Just between us, p.17
Just Between Us, page 17
‘We?’ she challenges. She knows the answer but wants to make him say it.
‘Me and Fiona.’ He sounds cautious. Clements recalls one of her earliest conscious snap judgements of this case. Mark Fletcher – family man; Daan Janssen – ladies’ man. How does that sit now? She has the ladies’ man under arrest, awaiting trial for the abduction and murder of Mark Fletcher’s wife. But the trial hasn’t even come to court yet. As the parlance goes, Kylie Gillingham isn’t cold in her grave. In fact, there isn’t a grave; they haven’t even found her body. Clements is aware that the grieving process might not be straightforward in this case – when is it ever? – but she feels the family man’s behaviour is a bit shoddy. Cosying up with the best friend at such a speed is, at the very least, confusing for the kids. Cosying up or shacking up? Fine line. ‘Separate beds, obviously,’ Fletcher says with a forced laugh. Why did he feel the need to add that? Clements hadn’t asked for clarification. And she doesn’t have to now. He’s clarified something he probably was hoping to hide. More likely than not, they are sleeping together.
So Fiona’s behaviour? Clements has to consider this too. Fiona’s actions don’t quite add up. If she’s moved into the Fletcher household to care for her missing friend’s boys, as she repeatedly reiterates, shouldn’t she be doing a better job of it?
From the moment Clements picked up Kylie Gillingham’s case, she’s cared a little bit more than she should. She is aware of that. She cares for all the incarnations of the woman. Her entire, messy whole.
Mark gave her a photo of Leigh Fletcher when he first reported his wife missing; a woman with big, soulful brown eyes. She was beaming in the snap, a broad, determined smile, but there was something about her eyes that made Clements wonder from the outset. She looked weary. Drained. Done for. More tired than most working mums, who generally are set to exhausted. Maybe she knew on some level where this was all heading. She must have known she couldn’t get away with it for ever. Although she could never have imagined she’d end up chained to a radiator, starved, beaten.
Dead.
Not many people die for their crimes. Even murderers brought to court might expect a matter of years. Life doesn’t mean life in the UK. Clements wishes it bloody did. But Kylie hadn’t murdered anyone. She was just a bigamist, a crime that carried an average sentence of two years.
Clements also cares for the other version: sleek, groomed, ostensibly indulged Kai Janssen. The woman who kept a logbook detailing who came to dinner when, and what they were served. That level of organisation (control? Paranoia?) fascinates her. It’s clear that Kai Janssen did not sit comfortably with the great and the good that her husband brought home to eat with them. Her meticulous notes about entertaining, her obsessively neat wardrobe (clothes catalogued and hung by colour), her lack of contacts in her phone, all suggest a tightly controlled life, one that was clipped, pinched and measured, despite the abundant wealth and the obvious resources that should have meant possibilities. Clements thinks that perhaps Kai refused to take advantage of all that was on offer; perhaps the weight of her position – the fact that she was cheating her way into the opulence – sat too heavily and she couldn’t quite enjoy it. Although she couldn’t quite give it up either, could she? Maybe the sex was wild and abandoned. Maybe that was the irresistible draw to the other man, the second life. Clements hopes so. She wants Kai to have had as many good times as possible. Considering how everything turned out.
Yes, Clements likes every version of Kylie Gillingham, the woman who spat in the eye of convention. She can’t see the criminal in either incarnation, and she loathes the fact that the woman has been turned into a victim, a statistic. It’s the hardest part of the job, having a front-row seat to the filthy underbelly of humanity and keeping count of those who suffer at the hands of others. At least Kylie managed to defy convention for a time. Until the ducking chair/burning-at-the-stake mentality – or whatever the hell it is that always seems to win the day – reasserted control. It seems convention has it that rebellious women must be punished, brought into line. There is no patience or space for those who refuse to conform in this world. Sometimes Clements finishes that sentence with the word ‘yet’, other times she finishes it with the word ‘still’. It depends on how her week is panning out.
The fact is, the moment when she and Tanner ran into the destroyed apartment room where Kylie had been held, and found it empty, was one of the worst of her career. She was so close. So damned hopeful. For a fleeting second she allowed herself to believe they would find Kylie alive. That they’d save the day.
Tanner wants a body or a confession.
Clements wants more.
She hardly dares think it; certainly won’t articulate it, because they have a case. All the evidence points directly at Daan Janssen. Basically open and shut. Basically.
But something still nags at her.
