I stand. Joanne sees me and pushes herself back against the pillows she neatly stacked the night before. I pull the knife from my skirt.
‘Mary?’ Joanne asks.
It must be strange for her to see me after all this time. I nod.
‘Mary, Gerry is coming to help you.’ Her face is white, eyes taking in the room, searching for her phone.
I spot it first and in three steps I have it in my hand. I stand and hold it up as if in a victory salute, before I drop it to the floor and smash it with my foot. I hear Aoife giggle and I feel pride in making her happy. It emboldens me.
‘Mary,’ Joanne repeats. ‘Can we wait until Gerry is here?’
‘No.’ My voice sounds distant and unlike my own, but I cling to the words as if to a lifeboat in a raging sea.
Joanne speaks again and I know she’s trying to buy herself some time. I’m not stupid.
‘Gerry says you saved me. Is that right?’
Clever, pulling on my heartstrings. I stay silent. Sirens are in the distance; she hears them too: her look is hope, mine panic.
‘Get her – now,’ Aoife hisses, and as Joanne turns to run I’m on her.
‘Get her out and in the car,’ Aoife says as I wrestle Joanne to the floor. Her breathing is hard because my knee is against her neck, but all I can think about is doing what Aoife wants. Paying her back for what I did.
I pin Joanne’s arms behind her.
‘Come on,’ Aoife says, opening the door, ‘get her to the car.’
I comply, dragging Joanne towards the entrance, acutely aware of the sirens getting closer.
Once outside I open the boot and push Joanne inside.
‘Hurry,’ Aoife calls.
The sirens are so loud now they almost drown out Joanne’s shouts from the boot. I try my key in the ignition and fail.
‘For Christ’s sake, hurry,’ Aoife says, her voice cross and urgent. I panic, shoving the key in as hard as it will go and turning it. The engine roars into life and I feel triumphant.
‘Now where?’ I ask.
‘The beach,’ she replies.
Fifty-seven
Nell, Paul and the uniform backup had found no evidence of Joanne when they’d arrived at her house. Looking through a window, they’d seen a handbag on the floor, its contents scattered, and requested permission to gain entry. Carla and Bremer were now bent over the radio as it crackled on her desk, both listening for updates on the operation’s attempts to gain access to Joanne’s home address.
‘Entry gained,’ the radio told them.
They’d broken down the door, but Carla knew that was when the danger began. The first potential flashpoints were the front room and downstairs toilet.
‘Downstairs empty and secured.’
Carla bowed her head in relief. She’d never managed to move from paper analyst to real-life operations, the fear her analysis might result in an officer’s death being too much to bear. But hearing that the downstairs was empty came with feelings of relief and frustration, because that meant the upstairs had to be searched – a far more precarious scenario – as well as the possibility that Mary had managed to evade them.
She leaned forward, her ear close to the radio, willing it to reveal their current situation. It crackled.
‘Upstairs bedroom to the left, empty and secure.’
They’d managed to escape, despite the speedy response. Joanne was gone.
‘Upstairs bedroom to the right, empty and secure,’ came another voice, and she gave up hope.
‘Bathroom, empty and secure.’
‘Carla?’ Nell’s voice echoed into the office.
Carla pressed the response button. ‘Go ahead.’
‘The house is empty. I need you to give us another viable alternative.’
Bremer held up his hand to indicate she shouldn’t respond.
‘Stand by,’ Carla said into the radio, looking to Bremer.
‘Call Gerry,’ he said.
‘Gerry?’
‘When I told him we were concerned about Eve he went white as a sheet. Wherever he’s gone now, it’s to find her, and wherever she is, Mary and Joanne will be.’
‘But why would he tell us?’ He’s lied so much already, she wanted to add, but couldn’t bring herself to betray him so openly.
‘It’s worth a go.’ He picked up the radio as she reached for the phone. ‘Nell, Paul, stand by. We’re looking at other possibilities.’
Gerry’s phone rang until Carla thought it would go to answerphone, then:
‘Hello?’
