The Bride's Trail

by AA Abbott

  Amy punched Lizzie’s number into the door buzzer. “We’ve been sent by Linda Sweetman from Treasures,” she explained.

  Lizzie buzzed them in. “Linda phoned ahead,” she said. “I’m on the ninth floor. Should I switch on my kettle?”

  The apartment’s bright red door had its own bell too. It was opened so swiftly they were sure Lizzie had been waiting behind it. She was plump, short and middle-aged. Her hair, snow-white and bobbed, was a plain foil to a heavily made-up face. Her pink lipsticked mouth broke into a smile as she opened the door. “Why’s Linda sending me visitors, then?” she asked.

  “We had to see you,” Amy said earnestly. “We’re friends of Kat, your niece, and we think she may be in trouble.”

  “Kat, in trouble?” Lizzie sounded concerned. “Come in and sit down.” She led them into a living room with huge picture windows overlooking the patchwork of the city below. Rather than a red brick sprawl, most of it was green: trees, parks and gardens, with hills beyond. Lizzie’s furniture looked old and battered, but homely. Bright crocheted throws covered the seats; prints of foreign seaside towns lined the walls.

  Tea was already in the be-cosied pot. Lizzie poured the amber liquid into mismatched mugs, adding milk straight from a bottle. “Kat isn’t exactly my niece,” she said. “But I look on her like a daughter. What’s wrong?”

  “We don’t know,” Ross said. “She vanished four days ago.”

  Amy nodded. The alleged theft and sham marriages were probably the cause of the disappearance. She couldn’t tell Lizzie in front of Ross, though, or even mention the knifeman.

  “What are the police doing?” Lizzie asked.

  “Not much,” Amy admitted. “They told me they’d look into it.”

  “You want to find her then?” Lizzie asked.

  “Of course,” Ross said. “I’ve got air tickets to Thailand for both of us.” He was clearly playing for sympathy.

  “The penny’s dropped,” Lizzie said. “You’re her boyfriend. I thought the two of you...” she pointed to Amy and Ross.

  “I’m just a friend,” Amy said. She was rapidly tiring of the inference, implicit in the assumptions of everyone they met, that Ross was attractive to women. A handsome face and bank balance simply couldn’t compensate for his repulsive personality. She marvelled at his ability to keep the latter hidden when it suited him. “Listen, do you have any idea where she is? You said you weren’t her aunt, but she must have family in the area?”

  “No and no,” Lizzie replied. “Erik’s the only family she has in this country, if he’s still here, of course. Goodness knows where he might be. I doubt I’d even recognise him.”

  “Erik?” Amy asked.

  “Her brother,” Lizzie replied. “I can see from your blank faces, you really don’t know much about Kat do you?”

  “I’m sure you can put that right,” Ross murmured.

  Lizzie cackled. “Your pillow talk can’t be up to much, young man. All right, I’ll tell you what I can. Kat and Erik aren’t from Birmingham at all. They’re not even English, although they’ve got English passports now. Marty saw to it.”

  “Marty?” Ross asked.

  “I’ll come to that. Don’t worry; he’s not competition for you. Kat’s Russian. Her father sent the two children to boarding school in England. She speaks very properly, doesn’t she? Not like me!” Lizzie chuckled throatily. “They needed a local guardian, which is where Marty Bridges came in. He did a lot of business with their father – importing vodka. Everything was grand. Then the father fell out with his government.”

  “What happened?” Amy wanted to know.

  “They killed him. Not at first. He was in prison for a bit. They wanted him to sign some papers, but he refused. The children were stranded here.” She frowned. “The boy, Erik, managed all right. He was grown up by then, at university. Kat was at her lovely school, and they made her leave. No money for the fees, you see.” She gulped the remaining tea from her mug, and poured herself another. Despite adding a generous slug of milk, it remained dark as her teak dining chairs. Lizzie drank it regardless. “You with me so far?”

  Amy nodded.

  “Good. I know I’ve been round the Wrekin. Kat was sixteen, with nowhere to go. I felt sorry for her, so I took her in here. My husband had just died and I was glad of the company. She worked as a cleaner and in a shop to earn her keep, then she trained as a croupier. Like a flash, she was off to London.” She sniffed. “I wish she’d stayed here. I could tell from her letters it was a dangerous place. Not all of her friends were very nice. Present company excepted, I should say.”

