Ask Me No Questions Read online

  After hours with Briggs and Yates, wiping it all clean and starting over, it seemed they were no further forward. Where before they were looking at suspects for one attack and one victim, now the intended recipient of the attack could be either woman, effectively doubling their suspect pool. Not that adding Thea as the victim actually raised many new names. Her client list came up empty of suspicion, and she didn’t seem to have many others in her life outside those they had already identified.

  Thea waking up had distracted them, but they needed to keep going. With renewed focus, they had taken a look at the CCTV from the club, the three of them crowding round Yates’s screen.

  The footage was dark and grainy, but Kate could clearly make out the bar they had been standing in a few days ago, only this time it was full of beautiful people: dancing, flirting, all with drinks in their hands.

  ‘She’s talking to Ryan Holmes, here …’ Yates had said, gesturing towards the shorter guy with glasses, in a shirt and jeans. He was holding a glass and frowning as the woman they had all assumed to be Gabriella waved her hands wildly at him. He said a few words – if only this tape had audio, Kate had thought – and then scowled again as ‘Gabriella’ gestured, clearly angry, clearly drunk. He said something else, then she leaned forward and went for him, slapping him squarely across the face, knocking his glasses to the floor.

  ‘Fuck!’ Briggs had said. ‘That would piss me off.’

  Ryan Holmes stayed completely still, then bent down and picked up his glasses, rubbing his face with his right hand. A larger, well-built guy appeared at his side and spoke to him – Steve Morgan. Gabriella (Thea, they had to stop calling her by the wrong name, Kate thought) had stormed out of shot.

  Motive, evidently, but what had the argument been about? They’d have to get Ryan Holmes back in here again, and ask him a few more detailed questions.

  She picked up the marker pen and wrote Interview Ryan Holmes on the board, then considered the rest of the ‘to do’ list. They needed to chase forensics for anything found on Thea’s clothes, as well as the fingerprint evidence from the bag. Plus the EEK and blood work. They weren’t going to be well liked by the lab once they’d finished nagging.

  And what about Mortimer Breslin? They knew he’d been in the area; they had the ticket for jumping a red light nearby. But what else was there? Could he be the voice on the 999 call or the shadowy figure on the CCTV, following who he assumed to be his wife? Kate liked him as a suspect, so they had stuck his photo on the board next to Ryan Holmes. And then, for completeness, Briggs had added Steve Morgan and Harry Becker, with question marks underneath.

  ‘They’re not suspects,’ Kate had argued. ‘We have nothing against them. No motive, no evidence.’

  ‘I prefer this to the empty space,’ Briggs had said, and she had to agree with him.

  Meanwhile, Yates had been pushing her random assailant theory. Kate still wasn’t convinced, but for the benefit of team engagement she had written Mugger? under the suspect list.

  And now Briggs and Yates had gone home, leaving Kate staring at the board. She swore, then threw the pen across the room in frustration. It hit the far wall and rolled under a chair. They were supposed to be finding evidence and leads and doing good solid police work, she thought, not standing in an empty room hurling stationery.

  Her phone beeped next to her and she picked it up, reading the screen and cursing. She typed a quick reply then threw her coat on, pushing her hand in the pocket and coming into contact with something hard and metal. Kate pulled it out and turned it over in her hand, looking at the shiny silver and purple button she remembered picking up the night before on the common. Distracted by thoughts of CCTV from the pub, she’d forgotten to put it in an evidence bag; she’d forgotten to do anything that maintained the continuity of exhibits. Oh well. It probably wasn’t relevant anyway. She threw it into the pot of paperclips on her desk without a second thought and ran out of the office, car keys in her hand.

  21

  Gabriella was exhausted. She sat hunched at the kitchen table, Thea’s kitchen table, cradling a mug of tea.

