Lethal Ties

by Christmas, Helen

  “My father,” Sam sighed. “I get it! Like fathering an illegitimate child was his darkest of secrets...” His lips tightened.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to her,” she added numbly.

  An image of the house in East Grinstead flashed in my mind, evoking unpleasant memories of her death. She must have lived in fear as to how she would cope in the midst of such a sinister investigation.

  “What else did she tell you?” Sam urged. “I don’t suppose she mentioned any of the stories I reported, did she? The stuff about Orchard Grange?”

  Sarah held his gaze. “None, I’m afraid. She seemed more concerned about your early childhood, losing your mum... but it was a distraction. I’m sure she was hiding something but I didn’t press her. She was too scared.”

  “I see,” Sam murmured. “Well thanks, anyway.”

  “So how was Connor?” she digressed. “Did he behave himself?”

  “He’s a nice kid,” Sam said. “Very perceptive, not to mention inquisitive, and I’ve enjoyed getting to know him.”

  “Thanks so much for entertaining him,” she added warmly.

  At last a smile sprung to his face. “No problem,” he finished. “He’s got a good rapport with Maisie and welcome to visit again any time.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Joe meanwhile, was becoming ever more frustrated until there was only one thing for it. If he wanted to speak to Maisie, he would have to phone her workplace.

  “Joe,” she gasped, “what a nice surprise! How are you?”

  The sound of her voice brought a lump to his throat, but there was no time to explain. “Sorry to call you at work but I need to talk to you. Any chance you could meet me on your lunch break? I can get to Chichester by train...”

  They kept the conversation brief but luck was on his side. By one o’ clock they were hidden on the top floor of ZiZi Italian, just a stone’s throw away from the Council office. Maisie looked radiant, her eyes shining in the shadows.

  Ordering two beers, Joe threw a cursory glance over the menu, though food was the last thing on his mind.

  “It’s good to see you,” he muttered. “Where have you been?”

  “Just rushing around trying to get a million and one things done. It’s good to see you too, Joe...” They touched glasses. “Connor stayed at the weekend, which was a bit nerve-wracking but it went okay. So how are things with you and Jess?”

  “Not good,” he confessed. “I dunno what to do any more, Maisie.”

  “Joe,” she murmured. “What’s happened?”

  A fist of misery clenched around his stomach.

  “We’ve drifted apart,” he began telling her.

  He could hardly believe it himself; how quickly the veneer had crumbled away. Those romantic weekends were nothing but an illusion. The real Jess was needy for love, forever seeking compliments yet draining his emotional energy like a vampire.

  He thought he had given her his heart, so why couldn’t it be enough, when all he craved in return was a little affection, just an occasional kind word?

  He took another swallow of beer but the pain didn’t shift.

  “She makes me feel like shit,” he muttered, “and as for her colleagues...”

  He didn’t want to elaborate. No more than he felt like admitting the rift it had caused. But no sooner had he begun than Maisie’s expression grew serious, her eyes filled with worry, searching deep into his soul.

  “She introduced you to her workmates?”

  His face hardened. Was it only last week she had dragged him along to Fontwell Racecourse for one of their corporate hospitality dos? Clean-shaven, hair neatly trimmed, he had genuinely thought he looked smart in a cool blue cotton shirt, worn loose outside his black chinos. So why insist on a suit?

  “A fucking suit for Christ’s sake!” he hissed under his breath. “Me, in a suit!”

  With an enduring passion for horse racing, though, he had nonetheless made an effort. Polite to her colleagues, he had advised them on form, shared tips and even garnered a few wins for the condescending bastards when they bothered to listen. He might have forgiven their attitude, if it hadn’t been for that snooty MD drawing Jess aside for a ‘quiet word.’ But he had overheard the woman clear as day, sniggering about him outside one of the betting stands.

  ‘Still doing your bit for charity, are you, dear? Now, I know we do a lot of PR work to help the homeless, but it doesn’t mean you have to sleep with them.’

