Someone Out There

by Catherine Hunt

  ‘I see.’ It was all Laura could think of to say.

  ‘It’ll only make things worse, won’t it?’ She was trying hard to hold back the tears.

  Morrison would have pounced. He would have subtly but assuredly left the woman in no doubt that, yes, the complaint would make things a whole lot worse, especially her chances of ever seeing her boy again. He would have made it clear that the smart thing for her to do would be to get on to the Ombudsman at once and withdraw it.

  ‘It won’t make any difference to the search for Ahmed,’ Laura told her.

  At the mention of the boy’s name Mary Hakimi began to cry. ‘Clive talked about it, but I never thought he’d do it. Not without my agreement.’

  ‘I’ll let you know when there’s any news. We’ll talk again soon.’

  There was no answer, just sobbing.

  It was not a performance Morrison would have approved of, she thought as she put down the phone, not the sort of ‘contribution’ he was after. She could imagine him hissing at her, telling her it had been an opportunity to save their skin and she had let it slip away.

  She picked up her mobile to text Joe and tell him how she was. He’d wanted her to stay at home to rest for another day, at least. He’d told her he had nothing much on at work and could probably get away soon after lunch and come back to look after her. They would talk everything through – he knew she wanted to and he would listen and try to be constructive. Then they would visit Valentine together. It had been a sweet interlude after the harsh words and it reminded her of old times.

  He had sent her a couple of texts during the morning. They were full of ‘honeys’ and sweethearts’ and they made her happy. He did still care for her then, maybe as much as ever.

  She was writing him a message when another text came in.

  Next time I’ll get you, you fucking bitch.

  She stared at it, trying to take it in, feeling the blood drain from her face. The text alert buzzed again.

  Not much time left you piece of scum. I’m coming for you.

  And again.

  You’ve been lucky so far but understand this, you’re going to die.

  They were anonymous – no name – just an unknown number. Of course they would be.

  Buzz.

  You deserve everything you’re going to get.

  The sour taste of fear filled her mouth. She had been right all along. Someone was trying to kill her; she had not imagined it, here was the proof, someone out there wanted her dead.

  Buzz.

  You’ll be dead by the end of the week.

  With a trembling finger she pressed the button to clear the nightmare away.

  Buzz.

  Want to know what I’m going to do to you before you die?

  She waited, heart galloping, ice along the nerves.

  Nothing. The mobile stayed silent. She clutched it in front of her.

  The phone on her desk rang and she jolted with fear. It was Monica. Detective Inspector Barnes was on the line, would she take the call?

  ‘Please, Monica, please put him through,’ her voice cracked in her throat.

  ‘I’m getting death threats,’ she burst out at once. ‘On my phone. Texts. He says he’ll kill me by the end of the week.’

  She read him the texts. He would have to take her seriously now.

  Buzz.

  She shouted down the phone at Barnes. ‘There’s another one.’

  ‘OK. Read it to me’

  ‘Hey, hun … ’ she stopped abruptly as her brain caught up with what her eyes were seeing. It was from Joe, asking how she was and if she was coming home early.

  ‘Sorry. False alarm. My husband.’ she said, shakily.

  She stared at Joe’s message, its normality mocking her, wishing she could go home to him without the certain knowledge that someone hated her so much they wanted her dead.

  Barnes was asking questions, could she think of anyone, apart from Ben Morgan or Harry Pelham, who might be doing this, enemies from her professional life, vengeful ex-boyfriends, what was her relationship like with her husband?

  ‘Fine,’ she said, ‘I mean it’s good.’ The question rocked her.

  All the time she talked to Barnes she stared at the mobile, braced for another text.

  ‘If we’re going to trace the texts we’ll need the phone,’ he said.

  ‘You think you can trace them?’ she asked, hopeful.

  ‘There’s a chance. Depends how much effort’s been made to hide the trail.’

  ‘I’ll bring it in straightaway.’

