This was stupid; I couldn’t abandon my husband because of some daft idea. I was obviously trying to find something to occupy my mind other than my own grief. Needing another puzzle to solve; imagining mysteries where there were none.
I would stay home with my husband. No more wild goose chases.
‘Want a cuppa?’ I asked.
‘You going out?’ Jacob tilted his head to one side and indicated with his chin towards the car keys dangling from my hand.
‘No. Well, I’d been thinking about going for a drive, just to get away from here for a while, you know? But I’d rather stay here, keep you company.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he protested.
He reached towards me and I stepped forward, allowing him to wrap his arms around my hips and rest his head against my stomach. I ran my fingers over the stubble of his head. After a minute, he spoke again.
‘I know we deal with things differently. I know you like to have your own space. If you want to go out, go. I want to sit here for a while.’
Bless him, I understood instantly. Jacob didn’t want to say as much, but he needed to be alone for a while. He found solace in your room, the way I found it on the marsh. I think it was your way of ensuring we both got time alone with you.
‘Well, in that case… If you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure. Go on, get gone.’
As I closed the door, he curled up on your bed, Jesus by his side.
Eighty-Seven
The keys were getting warm in my hand, I’d been gripping them for so long as I sat in my car, trying to decide what to do.
I could stop this silly paranoia, grab Wiggins and go to the marsh.
Or… I could nip over to Glenn’s flat in Wapentake, though I wasn’t exactly sure which number he lived at because I’d never been there.
Or… I could text Glenn and meet up with him somewhere, ask to see the notebook. But I didn’t want to sound like I was accusing him of keeping something back from a murder investigation, when he was the person who had kept me sane the last few weeks. Although sick of his lies, I didn’t seriously think he knew who the killer was. There was no way.
Making a decision, I set off.
It felt so good to have something to think about other than you, Beth. When I thought of you, all my breath left my body and I felt so weak I simply wanted to curl up and die. But this mystery kept me going. I needed it.
For the entire journey I batted facts back and forth in my head.
The doodle in the newspaper looked identical to my memory of the one in Glenn’s notebook.
The stupid doodle probably wasn’t anything like Tiffany’s. I had a lot on my plate, and was remembering wrong.
Had he pretended to be out of the country during the blood moon so that I wouldn’t suspect him?
But why would he even think that I would suspect him? No, he’d simply wanted to impress me with his well-travelled-man act because he fancied me.
Why had he pretended to have a daughter?
Again, to impress me. To bond with me and help me. There was absolutely no other reason that offered itself.
But I kept coming back to the same fact.
The doodle in the newspaper looked identical to my memory of the one in Glenn’s notebook…
Eighty-Eight
TIFFANY
SUNDAY 27 SEPTEMBER
The second the minicab pulled up, Tiffany slipped out of her home. She had warned Justin to tell the driver not to beep its horn, for fear of waking her mum. Though Mum had taken sleeping tablets ever since she and Dad split, and generally the twelve-year-old could make enough noise to wake the dead and her mum would remain snoring. But Tiffany didn’t want to take the risk – and definitely didn’t want neighbours twitching their curtains at 3 a.m.
Justin had assured her that he would pass the message on to the taxi driver, and clearly he had. It comforted Tiffany, as it showed Justin was trustworthy. He had even told her not to bother bringing money, as he would pay the fare. In fact, he had organised the whole thing, taking her address so he could sort the pick-up.
With a taxi, u know u will be safe, he had texted. That was nice of him.
His parents were away, leaving him alone for the night. He reckoned he had cadged her number off someone at school, and decided to text her.
Tiffany felt flattered, but worried. Last time she had got caught sneaking out, her poor mum had been interviewed by social services. They had told her they would put Tiffany into care if she ran away again. Idiots. She had kept trying to explain that she hadn’t been running away, she simply liked being out. The students next door never seemed to sleep, and she got antsy trying to block out their noise. It helped her to go for a walk. Of course, her mum kept warning her that some pervert was going to try to whisk her away and take advantage of her in the middle of the night. Yeah, ’cos she was that dumb, Mum. If some weirdo came anywhere near Tiffany, then she would just scoot – simple as that. Honestly, her mum thought she was so unaware.
Anyway, sneaking out was no big deal. She would only stay an hour at Justin’s. She’d be back home before anyone realised she was gone. The students might be in bed by then, and she would finally get some sleep before school.
Tiffany couldn’t quite believe her luck at Justin getting in contact with her. Turned out he was into all the same stuff she was. Telling stories and stuff. He wasn’t like anyone else she had ever met. When he’d sent her a photo of himself, wow, he was buff. Dark hair, brooding eyes, like a vampire hero from one of her stories.
She clutched her pink notebook in her hand as she walked towards the cab. It had been a last-minute decision to bring it, to show Justin the latest story she had started. It was only a few pages, but he’d get the idea. Vampires. Werewolves. Dragons. It had got everything in it they both loved.
He was so utterly sick. Bare dank – or ‘cool’, as her mum would say. God, she was old.
Tiffany felt a bit nervous as she opened the cab door. The light didn’t come on inside, but the street light illuminated enough for her to see what she was doing as she clambered in.
‘The person who booked you gave you the address, right?’ she checked.
‘That’s right,’ said the driver.
He turned towards her slightly, but he had a soft, low voice that made her crane forward. In the dark she only had a vague impression of a round face and tight curls, slightly balding. He looked like an overgrown baby.
Then they were off, into the darkness, towards Justin’s house.
Eighty-Nine
I was reminded of the poem by Mary Howitt as I sat in my innocuous dark blue Ford Escort, the engine running. We’d studied it at school, and it had always stuck with me. ‘“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the spider to the fly’, that was how it went. When the door opened and the girl climbed inside – voluntarily – the fly came right into my web.
It was her fault for being such a gullible kid.