The Bad Things: A gripping crime thriller full of twists and turns

The two-tone noise of the computer announced it was ready for business, and Alex let the emails download. She decided not to go on Facebook or Twitter; it would only push her blood pressure sky-high. That was the trouble with being a freelance – she felt she needed to be readily contactable, which was easy in the era of mobiles and social media, but, boy, when she wanted to lie low, it was bloody difficult.

The emails were, as she suspected, a mixture of clothes companies, train companies, and supermarkets advertising their wares, and requests for interviews about her and Sasha from various magazines. She deleted them all. But the one she wanted from her editor was there.

To : Alex Devlin

From : Liz Henderson

Subject : Malone

Hey Alex – loved your piece on Malone, strikes just the right balance and gives us a good rounded picture of the man. The photographs all add to the mood.

The photos had to be done in shadow or from the back to keep Malone’s anonymity intact. At least he hadn’t insisted on wearing his balaclava.

You’ll be pleased to know we’ve found an early slot for it in the Saturday Magazine – should go in two weeks time. Please invoice as usual.

Alex let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Thank the Lord; she’d be able to eat for a little longer, though she still wouldn’t have enough to pay for the skiing trip. Worry began to gnaw away at her again.

Keep coming up with the ideas, Alex, we love your pieces.

Best

Liz

That lifted a little of the heavy weight that was permanently on her shoulders. It was hard making a living as a freelance, and she was lucky to have found such regular work with the magazine supplement. She’d even done news stories for the main daily paper to earn some extra cash. Sometimes she felt like a jack of all trades and master of none, but her in-depth features seemed to chime with the Saturday Magazine’s ethos.

She looked at the time of the email. Liz had sent it just after the news broke of Jackie Wood getting out of prison. Keep the ideas coming. Sure. Easier said than done sometimes. News features didn’t just fall into your lap; you had to keep your eyes and ears open. Be receptive.

Jackie Wood.

The thought flashed into her head. A thoughtful piece on her time in prison, reflecting on her life; all that bollocks.

She shook herself. Where on earth had that idea come from? Left field, most definitely. She sat back in her chair.

Absolutely not.

She gazed out of the window onto the scrubby courtyard that passed for a garden, the gloom pierced by the lights in the kitchen. The terracotta pots she had planted with geraniums and lilies in the summer looked defeated. They bore cracks from the frost and the plants were withered bits of brown stick. If she’d had an ounce of foresight she would have brought them inside before the winter. The grass was patchy and mostly mud and even the silver birch looked tired of life.

Picking up a pencil, she began doodling, making notes. Suppose, just suppose for one minute that she did get to talk to Jackie Wood, what were the pros and cons?

Pros: she really wanted to talk to Jackie Wood. She never thought she’d be able to and yet here it was. The opportunity. The woman had been let out on a technicality and she was still guilty. At least, in Alex’s eyes. She must know where Millie is buried. She could tell her. She would tell her. And that would bring peace of mind to her sister.

Cons: Jackie Wood probably wouldn’t want to talk to her. Wouldn’t want to talk to any journalist. Would she know who she was? Would she remember her; her name? Not necessarily. It was fifteen years ago and Sasha had captured all the headlines. Sasha and Jez. Jez had managed to keep Alex’s name out of it as far as possible, and, because he was a police officer, that seemed to be a long way. And then she’d kept her head down, not courting any publicity. But she did give evidence at the trial, so that was living in cloud cuckoo land. Jackie Wood would know who she was, there was no doubt about that.

And what about Sasha? And Jez? How would they feel?

But she’d be doing it for them.

And then there was the main stumbling block – her editor would never wear it. Liz was bound to say she was too close to it; it wouldn’t be fair; it wouldn’t be balanced, and all that. In truth, Liz would be worried about bringing the Press Complaints Commission down on the Saturday Magazine’s head.

But, what if she talked to Jackie Wood, managed to write the article and then pitched it to Liz, what about that? She’d done that many times in her career – written an article on spec. And if Liz didn’t want it, she could tout it around. It would be a financial risk, but someone, somewhere would take the article. And there would be no deception involved. All above board. She would declare her interest and sell it as a personal story. Everyone wanted a personal story.