‘Gerry, it’s Carla. We’re worried about Eve. Do you know where she is?’
‘I’m at our house now,’ he sounded out of breath, ‘but no one’s here.’
‘Is there anywhere else she may have gone? Anywhere you can think of?’ The briefest pause told her there was. ‘It would really help us, Gerry – and Eve.’
Gerry didn’t reply. Carla listened to his deep breathing, her frustration growing because his silence told her he knew something.
‘Come on, Gerry, Eve could be in danger.’ Why wasn’t he more concerned?
‘Portsmouth,’ he said, finally. ‘There’s this café she used to go to. I think she might be there.’
‘Address?’ She wrote it down and held it out to Bremer, who went to the other side of the room to radio Nell.
‘Thanks, Gerry.’ She wanted to ask him a million questions – about why he had been talking to Joanne, who Mary was, what she had to do with Eve – but she knew they didn’t have the time. ‘I’ll let you know when we find her.’
‘OK, thanks.’
As Gerry hung up, Carla sat there, dead phone in her hand. Something didn’t feel right: his manner, the shortness with which he spoke to her, stilted almost.
‘Wait,’ she called to Bremer, who paused, his hand on the communication button. ‘What if he’s sending us to Portsmouth because Mary’s making him?’
Bremer walked back across the office. ‘Go on.’
‘He didn’t sound right – something was making him reluctant to speak. What if Mary’s there with him and making him say that to throw us off the track?’
‘So we send Nell to the Grahams’ home address?’
Carla shook her head. ‘Can you give me twenty minutes?’
Bremer looked unsure.
‘Fifteen,’ she said.
He gave a short nod. ‘Fifteen, but if you’ve not got something by then, I’m sending Nell in.’
Carla ran down the corridor to the Telephone Unit. ‘I need cell site, and I need it now.’
Sarah the analyst looked up from her desk, her face briefly studying Carla’s before she replied. ‘Number?’
Carla read out the numbers for Eve, Joanne and Gerry, waiting as the analyst dialled.
‘Yes, I need an urgent cell site on the following numbers.’ Reading them out, she clicked open a map, preparing to plot the coordinates that would tell them where the phones were located. Carla knew it was a long shot. Cell-site analysis would only tell them where the phones were within a mile radius, the phone masts creating a triangle within which they could be located, but if they were lucky they could narrow it down to an area around an address. All she needed now was to know if they were heading to Portsmouth or were still in Oxford.
Sarah noted down coordinates and gestured to the computer for Carla to input them. As soon as she noted the first one, Carla had her answer – they were still in Oxford. As Sarah thrust more coordinates at her – each specific to the different numbers Carla had given her – it became obvious that Joanne and Eve were headed to the Grahams’ home address.
Sarah hung up. ‘All three in the vicinity of Jericho, two currently travelling, one stationary. Does that help?’
Carla looked at the Grahams’ address, bang smack in the centre of the triangle where the phones sat. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It helps a lot.’
She ran back down the corridor, aware her fifteen minutes was almost up. Pushing through the door she sa
w Bremer on the radio.
‘Don’t send them to Portsmouth. Joanne, Gerry and Eve are still here.’
‘Where?’
Carla beckoned for the radio. ‘Eve’s,’ she said, as Bremer handed it to her.
‘Nell?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘They’re in the vicinity of the Grahams’ home address. We’ve only got a mile radius, but they’ve pushed it as far as they can and it seems Eve is on her way there now.’
‘What’s the address like, do you know?’
Carla had already opened Google Street View. ‘Very open. Terraced street, so hard to be covert. Garden runs down to canal, so multiple escape routes. I’d say park a street away and assess.’
‘Can you find me an OP?’ Nell asked.
‘An observation post?’
‘Yeah, try to get one across the street where I can see into the house before we go in.’
