‘Nothing in there. What about here?’
‘Nothing,’ Becky answered. She was about to leave when she noticed something. She crouched down for a closer look at the oak flooring. ‘Hang on, Tom.’ She pulled a clean tissue from her bag, dabbed at the edge of a small stain and lifted the tissue. ‘Blood.’
Tom walked carefully across the floor, his head bent, following a trail of two or three tiny drops. They appeared to lead towards a fitted bookcase. Tom examined it carefully, making sure he didn’t touch anything.
‘The drops either start or end here,’ he said. ‘But the wood’s smooth, and I can’t see how anyone might have hurt themselves.’
Becky walked across towards the window to check for more traces of blood, but could see nothing. It was as she turned back towards Tom that she noticed something on the side of the bookcase. ‘Tom,’ she said, pointing a finger.
Tom stepped to his left, taking care not to tread on any of the blood droplets, and flattened his head against the wall so that he could see what Becky was pointing at. It was a mark that looked like it had been made with bloody fingers.
‘Any ideas?’ he said to Becky.
‘Someone was hurt and grabbed hold of the bookcase to hold themselves up?’
Tom nodded but with no enthusiasm. ‘That doesn’t sound likely, does it? Have you got a glove?’
Becky reached into the bag that she always carried with her, never knowing when some of the oddments inside might be useful. She pulled out a thin disposable glove and passed it to Tom.
He ran a gloved hand up the side of the bookcase, avoiding contact with the bloody fingerprints, and then stopped, looking at Becky with raised eyebrows. She heard a click. Tom pulled the bookcase and one side moved towards them.
‘Well I never,’ Becky said. ‘My first ever secret room.’ She felt a strange childlike thrill.
Moving slowly they stepped into the room, pulling the curtain covering the far side of the doorway to one side. Becky gasped as she looked around her at the dramatic scenes painted on the walls.
‘What is this place?’ she whispered.
Before Tom could say a word they both heard a sound, and Tom placed a finger over his lips. They stood still, both casting their eyes into every corner of the room. They could hear someone crying, deep, heart-wrenching sobs. But there was nobody there.
83
Natalie felt as if her world had ended. The policeman, DCI Douglas, had made it clear to her that for now they couldn’t prove conclusively that the allegations about the relationship between Bernie and Alison were true. But they’d had it confirmed by two sources.
She could see that the detective hadn’t enjoyed telling her, but she understood why he had needed to. If he thought she might have killed Bernie because of the affair, he was wrong. If she had killed anyone, it would have been Alison.
The knowledge that Bernie had kept such a huge secret from her hurt her more than anything else. When he was killed she had mourned his loss but had been comforted by the fact that at least she had been loved. His betrayal – no, their betrayal, his and Alison’s – left her with nothing.
Why would Alison do this to her? It was a monumental breach of trust, and Natalie wanted to get on the phone right now and ask her. But DCI Douglas had said they were intending to interview her that afternoon and it would be better if she were unaware of all they knew.
Scarlett was sitting next to Natalie on the sofa, rocking her mum in her arms. ‘What is it, Mum? What’s happened?’
‘I wish I didn’t have to tell you, Scarlett, but it might all come out anyway. The police think your dad really was seeing someone else, and it was bloody Alison. What a shitty thing to do – for both of them to do.’ Natalie tried hard to hold back her sobs but failed. She was hurt beyond measure, but she was so angry too.
Scarlett was whispering urgently, as if afraid someone would hear her. ‘No, Mum. I’m sure that’s not right.’
Natalie raised her burning eyes to her daughter. ‘Sweetheart, I know you don’t want to believe it, but—’
‘No! You have to listen to me. I can’t tell you everything because it’s dangerous, but you can’t trust Mr Douglas. Please, Mum. Just believe me.’
Natalie sat up straight. ‘Scarlett, Mr Douglas is—’
‘Shhh.’ Scarlett put her finger to her lips. ‘Trust me. I know what I’m talking about. Dad was one of the good guys, really he was.’
