Detective Mike Croft Series Box Set

by Jane Adams

  1.45 p.m.

  The main gate at Oaklands stood open and they walked through unchallenged.

  ‘I thought there’d be security,’ Sarah commented.

  ‘Not on this part. The hospital bit, where the inpatients are, that’s across the other side and I think it’s got its own gate.’

  They walked on up the drive, Sarah looking around with interest. ‘A lake,’ she said, pointing.

  ‘Yeah, there’s acres of parkland and woods and stuff, even deer. Can you imagine owning a place like this?’

  Sarah grinned at him. ‘Fancy cutting the grass?’

  Terry was straining to see up ahead, then, suddenly, he was smiling. ‘She’s here,’ he told Sarah. ‘I can see her car.’

  ‘Well, come on then!’ Grabbing Terry’s hand, Sarah began to run.

  * * *

  ‘It’s all right, Pete, I know them,’ Maria said.

  The caretaker looked unsure, but nodded. ‘OK, if you’re sure.’

  Terry looked gratefully at the tall black figure standing at the top of the long oak staircase. Beside him, Sarah drew a quick startled breath. However she had pictured Dr Maria Lucas, it was not as someone who could have made it as a supermodel.

  She clasped Terry’s hand more tightly and walked up the stairs. Maria smiled, then opened the door to her flat and ushered them inside.

  ‘Coats off,’ she said. ‘You look soaked through. Get yourselves in front of the fire and I’ll make some coffee, or would you like tea or chocolate?’

  ‘Er, anything, anything would be just great,’ Terry was saying.

  ‘And Sarah?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Oh, sorry. Chocolate please.’

  ‘How do you know Sarah’s name?’ Terry asked suddenly.

  Maria shook her head. ‘You don’t want publicity then remember to put a little X in the box.’ She picked up a copy of the Chronicle and tossed it over to him. ‘Now, get warm and read about yourselves.’

  She went through to the kitchen and they could hear the kettle being filled and the rattle of pots. Terry seemed to have frozen to the spot, staring at the newspaper, the real shock sinking in for the first time.

  Sarah took it from him and pulled him over to the fire. ‘God’s sake, Terry, what’s the matter with you? You think people don’t read the papers or something? You saw it back in that village. You knew what it said.’

  He looked really scared, she thought. She was just relieved that they had made it here. But neither of them, Sarah realized, had given much thought to what they should do afterwards, or even what Maria Lucas would say to them.

  She sank down on the small sofa beside Terry, laying her head against his shoulder. At first he sat stiffly, then he unbent a little and put his arm around her.

  Maria came back into the room and sat down opposite them. ‘The kettle will soon boil,’ she said. ‘Then we can talk and you can tell me what you came all this way for.’

  She raised an elegant eyebrow in Terry’s direction but the boy said nothing. Instead, he sat staring at the carpet as though its pattern fascinated him.

  ‘Terry!’ Sarah nudged him, then when it was clear she’d get no answer, she turned to Maria. ‘Terry said you could help him.’

  She nudged him again, uncertain of how much to say, then, hesitantly, ‘It’s about that woman, the one that died, you see. Terry thinks they’re going to blame him for it.’

  She stopped there, not knowing what else to say without at least Terry’s tacit approval.

  Maria nodded slowly, careful not to let anything of what she was thinking show on her face. So that was why he had run. He knew Theo Howard. Of course, the ‘old woman’ he had helped with her shopping, and Theo was an actress. Stupid not to have connected them before. And with what Terry had been accused of in the past . . . She remembered the teenager Mike said had been reported running away. ‘I thought you’d come here, Terry. I rather hoped you would,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Oh?’ Sarah questioned.

  ‘You were seen,’ Maria told them. ‘Getting off a bus at Hoton late Saturday night. Hoton isn’t far away. I thought you might be coming here.’

  The boy looked up, briefly meeting Maria’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t know why I did,’ he said. ‘Nothing you can do.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Terry!’ Sarah said again, nudging him harder this time. ‘You’ve got to tell her.’

