‘Got your attention, playing the victim, got you on her side.’
And no one had ever seen her tormentor at the flats, the alarm hadn’t gone off when they’d broken the kitchen window. There was no intruder. I stared at him. ‘Then she finally told me she suspected you. She begged me not to go to the police.’
He nodded, gave a sour laugh.
‘We agreed to write.’ I turned away, gazed across the canteen, wrestling with the mess, looked back at him. ‘I don’t understand. If it was just a way of finding you then why not simply hire me to trace you in the first place? She could have told me you were a long-lost relative, or an old friend.’
‘Not dramatic enough? The charade, the drama, tragedy queen. It’s always a big production. Nothing’s ever mundane or straightforward.’
My coffee was cooling. I took a sip; it was very bitter and made my mouth water.
‘At the beginning,’ he said, ‘A&E – she kept turning up with cuts and bruises, a broken wrist, obviously badly beaten. Her boyfriend, she said. I suggested she go into a hostel, get out of the relationship. The next week she turned up just as I was coming off shift. She’d packed a bag. She was coming home with me. She talked as if we’d been planning it for months. Like there was something between us. I put her straight. Paid for a taxi to take her to the refuge. She was back the following day. Stab wounds to her arms.’
‘Oh, God.’
He leant back, pulled at his beard.
‘There was no boyfriend? Lucy?’
He nodded. ‘She could have come in with chest pains, dizzy spells, stomach ache – we’d have still seen her. But it wasn’t sensational enough for her.’
‘Has she ever seen anyone, had treatment?’
He shook his head. ‘She’s fine, it’s the rest of the world that’s the problem. She can’t see that there’s anything wrong. She has no feelings for anyone else, no, empathy, no shred of remorse. Psychopathic in the true sense.’
It was a nightmare. I exhaled. Took another acrid sip. My stomach felt as sour as the drink.
‘I’m sorry, she seemed so … some things felt odd, off-kilter but I never imagined this. I believed her.’ I shook my head. ‘It still seems such a stupid way of trying to find you.’
‘None of it’s logical,’ he replied, moving to rest his arms on the table. ‘She wants to trap me, own me. But even if she got all that, suppose I declared undying love, proposed, she’d change the game then, raise the stakes. She thrives on disharmony, adversity. She won’t change.’
‘I fell for it.’
‘She’s the best liar I’ve ever met. Breathtaking really. And she’ll never stop. Not till they lock her up.’ He pinched at the bridge of his nose. Clenched then relaxed his eyes. Sat back. ‘Tell her you can’t find me, tell her I’ve emigrated, been reported missing, anything! And get rid of her while you still can.’
Bile rose in my stomach and I gripped the edge of the table. I wanted to disappear, I wanted to travel back till before I ever set eyes on Lucy Barker. I wanted to kneel and grovel in front of Benjamin Vernay.
He studied me, his eyes old beyond his years, his thin face taut with anxiety.
‘What?’
‘I’m so sorry, I really am. I don’t … Lucy knows you’re working here. I told her. I’m so sorry.’
Any remaining colour drained from his face. His eyelids flickered, they were almost transparent and laced with delicate blue veins. He jerked forward and gave a rough groan, a wordless protest. His eyes climbed back to mine begging for denial but finding only guilt.
‘I’ll call her,’ I rummaged for my phone, ‘I’ll tell her the place was wrong say it was Thames, Thames Valley or something. That this was a dead end.’
His eyes were bright with misery now. He shook his head. Too late.
‘I’ll have to go.’
‘But if I tell her?’
‘She’ll just lie down and roll over?’ He spoke cynically. ‘No.’ Then the reality hit him again and his face contorted. ‘God, no.’ He ran his hands across his head again. Nearby, people glanced over wondering what bad news he was receiving.
‘At least I can try,’ I switched on my phone and when she answered I forced practicality into my voice. ‘Lucy, I was wrong. I’ve been checking the address and it’s not Tameside Royal, he’s not on the staff here. I must have misheard. It could be Teesside or maybe Thames Valley, I’m trying those next.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You’ll let me know?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I ended the call.
