Tell Tale (45 page)

‘Keep still, Josie. Stop fighting!’ If he lets go of her, she falls.

Adam grabs me. He spins me round by the shoulders. ‘What’s going on, Frankie? You said . . . but he’s your husband.’

I’m panting. ‘The painting—’

‘You were good cover while it lasted, Nina. What better place to hide than with a protected witness?’ Mick laughs. ‘Until
he
came along.’ His eyes flick to Burnett.

‘Two for the price of one,’ Burnett chips in. He’s looking worried, not knowing who to threaten with the knife. ‘When the cop tipped me off and informed me of
her
whereabouts, finding you married to her was a bonus I hadn’t expected. There you were, paintbrush in hand, ready to take orders. Didn’t want me to spoil your little love nest, did you?’

Everything goes silent. Nothing is real as I act. Blindly. Coldly.

. . .
I’ll wake up soon and I won’t be charging, hurtling towards the man I’ve loved and adored for two decades – the man I’ve had a daughter with – and I’ll slip my arm round his neck, pull his mouth on to mine, breathe in the scent of his skin . . .

I dart past Burnett, not knowing what I’m going to do. The knife slashes my arm, but I don’t feel any pain. Suddenly the world is upside-down as my head hits the concrete. Everything goes black for a second. Burnett’s fist took me down.

‘Get her over to me,’ Mick yells to Burnett.

Several onlookers yell out . . . a woman screams . . . a man calls for them to stop.

‘Adam!’ There’s a sharp pain in my head as I stand. ‘He’s going to kill Josie.’

‘Hurry!’ Mick screams.

‘Mick, don’t do this. She’s your daughter!’

He locks eyes with me. ‘Show me how much you love her and take her place.’

‘OK! Stop . . .’ I step up to the railings. ‘Don’t you love her too?’ All the years flash between us. He doesn’t even flinch. ‘You don’t really want to do this, Mick.’ I’m calm, unable to even cry. ‘Please don’t hurt her. Let her come back over to safety.’ I wait for the look of compassion, a glimmer of regret, but it doesn’t come. He grows even colder. Josie is a single grip from death. She is shaking, whimpering, imploring me with her eyes to help her.

Adam uses the distraction to lunge forward and take a swipe at Burnett. The pair scuffle and fight behind me. It
sets Mick off. ‘Last chance or she falls.’ He’s sweating, desperate, red-faced.

‘OK,’ I scream. ‘Take me instead.’ Terrified, I climb up the lattice and over the other side of the wires. I did it once, I can do it again. This time there will be no afterlife; none that I will know about, anyway. No one can survive a fall at low tide. It will be over quickly. ‘Just get her back to safety. Please.’ My words are breathy, desperate blasts. I cling on to the rail and wires. My legs are shaking.

Then the sirens, at first a lifetime away, but soon the piercing sound draws close.

‘You called the fucking police.’ Mick’s voice wavers. He shifts his grip on Josie, shoving her away. She wobbles. One foot slips. Instinctively, he grips her jacket. Josie’s hands are tied – she can’t hold on.

‘No, no, I didn’t call them,’ I shout back in panic. I can’t anger him further. If Adam can’t hold Burnett back, they’ll have us both off the bridge in seconds. ‘It must’ve been one of them.’ I point back at the crowd that has gathered. Why doesn’t someone help us? ‘Mick, listen to me. Everything can be OK again, can’t it? Just get Josie to safety. We can talk about this. You won’t have to go to prison. I’ll stand by you. We’re still a family, right?’ The words are bitter.

For a second, there’s a glimmer of familiarity in his eyes; a scrap of life. And I think he’s about to say something. But then Burnett lunges through the railings, towards Mick now. He’s panicking at the approaching sirens. Adam stands up with blood pouring from his nose.

‘I’m not fucking going to prison again,’ Burnett yells at
Mick. ‘You got away with killing that brat in the chapel. It’s your turn to serve time.’

‘I should have killed you too, while I had the chance . . .’ Mick’s words drop off the bridge like stones.

You got away with killing that brat . . .

The world stands still for what seems like my entire life. The wind whips through my ears high up on the bridge.

‘You killed Betsy?’ I whisper to Mick, unable to scream any more. I’m dizzy. I can hardly hold on.

Mick stares back at me. The man I knew is gone, replaced by the man who has filled my nightmares for twenty years. I married Betsy’s killer. The truth blizzards around me; the beginning of an ice-age. I thought I’d worked it out. But not
this.
Not about Betsy.

