She started banging on the door again and calling out his name.
‘He won’t answer, you know.’
Ellen turned round and saw an elderly lady with bright orange, dyed hair and a perm so tight it could have been painted onto her head.
‘Even when he’s at home, he rarely comes to the door,’ the woman continued. ‘Besides, I don’t think he’s there. He went off somewhere yesterday evening and I haven’t seen him since. Of course, he keeps odd hours, Rob. Up all night and sleeps during the day. Poor boy. It’s a wonder he keeps going at all, when you think of it. I suppose he doesn’t have a choice, really. All he has to hope for is that they’ll find him one day. The man who killed poor little Molly.’
The woman stopped talking and looked from Ellen to Alastair, then back at Ellen again.
‘Who are you, anyway?’ she asked. ‘Police? You look like police. Oh dear, he’s not in any trouble, I hope? He’s a good lad, Rob. I mean, he’s not right in the head anymore, not really. Him and Frankie make a right pair, the two of them. Sad when you remember them as little lads. I still think of them like that sometimes. Even though I know that’s silly. You can’t help it, though, can you? It’s like with my friends. They all look the same to me as they did when we were in our twenties and thirties. Even though we’re all the wrong side of seventy these days. We’re old now. All of us. And that’s sad too, I suppose.’
There had been two men last night. Rob and another, larger man.
‘Who’s Frankie?’ Ellen asked.
The woman squinted as she focussed on Ellen. ‘You never told me who you are, dear. If you’re police, I expect you’ll know Frankie already, won’t you? Frankie Ferrari? No?’ More squinting. ‘You’re not police then?’
Ellen smiled. ‘We are, actually.’
‘But you’re not here to cause trouble.’ This was said as a fact not a question. ‘Tell me your name, dear. If I see Rob, I’ll tell him you came looking for him. Can’t say fairer than that now, can I?’
‘I guess not,’ Ellen said.
She gave the woman a card with her details on it, telling her it was urgent Rob called her as soon as possible.
‘What next?’ Alastair asked, as the woman walked away from them. ‘I’ve had a few dealings with that Ferrari guy. He’s a right nutter. Want me to get him in?’
Ellen sighed. This latest business with Kevin was, as her father might say, one unholy mess. First, the discovery that Dan Harris was dead. Murdered in his flat in Bromley. Then the assault on Kevin. Finally, Baxter showing up to arrest Kevin. For murder.
‘Maybe I was wrong,’ Ellen said. ‘Maybe it wasn’t him I heard last night.’
‘You don’t really think that,’ Alastair said.
‘No,’ Ellen agreed. ‘The thing is, I’m not certain enough to go breaking his door down. I do want to speak to him about last night, but not like that. I suspect if we put pressure on him, he’ll clam up.’
‘So we just let them get away with it?’ Alastair asked. ‘Apart from anything else, Ma’am, it was an assault on an officer.’
Ellen reached up and touched the side of her face.
‘I’ll come back for York,’ she said. ‘And Ferrari. Our priority for now is still Jodie. With everything else that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, we’re in danger of forgetting that. Whatever Rob York did or didn’t do, one thing we can be pretty sure of is that he isn’t the person who has Jodie. Yes, we need to have a word. But my guess is that Martine Reynolds told Rob that Kevin was our main suspect and there was every chance he was the person who killed Molly, too. In his fragile state, there’s every chance that tipped poor Rob over the edge. I’ll tell you one thing, Alastair, don’t let that Reynolds woman come anywhere near me. If she does, I won’t be held accountable.
‘Come on. I need caffeine. Let’s grab a coffee in the park and decide on our next steps.’
Like the last time, Ellen sat outside the café in Mountsfield Park, enjoying the view. She watched a pair of workmen clearing a section of the park beside the playground. A van was parked nearby, she could just make out the name Medway Maintenance printed along the side of it.
‘Remind me,’ Ellen said. ‘What was the name of the firm Fletcher worked for?’
‘Medway Maintenance,’ Alastair replied. ‘They’re here today, too. Look.’
