by Tom Bale
Still, at least the car was now only a charred lump of metal, ready for Jed’s mate to collect. By two in the morning the fire had burnt itself out to a point where they’d judged it safe to lock up and leave.
Dan had been far too drunk to question Robbie’s fitness to drive, or to raise many objections when Robbie insisted on taking the document boxes with them. He claimed he just wanted to look through the papers, while the cash would be stored in his safe for the time being. It was news to Dan that Robbie even had a safe.
Once again Dan had refused to accept any of the money. It was a decision he might regret, especially when he had to explain the Fiesta’s disappearance. But his overriding instinct was to have nothing more to do with it.
He showered for five minutes, scrubbing at his body and shampooing his hair twice. Even his breath seemed to smell of smoke. After swilling with mouthwash, he dressed and took the dirty clothes downstairs, hoping to sneak them into the washing machine before anyone else was up.
****
No such luck. Joan was at the small table in the kitchen, drinking tea and reading a Lee Child novel.
‘No lie-in today?’ she asked.
‘I could ask you the same thing.’
‘I was wide awake, so I got up.’ She sniffed. ‘Did you have a barbecue?’
‘Those outdoor heaters,’ Dan said. ‘I was sitting outside with Robbie. Didn’t realise how much the smoke had got into my clothes.’
‘It’s awful.’ She was watching him rather too closely. ‘From what Louis said I thought you’d be seeing Hayley last night.’
‘Change of plan. We’re meeting this morning.’ He busied himself at the unit, making a coffee. ‘And Louis shouldn’t have mentioned it.’
‘He doesn’t mean any harm,’ Joan said gently. ‘Do us another tea, will you?’
‘Sure. What time did you get home?’
‘Oh, not late. About nine. Louis rolled in at twelve, and I have no idea what hour of the day or night you came in.’
He turned, ignoring the wry tone. ‘Louis was out till midnight?’
‘A couple of his friends texted while we were eating. He went off to meet them and I got the bus back.’ She shook her head, dismissing the anger on his face. ‘I’m quite capable of finding my way home.’
‘But he was supposed to be taking you out.’
‘And he did. We had a lovely meal.’
‘Was he drunk again, when he came in?’
‘I couldn’t say for sure.’ Joan had a smile playing on her lips. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you look a bit delicate yourself this morning.’
She was right enough there. Dan drank a glass of water, washing down a couple of ibuprofen. Insisting that he wasn’t up to a cooked breakfast, he took his coffee and a bowl of cereal into the living room.
Once again the news was dominated by the fatal stabbing in Brighton. The victim was described as a thirty-four-year-old local man, whose identity was being withheld until all members of his family had been informed. The hit-and-run and the e-fit images didn’t feature at all.
The world’s moving on, he thought.
****
Robbie overslept. His phone buzzed and he reached for it, was instantly wide awake and saw the time and Bree’s name in the display and knew what was wrong.
Maureen Heath.
‘Where are you?’ Bree demanded, as shrill as his mother on a bad day. ‘Mo’s just rung me in a right state.’
‘It’s only ten minutes. I’m on my way.’
‘Bullshit. I’ve just woken you up.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
‘I know what you sound like when you’ve been asleep.’ She exhaled like a teenager. ‘This isn’t fair, Robbie. You ask me to do a big favour and then you go and let me down.’
‘All right. Tell her I’ll be there pronto.’
‘Yeah, and make sure she really enjoys it. I can’t have her getting the hump with me.’
He didn’t like the uncertainty in her voice. ‘Are you saying you don’t trust her?’
‘No, but ... she knows all about me and you. So keep her sweet, for your sake as well as mine.’
Bree was gone before he could ask what she meant by that. Robbie slapped the phone down and considered defying her wishes. Another hour’s sleep had its appeal. Then there were the document boxes, sitting patiently beside the bed like faithful pets. They could wait until he’d completed this chore, this ordeal, but he didn’t want them to wait. A full day, with a clear head, and perhaps he’d be able to unlock their secrets.
