by Anne Coates
“I’ll speak to you soon.
“Yes, bye.” She spoke to the dialing tone. Hannah hung up, deflated and defeated. She had been astonished by her attraction to Tom. It had been a pleasant surprise. She had thought that motherhood had wiped out all such feelings from her. But Tom managed to fan the flames a little. And he had liked her. Past tense was appropriate, Hannah thought. She picked up a novel she was reading but couldn’t concentrate. She turned on the television. Some mindless game show was suddenly interrupted by a news flash.
A grim-faced Martyn Lewis appeared on the screen.
“Good evening. News has just come in that Robert Bowldon, minister at the Home Office, died an hour ago at the Westminster hospital. His car exploded in the car park of the Houses of Parliament. No one has yet claimed responsibility. We’ll bring you more news as it comes in. And, of course, there will be a full report in the nine o’clock news.”
His face faded and was replaced by the games show.
Hannah turned off the television. Was it just a coincidence? Was Robert Bowldon’s death, so soon after her revelations to the police and The News, a quirk of fate? She felt bewildered, frightened and sickened.
Who was responsible, and if they were anything to do with Caroline’s death, was she also in their sights? Her thoughts turned to Tony Vitello’s sudden death. How did he fit into all this, apart from having known Caroline? Whose side had he been on?
The ring on the doorbell had her stomach somersaulting. Her hands felt clammy, her body leaden as she walked into the hall and peered through the spyhole. At first she couldn’t make out who was standing in the half-light.
“Who is it?” she called, willing her voice not to betray her fear.
“It’s Tom, Hannah.”
Hannah unchained and unlocked the door.
“You’re the last person I expected,” she said and then realised there was another man standing behind him. Her eyes widened and she actually felt faint.
“Can we come in please?” Hannah’s body was blocking the doorway. She nodded and stood aside as the two men entered. She noticed the younger man was carrying a black leather bag that looked, from the way he was holding it, to be very heavy.
She was just about to say something more when, in what seemed like slow motion, Tom’s hand came towards her and clamped down firmly over her mouth. Terror overtook reason. She wanted to scream but his grip was too secure. All she could think of was that this was the end and Elizabeth was upstairs, blissfully unaware of the drama below.
Elizabeth!
FORTY-EIGHT
Hannah’s heart was pounding so wildly she thought she would explode. Oh my God, she thought, Elizabeth.
Her protests were muffled. She struggled to no effect and it was several minutes before she realised that Tom’s hold on her was more of an embrace than anything else. She managed to wriggle around so she could look up into his eyes.
He was smiling.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. He was actually grinning at her. The other man who had pushed past them, came out of the sitting room with a nod in Tom’s direction. Tom guided her into the empty room and onto the sofa.
Without loosening his hold on her, he bent forward and kissed her forehead. “Don’t look so worried,” he whispered into her hair. “Graham’s a mate of mine. He’s checking the house for bugs. This room’s ok now, but don’t scream at me when I let go, okay?”
Hannah, saucer-eyed, nodded.
Tom slowly removed his hand. “Sorry to frighten you like that.” He was master of the understatement.
“Frighten me? You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Hannah flopped back against the cushions and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her breathing was still ragged and the room was swimming.
Tom forced her head between her knees, lightly stroking the back of her neck. He didn’t speak. Her breathing slowly returned to near normal and she sat up just as the other man walked into the room.
“This is Graham Stradan, special effects man.” Hannah was none the wiser. “Hannah Weybridge,” Tom concluded the introductions.
“Sorry to barge in on you like this, Hannah, unannounced,” said Graham, “but we had reason to believe you’d been bugged. I found these –” he held out two tiny devices – “under the phones. Everything else is clean,” he said to Tom.
Hannah opened her mouth and closed it again.
“Has anybody been here from Telecom recently?” Graham asked.
Hannah shook her head, still stunned by what was happening.
“Oh well, they probably let themselves in when you were out.” Tom looked across at Graham. “Professional job?”
“Top hole.” Hannah didn’t understand the impact of those two words, but when he smiled at her in an attempt to be reassuring, she realised just how serious his expression was.
“I don’t understand any of this,” said Hannah. They were sitting next to each other on the settee. Both cradled glasses of scotch. Graham had departed after a swift cup of coffee.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more now. It’s out of my hands, I’m off the case.” Tom drank deeply from his glass. His face was grim. “As soon as I handed over your evidence, the ranks closed and I was told to take some leave.” There was a lack of bitterness in his tone that surprised her.
Hannah studied his face. The frown lines now seemed deeper than the laughter ones. He had the appearance of someone who had been on a long, grueling journey, only to find he had to turn back just before reaching his destination. Or did he?
Although Hannah couldn’t explain why, she was sure Tom was holding out on her. Maybe it had something to do with the Official Secrets Act. Tom Jordan was evidently more that the BT police inspector he claimed to be.
They had turned on the television for the ten o’clock news. Robert Bowldon’s death was the lead item. The IRA was suspected.
“Nearer home more like,” commented Tom dryly.
Hannah turned to him, but she didn’t want to ask what he meant. Each possibility was too appalling to contemplate. “And what about Tony Vitello?”
