Elle （Past）
ELLE
PAST
I took a breath, then called the number Brett Parker’s son had given me.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Parker?”
“Yes?”
“I’d like to ask you what happened after Bryony Sanders got into your car. Did you manage to catch up with the man who stole her phone? Did you drop her off somewhere, at an underground station perhaps?”
His voice, full of anger, came down the line. “Who are you? And how did you get my number?”
“If you could give me a few minutes of your time—”
“I will do no such thing. If you call me again, I’ll inform the police.”
He cut the call before I could say anything else.
It wasn’t the result I’d wanted but his anger only served to reinforce my belief that he had something to hide.
The unease I felt about posing as a journalist came back but I told myself that Brett Parker had no way of checking my credentials, given that he didn’t know my name.
The sound of a key in the door told me Jaz was home so I pushed Brett Parker from my mind. Jaz had no idea that I’d returned to St. John’s Wood twice since our first visit together, and that I intended going back the following morning.
“Hi, babe,” he said, coming to give me a kiss. “You’re home early.”
“I had a migraine so I left work at lunchtime.” My face flushed at the lie.
I had used a migraine as an excuse to come home and phone Brett Parker where I couldn’t be overheard.
I’d been feeling restless waiting for Saturday to come so that I could make my pilgrimage to St. John’s Wood and had suddenly remembered that I had his telephone number.
And once I’d remembered, it had itched away at me until I had to call him.
Jaz grimaced in sympathy. “I’ll make dinner tonight.”
“That would be great.”
He disappeared into the kitchen. “If your migraine has gone by tomorrow morning, do you fancy going to Camden Market?” he called.
“Can we go in the afternoon?” I called back.
He stuck his head through the open door.
“Why? Have you got something planned in the morning?”
“I’m thinking of joining that new gym that opened up in Southwark last month,” I invented. “I want to go and check it out.”
He gave me a look, then smiled. “Okay.”
I immediately felt bad about having gotten away with another lie.
If I’d thought Jaz would support me in my quest to get Brett Parker to admit he’d picked up Bryony in his car, I would have been up front with him.
But since the news that the burned-out car had been a hire car, he’d dismissed any notion of Brett Parker being involved, which I found hugely upsetting.
In my eyes, he was basically saying that I’d got it wrong. But I knew that I hadn’t.
Later that evening, while we were sitting together on the sofa watching a film, my phone rang. The call was from an unknown number.
“It’ll be a cold caller,” Jaz said glancing at my screen. “Don’t answer it.”
“It might be DC Moss,” I said, unable to hide my excitement.
I caught his look of surprise as I snatched up my phone.
“Hello?”
“Is that Sara Stephens?” a male voice asked.
“No, it’s Elle Nugent,” I said, still convinced it was the police.
There was a pause, then the sound of the call being cut. My heart plummeted, realizing too late that it had been Brett Parker on the other end of the line.
I gave a little shrug. “Wrong number.”
Aware of Jaz’s eyes on my face, I held my breath.
But he nodded and turned his attention back to the television and I was so relieved that he hadn’t questioned me I told myself that I wouldn’t go to St. John’s Wood the following morning.
I wouldn’t be able to speak to Brett Parker anyway, as if he and his wife stuck to the same arrangement, he would be the one taking their son to his tennis game.
Instead, I promised, I would go to Camden Market with Jaz and treat him to lunch there to make up for not having been honest with him.
But the next morning, Jaz slept late and when he still wasn’t awake by the time I’d had my shower, my good intentions evaporated.
I scribbled a hurried note, reminding him that I was checking out the gym and left the flat quickly.
St. John’s Wood was busier than I’d ever seen it.
It was the last Saturday before Christmas and it seemed as if everyone was up early, either to travel to see loved ones or to do some last-minute shopping.
The first thing I noticed when I walked past Brett Parker’s house was that both cars were in the driveway, which surprised me, as I was later than usual.
When, after another ten minutes there was still no sign of activity, it dawned on me that the schools had broken up for the holidays and that the family was having a lie-in.
I don’t know how long it took me to realize that the house was empty. It had never occurred to me that the family might not stay in St. John’s Wood for Christmas and I felt stupidly betrayed as I stared through the gate at the unlit Christmas tree standing forlornly in the window.
Deflated, I began a slow walk back to the station, pulling my coat tighter around me.
It was six months since Bryony Sanders had been murdered, over a month since I’d seen Brett Parker in the pub, and the lack of progress frustrated me.
I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been arrested.
The last time I’d spoken to DC Moss, she’d said that their inquiries were ongoing. How much longer did they need?
Remembering what Brett Parker had said about him being elsewhere on the date Bryony was murdered, panic took hold.
I searched my memory for his exact words: It has been established that I was elsewhere on whatever date it was that the young woman was murdered.
I hadn’t thought about the significance of those words but now they come back to haunt me.
Who had established that he was elsewhere?
The police? What if they no longer considered him a suspect because he had given them an alibi that they had accepted?
I stamped my feet in childish frustration as I traipsed along, wondering where he and his family had gone for the holidays.
Back to the US, probably. It didn’t seem right that possibly the last person to see Bryony Sanders alive would be having a wonderful time, laughing and joking, eating and drinking with family and friends when Bryony’s mum was condemned to spending the worst Christmas of her life, mourning both her husband and daughter.
The days until the Parker family returned stretched out in front of me.
Jaz and I spent Christmas with his family but I found it hard to join in with the festivities, partly because my mind was on Bryony’s mum, partly because I was filled with a nervous energy that wouldn’t allow me to fully relax.
I couldn’t wait for the holidays to be over so that I could continue my campaign to discover the role Brett Parker had played in Bryony’s disappearance.
And to do that, I needed to find out more about him.
While I’d been idly scrolling through a newspaper during the Christmas break, I’d found an article about a diplomat who hadn’t been prosecuted for a crime he’d committed on UK soil because he had claimed diplomatic immunity, and a terrible thought had crossed my mind.
What if Brett Parker had some sort of diplomatic status?
What if the police hadn’t been able to arrest him even though they had enough evidence to do so?
It would explain why there had been no news from DC Moss, why he hadn’t even been made part of a lineup so that I—the only witness to what had happened—could identify him as the person who’d abducted Bryony Sanders.
Devastated that he might be able to get away with a possible murder, I began to make plans for when he returned.
I would find out where he worked and if it turned out that he worked for the American Embassy or somewhere else that would give him diplomatic immunity, I would make damn sure the press knew about it.
The more I thought about him having a carefree time in the US, the angrier I became.
I was also angry that he’d tricked me into giving him my name by calling me from an unknown number.
I should have thought to hide my caller ID the first time I’d phoned him.
It was too late now, but as he knew who I was, I decided to give him a call.
I knew he wouldn’t pick up when he saw it was me calling but I left him a voicemail saying that I hoped he was having a wonderful Christmas and that I looked forward to speaking to him about Bryony Sanders on his return.