by Carol Wyer
Faith rolled up the jumper she’d been holding and stuffed it under her skirt waistband and blouse, patting it to form a round lump, then snapped off the heel on her left shoe, pulled at her eyelids until the cool air made them run, then rubbed them hard, reddening them. She crossed the road and banged on the door.
The door opened a crack, held by a chain, and a white face appeared – Sierra’s.
‘Thank goodness,’ wept Faith. ‘Nobody else is in. My boyfriend and I had a terrible row and he threw me out of the car. I haven’t got my bag or phone and I can’t get home. Please could you ring me a taxi?’
Sierra studied Faith. ‘Okay, but you’ll have to wait outside while I do it.’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ve been walking for ages and I was scared stiff. I don’t know this area at all.’ She rested against the door frame and pulled off her shoe, looked at the heel and let out a sob. ‘I hate him!’ She put a hand to her swollen belly, drawing Sierra’s attention to it.
‘You’re expecting?’
‘I’ve only got one month to go,’ said Faith.
‘Come inside and sit down. I’ll ring you a taxi.’ Sierra unlocked the door.
No sooner was Faith inside than she rushed at the girl, bowling her over. Sitting astride her, she pulled out a syringe and plunged it into her neck.
The darkness was intense, and as the squad car’s headlights fell on hedgerows and trees, they conjured menacing shadows, bogeymen and spectres that leapt up from nowhere and danced for a few seconds before shrinking and vanishing into the night. Black, shapeless houses, identifiable only by dully glowing windows, flashed past in a blur. The jet-black reservoir glittered menacingly as they crossed it. There was a rumour an entire village had been sunk under its waters when it was first built. Kate knew it was not true, but tonight a hundred ghosts seem to rise and beckon, urging her on as they tore up the bank and turned down Yeatsall Lane to a spot only a hundred metres from Cooper’s house. She slid out of the car into the silence. A cow – a young calf, calling for its mother – mooed repetitively; its plaintive cries put Kate’s teeth on edge. The sound stopped, and an eerie calm replaced it.
She and Emma padded up the road, pausing only at mournful honking in the distance before the geese on the waters settled once more. Emma tugged at Kate’s sleeve.
‘There!’
Parked in front of a gate to a field was a black Kia.
‘Run a check on the number plate.’
Emma rang it through, mumbled quietly into her mouthpiece then joined Kate close to the front gate and whispered, ‘Hire car.’
‘Any idea who rented it?’
‘They’re checking now.’
A figure approached, large and wide, but light on his feet. Morgan had caught up with them.
‘Scout around the rear, will you? Exercise extreme caution. Somebody is probably already here. There’s a hire car parked opposite.’
Morgan slipped away. Curtains at one of the downstairs windows were not fully drawn and a sliver of light burst from between them, alighting on the grass outside like a shining sword. Kate dropped to her haunches below the line of the window frame and crabbed along the wall until she was directly under the ledge. She listened, and when she was sure there was no noise from inside, raised her head, glanced inside, into the kitchen. Squinting hard, she made out a table and a person. She adjusted her position to see better, imagining it might be the killer, but it wasn’t. It was Sierra, who was tied to a chair, her head tilted backwards. They’d arrived too late. A movement and a raised voice kick-started her heart again. Sierra bucked in the chair and Kate let out the breath she’d been holding. The girl was still alive. But just as Kate felt a rush of relief, another icy hand cupped her heart. Faith appeared, wielding a kitchen knife. There was little time to act.
Her heart clattered wildly. Think! A vision of Chris . . .
Stars explode in front of Chris Young’s eyes and blood bubbles at his lips. He’s dying. He knows he is. The gunman shot three people before Chris even registered what was happening, and now he is striding up the aisle, gun raised, killing everyone in the carriage. Chris has little time to act. The crystal award weighs heavily in his hand, more so in his weakened state. He recalls feeling the sheer weight of it when it was presented to him and when he proudly held it aloft. Best Journalist. A fine award, but it will serve a greater purpose if only he can find the energy. He conjures up the apparition of his wife, brave Kate, who held his hand all those years ago when he was trapped in a car wreck and who has been by his side ever since. He draws strength from her exactly as he did the day of the car accident. She is the bravest person he has ever met. The image is strong, and he sees her serious face clearly before him.
