Trust No One Read online

  Stop it, Becca, she ordered herself. You don’t want him touching you, but you still want to try and touch him. You can’t have it both ways. Remember what he did with Jackie and, she realized with a pang, he’s probably married with children of his own now, anyway.

  He went slowly through the pages then on to the next album, and the next, remaining remarkably calm. His brown eyes finally rested on one photograph – Tommy in his school uniform grinning at the camera on the morning of his first day at school the previous year. He sighed and for a moment she thought he was going to crack at last.

  “He looks like you,” he said.

  “No, he doesn’t,” she replied. “Every time I look at him I see you.”

  “Then, why not tell me, Becca?” he demanded. “Did you really hate me that much?”

  “Yes. You had sex with Jackie.”

  “Yes, and it was the biggest mistake of my life.” It was the second time he had said that. It made her feel uneasy and her head began throbbing again. “Becca, are you all right?”

  “My head hurts,” she admitted.

  “You shouldn’t have discharged yourself.”

  “Yes, I should.”

  “No, Becca, you shouldn’t.” Putting the photograph albums on the floor, and taking her head in his hands, he gently tilted it to one side. He sank his fingers into her hair just above her left ear, running them lightly over her scalp. She winced at the pain but felt goose pimples running up and down her spine at his hands touching her again after so long. “You have an enormous lump here.”

  “Yeah, well, leave it alone.”

  “Sorry.” He extracted his fingers from her hair. “When did you last eat?”

  “Don’t know. Anyway, I’m not hungry,” she lied. She was famished but knew that if she ate anything, she’d only throw up.

  “All right. Can I see Tommy’s bedroom?”

  “Yes.” She heaved herself up off the sofa and he followed her down the hall and into the room. “He likes the Teletubbies.” She explained the colourful wallpaper. “Well, he did. I think he’s outgrowing them a bit now.”

  “I still like Sesame Street.”

  She began to laugh, but it quickly turned to tears. She sat down on the bed with her throbbing head in her hands. “How the hell did Jackie find us? Why now? Why can’t she just leave us alone?”

  “You know that money and drugs buy information, Becca. I don’t know. And because she clearly needs help.” He sat beside her again, far too close for comfort, and she fought another urge to move away from him.

  “When did you see her last?” she asked, sniffing and fumbling in her jeans pocket for a handkerchief before remembering she had given it to Tommy at the school gates.

  “That morning,” he replied. “She’d got what she wanted. Thanks to her I’ve missed out on so much with you and the son I didn’t even know I had.”

  “Don’t, Stephen. Please. Not yet.”

  “All right. Do you work?”

  She nodded and winced. “Yes. I went back to work part-time when Tommy started school last year.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I work in a bookshop. Mornings. Bloody hell.” She clapped a hand to her pounding forehead. “I must ring Bill.”

  “Let me,” Stephen offered.

  “I can manage.”

  “Becca,” he said patiently and she grimaced.

  “Okay. The number is on the notepad by the telephone.”

  He got up and returned to the living room. She followed but continued on through to the tiny kitchen and switched the electric kettle on. Her stomach was about to start rumbling. Hopefully, a mug of coffee would quieten the hunger pangs for a little bit. Hearing Stephen speaking with Bill, she made two mugs of coffee, added a spoon of sugar to his, stirred it and brought it to him when he ended the call.

  “Thanks.” Stephen smiled, taking the mug. “He said that he tried to leave a message but couldn’t.”

  “The answering machine part is broken. I’m saving up for a new telephone.”

  Stephen took a sip of coffee, glanced at the telephone, and put the mug down beside it. “How the hell have you managed on your own?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve always been a stubborn cow.”

  His smartphone rang before he could respond and she returned to the kitchen for her mug.

