The Lost Girl (Brennan and Esposito) (29 page)

‘S
o why did you do it?’

Marina stared at Beresford who still sat smirking at her. She kept her unblinking gaze on him. He couldn’t hold his but didn’t want to let her see it, he rolled his eyes, stared at the ceiling instead. Blinking while he did it. She knew though. She saw him do it.

‘So why did you do it?’ she asked again.

He still said nothing. Marina continued.

‘I’ll tell you why, shall I? Or rather, I’ll tell you what you would say, if you were going to reply to me. Right?’

No answer.

Marina sensed that his smirk was really hiding fear. Or at least hoped it was. She continued, mimicking his Essex accent as she spoke.

‘She’s got my wife and kid. That’s what you’re going to say, isn’t it? Or what you would say. She’s got my wife and kid. I only did what I did because of that. Am I right?’

Beresford shrugged, but the smirk was starting to fray around the edges.

‘Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda. Wife and kid. Big deal. Yeah. That’s the excuse. What you tell yourself. And anyone else who asks or questions you. Wife and kid. Yeah. Anyone else who would ask you to easily explain your actions. Wife and kid. Right. And you expect us to believe that, don’t you. Wife and kid. You expect us to say, oh, poor you. What you have to do to protect your family. Poor, poor you. Don’t you?’

Beresford said nothing.

Marina leaned forward. ‘Bullshit.’

Beresford struggled not to, but registered surprise.

‘Yeah. Bullshit. You see, that’s your excuse. For what you did. Wife and kid. But it’s not the reason, is it? Oh no. And that’s what I want to know. The reason. Why you really did what you did.’

‘Fuck you.’

Marina kept going. ‘Because it’s a big leap, isn’t it? By any stretch of the imagination. I mean, there you are, a police officer, serving the public, upholding the law, and suddenly you’re a multiple murderer. All in the name of protecting your family. Well that escalated quickly, as the kids would say.’

Beresford was looking round now, seemingly decidedly uncomfortable.

‘I mean yes, obviously. You want to protect your family. I can understand that. Totally. Completely. I mean, what partner, what parent wouldn’t? Of course.’ She nodded. ‘And shall I tell you something? I’ve done it myself.’

She sat back, waited for him to take that in.

‘You’ve probably done your research on me. I should imagine so, anyway. And on my husband. When you realised what you were getting in to. So you might know this already. And forgive me if I bore you with it again. But Simon here might not have heard it.’

Matthews perked up at the mention of his name.

‘You see, a few years ago, my daughter was kidnapped. And that was bad enough. That was a parent’s worst nightmare. But that wasn’t everything. Because the person who kidnapped my daughter also seriously injured my husband. And mother-in-law. And actually killed my father-in-law. My family. All the people I cared about and loved most in the whole world. So yes. I can understand what you must have been going through. I would have done anything –
anything
– to get my daughter back. Except one thing. D’you know what that was?’

Beresford tried to look disinterested. Failed. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

‘I will,’ said Marina, not acknowledging that it was the first time he had actually engaged with her. ‘Murder. That’s what I wouldn’t do. Murder. Oh, I wanted to. I really did. You see, I came face to face with the person who’d stolen my daughter and I was very, very close to killing her. God, I wanted to. I don’t mind admitting it. But you can understand that, can’t you?’

Beresford just stared at her.

‘It wasn’t a rhetorical question, you can answer.’

‘Yes.’ His voice was like a croak.

‘Yes of course you can. We all could. Even Simon here, I’m sure of it.’ She leaned forward again, eyes locked on to his. ‘But what I never thought about, never even considered, was killing anyone who got in my way. And there were plenty of people trying to get in my way, believe me. Or ask DCI Franks, he’ll tell you. He was one of them. But I would never – ever – think of murdering, of killing them. And you know why?’

‘No.’

‘No.’ She gave a humourless laugh, sat back. ‘No. You really don’t know, do you?’ She sat back, hoped he understood what he had just admitted to.

