Marina had last been to Jaywick for the opening of the Martello Tower art gallery a few years ago. From the clothes they wore and the way they spoke, she doubted everyone she met at the opening was local. And driving through the streets, seeing the boarded-up shops, cafés and pubs, she had wondered what sort of person would live there.
Now she knew. Her brother.
‘You’re awake.’
She opened her eyes once more. Alessandro was standing at the end of the bed. Mug of something hot in one hand. He sat down next to her. She felt the bed almost give under his weight. He handed her the mug.
‘Drink this.’
She put it to her lips, sipped. It was awful.
‘What is it?’
‘Supposed to be tea.’ He shrugged. ‘Never was very good at the domestic stuff.’ He looked down at the carpet. ‘Don’t drink it if you don’t want to.’
She put it down beside her, sat up. Looked around. It was the main room of one of the chalet bungalows. She was lying on a fold-out sofa bed. The sheets and duvet were faded and worn thin, on the wrong side of clean. What other furniture there was seemed to have been either collected or gathered up rather than intentionally bought. Off in a galley to the right was something that looked more like an Al Qaeda biological weapons testing facility than a kitchen. The room smelt of damp and dirt and lonely, desperate male.
She caught Alessandro looking at her. Knew he was seeing the room through her eyes. And from his downcast expression, he was probably thinking something similar.
‘So.’ He looked up. ‘What brings you here?’ His eyes were sharp, his voice forming a hard, brittle shell around the words. ‘Must be serious. Thought you’d lost my number.’
Marina didn’t rise to his words, although she could feel herself gearing up for a fight. He was her brother. He knew which of her buttons to press. Just as she knew his. Instead she tried another sip of tea. Managed to swallow it. Not too bad when you get used to it, she thought, hoping she never had to get used to it.
She replaced the mug on the floor, ignoring the improbably breasted cartoon blonde on its side. Noticed that its interior was ringed brown like a centuries-old tree. Looked up at her brother and sighed. Awake but still tired. ‘Where do I start?’
‘The beginning.’ He looked at his watch.
‘Am I keeping you from something?’
‘Got to be somewhere later. Tell me what’s happened. Not every day my sister collapses on my doorstep.’
She told him. Hesitant at first, then with growing confidence as she became involved in the telling. Starting with the cottage, the planned Easter break. The fire, then … nothing. The hospital. The phone. Love Will Tear Us Apart. The calls.
‘I tried to reason with them, find out what they wanted from me, talk to them like a human being, make them see me as one … ’ She sighed. ‘I tried.’
She resumed her story. The chase with the police round the motel. Bet Sandro likes that, she thought. ‘Then I called at a service station. And when I knew where I was going, I tried to leave a message for … for the police.’
He snorted. ‘What for?’
‘So they could help me out.’
‘Thought they told you not to do that.’
‘They did, but I thought I was on my way to where Josephina was being kept. If I could get word to the police, have them turn up while I was there, then they could get Josephina back for me.’ She sighed. ‘I thought they’d be able to help.’
‘And they couldn’t.’
She shook her head. ‘No one could … ’ She moved on to the house on the way to Clacton. Turning up there, finding Josephina’s toy. And the dead body. ‘Then I came here. Didn’t want to stick around there. Couldn’t.’
Alessandro frowned. ‘So why didn’t you go to the police then? Much as I hate them, they would be the people to talk to.’
Marina sighed. ‘Because … I couldn’t. Someone still has Josie. Or at least I hope they do. Otherwise … ’ Her voice trailed off.
She felt tears form behind her eyes. Refused to give in to them. Not in front of Sandro. He waited while she composed herself, resumed her story.
‘Anyway,’ she said, wiping her tears, her nose on her sleeve, ‘I couldn’t call the police. They weren’t there when I turned up so I don’t think they got my message. Which might be a good thing. Because if the person who’s got Josie knew I’d contacted them, they might hurt her.’
‘And have they been in touch again?’
She sighed, shook her head.
‘Maybe it was the dead body you found. Maybe that was him.’
Another sigh. ‘Maybe. I don’t know … I don’t know … ’
She felt herself unravelling again, managed to hold herself together.
Silence fell in the room. Eventually Sandro spoke.
‘So,’ he said, ‘you came here.’
She nodded.
‘Why? Haven’t you got anywhere else to go?’
She gave a sad little laugh. ‘Something like that.’
‘What d’you want me to do?’
She looked at him again, eyes lit by a desperate light. ‘Help me.’
He looked surprised. ‘How can I do that?’
She leaned forward, imploring. ‘You know people. People I don’t. You’ve got connections I haven’t got. Ways of contacting people.’
Sandro’s voice was icing over. ‘And why would I have all that?’
‘Because … because that’s the kind of circles you move in.’
‘You mean I’m a criminal.’
‘I didn’t say that. I—’
‘Yeah, you did. That’s what you meant.’
She sighed. ‘Please, Sandro. I need your help to find my daughter. Will you help me?’
He stared at her, thinking. Looked away. She watched his eyes rove over the walls, the furniture. He turned back to her.
‘No,’ he said.
62
Jessie smoothed her hair down, arranged her jacket. Cleared her throat. And pressed the buzzer for the intercom. She and Deepak stood outside the gates of the Sloanes’ house, ready to go through the same ritual as the previous night.
The intercom was answered by the same non-English voice claiming that there was no one available to talk to the police and saying that they should call back later.
Time to be proactive, thought Jessie.
‘We’re investigating the death of Jeffrey Hibbert, who used to work for the Sloanes. We’ve just watched his widow leave, and since we believe she was here for the same reason as we are, we’d like to talk to whoever she talked to, please.’
There was another shared look between the two detectives. Then the gate swung open. Jessie gave Deepak a thumbs-up gesture. ‘You’re impressed by my silver tongue. Go on, admit it.’
Deepak shook his head. Managed a smile. ‘At least you didn’t lose your temper.’
‘I’m saving that for when we get inside.’
They walked up the gravel drive and into the house.
They were shown into the living room, asked to sit on one of the two sofas and left alone, the door shut. They exchanged glances.