“Well,” Tom paused to take Hannah’s hand. “Princess – Caroline – had definitely been in his flat recently. Forensic proved that before we were called off. Whether she went there willingly or not, we’ll never know.”
Hannah blinked rapidly to disperse the tears that were flooding her eyes. She sipped her whisky.
“My guess – and it’s only a surmise – is that Caroline contacted Vitello and she did go to his flat. It makes no difference now. What is probable is that Vitello found out about the notebooks and tried his hand at blackmail. But he was out of his league. He was rapidly disposed of and Princess was taken back to the – clinic.” His voice betrayed the contempt he felt for that establishment.
“So what will happen now?”
“The clinic’s been closed and sealed up. At the moment, security is tighter there than at Buck House. What they’ll find in there, we’ll probably never know.”
“I don’t think I want to,” Hannah said quietly.
Tom glanced at her and took her free hand. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”
They were silent, each with their own thoughts. “And what about him?” The thought that the perpetrator of all this had sat next to her in this house, in her home, made her feel guilty by association.
Tom shrugged. “Oh someone will probably find some irregularity with Dr Gerry Lacon’s immigration papers and he’ll be discretely deported back to South Africa, where I understand, he has every reason not to feel too safe.”
“Well, I don’t suppose he’ll get what he deserves.” Hannah ran her fingers through her hair and could feel the whisky having a relaxing effect on her.
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” was all Tom would say.
“And the others?”
“Who knows? Who bloody knows?”
“Well, Robert Bowldon’s met his end.”
“Yes.” Tom’
s expression was grim.
Hannah was silent for a moment and then asked the question that had been bothering her ever since the arrival of Tom and Graham. “What about me?” In the face of Caroline’s suffering, it sounded to her own ears amazingly selfish. “Am I safe?”
For a long moment Tom didn’t reply. Hannah could feel her stomach tensing. Tom looked her straight in the eye. “I think so, Hannah.”
She could sense the breath easing out of her body. She did trust Tom. She had to trust somebody, but was his thinking she’d be safe, enough, she asked herself bitterly.
“Too many people know now. If anything happened to you… well they couldn’t gag us all could they?” Tom gave a hollow laugh. “I should think the powers that be will make damn sure you are all right, if you see what I mean.”
Hannah wasn’t quite sure that she did, but that was probably due to the whisky and the way Tom pulled her to him and covered her unprotesting mouth with his own, just before Elizabeth staked her own noisy claim to her mother’s attention.
FORTY-NINE
Hannah mounted the three steps to the lectern. Her legs leaden, she could see her hands shaking as she placed the sheet of paper in front of her and gripped the wooden frame to steady herself.
She glanced up. There were few people there and she knew that neither of Caroline’s parents would be attending the funeral. Which was why she had been asked to say a few words. You could hardly call it a eulogy.
“Many of you knew her as Princess and that’s who she was when I first met and interviewed her. But after she turned up on my doorstep, badly beaten up and in need of a refuge, she became Caroline to me…”
Her voice broke. She looked up and saw a row of police officers in uniform at the back. Tom Jordan was there, along with his sergeant and the WPC. Each of them looked sombre. But she had the feeling that they weren’t exactly looking at her. They were taking stock of who else was in the congregation.
Hannah spied Jaynie and Marti, both very respectably dressed in black. The latter stared at her as though willing Hannah to go on. She smiled tremulously. There were a couple of other people, one or two looked like tramps and a man with a shock of grey hair, who, Hannah had noticed earlier, walked with a distinct limp.
Hannah’s gaze returned to her sheet of paper.
“Caroline spent most of the last few weeks of her life living with me and I grew to know more of her background. She hadn’t had any advantages in life and the cards were definitely stacked against her. But she didn’t complain or rant against fate. What she did try to do was seek justice for her friends and this led ultimately to her own death.
“I didn’t know Caroline well enough to understand what she was planning. Unfortunately, to me she was irritating and unpredictable – in short, a typical teenager who sadly had witnessed more of life than she ever should have. She knew too much and that knowledge led to her death.”
Hannah swallowed hard. The words in front of her blurred. She blinked rapidly. Her knuckles were white as she clung onto the lectern.
“I am so sorry that I didn’t manage to keep her safe and that I have been unable to expose her killers – yet.” The last word was little more than a breath.
Hannah turned to the coffin. “Caroline, Princess, your friends mourn your loss. Perhaps one day we’ll find a way to bring the perpetrators of your murder to justice.”
The priest looked increasingly uncomfortable. She glared at him.
She laid a small posy of flowers picked from her garden that morning on the coffin and walked back to her seat.
Tom Jordan noted that one of the tramps left very quickly.
The priest said a closing prayer and as heads were bowed, pushed the button for the curtains to close as the coffin disappeared, to the stains of Whitney Houston singing “I Will Always Love You”, from, Hannah had discovered, Caroline’s favourite film, The Bodyguard.
◊◊◊
Outside the crematorium, Marti hugged Hannah. “Just be careful,” she said so that only Hannah could hear. She and Jaynie turned towards the man with a limp. “Come on Sam, we’ll all go back together. Stop off and have a drink, eh?”