  She’d driven back from the hospital in a blur, barely making it through the door before collapsing in a heap in the bed. She’d feared the worst – her sister was dying, she’d never wake up – and Gabi was alone. Alone and trapped as a person she didn’t want to be, in a house she wanted nothing to do with. She’d covered herself with the duvet and sobbed, shouted, wrestled with the unfairness of the universe, until she’d fallen into a disjointed sleep.

  When she woke, hours later, she felt groggy and numb, but strong enough to phone the hospital. So when they told her that her sister was in recovery, she didn’t know what to think. ‘Recovering, how?’ Gabriella had asked, confused, feeling a flood of relief as they explained. She was alive! Thea was still ill, with chunks of her memory missing, but she was alive.

  But Gabi knew the reprieve was short-lived. Thea had woken up. Everyone knew who she was. Gabi’s head ached from the stress of the past few days but she knew there was more to come. She had lied to the police; she was nervous at what she would have to face. Who she would have to face.

  She looked round Thea’s kitchen; she wouldn’t miss being back here. Every turn brought up memories she would rather forget: her mum washing paintbrushes in the sink, flicking blue or red tinted water on the white splashback. Her dad, tired after a day at work, telling Gabi to get changed, that skirt didn’t even cover her bum.

  Sometimes the grief of her parents’ death would hit her like an avalanche. Even relaxing on a perfect sandy beach in a far-flung location, a tiny snippet would break through and she’d end up bent double, struggling to breathe, the loss knocking all the wind out of her. Sometimes a smell – summer barbecues, freshly cut grass – sometimes a voice, carried on the air. Her parents had been far less than perfect, but they’d been stability, at least. It blindsided her, even now.

  She didn’t know how Thea felt about it all. She assumed she must have been equally as distraught but Thea had been a blank canvas, almost devoid of reaction. It never ceased to amaze Gabriella how the twins had turned out so differently – how the same experience of childhood and the same genetic make-up had produced such different people. Perhaps one neuron in the brain fired slightly differently. Perhaps a few cells can change perception of a person and a place.

  Gabi heard the front door slam open and heavy footsteps march through the house. She’d been waiting for this, the part she dreaded the most.

  He appeared in the kitchen door, ducking instinctively under the low beams. Today he was dressed casually, in blue jeans and a navy jumper, the collar of a checked shirt poking out the top. He stopped dead when he saw her.

  ‘How could you, Gabriella? What was the bloody point?’

  ‘Hi Harry,’ she said, forcing her voice to stay calm. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Cut the crap, Gabi, what the hell were you thinking? Was this a game to you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I didn’t start this. This was Thea’s fault – pretending to be me.’ She thought back. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. ‘I knew she was up to something, so I let myself in. I still had a key. Then the police turned up and I thought, what the hell? Why not?’

  ‘Why not? Why not?’ Harry shouted. ‘Because it was mean, because it was deceitful. Because you might hurt the people you …’ He stopped, the unsaid word hanging in the room. ‘How long did you think it could go on for? What did you think would happen?’

  ‘I don’t know, I didn’t think.’ Gabi turned away and filled the kettle at the sink, just so that she could have something to occupy her hands. She couldn’t tell him the truth: that Thea being in hospital gave her access to the house. Gave her an opportunity to search – to find the one thing that would release them all from the deception that had plagued her all this time.

  ‘You even lied to me, Gabriella.’ Harry collapsed at the kitchen table, the fight knocked out of him. He ran his hands through
his hair, a characteristic Gabi recognised from their childhood, and she caught sight of the white bandage encasing his right hand. ‘We all grew up here,’ Harry continued. ‘It was always the three of us, nothing was stronger than that bond – you, me and Thea. I believed in that, and we lived through the worst possible time in our lives together. And yet you can do something like this.’

  The kettle clicked off and she poured the boiling water into a mug. She’d been assimilating into being Thea, and had consequently abandoned her usual espresso habit in favour of Thea’s endless cups of tea. It had been nice to have a change. Gabi pulled out a chair and sat down next to him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly.

