The old Sloane place.
That had been one of the stipulations after the trial, she remembered. The brother and sister moved away but wanted the house to be left to rot away on its own. They had refused every offer from developers and the council to buy the land or do something with the old property. They wanted it left as it was.
They had got their wish.
The phone rang. Love Will Tear Us Apart. She answered it and was asked if she had read the email. She said she had.
‘You were the only one who believed him,’ the voice said. ‘The only one who thought he was innocent. We checked the records. You knew what was going on. That’s why we chose you.’
Marina said nothing.
‘Now do you understand why you’ve been brought here? What you’ve got to do?’
Marina, still staring at the house, remembered the last part of the email.
Stuart Sloane was not insane. Stuart Sloane did not have multiple personalities. Stuart Sloane is as sane as you or I. She doubted that part but had read on. Stuart Sloane has been made a scapegoat and been defrauded out of millions by the Sloanes that should rightfully have been his. Stuart Sloane needs to get even.
Stuart Sloane needs your help to do that.
‘Yes.’ Marina sighed. ‘I suppose I do.’
‘Congratulations, Dr Esposito. You’ve got a new client.’
36
Tyrell saw the woman from the kitchen walking towards the caravan and felt immediately angry. He didn’t want her anywhere near him. But he also knew that he didn’t have a choice.
The door was unlocked, opened and she stepped inside. He had only seen her through the kitchen window. She had been angry-looking, red-faced. Now, up close, she looked different. The red had drained from her features, leaving her pale and blotchy. She had applied make-up, but it was uneven, poorly done. Tyrell had read somewhere that faces could be described as sculpted. This woman’s had been chiselled. Her hair was messy, uncombed, and seemed to be at an angle to her head. Her clothes — leggings, trainers, fleece — were shabby and dull, as if they had been washed too many times.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It’s time.’
He stood up, stared at her. Didn’t move. She wasn’t meeting his gaze.
‘I don’t like you,’ he said.
She sighed, looked at her watch. ‘Which breaks my heart.’
‘You were horrible to that little girl. Really horrible.’
She said nothing.
‘You shouldn’t have talked to her like that.’
‘None of your business.’
He could feel something welling inside him but wasn’t sure what. ‘You scared her. You shouldn’t have scared her.’ Anger? Sadness? ‘You should never scare children. Never … ’ He felt the hot pinprick of tears at the corners of his eyes as he kept staring at her. She looked away from him. Was she embarrassed in some way?
Tyrell moved in towards her. She flinched, moved back slightly. ‘You threatened her.’ He scrutinised her closely. ‘What kind of person threatens a little girl?’
‘Look, just … get ready. Come on.’
‘Get ready for what?’
She sighed, spoke almost to herself. ‘For this to be over.’
‘Over? Today?’
‘Yes, today. He’s told you already.’ Her voice was exasperated, like she was explaining something to an exceptionally slow child. ‘Now stop being thick. Get ready.’
‘That’s not a nice thing to say. That’s a really hurtful thing to say. Really hurtful.’ He sat down on the bed again, upset by her words. He thought. Hard. Came to some conclusions. ‘I don’t like you. I’m not going to do what you say.’ He nodded. ‘No. I’m not.’
She put her hand on the sink, shook her head. ‘Jesus … ’ She looked up. ‘Just … just come on. We’ve got to get going.’
He didn’t move or give any indication of having heard her.
She sighed once more. ‘You’re going to meet the woman who’s going to help you.’
‘To do what?’ Said without looking at her, straight at the wall.
‘To … make you feel better. Well.’
‘Am I ill? I’m not ill.’
‘No, no, you’re not ill. But she’s going to help you feel … happier. And make you rich.’
‘Rich?’
‘Yes. And … and make up for all the things that have happened to you.’
‘How?’
‘She just will. But you have to come and meet her. And we have to go now.’
He gave her words some thought. Rich. He couldn’t imagine what rich was like. He remembered a time when he was supposed to have been rich, but that was a long time ago. Before prison. Before he was Malcolm Tyrell. He couldn’t remember it clearly. All he knew was that it had been a happy time. Before …
Before everything went wrong.
But rich meant happy. He knew that much. He had been told. And happy, he knew, was good.
He stood up. ‘All right, then.’
‘Thank Christ for that. Just—’
‘But there’s one more thing.’
Another sigh. He could tell she was trying hard not to get angry. Not to get all red-faced again. She wasn’t doing a good job of it.
‘What?’ She looked at her watch. ‘Come on, we haven’t got time for this.’
‘I want to see the little girl.’
‘Oh, Jesus … ’
‘I want to make sure she’s all right.’
‘She’s fine. She’s OK. Come on … ’
He sat down on the bed once more, unmoving.
Another exasperated sigh from the woman. She looked like she wanted to hit him. He didn’t look at her. She waited. Nothing happened.
‘Right. Fine. I’ll go and get her.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And then we’ll go.’
She stormed out of the caravan. He heard her stomping angrily back to the house. He sat on the bed looking through the window, watching her go.
I’ll see that the little girl is all right, he thought, then I’ll go with them. He thought again. Go where? And who was this woman they wanted him to meet?
Although the caravan wasn’t cold, he found himself shivering.
I wish I was back in prison, he thought.
I wish things could be easy again.
37
‘You took your time.’ Anni was waiting in front of Ipswich General. Franks had called her, said that since Suffolk were doing all they could to track down Josephina, she should join Mickey in hunting for Marina.
Mickey pulled up and she got in. He drove off, heading down the A14, on to the A12.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Been doing proper police work. How’s the boss?’
She thought of the figure she had seen lying in the hospital bed, bandaged, wired and tubed. His eyes were taped up; his body was battered, misshapen and damaged. The dressings hid the areas that had been shaved and stitched, cut open and rejoined. They both defined and exaggerated the shape of him.
‘Well as can be expected,’ she said. She told Mickey that Phil hadn’t been near the centre of the explosion but had been caught in the blast. The flames had seared his arms, his torso. Flying debris — most likely a part of the wall — had hit him on the head. That was what was giving most cause for concern. He had been operated on, the pressure relieved, and now left to recover.
Mickey winced. ‘Fingers crossed, then.’ For a long time he said nothing, then Anni became aware of him looking at her.
‘What?’
He looked back to the road. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘You were staring at me.’