‘I know. We loved him. But there doesn’t seem to be any doubt.’ Natalie stroked her daughter’s hair, sensing her agitation.
‘I can’t tell you everything. It’s not safe yet. But I will do when it’s all over. You can’t trust Mr Douglas.’ Scarlett was still whispering, and Natalie was becoming concerned about her daughter. Who did she think could hear her?
She wrapped her arms around Scarlett. ‘What is it, love? What’s happening? What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Keep your voice down, Mum, please. Just trust me.’
Natalie had no idea what Scarlett’s bizarre behaviour was all about. Maybe she had been more affected by loneliness than Natalie had realised, but arguing with her now would build a wall that might become insurmountable.
‘Okay, Scarlett. All right, love. I trust you.’
Natalie felt her daughter’s body relax as if she had been holding her breath, and she had no idea what to do.
*
Tom and Becky stood perfectly still inside the room. There was no doubt in Becky’s mind that it was Natalie Gray they could hear crying, and if they could hear her, she would be able to hear them.
But it sounded as if Scarlett was whispering – as if she was telling her mum something she didn’t want anyone else to hear, as if she knew somebody might be eavesdropping.
Tom signalled Becky to follow him quietly out of the room.
‘Do you think Scarlett knew we could hear?’ Becky asked.
‘I don’t know, but there’s something going on in that young girl’s head. What are we missing?’
Becky remembered she hadn’t yet told Tom about Scarlett wanting to see a senior policewoman. She broke the news to him and his face creased in a puzzled frown.
‘Why would she want to speak to someone else?’
‘I’ve no idea. I did ask her, but I didn’t get very far. I was going to call Superintendent Stanley to see if she would speak to Scarlett.’
‘Okay, but do it straight away. If she’s that agitated about something we need to know what it is.’
Becky pulled her phone out of her bag.
‘While you’re doing that I’ll give Jumbo a call,’ Tom said. ‘I want to get his team in to give this place the once-over. Check with the caretaker to find out who else has keys to the apartment, and I’ll wait here until we’ve got it secured.’
Jumbo was Tom’s preferred crime-scene manager. A huge black guy with a smile that split his face in two, Jumoke Osoba could read the evidence like nobody else Becky had ever met. The room they had discovered was strange; the opulent bed and the remarkable wall art suggested it was almost certainly a photographic studio, but the broken mirror lying on the floor told a story that Becky had yet to decipher.
‘Oh, and get Keith to send me the image of Jennifer Bale, would you? I’m as sure as I can be that we’ll match the background on that photo to a wall of the hidden room. While he’s at it, he can check out the ownership of the two apartments.’
As Becky was about to leave, Tom’s phone rang.
‘Tom Douglas,’ he said. There was a pause, and Becky saw him tense. She looked at his face. It was rigid, his jaw clenched. ‘When did this happen?’
He listened for a few moments, ended the call and walked across to the window, his back to Becky. She waited, knowing he would tell her when he was ready.
Without turning he spoke, his voice low. ‘Linda Bale’s just thrown herself off the roof of the block of flats where Jennifer died. She’s dead.’
Becky couldn’t suppress a quiet gasp. ‘Oh my God
. That’s awful, Tom.’
She could picture the woman now – her uncompromising attitude, her anger and the control she had tried to exert over those closest to her. Tom had always said that when Linda Bale faced reality, it was going to hit her hard, and he had been right. She had been in denial from the start, and none of them had been able to see her pain.
‘I judged her based on her behaviour, Becky,’ Tom said. ‘I knew she had to be suffering, but that didn’t stop me from thinking less of her because her reactions didn’t live up to my expectations. I should have known that something had to give, but all I could think was that Jennifer wasn’t much older than Lucy and had deserved better.’
