Alice couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that had plagued her all evening, no matter how hard she tried. It was going to happen again – even though he wasn’t in the house. She just knew. Her anxiety made her grasp Mr Big Ears so tightly he grumbled. On the television, a cartoon bird ran off at high speed as a coyote wearing supersonic skates fell off a mountainside. Tonight she did not chuckle at the programme.
Her mother bustled into the room, looking like a princess in her long gown.
‘See you in the morning, sweetie. Sleep well.’
She bent to drop a gentle kiss on her daughter’s cheek then brushed a lock of hair away from the child’s face. As she did so she looked into the large pale-blue eyes, fringed by impossibly long dark lashes, and was hit by a wave of love. She stroked Alice’s forehead and whispered, ‘Night, night, sweetheart,’ then drew away, leaving behind a familiar scent of lemon, bergamot and orange, which normally would have comforted the girl. Tonight, Alice was not comforted. She did not want to be left in the huge three-storey house with a fourteen-year-old goth who wore black eyeliner so thickly on her pale face that she looked like a zombie. She shrank further into the chair, one arm around her toy rabbit, Mr Big Ears.
In a small voice she whined, ‘Do you have to go out?’
Her mother’s mood changed instantly. ‘Of course I do. Paul is up for the best actor award. You know all this.’ Her voice rose as it did when she was displeased. That was her mother, one moment happy and lovable, the next cold and bad tempered. ‘We talked about it earlier when you were in the bath. I know things have felt different since we moved here but you’ll get used to it. You’ll have to get used to it. It’s only been three weeks. It’s going to feel odd. Now stop being difficult and make an effort. This is where we’re going to live, like it or not. And Natasha may look a little bit strange but she really likes you. She’s not one to show her emotions. Paul told me she likes you a lot. She’s going to be your new big sister when Paul and I get married.’
Alice hated the idea of someone replacing Daddy but, no matter what, she knew it was going to happen. She had sulked and cried about it but Mummy only got cross with her and said she was behaving like a spoilt brat. The wedding was going to take place very soon. ‘A whirlwind romance,’ her mother had said. Alice fumed quietly. How could Daddy be so quickly forgotten? Her mother had met Paul and fallen head over heels in love with him less than a year after Daddy had been killed. Paul was obviously keen on Mummy too. He had showered her with expensive presents, including the beautiful crystal bracelet she was wearing. It had taken only three months of dating before he had invited her to move into the Farmhouse with him and his two teenagers, Natasha and Lucas.
‘I don’t want to leave,’ she wailed when her mother told her they were moving. ‘This is home. This is where you, me and Daddy lived.’
Her mother held her by the wrists and looked into her eyes.
‘I know this is hard for you, but it has been dreadful for me too. I miss your father. I miss him so much but I can’t carry on living alone, trying to make ends meet. Paul is a good man. He’s kind and will look after us both. He’s very wealthy. He has a beautiful house near a lake and woods with a paddock. He even has ponies. What little girl wouldn’t want to live in a big house with a huge bedroom and ride ponies?’
The truth was she didn’t care where they lived as long as she and Mummy were together. Ever since she had met Paul, Mummy hadn’t been so interested in her. She shooed her out of the room when Paul visited and instead of it being about what she and Mummy were going to do for the day, it became about what Mummy and Paul were going to do. She was losing Mummy day by day.
She really wanted it to be just her and Mummy and Daddy again but that was never going to happen even though she had prayed and prayed for a miracle. She got a mini miracle when Mr Big Ears began to talk to her. He spoke to her just after Paul started coming around. He didn’t like Paul either. She understood the first time he spoke that somehow her daddy had worked out a way to come back and be with her. If only he could have found a way to be with Mummy. Life had been miserable without him, with Mummy crying all the time, and the flat getting dirtier and dirtier as she moped about the place. She knew Mummy liked Paul a lot. Too much. He had a nice smile and was very tall. He didn’t speak to Alice as if she was a little kid, and had told her he would never try to replace her father but he would always look out for her, and if she needed anything, she was to ask. Mr Big Ears didn’t believe him. Neither did she.
