Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
There was a meeting in the seminar room, probably an emergency one about Justine and the impact this was going to have on the university.
I could’ve gate-crashed, it probably would’ve been welcomed because I could’ve absolved them from any guilt they thought they should be feeling, but I went directly to Daniel’s office, climbing upstairs I was familiar with once more after being away for so long.
His office door was unlocked, a fire still burning in the hearth, one he must’ve made himself. There were three coffee cups on his desk, the fallout of his assistant being arrested. I resisted the urge to clear them, instead hunting in his desk drawers for the key to the filing cabinet.
He kept two keys: one on his person, and one hidden, always in his desk, always somewhere different. He had the key, he had the secret – it was a way of taunting me when I asked a question, a use of power to make me dependent, or so I’d understood in years later.
It was stuck to the top of a drawer with Sellotape.
I pulled it away, fumbling with the tape, my hands cold despite the fact I’d driven here.
It slid into the lock and clicked the cabinet open, and, like a child unwrapping Christmas surprises before Christmas morning, I searched for the two files I wanted to read.
Justine Bellamy and Mia McAllister.
I sat on the couch, thumbing through his notes on Justine.
It was written there as clear as day about Aberwyn, the six girls who’d bullied her, Charlie Mason.
Daniel had noted that he thought she was a fantasist, that she was confabulating — weaving grief, humiliation, and rage into a narrative so vivid it felt real.
He’d seen it before. Patients so convinced of their own lies they could pass polygraphs.
A manifestation of guilt, rage, and the need to be witnessed.
But then there were the notes he’d made in the margins, when he’d gone back and reviewed what’d been said.
His own explanation, his own theories.
I looked at my file, something I’d never viewed before, never had the need to. It was there, my disclosure, his clinical notes and theories. I refused to accept I’d been a victim because that would make me weak.
I didn’t hear his footsteps as he approached. I was too absorbed in a spectator’s perception of our lives, me and Justine.
“It took you longer than I predicted for you to look at those.”
I jumped, looking up at him, closing the file and pushing it away, a child caught with their hands in the sweetie jar.
“You knew it was her.”
He picked up the files, a couple of the pages falling out. “I suspected. If I’d known for sure, I’d have reported it.”
“Of course.” I didn’t believe him. “Your latest research, it’s on female killers, isn’t it?”
He nodded, not looking at me, watching the flames of the fire glimmer, a pitiful beg to be fed.
“Impossibly well-timed, isn’t it? There will be so much interest in it with this.
A female serial killer, and look at her motives?
Why do women kill? Why aren’t more women killing given how they climb on each other to rise.
You see it on social media, women dragging each other down, criticising how each other looks, making snide, malicious comments, dividing each other rather than lifting.
Sabotaging their own sex. It makes it so much easier for your incels, and like this – they nearly took the blame.
” He loosened the clip in one of the folders, taking out the paper, crunched one sheet in his hand and dropped it onto the fire.
The flames flickered higher, snake’s heads asking for more, trying to bite the hand.
“Won’t you use those in your book?”
He shook his head. “No need. I’ll speak with Justine once she’s settled in the unit, because you know she won’t serve her sentence in prison.
It’ll be somewhere like Lindridge, but the highest level.
That’ll suit her. She did well in Lindridge, the routine, the white walls, the light.
It settled her. She’ll be able to speak more openly there too than she could here, when she was pretending to be someone she’s not.
” More paper hit the fire, a roar as the flame bit and chewed and spat.
“What will you look at, in this study?”
He raised his brows, surprised at my question.
“Why some women kill and others don’t, when it’s not to do with sexual motivation.
So why did Kelly-Anne take revenge and you didn’t – why haven’t you sought out that gym coach.
Why’ve you not hunted down the dealer who supplied your mum with the gear she overdosed on, even though you have the means to do so. ”
“You don’t have permission to write about me.”
“I won’t write about you, Mia, at least no one will know about you. I’m not sure you always know about you.” More paper. More flames.
“I think the same can be said of all of us.”
He nodded, watching the fire. “Quite possibly.”
“Did you encourage her to follow her dreams, Daniel?”
He looked at me, amusement in his eyes. “I encourage everyone to follow their dreams, Mia. Just like I did with you.” A handful of pages hit the fire, my notes, Justine’s notes, anything to implicate him in the involvement of the murders of the Aberwyn girls going up in flames and becoming ash.
“Justine won’t tell anyone about what happened when you were fifteen. She read your file without me knowing, a bit like you’ve just read hers.”
“What I read. I didn’t see it all.”
“You saw enough. If she did say anything about Steve Ellis it wouldn’t harm your career, you just wouldn’t like to be made a victim – or maybe it’s the blame you’d get because you didn’t come forward as a child, and he went on to abuse others.” He emptied the other folder into the fire.
“We don’t know he hurt anyone after me.” I was stiff with fear, cold even though the fire roared.
Daniel laughed, arrogant. “With all you know about profiling and offenders, do you really think that you were the last one?”
I managed to stand. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead and I don’t want to find out.”
“Maybe that’s something you should work through in therapy.”
“Maybe you should partake in some of that yourself. You manipulated Justine. You groomed her, all in the name of research, giving you the perfect material to prove that you’re still god in your own kingdom, and five women and one man were killed.”