‘I need to go, I need to pack.’
‘She won’t know your home address, you’ll be ex-directory?’
‘It won’t take her long. Once she knows where to look. This is all she does. This is her life’s work.’ A little laugh. ‘Destroying mine. That’s all that matters to her. She’ll leave wherever she is, if she’s working she’ll walk out, she’ll dump her house, everything. She’s done it before.’
I thought of Lucy’s flat, the incongruity I’d noticed between her attire and the lack of care in the decor and furniture. Because it was only a stepping stone in her quest.
He stood up to leave.
‘She seemed to believe me then,’ I said, to comfort myself as much as him.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m not taking any chances.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Think you’ve done enough, don’t you?’
I didn’t have the gall to reply. He walked away.
I took a mouthful of cold coffee and spat it back into the cup. A chill of fright washed through me then I felt an edge of rage building. Fury at Lucy Barker. Dragging me into this mess, crying victim when all the time she was the violent one, the poisonous one. I’d report her to the police? Surely if I told them about the existing injunction and her attempt to use me to trace Vernay they would act. It was evidence of her continuing obsession and there was a law against stalking. Had she broken any laws in her dealings with me? I’d find out, do her for that too. Yes, I’d get the police, get them to detain her.
The car park was surrounded by trees in bud. Low level shrubs had been planted too, glossy green hebe and mahonia, sprawling periwinkle and viburnum. In fact it looked like the car park had a bigger budget than the canteen. I stopped reversing out of my space to let another driver past. It was Benjamin Vernay, his face grim. I watched him turn left towards the exit. A second car pulled out then, also indicating left. A green Mondeo. A woman. My heart stuttered and my breath caught in my chest. No. God, no! Lucy Barker was at the wheel.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Heat bloomed across my back and neck and my mouth dried. She was after him. She must have seen right through my phone call, she had already been here or on her way. Lying in wait. I had to stop her, warn him.
I reversed sharply out and swung the car round. Where did he live? I didn’t know. At the exit I scanned right and left for the two cars: one silver, one green. No sign. My heart was thumping in my chest and my palms were sticky on the steering wheel. The sun broke through the clouds and rays pierced the gloom. It illuminated everything – except where I needed to go.
I reached the roundabout. There were three exits. Where, where, where? I circled again ignoring a blast on a horn from an impatient driver. None the wiser I pulled off onto the Dukinfield exit and into the first side road. My mind was zigzagging, clutching at ideas only to drop them and move on. Could Harry find out? No time. The hospital wouldn’t give out that information, only in an emergency.
It’s against the law but it was my only hope. I dialled the number. ‘Admin please.’
A clunk, a click and I was through.
‘Sergeant Bridges here, Greater Manchester Police, Tameside Division, serious crimes. We need to contact one of your staff at home immediately, Doctor Benjamin Vernay. We believe he may be in a situation of danger to his person.’ They talk like that, believe me, I’ve heard them. ‘I’d like to get a car round there immediately but our compute
rs are down and we can’t access the system. Doctor Vernay – we need the home address.’
‘Oh,’ said the woman on the other end uncertainly. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Your name, madam?’
‘Geraldine Judd.’
‘Mrs Judd, speed is of the essence. My badge number is 432D, D for Delta. Make a note of that for your own peace of mind. And I can speak to your superiors later today if required but now I really am very concerned – Dr Vernay – as quickly as possible, madam.’
‘Vernay … Vernay … Here.’ She reeled off an address in Mossley.
‘Thank you for your help.’
I rang off and grabbed the A– Z. I had to peer to find the name in the warren of little roads and then work out how to get there. I backtracked to the roundabout, took the next exit and followed the Wakefield Road. My stomach was cramping with tension and I had a savage thirst. At the traffic lights a group of women with babies in strollers were waiting to cross. The lights were just on orange. I put my foot down and accelerated through. Any other time and I’d have criticised someone for driving so selfishly. I took a wrong turning at the top of the hill into a small industrial estate. Cursing, I made a three point turn and got back on track.
