Dead Alone (26 page)

Jessie pulled up outside the familiar green gates and pressed the button. P.J.’s disembodied voice reverberated through the speaker.

‘Jessie, thanks for coming, this really means –’

‘Can we come in?’

‘Of course.’

The gate buzzed, clicked and began to move. She looked in the rear-view mirror. A woman from social services and a WPC occupied the rear seat. Burrows and a PC were in the car behind. This was an ambush. She was the Trojan horse. She wasn’t here for him. She was here because of something Christopher Cadell had said. Monday afternoons. Tarek’s photo of Christopher and Verity was dated. It had been taken four Mondays before Verity died. Jessie had returned to the station and re-checked the security videos. The tape did not show Verity Shore leaving the house on that or any subsequent Monday. That meant one of two things. Either the video had been doctored, or Verity had found another way to sneak out of the house. Jessie was having the tape examined. Meanwhile, she would check out the property again.

P.J. was walking down the black tiled driveway towards her. He looked more crumpled, less sure and more ravaged by sleeplessness. He watched
the second car with suspicion, but managed a smile when Jessie got out of the car.

‘DC Burrows is here to take you to the station,’ said Jessie, before P.J. could even say hello.

‘Oh.’ He looked at her with his big green eyes; they had dulled to the colour of sage. Doleful. Like his sons.

‘DCI Jones will do the interview. You may as well tell him everything, because we’ll find out in the end.’ She sounded angry. Too angry.

‘You couldn’t find it in your heart to trust me, could you?’ said P.J. quietly.

Jessie wouldn’t fall for that soft voice again.

‘This way, please.’

‘The boys are in the garden out the back, they’re making a tepee.’ He was looking straight at her. ‘That’s a wigwam, you know.’

She did know, and it was making her stomach flip. ‘DC Burrows is waiting.’

‘I should tell them –’

‘
I’ll
tell them,’ she said quickly, holding open the car door.

His eyes narrowed and all softness left his face. She watched him realise that she’d spat out the worm, that he couldn’t reel her in any more. The change in him was immediate. Down went the charade and the real beast showed its face.

‘Bernie and Craig will be here in a few hours. If I’m not back, tell Bernie to call my lawyer. Presumably you’ll know where to send her.’

‘Bernie?’

‘No. My lawyer.’ He pulled himself up to his full height. He was tall. Like his son. ‘You don’t know everything, Detective Inspector Driver. You just think you do.’

It was a blow. A deep, painful blow, and even after the non-descript Rover pulled out of the driveway, she felt the aftershock radiate through her.

Jessie started in the pool house. She checked the windows in the changing rooms, but they had been sealed shut. There was a fence dividing the property from the neighbours. It wasn’t impossible that Verity had climbed over it, but in the photo she was dressed in high heels and a minuscule dress, so it wasn’t likely. If she did get out, it had to be easy. Then it dawned on Jessie that maybe Verity hadn’t been home at all. Craig had said he was frightened for her when she was away, Danny Knight had told Ray St Giles she was away a lot. Perhaps P.J. had lost control long before Verity died.

She walked back into the house. The Eve Wirrel installation with its two and a half wrinkled condoms made her feel worse. An average week. Not even. Mark had been right, she was no better than a groupie. One in a long line. Jessie walked up the stairs and watched the boys play from the landing. She picked up the binoculars and looked at the fifteen-foot-high brick wall. Verity certainly hadn’t climbed that. She looked out over the park to the Isabella Plantation. There was something
she wasn’t seeing, something she was missing. But what? She returned to Verity’s bedroom. She would begin the search again.

Jones pulled up a chair opposite P. J. Dean and for a few moments studied the papers in front of him. He was pleased that Jessie had come to her senses, sorry that she had over-estimated the super star. He too had liked P. J. Dean, but he suspected P.J. had been playing God for so long he’d started to believe his own press. Burrows stood a fraction behind Jones and Fry stood at the door. P. J. Dean had requested a private interview. The request had been denied. This was a serious matter. Dean needed to know that.

‘I’m not under arrest,’ said P. J. Dean.

‘No. You can leave at any time. But I wouldn’t advise it. Next time – and there will be a next time, Mr Dean – our meeting might attract a little more attention.’

‘How do I know whether you can be trusted? I’ve had coppers squeal to the press before.’ Jones studied the room. He could vouch for Burrows. Fry was a different matter.

