‘Be reasonable. I’ve only been working on his case for a few weeks. The police had months and months.’
‘Tell me what you’ve done. Tell me what you’ve found out.’
‘Absolutely not. That is confidential to my client. Ask him about it, if you’re so close.’
‘I will. I’ll ask him next time I see him.’
‘Good. I’m glad that’s settled. Can we go down now?’
Sirocco takes hold of the safety bar with one hand and, for a split second, Maggie thinks she is going to force it open. Instead, she keeps her other hand on the back of the seat and starts swinging.
The chairs are designed to rock, it is part of the thrill of the ride, but usually on a warm summer’s day. Rocking in the dead of night, in the midst of a strong wind and on equipment that might not be entirely sound, is another matter altogether.
‘What did Odi tell you?’
This again? It is hard to speak, rather than gasp. ‘Nothing. I wanted her to try hypnosis. She refused and became frightened.’
Not as frightened as Maggie is right now.
‘I think you’re right,’ Maggie says. ‘I think she did know something, but she didn’t tell me.’
‘Who then? Who did she tell?’
‘Broon, possibly, but he’s dead too.’
‘Who else?’
‘There was no one else.’
The wheel is moving again. Is she sure? Yes. Oh, thank God. They are no longer at the crest of the wheel, but coming back down the other side. Several people, including one large figure wearing a reflective coat are gathered on the platform below. The seat descends further and she can see the shiny white stripes on a uniformed peaked cap. A police officer is looking up at them.
At her side, Sirocco actually growls with frustration.
* * *
‘I bloody well told you. That lot are mental.’ Pete is waiting for her when she has given her statement. He takes her arm and she thinks other people seem to be deciding her movements this evening. Sirocco persuading her, against her better judgement, to get on to the Ferris wheel, the police constable sent by Pete leading her to a patrol car, the detective who took her statement. And now Pete, steering her out of the back door of the police station. If they keep it up, she may lose the ability to direct her own actions.
‘What will happen to her?’
‘Sirocco, aka, Sarah Smith?’ Pete holds open the door and she steps outside. His car is parked near by. ‘We’ll probably charge her with assault under the Offences Against the Person Act. That would mean magistrates’ court tomorrow, probably Minehead. There’s a good chance she’ll be released on bail, though, so you might want to think about a restraining order. In you jump.’
‘I need to find my own car. I expect it’s still at the fairground.’
‘It’s at your house. I had someone drive it round. Are you going to keep me out here all night?’
She sinks down. The driver’s seat groans as he joins her and starts the engine.
‘What if I need to talk to her again?’
‘You don’t.’ He is intent on the road, driving too fast, the way police officers invariably do. ‘We ran her fingerprints as a matter of course. Turns out they were the ones on that paper rose that we couldn’t trace before. Looks like she was the one who came into your house that night, leaving billets-doux under the table.’
This is not good news. ‘Her fingerprints on the rose establish a link between her and Hamish. They both touched it.’
‘She may have stolen it from Sandra Wolfe, but that seems less likely. I’m going to contact Parkhurst in the morning, see if there’s any record of Sirocco visiting Wolfe.’
‘You think she killed Odi and Broon, don’t you?’
‘It’s not impossible. How would she know you’d spoken to them unless she was in Wells that night?’
‘Could a woman have done that? She isn’t particularly big or strong.’
‘She took them by surprise, in the middle of the night. They’d have been dopey, sluggish, even without the rum they’d drunk. Sneak up behind, grab Broon by his hair. Odi would have been easier. Yeah, I’d say it was possible.’
‘Why, though? If she’s on Hamish’s side, why get rid of the one person who could testify in his favour?’
‘There was no way Odi could testify for Wolfe. She was a completely unreliable witness, a good distance away, on a dark night. Wolfe, being guilty, would know her testimony counted for nothing, but thought he could use it to his advantage. By having her killed, he suddenly makes her much more important. Now, we’re all asking what she knew.’
‘Sounds a bit far-fetched to me.’
