‘What do you think they’ve done?’ asked Daisy. She realised this was the first time either of them had asked this question out loud. Their mother was an unknown quantity. Daisy had heard her father say this when he was angry with Mum. Or when she was in the grip of one of her obsessions. ‘David?’ Daisy repeated.

  He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know. But I bet you, whatever it is, Mum’s done it. I heard them talking about the news, last night,’ he said.

  ‘What was on the news?’

  ‘I don’t know. Mum was asking Dad, “did you see it?”’ His forehead creased, and Daisy noted that he’d switched back to calling their mother ‘mum’.

  ‘What was on the news that could make her want to take us all to Spain? I thought she didn’t want to have a holiday this year… I’m scared.’

  David reached over and took his sister’s hand.

  ‘I’m scared too, but we’ve done nothing wrong,’ he said. Daisy felt her stomach drop as Tupele came back to the car. She was smiling, and she had two Mars bars.

  ‘Are you two okay?’ she said brightly, looking in through the open window.

  ‘Law enforcement bearing chocolate bars,’ said David. Tupele opened the door.

  ‘David and Daisy, do you want to come with me whilst you wait for your mum and dad?’ she said. Her tone and her smile were slightly manic, as if she didn’t want them to see what she was really thinking.

  ‘How long are Mum and Dad going to be?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘It could be a little while. That’s why we’ve got a nice cosy office for you to wait in, and it has a TV!’

  Daisy felt her throat close up with fear as they left the car.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to watch TV in a police station,’ muttered David. The smiling policewoman either didn’t hear him or pretended not to, and she led them into the station.

  54

  Kate and Tristan returned to Exeter police station that afternoon to watch the interviews with Libby Hartley and Steve Hartley from the video observation suite.

  Libby was interviewed first. She refused a legal representative and sat at the table with her hands folded neatly on the surface. She was still wearing the pink New Yorker baseball cap she’d had at Birmingham Airport. Her long greying hair hung past her shoulders.

  ‘Can you please take off your hat,’ said Harris. He was sitting opposite her with Duncan, the other police officer who had been first to arrive at Danvers Farm.

  ‘Why can’t I wear a hat?’ asked Libby. She spoke well, and Kate couldn’t work out where she was from. Her accent was neutral.

  ‘We need to see your face,’ said Harris pointing up at the cameras on the wall. Libby followed his gaze, and her face came into view. Her eyes had dark circles underneath, and even on the video, Kate could see that the skin on her face was red and cracked.

  ‘You can see my face here, no probs,’ she said, tilting her head back down. She sat back and crossed her arms.

  ‘Can you please take off your hat.’

  ‘No.’

  Harris leant across and gently removed it. Her hair underneath leapt up from the static and formed a halo around her head under the intense lights. She stared at him defiantly.

  ‘Why were you leaving to go on holiday?’ asked Harris.

  ‘I needed some sun.’

  ‘The neighbour we spoke to said you made the arrangements late last night, and it was very last minute. Why?’

  ‘I told you. We needed some sun.’

  Harris sat back, and there was a long pause.

  ‘Can you confirm to us when you were the tenants of Danvers Farm in South Zeal?’

  She sighed and pursed her lips.

  ‘Exact dates I can’t remember. I’d say, from Christmas 2004, until early July 2007.’

  ‘Can you remember when in December 2004?’

  ‘No. I can’t. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas. We took on the farm deliberately at this point in the year. We could have the winter to get ourselves acclimatised,’ she said.

  ‘I do have the date you gave up the lease on the farm,’ said Harris. He found a piece of paper from his folder and slid it in front of her. ‘This is from the Crown Estate land registry. You gave four weeks’ notice on the property on the thirtieth of June.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did you choose to give up your tenancy on the farm so close to the harvest?’

  Libby shrugged.

  ‘You left the country on June 25th 2007, but you didn’t return to the property to serve out your lease. Why?’

  ‘It was a difficult time,’ she said.

