The Missing Hours (38 page)

I look at her. Really look at her. She is elfin thin, gaunt, really. Her hair looks … not styled as I first thought, rather greasy, roughened from sleep. There are bags under her eyes. Her hands are shaking.

‘A word, if you don’t mind?’

I gesture for her to step back, follow her inside, Leah quiet behind me. She can feel it, the balled-up rage that is rolling from me. I can tell by the lock of her shoulders, the way she is holding her lips.

‘Is there a …’ Fae attempts, then, seeing my face, drops into silence. It is over and she knows it.

‘I’d like to talk to you about the night Dominic Newell was killed.’

‘Okay.’

She is shaking now, her T-shirt balled up uselessly in her hands. And I wonder how I missed it, what made me so blind that I did not see.

‘You were in his car?’ I say.

‘No.’

I don’t respond. Just study her. ‘You were in his car,’ I repeat.

Fae looks from me to Leah and begins to cry.

A good man

Fae Lewis: Monday, 5.50 p.m.

FAE STARED AT
the tablet. Small. Red. It would look so innocent if not for the grinning face of the devil embossed upon it. She shouldn’t. She had come so far. And yet …

They tell you that you never stop. Once an addict, always an addict; that the curse you bear will live on inside you for always and that every day will be a battle to keep it from taking control.

She had lost so many battles lately.

It had been three years. A sobriety that had stretched itself out for one thousand and ninety-five days. And to celebrate, she had worked until a little after nine, acquiescing to every single damned whim that should happen to cross Bronwyn’s mind. Had smiled a bright and happy smile, even though rolling through her mind was the fact that it had been three years. And that at the end of the three years and one remarkably long day, she would go home to an empty house and eat a celebratory dinner that would consist of a Pot Noodle and maybe a Mars bar.

She had done her job, the way she had always done her job. Impeccably, exactingly. And then she had gone home, stretched thin with exhaustion, and had stopped in the supermarket on her way. Telling herself that she was out of bread, out of milk, pretending the whole way that she wasn’t going to pick up a bottle of vodka.

It had been just the one drink.

A single shot as an attagirl.

But there is no such thing as a single shot. Not really.

There had been no doubting the trajectory, not once the seal was cracked, the clear liquid poured into the perfectly moulded glass.

But she still had her job. She still remained the model employee. Timely, efficient, collected. And as long as she had that, Fae knew that she could survive. That this was just one more slip in a lifetime of trips and falls. That she could pick herself up, dust herself off, and move on.

It could still be okay.

A sound broke in through her contemplations, and it seemed to her that it had been there for ever. What was that? The phone. It was the phone. Her hand shot out for it, grasping and awkward, but she was too late. The caller had rung off.

Fae stared at it. Things were beginning to unravel. She could pretend as much as she wanted, but she was starting to fall apart.

And then what? Back to where she began? In some filthy bedsit with a skinny, drug-addicted boyfriend with loose fists?

She slipped the single red pill into her pocket.

Beck hadn’t wanted to give it to her. You don’t want this, Fae, he had said. It’s nasty stuff. The things you see … you won’t know yourself when you’re on it. She had laughed and said that not knowing herself seemed like a remarkably good idea indeed. No, said Beck. I’m serious, I’m not … But the door had opened, Bronwyn coming in, shaking her umbrella free of the remnants of yet another autumn storm. And Fae, quick as a snake, had reached out, tugging the solitary pill from Beck’s unwitting hand, vanishing it away. Had refused to look at him, even though he stared at her open-mouthed; had instead formed her face into a Bronwyn-worthy smile. Wet out there?

Maybe Beck had been right. Maybe she didn’t want this. She stared at the lines of text on her computer screen, the letters shimmying, dancing before her eyes. It was getting away from her. That much was clear.

She looked up, at Dom’s door.

Maybe …

But if she asked him for help, then he would know. And he would be so disappointed in her. And he had done so much already.

But if she didn’t …

Every day will be a battle. And sometimes you have to call in reinforcements.

She pushed herself up, legs unsteady, and walked softly to Dom’s office door. He would understand. It was Dom. He always understood.

‘Come in.’ His voice didn’t sound right, had an edge to it, one Fae was not used to hearing.