P
hil Brennan. Oh, Phil Brennan. But how to make him notice her, that was the question. But not just notice her. That would never be enough. He had to believe her, in what she had to tell him. Everything she had to tell him. Totally believe her. And go along with her. Really, he just had to fall in love with her. And then live happily ever after with her.
 

Eternally happy ever after.
 

She had giggled at the thought of it. Like trying to attract the attention of a boy at school, she thought. Not that she had ever done that. Well, not in that way, anyway.
 

So what was that way? Or this way? Phil Brennan was her brother. But the way she thought about him was
…
more than a brother. Much more. Much, much more. He was becoming everything to her. Her obsession, her career. Her life. The feelings she was experiencing for him, they went much deeper than just brother and sister.
 

She tried to think it through, explain it to herself. While glorying in that sweet feeling at the same time.
 

Here was the man she had been separated from for most of her life. She had gone through her whole life not knowing who she was, who she really was, and suspecting that another part of her was out there. Another piece to make her complete. And she hadn’t been able to function as a single individual with that in the background all of this time. She had always felt lacking as a person. Hollow. Unconvincing. And now she had found him. That missing piece of herself.
 

It had to be him. Of course it did. How else could she have been led to him? First Sean then Phil. And then discovering Phil’s family background. It had all fallen into place then. And she had become obsessed with him then. Knew they had to be together. In every way possible. On every level. It was inevitable.
 

She desired him, yearned for him. Lay on her own at night, imagining his body entwined round hers. Total. Complete. Soul deep.
 

La petite mort.
 

Le grande mort.
 

She knew that some people wouldn’t understand. Obviously. A love, an obsession, like theirs wasn’t the kind ordinary people could understand or were designed to understand. They were different, special. And the love she felt for him went beyond some stupid bourgeoise morality. All she had to do was show him, let him experience it for himself, and he too would experience that same love for her.
 

All she had to do was get to him.
 

She had to find a way. And she did. Again, it was so obvious that it must have been meant to be. Fiona Welch’s work. Where else should she start except with her old friend, her old lover?
 

So she studied Fiona’s work, her techniques, her ideas, immersed herself in them. And that’s when the plan came to her. Again, like a gift, almost fully formed. Become Fiona. Assume her persona, her identity. Carry on her work. Finish what she started. Improve on it, even. Yes. That would get his attention. There was no way he would ignore her then.
 

But she couldn’t just rush into it. This would take planning, scheming, plotting. It would take time. And money. Which was fortunate, because she had plenty of both things. Especially time. For this to work as well as it should, as it had to, she had all the time in the world.
 

Finding victims was easy. Almost too easy. They were just about lining up for her, no shortage of willing participants.
 

She had once witnessed a hypnotist at work. Close-up, backstage. One of her dates had worked in a theatre, so she had gone with him, interested in keeping him alive long enough to find out what went on there. And she had enjoyed herself. Sadly, he hadn’t made it to the second act. But watching the hypnotist had been fascinating.
 

He had chosen his subjects carefully. They were all to be in the audience that night and all came to see him of their own volition. The interesting thing, she had decided, was not the ones he had chosen but the ones he had rejected. And the way he had rejected them, the reasons why. She tried to see it through his eyes. He had spotted something in the rejects that would cause a barrier to being hypnotised. Some lack of susceptibility. And it wasn’t something that was apparent in physical form, either. Physically powerful people were accepted while smaller ones were turned away.
 

What he looked for was some kind of commonality, some kind of willingness to be hypnotised, a susceptibility. How he saw that, she didn’t know. But she vowed to find out.
 

And she did. In fact, she had known it all along. And used it herself. It was how she chose her victims. How she managed to work out – usually in an instant – which male would make the best subject. And she had always chosen well so far. She had never made a mistake.
 

That went even more so for these victims.
 