  “No!” Maisie gasped in disgust. “That’s nasty! What’s more it sounds like Jess told her boss you’d been homeless before she met you.”

  “Yeah,” Joe sulked, “and if her boss had been a bloke I’d have punched ‘im.”

  Perhaps he should have confronted her but no... He had absorbed the brunt of that insult and it felt like swallowing broken glass.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  Joe looked up, conscious of a smiling young waiter hovering.

  “Okay, I’ll have some bruschetta, please,” he replied, “and another beer.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Maisie nodded, “but no more beer, just a side salad...”

  Passing the waiter her menu, she turned back to Joe.

  “So what are you going to do? I hate to see you so unhappy, but you need to talk to her...”

  “What’s the point?” Joe snapped. “All she expects from me is gratitude.”

  “But I don’t understand,” she continued. “I always felt there was some magnetism between you two, that your ‘differences’ turned her on. You, the rebel lover who put some excitement into her life...”

  “Maybe,” Joe pondered, “but Jess doesn’t want a lover, she wants a lap dog. Someone who follows her around, telling her how wonderful she is and making her feel like a princess. I fell for her big time, but I’m not sure I can handle it any more.”

  Maisie looked away with a sigh. Her words came slow and measured. “Joe, if this doesn’t work out, you can always move back into my flat, you know.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course. The letting agreement runs until the end of the year and I assume you’ve still got a key?”

  His heart leapt. All he craved was a listening ear; that if he hadn’t managed to speak to her soon he would explode.

  “Thanks, Maisie, you’re a life saver.”

  “We’re friends, Joe,” she said in earnest, “so why suffer in silence? I wish you’d said something to me earlier, though.”

  “I tried,” he blurted, “but you haven’t been answering my calls.”

  The words seemed to freeze her in her chair. “What calls?”

  “I’ve rung you loads of times,” he persisted. “The week after we visited that cottage of yours, which reminds me...”

  He broke off, his heart pounding with dread.

  Did he dare bring up the house in East Lavant?

  Something felt wrong, and try as he might to dismiss it, he could not forget Sam’s stony face. It still bothered him.

  “How’s it going with the renovation? Any chance of me coming over and getting some work done, or do I get the feeling Sam’s stalling?”

  “I’m not sure,” Maisie shrugged. She drained her glass, lowering it unsteadily to the table. “He’s spoken to a surveyor but nothing seems to be happening very fast and he’s been so stressed lately.”

  Joe touched her hand, choosing his next words carefully.

  “But what do you really think of this set up? I wasn’t kidding about security.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “I was touched by that, but Sam seems to have everything under control. The house is so lovely, and I’ve done a fair bit in the garden...”

  “Sure,” he interrupted, “but what about you and Sam? You don’t see much of him, do you, which I find a bit strange.”

  “You don’t trust him, do you?” she said, her brow creasing into a frown.

  Finally.

  Joe exhaled. He clocked the desolation in her eyes and it spi
ked him with guilt but at least now it was out in the open... it was time to confront her with what he really thought about Sam.

  “No,” he whispered. “I don’t. I’m sorry but he seems different.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The waiter returned, lowering plates of bruschetta, salad and drinks onto the table, but the fuse had been lit. He could no longer stay silent.

  “What I mean is he’s got Sam’s looks, Sam’s scar and Sam’s memories but it’s like someone else’s personality has been poured into him.”

  She stared at him open-mouthed. “People do change, Joe.”

  “Yeah sure, but something niggles and I hate to say it but I can’t warm to him. He’s not the friend I remember. Sam was one of them boys you either loved or loathed. Those who loved him wanted to protect him - like we did - when everyone else in Orchard Grange wanted to kick the shit out of him.”

  “God, Joe,” she whimpered. “What are you saying?”

  “Nothing,” he finished, “I don’t feel love or hate, just indifference. Something that makes me wonder if he’s damaged in some way.”

