Chapter Sixty-Three
Returning to Charing Cross Police station, Joe was still reeling in the aftermath of that conversation, just waiting for the DS to debrief him. Deep in his mind the threads of a new idea swirled darkly, something he couldn’t quite tie together.
High Court judge...
It took the soothing voice of DS Havers to shake him out of his reverie.
“Good work, Joe. There’s not an officer who isn’t impressed by what you’ve got out of the old boy, but before we investigate further, I’ll update you on our own findings.”
Joe blinked as the sergeant switched on a light.
“Word’s through from Bognor. The house has been thoroughly searched inside and out but no sign of Richard Lacey or the man downstairs. Apart from a young woman living on the top floor, it appears to be deserted.”
“Paula,” Joe mumbled. “How is she?”
“Feeling very proud of herself, as it happens,” he smiled. “She got a photo of Schiller on her smart phone and promises to be vigilant. If anyone sneaks back, she’ll be straight on to us. Other than that, we’ve got patrols on the lookout for a white Nissan Qashqai and a silver Mercedes van... and last but not least, our photo-fit image is ready to go live across the media.”
Joe nodded, half listening while a remote part of his brain was struggling to take it in. “But what about Maisie?” he murmured dazedly. “She’s not safe.”
Glancing at his watch, he was startled to see how many hours had passed as daytime merged into evening.
No wonder it was getting dark.
“Try not to worry,” Mike said. “Andrew informed me that Sam has been in touch and he’s driving down to Sussex to stay with her.”
“Did you tell him about the text?” he blurted.
“We did,” he nodded. “He’s fully aware of the situation and will not leave her unprotected, not while that monster’s at large.”
“Good,” Joe whispered. “Going back to my prison visit, though, there’s something else I’ve gotta ask...”
“I know,” Mike sighed, and the light in his eyes finally dwindled. “It seems there’s another player involved. A man at the top, and that’s our next line of enquiry. We need to identify which prominent QCs were around at the time.”
“There is one that springs to mind,” Joe said and felt a chill slip down his spine. But he could not hold back what his inner voice was telling him. “Alistair McFadden QC. Sam used to tell us stories, like when his mum took him to the Old Bailey. She wanted him to meet his father but he treated ‘em like dirt, and from everything he’s said since, I get the feeling he’s still scared of him.”
Mike looked at him with unease. “I hear what you’re saying, Joe, but you can’t jump to conclusions. This needs looking into with caution...”
“Yeah, but something in’t right,” he pressed. “What about that sick gathering Sam reported? None of it went on record, which means that somewhere along the line there’s been a huge cover up...”
Sagging in his chair, he scraped his hair back from his forehead. Yet the more he analysed it, the more he was wondering what else Sam had told them.
“Don’t you think it’s strange? His father, this McFadden guy, wrenches him up to Scotland. Tells him to forget everything, and years later just when things are getting heavy again, his social worker ends up dead.”
Finally Mike let go of his breath, exhaling a loud sigh. “You could be on the right track, Joe, but this requires deeper examination. A QC he might be, but he’s not above the law. Would you leave it with me to discuss with Andrew?”
Joe shrugged, conscious there was little more they could do today.
“So what about you?” he added. “You weren’t thinking of going back to Bognor tonight were you? I was going to suggest we moved you to a safe house.”
“Thanks,” Joe said quickly, “but don’t worry about me, I’ll survive.”
Joe knew at least a dozen places where he could blag shelter for the night, but he was in no mood for socialising. There had been a time when blending back into homeless culture might have uplifted him; that powerful camaraderie among rough sleepers, some having survived on the streets for so long, it had earned them a badge of respect. Mundane conversation just wouldn’t cut it tonight, though; he needed time to think. So hands buried in his pockets, he started walking, those earlier pangs of anxiety starting to resurface.
Alistair McFadden QC.
But it wasn’t just his musings over the QC that were bothering him.
