He tiptoed towards the house.
A light shone in his eyes.
‘Don’t move. Police. Get on the ground.’
Holy shit. A blonde in black jeans. A bloody cop. Bound to be another one, maybe three or four but hard to see with the torch full in his face.
He thought of all the things he had to gain and what fucking little he had to lose. Dots floated across his vision like snowflakes in a car’s headlights, coming at him from every angle.
His eyes glazed over.
Ada!
He whipped out the gun and aimed it straight at the middle of the bitch’s chest.
- 21 -
Wendy placed the mug of coffee on Julia’s bedside table and the newly delivered Times next to her pillow. ‘Julia,’ she said, softly enough not to startle her.
Something was not right. She never slept this late. ‘Julia, shall I get Nicky ready for ballet?’ Still no response.
‘Julia . . . ’
Still getting no answer she stepped back to open the thick blue curtains that covered the bay window overlooking the river and the park. ‘You could have a few more minutes in bed,’ she said, louder this time, thankful that she’d decided to come over as soon as she heard the dreadful news on the telly.
This time Julia opened her eyes, blinking at the sunlight flooding the room. ‘Wendy? What on earth are you doing here? It’s Saturday and I’m not working today.’
‘Thank goodness you’re okay,’ Wendy said, closing her eyes in relief.
‘Of course I am. I didn’t sleep too well but I’m fine. What’s up? Why are you so worried?’
‘You’re safe, that’s all,’ Wendy blurted out. ‘I can’t believe you represented that man, Julia, he’s gone and killed a policewoman now - haven’t you heard?’
Julia’s eyes opened wide as she shook her head. The colour seemed to drain from her face and Wendy was suddenly sorry she’d burst in on her like this.
‘It was all on the telly this morning,’ she said in a rush. ‘And there was me thinking he’d come for you too. I saw the photo of him, and Mr Moxon was saying how dangerous he was. The telly said he threatened his lawyer as he was taken out of court. That was you, wasn’t it? So that’s why I had to come.’
‘Wendy, I’m fine, really. Nothing to worry about,’ Julia said, but she looked far from fine. ‘Oh, and before I forget, you’ll find a box of Black Magic in the kitchen. I’d like you to have it.’
Wendy was taken aback by Julia’s quick, unruffled change of subject. ‘Thanks,’ she said. She was used to getting Julia’s cast-off chocolates. She had never known her eat a single one. ‘You have a nice quiet read of the paper,’ she said. ‘I’ll have Nicky ready for nine-thirty. Amazingly the little monkey is still asleep. She’ll be cross she’s missing another exciting episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so I’d better go and wake her.’ She smiled, but Julia did not respond, as though her thoughts were miles away. ‘I also saw Mr Moxon on telly last night, you know. He was standing next to that smashed up prison van, looking ever so handsome, asking for witnesses and telling people to watch out for that terrible murderer.’
Wendy bit her lip. She looked at Julia’s tense face and shook her head. ‘What you need is a good holiday. You haven’t had one for two years.’
Julia sipped her coffee. Wendy thought she wasn’t going to answer her, but finally she said, ‘I know. But I don’t mind, as long as I have the odd weekend off.’
‘You could always go to the villa. It’s been empty now for ─ ’
‘No.’
Wendy put her hand to her mouth. How could she have been so thoughtless? If anything ever happened to Alan she would never get over it either. Still, she couldn’t understand how an intelligent woman like Julia Grant could go on blaming the family villa in France for the plane crash that killed her husband and his parents as they took off for their holiday six years ago.
‘Don’t forget the paper,’ she reminded Julia, hurrying to the door and wishing she could do more to help this lovely, lonely woman who did so much for her.
* * *
Julia felt a cold shiver run down her spine as she skimmed over the account of yesterday’s escape with its pictures of the prison van and the articulated lorry, and the close-up of her ex client - one she had seen many times before. It had been taken at Bootle Street police station on the day he’d been arrested. Shot from below the chin, it dehumanised and criminalised him by virtue of its very genre. But of the killing of a policewoman there was no mention that she could see.
