A Cry in the Night (15 page)

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I believe your wife is a drug addict, sir.’

‘What? No. That’s crazy. In the past, sure, she dabbled, but not now, not since the kids were born.’

‘Are you sure of this?’

‘Yes. I’m absolutely …’ but he faltered. And swallowed again.

‘I don’t believe your wife has been honest with you about this.’

Tim didn’t reply. But he sagged slightly. To Zoe it felt as though something had been confirmed – his demeanour was one of a sad acceptance rather than denial.

‘Does your wife own a summer dress – it has a floral print, green and red?’

‘Why?’

‘Please, sir.’

‘She … yes.’

‘May we see it?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s gone.’

Sam shifted his weight in the chair at this news. Zoe’s eyes were locked on Tim. She could feel his pulse rate climbing.

‘She was seen, Mr Downing, in that dress. She was seen at the lake, in that dress, around the time that your children vanished.’

Tim faltered, his mouth opened and closed, as he tried to take this in.

‘No. She was at home. She’d been at home all afternoon.’

‘Is that what she told you, sir?’

‘Yes. And so that’s the truth.’

‘Just as she’s told you the truth about her drug intake?’

Sam waited. Zoe watched and hardly dared breathe. Finally the words pushed themselves out Tim’s mouth.

‘She was wearing that dress?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Oh … oh fuck.’

His head fell into his hands.

‘Where is the dress, Mr Downing?’

‘I … I got rid of it.’

‘You did? Why?’

‘Because it was ruined. Because I was so cross with her and … oh shit.’

He was breathing faster and faster.

‘You see,’ he spoke between uneven breaths, ‘I bought it as a present. And she looked amazing in it. She looks amazing in everything but it was special. It was an anniversary present. And I saw it about two days, three days after the kids went missing. She’d shoved it in the back of the cupboard. It was covered in grass stains. And mud and stuff and I was so angry because it was so wasteful. She can be so careless like that. She throws money away like …’ he threw a hand in the air to make his point.

‘And so I destroyed it. It could probably have been saved – dry-cleaned – but I was angry. I was in a state because of Lily and Arthur and I was spitting and upset so I burned the fucking thing. To teach her a lesson. We shouted at each other and said stupid, terrible things. All about a poxy dress.’ He fell silent for a moment and then looked up at them, finally reaching out: ‘But you said she was wearing it, that day?’

‘That’s right, sir.’

Tim fell silent again, his chest heaving with emotion. Something new was rattling through his brain.

‘She said she was home all day. She said she’d fallen asleep. That’s why … oh fuck.’

He gasped and Zoe thought that he might be sick.

‘What is it, Mr Downing?’

‘She was in the shower. When I got back. She was in the shower and when I asked her why she said that she’d been asleep and felt groggy. But she was scrubbing herself. Really scrubbing at herself. And when I commented on it she snapped and screamed at me. And then, when Bud appeared with the bike she went crazy. I kept saying that we shouldn’t panic, that there was probably nothing to worry about, but she went crazy. Why would she be crazy like that? How could she have known?’

‘She was scrubbing herself clean, sir?’

‘Yes. Oh fuck.’

He stood, unable to control himself, and Zoe and Sam were instantly on their feet as well.

‘Please, sir, sit down, let’s go through this again.’

‘No, no. Oh God.’ Tim dragged his hands across his face. His voice was a wail, now. ‘She was in the dress. And it was covered in shit and blood.’

‘Blood?’

‘Yes. Blood, definitely blood. And she hid it and scrubbed
herself clean. And then she did stuff with Bud and made us both lie for her.’

And then he was sick, retching and pulling away to the kitchen sink.

‘I lied for her. I lied for her,’ he wailed.

‘Why did she say the dress was dirty, sir?’

‘She didn’t, she just shouted at me. Oh my God, my little babies.’

His legs went and Sam had to hold him up. And then Tim was sick again.

‘My children, oh God, what did she do?!’

They heard a bump upstairs. Sam looked at Zoe.

‘Call in two cars. One for him, one for her.’

‘Yes, boss.’