I grip the wires, my fingers inching along as I step towards Josie. Then the tears flood my eyes. ‘Hang on, Josie,’ I call to her. My body ignites from the pain, from the agony of having everything stripped away, from the knowledge of what I have been living with –
what I have forced my daughter to live with –
all this time. It paralyses me. I’m staring at the monster that has consumed my life, Josie’s life, without us even realising.

I wobble on the ledge taking tiny steps to my daughter. I won’t let her die.

Suddenly Adam hurls himself at Burnett, dragging him down. They fall in a tumbling mass of punches and kicks. I wince as Adam’s head hits the road. Burnett leaps up and races to Mick, lashing out through the railings, trying to knock him off balance.

Mick kicks out. ‘I’m not going to fucking prison.’ His grip loosens on Josie as he fights Burnett off. I edge closer.

‘You won’t go to prison, Mick. Just let me take Josie to safety.’ The wind lashes my face. ‘That’s it, nice and slow. Let her come to me.’

Suddenly, Burnett dislodges one of Mick’s feet. He yells, slipping down a foot or two, both hands struggling for a grip.

Josie is teetering with no one holding her.

‘No!’ I scream, making a grab for her. Just before she topples backwards, I ram her forward against the metal. My arm locks round her waist, pinning her in place for as long as I have the strength.

Mick clings to the lattice with white knuckles – the only grip he has on the bridge. ‘It’s over, Mick,’ Burnett says. ‘It’s fucking over.’

Then Adam comes from nowhere and, with one almighty swing of his fist, he knocks Burnett to the ground. He’s out cold. In two swift leaps, Adam scales the lattice railings. The demented look in his eyes tells me nothing will stop him.

‘No!’ Mick roars. One desperate hand still clamps the railing. His fingertips are white. He stares at me, imploring me to help him as Adam climbs nearer.

Screams and gasps fly from the crowd. Josie’s muffled sobs tear at my heart as she shakes with terror. ‘It’s OK, Josie. Don’t move, don’t look . . .’ I know what’s coming; I know it has to come. Adam works himself closer to Mick.

‘You bastard,’ he yells, each syllable accompanied by a thud as Adam raises his foot and batters Mick’s final hold on life.
‘You killed my sister
.’

Mick stares up at me – a moment that speaks of our time together.

Then one final kick from Adam and Mick loses his grip on the bridge.

It takes three seconds to die. I know this.

His body drops to the river bed.

I hold Josie’s face against my neck.

Oh God, oh God, oh God . . .
My voice repeats on a loop. My limbs are stiff and won’t move, but suddenly strong arms are around me, prising Josie from me. My instinct is to keep hold of her, but when I see that it’s Adam using his remaining strength to pull her back through the wires, I allow him to do it.

Then another pair of arms lock under mine. Two bystanders haul me to safety. I allow my body to go limp as they get me back on to the bridge. Strangers praise Adam for his bravery, for saving us.

A second later, I have my head pressed against his chest, Josie sandwiched between us. I’m sobbing, but it doesn’t sound like me. Through it, I hear Adam’s urgent breathing and the noise and scuffle as the police finally reach the scene, spreading through the crowd, herding everyone, unsure who is involved or what’s been going on.

Adam guides us away from the railings. He unties the tight knot behind Josie’s head. His hands are shaking. Josie launches her arms round my neck. There is a band of raw
skin circling her face from the gag. I grab on to her – the only real thing left.

‘It’s OK, it’s OK . . . ’ We are sobbing on to one another, shaking as one, drowning in temporary relief. ‘Oh, Adam. I can’t stand this.
Mick.
Mick of all people.’ He’s stroking my head, finding the energy from somewhere to tell me it’s going to be fine, that we’re safe now.

‘It was . . . him.’ I press my face to Adam’s neck, so Josie can’t hear. How will we ever get over this? My legs go weak and I drop to the pavement. Adam gets taken aside by a detective.

‘Oh, Mum.’ Josie drops down with me, clinging to my side. She has cuts on her cheekbone and forehead. She rubs at her wrists from the tight rope. She’s sobbing in short bursts. ‘He locked me up. Pretended to be me on the computer. Said he was going to . . .’ She chokes on her own cries. Another officer comes up to us. ‘He . . . he said he would kill me if he couldn’t get you. Said it served me right for being your daughter.’

Across the other side of the bridge, I see that the police have hauled Burnett up off the ground. He staggers, semiconscious. He’s already handcuffed. Adam is telling them what happened.