Becky knew that no words would ease Tom’s remorse or her own regret at not having understood the woman better. All they could do now was make sure the bastards that had caused this tragedy suffered. She waited a few moments before saying quietly, ‘I’ll go and call Philippa.’
Tom didn’t turn round, but she saw him nod once.
As she left the apartment, looking at her phone to get Philippa Stanley’s number, she didn’t notice the small elderly woman until she nearly fell over her as she rounded the corner.
‘Sorry,’ Becky said. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
‘What’re you doing in that flat?’
‘And you are?’
‘Pamela Crawford. I’m staying here with my daughter. So who are you?’
‘I’m a police officer, Mrs Crawford. But nothing to worry about. We’re just checking something, that’s all.’
‘Well, I hope you fare better than the last chap who checked that apartment,’ she said, pushing out her bottom lip.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The caretaker chap. Not that miserable little toad we’ve got now, the other chap – Cliff, his name was. He came round here the other week and then he got his head bashed in the very same night. He’s in hospital.’
‘Did this man – Cliff – tell you why he was checking the apartment, Mrs Crawford?’
‘He said he was looking for ghosts, but he wasn’t laughing when he said it. Didn’t seem like the kind of man who believed in them, either. When I looked worried, he told me to forget he’d said it. He said he’d heard something he wasn’t expecting to hear, but he was sure it was nothing. Next thing I heard, he was in hospital.’
Becky thanked Pamela Crawford for her help and carried on along the corridor as she thought about what the woman had said. The apartment was supposed to be empty but was almost certainly in use. If Cliff the caretaker had discovered something, it might explain why he had been attacked.
She made a note of his name and made her first call as she walked. Philippa Stanley was rather bemused at being asked to talk to a fifteen-year-old who wouldn’t speak to either Becky or Tom, but when she was told it was Bernie Gray’s daughter, she relented.
‘Can you ask her to come in this afternoon, DI Robinson? I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, but I should be free from 2.30. I can’t imagine why she needs to speak to me, but on this occasion I’m happy to humour her.’
Becky decided to see the caretaker before making her other calls, and when he told her that nobody else had access to the apartment, she called Tom.
‘I’ve spoken to Jumbo,’ Tom said, ‘and I’ll stay here until someone arrives to relieve me. There’s a uniform on the way – can you tell him where to find me?’
Becky agreed and ended the call. She walked out of the apartment block, pulled a crumpled plastic carrier from her bag of tricks to spread on the top step of the metal staircase and sat down in the sunshine to text Scarlett. As she pressed Send, she heard the beep of an incoming text, but not on her phone. She looked up, half expecting to see Scarlett, but a young man in a black T-shirt and jeans with a wide studded belt was running up the steps to the south wing, reading his screen as he went.
‘Shit,’ she heard him mutter. His thumbs were working furiously as he reached Becky and he stepped to one side to pass her. He lifted his head and glanced at her briefly as he rushed by.
Becky stared at him, but he showed no sign of recognition. She knew that face. She had no idea where from, but she had seen him before. And recently.
84
Scarlett hated how much her mum was hurting. She wanted so badly to tell her the truth, and had been about to blurt it all out when she had said she was going to lie down for a while. Scarlett could still hear her crying quietly in the bedroom.
She stood up and walked to the bedroom door, then turned and retraced her steps. Her mum could ruin everything if she told her. She would demand answers, probably from Lewis himself. As Scarlett paced the room her phone beeped. She checked the message: Det Supt Stanley is happy to see you at 2.30 this afternoon. I’ll pick you up. Becky.
Scarlett sighed with relief. She wouldn’t have to keep things secret from her mum for much longer. She would ask this police officer what to do, and she was sure it would all get sorted. Maybe she and her mum could go into some sort of protective custody until Lewis and his boss had completed their operation.
For a moment she felt elated. Then her phone beeped again: I need to see you. I know you have a meeting with Supt Stanley today. I must see you first. Trust no one. You can’t come to the apartment. Meet me on the roof.
