Alex finished his pint and wondered what to do. He really needed to talk things through with her. Should he leave the pub and go and search for her? He stood up and a pair of sodden biker girls swooped on his table with high-pitched thanks. Maybe Liv was sheltering somewhere rather than walking the rest of the way in the rain? Hardly likely. She wasn’t a little princess who’d balk at getting her hair wet. He went outside and stood under the overhang of the porch, trying her phone once more. Nothing. Now he was starting to get worried. What could have happened to her?
He bent his head against the rain and started running, only looking up occasionally to scan the faces of figures hurrying in the other direction. People were sheltering in doorways all the way along Queens Road, but when he turned into Church Street the pavements were deserted. He ran on, blinking water out of his eyes, splashing through puddles that hadn’t been there an hour ago. He traced the route Liv would have come from the memorial garden, then crossed Clifton Terrace into Victoria Road. There was no sign of her.
It wasn’t cold, but Alex shivered. His wet shirt was sticking to his body and his shoes were starting to let water in.
He stopped under a bus shelter to check his phone again.
Ten minutes later he was knocking on the front door of Liv’s flat. Could she have gone back home for some reason? Frustration and fear churned in his gut.
What the fuck was she playing at?
Suze, one of Liv’s flatmates, opened the door, wide-eyed with surprise at Alex’s appearance.
‘I thought she’d gone to meet you for a drink?’
‘She never showed up.’
Sarah shrugged. ‘D’you want to come in and get dry?’
Alex shook his head. ‘I’ll try her mum’s. Tell her to call me, yeah, if she comes back?’
He ran on. Liv’s mum only lived around the corner but it seemed like miles. The rain didn’t let up – a constant deluge, weeks’ worth of water being dumped on the city in minutes. Running was hard in wet jeans and his feet squelched in his water-logged trainers.
Sarah Templeton had just got in from work when he arrived.
‘Is Liv here?’
She went to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up. ‘Liv? You there?’
No answer.
‘I don’t think so, love. What’s the matter?’
‘She was supposed to meet me at the Hope and Ruin.’
‘You know Liv,’ said her mother. ‘Running late.’
‘But she called to say she was on her way.’
‘Then she’s probably there now. You’d better get back or you’ll completely miss each other.’ She gave a girlish laugh at the thought, not the slightest bit worried about her daughter’s whereabouts.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he was overreacting. But why wasn’t she answering her phone? Something didn’t feel right to him. He didn’t want to scare Sarah Templeton, but he had to tell her.
‘I think something’s happened, Sarah. If she was running late, she would have called me. I’ll go back and look again, but in the meantime, can you call the police? You know, with what’s been happening . . .’
Sarah Templeton’s smile disappeared in an instant.
‘Go,’ she said. ‘Go now. I’ll get onto the police.’
Short of breath, Alex started walking back towards the centre of town. Then a thought struck him. He stopped at Liv’s flat again and banged on the door.
Suze let him in.
‘Is Liv’s laptop here?’
‘’Spect so. Try her room.’
Suze followed him through to the back bedroom. Liv’s laptop was sitting open on the desk.
‘Why d’you want it?’ she said.
‘Just need to try something.’
He sat down in front of the computer and booted it up. He knew Liv’s password as he’d borrowed it once or twice when he’d stayed over. The screen lit up and he scrolled through her apps.
‘Find My Phone,’ he said, clicking on a round green logo.
He typed in Liv’s password again and waited.
A compass spun on the screen.
Locating phone . . .
‘Come on.’
The screen filled with a map. In the centre of it was a small circle with a picture of a phone at the centre.
Liv’s iPhone.
Alex studied the map for a second. Liv’s phone was in the memorial garden apparently – at the south-eastern corner, just near the old sepulchres.
So why hadn’t Liv been there too when he’d just run through?
57
Saturday, 2 September 2017
Francis
‘You were counselling all three of these girls?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid I was.’ She expelled a long sigh. ‘I wish I could have helped them more.’
Damn! This was a link they should have discovered a week or two ago.
He’d been treading water.
The woman looked beyond retirement age, making Francis wonder how well she could have understood the concerns of today’s teenagers – but Marcia Cornwallis was the contact the art college had given him and she’d very generously agreed to see him late on this Saturday afternoon. Her hollow chest was draped in a fuchsia twinset, though she wore it with large plastic beads rather than the regulation pearls. When she’d come to the door to let him in, she’d been leaning heavily on a stick and her breathing was short from the exertion of walking down the hall. Even if she was the connection between the girls, she certainly wasn’t the attacker. Was he speeding down a dead end, while the killer had more work to do?
‘Can you tell me a little about their problems?’ he said.
She frowned at him.
‘I’m not being prurient – if we know what issues they were dealing with, it might give us a lead to the killer.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said, but still she pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘Tash Brady was having some problems at home. With her stepfather.’
Francis thought about Richard Brady. He’d come across as overbearing.
‘And the other two?’
Marcia Cornwallis narrowed her eyes. ‘Lou Riley – the same, only her problems were with the man her mother moved in with. He was making her life a misery.’