‘Fry, would you mind getting us all some tea before we start?’ Jones watched Fry’s expression harden. ‘We’ll wait for you to return before we continue,’ he said reassuringly. Jones wanted Fry to know that, if anyone squealed, he would be the
number-one suspect, but until that time Jones would give him the benefit of the doubt. Fry left and Jones once more fell into silence. After a few seconds P.J. scraped his chair along the floor and stood up. ‘I can’t stand this. What the fuck do you lot want with me?’

‘Mr Dean, we are trying to find out what happened to your wife. Most people in your position would do anything to help us.’

‘Most people aren’t in my position.’

‘Don’t be so sure, Mr Dean. A lot of people are married to someone they don’t want to be with.’

P.J. threw him an arrogant look. ‘The stakes are a bit higher in this case, don’t you think?’

Jones sighed in his enigmatic way. ‘Not really, Mr Dean, it’s still an unhappy marriage, however many stones there may be on the ring.’

‘I’ve asked you before, call me P.J. Mr Dean is my father and I am not my father.’

Jones looked at Jessie’s notes on P.J. There were press-cuttings about P.J. not attending his mother’s funeral; many people from the Mancunian suburb had taken umbrage at their local hero turning his back on them. Fame is addictive, even vicariously.

‘Please sit down.’ Jones waited for P.J. to return to his chair. ‘When did you last see your father?’

P.J.’s eyes rose slowly to meet Jones’. Fry returned with the tea. Jones made a point of taking a loud slurp of Fry’s brew and replacing the cup on the table. He leant back in his chair.

‘Was your father disappointed to find out what
you’d been up to with your sister’s best friend?’

P.J. let out a dry laugh, regained control quickly and looked Jones in the eye. ‘My sister was dead.’

‘I know – drowned. A very bad age for you to lose someone so close.’ P.J. clenched his fists and his jaw. He looked ready to explode. ‘They never found the body, did they? That must have been quite fascinating for a boy of fifteen.’

‘Football, rugby, girls, these things are fascinating. Dragging the estuary day after day for my sister was not what I would call a spectator sport.’

‘Your father is your only family now, isn’t he?’

‘I have the boys.’

‘No, P.J., they’re not yours. You can’t keep them.’

Jones saw the flash of anger. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ P.J. said.

‘You’ve lost so many of your family, your sister, your mother, your father. It’s understandable you should want to keep Bernie and Craig close.’

‘They are like family to me, only better. They stay because they want to.’

‘
Like
family, P.J.?’

‘This has nothing to do with Verity’s death. Verity was a drug addict, she hung about with mad, bad people. Anyone could have killed her. I didn’t.’

‘Motive, Mr Dean, that’s our problem. No one else has a motive. Only you, and possibly Bernie … oh, and thinking about it, Craig too, I suppose. The three of you probably make quite a good team.’

P.J. shook his head. ‘I’m not staying here to listen to this shit. Ask me the question and I’ll tell you the answer, but I am not listening to this shit. Craig is a great boy, Bernie is an amazing woman. As for me, I didn’t have much feeling towards Verity either way, certainly not enough to kill her. Trust me, I know anger, I’ve dealt with hatred, and I haven’t killed anyone yet.’

‘You can see where I’m going with this, can’t you? You, Bernie, Craig …’

P.J. stood up. ‘Ask me the fucking question!’

Jones looked at the indignant bundle of energy. ‘Are you Craig’s father?’

‘No.’

‘It’s your name on the birth certificate?’

‘Yes.’

‘But he’s not your child?’

‘No.’

‘Will you take a paternity test?’

‘No.’

Jones threw up his arms. ‘Why the hell should I believe you?’

‘For the sake of that boy. He doesn’t know who his father is. He certainly doesn’t think it’s me – Bernie put my name down because she thought I wouldn’t mind, and I don’t, but that is her business. It happened a long time ago and it has nothing, absolutely nothing to do with Verity’s death.’

‘He has your height, your bone structure,’ said Jones.

P.J. leant forward, clenched the table with both
hands. ‘I wish I was his father. Truly, I wish to God I was. But I’m not. And not even me, with my God-like status, can change that.’

‘You could’ve adopted him.’

‘It was safer Bernie playing the housekeeper. She and Craig are not for public consumption.’

‘Safer? For whom?’

P.J. didn’t respond.

‘Why are you protecting them?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Didn’t?’

‘Couldn’t.’

‘When couldn’t you, Mr Dean?’

