“Okay.” He launched himself to his feet. “I’ll talk to Pat and Diana.”
***
The waiting felt unbearable to Caitlin, so she could barely imagine what Nick’s sister was going through. She checked her phone every couple of minutes, willing it to ring.
When it finally did, a little after nine, it wasn’t Nick but Roger. He sounded in remarkably good spirits, and for a moment she forgot he was probably still in custody.
“How are you?”
“Patched up. Leg in plaster. They kept me in hospital Tuesday night for observation.” He chuckled. “With a PC sitting at my bedside. They’re just setting up a hearing at the Magistrates’ Court.”
“And then what?”
“If I get bail, I’m going to fly up to Scotland and explain what a total bloody idiot I’ve been.”
Caitlin couldn’t help smiling. “I mean, what will they charge you with?”
“Who knows? Nigel thinks the CPS might go for manslaughter on grounds of self-defence. Then there’s illegal possession of a firearm, and the fraud, of course. A custodial sentence, probably, but maybe not a long one.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I did it, didn’t I?” he said flatly. “I’m going to take my punishment and then get on with my life.”
There was a moment’s silence. He sighed. “I’d better go…”
“Thanks, Roger,” she said quickly. “I’ll never forget, you know.”
“I just wish things had been different.”
“Me too.”
She was still pondering on the call when she heard the front door open and Nick came in, his face pale and gaunt. She immediately rushed to all kinds of terrible conclusions, and Nick must have read it in her face.
“There’s no news,” he said. “I was going crazy waiting there. I wanted to see you.”
She hugged him until her arms ached. “How’s your sister?”
“She’s coping, just about. I think she appreciates that Alex was determined to seduce Pat.” He shook his head. “They’re both sick with fear for Ryan.”
“You don’t think Alex would hurt him, do you?”
“I’m praying she won’t.”
He produced a sheet of paper on which he’d copied out Alex’s letter. Caitlin read it and said, “So she’s holding him to ransom?”
“That bothers me,” Nick said. “Up till now it’s just been about revenge, pure and simple. Why suddenly go for money?”
“Because she’s seen an opportunity?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “I thought if I got away for a couple of hours, something might…” He jabbed the side of his head angrily, “…shake loose.”
She watched him brooding for a minute, then said, “Come on. Let’s get some air.”
THIRT Y-ONE
“Put it together.”
“What?”
Ryan thrust the box at Alex and rattled it annoyingly. “You need to put it together.”
Alex sighed and grabbed the box from his tiny hand. She’d given in to his constant whining and bought him a toy, a robotic action figure called a Bionicle. She’d assumed it came fully formed, but now discovered it had to be assembled from lots of small parts.
They were sitting at a picnic table in the park on the edge of Worthing. They’d spent nearly three hours in the town centre, killing time in various shops and cafes. Although she had collected clothes and shoes for him when she went into the house yesterday morning, it turned out the trainers no longer fitted. She’d had to buy him a new pair in Clarks, where he charged around the shop, refusing to stand still while his feet were measured.
Without the option of violence she found herself buying his good behaviour with the constant promise of treats. In the course of the morning he’d eaten a doughnut, a gingerbread man and a packet of crisps. Then in McDonald’s he’d thrown a minor tantrum when his Happy Meal failed to contain the toy he wanted.
It was to pacify him that she’d gone to Woolworths and bought him the Bionicle. He spent ten minutes deliberating, only to change his mind again when they were at the till. She was heartily sick of him, and knew if she’d ever had a child of her own she would have strangled it within a year.
While Alex dutifully clipped the bits of plastic into place, Ryan ran off to play in the sandpit. It must have been a school holiday, for the playground was packed with children.
For a while Alex was able to tune out the shouts and screams, her mind drifting away to what would happen at four o’clock. She became aware of a woman at her shoulder: one of the mothers, short, heavy-set, with cheap blonde highlights and a small tattoo of a rose on her flabby upper arm.
“Is that your boy?” she said, and pointed towards the roundabout, where Ryan was kneeling on the ground, his head flopping forward. “He’s just been sick,” the woman added, in a tone that seemed to suggest it was Alex’s fault.
Belatedly remembering to show concern, Alex hurried to Ryan and stood him up. There was a small pile of vomit on the rubbery tarmac, and more on his t-shirt. He was crying the kind of self-indulgent tears that made her itch to inflict real pain on him. She pulled him close and he tried to wriggle out of her grasp. It took all her willpower not to smack him off his feet.
“You sure he’s all right?” the woman said, still loitering close by.
“He’ll be fine.” She took Ryan’s hand and began to lead him away. He was sobbing loudly, drawing looks from everyone around her.
“I’d take him straight home,” the woman chipped in. “Let him have a lie down.”
Alex turned on her with a vicious glare. “I said, he’ll be fine.”
The woman recoiled and stomped away, muttering angrily. Alex grabbed up the partly-completed Bionicle, shoved it into Ryan’s hand and started towards the car.
“Back to sleep for you,” she said. “A nice long sleep.”