She looked up, startled to see that Wendy was still in the room, hovering in the doorway.
‘Julia, could I ask you something?’ Wendy said.
‘Of course. What’s the problem?’ She put the paper down and sipped her coffee, glad of the diversion. She hoped it wasn’t trouble with Alan. Wendy would be devastated if he ever broke it off.
‘It’s, well . . . I don’t know how to put this. But how can you be on the side of someone like that?’ Wendy pointed to the full colour face in The Times.
Julia winced as she glanced at the photograph.
‘I mean, like you know your client’s guilty, like how can you defend them?’
Julia had been asked this question many times. And more than once had also asked herself. ‘The fact is, Wendy, that you don’t know your client is guilty until he actually tells you he is. Until then, you treat him as though he is not guilty. And sometimes you are right.’
Wendy’s eyes narrowed, as if Julia had said the world was flat.
‘That’s the way the criminal system treats all criminal defendants, at least in theory. They are not guilty until the Crown proves their case.’
Wendy looked down at the carpet, her eyes shifting from left to right.
‘And the Crown must prove their case beyond reasonable doubt. And whether you think your client is guilty or not is completely immaterial to the way you deal with the case.’
Wendy looked up at Julia, clearly not convinced.
‘And from the criminal lawyer’s point of view ─ not his personal point of view ─ that doesn’t create any moral problem whatsoever.’
‘No?’ Wendy looked more confused than ever.
‘Not as long as certain rules are observed. Look at it this way. I’m bound by my client’s confidentiality. But I can still present a defence that highlights the weaknesses in the prosecution’s case. I can call evidence to controvert that. And leave it to the jury to draw their own conclusions.’
‘I had no idea it was so complicated.’
Julia smiled. ‘I suppose that still doesn’t answer your question, though, does it?’
‘It’s all a bit beyond me.’ She turned to go, then stopped. ‘But I get the gist of it. It’s a job. It has strict rules. And you have to follow those rules. No matter what you really feel deep inside you.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
Sometimes, Julia thought, neither do I.
Wendy opened the door, then stopped and turned as though suddenly remembering something of importance. ‘I don’t want to seem to be criticising you, Julia, but I couldn’t help noticing . . .’
She turned again, shaking her head as she began walking away.
Julia sat up straight, almost spilling her coffee. ‘Noticing what?’
‘Nothing,’ Wendy said.
But the hunched shoulders and lowered head spoke volumes. You can’t silence the language of the body, Julia thought. ‘What is it? Tell me, please.’
‘I’m sorry. It was nothing.’
Julia wasn’t convinced. Wendy kept the house like a palace. It wouldn’t surprise her, she thought, if the disastrous end to her evening with Ben had made her inadvertently leave dirty coffee mugs in the sink.
Just then the phone on her bedside table rang. As she looked up she saw Wendy discreetly slip away. She was tempted to let it ring. She valued the short time she had on her own on Saturday mornings while Nicky watched the telly, to try to make sense of
her life. Tears, anger, resentment and panic, all packed into a weekly episode of personal trauma, hidden from the rest of the world.
She picked up the receiver.
‘This time he’s really done it, Julia. He’s shot Sergeant Avril Scott at point blank range. An old friend of mine. Outside Joe Sagoe’s house. She’s dead.’ Paul’s voice was shaking with emotion. He didn’t wait for Julia to answer. ‘Now will you listen to me?’
‘I’m so sorry, Paul. Absolutely dreadful. A terrible tragedy.’ A wave of nausea swept up Julia’s throat. ‘Did you get him?’ she whispered.
‘No. Of course we didn’t. Another inexcusable slip-up. Look, Julia, he could be anywhere. You have to have personal police protection. As from right now. This very minute.’
‘Paul, I don’t know what to say. But I really don’t think Smith would harm me. I wish I could tell you why. Let’s say it’s because I know him so well. Besides, in my job it just isn’t feasible to have someone breathing down my neck twenty-four hours a day. You must know that. Anyway, we’ve got Wendy.’
