by Lisa Hartley
‘There are arseholes everywhere,’ Catherine said.
‘These are influential arseholes. A superintendent, a chief inspector …’
‘What happened?’
He frowned. ‘I shouldn’t have phoned you, I’m sorry. How are you?’ When she didn’t answer, he glanced around. ‘It’s a nice pub. Cosy and traditional.’
‘Jonathan …’
‘All right. There was an investigation into the death of a teenage boy. I didn’t like the way it was handled and I said so. They had it down as a gang killing, I thought his dad had done it. I still do. Anyway, I made some enemies.’
‘I don’t see what that has to do with the death of Paul Hughes?’
‘Maybe I’m just paranoid.’
‘Shea and Allan did ask me what I’d do if a DI’s job became vacant,’ Catherine told him. Knight smiled a little.
‘That was subtle of them,’ he said, sipping his drink.
‘I told them I didn’t know.’
‘Really?’
‘It’s the truth. I like being a sergeant.’
‘You don’t aspire to be the next Superintendent Stringer then?’
Catherine almost choked on her beer.
‘What do you think?’
He grinned.
‘Can’t see it somehow.’
She raised her beer bottle and he clinked his glass against it. They sat, enjoying their drinks, the silence comfortable rather than awkward now. After a while, Knight cleared his throat.
‘What?’ Catherine asked.
‘It’s just that … Jo Webber gave me her personal mobile number,’ he mumbled. She stared at him. Inspector Wallpaper volunteering more personal information? It had to be some sort of a record.
‘And have you phoned her?’
He fidgeted.
‘Not yet. I didn’t want to rush it.’
‘Rush it? You’re sitting here with me when you could be spending the evening with the most beautiful woman in the county?’ She drained her beer. ‘I’m going to nip to the loo. Phone her now, it’s only eight thirty. Pick her up and take her for a meal. I’ll even let you drop me off at home first.’
Knight smiled as she hurried off towards the back of the pub. Catherine seemed to be much more herself tonight, not that he could say he knew her well. The fragile, haunted look that had masked her face was disappearing. He’d been worried about her. At Claire’s funeral she’d been remote, desolate, her usual easy smile and humour having deserted her. He liked her, admired the way she had picked herself up in the few weeks that had passed since. She was determined to move on with her life, he could see that, and he respected her for it. Walking back into a station that had buzzed with gossip and rumour since Claire’s death couldn’t have been easy. He knew that the team were determined to help her through it in any way they could; they had told him as much. Anna, Dave, Simon, Chris, they’d all come up to him individually, shuffling their feet in embarrassment, asking how she was and when she was coming back. They all knew Claire hadn’t been worth the heartbreak, but that was easy for them to say.
He waited for the call to connect.
They’d told Lauren to lie on the back seat of the car under a blanket and she wasn’t going to argue, not with the memory of the other woman’s body and that evil, gleaming knife blade so fresh in her mind. A sob rose in her throat and she swallowed it, pressing her lips together and blinking hard. It was her own fault that she was lying here, her filthy hair matted and stinking, her clothes even worse. The stench of her own body under the warm, scratchy blanket was unbearable. The two men in the front hadn’t spoken since the journey had begun, and the atmosphere in the darkened, speeding car was tense.
She and Mark had been so stupid – the holidays, the clothes, the nights out. Their credit card bills were higher every month, but they’d been manageable until Mark had lost his job. Then there had been his bouts of drinking, the final argument … She sighed, not wanting to remember that, the threats and the mess on the kitchen floor. Vomit and whiskey, empty beer cans that she’d hauled out of the rubbish bin and thrown at her husband. She’d lost her temper, but then so had he, drunk and despairing. He’d stood there staring at her, his clothes filthy, vomit down the front of his shirt, mud clinging to his jeans. His elbow was badly grazed and bleeding, but Mark hadn’t even noticed, he was well past the point of feeling pain. Perhaps that was the point. When she had found out that he had spent a good chunk of the money she had been saving on drink, she’d flown at him, clutching his arms, shouting in his face. Then she had grabbed her suitcase, already packed for the weekend away that couldn’t now happen, and stormed out. One phone call was all that was needed, the chance that she sneered at before now seeming like a blessing. She could have gone to her parents for help, but she’d imagined the look of scorn on her mother’s face, the outrage and disbelief, and she couldn’t do it. Far better to take this route, a safe and quick way of paying off all their debts with even a little to spare.