  “What friends?” Ross asked.

  “There was a fellow called Jeb who used to help her out with money.” Lizzie glanced at Ross. His face was distinctly unamused.

  “She was teaching Jeb maths,” Amy lied, to her own amazement. She had to divert Ross’ attention to a different topic. “How did you meet Kat?” she asked Lizzie.

  “I was Marty’s housekeeper,” Lizzie said. “Not that I’d have anything to do with him now. Dirty old man.”

  “What do you mean?” Ross’ voice was stern.

  “Not in that way,” Lizzie said. “He remarried with indecent haste after his first wife died, that’s all. His new one’s a common, stuck-up bitch, if you’ll pardon my French. It wasn’t right, and I told him.”

  “Would he know where Kat is?” Ross asked.

  Lizzie shrugged. “You could ask him. He might help, but I don’t suppose he will if he can’t see anything in it for him. He’s hard as nails.” She added, “He lives on Wellington Road. I don’t know where his office is – I’ve never been there.”

  “Thank you,” Ross said smarmily. “You really have been tremendously helpful.”

  “You’re welcome,” Lizzie preened. “Come round any time if you want to know anything else. I hope you have a nice holiday with her. Send me a postcard.”

  She waved cheerily as they exited into the lift lobby.

  “Marty Bridges is our next port of call,” Ross said, with the optimistic tone of a man who felt he was making progress. “We should grab lunch first. There were a couple of promising pubs near Treasures. Let’s eat there.”

  Chapter 19 Jeb

  Jeb scooped up a spoonful of chilli. “It’s vegetarian,” he complained.

  “That’s what the little ‘v’ on the menu means,” Shaun said.

  If anyone else had made such a derisive remark, Jeb would have thumped them. He was touchy on the matter of his literacy. The schools he had attended were not the best, he felt, although he conceded that he could have turned up for lessons more often. He contented himself with a surly glare. “Doesn’t taste bad, though,” he said.

  “It’s a yuppie pub,” Shaun said. “You can tell from the beer prices. If you thought it was cheaper up north, think again.”

  Driven outside by their nicotine habits, they were sitting on benches in the beer garden of a pub a few doors away from Treasures. The weather in Birmingham was sultry, although an occasional raindrop and hint of a breeze cut through the sticky air. A group of young men in business-casual clothes and black-rimmed spectacles sat nearby, chatting and working on laptops.

  “Those would be worth nicking,” Jeb observed. He was still racking his brains for a way to raise twenty thousand pounds. His life depended on it. Shaun hadn’t put the squeeze on him yet, but only because his boss believed Kat was the culprit. That delusion would vanish as soon as Shaun found her. It was essential, then, that Shaun didn’t find Kat, or at least didn’t find her alive.

  Of course, with Kat dead, Shaun would still look to Jeb to make good the stolen money. None remained. Once he’d given cash to Kat and Ahmed, and paid for cocaine he’d been given to sell and recklessly consumed himself, there had been very little left. That was gone too, thanks to bad decisions at the racetrack and gaming tables.

  Jeb squirmed, fearing the mysterious Lizzie and the role she might play in reuniting Kat with Shaun. If only he could so
mehow see her alone and neutralise the threat she posed to him. He finished his chilli with a nervous belch, and lit a cigarette.

  Shaun was squinting at the laptops. “You’re right; they’re MacBooks,” he said. “See the Apple symbols? Three hundred quid each, no questions asked.” He drained his pint. “Another lager, Jeb? That’ll be your last. I want you to drive back later.”

  Jeb wiped sweat from his brow. “So I’ve got to watch like a thirsty ferret while you drink all afternoon. Are you sure you don’t have the old bag’s address?”

  Shaun handed him the letter. “Read it yourself,” he said cruelly. He fingered his chin. “Actually, Jeb, you’re on to something. That fit blonde said she was called Lizzie Clements. I bet I can find her online.” He glanced at the young workers with their laptops.

  “How do you do that?” Jeb knew the keystrokes required to access online video games and porn. Other than that, computers were a mystery to him.

