Reading from his screen, Jacks said, ‘It depends on the risk assessment and the conditions imposed, so it’s not mandatory that she stays local to the prison. What are the chances of Julian Hargreaves telling you where she can be found?’ he asked Cristy.
‘Small, I’d say,’ she replied, ‘and I’m afraid it’s not going to be this afternoon.’ Looking as fed up as she felt, she said, ‘I’ve just had an email from his PA. Apparently, he’s been called into court so he has to reschedule. Will four o’clock next Thursday work for us?’
‘Shit!’ Connor muttered under his breath. ‘He’s kind of key to everything.’
‘Only if he’s willing to tell us what we want to know,’ Cristy pointed out. ‘For now, let’s focus on the detectives who worked the case and hope that at least one of them has retired by now – surely a good chance of that – and is ready to share.’
‘Sending a few names your way,’ Jacks told her. ‘Something else we need to do is go door to door over at Randall Lane, see if anyone there has an idea where Maeve might be – unless she’s come back in the last couple of days.’
Cristy said, ‘We knocked on a few doors while we were there, but it was a working day, so maybe you and Clove could try again over the weekend?’ To Connor, she said, ‘We have a lot of reading and viewing to do, so maybe not such a bad thing that Julian Hargreaves has bumped us. We’ll have more to go in with next week this way.’
Getting to her feet and stretching luxuriously, Meena said, ‘You won’t forget to call Iz, will you? It’s not just polite to keep her up to speed – it’s necessary if we want her to bring the right sponsors on board.’
Such a horrible put-down flashed in Cristy’s mind that it almost made her head spin.Remind me again what you and Harry do now that Iz controls the funding?Thank God the words hadn’t escaped her – and nor would they,ever.Hurting the people she cared about was not who she was, and besides, she knew very well that Harry and Meena worked closely with Iz and the SLG, always withHindsight’s bestinterests at heart. So where the hell had that nastiness even come from? Was this the kind of person she was about to turn into via hot flushes, sleepless nights, weight gain and hair loss?
Later, as she walked along the Harbourside towards home, umbrella up, ankle boots splashing in puddles, she quizzed herself again over that awful moment. Though she knew she’d been irritated with Meena over the untimely reminders of her mental health issues back in the day, not helped one bit by the fluctuation of hormones now, there was also the underlying stress of Kinsley’s offer. It was undoubtedly playing its own part in skewing her reactions to things, and if it was going to assist in changing her into the sort of person who turned on her friends, then maybe she ought to refuse it now. She had Kinsley’s number; it would be the easiest thing in the world toconnect to him or even to send an email saying thanks, but no thanks. No hard feelings.
So why didn’t she? There was nothing to stop her, and no harm would be done because no one even knew about it yet. The fact that she didn’t want Kinsley to think less of her was an ego-driven pathetic excuse – or was she actually seriously considering accepting? Was her conscience – her sub-conscious – already trying to create a distance between this life here in Bristol and a new one in London by taking the gloss off treasured and established relationships by hardening her heart?
Deciding there was no point tormenting herself any further over one random – and, thank God, unspoken – thought that wasn’t even meant, she pushed it aside and refocused on the Ivorson case.
There was a time, maybe a year or so into her sentence, when Nicole had agreed to a visitor request from Cristy, only to turn into a no-show when Cristy had got to the prison. After that, she’d never replied to any of Cristy’s letters; nor had Maeve. It was Ronnie who’d finally got in touch, not with her but with Matthew, to ask him to persuade Cristy to let things go.
She’d forgotten that until now: Ronnie had actually rung Matthew to get her to back off. By then, she’d just given birth to Aiden, and because Matthew had been afraid that she’d start imagining Noah Ivorson was reincarnated in their son, he’d literally ordered her to stop. She actually hadn’t suffered any such craziness after Aiden; his had been a much easier delivery. However, after a fight with Matthew over his offensive manner, she had decided it was time to move on, in spite of still feeling quietly desperate to know what had really happened to the twins.
