Duplicity

by Sibel Hodge

  I threw a little mix of vulnerability into my expression. ‘Very sure.’ My voice was husky as I parted my lips, jutting out my chin, daring him to kiss me. Daring him to take what he’d wanted for so long.

  His hands touched my cheeks as he angled his face towards me, his eyes closing a fraction of a second before his lips touched mine.

  A fraction of a second before I plunged the knife into his stomach.

  THE DETECTIVE

  Chapter 43

  Half an hour and two narrow misses with other cars later, I yanked on the handbrake outside Samantha’s house before the vehicle had even come to a complete standstill.

  ‘That’s DI Wilmott’s car.’ Ronnie jerked his head towards the red Audi A5 convertible further up the road as I scrambled out on to the pavement.

  ‘Shit!’ I muttered, taking the front steps two at a time.

  I banged on the door. It was too complicated to get into the whole Samantha/Alissa scenario on the front step, so I called Alissa’s name. ‘Police, open up!’

  Nothing.

  ‘She must be here if Wilmott’s here,’ Ronnie said. ‘And her Mini’s here, too.’

  I hammered at the door again.

  Still no response. ‘Go round the back,’ I told Ronnie. There was an alleyway along the side of the property. ‘Get over the fence and check the rear.’

  Ronnie dashed off as I peered through the front window into the lounge. The curtains were open, but no one was in there.

  I banged again. Heard a thud and Ronnie make a noise as he launched himself over the rear fence.

  ‘Wilmott? Are you in there?’ I called out through the letter box. I couldn’t see anyone through the small slit. There were no noises coming from within. No signs of life at all.

  ‘Sarge!’ Ronnie called out from somewhere around the back. ‘Call for an ambulance! Wilmott’s on the floor in the kitchen. There’s a lot of blood. I’m going to force an entry.’

  ‘Fuck!’ I radioed the control room and told them an officer was injured and to get an ambulance en route immediately. Then, radio still in hand, I launched my shoulder into the front door.

  It was sturdy. Hardwood. It didn’t budge.

  I heard the sound of breaking glass at the rear and legged it up the alleyway. By the time I’d climbed over the fence, there was a metal bench lying on its side and the double-glazed rear door to the kitchen was smashed.

  Ronnie crouched over Wilmott, who was unconscious, blood oozing from around the knife sticking out of his stomach, creating a patchwork of red on his shirt.

  I crunched over splinters of glass in the doorway. ‘You stay with him. Ambulance is on the way. I’ll check the house.’ I didn’t expect Samantha to be hanging around anywhere, waiting for a nice cosy chat over tea and biscuits, but I checked the lounge and downstairs toilet before bounding up the stairs and looking around the rest of the house.

  She was gone. Of course she was.

  I ran back downstairs and radioed the control room again, giving them an update. If Samantha hadn’t taken Alissa’s car, she couldn’t have got that far. Unless she had another vehicle stashed away somewhere, which I wouldn’t put past her. ‘Get in touch with Passport and Immigration and circulate her details,’ I told the communications operator.

  ‘Which ones? Samantha Folds or Alissa Burbeck?’

  ‘Both! I want the CCTV operators informed. Either she’s on foot or she’s in another vehicle. She can’t have waited for public transport or to call a taxi. And where’s the bloody ambulance? DI Wilmott’s in a bad way.’

  ‘It’s en route. It should be there soon.’

  I passed on a few more instructions and then crouched down next to Wilmott. He didn’t look good. His face was pale. Blood had spread over the floor in a pool of slick, sticky red. His breathing was shallow.

  ‘Should I press on the wound?’ Ronnie shrieked, a panic-stricken expression on his face. ‘I know that helps with blood loss, but I’m not sure about when there’s still a knife in there.’

  If he died, it would be my fault. I should’ve told him I was on to her before. Should’ve told him everything. A little inner voice told me I’d tried and he hadn’t wanted to know, but still, it didn’t make me feel any better at that moment.

