“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I wasn’t having a go...”
“I know.” She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Now get away while you can.”
******
Paula watched in suspense as Joe tiptoed down the metal staircase. Her eyes traced his every twist and turn, until he had made it to the bottom.
Quietly closing the door, she felt a shudder of disgust. The things he had revealed about her neighbour turned her cold.
That nasty old git had always spooked her, but a kiddie fiddler...
She ground her teeth. Her thoughts crept to her precious three-year-old daughter, and without wasting another second, she stormed out of the house.
Sure enough, the camper van was still lurking. Paula’s eyes narrowed and taking a deep gulp of air, she wandered up to the window.
“Can I help you?”
Tilting his head, the driver surveyed her icily. Despite his bulk, he possessed hard, angular features. His thinning blonde crew cut exposed a bulging forehead and the coldest of blue eyes.
“Go away!” he growled in a guttural German accent. “You are of no interest to me, woman.”
“Alright, keep yer hair on,” Paula snapped. “Not that you’ve got much but I wanna know what you’re up to. Loitering outside our house!”
The man emitted a sniff of amusement. “It is none of your business!”
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” she sneered and stuffing both hands in the pockets of her voluminous satin gown, she held her head high. “I’ve got a little girl, mate, and for all I know you could be some paedo!”
The man’s eyes flared with menace as he leaned over the window edge. “What did you say?”
Paula stood her ground. “You ‘eard!” she taunted. “Or did my ex send you? I ain’t daft. This ain’t the first time I’ve seen some weirdo hanging around. Now bugger off ‘fore I call the cops.”
Her heart hammered harder but what did she have to lose? Recalling Joe’s story, she was not going to be intimidated, least of all by this repulsive thug.
For several seconds, they were trapped in a nail-biting stand-off, until she remembered that pervert he was working for. Taking a cautious step backwards, she appeared to retreat. Let him think she was scared. Except the last thing she did was extract her mobile and raising it high in the air, took a photo.
Thrilled by her own bravery, she watched with pleasure as fury reddened his face. The flash of his teeth was the last she saw of him before he fired up his engine and screeched away.
******
Joe, in the meantime, knew nothing of the risk she was taking. Following her instructions, he crept his way across the gardens of the houses lining Longford Road and no longer caring who saw him, hot-footed it to the railway station.
A minute was all he needed to buy a ticket, the train to London already on the platform.
It was due to leave in three minutes. But as he ambled along the platform, looking to board a carriage, he could hardly believe his luck. For there, just ahead of him, loped a familiar youth dressed in black. Joe grinned to himself. There was only one guy whose hair was cropped at the sides like that, leaving a burgundy red layer flopping over the crown.
“Matt!” he hissed, shimmying up to him. “Am I glad to see you!”
Matt spun around in surprise before his frown changed to a smirk. “Watcher, mate. You’ve perked up since yesterday. Got lucky, did you?”
“Sorry, Matt, I ain’t got time to explain but can I borrow your mobile?”
They boarded the train together yet still Matt seemed hesitant.
“Please,” he whispered in his ear. “I gotta call the cops and fast.”
“Yeah, but I’m only going as far as Barnham to see my nan,” Matt faltered. “I’ll need it back.”
“Then I’ll get off at Barnham with you,” Joe said. “I can catch a later train to London but this is urgent. So just gimme your phone will you?”
He could wait no longer. While Matt frowned his way slowly to a decision, Joe snatched the phone from his hand and leapt into a toilet, locking the door behind him. What else could he do? The situation had become critical. His hands trembled as he turned on his own handset, and copying the number for Charing Cross Police Station, switched it off again. It seemed a good plan: call first, explain later, if he could just get through to DI Fitzpatrick.
“Hi, Joe, DS Mike Havers here. Andrew’s in a meeting, what’s happened?”
“I saw Mortimer last night,” he shuddered. “Living in the same bloody house as Maisie but he looks different. Older, thinner...” Closing his eyes, he could still picture the man, stooped in front of him like a poisonous old spider. “Christ, no wonder he had her fooled - he goes under the name Richard Lacey now. Drives a fucking great white Nissan. Oh, and another thing. Schiller’s there, too!”
“Okay,” Mike responded firmly. “Well done, we’ll get a local squad car around there immediately - so where are you now?”
“On a train to London,” he kept whispering. “Any chance I could drop by? ‘Cos I’ve got shit loads to tell you...”
By the time the call ended, he had secured an appointment. If everything panned out, there might even be an unmarked police car waiting for him at the tube station, but for now, he needed to stay vigilant.
Stepping out of the toilet and with the train picking up speed and then slowing, he felt the wheels lurch under his feet. He almost stumbled, at the same time winding his way along the aisle to reach an anxious-looking Matt.
“Jesus, you cut it fine,” he muttered. “What the fuck’s wrong?”
“Shh,” Joe whispered. “Can it wait ‘til we get off the train first?”
No sooner had they alighted in Barnham than Joe slapped a friendly arm around his shoulder. Urging him to walk a little further up the platform, this was his last chance to offload everything - from the sighting of his nemesis to that noxious text - the reason he dared not risk using his own phone.