Both workmen were dressed in green overalls and, even from where she was sitting, it was obvious from their body language that the shorter, older man was the one in charge. Every so often, he’d point to a new area of the park, issue some instructions and the bigger man would lumber over obediently and start doing whatever it was he’d been told to.
‘Back in a sec.’ Ellen drained her coffee and wandered across. It was only when she got closer that she realised she’d seen them before. The shorter man was the one who’d nearly run her over in Manor Park.
He obviously recognised her as well and didn’t seem too eager to speak when she approached him.
‘We’ve got a lot on this morning,’ he said. ‘This better be quick. Who did you say you were again?’
‘I didn’t,’ Ellen said. ‘Just said I wanted to ask you a few questions, that’s all. Starting with your name, sir?’
The man leaned on the spade he was carrying and looked at her. ‘And what makes you think I’d talk to you?’ he asked.
‘Because you don’t have a choice.’ Ellen flashed her warrant card. ‘You can either answer my questions here or we can pop across to Lewisham station. Might take a few hours and bugger up your day but, believe me, your well-being is way down my list of priorities right now.’
The man shrugged. ‘What is you want to know?’
‘Molly York,’ Ellen said. ‘Remember her? Little girl taken from this very park three years ago. One of your staff was in the frame for it, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘They let him go, though, didn’t they?’ the man said. ‘Not fair on him if you lot start digging all that up again. Not fair at all.’
‘We’ll decide what’s fair and what’s not, Mr …?’
‘Wilson,’ he said. ‘Simon Wilson.’
‘And you were Brian Fletcher’s boss at the time?’
Wilson’s eyes slid across to the big man, who had stopped working and was standing beside a pile of branches, staring at Ellen. Fletcher, she realised with a jolt. A tall, overweight man in his mid-twenties. Right now, he looked terrified.
‘What about it?’ Wilson said. Then, shouting across to Fletcher. ‘Get back to work, Brian! Nothing for you to worry about here. I want those branches cleared now, you hear?’
‘Not a bother, Simon,’ the other man said. ‘I’ll get to it now.’
‘Good of you to keep him on after all that business with Molly,’ Ellen said. ‘Not many people would do a thing like that.’
‘His old man and I were mates,’ Wilson said. ‘Sort of mates, at any rate. See, Brian’s mother died when he was only young and then a few years ago his father fucked off. Couldn’t cope. Just upped and left poor Brian to fend for himself. I came out to the house one morning and found him there all alone. Don’t know what he would have done if it wasn’t for me. Look, officer—’
‘Detective Inspector,’ Ellen corrected.
Wilson shrugged. ‘Whatever. Brian’s had a hard time, see? He’s not a bad bloke. A few sandwiches short of a picnic, but that’s all. That business with Molly, he’d never do something like that. He’s too soft. Besides, he was innocent. Your lot had to admit that in the end. It wasn’t right, you know, the way they focussed on Brian. Just because he’s a bit backward. Wasn’t right at all. The last thing he needs is to have to relive it all again. That wouldn’t be right. Do you understand?’
Ellen understood all right. For whatever reason, Wilson saw himself as Fletcher’s protector. And his determination not to let her speak to Fletcher left her wanting to speak to him more than ever. Something she planned to do sooner rather than later.
Thanking Wilson for his time, she
said goodbye and went back to Alastair.
‘Drink up,’ she said. ‘Let’s get back to the station. I want to read everything you’ve pulled together on Wilson and Fletcher. There’s something funny going on there and, whatever it is, I want to get to the bottom of it.’
She walked back to the car with Alastair. At the park gate, she turned and looked back at the two Medway Maintenance men. Simon Wilson was standing where she’d left him. Hands on his hips, staring across the park right at her. Ellen remembered her first encounter with Wilson and, with great restraint, resisted the urge to flick her middle finger at him a second time.
12:45
The banging on the door felt like it would never stop. Every time she hit it, the noise was a train running through his head. There she went again, bang-bang-bang, and shouting out his name.
Rob groaned and curled his body tighter into himself, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. He was sitting on the kitchen floor, pressed up against the washing machine. It wasn’t comfortable, but he didn’t have the energy to get up. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting here.
