P Kane - Her Last Secret

Jesus, she was so, so, pale: creamy-white skin, verging on blue. The lips definitely blue. Hair dull, eyes closed.

‘I-Is it Jordan?’ asked Matt, knowing the answer already.

‘It’s her,’ replied Jake, because Julie couldn’t even speak.

Then suddenly she was in his arms, completing what they’d started back in the living room. Jake held her as she turned away from the sight, as each sob wracked against his body. Yet there had been no tears from him.

‘Our baby.’ She spoke it into his shoulder. ‘Our baby!’

‘What happened?’ she heard Jake whisper to their child. ‘What were you doing out there, sweetheart? Why? Why did this have to happen …?’

Julie finally pulled her head away, saw that he was looking at something else and followed his gaze. One of Jordan’s arms, the closest to them – her left – was uncovered also. The skin of the hand and arm matched that face: drained, lifeless. But he’d definitely spotted something. Something a little higher, past her elbow. On her upper arm were some scratches. No, not scratches … cuts.

More wounds that had been inflicted during whatever struggle occurred? In her mind’s eye, Julie pictured their daughter fighting for her life, maybe even gouging an eye or two … she hoped. Only these looked a little older, more faded. They didn’t look defensive, either.

‘W-What are those?’ asked Jake suddenly, his voice cracking. The hand that had been on Julie’s back, rubbing and patting, fell away and he was pointing at the scars. Matt and the liaison officer were rounding the table, as was the man in white. All craning their necks to see.

‘I … I’m not sure,’ said the doctor, getting closer, then looking to the police officers in the room.

‘We’ll know more after the post-mortem,’ Matt informed Jake. Standard detective patter.

‘Are they … They look self-inflicted,’ he said by way of a reply.

Julie was frowning, sniffing back the tears, swallowing dryly.

‘Did you know about this?’ Jake asked her. ‘Was Jordan self-harming?’

‘Jake …’ said Matt. ‘Take it easy.’

‘ Was she?’ Jake asked again.

‘I … I don’t know,’ Julie replied honestly. If she had been, she’d hid it well, there had been no signs of it.

Jake was stepping back, rubbing his forehead. ‘Good God. What could have made her …?’

‘I … I don’t …’ Julie was repeating.

‘Well, something was clearly worrying her – quite a bit if she was doing that to herself.’

Matt walked around to Jake. ‘Look, we don’t even know that—’

‘You can see it, as plainly as I can. Just what the hell was going on?’

Julie was getting mad again, glaring at Jake accusingly. ‘You might have found out, if you’d been around.’

‘Been around? Julie, she didn’t want me around!’

Is that what he thought? What he’d thought all this time? ‘That’s … That’s not true. You’re both as bad as each other. Both so stubborn, you’re …’ Julie had realised that she was talking in the present tense about her daughter, when it should have been in the past. But then she changed tack completely and her last words were intended to hurt: ‘You left her when she needed you the most.’

There was silence again, broken only when Matt said, ‘I think we’re about done here.’

About done. They were definitely about done.

Julie didn’t remember a lot of the next bit, probably because there wasn’t that much to recall. The pair of them being taken to a small café inside the hospital, away from the main drag and inside a little nook. Being furnished with more tea by the liaison woman, Matt insisting that they should eat something and when nobody replied buying them sandwiches anyway which Julie and Jake simply stared at like they no longer understood what food was, or how to process it.

How to process anything.

Every now and again they’d look up, at each other – accusatory stares saying everything that needed saying without words. A telepathic tennis match, words batted back and forth across the net.

Him: I told you, I said this so many times. That something like this would happen if we didn’t do something.

Her: And what exactly was I supposed to do? She was a grown woman … Maybe if you’d tried listening to her, talking to her instead of at her!

Then they’d look away, off to the side until it built up again. More arguments that would get them nowhere, because there was simply no winner of this particular match. They’d just go round and round in circles until there was nothing left to say or do.

And afterwards, when they’d dropped her off at home, she’d thought again about those scars. About what they’d meant, what had been on her daughter’s mind that had made her do that? Something serious? Something about Bobby, or something else? How had she not known? How could Jordan not have told her? Not telling Jake, she could understand, but her? She thought they were closer than that? After all, she’d been the one who’d stayed – who’d done her best to look after her when Jake just upped and left. Who’d always defended her, seen her side of things even when it was a struggle to do so. Who’d always tried to sympathise.

What did it have to do with the murder of her child? she wondered. A murder she’d only found out about that morning, which brought her round – yet again – to the beginning of all this. Remembering Matt at the door, her reaction … Going through it all again and again.

And sitting there, just feeling cold and numb.

Completely numb.

His friends had been on his mind all night.

How could they not have been? Jules, Jake … Jordan. How could he just switch off and relax with the family, forget about it all, when they couldn’t? Apart from anything else, he’d been needed back at the station until late – and Katherine had understood that. It went with the territory, though it wasn’t usually as rocky as it had been yesterday.

Matt had swung by after leaving Jake (leaving him to get drunk back at the hotel!) and checked on Linda, who’d come to the door to talk to him in hushed tones, to answer his question about how Julie was.

‘How do you think? Not great.’

‘Yeah, I figured.’

‘How’s the dad? The real dad.’

‘’Bout the same,’ he admitted, telling her which hotel he’d checked into so she could pass that on, but leaving out the bit about the bottle he’d bought to take with him.

‘Poor sods,’ said Linda.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Matt.

She’d told him she was sticking around for a while, maybe even until the husband came back, because at least then she wouldn’t be alone – and Matt had thought about Jake again, who’d wanted, insisted on being by himself. How that probably wasn’t a great idea, but how he’d almost definitely sleep that night. Probably better than Jules would, especially with that pillock of a partner by her side. They’d said their goodbyes, Matt telling her to ring for a squad car when she was done, and he’d headed off back to the station to answer the call.

Matt’s boss, DS Channing, who looked like he should be selling used cars somewhere, or in a toothpaste commercial because he had far too many teeth and they were far too polished, had greeted him when he got there. With his slicked-back hair, and smile he kept flashing – which was very rarely genuine – he was a PR person’s dream, and had spent most of the day talking to and ‘handling’ the press with regards to this case. He had a habit, especially where women were concerned, of introducing himself as ‘Channing. Like Tatum …’ (Not that he bore even a passing resemblance) ‘Only better looking …’ (He really wasn’t).