He wouldn’t be the first dangerous prisoner to use someone on the outside to construct an elaborate defence though, would he?’
‘Who are you thinking of?’
‘Keith Bellucci and Vanessa Carlton.’
Before his execution, Bellucci was one of the Woodland Stranglers, two brothers who abducted, raped and murdered young women in woods above St Louis in the 1970s.
‘Remind me,’ she says.
‘Carlton met Bellucci while he was on death row. He persuaded her to kill another woman, in the same way he’d killed several, and sprinkle her dead body with his sperm. This was before DNA, so only his blood type could be identified.’
‘The plan being that the police would find a fresh body, killed in exactly the same way, apparently by the same perpetrator and conclude they’d got the wrong man locked up. Did it work?’
‘Fortunately not. Carlton made a mess of it, the victim got away and she got caught. The romance didn’t survive her imprisonment.’
Maggie is still reeling from the news that Sirocco might have been telling the truth when she claimed she was in contact with Hamish. And yet he has denied knowing her. Which of them is lying?
Pete says, ‘If Wolfe’s defence team – which I guess is you – can establish a connection between the Wolfe murders and what happened to Odi and Broon, then doubt has to be cast on his conviction. You don’t need me to tell you that, and Wolfe certainly doesn’t.’
‘So are you going to charge Sirocco with murder?’
‘No evidence as yet. We’re searching her flat as we speak. I’m going round there after I drop you off.’
‘Can I come?’
‘No, you bloody well can’t. Oh, while I think of it: Daisy Baron is not on the medical register, so she’s not currently practising as a doctor in the UK. Tracking her further isn’t going to be that easy after all.’
‘I’m honestly not sure why people are fixating on Daisy. It was twenty years ago. She’s irrelevant.’
They drive in silence for some seconds.
‘Hold on,’ Maggie says, ‘if Sirocco killed Odi and Broon at Hamish’s instigation, what was all that about tonight? I’m on his side. Why would she attack me?’
‘That engine is not firing on all cylinders. She doesn’t necessarily see you as someone essential to Hamish. In her twisted brain, she’s all he needs. No, you’re the opposition, with your wacky blue hair and your cute-as-a-china-doll face, and your unlimited access to him in prison. You’re the love rival.’
‘He loves me, scrawled in fake blood under my kitchen table?’
‘Exactly.’
‘I can’t believe Hamish had Odi and Broon killed. I just can’t.’
He shakes his head. ‘Oh, Maggie. I really hoped you were smarter than that.’
Chapter 88
NEXT MORNING, the phone wakes her. Maggie knows it is Pete before she looks at the screen.
‘Don’t say I never give you good news.’
‘What?’
‘I got through to Parkhurst first thing. Deputy Governor did me a favour. There is no record of a Sirocco Silverwood or Sarah Smith ever visiting Wolfe in prison. He checked phone logs as well, and email traffic. He mainly contacts you and his mum, never Ms Smith. The relationship is a fantasy on Sirocco’s part. That doesn’t make her any less dangerous, by th
e way.’
A weight has fallen away. ‘So she didn’t get the rose from him?’
‘Can’t see how. The other partial prints on it could be his, but not conclusively. She could have nicked it from his mum. Hell, she could be into origami herself.’
‘Thank you, Pete. Did you find anything at her flat?’
‘Yep. We found her mobile phone. She was the one texting you that night – you know, the old he loves me, he loves me not malarkey. And she has use of a mate’s car from time to time, so she could, in theory, have followed us all to Wells. Nothing to tie her to the Odi and Broon murders yet, but we’ll keep looking. We can keep her inside for today, at least.’
‘Pete, I didn’t thank you for last night. For sending that constable round to the fairground.’
‘I won’t do it again.’
She is smiling. ‘Yes, you will.’
‘No, I won’t.’
‘Thank you.’ She puts the phone down gently. ‘You will,’ she says to herself.
Chapter 89
HAMISH SAYS, ‘I’m glad you’re OK, but I don’t want you taking any more risks for me.’
