So Kat had been speaking the truth about having sex with him. That disgusted her rather than hurt, and it only made him more loathsome. He was frying eggs now, and he had the gas so high they would burn.
He finished cooking, took off his windcheater and sat down on the bed to eat. Although the bedside light wasn’t very bright, she could see how dirty the collar of his shirt was. The blue V-necked sweater was filthy too. It looked like he hadn’t changed his clothes for days, just as he didn’t appear to have eaten much either. Wherever he had been these last few weeks, she assumed there was no real bathroom or kitchen. Could he have been squatting in the empty property six doors along?
The way he was eating made her stomach churn. He had made a sandwich with a fried egg and some of the bacon and was shoving it into his mouth, taking huge bites. She remembered her father used to eat like that, particularly when he’d been drinking.
He dumped his plate on the table when he’d finished, muttering something about getting his head down. Then, to her disgust, he peed noisily into her sink, looking round at her to see her reaction.
‘Just being thoughtful to the other tenants,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to wake anyone by flushing the toilet.’
Finally he took off his shoes, filling the room with the smell of sweaty feet, and got into her bed. Within a few minutes he was asleep.
It was like being trapped in a cage with a sleeping wild animal, Amelia thought. Safe enough while he slept but he’d be dangerous when he woke. She was extremely uncomfortable too. The dining chairs had hard seats and straight backs, and he’d tied her so securely that she couldn’t ease the strain on her body. He hadn’t lit the fire, and in only her nightdress and with bare feet she was cold. At least while Max had been awake and walking round her room, she could anticipate his next move, but now she had no such distractions all she could think of was what he might do to her when he woke.
It was unlikely anyone would come to her aid. When the policeman had brought her home earlier, he’d said her protection had ended now that the phone had been installed. One of the other tenants might notice the front door downstairs had been forced, but even if they tried to check on her, she couldn’t make them hear her.
Much later Amelia heard the milkman doing his rounds. Soon after, the sun came up. The flimsy curtains let light filter through them, illuminating all the mess Max had made while he was cooking, and indeed how filthy he looked as he slept on.
She wondered if Jack would phone to see where she was when she didn’t come in at nine. Had she even given him the number here?
Sam was her best bet. If he was doing nothing this morning, or at least close by, he might call round to take her to work. Please do that, Sam, she willed him. I really need you.
At eight she heard Mike in the room next door speak to Barbara who lived on the top floor. From their voices she guessed Barbara was just going into the bathroom at the back of the house.
‘Looks like someone forced the lock on the front door last night,’ Mike said. ‘I nipped out to get some milk earlier and noticed it because the door was open. But I didn’t hear anything, did you?’
‘You don’t think it’s anything to do with Amelia, do you?’ Barbara asked. ‘The policeman told me yesterday they wouldn’t be outside any more because they’d put a phone in her room.’
‘Let’s bang on her door to check,’ Mike said.
Amelia tried to rock her chair to make a noise, but with a carpet underneath there was no sound. Mike rapped twice, and although Amelia tried to make noises to alert him, all that came out were little grunts. She heard him tell Barbara he thought she must have gone to work already.
‘She’ll be ringing the police about the door, I expect,’ Mike added. ‘Maybe they’ll send someone round to fix it.’
Amelia was watching her clock all the time now, and she was dying to go to the toilet, so she became increasingly uncomfortable. At nine she tried willing Jack to be concerned that she hadn’t come in. Phone the police.
Ten o’clock came, then eleven, and still Max slept on. Her bladder felt like a huge inflated balloon now, as if at any minute it would burst. Why wasn’t Jack concerned she hadn’t come in? Surely someone in the office would find her absence suspicious.
A car drew up outside. She silently willed it to be Sam or another policeman. She heard footsteps on the stairs and found she was holding her breath: her whole being begging it to be a rescuer. The footsteps stopped outside her door. She grunted and rocked the chair.
Suddenly the door opened and Peanut peered in.
