She traced an outline with her pen. Baker’s blank look morphed into incredulity. ‘Come on, Quinn. It looks like the bloke off the port advert.’ Struggling to his feet.
‘It’s why I think we’re on to something, guv,’ Hunt said.
Sarah made the connection. The hat and long coat. It was how the working girls had described the guy going into Cameron Towers. And the stalker Caroline had spotted outside the Kent’s house.
‘Yeah, right.’ Baker saw it, too, ran a thumb along his chin. ‘Can we get them in, Huntie? What is it, Quinn?’
She was still kneeling, gaze still on the screen. ‘It’s more a case of who it’s not.’
‘In English, huh?’
‘Look where this guy comes to on the door, Chief.’ She glanced up. ‘Even without the hat, he’s got to be over six feet tall.’
Baker nodded. ‘And Rust’s a bloody midget.’
FORTY-SEVEN
Elizabeth let herself into Olivia’s house, went directly to her daughter’s bedroom, found the gift exactly where she said it would be. Elizabeth pondered for a moment or two: the incongruity of the bright Christmas wrapping and the dark object it concealed. Everyone has guns in New York, Mummy, she’d said. There’s nothing to worry about; it will scare him off, that’s all. Elizabeth asked herself why Olivia had never mentioned it before? When had she hidden it? And why? Elizabeth didn’t explore the answers in any great depth. Felt sure that by the next hospital visit, Olivia would have come to her senses. It was more a case of humouring her, ending her anguish. The gun wasn’t loaded. It wasn’t as though anyone could get hurt.
Caroline King lay on the bed curled into a tight ball. Tears streamed down her face. Jack Howe was right. She couldn’t even begin to understand. His story had started well. He related how he’d abducted Olivia, where he’d held her, how he’d treated her. He even had a whipping boy in place to take the rap temporarily. James Rust was unwittingly buying time – until Howe left the country on a false passport with Jill Paige in tow. It was all on tape. Caroline had been sitting there working out how best to use the material, making mental notes of the sexist sound bites, toying with telling phrases. Already she’d felt the pats on the back after publication. Even before then she’d have the satisfaction of watching Quinn’s face when she handed over the confession.
So engrossed was she in her fantasies, she was convinced she’d misheard Howe. Asked him, ‘Say again.’ She could hear it now. Every corrosive word. See his slow, sad head shake. ‘I said you really wouldn’t want to know, Caroline.’
She remembered shooting out of her seat, eyes glaring. ‘You’re insane. I don’t believe it.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t. I didn’t either. Not until I started getting the letters.’
‘What letters?’
‘Letters begging for forgiveness.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Am I?’
‘Let me see them.’
She mistook his hesitation. Thought it was evidence he was talking bollocks. After reading several, she realized that in a perverse way maybe he’d been trying to protect her.
Howe had delivered the goods. But the goods were faulty.
She had a story all right – but if it was true it was a story she could never write.
And right now she didn’t have a clue what she was going to do with it.
‘I think the guy’s lying, boss.’ Harries stood in front of Sarah’s desk, raking fingers through his hair.
Sarah glanced up. ‘Come in, do.’
‘Jack Howe’s name isn’t on any of the flights he gave us.’ Harries had checked other airlines on the off-chance. ‘I’ve contacted all the companies he named. They’ve either not heard of him, or say he failed to show at meetings scheduled this month.’
‘Tried his numbers?’
‘Both. He’s not picking up.’
‘And the newspapers?’
‘They virtually all carry the story. Just a few lines like he says.’
‘I hear a “but”.’
‘Olivia Kent’s not named in any of them. It’s just the bog standard “A Birmingham woman’s been injured” blah, blah.’
Then: ‘Where are we going, boss?’
She was already halfway to the door, half in, half out of her jacket. ‘He’s at the Hyatt, isn’t he?’
Jack Howe’s suitcases lay in a neat line by the door of his hotel room. He’d told Caroline King things he never imagined speaking about with anyone. His initial intent had been to prevaricate, say nothing, but her presence and persistence had worn down his resolve, shattered his silence. After a while it was easy, as though he’d been longing to talk, needed to share. The abduction had taken months to plan, animal cunning required to pull it off. The unforeseen premature end was unfortunate. She hadn’t suffered enough.
