‘You look amazing,’ Will said as Charlotte stepped into the family kitchen. ‘I can’t remember the last time I saw you dressed up like that. I wish I was coming with you.’
‘Don’t get used to it,’ Charlotte replied, adjusting her footwear. ‘These shoes were uncomfortable when I bought them, but they’re even worse now. I think my feet must have changed. I’d rather be wearing a pair of trainers. I can’t believe other women wear these things all the time.’
‘We’d best get going,’ Nigel said, as he walked in on them. He’d been in the bathroom, trying as best as he could to make himself look presentable.
Charlotte let out a laugh when she saw him.
‘I hope you weren’t intending to use that tie for your university interview next week,’ she said to Will. ‘Everybody’s wearing narrow ties these days; that one’s far too thick at the bottom. And way too flowery too.’
It worried her that Will was still slow to respond. She hoped they were doing the right thing leaving him on his own. He was moving the pieces of Nigel’s photographic puzzle around the kitchen table, but didn’t appear to be making much progress sticking anything together.
‘That’s me on my way,’ Isla shouted up the stairs.
‘Cheerio Isla, thank you!’ Charlotte replied. ‘Sorry to leave you on your own again.’
Charlotte picked up Olli’s phone and searched for somewhere to put it.
‘This is why I hate formal wear so much; no pockets,’ she said, looking around for somewhere to keep it safe.
‘Don’t you have a handbag?’ Nigel asked.
Charlotte was relieved to see that Will wasn’t so out of things that he’d lost his sense of humour. They both chuckled at that comment at the same time.
‘I don’t do handbags,’ Charlotte said. ‘I don’t think I ever did handbags. I prefer pockets. They’re much more practical. But that doesn’t solve my phone problem.’
‘Do you need to take Olli’s phone?’ Nigel asked.
‘Maybe not,’ Charlotte said. ‘But he might receive an important call on it, something which could give us a clue where he is. He may even ring it himself to try and work out where he lost it.’
‘Hey, I’ve just remembered about that software on the phones,’ Will said. ‘I can use that to work out where Lucia is. That’s how I found her that time she was going to run away back to Bristol.’
‘I forgot about that,’ Charlotte replied. ‘Give it a try, Will. See if you can figure out where she is. We need to go, Nigel. If we miss the drinks and canapes, we’ll never be able to get to Edward Callow when everybody is seated.’
Charlotte checked Will one more time. She still wasn’t entirely sure he was clear of all the symptoms of concussion that she’d read about online, but at the same time, she didn’t want to get caught in the endless wait at A&E. Olli was the priority; Will was an adult and he could get himself to hospital if he needed to.
In the end, Charlotte took her canvas shoulder bag. It looked great with jeans, but not so appropriate with a formal dress. It would have to do; she needed to put the two phones somewhere.
She was pleased that Nigel was driving the liveried vehicle with the newspaper logos emblazoned all over it. It gave them the credibility that they would need to lie their way through the doors. She’d seen Nigel in action before, so she knew how this worked.
They were early enough to secure parking at the front of the Midland Hotel, meaning they would be easily spotted by the door staff—two men and two women—who were taking tickets and verifying entry. There were banners all over the front of the building and around the car park.
Morecambe and Lonsdale MP Edward Callow welcomes you to the Morecambe Bay Hospice Charity Ball. Please give generously for the benefit of local people!
‘Look confident and go with the flow,’ Nigel told her. ‘I’ll bet his consortium has the contract for the new hospice too. It’s a huge project, very lucrative for the construction company which landed the deal. Edward is bound to have more than just a charitable finger in that pie.’
‘May I see your tickets, sir?’
Charlotte panicked immediately; she was pleased it was Nigel doing the talking.
‘We’re on the guest list,’ Nigel replied, not a trace of trepidation in his voice. ‘Nigel Davies, from The Bay View Weekly. And my plus one, Charlotte Grayson.’
‘One moment, sir,’ the doorman said. He walked over to a small lectern which had been placed just inside the entrance, away from the breeze.
‘He’s checking the list, and he won’t find us on it,’ Nigel whispered. ‘Stay calm.’
‘Did you tell your wife we’re here?’ Charlotte asked, realising that a lot of local people would spot them at the event. She didn’t want it to cause any problems for him.
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘She’s used to me having to leave the house at all hours. News is a 24/7 job. She’s very patient about it.’
‘I’m sorry sir, we don’t appear to have you on the list.’
The doorman was back, his face straight, showing no emotion; it looked like he was used to this kind of thing.
‘That’s funny,’ Nigel said. ‘Is Edward around? He specifically wanted the newspaper here tonight, covering the event.’
‘Edward, sir?’ the doorman replied.
‘Edward Callow,’ Nigel replied, ‘the man who’s hosting tonight’s event. I don’t want to call him away from his guests on such an important night, but I think he’ll be very angry if this doesn’t get coverage in the local newspaper.’
Then Nigel used what Charlotte thought to be a masterstroke. He sidled up to the doorman and spoke in a confidential tone.