  ‘You could push it in further by pressing on it. The ambulance should be here soon. You wait for it, OK? I’m going to drive around and see if I can spot her.’

  I left through the front door without waiting for an answer, got in my car, and did a sweep of the area.

  ‘Where are you, you crazy bitch?’

  THE OTHER ONE

  Chapter 44

  I didn’t know what had gone wrong. There was no evidence to connect me to Max’s murder. There couldn’t be. I supposed it didn’t matter now. The only thing that mattered was getting away. If they started poking around more into my life, it wouldn’t take long for them to find out who I really was. What I’d done.

  I laughed to myself as I joined the motorway, heading towards Heathrow Airport, in the old Ford Fiesta I’d purchased for a few hundred pounds. I’d parked it a couple of streets away from my rented house. It was taxed, so no one would even pay it any attention. I’d given a false name and address to the person I’d bought it from and never registered it. By the time they realised where I’d gone, I’d be on a plane to somewhere.

  The bad bit: I’d never get my hands on all of Max’s money now. I slapped my palm repeatedly against the steering wheel. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I’d squirrelled away money from Max when we’d got back from Australia. Yes, of course I have to pay the caterers and the marquee hire in cash for the reception. I’d bumped up the price and got five grand, just like that. And when he’d kissed me hard, got the money from the safe in the house, and counted out the notes, I’d tucked away the combination in my head.

  Fifty grand he’d had in that safe. Who keeps that kind of cash in the house?

  I’d taken bits and pieces out of our savings account and current account, too. Not huge amounts at a time, which would’ve seemed too suspicious. Three hundred here, two hundred there. So I’d amassed seventy grand in cash. Not as good as ten million, but at least it meant I could get away. I could feed myself until I decided what to do. What my next goal was. I’d opened an account in a new bank in the name of Samantha Folds months ago. Then I’d transferred most of the money to the Cayman Islands. I had five grand in cash on me. Not enough to raise any alarms at the border.

  The good bit: the really good bit, actually, that I realised now after my initial panic had cleared, was that they still didn’t know exactly who I was yet. That text from Carter had said Alissa Burbeck. Not Sam Folds. Not the real me. The me I still had a passport for. The me no one would be looking for because I wasn’t Alissa Pathetic Burbeck.

  It wasn’t ideal. I admit that. But it wasn’t all lost, either. Life was all about adapting. I’d done it so many times before, I could easily do it again.

  The new question was: where should I fly to first?

  Answer? Whichever the hell flight left first. Check!

  THE DETECTIVE

  Chapter 45

  She’d disappeared. The frustration and adrenaline slammed through me as I drove around the nearby area, searching fruitlessly for any sign of her. Patrol cars were out looking, too. She could be anywhere by now.

  The communications operator’s voice was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard when she called me on the radio.

  ‘Go ahead,’ I said urgently.

  ‘We’ve got something. A CCTV operator has been reviewing footage and spotted her getting into a black Ford Fiesta in a nearby street forty-five minutes ago. Index number Alpha-two-three-X-ray-Tango-Bravo. It’s been circulated. The motorway cameras have picked it up on the M25. Stand by for more information.’

  I did a U-turn in a residential street, tyres squealing as I headed towards the A1M, where I could pick up the M25 motorway. She was going to the airport, I was sure. But which one? Heathrow or Gatwick?


  I floored it, my heart racing.

  The control room called again. ‘One of our operators is talking to the Road Policing Unit. They’ve just spotted the vehicle on CCTV leaving the M25 at the Heathrow slip road.’

  ‘Alert the airport police.’

  ‘Received.’

  ‘Is there an update on DI Wilmott?’

  ‘He’s at the hospital. Critical condition. They’re not sure if he’ll make it.’

  I gripped the steering wheel tight and pushed the accelerator down.

  THE OTHER ONE

  Chapter 46

  I hadn’t had time to change my clothes before I’d left the house. I’d washed my hands, of course, but there was blood on my top, so I’d just grabbed a long black cardigan and pulled it on, doing up the buttons to hide the stain. I could easily buy something else to wear from one of the duty-free shops, anyway.