  “Connor. Yes, Jan. What?” Stephen exhaled a long sigh and she hurried to the kitchen door, her heart thumping. “Is Tommy okay?” he added. “Good. Where? Jackie Burns’? Okay, we’ll be right there.” He ended the call and put the phone in his jacket pocket. “Becca, Tommy is fine but Jackie’s dead. Looks like suicide.” She quickly put her mug down and covered her face with her hands. “Tommy is fine,” he assured her, taking her hands down from her face and squeezing them gently. “Jan is looking after him. He was sitting on the living room floor watching television. Come on, let’s go and fetch him.”

  There were three police patrol cars and an ambulance outside the luxury apartment block where Jackie Burns had lived. Becca and Stephen travelled up to the third-floor in the glass-panelled lift, hurried along the corridor to the front door, and found Jan waiting there with Tommy holding her hand.

  “Mummy!” Breaking free from Jan, he ran to her.

  “Oh, God, Tommy.” She fell to her knees, hugging him tightly. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m all right.” He struggled out of her grasp giving Stephen a curious stare and she got to her feet.

  “Stephen, this is Tommy,” she said shakily.

  He nodded. “Go with Jan to the hospital. Get Tommy checked over. I’ll speak to you later.”

  With that, he walked past them and into the apartment, leaving Becca staring after him in astonishment. Was that it? Wasn’t he going to greet his son for the first time?

  “Becca?” Jan prompted and she turned to her. “Shall we go?”

  Two hours later, Becca, Jan and Tommy arrived back at the flat. Tommy was put to bed, despite his protests, and Becca went back to the living room, sinking down onto the sofa with a groan.

  “Shall I make you a coffee before I go?” Jan suggested.

  “Yes, please,” she replied gratefully. “I can still taste that awful stuff from the machine in the hospital. Make one for yourself, too, and pour that disgusting cold stuff away.”

  “Do you take sugar?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Jan smiled and went into the kitchen, returning five minutes later with two mugs of fresh coffee.

  “What happens now?” Becca asked, taking a mug from her.

  “Tommy will have to be interviewed.” Jan sat down in one of the battered brown armchairs, making a spring in the seat protest loudly.

  “By a child protection officer?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Jan nodded and Becca saw her trying to find a comfortable position. “How are you?”

  She pulled a weary expression. “I don’t really know. It hasn’t all quite sunk in yet.”

  “You live on your own here with Tommy?” Jan added.

  “Yes.”

  “Tommy’s father isn’t around at all?”

  “No.” She blew at the hot coffee before taking a sip.

  “Sorry.” Jan crossed her legs, the spring in the seat protesting again, and she grimaced as she uncrossed them. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Becca smiled. “It doesn’t matter, it’s your job. No, it’s just been Tommy and me. Have you got kids?”

  “No.”

  ”Doesn’t really go with the job, does it?”

  Jan shook her head. “No. I want to try and make sergeant before I’m thirty. DI Connor thinks I will.”

  “Oh. Good,” she replied, feeling an unwelcome stab of jealousy.

  “He became a detective inspector at thirty-one,” Jan explained.

  Thirty-one? So he threw himself into his work after she had disappeared. “Married to the job, is he?”

  “Yeah.” Jan sighed. “No wife, no kids, no social life. It’s a
pity, and an awful waste, because he’s gorgeous.”

  No wife, no kids, no nothing? Why had Stephen become a recluse, Becca wondered, the knowledge dampening her welcome surprise. Despite their jobs, they had always enjoyed an active social life.

  “I’m not sure how wise it is to have an affair or start a relationship with a colleague,” she told Jan, despite knowing she was a hypocrite for saying so. “Especially if you want to be a sergeant by thirty.”

  “You can dream, though, can’t you?” Jan smiled.

  “Oh, yeah,” Becca gave her a knowing nod. “Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

  “Mummy?” Tommy began shouting from his bedroom. “Mummy, come here.”

  “Coming.” She got up and went to him. He was sitting up in bed. “All right?”

  “Do I have to stay in bed?” he moaned. “I’m bored.”

  “Aren’t you tired?” She sat on the bed beside him and stroked his hair. His hair was curly, like hers, but it was very dark, and he got that and his brown eyes from Stephen. “You’ve had quite a day.”