  Maria smiled at the girl then got up and went back through to the kitchen. ‘I’ll get those drinks,’ she said. As she disappeared through the kitchen door she could hear Sarah haranguing her friend. Telling him he’d have to talk. She closed the door quietly, hoping that Sarah would have got through to him before she went back in. It would make things so much simpler if she did. She set about preparing the drinks, arranging biscuits on a plate. Trying to give Sarah time to work on Terry.

  There was a telephone in the kitchen and for a moment she thought of calling Mike, at least to tell him that the kids were safe. She was reaching for the phone when a sudden shout from the other room turned her around and had her heading for the door.

  ‘You’ve got to talk to her,’ Sarah had been saying. ‘You can’t just sit there, Terry. You just can’t.’

  ‘How did she know about the bus?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe it was in the paper.’

  ‘It wasn’t. I looked.’

  Terry raised his head, staring into her face. She had never seen such desperation or such fear.

  ‘Terry. . .’ Sarah laid a hand on his arm.

  He jumped to his feet. ‘I shouldn’t have got you into this. I’m sorry. What if I did do those things? If I did it to Nathan then maybe . . . What if I did it, Sarah?’

  Sarah stared at him. Of course you didn’t do it, she wanted to tell him. Of course you couldn’t do anything like that, but the words just wouldn’t come out. They seemed frozen somewhere in her throat and she couldn’t get them to budge.

  Just when had he started thinking like this? Had this horrific self-doubt been playing on his mind all the time that they had been together?

  Suddenly, Sarah was afraid, his doubt transmitting itself to her. The fear must have shown itself on her face because Terry moved then, looking around him urgently for an escape. His gaze fell on Maria’s car keys lying on the table near the door. He’d grabbed them even before Sarah realized what he was doing and was heading for the stairs. Then Sarah was on her feet as well and chasing after him, screaming out his name.

  Her screams brought Maria running.

  By the time Maria reached the top of the stairs Sarah was standing by the big front door. As she ran down the stairs, she heard a car engine surge into life, revving far too fast, then a sudden screech of tyres spinning on loose gravel.

  She reached the door in time to see her Mazda fishtailing wildly as Terry, not understanding power steering, swung the wheel sideways. He tried to pull it back on line again, and veered far too much the other way.

  ‘Terry!’ Maria’s shout joined Sarah’s screaming. ‘Oh shit!’

  ‘I tried to stop him. I tried.’ Sarah was grabbing at her arm. Maria hardly heard her. She was running down the long drive after the speeding car, Sarah close upon her heels.

  He’ll never make that bend. Oh God, he’ll never make that bend . . .

  The drive swept a graceful left and then back right in another sweeping curve. Terry still didn’t have the hang of the steering. She could hear from the change in engine note that he must somehow have managed to shift to second gear. ‘He’s not going to make the bend.’

  She almost covered her eyes, but couldn’t tear her gaze away as the car, in a shower of mud and gravel, veered wildly out of control and left the road heading towards the lake.

  For an instant Maria stopped dead, horrified by what she saw.

  ‘Terry!’ Sarah cried again. ‘Terry!’

  Just for an instant, the Mazda seemed to stop dead, poised with its wheels free of the ground,
a creature of the air. Then it plunged forward and dived nose-first into the lake.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  1.45 p.m.

  Max Harriman was on his way to work and thinking about what Jake would be doing next.

  Trying to second guess Jake Bowen was a full-time occupation and Max was pretty good at it, though he had to admit that Jake gave him a little help. Small hints here and there in the details of his attacks or the content of his films. Details that emerged from a shared past and that Max was certain few others would be able to see. Like the vicious red he drew upon his women’s lips and that vampire image Jake had used now in three of his best films, mouths filled with blood sharing kisses deep enough to touch the soul.

  Max smiled to himself as he remembered looking on his mother’s face and that blood-red smile. Of bending over her face, his lips touching . . .

  Max pulled the thoughts away. The truth was he felt restless now that he had killed the woman, eager to find another image, another story to play out.

  It was lucky that Jake had come up with the last one. The Marion story had been one of the best that Max had ever told himself. Now it was time to move on, to start looking again.