  I approached the British Airways desk, which, thankfully, had no queue. ‘Hi, I’m feeling like a spontaneous trip.’ I smiled sweetly. ‘Can you tell me which flights you have leaving soon?’

  The woman with an over-processed perm and too much make-up on didn’t even bat an eyelid at my odd request. She smiled back. ‘I’ve always wanted to do that. Book a couple of weeks off and just go somewhere spontaneous. Go on an adventure and not know where until the last minute.’ She leaned forward. ‘The thing is, I’m too much of a planner. I like to research places so I know exactly what there is to see before I go. It’s great in theory, but I don’t think I could really do it.’

  Do I look like I care?

  My smile was in danger of becoming tight against my cheeks. ‘So, what flights do you have?’

  She turned her attention to her keyboard and prattled on again.

  Shut the fuck up!

  I glanced around, checking out a couple of armed police walking around casually, hands resting on their guns. I averted my gaze back to the woman.

  ‘I’ll look for flights leaving in around two hours because it will take you at least that long to get through check-in and security.’

  Two hours?

  I tapped my foot. ‘What about first-class tickets? Don’t you get priority boarding and check-in?’

  ‘Yes. You could also purchase a priority pass to fast-track through the security queues, too, if you like.’

  ‘Yes. I want all of those. So how soon can I get a flight?’

  She typed away again. ‘The next departure we have is for Paris, leaving in an hour and five minutes.’

  ‘I’ll take that, please.’

  ‘Wonderful! I’m so jealous.’ She giggled. ‘What’s your name, please?’

  ‘Samantha Folds.’

  I tapped my foot as she took my cash and printed out pieces of paper.

  ‘I hope you have a lovely time. I hear—’

  I didn’t catch the rest of her annoying conversation. I was already rushing towards the BA check-in desk.

  Luckily, there was no one in the queue for first class, and I whizzed through the check-in process before rushing towards the security area. There were people winding around barriers in a horrifically long swarm, waiting to go through the X-ray machines. I looked frantically for the fast-track queue and breathed a sigh of relief. Only two people there.

  I joined in behind them and put my bag on the conveyor belt, even managing to summon up a smile as I stepped through the metal detector.

  At passport control, they scanned my passport and checked my boarding card to make sure the names matched up. I breathed deeply. It wouldn’t do to panic and blow everything now.

  The uniformed man looked up from my passport and studied me for a moment, a stern expression on his face. He typed a few things on his computer. Studied me again. Then he handed me back my passport and boarding card. ‘Have a nice trip.’

  In the departure hall, I looked around for a clothes shop, spotting a Ted Baker.

  I walked into the stuffily hot shop and headed straight for the summer dresses, sliding them along the rack as I checked out the sizes. I picked up the first I found in my size and rushed towards the till, thrusting it towards the woman behind the counter.

  ‘Oh, this is really pretty,’ she said. ‘I’ve got one of these.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said, watching her remove the security tag, tapping my feet and glancing at my watch.

  ‘Did you see the one in red, too?’ She pointed over to the rack. ‘That colour would really suit you, and it’s on sale at the moment, too. Fifty percent off.’

  ‘I’m in a hurry, actually. My flight’s about to leave soon.’ I forced myself not to scream in her face to get a move on, and I thrust some money at her.

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ She rang up the purchase, folded up the dress, and put it in a paper bag, then handed me the change.

  I quickly scanned the departure screens, looking for my gate, then power-walked in that direction. When I got there with thirty-five minutes to spare, I went into the toilets, stripped off my top and skirt, and threw them in the cubicle bin, then put the dress over my head. I heard a slight ripping as I hastily dressed. Hopefully I hadn’t done any major damage, but I didn’t have time to check it now. I pulled my cardigan back on and walked to the boarding gate.

  There was a queue of people for the commoners’ boarding, but the line for first class was empty. I skittered to a stop, took a deep breath, and breezed calmly up to the uniformed male member of staff, conjuring up a relaxed smile.