  “No. Can’t I watch television instead?”

  She lowered her voice. “Jan is still in the living room.”

  “Oh, please?” he begged.

  “Okay, get dressed, and don’t have the television on too loud.”

  “I won’t.” He climbed out of bed as the doorbell rang and ran to his clothes, neatly folded on a chair in a corner of the room. “Doorbell, Mummy.”

  “I’ll get it,” she called to Jan as she went to the front door and opened it. Stephen stood on the step, a little out of breath after climbing the stairs. “Come in.”

  “Thanks.” He followed her into the living room.

  Jan was standing at the window examining the framed photographs on the ledge. She put one down and went to the armchair for her handbag. “Well, thanks a bunch, sir, for taking me for a complete idiot.”

  “What are you talking about?” Stephen replied sharply.

  “That.” Jan spun around, pointing to a photograph in a wooden frame. Stephen looked past her and Becca followed his gaze. The holiday photograph had been taken on the Mediterranean island of Crete ten years ago. They were on a beach, arms around each other, as if without a care in the world. “Once you knew Tommy was your son, you should have handed the case over, sir. The chief inspector is going to go nuts.”

  “Well, if she does, then, it will be with me and I will take any blame.”

  “Too right.” Jan snatched up her handbag and headed for the door. Reaching for the handle, the door opened, and Tommy came in. She stared down at him and he stared up at her before she sighed, shaking her head. “I must be getting really stupid in my old age.”

  Tommy watched her go out with a puzzled expression before looking across the room at them. “Can I still watch television, Mummy?”

  “Yes.” She took Stephen’s arm. “You come with me. We need to talk.”

  Chapter Two

  They went into the kitchen and she shut the door as overly-dramatic cartoon music began blaring from the television. The kitchen was miniscule, only about six feet square. With the cupboards, worktops, sink, and appliances, there was barely enough room for her to move around, never mind share the space with a furious Stephen.

  “Too bloody right we need to talk. Tommy doesn’t have a clue who I am, does he?” Stephen demanded.

  “No.” She moved as far away from him as the tiny kitchen allowed, feeling the sharp corner of the sink digging into her back.

  “Doesn’t he ask why he doesn’t have a daddy like other children?”

  “He’s beginning to, yes,” she admitted.

  “And what do you tell him?” Stephen added savagely. “That I’m dead?”

  “No.” She was adamant. “No, that you’ve gone away but will be back one day.”

  He pulled a disbelieving face. “And now what? Are you going to tell him who I am?” She peered down at her hands. “Becca, for God’s sake, please. I’m his father.”

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “And married to your job.”

  “What?”

  “Jan told me,” she explained, raising her head. “Inspector at thirty-one. Congratulations. What’s it going to be – chief inspector before you’re forty? Superintendent a few years after that?”

  “Please allow me to be Tommy’s father?” he asked instead of answering.

  “Stephen, he needs someone reliable. Someone who, when they tell him that they’ll take him out at six o’clock, will take him out at six o’clock. You will never be able to guarantee him that.”

  He slumped back against the worktop. “No, I won’t, but I’d make it up to him.”

  “Guilt presents?” she suggested, shaking her head, and noting with relief that it wasn’t pounding quite as much as it did earlier. “No. I see far too many of them at Tommy’s school. Trainers, smartphones, video games – anything they think will make up for the disappointment.”

  “Please just think about it, Becca?” he asked.

  “What else did you think I was going to think about now?” she snapped.

  “Jackie,” he replied. “Jackie’s family. I’ve just come here from telling them she had taken an overdose of painkillers and was dead.”

  “Why the hell should I think about her or her family?” She exhaled a short, humourless laugh. “I don’t need to tell you what I thought of her. I’ve never met any of her family, and it’s not very likely that they’re going to give a toss about me or Tommy.”