“She confessed?”
“She confessed.”
He nodded. “Justine is not a puppet, no more of one than you, Mia. You both have agency. What she chose to do is on her. When she spoke of her desires to take revenge on those girls, I assumed it was just a fantasy, a way to rid herself of the past, like how you changed your name.”
“You told me you didn’t know where Kelly-Anne was.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t know it. I might’ve suspected it, but that could’ve led you up the wrong path. Anyway, my dear, I need to return to the meeting. It’s caused quite a mess here, as you might expect, and I’m without an assistant. You wouldn’t know anyone who’d be interested, would you?”
I walked out of his office, holding my head up high, hearing him laugh.
“See you soon, Mia.” The tone was almost fond.
I drove back to Lucy’s flat, putting the rest of my belongings into two binbags, super strength, and the washing basket, making a second trip up the stairs to get the duvet and my suitcase.
I’d acquired more possessions than I’d realised since I’d moved there, but nothing to account for a thirty-year-old life.
Lucy wasn’t in, the flat cold and empty. I could’ve tortured myself thinking about whether she was with Cavan, but ultimately, I didn’t care. It had hardly been the romance of the century, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about other men.
I was trying not to think about Vinny though.
I sat in my car, phone in hand, engine off. My boot was packed with my stuff, and I was scrolling through my messages, pausing on one.
Jalen. Sent a few days ago, asking how I was. I had a lot to tell him, a lot I wanted to practise. My heart started to race a little faster as I typed a response.
Fancy meeting up for a drink?
I waited, watching a couple having an argument on the pavement, glancing at the dots dancing as Jalen was typing a message, seeing them stop and feeling all sorts of doubt.
Then the response came through.
Drink drink. Like a date, bc you haven’t asked me to go for a drink in all the years I’ve known u.
I smiled at the screen, feeling hopeful.
Drink drink. Tomorrow night? Train first – are the showers working?
They are at mine. 6?
6 is good.
I started the car and drove off, leaving the arguing couple to their affairs without a spectator. My journey didn’t take long, fifteen minutes along roads I knew well, large Victorian villas and gothic architecture looming from behind tall trees.
I couldn’t park exactly where I wanted to because of the two skips on the road just outside, and another on the driveway. Scaffolding was up, a chute leading from the roof into one of the skips, a pile of new tiles on a pallet on what left of the front lawn.
I got out of the car and took the two binbags from out of my boot, closing it with an elbow, then winding around the skips to the front door.
My half-brother opened it before I knocked, holding out a hand to take one of the bags.
“You must be desperate if you’re prepared to live in a building site.”
I shrugged. “I like your kitchen and you're unlikely to go for any of my future boyfriends, so this is an upgrade. Plus, no parties.”
“Correct on all counts. Is this all you’ve got?” He held up the binbag.
“I travel light. I promise this is only for a couple of months, maybe four at the most while I buy somewhere.” I’d already looked online, taking a leaf out of Nate’s book and looking for a fixer-upper.
“So you’re taking the money?”
“I’ve decided to choose my own destiny, so yes.” Not because Stan’s money was owed to me, but because I was cutting off my nose to spite my face and giving myself two black eyes and a fractured cheekbone by saying no. “I’m meeting the accountant tomorrow.”
“Want me to come with you?” He paused. “I know you can look after yourself, Mia, but I thought you might like the support.”
“Yes, come with me then. Aren’t you working?”
“Miz is back and I’m owed time. You can buy me lunch in lieu of rent.” He plonked the bag down in the middle of the kitchen. “Coffee or tea?”
“Tea. Where am I sleeping?”
“There’s a fetching room on the first floor. The décor is Grandma Rose. Feel free to buy a bed – in fact, we could go and pick one up this afternoon. I should probably get one at the same time.”
“You don’t have a bed?”
“Not yet. Bone of contention with Jenna.”
“No more details, please.” He made us a mug of tea and we talked about the case and Daniel and Vinny. I shared things I wouldn’t normally talk about and listened to Nate work out what to buy Jenna for her birthday that wouldn’t be a red flag.
My phone rang before we left to go bed shopping at a store that promised same day delivery, an unknown number. I answered, dread and fear at what news might come from it.
“Is that Mia McAllister?”
“It is. Who’s this?”
“I’m DCI Elin Rees. I’ve news regarding your father, Stan Garrity. Are you able to take a call – I’m aware you’ve been involved in the Aberwyn case?”
I let the seat take all the weight that had just been thrust down on me and looked at Nathaniel. He took the chair opposite me, concerned.
“I’m off shift and with my half-brother, Nathaniel Venn.”
“You’ve saved me a phone call. Put me on loudspeaker.”
I did, placing my phone face up, telling Nate who the caller was.
“Has something happened to him?” I doubted it. The man was made of steel, and no one messed with him, even inside. Stan played life like a game of chess and knew everyone’s game and exactly where their weaknesses were, staying ten paces ahead.
“We’re trying to work out how your father escaped from prison at three o’clock this morning - ”
I didn’t hear the rest, just sat still, watching my brother watching me, as the world started to spin around us.
A pack of cards.
You just had to play the hand you were dealt.
Unless you knew the dealer.
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