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The Outcast Dead(16)

By:Elly Griffiths

 
 

 

Hed been amazed at how relaxed Ruth had seemed on the set. She is confident, he knows, when shes in her professional world, but hed thought that TV might bring out some of her better-hidden insecurities. But she seemed to treat the camera like an old friend, chatting animatedly about Carbon 14 and all those processes that she has so many times tried, and failed, to explain to him. For one ridiculous minute he had almost felt jealous. But hes not jealous, he tells himself; he has no right to be. And if Ruth wants to consort with silver-haired American TV stars, thats her choice. He stops with a jolt at a red light.

Dad! says Rebecca from the back seat. I was putting on my make-up.

Why do you need make-up when youre in the car?

Maddie and I thought we might stop off at Lynn. Meet up with some people from school.

Nelson is about to answer when his mobile rings. He has forgotten to put it on hands free. Can you get that, love? he asks Rebecca.

But its Maddie who picks up the phone from the foot-well.

Its a text from someone called Clough.

He shouldnt let Maddie see the message but hes too impatient to wait. What does it say?

Justine T wants 2 talk 2 u. Says she has imp info. Is that Justine Thomas? asks Maddie. Shes a good friend of mine.



Nelson drops the girls off in the centre of Kings Lynn and drives straight to Chapel Road. Justine had said that she might be collecting Bailey from school. Sure enough, the sweeping drive is empty, and when Nelson rings the doorbell the sound echoes through the house. He looks at his watch. Three-thirty. She should be back soon. He decides to take a quick stroll around the garden. Its the usual middle-class paradise of decking, terracotta urns and childrens play equipment. Theres a Wendy House that looks like a miniature Tyrolean cottage and a vast climbing frame that probably needed planning permission and a light on the top to warn off low-flying planes. Suddenly a picture flashes into Nelsons mind, a high-definition memory, so clear as to be almost painful: Scarlets brothers playing on a half-finished climbing frame in their wilderness of a garden. That had been a very different creation  –  reclaimed timber and old tyres  –  but the intention had doubtless been the same, to provide a safe place for children to play. He thinks of Scarlets twin brothers; Maddie said that they were eleven now. They had been playing with Scarlet when she disappeared. Do they still think about her? Do they still run and laugh and climb? Murder has deep roots, he thinks, and casts long shadows. Scarlets brothers were only seven when she died but he wonders if they ever played so innocently again.

Justines car, a shiny Golf, crunches over the gravel. Nelson goes to meet her. He admires her calm, unflustered movements as she lifts Scooter from his car-seat and unfolds Poppys pushchair. Bailey, a tiny figure in a purple blazer, glares at Nelson from under his pudding-basin fringe.

Whos this, Justine?

Nelson hears the authentic, born-to-command tones under the babyish lisp, an attitude probably fostered by the purple blazer school. Michelle had insisted on sending the girls to private school, a decision he still regrets. He hadnt wanted his daughters to grow away from him, to rhyme bath with hearth and to sneer at people who put brown sauce on their chips. But Michelle had wanted to give them the best, a real chance in life. Is that what his parents want for Bailey? Full-time nanny, pre-prep, Suzuki violin lessons? Ruth will be just as adamant, he knows, though in her case she will be demanding a state school in the most ethnically mixed, socially deprived area she can find in North Norfolk. His opinion wont count much with her either but, then again, what does he know? He hated school himself.

Hes a visitor, says Justine, brightly but with a faint suggestion of steel. Say hallo, Bailey.

Hallo, says the tiny plutocrat.

Hallo, says Nelson. He considers ruffling the boys hair and then decides against it.

This way, says Justine. Poppy is in her pushchair and Scooter refuses to be put down so Justine balances him on one hip.

Shall I hold him? offers Nelson.

Im afraid he wont go to you. Im OK. I can manage.

She does, admirably, and within a few minutes they are all seated in the sunny playroom, the children drinking juice and eating raisins. Their parents dont like them to have cakes.

Do they tell you what to feed them?

Yes, says Justine. Ive got a list and I have to plan my menus for the week. I dont mind. I like to be organised.

You said you had something to tell me.

Yes. To Nelsons surprise, Justine gets out her mobile, the latest iPhone. New car, state-of-the-art phone, she must be earning a good wage from the toy company owners.

Im still Facebook friends with him, she is saying. I kept meaning to unfriend him but I never got round to it.

Nelson is lost. He knows about Facebook, of course. At one time his daughters were never off it and even Michelle has an account. He cant see the point of it himself  –  in his view friends are people you can have a pint with, not names on a screen  –  but he doesnt think of it as evil either.