The alibi, though. Bree had made her point. One simple favour, and now she had him by the balls.
That was a rule he’d foolishly broken: Don’t ever let them own you.
CHAPTER 74
After shutting the front door, Cate dropped to the floor and lost all track of time and space. It didn’t matter that she was squashed between the bottom of the stairs and the wooden rack where she kept her everyday shoes. It didn’t matter that there was a cold draught seeping beneath the door. It didn’t matter that she was alone.
Martin was dead. That was tragedy enough in itself. To know he had died with her name on his lips was truly grotesque. For Janine, it must be unbearable. Cate felt sure that Martin’s fixation on her would have been short-lived, but persuading Janine of that would be nigh on impossible.
A rap on the door made her jump. She looked at her watch and discovered that more than an hour had passed.
Climbing unsteadily to her feet, she called out, ‘Who is it?’ Her voice was hoarse, broken.
‘It’s Guy. DS Thomsett.’
Cate opened the door without hesitation, and realised afterwards that she had nearly thrown herself into his arms. But his body language did nothing to invite such intimacy. He was in jeans and a blue striped shirt – off-duty clothes – and yet he stood stiffly, radiating tension. It was only as he took stock of her appearance that his manner softened, and the frown became one of tender concern.
She pushed a hand through her hair. ‘I look a state, don’t I?’
‘I won’t lie. I was coming here to tell you, but I’m guessing someone beat me to it.’
She nodded. Ushered him inside, where he promptly assumed command.
‘Why don’t you go and freshen up, and I’ll sort out some ... coffee, isn’t it? Not tea.’ A quick grin, but Cate’s face burned at the reminder of yet another occasion when she’d made a fool of herself.
‘Are you here because of ...’ She swallowed. ‘Martin?’
‘I’m afraid so. I learned his name last night, but it was only when I saw the, uh, photographs this morning, and realised that I recognised his face ...’
It took her a second to comprehend that he meant pictures not of the living Martin, but of a dead man. Tears sprang into her eyes.
‘I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.’ From somewhere he produced a tissue, and after Cate had taken it his arm remained extended, as though he wished he could offer something more: physical consolation.
Then he turned away. ‘Coffee coming up,’ he said, and it was only as she climbed the stairs that Cate realised it probably wasn’t shyness that had restrained him, but a sense of duty.
****
She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and shuddered. This was a situation where nothing short of full warpaint would make any difference, and she had neither the time nor the inclination for that. Instead she washed her face, brushed her hair and put on black leggings and a plum-coloured tunic.
When she came down the coffee was made and the detective was bustling around her kitchen as if he belonged there.
‘Hope you don’t mind if I make us toast. Any jam or marmalade?’
‘Next cupboard along. I’ll have Marmite, thanks.’
‘Really? Ugh.’ A playful tone, but this wasn’t the same man who had asked her out on a date. He confirmed her fears once they had taken their breakfast through to the table in the living room. ‘This is quite a mess
I’ve landed in. Even being here now puts me on thin ice.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I haven’t yet told anyone about your connection to this case. I’m still trying to make sense of it myself.’
‘You and me both. I can’t believe that Martin was killed in Kensington Gardens.’
‘And you had no idea it was him? You hadn’t seen him at all prior to the attack?’
Cate shook her head. In re-examining the shopping expedition it seemed to her that she had been slightly ill at ease yesterday; several times she’d felt the need to look over her shoulder. But surely that recollection was tainted by hindsight?
‘No,’ she said. ‘I definitely didn’t see him.’
‘According to his partner, he was meant to have gone fishing with his brother.’
‘I know. Janine was here this morning.’ In describing the encounter, she was sorely tempted to say nothing about Martin’s dying words, but it was Thomsett who brought it up.
‘What do you suppose he was trying to say? Tell Cate ... I love her? Is that it?’