She watched him hurry up the stairs. Tim was crumpled over the sink, each breath was a sob. She helped him back into his chair and he sat there, unsteady, tears pouring down his face.

*

Sam took the stairs, three at a time. When he reached the landing, the door at the far end was ajar. He spied a tiny flicker of movement and walked quickly towards it, but as he got there, Sarah Downing pulled the door open. He was so much bigger than her and she looked especially frail, wearing nothing but an oversize black T-shirt, but the
sight of her stopped him in his tracks. She looked at him, confused.

‘Sarah Downing. I’m arresting you for the murder of Arthur and Lily Downing. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if, when questioned, you do not say something which you later rely on in court.’

Her mouth opened and she started to smile. He felt the dread pour through him, but then she spoke.

‘No. You’ve got it all wrong. You can’t.’

The smile flickered and faded.

‘There will be a police car outside soon. You need to put some clothes on.’

She stared at him, dazed. Her head tilted as she looked at him but she seemed strangely emotionless.

‘Mrs Downing, you must put some clothes on now.’

She didn’t reply. She just turned and walked into her bedroom. But before she got there, Sam grabbed her arm.

‘Where’s Lily?’ He was desperate. ‘What have you done with her? Please. Your own daughter. Please. Tell me!’

Sarah just gazed at him and shook her head, almost as if she were talking to a child too young or too stupid to understand anything. He released his grip and she entered the bedroom.

Sam shouted for Zoe and she raced up the stairs.

‘Watch her, will you? I can’t go in there while she’s changing.’

Zoe nodded and went into the bedroom.

Sam listened out for any conversation. But there wasn’t a sound.

When the two police cars arrived it took a while before Sarah was brought out, and in that brief delay, the villagers came to gawp.

Their faces were illuminated by the police car’s flashing blue lights – a repeated, syncopated rhythm. They would appear and vanish, reappear and vanish again, like ghosts. The crowd thickened with each flash. Soon there were dozens of people, all standing silently outside the house, all watching and waiting.

Tim appeared first, with Zoe next to him. He didn’t speak to her or acknowledge the people around him.

The shame, the shame.

Finally, Sarah Downing was led out of the house with Sam next to her. There was a reaction from the crowd when they saw that she was handcuffed; whispers and cries. The story was fully told now. Someone shouted something – a cry of despair – but the words were lost in the night. Sam led
her to the second car and gently helped her into the back seat.

Sam looked up before he closed the door and saw them all watching. He scanned the flashing crowd for Ashley’s face but he couldn’t see her. He heard a woman’s laugh and it sounded just like his wife. His head whipped around, trying to find her, even though his brain was already shouting down the possibility.

Before he closed the door, a voice cried out from the darkness.

‘Witch!’

There was a gasp from the others. It was as though this word had a special power. The word was muttered again. The invisible crowd rolled it around in their mouths, spitting it back out.

Witch.

*

The police car drove off and Tim was led to the back of the other vehicle by Zoe. She got in next to him and nodded to the driver, who did a swift three-point turn and then shot back along the unlit lanes.

Zoe looked over at Tim. He looked small and frail, and as they drove away from the village, he started to cry again. Zoe was glad to be out of there.

It was much later when Tim asked the question that taunted her.

‘Why did she do it? I don’t understand. Why?’

Zoe didn’t answer. She looked out of the car window, unhappy and unsatisfied. The moon had a clawed a hole through the clouds and the fells were lit by its cold blue light. They had turned their backs on her now.

Why? The answer was as biting as the wind that blew relentlessly across their peaks. It was as cold and as unknowable as the depths of the lake. As the car sped away towards a more familiar, urban landscape, Zoe wondered if the answer would ever slip to the surface.

Slowly, the darkness faded. At first it was the intrusion of an oncoming car’s headlights on a narrow road; blinding, then fading to two red dots in the rear-view mirror. Later, as they joined the motorway, heavier traffic adjusted them further, and Zoe was glad when she finally saw the orange haze that heralded the city. A billion lights, fighting against the night.

They reached the police station late, and after a quick medical examination of the prisoner, the custody sergeant deemed her fit for interview and Sarah Downing was led to a small room, found a solicitor (although she refused to acknowledge the need) and sat in front of Sam and Zoe once again.