  He scanned my boarding card, checked my passport and voila – as they say in gay Paris! – I was heading down the corridor towards the plane.

  THE DETECTIVE

  Chapter 47

  My contact at Heathrow Police was a detective named DS Paul Browne. He was currently on the radio to patrol units on the airport floor, and had emailed photos of Samantha to phones and computers. We’d established that she’d already gone through passport control before we’d had the chance to circulate her details.

  We had operators on the lookout for her, checking the real-time CCTV cameras, while others reviewed any footage that had already been recorded. More were speaking to the various airlines, trying to confirm which one she’d bought a ticket from.

  Thousands of people moved around the airport every second. It would be hard going to spot her in amongst the throngs of people.

  She could not get away, though. I wouldn’t let her. But I felt useless just doing nothing and leaving it to DS Browne’s team.

  I ignored the twinge in my back, the tension tightening up my shoulders, and I clenched my fists, wondering if Wilmott would make it. He was in surgery right now to repair his wounds. That was all they knew so far.

  Sweat beaded on my forehead as the feeling of hopelessness kicked in. What if she managed to slip through my fingers?

  A little while later, we had a result.

  ‘British Airways flight to Paris, leaving in . . . twenty-five minutes,’ DS Browne said to me. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  DS Browne got on the radio and started talking to the boarding gate staff as we rushed to the airport floor.

  A few minutes later, Browne’s radio crackled and sprang to life, and a voice on the other end said, ‘Samantha Folds has boarded the plane.’

  ‘OK, I don’t want anyone to approach her. We’re on our way.’ He fired off other instructions to someone else on his radio, something about holding the plane. I wasn’t listening. The pounding of blood in my ears drowned out everything else, and I just had one thought.

  Gotcha!

  THE OTHER ONE

  Chapter 48

  ‘Champagne, madam?’ The flight attendant held out a tray towards me with several glasses of bubbly on it.

  What a stupid question! Of course I want some!

  ‘Thanks.’ I took a glass and sipped. Shame it was so small. I needed a serious drink. Still, when we took off, I’d ply myself with some more.

  She offered the tray to the middle-aged, balding man next to me in the aisle seat, who took one, before turning to me.<
br />
  ‘Are you travelling on business or pleasure?’

  I groaned inwardly. I didn’t really want to get into a conversation with anyone right now. And how cheesy was that line? My mind was racing, making it hard to think.

  ‘Holiday,’ I mumbled, picking up the in-flight magazine from the seat holder in front of me. I flicked through it, all too aware that the dress I’d bought was very low at the front, flashing too much cleavage for my liking right now. At the moment, I wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  I could tell without looking up that the man was staring at my tits, so I pulled the edges of my cardigan closer together.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said, pushing his glass closer to mine, almost in front of my face. How rude. ‘This is always a nice way to start a trip, don’t you think?’

  Blah, blah, blah. Just shut up and let me THINK!

  I chinked my plastic glass with his and tried to tune him out, giving the appearance of reading the words on the page, when really they were all swimming together.

  A picture of Wilmott’s face as the blade slid into his skin flashed in my head. The look of surprise, the gasp, his mouth and eyes opening wide, the split-second shock of it all. Then, before he could react, I’d done it again, and again. He’d slid down my body, arms clutching at my hips, my thighs, my calves, until I’d kicked him away and left him on the floor.

  Did I feel bad? No. Not in the slightest. He shouldn’t have been such a feeble idiot. They would’ve found him by now, but did it matter? Did it matter? Did it matter? I tried to think through the question, unsure, a panicky pressure making my nerves tingle. It took every little bit of effort to stop my whole body fidgeting.

  Think. Think!

  No, it didn’t matter. They thought Alissa had killed Max and that’s who they’d be looking for. They didn’t know about Sam Folds, so I was safe. They wouldn’t be looking for that name on any flights from the UK. Yes, safe. Why was I even worrying about it at all? Ah, relief.