P.J. pushed the table away from him. ‘Stop calling me Mr Dean!’

And suddenly Jones knew. Jessie had got him right all along. He understood why P.J. was so reluctant to talk. Jones had made a mistake, he should have left this to Jessie. She was the girl for the job.

‘Burrows, Fry, could you leave us, please?’ They looked confused. P.J.’s secret was safe, neither of them had worked it out. Jones showed them to the door and watched them disappear down the corridor. He passed P.J. some tea. ‘Drink it,’ he said in a voice so soft that P.J. deflated at the lightness of its sound. ‘It’s all right, P.J. I’m sorry, we did this the wrong way round.’

P.J. frowned. ‘What’s going on?’

‘I see why you didn’t want to talk before. You – everyone has a lot to lose.’

P.J. just stared at him.

‘You can trust me,’ said Jones. ‘And Jessie.’

P.J. continued to stare at him.

‘Craig isn’t your son,’ said Jones.

P.J. shook his head.

‘He’s your brother.’

Jones had seen many men cry, but few with the intensity of P.J. Dean.

Jessie was walking into the garden when she heard her phone. Seeing Jones’ number made her chest clamp tight. She put the phone to her ear and listened to his rapid voice. The boys had jumped down from the tree and now stood stock-still, watching her.

Jones was talking fast. ‘He says he’ll do the test, anonymously and in total confidence, but he swears he was in the States on some youth-club music training camp when Craig was conceived. I’m sure it’ll all check out. His father had been abusing Bernie since P.J.’s sister drowned. Makes you wonder whether the poor girl drowned by mistake or on purpose. You were right to put your faith in him. He wants to talk to you …’

Jones was still talking, but Jessie had stopped listening. Paul had turned away from her. He was halfway to the back of the garden when he turned around and beckoned her to follow him. With the phone still pressed to her ear, Jessie began to walk in the footsteps of a child. She wanted to call Paul
back, tell him to forget what he knew, tell him it was over, it was all right, they needn’t go any further. But Paul didn’t turn around again and Jessie didn’t call out.

‘P.J. is sorry he didn’t tell you straight away. He was protecting Craig. Bernie has been through enough without the scandal being splashed all over the press. She made him swear he wouldn’t tell you until she’d had a chance to tell Craig the truth. She was terrified of him finding out another way. Jessie? Jessie? Are you there? God, I hate these things …’

She caught up with Paul on the other side of the overgrown border. He was standing with his back to her, facing the high garden wall. Without looking at her, he pulled back the ivy. At first Jessie didn’t know what he was showing her. Part of the brick wall. Then slowly Paul clenched his hand into a fist and hit the wall. She reached out to stop him hurting himself, but he didn’t graze his knuckles and the dense brickwork did not swallow up the sound of them hitting the wall. Paul knocked again. Three loud knocks. A hollow sound echoed around them. Jessie ran her hand down the smooth surface. It was wood. Painted to look like brick. A cunning little trompe l’oeil. With all the magic of a children’s fairy tale, it could make people disappear.

Paul turned and looked at Jessie. She’d never seen such old eyes in a young face. ‘Mummy said Heaven was through that door.’

Jessie stood at the wooden door and stared out into Richmond Park. It hadn’t taken long to pick the lock. No wonder P.J. had handed over the security tapes so readily. Anyone could leave the Dean residence undetected. He had been so keen to stress how much he liked his weekends at home. He stayed in, he said, because he travelled so much in the week. Was he using the boys as unwitting alibis? Paul said his mother would pick up packages or meet a man at the door. It explained the stash of drugs they had found hidden in the shoe box. The boy would watch her sneak out at night. He would stand on the landing and watch her through his binoculars. The stash could be left at any point in the day, all Verity had to do was wait until the coast was clear. It hadn’t only been Craig who had used the garage roof for illicit means. Now Jessie knew how Verity got her drugs in and how she sneaked out during the daytime, when the boys were at school and Bernie was shopping. So why not P.J.? Or Bernie? Or both of them taking turns?

Paul held her hand until he heard the voices. Bernie and Craig were back. Showtime. Craig came into the garden first. He saw daylight through the solid brick wall and stopped in his tracks. He put his hand to his mouth then lowered his head. Bernie’s reaction was even stranger, stronger.

‘What the hell have you been doing?’ She looked at Jessie. ‘Did you do this? Anyone could wander in.’

Jessie slowly pushed the door closed. She scraped the metal bolt through its catch.