‘Dom, I …’ I’ve fallen. I can’t get myself back up. Help me.

‘Fae, where the hell is the paperwork on the Wright case?’ Dom was leafing through a folder, his back stiff, face a storm. ‘I asked you to have it all together. Why isn’t it here?’

‘I …’

‘This isn’t the first time this has happened. If you can’t handle this job, just say so, and we’ll find someone who can.’

Fae stood in the open doorway, her mouth flapping uselessly. A strange stray thought that maybe she had taken the pill, that she had done it without meaning to, that this was why nothing was as it should be, why Dom, so kind, so considerate, was barking at her with barely contained fury. Then a distant recollection, of him coming back from the police station, slamming the front door. Hearing him rage to Bronwyn in tones she’d never heard before that he was sick of Beck Chambers, that the man needed to take control of his own life, that he’d had enough of having to save everyone from themselves.

She closed her mouth, dipped her head. ‘I’m sorry. I must have forgotten. I’ll get on it right away.’

She turned, crept out of the room, her heart thrumming. He was right. It wasn’t up to him to save her, to save Beck. They were worthless, the pair of them. A burden on humanity. She had no right to expect anything from anyone, not when she had fallen again.

Her hand went to her pocket, closed around the tablet. There seemed little reason to abstain.

She swallowed it quickly, without water, feeling the sides of it catch on her throat. It hurt. That was good.

In two minutes she could leave. In two minutes she could walk out of the door and let El Diablo sweep away all that lay so heavy on her.

‘For God’s sake, I’ve told them they need to get everything to me by this afternoon at the latest, and now look, nearly six o’clock and I’m still chasing.’ Bronwyn swept in in the way Bronwyn always did, so certain that the world would rearrange itself around her. ‘I’m going to be here for hours now. Fae, I need you to dig out the Collins file, it should be in the back office. You don’t mind staying on a bit, do you? No? Great. It really irritates me when they do this. And … oh, are you going?’

Was she talking to Fae? Fae opened her mouth, even though her tongue had already become thick and unwieldy, to offer up some lie, to say she wasn’t feeling well, anything so that she could escape.

Bronwyn wasn’t looking at her, though, but at Dom. He was standing in his office doorway, eyes flitting from Bronwyn to Fae. Resting there.

Did he know? The way he was looking at her, searching. He knew, didn’t he?

He moved past Fae, said something to Bronwyn in low tones that she couldn’t catch. But she heard the words Beck Chambers.

He knew. He knew about the pill that she had taken from Beck. He knew and she would be fired and then there would be nothing to stop the slide.

Fae opened her mouth. But she couldn’t think. Couldn’t get the words to line up so that they would leave.

‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ Then Dom was gone, with just the briefest of backward glances at her.

Was it a warning? Was that what it was?

The room had begun to shimmy and shift, the walls disintegrating, re-forming, disintegrating again.

‘Fae, I need you to sort those papers out for me.’ Bronwyn threw the words over her shoulder as she headed back to her office. ‘Quick as you can.’

Fae nodded, turned towards the back office, her body moving, her brain left behind. Then she heard Bronwyn’s door shut, and just like that, her body reversed itself. What are you doing? Don’t worry, I’ve got it handled.

She hurried down the front steps, easing the door back on the catch so that Bronwyn wouldn’t hear, out into the cool Cardiff evening air. The cars danced unevenly. Where was she going? She wasn’t sure. But another voice, one that didn’t feel like hers, said, it’s fine. We’ll go talk to Dom. Make him understand.

She didn’t know how long she wandered, up side street, down side street. She just knew that she had to find him. Because he knew. And if she talked to him, it would all be okay.

Then, in one of a thousand identical streets, she stopped. Someone was standing there. The devil? No.

Someone else … Dominic.

‘Dom …’

He was holding his phone, had turned, was looking at her with an expression of weary disappointment. ‘Look, there’s someone here. I have to go …’

Fae felt the pavement move beneath her, a roaring, clambering wave that bucked and threatened to throw her to the ground. She reached out, grabbed for a railing.

When she looked back, he was watching her.