‘Abusing her?’
‘Physically? She never admitted that to me, but I had my suspicions. Sally Ann was different. She lived alone with her mother.’
‘But she was having an affair with her tutor?’
‘Yes, there was an older man involved.’
Ben King. Who had a firm alibi for the attack on Lou Riley. He was getting nowhere.
Francis stood up to leave.
‘Just one other thing, Miss Cornwallis . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Did you discuss these cases with anyone else or did anyone else have access to your files on the girls?’
‘Of course I never discussed my clients with other people.’ Marcia Cornwallis’s eyes flashed. ‘Only my supervis . . .’
Francis’s phone trilled in his pocket. Rory’s ringtone.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, raising the phone to his ear.
‘Boss?’
‘Not a good time, Rory. I’ll call you back.’
‘No, boss. A girl called Liv Templeton, Alex Mullins’s cousin, has gone missing. Her mother just called it in. We’ve triangulated her phone. It’s stationary, just at an entrance to the sewer system.’
Francis didn’t need any more to know what was happening. His gut coiled painfully as his pulse suddenly quickened. They were going to be too late.
‘Where?’
‘There’s a door into the system in the memorial gardens opposite Saint Catherine’s. You nearby?’
‘A minute away. I’ll meet you there.’ He terminated the call. ‘Sorry, Miss Corn
wallis. I’ve got to go.’
He rushed out of the room and down the hall, Marcia Cornwallis following slowly with her stick. When he reached the door, he turned back to her.
‘Just one last question. Are you seeing a girl called Liv Templeton?’
‘I can’t discuss existing patients with you.’
‘Tell me. She’s been abducted, damn it – I need to know.’
Marcia Cornwallis stopped in the doorway between her living room and her hall. She leaned forward with both hands gripping the top of her stick. She looked hard at him, eyes wide, face impassive.
‘Yes, I’ve been seeing Liv Templeton.’
58
Saturday, 2 September 2017
Thierry
Thierry ran through the rain like he’d never run before. He had known in an instant. This had his brother written all over it. Marni had been scared and there wasn’t much, apart from Paul, that scared her. Paul had promised he’d stay away from Marni. But when had his brother ever kept a promise?
Merde!
He banged on the door of the hostel but when no one came he took a step back, followed by a good, hard kick to the latch. The door flew open, slamming against the hall wall and rebounding. He ran up the stairs two at a time, calling Marni’s name.
He got no response so he tried each door he came to. The first was locked. So was the second. Behind the third door he heard a scrabbling for the lock, so he kicked this one too. It held fast, but not quite – someone was pushing from the other side.
‘Paul?’ It had to be.
‘Thierry?’
Marni’s voice. Thank God.
Without warning, the person on the other side stepped away. The door flew open and Thierry fell into the room, sprawling and skidding in a pool of blood. Whose blood? He looked up quickly, glancing around the chaotic room.
An overturned chair.
An unmade bed, bloody bed linen.
By the time Thierry looked up, Paul was standing by the window. There was a knife in his hand. He had a cut lip, and there was blood trickling down his chin – but not enough to account for the blood on the floor and bed.
‘Marni?’
A moan from the corner of the room made him look in the direction of the bed. Thierry scrabbled to his feet and went towards the noise, never taking his eyes off his brother.
‘Leave her and listen to me,’ said Paul, his voice harsh and guttural.
‘Marni, are you okay?’
Paul took a step forward, the knife stretched out in front of him.
Thierry stopped in his tracks.
‘Thierry?’ Marni didn’t sound right.
He stepped sideways and looked over the end of the bed. His wife was curled in a ball in the corner, pressed back against the wall as if she was trying to put as much distance between herself and Paul as she could. A blood-soaked sheet was bundled in her lap, but Thierry had to look back to his brother before he could work out the source of the blood.
Paul held out a phone to Thierry in a bloody hand. It was Marni’s phone.
‘Call Alex.’
‘No,’ said Thierry.
Paul’s scowl became uglier.
‘Call my son.’
‘He’s not your son,’ said Thierry. He turned his head. ‘Marni, what did he do to you?’
Marni pushed herself up slowly until she was standing, her back still jammed into the corner.
‘My hand,’ she said, still clutching the balled-up bloody sheet.
Thierry could see from the way she held it that it was her right hand bound up inside the fabric.
‘Merde, Paul. Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?’ What’s wrong with you.
‘Your wife is a bitch.’
‘Thierry, he wants me and Alex to go with him to France.’
‘S’ils ne viennent pas, je les tue et je me tue.’
Thierry hoped desperately that Marni’s French wasn’t as good as it used to be – but her gasp told him otherwise.
‘If you believe Alex is your son, you wouldn’t kill him,’ said Thierry.
‘What good is a son that I don’t have?’
Paul stepped forward with the knife. The room was practically dark now, but there was enough light still from outside for Thierry to see the glint of the blade.
