The questioning was long, tiring and pointless: the same questions put in different ways, going round and round endlessly as Detective Francis did her best to make her twenty four hours of questioning count. Sean was too close to Aleister to take any part in it but judging from the intensity with which Francis dealt with the situation he wasn't sure what else Sean could have brought to the table. Aleister couldn't blame her for examining his every word so thoroughly; he was the only lead at the moment and he would have done the same in her shoes. Her interrogation technique was next to perfect... calm, methodical and brilliantly incisive. Aleister was just as in the dark as she was though, so after going over his whereabouts, the contents of the emails (which he gladly showed her in the hope it would get her off his back) and everything he'd seen in the house there was still nothing to glean from his words, no hook for Francis to grab onto.
It was the photographs that disturbed Aleister the most, laid out on the table in front of him throughout the questioning, sick little windows into mystery that he wanted to decipher as much as Sean and Francis did. The one that drew him in the most was the child, lying face down surrounded by the blood spots but with no sign of blood on his back. Where had the pool gone? Had it been hastily cleaned? That seemed impossible, which made the fact that he might have imagined it somehow all the more likely... yet that idea raised some disturbing questions.
It crossed his mind on several occasions that he could simply come clean about the USB stick and hope that there would be something on there that would clear his name, but the fact that he himself didn't know what was on there always stopped him. It could be his salvation or his conviction. He had to know which one it was before he let anyone else know about it.
As the night wore on and the next day came around Francis was forced to let Aleister go for the time being, under the proviso that he be available whenever necessary for the foreseeable future. Aleister assured her that it would not be an issue. There was no risk of him leaving, not with the information on the USB stick to go through.
He fidgeted with barely contained nerves as he drove home with the data drive pressed against his leg in his trouser pocket, before pulling up in front of his house at around 2pm. The weather was overcast to the point of twilight and as he stepped out of the car the first raindrops of what would no doubt be a vicious thunderstorm started to pockmark the pavement. The marks started to multiply as the rainfall increased but rather than hurry inside, Aleister found himself staring down at the spots and thinking back to the bloody spots in the house...
“Dad?”
Holly was standing next to him, her hand on his arm. When Aleister looked up he saw that the front door was standing open and the rain was falling hard, having soaked the pavement to a sheen long ago. His hair dripped water into his eyes and his coat was soaked through. He looked at his watch and saw that it was half past two.
“Sorry, I think I... shouldn't you be at college?” he said dully as the rain beat a staccato on his forehead.
“It's Saturday. Come on,” she said quietly, leading him towards the doorway. Once they were inside, she went to fetch him some dry clothes as he poured himself a cup of coffee. It was instant, own brand mud, but it was the caffeine he was after not the flavour. The lack of sleep was digging a wedge into his mind but he didn’t want to rest until he had scrutinised the USB stick. When Holly returned he peeled the soaked shirt off his back and dressed with the new one, before retrieving the coffee and starting to head upstairs to his study.
“Won’t you even tell me where you were all last night?” asked Holly, her arms crossed but no anger in her features. There was something else there, a mix of fear and concern that broke his heart. He put the coffee down on the stairs and went back down to her, pulling her into a bear hug. She remained impassive at first, before closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around him, reminding him of the days when she was three and pretended to be a baby needing help to walk, just to get a hug from him.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got involved in something and the less you know about it the better,” he whispered in her ear. She pulled away a little, her eyes scrutinizing his features.
“But you were lost just then, like you used to be...”
He tried to formulate a reply but the words caught in his throat as the memory of the many times he had woken from ‘lost times’ flooded back... the times when his mind would lock itself away, as his wife despaired, alone and helpless. He hadn’t even begun to notice the times she left the house when he fell into the almost catatonic state, until it was too late...
“I’m just tired, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I’ll be fine. Just give me a couple of days, then it’s business as usual, I promise,” he said, gently stroking her hair before kissing her forehead. She’d always be a baby to him, staring up at him wide eyed, expecting the love and attention of a father that he wished he had been and wished he could be...
He let go of her and went upstairs, glancing back to see her slumping down onto the sofa and staring at the wall. He had no idea what she thought of him but he hoped that it was more than the thought of himself. He wasn’t helpless - he chose to prioritise other things over her, far too often. As soon as this case that he’d got himself entangled in was finished he’d sort himself out, for both of their sakes.