The words went in and out of focus. It could be the best chance she had to get the story out of Jackie Wood; the best chance to find out what happened the day Harry and Millie were taken. From her garden. While she was supposed to be looking after them. The day their family had been torn apart; the day she had let her sister down. And if she knew why Jackie Wood and Martin Jessop had taken the twins away and murdered them, then maybe she could find some sort of peace.

And she would go some way to paying her dues to Sasha; get rid of that guilt that had been eating away at her for the last decade and a half.

She turned back to her computer and opened up a document file entitled ‘Jessop and Wood’. She’d kept all links to the case in one tidy place on her computer. Links to stories; links to people who claimed they’d known Jessop and Wood were evil; she’d even kept a link to the clairvoyant who insisted he’d be able to lead them to Millie’s body, for a fee, naturally. Alex never found out if he went to the police in the end. She stared at the file. She would be adding new links soon, to today’s story, but first—

There it was. A picture and contact number for Wood’s lawyer. She picked up her phone.

Something like adrenalin surged through her. She’d had fifteen years of being passive, of believing that justice would run its course, of thinking that she could run away from it all. Now she knew she’d been wrong all along. She punched in the number.

5

After that, it was all plain sailing. Alex got through to Jonathan Danby easily, and the conversation went exactly as she hoped. He had heard of her, had read a few of her articles and even enjoyed them, he said in that oleaginous manner she knew he would have. Loved the Saturday Magazine, he said. She crossed her fingers in the hope that he wasn’t great friends with Liz or something. She wanted the interview to be a fait accompli before anyone could say no. However, all Danby said was that he’d met the owner of the paper and the accompanying magazine at a couple of events. That was all right. Clive Lambert had little idea of who his staff were, never mind the freelancers. So when Alex broached the subject of Jackie Wood and an exclusive interview with her, she could hear Danby thinking in pounds and pence and not worrying about anything else.

‘It would be a fair depiction of Jackie and everything she’d been through?’ he asked. Alex heard the tippety-tap of his pen on his desk, or more likely on his blotter on what she imagined was his mahogany desk.

‘Yes,’ she said. It had to be fair otherwise it wouldn’t get published. It was just that she hoped to get so much more out of it.

‘I would need to be there.’

‘No, Mr Danby, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.’ Alex kept her voice even. ‘It needs to be just me, and preferably somewhere she feels comfortable and relaxed. I want her to open up.’

‘I see.’ She heard him breathing down the phone. ‘And what’s in it for my client?’

‘The magazine can pay its standard rate.’ She named the usual figure and crossed her fingers. It would be worth it to confront the woman who had brought such misery to their lives. ‘But that’s all. What she will get is publicity, which she would be able to use to her advantage.’

‘She is innocent you know. Of conspiracy to murder.’

‘As you say, Mr Danby.’

‘We’d want that underlined in the piece.’

Alex gripped the phone. ‘I can only work with what I get.’

‘It would be sympathetic to her?’

If she wasn’t careful she would break the damn phone. ‘It all depends how she comes over. Another reason for talking just to me with no one else around.’

‘Actually Ms Devlin, that’s a very good reason for me to be there. I wouldn’t want her to say something…inappropriate.’

Alex let the silence hang.

‘You realize the media are this close…’ She imagined him holding his forefinger and thumb apart so there was hardly any space between them ‘…to being gagged. And that includes you, Ms Devlin.’

‘I’m sure,’ she replied.

‘And the fact you’re Sasha Devlin’s sister?’

Damn. How long had he been waiting to say that? Foolish of her not to expect it.

‘Makes it all the more personal, Mr Danby. Obviously. There would be no deception involved. It’ll be written as a first-hand account of meeting the woman who had been accused of being involved in the murder of my niece and nephew. And acquitted, of course.’

‘Of course.’ A heavy sigh came across the line. ‘Leave it with me. I don’t think it’ll happen, though. She wants to keep a low profile. But I will be in contact with her and let you know, okay?’

‘That would be great, Mr Danby, I appreciate it.’

Alex gave him her number before finishing the call and turning her phone off again, sapped by the effort of remaining civil throughout the conversation, but also strangely exhilarated.

