Dr Samantha Willerby Box Set

by A J Waines

  ‘Didn’t you used to cycle everywhere?’

  I nodded. ‘I like cycling, but it’s so crazy in London; it’s more like an assault course than simply getting from A to B and certainly not relaxing.’ I sat back. As I spoke I watched his eyes. They were always on mine, not drifting or distracted, but alert and intense, like he was listening with them, as well as his ears.

  ‘What’s your favourite way to switch off?’

  ‘Riding through Richmond Park is good,’ I replied. ‘Walking along the Thames, films, theatre. Lunch with good friends…’

  He gave me a bashful smile, scratching his nose in a little nervous tic.

  Our conversation rolled along with ease. Light filled up spaces inside me that had been dark for a long time and for a short while I forgot the unsolved mass of tangles waiting for me.

  ‘I’m trying mindfulness,’ he said, ‘but I’m not very good at it.’

  ‘It can make you realise just how cluttered your brain is,’ I said. ‘I used to meditate, but I’ve stopped doing that, as well.’

  ‘You’re not scoring very well on self-care, Dr Willerby,’ he said, with mock reprimand in his voice.

  I smiled. ‘I’m not scoring terribly well in many areas in my life at the moment,’ I said, with a sigh.

  ‘When was the last time you spent time away from London?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, heck, it must be ages.’ I gave it some thought. ‘Probably my auntie’s funeral in January.’

  ‘That’s not very impressive, either,’ he said. He’d barely touched his burger, had fallen into a habit of picking it up and then putting it back down on the plate. I could sense he had something to say to me, something he was finding hard to broach.

  ‘How about we go to Windsor one day for a picnic,’ he said eventually. ‘Or St Albans – that’s not far on the train.’

  Oh… a proper date!

  ‘I’d really like that,’ I said, flashing a big smile.

  His face lit up before he glanced at his watch and moaned. ‘Urgh – sorry, got to get back.’ He reached out for my hand and raised it to his lips, then let it go when he saw the bemused look on my face.

  ‘I hadn’t realised we’d just had lunch in the court of Louis the fourteenth!’ I said, laughing. ‘Well, I had lunch, you barely touched yours.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘I seem to be all fingers and thumbs, when I’m with—’ He stopped and scratched his nose.

  I caught hold of his hand again and squeezed it. ‘Don’t apologise. I’m only teasing you. This has been lovely.’

  His lips quivered into a triumphant grin and he bent down for his briefcase. I noticed his keys had got tucked under his napkin.

  ‘Don’t forget these,’ I said. He pulled a face at his absent-mindedness and scooped them up.

  As I watched his hand close around them, I sucked in a breath that stuck in my throat.

  A piece in this insane puzzle had just clicked into place.

  Chapter 38

  As soon as Terry left the café I typed two words into the search bar of my phone, then selected the image option and waited.

  When Terry had picked up his keys from the table, it was the logo on his fob that sent bells ringing in my head. I could now see a full range of designs for vehicle logos in the UK; the familiar four rings of Audi, the chevrons of Citroen, the Vauxhall griffin. I scrolled down until I came to the one I was looking for. The shape Aiden had been showing me, time after time; a silver V shape, like a bird inside an oval. The Mazda logo. Is this what Aiden meant?

  I needed to use the bathroom, so followed the signs, my sandals slapping my heels as I walked, sending the sound out along the empty corridor like the loud clicking of a clock. On the way back, a door to one of the studios was open and I could make out Miranda’s voice. If she knew I’d been here without saying hello she was bound to read something into it, so I took a couple of steps inside.

  She had her back to the door and was holding a sketch pad up to the light at the window. I heard another voice and thought there must be someone else out of sight, until I spotted Miranda’s mobile on the table beside her and realised she was on speakerphone.

  ‘I know. You must miss her terribly,’ she said, not having heard me come in. ‘I think the first birthday and first Christmas after someone dies are the worst.’

  She hoisted herself up onto the edge of the table and rested her feet on a wooden chair, adding touches to her drawing with a pastel crayon. It was a private conversation. I should have walked away.