It was the next street. Vernay’s house was halfway down. I could see his silver car but no sign of Lucy Barker’s. Relief ran through me. It was okay. He was safe. Perhaps he had seen her and managed to give her the slip, or she’d got lost. I found a parking place further along and hurried to his door.
We could definitely report her now. Have her picked up straight away for breaching the terms of the injunction. Argue she was in danger of doing harm to herself or others and needed to be in custody. I thought of the lies she’d told about Ian Hoyle, the hotel manager. How he’d made a pass at her and she’d rejected him. The opposite story from his. Had she been lining him up as a new target for her deadly affection or simply diverting herself?
Look at me! Everything she did clamoured for attention. Her fire-engine red suit hiding a crimson rage, a destructive, bloody intent. Vernay was right; it wouldn’t take her long to find him now she knew where he worked. Even though he’d briefed his staff, hospitals were labyrinthine workplaces and hard to keep secure. Patients records might be confidential but staff gossiped about each other non-stop and with Lucy’s facility for manipulation she’d find him. Or she’d follow him home again. Stick closer. What would she do when she found him? Punish him, forgive him, start planning the wedding? It gave me the creeps and I was on the sidelines.
I rang the bell and waited. He might be afraid to answer the door if he’d spotted her earlier. I called through the letter-box, feeling slightly foolish. ‘Doctor Vernay, it’s Sal Kilkenny.’
I heard steps after a couple of moments. Slow steps, he was probably apprehensive. He opened the door a little. A peculiar expression on his face. I felt another flood of guilt.
‘Thank God you’re all right,’ I said.
There was a blur of motion from behind the left of the door. He staggered back. A rush of air, a rustling noise, then a heavy thud that jolted my head, pain spread in red and white through my skull and my world snapped to black.
The first sensation after that was a block of pain pulsing through my head, surging into my teeth and jawbone, clambering down my neck, swelling in my temples. In a minute, I told myself, I’ll open my eyes. What might I see? Only then did I remember where I’d been. And Lucy Barker. I opened my eyelids a fraction hoping not to alert her.
There was a carpet, a loopy texture, beige colour, I was lying on it on my side, facing into the room with the wall running along my back. I couldn’t see anyone. It was a small dining room, in front of me were a table, two dining chairs and a computer chair. I listened, focused, tried to hear breathing, a sigh or a cough. A heartbeat. Heard only my own. Gingerly I tilted my head to look towards the door and the other way past my feet to the window. No one. But the motion brought a wash of saliva to my mouth and made my stomach heave. I tried to sit up and couldn’t. My hands were tied behind my back and my feet bound together. I wriggled my fingers and felt plastic rope, like washing line. I reeled with fear, felt an eddy of despair. Tears started in my eyes. I thought of Maddie, the little notes she’d sent: I will kill you, the ones she’d received. How had Lucy Barker become the woman she had? Had her regime of terror begun in primary school, in nursery?
I steeled myself then strained at the ropes again but they were very tight and the nausea that assailed me was so bad that I was sick on the floor. Had she heard? My heart beat wildly. Was she still here? Was Vernay? I edged away a little from the sharp smell of the vomit but I couldn’t wipe my face clean. For several minutes I closed my eyes and concentrated on what I could hear. Sparrows cheeped outside, there was the slush and groan of traffic, a mobile phone trilling, the slam of a car door. People going about their business as though nothing was wrong. I resisted the swell of self-pity and tried to listen harder. Then I felt it, a small vibration through the floor, from inside the house. Someone was still here.
I had to get out, get away. She’d tied me up and she obviously wasn’t going to let me go. My mind reared away at the prospect of what else she might do. And Benjamin Vernay: had she tied him up too?
Get out.
I caught the murmur of voices. His low and Lucy’s shriller. Impossible to make out what they were saying.