‘Personally, I’d rather be at home watching X-Factor, but my boss insisted I come tonight, seeing as the local MP has requested it. If you want to turf me out, I’ll be just as happy. I can get home early and tell them the door staff wouldn’t let me in.’
The doorman was on the back foot, stuttering and unsure of himself. Perfectly on time, DCI Summers arrived at their side, looking stunning in a glittery ball gown and with her hair loose. Charlotte had never seen it like that before; she always had it hair-clipped to within an inch of its life when she was on the job.
‘Well, fancy seeing you two here,’ she said. ‘You look like you dressed hastily in a charity shop,’ she whispered to Nigel. ‘Are you coming in?’
‘I don’t know, are we?’ Nigel looked at the doorman.
‘I’ll add you to the list, it must have been an oversight,’ the doorman replied. The arrival of DCI Summers had finally tipped the scales in their favour. Charlotte started breathing again.
They walked through the front doors into the decorated foyer of the hotel. It never ceased to impress Charlotte whenever she saw it, its distinctive cantilevered staircase and contemporary art deco styling creating a unique ambience in the resort. Edward Callow had spared no expense with the decoration; the place oozed wealth and money. The great and the good of the area were all gathered there.
‘Why are you here? This doesn’t feel like your kind of event,’ Nigel asked DCI Summers when they could talk more privately.
‘I’m here for work,’ she replied. ‘Wouldn’t you know it? We have security here tonight as well, mixed in among the crowds. Edward Callow is the last man left standing in that photograph. We asked him to call off this event, but he’s a pompous, nasty little man, and he wouldn’t listen to reason. By the way, that comment is strictly off the record, Nigel.’
He nodded.
‘Understood,’ he said.
‘What about Olli?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Have any of your officers heard anything yet?’
‘You know that we have a set procedure for missing persons,’ DCI Summers replied.
‘Yes, but you of all people you should know why I’m concerned, after what happened to Lucia.’
Charlotte fumed at DCI Summers’ evasiveness. She had children; she should understand.
‘Yes, I’m sorry, I do understand
why you’re so worried. But from a policing point of view, Olli is an adult. There’s no suggestion of any wrongdoing here…’
‘He telephoned me and told me he was being followed!’ Charlotte exclaimed.
‘Look, I’ve pulled some strings for you. All duty officers in the town this evening know to look out for Olli. If he’s out there, we’ll find him, and as soon as we do, you’ll know about it. I promise we’re doing what we can.’
‘I don’t see Edward Callow here yet,’ Nigel observed. ‘Shouldn’t he have arrived by now?’
‘Yes, he should,’ DCI Summers replied. ‘Excuse me, while I check in with my officers. I’d have expected him to show his face.’
‘I suggest we mingle,’ Nigel said. ‘Keep a lookout for Edward. He won’t cause a scene in front of all his rich pals. We need to push him on Mason Jones’ death this afternoon. I want to know why he’s the last man alive.’
Charlotte moved away from him and began to make a circuit of the bar area. She didn’t recognise anybody there, and she felt conspicuous, walking warily in her high heels and carrying the canvas bag in which her purse and both the phones were held. She decided to check in on Will, to compensate for the guilt she still felt for leaving him like that.
She walked out of the side door of the bar, where only days previously she’d watched Barry McMillan do the same thing. There were three cars parked at the rear of the hotel, all of them black and very expensive looking. She sat on a nearby wall and opened up her bag to retrieve her phone. As she started to call Will, she saw that somebody was in the far car. She stopped the call. Whoever it was had their head slumped down like they were asleep.
Something about the person’s posture made Charlotte stand up to check. As she neared the vehicle, she realised it was Edward Callow. It figured that the host of the event would have his own parking spot away from the guests; but what was he doing? Surely the host of such a high profile Charity Ball shouldn’t be napping out in the parking area?
Her heart was beating faster. Something didn’t feel right. She tapped on the window. Edward was completely still, the scowl that he’d given when they visited his home now gone.
Charlotte knocked again then placed her hand on the door handle and pulled it so it clicked. As she began to open the door, Edward slumped towards it, his weight pushing against the side. His limp, lifeless body fell out of the driver’s seat to the ground before she could do anything to cushion his fall.
She looked around, searching for a witness. Everybody was inside, enjoying the welcome drinks, catching up with their affluent friends.
She knelt down to feel for a pulse, aware of her own heart racing. She fumbled around Edward’s neck then felt his wrist, desperate to find some sign of life.
‘Help,’ she said, half to herself and half to anybody who might be in the vicinity. There weren’t even any smokers about. She was on her own. Then she froze. Even people who liked her—Nigel Davies, Daisy Bowker and DCI Summers—believed she was hiding something from them. As the lies had piled up, it was becoming more and more obvious that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. And now here she was, with a motionless and potentially dead MP at her feet, with hers the last set of fingerprints on his vehicle.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Charlotte didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to get caught up in the inevitable investigation that would surround the discovery of Edward Callow’s body. She still wasn’t entirely sure he was dead. She found her phone again and started to dial 999, then stopped on the second digit. Perhaps it made more sense to use Olli’s phone. It wouldn’t be traced back to her.
