Dead End

by Leigh Russell

  ‘Surely a few hours won't make any difference to anything.’

  ‘It could do. It really is important to view a crime scene promptly before it can be contaminated, and witnesses have to be interviewed as soon as possible, while they can still remember something of what they've seen. I know it sounds very melodramatic, but time really is of the essence.’

  ‘It's not exactly a matter of life and death,’ Celia argued. ‘I mean, with your work the victim's are already dead before you start, aren't they?’

  ‘But it can make the difference between making an arrest and putting a murderer safely behind bars, or letting him slip away, free to walk the streets.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. Spare me the lecture. If it wasn't for you we'd all be at risk of being murdered in our beds. Honestly, Geraldine, I don't know how you can do it, looking at all those dead people all the time. I mean, it's one thing watching murder stories on the telly when it's all made up, but what you do – well, I don't know how you can do it. But I don't want to argue. The point is, Chloe's expecting to see you. You can't let her down again.’

  Celia's efforts to forge a relationship between Geraldine and her niece had intensified since the death of their mother. Geraldine realised she was being leaned on to fill that gap but couldn't really blame her sister. It was fair enough for Celia to look after her daughter's interests and it was important for Chloe to build strong bonds with adults other than her parents, but Geraldine could have done without that additional pressure on her time right now.

  ‘Good,’ Celia beamed when she opened the door. ‘We've got you all to ourselves for an afternoon.’

  Geraldine nodded warily. ‘Celia, I can't switch my phone off –’

  ‘What do you mean? You agreed –’

  ‘Look, it's very unlikely I'll be called. They'll only contact me if there's another death, in which case I'll have to go. I'll need to be able to contact you, in the unlikely event that something happens, so if you go out, can you make sure you take your mobile?’

  ‘I've got a hair appointment –’ Celia protested.

  ‘Fine. Where and what time? If there's an emergency I can drop Chloe off at the hairdresser's.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, do you have to make a drama out of everything?’

  Chloe caught sight of Geraldine standing on the doorstep and her face lit up. She ran up past her mother and flung her arms around her aunt. ‘Aunty Geraldine. I knew you'd come. Mummy said you'd cancel, but I knew you'd be here.’

  ‘Now tell me, where would you like to go this afternoon? I'm guessing the cinema, or shopping. Which is it to be?’

  Chloe considered. ‘It's too hard to choose,’ she said at last. ‘Can't we do both?’

  Geraldine laughed. ‘So it's the cinema and shopping?’

  Chloe clapped her hands. ‘Or we could just go shopping. Are you feeling rich today, Aunty Geraldine?’

  ‘Yes. I'm feeling quite rich and in the mood for shopping.’

  ‘Me too. I'm in the mood for shopping too!’

  ‘Let's go shopping then.’ She turned to her sister. ‘What time do you want me to bring her back?’

  ‘Shall we say six-thirty? Seven the latest.’ Celia smiled. ‘You look more relaxed already, Geraldine. Just enjoy the afternoon. You know you work far too hard.’

  Geraldine nodded. Celia was right. She owed it to her niece to make the afternoon fun, and it would certainly do her good to have a break from the pressures of the investigation. But as she strode into the shopping centre with Chloe at her side, Geraldine couldn't help thinking about a young man killed and mutilated because of what he'd witnessed in another shopping centre not far away.

  51

  LEAVING

  A black van came rattling along the street, battered, scratched and filthy. Lucy yanked her rucksack off her back and cradled it in her arms, suddenly nervous as the van slowed down and drew into the kerb. She bent forwards to look inside, her smile fading as her eyes met those of a thin dark-haired middle-aged man. She looked past him to the empty passenger seat and peered into the back but there was no one else in the van.

  The driver's window slid down. ‘Are you Lucy?’ She nodded. ‘Get in, then.’

  ‘Where's Zoe?’