I took stock again. Bending my head up I could see the door. It had no lock but the metal handle was quite high up. If I could get myself there would I be able to get upright to reach it – and what might happen if I opened it? At the other end of the room were a pair of wooden french windows, the old-fashioned style with lots of small panes of glass. The dining table opposite me was obviously the doctor’s home office. There was a computer there. Hope leapt. Was there a phone? I couldn’t really see the surface of the table. I tried to roll away from the wall and get closer but pain shot through me and made me retch again. The room grew darker and I passed out.
When I came round I could hear the sounds of someone in the kitchen, the clunk of pottery and the rattle of cutlery. My mouth was thick with thirst and my throat scorched from the acid I’d vomited. My upper arms were burning in agony. Lying on my side I rocked forward an inch or two, trying to cruise above the pain. Then I rested for a few minutes. I did it again. I used my hip, feet and shoulder to get purchase against the carpet. Little by little I edged towards the table. Eventually I could see the phone socket and double adapter in a socket under the table. Yes!!
A memory came to me: crawling between people’s feet on a carpet patterned with rich swirls of red, green and gold. The tide of laughter above me. I couldn’t recall the occasion but the memory was a happy one. I must have been three or four. I tried to reach beyond the fragment to find something more to savour but there was only mist.
The phone wires were tucked down behind the back of the table and one of the dining chairs. To get the phone I either needed to get up to the table or move the chair and try to pull the wire and the phone with it. I experimented with trying to get up but without the use of my arms my balance was terrible. After several attempts I got myself into a sitting position, my knees bent, feet still lashed together, hands still stuck behind my back. My whole body was trembling from the exertion. When I tried to get from there onto my knees by twisting and rocking I simply lurched forwards onto my front, creating a fresh bout of pain as I hit the floor and cracked my head again. She’d hear! Oh, please no. I shivered and tears of fear and frustration leaked out of my eyes. I sniffed them back and gritted my teeth. Get on with it! I screamed inside. You can’t stop now. Just bloody get on with it! For Maddie. You must get help. Damn well do it! I wriggled forward until my head was touching the chair and then proceeded to nudge it away with the back of my head. It took forever and each time the chair tipped precariously and I was petrified that it might fall and alert Lucy Barker.
When I’d finally created enough space I edged myself up to the
skirting board. The wires were close against the wall, I didn’t know which was the internet connection and which the phone line. I tugged at them with my teeth and inched back and out from under the table, pulling the wires to the side. A moment’s resistance and they came free, falling onto me. Both severed. She’d cut them. Devastated I lay there, pain hammering in my skull, panting with exertion and covered in a slick of sweat that made my back and arms cold.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I tried to moisten my mouth but there was no saliva. I imagined a drink; a tall, glass of cold water, sweet and slightly peaty, water from the mountains. Get me out of here, I pleaded. Please. Think. Think.
The ropes. Anything sharp enough, rough enough, to cut them? I scanned the room. The french windows. I could try to break them, use my feet. She’d hear me. Perhaps the curtains would muffle the sound a bit.
Like a caterpillar I humpbacked my way to that end of the room, my chin raw with friction from the carpet. I swivelled round till my feet were by the window then I rocked again and again until I turned myself onto my side then my back. The pain tore up my shoulder blades and into my back. Shivering uncontrollably and hopelessly weak, I breathed noisily though my mouth, making a ragged, keening sound. My first kick was feeble and my feet made precious little impact. Despair dragged at me but I took another ragged breath, pressed my lips together and tried again. I will not give up, I told myself, I will not, kick, give, kick, up. On the fifth kick I heard the creak of glass cracking. She must have heard it. But she didn’t come, not then.
On the next try the glass broke more and on the seventh I heard the bright sound of smashing as it fell.
I drew my legs back, aimed to the side a bit and kicked again, sickened by the aching in my face and stomach. The small wooden frame bounced but held. Again and the wood splintered and more glass crashed. I struggled and got my feet under the curtain, thinking that there may be enough space now.
Bitter Blue Page 16