But now seemed as good a time as any to ask Matt the one question that had been niggling him all morning.
“You know this phone you gave me at the charity shop? I think it’s bugged. Can you remember who dropped it in?”
Another frown crinkled Matt’s forehead as he scratched the side of his head. “Hmm, it was a while back - um - I seem to remember some old bloke...”
“Old bloke?” Joe echoed.
His mind struggled to imagine what age Mortimer was.
In his seventies most likely.
“Was he a tall geezer? Scrawny with brassy hair and a beard?”
Matt nodded, his mouth dropping open. “Um - it’s starting to come back now, but he said he wanted one of the volunteers to have it. Someone - um - who was homeless.”
“That figures,” Joe said, smiling, albeit wryly. “In that case can I ask one more favour and I’ll get off your back, I swear. I want you to take a picture of this text and send it to the cops. Call Bognor. Ask for DC Mark Anderson and then at least it’s on record.”
“Okay,” Matt nodded, “but whatever shit’s kicking off, promise to be careful and stay in touch, alright?”
They departed warmly. Matt he could trust. Matt had looked out for him on numerous occasions, even if he could be a bit of a prat at times.
Awaiting the 8:17 train to London, Joe stared at his phone. He scrolled through his texts, wounded to see the last of Maisie’s messages before all communications had been severed.
Only now, though, did he see this phone as a deadly weapon, a poison-coated gift his enemies had used to great effect.
Switching it off, he tossed it under the seat of a Portsmouth train, glad to be rid of the bloody thing before it could be used to track him any further.
Chapter Sixty-One
Where the hell was Joe?
I hadn’t heard a word since he had tracked me down on Monday, and by Thursday I was beginning to panic. He’d looked so desolate when he had confided in me, his eyes filled with hurt. But it took one he
ated telephone exchange with Jess to confirm my suspicions.
She and Joe had split up, and it had been far from amicable.
“Bloody man!” she ranted. “You should have seen the way he behaved, Maisie, and after everything I did to help him... I was only trying to coax him into a more cultured circle but he was so bloody rude to my guests!”
I could have laughed, imagining the scene.
Hadn’t I warned her he had endured a tough life?
However hard she tried to tame him, she was never going to gentrify him, and his story about Fontwell Racecourse said it all. I wondered if I should mention it; how degraded he had felt. And then she started bad-mouthing him.
“He’s nothing but a scrounger,” she added nastily, “a conniving bastard out for what he can get, and as soon as it doesn’t go his way, he moves on.”
I closed my eyes, the vitriol in her voice grating on me. Joe was my friend. Joe, a little rough around the edges but a genuinely lovely person.
“Stop it,” I gasped. “Joe isn’t like that. I know you were crazy about each other but mixing in each other’s social circles was never going to be easy...”
“I knew you’d take his side,” she snapped and with nothing more to say, hung up on me.
Her attitude left me breathless and in the wake of such acrimony, I couldn’t help fearing how it would affect our friendship.
Overriding everything though, I felt so sorry for Joe. His face gleamed in my mind again, anxious and despairing, but with his relationship teetering on a cliff edge, hadn’t I said he could move back into my flat?
Chewing my lip, I was on my way to Bognor anyway to see Hannah, curious as to why he hadn’t contacted me.
Surely he would have given me an update by now?
But as I stopped in Annandale Avenue to check if he was there, the answer hit me in a flash. My phone. He seemed to be having trouble getting through to me, and I had completely forgotten to get it looked at.
Opening the front door, I let myself in. My heels echoed ominously and even before I unlocked my own flat, I sensed the desolation all around me. A pile of post had accumulated on my doormat, the sitting room clean and tidy. But as I ventured into the kitchen, I noticed a few differences.
Yes, Joe had been here.
A loaf of bread rested on the work top. Opening the fridge, I saw a fresh milk carton, packs of cheese, ham and butter, and cans of his favourite beer.
Stepping back into the lounge however, I stopped dead. Spotted his rucksack marooned on an armchair and an icy fear slid right through me. I tried not to panic, convinced there would be a perfectly logical explanation... except if Joe had ventured out somewhere, why leave it behind? I thought it followed him everywhere.
My eyes were drawn to my telephone. It would only take a minute, but was it worth trying his mobile? Hastily dialling his number, I was dismayed to hear it go straight to voicemail. This was so unlike him, but with no time to dwell and my appointment with Hannah looming, I didn’t want to be late.
******
Hannah Adams. Registered Psychotherapist/Counsellor. West Sussex
Client: Maisie Bell
18th June 2015
“It’s good to see you,” Hannah greeted me softly. “It’s been four weeks, but before we begin, how’s the investigation going?”
I studied her face, the lines of concern etched around her mouth. She seemed on edge, just as before, as if fearing the consequences this would have on me.
“Nothing much is happening at the moment,” I reassured her. “We’re hoping the Met will send an update but sadly they hit a stumbling block after the death of Sam’s social worker. Her name was Yvonne Draper.”
A look of sorrow hung in her eyes. “I saw it on the news. Dreadful business, and it must be devastating for your friend, Sam. Have you seen him lately?”