  The man shrugged, raised his eyebrows, and lifted his hands off the steering wheel in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Zoe's still up in her room, getting it ready for you. I told her it was time to leave but she insisted she wanted to finish rearranging her room. Don't ask me what she's doing up there, I'm not allowed in, but I couldn't drag her away. She's so excited about your visit, she wanted to decorate it up there. If you ask me she'd do better to tidy it. Anyway she asked me very particularly to give you a message.’ He paused, frowning, and scratched at the grey stubble on his chin. ‘Fugitive.’ He said at last. ‘That was it. Fugitive. It makes no sense to me but Zoe said you'd understand. Some sort of code is it?’

  Lucy grinned. ‘Something like that,’ she replied as she walked around the front of the van and opened the passenger door. The man took her rucksack from her and chucked it in the back of the van.

  ‘Off we go then,’ he said as she climbed in, and the van shot forward.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Lucy shouted over the whine of the engine, ‘can you slow down? I haven't got my seat belt on.’ The man didn't seem to hear her. She fumbled with the buckle on her belt as the van gathered speed. ‘I can't find where it goes.’ The driver didn't answer but continued to accelerate. ‘Why are we going so fast?’

  ‘Don't worry about it,’ he called out, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Lucy sank back in her seat, faintly excited. Her own parents would never have allowed her to travel without a seatbelt, but where had living sensibly got her mother? Lucy's parents were pathetic, always worried about speed limits and playing it safe when travelling fast was much more fun. It would make the journey shorter too. She smiled at the streets whizzing past as they left Harchester and zoomed along a fast wide road.

  ‘I brought Zoe a present. Do you think she'll like it?’ She twisted round but couldn't reach her rucksack to show him.

  ‘Yes, I'm sure she will.’

  ‘I haven't told you what it is yet.’

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘It's a book about an actor she's crazy about. You probably won't know who he is but she absolutely adores him. We both do.’

  ‘Zoe's got a surprise for you too,’ he told her.

  ‘What is it?’

  He didn't answer but stared straight ahead, grinning.

  They passed a huge road sign and Lucy saw they were heading towards the coast. ‘Where are we going?’ She began to feel uneasy. ‘Don't you think I should put my seat belt on?’ She gazed out of the window at the fields whizzing past and told herself everything was going to plan. ‘How much further is it?’

  He didn't answer. They were travelling at over seventy miles an hour and she noticed he was clutching the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had gone white

  ‘Excuse me, but I haven't got my seatbelt on.’

  The driver turned to her, his voice raised in exasperation. ‘Stop fussing, will you? You're making me nervous and I need to think. It's not far now and we've got to get this right.’

  Lucy slumped in her chair, taken aback by his hostility. For the first time it crossed her mind to question what she was doing sitting in a van beside a complete stranger. He could be anyone. Fear of the man sitting at her side seized her and she sat, rooted to the seat, as he drove her further and further away from home.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she whispered at last. He didn't answer.

  After speeding along fast roads, they slowed down at a roundabout and drove past a row of new houses. Lucy read the name Chaucer Business Park on their right. They had been learning about Geoffrey Chaucer at school, although she couldn't remember much about him apart from his name. They took the road past Seasalter, reached Whitstable and descended a steep hill, past a fire station on their left and then she had a confu
sed impression of shops, pubs, restaurants, houses and old people on the pavements. After a brief pause at a red traffic light they went under a railway bridge and turned right off the main road into a side street. The houses here were older and the van jogged along slowly, swerving and grinding over speed bumps as the road narrowed.

  ‘Nearly there,’ Zoe's father told her. He glanced at her, his face pale and sweaty, his eyes bright. Lucy nodded, telling herself there was nothing to worry about. The man knew the secret code word. He must be Zoe's father. But he looked weird and she wished Zoe was with them. They turned left past a plumbers suppliers on their right, and a builders yard,

  both of which looked closed. Lucy stared at wire fencing that made the builders yard look like a prison. They turned right into a narrow street then left and left again into a dead end. Lucy gave a silent sigh of relief. This had to be it. They drew up in a parking bay outside a disused lockup garage, a big blue plastic sack on the driveway in front of it.

  ‘Wait here,’ Zoe's father said. His voice sounded husky and he was sweating a lot. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and climbed out of the van.