  ‘Were you aware that a young boy’s body was buried in the woods on the farmland?’

  ‘What? Of course not,’ she said. Kate was watching her face and Libby kept her eyes on the table.

  ‘Are you aware that three-year-old Charlie Julings vanished close to your farm on the night of the 21st of June? That’s a week before you decided to leave and give up the lease on your farmland. And you left the country on June 25th. Four days after Charlie Julings went missing.’

  ‘If I remember correctly, the police did come to the farm and talk to us. They checked the outbuildings in case, on the off-chance we’d stashed a little boy there. Which of course we hadn’t. I didn’t know about the boy you found buried…’

  ‘You didn’t see it on the news?’

  She sat back and took a deep breath.

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’ she said.

  ‘Of course,’ said Harris.

  ‘Do you have forensic evidence showing when that boy’s body was buried?’

  Duncan glanced across at Harris.

  ‘I’m not at liberty to give that information,’ said Harris.

  ‘Because we left Danvers Farm eleven years ago, and another family has been living there. Why aren’t you interviewing the current tenants in a fucking police interview room with cameras?’ she shouted. She slammed her hand down on the table.

  ‘You need to calm down.’

  ‘No. You need to release me because you have nothing! I’ve done nothing!’

  Harris kept calm and watched her impassively.

  ‘Libby. This could have been a routine talk with a local police officer in your home, but you gave up that right when you decided to do a midnight flit and try to leave the country.’

  ‘Midnight flit!’ she spat. ‘We left in the morning.’

  ‘And again, one of my police officers tried to talk to you at the airport.’

  ‘Liar! They tried to take my passport. I was detained.’

  ‘Only after you attempted to run away. You seem like an intelligent woman, but your bizarre behaviour indicates guilt.’

  ‘And you seem like a cunt,’ said Libby. There was a nasty silence. Libby slammed her hand down on the table, making Duncan jump, and then she started crying. Uninhibited tears with snot and drool. ‘Don’t you know I have a diagnosis for bipolar disorder? I have a disability, and this is how you treat me! We left Danvers Farm because my husband was fucking a local girl! Do you hear me? That place, our home, the farm, was tainted by his betrayal! Is that not enough of a reason for you, for me to want to leave?’

  Harris pulled a tissue from a box in the middle of the table and handed it to her. He indicated to Duncan that they should leave the room.

  ‘I’m pausing this interview at 2.45pm,’ he said.

  A moment later, he entered the observation suite.

  ‘I’m not happy to continue this interview without her having a solicitor present,’ he said. ‘I think we need to take five minutes.’

  Kate and Tristan followed him out of the video observation suite and into the corridor, where he went to a vending machine.

  ‘Where are David and Daisy?’ asked Tristan.

  ‘Watching TV in one of our meeting rooms. We’re trying to work out the best thing to do. We don’t know if we have enough to charge Libby and Steve at this stage, but it’s looking that way. We’ve set a deadline of 4pm to call social services and have them take the children into short-term care,’ said Harris. He fed a few coins into the coffee machine. A plastic cup dropped down, and began to fill with steaming coffee. Harris took the cup, and then Kate got herself one. Tristan fed in some money and pressed the code for a can of Coke. It dropped into the machine below with a clunk. Harris blew on his coffee and took a sip.

  ‘What gets me is that we can’t prove when the body of that young boy was put in the ground,’ he said.

  ‘What about the diary? The diary could belong to Libby,’ asked Kate.

  ‘How do we prove in court that the diary belongs to her?’ Harris replied. Kate nodded.

  ‘Yes, the blue exercise book was found at the murder scene of a completely unrelated crime to Charlie’s disappearance,’ said Kate. ‘And Anna Treadwell was attending a creative writing class. You would first need to prove that the blue exercise book is not Anna’s, even though it was found in her house, and then you’d have to prove that it belonged to Libby Hartley. And the husband in the short story is called, Dan. Libby Hartley’s husband is Steve. And in the meantime, Maureen Cook copied the “short story” in the blue exercise book, and published it in her own name.’