It’s as though someone is breathing on her neck. Not breathing down her neck, not accusing or watching her as such, just reminding her of their presence. She doesn’t believe in ghosts, but she does believe in her gut and she does believe in doing a good job. A good job in a murder case means finding the correct culprit, obviously. A case being basically open and shut is an oxymoron. Yes, all the evidence points to Daan Janssen, yet Clements has started to wonder about something in particular. As she lies awake at night staring at the ceiling, she finds herself asking why Daan Janssen reported his wife missing in the first place. If he murdered her as revenge for her bigamy, he would have known that even though her life had been lived in duplicate, there could only ever be one body. He did not have to associate himself with her going missing at all. Kai Janssen could have simply vanished, and her disappearance could be explained to Daan’s friends and family as a sad but not unusual marital break-up, the subsequent lack of contact justified through a desire for a clean break. Kai didn’t seem to have any friends of her own. It was unlikely anyone would have vigorously pursued the matter of her whereabouts. If Daan had killed her, the clever thing to do would be not to report her missing. It would have been a less risky move, a less humiliating one as well. If a body had ever turned up, that body would be identified as Leigh Fletcher. Daan did not have to make himself known to the police.
Mark was not in the same position. Leigh Fletcher had friends, children, family. She would have been missed. There was no way he could have killed her and then pretended she’d simply walked out on them. Mark Fletcher had no alternative but to go to the police, whether he was the killer or not. Mark Fletcher, who is now living with his wife’s best friend and whose sons have vanished.
Should Clements be concerned for Fiona Phillipson or concerned by her? She allows the thought to roll around her mind. It’s brutal to think that women live in a misogynistic world with the dice weighted against them, the cards dealt unfairly, often with nothing up their sleeves, encountering insults, prejudice and violence at male whim with horrific regularity. That is hard to swallow, but there is something worse still for feminist Clements to contemplate: the fact that men are not the only enemy. They have a case with a lot of physical evidence, but she can’t quite dismiss the thought that the evidence is … What? Circumstantial? No, not quite that. Convenient? Maybe. It’s always the best friend doesn’t have the same ring to it as it’s always the husband, and yet …
She shakes her head. She is conscious that she is often told she has too much imagination for a cop, that she ought to keep it in check. It is a fair point perhaps, although only ever made by the unimaginative. Sometimes she secretly congratulates herself on this particular character trait. She views problems through a different lens, and that is often a good thing in life. Still, she has to admit, it’s perfectly possible that she is reading too much into the home-share arrangement.
Clements knows that she can’t think about Kylie Gillingham’s case at this moment. What is most important right now is the whereabouts of the boys.
‘What have you done to find them?’ she asks.
‘We’ve called their phones. They are both switched off. Seb often turns his off, he’s not so dependent on it, but Oli never does. It’s definitely out of character.’
‘And you’ve left messages in case they turn them on again?’
‘Of course. Voice and text. No response.’
‘Do you have any sort of tracking on their phones? Find My iPhone, that sort of thing?’
‘Yes, but as they’ve turned them off, the last place they’re registering is here at home.’
‘Have you called their friends?’
‘Of course, and their Aunt Paula. I’ve called everyone I can think of. No one has seen them. It’s not like them to go off without telling me what they’re up to. We’re all quite careful with each other, you know.’
‘I can imagine.’
Clements knows there are set questions to ask about children who have potentially run away. For instance, has there been any upset at home? Obviously, she already knows the answers to this. Are the children under any pressure? Have there been any changes in mood or behaviour? Are they speaking to strangers? Maybe the boys are just making the most of Super Saturday. It’s not late. The night is young, in fact. They could be hanging out at a cinema or bowling alley, doing something wholesome. Maybe. Hopefully.
Possibly not.
She tucks her phone under her chin and starts to fill out the missing persons information log. She confirms the boys’ full names, asks for DOB, height, weight and whether they have any particular identification marks.
‘What clothing were they wearing last time you saw them?’
‘Pyjama shorts, I guess. I don’t know.’
‘Well, they’re unlikely to have left the house in those. Is there any chance you can work out what’s missing?’
‘Not really. I don’t keep track of their T-shirts. They both have loads.’
‘Check to see if rucksacks, water bottles, bikes, et cetera have gone.’ She creates a crime reference number. She’s supposed to go off duty in ten minutes. She’s never off duty. ‘I’ll come over now and take a full statement. We’ll get eyes to start searching the areas the boys are known to frequent. We’ll check local hospital admissions and start reviewing CCTV footage. We can look at their computers. See if we can get an idea who they’re speaking to.’
Clements sighs as she hangs up. She feels the weight of this latest development. She speedily briefs Tanner.
‘Your initial thoughts?’ he asks. She’s surprised he hasn’t just dumped his own, as per. She realises that he’s beginning to respect her experience, her instincts.
‘Obviously I’m hoping they’ve taken themselves off, rather than this being another abduction, but nothing can be ruled out at this stage.’
‘But if we do assume they’re runaways, do you think they’re running towards or away from something?’
‘That’s one of the things we have to find out.’
‘Maybe they know something we don’t, or at least think they do,’ suggests Tanner. ‘About their mother or her murderer.’
‘Possible. All I know is that happy kids don’t run away.’