‘Don’t leave me,’ he whispers.
‘I won’t . . . ever,’ she replies.
He forces himself from his blood-soaked seat, stumbles down the aisle after the man. He is too late. There are bodies to his left and right, and ahead, a mother and child scream. He must save them. He gasps for breath but pushes forward, ignoring the excruciating agony ripping through his body. The man doesn’t hear him until the last minute, and turns. Chris lifts the award, as he did during the ceremony, and brings it crashing down on the side of the man’s head. He stares sightlessly at Chris before crumpling and falling to the floor.
The effort has drained him. Chris’s knees buckle and he tumbles forward on to the dead man’s body. He doesn’t question why the gunman has acted. His last thoughts are of his wonderful wife, who stayed with him throughout.
Thoughts of what Chris had endured during his final minutes on the train tugged at her. If Chris could do what he had done, then Kate could do this. She ran her hands along the wall and moved to a second window, shrouded in darkness. There was no sound from it. Keeping her head down, she scurried back to Emma. Morgan appeared from nowhere and regrouped with them.
He spoke quietly. ‘The back door is unlocked. I suspect it leads into the kitchen or a utility room leading off it.’
Kate hissed, ‘We have to act fast. Sierra’s tied up to a chair in the middle of the kitchen and Faith’s got a knife.’
‘What about her sister?’
‘I can’t see or hear anybody else, but be mindful Hope might be there. Emma, when I give you the signal, bash on the door and yell Sierra’s name as loudly as you can, which should give both of us enough time to enter the house from the rear and jump Faith. This is a hostage situation, so Morgan, I want your priority to be Sierra. Ensure she can’t be harmed. Emma, once you’ve thumped on the door, scoot around the back and join us. All clear?’
‘Clear.’
She and Morgan hugged the shadows and stole to the back door. The calf began calling again, but this time Kate ignored it, instead focusing on easing down the back-door handle and slipping inside, into a room that smelt of tropical flowers. They stood in what Morgan had correctly defined as a laundry room – only large enough to house a washing machine and a sink, but big enough for them both to wait for Emma to act.
Faith screamed, ‘One last time. Where the fuck is he?’
Sierra sobbed a response. ‘I don’t know where he is. He said he’d be home soon.’
On cue, Emma pounded on the door, shouting Sierra’s name. ‘Sierra, it’s the police. Open up!’
Faith rushed to the window by the sink to catch sight of who was there, and as she did so, Morgan and Kate burst into the kitchen. Morgan hurtled across the tiled floor towards Sierra, placing his bulky frame between her and Faith. Faith dropped the knife and reached for a frying pan hanging on the wall. She wielded it wildly, swinging it between the two as they approached. ‘Stay back,’ she hissed.
Kate spoke calmly. ‘Put it down, Faith. It’s over. We’ve got you surrounded.’
Morgan took a step closer and Faith swung hard and smashed the pan into his groin, doubling him over. Kate flew at the woman and pushed her into the sink with such force Faith released her grip on the weapon,
which clattered to the floor. Arms and hands and legs intermingled as they fought each other. Faith kicked out, catching Kate’s shin and causing pain to explode down her leg. Kate winced, eyes watering, but held fast, fingers digging into Faith’s arm. Wild with anger, Faith shook herself free and shoved Kate away so hard she fell on to her back, knocking her head against a chair leg. The scene went black for a moment. When she opened her eyes, Faith was straddling her.
Kate twisted her body sharply to the left, then to the right, trying to shake off Faith and free her hands, to no avail. Bony knees dug into her ribs, making it impossible to move. Faith bared her teeth like a wild animal and flexed her long fingers. With immediate clarity, Kate understood what she was about to do. She was going to plunge her fingers into Kate’s eyes. Every muscle strained as she bucked and writhed, destabilising Faith sufficiently so her nails raked the flesh of her cheeks, missing their mark. ‘Bitch!’ hissed Faith. Stinging blows rained down on Kate. This was not the woman with whom she’d shared a glass of wine.