  ‘…scatter the ashes,’ the disembodied voice said, ‘we still haven’t done it.’

  ‘Did she have a special place? You could always bury them in a box if–’

  It was Kurtis Mills, presumably talking about his sister. His reply was so heavily dowsed in his lilting Scottish accent that I couldn’t make out what he said.

  ‘It’s not up to them, though, is it? You were the closest one to her, so you should make the decision.’

  Miranda dropped her crayon on the floor at that point and as I strained to catch what followed, all I could hear was the scrape of the chair as she bent down to retrieve it.

  ‘…so upsetting… even now… find myself crying…’ His words tailed off.

  ‘Yeah, you must feel like you’ll never get over it.’

  He muttered something.

  ‘Sure, listen, I should go,’ she said, abruptly putting down the pad. ‘I’ve got a class in a minute…’

  I felt like a rabbit caught in headlights. She was going to turn round any second to catch me standing there, eavesdropping on her conversation. I took the longest stride backwards that I dared, placing my foot down carefully so as not to make a sound. Then another. Somehow, I got to the corridor and out of sight before she turned. I bolted for the exit.

  Aiden was sitting cross-legged beside Natalie in the saloon when I came on-board. She had been knitting, but the needles lay abandoned by her side and she was passing a looped configuration of wool over to Aiden’s outstretched hands. They were playing cat’s cradle. I watched them twist the shapes back and forth. Then Natalie groaned as she wound the pattern the wrong way and the shape unravelled.

  ‘I loved that at school,’ I said.

  She stood up on hearing me approach.

  ‘Could I have just a moment with Aiden?’ I said to her. ‘Then I’m probably going to have to go out again. Sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m not rehearsing today. I might see if Aiden wants to sunbathe on the roof, later.’ She disappeared and I took a seat beside him. His face seemed more alive than before, his eyes held more light in them.

  I showed Aiden a blow-up photograph of the silver logo on my phone.

  ‘Is this what you meant by the shape you made in wire, Aiden?’

  He nodded.

  ‘It belongs to a car, is that right? The logo on the front?’

  Again, a nod.

  ‘So, this was the car you saw in the car park when Kora was… hurt – a Mazda.’

  He stood up and deliberately put his hands together – into the prayer position we’d agreed on if he needed to tell me something – and gave one final nod.

  As soon as I was on the train back to Camden I put a call through to Jeremy.

  ‘A breakthrough?’ he queried.

  ‘Definitely. Aiden has revealed something – I’m on my way.’

  By the time I’d hurried around to the police station on Stanhope Street, an ad hoc meeting had been set up. Once they were all seated – Jeremy, Karen and Joanne – I broke the news. A ripple of approval filled the room.

  ‘So we’re looking for a Mazda,’ said the DI. ‘We’ll need to check our witness statements from CCAP – see if we get a match with any regular cars there.’ He scribbled in his notebook. ‘Let’s find out if this rings any bells for the cleaner or caretaker…’

  ‘Mr Blake didn’t give you the registration number by any chance, did he?’ asked Karen dryly.

  I smiled, refusi
ng to let her spoil my moment of glory. Jeremy began tapping away on his tablet.

  ‘Is this the logo?’ he spun the screen round to show me.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it.’

  ‘Means we’re looking for a Mazda after 1997; that’s when this logo first came into use.’

  ‘He didn’t hint at the colour of the car at all?’ said Joanne hesitantly. ‘Why didn’t he draw the car?’

  I tried to explain. ‘Patients in his state can often only tolerate small segments of memory. They choose the parts they can cope with. I imagine Aiden can’t bring himself to draw the car yet. That’s why he’s focused on one tiny remembered detail. It feels safer that way.’

  ‘Perhaps you can get him to draw the logo using coloured crayons…’ It was Karen being facetious again, but in fact, she wasn’t so wide of the mark.

  ‘Yes, I could try something with colours,’ I said. I pressed my hands together into a steeple. ‘It does lead me to an issue that isn’t quite so helpful.’