He was leaving now not because of the disclosures, but because he realized physical threats and abuse weren’t the way to damage Olivia permanently. Lasting harm would only be achieved by making sure the people who loved her knew the truth. He’d seen that last night in Caroline’s eyes.
Telling the reporter was the worst thing he could do. Almost.
FORTY-EIGHT
‘Hello, Jack.’ Elizabeth Kent, a red scarf round her neck, was silhouetted in the doorway of her home, praying her face didn’t show her emotions.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ Straightening a black silk tie.
‘I was on my way out, actually.’
‘Hospital visiting? You can give Olivia my love.’ He put his foot in the gap. ‘After our little chat.’
‘I have nothing to say.’ She made to close the door.
Smiling, Howe forced it back. ‘I’d hoped this wouldn’t be necessary.’ He could have been a dentist talking about a filling. Gently he took her arm, drew her into the hall, back-kicked the door. Sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows reflected red and green patterns on the dark polished floorboards. The scents of cinnamon and cloves wafted from a huge pewter bowl of potpourri.
‘Very nice, Elizabeth. Very festive.’ Howe gazed round, hands on hips. ‘All we need are minstrels playing in the gallery. What say you? “Away in a Manger”? “Unto us a child is born”?’ His smile scared her. Her heart stopped when he strolled towards the console. ‘My, my you have been busy. Presents already? You really shouldn’t have.’ Running his finger over the scarlet wrapping.
‘I don’t know what you want, Jack, but Olivia’s told me everything.’
‘I bet she has.’ He spun round to face her. ‘And now I’m going to tell you the rest.’
Fingering the scarf, she said, ‘I’ll call the police if you’re not out of here in ten seconds.’
‘I think not, Elizabeth.’ He put his arm round her shoulder, steered her into the sitting room. ‘It’s a little early – or maybe I should say late – but aren’t you going to offer me a drink? To wet the baby’s head?’
‘I’m out of paraquat.’
‘Oh, Elizabeth. You are a scream.’ Head tilted back, he laughed out loud. ‘Now fucking get me a Scotch.’ The scowl lasted seconds. She may even have imagined it. ‘While you’re at it, get one yourself.’
‘Drink it then go.’ Her hand trembled as she passed him a crystal glass.
‘Sit, Elizabeth.’ He patted the cushion next to him on the chesterfield.
‘I’d rather—’
‘Shut it and sit.’ He took a sip, set the glass on a low table. ‘You won’t want to be standing when you hear what I have to say.’
‘What are you going to do, Jack? Beat me? Tie me up? Keep me chained like a dog? You’re insane if you think you’ll get away with what you did to my daughter.’ Turning her back was a mistake. Before she knew it, he’d grabbed her and flung her into an armchair.
‘I’m saner than you, you old bitch.’ She saw a cold hatred in his eyes that probably matched her own. ‘You think I’m a monster, don’t you, Elizabeth?’
‘I think you’re a loser. And a bully.’
&
nbsp; He took the bottle on his way back to the settee. Glass topped up, he cradled it in his hands, gazed down at the swirling liquid. She wondered if he’d been drinking before he arrived.
‘Please, Jack. Say what you have to then go.’
He continued staring at the Scotch, slowly shaking his head. When he did begin to speak it was as if he’d forgotten she was in the room. ‘I honestly thought I’d be able to live with it.’
‘Spare me the sob story,’ she muttered.
If he’d heard, he gave no indication. ‘Grace dying was like the end of the world. The marriage hadn’t been good in a while. Olivia was . . . we’d grown apart. I couldn’t stand the sight of her after what happened to Grace. Couldn’t bear to be in the same room. I thought if we split, in time I might be able to forgive, if not forget.’
‘For God’s sake, it was an accident. A dreadful terrible accident. You can’t blame anyone.’
He lifted his head. ‘Can’t I, Elizabeth? Can’t I? If Olivia had been looking after Grace properly it wouldn’t have happened. Fact is Olivia couldn’t look after herself.’
Elizabeth stayed silent. She could say nothing without provoking him and he was clearly on a knife edge.
