Hunting Shadows

by Bugler, Sheila

  ‘Right.’ Ellen looked at Abby’s exquisite little body and wondered what part of it Abby could possibly be unhappy with. Unless …

  She’d invited Abby over to her place for a coffee so they could talk about the Hudsons. Which they’d managed to do without killing each other. And after all the talking, they’d reached the same conclusion they always did. That there was something Kevin Hudson wasn’t telling them. Ellen was convinced it related to Dan Harris. To her surprise, Abby agreed with her. So they decided to pay Kevin one more visit. Together. Almost made Ellen feel like she and Abby were a team.

  ‘What do you think of that murder in Bromley?’ Abby asked, nodding at the TV as she zipped up her jacket.

  ‘That?’ Ellen asked. ‘Who cares? Some drug-dealer killed in a turf war. You know what pisses me off, though? It’s not even a week since Jodie’s gone and already she’s not headline news any more. Instead, the press are more concerned about some guy who probably got what was due to him.’

  ‘He’s still dead,’ Abby said. ‘Even if he was dealing, he didn’t deserve to die. No one does. No matter what they’ve done. That’s why people like us don’t believe in the death penalty.’

  ‘Who says we don’t?’

  Abby looked genuinely shocked and, for a precious moment, she seemed lost for words. Making the most of the moment, Ellen put on her own jacket and suggested that, if they were walking, they’d better get a bloody move on.

  Outside, they marched up Vanbrugh Park to the point where Greenwich ended and Blackheath began. After a while, Abby gave up trying to make conversation and they progressed in merciful silence.

  When they reached the heath, Ellen paused to look over the dark expanse of open space to the twinkling lights of Blackheath village on the far side.

  ‘I love it up here,’ Ellen said. ‘You know, if I ever come into money, that’s where I’ll live.’ She pointed to the row of Georgian houses lining the edges of the heath towards Blackheath. ‘I used to come here as a little girl and imagine I’d own one of those houses one day.’

  ‘You’d need to find yourself a different job,’ Abby said. ‘Or a rich husband. Oh God. I didn’t mean that. Shit …’

  Ellen bit her lip to stop herself smiling. It was the first time she’d heard Abby swear.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I get it all the time. People say things without thinking. And why shouldn’t they? I don’t expect the whole world to tippy-toe around me, watching every word that comes out of my mouth. And I certainly don’t expect you to do that, either.’

  ‘You said you came up here when you were little?’ Abby said.

  ‘All the time,’ Ellen said. ‘I grew up the other side of Trafalgar Road. My parents still live there, in fact.’

  ‘So you’re a Greenwich girl born and bred,’ Abby said.

  ‘More or less. Well, Peckham for the first few years, then we moved to Greenwich when I was four.’

  ‘Your parents must have been relieved when they moved from Peckham to here,’ Abby said with a laugh. ‘That’s what I call moving up in the world.’

  ‘I don’t remember that much about it,’ Ellen said. ‘And we weren’t with our parents then. Sean and I are adopted.’

  ‘Oh,’ Abby said. ‘I didn’t realise. But I wouldn’t, I suppose. And Sean’s your brother?’

  ‘Twin,’ Ellen said. And then, for no reason she could think of, she continued speaking. ‘Our mother went to prison. For killing our baby sister.’

  There was silence for a moment and even in the dark, when she glanced over, she imagined she could see Abby trying to work out how to respond. Ellen wondered what on earth had made her come out with it in the first place.

  ‘Well,’ Abby said eventually. ‘I can’t even pretend to know what that would be like. But it must have been pretty awful for you both.’

  This time, Ellen did smile. ‘You could say that.’

  They walked in silence across the heath. There was something Ellen needed to ask Abby. She was trying to think of a tactful way to approach the subject when her phone rang. Raj Patel.

  ‘Have you seen the news?’ Raj panted.

  Behind Raj, Ellen could hear another man speaking. Her insides contracted as she recognised the voice. Mark Pritchard, the forensic pathologist.

  ‘Is that Mark?’ she asked. ‘Jesus, Raj. What the hell has happened? Please tell me it’s not Jodie.’