‘Hey you,’ Malone’s voice drifted up the stairs. ‘Am I going to see you at all?’

She put her computer to sleep and went down to the kitchen. ‘Sorry, I was just trying to fix up my next interviewee.’

Malone looked up from the paper he was reading. ‘Oh? Am I allowed to know who?’

She put her arms around him and her chin on his shoulder. ‘No.’

He turned and looked at her. ‘Any particular reason?’

‘Nope. Just the way I work.’

For some reason she wanted to keep it to herself. Was it because somewhere deep down she knew her motives for wanting to interview Jackie Wood were more than just to help Sasha? She wanted, she needed to see the woman up close and personal; to look in her eyes and see her guilt. Or perhaps, she reasoned, it was because the fewer people who knew, the less likely it was there would be a slip-up that would give away the woman’s whereabouts.

‘Look, I’ve made you a sandwich.’

He pushed a plate towards her and she realized she was hungry. In her efforts to get Sasha to eat she had neglected to eat anything herself. Cheese and pickle. Perfect.

The front door slammed. Gus was home. Alex looked at the clock – he was later than normal.

‘Hi darling,’ she called out, knowing she had to tell him that Jackie Wood was out of jail. Nothing. Just the sound of his size tens thudding up the stairs.

She looked at Malone. That was unusual. Gus normally came in and gave her at least a civilized grunt before disappearing into his lair.

‘I’d leave him be,’ said Malone. ‘He’s a teenager, probably wants a bit of privacy.’

She put down the sandwich. ‘Nonetheless, I’ve got to go and talk to him.’

She went upstairs and knocked on his door. No response. She knocked again, harder this time, in case he was plugged into his iPod.

‘Come in.’

Alex didn’t think she’d ever get used to her little boy’s gruff new voice.

As she went in, he minimized the web pages he’d been looking at and turned to her. She switched on the light. ‘Did you bring the letter home about paying for the skiing by instalments?’ she asked.

‘What’s that? A sweetener?’ His lip curled.

‘Gus?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me, Mum? About the woman? Jackie Wood.’

Alex suppressed a sigh as she went further into his room, stepped over the discarded books and DVDs that littered the floor, and sat down on the bed. She patted the cover. ‘Come here.’

Avoiding her eyes, Gus sat down next to her.

She put her arm around him, trying to ignore the tick tock of the clock on the wall and the shock of stale booze on his breath. He leaned into her. She could feel the bones of his shoulder, his arm. Had he always been this thin?

‘They said at school that she was out. Someone had seen it on their phone. They said her conviction had been overturned so that meant she hadn’t had anything to do with it and so probably the bloke – Martin Jessop – was innocent as well, and we were all shitty liars.’ His eyes glittered with unshed tears.

‘She is out, Gus, but her conviction was said to be unsafe.’

‘What does that mean?’ he muttered.

‘It means that they found some discrepancy in the evidence that was used to convict her of conspiracy—’

‘What evidence?’

‘Forensic evidence. Something to do with particles of dirt found at the scene and the particles found on her clothing in the flat hallway.’

Gus ran his fingers through his hair. ‘You mean—’

Alex winced. ‘Yes, sweetheart, where little Harry’s body was found. Gus,’ she knew she had to tread carefully, ‘have you been drinking?’

He wiped his sleeve over his face. ‘Bit.’

‘In the afternoon?’

‘Why, wouldn’t you mind if it was in the evening?’ he shot back.

She rolled her eyes, hoping to defuse the situation. ‘Don’t be smart with me. You know I would, that’s not the point.’

‘Look, I was stopped outside the school gates by some reporter scum who wanted to do an interview, take my picture and all that.’ He plucked at the sleeve of his jumper. ‘And I don’t want it, Mum. I don’t, like, want it to be anything to do with me. I was only a baby. I don’t even remember Harry and Millie.’ He sniffed. ‘But they kept asking and asking and saying we were liars, that you were a liar. And I wanted to get away.’

‘I’m sorry, love.’ She pulled him closer.

‘And then a couple of mates asked me if I wanted a drink.’