‘OK. Stand by.’ Carla put the street name into the police database, hoping to find someone who’d entertain a cop or two while they hid in an upstairs bedroom. She got two hits: one for a domestic, which she wrote off straight away, and one old lady whose cat had gone missing and she’d been worried it had been stolen. It was as good as a gift. She pressed the button.
‘Nell, I’ve got a Mrs Hardacre. Sixty-nine years old, living alone. Looks like she’s a possible and it backs on to the Graham house, so you should get a good view of the rear of the property.’
‘Great, I’m on my way. Text Paul the address and let me know when Hardacre’s given us the go-ahead to proceed.’
Bremer took hold of the radio. ‘Be careful as you approach, Sergeant. Stay back until you’re sure it’s safe to go in.’
The radio crackled in response, but Nell was already gone.
Fifty-eight
Now – Mary
I pull the car into St Margaret’s Road, near Jericho, and turn off the engine.
‘What are you doing?’ Aoife asks.
‘I can’t go to the beach, Aoife. I can’t see another person hurt there. And I don’t want to be near Alf.’
Aoife snorts. ‘He’s in prison, dumbo.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Her silence tells me she does.
I watch a homeless woman pick a cigarette butt off the ground, her battered trousers and falling-apart shoes a marked contrast to the grand houses rising up behind her, and I think: Could that have been me if Gerry hadn’t saved me?
‘Well, where do you want to go?’
‘Home,’ I say. ‘I want to go home.’
We pull up outside and I scan the street for signs of police. I note each parked car, every pedestrian who walks by, but see nothing to make me think they’re here.
‘Come on.’
I hesitate by the boot, scanning the street again. I have no idea how I’m going to get her out without being seen, but she’s kicking against the metal of the car and if I don’t she’s going to be heard.
‘Joanne,’ I say, loud but not too loud. The movement stops. ‘I’m going to take you inside now. I’m going to open the boot and if you scream or do anything to attract attention, I’m going to push you back in and drive you to the sea where I’ll burn your body on the beach.’
She is saying something but I can’t hear what.
‘I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.’
Aoife is stifling a laugh. ‘You’re very good at this,’ she says and I want to tell her to shut up, I’m concentrating. We still risk Joanne kicking off the minute I open the boot and I have no idea if I can trust her or not.
‘Gerry,’ Aoife says.
‘What?’
‘Tell her Gerry is in the house and he’ll help her.’
I do and when Joanne remains silent I open the boot.
Her face is smeared with tears and her hair is half pulled from her bun. She is cowering, legs pulled up, arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes flicker left and right before settling on me.
‘Please, Mary.’
‘Do you want to come and speak to Gerry and we can sort this all out?’ I’m quite pleased at how reasonable I sound and I know Aoife agrees.
‘Yes, please.’ She starts to uncurl.
I say, ‘Wait,’ and lower the boot slightly as a man walks past with a tiny grey dog. He glances at me and I smile, but he doesn’t return it and after he walks past he turns back to look at me.
‘Police?’ Aoife asks.
‘I don’t think so.’ But it’s exactly what I’d thought too. ‘Come on.’ I help Joanne out of the boot and with another quick check of the street, I half push, half pull her up the steps and through the front door. Only when it’s closed do I take a breath.
I’m holding Joanne’s arm tight and at an awkward angle. She winces but I hold it there. To tell her who’s boss. She is whimpering like she did the night she arrived on the beach and I want to smack her head in to shut her up.
‘Mary?’ Gerry appears. He looks at Joanne and turns as white as the sheets on our bed. ‘Jesus Christ, what have you done?’
‘Making things right again.’
‘How is this making things right?’
He’s shouting now and Joanne shrinks in the face of it.
‘You’re scaring her.’
He laughs. ‘You’re bloody kidding me, right? I’m the one scaring her. Jesus God.’ He stops speaking and we all stand there for a moment, unsure what we will each do next. I hear a sob come from Joanne and yank her arm.
‘Please shut up.’
She looks up at me, eyes wide, then over to Gerry, whose face softens.
‘Always was a sucker for the younger model,’ Aoife says.
