Кара Хантер - In the Dark

I get up and pick up the glass and bottle and head into the kitchen, where I start to stack the dishwasher. When I look up five minutes later she’s standing in the doorway.

‘Are you afraid you might love another child more than Jake? Because if it’s that then I get it, I really do.’

I straighten up and lean against the worktop. ‘It’s not that. You know it’s not.’

She comes closer and puts her hand on my arm, tentatively, as if she fears rejection. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she says softly. ‘Just because he – because he died – it doesn’t mean we were bad parents.’

How many times have I said the same thing to her, this last year. I wonder how we ended up here, that she feels she needs to say it to me.

I turn towards her and take her in my arms, holding her tight against me so I can feel her breathing, her heart beating.

‘I love you.’

‘I know,’ she whispers.

‘No, I mean, I love you . It’s enough. I don’t need another child to – I don’t know, make me whole or give me a purpose in life. You, me, work, this. It’s enough.’

*

Later, in bed, listening to her breathing, looking through the curtains at the dark blue sky that still hasn’t lost its light, I wonder if I lied. Not by commission, perhaps, but omission. I don’t want to adopt a child, but not because the life I have is sufficient. It’s because the idea terrifies me. Like betting your whole existence on a gigantic lucky dip. Nurture is strong, but blood is stronger. My mother and father have never told me they’re not my biological parents, but I know, I’ve known for years. I found the papers in my father’s desk when I was ten. I had to look up some of the words, but I worked it out. And suddenly everything seemed to fit. Not looking like them, and as I got older, not thinking much like them either. Feeling like a misfit in my own life. And waiting, month after month and year after year until I knew it was never coming, for the moment when they’d tell me. If I said all this to Alex she’d say at once that we’d do it differently. That we’d be modern and open and truthful. That patterns don’t need to be repeated. That most adopted kids are happy and well-adjusted and make a success of their lives. Perhaps they do. Or perhaps, like me, they just don’t talk about it.

*

When I wake at 7.00 the bed is empty beside me. Alex is in the kitchen, fully dressed and about to leave.

‘You’re up early.’

‘I have to drop off my car,’ she says, pretending to be busy with the coffee machine. ‘It’s in for a service. Don’t you remember?’

‘Do you want me to pick you up tonight?’

‘Won’t you be too busy – the case and everything?’

‘Possibly. But let’s assume I can and I’ll email you if there’s a problem.’

‘OK.’ She smiles fleetingly, kisses me on the cheek and snatches up her keys. ‘See you later then.’

***

‘Still no ID on the body yet. Apparently there’s a hold-up with the dental records. There’s no blood visible on the boiler suit found in the shed though they’ll test it for DNA just in case. But it’s probably a long shot – if Harper did wear something like that to drive Hannah’s car he probably got rid of it years ago.’

Quinn’s in my office, updating me. Tablet in hand, as usual. I don’t know how he managed before he got that thing.

‘Ev’s back at the hospital. Nothing yet from Jim Nicholls. Looks like he’s probably on holiday but we’re still trying. And the Super’s been on twice already about when we can hold a press conference. I’ve said you’ll get back to him.’ There’s a pause, then, ‘Did you know Matthew Shore was writing a book?’

‘No. But he’s hardly likely to tell us, is he.’

‘Have you spoken to Osbourne?’

I shake my head. ‘I tried last night, but all I got was voicemail.’

‘Is it worth us trying to talk to Matthew Shore? I mean, if he’s been doing his own research he might have come up with something – he’s looked at all this more recently than we have –’

He’s pissing me off now. ‘Look, Quinn, forget it. Trust me, if he’d found anything we’d have known about it. He’s a nasty piece of work, and if we talk to him now he’ll find some way to use that against us. Understood?’

He’s staring at his list again and I force him to look at me. ‘Quinn? Did you hear me?’

Quinn glances up, then back at the tablet. ‘Sure. No problem. So that just leaves Harper. His lawyer’s just arrived and I’ve asked the custody sergeant to bring him up to Interview One.’

I finish my coffee and make a face; whatever they do to that machine, the output doesn’t get any better. ‘Find Gis and get him to sit in with me.’

Quinn steals a look at me as I pick up my jacket from the back of the chair. I’m not punishing him, but I don’t mind him worrying I might be. For a day or two.

***

Interview with Dr William Harper, conducted at St Aldate’s Police Station, Oxford

3 May 2017, 9.30 a.m.

In attendance, DI A. Fawley, DC C. Gislingham, Mrs J. Reid (solicitor), Ms K. Eddings (Mental Health team)

AF: Dr Harper, I am Detective Inspector Adam Fawley. I’m leading the investigation relating to the young woman and child we found in your cellar on Monday morning. Ms Eddings is from the Mental Health team and Mrs Reid is here as your lawyer. They’re here to protect your interests. Do you understand?

WH: Haven’t a fucking clue what you’re talking about.

AF: You’re confused about Mrs Reid’s role?

WH: Do I look like a moron? I know what a bloody solicitor is.

AF: So it was the other things I said – about the girl and the child?

WH: How many more times? I don’t know what you’re crapping on about.

AF: You’re saying there was no young woman or child in your cellar?

WH: If there was, I never saw ’em.

AF: So how do you imagine they came to be there?

WH: Haven’t got a fucking clue. Probably pikeys. They live like pigs. Cellar would be a fucking luxury.

AF: Dr Harper, there is no evidence the young woman came from the Roma community. And even if she did, how could she have got into your cellar without you knowing?

WH: Search me. You seem to be the one with all the bloody answers.

AF: The door to the cellar room was locked from the outside.

WH: Bit of a poser for you, then, isn’t it? Smartarse git.

[ pause ]

AF: Dr Harper, yesterday afternoon, members of the Thames Valley forensics team conducted a detailed search of your house and discovered a body concealed under the floor of the shed. An adult female. Can you tell me how it got there?

WH: No bloody idea, ask me another.

JR: [ intervening ]

This is serious, Dr Harper. You need to answer the inspector’s questions.

WH: Fuck off, you ugly cow.

[ pause ]

AF: So let’s be clear – you’re telling us that you can’t explain either why a corpse was found buried under the floor in your shed or how a young woman and a child came to be locked in the cellar? That’s what you’re asking us to believe?

WH: Why do you keep repeating yourself? Are you mentally subnormal or what?

CG: [ passing across a photograph ]

Dr Harper, this is a picture of a young woman called Hannah Gardiner. She disappeared two years ago. Have you ever seen her before?

WH: [ pushing away the picture ]

No.

CG: [ passing across a second picture ]

What about this girl? This is the girl we found in your cellar. It’s the picture I showed you yesterday.

WH: They’re all the same. Evil cows.

CG: Sorry, are you saying that you recognize her or that you don’t?