Kate found focus, putting the pain behind her. Everything was happening too quickly, and she inhaled, slowed the events, became fully aware of the contempt flickering across Faith’s face, spotted Morgan struggling to his feet. She’d freed her own hands, but kept them by her side for the moment. Time slowed further, and she locked eyes with Faith, gave a relaxed smile and waited for the woman to strike again. Faith snarled, curled her fingers and raised her hands, and only then did Kate react, with lightning reflexes, grabbing hold of the woman’s wrists and yanking them backwards with as much strength as she could muster. Faith screamed.
Morgan appeared, wrapped strong arms around Faith’s upper body and hauled her off Kate, threw her to the floor and dropped on to her legs. Within seconds, Emma had joined him. He cuffed Faith and sat on his knees, head back.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Emma.
‘Bitch whacked me in the Crown Jewels, but I’ll survive.’
Kate wiped away blood from her scratched cheeks with the back of her hand and looked across at Sierra. ‘How many women? How many came in?’
The girl’s face was ashen. ‘Her. Just her.’
Morgan and Emma yanked a subdued Faith to her feet and frogmarched her outside while Kate cut the cable ties binding Sierra and helped her stand up.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Kate.
Sierra rubbed her tender wrists and nodded. ‘She scared the shit out of me. She was going to kill me. She wanted to kill Dad, too. Do you know where he is?’
‘He’s safe. He’s at the station. You can see him soon. Are you sure you’re not injured?’
‘I’m fine. I only let her in because she was pregnant and upset and her shoe was broken.’
‘She wasn’t pregnant.’
‘Her belly was swollen.’
‘She faked it.’ Kate held up the jumper that had fallen out during the scuffle. ‘She made it up so you’d let her in.’
The girl stared wide-eyed at the jumper.
‘You’ve had a dreadful shock. We’re going to take you with us, back to the station. Is there anybody we can ring to come with you? A relative, perhaps?’
‘There’s only my dad. He’s all I have.’ Sierra’s voice cracked, and Kate’s heart sank. The girl was about to lose the one person who meant everything to her. Cooper would most likely be imprisoned. Kate knew what it was like to lose those you cared most about, but life was like that. It dealt cruel blows and you had to learn to survive. Sierra would, like Kate, learn quickly enough.
‘You’ll be able to talk to your dad there,’ she said, confident she could arrange for them to have some time together. She wished she could have had more real time with Chris, even if it was only five minutes.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
THURSDAY, 10 JUNE – EARLY MORNING
Faith could easily be mistaken for the inquisitor rather than the accused, her face searching Kate’s eyes, scanning for signs of weakness. She sat upright, hands loosely folded in her lap. There was nothing in her body language to suggest she was a murderer. Kate found her attitude unnerving. She’d opened up to this woman, told her things about herself she’d told nobody before, and hadn’t seen through her act. The pills and her fixation on Dickson had blurred all senses and almost cost her this investigation. While Kate was angry about Faith’s deception, she was more furious with herself. Her head screamed at her to punish this woman, be as hard as she could on her, yet she needed to keep Faith on side because she could be instrumental in bringing down Dickson.
‘We have sufficient proof to place you at the Maddox Club. The blood we found on the paperweight and the carpet is yours. We’ve uncovered vials of the drug GHB in one of the suitcases in the boot of a Kia rented in your name. Moreover, we have identified the body in the grounds of the Maddox Club as your nephew, Joseph Masuku. We know you murdered Alex Corby, Ian Wentworth and Xavier Durand. The tech department examined the sat nav in the VW Polo you borrowed from the car pool and have been able to trace all your movements. You may have thought you’d erased the history, but as you know, our technical team have tremendous skills and have retrieved the information.
‘Not only does it place you at the Maddox Club on Monday evening, but also at Alex’s house last Thursday morning. You arrived at eleven-fifty and left two hours later. We also know you travelled to Lichfield and parked in the car park near Festival House twice on Saturday – once in the afternoon at one fifteen for half an hour, and then again in the evening at eight thirty until eleven twenty-four. Is there anything you wish to say?’
