‘Hello.’
‘Sharon?’ I closed my eyes. ‘Thank God. Sharon, is that you?’
‘Billy, what the hell’s going on? First you don’t phone me or come round, then, after I’ve swallowed my pride and called you, you just hang up on me. Now you phone me back.’
‘Sharon, listen.’
‘No. You listen. I’m bloody sorry about what’s going on and I’m sorry I added to your worries but I haven’t put any pressure on you. We had a great time before I went away but if you don’t want to base the rest of your life on that, I’m not going to make you. No pressure.’
‘Sharon, please. You have to hear me out.’
‘I will, but it really pissed me off yesterday. I cooked for you and waited. You said you’d come. You said some really lovely things to me too. And then you just vanished. Listen, I’m overreacting, I know I am. I just want you here. You were probably with Andy Gold all night. I’m all over the place – my hormones, I guess. Hey, I’ve got that excuse now. I know you’re stressed at the moment and God, what happened to Ally. But it’s not my fault. So call me, in future.’
‘I will. Just listen to me a second. Sharon—’
‘Hold on, Billy.’
‘What is it? Sharon?’
‘Calm down. It’s just someone at the door.’
‘Sharon. Listen. Sharon? Sharon?!’
I heard a heavy clunk as Sharon set the phone down on the table. Then I heard footsteps moving away. I screamed Sharon’s name but I knew she wouldn’t hear me. Even if she did it wouldn’t register as important, not from the hall in her flat. I didn’t know what to do. Should I hang up and call her again? It wouldn’t work, she hadn’t set the phone back on the cradle. I screamed again.
‘Don’t open it. Don’t open the door!’
But I couldn’t hear anything on the other end. Making the decision, I hung up. I dialled Andy’s mobile. When he didn’t answer I dialled his desk phone, hoping he’d detailed someone to monitor it.
‘DI Gold’s phone.’
It was the kid, the kid who’d told Andy about forensics’ findings in Brixton. I fumbled for his name.
‘Chamberlain?’
‘DC Chamberlain speaking.’
‘Chamberlain, it’s Rucker. Billy Rucker. I was just with you.’
‘Yes, I remember. Of course.’
‘Chamberlain, listen to me. Carefully.’
‘OK. What is it, sir?’
‘My girlfriend is in danger. Serious danger. You have to get as many feet round to 62A Wharf Place as you can, understand? Right now. It’s Hackney, opposite Broadway Market. The killer’s there, there right now.’
‘I don’t think so, sir. DI Gold’s pretty confident we have him right here.’
‘Well, you haven’t. You have to believe me. Please do it. 62A Wharf Place. Make a priority, all units call and get the nearest three units there. Please. Please, please trust me and do this.’
I’d put everything into it. There was silence for a second.
‘As soon as I’m off the phone to you, sir.’
I hit ‘end’ as quickly as I could and took three deep breaths. I don’t know how I got my hands free. I just pulled them out of the cord, tearing with my teeth then pushing down with my feet. When I was clear I called Sharon again but I only got an engaged tone. I pulled on my clothes and made it outside to my car. My car. Where the hell was my car? I felt for my keys but they were gone. She’d taken it. As I ran down the Pancras Road to King’s Cross I dialled Andy’s number again and once again Chamberlain picked up.
‘A Mazda,’ I said. ‘An old brown Mazda. DTL 108M. She took it, the perp. Tell all units to look for it.’
‘She?’
•She!
‘OK, sir. I will. I’ve put the call out. Try not to panic. I’ve informed DI Gold and he’s heading there too. There should be a patrol car at the address any time now.’