  “The boys showed me.” Shaun took his BlackBerry from his pocket.

  “I’ll get the drinks in,” Jeb said hastily.

  Shaun was grinning when he returned. “Sorted!” the older man said. He waved the BlackBerry at Jeb. “You’ve got one of these too. Look, just type in her postcode and it’ll give you directions.”

  Shaun demonstrated the function, causing his own phone to tell him in a schoolmarm’s voice: “Turn right. Walk one hundred yards.”

  “See?” Shaun laughed.

  “Well, save the beer for me, boss,” Jeb said, “I’ll go there right now. You watch the footie on that screen inside.”

  Shaun didn’t argue. Whistling with relief, Jeb left the pub, almost kicking small children out of the way as he rushed along the suburban high street. His BlackBerry directed him down a side road and an alleyway. Jeb approached it with trepidation. Strangers using such lanes near his home were likely to be relieved of their valuables, or at least meet sullen teenagers succumbing to addictions away from the watchful glances of their parents. His journey passed without incident, however, and within minutes he was laboriously punching Lizzie Clements’ number into the tower block’s intercom.

  “I’m a friend of Kat’s,” he said.

  “Another one!” she exclaimed, giving him cause for alarm. Jeb sniffed a precautionary pinch of cocaine for courage, first scanning the lift lobby for CCTV cameras. Much to his relief, he found none.

  Lizzie looked old enough to be his grandmother, although that didn’t predispose Jeb to be either gentle or respectful towards her. He was sentimentally affectionate to his own mother and grandmother, without caring a jot for anyone else’s. His first action on stepping across her threshold was to remove a flick-knife from his sock.

  Her eyes almost popped out of their wrinkled sockets with shock. Lizzie shrank away from him, uttering a piercing shriek.

  “Don’t do that,” he shouted, punching her cheek. There was a sickening crack. He cursed, hoping she could still talk. “Where’s Kat?” he screamed at her.

  “I don’t know.”

  Jeb hadn’t considered that possibility. Shaun had been so sure they would find Kat with Lizzie. Only now did Jeb recall that Kat had never mentioned this aunt at all, had in fact told him nothing about herself other than saying her parents were dead. That was a gold star in his book; the fewer people who knew or cared about his girls, the better. It was even more of a bonus at this stage, when he wanted Kat dead and would do whatever it took to achieve it.

  He raised a fist to Lizzie. “You’re lying,” he said.

  “What’s all this about? What do you want,” she whimpered, beginning to cry.

  “Stop that,” Jeb growled. “Tell me where she is.” He slapped her left ear, not using his full weight this time, but enough to sting.

  “If I knew, I’d tell you,” Lizzie sobbed.

  He realised the futility of his questions then, and changed tack. “Who was here earlier?” he yelled. “Who?”

  “Her boyfriend.”

  That made no sense to Jeb. Kat had never mentioned a relationship. He was sure he would have been aware had she taken a lover. “You’re lying again.” He was furious. What right did she have to waste his time? He slapped her face.

  The old woman tripped backwards, hitting her crown on the coffee table. Jeb heard a cracking sound once more. Blood seeped from her skull.

  Wild-eyed, Jeb checked for a pulse. He had some experience of this, living among addicts who were prone to overdose on substances of uncertain purity. Fumbling at Lizzie’s wrist, he felt no evidence of a heartbeat. Too bad, he thought. As it happened, she’d known so little that there was no need to kill her. This way, though, she wouldn’t be telling anyone about their little chat.

  Just as he rose to leave, the corner of his eye twitched. Something was moving to his left. Jeb swivelled round. A thin black cat, its fur patchy and its gait creaky, was creeping towards the door. “Don’t spy on me,” Jeb said coldly. He kicked the animal out of his way. In his haste, he overlooked the flick-knife lying on the floor.

  Chapter 20 Amy

  The pubs Ross had spotted were a large roadhouse advertising lunches for five pounds, and a more upmarket establishment facing it across the high street. As Amy expected, he insisted on lunch at the latter. They ordered food at the bar.

  “A large dry white wine,” Ross said, “and a pint of Doom Bar.”