She looked at her mother’s face, once again radiant at the prospect of going to a special film event, and she gripped Mr Big Ears tighter. He folded into her tiny frame, appearing to return the squeeze. Daddy had given her the toy rabbit and she adored him. Now, of course, since the mini miracle, he went everywhere with her. Mr Big Ears was her friend, her confidant and comfort when she was upset or had concerns. She spoke to him all the time and listened intently for her dead father’s voice coming from Mr Big Ear’s mouth. At the moment he was keeping his own counsel and stared into the distance, ignoring the conversation.
Her mother walked away, collected her evening bag with the long gold chain from the granite worktop in the kitchen and glanced back into the snug.
‘Now, you’ll be a good girl for Natasha, won’t you? She’s in the front room watching a film if you need her.’
She nodded. ‘Lucas?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘Lucas is in the village staying the night with his friend, Dan. Did you want him to be here too?’
She shook her head. That was the last thing she wanted. Not after the last time.
‘Don’t go yet, Mummy,’ she shouted, panic rising in her small chest.
Her mother hesitated at the kitchen door. ‘Don’t be silly. You’re a big girl now. You’ll have to get accustomed to me leaving you from time to time. We’ll be here when you wake up. Now, no more of this nonsense. Go straight up to bed when you’ve finished watching your cartoons and don’t play up for Natasha. Show her what a good girl you can be.’
She wanted to call out again but her mother slipped through the door, leaving her curled up on the large chair, staring at the screen. She caught distant murmurings. Paul was telling Natasha to phone if she needed them. Natasha mumbled something in response. The heavy front door shut with a bang and she was left alone in the room with only the sound of the Roadrunner beeping triumphantly as it ran away from Wile E. Coyote. How she wished she could run like that. If she could, Lucas wouldn’t be able to catch her. She brushed the thoughts of Lucas away. He was not here tonight. She need not worry.
The snug was the friendliest room in the vast house. It was an extension of the kitchen filled with bouncy pale green settees that matched the decor and a large television screen that dominated one wall. She preferred to stay in here rather than the formidable sitting room with its large settees facing each other beside a huge fireplace, and china ornaments of pale women who stared into space. She did not like the wooden-floored Victorian conservatory either, with huge glass windows that made her feel like she was in a giant goldfish bowl, and she had no interest in the music room, although she had tried to play a couple of tunes on the piano once or twice.
Her mother was usually in the kitchen and Alice preferred to be near her, even if she was just in the background watching television while her mother drank wine with Paul. Natasha was fourteen and spent most of her time skulking in her room, her dark-rimmed eyes full of resentment and teenage angst. Lucas hardly frequented the snug, preferring his own room where he played loud rock music whose beat could be felt resonating throughout the house. Both of them spent most of the year at boarding schools but were currently at home for the school holidays.
She had not made up her mind about how friendly Natasha really was. Natasha rarely smiled and seemed to ignore everything going on around her, especially her and Mummy, yet just occasionally she seemed to regard them with something of a wistful stare, much like a puppy who wants to be friends but is unsure how to instigate the relationship. However, before anyone could act upon it, the look would have vanished and Natasha would have retreated behind her white expressionless mask. She was probably not looking forward to gaining a little sister full-time.
Then there was Lucas. A chill ran through her. He had seemed nice at first. A slight boy for his age who at almost sixteen had acne-scarred skin, eyes like dark coals and a cruel way of curling his lip when examining you. He had looked her up and down when she had first arrived then cocked his head on one side and announced it would be cool to have a kid sister. She had believed he was okay then. That was before. Before the horrible evening when he had done those things to her.
The cartoon finished and she turned off the set. The Aga in the kitchen was alight and the place felt warm and cosy. The house was so different from where she and Mummy had lived before Mummy met Paul. Even though it had not been huge like this house, she had preferred the old flat with its shabbier furnishings and now she missed it. It was where she, Mummy and Daddy had lived before the accident. Clutching her rabbit, she headed to her room on the third floor away from the others. She preferred it that way. Up here she could hide from the life below and talk to Mr Big Ears.