‘And you expect that young woman to be able to defend you? Why, Julia, when we have a whole police force trained to do just that?’
‘Wendy’s a black-belt. And with twenty-four-hour surveillance on the road outside our house, we’ll be just fine.’
She heard Paul’s deep sigh. I wish I could tell him, she thought. I wish I could tell him who I think he might be, even though I don’t want it to be him and don’t even really want to know. I wish I could tell him that if he is . . . if he is . . . he would never harm me. He would always protect me . . .
She blinked her eyes. Oh my God. Where did that come from?
Paul’s insistence on Julia having personal protection was perfectly natural under normal circumstances. She knew she should accept. She had every reason to trust Paul, and scant reason to trust Smith. If it were any other murderer who had threatened her, she would undoubtedly accept, but Smith wasn’t just any murderer. She knew her thinking must seem irrational. She knew her behaviour looked inconsistent. She knew her choices and attitudes did not appear sufficiently justified to anyone who did not have her insight. And she knew how it must irritate Paul.
But until she knew for sure who Smith was, she was trapped inside her irrationality. Irrationality that was dictating to her that if she agreed to twenty-four hour personal police protection, and just say Smith did decide to contact her to seek her help, this would make it easier for them to recapture him. And insanely she did not want them to do that.
She also wished she could tell Paul that every day flashes of memory were returning to build a picture she was still struggling to formulate into thoughts, let alone into words she could accept. Memories from her early childhood with her brother who was the only one who’d loved her; memories intertwined with other sinister memories that were invading her mind and making her cringe with humiliation and shame.
‘Okay, Julia,’ Paul said at last.
She could hear the exasperation in his voice, but no matter how much more he might try to persuade her, there was no way she could agree.
‘But one more move from Smith and I’ll have to insist.’
She didn’t answer this. She knew how hard it must have been for him to back down.
‘Meanwhile,’ he said, once more assuming the tone of authority, ‘Bennett mentioned that empty house opposite yours. I’m moving the obs team in there today whether you like it or not. They’ll have a perfect view of the house and the garden.’
‘That’s a good idea, Paul.’
‘Well, that’s something! For once you’re agreeing with me. And I suppose you’ve enrolled for that course in self-protection.’
She said nothing. Paul was always going on about self-protection. Then, as an afterthought: ‘Will I see you later?’ she asked.
‘Christ, Julia, I don’t know. All hell has broken loose here at Chester House. Nobody kills a police officer and gets away with it. I can’t see myself getting away today.’
‘I’m so sorry. Really I am. If there’s anything I can do ─ ’
‘Just look after yourself.’
‘I will.’
She put down the phone and buried her face in the pillow. Oh, God. What would Sam Smith do next?
Hearing Wendy’s knock she quickly straightened her hair, relaxed the muscles of her face and took a deep breath. ‘Come in, Wendy. I’m sorry, but what were you saying?’
Wendy hesitated. ‘Nothing really. I just wondered. I know it’s trivial but did you leave the outside kitchen door open when you went to bed last night?’
‘The outside door?’ Julia rubbed her forehead. And then she remembered Duke. ‘You mean ─ unlocked?’
Last night she’d been a bit groggy when she got up to let Duke out. The dream always did that to her and she could easily have done something absentmindedly.
‘No. Not just unlocked. Wide open.’
Julia swung her legs over the edge of the bed. ‘Wendy, I let Duke out in the middle of the night. I was too tired to wait for him. It was warm enough for him to stay outside. But I did not leave it open.’
Burglaries were on the increase even in this up-market part of Cheshire, but no one could have got in from the road, she assured herself. Could someone have slipped in from The Carrs? No, the fence was too high. Come on, Julia. If burglars really want to get in, you know they can.
Her head reeled. Smith?
No. Don’t be idiotic, she told herself. He was in Moss Side, killing a police officer outside Joe Sagoe’s house.
But Duke had heard something. Possibly the PCs themselves, wandering in the garden against their orders, although they were hardly likely to have left her kitchen door wide open.