When he got upstairs he turned on his computer and waited patiently for it to start up. The atonal tune as the screen popped into life jarred him a little as he realised he’d momentarily fallen asleep in the chair. He rubbed his face and gave himself a couple of quick slaps to keep himself alert as he plugged in the USB stick and started to browse the files it contained.
There was the web cam file that he had saved last but he was more interested in the files in his named folder. When he opened it he saw that it contained a document, some photographs and a few more video files, the titles of which all included the name ‘Cassandra’, followed by the date. He started with the document – hoping that it would get straight to the heart of the matter – but it only contained his email address along with the details of an advert for his services he'd placed a few months ago. The photographs were for the most part family shots, along with a photograph of the house that Jacqueline had probably intended to send him to help identify where they lived. The last photograph stood out from the others in its subject matter, so it was likely it was the most important. It showed an old chapel, much smaller than the converted church in town, set against a backdrop of old woodland with some smaller trees even encroaching around the side of the structure. The windows above the doorway were stained glass, depicting a typical scene of George against the dragon, with some colours replaced with clear glass as it had been repaired half-heartedly over time. Through the clear glass he could just about see a few canvases, boxes and statues. It was a studio of sorts but he had no idea of its whereabouts or connection to the case at the moment.
With the other files out of the way he moved on to the videos. He slipped on his bulky headphones as he didn’t want Holly to hear whatever was on the video files until he had at least vetted them. He started with to the earliest, dated at 28th of October, over a month ago. Jacqueline Webb’s face appeared, healthy and vibrant in a stark contrast to the way he had seen her yesterday, so drawn and frail. She had been quite attractive in her own way. Dark eyes looked out from a face with high cheekbones and a slim jaw, with hair bound tightly up above her head and fastened with a small but ornate clasp, silver inlaid with opal. When she spoke her voice was strong and confident, crisp in its intonations, and as it went on it became clear that it was some sort of video message running for a couple of minutes in grainy quality, probably to make the file size smaller for emailing.
“... sorry to hear about your illness, I hope you recover soon. Anyway... the reason I wanted to get in touch again so soon was that I want your opinion on something... someone. Well, you know who I’m talking about. It’s not my imagination or jealousy, it’s true, and it’s real. I saw him meet up with some... woman. Her ha
ir...”
She stopped momentarily to compose herself.
“... her hair was the same colour as mine. For some reason that hurts a lot. I don’t know why it would have been better if she was a blonde...”
She looked away from the camera, blinking quickly to clear the tears that were welling up in her eyes.
“I’m not even angry at her, I don’t know her. She may not even know he’s married. They met at his studio of all places. I followed him one evening after he told me he was heading over there to finish one of his pieces. Yes, I know you told me that I shouldn’t do it again, but I did. This time I was right. I used to think it was so beautiful, that small chapel on the edge of the woods... romantic. Yes, it must be fu...”
She stopped herself from swearing, swallowing hard.
“I’ll stop now, he’ll be home in a minute. Think of me Cassie, I’m not doing well.”
The next video was dated two weeks later, the 12th of November. Jacqueline looked exhausted, red rimmed eyes squinting out from under a mess of unkempt hair, though physically she still seemed relatively healthy. There was no preamble to begin the message, simply desperation.
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t sleep for worrying, even when I’m alone. Most of the time he doesn’t even come home for the night, though when he does he just lies there, staring up at the ceiling. Sometimes I see him crying, hitting walls, grabbing at his face, his head... I don’t think he ever suffered from migraines. Lucas has seen him having these 'moments' a couple of times and was so scared... terrified. Once he asked what was wrong but that just seemed to drive Tom into more of a rage and he stormed out of the house. I know that may sound bad, and it is, but it’s not the worst times... the worst is when he looks at me and he’s calm. His eyes are cold and dead, he seems another... he looks to be another person... and the weight, the weight he’s put on is unbelievable, so much, so fast. He looks so hungry... do you think I should talk to him, or... get... or get someone else involved? The police?”
She sat staring at the screen for a few moments, as if the weight of her experiences was somehow paralysing her. Eventually she spoke again, her voice quiet and hoarse.