He was having problems concentrating. His memory of last night was fragmented, like he was trying to see his reflection in a broken mirror. He couldn’t get the bits to fit together properly.
Every time he closed his eyes he could feel Hudson struggling against him and the stench of the man’s piss was stuck to the insides of his nostrils. He’d thought it would feel good. Finally get the bastard who’d hurt his little girl. Except at the time, well, it hadn’t felt the way he’d expected.
Frankie had bloody loved it. Shit, he was off his head. Worse than Rob had thought. At least Frankie wasn’t a coward, though. When it came to the crunch, Rob had chickened out, hadn’t he? Seen the fuzz and freaked. Threw Frankie off the copper and legged it.
On Burnt Ash Hill they walked back to the bus stop together. Frankie never said, but Rob could sense his disappointment. He’d expected more and Rob had let him down. Let everyone down. Especially Molly.
Outside, the policewoman banged on the door again. Go away, Rob pleaded silently. Just go away and leave me alone. There was a bottle lying on the floor beside him. He picked it up and emptied what was left into his mouth. Hot whiskey burned his throat, his gut twisting as it landed in his empty stomach.
‘What now?’ Frankie had asked after they got off the bus.
Rob shook his head. ‘Catch up with you soon,’ he’d said, turning and leaving his mate standing alone in the street. He knew Frankie didn’t want to stop. Mad fucker probably wanted to carry on drinking, but Rob had had enough. He felt sick. He just wanted to come home and get some sleep.
But he hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d sat in here all night, drinking and crying and trying not to think about the way he’d felt when he’d seen the knife and knew what Frankie was planning to do with it.
Later, he’d gone upstairs to get some sleep, but he couldn’t face the empty bed and the silence of the bedrooms. So he came back down and sat here instead.
As the first cracks of daylight pushed their way underneath the red blind in the kitchen, Rob’s mind started to clear. He had to finish off what he’d started. Kevin Hudson still had to pay. Only this time, Rob would do things the right way. On his own, without involving Frankie.
Frankie meant well, but he had been a mistake. Rob shouldn’t have listened to him. Should have made his own plan. He tried to stand up, but his legs gave way and he fell down again. He lay on the floor, sorting things out in his head.
He was still there many hours later, long after Ellen Kelly had been and gone, and long after the light behind the blind had started to fade, marking the end of another day, in a string of endless days, that he had to get through on his own, without Molly.
17:00
It had been a pig of a day and the prospect of a half-hour break and a cool beer was all that got Ellen through the afternoon. She was late getting to The Dacre and Dai was already inside, waiting for her. The pint glass in front of him was nearly empty. Ellen bought him a refill, along with a half of lager for herself. A pint would have better served her needs but she was driving.
‘You were right,’ Dai said, once Ellen was settled in the chair opposite him.
Ellen, glass midway to her lips, paused. ‘What about?’
‘Ed. He’s been keeping something from you.’
Ellen drank some lager, thinking the liquid might help the sudden dryness in her throat. It made no difference. She thought of the time spent over the past few weeks with Abby Roberts. The way her feelings towards the FLO were gradually changing. She hoped Dai wasn’t about to tell her something that would change them back again.
‘He’s sick,’ Dai said. ‘Very sick. Cancer. Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. In the advanced stages, I’m afraid.’
Ellen opened her mouth to say something. No words came out.
‘I had a hell of a job finding out what was going on,’ Dai continued. ‘It’s clear Ed doesn’t want anyone to know.’
‘Advanced stages,’ Ellen said. ‘What does that mean?’
She knew the answer, but needed to hear Dai say it.
‘The cancer’s spread,’ Dai said. ‘He doesn’t have long left. Six months at most.’
‘No.’ She wouldn’t believe it. Ed had looked tired recently and he hadn’t been himself. But cancer? It wasn’t possible. He didn’t look ill enough for one thing.
‘You’ve made a mistake,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure who your source is, but whoever it is, they’re not reliable.’
‘Andrea told me,’ Dai said. ‘She’s going out of her mind. Can’t get Ed to stop working. There’s no mistake, Ellen, love. None at all, I’m afraid.’