‘I took time off to care for them both. I was losing money, missing assignments.’
‘Why didn’t you send for me?’
‘Don’t you think I wanted to? She absolutely refused. I can see you think I’m lying, but she didn’t want you to see her like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘She couldn’t cope, Elizabeth. Olivia the perfect daughter couldn’t cope, so she got a little help. If she’d just stuck to booze, it might have been manageable. Olivia was a walking drugstore. Uppers, downers, Charlie, coke. You name it . . .’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘You wouldn’t, would you? You always told her how marvellous she was. You brought her up to think the world revolved around her. That she could no wrong.’
‘You’re blaming me now?’
‘I’m blaming no one but her.’
‘For God’s sake, she needed help.’
‘She got it. I did everything. I still loved her.’
‘Then why blame her?’
‘Because then she told me the truth.’
‘The truth?’
‘Grace didn’t die in an accident, Elizabeth. Your precious daughter killed her.’
‘Let’s see, Inspector.’ The hotel receptionist’s perfect scarlet nails clicked across a computer keyboard. ‘Yes. Mr Howe checked out thirty minutes ago.’
He’d taken a cab, hadn’t left a forwarding address. Sarah exchanged glances with Harries. ‘Can we take a look in his room?’
The Barbie smile faltered a fraction. ‘I guess. But the cleaners will be in there.’
Room 313. Sarah checked the lift lights, nodded at the stairs. ‘Come on, Dave.’ On the short drive to the Hyatt, her unease had grown. Howe must’ve known a few simple checks would reveal he’d lied through his teeth. It so didn’t figure with the smart perp they’d been hunting since day one. If he was the abductor, was he desperate, going for the end game, didn’t care whether he was caught? Or had he laid such meticulous plans he was confident of getting away with it anyway? But getting away with what? Howe couldn’t get within spitting distance of Olivia. Harries had put in a call in the car; the police guard at the QE was on alert.
‘You really think he’s good for it, boss?’
Good? Not the word she’d have chosen. Entering the room, she said, ‘I think Howe has a lot of talking to do, Dave.’
‘Last year your daughter started writing me letters. Said she couldn’t live with herself, had to tell me what really happened. In the days leading up to Grace’s death, she said she’d heard voices, seen visions. She blamed it on one of the voices. Oh, yes. She was out of her mind all right. On drugs.’ Howe had dropped the posturing. He stared into space: saw a different space, different time. Elizabeth’s blood ran cold as he spoke; she heard truth in his voice.
‘I was the only one who could forgive her, she said. She went to church but couldn’t pray. She needed absolution, wanted to atone for her sins. Your daughter murdered her own child.’ Lifting his head, he held her gaze. ‘And I want her paying for it for the rest of her life.’
Rising, Elizabeth gagged, slapped a hand to her mouth, ran to the door.
‘The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Elizabeth?’
In the bathroom, she clung to the sink, gazed at her bloodshot eyes, blotchy skin, mussed hair. It couldn’t be true. What he’d said. Could it? Not my daughter? Not Olivia. No. Howe was a liar and a bully. In the eyes that stared back, she saw a glint, a spark. And there’s only one way to deal with a bully.
‘Where are you, Quinn?’
‘Just leaving the Hyatt, Chief.’ Sarah stood outside, waiting for Harries who was taking a leak. The search of Howe’s room had revealed nothing but done little to relieve her unease.
‘Just so you know. I’m releasing Rust on police bail.’ The working girls Suzie and Sadie had taken a look at both tapes; they were ninety-nine per cent sure it was the same figure in each. It was down to the guy’s gait as much as the gear. The girls’ conviction didn’t prove the head’s innocence, but the anonymous tip-off alone wasn’t enough. Forensics hadn’t lifted so much as a Rust skin cell from the Golf or the rug. ‘He could be in it with some other bugger, I suppose.’
Or someone had it in for him big time. Either way, the custody clock had run out. They couldn’t hold him any longer without pressing charges.
‘You still there, Quinn?’
‘Yeah. I’m thinking.’
