She pulled out the envelope with the mobile from her coat pocket, handed it to the sergeant, and asked him to give it to Barnes when he returned. She told him about the texts and about Ben Morgan and how horrified she’d been to see him walk in to Morrison Kemp. The sergeant noted it all down, and this time, she hoped he might not have added the words ‘drama queen’. His attitude had changed and he seemed to be taking her seriously. But then again, she thought, maybe it was just the tears that had wiped the doubting look from his face.
The sergeant arranged for her to be dropped back at work. The breakdown in the police station had shocked Laura, and as she sat in the back of the police car, the stubborn, single-minded streak that had helped her to succeed in the past kicked in. She was not going to cower away in dread, she was going to fight back. Like Anna Pelham, she would not let herself be a victim.
Monica pounced as she came through the door: ‘Laura, I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Joe’s been calling. I said you’d gone out but I didn’t know where. He sounded a bit frantic, wanted to know if you were all right.’ She paused for breath, eyeing Laura closely: ‘There’s nothing wrong is there?’
‘I’m fine, Monica. Bit of a headache, that’s all.’
‘Hmm,’ she said.
Laura attempted a smile and tried to hurry past.
‘Oh and Anna Pelham came in for you. She waited for a bit but then she had to go. Nothing important, she said, she’ll call you tomorrow.’ Monica lowered her voice confidentially, ‘That husband of hers is a total shit, isn’t he?’
Laura didn’t wait to answer and headed up the stairs to her office. She called Joe and for once he answered on the first ring. He was appalled when he heard details of the texts, said he had one more meeting and then he was coming straight over. She told him he didn’t need to, told him she could handle things, but he said he was coming and that was that. He wanted to take care of her.
For the next hour she concentrated on Ben Morgan. She called a friend at her old firm and asked for a copy of the Morgan divorce file to be sent over. It was a thick one, she remembered, and contained the three threatening letters he had sent her from the psychiatric hospital.
The newspaper coverage she found on the Internet was familiar, but she wasn’t prepared for ‘Ben’s Story’ as he had written it on the divorce web site. It had been posted only three months ago. It began: I have a daughter, Millie, who I haven’t seen for six years now … It shook her and she realized how much of a grudge he had. She was staring at it when Joe arrived. He came rushing in and hugged her close. Pain spiked from her rib.
‘You OK?’
She nodded, biting her lip and pointing at the screen, ‘Take a look at this.’
Joe began to read.
‘Wow,’ he said after a while, ‘he certainly blames you a lot for what happened, but he also blames the system.’
‘He sees me as the system, Joe. We’re the same thing. I represent the system that screwed him and took away his daughter. That would make him hate me quite a lot, wouldn’t it?’
Joe turned from the screen to look at his wife, his bright blue eyes scanning her face. It was wearing a brave little smile, but the smile looked fragile and dislocated.
‘I’m so sorry, honey, I should’ve taken your word on this. I should’ve realized you weren’t imagining things.’
‘You weren’t to know. It could all have been coincidence. Some of the time I doubted myself.’
‘I haven’t been there for you, Laura,’ he stopped for a moment, ‘but I’m going to be.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
He wasn’t struggling anymore but that didn’t mean good news. He wasn’t struggling because he’d been sedated again. He was sluggish and his eyes were dull.
Joe and Laura stared miserably at Valentine trapped in the sling while a frowning Jeff Ingham explained that they’d tried to put the sedative in Valentine’s feed but he’d refused to eat it. In the end, they’d had to syringe it into his mouth as a paste; the whole operation had been highly distressing for everyone involved.
He pointed to a haynet hanging in front of Valentine’s nose. ‘He should be grazing on that all day long because he needs the fibre. He’s hardly touching it at the moment. Without it, his gut is starting to dry out and he’s likely to get colic.’
Laura winced. Colic, a serious threat to a healthy horse, would be a certain killer for Valentine.
She climbed up on to the platform beside him where there was a bag of feed. Carrots, apples, molasses were mixed in to tempt him to eat. She took a carrot from the bag and stroked the horse’s head, whispering to him, coaxing him. To her huge delight, the carrot disappeared.
Her smile of triumph irritated the vet and his usual gentle manner deserted him.
‘You have to realize what’s happening here,’ he snapped. ‘So far he hasn’t been able to cope with life in a sling and also he’s not eating properly. If that doesn’t change, even if he avoids colic, his body will start to feed off itself and it won’t be long before his muscles waste away.’
Laura took a handful of feed and held it under the horse’s mouth. He began to eat, slowly, without enthusiasm, but he was eating.
‘Visiting him for an hour a day,’ the vet paused trying not to be rude, ‘well, you may not get the full picture.’
‘How much longer should I give it?’ Laura stroked Valentine’s flank. Her hand came away sticky from the polymer gel that coated the sling to try to prevent bed sores.
‘If he’s not eating reasonably well and we can’t get him off the sedatives by the end of the week, there’s no point in putting him through any more.’
‘Is there anything else we can do to help his chances?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Maybe another nurse. It’s a pretty much around the clock operation. Depends if your insurance will stretch that far.’
‘Yes. That’s no problem. Please do get another nurse.’