It was everything that had happened to Sam. Samuel McFadden. His son.
Going back to the day they had been reunited, he would never forget Sam’s story. Why would he invent something so horrific? If Thomas Parker-Smythe was to be believed, he had never participated in any party. But the vision of Thomas’s ashen face kept haunting him, the breath on his lips trembling: that story is a wicked lie.
Drifting on another mind walk, Joe could not help raking over everything they had discussed. Fearful of Maisie’s therapy, Thomas had said something very significant: memories recovered under psychotherapy can be fake.
His footsteps slowed, his mind bursting with possibilities. Hadn’t he suspected already that Sam might have been brainwashed? Talking to Maisie, he was dismayed she had brushed it off, but thinking back, it made sense. Sam had been isolated for years, with no-one but his control freak of a father and some half-brother for company. Between them, they had infused a sense of powerlessness - severed him from his friends - forced him to forget everything. Yet what if they had done worse? Joe shuddered, troubled by the direction his thoughts were leading him.
Could Sam’s mind be polluted with fake memories?
By time he reached Victoria Embankment, darkness swamped the pavements. The temptation to jump on a train overwhelmed him, except he couldn’t go back to Bognor, not yet. Where would he go, anyway? Returning to Maisie’s flat would be dangerous in the dead of night. Although he would have to go back at some point to collect his rucksack. Fleeing in desperation, he had left it there.
“Oh bollocks,” he cursed under his breath.
With night closing in, no phone, no wallet, nor his bank card, his choices were somewhat limited. Perhaps he should have taken up Mike’s idea of a safe house after all. Weighing up his options, however, he had been in worse situations, his mind sharpening in a way that once again brought back his homeless days. Just thank God he had some cash; enough to pay for a meal and find a hostel for tonight. It would buy him a little more time to think and to plan his next move.
******
With the sunlight fading, Cornelius began to shiver. A creature of darkness, he cherished the night, but as the shadows grew deep, so a chill settled over the forest, biting into his bones. Gripping the edge of his blanket, he pulled it tight around his neck. His chest heaved, every breath escaping in loud rattling gasps: for how much longer could he endure this? Even with his medication, he was beginning to weaken, wondering if he would last another night.
So when the call finally came, he clawed for his mobile with eager hands. But nothing could prepare him for the rage hissing from the handset.
“What the hell is going on with Joe Winterton?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Cornelius croaked, “but please don’t take that tone. I’m as incensed he got away as you are, I thought we had him cornered...”
“So how did that oaf, Schiller, cock up this time?” his ally interrupted.
“He didn’t. He was outside, ready to tail him as soon as he showed his face. Only we weren’t counting on that fat cow upstairs interfering...”
Breaking off with a gasp, he struggled to catch his breath before another coughing fit took hold. A little compassion wouldn’t go amiss, he thought savagely.
Yet the caller fell icily silent, as if waiting for it to pass.
“How did he get out then?”
“I’m guessing he used the fire escape,” he rasped. “Got as far as the station. There was a final
trace in Barnham, then nothing. He seems to have disappeared off the grid...” Yet with his words trailing off, his thoughts drifted back to Schiller.
Restricted to using a motorbike, he was no longer so conspicuous, and if the police were on the lookout for a silver camper, they were unlikely to find it now. Hidden deep in the woods under a shroud of scrim nets and pine branches, even their drones would have a job picking it out.
Reviewing Schiller’s position, he felt the twitch of a smile.
“I suspect Winterton will be back soon, so have faith. He might think he’s outfoxed us, same as that bitch. Yet for all her careful vigilance, there is one place she won’t have thought of.” His smile twisted into a grimace of pure hate as he pictured his nemesis again. “At least we have our treasured sacrifice in situ, which brings me to my next point...”
“What?” the other man drawled.
The tremors had resumed. Maybe it was excitement, his moment of glory nudging closer, yet he could not help but fear the veil of death hovering.
“I wonder if you could visit me before tomorrow.”