‘You first,’ said Paul. He took another step towards Thierry. ‘Then her. After that, I think it will be easy to persuade Alex to come with me to France.’
‘Tu es fou. If you do this, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison. Think of our mother.’
Thierry couldn’t move any further back – his calves were already pressed up against the side of the bed. He took a step sideways and Paul lunged at him. As the blade came at him, Thierry dropped backwards onto the bed and rolled. Paul dived at him, landing across his body. Thierry continued the roll, grabbing Paul’s shoulder and hip to throw him off.
He heard Marni screaming.
Metal flashed close to his face. Searing pain ripped across his chin. He grabbed for Paul’s wrist and slammed it against the wall. Paul let go of the knife with a roar of pain, slumping on top of Thierry once more. Thierry brought his knee up sharply, hoping to catch his brother in the groin. It worked and as Paul gasped and struggled to breathe, Thierry was able to roll out from under him. He immediately felt down the side of the mattress and retrieved the knife.
Marni ran and picked up her phone from the floor.
‘I’ll call the police,’ she said.
‘Wait,’ said Thierry. He could feel blood running down his chin and dripping onto his T-shirt.
‘What?’
‘He’s my brother.’
‘He just tried to kill you.’ She started dialling.
‘I said wait.’ Without a second’s thought, Thierry pointed the knife blade towards her.
Marni froze.
‘Jesus, Thierry.’
He ignored her and looked at Paul, who was cowering at the far end of the bed, his hands cupping his groin.
Thierry dug a hand into his jeans pocket and Paul immediately tensed. Slowly, Thierry pulled his hand out and held it up to show his car keys.
‘Take these and go,’ he said. ‘Head north, or go south and get on a ferry to Spain. You can have my passport.’
‘What the hell?’ said Marni. ‘You’re helping him now?’
‘Shut up and stay out of it,’ said Thierry. ‘This is between me and Paul.’
Paul watched them both with wary eyes.
‘I came here for one thing. Alex has to come with me,’ he said.
Thierry shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. He won’t.’
Paul leaned across and grabbed Thierry’s car keys from his hand. Then he stood up and stared at Marni. Thierry thrust a hand into his other pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled notes and change.
‘Take this.’ He pushed the money into Paul’s other hand. ‘Now go.’
Paul thrust the keys and money into his own pocket.
‘I’ll come back for you all,’ he said. He looked at Thierry. ‘Je ne vous laisserai pas vous en sortir. Vous avez pris ce qui était à moi.’
‘Get out!’ said Thierry.
‘Fuck you, Thierry,’ said Marni, as Paul’s footsteps receded down the stairs. She looked as if she was close to tears but there was a steely edge to her voice. ‘You’re letting the bastard go? He’s threatened to kill me and to kill Alex if we don’t go with him. I think you’d better go too. I never want to see either of you again.’
As she spoke, the sheet fell from her right hand and Thierry saw what Paul had done. A deep cut between her thumb and forefinger looked black with congealing blood. It was her tattooing hand.
Marni looked down at it and fainted.
59
Saturday, 2 September 2017
Alex
Alex ran from Liv’s flat back to the memorial garden. This was where Liv’s phone had showed up on the Find My Phone app, so this was where Liv should be. Under cover of the rain clouds, dusk had fallen rapidly and it was dark by the time he got there. The garden was deserted. He walked up and down the paths, calling her name. Where the hell was she?
After a complete circuit of the small graveyard, he headed back towards the gate he’d come in by. He must have missed her. He kicked an abandoned umbrella that lay on the path. Maybe she’d been sheltering somewhere round here, and now she’d be waiting grumpily for him at the pub. He tried her phone. No answer. Though he was completely alone in the garden, somewhere nearby he heard a phone ringing.
It was the same ringtone as Liv’s.
‘Fuck.’
The ringing stopped so he redialled, running through sheets of rain towards where he thought the sound had come from. As his call connected, he could hear it again. At that point, he felt certain it was Liv’s phone. The sound was coming from the end of the row of ancient tombs. He veered off the path and across the wet grass, the ground squelching under his feet.
‘Liv?’
Then he saw it. Liv’s phone was lying on a threadbare strip of gravel that led to a small metal door at the end of the row of tombs. The glass was cracked, something which he was sure wasn’t the case when he’d stayed at her flat the night before. He picked it up, but the mobile couldn’t tell him anything about where she might be.
‘Liv? Where are you?’ His voice was getting hoarse from shouting her name so often.
In desperation, he tried the metal door. It came open with a creak of protest and he peered into the dark beyond. The cold air that caressed his face smelled rotten. He could see nothing, so he got out his own phone and switched on the torch app. A brickwork path sloped away into the darkness beyond the feeble beam of his small light. Rainwater had run in under the door and the first few feet of the path were wet. But beyond that, it was dry. Alex peered further and walked inside a few steps, holding his torch out in front of him. The smell made him want to retch but he wasn’t going to let that deter him if Liv was down here.
Her Last Breath: The new crime thriller from the international bestseller (Sullivan and Mullins) Page 29