“Seen him?” I whispered. “Oh, Hannah! You’ll never believe this, but we’re in a relationship now and I’m totally in love with him.”
Regardless of the horrors surrounding the police investigation, how could I not mention the whirlwind romance in the aftermath of our pub lunch? So much had happened; Joe moving out, that abrupt spell of loneliness, not to forget the recurrence of my nightmare.
Sam had brought me out of that darkness and as for the rest...
“It feels like I’m living a dream.” I let my head roll back, savouring the soft leather embrace of my chair. There was so much more I wanted to tell her, our first night together soothing away those niggling tremors of self-doubt. “The house we’re staying in is beautiful. It’s a shame we can’t be together all the time, given his job, but he does phone me every night...”
“This is wonderful news, Maisie, and I’m happy for you,” she responded. Yet something about her body language suggested she wanted to press on.
“Thanks,” I said, “but going back to your original question, all we know is the police are desperately trying to track down Mortimer.”
“They still haven’t found any trace of him?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I see,” she said. “In that case, would you mind if I took you back to your story where you left it? Sam had gone and you were about to be fostered - but I was wondering if you could remember the day you left the home. What are your last memories of Mr. Mortimer?”
“It was a strange day. I remember one of the wardens telling me to pack my things and to wait downstairs in the dining room. We’d just had lunch. Joe was there, hanging around with me, but we had this nagging sense I was leaving. I mean, why else would I need my suitcase?”
“Can you remember any other feelings?”
“Confusion, anxiety, but most of all I felt sad. Over the last few weeks we’d been inseparable and I’ll never forget the way he looked at me... as if he knew we were about to say goodbye.”
Tears choked my voice. Yes, that last vision of Joe’s face shone bright as a flame, unleashing a riot of feelings. His big brown eyes clung to mine, his smile as warm as it had ever been.
‘Look after yourself, Maisie,’ he said, ‘I’m never gonna forget you.’
‘But what about you?’ I croaked. ‘You can’t stay here...’
‘I ain’t got a choice,’ he shrugged. ‘Where else am I gonna go?’
‘Just find a way out, Joe. I’m scared for you...’ My mouth felt so dry, I could barely force the words out.
But time was running out and no sooner had I hurled my arms around him, than something else happened...
“Oh my God! I remember now... That stupid girl kicking off.”
“What do you remember, Maisie?”
“There was this girl in the room, throwing a hissy fit. Lucy I think her name was - all spiky hair and thick black eye-liner, and she was renowned for being a self-harmer. Yet there she was, waving a knife around. I think she might have stolen it from the kitchen but - but...”
“Go on.”
“A squad of adults stormed in, Mr. Mortimer among them. They surrounded her, restrained her, had her pinned to the ground... It was the last thing Joe and I saw before we were separated, and I hate to sound harsh, but it ruined our moment! All I wanted was a few precious minutes with him, but as soon as Mr. Mortimer saw us, he split us apart. Said he had a few words to say to me in private and ordered Joe to leave.”
“Was this the last time you saw each other?”
“In Orchard Grange? Yes... but I couldn’t go against Mortimer.”
The memory arose blackly, filling me with dread.
Summoning me upstairs for a ‘chat in his office,’ there was little I could do other than follow him. My heart hammered like a kettle drum as he closed the door.
‘Accursed animals,’ he snarled under his breath. ‘I’m sorry you had to witness that, Maisie, now please, sit down.’
‘What’s going on?’ My voice sounded weak and it was hard to disguise the quiver in it. ‘Am I leaving now?’
A smile lifted his lips. ‘We’ve been in contact with Ste
wart and Mandy Reedman and they are on their way to collect you.’
‘My new foster parents,’ I murmured. ‘Today?’
‘Hmm, I realise it’s a little sooner than expected but you are indeed going to be leaving us, my dear...’
I held my breath as his glassy eyes wandered over me. He took my hands, stroking them gently, and all the while, he was smirking.
‘Look at those lovely hands, such perfection. It’s a shame to see you go but you don’t belong here, Maisie. You’re not like those other kids. Most of them are rabble but you are so very special, so virtuous and pure...’
Hearing his voice thicken, I pulled my hands away.
‘They’re not rabble,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve made some good friends here, so what’s going to happen to them?’
‘They are no longer your concern, Maisie,’ he drawled.
His smile turned wooden but what did I have to lose? I was leaving this place forever, and right then I hated him with every fibre of my being, thankful I would never have to look at his smarmy fat face again.
‘P-promise you won’t hurt Joe,’ I shuddered, ‘you can’t blame him for being worried about Sam...’
‘Shh,’ he quickly stalled me, ‘Sam is fine and Joe can look after himself.’
I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling cold, despite the warm air discharged from the wall heater.
‘It’s yourself you need to think about now. You’re a lucky girl to be fostered by such good people. Live in a lovely house. I am sure you’re going to be very happy.’
‘I know,’ I sighed.
There was little left to say as he sorted through the paperwork. Yet slipping the last of my documents into an envelope, it seemed he had not quite finished.
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