I stand up, take the Adams letter and put it in the bin. No need to be reminded of life’s disappointments. There are two other letters on the counter, both still untouched. One is from an estate agent offering us the fantastic and unsolicited opportunity to have our house valued, the other is handwritten and addressed to Mrs Stephen Rook, which annoys me as this is not a Jane Austen novel.
Now is not the time to let pettiness rile me. I need to focus. Jason Mercer’s phone and car key fob are still in my desk. I realize that I have to get rid of them. Even a detective with the investigative powers of DS Birch might find their presence suspicious. I go to the living room and pick up his belongings.
My plan is to drive to King’s Cross, turn on his phone for a short time in the hope that the police are still tracking it and that it sends them down another avenue. I leave by the front door in hat and gloves. The police are still speaking to our neighbours, but they have their backs to me, so I walk by quickly.
I get in the blue Toyota and head along Muswell Road. The late afternoon sun dazzles me, and I flip the sun visor down. As I do so, a small blue notebook falls into my lap.
I pull over and quickly open it. There are four pages filled with dates, locations and what look like hours. The locations are all ones I recognize including my friends’ houses, the Grove junior school, the pre-school, my favourite cafés and shops and my gym.
I breathe deeply and look around as dog walkers and pushchairs pass by. This is a record of my life. Mercer was stalking me and keeping a record of the time he spent doing so. It only makes sense if he was employed by someone, such as Madeleine, but what could she gain from knowing my movements? She wants background information, not a list of where I eat and drink. I wonder who else might want me followed. Someone from the past, no doubt. Someone I need to find and stop, as I would hate for the past to rob me of the future.
The last page contains two slightly odd names, ‘MonkeyWarrior’ and ‘Ponchos’, with six scribbled numbers below:
MonkeyWarrior
Ponchos
3121314
I take my phone out, type Ponchos into Google and I’m swamped by images of rainwear. MonkeyWarrior is worse – models of monkeys in samurai costume with swords. I look back at the number. It’s too short to be a phone number but could be a code for a safe or lock of some kind. There seems to be a pattern that intrigues me.
I write the numbers in several different ways and end up nowhere. The only thing that makes sense is that it’s a passcode to his phone, as the last six digits are simple to remember: 12, 13, 14.
I know from the dates in the notebook that Mercer was following me for at least three weeks. I presume that Monkey Warrior is some kind of nickname. The kind of name you might use on social media. Ponchos sounds like a place name, especially if it had an apostrophe before thes. I decide to change tack. This is more important than King’s Cross. I put the notebook in my pocket, park the car, leave the phone in the glove box, and return home.
In my study, I open my laptop. IfPonchosis a place, it’s likely to be a location Jason Mercer is familiar with as there’s no address. It sounds like a bar or restaurant. I try various iterations in Google –Ponchosrestaurant,Ponchoscafé andPonchosbar. There are results for all three, but even more results forPanchos, and looking back, I realize that it might be anarather than ano. I search for Pancho’s and come away with a long list of Mexican bars and restaurants.
I stare up at the window and shut the laptop. The annoying letter to Stephen is still on the kitchen island. I have about five minutes before Aimée returns with Nathan and he describes his day to me in exquisite detail.
I open the envelope. Inside, there’s a folded piece of paper – a photocopy of a newspaper article from 1999. I feel a sudden jolt, as if someone’s hand has ripped through the fabric of time and grabbed my throat.
The OXFORD Mail
4 July 1999 By
Reece Gunn
Local Man Stabbed, Wife Arrested
A local man is critically ill after he was found with multiple stab wounds in his home late on Monday evening. Emergency Services were called to an address in the village of Wroxton, near Banbury, following reports of screams from the property.
Mr Brian Wells, 46, a council worker, was discovered unconscious and bleeding on the floor of his kitchen. A police statement confirms that his wife of 14 years, Margaret Wells, is in police custody on suspicion of attempted murder. Mr and Mrs Wells’s 13-year-old daughter, who was in the property at the time of the incident, and who cannot be named for legal reasons, is currently under the care of social services.
A friend of the family described Mr Wells as a reserved but well-respected member of the community. A close neighbour reported signs of family tension: I’d hear raised voices now and then. Some arguments like all families, but no one could’ve expected this. Makes no sense at all.
Detective Chief Inspector Malcolm Critchley, who is heading up the investigation, said: This is a tragic event, and we hope the victim pulls through. We are continuing our enquiries to establish the facts of the incident and have no more to share at the current time. We would like to appeal to members of the public to come forward if they have any information pertaining to this case.
There is no message.
Chapter30Burnt
Tuesday, 26 November
A successful marriage is a joy solely for the happy couple; a failing marriage, however, is a pleasure for all to enjoy. We arrive at Aisha’s house, as planned, with bags of clothes and various household items to help Cait rebuild her life. But as soon as the door opens, we know that something is wrong.
‘Oh my God,’ says Sophie, standing beside me and staring at Aisha. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Ranni,’ says Aisha, tears streaming down her face as she stands in the doorway.
