‘There’s loads!’ Jacob began flicking through the drawers built into the side of her desk. ‘I’ve found her divorce letters. Looks like it was acrimonious.’
‘We already know that from what Mary said.’
‘She was after everything they owned and the children. She’s also accused him of having an affair but no one was named in the papers. There’s more, tucked in the back of the drawer.’
‘What have you found?’ Gina glanced over.
‘She’d not only accused him of trying to control her, not wanting her to go out, etcetera, but she also writes about him following her on occasions when she did put her foot down and go out.’
‘We know that too.’
‘Yes, I haven’t finished. She made a note of a time when he followed her to the pub where he hit one of her friends and accused her of cheating with him. She scribbled this out, I can just about read it under all the pen.’
‘I wonder why this was never reported. Anyway, we’ll take everything back to the station, go through the lot. We could do with finding out which friend Ryan Wheeler hit, and why.’
She wandered over to the desk as Jacob continued going through the other drawers. Paperwork spilled from a basket marked ‘in tray’. Folders were stacked up in it and beside it. There were bags of receipts, some grimy and covered in oil, others neat and slotted into ledger books. The paperwork in this pile represented people’s financial lives. ‘We need to make sure all this doesn’t get mixed up but we will be taking it to search through. These look to be her current jobs. She’s seen all these people recently and collected this work from them.’
Gina needed to check out the rest of the house. She ambled past the children’s bedrooms. The mattress was airing on its side in what looked to be Rory’s bedroom and a faint smell of urine hit her as she passed. A bottom stuck out as its owner peered under the bed. ‘Nothing here.’ She’d recognise that screechy voice anywhere. PC Kapoor kneeled up, leaning on the bed as she stood. ‘Alright, guv.’ That woman’s voice could shatter glass but it made Gina smile every time.
‘Anything?’
‘Only that the place is pristine. Clothes all tidily hung up, make-up laid out perfectly, drawers arranged in an orderly fashion, en suite as sanitised as an operating theatre. Her mother’s Marie Kondo’d the joint.’
Gina smiled. She wished Mary would come to hers and sprinkle some Marie Kondo order into her home. ‘You’re doing a grand job.’ She left Kapoor to it, hurrying back downstairs. A police constable was checking the drawers in the kitchen as Gina entered. ‘We have a computer upstairs, three filing cabinets and a stack of paperwork. I need it all loading onto the van with care and bringing back to the station. I emphasise the with care bit. Don’t mix any of it up. It’s full of confidential business information that is highly personal to its owners. Anything down here?’
‘Nothing obvious at the moment but we will keep looking. It’s getting dark now, I think we’ll be hours getting through all this,’ the PC said.
‘I’m a bit concerned that this place has been so immaculately cleaned.’ Gina’s thoughts flitted to Mary. She thought of the little arguments, the family tensions and the night someone was lurking around the side of Mary’s house watching Gina leave. She shivered. When she got home, she would be double-checking her own locks. It was easy to dismiss that Mary was hiding anything more. She shook her head. She trusted her mother implicitly; she had to stop trusting Mary so readily. She picked up her phone and called O’Connor. ‘Still here, I’m afraid. I’m going to be a while. We have a lot of potential evidence to search through, filing cabinets full of paperwork and more paperwork. I know you love a bit of paperwork sifting. You’re going to need a lot of Mrs O’s cookies tomorrow.’
‘You’re for real, aren’t you?’
‘Afraid so. Also, can you call Ryan Wheeler, Susan’s husband? I want him at the station for interview in the morning, as soon as he’s taken his children to school. There’s something I need to ask him.’
Thirty-Six
Phoebe sat under the large canopy, outside the block of apartments where her dad now lived, staring into the darkness of the wintery afternoon. In six months their whole family had broken down. She checked her phone again, hoping for a text from her mum, just one text. She wanted to be back in her bedroom where she would have it mostly to herself.
Rain drizzled, just missing the tips of her feet. Water cascaded from the damaged piece of guttering to her left. Every other flat on the road had closed curtains. It was just her, alone in the rain, waiting for her mum to call or text.
She flinched as she saw a figure walking under a streetlamp in the distance, approaching with trepidation. She shivered as the orange glow lit up his outline. Catching a glint of the whites of his eyes, an icy shiver travelled across the nape of her neck as his gaze fixed on hers. The edges of his mouth lifted as a grin spread across his face. The man in the rain mac stopped and as he checked behind him, he bumped into a woman before pulling his hood across his face and scurrying off.
‘Hiya, love,’ Aunty Clare called as she bumbled down the path with rain dripping from the end of her nose.
Phoebe waved. Aunty Clare had never visited Dad before. ‘Aunty Clare.’ Clare walked up to her and gave her a sopping wet hug. Phoebe loved Aunty Clare’s big bear hugs. She had a warmth about her that her father and mother never seemed to have. She was more loving and expressive, more patient and easygoing. Phoebe supposed she had to be more patient because of the way Harrison was. She loved them both, despite Harrison’s big outbursts.
‘Is your dad around?’
She nodded. Her dad peered out of the patio doors that led to the communal gardens and he pushed the door open. ‘Phoebe, get inside now. Your dinner’s done.’
‘But, Dad. Aunty Clare has just got here—’
‘Phoebe. I need to talk to Aunty Clare so do as you’re told, now.’ The way her dad looked at Aunty Clare told her something bad was going to follow. Aunty Clare’s smile had dropped and she began grinding her teeth.
Phoebe nodded and followed his orders. As Aunty Clare hurried from the porch to the doors, her dad blocked her from entering the apartment.
‘We can talk over there.’ Her dad pointed to the canopy. Phoebe was sure she could see tears mingled with the rain on Aunty Clare’s face. There was something about her lost expression, constant snivelling and her red-rimmed eyes that gave her away.
‘Close the door.’