She dialled from Olli’s phone, constantly looking around to see if anybody had spotted her.
‘Ambulance,’ she said when the operator answered. ‘Yes, there’s a man at the rear of the Midland Hotel in Morecambe who’s fallen ill. He’s not moving. Look, I don’t have time to go through all the checks. He isn’t moving, so I think he needs an ambulance. Please send one straight away.’
She ended the call, cursing that it took so long to work through the set procedures. What should she do? They weren’t getting any information from Edward Callow that night. And it looked like they might have misjudged him; was this the killer at work, finishing off the last man in the photograph?
Then a thought struck her: the person with the biggest motive in the entire sorry episode was Piper Lawrence. Why hadn’t they seen it? Piper was sixteen years old when those men abused her. She hated her mother, and she sure as hell hated those five men. She knew the guest house well—she’d certainly been there as a child—and she would have known Rex Emery too. In fact, she’d said that Rex Emery was innocent.
Charlotte berated herself in her frustration. How had they not made these connections? It had been staring them in the face all this time. Rex Emery must have been the person who struck Will in the guest house. Piper Lawrence must be behind the deaths of the men. She certainly had a motive.
In the distance, she heard the sound of a siren. Hopefully it was the ambulance for Edward. She’d done what she could, and now she had to get out of there. Piper Lawrence lived only ten minutes away just along the road from the end of the promenade. She could be there in no time.
Still conflicted over what to do about Edward Callow, Charlotte leaned over his slumped body, which was half-in and half-out of the car, and switched on the hazard lights. At least that would save the ambulance team precious minutes trying to figure out where he was. She ran along the promenade, seeking a bin. It didn’t take her long to find one. She pulled off her high heels and threw them in.
Bloody useless things.
In bare feet and tights, Charlotte could make much better progress. As the chill wind buffeted her along the sea front, she wished she’d brought a cardigan. She would stay off the pavements and stick to the sea side of the path which was flat and smooth all the way along to The Battery at the end. Her feet stood more chance of making it along that route.
She could barely believe that she’d been running the opposite way along that very path eleven hours previously. So much had happened in a ridiculously short time. She’d felt like this once before, after stealing the moped in an attempt to rescue Lucia from the holiday camp. It was a mixture of high-octane adrenaline and stupefying fear and panic. Just like that night, she felt an impending sense of danger, unable to shake the sense that everything was coming to a head. And, just like Lucia’s abduction, she still couldn’t grasp the whole picture.
Charlotte could hear the sirens in the distance. All hell would have been let loose at the Midland Hotel. She’d face the music later, just as she had previously. She hadn’t hurt Edward Callow. In fact, she might even be responsible for saving him. She was innocent, and she had a good reason for fleeing the scene; DCI Summers would understand.
She was out of breath as she reached The Battery. Waiting to cross the road to get to the West End, she lurked in the shadows of the boarded-up pub, in case a police car passed by. It would be the final irony if they spotted her instead of her son.
Convinced that the road was as clear as it was ever likely to be, she darted across. A small shard of broken headlamp, no doubt from some shunt at the junction, stabbed her foot, and she made it across with a mixture of walking and hopping.
It was only a small piece of glass, but the cut felt deep and sore; it was bleeding too.
‘Bloody hell!’ she shouted out loud, picking the glass out of her foot and looking around for anything that she could use for protection. There was nothing nearby. She’d be at Piper’s flat in a few minutes; the sooner she got off the pavement, the better.
She ran through the West End, remembering the streets they’d driven down. It all seemed to take longer on foot. She hesitated at the front door of Piper’s flat, wondering if she’d be busy with a client. It was a Saturday evening after all. Charlotte had no idea how that sort of thing worked, but she rang the bell regardless. The safety of her son was at stake. She couldn’t care less
if a client was there. If Piper was somehow connected with Olli’s disappearance, he’d have to pull his trousers up and get lost.
Her phone cheeped; it was Nigel.
Where are you? It’s all gone crazy here. We’re in a total lockdown. Callow was found outside in the rear car park. Don’t know if he’s dead.
She hadn’t got time to answer, and she didn’t want Nigel to know where she was. There was plenty of time to explain everything; Olli was her priority.
There was no answer from Piper’s flat, so Charlotte began to bang at the door and press all the bell buttons at the side. She saw Agnieszka peering through the blinds of the front window, in a state of semi-undress. It appeared that Saturday evening was a busy time, after all.
By the time Agnieszka answered the front door to the flats, she’d put a dressing gown on.
‘What is it, Charlotte? I tell you already that I have not seen your son…’
Charlotte barged past her and stormed up the stairs.
‘I’m not here for you,’ she said, taking the stairs two at a time. As she reached the top of the staircase, she could see that the door to Piper’s flat was partially open and the lights were on.
‘Got you!’ she said to herself, as she stormed towards the door, hellbent on giving Piper a piece of her mind.
She stopped dead in her tracks at what greeted her. Piper was lying motionless on the bed, dressed only in her underwear, with a plastic supermarket bag taped securely over her head. She was completely still and did not appear to be breathing.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Circle of Lies Page 20