‘Mates?’ she asked, more sharply than she intended. Please don’t let him have fallen in with a bad crowd again.

‘Yes, mates.’ He glared at her. She decided to leave it, for now. ‘Anyway,’ he carried on, ‘I thought you’d be more concerned about the reporters than the half pint of lager I’d had.’

‘I am concerned about that,’ she said, trying to believe it really was just a half pint of lager. ‘They had no right to stop you and talk to you. What did you say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘How did they know you had anything to do with her?’

He shrugged. ‘Dunno. But there are a couple of them at the gate now.’

‘What?’ Alex jumped up and went over to the window. Sure enough, a man in a shiny grey suit and yellow tie and a woman in a black shaggy coat were standing just outside the gate under the streetlight and looking at her front door. Both of them on mobile phones and having animated conversations. She wondered which of them would be the first to come up with an offer. Vultures.

‘Bugger,’ she said, stepping back from the window before they saw her, heart thumping, ‘I thought they wouldn’t find us.’

‘Come on, Mum, you know you can find anyone these days through the internet.’

Irritation crawled up her spine. She knew that. She damn well knew that, so why hadn’t she given it a thought? ‘They’ll go away as soon as they realize we’re not giving them anything. Or until they get cold or tired or hungry, or all three.’ She half drew the curtain.

‘How’s Aunty Sasha?’

It was her turn to shrug. ‘You know, coping.’

‘Badly?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve just got to support her through this.’

‘We will, Mum. We will.’

Alex looked at her little boy. Taller than her with wisps of facial hair and that deep voice. ‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ She resisted the urge to lean over and kiss his cheek.

‘So are you going to do anything about her?’

‘Her?’

‘Jackie Wood?’

‘I—’ No. She wasn’t going to tell him. ‘Look, there’s nothing we can do. She’ll be whisked to some safe house somewhere until the furore’s died down and then she might change her identity and find somewhere new to live. The best thing we can do is to help Sasha through this.’

‘Mum?’

‘Yes?’

‘What can you remember about that day?’

Alex drew him back into her arms and hugged him close to her, resting her chin on the top of his head. ‘Oh, love, it’s difficult to describe.’

‘Try. Please.’

She closed her eyes. ‘I remember the police coming round, making lots of notes. Everyone going to look for them. Not finding them.’

‘They were taken from our garden, weren’t they?’

A spear of pain lanced Alex and the guilt threatened to overwhelm her. ‘Yes. Yes they were.’

She was responsible.

6

Kate shoved the pills to the back of the bathroom cupboard and closed the door. Her head was pounding; the picture on the health centre’s telly of Jackie Wood on the steps of the High Court, smiling, going round and round in her head. The smug lawyer. The sentence quashed. A murderer’s accomplice set free.

She thought back to when the judge had sentenced Wood and Jessop to life imprisonment for the murders of Harry and Millie Clements, and how she’d felt as though she could breathe again. Although she’d been the one to find Harry’s little body all squashed up in the suitcase, abandoned behind a bin in a shitty lay-by as if he was just a piece of rubbish, she hadn’t had anything more to do with the investigation, apart from celebrating in the pub when they arrested Wood and Jessop.

She’d had her day in court, of course, when she stood in the witness box and told the judge exactly what had happened the morning she had found the little boy, reliving it in her head as she kept her voice even and unemotional. She’d glared across at the pair of them in the dock; wanted them to look her in the eye so she could stare them down. But they didn’t give her the satisfaction; just kept examining their hands, Wood occasionally dabbing at her eyes with a white handkerchief edged with blue. Funny how she could remember the little things. And then she’d been in the public gallery when the professor of dirt and stones or whatever he was delivered his damning evidence. The unusual type of soil and gravel found in the corridor of the flats in Sole Bay matched that found inside the suitcase that had contained the body – that was the gist of it, and the jury bought it, every single damning word. So did they all, to be fair.

And now, fifteen years on, the great professor had been discredited. The evidence he had given in another trial had been called into question five years previously. After that, the convictions tumbled, and it was only a matter of time before the Jessop–Wood trial was scrutinized. And yes, the evidence was called into question. Unsafe conviction. The gravel and soil could have come from several places in Sole Bay. So Wood was now out in the community.