“Are you joking?” the caller snapped. “I’ve got far too much to do! What do you want that cannot wait until morning?”
Acid rose in his stomach, leaving a bitter taste. It was different for him. His ally had no concept how it felt, having to survive like a hunted animal.
“Just join me,” he said huskily. “All I ask is twenty minutes of your company to discuss the final preparations for our ritual.”
“And what of the risk? If my cover is blown now it’ll ruin everything!”
“And if I die tonight, it will have been for nothing,” Cornelius growled. “Or have you forgotten how ill I am?”
He heard a dramatic sigh.
“Your days may be numbered, Cornelius, but mine are not. So don’t drag me under, not after everything I have done for you...”
Cornelius nearly choked, astounded by such petulance.
“I have given up half my life to help fulfil your dream!”
“Yes,” he whispered nastily, “and will spend the rest of it reaping the rewards, sir. So you might want to remember that before you mock me.”
“I’m not mocking you,” he protested, “but haven’t you forgotten something? The Great One is joining us for the finale, and it is time we touched base. So try to relax, Cornelius, get some sleep. Conserve your energy for when it is needed.”
As the sun sank lower, he felt his breath quicken again. He knew damn well who his ally was referring to, and could not wait to be reunited.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Leaving Hannah’s house, I leapt into my car. Spikes of cold pricked at my skin, the fear that Mr. Mortimer could be close to home a more unnerving prospect than I could handle. With unsteady hands I delved into my bag for my mobile. My first instinct was to try Joe again. But before I had a chance, an unexpected text flashed up in my notifications from Sam.
Strange. I wasn’t expecting to hear from him so early, my fingers fumbling for his text of their own accord.
Hi Maisie, I’m on my way down from London but where are you? Call me as soon as you get this will you, I’m worried. Love Sam xxx
I stared at the message with a frown but before I started the engine, my curiosity got the better of me. Something about his message seemed different, filling me with an insatiable urge to call back.
“Sam,” I blurted. “It’s great to hear from you.”
“Maisie, thank God,” he spluttered. “Where the hell are you?”
The sharpness of his tone froze the breath on my lips, drawing my thoughts back to my earlier therapy session.
“I had an appointment with Hannah,” I gasped, “I’ve only just left.”
“Hannah,” he echoed. “You’re not in Bognor are you?”
“Yes. Why, what’s wrong?”
A soft sigh shuddered from the speaker. “There isn’t time to explain. Just get yourself back to East Lavant as soon as you can.”
By the time I was threading my way through the secluded countryside, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mortimer’s last words.
I won’t forget you, and I’m certain our paths will cross again.
It couldn’t have happened in Bognor, surely?
Pulling up outside the cottage, I was on tenterhooks, the urgency in Sam’s message making even the already-familiar surroundings somehow foreboding.
I had just stepped out of my car when he appeared at the door. The sun hung low in the trees, soaking the grounds in a pool of golden light, but it took just one glance at his striking silhouette for me to realise how much I had missed him.
“Sam!” I called out, running over to him. “This is a nice surprise!”
My first compulsion was to hug him but he seized my hands, tugging me into the house.
“What’s going on?” I pressed. “You’ve got me worried now.”
He didn’t answer straight away, his grip strong as he guided me through the lounge towards the kitchen. Only when we reached the dining room did he pause to observe me properly. I stared at him in confusion. For not only had he made a special journey, I saw the meticulously made table, little flickers of candlelight reflected in his anxious brown eyes.
“Do I need a reason to come and see you?” he said softly. “Now sit down and make yourself comfy. I’ll pour us a glass of wine.”
I obeyed without question, perplexed by his efforts. With my gaze wandering further, I noticed a cut glass bowl filled with salad, a crusty baguette and a dish of green olives on the sideboard.
“Sorry if I seem tense,” he murmured. “I didn’t want you to be on your own tonight, but you never mentioned anything about seeing your therapist...”