  ‘Can't I come with you?’ Lucy asked, but he slammed the door without hearing her. A faint odour of sweat lingered in the van. She pushed the handle of her door, but he had put the child proof lock on and it wouldn't open.

  Lucy looked around impatiently wondering where Zoe lived. In front of her was a blank brick side wall of a house. Beyond that, to the left, the road continued a short way past the house to a paved area in front of a high fence, the end of someone's back garden in the next road. There was a large For Sale sign outside the last house on the other side of the road, opposite the van. It looked empty, so she didn't think it could be Zoe's house. She couldn't see anything of the house in front of her, apart from the windowless wall. Next to it was a wooden slatted shed and then the lock up garage where Zoe's father had parked. It had a white pointed roof, like a little house, a peeling white up and over door, and red brick walls. Lucy couldn't see Zoe's father anywhere but she noticed the blue sack had gone. Perhaps they had only stopped here to collect his building materials, and Zoe didn't live in this road after all.

  As Lucy watched, Zoe's father reappeared in front of the garage and unlocked the door. It rose smoothly. He strode energetically around the front of the van, opened the door and grasped her by the arm. ‘Come with me. I want to show you something.’ The urgency in his voice startled her.

  ‘What is it? And where's Zoe?’

  ‘This is it,’ he replied, pushing her towards the lockup with the flat of one hand while the other kept tight hold of her arm. ‘It's a surprise from Zoe, a little something she's been planning for you. Come and see if you like it.’

  They were in front of the open garage now, and he was gripping her arm so tightly it hurt. ‘Please let go, you're hurting me. I don't want to see it,’ she replied. ‘I'd rather go and see Zoe, please.’ Without warning, Zoe's father gave her a vigorous shove, pushing her over the threshold into the garage. He switched on a light, at the same time slamming the door shut behind them. ‘Stop it! Let me go! Where's Zoe –’ He slapped her hard across the mouth and shoved her violently again. Lucy panicked, lost her footing and crashed down on the concrete floor, hitting her knee and jarring her elbow. She screamed in pain.

  Zoe's father dragged her to her feet. Crying and shivering, she felt him pull a rough salty cloth across her mouth, before he tied her wrists together. Lucy fought to control her sobbing but it was useless. All at once, she wet herself, the hot pee turning instantly chilly against her bare legs.

  ‘Don't worry,’ Zoe's father said, ‘I'll soon get you cleaned up. There's nothing to cry about. Don't you understand? I'm going to look after you from now on. I don't want you to worry about anything ever again. You're safe in here. No one's ever going to hurt you again.’ Lucy was trembling so hard she could barely stand and she thought she was going to be sick. ‘I'll be very good to you, Lucy. You'll see. I won't let your father hurt you again. He touched you, didn't he?’ Lucy shook her head violently. ‘This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted someone to come and rescue you from your family and keep you safe. And that's what I've done. So, are we friends again?’ Lucy nodded warily. ‘Can I take your gag off now?’ She nodded again and tried to speak, making only muffled sounds like a dog in pain. ‘There's no use calling out, I've soundproofed the lockup. I've thought of everything you see. So you can trust me. I know what I'm doing and I'm going to keep you safe.’ He removed her gag and Lucy grimaced at the dirty taste in her mouth.

  ‘What about my hands?’ she asked. Her tongue felt thick and strange after being pressed down so hard by the gag. For answer, Zoe's father picked another length of rope from a shelf. He pushed her roughly onto a wooden chair and, standing behind her, wound the rope deftly around her waist while she tried her best to kick the chair over, sobbing all the while. ‘You can't keep me here forever and when I get out, I'm going to tell Zoe. She's going to know all about you.’

  The man laughed out loud. ‘Don't you get it, Lucy? There is no Zoe.’ He came round and stood in front of her, out of reach of her kicking legs. In a black coat, the collar turned up against his gaunt cheeks, he formed a stark silhouette against the white wall.

  Laughter grated in her ears as Lucy bent double and threw up. At least some of her sick hit his shoes, she thought with grim satisfaction, although it made no difference. She was still a prisoner.