Scarlett hoped that Lewis hadn’t been in the apartment next door when Mr Douglas got there. What if the whole investigation was ruined because of that scrap of paper her mum had found?
She needed to help Lewis, and so she crept across the room and quietly opened the front door.
Scarlett made her way along the corridor to the fire exit, hoping that neither of the police officers would appear around the corner, but she made it without meeting anyone and pushed the heavy door open.
As she climbed slowly up the stairs, she was trying to get the facts clear in her head so she could tell Lewis, but the only thing that seemed relevant was that note of the addresses of the two apartments. She didn’t see how her dad’s supposed relationship with Alison could matter at all. She could only hope that Lewis wouldn’t say the whole operation was now in ruins because of that one scrap of paper.
When she reached the top of the concrete staircase, she found the door propped open. She stepped out onto the roof. Lewis was waiting for her, leaning against the wall of the shed-like construction that housed the stairhead. He didn’t give her a moment to speak.
‘What’s all this about you going to see Superintendent Stanley?’
Scarlett was about to respond that she had asked for a senior female to talk to when Lewis continued.
‘I know this man. It’s my job to know all the top officers, and he’s not to be trusted any more than Douglas. You don’t seem to realise that all these guys are as bad as each other. Don’t go and see him, Scarlett.’
Scarlett felt her heart race. Superintendent Stanley was a woman. Shouldn’t Lewis have known that? Was he confused? But Lewis was an undercover policeman. How else could he know about the meeting? So why did he think she was a man?
‘Why are you staring at me like that, Scarlett? Look, say nothing to anyone. You don’t know anything, and I’m going to disappear for a while until it’s all died down. We’re putting the operation on hold so neither Douglas nor Stanley gets wind of what’s happening.’
Scarlett had to get away from him. She had to think. ‘Okay. I’d better go.’
Just then her phone beeped with an incoming message. Lewis’s phone pinged at exactly the same moment. She ignored it and backed towards the entrance to the stairwell, trying her best to smile. Lewis was watching her carefully.
Her phone started to ring. And so did the one in Lewis’s hand. She glanced at the screen. It was her mum. She cancelled the call and it stopped ringing. And so did his.
‘Oh dear,’ he said, pulling a fake mournful expression as he walked towards her. ‘Looks like my cover is blown.’
Scarlett knew what he had done. He’d had her phone for ages during the photo session, a
nd he must have put an app on it – probably to check she didn’t tell anyone what had happened. She knew all about spy apps because one of her friends was livid when her dad put one on her phone. Some apps could intercept calls, read texts and even be switched on remotely to listen in to whatever was going on in the vicinity of the phone.
Lewis couldn’t be who he said he was. He wasn’t getting his information from his handler; he was getting it directly from her phone. That’s why he didn’t know that Superintendent Stanley was a woman.
Scarlett’s heart was thudding in her chest, and she took a couple more steps back. Lewis stood and watched her, a sickening smile on his face. She turned and started to run, but she had taken no more than a couple of steps before he was on her. Just like before, he grabbed her, one arm tightly around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides, one hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream.
85
Becky sat on the metal staircase and passed on Tom’s instructions to Keith. It was a muggy day, and out here she had hoped there might be a bit of breeze. Clutching her phone in one hand, she leaned back on her free arm and turned her face to a breath of air, closing her eyes. She had asked Keith to send the image of Jennifer to Tom’s phone and was only giving him half her attention as he gave her chapter and verse on the lines of enquiry he was following up.
‘There was one other thing, ma’am. You asked me to take another look at the pictures from the swimming pool,’ Keith said.
Becky’s brain snapped into focus and she was no longer listening to Keith with even half an ear.
That’s it! Her eyes shot open. The man on the stairs – she knew who he was and where she had seen him before.
Tom Douglas Box Set 2 Page 99