There were tears in his eyes.
There was anger in Wendy’s. “Charles.” She closed in again. “I’m leaving now. You can come with me and we can start living the rest of our lives together, just as we planned. We can do all those things we set our hearts on. But you have to do it now. I’m not waiting.”
Charles’s eyes drifted across to Eddie. Eddie shook his head.
Charles looked back at her. “Why? I thought we had something special.” He glanced away, as though reminiscing. “Holidays in Paris. Trips to Italy...”
“It was all fake, Dad. Sucking you in, getting you to sign over your house. She wanted this one, remember? Until she found out I owned it. But when she found out you had your own house, and it was refurbished… She saw pound signs.”
“Shut up,” said Charles. He looked at Wendy. “I just have to know,” he said, his voice cracking. “I just have to know if you ever really loved me.”
She let go of his hand. There was a whisper of a smile on her painted face, like a trace of poison on a kiss, an easy-come, easy-go shrug of the shoulders. “Pathetic.” She turned and headed for the front door, where Eddie stood, waiting.
He pulled his arm back, ready to punch her in the face – an eye for an eye, for the blow she’d dealt his father. But as she neared and Eddie took his aim, someone grabbed his arm.
“It’s okay, Eddie, thanks. We’ve got it from here.”
She stopped dead, the smile gone. Her jaw was limp, her eyes wide as she stared at the two suited gentleman standing in Eddie’s doorway.
“Clarissa Hardisty, you are under arrest on suspicion of fraud. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“Are you having a laugh?”
One officer looked at the other, took his cuffs out and reached for her.
“Charles! Tell them, Charles, do something! We’re together, we’re in love. Charles. Charles, tell them!”
Eddie and his father watched her being helped into the back seat of a plain car. One officer came back to them. “Do you have her car keys? Where’s her handbag?”
Charles, in something of a daze, got them from the side of her chair and offered them over. “Fraud? What has she done?”
The officer took the bag and the keys. “Someone will come by later to collect her car, alright?”
Eddie nodded.
“Well?” asked Charles.
The officer sighed, leaned against the door. “She’s operated for years down south: London, and Sussex. She’s also wanted for fraud in the Midlands. Over the last year she’s been in Yorkshire, and she’s already put two men through what you were going through.”
“Which is what? I still don’t know.”
“She befriends lonely men. Earns their trust. She finds out whether they have a house, whether the mortgage is paid off. And then she manipulates the system and gets a mortgage on the property, or she forges documents to transfer it into her name, and then sells it. When she gets the money, you never see her again.”
Charles stared, wide-eyed, at the officer.
“Cheers, Eddie.” The officer patted Eddie on the arm, nodded at Charles and left.
Eddie watched Charles. His own anger had dissipated, but he still felt as though he needed justice for his father. He still felt cheated, and he saw the same feelings in Charles, but he also saw a void opening up, an empty space that Wendy – or whatever her damned name was – had filled.
Charles might have been perpetually under the thumb, always at her beck and call, but he had company. He had a woman, he had romance of a sort, and he had… he had someone.
“You okay?”
Charles looked incredulous. “What?”
“You want a brew?”
“Do I want a brew? No, I don’t want a bloody brew!” Charles stepped closer. “Couldn’t handle it, could you? Couldn’t handle me having a woman and you not. You were always jealous. You little bastard.”
“What?” Eddie took a step back. “Jealous that she was screwing you over for your house? Oh yes, obviously. I can see how you’d think I was jealous of that.”
Charles slapped Eddie across the face, and left.
Eddie stood there stunned, new blood trickling from his nose and a renewed pain in his whole face. He followed Charles outside. “Dad—”
“Leave me alone, Eddie.”
“Dad.”
Charles faced him as the car disappeared from view. “I was happy. It might not have looked that way from where you were standing; I know she could be a bit domineering. But I was the happiest I’ve been since… well, since your mum passed away. And you couldn’t stand it, could you? You had to destroy it, my happiness. You had to destroy what we had.”
“I was trying to save you from—”
Charles nodded. “You were helping me? Well, you succeeded. You won. You really helped me, Eddie. Thank you.”
Eddie watched him walk away. “Where are you going?”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Jessica let out a sigh, silently thanking God that the knock on her door wasn’t the coppers again. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Tony tried to peer over her shoulder into her flat. “I didn’t know if I’d still be welcome.”
She opened the door further and let him in; watching, arms folded, as he slumped into his usual chair. She kicked the door closed. Not only was she relieved that he wasn’t the coppers, she was relieved that her plan could now proceed unhindered.
“Any chance of a tea? I’m gagging.”
Jess put the kettle on, picturing the Stanley knife under her mattress. She closed her eyes, looking for an excuse – other than the mess it would cause – not to use it here and now. She tried to remember the good times they had shared twelve years ago, before all the life-changing surgery that the justice system had given them. And the harder she thought about it, the more those supposed good times slithered away from view.
“You’re always gagging for a brew.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and bit the inside of her lip before saying, “I only have green tea.”
