Tania Carver - The Surrogate

‘Keep trying,’ he said. ‘I’ll try and get a proper surname from her.’ He sighed. ‘Even if I do, there’s no guarantee the baby’ll actually be there. But it’ll be a start.’

‘Just get a name,’ Anni said. ‘Something I can go on.’

‘Okay.’

‘And we still don’t know who the figure in the photo is. Brother? Father?’

‘I’ll get there,’ Phil said, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. He looked at Sophie again, picked up a mug of tea to take in to her.

‘Wish me luck,’ he said.

Anni wished him luck. His DC looked almost beyond tiredness. She seemed to have aged a year for every hour of the day. He gave her what he hoped was a confident smile and left the room.

He stood in the corridor outside the interview room. Leaned against the wall, mug of tea in hand. He took a deep breath, let it go. Another. Let it go.

Right, he said to himself, go in there and do the interview of your life.

Phil switched the tape on.

‘Interview resumed at…’ He checked his watch, gave the time and the other formalities. Slid the tea across the table to Sophie, sat back. She took it, cupping her hands round it. She drank, closing her eyes as she did so.

‘Right,’ he said, once she had placed the mug on the table, ‘where were we? Oh yes. You were telling me about your brother. And your father.’

The ghost of a smile disappeared from her face, replaced by something altogether darker.

‘Heston, was it?’

She nodded.

‘Johnson?’

She frowned, looked slightly confused.

‘Johnson.Your surname. Does he have the same surname as you?’

She shook her head. ‘My surname’s not Johnson.’

‘Gale, then.’

She became thoughtful. Deciding whether to lie or not, thought Phil. ‘No.’

‘So what’s your real name?’

She paused, a look of cunning entering her eyes. ‘If I tell you, you’ll go straight there. I can’t tell you.’

Phil shrugged, tried to make out it wasn’t important. ‘Doesn’t matter. We’ll find out one way or another. Anyway, I want to know more about your father. And your brother.’ His voice dropped to the lower, compassionate register he had used previously. He leaned forward across the table as if it were just the two of them talking conspiratorially, sharing secrets. ‘You were telling me about what your father did to your brother. And how much he hated it.’

He watched her face, the pain and anguish on her features. Asking her to relive the events was like forcing a child into a room that contained their worst nightmare. His heart was breaking for her in that instant. Then he remembered that she had murdered his DS and felt that familiar surge of hatred excise the compassion. He held on to it, worked off it.

‘He… hated it…’

‘You said. So what did he do about it? Fight back? Walk out?’

She shook her head. ‘No. He couldn’t do either. He wasn’t strong enough. He just… took it.’ She sighed. ‘Until… until he couldn’t take it any more.’

‘He killed himself?’

She shook her head. ‘Would have been easier if he had. No. He… he was in a dress. He’d just had… just taken care of our father’s needs. He wanted to please him. Our father kept hitting him, beating him, hurting him. Saying all sorts of stuff, horrible stuff…’

She looked at the tea. Didn’t raise it to her mouth. Phil waited.

‘He told me this. He crawled into the kitchen. He couldn’t walk. He was bleeding from… from what our father had done to him. Crawled. And he took a knife. One of the big ones. For killing the hens.’

Phil flinched, hoped she didn’t see it. But Sophie was back in her story.

‘He took it and… he…’ Her voice dropped away. ‘Cut his own cock off.’

Phil said nothing. Her words had hit him almost physically. He felt light-headed, his legs shaking, his breathing difficult. He hadn’t been expecting that. Nothing as bad as that.

‘Oh my God…’ He couldn’t help it. The words just slipped out.

Sophie nodded, as if agreeing with him. ‘Cut his cock off,’ she said in a hushed, almost reverent tone. ‘Wanted to be a woman. Wanted to be loved…’

‘Did he… survive?’

Sophie nodded. ‘Lost a lot of blood. Nearly died. Our father found him, helped him.’

‘Took him to the hospital?’

She shook her head, gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Cauterised it.’

‘With what?’

She shrugged. ‘Something hot. Metal. Some tool.’ Her voice matter-of-fact.

Phil still felt short of breath. He didn’t know what to ask next. Thankfully, Sophie kept talking.

‘After he was well again, I helped him. On the quiet. Said if he wanted to live like a woman I would make him one. Found people to do stuff.You know, procedures.’

‘What kind of people?’

‘Extreme body modifiers.’

‘How did you find them?’

She shrugged again. ‘Few contacts from work.’

‘And what did they do?’

‘Made him a woman. Changed his body. As much as they could.’ Sophie frowned, thinking. ‘But I think something happened to him. To his mind.’

‘What, he lost it?’

‘He was never the same again. In any way.’ She took another mouthful of tea.

‘So did he move out then? Or stay with your father in the house in Wrabness?’

‘Stayed with him in Wrabness.’ She stopped talking, looked at him. ‘How did you know that? I didn’t tell you that.’

She sat back from the table, angry. Phil kept looking at her, his gaze level, his voice steady. He knew Anni would be trawling through documents right now.

‘You told me yourself.’

‘No I didn’t.’

‘Maybe not in so many words. But you told me.’

She still looked angry. He shrugged.

‘There’s no point in being mad at me, Sophie. It’s all going to come out, so you may as well tell me. What’s your surname?Your real surname.’

The anger dissipated, to be replaced by a cunning smile once more. ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘I’m telling you about my brother.’

‘Okay.You keep telling me about him, then. He was living in Wrabness.’

She nodded.

‘With your father, still?’

She opened her mouth to answer, stopped herself. Smiled once more. ‘No. He’s gone.’

‘Gone where?’

She shrugged. ‘Just gone. And Heston’s not Heston any more. He’s Hester. My sister.’

‘Right. Hester. And he – your sister, she lives alone?’

Again that crooked, sick smile. ‘No, she’s not alone. She’s got a husband now.’ She laughed.

Phil was confused. ‘Why is that funny?’

Another shrug. ‘Just is.’

‘And he’s there with her?’

Another laugh. ‘Always.’

‘Right.’ Phil had to move on. ‘So… Hester wanted a baby, is that right? And you went and got one for her… for them?’

Sophie looked at her fingernails. They were painted, but broken and chipped. She sighed. ‘Yeah.’

He sensed he was losing her. He had listened to her story and he was sure she felt better for putting it on to him. With that done, she could revert to type. But he was not going to let that happen. It was time for him to ramp things up, he thought, get the answers he wanted.

‘So tell me if I’m right. Hester and her husband want kids. But they can’t have them. So they ask you to find pregnant women so that they can rip the babies out of them and claim them as their own?’

Sophie kept her eyes on her nails. ‘Yeah. That’s it.Yeah.’

‘Ones that were nearly full term. Ones you knew.’

Another nod. ‘Yeah.’

‘So.You made Ryan Brotherton the scapegoat. Shifted the blame on to him, deflected attention away from yourself.’