  She looked askance at him. “Are you feeling all right, Ross?”

  He didn’t twig at first. “Of course,” he said eventually. “The beer. I am on holiday, you know.”

  There was a conservatory at the rear of the pub, and a garden beyond that. Amy suggested they sat outside in the sunshine. Ross appeared ready to squabble, then noticed a young woman in the pub breastfeeding her baby. He glowed bright red, agreeing that a sunny spot was an excellent idea.

  The first table outside was occupied by hipsters comparing the latest Apple gadgets with each other. As she walked past them, Amy caught sight of the knifeman.

  At first, she wasn’t sure it was really him. He was sitting alone on a wooden bench, a near-empty pint in his hand and another on the table in front of him. His eyes were fixed on the super-sized TV screen inside the conservatory.

  “Let’s sit over there, Amy.” Ross gestured to the nearest free table.

  At those words, the knifeman looked straight at her. His relaxed demeanour was replaced by the wary, almost haunted expression she remembered from his visit. She had no remaining doubts about his identity.

  He could have none about hers either, for he was rising to his feet. Amy thrust her wine glass on the table occupied by the surprised hipsters. She pulled at Ross’ free hand. “Ross, run! Leave your drink. We have to get out of here.”

  Her colleague’s lips began to move. With a grimace of exasperation, she said, “Just for once, don’t argue, Ross. Just run, as fast as you can.”

  To his credit, he did as he was told, and commendably quickly. His untouched pint was left on the nearest table; he sprinted back into the pub and out through the main door onto the high street. Amy wasn’t as fit or fast, but, holding his hand, she was dragged along at the same speed by his momentum.

  She heard the knifeman shout. He must be following. Desperately, she prayed for a cab to materialise on the busy road outside.

  “There’s a taxi,” Ross cried, the sweetest words he’d ever said to her. As he flagged it down, she saw the pub door opening again. Ross virtually shoved her into the vehicle, following swiftly and slamming its door in the face of their pursuer.

  “Is he with you?” the driver asked, jerking a thumb at the knifeman.

  “No.” Amy was aware she sounded hysterical. Hearing the click of the cab doors locking, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. She was still panicking, panting breathlessly. “Anywhere.”

  “The Malmaison Hotel,” Ross interjected. “Do it in five minutes and I’ll double your money.” He
lowered his voice to a whisper. “For crying out loud, Amy,” he hissed, “what’s going on?”

  “That was someone I didn’t want to meet, that’s all,” she said, staring out of the window as suburbia flashed past. The cabbie was making a valiant effort to win his bonus. “It’s just a coincidence.”

  Ross looked daggers at her, but he was silent for the rest of their short journey.

  Chapter 21 Jeb

  Jeb had left Shaun enjoying a quiet pint. He imagined his boss would be in a mellow mood on his return, but not a bit of it.

  “Where have you been?” Shaun asked, his voice low but withering.

  Jeb looked around. The iPad users were still chattering at the next table, which doubtless explained why Shaun’s explosion was controlled. “I found the aunt,” he whispered.

  ”And?” Shaun was evidently hoping for more. “What about Kat?”

  “She wasn’t there,” Jeb admitted. “Her aunt hadn’t seen her.”

  Shaun reddened. “Did you search the aunt’s flat and put the frighteners on her?”

  “Turned the place over,” Jeb lied. “Nothing. To cap it all, the old biddy went and died on me.”

  “How?” Shaun was even less amused.

  “Heart attack,” Jeb said smoothly. “On my mother’s life, I only hit her once.”

  Shaun put his head in his hands. “Let’s get out of this city,” he muttered. “It’ll be too hot for us once the body’s found.” He drained his pint in one. “You’re driving, Jeb.”

  The Merc was round the corner where Shaun had left it, intact as far as Jeb could tell. Shaun said little until they were on the M6.

  “Kat must be in that misbegotten city,” he said to Jeb, “because I saw her flatmate in the pub.”

  “Amy?” Jeb asked. He had seen, and ignored, Amy several times when visiting Kat to take her drinking in Charlotte Street. She was flat-chested, straight-laced, and simply of no concern to him. “A coincidence, boss. She’s from round here.” He knew none of his words were true.