  ‘It’s Harris,’ Raj said. ‘Dan Harris. The bloke you asked me to speak to. Only by the time I got across to Bromley, I was too late. Local boys already here. Neighbour discovered the body earlier today.’

  ‘Any idea how he died?’ Ellen asked.

  Kevin’s words were swimming around her head: In the end, everyone gets what they deserve. Surely he didn’t mean …?

  ‘Too early to tell,’ Raj said. ‘But two things I can tell you. Harris has been dead for a good few days. And he didn’t die a pretty death. This is definitely a murder investigation.’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Ellen said. ‘Abby and I are on our way to Hudson’s place right now. We need to get to Kevin. Now. Raj, we’ll be there in under ten minutes. I need you to radio ahead for back-up. But tell them to wait outside. No, better still, wait for us on the corner of Holme Lacey and Dallinger. We’ll meet them there. Can you call Baxter as well? Tell him what’s happened.’

  ‘No need,’ Raj said. ‘He’s just arrived.’

  Great, Ellen thought. Just what she needed. Baxter storming into this mess with his ready-made assumptions. She needed to get to Kevin first.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Abby asked as Ellen hung up.

  ‘Dan Harris is dead,’ Ellen said. ‘No details yet, but we need to get across to Hudson’s place right now. Who’s with them at the moment?’

  ‘Malcolm,’ Abby said. ‘He’s covering so I could come see you.’

  ‘Call him,’ Ellen said. ‘Tell him not to let Kevin Hudson out of his sight. And bugger this walking business. Let’s find a cab.’

  Ellen started running, hoping Abby could keep up, not caring if she couldn’t. The only thing she cared about now was getting to Kevin Hudson and finding out exactly what, if anything, he had to do with the murder of Dan Harris.

  18.48

  Frankie was saying something. Rob leaned closer, but he still couldn’t make out the words.

  ‘Wha’sat?’ He grabbed Frankie’s arm to get him to slow down.

  They were running. On a road in Lee somewhere. Or rather, Frankie was running while Rob staggered along beside him, trying to keep up. They’d kicked off the evening with a feed of pints in a pub near Eltham station before jumping on a bus and coming here. For his size, Frankie couldn’t half move quickly.

  ‘Would you keep it down,’ he hissed, pulling his arm free. ‘We don’t want to be drawing attention to ourselves, do we?’

  ‘I can’t remember the house,’ Rob slurred. He looked around, confused. The houses swayed and blurred in front of him as he tried to recall which one was Hudson’s.

  ‘’S’alright,’ Frankie said. ‘Number eighty. ’S right up there. See?’ He grabbed Rob’s head and twisted it so he was looking up the hill at the white house near the top.

  ‘You all right, Rob?’ Frankie asked. ‘Looking a bit sick, mate, if you don’t mind me saying so. Sure you’re up for this?’

  Rob nodded. The dizziness passed. As he got his breath back, the wave of nausea that hit him a moment ago started to fade. He belched, releasing some of the trapped air in his stomach. Jesus, how much had they had? Five pints? Something like that. Too much on an empty stomach.

  It was all right for Frankie. He’d eaten a huge roast dinner with his beer. No food had gone near Rob’s stomach since yesterday. He was nervous. Excited of course, yeah. But nervous too.

  ‘’Slike.’ He started to explain it to Frankie but had to belch again. His mouth filled with the taste of beer. ‘Like when you’re a kid and you’ve been waiting so long for Christmas and by the time the day itself comes you’re so sick wi
th the excitement of it all, you can’t enjoy it properly. Sort of like that but without any of the fun, if you know what I mean.’

  Frankie grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. ‘Listen, Rob. You know what we’ve got to do here tonight, right? It ain’t going to be something you’ll forget and it sure as hell ain’t going to bring your little girl back, so you better think about that before we go any further. You got that?’