  ‘My parents aren't rich, so you might as well just let me go because there's no point asking for a ransom’ she told him with a sudden rush of anger, ‘and anyway my father wouldn't pay and my mother's –’ A wave of emotion shook her so hard she couldn't continue.

  ‘I don't want money,’ the man told her. He sounded surprised. ‘It's you I want, Lucy. I thought you’d have worked that out by now. I want to help you. You asked for my help, didn't you? And now you've got it.’

  ‘I wanted – Zoe – to help me – It was – supposed to be – Zoe.’ She was crying uncontrollably, and trembling with shock.

  ‘Forget Zoe,’ he told her. ‘There is no Zoe. There never was. It was only ever me and you, best friends forever.’

  PART 5

  ‘Nothing is more sad than the death of an illusion.’

  Arthur Koestler

  52

  DAUGHTER

  ‘I've been doing some research, gov.’ Ian Peterson hesitated. Used to speaking freely to the DI, he was suddenly unsure what to say.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘The thing is –’

  ‘Yes? What is it?’ She glanced up impatiently.

  ‘I discovered Paul Hilliard comes from York.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well –’ Ian hesitated again, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘It seems – I think –’

  ‘Yes?’ She leaned back in her chair with exaggerated patience and stared directly at him.

  ‘His daughter went to the same school that Abigail Kirby taught at.’

  The DI shuffled the expenses claim she had been filling out and looked up at him again, faintly belligerent. ‘So?’ she repeated. They both knew she was being defensive. It wasn't a good sign.

  Ian took a deep breath and ploughed on. ‘Paul Hilliard's daughter was at the school at the same time as Abigail Kirby, so Paul Hilliard must have known her.’ He had said it and he took an involuntary step back, watching the DI's reaction warily.

  ‘Let's not go jumping to conclusions, Sergeant.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Paul Hilliard is a busy Home Office pathologist. He couldn't have met all the teachers at his daughter's school and obviously he never met Abigail Kirby himself. If he had, don't you think he would have remembered? In which case he would have told us, and he certainly wouldn't have carried out the post-mortem if he'd had anything more than a passing acquaintance with her.’

  ‘Unless –’ Ian didn't finish the sentence. Geraldine waited. They could both see wher
e this was heading.

  Geraldine broke the silence. ‘Are you suggesting a Home Office pathologist concealed his connection with a victim, and conducted an autopsy on her? You realise what you're saying?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This kind of guesswork isn't helpful. First of all we have no grounds for supposing they knew one another. Abigail Kirby happened to teach in the school Paul's daughter attended. But do we know that Abigail Kirby taught the daughter? Or that they even knew one another? And to leap from that to suggesting that Paul knew Abigail Kirby – it's –’ She shrugged. ‘Do you have any evidence to back up this – speculation?’

  Ian shook his head. ‘Only that they were at the same school, at the same time… Do you think we at least ought to tell the DCI?’

  ‘Not yet. I'll question him first.’

  ‘I think the DCI should –’

  Geraldine stood up. ‘I said I'll speak to him.’

  ‘Is it a good idea, your questioning Dr Hilliard?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It's just that your relationship with him –’

  ‘What relationship?’ She glared at him. ‘Are you challenging my decision?’ They both knew he was, but he backed down under the force of her anger. ‘I'll question him. On my own.’

  ‘Yes, gov.

  ‘And don't challenge my judgement again, Sergeant.’ Peterson inclined his head but privately he decided he couldn't let this drop. It was possible Paul Hilliard had met Abigail Kirby while they were both living in York and Ian wasn't convinced the DI was being objective. It put him in an awkward position, but he knew what to do. He would get nowhere with the DI by voicing vague suspicions, so he would only raise the matter again if he could find evidence to back up his allegation. That meant he had more legwork to do. It might all be for nothing but he had to see it through.

  Geraldine's fury abated as she drove to the morgue. She understood exactly what was happening. She had seen it before. Ian had allowed his judgement to be clouded by the frustration of waiting, and casting about for inspiration had lighted on Paul Hilliard. The flimsiest of reasons could appear to take on disproportionate significance in the absence of any genuine leads.