One Lost Soul Read online

  Eric was a Norfolk boy, born and raised. He had never seen the appeal of the bright lights of the capital or any other city for that matter. He joined the police straight out of school, working hard and wanted to build a career here, among the people and places he knew and loved. Not that it had been easy on him. His father passed away shortly before he left high school, leaving his mother to raise both Eric and his two younger sisters.

  His mother had been diagnosed with cancer the following year and it was Eric who stepped in, providing for the family. His sisters eventually made it through school and college. One, Elizabeth, set off for university while the other, Angela, now lived in the north. He didn’t begrudge them their choices. He didn’t have the same freedom as they’d enjoyed but that was okay. He wouldn’t have played it differently even if he had. His mother once worked for people like the Bettanys. Cooking or housekeeping. Taking care of all the tasks they couldn’t be bothered with or considered beneath them. Working her fingers to the bone and barely being noticed except for the days when she wasn’t at work or required payment. When she fell ill, her employment was terminated. She could no longer keep up with the pace of the job. Even when in remission, the most she could manage was a part-time position at the local co-op. She loved it, mind you. There was a far lower expectation on her to assume responsibility and that was a welcome change.

  They approached a door. It was ajar and Eric could see pink wallpaper and a poster stuck to the wall above the bed. Marie noticed his hesitation as she continued on. “That’s Madeleine’s room.” As soon as she said her name, he recalled her. Madeleine was several years younger than Holly.

  “Where’s Madeleine today?”

  “She was due to sleep over at a friend’s house last night. Colin was working late and my choral practice was rescheduled from earlier in the week.” Marie took on a faraway look, pained. “Probably for the best she isn’t here at the moment, I suppose.”

  Eric bobbed his head, saying nothing. He was glad to not be witnessing the child’s reaction to the news. That made him feel selfish and he focussed on the task in hand. At the other end of the house, Marie came to a closed door, indicating it was Holly’s. She went to open it but Eric stopped her with a gentle touch to her forearm.

  “Probably best to leave it to me, if you don’t mind? I’m sure you’ve seen these types of things before on the telly.”

  “Yes, of course.” She seemed flustered. Understandable under the circumstances. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” Marie stepped back, anxiously fiddling with hands. She didn’t seem comfortable meeting Eric’s eye and he waited quietly for her to take the hint and actually leave him to it. Seconds later, she did exactly that. Nodding nervously, she set off to return downstairs, pausing briefly on the landing and watching as Eric donned a pair of latex gloves he pulled from his pocket. A full forensic search of the room could be done later, if the cause of death turned out as expected. In the meantime, all he was looking for was an indication of whether Holly intended to skip her recital or not. He slipped into the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him.

  The room was tidier than he expected a teenage girl’s room to be. Not that he had ever set foot in one before, apart from the one shared by his sisters obviously, but that didn’t count. There were no posters of popstars lining the walls nor any celebrity magazines casually left on the floor. All her clothing was either in the laundry basket or put away because nothing was left on show. There was a dressing table on the far side of the room, inset into the alcove alongside the chimney breast, but even this had very little in the way of what he expected to see. A hairbrush and straightening tongs lay in front of the vanity mirror, the latter still plugged into the socket on the wall. He eased the drawers open, examining the contents. It felt odd going through her underwear and he flushed, feeling the heat on his cheeks and at the base of his neck, imagining the reddening of his skin. Passing over it quickly, seeing nothing of note, he found no further make-up or cosmetics. Presumably, she took them with her to make herself up.

  Thinking back, he couldn’t remember any bags being found near the body, suitable as either a travel bag or for toiletries. Maybe the search team would locate them in due course. Moving to the wardrobe, he opened the doors wide. There were two lines of clothes hanging from the rail with jumpers, trousers, and what appeared to be skirts, either rolled up or folded neatly on the shelf above. He saw nothing suggestive to indicate where Holly may or may not have planned to go.

  Crossing the room, he addressed the bedside table. A digital clock radio was present, pointing towards the bed, the numbers blinking red. Perhaps there had been a power cut overnight. Opening the single drawer to the unit, he found what looked like a diary and again, feeling strange about doing so, he flicked through the pages. Most of them were blank and those that weren’t were filled with inane drivel that he quickly grew bored of reading. Replacing it in the drawer, he pushed it closed, sitting down on the bed and looking around. The mattress was soft and springy, he sank into it. The thought occurred it must be dreadful to sleep on. He much preferred a stiff mattress himself.

  As an afterthought, he slid off the bed and dropped to his knees. Bending over, he peered under the bed. It was a divan but with no pull-out drawers, leaving a narrow gap between the base and the carpet beneath. Using the torch on his mobile phone, he lit up the area, excited at possibly finding something presumably stashed out of sight. It would have been easier to retrieve with the slender fingers of a petite teenager, he was sure, but eventually, Eric managed to tease the laptop out from its hiding place. It was incredibly slim and lightweight, crafted from one sheet of pressed aluminium he figured. Eric knew his hardware and this cost a small fortune. This was an expensive piece of kit for a teenager, even for people as wealthy as the Bettanys.