  * * *

  Jake was driving along the Devizes road. He was dressed in his working clothes, his jacket hanging from the loop near the back window, briefcase on the passenger seat, the very image of a perfect sales rep.

  He had two more calls to make today, then he could head for home.

  His road took him between the ridge of Kennet Long Barrow and the conical rise of Silbury Hill. He glanced sideways as he passed, seeing the bright orange tape of the police cordon flapping in the breeze and the dark oblong of the grass where the car had burned. It had been at the back of his mind to use the location from the moment he’d seen that poem Marion’s old boyfriend had written her. It had, Jake thought, worked out well in the end.

  Now Jake passed Kennet by without a second glance. He had enjoyed his time with Marion, the brief interval they had been lovers, but he had always known it couldn’t last. Jake’s was not a lifestyle that could easily be shared.

  He shrugged lightly, his mind already turning to his next delivery. Pity she hadn’t been able to keep her nose out from where it had no right to be. The day he’d found her in the second editing suite he had set up at Vinnie’s place had been the day he realized their time was over. Nothing was wasted though; those final days he’d kept her in the basement had given him some useful footage and it had been good to be able to add another fire sequence to his repertoire.

  Jake had been raised to let nothing go to waste.

  * * *

  Terry thought he was going to die. Then he stopped thinking, had no time for thought, as the car tore itself from his already minimal control and headed towards the lake.

  He heard himself screaming, lifting his arms instinctively to protect his head. Then the stunning blow as the car hit water that felt like iron and he was thrown forward against the restraint of the seatbelt.

  Winded, Terry lowered his arm and looked around in panic, blessing the ingrained habit that had made him fasten his belt. The front of the car had hit the water first and was sinking fast. In the darkness, Terry couldn’t tell how far.

  How deep was the water? How the hell was he going to get out?

  The car had landed at a slight angle, sinking obliquely, pitching the driver’s side most deeply into the water . . . He dare not open the door. He tried the window, feeling along the door panel for the handle, then realized that Maria’s car had electric windows. Frantically he tried to find the button, but when his fingers touched it, pressed it hard, nothing happened.

  The water, he thought. It must have short-circuited. Nothing was working. He’d never get out. He had to get into the back. Try and climb out through the back somehow.

  He began to wriggle around, easing himself past the steering-wheel and into the space between the seats, grazing his leg against the gear-lever, jamming for a moment between the gear-shift and the handbrake, panicking as his clothes caught on them. He thought he’d never get himself free.

  Then, he heard the hammering on top of the car.

  * * *

  Mike took the opportunity to try to reach Maria, hoping she had heard from Terry. He stood for a long time, listening to the phone ringing, the sound hollow in the empty flat.

  He rang John Tynan and asked him to keep trying Maria, to see if there was any news of Terry.

  ‘I was planning on going out there anyway. Maria promised me a drink after work,’ John told him. ‘We’ve got your mobile and pager numbers. I’ll get back to you, soon as I can.’

  * * *

  ‘Terry? Can you hear me, Terry? Keep away from the window. Keep down.’

  Her face pressed as close to the window as she could get, Maria could just make out the dark shadow of Terry’s body inside the car. He seemed to be wedged between the seats. For an awful moment she wondered if he was even still conscious. Or if he had been badly injured in the crash. She tried again. ‘Terry. Keep your head down and your face covered, I’m going to break the glass.’

  She thought she saw him move, couldn’t afford the time to be sure. Standing up to her waist in freezing water, her feet sinking into deep, foul-smelling mud and with the car sinking further at every moment, Maria knew she didn’t have time for much finesse.

  Were rear windows laminated, like front windscreens? She didn’t know. She couldn’t risk trying and then failing. The car was sinking far too fast. Hoping that Terry would have the sense to cover his face, she moved around to the side and slammed the rock she was holding with all her weight behind it into the glass.

