breath and wiped at his eyes. ‘One of Alice’s friends had become involved with them. Alice had gone away to university, but do you remember Marie, her friend from school? She failed her exams and she drifted, but Alice would hook up with her when she came home, except that Marie was hanging around with this group. Marie was with them when they were speaking to my mates and me. She was talking about going wild at Billy’s house, and that we should go up too, that we’d enjoy it.’
‘And so you thought that this group might have had something to do with Alice’s death?’ Ted said, his voice rising.
Jake looked at his hands for a few seconds, and then said, ‘Maybe.’
‘And you didn’t say anything?’
Jake shook his head.
‘Why not?’
Jake swallowed. He looked at his father, and then at Charlie, before he sighed and said, ‘We don’t know everything about Alice. She was all grown up, not a little girl anymore. She will have had secrets from us. It’s natural. When I was talking to Marie, she told me they were having a great time. She was smoking a spliff, and the nods and the winks hinted that it was like a group thing, you know, orgies. What does everyone think about Alice? That she was sweet and lovely and respectable – and she was, but if she had got involved with them, got out of her depth or something, well, it would all change, and I didn’t want that, because then she would be the girl who died in some drug-fuelled party. No, I preferred it how it was reported, that she was innocent, that she wasn’t part of their crowd. So I kept quiet.’
Ted took some deep breaths, and Charlie could see some anger in his eyes, that his own son knew some of the answers but had kept them from him. But Ted’s furrowed brow showed he was wrestling with his feelings, because he understood why Jake had kept quiet, because he had tried to protect Alice’s memory.
‘Who’s the girl?’ Ted said. ‘Marie?’
‘Marie Cuffy,’ Jake said. ‘She was a friend of Alice’s from the sixth form, but Marie had changed. I suppose Alice had, but all of Alice’s other friends had gone away too, and so Marie was someone to hang round with when she was home.’
‘Find me a picture.’
Jake left the room, and Charlie listened as he rummaged in what he guessed was Alice’s room. When Jake came downstairs again, he was holding a photograph. ‘That’s her,’ he said, pointing to a picture.
As Charlie looked, he saw an attractive young woman, her eyes flirty, smiling with Alice, each holding beer bottles in their hand.
‘When was the last time you saw her?’ Charlie said.
‘I haven’t seen her since Alice died.’
‘We need to find her,’ Ted said, tapping the photograph. ‘She knows something about Alice. Jake, do you know where she lives?’
Jake nodded and gave an address. ‘That’s where her parents live.’
Charlie’s thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his phone in his pocket. He checked the number. It was Donia’s.
‘Hello?’ Charlie said, expecting to hear her voice, ready for the next stage of deceit.
‘Mr Barker,’ said a deep voice. Charlie recognised it from the hallway of Donia’s flat.
Charlie swallowed. His mouth had gone dry. ‘What do you want?’
‘You know what we want.’
‘Tell me.’
‘The videotape of Billy Privett. We’ve got the discs, but we want the original tape.’
He felt the hot flush of anger creep up his cheek, mixed in with helplessness about how it was all out of control. ‘You killed Amelia. Why should I do anything for you?’
‘Because we’ve got something you want.’
‘You’ve got nothing I want.’
‘Haven’t we?’ the voice said, and then he laughed, loud and mocking. ‘What about poor little Donia here?’
‘The work experience girl you put into my firm. Very clever, but I’m not falling for that.’
‘If you knew the truth about Donia, you would help. The tape. Bring it, and it must be you. Call me when you’ve got it. I’ll give you an hour. Then we start to kill her, slowly.’
His phone went dead, and he looked at it in disbelief. And what did he mean about Donia? The truth?
Charlie remembered that he had grabbed Donia’s CV before he left the office. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. It looked routine, headed with her name, Donia Graham. He doubted its truth, but there was a phone number.
He dialled the number and waited as it rang out. When the phone was answered, a timid voice said, ‘Hello?’
Charlie put the phone against his chest for a moment, just to think about what to say, and then, ‘Mrs Graham?’
‘Miss,’ she said. ‘Miss Graham.’ Her flat Yorkshire vowels were given some lift by the lilt of the Caribbean.
He took a deep breath. ‘Is it Donia’s mother?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Charlie Barker,’ he said. He expected Donia’s plan to unravel now, because he doubted she was the real Donia.
Instead, he heard just a gasp. He waited for her to say something, anything that would kick-start the conversation, but she said nothing.
‘Miss Graham?’
‘It’s Wilma, you know that,’ she said, her voice stronger now. Then she sighed. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your business partner.’
‘She told you?’
‘Yes, she was quite shaken by it.’ There was a pause, and then, ‘Has she told you?’
Charlie was confused. ‘I’m sorry, told me what?’
‘About her. And me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Another pause. ‘You don’t remember me?’
Charlie was getting exasperated now. ‘I’m not calling about you. It’s about Donia.’ And then he realised what she had said. ‘What do you mean, why don’t I remember you?’
‘Hasn’t Donia said anything to you?’
Charlie closed his eyes. She sounded genuine, and so the possibilities started to race through his head. The scene at the flat, the members of the group there, and now the phone call, the demand for the videotape and the threat to kill Donia. He had it wrong, and she wasn’t a plant. She was just a young law student getting some experience, which meant that the threat was real. He felt nauseous.
‘Do you know anything