  ‘One thing,’ he said before ringing off, ‘don’t try to reply. It’s never a good idea.’

  Buzz.

  Have you been waiting, bitch? Are you scared? You need to be.

  She would ring Joe to tell him what was happening, then she would switch off the mobile. Forever. She never wanted to touch it again.

  He didn’t pick up. She tried him at the hotel, he was out, they didn’t know where. Back to the mobile, texted him, please, ring me very urgent, then left him a message; a worrying, alarming message but she couldn’t fuss about that.

  Buzz.

  Paralysis. Read it or turn it off and never know. Her finger hovered over the screen. But she had to know. Of course she did.

  You said I was crazy, you were right. Want to know how you’re going to die?

  Skin crawling on the back of her neck. Ben Morgan. He was out there, stalking her, preparing for another attack.

  Buzz.

  Painfully. Very painfully. And very soon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  When Laura stood up it was as if the nerves in her legs had been cut and there was no strength left in them. She leaned against her desk like an old woman. The mobile was switched off and now she put it in an envelope and sealed it, relieved not to have to touch it again.

  There was a fuss going on when she reached the front office. For once, the usually reserved Alex Marshall was centre stage. He was relating a story to Monica and Elaine on reception, and three of the firm’s legal staff were standing around listening. Morrison himself had just arrived through the door and Monica, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, demanded that Alex begin the tale again.

  ‘You’ve got to hear this, Marcus. It’s a hoot,’ she told him.

  Laura was frantic to be gone, to get the phone to Barnes without a moment’s delay. But she saw that Morrison had stopped and Alex, looking a little flustered at having his boss in the audience, was preparing to start again. Morrison spotted her and waved her over.

  Laura hesitated. If she walked through the crowd and out the door it would look rude, as if she wasn’t interested, as if she wasn’t a team player just as Morrison had led them all to believe. Monica, for one, would know she was not off to see a client or any other urgent work appointment. It was just gone 2 p.m. They would assume she was taking a late lunch and had no reason to rush. As it was, she was not flavour of the month; it would be stupid to make things worse. She waited, it would not be for long, she thought.

  Alex had been on a home visit. He’d gone to see an elderly couple who couldn’t get out much, so that they could sign their wills. When he arrived the wife had let him in and told him her husband was still in bed. She offered him tea while he waited.

  ‘Well I didn’t have much choice,’ he shrugged his round shoulders, ‘so I said yes and sat down.’

  ‘I hope you told her the taxi meter was running.’ It was Morrison, ever concerned about money. There was a ripple of amusement but Morrison was poker-faced. It was not a laughing matter.

  The young trainee paused for a second, could think of no satisfactory reply and carried on with his story.

  ‘After about ten minutes I asked if she would mind going up and finding out what was happening.’

  The woman didn’t budge. She was disabled and found walking difficult, she was in no hurry to tackle the stairs. He’d made several more efforts to get her to chase up her husband but all had failed. He desc
ribed these at length, in his laborious, exact manner, determined to make the most of the attention he was getting.

  Laura fidgeted with the envelope in her coat pocket.

  Alex had also explained to the woman that she must get her neighbours round, as previously agreed, because they would be needed to witness the wills. He took some time outlining the procedure for will signing, keen to demonstrate his expertise to Morrison.

  Laura squirmed in frustration. Would he never get to the point? Was there a point? She supposed there must be. Monica had said it was ‘a hoot’. She glanced around; a couple of the faces were looking a bit bored. But Morrison’s wasn’t and while he stayed, they all would.

  ‘I really couldn’t hang on any longer. After all time is money,’ he stopped, looking towards his boss for approval. A wintry smile crossed the thin lips.