  With one last glance around, he retreated from the room, closing the door behind him. Setting off downstairs, he found Janssen still in the kitchen holding a discussion with the parents. Conversation ceased as he entered with all eyes turning to face him.

  “Anything?” Janssen asked expectantly.

  “No uniform, no,” he replied, noting the look of consternation on the faces of the parents. “But I did find this, though.” He held up the laptop triumphantly.

  “That’s not Holly’s,” Colin Bettany said flatly before looking at Marie. “It’s not, is it?” Suddenly, he didn’t sound so sure. Marie shook her head.

  “We’ll have to take it back to the station with us,” Eric said, apologetically.

  “And it might be best if the two of you stayed out of Holly’s room for the time being,” Janssen added. “I know it might be tempting to be close to her possessions and thereby to your daughter, at this time, but please, we may need to carry out a more detailed search and if you were to touch anything or remove—”

  “For goodness’ sake, man! Why would we want to move anything?” Colin said, the hostility returning. Janssen appeared irritated with him. Eric could tell. He was a relaxed boss, although that was probably the wrong choice of word, calm would arguably be more suitable, but when his back was put up, he could be a nightmare to be around. One of those times was in danger of manifesting now. He also found himself making an early assumption that Colin Bettany was used to getting his own way and not one keen to relinquish authority.

  Janssen explained how they would assign a family liaison officer to them who would keep them abreast of the investigation but, for the moment, they were to bear with them. Once Holly was able to be seen, they would be offered the chance to sit with her along with carrying out the formalities of the identification. He gave them his contact card and Eric fell into step as they saw themselves out.

  Closing the door behind them, Eric blew out his cheeks. He was grateful to be outside. Janssen appeared to notice his reaction and Eric quickly unlocked the car, scurrying round to the driver’s side and getting in, wishing for the moment to pass. His discomfort was not only a result of delivering this type of news and witnessing the ensuing grief; that alone was a terrible experience, but also, he wasn’t comfortable around people of this class. He found their social status intimidating, reminding him of his roots. He felt somehow inferior to them, unworthy of sharing space as their equals and that annoyed him.

  Chapter Four

  The children were squabbling over what to watch on the television when Jane returned. A flash of annoyance passed through her mind at the pettiness of the debate. William’s insistence on his choice of a superhero cartoon series he’d become obsessed with recently, seven series’ worth of episodes and every one virtually identical to the last. Rosie, on the other hand, wanted a cartoon featuring children in the form of a variety of animals, attending craft classes managed by an affable canine. The latter was the most preferable but instead of getting involved, she tuned the disruption out.

  A pile of fresh mail sat on the worktop, next to the kettle. Her thoughts passed to her husband. At least you managed to walk to the gate and retrieve that. The coffee machine was on, the filter head still set in place and somehow, she doubted he had left it ready for her. Not wanting to bother with the hassle, she flicked on the kettle. Sifting through the post, the first three she picked up were flyers or generic advertising mail shots and she set them aside for the recycling bin with barely a glance. The next was a utility bill and she tore it open, removing it from the envelope and scanning the total sum, nothing more.

  The water reached temperature and the kettle switched off. Reaching into a high cupboard, she took down a mug, putting in a heaped teaspoon of instant coffee granules and two sugars. She would need to reduce her sugar intake at some point soon. The process wouldn’t be pleasant, it never was. She’d put on weight since the move despite walking the surrounding landscape on a dail
y basis with Archie. Her eyes were drawn to the next letter. The envelope was handwritten, addressed to Ken and came without a stamp. Scooping it up and glancing over her shoulder towards the children, she saw their heated debate was over. The animals were planting vegetable seeds by all accounts. Rosie was happy. William lay in the crook of the corner sofa, his head buried in his tablet with a flash of green reflecting from the screen onto his face.

  Scrunching the envelope up, she stuffed it into her pocket with one hand, pouring water into the mug with the other as the back door opened and her husband entered. “Would you like tea, love?” She reached for another mug before he could reply. Ken wouldn’t drink instant coffee, so there was no point in asking but she wasn’t going through the palaver of making a fresh coffee for him if she couldn’t be bothered to do so for herself.

  “Yes, please.”

  He walked past her and into the living room, casting an eye over the children. Even though he was facing away from her, she knew he would be frowning. You hate the television. He disliked streaming services even more but it kept the children quiet, up to a point. Something he never managed to do. He turned back and she looked away, hoping he wouldn’t read her thoughts by way of her expression.

  “Did you get a paper?” Ken asked, looking around.

  “Oh… no, sorry.” What am I supposed to say? Suddenly, she was lost for words. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t spent the entire walk home playing out different scenarios in her head, how to frame the news, what she should be thinking… or feeling. “Something came up.”

  “What was that then?”

  He sounded disappointed, annoyed even. Sorry you didn’t get your blasted paper. Go to the shop yourself if it means that much to you. “I… I’ll tell you in a minute. Can you finish making the tea?” She left the kitchen, retreating into the cloakroom. Putting the lid to the seat down, she slid the lock across the door and took the envelope out of her pocket. Sitting down, she fought for calm. The cloakroom smelt funny. That mixture of fresh paint tinged with a touch of damp. Ken insisted it would dry out once the summer kicked in but usually she chose to go upstairs such was the strength of the odour, particularly on rainy days. This morning was different.