‘Laura, I hate to say it, but this is really going to cost us,’ Joe said.
She felt a sting of disappointment in him.
Jeff Ingham looked at her sharply. ‘No insurance?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ she said curtly.
‘I thought you said they’d turned you down flat,’ Joe again.
It was true, the insurance company had confirmed what she already knew, that she didn’t have a claim. No question. Private land, out of bounds, not even arguable, they’d said gleefully. But she didn’t want Jeff Ingham to know – in case he tried to save her money.
‘No, they just said it wasn’t clear cut, they’d have to look into it.’
The vet wasn’t fooled. ‘You’ve already got a bill for thousands of pounds. For a week, I don’t know, maybe if he means that much to you, but if it goes on after that you’re going to need to take out a mortgage.’
‘It’s what I said, honey. He’s a great horse, but we have to be realistic. I think another nurse is pushing it.’
She glared at him. He had a strange idea of being there for her.
‘I have the money,’ she said in a frosty voice, ‘I would like to employ an extra nurse, and,’ she turned towards the vet, ‘after four days, as you suggest, we will review.’
Jeff Ingham nodded and said no more. He’d made the position clear and now he would just get on and do his best for Valentine and for the woman. He liked her strength and stubbornness and wondered why she’d ended up with such an arse of a husband. Self-regarding, mean-spirited, he stopped himself adding to the list of faults, surprised by his own strength of feeling.
On the drive back from the clinic Laura sat huddled in the passenger seat of Joe’s car trying to stop her rib from being jarred by the journey. Her head was bent over and she looked at Joe from the corner of her eye. His face was tight and she knew he was annoyed by her unilateral decision to spend more money on Valentine. It was a pity; she’d hoped for more from him.
‘OK,’ he broke the silence, ‘which way do I go?’
Sh
e directed him to the narrow road over the Downs. Earlier, he had suggested going back to the place where Valentine fell to get photos of the wires on the trees. Laura had been pleased; it showed that his attitude had changed. No longer did he dismiss her fears as fantasy.
‘Great. How about going first thing tomorrow?’ she’d said. ‘Doesn’t matter if I’m a bit late in to work.’
‘Can’t do that,’ he shook his head. ‘Meeting at nine. Let’s go tonight.’
Laura had been doubtful whether they’d get any decent pictures in the dark but Joe assured her his camera would have no trouble, and the full moon would help.
She recognized the spot where the minicab had dropped her and Joe parked at the side of the road. They set off together over the clifftop and down towards the wood. A cold wind was blowing and clouds came and went across the face of the moon, but its light still shone bright and she easily found the way.
‘There it is,’ she whispered pointing ahead, ‘the wire’s on that tree.’
Joe unslung his camera and walked quickly towards it. He bent over, examining the trunk.
‘Can’t see anything on this one,’ he said as she caught up with him.
She saw at once that he was right. There was a whooshing from the wind in the tree tops and the light from the moon was dimmer here. Joe took a torch from his pocket and played its beam up and down the tree and on the surrounding ground. Nothing. There was no wire and no sign that one had ever been there.
‘You sure this is the place?’
‘Positive.’ She walked across the track to the other tree. Nothing there either. The wires were gone.
‘Someone’s taken them away,’ she said, returning to Joe’s side.
He was examining the trunk again. ‘There’s got to be some damage,’ he muttered. ‘You and Valentine whacked into that wire, must’ve left a mark.’
‘That was the point of the rubber casing, Joe. So there would be no tell-tale marks on the trees.’
He straightened up and looked at her, one eyebrow raised, that disbelieving expression she’d seen too much of recently. He began talking but she had to tune him out, either that or bite his head off. He was saying things about ‘accidents’ and ‘not getting carried away’. She turned from him and walked further into the wood, straining her eyes for the wire.
The clouds cleared and the moon blazed down through the trees and Laura thought she saw something ahead, something that might be black rubber hosing. She began to run, and almost at once, she tripped on a rabbit hole and fell to the ground, letting out a yell of pain. She lay on her face taking shallow breaths, then turned and looked up. Joe loomed over her, his face pale and set in the bright moonlight.
Panic spurted in her chest. He was going to attack her. Suddenly, it was obvious to her that Joe was the one who wanted to kill her. Barnes’s question flashed through her head, what sort of relationship do you have with your husband? She knew the answer now, how stupid she had been not to realize it before.
She tried to back away but it was too late, his strong fingers gripped her arm and he pulled her roughly to her feet. She yelled again, this time in terror, and then his mobile started to ring.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I forgot about your rib. Are you OK?’ He silenced his phone, put his arm gently round her shoulder and started kissing the top of her head.
Laura felt the tension rush out of her. Ridiculous, she was being ridiculous. Of course it wasn’t Joe. What the hell was wrong with her; was she losing her mind? She felt tears close to the surface and didn’t trust herself to speak.
‘Honey, are you OK?’ Joe said again, urgently.
Instead of crying, she began to laugh. It was a shrill, manic sound in the night and Joe put his finger to his lips and shushed her. It hurt her chest but she couldn’t stop.