Of course, it hadn’t worked out like that. She’d known she was in trouble when she had rushed into the room and seen the two men’s panicked faces, the shovel and the body on the floor. She retched, bile flooding her throat as she remembered the woman’s ruined face. How could they have done it? She’d screamed at them, bent over the woman to see if she could help her. No chance. She’d tried to run then, to flee down the stairs, but they’d soon caught up with her. She didn’t know who their boss was, but they were obviously terrified of him, talking in hushed voices about what he would do when he found out Lauren had seen the dead woman.
The car was slowing, and Lauren braced herself for whatever was going to happen next. She was numb; a detached, almost clinical feeling of helplessness. This was a film starring someone else, one she had no role in at all.
Lauren held her breath as the car’s engine cut and she heard the doors open. She was completely at their mercy, her hands still cuffed behind her, the back doors of the vehicle locked. She heard the door nearest her feet open and the older man said, ‘Right, get out.’ The blanket was yanked away and she sat up slowly.
‘Where are we?’ she croaked.
‘It doesn’t matter. Get out.’
She scrabbled her way towards the door, trying to take in as much detail about her surroundings as she could without being obvious. Deciding she was taking too long, he lunged forward and grabbed a handful of her hair. Lauren let out a shriek and swung her feet at his shins. Swearing, he jumped back, then brought his hand around in a vicious slap across her face. She fell back, stunned for a second, her cheek burning, and blood starting to leak from her nose. He stood there, grinning down at her as she groaned.
‘Are you going to play nicely now? You should know better than to try to piss me around.’ She glared up at him. ‘Come on, out.’ She lay for a few seconds longer, turning her face towards the car seat and allowing some saliva to dribble from her lips. She was no expert, but she’d seen enough crime programmes on TV to know that leaving as much trace of yourself as you could was a good idea. Hopefully there would be some blood from her nose too. He grabbed her legs this time and hauled her out, set her on her feet and kept a tight hold of her upper arms.
‘Christ, you stink.’
The blood had reached her mouth.
‘What do you expect?’ Lauren snarled. ‘It’s not like I’ve been staying at the Hilton.’
He marched her forward. In front of them was a building that looked like a barn, red brick with several doors set at intervals along the side. Lauren frowned. Where were they? She’d seen another building behind them, two storeys with large windows on the top floor. It looked like a house; there was even a conservatory attached, then a low fence with a gate. The car had paused for a minute or two just before she was ordered out of it; perhaps that was when they had travelled through the gate?
He jerked her arm again and she kept walking. She risked a glance at him, but his eyes were fixed ahead. She tried to let more spit fall from her
lips, knowing it was probably futile out here in the elements. The blood was dripping too, she could feel it. She flicked her head towards the man at her side, hoping some might find its way onto the sleeve of his jacket.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and as they approached the building she realised where they were. Her heart sank. The younger man hurried forward and unlocked the door before shoving her inside. Her breath misted the cold air in front of her face. Plastic sheeting covered the floor and she shivered, wondering how many others had been dragged to this place before her. The door thudded closed and the room was illuminated as the single light bulb dangling overhead was flicked on.
He turned her to face him. She lifted her chin and met his eyes without flinching. She was beyond fear now, adrenaline coursing through her. Blood dripped from her chin, falling to the plastic-covered concrete with a tiny sound, like a clock marking the passing of a second. Smiling in a way that was almost fatherly, he lifted his hand and traced the line of her cheek with a fingertip. She hated him, with his leering mouth and his wandering hands. The way he always stood too close.
‘Are you ready?’ he whispered.