‘I’m going to put her in our bedroom now and lock the door. I will have the key with me, so it’s no use trying to be the hero and letting her out.’
‘And then what?’ he asks as I begin to push Joanne up the stairs.
‘Then I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and decide what to do next,’ I say.
‘Good move,’ Aoife says.
‘Thank you,’ I reply.
Fifty-nine
Mrs Hardacre let Nell and Paul in with only the briefest of glances at their warrant cards.
‘I’ll bring you some tea,’ she said, after settling them into the upstairs bedroom. ‘With biscuits,’ she added.
The room was a spare but the bed was still neatly made, unused towels set out on the washstand, untouched. It smelled of perfume or talc – Nell couldn’t decide which – and the street light outside poured a pinkish acid glow through the lace curtains. The house was perfectly positioned behind and to the left of the Grahams’ house, giving Nell a good vantage point of the garden, the kitchen and the back bedrooms.
‘You’ve got to hand it to Carla, she’s pulled this one out of the bag pretty sharpish.’ Paul was looking through a sliver in the curtains, his binoculars trained on the back door.
‘See anything?’ Nell pulled the nightstand across from beside the bed and stood the radio on it.
‘No, house appears empty, all the lights are out. Maybe the cell site was wrong?’
‘Well, it only gives us a mile radius to work with.’
Paul removed the binoculars. ‘But where else within this mile would they be?’
‘Exactly. So they must be here. We just need to wait, and when we’re sure, we go in.’ Nell held out her hand. ‘Here, let me have a look.’
Paul moved aside to let her sit on the window ledge and took out his phone as Nell focused the lenses. Paul was right, the house was in darkness. She moved the binoculars slowly across each window, pausing as she reached the kitchen. Squinting, she could just about make out an empty bottle of wine on the side by the sink. No wine glasses, though, she noted, cursing the lack of moonlight to assist them.
Paul placed his phone next to the radio as it crackled for their attention. He picked it up. ‘Go ahead, Control.’
‘We’ve had a sighting of Eve by the boot of her car outside her house. Offic
er on foot. Noted the boot was half open.’
‘Did the officer see where she went?’
‘No, he didn’t want to hang around. Just got a positive ID, then left.’
‘Ask if she was alone,’ Nell called over.
‘Control, was the subject with anyone?’
Bremer’s voice broke through static.
‘OK, thanks, Control.’ Paul put the radio back on the table. ‘Just Eve. Looks like you may have been right.’
Nell went back to watching the Grahams’ house, her eyes following the slope of the garden downwards to where it met a small, thin stream. She was about to look away when a shaft of moonlight escaped the clouds and she saw it hit silver objects hanging from a tree whose branches curled downwards, as if to protect what lay underneath. What were they? Bells? Did this mean anything? Frustrated, she focused the binoculars on the neatly tended space below the tree. Four tiny silver crosses sat in a row, equally spaced; whatever lay under them must have been equally small. Shells covered the soil on top of each one.
Before the moonlight could be pushed back behind the clouds, she handed the binoculars to Paul.
‘Look, beneath the tree, end of the garden. What do you see?’
He followed her finger, pausing when he reached the spot. ‘Graves?’
‘That’s what I thought. Baby-sized graves.’
‘Grim.’ Paul moved slightly to the right, chewing his bottom lip in concentration. He trained the binoculars back on the house. ‘Do we risk entry?’
Could she risk it? The house was in blackness and they didn’t even have a floor plan. They couldn’t enter without knowing the exit routes, and that garden would be a nightmare to contain: no light; access across the stream. And they had no idea what Eve had done with Joanne. Entering too quickly could put her in greater danger. But for how long could she justify waiting?
Nell reached for the radio. ‘Control?’
‘Go ahead.’ Bremer’s voice echoed around the room.
‘What are the chances of a police helicopter on our address? This darkness won’t allow a safe entry. I’d rather know what we’re up against than go in blind.’
When I Lost You Page 23