‘I think I can safely promise you to avoid poorly maintained fairground rides in the middle of winter. And, who knows, your favourite detective might find something at Sarah Smith’s flat that links her to Odi and Broon’s murders.’ Maggie stops, wondering what could realistically be found by the police at Sirocco’s flat. And whether she might be a possible suspect in the Wolfe murders. ‘You might want to tell your parents to steer clear of her, though,’ she says. ‘Just in case she gets bail.’
He reaches down below the table.
‘Something I thought you might be interested in.’ Hamish is holding out a soft-covered book, A4 size, about a centimetre thick. ‘I had Mum bring it in. It’s our yearbook from Magdalen College. Here you go.’
He turns it to face her. She is looking at a photograph of students gathered for the Commem Ball. It is early in the evening, because the sky is still light and the revellers pristine and fresh. It is the same photograph that, cropped down, was used by the media during Hamish’s trial. Hamish is in white tie, the most formal of evening dress, and is with a group of similarly dressed men and glamorous young women. The woman on his arm, though, is different from the others.
Her hair is dark and thick, swept up on to the top of her head. It will curl down past her shoulders when loose. Her eyes are big and brown. Her nose large and angular, her teeth slightly overlapping. Her skin is lily pale. She’s wearing black, as large women often do, but the fine fabric flows over her limbs and torso like a silk waterfall. The neckline is a deep V-shape, drawing attention to her large breasts and cleavage. The sleeves are long and slim, made from black lace. Tucked behind one ear is a large, white flower.
‘Daisy,’ Maggie says, feeling a pang of deep sadness. ‘She was gorgeous.’
Hamish sounds a little defensive. ‘Yes, she was.’
She looks him in the eye. ‘You were a fool.’
He doesn’t disagree. ‘So many times, I’ve asked myself, is it too late for Daisy and me. If I were to find her again. What do you think?’
She opens her mouth to say that she has no opinion on the subject, that she couldn’t care less about Daisy, but can’t do it. His eyes are holding her. They are locked in some weird staring competition. She is trying to look away, just can’t quite—
The door shakes in its frame as something hard and heavy slams against it. Wolfe is faster than she, jumping immediately to his feet. He takes the two strides that bring him to the door and peers through the inset window. The door is banged again. Directly outside, someone is swearing.
‘Fuck!’ Wolfe spins round. ‘Get in the corner. Now!’
She hears the words, but they don’t quite make it to the part of her brain that directs movement, because nothing happens.
There is a fight going on outside. She can hear punches, grunts, the rasp of breath. In the distance, maybe on another floor, there is more noise. Wolfe is pressed right up against the window, as though trying to block the view out. Or the view in.
‘Maggie.’ Wolfe is whispering, low and urgent. ‘Get out of sight, now.’
‘What’s happening?’ It is a stupid question. She knows what is happening, can hear it. The guard outside is being beaten up. She can hear the grunts and gasps of someone in pain, the solid thud of heavy bodies crashing around. She has no idea how many are out there. It could be two, or a dozen. She and Hamish are locked in though, aren’t they? They are safe? She pushes her chair back.
One last loud exclamation outside and silence falls. Hamish gestures again for her to move and this time she does, darting to the corner of the room.
Three loud bangs on the door and a shout. ‘Who’s in there?’
Hamish’s grip tightens on the handle. The door is locked. She is repeating it to herself like a mantra. The door is always locked. It’s standard procedure. When she’s ready to leave, she always hears the guard slide back the bolts and turn the key.
The same bolts that are being slid open now.
The door is still locked. The door is still locked.
With the key held by a guard who is likely unconscious or even dead.
‘Wolfe! Is that you in there?’
Move on, she is praying, wreak your havoc elsewhere. Above all, do not search the guard’s unconscious body. Don’t find the—
The key is being turned. The door pushes open a fraction. Wolfe shoves it closed and leans against it. The colour of his face turns quickly from near white to bright pink. He is breathing in short, angry bursts. She should help, surely? Her strength is better than nothing.