  Rob closed his eyes and saw Molly, smiling at him and holding her arms out, the way she did when she wanted him to pick her up. Almost at once, before he had any time to savour it, the image disappeared, replaced by her ruined little body the day he’d gone to identify her. He opened his eyes.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I know all that, Frankie. But at least I’ll sleep easier knowing that bastard paid for what he done to her. That’s why I’m doing this. No other reason.’

  Frankie let go of his shoulders and nodded. ‘Glad we got that sorted. So, you ready?’

  Rob looked along the road towards number eighty. He could see lights on in the downstairs windows, and imagined Hudson in there, safe and warm. Maybe even pretending to comfort his wife, who probably had no idea what sort of an evil bastard she was married to.

  Up ahead, there was a noise. Frankie nudged him, his huge elbow slamming into Rob’s side, winding him.

  ‘Here he comes,’ Frankie hissed.

  The two men moved back into the shadows of the garden behind them and watched, with growing excitement, as Kevin Hudson appeared and started walking along Dallinger Road, towards Rob and Frankie.

  18.50

  Helen was still in the kitchen. She hadn’t spoken to him. Hadn’t said a word, not one word since she’d watched the news. The hallway was dark but he didn’t turn any lights on, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Quietly, he slipped into his coat and buttoned it up. He should really tell her he was going out but it would only upset her, and he’d caused more than enough upset already.

  He had the front door open and was nearly outside when she appeared.

  ‘Running away?’ she asked.

  ‘Just going out for a walk,’ he said. ‘Need to get some fresh air, that’s all, Helen.’

  ‘Where, Kevin?’ Her voice rose and she was starting to sound hysterical. ‘Who are you meeting? I heard you. On the phone yesterday. You’re meeting someone in The Northbrook. It’s to do with him, isn’t it? It always comes back to this.’

  She grabbed his sleeve, pulling at him, trying to drag him back into the house. Upstairs, he could hear Finlay moving about, the floorboards creaking and the sound of the TV in his bedroom being switched on.

  ‘Stop it,’ Kevin pleaded, trying to lift her hand off him. ‘Please, Helen.’

  ‘You said you’d let it go,’ she shouted.

  Above his head, the TV grew louder and Kevin imagined Finlay lying on his bed trying to block out the sound of his mother crying.

  ‘Helen.’ He tried to wrap his arms around her but she lashed out, fists pummelling into his chest until he pulled back, letting her go.

  ‘You said it didn’t matter anymore. That’s what you said, Kevin. You said the only thing that matters now is Jodie. But you’re a liar, aren’t you? A bloody goddamn good for nothing liar!’

  ‘I won’t be gone long,’ he said.

  Another lie. He had no idea what he was going to face or how long he’d be gone. All he knew was he had to go. Now that the body had been found, he didn’t have a choice.

  ‘Besides,’ he continued. I’ll have my phone with me.’ He held it up as evidence that, this time at least, he was telling the truth. ‘If there’s anything, anything at all, you only have to call. I’ll come straight back.’

  She had stopped crying now and was wiping her face with her sleeve. He went to move towards her again but she put her hand up, stopping him.

  ‘Just go,’ she hissed. ‘Just bloody go if you have to. And if something happens to you, Kevin Hudson, then to hell with you. I won’t come looking for you. The only thing I care about right now is Jodie. I don’t have time for anything else. Do you understand that?’

  He wanted to tell her he understood perfectly. That if he was in her shoes, he’d feel exactly the same way. It was his fault. All of it. And that the only reason he was going out now was because he had to try and fix things. He didn’t know if he could, or if it was too late for that, but he had to try at least.

  Except he couldn’t tell her that. She had already gone. Into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her, leaving him alone in the hallway.

  He sighed, and turned to open the front door. A blast of icy air engulfed him. It wasn’t too late to change his mind. If he wanted, he could go back inside and give up on this whole thing. He shook his head. He’d started this whole business and now he had to finish it. Once and for all.

  As he pulled shut the front door, he heard the detective’s mobile phone ringing. Malcolm. The guy they’d sent across to replace Abby. Some instinct told Kevin to get away from the house as quickly as he could in case, for some reason, Malcolm came looking for him.

  The road was quiet. The last journalist had moved on yesterday. Jodie would only become interesting again when she was found. If she was found.

