‘Twenty years ago, so she’s no longer a teen. I covered the story at the time … It was … There was so much about it that was …off, for want of another word, even at the trial. I don’t have all the details in my head now – as if any of us ever had them at all – but one thing I do know is that Nicole was charged and convicted in spite of no bodies ever being found.’
CHAPTER THREE
Connor was waiting at Temple Meads station when Cristy’s train arrived the next morning. Standing in the main concourse, engrossed in his phone, his North Face padded coat open, scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, he barely seemed to notice the crowds swarming about him. He was tall, slender, dark-haired and frequently teased for being the perfect embodiment of Clark Kent, thanks to his large, black-framed glasses and chiselled good looks.
He was also, Cristy thought, experiencing a wave of tenderness (threaded with guilt), like a brother to her – or even a son. Certainly not just a co-producer or business partner. She could only feel thankful that this news about Nicole Ivorson was – potentially – providing them with something major to focus on over the next few weeks as she tried to come to a decision regarding Kinsley’s offer.
‘Hey you,’ she said, reaching him and wanting to laugh when he gave a start of surprise. ‘Remember me?’ she mocked, and linked an arm through his to steer them out into the rain.
‘It’ll come to me,’ he promised, and shooting up an umbrella, he kept them both covered as they jaywalked through traffic over to the short-term parking.
‘So, good trip?’ he asked, when they were buckled into their seats and starting down the station slip road. ‘How’s David?’
‘He’s great, thanks. Says hi. Good new year in Devon?’
‘Bracing.’ He grinned. ‘Jodi’s aunt is pretty non-stop where fine wines and exotic foods are concerned. And boy does she love a walk on the beach when the wind’s howling. She’s a creature from another world, I swear it. Anyway, if you’re up for it, I thought we’d take a drive over to Randall Lane, get the lie of the land. Most of the press should have cleared out by now, so there might be a chance to ask around, see if anyone has a clue where Maeve is, which is presumably somewhere with Nicole.’
Since that was exactly what she’d been about to suggest, Cristy said, ‘I’ve been checking social media updates all the way here, and it doesn’t seem like anyone’s tracked them down yet. But give me what you’ve got on the parole conditions.’
‘I can go one better than that,’ he announced, turning left at the lights, and left again to head along the Feeder. ‘Julian Hargreaves has agreed to meet with us on Friday at four.’
Impressed, Cristy said, ‘Her defence lawyer, no less. How did you manage even to speak to him? He’s never wanted to talk about this case, at least not on the record.’
‘I dropped your name, and he called me right back. Well, his PA did, but we got the right result, so let’s not be picky. Turns out Nicole’s definitely on parole, but surprise, surprise, very tight-lipped on where she is. Do you reckon this guy in front is lost? Because if he turns next left, he’s going to end up in the canal.’
Cristy was frowning thoughtfully. ‘I’m trying to remember Nicole’s father’s name …’
‘Ronnie. He died ten years ago, after a stroke, poor guy. As far as I can tell, Maeve’s been on her own since.’
‘But she has a sister, as I recall, and a brother? She and Nicole could very well be with one of them.’
‘That’s what I thought, so I’ve put our trusty researchers on the case to try and turn up some addresses.’
Cristy instantly pictured Clover St Jean and Jackson Caine at work in theHindsightoffices over on the Harbourside. They completed the perfect dynamic of their team, and she knew how fortunate she and Connor were to have two such remarkable investigators on board. If – and it really was a big if – she went to London, she’d definitely want to take them with her, and being young, ambitious and unattached as they were, there was a good chance they’d leap at the opportunity.
She hated herself for even thinking about taking them from Connor, actually felt slightly sick at the prospect of leaving Connor herself, so pushing the thought away she went back to Maeve and Nicole Ivorson. ‘Have you spoken to Matthew yet about getting access to the TV archives?’ she asked.
‘I sent him an email last night – no reply so far this morning.’
Quietly confident that her ex would get them what they needed, Cristy said, ‘Did you bring a recorder with you?’
‘I did, because I thought it might be a good idea to lay down some background on the case for those who might be new to it. For everyone actually, given how long ago it happened. I was only a kid at the time, so I have no memory of it myself, and with it happening only days before the 7/7 bombings in London, it doesn’t seem to have received the kind of coverage it might have in more normal circumstances.’
Cristy remembered only too well how so many of her colleagues – and the police – had completely switched focus to the horrific terrorist attacks and the frenzied search for the killers. She said, ‘It’s almost certainly the reason Nicole’s case was left with so many unanswered questions. Everyone wanted it wrapped up, out of the way, no longer a drain on valuable resources, and sorry as I was about what had happened in London, those baby twins deserved so much better. And don’t let’s forget Nicole has always maintainedher innocence … Except, of course, she’s now confessed. It’s the only way she’d have got parole.’
‘Still no bodies,’ he countered. ‘That’s what I can’t get my head around. She fesses up, they let her go, and as far as I can tell, no search for remains. Big question marks there, if we’re reading it correctly.’
As Cristy turned to look out at the rain-soaked, easterly suburbs of Bristol, she felt the reawakening of a twenty-year old unease coming over her. ‘Why on earth would she confess now,’ she said, ‘when she could have done so at any time since she was sent down, not least of all at her last parole hearing? And like you say, it’s bizarre that they’d grant her parole without knowing where to find the twins.’
‘Everything about this case is bizarre and always has been,’ he commented. ‘But maybe they’re tracking her now, hoping she’ll lead them to the bodies. Do they do that?’
‘I don’t know, who can say what kind of deals might have been done, or subterfuge put in place, but I can tell you this: I’m not letting go this time until we’ve finally got to the bottom of what really happened to those babies.’
Eventually, they were in the vicinity of Randall Lane, and as they joined a one-way system that definitely hadn’t been there in the mid-Noughties and rocked gently over speed bumps – all new – Cristy noticed how dated the erstwhile brand-new estate was now looking. The exterior of number 42 seemed different in its way too. They might even have passed it by, given how much smaller it seemed than the house Cristy remembered. It was the lay-by outside that she recognized first, home to a bus stop and wastebin now, and just past it was the garage where Maeve and Ronnie used to keep their car.
‘Bringing back memories?’ Connor asked, as he searched for somewhere to park.
‘Kind of,’ she admitted, actually feeling as though an old dream was trying to break through in small, elusive pieces:Nicole’s lovely face; Maeve’s horror; Ronnie’s confusion; press vans everywhere; reporters’ feverish excitement. ‘Why don’t we use the space next to the garage?’ she said. ‘We can always move if asked.’