***
Without intending to, Nick and Caitlin walked for miles along the seafront, past the skeletal storm-lashed remains of the West Pier, past the noisy hive of tourism that was Brighton Pier, along the slightly forlorn stretch of beach bordered by Madeira Drive and finally to the Marina. They threaded their way through the grim concrete ramps and took refuge in the Katarina pub. Nick bought two Cokes and they carried them to a table outside.
All the way along the front they’d talked about Alex, but neither of them felt they were any closer to anticipating her next move.
“Something’s not right,” Nick kept saying. “I know there’s some part of this that should be making sense to me.”
At Diana’s he had listened to the phone message and confirmed that the voice almost certainly belonged to the woman who had posed as Howard Franks’s researcher.
You said you loved me, Pat! she had exclaimed. You promised me you’d leave the fat bitch! So where are you?
“I’m sure she intended to leave that message rather than actually speak to Diana. It provided evidence of the affair, something my sister could confront Pat with. But that means Alex had to be watching the house, to make sure Di was out.”
Caitlin went with it. “And then Diana called Pat, I suppose?”
“Yep. Demanding an explanation. Pat comes home, they have a big fight and he gets kicked out.”
“Leaving Diana on her own when Alex broke in.”
“It’s perfect, isn’t it? She’s treating us like rats in a maze, and at the centre of the maze there’s poison.”
Something did make sense then, but so deep in his subconscious that he couldn’t reach it. The more he dug, the deeper it would fall.
It was Caitlin’s idea to change the subject for a while, and he was more than happy to oblige. They spent some time discussing the films showing at the nearby cinema, and then moved on to other forms of entertainment: theatre, clubs. When they reached music Nick suddenly froze.
Someone’s Got It In For Me…
“Nick?”
Just like last time. Nothing’s changed. Her objectiv
es are the same. Not money.
Revenge.
“She was watching the house,” he said, hearing his own voice as if from far away. “We know she had keys and the alarm code. That means she could have gone inside at any time.”
Caitlin was frowning. “When the house was empty?”
“Precisely.”
“What, you think she stole something?”
“Maybe. Maybe the opposite.”
“I don’t get you.”
He dug in his pocket for the copy of the ransom note. “The answer’s in here,” he said, his confidence growing. “Look at this. Make sure you are both here at your home by 4.00 pm today. Be patient. Wait for my call at 4.00 pm. You must follow instructions. She’s desperate that we do as she says.”
Caitlin continued to look perplexed. “Yeah. I get that bit.”
“Don’t you see? She’s using Ryan as bait. What she really wants is me and Diana together in the house at four o’clock.”
“But why?”
“Maybe because she’s left something there?”
He let the idea sink in. She gaped at him, not believing, or maybe not wanting to believe.
“You don’t really mean…?”
He was already reaching for his phone.
It was eleven o’clock.
***
Alex kept to the speed limit on the dual carriageway. She couldn’t risk being stopped by the police with Ryan unconscious in the boot. At least, he’d been unconscious when she put him in there. She didn’t much care if he was dead when she took him out.
There was another tantrum back at the car when she tried to clean him up. This time, away from prying strangers, she slapped him hard across the face. For a moment he was winded, mouth open in astonishment while his lungs struggled for air. Before he could start bawling she clamped a hand over his mouth and threw him on to the back seat. With the door shut and the radio on, he could make all the noise he liked while she found the other syringe.
He saw the needle and instinctively knew it meant him harm. For ten seconds she let him writhe and scream and lash out with his puny limbs. Then she slapped his face again, held him down with her knee and thrust the needle into his arm. He was out by the time she reached the A27.
Last night’s Argus had contained an explanation for the police presence at Roger Knight’s home. A brief report stated that a man had been found dead at a house near Clayton. The householder, a forty-eight-year-old businessman, had been arrested and was being questioned by police.
So Knight would be out of circulation for a while. She’d had to consider whether to alter her plans in the light of this situation, but decided it only added to the challenge.
Descending towards Waterhall, she moved across into the slip road for the A23 northbound and happened to notice Ryan’s Bionicle lying crippled on the passenger seat. At the point where the lane separated from the A27 she opened her window and tossed it into the weeds by the side of the road.
***
Nick finished the call to DCI Pearce on the run, heading for a taxi parked across the road. Ten minutes later they were home, and he managed to speak to Diana on her mobile. She was a lot calmer than he expected.
“They brought a doctor round, but I refused to take anything. I want to be clear for this, Nick.”
“Good. How’s Pat?”
She made a noise, a kind of sorrowful groan. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”
“He was tricked, Di. You can’t blame him for what’s happened.”
“I don’t want to talk about it now. I want Ryan back. That’s all.”
“I know. And we’ll get him.” He hesitated. “Did they… has Melanie Pearce spoken to you yet?”
“Not really. They sent us away. They won’t tell us what’s happening.”
“Okay. Don’t worry. I’m coming back now.”