“Green tea? What the hell’s green tea?”
“It’s good for you. Tastes a bit like cough syrup, but it’s full of vitamins.”
And why did those good times slither away? she wondered. Was it because they actually weren’t good times? Was this just a veil of nostalgia fabricated by wishful thinking? They were ‘times’, but if she remembered correctly – and fair enough, it was a dozen years ago – there was no ‘good’ in there at all.
“Is that the only tea you’ve got? I ain’t keen on all that foreign muck.”
The search for a balance between the old days they’d shared, and the future she had planned for them, just wasn’t there. There was no degree of quality in their past that could prevent this new future from happening. Not now; she’d put in too much effort to let this slip by. “Do you want a drink or not? I’m not a bloody café, Tony!”
He raised his hands. “Alright, alright. Keep your hair on.” He slid backwards in the seat, and then tried to change the subject. “Did it all go okay? With whatsisname?”
“Sidmouth? You can say it, you know. He isn’t coming back to haunt you.”
“It went okay, then?”
She nodded, poured water. “He suffered. Not enough, but a little.”
“Feel better?”
Jess slammed the kettle down. “Feel better? What? I haven’t just taken a Lemsip for a cold, Tony! I haven’t put some Savlon on a fucking scratch.” She took a pace towards him, and her eyes were black with anger. “Do you know what that man did to me? And do you know what I’ve had to do to get his face out of my head? Do you?”
“Sorry,” was all he said.
She watched his small dark eyes until he looked away. She could smell him. He turned her stomach. Grotesque. “Here,” she said, and with
sweating fingers, handed him a mug of very green tea.
He held the cup to his nose. “It smells vile.”
“Don’t even think about wasting it! That was expensive.”
He sipped and grimaced.
“Police have been round. About Marchant.”
Tony shuddered. “Figures. Did they say anything about the other one, the pathologist?”
“No.” She failed to mention their interest in Tony, or how naughty he had been to steal her jacket and her knife.
“There you go, then. They haven’t linked them. You’re safe.”
“They’ll be back. And I think they’ll be taking me away this time.”
Tony rolled a smoke, watching her all the time. He lit it, spat out a stray bit of tobacco. “What are you saying?”
“Take me back to your place. It’s too dangerous for me here.”
He was already shaking his head before her sentence ended. “I keep myself to myself, Jessy. You can understand that, can’t you? I need to keep private.”
“I see. Like that, is it? You’ve been sniffing around me like a dog ever since I got out. And now I give you a chance to…” She searched for the phrase. “Now I give you the chance to turn back the clock, you turn up your nose instead? How’s that work, then?”
Tony paused. Smoke curled up his face as he studied her, sipping from the cup again.
She could tell by his expression that he was trying to work out what she meant, and what to say next.
He said it. “Thinking of grassing on me, Jessy?”
She smiled, just broadly enough to worry him.
“I trust you,” he said.
“Yeah? Well, we all need something to believe in, don’t we?”
“Ain’t about turning the clock back, girl. I like my invisibility. I’ll do anything to protect it.”
“How fucking lovely for you.”
He puffed on his cigarette, supped his tea. Thinking. “Don’t you think you’re going underground a bit too early? There’s still one man on that list.”
“The forensic guy, yeah, I know. I don’t need your list, Tony.” She tapped her head. “It’s up here.”
She saw him take a breath, watching her, looking up and down her body, and that’s when she knew he’d relent and invite her over. He stood, put his empty mug on the draining board. “Thanks for the lousy tea,” he said. “The answer’s still no.”
She went cold.
“Can’t, Jessy. Sorry, love.”
“You bastard. You’re just going to hang me out to dry? I’ll be in cuffs by tomorrow unless I find somewhere!”
“Scout around. There’s loads of places up Burley way.”
Jess pointed a threatening finger. “I will not go down alone again. I will not wear those cuffs by myself.” Her voice shook, and her eyes stung.
He closed the door behind him, and Jessica’s mouth fell open. He obviously knew the end was coming. But the future she had planned, for Tony at least, depended on being back at his place, and it had to be tonight. She couldn’t let him leave the building without her. She opened her bedsit door and saw him reaching for the door handle at the end of the hallway. “Tony.”
He turned and eyed her.
“Okay,” she said.
He smiled at her. The wrinkles around his eyes turned into furrows and his teeth glinted a sick brown through grey lips. “Okay what?”
“Enough of the games. You want me. And you can have me, we can be together again. But not here. You take me somewhere safe, and you keep me safe till it’s blown over.”
Tony pulled away from the door handle, and then shuffled along the hallway towards her, grinning like a kid getting everything he wanted for Christmas. Eyes sparkling. And when he reached her bedsit doorway, he took her by the throat. The smile fell away. The eyes went dim. “Have you mentioned me to the cops?”
She grabbed his wrist, tried to pull his hand away, and couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe, and she could feel the pressure rising inside her head, her eyes ready to pop. “No,” she whispered. “No.”