Any time now. The words clanged through my head as I burst to the front of the queue at the cab rank. The driver was old, practically moulded into his vehicle. I told him where to go and he responded to my urgency at once, ignoring the outraged protestations of the people behind me. We shot up the Pentonville Road and down towards Old Street. The driver swapped lanes and cut people up, he made it through amber lights and put his foot down whenever there was space in front of us. The streets flashed by and in my mind images of Sharon flashed too. Sharon in her flat, just like Ally had been. A scream made flesh. The helplessness I felt made me want to tear the cab driver out of his seat and drive myself, on pavements, the wrong side of the street, anything. I couldn’t do anything, anything but wonder: was I going to be like Mike? A ghost walking the streets, everything taken away from me before I’d even had a chance to touch it?
The driver swung the cab round past Shoreditch Town Hall. He couldn’t have gone any faster but I couldn’t stop myself urging him too. The binding connection I felt to Sharon was almost physical, a bungee cord picking up speed as it pulled me back towards her. And not just to her. Our child. In a flash, from nowhere, an immense bond of love had materialized between us. Even though it was barely formed. Even though I’d only known about its existence for forty-eight hours. I’d always wondered how fathers could love babies, how they could feel that they had anything to do with them. But now I knew. I’d never envied Mike for his upcoming fatherhood. I didn’t want to be that old. Now I would have given anything to still be on course for that. It was a part of myself that I was hurtling towards and it was the best part. It was my own life I was trying to save.
‘Here. Pull over here.’
I had the money ready, everything in my wallet. I was on the bridge, the place I’d stopped at the night before. I sprinted across and then round the back of the building, towards the door of Sharon’s flat. But as soon as I turned the corner my legs began to slow down. There were two patrol cars parked outside the entrance door. Next to them were three unmarked vehicles. My arms clenched into my sides as the speed went out of my limbs. The wind out of my stomach. The blood out of my veins.
It had happened. One way or another. It had happened. There was nothing I could do.
Two uniformed officers were standing guard at the door to Sharon’s apartment block. I walked towards them, each step like a marathon. I’d rushed there so fast and now I didn’t want to ever cross the next twenty yards. The two policeman saw me walking towards them. They turned in my direction and straightened. Their faces were closed. I couldn’t tell if they knew who I was. Or what they’d have to tell me if they did know. My feet continued to take me towards them. As they did so I began to feel oddly calm. Even though the whole world was using my heart to beat through. I was walking to the guillotine, oblivious to the roar of the crowd. I passed two women, onlookers, pointing towards the door and talking. At my approach they stopped talking and just looked at me. One of them put a hand up to her mouth.
Before I could reach the two uniforms, Andy Gold emerged from the doorway, stopping when he saw me. Andy’s face was pale. Somehow I pushed my feet on. Shallow breaths ducked in and out of me like children playing a parlour game, none of them wanting to be found there when the music ended. When I was two yards away from Andy I stopped. I wanted to ask him. But I was too afraid. I just couldn’t speak.
‘You should have told me,’ Andy said. His voice was quiet, and measured. ‘You should have told me about Sharon. That she was pregnant.’
I nodded. Again I tried to force myself to speak, but I couldn’t.
‘I could have put some men on the door. Looked after her.’
‘I know.’
‘What were you thinking?’
I shook my head. ‘That if no one knew, then she’d be all right.’
Andy pursed his lips, ‘I see. But it was stupid. Really stupid. Now, you have to tell me what’s been going on. What just happened to you?’
‘I know who it is,’ I said. ‘A girl I found, years ago. Her father was abusing her, only I didn’t know. He seemed genu
ine. I took him down to the squat I’d found her in and he beat her. When he got her home. She was pregnant and he beat the baby out of her. She couldn’t have any more. She’s been doing all this because she hates me. And the sight of pregnant women, I guess. Andy. What has happened? Please tell me.’
‘They found your car. They just found it.’
‘Where?’
‘In Clapham,’ Andy said. ‘It was found outside a house in Clapham.’
‘So…?’
‘So Sharon’s OK. She’s upstairs. She’s all right.’
‘Oh. Oh, God.’
‘It’s OK. You can go up. But first I need to ask you something.’
‘All right.’
‘Who’s Jenny Tyler?’
‘Who?’
‘Mrs Jennifer Tyler? Who is she?’