  Out here, Kevin could still hear the TV. Blasting from Finlay’s bedroom, following him down the street as he hurried to The Northbrook for his seven o’clock meeting with a man who, if Kevin’s suspicions were right, wanted to speak to him about the recent murder of Dan Harris.

  18.55

  The Northbrook was a swift ten-minute walk from Kevin’s house. He walked quickly, footsteps pounding out against the pavement, echoing into the still night. He tried not to think about Helen, or the way he’d left things. He didn’t blame her for being angry. He’d lied to her. Made a promise, then broken it. She’d begged him to keep away from Harris, saying he’d damaged their family enough. She was right, of course. If it wasn’t for Harris, none of the rest of it would have happened.

  Jodie.

  Each time he thought of her, it was like being stabbed in the heart. He’d let her down. Let them all down. Of all the cock-ups in his life, this was the worst. Images of her flooded his mind and he speeded up, trying not to let them overwhelm him. As if he could run away from them. In fact, the faster he walked the more images there were and the faster they flashed before him, until it felt like he was drowning in them.

  He was so caught up with what was going on in his head, he didn’t notice the man in front of him until it was too late. He ran straight into him, his body thrown back with the impact as he bounced off the bigger man.

  He started to apologise. A hand reached out from nowhere and wrapped itself around his throat and he was dragged backwards. Instinctively, he lashed out, kicking wildly, arms swinging as they tried to make contact with whoever was holding him.

  The figure in front of him moved closer. Kevin saw a fist coming down and tried to duck, but with the arm around his neck he couldn’t move. There was an explosion of pain as the fist smashed into the side of his face.

  Then another blow, this time in the stomach, punching the air from his body and leaving him gasping for breath. The arm around his neck tightened and he struggled against it, body screaming for air.

  The person holding him was still dragging him back, lifting him so his feet swung in the air. He tried to kick out, but his legs had no strength left in them. Suddenly, the pressure around his neck lifted, and he was shoved forward. He fell to the ground and tried to pull himself up but a foot pressed into his back, pushing him down.

  A face appeared in front of him. Up close. It was too dark to make out the features but he could smell the man – beer and cigarettes. He tried to pull back but the man grabbed him by the hair, dragging him closer.

  ‘Kevin Hudson,’ the man whispered. ‘Thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?’

  Kevin tried to speak. The man pulled his hair, yanking his head up, and he screamed instead.

  ‘Hurts
, doesn’t it? Nothing compared to how my Molly felt, I bet. Do you remember her, Hudson? Molly York?’ Another tug on his head, pulling it back even further.

  ‘Think! Molly York, it was only three years ago, you bastard. Surely you haven’t forgotten her already?’

  Molly York. He recognised the name.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he shouted. Half mad with panic, he struggled to break away. His fists lashed out uselessly, flailing around without hitting anything.

  ‘Molly York!’ the man roared.

  A weight on his back like someone had dropped a block of concrete down on him. Inside, something cracked. Stabbing pain shot through his side.

  Then another voice, so close it felt like it was coming from inside his head.

  ‘Fucking nonce. Want to find out what it feels like?’

  Hands pulling at his clothes. Cold air slapped his back as his coat was ripped open. Then more hands, tugging at his trousers.

  ‘No!’ He tried to fight it, using everything he had to shove the man off him. The other man was still holding his head. He was saying something now, but Kevin couldn’t hear him. All he knew was the man on top of him and the hands on his body, tearing his clothes.

  Something moved, loosened, inside him. Warmth and wetness down the insides of his thighs.

  ‘Fucker’s pissed himself.’

  The weight on his back disappeared. He scrabbled forward but they were on him again, kicking and punching.

  Get him, get him.

  He tried to curl into a ball, pull his arms over his head, protect himself. Someone grabbed him, half-lifting, half-dragging him off the ground.

  The smaller man held him, lifting his head and forcing him to look at the other man.

  ‘You’re going to pay for what you did, Hudson.’

  ‘Hold him tight,’ the big man said, moving towards them.