25
Fiona
Fiona can’t understand why Mark is fretting. To her it is obvious where the boys have gone. How has he not thought of it? Her hunch is confirmed when she checks the rack in the cupboard and discovers the key for her bungalow is missing. Mark has nothing to fear. The boys know the area, Oli is sixteen now; he has done the train trip quite a few times. He’s a responsible brother, he’ll look out for Seb. They will turn up sooner rather than later, most likely when they are hungry. They can’t have much money on them; neither of them is a saver. They’ll soon discover that Lyme Regis isn’t the holiday resort of their imaginings once they realise they don’t have an adult with endless pockets on hand to pay for ice creams and hours in the amusement arcades. They’ll most likely call and ask to be picked up at some point soon. Mark keeps muttering about it being like Leigh all over again. Which is crazy. The boys haven’t been abducted. They aren’t going to be pushed off a cliff. There really isn’t anything for Mark to be concerned about. Nothing bad will happen to them in Lyme Regis.
Fiona, however, has a lot to be concerned about.
Not only is it really annoying that her first day of freedom has been commandeered – no shopping or haircut for her, as it would have looked callous if she hadn’t demonstrated some concern for the boys’ whereabouts. But more importantly, Oli and Seb dashing off like this is unpredictable. Something she hasn’t accounted for. The more she thinks about their unpredictable behaviour, the more uncomfortable she is. By late afternoon, she would go so far as to say she is actively agitated. She has to concentrate very hard to think clearly. She needs to be a step ahead. She needs to have thought of everything. That’s how a person gets away with murder.
Most likely the boys are looking for nothing more than somewhere to let their hair down; they probably just want a break, to get away from London. After all, they have been locked down for months, and, she’d guess, they simply don’t have the imagination to think beyond the holiday destination they’ve frequently visited in the past.
She repeatedly tells herself that is what is most probable.
However, it is impossible for her not to be aware that she murdered Leigh at said frequently visited holiday destination, so she doesn’t like the thought of the boys snooping around there. She doesn’t like it at all.
She can’t imagine they will find anything that might incriminate her. She’s been careful. The only things to find were the things she planted for the police to discover, which they duly did. In Fiona’s experience, people tend to see what they want to, which worked against her when she trusted Leigh – believed her to be her best friend and so was blind to her treachery and lies – but worked to her advantage when the police were looking to pin Kylie’s abduction and murder on one of her husbands. They quickly reached the conclusions she’d hoped they would.
Still, she doesn’t want the police to go back to the scene of the crime and snoop further. If they work out where the boys have run off to, they might pursue them. The thought makes her uneasy. She has to consider all possibilities, even the inconvenient or distasteful ones. What if she and Kylie were seen by a neighbour or a stranger back on that night in March? She doesn’t think they were. No one has ever come forward and said as much, but memories are intricate, capricious things. People might remember more if they recognise the boys. They may recall seeing them with their stepmother on a past holiday, or even with Fiona herself. That sort of connection would be dangerous, because then someone might remember seeing Kylie with Fiona that final time. It is possible that they were spotted. Fiona doesn’t recall seeing anyone, but it was dark and stormy, and she was distracted, obviously. Killing a person takes a lot of brain space. She accepts that there might have been an individual forced out of their house despite the inclement weather, out walking their dog, for example. A witness who may have remained cloaked by the dark sky.
Her head is pounding now. A loud, distracting banging that pummels her reason and nerves. It is tricky to think clearly, something she absolutely must do. She can’t deny it, sometimes she is frightened by how things have turned out. Scared and surprised by what she has become and what might yet lie in front of her. She doesn’t sleep well, even with the use of medication. She never imagined she’d become a murderer. Who does? It wasn’t her plan. She just wanted to punish Kylie, teach her a lesson. Things simply got out of hand, went too far. Fiona repeatedly reminds herself that it was Kylie who became a criminal first. Kylie who set them both on this path towards such vile darkness. Fiona really wasn’t left with any other choice. All she wanted was some acknowledgement of the chaos caused, an apology maybe. But Kylie was so damned smug, so unrepentant. Besides, once both Daan and Mark were aware of her disgusting duplicity, her casual cruelty, what sort of life could she have ever gone back to? Neither of them would have wanted her once they knew what she really was. Her lives were over before Fiona killed her. Fiona couldn’t be blamed for that.
Sometimes, though, Fiona thinks about the early version of Kylie. That woman fights her way into Fiona’s fitful sleep and her waking subliminal mind. She doesn’t want Kylie there; persistent, noisy. Sad. Her presence is annoying, irritating, and yet sometimes she finds a strange comfort in seeing her old friend. The woman she once loved. Before she hated.
They met not long after they both graduated. They were looking for their first job and had signed up to the same recruitment agency. Just a chance encounter in a waiting room, but it shaped both their lives. Fiona doesn’t want to get too sentimental about that; after all, what is life other than a series of chance encounters that people grab at and try to grapple into meaning? The two young women instantly clicked, and they became really close. There was a point when they were totally there for one another, no questions asked. Inseparable. Thoughts, aspirations, cravings all aligned. They were each other’s people. Although even at the time, neither thought that was the ideal situation; both wanted to find a husband and then have kids that they could love more than they loved each other.