  “They asked me who the little boy was and I had to tell them. They’d have found out, anyway. Did you tell anyone, Becca?”

  “No,” she replied simply and, adding before he asked, “because it was safest that way.”

  “Well, there’s a good chance that Jackie has told your family where you are,” he told her and her heart lurched before it sank like a stone. “We found her iPhone and the last call made from it was to an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone.”

  “Knowing Jackie, she probably tracked me down and took Tommy, hoping that John would take her back. ‘Please take me back’.” She mimicked Jackie’s high-pitched voice. “‘I even took Becca’s little boy so we can be a proper family, and we can bring him up as one of the next generation of Burns Boys’.” She rolled her eyes. “The stupid cow. Tommy will never be a Burns,” she spat. “Never. Knowing John, he probably just laughed at her.”

  “Probably,” Stephen agreed. “There’s no way he’d want anything to do with a police officer’s son.”

  His stomach rumbled as he spoke and she glanced at the clock above the doorway. Six o’clock. She really had to eat something and so did Tommy. It was his bedtime soon. “When did you last eat?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t remember. Breakfast, probably.”

  “Do you have to be somewhere?” She heaved herself away from the sink.

  “No. I won’t get the official post-mortem results for a few days at the earliest. Then, Tommy needs to be interviewed, as well as you.”

  “So Jan said. When?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” he told her.

  She nodded. “Well, today is pizza day. I hope you still like pepperoni?”

  She saw him trying and failing to hide his surprise. “Yes, I do.”

  “It’ll be about twenty minutes. Have one of these in the meantime.” Squeezing past him, she went to the fridge freezer, took out a pot of petit filous followed by a spoon from the cutlery drawer, and passed them to him.

  “Thanks.”

  Squeezing past him again, acutely aware of how he made no effort to move out of her way, she lit the gas oven. Extracting the pizzas from the bottom of the fridge freezer, she pulled them out of the box and cellophane and put them in the oven before turning around.

  “Look.” She pointed to his tie. “You’ve dripped some on it.” He began wiping the blob away with a dishcloth but only succeeded in making it worse. “Stop.” Taking the cloth from him, she went to the sink and ran water on a corner. Holding up th
e tie, and feeling his eyes watching her every move, she wiped it clean. “There.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled it loose then undid the top button of his shirt.

  “Who irons your shirts these days?” she asked, going to a cupboard and taking three dinner plates out.

  He gave her a little smile. “Non-iron.”

  “Cheat.”

  He laughed. “I burned holes in six shirts before I gave up.”

  “And who goes around after you now picking up socks, boxer shorts, and T-shirts?” she added. “Jan or one of the other female officers?”

  He stiffened. “No-one.”

  She noticed and changed the subject. “Do you still live on Dixon Street?”

  “Yes. Alone.” He finished the pot of petit filous and put the pot and spoon on the draining board. “I got fed up of renting so I bought the apartment. A couple of years later, I bought the apartment next door and knocked the two together. The living room is now three times the size and there are now three large bedrooms instead of the original two tiny ones plus a roof terrace.”

  “Three bedrooms?” she echoed. She’d loved the old apartment but not their small bedroom and cold bathroom.

  “Got to keep my harem of female police officers somewhere,” he told her. She grinned and his eyes widened. “Was that a grin I saw?” he teased with a smile.

  “Something like that.” She busied herself in flattening the pizza box while staring at his reflection in the door of the microwave oven before putting the box and cellophane in the bin. He was maturing well, his face a little fuller, his hair cut a little shorter, but his smile hadn’t changed one bit and could still turn her legs to jelly. What did he think of her six years on? Did he find her prematurely old? Haggard? Coarse? At least her hair was still beautiful. “So, you haven’t quite managed to work your way through all the Met’s female officers, then?” she asked, turning around.

  He gave her a humourless smile. “My longest relationship since you lasted all of a month.”

  “That long?” This time he did laugh. “Jan fancies you,” she added, and his smile vanished.

  “I know she does but I don’t fancy her.”