There was a photo on Baxter’s desk. It appeared in Ellen’s head, lodged there, refusing to move. Baxter and Andrea on holiday in Cyprus. Both of them tanned and smiling. Ed was looking directly at whoever took the photo, so that when you looked at it, it seemed he was smiling straight at you. Andrea, on the other hand, was looking up at her husband. Smiling. Her feelings for him as evident as if she was speaking the words. I love you.
The photo had only been taken a couple of years ago. Before Baxter messed things up. Ellen wondered if Andrea knew about the affair.
‘What’s he playing at?’ she asked. ‘Why isn’t he with his family making the most of every moment he’s got left? What the bloody hell is he thinking?’
‘He can’t face it,’ Dai said. ‘That’s what Andrea thinks. He’s thrown himself into work as a way of blocking out what’s happening. And, of course, he sees this as his last chance. He couldn’t save Molly but, with a bit of luck, he might just be able to save Jodie before it’s too late.’
‘That’s bullshit,’ Ellen said. ‘If he’s serious about saving Jodie, can’t he see he’s a liability, not an asset? He’s too messed up to focus properly on what we need to do.’
‘I know that, and you know that,’ Dai agreed. ‘But the question for both of us is, how do we convince Ed?’
20:00
There’s pink wallpaper with a pattern of tiny trains on it. Rows of little trains, all different colours. Green and red and yellow and blue. There are children inside the trains. I can see their faces. They’re smiling and wearing hats that match the colour of the train they’re sitting in.
I think the trains are going to the seaside and the children are on a school trip. Except when I think of a school trip, it makes me think of my own friends, especially Grace and Holly. And when I think about them, it makes me sad. I wonder if they think about me a lot. Do they wonder where I am? Do they miss me? I hope so.
There’s this one thing I keep remembering. A sleepover at Grace’s during the Christmas holidays. We stayed up really late, watching films on the little TV in her bedroom. And afterwards the three of us went to bed in the big airbed that Grace’s mum put up for us.
And we talked about all the things we want to do when we get older. Grace made us promise we’d be best friend
s forever. We linked hands and said it over and over: ‘Best friends forever.’
I’m saying it now. Whispering it the way we did that night because we didn’t want Grace’s mum to hear us.
‘Best friends forever. Best friends forever.’
And if I try really, really hard, I can imagine they’re here with me. Grace and Holly. I imagine I can feel their fingers in mine and they’re whispering it too. And when we say it, it’s to the rhythm of the trains and it’s all beating like a piece of music in my head.
Best friends forever, best friends forever, best friends forever …
21:30
Ellen sat in the sitting room, a glass of Merlot by her side and Count Basie on the sound system. Music to make you want to get up and dance. Made her think of Vinny, how he’d never let his total lack of rhythm get in the way of a good bop.
She closed her eyes and let herself remember him. She pictured him at their wedding reception. The two of them dancing to Dean Martin. Amore. Naffest song in the world. Her and Vinny, surrounded by all their friends. All of them singing along. Moon hitting their eyes like a big pizza pie. World shining like they’d had too much wine. Amore.
Dean Martin followed by Nick Cave’s Into Your Arms. Vinny’s choice. She still had all his CDs. Never listened to them. She couldn’t. Even now, if she heard Johnny Cash or Nick Cave, she had to block out the sound. Their voices evoked too many memories.
And now, more sadness. Ed Baxter’s face joined Vinny’s. Ellen opened her eyes. She needed to speak to Ed. Should have done it today, right after she left Dai. Only she couldn’t face it. How did you even begin to have that conversation?
Her glass was empty. She could do with more wine, but knew that was a bad idea. Instead, she rinsed her glass in the sink, drank some water and switched the lights off. She would have a long, hot bath and get an early night for once.
She was at the top of the stairs when the doorbell rang, the sudden sound making her jump. She waited, holding her breath to see what would happen next. She rarely had unannounced visitors and never this late. An image of Billy Dunston flashed before her. The day she’d seen him outside her house, staring in at her through the dining-room window. Trying to intimidate her. Frighten her from pursuing the truth about her husband’s death. As if.
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