“I’ll let you know what happens. Thank you for the support, it's so good to know I have someone I can rely on.”
There was one final video message in the file, dated 30th of November. Jacqueline looked pale, speaking in a tired monotone as she recounted the details of her last two weeks.
“I did it... I told him to get out of the house and not show his face around here again. He seemed so sad... but... no, he deserves this. I told him to stay at the studio. I don’t know if that was the right thing to do. I didn’t get in touch with the police about his strange behaviour, maybe I should have... but he’s still my husband, for now. Ten years together and never anything like this, nothing like this has ever happened...
I’ve sent Lucas away to stay with his grandma for a couple of weeks... he’s coming back tomorrow. What do I tell him? What can I say? Should I divorce Tom? Move away? Why should I compromise my life for his?”
She ran out of steam, seemingly more from exhaustion than anger.
“He’s only come back once, just once in the last few days... how many days has it been since I found out? I’ve got no idea. I could check. I’ve slept a little more, I had to.”
Her eyes looked down, as if she couldn’t even face the impartial glass eye of the web cam.
“He was... huge. His skin looked swollen, red and black like a bruise. He spoke fast, slurring... I could only make out a few of the words. He was covered in cuts and mud, as if he had walked all the way from the studio, ten miles away...”
Her eyes were still cast downwards, but even though the quality of the video was poor Aleister could see tears had started to roll down her cheeks.
“He threatened me, except he looked like he didn’t want to. It’s hard to explain. He told me that if he came back again that I shouldn’t open the door... he said he’d “put it to sleep with whisky”. He said he’d soon be gone but might come back... I don’t know. He was dribbling bloody spit like he’d bitten his own tongue. That was two days ago. Maybe I should be scared but I’m more concerned than anything. I want to find him, to help him. I don’t want to be with him, of course not, but... I still love him. Of course I do. It’ll take a long time.”
She lifted her eyes up again and sighed, pulling a hair back behind her ear. It was a small gesture but for some reason it broke Aleister’s heart, as his mind returned to how she was now, twisted, frail, yet it was not even a week after this video was recorded. What could have happened in that time?
“... I’ll take your advice and get that investigator involved... Ward. Maybe he can help me keep an eye on Tom, make sure he’s OK. Thanks for the details, I don’t know what I would do without your support through all this, your emails have saved me. I haven’t felt ready to tell anyone around here about it. It’s easier with you, someone I’ve never met. Isn’t it strange how it’s so easy to confide in strangers sometimes? You’re not a stranger, obviously, not after what we’ve discussed, but I wouldn’t even know you if I saw you. I hope you get a web cam soon, so we can chat properly. I’ll get in touch soon and let you know how it goes.”
The video came to an end. Aleister sat back, pulling his headphones off in a mild daze. The videos had raised as many questions as they had answered. Someone had given his name to Jacqueline, someone the woman had never even met, and all he had to go on was the name Cassandra. So it had been Jacqueline who had sent the original email, although the second one... the second one was a pack of lies.
He opened the final email reply up and re-read it, digesting the sparse information as he rubbed his brow, trying to ease away the tension headache that was building in his forehead.
Mr. Ward -
Fees and conditions are agreeable. My husband leaves for work at seven thirty. Lucas will be gone. If you arrive after eight it will be a quiet house and you should have as long as you need to go over the details. I hope you will find this to be the beginning of a beneficial period for all of us.
I look forward to seeing you again.
That was all. Now that he read it again, in the cold light of day – rather than after several shots of vodka – the language seemed... wrong. It was stilted, with a strange choice of phrase in “it will be a quiet house”. The last detail was the most unusual though... “I look forward to seeing you again.” He had never met Jacqueline... and now he never would. Whoever wrote this was openly toying with him, not even trying to conceal their intent behind an easily created facsimile of a reply. There was no need to so obviously deviate from the truth. The worst thing was that he hadn’t noticed at the time. Whether whoever had sent the email had intended to implicate him or had some other ulterior motive he couldn't say, all he knew was that he had done exactly what they wanted, walking blindly into the middle of the mess.
There was another piece in the puzzle, the last video, the one that had still been recording when he had arrived. He slipped his headphones back on. There was no time like the present.