The body moved. It rolled towards her and began to sit up. A hand shot out and gripped her. The butterflies swarmed away from the face but it wasn’t David under there. It was Zoë, sitting up and looking beseechingly at Sally, as if she was at the bottom of a very deep hole, and Sally was the only light she could see.
‘Sally?’ A hand was shaking her. ‘Sally? Wake up.’
She covered her face with her hands. ‘What?’ she mumbled.
‘You were crying.’
She opened her eyes. The room was dark, the bedside clock casting just a faint glow. Three o’clock. Steve was lying behind her, his hand on her shoulder. She touched her fingers lightly to her face and found her cheeks were wet.
Chapter 13
He has disappeared himself …
Jake’s words kept knocking at Zoë. She’d been almost certain for a while that Goldrab was dead, but now she wasn’t so sure. It hadn’t occurred to her before that he could disappear himself. But now she saw it was feasible, and the thought made her more than uneasy. If he wasn’t dead it meant he could come back at any time, walk into her life and cut her down in one swipe. Because that was the sort of bastard he was.
The next day she got straight to work, ploughing through the list Jake had given her, putting out feelers – calls to Essex Police to track down Candi and Fraser, and to SOCA to see if there were any clues as to who ‘Spanner’ might be. She used the parliamentary website, Dodspeople, to search hundreds of CVs for MoD people who’d done time in Kosovo, and the more digging she did the more convinced she became that the person to start with was a guy named Dominic Mooney. Mooney was now head of intelligence at one of the Foreign Office departments, but what interested her was that he had spent time with the Civil Secretariat in Kosovo at the beginning of the decade and had done three years as the director of a unit set up in Priština to monitor and investigate prostitution and trafficking. If any of his staff in Kosovo had had contact with Goldrab, or had been up to anything suspicious, Mooney would be the one to know.
She put in a call to him in Whitehall, but he was out at a meeting, so she left a message with his secretary, then began systematically working her way through her list of other tasks. She spoke to the gardening company in Swindon, but they didn’t have much to tell her – Goldrab was reclusive, paid them by direct debit, and often the workers would be at Lightpil for eight hours solid without seeing or speaking to him. It was much the same story at the pool company, and at the stables where Goldrab kept his horse, Bruiser. He rode most days, though usually on his own, and paid the livery fees also by direct debit. In fact, no one Zoë spoke to had had any inkling of what Goldrab was like as a person, let alone any idea if he was unhappy or making plans to leave.
DC Goods called from town. Zoë had told him that Jake the Peg was in trouble again and given him the task of finding support for Jake’s alibi. Already he was unearthing evidence: the staff at River Island remembered him, and they had the CCTV footage to prove it. From a glance at the photo, the manager of the cinema too was almost certain she remembered Jake. She was having a look at the time-coded CCTV footage even as they spoke. His alibi for that night seemed watertight. Zoë found she wasn’t much surprised at that: it had felt too easy a solution for Jake to have been the one who had made Goldrab disappear.
She opened an email from the technical team at HQ. The freeze frames of the porn footage lifted from Goldrab’s computers had come back and none of the women was Lorne. She stared at the images, trying to force Lorne’s features into the girls’ faces, but she couldn’t. Again, she wondered if Goldrab’s disappearance was totally coincidental. Did that mean she was leaving Lorne behind by chasing what had happened to Goldrab? She looked at the photo of Lorne pinned to the wall. Come on, she thought, you brought me here, so you tell me – what do I do now? You know I really want David Goldrab. Do I go after it? Or is he nothing to do with you?
There was a knock at the door. She made sure her shirt was straight and tucked in and that her cuffs were buttoned, then swivelled the chair to the door. ‘Yup?’
Ben put his head round the door.
‘Oh.’ Her head felt suddenly heavy, her feet like lead. ‘Ben.’
‘Hi.’
They regarded each other without speaking. Somewhere down the corridor a phone rang. A door at the other end of the building banged. What, she wondered, was the grown-up way to deal with Ben? How would a normal person address what had happened between them? She didn’t know. Hadn’t a clue.
Eventually Ben saved her by speaking. ‘Have you heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘About Ralph?’
‘What about him?’
‘I thought you should be the first to know.’ He glanced up at her whiteboard, where Ralph’s name was written with a big red line through it. For the first time she noticed dark rings under Ben’s eyes. He’d been working hard. ‘He tried to commit suicide. Two hours ago. His mother found him.’
‘Christ.’ She remembered Ralph crouching here on the floor, his back to the wall, his tears wetting the carpet. ‘Is he going to be OK?’
‘They don’t know yet. He left a note, though. It said, “Lorne, I’m sorry.”’
Zoë leaned back in the chair, her hands resting on her thighs, her eyes closed. She felt the long, hard drag of the past few days hanging on her.
‘Zoë?’
She dropped her chin. Opened one eye and locked it on him. ‘What?’
He scratched his head, glanced at the whiteboard, then back at her. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing. Just thought you should know.’
Chapter 14
Sally took a long time to go back to sleep after the dream. It seemed she’d slept only minutes before Steve’s alarm was going off. He had a meeting to attend, he’d told her, in London. He hadn’t said what, but they both knew it was with Mooney. To get the money. He showered and dressed while Sally lay in bed, trying to get rid of the dregs of the dream. He didn’t eat breakfast, but walked around anxiously, drinking a mug of coffee, hunting for his keys and his sat nav. He told Sally not to call him, he’d call her.
She sat at the window in her dressing-gown and watched the car pull left out of the driveway, which led away from the lane along a narrow track into the woods. It was down there, in true Famous Five style, that they’d dug a hole under the trunk of a tree and buried David’s teeth and ring in a tin. She waited at the window until, twenty minutes later, Steve’s car reappeared from the woods and sailed past the drive. Yes. He was going to see Mooney. He was going to get the money. And tomorrow he was going to America to get his other business finished. He was good at keeping things contained, she thought. He had to be, with his job. She envied that. He had no idea what it was like in her head at the moment. The mess and the confusion. The awfulness of being interviewed yesterday by Zoë.
There was a pile of dead brushwood that she’d collected back in December and hadn’t got round to burning. During the winter it had become wet and rotten, but over the last few days the high, bright sunshine had dried it out. She didn’t have to be at work until lunchtime, and she didn’t want to stay in the cottage thinking about Steve going away tomorrow, or about the curious light in Zoë’s eyes when she had said, ‘Why are you nervous, Sally?’, so she pulled on jeans and wellingtons and assembled the things she needed to make a bonfire. In the garage she found the can of paraffin they’d used to burn David’s belongings and all their bloodied clothes. Her old gardening gloves were in the greenhouse. They had been sitting on the window-sill for months and had dried into stiff leather claws. She had to crack and soften them before they’d slip on to her hands.