With the curtains still drawn the light wasn’t great but he saw her straight away and gasped. She fluttered her eyes and rolled them towards the bed to warn him she wasn’t alone. He cottoned on immediately and without saying a word came right into the room and saw Max.
‘Bastard,’ he murmured. He went to the sink and picked up the saucepan in which Max had heated his beans.
Amelia held her breath as Peanut advanced on the sleeping man, the saucepan held out in front of him, ready to be used as a weapon. He was fit and strong, but a lot older than Max, and the last thing she wanted was for him to be hurt.
Peanut paused by the bed, bracing himself. Then, lifting the saucepan high, he brought it down with force, whacking Max’s head.
Not satisfied with that, he hauled the stunned man up with his left hand and punched him in the face with his right fist. He hit him so hard Amelia thought she heard a bone crack. He dropped him back on the bed.
‘He’s out now, but he’ll survive. Let me get those belts off you and tie him up,’ Peanut said breathlessly.
He had them both off within seconds and returned to the bed to roll Max over and secure his hands, then rolled him back and did the same to his feet.
Amelia, meanwhile, managed to untie the dressing-gown belt and pull the scarf from her mouth. ‘You are my hero,’ she said. ‘But I must rush to the bathroom.’
When she got back, Peanut was standing over Max, who was clearly coming to, his eyes opening and rolling round. Amelia snatched up her dressing-gown and put it on.
‘Where’s your phone?’ Peanut asked.
Amelia pulled it from beneath the bed. ‘I managed to knock it off the hook last night but didn’t have time to ring the police.’
‘Ring the number they gave you now,’ he said. ‘I’ll watch him.’
‘Who hit me?’ Max sounded groggy. ‘I can’t move.’
‘You’re lucky to be still alive,’ Peanut hissed at him. ‘What sort of low creature does that to a woman? I hope they lock you up and throw away the key.’
‘You don’t know what she’s like,’ Max said, his voice plaintive now. ‘She makes out she’s sweet and kind, but she’s a stupid treacherous bitch.’
‘I know what she’s like and I can tell you she’s far too good for you. Now shut up or I’ll knock all your teeth out.’
Amelia put the phone down after reporting what had happened. ‘Thank heavens you came,’ she said. ‘I was beyond desperate.’
‘I didn’t get in till half eleven and as soon as I saw you weren’t there, and they said you hadn’t phoned, I came straight over. When I saw the front door had been forced, I thought Kat had broken in and killed you. But I couldn’t bring myself to run to the phone box without checking your room first. Thank God I did.’
‘You were amazing.’ Amelia put her arms round him and kissed his cheek.
‘So you’re having it off with him now, are you?’ Max said.
‘Not all relationships are about sex, you dirty-minded ignoramus,’ Peanut retorted. ‘I’m honoured to be Amelia’s friend, and she’s a wonderful girl. You’ll be in prison for so long you’ll probably lose your hair, your wits and any looks you had. No woman will ever want you again.’
Amelia giggled. She just hoped the police had enough evidence to charge Max and that he would go down for a few years.
The police arrived twenty minutes later in two cars. One of the men had been on her pro
tection for a couple of nights, but she didn’t know the others. Two untied Max, put handcuffs on him and led him away, leaving the other two to take statements from Amelia and then Peanut.
After giving hers, Amelia got up with the intention of clearing the mess Max had left and to make them all tea. But she had only just put the kettle on when she felt very strange.
The next thing she knew she was on the floor and Peanut was leaning over her.
‘You fainted,’ he said. ‘I think it was the shock.’ He helped her up and into a chair and gave her a drink of water. ‘You must come home with me when the police have finished. My wife will look after you.’
Amelia knew what was wrong: Max had violated her room. Breaking in, being in her bed when he was filthy, peeing in her sink. She didn’t think she could ever touch the sink again; in fact, she didn’t want to live there any longer. But she didn’t think the men would understand that, so she kept quiet.