  It took three attempts before it broke. The water restricted her movements and the mud sucked at her feet, throwing her off balance, but finally she made it through. Shouting at Terry, trying to find out if he was all right, even as she used the stone to break the sharpest edges from around the window frame. The force of her blows against the glass was making the car shift, sinking even faster into the mud and slime. Finally, she was satisfied that she could get him out. She reached a hand inside. ‘Terry, come on, Terry. Let me help you out.’

  Almost reluctantly he unwedged himself from between the seats. His face was white. She grabbed his sweater; tugging him forward, making him turn his body so he would fit more easily through the gap she’d made. He reached forwards, trying to help himself now.

  ‘That’s it,’ she encouraged. ‘Keep going. That’s it.’ Terry pushed against the seats with his feet. His hands reaching out, trying to get some purchase on the outside of the car. Maria pulled on any part of him she could get her hands around. Tugging at his shoulders, his sweatshirt, the belt of his jeans, until eventually he fell forward, splashing into the water on top of her, dragging them both down.

  Maria struggled to stand upright, pulling the boy with her. He seemed stunned, unable to co-ordinate, and she found herself having to support him as they waded to the bank.

  Sarah was there, shouting encouragement and reaching out to help them on to shore. They fell in a muddy, shivering heap, gasping for breath.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Maria demanded. Then: ‘God almighty boy, no one would have blamed me if I’d let you drown! Now, come on, on your feet before we all freeze to death out here.’

  By the time John Tynan arrived about half an hour later, they were back inside Oaklands. Sarah was taking her turn in the shower. Terry was wrapped in an old dressing-gown that Mike had left at Maria’s place. There were cuts from the flying glass on his face and arms, but he’d been lucky; wedged between the seats, he’d been protected from the worst of it. Maria herself, muddy clothes dumped on the bathroom floor and a towelling robe wrapped around her, was trying to clear up some of the mess.

  ‘Oh, John. Just the most welcome person. Please, make some tea or something, will you, and make sure he stays put.’

  John looked at Terry, then at Maria, taking in the muddy feet emerging from beneath
the towelling robe and the mess of filthy, stinking clothes she was holding in her hands.

  He decided that this was not the time for questions.

  From the bathroom, Sarah emerged, wrapped in Maria’s dressing-gown, towelling her hair.

  ‘Better?’ Maria asked her.

  The girl nodded. ‘Good. You’ll find the hairdryer on the shelf in the bedroom. The one next to the door. This is John Tynan, he’s going to make some tea. And I’m going to get clean.’

  She marched off, her pent-up anger charging the atmosphere until it almost hummed.

  John surveyed them both thoughtfully. ‘Terry and Sarah,’ he said. ‘It might be worth knowing that I’ve never seen her that annoyed. Just what did you two do?’

  ‘We, Terry . . . Her car,’ Sarah began. ‘It’s in the lake.’

  John took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  ‘Tea, I think,’ he said. ‘Strong tea.’

  * * *

  Mike had done his time as a probationer in King’s Cross, his beat taking in the station, the seedy little hotels and the back-street strip clubs. It was a long time, though, since he’d had to drive in London, and he had forgotten just how much he hated it.

  He’d managed to squeeze into a parking space, partly blocking an alleyway, beside the building that housed Primart Publications Ltd. The December day, grey and miserable, cast grimy shadows over the city street.

  Mike went inside. Primart was on the second floor. He was well off his home ground here and had, as a matter of courtesy, informed his local opposite number . . . that he’d be coming. They’d filled him in on Primart’s background.

  Primart Publications produced books and magazines, sex aids, videos. The usual stuff, all legal and above board. Squeaky clean, was the way it had been described to Mike, and very profitable.

  They used girls from a series of agencies. Drew up official contracts with each one they used and actually went to the trouble to insist on proof of age.

  ‘They are totally professional,’ Mike’s informant had told him. ‘For that matter most of the bigger skin publications are. Can’t afford to be otherwise. The editor was busted ten years ago for printing pictures of a fifteen-year-old girl. I saw the pictures and you’d have sworn she was five years older. They cleaned up their act after that and their processing of models. Only deal through agencies now.’ It was useful to know. If Primart was concerned with its reputation it would be more likely to cooperate.