Sarah hadn’t spoken in the back of the car and Sam hadn’t played the radio, making it an uncomfortable ride. And now, staring down at her feet, Sarah continued her silence, despite the myriad questions that Sam shoved at her. He asked, he demanded, he cajoled and urged, but the woman
ignored it all. Away from her home, Sarah seemed a more fragile, pitiful figure, but her silence was impenetrable. The cops stared at her as though she were a grotesque exhibit, entranced by her beauty and the monstrosity of which she was accused.

‘Where is your daughter, Sarah?’

The questions continued, but none were answered. The barrister would occasionally complain about the police browbeating his client, but as long as she said nothing, he had no real role to play.

‘We just want to find your daughter. Don’t you want that too?’

She was surprisingly still, Zoe noted. Her hands didn’t twitch, her fingers didn’t play with the edge of the chair or the cuff of her sleeve. It was as though there was nobody inside.

‘Why did you change your clothes on the day your children disappeared?’

The only noise was the scratch of the solicitor’s pen.

‘Why won’t you try to help us find Lily?’

Sam would lean forward, trying to catch her eye, trying to break through, to no avail.

‘If you didn’t do this, then you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for your actions. You could explain what you were doing down at the lake at the same time that your children vanished. You could tell me why you lied about
being there. You would tell me why you hid your clothes and why you lied to your husband. And then we would be able to investigate other avenues and move closer to finding Lily. Please, Sarah, talk to us.’

Sam’s voice was calm and measured, but Zoe knew that he’d be bursting inside. She would have talked if she’d been Sarah. The silence was baffling.

‘You loved your children, didn’t you?’

Not a flicker of emotion.

‘Why won’t you even answer this? Why won’t you say that you loved your children? I don’t understand.’

The solicitor looked up at Sarah, as though even he expected something, but the woman gazed down, head tilted slightly, saying nothing. Sam let the silence stretch, his eyes fixed on Sarah, urging her to come to the surface, to come back out and face up to what she’d done. But such tactics were fruitless. A knock on the door brought it all to a sudden close.

A nervous constable slipped inside and muttered an apologetic message in Sam’s ear. Zoe saw him stiffen as he heard the young man’s news, then nodded and let him go.

‘Interview terminated; it’s 11.23 p.m.’

He stood, glared down at Sarah, who didn’t move, then marched out of the room. The solicitor looked around, confused. Not having any answers, Zoe sped out after Sam.

She found him in the corridor, marching away.

‘Boss, what’s happened?’

‘She’s dumped her brief,’ he replied with a shrug, but Zoe could see the tension in his body.

Two constables hurried past, and she greeted them with a cheery nod. Their radios crackled and coughed as they passed. The corridor itself was tired and battered with a thin, industrial blue carpet which was pockmarked with stains. A male detective in his twenties – baggy suit and colourful socks – winked at Zoe as he slipped into the interview room opposite, carrying a cup of tea. It felt like home.

Zoe looked back at the open door of the interview room. ‘How did she manage to do that when she was in there with us?’ she asked.

‘Quite.’

‘And who has she dumped him for?’

Considering this, Sam led them back the other way, passing two recalcitrant teenage prisoners who jostled with the policeman who pulled them forward. One of the lads broke free and sprinted back the way he’d come, and a chase ensued. Zoe and Sam caught up with the melee in Custody, where they found the young man lying on the floor, kicking and screaming. He spat at the cop who somehow managed to keep his temper before subduing him. With the help of three others, he dragged the kid off to a cell to calm down.

Because of this furore, Zoe didn’t notice her at first. The woman sat patiently on a bench, so polite and still that it
was easy to miss her. But as the chaos died, so all eyes were drawn to the stranger in their midst. She didn’t move until Sarah was led into custody by her solicitor. At this point she stood and went over to introduce herself.

Sam approached as the woman spoke hurriedly to Sarah, her voice too quiet to be overheard. Sarah listened and then nodded. It was the first normal, human behaviour she’d exhibited since they arrested her back in her house.