It had been just after two in the morning when Max broke in. Peanut had arrived to rescue her at twelve. Ten hours of being strapped to that hideously uncomfortable chair, fearing she would have to remain there for days. She was never going to forget that.
Peanut poured bleach into the sink and scrubbed it. Then he washed the cups and plates under the running tap. The policeman who made the tea asked if she would like him to strip the bed. Perhaps the men did understand.
She couldn’t answer, she was too choked up, but Peanut agreed that would be a good thing and they would take the bedding to his house to wash it. The other policeman said he would get a locksmith to sort out both damaged locks.
‘We know how traumatic this has been for you,’ the older of the two policemen said. ‘You must feel like you’ve been persecuted for finding the murdered girl as all these things have stemmed from that. But it’s ending now. We have Brian Caulderhill – or Max, as you know him – in custody, Kat will be found very soon, and we have you to thank for solving the Chiswick Creeper murders. However, we recommend you give up sleuthing now.’
Amelia managed a tearful smile.
Late in the afternoon at Peanut’s home, a pretty white-painted Georgian villa in Barnes, Amelia dozed in an armchair placed by French windows overlooking the garden. She had thrown some clothes and other essentials into a suitcase before leaving Godolphin Road, but she’d been uncertain about going home with Peanut in case his wife didn’t like the idea.
She needn’t have worried: Mavis was one of those earth-mother women who, Amelia instinctively knew, had been comforting and patching up people’s lives for most of hers. She was probably in her mid-forties, wore a loose kaftan-style dress in wild colours, and her curly hair was henna red. She called her husband Pea, which he laughingly pointed out was not just short for Peanut, the nickname he’d had his whole life, but for Peter, his real name.
‘When we first met she did her absolute best to block the nickname,’ he told Amelia, as they had a cup of tea. ‘She said it was cruel and nasty. But I was a tough professional footballer then and we all had nicknames. I quite liked hearing the fans in the stadium chanting mine. So Pea was her compromise, hoping one day everyone would use it. My oldest son called me Peaddy when he was little, instead of Daddy.’
Peanut went back to work, and Mavis put some ice in a tea-towel and held it to Amelia’s swollen cheek.
‘Pea’s very fond of you. We’ve got two boys, both at university now, but he would’ve liked a girl. As I would, too, but we can’t have everything we want, can we?’
She showed Amelia to one of the boys’ bedrooms and said she must make herself at home. ‘Neither Pea nor I think you should go back to that room of yours. Maybe we can find you somewhere else once you feel better.’
‘I’m all right really,’ Amelia said, ‘but I agree. I don’t want to live there any more. It’s so kind of you both to put me up.’
‘I like to think that if either of my boys got into difficulties while they were away from home someone would help them. Though for now all they want when they come here during the holidays is feeding, their washing done and money. Then they disappear to see their friends.’
‘They’ll grow out of that,’ Amelia assured her. ‘One day they’ll be bringing a special girlfriend home, and suddenly your family will have expanded.’
Mavis ran her a bath, saying clean clothes would make her feel better. Amelia intended to tell her later how good it was to be in a warm, pretty bathroom, and to know that tonight she’d sleep soundly, protected and soothed by unexpected kindness.
That evening, after a delicious spaghetti bolognese, Mavis asked her a little about her family.
‘“Dysfunctional”, I think they call such families,’ Amelia said lightly. Joking about them was the only way she could deal with it.
To her surprise, Mavis put her arms around her and drew her to her chest. ‘You don’t have to cover your embarrassment about them with jokes. It’s better just to tell the truth. But maybe it’s time to go back and face them too. You’ve learned so much recently about human nature. Go back and see if they have some redeeming features.’
‘That’s funny. Sam, one of the policemen, said I ought to do that.’
‘Is he the one who’s sweet on you?’
Amelia blushed, guessing Peanut had made the observation. She wasn’t used to people who spoke out without any filter. ‘I suppose he is.’