Her bedroom had been decorated for her in shades of pink with a princess theme. It was surprisingly neat for a young girl’s room, but she liked order and all her toys and dolls were lined up on the shelf at the far end of the room next to the en-suite bathroom. Tall wardrobes filled the other wall and the room seemed bare apart from the bed, a dressing table on which were displayed various ceramic animals all in a neat line, and a bedside table. She tidied from her bed the pencils and colouring book she had been using earlier that evening, placing the pencils in order of size on the bedside table. She pulled down the duvet cover and tucked Mr Big Ears into bed before removing her slippers and sliding in next to him. She kept her night light on and stared at the shadows on the walls.
Darkness had always been her friend. Before that night, she had always welcomed it and snuggled down in her bed next to the rabbit, listening to his soft voice until sleep overtook her. Since that night, she had been more wary, leaving on the owl-shaped night light and often burying herself deep under the pink duvet covered with large flowers.
It wouldn’t happen tonight. Lucas was out. She was safe. She hugged Mr Big Ears goodnight. He whispered that he thought Mummy had looked beautiful tonight and that one day she, Alice, would wear an identical dress to a ball and would look like a princess. She gave him an extra squeeze. She was sure he would have preferred Mummy to stay at home too.
Just as she felt the first drifts of sleep overtaking her body, a creak on the stairs startled her awake. Mr Big Ears seemed to sit upright in dismay. She shoved him towards the bottom of the bed to hide him. Blood rushed to her ears and thudded there, its drumming obliterating any further sound. Her mind raced. Someone was heading for her room. The fifth stair on the staircase to the top floor let out a little groan when it was trodden on. That had been the sound she had heard.
She had the sudden urge to go to the toilet. She could not wet the bed. She was a big girl. She would be nine years old in three months. She fought to control her bladder as she heard the door to her bedroom ease open and a voice whisper, ‘I’m coming to play. Are you ready?’
Her body began to tremble. It was going to happen again. She wormed her way down the bed to hide then let out an inaudible squeak of terror as she felt the duvet being jerked away from her. She screwed her eyes up and wound herself into a tight ball. She felt cold hands pull at her shoulders. She curled up tighter.
‘Come on, little sister. It’s time to play our secret game. Wake up. You know you enjoy it.’
The same hands pulled at her nightdress and raised it high above her hips. She could feel the cool air on her buttocks. Tears filled her eyes as she tried to wriggle away. She received a sharp slap on her backside. ‘Shush! No one can hear you.’
He grabbed at her and tugged at her legs, twisting and pulling until she was flat on her back looking up into the soulless eyes.
‘That’s better. Time to play nicely,’ Lucas said. He stroked her face with a finger. She could smell alcohol on his breath. Sometimes Mummy smelt of drink. It usually made her more affectionate, and after a night of drinking wine downstairs, she would come to check on her daughter and plant a little kiss on her head before turning in for the night. This was nothing like that. Lucas’s breath smelt sour and she turned her head away. He didn’t care. He leant closer to her, eyes slightly unfocused and mumbled, ‘You’re so pretty. You’re perfect. I’ll like having such a pretty sister.’
She tried to hold her breath while he spoke. Her heart hammered against her chest. She could feel him pressing into her and she knew what he was going to do next. It would be like last time when Mummy had gone out for dinner with Paul. That time, Lucas had been forced to stop because they had returned unexpectedly. He had threatened her as he left and she had not said a word about that night. Her mind had blocked most of it out and she had hoped it would not happen again, but feeling his warmth on top of her thin nightdress she knew this time she was not going to be so lucky.
‘You know what you have to do, don’t you, or I’ll tear off your rabbit’s head and pull out all his stuffing and I’ll make you watch while I do it. You wouldn’t want to be without Rabbit, would you?’ A malevolent grin spread across his face.
He had threatened the same last time he had come to her room. He was going to rip Mr Big Ears apart if she didn’t play his little game with him. She couldn’t lose her rabbit. It was all that remained of Daddy. She fought back tears.
Without taking his eyes off her, Lucas dropped his hand to the waistband on his tracksuit trousers. ‘Ready, little sister?’
He dropped his pants and bottoms in one movement, releasing his member in front of her, and climbed on top of her again.