She forced out a laugh. If the ride in the car had felt unreal, this was the stuff of an awful gangster film. He took the knife from his pocket and held it out to the other man who came forward, his face pale in the flickering yellow light. Lauren’s body tensed, her mind a mess of terror, regret and remorse. This was unthinkable, it couldn’t be happening.
And yet, of course, it was.
The young man wiped his palms on his jeans and took the knife, his hand trembling. Lauren wanted to close her eyes but whichever part of her brain that controlled that action had shut down long ago. The man behind her tightened his grip, holding her up like a human shield.
Another step closer. His Adam’s apple jerked in his throat as he panted, ragged breaths slipping from his mouth. Lauren couldn’t move, her feet feeling as if they were stuck in setting cement, every muscle and sinew taut as she tried to lean back against the brute strength of the man who held her captive. It was hopeless. He let out a laboured breath and hissed, ‘Get on with it.’
He was one step away, his eyes narrowed, his forehead damp. Lauren felt her bladder release, urine added to the mixed stench of terror, sweat and filth that was swimming from her pores in waves. He swallowed again and raised the knife, clutching it in both hands like a sacrificial offering. Lauren’s senses screamed, but no sound escaped her. Her mouth opened as her final seconds slipped away.
‘Do it.’ His voice was barely a whisper.
The breath shuddered from her as the blade touched her throat.
34
He stood there, an uncertain smile on his face. Anna glared at him.
‘What are you doing here, Rob?’ she demanded. ‘How did you know where I live?’ She kept the door on the chain.
He blinked a few times as if confused by her anger. ‘I phoned your mum and asked her. She seemed pleased to hear from me.’
Anna sighed. Her mum had loved Rob, though she wouldn’t be quite as keen on ushering him back into her daughter’s life when she heard where he had spent the past eighteen months.
‘Told her you’d just got out of prison, did you?’ she snapped. His gaze fell to the ground.
‘It … didn’t come up,’ he mumbled. Anna laughed.
‘Strange that. She must have asked what you’d been up to?’ Knowing her mum, she’d no doubt invited him around for tea.
‘I just said I’d been away and changed the subject.’ He shrugged.
‘The new subject being my address?’
‘I just want to talk to you, catch up, see how you’ve been.’
‘I’m fine, thank you. You’ve been in prison, I’m a police officer. That’s all we need to know about each other, I’d have thought.’
He gestured towards the door. ‘Can’t you take the chain off? I’m not going to force my way in.’ She shook her head, her eyes fierce.
‘The chain stays on. I’ve nothing to say to you, Rob. You made your choice and look where it got you.’
His laugh was bitter. ‘Yeah, good for you, Anna. You told me so.’
Her eyes widened. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it. Our relationship was over the day you started hanging around with those dodgy blokes. The day you started breaking the law.’
‘I thought Mother Teresa was dead.’ He smirked. She watched him, sadness creeping into her look of indignation. He blushed, scuffled at the ground with the toe of his trainer.
‘Goodbye, Rob.’
She started to close the door, but just before she disappeared he said, ‘Anna? I’m sorry.’ She hesitated, holding the door still for a second. ‘You know this missing woman?’
‘What about her?’
‘Is she dead? It seemed serious, the questions your boss was asking.’
‘I can’t talk about it, Rob, you must know that.’
His face twisted. ‘Yeah, someone with as much experience of being questioned by coppers as me ought to.’
‘I’m not going to feel sorry for you,’ she told him. He met her eyes, then turned away. She just heard him as he began to walk up the path.
‘I’m not asking you to.’
The Indian restaurant was quite busy again, the buzz of conversation and friendly waiting staff giving the place a cosy, welcoming atmosphere. Jo Webber glanced around.
‘I’ve not been to this place for years,’ she said.
‘I was in here two nights ago,’ Knight admitted, and she laughed.
‘Hot date?’
‘If that’s what you call going out with five colleagues plus a wife and a woman they’re trying to set your sergeant up with, then yes.’ he smiled.