  ‘So I decided to go upstairs myself and find him,’ he said it with a note of triumph at his own daring as if he’d had a James Bond moment, ‘and when I got there. What do you think?’ He looked at them all self-importantly. Of course, most of them knew already because they’d been here first time round. The act was for Morrison. He hurried on in case any of them replied and stole his thunder. ‘I went in to the bedroom and he was lying there. On the bed with his mouth open, not moving, looking like he’d had it. I shook him by the shoulder, and I kept shaking him, really hard in the end, but he didn’t wake up. No sign of life at all. ‘He’s dead,’ I shouted out.’ He stopped, suddenly aware that it might not have been the best way to break the news to the man’s wife. ‘I was so shocked,’ he added defensively. ‘I couldn’t help myself’

  Laura looked at her watch. Eight minutes. Eight precious minutes had ticked by.

  ‘I ran down the stairs at top speed and there she was, still sitting in the chair drinking tea. So I told her again, straight out. ‘I’m very sorry but I think something’s happened to your husband. We need to call an ambulance.’

  Alex drew himself up, straightened his shoulders, and puffed out his chest.

  Please, thought Laura, please might this mean he’s coming to the punchline.

  ‘And you know what, she just laughed. Actually laughed. And then she said to me, “he does that all the time” and started talking about the weather. Asked if it was still freezing cold outside, can you believe it?’

  ‘Not as cold as your husband, Madam.’ Morrison said. The audience giggled dutifully, wondering if the joke wasn’t in rather bad taste.

  ‘I thought maybe she was in denial, you know, so I said I would get help and stay with her until it arrived and make sure she was OK. I wanted to be as caring as I could.’

  ‘Good for you, Alex,’ chipped in Monica.

  ‘I phoned for an ambulance and for their daughter who’d arranged the appointment and lived round the corner. They arrived about the same time and they all rushed upstairs while I stayed with the wife. She wasn’t bothered by any of it and I thought she was gaga.

  ‘Eventually, the daughter came down and said the paramedics had managed to wake up her dad. Then she apologized and said she’d meant to warn me this could happen as it had happened before just the same – paramedics and all!’

  Everyone laughed and Laura laughed too but the smile froze on her lips. She was facing the door to the street, and at that moment, it opened and a man came in. A gaunt, shabby-looking man. He stood surveying the group before moving forward towards the reception desk. It was then that he caught her eye. They stared at each other. Ten seconds, maybe, before he turned abruptly on his heel and left.

  Alex was still talking; she vaguely registered his voice droning on in the background. Her jelly-like legs would support her no more. Reluctantly, they took her as far as the row of chairs set out for waiting clients. They were over where Morrison was standing and he glanced at her as she sat down heavily.

  ‘Then to cap it all, the husband comes down the stairs and into the room as if nothing is wrong. His wife is still cackling away and she says to me, “Gave me a terrible fright too, young man, the first time it happened”. The daughter told me her dad had narcolepsy and that’s what caused it. It was incredible, really. He just wouldn’t wake up, however much I shook him and shouted. It was like he was in a coma, dead,’ he frowned, ‘that’s not strictly true, of course, when you’re in a coma you’re not actually dead. In fact … ’

  ‘Get on with it Alex. Everyone who works here knows all about comas!’ this from Monica. Another burst of laughter, Morrison excepted.

  ‘The neighbours had come in by this time and so the man and his wife both signed the wills and he apologized for keeping me waiting and for giving me such a shock,’ he finished rather lamely.

  ‘Great story, Alex. I can’t imagine why anyone thinks wills and probate are dull.’

  More laughter for Morrison.

  He turned to Laura in the chair beside him. ‘How about you, Laura? Have you got any amusing anecdotes from your heady days in London?’

  Slight sarcasm in his tone but it was lost on her. It was all she could do to register that he was talking to her and had asked her a question. Her mind was filled with Ben Morgan and his hostile eyes watching her from across the room.

  She sat, unable to answer. A wild part of her wanted to tell them her story, the one she was living through now, the one about the madman from her past who was out to kill her, who had tried twice already, who was, at that very moment, threatening to kill her, who had, just a few minutes ago, walked through the door. No laughter, no funny endings.