The thought of a stranger prowling about the house in the dead of night made Julia feel quite sick. ‘Is anything missing?’ she asked.
‘Not that I can see, but I haven’t checked yet. I’ve been giving Nicky her breakfast. I let her help herself and her dish is overflowing with CocoPops. Her eyes glued to the telly.’ Wendy frowned and bit the end of her finger. ‘Now that I think of it, I didn’t see that little photo of Nicky on top of the fridge. The one the superintendent took and you had framed.’ She laughed. ‘It’s probably fallen down behind the fridge . . .’ Her voice trailed on but Julia wasn’t listening.
‘Of course,’ she said. She looked up at the ceiling. ‘Silly me. No one could possibly have come in. If they had, Duke would have carried on barking.’ She was awake most of the night. She would have heard him. Crazily she must have left the door open herself, so she deserved Wendy’s admonitions.
Wendy’s mouth drooped down at the corners and she looked even more unhappy than before.
Julia stared back at her. ‘Wendy? What is it now?’
‘Duke.’
‘What?’
‘He’s not here. I’ve called but ─ ’
With one leap Julia was off the bed, a knot of guilt forming in her stomach for having left him out overnight. Funny, she thought, he barked like hell to get out and then not so much as a yowl to get back in. ‘He could have opened the door himself. Like he did last year. With his paw. And then gone out again,’ she said, whipping off her nightgown and pulling on an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
‘If it was unlocked,’ Wendy said, looking anxiously at Julia. ‘And you know what the old devil’s like if there’s a bitch in season,’ she added with a weak smile.
Julia’s mind raced. Wendy knows more than anyone else does what it would do to me, let alone to Nicky, if that dog were lost. Duke has never failed to return for breakfast. Try piecing together your movements after letting him out, she told herself. Ben upset you with his preposterous advances but that was no excuse for behaving irresponsibly .
‘But I’m sure I closed the door,’ she said, grabbing a pair of trainers. ‘I’m always so careful. But I suppose I must have left it unlocked. Anyway Duke would raise the roof if someone opened that door.’
‘I
f he was there,’ Wendy said. ‘But what if he did go off to see his girl friend?’
Julia smiled, remembering how she had explained a previous disappearance of Duke, after which he had been found in a neighbour’s garden making indecent overtures to their diminutive but entrancingly oestrous Poodle bitch. ‘I’m sure he’ll be back for his breakfast soon, unless . . .’ She hated her vivid imagination. Hated it for portraying so graphically the gory sight that filled her mind. A dead dog at the site of a break-in was not an uncommon occurrence these days. Quietly butchered with the nearest heavy object. But she had heard nothing. Besides, the police had been out on the road.
‘Wait for me,’ she said, doing up her muddy white trainers. ‘We must find Duke. Quickly. Before Nicky realises he’s missing.’
- 22 -
Julia had been taking Nicky to the Sonya Lake School of Ballet in Cheadle every Saturday since before her fourth birthday. Her daughter’s dream was to dance Odette/Odile in Swan Lake at the Palace Theatre in Manchester and nothing was going to stop her. As they walked up the cement pathway to the double glass doors, Nicky tugged at Julia’s hand.
‘I wish you could watch me today, Mummy. You never watch me.’
‘But you know Sonya doesn’t like people watching. Besides, I have too much to do this morning.’
She hated herself for having to say that. She could hardly bear to look at the sad blue eyes. ‘Nicky, darling, tomorrow I’ll play the Swan Lake music for you. I’ll watch you practice. Then as a treat you can have one of your favourite ice creams from Sainsbury’s.’ If it were the last thing she did Julia would make sure she kept these promises. ‘Deal?’ she said.
Nicky’s eyes lit up. ‘Okay, Mummy. Deal.’
Julia sighed with a sense of relief she knew she had no right to feel. Once more her daughter had demonstrated the good nature she had inherited from Simon, together with the wide-eyed smile that seemed to light up her face from nowhere.
‘But, Mummy,’ she said, turning to Julia with a puzzled frown that made her look far older and wiser than her six years, ‘you said it was your weekend off.’
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