Jaynie and Marti linked arms with the man and they headed off.
“Can we give you a lift back, Hannah?” Tom Jordan, looking so different and rather forbidding in uniform, stood before her.
Hannah noticed they hadn’t used a squad car. She felt a deep, deep weariness and despair. She had been rendered powerless.
She nodded. “Thanks.”
◊◊◊
A few days later, Hannah’s eyes were drawn to the obituary columns where a familiar name sprang out at her.
Roger Daintly!
Roger Daintly had won an Oscar for his performance as an aging gay in a low-budget movie that had surprised everyone by capturing the imagination of the cinema-going public. The film became a blockbuster and its star a cult hero.
Roger Daintly.
Daintly’s name had been on Marti’s list of men attending Lacon’s clinic. Hannah leafed back through the paper, but could find no report of his death. She rescued the previous day’s newspaper, which she’d been trying to read in bed before sleep had defeated her attempts, from the waste-paper basket.
She found what she was looking for on page three. Two column inches devoted to the death of one of Britain’s greatest actors. Apparently, he’d been discovered dead in his bed by his cleaning lady, an empty bottle of sleeping pills on the floor. His GP confirmed that he’d been treating him for depression and insomnia for some time. He thought it possible that the actor had overdosed himself by mistake – perhaps waking and taking more tablets, forgetting he’d already taken some.
I’ve heard that one before, thought Hannah. I wonder if it was really suicide? Had someone helped him on his way?
Two down and how many more to go?
The third death a few days later was the Bishop of Essex who had succumbed to a massive heart attack. God striking back?
And the opposition MP Carl Douglas had made a surprising announcement that he was to retire from his seat to spend more time with his wife and family. Maybe justice was being done.
Hannah didn’t know whether she felt safer or in more danger. It sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine.
One thing was certain – she needed a break. A visit to her parents’ new home in France was long overdue and now seemed like a very opportune time.
FIFTY
It was dark. The nights were drawing in now. Hannah carried Elizabeth still strapped into her car seat into the hall and dragged her suitcase after her. Picking Elizabeth up, still asleep in her chair, she walked into the sitting room and switched on a lamp.
“Welcome home.”
The male voice made Hannah spin on her heels. She almost collapsed in terror when she saw Gerry Lacon sitting in an armchair, smiling.
“What the …” “You didn’t think I’d let you get away scot free, did you? Come, come, that would have been careless of me.” The smile disappeared. “You have ruined everything, you silly woman. Sit down,” he ordered.
She stood rooted to the spot.
Hannah felt all hope drain from her.
“Some talented men have lost their lives because you just couldn’t keep your stupid nose out of things that were none of your business. Because of you, my marriage is over. Because of you, I have had all my financial assets frozen. All because you just had to befriend a stinking whore. Sit down.”
Hannah had backed to the settee and collapsed onto it.
“Why are you here? You’ve no right to break into my house…”
“Oh I didn’t break in, I got someone else to do that for me.” His smile froze Hannah’s heart. Bile rose in her throat. Think! She told herself. Think!
It was then that she noticed the small gun in Gerry Lacon’s hand and she thought she would faint. She stood to reach her sleeping child.
“Sit down.” The order was spoken quietly but the menace was implicit.
Hannah now knew what was meant by blood draining from someone. She didn’t have an ounce of strength. Then she looked at Elizabeth – there was no way…
“I’ve been pondering what I should do to pay you back.”
“Please –”
“Shut up.” The genial façade, if it as ever there, had completely vanished. “I thought, what could I do to Ms Hannah Weybridge to give her a taste of her own medicine?” He waved the gun in an arc. “Fortunately my off-shore assets haven’t been unearthed and I can still get – unpalatable – jobs done or covered up for me.”
That smile again. Hannah wondered what her chances would be if she just threw herself at him. There was an ornament on the chest of drawers next to where he was sitting. If she aimed for that then hit him for all she was worth…
Somewhere there was a whisper of a noise she couldn’t place or identify. Were her potential killers in the house already?
Gerry Lacon looked at her with his supercilious smile. “Don’t worry, we’ve been through all your documents and files and we’ve added a few of our own…”
Hannah couldn’t think what on earth he meant. She’d gone from cold to hot and now clammy. She had never felt so alone or petrified in her life.
That noise again. Gerry lifted the gun and pointed it at Elizabeth. The loud retort synchronised with her agonised scream as she launched her body across the room to protect her child “Nooooo…”
And then the room was full of men in what looked like riot gear and voices shouting to get down. Hannah fell to the floor and crawled to Elizabeth who was crying but amazingly didn’t seem to be harmed in any way. With hands almost unable to function, Hannah unstrapped her and clutched the infant to her, sobbing soundlessly.
It wasn’t until she felt someone lifting her gently and saying repeatedly: “It’s over, Hannah, it’s over,” that she opened her eyes and stared into the face of Tom Jordan.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Hannah moved to one side and retched until there was nothing more. She was aware that Tom was holding back her hair and realised that he’d taken Elizabeth from her and was talking quietly to someone.