  The glue on the seal hadn’t taken firmly and the flap came apart from the sleeve with ease. The envelope itself appeared old and battered. Perhaps the glue had dried out. Carefully removing the letter from inside, not wishing to make a sound despite there being practically zero chance of anyone hearing her beyond the door, she unfurled the crumpled paper. The handwriting was poor, barely legible and with several crossings out at various points. The letter was short, the message clear. Reading to the end, her eyes flicked heavenward and it took a few seconds before she realised her hands were involuntarily shaking.

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and sought to calm herself once more. The sound of a car pulling up in the yard outside carried to her. Standing up, she could make out a dark shape through the frosted glass of the cloakroom window. Silently cursing, she folded the letter flat several times and secreted it in her back pocket, along with the envelope. Lastly, she depressed the flush and unlocked the door, hurrying back towards the kitchen.

  By the time she reached the kitchen, Ken had already ushered the men inside. The kids were both leaning over the back of the sofa eagerly inspecting the new arrivals. She recognised the young detective constable although his name escaped her. He must have told her earlier but, what with everything else, she hadn’t taken it in. He was nice enough, a bit drippy for her tastes. The other wasn’t present when she left, of that she was certain. She would have remembered. He was tall, athletic, with a shock of floppy fair hair but, unusually, with a Mediterranean complexion. His expression was serious, his features chiselled and angular and yet offered a promise of kindness.

  The younger officer deferred to the taller and Jane deduced he must therefore be senior. He eyed her approach, smiling and offering her his identification. She gave it a cursory nod before chancing a glance into his dark eyes, yet another contradiction when considering his hair colour. She was sure the latter was natural.

  “You found a body?” Ken was overly dramatic as he was often prone to be. Accusatory. The children were wide-eyed with excitement, the response that only those without the ability to process the enormity of the events could generate. “Why didn’t you say?”

  “Because you disappeared into your studio.” As you always do on the weekend in spite of promising you would spend more time with the kids. She chose not to voice the thought, bearing in mind the company they had. “I was about to just now.” Whether the explanation was satisfactory or not, he didn’t comment further.

  “I was just making tea, if you would care for some?” Ken suggested, looking between the two officers. His tone was light, upbeat. He had slipped into the mode of a welcoming host, much as he used to before when they lived back in Fulham. Ken could be a charming man when he turned it on. “Look at the time, it’s nearly lunch. We could put some food out seeing as you are here. It will only be bread and cheese, perhaps some fruit.”

  The young detective looked eager. His eyes lighting up as the presence of his appetite made itself known. The other appeared ready to decline but Jane stepped in, asserting control like she usually did.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she asked, approaching and extending her hand with an accompanying broad smile.

  “Detective Inspector Janssen, Tom Janssen.” He took her offered hand. The grip was firm, his hand was large and yet gentle, feeling soft to the touch. He must use moisturiser. Takes care of himself. As he returned her smile, she took the initiative. “Ken is right. You must have something to eat with us. Who knows when you’ll next get the chance?” He looked about to object but relented against the tide of her persistence, instead accepting graciously.

  Jane set about preparing lunch, busily pulling everything together. The kids would have their usual weekend lunchtime offering, a pizza with some carrot sticks, sliced avocado and a few fresh tomatoes, if she was lucky. They could eat in front of the television today, leaving the adults free to talk. For them, she found three quarters of a loaf of olive bread that was still fresh enough to serve if she were to sprinkle it with water and heat it through in the oven. Retrieving the cheese box from the fridge, she placed it on the kitchen table while Ken busied himself setting out plates and gathering cutlery. He hadn’t been this productive domestically in months. There was also a carton of fresh soup, still within date, at the back of the fridge and without asking, she emptied the contents into a pan and set a heat beneath it.

  Occasionally, she glanced at the policemen out of the corner of her eye. The drippy one appeared awkward, apparently unsure of how he was expected to behave whereas the other, Inspector Janssen, appeared impassive on the surface, quietly observing the goings on around him. She had the distinct impression very little passed by him unnoticed. She would need to tread carefully around him. Very carefully indeed.

  Chapter Five

  Janssen observed the couple beavering away at preparing lunch. The prospect of taking a statement whilst breaking bread seemed odd. They would need to make casual conversation while they ate, possibly touching on the discovery of Holly’s body, which in itself would also feel odd, and he resolved to take the formal statement afterwards. The husband’s ease with which he openly questioned his wife’s experience seemed strange bearing in mind the presence of the children, too young to hear the details in his opinion. Maybe when he was a parent, he might feel differently but somehow he doubted it.

  The man, Ken Francis, was busy making himself useful, keen to offer himself up as the competent, domestic contributor. The modern-day husband and father but it didn’t take a career as a detective to figure out he was playing the role. Quite badly as it happened. The man frequently paused, looking around with an expression of bewilderment as he sought to locate items for the table. Whether it was the correct cutlery, soup spoons specifically, or napkins, he kept having to refer back to his wife for directions on where he could find them.