  At last she nodded. “I think we all are to an extent, but those stories about his life in Scotland... I can’t tell you how much they disturbed me. Maybe you’re right. He has changed. But neither of us can imagine the effect it had on him, growing up in isolation like that.”

  “Hmm,” Joe pondered.

  Even as she spoke, his thoughts branched wider. Isolation. The word jarred him, while spooling into his mind came the threads of a new horror.

  “Isolation. That’s a point. Supposing it’s rubbed off on him? What if he’s trying to isolate you?”

  “But why would he do that?” she protested. “We’re all friends!”

  “I know but I’ve gotta confess I am suspicious about that house. I mean is it even on a mobile network? I’ve left voicemails, sent texts...”

  At first she said nothing, eyes lowered as she delved into her salad. For the first time since meeting her, he saw a defiant look. It seemed obvious she would do anything to defend Sam.

  Then finally setting down her fork, she dipped into her bag for her mobile.

  “Okay, let’s see... Hmm, I haven’t had any voicemails, other than from work, and you say you left a message?”

  “Several,” Joe said.

  The frown was back, distorting her lovely features as she checked her texts and messages. Joe braced himself.

  “That’s odd. No texts either, not even from Jess...”

  Her head shot upright, a sudden flash in her eye.

  “D’you know, that’s even stranger. Jess would have sent a hundred texts, especially now I’m in a relationship! She’d be digging for all the gossip!”

  “So give her a bell.” He forced a smile. “Ask her if she’s been blanking you and if she denies it, then we’ll know something’s up.”

  “I don’t know what you’re suggesting,” she smiled back, “but a simpler explanation could be that something’s wrong with my phone?”

  “Shouldn’t you check it out, then?” he pressed. “I mean, why would our calls be barred?”

  “I will, but in the meantime, try not to worry. As a last resort you can always reach me at work like you did today. It’s been lovely to see you.”

  Joe held her stare, filled with a sense their time was nearly up.

  “Just look after yourself, Maisie, that’s all I care about, and as for Jess... I’ll keep you posted, okay?”

  ******

  Joe’s fears were not unfounded. It was impossible to imagine what was really unfolding behind the scenes; that before the week ended the final chapter of Mortimer’s plan would be activated, with terrible consequences.

  Little did they know he had taken to spying from the depths of the forest, fingers curled like talons around his binoculars. Seeing his target wandering into view behind the lenses carved a sadistic grin onto his face. So innocent, so pure, as she attended to her flowers but oh, how nicely everything had panned out!

  So Maisie and young McFadden were together.

  In the grander scheme of things, it was perfect. Joe, Maisie, Sam, the only three nemeses left who could destroy him... Sam had always posed the greatest threat but it brought immense satisfaction to think that in a very short while he would be rid of all three of them.

  A vibration from his mobile sharpened his senses; and for a moment he had almost forgotten where he was hiding. Retreating into the forest like a hunted fox, he welcomed the canopy of foliage, secure in its enveloping darkness.

  “What?” he whispered. “Is it time to prepare for the ritual?”

  “Not yet,” the voice on the other end hissed. “We promised we’d do this at the end of the week, and there is work still to be done.”

  Cornelius ground his teeth, tiring of excuses. With the police investigation effectively stalled for now, and Thomas Parker-Smythe awaiting trial, it was only a matter of time before his cover was blown, and then what? Twenty cursed years he had waited for this, the one last ritual to complete the circle.

  Yes, this would herald his ultimate rise to power and immortality.

  “You are testing my patience,” he warned the caller.

  “Please...” he urged, his voice a shuddering echo. “Just hold tight, we’re very nearly ready, but Joe Winterton still poses a threat.”

  “Yes,” he murmured icily, “I gather he visited the house.”

  “W-what...” his ally started stammering.

  “I saw him, just as they were leaving the village. Him and that sassy girlfriend of his, and I would prefer it if they didn’t return.”

  “Then isn’t it time you relocated Karl Schiller? He can’t run the risk of staying anywhere for too long or people might notice him... especially now his work in East Grinstead is done.”