  ‘Not really off the top of my head,’ she stuttered out. ‘Can’t think of anything terribly exciting.’

  It sounded feeble and a bit remote. Nil points scored in the popularity stakes. Morrison was talking again though she couldn’t have said what about. She was concentrating on breathing. Deeply. It was hard, it hurt, and her hammering heart kept getting in the way. But it had to be done. It was the only way to get oxygen to her legs so that they would stand up and take her to see Barnes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  It was good to be out of the building at last, but it was bad to be out in the open where she was vulnerable to attack. She looked around for Ben Morgan. The man who is waiting to kill me, she thought. Her nerves crackled with fear.

  If he was here, he would be hard to spot; there were numerous places to hide where he could spring out at her. If she screamed would anyone help her or would she be dead before they took any notice? She stood, paralysed, eyes scanning wildly up and down the busy street. The restaurants, the karaoke bar, the car park, the Black Lion pub, Jamie’s Italian restaurant. He could be sheltering anywhere, watching her, waiting for her.

  She thought about going back into Morrison Kemp and calling Barnes again but she knew there wasn’t much he could do. Morgan had gone and she couldn’t stay holed up in her office forever. The sun was out, but she didn’t feel it. She was in a world of shadow; cold and menacing.

  Laura forced herself to start walking to the police station. It wasn’t far, no more than ten minutes if she took the back route, but she didn’t go that way. She stuck to the main roads where there were fewer alleyways, where she could see farther ahead. Immediately, she had that creepy feeling again that someone was following her. She began stopping suddenly and turning round quickly, ducking into doorways, trying to see if she was being stalked. Her cracked rib screamed in protest and she pushed another painkiller into her dry mouth.

  By the time she reached the police station in John Street she was clutching her chest like an old woman having a heart attack. She hadn’t spotted Ben Morgan or anyone obviously suspicious, but the feeling that she was being followed never left her. As bad luck would have it, her favourite sergeant was manning the desk. The cold and the fear had made her nose run and she didn’t have a tissue. She wiped it on her sleeve but it kept dripping. The sergeant looked at her, that same cynical expression on his face.

  ‘Hello again Madam, what can I do for you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m here
to see Inspector Barnes,’ she managed a smile.

  ‘I’m afraid he’s not available,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘I think you’ll find he is. I spoke to him a short time ago and arranged to see him.’ Her smile was dying fast.

  ‘Sorry, Madam, it’s not possible.’

  ‘He’s expecting me, I told you,’ she snapped out.

  ‘As I said, he’s not available. He’s … ’

  ‘Look, will you just tell him I’m here!’

  ‘Please, stay calm,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘I am calm,’ she shouted.

  Suddenly, shockingly, she started to cry, not gentle tears filling her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, but great violent, heaving sobs, which made her chest burn with pain. She couldn’t believe it. Not here, she thought. Not in front of him. Please.

  She had been wrong about the sergeant. He wasn’t immune to tears and he could see her distress was genuine. His manner changed, the hardness gone, and he guided her to an interview room. Laura sank into a chair, wiped her nose again. He brought her tea and a box of tissues.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘No problem. Would you like me to call someone? Your husband, maybe, who could make sure you’re all right,’ he said, carefully.

  ‘I really do need to see the Inspector.’

  ‘He had to go out on an urgent call. Just before you arrived. I was about to tell you.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, blowing her nose, disgusted that some weak, frightened part of herself had taken over. This wasn’t meant to be her, this scared, defeated woman.

  ‘If you want to give me any information I’ll make sure Inspector Barnes gets it as soon as he gets back. Or you’re welcome to stay here and wait for him, but I don’t know how long he’ll be.’

  She thought about it. She wanted very much to stay put. She felt safe in the police station and there weren’t many places left that she could say that about. But it was only a temporary haven. She wasn’t likely to get police protection on the basis of a few threatening texts and some nasty incidents that might or might not be connected.