‘Your sergeant? You mean Catherine?’ When he nodded, Jo winced.
‘Oh. How did she take it?’
‘She didn’t seem too pleased.’
‘I’m not surprised. What happened with Claire Weyton had to hurt.’
‘I was worried about her,’ he admitted. ‘She seems to be better than she was though.’
‘I know what it’s like to have people trying to matchmake,’ Jo said. ‘Mates of my friends, blokes they work with, even my assistant’s brother.’ She took a sip of beer. ‘I think the job puts people off.’
‘I can’t think why.’ Knight raised his eyebrows and she laughed.
‘You get all the same old jokes: “Nice for you to meet a man with a pulse”, “Watch out or she’ll lock you in her freezer.”’
‘Funny.’
‘The first time, perhaps.’
‘I won’t talk about your job at all then.’
She laughed.
‘I bet you mention work within the next five minutes. Your colleagues, a point from my post-mortem report …’
‘It was Catherine who said I should phone you actually,’ he admitted.
‘Ha. I’m glad she did.’ She waited as he blushed, smiling at him. ‘Catherine told me you have an ex in London.’
Knight swallowed nervously. ‘Yes, Caitlin.’
Jo nodded. ‘I think I told you that I’m divorced?’
‘You did.’ Knight fumbled for another topic of conversation. ‘Caitlin’s pregnant,’ he blurted. Jo stared.
‘Pardon?’
Knight groaned inwardly. Why the hell had he said that? There was no going back now though. ‘My ex-girlfriend. She’s pregnant.’
‘I see.’ Jo hesitated, then said, ‘And how’s that going to work?’
‘Sorry, how do you mean?’
‘Will you travel down to see the baby? Move back there?’ She didn’t seem too perturbed.
‘Oh, it might not be mine,’ he explained. Jo looked sceptical.
‘Don’t you know? Doesn’t Caitlin?’
‘She doesn’t,’ he admitted, feeling stupid. ‘I could be the father, but so could the bloke she’s living with now. She met him before we split up.’
A waiter arrived with their starters and J
o broke a piece off a poppadum.
‘And you thought this was a good time to tell me about it?’ she asked. Knight was studying the tablecloth, mortified. When he dared to glance up, she was struggling not to laugh, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. ‘Your face …’ She started to giggle and Knight joined in, relieved.
When she calmed down, she said, ‘My husband was seeing someone else as well.’
Knight grabbed another chunk of poppadum. ‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘He worked in the hospital too, as a nurse in A&E, and he was sleeping with one of the consultants. She dumped him after a couple of months.’
‘What an idiot. Him, not her,’ he clarified.
‘The worst part was,’ she hesitated. ‘While we’re confessing …’ He nodded, wondering what was coming. ‘Just after he left, I had a miscarriage. I hadn’t even known I was pregnant.’ She kept chewing, her eyes blank. Knight had no idea what to say without sounding trite or inappropriate. Instead, he took her hand before he could doubt himself. Her face relaxed slightly, and she said, ‘God, he was an arse.’
He pulled over to the side of the road, leaving the engine running as he turned in his seat.
‘Lovely house.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s too big for me, but I couldn’t face moving again.’ She smiled. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’ He nodded, suddenly shy again, and she laughed at his expression. ‘You’re like a nervous teenager on his first date.’ She raised a hand to his cheek, cupping his jaw and running her thumb over his lips. He closed his eyes, savouring it, then felt her breath on his face, knowing she was moving closer. Her mouth, her hands in his hair. Cold noses. The day disappearing, evaporating. The world outside ceasing to be for a short time.
She pulled away from him, then bent close again and kissed his cheek.
‘I’m glad you phoned. Good night, Jonathan.’
35
The first phone call of the day confirmed what they’d known already – Keeley Pearce was their unidentified body. DCI Kendrick had taken the call, and as he relayed the message to the rest of the team, there was a moment of silence, a second of reverence. Officers would be despatched to inform Ailsa Pearce and to ask her to formally identify the body.