‘You’re using again, aren’t you?’ He looked so sad. Why was he so sad when it was her life that was the tragedy?

She didn’t answer. But that was mainly because the air had turned to lava, was rushing into her mouth, filling up her throat, drowning her.

‘Get in.’ Dom held open the car door for her, gripping her arm, too tight, too tight, helping her, no, pushing her inside.

‘No, I …’

He slammed the door, locking her in a tomb. She would suffocate. There was no air. She scrabbled, pulling at her clothes, loosening them so that her skin could breathe, her hand brushing against her pocket, something hard. What was that?

But whatever it was, it was too late. Dom was in now, driving. Taking her away. Where was he taking her?

‘Why, Fae?’

She started to laugh. ‘Because I celebrated my anniversary with a Pot Noodle, that’s why.’

He didn’t laugh. Just kept driving. Faster. Faster.

‘I need …’ A dim recollection of something she was supposed to be doing. ‘Work. I have to … the Collins file.’

‘There’s no more work, Fae. Not for a while.’

‘You …’ They were moving so fast. They were about to crash, surely. ‘You’re firing me?’

A long, heavy silence, a weighty sigh. ‘I’m telling you to go and get help. When you’re clean, we’ll discuss your options.’

So that was it then, it was over.

Fae peered out into the plunging darkness. They were at the bottom of the sea, sinking deeper and deeper. Had been driving for so long, for ever, it seemed.

Where was he taking her? Where were they? Where were all the lights? The people?

She could feel the panic rising in her throat. ‘Need to get out.’

‘Fae, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Just wait. I’m taking you home.’

She would die here. He would kill her.

She watched him. Only it wasn’t him. His face shimmied. Now Dom. Now the devil.

She felt the sharpness digging into her side and remembered what it was. A pocket knife. Because you just never knew. And it was better to be safe than sorry.

‘Stop!’ she roared, a sound like she had never made before. Felt the car swerve, brakes squeal.

‘Jesus, Fae!’ Dom reached out, hand on her shoulder, gripping tight, so tight, moving towards her neck.

The devil. He was going to kill her.

She pulled out the knife.

The arrest

DS Finn Hale: Saturday, 6.10 p.m.

FAE SITS CRYING.
Her head is in her hands.

How did I not see this? How did I miss it?

I look at Leah, helpless. She looks at me, shakes her head.

You couldn’t have known.

Could I?

‘It was just … it was that pill. It just twisted everything until I didn’t know who I was or where I was. And I was so scared. I thought … I know you won’t believe me, but I thought he was going to kill me.’ She looks up at us, tears spilling again. ‘I didn’t mean to kill him. You have to believe me, I never, ever meant to hurt him. And afterwards, I just couldn’t believe I’d done it. I thought it must have been a dream or a hallucination.’ She reaches out towards us, fingers steepled as if in prayer. ‘I can’t have done it. Please tell me it isn’t really true.’ She dissolves, weeping as though her heart will break. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt him. He was such a good man.’

To her. He was such a good man to her. To his partner, he was a cheat. To his lover … what? A betrayer? To Orla, a threat. And yet, in the end, the person who brought his life to a close was the one he was trying to help. And why? Because of a drug. A drug funded by the ransoms that ensured the release of other good men.

It was a never-ending circle. A snake chewing on its own tail.

‘Fae Lewis,’ I say, quietly, ‘I’m arresting you for the murder of Dominic Newell.’

Homecoming

Dr Selena Cole: Tuesday, 4 p.m.

IT HAS BEEN
three days. Three days that have stretched themselves out so that they form an eternity in my mind. I have not eaten. I have slept in the barest of fits and starts. And yet still those three days have inched their way by and we are here.

The mountains leer over me. The forecasters are talking about an early snow, and you can feel it, the threat of it that hangs in the air.

I shiver.

And I wait.

Beck wanted to come with me. It was too dangerous, he said, for me to come alone. Leah begged, pleaded that I allow her to come. That I allow someone to come. After all, she said, your girls need you alive.

They do, I agreed.

And they need their father too.

I stand beneath the mountains, and I wait alone.

This time I will take no chances. This time there will be no deviations from the plan. This time I am bringing my husband home.