‘You’re making one hell of a noise. What’s so funny?’ he demanded.
‘Shh’ she snorted at him. ‘This is supposed to be a covert operation.’
‘I think we might’ve blown that,’ he said, laughing himself. ‘Let’s hope your angry old man isn’t on the prowl.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
They found no trace of the wires or the hosing and walked back to the car in silence. Joe would be doubting her again, Laura was sure, and she kept quiet because she didn’t want to hear him say it. When she got home, she found a message from Barnes waiting for her. He apologized for being out when she had come to the police station; he’d been called away to an emergency. The sergeant must have told him how upset she was because he said she was welcome to ring him on his mobile any time that evening. She rang at once and listened while he gave her a progress report. He spun it out, trying hard to make something out of not very much.
‘We’re still looking for Ben Morgan,’ he told her, ‘I’m sure you understand it’s no easy thing to find someone in a town as big as Brighton with so little to go on, but we’ll keep at it.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I realize it’s difficult and thank you. How about his home address? Have you had any luck tracing it? He used to live in Reading, I told the sergeant that.’
‘And he still does live there. Reading police have been round to his flat,’ Barnes said in a tone of admiration for police efficiency, ‘but there was no sign of him, and the neighbours hadn’t seen him for weeks.’
That’s because he’s been here trying to kill me, Laura thought, but stopped herself from saying it. The detective seemed less sceptical now and she intended to keep it that way. He addressed her as ‘Laura’ rather than ‘Ms Maxwell’. She wasn’t going to panic him with an outburst of emotion.
‘What about the phone?’ she asked.
They had traced the number of the mobile sending the texts. They’d got it from Laura’s company, O2, which had a record of the texts she’d received and where they’d come from. That was as far as they’d got. Tomorrow they would contact TalkTalk, where the mobile was registered, to find out more. It was possible to pinpoint its position to within about thirty feet, he said, even if it was switched off. But he didn’t want to get her hopes up because usually, in cases like this, the phone was dumped after the texts had been sent.
Barnes went on to tell her that a considerable amount of child pornography had been found on Harry Pelham’s computer as well as the death threats sent to his wife. There was, however, no trace of the ‘marcus.morrison3’ email address used for the website posting. Pelham, himself, had not yet been found but the detective was hopeful they would find him before much longer.
The Morgan divorce file arrived at Morrison Kemp early on Tuesday morning and was waiting for Laura when she got to work. She’d lain awake most of the night, thinking about the texts, thinking about Valentine, and was at her desk ploughing through the thick file, feeling exhausted, when Monica called to tell her that a Detective Inspector Barnes was in reception for her.
‘There’s a police car outside and he’s in a rush and … ’
Barnes took the phone from her before she could finish.
‘Are you alone?’ he said sharply.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Please come to reception now.’
Laura’s tiredness lifted. He must have made progress if he was here in person. Hopefully, she hurried down to see him.
Barnes had on his poker-face. Laura smiled as she walked towards him but his face didn’t crack and she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. There was a man with him, another officer, who he introduced as Detective Constable Andrew Fox. He asked if there was somewhere private they could talk.
Laura led them to the conference room.
‘We’ve got a fix on the phone,’ Barnes told her as soon as they were inside.
‘Great,’ she said and stopped. The policeman didn’t look like he totally agreed.
‘Isn’t it?’
Barnes nodded towards his colleague.
‘I liaise with the phone companies,’ the constable said, enthusiastically. ‘You see, a mobile is giving out
signals all the time, even when it’s turned off. Those signals are picked up by base stations in the area where it’s located. In fact that’s why the Americans call it a cell phone because it’s covered by these base stations in small areas, in other words, cells.’
Barnes frowned at him and he took the hint and got to the point. ‘I’ve checked with TalkTalk. They say it’s a pay-as-you-go and they don’t know who owns it but it’s here, in this building, and it’s switched on.’
She felt her stomach clench with fear. In this building. What the hell did that mean?
‘Does Morrison Kemp occupy all three floors?’ Barnes asked.
She nodded. ‘Are you saying Ben Morgan is here, in this building?’ she asked, horrified.
‘Have you any idea where the phone might be?’
Laura stared at him, her mind slow and stupid. It was stuck on the awful thought that Ben Morgan was no longer out there, he was right in here with her.
‘Have you any idea who might have it?’ Barnes persisted.
Why was he asking that? It was obvious who had it, surely.
‘Ben Morgan … he must be here, somewhere,’ she said again.
‘Have you seen him?’
‘No, but if his phone’s here then he must be, mustn’t he?’
Barnes gave her an odd look.
‘Just run me through the people who work here and who’s on which floor,’ he said.
What was the matter with him, she thought. Why was he wasting time asking pointless questions when he should be searching the building?
‘Excuse me saying so, but is that relevant? Shouldn’t you be trying to catch him?’
‘There’s a car outside. If he’s here and he tries to leave, we’ll pick him up. Now please answer the question.’
The confusion clogging her mind lifted, leaving behind a cold, hard, terrifying thought. What if it wasn’t Ben Morgan? What if someone else, someone here at Morrison Kemp had sent her those texts? Was that what Barnes was getting at?
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