s nothing here to attack him with. There’s a water tank because I can hear it gurgling, and near-black shadows suggest a few crates. I’ve shuffled around on my backside, but haven’t found anything but torn blankets and empty boxes. Nothing sharp.

With my hands tied together I can’t use my fingers properly. I could tip the toilet bucket over him, but that would only make him furious. I’ve thought about the cutlery when the food arrives, but there is only ever a spoon and it’s plastic. My limbs are all I’ve got. I’ve been spending most of my waking time trying to work them free, but the twine is tight. I only end up exhausted and frustrated – and make no headway at all.

Loneliness eats away at me from the inside. It takes all my strength with it and thinking of you, Harper, is a mixed blessing. I desperately want you with me in my thoughts. I can hear your voice comforting me, telling me everything will be all right. I can feel your long fingers smoothing the hair away from my face, trailing down my neck. But a sound or smell around me
breaks the spell and you’re gone. A dark period of misery follows, every time. It feels like you’ve died – and inevitably I move on to mourning the loss of our unborn child. Those times send me into a savage despair it’s getting harder to come back from.

There’s a gangrenous green hole where my spirit used to be.

I think he might have broken me.

19 August

The interview room is starting to feel smaller and hotter. DS Tolland leans back, his hands either side of the shoes. DC Reichs does the opposite; she leans forward ready to sweep in for the kill.

‘Where are these shoes normally kept and when did you last see them?’ Tolland asks.

‘They would be kept in the cottage – either in the shoe rack at the front door or in the wardrobe.’ I fight to stop my voice from quivering. I don’t remember when I last saw them; I haven’t needed them for work and I’ve been living in sandals or trainers since the end of term.

Tolland clears his throat and DC Reich sits up straight. Bad news is brewing.

‘We found your car, Dr Penn – on a caravan site near Chichester. Do you have anything to say about that?’

‘No – I mean, I had no idea…’ Nowhere near Heathrow, then?

‘Can you tell us why your shoes were on the floor behind the driver’s seat?’

I don’t know what to say. ‘I don’t understand it.’

DS Tolland draws a breath. ‘What’s more interesting is that they have your wife’s blood on them.’

‘Blood?’ I stand up, but there’s nowhere to go. I need somewhere with some air. Martin puts out his hand in a gentle but firm gesture. ‘How much blood?’ I ask, on the verge of panting, my hands flat on the table. Martin beckons me to sit down.

‘We’re not at liberty to say,’ says Tolland, ‘but you can see why it would raise a number of questions for us, Dr Penn.’

‘I really don’t know anything about this.’ How did my shoes get in the car? What does this mean? The idea of your blood being found anywhere makes me want to rush out and start looking for you all over again. I throw a troubled frown at Martin.
What’s going on?

Martin isn’t looking so self-assured any more. He straightens his tie as if that’s going to help.

DS Tolland deals the blow. ‘Given the circumstances of your wife’s disappearance we’re concerned that you may have harmed her, Dr Penn.’

My head is in my hands. ‘No, no – absolutely not.’

‘You had, after all, just found your wife was pregnant with another man’s child – and she was leaving you.’

‘No – that’s not what happened. Diane was raped. I haven’t got proof yet – but I will have.’ I know I’m sounding earnest in a crazy way, rather than someone in possession of all the facts.

‘You said your wife left in the car, but what if you were in the car with her and at some stage during the journey, where the roads are quiet, you got your wife to stop the car and you attacked her.’

‘No – that’s not what happened. I was at the cottage. I’d had too much to drink to get behind the wheel.’ It was a feeble defence – it only made me sound irresponsible.

‘Then you took your wife’s body somewhere and left the car in a busy tourist spot where it wouldn’t be noticed for several weeks.’

Everything in the room freezes. ‘Oh my God – you’ve found her?’ I launch to my feet again, cracking my knee against the table in the process.