  Harris sighed and rubbed his face.

  ‘Jesus, what a mess…’ A uniformed police officer appeared in the corridor. She looked concerned. ‘Ah, Tupele. This is Kate Marshall and Tristan Harper. They found the body out at Danvers Farm. This is Detective Inspector Tupele Grant.’

  Tupele smiled, said hello, and then turned her attention back to Harris.

  ‘Boss, we’ve just had the DNA come back from the boy’s body. We ran it against the DNA swabs provided by Jean Julings and Joel Mansfield. It doesn’t match her maternal DNA profile or Joel’s paternal DNA. The body of the boy we found at Danvers Farm isn’t Charlie Julings.’

  55

  ‘Who’s going to tell Jean?’ asked Tristan, his face pale with shock. ‘I really thought it was Charlie.’

  They were still standing in the corridor by the vending machines, and Kate felt just as much in shock as Tristan.

  Kate looked down at the cup of coffee in her hand. The cup had been wet when she’d taken it out of the machine, and she’d wrapped an old petrol station napkin around it that she’d found in her pocket. She peeled it off the plastic cup and was about to drop it into the bin when she saw how the dark liquid had stained the petrol station name and logo at the bottom, obscuring the print.

  ‘Hang on, that could be—’ she said, thinking.

  ‘Could be what?’ asked Tristan.

  ‘Can you stay here and watch the interviews with Steve, and Libby if they talk to her again? I need to ask if I can access the police evidence store we visited the other day. I need to see the crime scene stuff from Anna Treadwell’s bedroom. Take a look at it again.’

  Libby lay on the hard plastic bed in the prison cell in the bowels of Exeter police station. The room was strangely calming to her. Just a low bench, a stainless-steel toilet bowl and scrubbed walls. Walls scrubbed clean of graffiti, but not quite. There were the faint ghosts of scratch marks and foul language. She didn’t have to pretend to be sane in this room. Often when she went to the supermarket or a restaurant or drove somewhere in her car, she could feel eyes on her, watching her behaviour.

  In this cell, she could just be.

  The police didn’t have anything. They couldn’t. Libby got up and went to the hatch on the door. There was a small hole, and she could just see a circle of the dank concrete hall outside, lit with orange light.

  ‘Steve. Steve, are you there?’ she said. After a long pause, she heard his voice.

  ‘Yes?’

  It sounded faint and weak.

  ‘Did they talk to you yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They have nothing. Say nothing—’ Libby heard footsteps in the corridor outside, and she took a step back as the bolt was shot open on her cell. A petite older lady with a severe black fringe stood in the doorway with the custody sergeant.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hartley. I have been appointed as your solicitor. May I come in?’

  ‘I don’t need a solicitor,’ said Libby.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s been insisted on. You are strongly urged to seek legal counsel. With your history of mental health, you are in a precarious position. I have been assigned to you, but you can, of course, choose someone else.’

  ‘They have nothing on me.’

  ‘That might be so.’ The solicitor looked around at the custody sergeant. ‘May I come in for a moment, Mrs Hartley?’ Libby nodded, and she came inside the cell. The custody sergeant closed the door and shot the bolts home. She perched on the bench.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Libby.

  ‘Donna Webber,’ she said, handing Libby her card.

  ‘Where are my children?’

  ‘They are here in the station, in the canteen, for now. That’s why I urge you to retain legal representation. With your history of mental health issues and the police investigation… If the children are taken into care later today, which looks like it may happen, it would just be for a short period,’ she added, holding up her hand to stop Libby from protesting. ‘You don’t need or want the authorities to request a mental health assessment before they return custody to you. Once the children enter the system, social services would look to extend the emergency custody agreement if you give them cause.’

  Libby stared at her.