What are we talking about? he asks.

Justine looks surprised. Bob. Bob Donaldson. I was checking my Facebook page  –  I dont go on it that much these days  –  and I saw this.

She puts the phone in his hands. He squints at it. Is text getting smaller or does he need glasses? Justine takes a swipe at the screen and the words get bigger. Theres a picture too, a tiny square of a man holding a baby. Bob Donaldson, he reads: June 14th. 2 Massey Avenue, Kings Lynn.

Thats his house. says Justine. The house he shared with Liz, I mean. He must have enabled location finder on Facebook. You can add a specific location and the phone knows when youre there.

June 14th, says Nelson. That was the day David died.

Yes, says Justine. He said he wasnt in the house that day but he must have been lying.

What does the message say? Nelson holds the phone up to the light.

Bob Donaldsons status report is brief. Well never be parted again.





CHAPTER 14


Why didnt you tell us that Bob was in the house?

Liz Donaldson looks at him wearily. Nelson thinks that her two days in custody have changed her beyond measure. As a prisoner on remand she is wearing her own clothes but she seems institutionalised just the same, grey-faced and dead-eyed. She stares at Nelson and Judy as if she can hardly be bothered to speak to them.

I didnt know, she says.

Look, Liz, Judy leans forward. We know he was there. Why are you trying to protect him?

Liz shuts her eyes. I didnt know. I woke up half way through the afternoon, not really awake, you know, like I was dreaming, and I thought I heard his voice on the baby monitor.

What was he saying? asks Judy.

He was singing a lullaby to David.

Judy and Nelson look at each other. Why didnt you tell us this earlier? asks Nelson.
 
 

 

Liz opens her eyes and they are full of tears. Because I thought I was dreaming. I wanted him to come home so much, to be with me and David, to sing lullabies to his son, I thought I was imagining things. Then, when I woke up, David was dead and everything was over. Everything. She starts to cry in earnest, letting the tears fall onto her lap.

Liz, says Judy. What happened when you last saw Bob. Did you argue? Did you tell him that you wanted him back?

Lizs voice is suddenly hard. You might say we argued. I told him that if he divorced me hed never see David again.



Back at the station, Nelson opens his office door to be met by the welcoming party from hell  –  Superintendent Whitcliffe and Madge Hudson.

Whats this I hear about you arresting the husband?

Nelson tries to edge past his boss. Im bringing him in for questioning. Ive received information that places him at the scene.

What information?

Nelson sits at his desk, trying to take control. Madge smiles as if she sees through this obvious bit of body language. Addressing himself to Whitcliffe, Nelson explains about the Facebook message. Hes sure the superintendent has an account, complete with pictures of himself relaxing under palm trees or whatever he does in his spare time.

Whos bringing him in? asks Whitcliffe.

DS Clough and DS Heathfield.

They should be able to handle things.

I think so. Hes hardly an intimidating type, physically at least.

I always thought the husband was a possible suspect, says Madge.

In that case, says Nelson, its a pity you didnt mention it before.

Thats not how it works, says Madge. You know that.

No? thinks Nelson. How does it work then? But Whitcliffe is regarding Madge with the trusting gaze of a volunteer about to be sawn in half by a stage magician.

Family annihilators often act out of a perverted desire to protect, she is saying. They convince themselves that their children would rather be dead than face a future without them. Typically, these actions are triggered by divorce or some other family trauma.

Dont family annihilators usually wipe out the whole family? asks Nelson.

Who knows if Bob has struck before? You said yourself that the deaths of Samuel and Isaac could be suspicious.

Why would he kill the older boys? He wasnt in danger of losing them.

How do you know? Maybe this isnt the first time that Liz has threatened him with losing custody.

She has a point, though Nelson isnt about to admit it.

Did the wife confirm that he was in the house? asks Whitcliffe.

She says she heard his voice on the baby monitor but she thought she was dreaming.

Thats very plausible, says Madge. She would have been almost in a fugue state, disassociated, wandering between waking and sleeping.

Nelson thinks of something Ruth once told him about marshland. Because its neither land nor sea, but something in between, prehistoric man had thought that it was a sacred place, a liminal zone, half way between life and death. This is why bodies and treasure are often found buried in marshes, to mark that boundary. Was Liz stuck in her own liminal zone, dazed from sadness and lack of sleep, unable to distinguish between dreams and reality? He thinks too of Judys first diagnosis, that Liz was suffering from some sort of post traumatic stress syndrome. Sometimes Judy can be very astute.