  Jeremy stretched himself out, ankles crossed under the table, arms behind his head. I noticed Karen watching him.

  ‘I hate to say this,’ I said, ‘but what if Aiden didn’t see the attacker’s face. Maybe he was wearing a stocking, a mask, a hood… I don’t know.’

  Jeremy filled in the blanks. ‘You mean we might wait and wait and then in the end, all Mr Blake draws is a run-of-the-mill and entirely unremarkable dark coat, because that’s all he saw?’

  The energy in the room dissipated in an instant.

  ‘It’s possible,’ I told them, with gritted teeth.

  Jeremy shrugged and got up listlessly. ‘Thanks, anyway, Dr Willerby.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ mumbled the others, as they disbanded.

  Joanne was the only one left in the room with me. She was rocking the table and tutting.

  ‘The piece of cardboard has come adrift,’ she said, squatting down in an attempt to refit the wedge that was keeping the table steady. She straightened up with a groan. ‘Take no notice of Karen, by the way.’ She let the enigmatic statement hang for a second, then her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She had a one-night stand with DI Fenway a few months ago… off the record and all that. He says it was a big mistake, but she’s still keen, apparently.’ Her eyes fixed on mine. ‘She might be a tad concerned that you are straying into her territory.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said. That would certainly explain why she’d been sniffy with me.

  ‘Are you interested?’ she added, pushing her chair back into place.

  ‘Fenway? Me? Absolutely not,’ I said, laughing loudly at the suggestion. ‘Who or what has made any of you think I might be?’

  ‘Me thinks she protesteth too much…’ she muttered, collecting her papers.

  ‘No, seriously,’ I said. ‘I’m not the least bit interested. Anyway, I’m seeing someone.’ The assured statement came from nowhere, taking even me by surprise. My mind flashed to a picture of Terry in my mind’s eye and I realised that my words didn’t feel out of place.

  ‘Oh. Good on you.’ She tested the table again. Solid as a rock. ‘Well, I think we’re done here.’

  I turned in early that evening. Soon after, I heard Aiden take a late shower. I was too tired to read; my limbs felt like they were filled with concrete, so I settled down, hoping to slip away into sleep without any fuss. After a few minutes, however, plans for tomorrow started niggling away inside my head. I had to find a way to help Aiden fit together the logo on the Mazda with the car itself. What was the colour? Was it four doors? Five doors? Could he recall any part of the number plate? I needed more details.

  I threw myself over on to the other shoulder and my brain began leaping first this way, then that. I remembered I’d kissed Terry once at a party at university. I was trying to recall what it was like, but my memory-bank wouldn’t reach that far back. I tried to imagine it now; how he’d tilt his head slightly, soften his silver-blue eyes, his lips meeting mine, his tongue… I drew my knees up to my chest and broke the spell. What was I doing indulging in daydreams? I had far more important matters to be working on.

  My thoughts went AWOL for a while, then latched onto Miranda and the snippets of conversation I’d overheard recently after her dinner party and at CCAP. She seemed to be close to Kurtis, comfortable sharing emotional issues with him. I tried to fathom what it was I ‘didn’t know about’ – a revelation which would come as a ‘shock’. Had she done something rash that she couldn’t bring herself to tell me about? Should I be worried? Was it connected to Aiden or the murders? Surely, if she knew something important she would have told me.

  I stretched out and realised I was too hot, so much so that my sheets were getting damp. Not a normal summer night’s response to the humidity, but a savage sweat. Before long, I was overwhelmed with shivering, a burning tongue, sandpaper throat. It slowly dawned on me that I had a fever. I reached out for my glass of water and knocked it off the bedside cabinet. My hands were shaking, my skin freezing on the outside, on fire inside. I stared into the flickering shadows around me and felt giddy; my eyelids drooping one moment, fluttering the next. Then I saw it. A shadow outside my window.

  I stumbled out of bed and holding on to the sideboard, leant over and slowly lifted the edge of the curtain.

  There it was again, sharply outlined against the moonlit sky. Someone in black. Poking around. Examining the boat.