  “Indeed,” Cornelius growled, “then let’s deal with Winterton once and for all. You never know when he might come snooping again.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  By the time Joe was approaching Jess’s apartment it was gone six. Filled with dread at the thought of facing her again, he had deliberately delayed his journey. Even as he let himself in, knots of tension pinched his shoulders. But whatever little confidence Maisie had restored, Jess was bound to drag him back under.

  Could he honestly stomach another slow drip feed of venom tonight?

  He held his breath.

  “Hi,” she murmured sweetly, “you’re late! Where have you been?”

  He froze to a halt, wondering whether he was dreaming. Poised before him, smiling, she looked ravishing in a summer dress with its soft flowing fabric and V-neckline.

  “I went to Chichester,” he said numbly.

  She tilted her head to one side. “Any particular reason?”

  “Just wondering if there were any jobs over that way...”

  This wasn’t entirely dishonest. Just before leaving ZiZi’s he had asked the waiter if there were any vacancies, but with nothing to offer at present, he had been pointed in the direction of a recruitment agency; one that specialised in the pub and catering trade. He had decided to check it out.

  “I also met Maisie for lunch.”

  The smile fell from Jess’s face. “Really? So how is she?”

  “Okay,” he shrugged, turning away from her. “Have you called her lately?”

  “Yes,” she insisted, “except her phone always goes to voicemail.”

  Joe switched the kettle on, feeling a chill sweep over him.

  So it wasn’t only his calls failing to reach her.

  Jess, on the hand, seemed unruffled. “I expect she’s snowed under! Too busy doing up that gorgeous house to be bothered with the likes of us, not to mention ‘Golden Boy Wonder,’ though I don’t suppose it’ll be long before we meet up again.”

  Joe bit his lip, not liking the acid creeping into her voice; though it seemed she had plans of her own, sidling up to him, hips swaying in a manner that turned his knees to jel
ly. He could guess what was coming. Her eyes shone with desire, as she curled her arms around his waist, pulling him close.

  “I know I can be a bitch sometimes, but I do love you.”

  Her body rubbed against his, the fresh clean smell of her intoxicating.

  “What’s this in aid of?” he murmured.

  “I thought you might like an early night,” she purred, “seeing as we’re busy tomorrow evening... Or have you forgotten our dinner party?”

  Joe’s heart plummeted. Of course. She had invited some friends over, hankering to show off. Glancing around, he thought the apartment looked spotless, windows sparkling, the air infused with an underlying scent of furniture polish, which could only have been the result of Jess’s cleaner visiting.

  “Geoff is a writer I’ve known for years,” she reminded him. “He used to have a column in the Observer... until they started their own ‘arts magazine’ and Imogen’s writing a novel. She’s always on the lookout for a good story.”

  “Are you sure you want me to be here?” he teased.

  “Oh, stop it!” she scolded. “You’re a good cook and it’s not as if we’re short of stories to entertain them with, so don’t worry. It’ll be the best evening ever!”

  Twenty-four hours later, Joe was wishing he could escape. He’d thought he could handle people from all walks of life, yet once immersed in Jess’s circle, he felt completely out of his league.

  Carefully arranging her guests around the dining table, she poured the wine. Joe, meanwhile, observed them subtly. Imogen reminded him of a china doll. With her jet black hair pinned up, her flawless features combined pale skin, round blue eyes and a small pouting mouth. Geoff, too, radiated an aura of self-confidence. He had the same wiry physique as Joe, yet stood a couple of inches taller, his slicked-back hair lighter, a beard so defined it might have been laser-cut.

  “Are you having a glass, Joe?” Jess’s voice pierced into his thoughts.

  Cautious of drinking too much too early, he politely requested a beer before joining them at the dining table.

  “Gorgeous apartment this, isn’t it?” Imogen drawled. Eyeing him beadily, she moved her head a little closer. “So come on, Joe, what do you for a living?”