Danielle shook her head. ‘It’s all right, Tracy. You did what you thought was best, what others thought was best for you.’
Tracy dabbed at her eyes and the tissue was streaked with make-up. ‘What was it really like, living with them – the Fosters?’
‘The early years were wonderful. It was when I hit adolescence that everything went wrong. Gerald, especially, just couldn’t have found it more difficult. I think he hadn’t thought it through. He wanted me to be a child for ever. He never bought into the whole teenage girl thing.’
Tracy shook her head, still trying to stop her makeup from melting. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He got nasty with me. He just couldn’t hack the hormones. I was moody, difficult – typical teenage girl, I suppose. I think my self-esteem hit rock bottom. I rebelled against everything and anything. I thought I was being clever but looking back – it was stupid. I started missing school, hung about with the wrong types. Before long I had gone too far to recover. I had thought that I would still be able to pass my exams even though I didn’t work. People had always told me how bright I was. But I didn’t go to the lessons and I failed. I started taking stuff. I met Jackson’s father that way. I thought he was really cool, but he was a real loser. He sold drugs to kids. He hit me when he felt in a bad mood, plus he was never faithful. My mum got ill and my dad wouldn’t let me help. I was so angry and I hated him. He tried to keep me away from her. When I got pregnant at seventeen it was the perfect excuse to chuck me out.’
‘Didn’t Marion stop him?’
‘She tried. I remember her crying and pleading but he just stood there glaring at me; he really hated me by that time. Social Services became involved. They said I was better off moving out. They fixed me up with a flat and I moved in with Jackson’s dad, Niall. But Niall didn’t want us. He just wanted the flat so he could do his deals from it. I didn’t really care until Jackson was born and then I saw Niall was never going to change and suddenly everything became clear to me and nothing mattered but Jackson.’
‘Is that why you got in touch with me?’
‘I suppose it is.’
‘What do you want to happen between us? What do you want from me?’ Tracy had rehearsed what she was going to say many times in the last week. None of those times had it come out like that.
Danielle shook her head. She looked up, angry. ‘I don’t want anything.’
‘You must have had something in mind?’ Tracy replied, trying to keep her voice soft, low. She knew it would rise and become panicky if she didn’t watch it.
‘I just need you to promise something.’ Tracy waited. Danielle’s eyes softened. ‘I need you to promise to take care of Jackson if anything happens to me. I haven’t got anyone else. You’re his granny. You have to do it.’ Tracy stood blinking at Danielle, her shoulders raised, her eyes frightened. She didn’t answer.
‘My friend went missing from my course. She just disappeared; flipped, I suppose. She left a child alone, a little girl called Sky, but she had her parents to rely on. They’re looking after Sky now. I thought, who has Jackson got? I know it sounds silly. I know it sounds like I’m thinking too hard about some stuff but I reckon if you put a Plan B in place hopefully you’ll never have to use it.’ She turned to Tracy. ‘You are my Plan B, Tracy.’
The man made his way along the busy streets and hurried to his home. Fumbling with the keys he closed the door behind him and stood listening. In the gloom his eyes shone and his heart quickened. His senses heightened. He walked slowly down the hallway, tilting his head to listen as he did so, and then up the stairs to the top landing. At the end of the landing, he stopped by a door on his left and smiled as he closed his eyes and breathed in the smell deeply through his nose. A buzzing fly interrupted his thoughts as he opened his eyes just a fraction and watched it. It landed on the doorframe and his hand, fast as a chameleon’s tongue, squashed it flat. He looked at the mess on his hand.
From behind the door someone groaned. He wiped his hand on his chest then he squeezed and turned the doorknob. He flicked on a light switch and an old chandelier flickered into meagre life. The room was filled with more shadows than light. The smell of decay hit him. It was a sweet perfume to his nose. Music started as he opened the door. A violin solo, melancholy at first and then growing in tempo. The woman’s crying just audible with the violin. He spun and danced as he waltzed his way towards her. She turned her body from him, her knees tucked up against her chest, whimpering. She was skeletal. Around the room were photos of emaciated women in bikinis. He pulled her up from the floor as she cried in pain and he held her to him as he twirled her round the room. He danced as she cried in his arms.
Chapter 8
‘It is the still and silent sea that drowns a man. That’s the literal translation of the tattoo. Doctor Harding was right about the language.’ Carter and Willis were in the crime analyst’s office.
‘The tattoo on the mermaid’s ankle is a Norse saying.’ Robbo placed a file in front of them. ‘This is her.’
Crime Analyst Robbo worked in an office which he shared with one full-time civilian worker, Pam, and two researchers, available when the investigation warranted more help. Robbo had been a long-serving detective in the murder squad and had retrained as an analyst when he retired.
Operation Sparrowhawk was written up on the board behind his desk.
On the front of the file was a picture of a smiling woman in her early twenties with a bottle of beer in her hand. She was dressed in frayed denim shorts, a bikini top, big floppy hat and pink Wellington boots. She had long auburn hair flowing over her shoulders.
‘This is twenty-three-year-old Emily Styles – went missing on June the fifth. This picture was taken at a festival a couple of weeks before she disappeared. She lived in Camden with her parents and her two-year-old daughter Sky.’
‘Christ almighty.’ Carter picked up the photo and studied it. ‘Not what I was expecting.’
‘I remember her disappearance,’ said Willis. ‘MIT 15 were dealing with it. Jeanie was loaned to them for the case; she was their Family Liaison Officer.’
‘Ask Jeanie to come,’ said Carter. ‘And tell her to bring anything she has on it.’
Ebony was already on her feet and half-way out of the door. She found Jeanie back at her desk in the Enquiry Team Office.
‘Yeah, I went round there when she first went missing,’ said Jeanie when she got to Robbo’s office.
‘What were her circumstances?’ asked Carter. ‘Did the initial investigation throw up any suspects, Jeanie?’
‘Very few. It was handled by MIT 15. I was loaned to them when they were overstretched back in the summer. Emily went missing one afternoon and no one seemed to think it was that out of the ordinary. Her parents didn’t even think to report her missing for five days.’ Jeanie perched on the edge of the vacant researcher’s desk.
‘But she left her belongings?’
‘Yeah, everything except what was in her handbag – phone, purse, what-have-you.’
‘She never turned up to collect her child from nursery. That must have been the biggest cause for alarm bells to start ringing?’
‘You’d think so – but, according to her mum, they pretty much look after the little girl anyway. They said Emily was a bit wild. I got the impression she was a good mum but she was taking time to tame; still took the odd pill and used to stay away for a night without letting anyone know a few times. She’d been travelling and found it hard to settle. It seemed to me that her parents thought she’d just gone off more than disappeared. They seemed to be apologetic about Emily and resigned to bringing up the little girl themselves. It was as if they blamed themselves for the fact that Emily wasn’t that keen on settling into motherhood. They thought they’d tried to make her into something she couldn’t be.’