He relaxed, and she took a long breath, dry-coughing it all back out. “Better not be playing me, Jessy. I’ll kill you if you’re messing with me.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Understand?”
She stared at him, rubbing her throat. “I understand.”
“Good, cos it ain’t never going to blow over.”
She stared into his eyes, noticing their constricted pupils. “Let me grab my bag. We’ll get a taxi to yours.” She thundered back inside the flat, leaving Tony swaying slightly in the hallway.
In the back of the taxi, Tony just about had the presence of mind to relay his address to the driver before his head fell backwards, and he fell into a deep sleep. It was an address that Jessica didn’t expect to hear.
* * *
By the time they had arrived at Tony’s house in Headingley, he was blitzed.
Jess looked through the dirt-smeared glass, and asked the driver, “You sure this is the address he gave you?”
“Listen love, I don’t know what your game is, but I’m losing money while we sit here discussing the retentive capabilities of my memory.”
She opened the door, and then leaned forward and paid him, slid an extra tenner into his hand and asked if he’d mind helping her boyfriend out of the car. “Silly sod’s had too much again.” She smiled. “And I can’t manage him by myself.”
“What’s your game?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“With him.” He nodded towards Tony. “No way is he your boyfriend. You gonna do him over?” He winked at her.
“How fucking dare you! Are you suggesting I’m on the game?”
The driver see-sawed his hand as he smiled at her. “It crossed my mind.”
Jessica held out her hand. “Give me the tenner back, you cheeky bastard.”
“Okay, love, no need to get twisted about it; I was only joking.”
“Are you going to help me or what?”
The driver didn’t look happy.
She slammed the door again, sat back in the seat, and folded her arms. “He’ll probably throw up in a minute. We’ll just wait and see, shall we?”
It took them only a few minutes to get Tony to his front door. The taxi driver took Tony’s limp arm from around his shoulder and let him sink to the floor. “G’night, love.” Halfway back to his car, he turned and said, “You should think about getting him to a hospital.”
“I will. Thanks.” She stared at him as he climbed back into the car.
Jessica opened the rucksack and pulled out a small torch; she took a look around, but knew it would be clear. Tony was very careful where he lived; like he said, he liked his seclusion. It was dark, cloud stole the moonlight, and the sound of the taxi driving away faded into the background rumble of the traffic on the main road several hundred yards away.
This wasn’t where she’d expected to end up. She’d expected to be in the basement of some derelict old mill, or a lousy hostel. But this wasn’t a slum at all. This was a regular house, standing out by itself, close to the bustle of life – but not too close. And up there under the eaves was an alarm box, and she wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn the place was hooked up with CCTV.
She shone the torch at Tony’s face, and noticed how sweaty he was, and how his eyelids flickered – a good sign at least. And when she put her fingertips to the side of his neck, she felt how slowly his heart was beating. Perhaps there wasn’t as much time left as she’d hoped. It was time to search him for the keys.
“Tony, Tony…” She slapped his face. Eventually, his eyes slid halfway open, but he seemed unable to focus. “What’s your alarm code?”
His eyes slid closed again.
This time she hit him hard enough to make her hand tingle. “Tony! Alarm code. Now!”
He slurred, “One, two, three, four.”
“You’re kidding, right? Who the hell uses one, two, three, four?”
“Zactly,” he mumbled.
“Can you stand?”
He shook his head, and then cringed, digging his nails into the floor.
“Feel sick?”
“The fuck d’you give me?”
“Shut up and give me the keys or we’re spending the night on your doorstep.”
He slowly opened his eyes; they were already glaring at her. “Inside pocket. Left.” His eyelids drifted down again.
Jessica yanked the jacket open, searched the pockets in both his coats, brushed aside his feeble attempt to grab her wrist, and eventually found the keys.
Despite her heart banging inside her hollow chest, she put aside her fears and her hopes, silenced the beeping alarm, dragged Tony into his hallway, and slammed and locked the door. She turned on the lights.
She ran up the stairs, searched all the rooms up there, then ran back downstairs and searched the open-plan ground floor. He was still in the same position when she returned to him ten minutes later.
His breathing had slowed considerably, and she hoped he wouldn’t expire before she’d set things in motion. It was very important to her that he should be alive until she chose otherwise.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
During one of Tony’s slender bouts of consciousness, she managed to get his overcoats off and a fresh surge of body odour hit her like a brick. She gagged, but just managed to keep her guts under control. Eventually, she got him into a chair at the kitchen table. While he was drifting in and out of awareness, she took the chance to hide some of the contents of the rucksack she’d brought with her. And now she sat in an armchair in the lounge, with her knees up under her chin and her arms tight around her legs, rocking back and forth, watching him.
His eyes opened slightly, then slid closed again. Ten minutes later they opened fully, and his head swivelled towards her like it was motorised. His eyes looked at her, but she had the feeling he was seeing nothing. He looked dead.
“Is this your house?”
The sound of her voice caused him to jump. He looked terrified. Was this what junkies did for fun? “Is it your house, Tony?”
The Death of Jessica Ripley Page 30