Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
My son’s cries woke me with a start sometime later. Fiona groaned awake as she pulled the duvet back, but I stopped her before she could throw a leg out.
‘I’ll go.’
I fed Jude his bottle of formula or ‘milky num-nums’ as his big sister, Pip, calls it, slumped on the sofa while looking through Erin Santos’s police files.
It made for unsettling reading. Erin’s account of what had happened seven years ago was dismissed by investigating officers at the time as an ‘elaborate’ story, one she’d concocted to minimise her culpability.
Police found no evidence to support Erin’s claims that anyone called Samantha Valentine existed.
They could find no trace of her, though from what I can tell, their efforts weren’t exactly exhaustive.
They concluded that Erin Santos was delusional and suffering from ‘adverse mental health issues’.
And of course, I already know where she ended up.
I read on, but each word seems to fill me with more dread. In retrospect, it doesn’t make the police look good. Archer isn’t going to like this one bit.
The unexpected shrill ring of my phone causes me to jolt upright. Instinctively, I glance down at Jude, but he’s still sound asleep in the crook of my arm, and my heart sinks in my chest – he can’t hear the phone ringing.
‘Dan Riley.’
I hear breathing down the line. There’s a pause.
‘Erin, is that you?’
‘Hello, Dan,’ she says as I place the phone between my ear and shoulder and gently lay Jude down onto the cushions next to me. He snuffles but is otherwise undisturbed, bless him.
‘I’m really glad you called back, Erin. I’ve been reading your police file.’
‘I’m sorry for calling at this late hour – I know you have a young family.’ She sighs. ‘Must be nice, having a family to come home to. It’s all I ever wanted really, you know, to have a little family of my own. Sounds corny, doesn’t it?’
I hear regret, or perhaps resentment, in her voice.
‘That’s still possible, isn’t it, Erin? And no – it doesn’t.’
Turns out my earlier hunch was right. There was no answer when Leeds had sent a patrol car to do a welfare check on Erin. I sense that she’s likely gone on the run, but I don’t yet know why exactly, or what her connection is to Milo Harrison’s murder. ‘After all, you’re a free woman now, Erin.’
She snorts, softly.
‘Ah yes, a free woman! I suppose it all depends on how you interpret the word “free”, doesn’t it, Dan? I’m a “free” forty-year-old convicted killer who’s been locked away in a secure psychiatric hospital for the past six years. I mean, come on,’ she scoffs, ‘would you swipe right?’
‘Where are you now, Erin? Are you in London? Can we meet?’
‘I went dizzy when I saw her name on the Met news feed. I thought I might actually pass out for a moment.’ She ignores me, continues.
‘You see, Dan, when I was rotting away spiritually, mentally and physically inside that medieval cesspit, Larksmere, I wasn’t sure this day was ever going to come, you know?
The day when Samantha Valentine resurfaces and my truth is validated and I’m vindicated at last. Only…
here it is! But d’you know,’ she sighs again, ‘I thought I would feel better than I do, knowing there was someone else out there, another victim of that twisted psychopath and that I’m not alone…
but in all honesty, Dan, I think it might have made me feel worse. ’
Has she been drinking? I detect the gentlest slur around the edges of her words.
‘I’ve been searching for her for the past six years of my life, all that time while I was incarcerated.
Six years that should’ve been spent building a life and a home, having that family I always wanted, maybe even a career.
But instead, because of her, whoever she really is, I became a murderer and a liar, a mentally ill danger to the public, and then I was sent to atone for it all in hell. ’
The gravity of her words silences me.
‘Do you know what ECT is, Dan?’
‘ECT?’
‘Electroconvulsive therapy, or ECT for ease. They put you under general anaesthetic for it, you know, knock you out, and then, well, God only knows what they do to you, but they dig about inside your head, have a little tinker around, shuffle things about a bit. It’s supposed to change your brain chemistry or something. Like a factory reset of the mind.’
‘Is that what happened at Larksmere, Erin? Did you have ECT?’
Her own silence hangs heavy down the line.
‘I should never have been there,’ she says quietly. ‘She put me there, and the police did nothing to stop her. Do you believe me, Dan?’
I can hear my heartbeat pulsing loudly in my ears. Do I believe her?
‘At the time, police found no evidence to support your story that anyone named Samantha Valentine existed, Erin.’