That feeling was back, that burning need to find out what had really taken place that hot July day back in 2005, whenNicole had gone out to bury a dead cat and returned to find no sign of her twins.
It had been implausible then, and remained so now, but what was just as intriguing, unsettling even, was why Nicole had decided to confess to the killings after all these years. And why was nothing being said about the bodies?
CHAPTER FIVE
Cristy’s ground-floor flat was at the Redcliffe end of Bristol’s Harbourside, tucked into the far corner of a leafy quadrant close to the magnificent landmark of St Mary’s Church and a mere stone’s throw from the offshoot of waterfront beyond the swing bridge. With its two generously sized bedrooms, spacious open-plan kitchen-dining-sitting room and beloved walled garden, it was as special to her as anything she’d ever owned. She’d initially bought it as an investment, with money inherited from her mother: a place she could rent to carefully selected barristers who came to Bristol for cases at the Crown Court. Following the break-up of her marriage, it had become nothing short of a sanctuary, a kind of return to her mother’s comforting arms. Even now, simply being inside the flat, or enjoying the patio on warmer days, made her feel closer to her mother, whom she continued to miss ten years on from losing her. She knew it was the same for her brother, Tom, and the place he’d bought with his inheritance.
It was late on Sunday afternoon, already dark outside, and Cristy was – very generously, she thought – preparing a full-trimmings, no-wicked-ingredient-spared, Sunday roast for Matthew and Aiden, who’d just returned from the rugby at Ashton Gate. Although it wasn’t unusual for her to entertain her ex, she preferred not to make a habit of it, mainly because she didn’t want to encourage him to think they could makea go of things again. She knew it was what he wanted – he never made a secret of it – but though she still cared for him deeply and actually cherished his friendship, there was simply no going back on his betrayal or the subsequent divorce. Especially now David was in her life.
Fortunately, Matthew was coming to accept that. In fact, they were even starting to morph into something akin to a blended family, given how well he got along with David and the rest of the Gaudions over in Guernsey.
As she started to dish up, while Matthew and Aiden continued a noisy rehash of their team’s crushing defeat, Cristy let her own thoughts drift to their daughter’s plans to travel around Canada this coming summer. She must remember to bring it up with Matthew before he left to find out how much she needed to contribute to the cost when the time came.
‘Wow, Mum! You’ve done us proud,’ Aiden declared, rubbing his hands together as she carried two over-loaded plates to the table. Thick slices of medium-rare beef, massive crispy Yorkshire puddings with fluffy interiors, succulent cauli-cheese, crispy roast potatoes and side dishes of parsnips, greens, garden peas and Tenderstem broccoli.
‘I hope there’s enough for seconds,’ Matthew teased, sitting down next to his son and shaking out a paper napkin.
Cristy couldn’t help the rush of pleasure she often felt when seeing them together. Aiden was as tall as his father now, his shoulders almost as broad, his hair virtually the same shade of dark brown, although his was fashionably shorter at the sides and much longer on top – and their shared passion for most sports and some music meant they were as easy in one another’s company as they were with any of their friends.
Joining them with a much smaller plate, Cristy reached for the horseradish as Matthew poured the wine and said chattily, ‘So how was your trip to London this week?’
Wondering if he knew about her meeting with Paul Kinsley, she said, casually, ‘Thanks for taking Hayley to the airport on Tuesday so I could make my train. Have you spoken to her since she got back to Edinburgh?’
‘I did, yesterday,’ Aiden said, through a mouthful of food.
Cristy scowled at him, and he reached for his drink.
‘Sorry,’ he said after swallowing. ‘She’s got this plan to drive across Canada with Hugo in the summer,’ he announced. ‘Sounds really cool. I asked if I could go with, and she said no. What kind of sister is that, I want to know.’
‘A wise one,’ Matthew replied, helping himself to more gravy.
‘Hah!’ Aiden scoffed. ‘You’d give anything to go anywhere with me – we all know that – and I’m good to you, Dad. I let you tag along whenever you want, no embarrassment with my mates, no trying to lose you in town …’