‘No comment.’
Kate glanced over at the plain-faced young solicitor with a starchy attitude who’d been assigned the case. She didn’t look much older than Sierra. Her face was as immobile as a china doll’s and her eyes were fixed on her notepad. She clearly wasn’t going to encourage her client to divulge any information. Kate would have to use the only weapon she had. She glanced at Morgan, next to her, who was aware of her intentions.
‘Then you leave me no option. I’m sure Hope will be more accommodating, although I shall be obliged to charge her for aiding and abetting a criminal.’
Faith rose to the bait. ‘Hope is in Zimbabwe.’
Morgan shook his head. ‘Hope Masuku was detained earlier at Heathrow Airport and is currently in a police vehicle on her way here for questioning in connection with these murders.’
‘No. You’re bluffing,’ Faith scoffed.
Kate spoke smoothly. ‘I can assure you DS Meredith is telling the truth. He spoke to the officer who apprehended her at the gate.’
‘She left first thing yesterday morning on a coach from Stoke station. I put her on it myself. Her flight left in the evening. She isn’t here.’
Morgan turned over the printout of an email on the desk in front of him and read, ‘Last evening, at seven minutes past ten, while waiting at Boarding Gate B38 for the eight forty Emirates flight to Harare, delayed by two hours, Mrs Hope Masuku was apprehended. She did not resist arrest and has been held by Metropolitan Police overnight.’
Faith remained silent, nostrils flaring.
‘Right, then I suggest this interview is over. DS Meredith, if you wouldn’t mind turning off the recorder, please, and then escorting Faith to the cells. We’ll speak again later. And, DS Meredith, please call me when Hope Masuku arrives.’ Kate pushed back her chair.
Before she reached the door, Faith spoke up. ‘Hope had nothing to do with any of this.’
Kate turned around. ‘With any of what?’
‘The deaths. She only wanted me to find Joseph.’
Kate returned to her seat, pursed her lips in thought, then shook her head. ‘No. Sorry. I find that difficult to believe. This is the only time Hope has visited you since you arrived in the UK, and it coincides with the death of three men. She stayed in your apartment with you. She will surely have had an inkling of what was going on. I’m afraid we shall be looking to charge her.’
‘She doesn’t know anything. S
he doesn’t even know Joseph is dead. I couldn’t tell her. Not until I’d found him.’
‘I can’t take your word for that.’ Kate folded her arms, her head on one side. ‘So, it’s up to you, Faith. You tell me everything – every single detail, or we’ll find plenty of reasons to charge your sister. What’s it to be?’
Faith’s lips curled. ‘You hard-faced bitch!’
Faith packs away her notes with a sense of purpose and satisfaction. The job at Coventry is not demanding, but her reputation is growing. If she continues to impress, she’ll be promoted, and when the time is right, she’ll return home and lecture in Harare, maybe give others the same opportunities she’s had. Not bad for a poor girl from Juliasdale who, according to all the locals, had few prospects. She had showed them all. Only her sister believed in her. Hope encouraged her every step of the way, even sending her money she could ill afford to help her through her studies in Harare. Since she’s been in the UK, Faith has managed to study and work part-time, washing up at a restaurant, so she is able to help her sister out.
She’s closing her worn leather case when her phone rings. Her sister is in tears.
‘Hope, what’s the matter?’
Hope works in an orchard outside Juliasdale. It’s a low-paid job but it is all she can get, given she fell pregnant at fifteen, didn’t finish her education and was widowed three years ago.
‘He’s gone. Joseph has gone. He and Abel have run away.’
‘They’ll be back. You know what they’re like. A week on their own and they’ll return with their tails between their legs.’ Although the words are meant to be reassuring, Faith’s heart flutters like a butterfly trapped in a net. Fourteen-year-old Joseph is everything to Hope, and to her. He’s a handsome and gentle lad. Abel, on the other hand, is a troublemaker – a likeable boy, but not averse to breaking the law. The pair are incredibly close and she fears Joseph has been tempted by his friend to get involved in something he ought not to be.