Opening a bottle of chilled white wine, his expression turned more pensive.
“So what did you talk about this time?”
I watched in a dream as he passed me a glass of wine. Its crisp clean taste brought a clarity to my thoughts, my innermost fears finally liberated.
“She regressed me back to my last day at Orchard Grange. Saying goodbye to Joe before Mortimer turned up. He wanted to speak to me alone. It was scary.”
Closing my eyes, I pinched the spot between my brows.
“I could picture his face but it spooked me! I almost imagined him standing there, struck with this feeling I’d seen him more recently!”
Sam nodded almost knowingly.
“You may well be right,” he said, “and this is what I need to talk to you about. I’ve been in touch with the police...”
“You have?” I gasped.
“According to Andrew Fitzpatrick, Mr. Mortimer could indeed be in Sussex.”
“Sussex,” I echoed in horror. “So it’s true then. Where?”
He raised his glass and took rapid gulps of wine, his eyes flitting, unable to meet mine.
“Don’t be cagey. Tell me!”
“Shh,” he whispered. “I don’t want to scare you, but after talking to Andrew, it got me thinking about what Joe said. He’s always been concerned for your security, which reminds me... Have you spoken to him recently? I tried calling him earlier but he seems to have gone off the radar.”
“I don’t know where Joe is,” I mumbled, “and I don’t suppose you’ve heard but he and Jess have split up.”
Finally he looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Really? No surprises there.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hand tightening around my glass, I felt a surge of irritation. “You’re not going to start running him down, are you?”
“Not him,” Sam sniffed. “Her! What a nightmare! I mean, she was a classy bird but talk about clingy. Every time I saw them, she was plastered all over him like a big octopus, yet they were poles apart.”
“I’m glad you agree,” I said, “but I can’t help worrying for Joe now, especially if Mortimer’s around.”
He exhaled a sigh and moving towards the work surface, unwrapped a couple of salmon fillets. “You know Joe. He’s tough as old bo
ots! DI Fitzpatrick said he spoke to him earlier, so I imagine he’s lying low... but let’s not dwell. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten, have you?”
“No,” I murmured. My eyes followed him but I was still thinking about Joe, wishing there was another way of communicating with him.
Sam seemed unruffled, and grabbing a heavy-duty frying pan, he placed it on the hob. “Cooking isn’t my speciality,” he joked. “I bought a pre-packed salad but at least I know how to pan fry a couple of fish fillets.”
His words snapped me out of my trance.
“Thanks, Sam, you’ve gone to so much effort and I wish I could relax... but you’ve got no idea how scared I feel with Mortimer in the county.”
His aged and shrivelled features tore through the darkness of my mind again.
“If only I could remember where I’d seen his face, though.”
Swooping back to the table, Sam topped up my glass. “Don’t be scared,” he said gently. “It’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Now sit back and enjoy the evening.”
There was a special warmth in his eyes as he clung to my stare, and at last I released my breath.
As the evening developed, I cherished our precious time, never quite understanding the real danger that blackened the edge of our world. The notion of someone as evil as Mortimer prowling around Sussex had turned my blood to ice. But Sam made things right. He took extra trouble to make a fuss of me, and instead of switching the TV on, he proposed running me a bath.
“There’s nothing on but the news,” he said, “same doom and gloom.”
Closing my eyes, I sank back in the bubbles as he lit more candles. He seemed happy to sit back and watch me at first, his face angelic and glowing.
Yet I craved his touch, insisting he join me in the water while it was caressingly warm. Watching him peel off his clothes, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The sight of his shapely torso left me melting inside.
Having him close allowed me to forget my fears, and with my head cradled in his arms, I ran my hands through the creamy bubbles, soaping him all over. He seemed eager to reciprocate and with the slowest of movements he picked up a sponge. Lathering it with shower gel, he smoothed it gently over my back and shoulders, massaging away my tension.
Lethal Ties Page 38