‘I don’t know. Why? Why? Why are you asking me?’
Chapter Thirty
‘Tyler? I’ve never heard the name before in my life.’
‘Think, Billy.’
‘I am thinking. I don’t know her. I don’t know the name, I don’t know anyone in Clapham. I haven’t been there for, Christ, I don’t know how long.’
‘Then why is she dead, Billy? And her baby? Why did someone break into her house this afternoon and kill them both? In Clapham? Her husband found them twenty minutes ago.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t. Maybe she’s just started killing any pregnant women. She’s crazy enough.’
‘But you said she told you it was to be “another one of your girls”.’
‘Then she made a mistake. I don’t know a Jenny Tyler. I don’t know any other pregnant women. Just Sharon. This one, there’s no connection to me.’
‘Sir?’ It was Chamberlain. ‘CID in Clapham have given a description of the victim. Will that help?’
‘Go on.’
‘She was a redhead, thirty-five years old. Five-seven, blue eyes. Wore glasses. She was an optician, actually, had two kids already.’
‘Billy?’
‘No. And she’s not my optician because I don’t have one.’
‘Married to a solicitor. David Roger Tyler.’
‘I don’t know him either.’
‘Jenny Tyler, née Ballard sir. Maiden name was Ballard.’
’Ballard?’
‘Billy?’
Andy turned to me. Everyone in the room turned to me.
‘Jen,’ I said. ‘Jen Ballard.’
* * *
We were upstairs in Sharon’s flat. Andy Gold was there with three other detectives. Sharon was sitting in the corner, by the window. She was very quiet, sipping a mug of tea. Halfway through our phone conversation she’d answered the door to a man from a disabled charity who wanted to sell her some kitchen products. She’d been happy to buy some from him and had gone outside to do so. The man suffered from a mild form of cerebral palsy and it took him a while to get the products ready for her and to take her payment. So Sharon had witnessed the first of the patrol cars arriving. She’d seen the way the police had dealt with the man they thought might be a serial killer. He was terrified, Sharon had told me. He couldn’t understand what he was doing wrong.
It was almost seven p.m. Through the window behind Sharon the dying autumn sun had thrown a can of oil across the canal, setting it alight. I’d been unconscious in the bedsit on the Camden Road for an hour, at least. It had given the girl time to get out of there and to do what she had.
I stole glances at Sharon while Andy spoke to me, trying to gauge her feelings, but I couldn’t really tell what she was thinking. Andy and the other four detectives in the room talked about her as if she were a commodity not a person. Just someone with a baby inside them, someone to be managed, sorted. Or used. I could see them thinking it even if no one was saying it. Sharon had her legs crossed and her arms folded, her mug in front of her face while she listened to us.
I told Andy what had happened that afternoon. I even remembered the girl’s name. How could I forget it? She’d changed my life once, and now she’d done it again. It wasn’t Cherie. It was Carolyn. Carolyn Oliver. Her father’s name was Brian. They were from Chester, in the north-west. I still had their file at my office. I kept all my files. Even as we spoke the police in Chester were hunting stuff out about the family, trying to find the father. I saw him again, sitting at my desk. Then I saw a thin, terrified young girl walking out to the car her father had come to fetch her in. I couldn’t match her up to the person I’d just been attacked by, to the killer of Ally and now three other women. But it was her. Life had twisted her, changed her, made her into something she was never meant to be. And while going back into the girl’s past and putting that right would have been my preferred option, it wasn’t one that was available to me.
When Chamberlain said the word Ballard, however, it was just as if I had gone back in time. Shy, quiet Jennifer Ballard. Clever Jen, prettier than she thought she was, scarlet as a stop sign whenever you went near her at a party. Awkward, good, normal. Someone I hadn’t seen for so long I might well have lived the rest of my life without thinking of her again. Someone I hadn’t spoken to for, what, seventeen years? And yet she was dead because she’d known me. And what was even more unbelievable was how the girl had got to her. I wouldn’t have known where to start looking for her myself.