Someone takes me by the shoulders. I flinch and turn, my senses on fire, but a glance tells me it’s WPC Shelley. ‘Stay calm. You’re safe now.’

‘My
husband
. . . ’ I say to her in a daze, as if her assumptions were right all along. Shelley has pulled Josie and me close, harbouring us against everything. Ambulance
men and women arrive with blankets. I’m sobbing again, unsure if I’m shouting out for real, or if it’s guilt banging about in my head; guilt that’s already setting a hold on my mind. Guilt that I will have for the rest of my life.

Adam is beside me again. I lean away and vomit. Nothing comes up.

‘We’ve a lot to ask you and your daughter,’ a detective says. He squats beside me. ‘Let’s go somewhere safe.’

I nod, struggling to stand, helping Josie to her feet.

We are taken to an unmarked police car. The three of us, Adam, Josie and I, sit in the back. Around us, officers are clearing the bridge, sealing it off. There’s a sudden and welcome silence as we drive away from the chaos. Within twenty minutes, we are led inside the police station. I am empty, bereft, a shell. The only thing keeping my heart beating is my daughter pressed to my side.

In the interview room, I squint at him, recognising his face as it resolves from a distant memory. He’s been summoned especially. He takes my hand. ‘Nina Brookes,’ he says, breaking out a short smile. ‘It’s been a while. We’re going to look after you.’

‘Last time you said that, I believed you.’

‘I know. I’m sorry, Nina.’

The lines on Mark McCormack’s face are deeper, the stomach behind his shirt a little bigger. But generally he’s in good shape for a man who’s twenty years older than when he last came to my rescue. It’s as if I’m eighteen all over again.

‘I changed fields, in case you’re wondering,’ he says. ‘I switched to the paedophile unit. I hunt down images, internet mostly these days. Stop the suppliers. Break up the chains. We’ve been following a specific line for a while now.’

Mark McCormack continues, careful how he spreads out the information, unsure of how close to cracking I am. ‘You did well, young lady,’ he says, glancing at Josie. He waits for me to react.

‘Josie?’ I say. What does Mark McCormack know about Josie?

‘There was a call during the night, Nina. An emergency call from a very distressed young woman. Sadly, we didn’t get enough details to locate her before the line went dead. Josie was so brave.’ McCormack stops again, allowing her to take over.

‘They took me to some horrid place. It stank. I think it was where that other man lived. It was full of awful paintings.’ Josie cups her face, as if that will erase what she saw. ‘They drank too much so I got their phone while they were sleeping.’ A big breath. ‘I told the police, Mum. I finally ratted on him.’ She stares blankly ahead; bled of emotion. This is taking all her strength. ‘But then that man woke up and knocked the phone from my hand.’

‘Because of the delicate nature of the call, it was referred to my department,’ he continues.

‘Delicate nature?’ I say, not wanting to hear this. I, too, bury my face in my hands. ‘I only just found out, I swear,’ I say through my fingers. ‘He was painting pictures of children . . . awful pictures. He was selling them. He used
me. He used
us
.’ I can’t bear to look at Josie. ‘I was his safe harbour. He was clever.’

I turn to Adam, who has stuck by my side since we left the bridge. ‘It was those pictures in the attic, Adam.’ I clasp his hand. ‘That landscape painting you gave me nagged at me all evening until it screamed out what I didn’t want to admit.’ Everything I say is broken; nothing makes sense.

Suddenly Josie claps her hands over her ears ‘He said that I mustn’t tell anyone or he’d get hurt and taken away from me,’ she whispers. ‘He said he loved me in a special way. That I was lucky to have a father like him; that other dads didn’t love their daughters as much. That’s not so wrong, is it, Mum?’ Her face searches mine for answers.

Oh God, no. What have I done to my daughter?

I lean over to her, hardly daring to touch her. ‘He was hurting you all these years, wasn’t he?’ I whisper, crying. Neither of us needs to say what. We both know.

She hangs her head. There’s a tiny nod.

I pull her face to mine, cupping her numb cheeks in my hands.

‘You did the right thing to tell, Josie. It’s all going to be OK. We can help you.’ I don’t know what to say to her. ‘Your dad did a bad thing, a very bad thing, but it’s not your fault.’ I have no idea where these words come from. I don’t know how I will support her. How can I look at her the same way, knowing what he did to her, knowing that he will always be a part of her? His blood flows through her veins; his genes are in her cells. She has his eyes, that coy twist of a smile when she wants something.