‘I hope not.’ Cate shivered. ‘We’ll never know.’
‘But he still had feelings for you, if he was sitting out here the other morning. And he’d lied to Janine about his plans for Saturday. Don’t you think he might have been following you when he died?’
She nodded. ‘I hate to portray him in such a horrible light, but he came round on Friday night. He kept saying we should get back together, even though I made it clear I wasn’t interested ...’
Thomsett, studying her closely, said, ‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No. But he got very angry. It was the first time I’ve ever felt scared of him.’ She fetched her phone. ‘These are the messages he left me.’
Thomsett listened to them, then said, ‘I have to ask you not to delete these.’
‘But I can’t see this has anything to do with Martin’s death. Won’t it just make things worse for Janine?’
‘It’s evidence of his volatile state prior to his death. We don’t know yet what happened. It might be that he argued with someone who will claim they stabbed him in self-defence.’
‘But no one saw his attacker?’
‘The only description we have is of a grey middle-aged man in a mac, average height, average build, possibly wearing glasses, and nobody can say for sure whether he was involved or just passing by. Frankly, that doesn’t fit the profile of a knife-wielding maniac, does it?’
****
Thomsett ate some toast, a preoccupied look on his face. ‘Can you think of anyone who may have objected to Martin’s continuing interest in you?’
‘Like who?’
‘Someone in Janine’s family, for instance. Her brother’s got a fairly good alibi, but we’ll be taking a look at him just the same. Her father’s in Wales, allegedly. I wondered about anyone else in your life?’
‘You want to know if I have any other deranged ex-boyfriends?’ Cate couldn’t help laughing. ‘Well, the answer’s no. In fact, the only person who’s asked me out in months is you.’
He nodded sheepishly. ‘That’s why this is so tricky. With you having such a close connection to the victim, I think it’s inevitable that you’ll have to give a statement ...’
‘And you’d rather I didn’t mention our date?’ Cate was unable to keep the hurt from her voice.
‘I’m worried about muddying the waters. DC Avery is going to be working this as well—’
‘And we know he’s got it in for me,’ Cate muttered. ‘What is his problem, exactly?’
‘It’s not ...’ Thomsett began, then changed tack. ‘He’s got a grudge against everyone, not just you. He has a few “career issues”, shall we say? The trouble is, he’s hankering after the old-style police force, run by people like him, not by soft, smooth politically correct PR-savvy wankers like me.’ He laughed at her incredulous expression. ‘And yes, I have that verbatim, reported by a very reliable colleague.’
‘If Avery’s that bitter, it makes him dangerous to be around, doesn’t it?’
‘Very. So if you’re hiding something, it’s best to come clean.’
‘I’m not. I meant dangerous for you.’ Cate could feel herself blushing. ‘Are you implying that I’m a suspect here?’
In the act of drinking his tea, Thomsett paused and shook his head, but it wasn’t entirely convincing. She almost spat with indignation.
‘Credit me with some intelligence. If I was going to have Martin bumped off, I’d hardly get somebody to do it when I was in the vicinity!’
‘Okay, okay.’ He made a calming gesture with his hand. ‘That’s not what I was implying. But you’ve got to concede that this is troubling. Not just your ex-husband, but Hank O’Brien.’
The words acted like a slap. ‘What?’
‘In the space of four days we’ve had two men die in mysterious circumstances, their assailants unknown, and both had close contact with you prior to their deaths.’
Cate sounded winded as she tried to protest. ‘But that’s ... It’s got to be a coincidence. I mean, what else ...?’
‘I agree. I can’t see how they can possibly be linked. But, as coincidences go, it’s a very unfortunate one.’
He went through it with her, the timeline of her meeting with Hank O’Brien and the contact she’d had with Martin over the past few weeks. They explored any potential connections between the two men and came up blank. As Thomsett had said, it was just a coincidence, but a very unfortunate one ...
For you.