‘What the bloody hell …?’

‘Bernie!’ admonished Ty.

‘Sorry, sweetheart. What’s going on? Where’s P.J.?’

‘At the police station with my boss.’

Bernie looked at Jessie with fear and anger in her eyes. She reached for Craig and kissed his forehead. ‘Take the boys inside, they’re freezing.’

Craig looked at Paul, then back up to the window of the house. He was a bright boy, cottoning on fast, thought Jessie. Or he’d been well rehearsed. ‘I didn’t know about that,’ said Craig.

‘I know,’ said Paul.

‘Why didn’t you tell me? I might have stopped her.’

‘I didn’t want to get Mum into trouble.’

Jessie listened to the boys talk. Had it been the kids who’d been taking responsibility for Verity? They were the ones who loved her. Different sort of love, but both real and powerful.

‘You should have told me,’ said Craig. ‘She trusted us.’

‘All of you, go inside, now. I would like a word with Detective Inspector Driver alone.’

Craig carried Ty in, Paul followed a few feet behind.

‘We knew nothing about this,’ said Bernie.

‘We?’

‘P.J. and I. I know he told you – doesn’t that
mean anything to you? You know more about my son than he knows himself.’ Bernie was crying before the words were fully out. ‘That kills me, but P.J. wanted to tell you. I begged him not to. He trusted you, and you sent him to the police station. Well, congratulations. When the story hits the papers I’ll be sure to let Craig know you were only doing your job.’

Jessie followed Bernie back out to the lawn. ‘How long has this door been here?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘A secret door was put into this garden wall and
you
didn’t know?’

Bernie looked as if Jessie had slapped her. ‘I don’t know what he sees in you,’ she hissed. She began to walk back to the house, then turned back. ‘All I’ve tried to do is look after everyone. Don’t you dare come into my
family
and point your vicious little finger at me.’

‘How far would you go to protect your family from more …’ Jessie paused, wanting to stop, but unable to, ‘… interference?’

Bernie walked back to her, a look of pure hatred in her eyes. ‘
Interference?
’ She laughed, incredulous. ‘Is that what you call it? A forty-year-old man raping a thirteen-year-old girl? That’s rape, and it lasted two years. No, make that twenty. It never stops. It’s always in here –’ Bernie pressed her hand to her head.

‘I know you’re angry.’

‘You don’t know the meaning of the word.’

‘I know you’d do anything to keep Craig safe.’

‘What kind of monster are you? You think I killed those women to protect my son?’ Jessie didn’t respond. ‘No, you think I killed those women to protect P.J., because I’m in love with him.’ The sneer in her voice slid through the long shadows and wrapped itself around Jessie’s throat. ‘Oh dear, Inspector, that’s not very professional, is it?’

‘What isn’t?’

Jessie jumped at the sound of Jones’ voice. He and P.J. were looking at the two of them, locked in an angry stance.

‘Ask her,’ said Bernie. She walked up to P.J. and grabbed his face in her left hand. ‘Have you seen a picture of P.J.’s father?’ Jessie shook her head. ‘Spitting image. Sometimes I look at P.J. and feel sick. Then I have to remember that, if it wasn’t for him, we would have been in some sink estate in Manchester. But he believed me, he spent five years looking for us because he knew, deep down, he knew. He knew what his sister had been through. He knew what I’d been through.’ Bernie’s fingers were leaving white indentations on P.J.’s cheek. ‘He confronted his father, and you know what he said? “Well, son, we all have our little ways.”’

‘I’m sorry, Bernie,’ said P.J., with difficulty.

Bernie shook her head. ‘No, darlin’, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about. Until Verity got sick, we were happy.’ Bernie let go of P.J.’s face and turned back to Jessie. ‘You were right about one
thing. I should have known that Verity would get to Craig. It’s obvious now, but I was spinning too many plates, I didn’t see it until it was too late. I caught him coming down that blasted drainpipe one night, and he smelt of her. When I saw you looking at the window box I panicked, got the gardener to plant those chrysanthemums straight away. I was terrified you’d think it was Craig. But you are wrong about everything else and, when you realise that, your apology will not be enough to undo the damage you’ve done here.’

‘Shh.’ P.J. put his arm around Bernie then looked at Jessie. ‘We really knew nothing about this. Remember, I told you, this house belonged to Verity’s second husband. She wanted to stay here.’ Jessie could hear the pleading in his voice. ‘She must have been using that door for years. Surely you see that?’