Everyone in the room was still staring at me.
‘I was at school with her,’ I said finally.
Andy sat up. ‘With Jenny Tyler?’
‘Ballard,’ I said. ‘And we called her Jen. Everybody did. Jen Ballard.’
‘You sure it’s the same one?’
‘Ginger hair? Glasses?’
‘That’s right,’ the kid said.
‘Then yes. She was in my form. At King Edward’s. From the fourth form to the upper sixth, when we left.’
‘And this was in Lincolnshire, Billy, where you grew up?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Chamberlain, make sure this woman was from Louth, Lincolnshire, OK? If she was, then it’s a definite.’
‘Sir.’
‘But I think we can assume it’s the same woman. It has to be. Right, when did you last see her, Billy?’
‘I haven’t,’ I said.
‘You haven’t recently?’
‘No. I mean I haven’t, not ever.’
‘What?’
‘Not since school. Not once. I don’t go back to Louth much and when I have gone I’ve never seen Jen.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘You haven’t been to a reunion, anything like that?’
‘No.’
‘Then what about down here? You run into her on Oxford Street? In the supermarket?’
‘I didn’t even know she lived in London. Or that she was married, had kids, was pregnant. Anything.’
‘Then how the hell has this happened?’ Andy turned his palm upside down. ‘How did she find her?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I have no idea.’
There was silence in the room for a long minute while we all thought about it. I asked Sharon if the name meant anything to her but she just shook her head. Andy said he’d check the Lindauer listings, see if she showed up. It wasn’t likely that she attended any antenatal classes there, though, not if she was from south London. I couldn’t figure it. It had to be some sort of mistake.
‘Sharon? Ms Dean?’
It was Chamberlain again. He’d come off the telephone and was now looking serious, his face pinched through lack of sleep. He looked to be about twenty-three, only six months or so out of uniform. A permanent furrow had already cut a path, though, down from his hairline to the bridge of his nose. I had an image of myself at his age, that quiet, unbreakable focus powered by the belief that the world might actually become a better place if only I could break the case I was working.
Chamberlain asked Sharon if she had a PC he could use and she fetched him her laptop. I’d noticed Chamberlain before, at the station, spending all h
is time looking at his screen. Andy told me that he was the resident computer whiz, but I didn’t know what he was doing now. While Chamberlain tapped away at the keyboard Andy told the other two detectives to head back to the station. Then he turned to me, asking if there was any way in which the girl, Cherie, or Carolyn, could have followed me there that afternoon.
‘Not if she was in Clapham,’ I said. ‘She won’t have had time to come back afterwards. So no.’
‘In that case it looks like you’re OK. Now then.’ Andy nodded and turned to Sharon. ‘If it’s all right by you, I’m going to set up twenty-four-hour protection. But it’s going to be covert. People will be watching your flat but you won’t necessarily know that they’re there.’
‘Wait a minute.’
‘What is it, Billy?’
I looked at Andy. He knew what it was.
‘You’re not going to let her stay here?’ I said. ‘In London? You can’t mean you’re going to let her stay here.’
‘As you said, Billy, no one knows she’s here.’
‘Only four detectives and the same number of uniforms. And soon their wives and boyfriends and then some guy down the pub and…’
‘Which is why I want to put the protection on Ms Dean. It’s probably not necessary but…’
‘Not necessary!? After the girl somehow found some woman I was at school with, who I myself had forgotten even existed.’
‘Billy, calm down. No harm will come to Sharon as long as she’s being observed. How could it?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No way. She has to get out of here. Go away. I know what you’re doing and I’m not having her staying here.’
‘Oh, you’re not? You’re not, are you?’ It was Sharon. She hadn’t said a word since all of this had happened but now she’d cracked. She was looking at me, her hands on her hips. ‘What about me? Do I get a say? Or do you just get to push me out of the way, to make life easier for you?’
It Was You Page 20