Kate found herself obsessed with Wood. She didn’t believe for one moment that Jessop and Wood were not guilty, and she knew her colleagues would be of a like mind. There was no question of it being opened as a cold case, and it wouldn’t be too long before the force would trot out the line: ‘We’re not looking for anyone else in this matter.’ Subtext: they did it, and Jackie Wood has got away with it.

She turned on the cold tap and splashed her face, remembering too late the make-up she had put on earlier that morning. Bloody hell, she’d have panda eyes now. Opening up the cupboard again she took out her make-up remover wipes and began to clean her face so she could redo her mask.

‘Is that you Kate?’

A door slammed as Chris’s voice floated up the stairs. Her hand stopped its cleaning. Damn. What was he doing home? She thought he’d gone to source more wood for the table and chairs he was making.

‘Kate?’

She put down the make-up remover wipes and gripped the basin, head bowed. Then she dragged in a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. If she made herself smile, it would sound in her voice.

‘Hallo sweetie,’ she said, emerging from the bathroom and going downstairs. ‘I thought you’d be out for most of the day.’

Chris enveloped her in a hug. With her nose pressed into his thick woollen jumper she breathed in the familiar smells of freshly-cut wood and linseed oil. There was a prickling in the back of her nose. ‘Hah. So your secret lover could come and go with impunity.’

‘Something like that,’ she mumbled, not wanting to think about the visit to the doctor. ‘What about the wood?’

‘Bloke I needed to see won’t be back until this afternoon. Bit of a wasted journey.’

She lifted her head up. ‘Didn’t you check he was going to be there?’

‘No. I had some other stuff to do and I fancied a drive so took a chance.’ He smiled down at her, his cornflower blue eyes wrinkling at the corners. ‘Is that okay?’

‘’Course it is.’

Typical of Chris. Freewheeling; not worried about what other people thought; always able to go with the flow. Which was probably why she married him – a good contrast to her tendency to be uptight.

‘Anyway, what are you doing home?’

‘Meeting my lover, what else?’ She laughed lightly. ‘Have you had anything to eat? Do you fancy some toast?’

He grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her lips. ‘Toast sounds good. Unless you fancy something else…’ He looked up the stairs and then back at her. Cocked his head to one side.

She thought of the pills she had got from the doctor and the pill she took every day, both shoved in the back of the cupboard, and felt guilty and irritated at the same time. She pushed him away. ‘No time for that. I must eat and get going. So, toast?’ She tried to make her voice sound bright.

Chris held up his hands. ‘Whoa. Sorry. Just a thought. Toast would be great.’

Kate kept her head down – she couldn’t bear to see the hurt look on his face. Instead, she went to the bread bin and took the loaf out, trying to undo the red plastic tape. ‘Bugger, bugger, why do they wrap bloody bread like this.’ She took a knife out of the drawer and started to hack at the tape.

‘Careful, don’t hurt yourself.’

‘I won’t,’ she snapped, taking a couple of slices from the now open packet. ‘See? It’s done. But the sodding bread’s mouldy.’

Chris was beside her, taking the bread out of her hands. ‘It’s only a bit of green along the edges. It’ll be fine when I’ve got peanut butter and jam on the top.’

‘Up to you.’ Kate reached up into a cupboard and took down the pack of muesli, shaking some into a bowl, looking crossly at the dried fruit, seeds, and oats. ‘Urgh, why can’t I like this stuff?’

‘Because it’s rabbit food.’

‘That’s lettuce.’

‘Well, some animal that eats oats and fruit and enjoys it.’

‘Good for me though.’ She poured milk out of the bottle onto it.

‘Sometimes it’s good to have things you enjoy.’

Kate looked at him sharply, then caught her breath at the sadness of his expression. She put down her bowl and went over to him, putting her arms around his solid waist. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m just a bit twitchy.’

‘Any particular reason?’

The toast popped up and Chris began to slather it with butter. Kate’s irritation flared up again. ‘You’ll give yourself a heart attack if you’re not careful.’

‘At least I will have enjoyed myself,’ he said mildly.