‘I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences.’
‘I don’t. You’re right. It can’t be a coincidence.’
‘So …?’
Marilyn sighed. ‘I’d seen a light, Tony.’ He held a hand up, thumb and forefinger a millimetre apart. ‘I’d seen a tiny light in that pitch-black tunnel I’ve been floundering around in for the past two years, and you’ve either extinguished it or lit twenty more flames.’
‘Well, good luck with making sense of it all,’ he said, pushing himself to his feet.
Marilyn held up the evidence bag containing the doll, by the corner, in pincer fingers. ‘Take your dolly with you, Tony. My childhood was fine, just fine, so I won’t be needing its dubious comfort.’
Burrows took the bag from his outstretched hand. ‘Are you sure about that?’
Marilyn shook his head. ‘The only thing I can say for sure is that I’m not sure about anything.’
‘You need a long holiday, mate. When all this is over, take yourself off somewhere, chillax.’ His sunburnt moon face split into a wide grin. ‘Haiti, maybe? Voodoo land.’
70
Reynolds was shaking his head, hands pressed over his ears like a toddler, as if that action would negate the question Jessie had just asked him. She was tempted to grab his forearms and pull his hands away, give him a slap around the face for good measure. But she was alone in his house, he was between her and the front door and he was twice her size. He was also upset and on edge. Fear was a far less predictable emotion than anger: a frightened dog more likely to bite than an angry one, a frightened man more likely to lash out.
‘Answer the question, Roger.’
‘If I had believed for a moment that Carolynn murdered Zoe, I never would have supported her throughout the trial. She’s not capable of killing.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I’ve been with her for twenty years. I know her.’
Carolynn was clever, resourceful and a brilliant actress. Jessie was sure she had been whatever Roger wanted her to be, and was equally sure that he’d never known his wife at all. Just as Jessie had never known her, never been able to pin her down, work her out. But there was no benefit to be had in correcting him now. Finding Carolynn was the priority and she needed his help.
‘Where has she gone, Roger?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You need to tell me where she’s gone, because I believe that she’s …’ She’s what? Losing it? On the spur of the moment, she couldn’t think of a more professional term. ‘She’s losing it, Roger.’
He shook his head. ‘I need to protect her. I need to protect my wife.’
71
When Burrows and his voodoo doll had departed, Marilyn planted his elbows on his desk and sank his head into his hands. Staring hard into the darkness of his palms, he sent his mind inwards, tuning out the sounds of vehicles and pavement chatter rising up from the street below, the ring of telephones and the clack of keyboards from beyond the glass partition that divided his office from the scrum.
Why would Ruby Lovatt have sent Carolynn Reynolds that doll? It didn’t make sense. Unless … unless. He thought of her standing on the back steps of the police station two days ago, in her low-cut silver top.
I had no use for a kiddie.
He, she’d said. A boy.
He flattered himself that Ruby appreciated their nebulous relationship enough not to lie to him, but he saw now that his sentiment was idiotic, a fool’s confidence. He barely knew the woman, knew next to nothing about her. It was he who appreciated the connection, not her: the detective with the common touch. It was a nice moniker; he’d liked it. And he’d liked her, been really taken with her all those years ago when he’d first set eyes on that feisty, fiercely proud, but irreparably damaged fourteen-year-old. Even at that age, she’d already struggled through more shit than most people dealt with in a lifetime. She’d survived, barely, was still surviving, barely, and the reality was that she’d do anything to continue surviving. Do anything. Say anything. Be anything. It was human nature.
Was it a coincidence that she had found Jodie Trigg’s body? It could have been – she did spend most summer days scavenging on the beach – but now that he really thought about it, he didn’t believe it was.
What the hell is going on?
Dropping his hands, he reached for his mobile, dialled Workman’s number and spoke as soon as he heard a break in the ring.
‘DS Workman, have you run Zoe’s DNA against Carolynn Reynolds’ yet?’
‘Yes.’
‘So why haven’t you called me?’ he snapped, knowing his anger should rightfully be turned inwards.
‘I was running more—’
‘What’s the result?’ he interrupted.
‘Dr Flynn was right. Carolynn and Zoe Reynolds were not biologically related.’
Oh, Christ. ‘Not even distantly?’ Aunt and niece? Second aunt and third niece, four times removed?
‘Not even distantly.’
‘And Roger?’
‘Zoe wasn’t biologically related to him either. She wasn’t biologically related to either of her “parents”.’
72
A look of torment twisted Reynolds’ features out of shape. ‘Carolynn didn’t kill her. She didn’t.’ His hands were writhing around themselves, as if they had a life of their own, and his whole body had started to shake.
Jessie couldn’t afford to lose him, not now, not yet. She forced a semblance of calm into her voice. ‘Where has she gone, Roger? She’s out there, alone and stressed.’
He muttered something.
‘What? A city? Did you say, a city?’
Without raising his head, he nodded. ‘She said that we should go and hide in a city. Somewhere anonymous.’
‘London?’
A shrug.
Or was London too close to home? Birmingham perhaps? Manchester?
‘Birmingham? Manchester?’
Another shrug.
‘If you don’t give me useful answers, you know that DI Simmons will be over here in a heartbeat. Surely I’m the lesser of two evils.’ Even as she said it, she was sure that it wasn’t true. With her out-of-control OCD, the electric suit hissing and snapping and the runaway emotional juggernaut that was