‘Go on. Touch it.’ He grabbed her wrist and forced her hand towards it. ‘Hold it,’ he hissed. She opened her hand and grasped it. He groaned.
‘That’s it. Rub it like I told you last time.’
She did as bidden.
‘No. That’s not right,’ he suddenly exclaimed as his erection began to wither. ‘You’re doing it wrong!’ He grabbed her by the waist and, in one easy movement, rolled over onto his back, pulling her on onto his lap, clamping her there. He could feel her nakedness against his own. A smile crept over his lips as a new thought occurred to him.
‘It won’t hurt. It’ll be our special bond. Our brother and sister secret,’ he whispered.
A finger found its way into her, pushed deeper into her, probing and searching. Too terrified to move, she allowed another finger to enter her, stretching her further. Large tears began to form. She wanted Lucas to stop but he was lost in his world muttering incoherent words.
She squirmed and wriggled but he was too strong for her. He was hurting her. She was about to scream for him to stop then she heard Daddy’s voice. He was very cross with Lucas. Lucas should not be doing this. Mr Big Ears had moved and was now beside her leg. He looked up at her earnestly. He had something urgent to tell her about her bedside table. She listened. The tears stopped, to be replaced by a rush of something else – a force so great she had little control over it. She was not going to let Lucas do this to her. Lucas was now making guttural noises of pleasure, his eyes closed. She chose her moment and when Big Ears shouted ‘Ready!’ she reached forward for the object, breaking contact with Lucas and distracting him. His eyes flew open and he screamed in surprise as she raised the sharpened red pencil in her hand and jabbed it hard into his left eye.
Robyn Carter sat in her five-year-old silver Polo watching and waiting for the front door to open – she couldn’t pass the time by reading or doing a crossword because she had to be ready to act. Her video camera lay on the passenger seat next to a discarded fruit-and-nut-bar wrapper.
Her quarry, Terence Smith, was inside number 52 Rosewood Avenue and she needed to catch him soon. Terence had made an insurance claim for a bad back, allegedly injured while lifting barrels at a pub. Something about his claim had raised suspicions at the insurance company and they had hired R. & J. Associates to investigate its validity.
She had been in her car since seven o’clock simply staring at the door. Much of her work involved hanging around outside houses or workplaces and could be mind-numbingly dull at times, but Robyn did not complain. She had time on her side and she had plenty of patience; her skills had been honed in the police force.
She checked her watch – a sixteenth birthday present from her parents who, at the time, had despaired at their daughter’s terrible timekeeping. Simple in style with a white face and delicate golden pointers, the watch kept accurate time. It had never let her down. Thanks to it, Robyn had known exactly what time her parents had been struck and killed by a drunken lorry driver while out walking their retriever, Rufus. She had known what time Dr Mahmoud had given her the news she was expecting a child. She had even known what time she had returned to their hotel room in Marrakesh, bursting to tell her fiancé Davies, who worked for Military Intelligence, about the baby. He was not back from a meeting with an informant who knew the location of several militant cells, and she had waited eagerly, anticipating the look that would appear on his face when she told him. She also had known what time the phone rang when a subdued voice told her Davies had been killed in an ambush just outside the city. And she had known what time she miscarried the tiny life form inside her. All of which seemed a lifetime ago. She had changed a lot since those days. She rubbed the leather strap absent-mindedly and checked the time. It was exactly nine thirty when the man emerged from his home.
Robyn was parked thirty yards down the road. Ross, her associate, was parked facing the opposite direction so they had the man covered should he turn right or left out of the driveway.
Robyn snatched the video camera from the seat and pressed the record button. Terence Smith was in his fifties, stocky and balding. He whistled as he headed with a confident swagger towards the driver’s door of his Ford Mondeo. As he reached it, the car keys slipped from his grip, tumbling to the ground with a clatter. He bent down to collect them in one swoop before swinging open the door to the car and jumping in. ‘Gotcha,’ she murmured as she captured footage of him getting into the vehicle with no evidence of any back pain or restricted movement.
Robyn had been trailing the man all week and had already filmed him going to the supermarket, where he had emerged with two large carrier bags of goods that he had hurled into the back of his car with little effort.