‘Maggie, get on the phone.’
Angry that she didn’t think of this sooner, she finds her phone and makes the call. Someone is kicking the door now and Wolfe is losing ground.
A voice on the phone tells her that the situation is known to the police and a response is under way. ‘How long? How long before you get here?’
She doesn’t hear the answer. She has dropped her phone at the sight of Wolfe’s boot-clad feet sliding along the floor. The door is opening and she can see a bent knee behind it, straining forward.
With a sudden change of tack, Wolfe leaps from the door and it crashes open. She darts from her corner and stands behind him.
‘Who’ve you got in here, Hamish?’ The voice is South London, a white man, she thinks, somewhere in his thirties or forties. Not old, not young.
‘Somebody in here smells a fuck of a lot nicer than you do, Wolfe.’ Midlands accent. Older.
Someone hawks and spits. She can see the bloody gob of spittle on the tiled floor. Three pairs of feet.
‘Turn around, gentlemen. Walk away.’ Wolfe does not sound terrified, but he wouldn’t, would he? He is one of them. She is the prey.
On either side of Wolfe, the jackals come into view.
‘Hello, Bluey.’ The Londoner grins at her with the sunken jaw of a mouth that has few remaining teeth. He is smaller, thinner, older than Wolfe and alone might not be a threat. The other two, leering at her from the other side, are younger and bigger.
‘Out you go, Hamish. We’ll look after your visitor for you.’
‘Not happening, guys.’
The smell of them is stronger and their voices louder. It is as though they are leaning in towards her. One of them keeps sucking in air, noisily, as though he is feeding on the smell of her.
‘I spoke to the police before you broke in.’ Years of practice keeps her voice steady in difficult situations. ‘They know what’s going on here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already in the building.’
‘Oh, I think we’ve got a bit of time.’ The man is actually unfastening the top button of his jeans.
‘Hang on.’ This from one of the others. ‘Who says you go first?’
‘Nobody’s going first,’ says Wolfe. ‘The man who touches my lawyer, who puts my appeal at risk, I will come for with a razor. I will sli
ce open his abdomen and I will pull out his intestinal tract. I will do this at night, so that no one finds him till morning, after he has spent several hours dying in agony. I will do this to each and every one who jeopardizes my chance of getting out of here. Now, does anyone think I’m bluffing?’
No answer, but she has a sense of the pack being less sure of itself. Hamish thrusts out his hand.
‘Keys.’ He steps forward, taking the fight to them. ‘Who’s got them?’
‘Come on, Wolfe, ten minutes?’ The man from the Midlands is wheedling now, like a kid trying to negotiate a bedtime reprieve. ‘We’ll let you go first.’
‘Give me the keys and fuck off out of here.’
There is an unspoken signal between them, then the leader mutters something. They turn. One of them has left. Two are out of the door. They are going, they are actually going. Maggie stares at the doorway, willing it to be empty. The third leaves, with one last obscene gesture, a thrusting of the hips in her direction and a wiggling of a fur-covered tongue.
Elsewhere in the prison, the fighting is still going on. Overhead, along the corridor she can hear yelling, swearing.
‘Hold up, you’re not going anywhere.’ She has been making for the door, Hamish is holding her back. ‘Listen to me. Maggie, are you listening?’
‘I have to get out.’ She twists round, grasps his arms. ‘Listen, they’re everywhere. That lot could come back. They’ll tell others. I’m not safe here.’
‘This is the only place you’re safe. I’m going to lock you in.’
‘No!’ She can see no logic in this. Lock her in here with these animals? She will fight him if she has to. She tries to pull away, he holds her fast.
‘Maggie, until this calms down, you need to be where no one can get at you. I’ll lock you in and nobody will get the key from me, I promise you.’
She is shaking her head.
‘I swear you’ll be safe.’ He is pulling away from her now. He leaves her in the centre of the room and makes for the door.
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