Jessie’s silence spoke for her.

‘How can I prove it to you? Ask Paul if he ever saw me here. Ask Paul now, otherwise you’ll think I’ve got to him.’

‘He’s been through enough today,’ said Jessie.

‘What, now you care?’ barked Bernie. ‘I’ve ripped out my heart because of you, and now you care!’

‘Perhaps we should return tomorrow,’ said Jessie.

‘Like fuck you will,’ said P.J. ‘Enough is enough. You know everything. Now I’d like you to leave my house and my family alone.’ He was hugging
Bernie to his chest. ‘Don’t make Paul an excuse to doubt me because it’s easier for you that way. You’re a big girl, Jessie. Deal with your own mistakes. I didn’t lie to you.’

Jessie slowly walked up to him. From her bag she brought a photograph of Eve Wirrel’s ‘A Life’s Work’. Attached to it was a single photograph of the initialled phial. ‘Yes, you did.’

P.J. looked at the close-up. ‘What the fu—’

‘Mum,’ said a voice from the garden doors.

‘All right, darlin’, we’re coming.’

Craig stepped into the garden. He was carrying a packing box. ‘Mum.’

‘What have you got there?’

Craig was looking at P.J. ‘It’s not her fault.’

P.J. was staring at Jessie. ‘Yes it is.’

No one spoke.

‘I mean Verity. It wasn’t her fault, P.J.’ With obvious difficulty, P.J. turned to face him. ‘I know who my father is.’

Bernie’s knees buckled. P.J. caught her.

‘I’ve known for ages. I’m so sorry about Verity.’ He started crying. ‘I loved her. It was wrong, I know, but I couldn’t help it.’ He sobbed. ‘My brother’s wife. I should have stopped it.’

P.J. left Bernie and ran over to the boy. The box Craig was carrying fell to the floor. ‘Shh, Craig, it’s my fault, not yours. I should have stopped it. That disgusting man. I knew, Craig, I knew what he was doing.’ Bernie was staring at him. He turned back to her. ‘God, Bernie, I’m sorry, I didn’t want you
to leave too, not you as well as my beautiful baby sister, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

Bernie didn’t move.

P.J. looked back at Craig. ‘I was so happy when I found you – you and Bernie. You were such a great kid, so strong and smart. I was glad you were alive. My brother. Look at you. I don’t mind about Verity. At least you made her happy, you should be proud of that …’

‘I miss her …’

‘I know, I know.’

Jessie crouched down by the box. She leafed through the contents and looked up at Jones. Hate mail. Death threats. Rabbit’s claw. Blood-soaked rags. Many of them signed W.T.

‘Where did you get these, Craig?’ asked Jessie.

‘Leave my boy alone!’ shouted Bernie. ‘All of you!’ Bernie grabbed Craig’s arm and pulled him away from P.J.

‘He’s my son. Mine. Mine, P.J., not yours.’

‘I know, Bernie.’

She held a finger up to his face. ‘How could you have done nothing?’

‘I’m sorry –’

‘Sorry! Julie killed herself and you didn’t do
anything
 …’

‘Please –’

P.J. reached for her but Bernie brushed him away. She grabbed her son and led him away. ‘Just leave us alone.’

P.J. looked over to Jessie. ‘I think you should go.’

‘May I take these?’ said Jessie, holding up the box.

‘I don’t GIVE A FUCK! Get out of here. Now.’

‘P.J., I –’

‘Go away.’

Jessie took the box and followed Jones to the front of the house. As they climbed into the car, Ty appeared clutching her black torch.

‘Dad says I have to give this back.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said through the window as he waved goodbye.

Jones turned on her. ‘You pushed too hard, Jessie. What I just witnessed should not have taken place.’

‘I was trying to do my job, sir,’ she said, feeling shaky and unsure.

‘No, Jessie, you were trying to make up for not doing your job professionally in the first place. I’d start driving, if I were you.’

‘You heard Bernie, he wanted those kids, he’s on the edge.’

‘P. J. Dean knew what his father was doing and didn’t stop it. Worse, he ran away. He is a man consumed with guilt. That is not the same as a guilty man, and you know it.’

Jessie pulled away from the house. Those sea-green eyes had sucked her in and churned her around like a breaking wave. Muddled and confused, she’d kicked out in every direction. When she surfaced she was far out to sea, alone, in very deep water.