  ‘So even though I’m innocent, I could lose my children?’ she said. The thought was too awful for words. Libby took a step back and felt the chalky wall behind her.

  ‘I must stress that this probably won’t happen,’ said Donna. ‘I’m going to be with you for the duration of any future interviews. And, of course, your husband is also their primary carer.’

  There were more footsteps in the corridor, and Libby heard voices outside.

  ‘Who is that?’ said Libby.

  ‘I don’t know. I know your husband has retained his own legal counsel on the recommendation of the police. For the same reasons I’ve outlined,’ said Donna. Libby noted that she sat bolt upright in a finishing school pose with her ankles crossed.

  ‘Can they charge me? Can they keep me here?’ asked Libby.

  ‘They can keep you here for twenty-four hours before they have to charge you. They can extend that to thirty-six hours if they suspect you of a serious crime. But with the short time I’ve had with your file, I can’t see that they have strong enough evidence to do so. However, either way, I don’t think they have enough evidence to keep your husband, and if you are willing to be more cooperative with the police in the interview room, I can ask that they release Steve, so he can find accommodation for him and the children tonight.’

  Libby felt a flood of relief when she heard this.

  ‘Okay. Yes. I can do that,’ said Libby. The thought of losing custody of the children was something she had never comprehended. It was never on her radar. Donna picked up her briefcase from the floor.

  ‘Oh. There is one other thing. As you know, the police in the custody suite took a DNA swab when you were arrested. They also took a DNA swab from your husband. The police are asking for consent from you or Steve to take a DNA swab from David and Daisy, is it?’

  ‘Why do they need to do that?’

  ‘They say that they need to search your house, and they need to eliminate DNA,’ said Donna.

  ‘No,’ said Libby, starting to panic. The sheer terror she felt was overwhelming. ‘Absolutely not.’

  Donna smiled condescendingly.

  ‘Mrs Hartley. This isn’t a DNA swab concerning a crime. This is perfectly normal. They are both under eighteen, so they do need your consent. The DNA sample will only be kept for twenty-eight days to rule them out of any investigation. It’s just like a cotton bud, and they swipe it on the inside of their cheek. Painless and over in a flash.’

  ‘No!’

  Donna frowned.

  ‘Mrs Hartley. On what grounds?’

  ‘Because my children have nothing to do with all of this. Nothing! Why do they have to be dragged into it, and have these invasive procedures? No, that’s it. Get out of my cell. Get out!’

  Donna picked up her briefcase.

  ‘Mrs Hartley, this is not helping you—’

  ‘Get out!’

  Donna went to the door and knocked.

  ‘Please reconsider this. It will help your case in the long term.’

  The door opened, and Donna stepped out. The bolts echoed as they shot home.

  Libby stood in silence for a minute, feeling the blood pounding in her head.

  ‘Libby,’ said Steve’s disembodied voice echoing down the corridor. ‘I’m sorry… I gave them consent to do the DNA swabs on the kids. This has to end.’

  Libby felt the floor drop underneath her, and she had only just reached the stainless- steel toilet bowl before she threw up.

  56

  Four hours later, Kate and Tristan were in the waiting area at Exeter police station. Kate’s heart was beating so loudly that she was sure the people outside on the street could hear. Tristan glanced across at her and then back at the door.

  A moment later, Jean came into the station with Joel. They both looked as scared as Kate felt as she greeted them.

  ‘Hello, Kate. Hello, Tristan, love,’ said Jean. She was pale, but she looked more robust and healthy than a few weeks ago, and she now only had a wooden walking stick to support her. Joel was wide-eyed and tapping his foot nervously.

  ‘I didn’t know you would both be here,’ said Joel. ‘I thought the police wanted to talk to us?’

  ‘I told you they’d be here,’ said Jean.

  ‘You need to sign in, and then we’re going to the detective chief inspector’s office,’ said Kate.

  ‘Can you just tell me, please?’ said Jean, taking Kate’s hand and closing her eyes at the pain of it all.

 

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