She couldn’t remember their names. She never could. Eye colour, yes. Smell even, yes. Names, no. They weren’t important. Just like hers wasn’t. As long as she spotted that susceptibility. As long as she could manipulate them. And she definitely knew men, and certainly knew how to manipulate them. More than that: how to make them love, honour and most importantly, obey her. How to make them kill for her. And not regret it. And still love her and want her all the more.
 

She followed Fiona’s notes to the letter. And it worked. The three she chose were all willing to be led. And they all killed for her. Without regret, without qualm. But first they did something that she knew would get Phil’s attention. They remade their girlfriends in Marina Esposito’s image.
 

She couldn’t have sent out a more obvious, unambiguous signal if she tried.
 

Eventually the men were arrested. And the trail led back to her. Or Fiona, as she was calling herself by this point. And doing a good job of it. Living like Fiona, dressing like her. She had adopted her speech mannerisms, her walk, everything. She
was
Fiona. She almost believed it herself, she was so convincing. And if she was being honest, if she hadn’t done all this with the sole intention of getting noticed by Phil, she might have continued as Fiona. Become an enigma from beyond the grave.
 

But no. She had work to do.
 

They arrested her but found they couldn’t charge her with murder because she hadn’t actually killed anyone. And she was also claiming to be someone who was dead. So they freely admitted that they didn’t know what to do with her. In desperation, they sent her off to a secure hospital in Suffolk.
 

And that was when the fun really started.
 

A
nni watched Malcolm work. He was sitting on the folding chair at the table, the laptop open in front of him, papers spread out all around him.

‘What are you looking for?’ she asked.

‘I’ll know it when I see it…’ Not even looking up, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Anni kept watching him. Studying him. Poring over papers, following what was on screen with his finger, lips moving at the same time.

That man had sex with the person who killed my partner. The thought came, unbidden, into Anni’s head.

Not just had sex with, but was in a relationship with, for God’s sake. Cared for her. Wanted her, desired her. Thought about her, probably bought gifts for her. Looked forward to spending time together. Planned a future with her. Loved her, even. Yes, definitely loved her.

And now here was Anni, working alongside that murderer’s ex-lover. And doing so in that murderer’s apartment. How does that make me feel? she thought. She didn’t know. Uneasy, yes. Definitely. Anything else? Yes, loads of things, loads of emotions. But not any of them easily quantifiable or identifiable. At least not that she wanted to explore at the moment. But there was one overriding emotion she was experiencing. Anger. She could feel it building up within her once more.

The man whose lover killed my partner is in this room right next to me…

That anger wasn’t going to diminish any time soon. That anger was going to need an outlet.

‘Found something,’ said Malcolm, looking up.

Anni, pleased to have something to take her mind off her increasingly dark thoughts, crossed the room to see, stood over his shoulder looking down.

‘Here,’ he said, pointing to a stack of A4 sheets. ‘It’s a letting agreement. She’s rented another property. A house, by the looks of it. I’ve checked on the map. It’s down off the Avenue of Remembrance. Some new-builds there, a whole estate. By the leisure centre.’

Anni said nothing. Just stood behind Malcolm, looking alternatively between the papers he was holding and the back of his neck. That thin strip of skin between untidy hair and overdue-for-a-wash shirt. Naked. Vulnerable.

‘And there’s this,’ he said, pointing to the screen. ‘Another let, it looks like. A unit on an industrial estate, from what I can gather. Somewhere out by Elmstead Market, on the way to Clacton.’

He looked up, did a double-take at the expression on her face.

‘You OK?’

Anni blinked, snapped herself back into the room. ‘What?’

‘I said are you OK? You were looking funny.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, a little too quickly. She looked down at the papers he held in his hand. ‘Let’s try the house first.’

She swept out of the apartment, like she couldn’t bear to be in it for a second longer.

Malcolm, folding the papers and bringing the laptop, followed her. Frowning.

And suddenly wary of her.