‘Understand?’
‘Yuh-yes … ’
‘Good.’
‘Why?’
Silence.
‘Why … who—’
‘I told you. Be quiet. Listen.’
She did so. Tried to scan the voice to see if she recognised it. She didn’t. Couldn’t. Didn’t even know if it was male or female.
The voice continued. ‘You’ve got to go somewhere, and do something when you get there. Understand?’
‘Yes … ’
‘Good. In your bag is a book of maps.’
The voice stopped talking. Marina took that as her cue to look for it. She grabbed for the bag on the floor at her side. Rifled through it. There it was. An atlas of Essex.
‘One of the pages is marked,’ said the voice. ‘Open it.’
The book was brand new. One deliberate crease down the spine. She picked it up and it fell open at the marked page. A circle had been drawn in one of the grids. Underneath, a name.
‘Go there.’
‘And … and do what?’
‘Ask for … ’ There was a pause. ‘Tyrell.’
‘And then what? Will Josephina be there? Is she—’
‘Do as you’re told.’ The voice had been neutral until now. But those words were edged with ugly emotion. A sick thrill of control.
‘Where’s my daughter? I want to hear my daughter … ’
‘Just do what you’ve been told.’
Marina searched for words but didn’t know how to respond. She was a criminal psychologist, trained to deal with these kinds of people, an expert on what to say in such situations. But she had only ever dealt with this in an abstract sense, come at it from a position of professionalism. This was happening to her. It was real. Her emotional state was already fractured, her head like a junkyard. And all her training had dissipated like steam off a hotplate.
She had to get a grip, not give in to hysteria. Find a still point somewhere deep within her chaotic mind. Respond like a professional.
‘Why are you doing this?’ She tried to tamp down her emotions, speak in as rational a voice as she could find. ‘To me. Why are you doing this to me?’
There was a pause on the line. Marina could hear the zing of electrostatic, of dead air. She thought the call had been ended and felt helplessness creep up on her once more.
‘Punishment. For the guilty.’
She fought down the rising hysteria and listened. Here was something. Just a small phrase, but something to work with.
‘Guilty? What am I guilty of?’
Nothing. She could hear the person breathing. The breath sounded angry. Much less controlled than the voice itself.
‘Shut up.’ The words hissed. ‘Do as you’re told. If you want to see your daughter alive again.’
‘OK, but—’
‘And tell no one where you’re going, what you’re doing. No one. Because I’m watching you. Even when you don’t think I am, I’ll be watching you. I’m watching you now.’
Marina spun round. So quickly it made her ribs ache, her head spin. She couldn’t see anyone else. She moved to the front of the cubicle, pulled the curtains aside. A couple of nurses were walking past, no one else. Then at the far end of the corridor she saw Anni approaching, coffee in hand.
‘Remember, don’t say anything. Especially not to the policewoman coming towards you.’
Marina’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t articulate, couldn’t speak.
She felt the voice smile. ‘Good. Now we understand each other. You’ve got a job to do. Go and do it.’
Marina was left holding a dead phone in her hand.
She snapped herself out of her daze, quickly pocketed the phone and picked up her bag. Felt in her pockets, looked round once more. Car keys. She didn’t have her car keys. She didn’t even have her car. It would still be at Aldeburgh.
She looked round the cubicle. Anni’s bag was still on the floor. Without stopping to think, she bent down and started going through it. Anni’s car keys were near the top. She pulled them out as fast as she could, crossed the cubicle, flung the curtains aside. Anni stood before her, coffee in hand. She jumped back, surprised.
‘Feeling better?’ Then she caught the wild look in Marina’s eyes, took in her tense body language.
Marina started to push past her. ‘I’ve got to go … ’
Anni jumped to the side, fearful of ending up wearing her coffee. ‘Hey … ’
‘I’ve got to go.’ Marina felt light-headed, like the whole world was spinning and she was in danger of falling off. Anni didn’t move. ‘I … I need the toilet … ’
‘I’ll get the nurse to come and—’
‘No.’ Marina saw the look in Anni’s eyes, realised she had been too abrupt. She tried a smile. ‘No, it’s … it’s OK.’
‘You sure? You don’t look—’
‘I can manage.’
‘Well I can help—’
‘I said I can manage.’ She spat the words out.
Anni’s head snapped back like she had been slapped. ‘Fine. OK.’
‘Thank you. Now, I’ve … I’ve got to go.’
She swept past Anni, moving as quickly as she could, trying hard not to break into a run.
The thought of leaving Phil behind ground into her stomach like broken glass.
But the thought of not trying to get her daughter back was even worse.
10
‘Shouldn’t we be doing this somewhere else?’
‘Where did you have in mind?’
Stuart Milton shrugged. ‘I don’t know. The station? Somewhere like that?’
Jessica James sat in the back of her car. She had wanted to go somewhere private, away from the camera crews and reporters who were starting to gather, long lenses pushing over the flapping tape cordon.
‘Here will do,’ she said, and looked at the man sitting next to her.
Stuart Milton’s face and hands still had gravel rash from where he had pulled Marina down to the ground and away from the exploding cottage. His suede jacket was more distressed on one side than the other. He looked, Jessie thought, like the typical middle-aged, middle-class tourist that Aldeburgh attracted. Bet he reads the
‘Just want to run through a few things, take a few details. That’s all.’ She had her notepad open, angled away from him so he couldn’t read what she was writing. The action made her aware of the small space in the car, the enforced intimacy. She was also aware of the discarded paracetamol and mint wrappers on the passenger seat. She was sure he had seen them.
‘Run me through it again. What happened.’
He sighed in exasperation. ‘Do I need to do this? I just wanted to see how the woman was.’
‘She’s fine. Thanks to you. So. You were walking down the gravel path at the side of the cottage … ’