‘First—’
‘Time for everything, yeah, yeah.’ Button it, Chief. Eyes narrowed, she was picturing Olivia Kent tucked up safely in the QE. If Howe still wanted to harm her, who would he target? Who would be the next best thing? Who was closest to her? Christ, Elizabeth even looked like Olivia. Had Howe skulked outside the Kent house that night, carved initials into the tree?
Was Elizabeth one of those loose ends that needed tying up?
‘OK, boss?’ Harries appeared, jangling car keys. ‘Where to?’
Elizabeth slipped the ribbon off the gift, quietly removed the wrapping; she was surprised how small the gun was, how toylike it looked. Sliding it into her pocket she re-entered the room. Howe hadn’t moved an inch, just sat staring into space. She walked past him slowly, retook her seat, rearranged the folds of her skirt.
She swallowed, took a deep breath. ‘If what you say is true, Jack, then Olivia was sick, she needed help.’
‘Sticking a label on her condition can’t justify what she did. She placed Grace in front of an open window and pushed. And face it, Elizabeth, she wasn’t so sick she didn’t have the sense to save her own skin. Lying through the inquiry then getting the hell out of the States as soon as.’
Her mouth was dry. ‘So why tell you now? Why bring it all up?’
‘Don’t you listen?’ Slouching back, he sighed deeply. ‘She couldn’t live with it any more. I was the only person she could talk to. She couldn’t handle the thought of anyone else knowing. Especially you.’
‘But if she’d kept quiet, no one would ever have known.’
‘Obviously she couldn’t do that any more. Don’t ask me why. I don’t even want to know.’
‘Why didn’t you tell the authorities? Show the letters to the police, left justice to the law.’
‘What justice? They’d have come out with the same sick excuses as you: poor girl’s depressed, delusional. Go home, Olivia. Try not to do it again.’
‘But she was sick.’
He straightened, stared hard at her. ‘And Grace is dead.’
She stiffened as his hand went to a pocket; watched as he slipped out a leather wallet, passed it across. The photograph showed Olivia as a baby. She smiled.
‘That’s your grandchild, Elizabeth. That was Grace.’ He took back the wallet. ‘Remember when Olivia was that age? Remember h
ow much you loved her? How you’d do anything in the world to protect her. You’d have died for her, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you have killed for her?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I was going to. Then I decided death was too good for Olivia, too quick. I want her to live with what she’s done. I want her to remember every night before she goes to sleep, every morning when she wakes. I want her life to be a living hell.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that.’ He drained the glass, rose and started circling the room. ‘At first I thought I’d tell you, then split, leave you both to it. But I can see you don’t believe a word I say. So I’ll be sticking around, making sure she never forgets.’ He stood in front of her, hands in pockets. ‘Wherever she goes, she’ll turn around and I’ll be there. She may not be under lock and key but I’ll make damn sure your precious daughter never feels free again.’
‘But you’ll ruin her life.’ She placed a hand on her cheek.
‘Precisely.’
‘I have money. I could make it worth your while to stay away.’
‘Do me a favour.’ Curling a lip, he turned to leave.
Standing, she reached out to him. ‘There must be something I can do.’
‘Not this time, Elizabeth.’ Pausing at the piano, he picked up Olivia’s photograph. ‘Tragedy is, you’ll never know how much I loved her.’
‘I still do, Jack.’ She moved closer, took the gun from her pocket. ‘And the answer to your question? If you ever go near her again, I swear I’ll kill you.’
‘Like mother, like daughter, Elizabeth.’ Laughing, he made a sudden lunge.
And the gun went off.
FORTY-NINE
‘It’s a right mess, ma’am.’ A young police constable stood at the door. Uniform had got there first in response to a triple-nine from a neighbour who’d been gardening and heard the shot. Sarah and Harries had arrived in time to see the ambulance take off. Suited up now, they entered the house, made their way to the sitting room.
‘I see what he means, boss.’
They stood near the door, surveying the damage: overturned furniture, books strewn across the carpet, smashed vases, broken glass, shattered bottles. Jack Howe’s body lay face down on the floor near the piano. He could have been in a deep sleep or drunken stupor except for the pool of blood. And the fact Elizabeth Kent had admitted shooting him in self-defence.
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