Little Secrets. Anna Snoekstra
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stared up at him, looking more angry than upset, and kicked him right in the shins.
“Laura!” Rose yelled at the little shit as she ran out of the room and slammed her bedroom door.
Frank rubbed his shin. She’d got him right on the bone. Truth was, it was throbbing.
“Sorry,” said Rose, looking him up and down. He stopped rubbing his leg and grinned.
“No stress,” he said. He should have guessed Rose’s sister would be like that. Cutest damn kid you ever saw but a real little fighter. When she grew up, she was going to break hearts. That was for sure.
Frank could see the worry in Rose’s eyes, and if he were honest, he liked it. Rose had never looked at him like this before, like he had something to give, like he could protect her. Ben Riley’s mother and the arsonist felt a million miles away now.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“About what?” asked Bazza. Frank won the fight not to swear under his breath. That guy could be an absolute moron sometimes.
He put a hand on Rose’s soft arm. Every part of him wanted to slide his hand up and down her arm, feel her warm unblemished skin. He wondered whether her whole body was that same pale honey, or whether the parts of her that didn’t see the sun were still the color of cream. He could feel his pants tighten ever so slightly.
“I really don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” he said, letting go of her before it really got out of hand. He was here as a professional.
“That’s not what you said at the station yesterday,” Bazza interjected from next to him.
“Shut up, Baz,” he said out of the side of his mouth, his budding erection deflating instantly. He smiled apologetically at Rose. “You’ve told your mum about this, right?”
“Yeah, but she’s doing a double today.”
“We’ll let you know if there are any developments, but if you’re feeling at all worried, you can call me and I’ll be here in a flash.”
* * *
“What did we say about sharing police information?” Frank said to Bazza as they walked back to the car. The sky above them was overcast, but still it was hot and slimy. Half-moons of sweat hovered under each of his armpits.
“Sorry,” mumbled Bazza.
Usually that would be the end of it, but not this morning. “It’s not okay. You’ve been a cop long enough now, mate. You should know better.”
The guy was taller than him, and much broader, but Frank had never once felt threatened by him. Right now, he was giving Frank the round-shouldered, hurt look like you’d get from a kid caught stealing from the biscuit tin. Frank stared back at him like he was just a piece of shit on his shoe. Bazza’s lip jutted out and he went to sit in the car to sulk. Good. Let him stew and think about what it meant to wear the badge.
Frank turned for one last look at the small white brick building. The lawn had not been cut for a long time. Around the side of the house were monstrous, spindly bushes growing around pieces of broken furniture and an old dog kennel.
To other people the place probably looked like a bit of an eyesore. Not to Frank. This was Rose’s house, and he had been allowed inside. He could smell her everywhere. He’d thought that clean, spicy scent was unique just to her, but it must have been the detergent she used because her whole house had that same smell. It was heaven. Now he could imagine what her life was like when she wasn’t at work. Everything in that house, even the toaster, had a strange erotic quality. He only wished that he had got a look at her bedroom.
God, he could do with a drink right now. Just to calm down. The day was only just starting and already it felt like too much. He was hungry for that look in Rose’s eyes. That look like he could protect her from the filth of this world. It made him feel taller, broader, and he could, if she let him. He would protect her from everything. She would never have to pull another beer again.
Although his mouth was already watering, he banished the thought of beer from his mind and pulled the trunk open to grab an evidence bag. He flicked it to let the air in and then took the doll out from under his arm. God, the thing was freaky to look at. He had no idea why that kid had fought so hard to keep it. He was a grown man and it gave him the major willies. Its eyes were wide and glassy and its hair felt too soft. He hoped like hell it wasn’t real human hair. Frank was used to wife bashers and drug addicts; he was used to the guy with bloody knuckles being the one who threw the punch. These dolls were something else completely. More than anything, it was bizarre. It wasn’t only that he didn’t know who the pervert was. He had no idea what on earth he was doing, and even less of an understanding of why. Hell, right now he’d take the arsonist over this case. At least that was cut-and-dried police work. Leaving anonymous little gifts for children wasn’t something they’d ever covered in training.
He squeezed the awful thing into the evidence bag. The plastic stretched across its face, its open mouth gaping as though it was trying to breathe. Frank tried not to think about how much it looked like an asphyxiated child. Despite himself, he shuddered as he snapped the trunk shut.
Rose didn’t have a chance to think while she got the kids ready for school.
“Shoes on,” she said to Laura as she passed her bedroom. The little girl was sitting on her bed in her socks, arms crossed. She was still angry about Frank taking her doll away.
In the kitchen, Sophie was attempting to put peanut butter on bread, but somehow had managed to get most of it on her hands, cheeks and the bench. Their mother had recently given her the new chore of making the school lunches, but Rose always ended up doing it. She nudged Sophie out of the way with her hip; it was quicker just to do it herself.
The piece of sandwich Sophie had attempted to make had holes in it from where she’d pressed too hard with the knife. Rose folded it over and took a large bite as she lined up six slices of white bread. She chewed, enjoying the salty crunchiness, as she neatly spread each slice. The peanut butter had to reach each corner; she knew that from when she was a kid. She finished off her own mangled sandwich as she neatly cut each of the three in front of her into two even triangles. Behind her, she heard shrill giggles.
“What are you doing?” she said, turning to the twins. Sophie was lying on the floor and Scott was crouching over her. They stopped and looked at her, Sophie rubbing her wet cheek.
“He was hungry,” said Sophie, and they burst out laughing again.
“Were you eating the peanut butter off her face?”
“Maybe,” said Scott.
“Gross! Hurry up.”
She quickly wrapped the sandwiches in cling film, then tossed them into the schoolbags that had been dumped next to the front door yesterday afternoon. She remembered Bazza tripping on them when he and Frank had come in this morning. The thought made her wince. She hated the idea that they’d seen where she lived. Somehow, with them standing there, the stains on the carpet and the crumbs on the bench top seemed magnified.
She picked up Laura’s bag and went into Laura’s seemingly empty room. Rose knew better.
“Don’t leave without her!” she yelled, hearing the twins opening the front door.
“But she takes forever.”
Rose placed the backpack on the ground and knelt down in front of the bed, taking the small scuffed-up shoes off the carpet.
“Can I have a foot?” she asked softly, and one of Laura’s little socked feet emerged from under the bed. She slid the shoe on and gently did up the buckle.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked.
There was no response,