‘There is now though, isn’t there, Dan – evidence, I mean? This crime you’re investigating, it’s the same story. She used the same MO, didn’t she? And she used the same name. That was a gamble, don’t you think? Very bold, but then,’ she snorts, ‘that’s Samantha all over.’
‘Why do you think she did that, Erin – used the same name again?’
‘Oh, I’m sure she’s just loving all the attention on social media, all the mystery surrounding her.
“Who is Samantha Valentine?” It’s what narcissists like her thrive on, after all – attention, positive or negative, it doesn’t matter, it’s all the same to them.
Or maaaybe’ – she elongates the word – ‘it’s something more personal than that. ’
‘More personal? Personal in what way? Did you fall out with Samantha? Did something happen between you and that’s why she did this?’
I hear her take a breath to speak, but then she stops herself.
‘You do realise, it’s all just a game to her, Dan.
She befriends people, fast. And then she love-bombs them, casts her spell upon them and puts them under it until they’re completely in her control, nothing more than a grateful puppet for her to play with and manipulate.
There was no fallout, no argument between us, never…
she was my friend, truly, the best friend I’ve ever had.
She seemed to understand me better than anyone else I’ve ever met before…
’ Her voice trails off into a melancholy whisper.
‘One thing I do know is that she thinks that she’s cleverer than you or me.
And the maddening truth – no pun intended – is that she’s probably right. ’
‘We sent a car to your address earlier, to do a welfare check. You weren’t at home. I have to ask you this, Erin, but where were you last Thursday evening?’
Her shrill laugh jangles my nerves a touch.
‘Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to ask this question, Dan, and the truth is, I don’t have an alibi for the night of your murder, but I was at home, alone.
I ate scrambled eggs on toast for dinner while watching Grease – one of my favourite films, incidentally – and drank a bottle of red wine.
Usually, I prefer white, or sparkling, ideally, but it was on special in Spar. ’
‘Are you somewhere safe, Erin? Re-Connex has reported you missing.’
‘Bloody hell, that was quick!’ She seems surprised. ‘Good old Molly… Listen, I want it on record that she’s done nothing wrong. I broke her trust and I’m sorry, but I had to.’
‘Who’s Molly, Erin?’
‘Oh, and you’ll probably speak to Malcolm as well, I’m sure.’
‘Who’s Malcolm?’ I reach for a pen on the coffee table, write the names down on the back of a gas bill.
‘My neighbour from across the hall. We slept together yesterday afternoon, just so you know.’
‘Oh. OK…’
‘But he really doesn’t know anything about me. Perhaps you can apologise to him on my behalf as well? Tell him Erin says, “I’m sorry.”’
‘I’m concerned for you, Erin. Part of the conditions of your release is that you have to make your parole officer aware of your movements. I don’t want you to get into trouble. Why did you leave your address abruptly without telling anyone? What are you running from, Erin?’
‘Not running from, Dan, running to. She’ll do it again, you realise. She won’t stop until someone stops her.’
‘Who? Samantha?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you want to stop her?’
The line goes silent for a moment. At this point I have no idea if Erin Santos is somehow involved or even jointly responsible for Milo Harrison’s death, but the fact that she was released from Larksmere just six weeks previously and an almost identical crime to her own has since been committed naturally rings some alarm bells, big ones.
‘What are you going to do, Erin?’ I get a feeling that she’s planning something, and the knot in my guts seems to be telling me it’s not especially good.
‘Can I speak to this woman, the one you arrested, the one who claims to know Sam? It would be helpful if I could. I know what she’s going through right now, what she must be feeling, I can help her…’
‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Erin. Look, I understand why you might not have much faith, or trust, in the police. Reading the case file from 2019, it seems you were let down. But I want to help you, Erin, I really do.’
‘Let down…’ she repeats the words back to me. ‘Let down, yeah, that’s a good one, Dan. I believe you though, when you say you want to help. It’s why I chose you. I see it in your eyes – a determination, a shared quest for truth and justice.’
‘What does justice look like to you, Erin? I can hear that you feel wronged, and reading your file would suggest you may have some cause. But you have to let me deal with this.’ I’m growing increasingly concerned that her view of justice may look something more like revenge, and so it’s a gentle warning.