She put aside the camera. It was time to pursue Terence. She guessed he would be heading to the Mucky Duck, a down-and-out pub in the nearby village where he had a part-time job as a barman. She might even catch him out, declaring he needed to change a barrel. Sure enough, Terence’s car passed hers and she started the Polo’s motor, ready to follow at a safe distance.
Unlike surveillance of unfaithful husbands, gathering evidence for an insurance claim could take weeks if not months of watching the claimant for hours on end. Robyn accepted the tedium that accompanied such a case, focusing only on getting results. She was a results woman. She would catch this guy no matter how long it took to collect the evidence. She overtook a Toyota Prius driven at a snail’s pace and eased in behind the Ford Mondeo. She was not concerned about someone spotting her. She had perfected the art of being a chameleon. Neither she nor her bland car attracted attention of any kind. Her dashboard lit up as a telephone call came through.
‘Hey, Ross.’
A voice, roughened by decades of smoking growled, ‘Looks like you win again. I’m going back to the office and will let you deal with this.’
‘No problems. I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘No can do. I’m going to check out Robert Brannigan tonight. His wife phoned the office earlier and said he was going out with friends but she thinks he’s going to see the new mistress. Said something about telltale signs of new jeans and aftershave. It’s happened before. She’s highly suspicious.’
‘Good luck with that. Not my favourite job.’ She hated having to tell the client they were right all along and email them photographs of their loved one in compromising situations, all the while knowing it would rip them apart.
‘A job’s a job. You become hardened to it after a while, although looking at Robert Brannigan, I’d be very surprised if he’s having an affair. He’s got to be one of the ugliest guys on the planet. Who’d want to shag him?’
‘Women are attracted to power. Maybe that’s the reason. Think of all those ugly pop stars and politicians with stunning girlfriends. Robert’s a local councillor. Bet someone got all heated up at the prospect of him making important decisions about speed bumps and rubbish recycling and couldn’t wait to jump into bed with him.’
Ross picked up on the tone in her voice and scoffed in agreement. ‘That’ll be it. Or some old dear wants him to get her a disabled badge so she can park closer to the shops.’ He laughed at the thought. ‘Okay, I’ll catch you tomorrow. Hope you have a barrel of laughs at the pub.’
Ross disconnected, leaving Robyn shaking her head at the terrible pun. Ross was never one for long conversations. He was her cousin and a decade older than her at almost fifty. His face was friendly at times with green eyes over which heavy brows waggled in amusement, but generally it was unremarkable. His dark hair, flecked with the odd grey, had a life of its own, sticking up regardless of how often he combed it, making him look unkempt and vague – a look that was deceptive, disguising, as it did, a sharp brain and a keen eye.
Robyn had a great deal of respect for her cousin. He had been there for her when she returned to the UK from Morocco, a shadow of her former self. Her lover and unborn child had both been stolen from her so quickly that her mind and spirit were shattered. She needed time to heal. She took a leave of absence from the police force – a job that until then she had loved. Ross and his wife, Jeanette, had looked after her, coaxed her back to life and, ever practical, Ross had suggested she join him at his private investigation agency for a while, until she could face a future with the force again. It had been the lifeline she needed. She had begun working with Ross. The work was varied but not too taxing, the hours were dreadful, allowing her no social life whatsoever, and most of the time she didn’t need to talk to anyone. In short, it was perfect for her.
She glanced in the rear-view mirror. The Prius had disappeared from sight and was undoubtedly holding up a stream of traffic. They were approaching the Mucky Duck pub, so she dropped back, waited for Terence Smith to signal and turn into the car park, then she drove past and parked further down the road. Robyn checked her mobile, ensuring it was on record mode, waited five minutes, then grabbed her notepad and pen and headed into the pub.
Behind the bar Terence was chatting to a girl in her early twenties, heavily made up and wearing what Robyn’s mother would have described as a belt for a skirt. For one moment her thoughts drifted to her parents and her mother’s effervescent laugh. Both of her parents had enjoyed life, their house filled with laughter. Her childhood had been a happy one. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She shook her head to clear it and slid up to the bar where Terence threw her a cursory glance.