  Hang on a minute… is it Aiden? Why is he outside, I thought he’d gone to bed? Why is he wearing a long cape? Is he trying to frighten me? A face came right up to my window and peered inside, strands of blonde hair sticking out of the hood. I was crouching in the corner, my head down, my eyes shut, praying I was out of sight. What’s he doing? Am I going mad?

  I dared to look up and saw the figure retreat. Layers of black took his place. I threw myself across the mattress for my phone.

  I couldn’t find it. My shudder turned into a sob and I made myself sit up.

  My phone buzzed amidst the confusion. I forced myself to stay still and listen to the source of the sound, then tumbled to the floor and groped under the bed, following the vibrations. It was Karen Foxton.

  ‘Just thought you should know, we’ve come across a–’

  ‘Help…’ I whimpered, only the sound didn’t come out.

  ‘…property in Chelsea – a flat – owned by Aiden Blake. The boat isn’t his only home. The flat is registered under O’Leary, his mother’s name.’

  I made a wordless sound that she must have taken to be a sign that I’d understood.

  ‘We’re applying for a search warrant. We strongly advise you to leave the boat, Dr Willerby, for your own safety…’

  I tried to call out, but nothing happened. Karen said something I didn’t quite grasp, then she’d gone.

  The next thing I knew, Aiden was standing over me. I bristled with an unexpected quiver of panic. I thought he was going to say something, then he turned on his heels.

  My mind raced. He was going to hurt me and there was nothing I could do about it. I was going to have to let him claim me – like Kora, like Katarina…

  Chapter 39

  When I awoke, I had a headache commensurate with going three rounds in the ring with an unforgiving prize fighter. To add to that, my body felt like it had been used as a doormat by a rhinoceros.

  The first thing I recalled was Aiden pacing back into my cabin late last night with a cold wet flannel and two headache tablets. He’d straightened my damp sheets and fluffed up my pillows, before softly pulling the door behind him to let me sleep. In short, he’d been my guardian angel. As hours passed he brought me hot drinks, cold drinks, hot soup. He brought in a radio, his DVD player and later set up a small television which must have come from his own cabin.

  My awareness came and went, with patches of fractured sleep interspersed between fragments of consciousness. I remember Aiden sitting beside me, keeping watch over me. At one point I thought I felt his lips brush my forehead, but I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t dreami
ng.

  I didn’t know how long he stayed each time. It occurred to me that I’d rarely, if ever, felt so utterly cared for. Growing up, Miranda used up all the attention in the family. Besides, my mother hated any form of illness; it was deeply inconvenient and she did her utmost to pretend it wasn’t happening. In contrast, my father used to get himself into a frantic faff; disturbing me in my sick bed to take my temperature just when I’d managed to drop off to sleep, insisting I ate eggs – it was always eggs for some reason.

  As an adult, I’d learnt to ride through minor ailments and cope on my own. It was pure fortune that I’d never been taken ill with anything serious. It crossed my mind that Aiden might have learnt his bedside manner from looking after his mother; he seemed to have an intuitive feel for it.

  Rachel had sent over a handful of photos from the supper we’d had at Miranda’s, but I was too dizzy to look at them. By 6pm I felt as if I was breaking through a crust of thick concrete and climbing out onto the surface. My head was throbbing, but clear – my thoughts seemed able to go in a straight line. Then I remembered the call from DI Foxton – it was real; Aiden owned a flat. Big deal. He hadn’t ever denied it. Aiden joined me, noticing I was a little better. He lay beside me on the bunk and rested his head against mine. We stayed like that for some time, our breathing synchronised, neither of us in any rush to pull away. A moment that was too sweet to break.

  It was my phone – my bloody phone – that ruined the tender aura of human comfort surrounding us. I could have let it ring, but by then the vibrating buzz had already broken the spell.

  ‘It’s DI Fenway,’ came the clipped voice.

  I sniffed and sat up straight. Aiden slipped away.

  ‘It’s about Mr Blake’s flat in Chelsea. We haven’t got sufficient evidence for a search warrant, but we want his permission to take a look. We’ll need him to sign something. Can you ask him?’