‘Sounds to me like he’s the right sort. You know, Amelia, I can’t help thinking that what you really need right now is a love affair. And Sam sounds like a kind, good man.’
22
It was heaven staying with Peanut and Mavis. It was a lovely area to be in, so close to the Thames, and Peanut took her to work, then brought her home afterwards. Her meals were cooked, washing done and, best of all, she felt completely secure.
Amelia remembered how she’d once been scared to move out of that room in Godolphin Road. It had been her safe place. She’d arranged and decorated it with love, and until now she couldn’t really imagine living anywhere else. But now she could see it had become almost a fortress, a place that kept her from the real world, somewhere that stifled her. She didn’t want to see it again.
Peanut had asked someone he knew to pack up her belongings and bring them to Barnes to store in his garage. Amelia had telephoned her landlord to give her notice.
Each evening they studied the ‘flats and rooms to let’ section of the paper, but while Amelia’s face was still so bruised, she hadn’t gone to view any rooms for fear of frightening the landlords. But Peanut and Mavis weren’t anxious for her to go and they showed her the kind of parental affection she’d always longed for.
On a Friday, more than two weeks after her ordeal with Max, Amelia received a letter addressed to her at the newspaper. There was nothing unusual about that: when she had published her first article, about Lucy Whelan, she’d had stacks of letters. Jack called them her fan mail. Since then each time she had written an article there had been more mail, but never the amount of that first time. Lately as she hadn’t been writing articles, the trickle had almost dried up.
She’d taken a cup of tea out onto the fire escape at the back of the office as the spring sunshine was glorious and tucked the letter into her jacket pocket to read it out there. When she opened it, she nearly dropped her tea. It was from Kat.
She didn’t know why she didn’t rush back into the office and announce it but, as she told herself later, she’d always tended to be a bit secretive.
There was no address at the top. It was written on a piece of paper torn out of a notebook, and somehow she sensed pain and desperation before she’d read one word.
Dear Amelia,
I know I don’t have the right to ask for your help, but you are the only person I’ve ever known who has a heart big enough to overlook what I’ve done and come to see me. I know I haven’t got much longer to live. My wound is badly infected, and it is taking all my strength to sit up and write this, and somehow, I need to get outside to post it
to you today too. Before the infection I wrote down everything about how I killed the three girls, and how I’d been stealing money from the paper shop, shoplifting, and other things I did. I want to make a clean breast of it all. Thankfully, I even bought a stamp, with the intention of writing to you, but I was ashamed and didn’t.
But now, more than anything, I want to see you before I die. To ask for your forgiveness, and to tell you what it meant to me that you did talk to me, when no one else would. That weekend with you, even if it all went wrong at the end, was the happiest time I’d ever had.
I’m in a shed on an overgrown allotment that nobody cares for. You told me you grew up in White City so you might know it. Addison Road, right at the bottom, the gate is locked but the fence is broken.
After you’ve been you can call an ambulance and the police. I know you must. But please come to me first. Once they’ve got me, they won’t let me see you, and I know I haven’t got long. No tricks from me, I’ve got no knife, no pipe to hit you. Just me in a filthy mess and needing to see the only person who ever saw me as their friend.
Love, Kat
Amelia’s eyes welled. She did know Addison Road, and back when she was six or seven, she’d used to wriggle through the fence onto those allotments. They were looked after then. She’d eat raspberries and gooseberries and marvel at the neat rows of carrots and the runner beans climbing up a wigwam of poles. An unexploded bomb was found there. They blew it up, but rumour had it that the ground was poisoned, so the council closed the allotments for good.
She had gone back there several times the first summer after it was closed, always with a couple of friends. They made a camp in a shed there and they often lit a bonfire too. But the following year it had become so overgrown with brambles it was no fun any more.
When she was twelve, she went back there for the last time. The brambles were so thick that she couldn’t get in and it reminded her of the story of Sleeping Beauty. She liked to imagine there was a house with a sleeping princess in the centre of it.
Liar Page 24