That was the unspoken coda, Cate realised. And she saw that, no matter what happened now, DS Thomsett would not ask her out again. That fledgling hope of a relationship was gone for ever.
It was an unspeakably selfish thought to have, but it also spelled out that Cate might be in real trouble. In the past week two men had made unwanted advances towards her, and both of them were now dead.
CHAPTER 75
Robbie was there by half-ten: pretty impressive given that he’d showered, dressed, wolfed down a banana, brushed his teeth and remembered to collect a box of condoms from the bathroom cabinet.
But Maureen Heath was anything but impressed. She looked right through him, then aggressively tweaked his groin as he sidled past.
‘You’ve got a lot of making up to do.’
‘Pardon?’
‘To get back in favour. I told Bree her business is off to a bloody bad start.’
Robbie wanted to yell: It’s not her business, it’s only her sick fantasy. But he nodded politely and gestured to the stairs.
‘This way?’
‘Uh-huh. First on your left at the top.’
He tried not to trudge up the stairs like a condemned man heading for the scaffold. If he’d been in the mood for a fair appraisal, he’d have to concede that she had at least made an effort. She looked fresher today, wearing a dress that befitted her age; her make-up subtle and all the more effective for it. And she smelled a lot better, too.
But still a pig on stilts. And with twenty grand of O’Brien’s cash sitting in his safe, he really shouldn’t be demeaning himself like this.
****
He’d expected the bedroom to be fussy and overdone, but it was modest, quite simple and stylish. A big double bed, a dressing table, built-in wardrobes along one wall. A pair of bedside tables: the one on the far side had a puzzle book and a Kindle; the nearer one was home to a couple of vibrators.
Courageously ignoring them, Robbie slipped off his shoes and removed his jacket and tie. Maureen watched greedily.
‘So what happened to you yesterday?’
‘Work stuff. Unavoidable.’
‘I thought it was me you were trying to avoid.’
His grin was sickly and false. ‘No. You look great, by the way.’
‘Glad you think so.’ She turned her back on him. ‘Unzip me.’
He obliged, his fingers clumsy. He realised he was nervous: a strange and not entirely unwelcome sensation. Maybe he could use
that to enjoy the experience in a nostalgic way, reminding him of how it was at fifteen or sixteen. That was probably when he’d last been afflicted by nerves.
He eased the dress off Maureen’s shoulders, loving its falling whisper but not so entranced by the sight it revealed. She was badly in need of a tan. Even leathery skin was preferable to this: white, doughy, no muscle tone, the flesh thick and loose, as though there was no skeleton beneath it at all.
‘Bra,’ she said, and he undid the clasp. She shrugged it off, and from behind he glimpsed heavy breasts cascading to near her waist. Gross, and yet ... it caused a vague stirring in his groin. He put his arms around her, managing to gather the pillowy weight of her boobs in his hands and lift them, squeezing gently, perplexed by the absence of nipples until he realised they were further south. He located them – tuning Radio Moscow, as he’d once heard his dad say – and heard her groan. He shut his eyes and felt it working for him, too. Because tits are tits, after all.
Squirming beneath his touch, Maureen turned her head, forcing herself round until she was pressed against him, her mouth seeking his, her tongue hard and rude; no sensuality, only a desperate hunger that faintly repelled him even while his body responded with automatic lust to the heat and pressure of hers.
****
Kissing, his eyes still firmly shut, they lost the rest of their clothes and she pushed him over to the bed and he fell back on it. He stole a moment’s relief before she climbed astride him, and he felt it was going well until it hit home that he didn’t want to open his eyes: he was screwing up his face like a child refusing medicine.
He thought of Bree, and her petulant temper. No. What he needed to visualise was her smooth, taut, tanned body. Her lips, her tongue, her clever touch—
But when he opened his eyes it wasn’t Bree; it was Maureen Heath, a large, fearsome predator with a ferocious appetite and a terrifying determination to satisfy it.