  He looked at her. She forced herself to look up, to meet his blue eyes with hers. There had always been something about making eye contact with Harry she’d found difficult. He didn’t look away, ever, and his gaze felt intimate, like he could see every thought she’d ever tried to hide.

  ‘What did you do to your hand? Are you still having problems with it?’ she asked and he looked at it, almost surprised.

  ‘It’s nothing, I fell over running.’ He moved it under the table, out of sight. ‘How long have you been home?’ he asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Six months,’ she admitted, cupping her hands round the mug. ‘Since August.’

  ‘Since …’ Harry stopped and shook his head.

  They stayed silent for a moment, Harry looking down, Gabi staring into her mug.

  ‘How can you stand to be here, to come here every day?’ she asked quietly.

  He sighed and looked at her. ‘I don’t think about it. I block it out. It’s Thea’s house, nothing more. It’s not …’ Harry stopped himself. ‘I don’t think about it,’ he repeated.

  ‘I can’t bear it. I hate being here.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was home. But being back brought up a whole load of memories I didn’t know how to deal with. So I pushed them away, I ignored them. And I ignored you.’

  Harry shook his head, avoiding her gaze.

  ‘And I was scared. I didn’t know what you wanted from me.’

  He looked up quickly. ‘Don’t put this on me, Gabi. You know exactly how I felt about you.’

  ‘But it’s too much, Harry. There’s so much shit that gets in the way. I didn’t know what to do with it all.’

  ‘But you don’t even try, Gabi.’

  Silence enveloped the room. Gabi felt the weight of it, judging her, judging her lies.

  ‘And now you’re married.’ He looked at her and she felt his hurt. She knew she should have been the one to tell him, but once again she’d fallen short of doing the right thing.

  ‘Did you ever care about me?’ he asked, staring at the table.

  Gabi opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything that could make it better.

  Harry shook his head, his mouth a hard line. ‘I don’t know why I fucking bother.’ He stood up and picked up his coat. ‘I should just forget all about you. Fall in love with someone who deserves it for a change.’

  She felt the sting of his dismissal. ‘Perhaps you should. We’ve never been more than friends, Harry, I don’t owe you anything,’ she shouted at his back as he walked towards the door. She regretted it the moment the words were out of her mouth.

  He stopped in his tracks and looked back at her. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Gabriella,’ Harry said, and stormed out of the room.

  Gabi heard the front door slam, and a car screech out of the driveway in a shower of gravel.

  She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes tight. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of that time, those brief moments with Harry. That was gone, and had been over before it had even started. The whole thing had been ridiculous, she told herself.

  She was alone, again. It was better this way. It would always be better this way.

  22

  Thea woke. The pressure of the blanket held her firmly to the bed, and for a moment she struggled to place where she was. She was hot, and her skin felt itchy.

  She lay propped up in bed. A sharp knocking pain echoed in her head as she stared at the ceiling. A small patch of brown had spread across from the wall and she studied it, struggling to pull her eyesight into focus. She felt a bit sick. She could smell bleach, and a faint aroma of baked potatoes. She heard voices in the corridor outside, then the rustle of someone shifting in the seat next to her bed.

  She turned her head slowly to see a man sitting there. He was dressed all in black, with straight dark hair and light brown eyes. His face was rather long, but even so Thea thought he was kind of handsome.

  ‘Mortimer Breslin. I’m your sister’s husband.’ His accent was unmistakably American: drawn out, the syllables slightly slurred.

  ‘I didn’t know my sister had a husband.’ Her voice was scratchy, her throat sore. She looked at her wrist where a needle punctured a vein, and she scratched around the site, wincing at the sting.

  ‘Not many people did, apparently.’

  Thea nodded, unsurprised by her sister’s secrecy.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Horrible. My head hurts, my arm aches and my mouth feels funny.’ She gestured towards the jug of water on the table, and Mortimer passed her a cup. She took a sip, the water cooling her tongue, washing away the fuzz in her mouth. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered.

  ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Mortimer said. ‘I should be trying to find Gabriella, but I haven’t worked out what to say to her yet. I’m not sure yelling will help.’ He smiled apologetically.

  ‘How did you meet?’ Thea asked, leaning back on the pillow. She didn’t really care but was glad of the company, someone being here with her. His accent made him sound languid and relaxed; she closed her eyes as he spoke.

  ‘Some awful charity fundraiser. I was regretting being there, barely tolerating all the ego and bluster. Too many people with something to prove, you know?’

  Thea didn’t know, that world was alien to her, but his deep voice was soothing and she hoped he’d carry on.

  ‘And then there she was. She was wearing this amazing red dress and her hair was messy. In a room full of Botox and plastic surgery, she was real. She was refreshing; I’d never met anyone like her before.’

  He stopped, and Thea opened her eyes and looked at him.

  ‘She lied to me,’ he said. He looked miserable, his dark hair falling over his face as he studied the floor.

  ‘She does that,’ Thea said.

  ‘She was so convincing.’

  ‘We were always good at being each other. Sometimes it’s easier to be someone else.’

  Mortimer sighed and sat up straight. ‘I should go. It was good to meet you, Thea.’ He smoothed his shirt down and adjusted the collar, symbolically pulling himself back together. ‘When you see your sister, please tell her to come home. I won’t shout. I just want to see her. Properly, this time.’

  Thea watched him go. She liked his assumption her sister would visit, that the bond between twins was unshakeable. She clung onto that hope, because after what she’d been doing, she wasn’t so sure.

  Earlier, the doctors had descended en masse, the man in charge surrounded by a flock of keen white coats. The older one had prodded and poked, then flashed a penlight up to her face and looked in her eyes. He said she would have a headache for a while (No kidding! she thought), but everything was looking promising for a full recovery.

  If only her ego could be repaired in the same way.

  She remembered going out to that club, dressed in a ridiculous outfit, make-up slapped all over her face. She’d been there two weeks before, originally to see Gabriella: she knew Gabi went, and thought she could take her by surprise. Thought they could talk. But then they’d assumed she was Gabi, and she felt a dizzying rush of popularity. People wanted to be with her. She had a taste of what it was like to be her sister, and she enjoyed it.

  It was like a drug. She didn’t have to worry
about small talk, the introductions she’d always been so bad at, because Gabriella had done it all for her. It was addictive, being admired. And a bit of alcohol had eased things along nicely.

  And then she met Ryan, and she liked him, so she kept on going. He seemed to like her, too. They spent the next Saturday at the club together, then he invited her home. She spent the night with him; it was new, it was exciting.

  She remembered seeing Ryan again that Saturday. But she’d drunk too much, too quickly, and ended up feeling dizzy and unsure. She winced in embarrassment at the memory – what the hell had she been thinking? She remembered the beginning of the night, but that was it.

  Thea felt sick. He would know now who she actually was. He would never speak to her again, and she didn’t blame him. Thea had hated the deception and the lies, something she couldn’t stand in others.

  Aged twelve, she’d come home from school early, ill, and chanced on her mother and Harrison together. At first she hadn’t known what she was seeing; Thea had sat through embarrassing sex education classes, but what they were doing hadn’t seemed romantic or special or any of the things she’d been told about. It seemed harsh and uncomfortable; why would they want to do that? And she’d crept away, a part of her instinctively knowing she had to keep it to herself.

  Over the years, she’d thought about telling Harry and Gabriella so many times, but like the situation she’d got herself into with Ryan, she’d been afraid of the repercussions. It was too late now. For both her and Ryan, and her parents and Harrison. Much, much too late.

  And like then, the lies had consequences. She’d wandered into Gabriella’s life, and look what happened. She’d woken up here, head banging, messy and ill.

  Thea felt a wave of dread creep across her, making her legs twitchy and her stomach churn. Who had attacked her? Had they thought she was Gabriella? Or was it something she herself had done? She wished she could remember, anything at all, just to make the uncertainty go away.