***
This time Caitlin was with him, and she insisted on driving. He joked that she just wanted a chance to use his car. It was the best he could do to lighten the atmosphere.
“Get in,” she said, “and don’t criticise if I crunch the gears.”
On the way he kept trying Pearce’s phone, but it was constantly busy. Finally she called him back. They were in Saltdean, passing the Art Deco open air pool.
“First, a bit of good news,” she said before he could get his question in. “DCI Clements managed to delay the media splash. Says he had to twist a few arms to do it. I gave him a bit of background here, told him what you’d suggested.”
“What did he say?”
“Thought I was taking the mickey, and if it turns out to be nothing he’ll look a right twat. His words exactly.”
“And will he look a right twat?”
A pause. Pearce swallowed, and said, “No.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I don’t know how you worked it out, but thank God you did.”
“So what happens now?”
“I work my little arse off and perform miracles.” She laughed, a burst of gallows humour.
“You know you’re swearing a lot at the moment?”
“I do swear under pressure.” She put on a bad American accent: “You gotta problem with that?”
He laughed and said, “Where do we meet you?”
“Look for a white van on the corner.”
She was going to cut off when he stopped her. “You know this is a perfect opportunity?”
“Go on.”
“How sure are you that she’s not watching the house?”
“Pretty sure. We’ve swept the neighbourhood a couple of times.”
“So this is our chance to go on the offensive. Lay a trap for her.”
When Pearce spoke, he could hear the broad smile in her voice. “Nicholas, I’m actually ahead of you there for once.”
THIRTY-TWO
By one o’clock Alex was back in Brighton, the boy successfully stowed away. She selected a restaurant at random in the Lanes and ordered risotto with a single glass of red wine. She felt calm and untroubled by what lay ahead. All the hard work had been done, and now she could simply let it unfold. Savour every moment.
At two o’clock she returned to her car, parked beneath the Churchill Square shopping centre. She took the bag containing her disguise and used the centre’s lavatory to change. The woman who emerged ten minutes later was in her sixties, bulky in a tweed skirt and green Barbour jacket, tall but stooped, with grey hair and large unfashionable glasses. She looked like a colonel’s daughter, stalwart of the golf club and keen hunt supporter.
She’d considered adding a limp and walking with a stick, but decided against it. At the back of her mind it niggled her that she needed some kind of prop, and as she drove into Peacehaven she had a wonderful stroke of luck.
Slewing into a short lay-by outside a little parade of shops, she left the engine running and hurried towards a newsagents. A small Pekinese was tied to a railing outside. She crouched down and let it sniff her hand before untying the lead. The dog yelped as she picked it up, then started yapping at her. She opened the back door and put the dog inside, securing the lead around one of the seatbelt clasps.
As she pulled back into the traffic she checked her mirror and saw a middle-aged woman emerge from the shop and look round in confusion. Probably thought the lead worked loose and the dog ran away.
After all, who would steal such a horrible little animal?
Three o’clock. Eight people in Diana’s front room, waiting.
DCI Pearce, fresh from performing miracles, rested her head against the back of an armchair. “Thinking,” she’d snapped when someone whispered, “Is she asleep?”
Her colleague – “Call me Doug” – was Team Leader of the Tactical Firearms unit. He sported a Tom Selleck moustache and the gentle bedside manner of a kindly GP, at odds with his black overalls, body armour and Sig Sauer pistol. He was monitoring developments on a tiny earpiece, occasionally asking for reports and giving orders, never raising his voice.
A man and a woman from the Telecoms Unit sat at the dining room table with laptops and headphones. They’d barely spoken a word to anyone else.
Diana and Pat clung together like shipwreck victims, living an agony that no one else present could comprehend. Next to them on the sofa, Caitlin flicked through an old copy of Heat, trying not to feel like an intruder.
Nick was unable to keep still, his body humming with an almost uncontainable mixture of anticipation and fear. He tapped out anxious little drum rolls on the window ledge until Caitlin pointed out how irritating it was.
All of them counting on Nick, who knew more about Alex than any of them. And all of them harbouring the same dreadful thought, which finally, unable to contain it any longer, Diana voiced.
“What if she doesn’t come?”
“She will,” Nick reassured her.
“But if she doesn’t, we’ve lost her. And then we’ve lost Ryan.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. Pat hugged her tighter than ever.
“She’ll be here,” said Nick.
***
For half an hour Alex waited on Seaford seafront, parked in a quiet spot near the Martello tower. She worked on befriending the dog, stroking it, feeding it chocolate. For a furry rat it made a more amenable companion than the child.
She took it for a walk on the beach, practising her old lady persona. There was a bitter wind off the sea, and she was glad of the thick coat. She watched a tiny speck on the horizon transform into the ferry from Dieppe, and decided that when it slid out of sight into Newhaven harbour it would be time to go.
The endgame.
She drove cautiously on the main road through Seaford, as befitted her character, and parked in the street parallel to Diana and Pat’s. Yesterday she’d scouted the area carefully and worked out a couple of escape routes.
Sins of the Father Page 24