‘What can I get you, love?’ he asked.
‘Orange juice,’ she replied. He nodded and turned away. She had barely flickered on his radar. He was more engrossed in the conversation about a customer who had come on to his young colleague.
‘Dirty little sod. I bet he was married ’n’ all,’ Terence commented as he poured the orange juice.
He plonked the glass on a mat in front of Robyn. ‘Two pounds fifty, love, ta,’ he said, collecting the coins she had pushed forward and turning his attention to two new customers, now greeting him in loud voices.
‘All right, Smithy? You still on for the match on Saturday?’
‘Yeah, reckon,’ replied Terence. ‘It’s gonna be a right ol’ game. Those boys from Sandtown are reckless bastards. Reckon they’ll try and mince us good ’n’ proper. More likely want to give us a good kicking than play friendly footie. I’ve been in training though.’ He shot a grin and flexed his biceps. ‘Lifted thirty kilos today. I’ll be ready to punch the livin’ daylights out of that clever twat of a midfielder. I’ll smack him on the nose if he tries anything this week. He sliced through Gazza deliberately last time and it’s about time we evened with him.’
No one gave Robyn a second glance. Her phone rested on the bar and she scribbled a few lines in her book that referred to ‘presentation’ and ‘blue sky thinking’. If anyone glimpsed it they would assume she was preparing for a meeting. Although she was tall at five foot ten inches, her flat-heeled boots, worn under dark jeans and teamed with a grey hooded top, did nothing to attract attention. Her mousy-brown hair tumbled forward, hiding her face that was free of make-up, and her large dark-framed glasses hid the deep-blue, searching eyes behind them. When Robyn wanted to, she could shake off any attention. It was a skill she had perfected over the years and it had served her well. Even after meeting her, no one could ever describe her appearance. She was ‘average’, and as far as she was concerned that was the best cover possible for a private investigator or, at times, for a detective inspector in the Staffordshire Police.
The men continued to bandy insults and talk about football while Terence Smith went out the back. Along with the photographs, Robyn had sufficient evidence from his earlier conversation to leave him be for now. She had already built up a pretty damning case against him. The match at the weekend should prove to be the final piece she required, and once she had photographic evidence of him playing in the match, she would hand it all over to the insurance company to take the necessary measures. She downed her juice and left the bar without anyone noticing her.
Once back in the Polo, she checked the recording. Smith’s voice was clear. This was useful evidence. She looked in the rear-view mirror and smiled without humour at her reflection. The plain woman with the large aquiline nose and pale face who stared back could be any age from thirty to fifty. Within seconds she had discarded the glasses, yanked off the wig and twisted her long chestnut hair into a ponytail. She put the car into first gear and puttered away. Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she had not eaten all day. Robyn rarely listened to her stomach’s complaints. She was not interested in food or drink. What she needed now was a serious endorphin rush.
The gym was empty apart from the usual gym rats always there at this time of day. Robyn wondered if they actually ever left the place. It didn’t seem to matter when she arrived, whether it was six o’clock in the morning or nine at night, the same three people would be found pumping iron or racing on one of the treadmills, heads down, lost in a world of music piped into their ears. Robyn needed her fix but at least she could still drag herself away and hold down a job. These guys looked like they’d break down and cry if you told them they couldn’t work out.
She dropped her towel over the front of the treadmill and performed some stretches to limber up. She’d been cooped up in the Polo too long and her neck crunched as she gently stretched it to one side and then the other.
Climbing onto the treadmill, she set off at a gentle pace. Robyn didn’t hold with starting too quickly. Like everything in her life, her training was measured, slow and steady. She would increase the speed when her body was ready. She fell into a rhythmical stride, ignoring her reflection in the mirror as her ponytail bounced up and down. Although it was useful to check positions when working with weights or equipment, she didn’t like watching herself run. Instead, she lazily regarded the reflections of the other people in the gym. In one corner, a woman in her forties was doing crunches while lying on a large blue stability ball. Tricia was divorced and hell-bent on attracting as much male attention as possible. She had spent a cons
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