by Roberta Kray
‘Do you believe him?’
Mac scowled as if she was casting doubt on Harry’s innocence. His voice had a colder, harder edge when he spoke again. ‘Any reason I shouldn’t?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. God, he isn’t capable of murder. I just …’ She lifted and dropped her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. This stuff about the gun, maybe there’s more to it.’
‘He’s been stitched up, love. That’s the start and finish of it. Whoever killed Caroline Westwood has put him right in the frame. Harry was at the Lumière, he spent time with the victim and now he’s been discovered with the murder weapon in his possession. Someone’s gone to a lot of effort to make him look guilty.’
Jess rubbed her eyes, sore and gritty after a restless night’s sleep. ‘But was it before or after? I mean, do you think this was all planned from the beginning – which could be down to anyone he’s pissed off in the past – or more of an opportunist thing? The killer realised they could shift the focus on to Harry and dumped the gun on him.’
‘There’s no way of knowing right now. We’ve got everyone on it. We’re checking out Caroline’s husband, the staff at the hotel, the other customers, her friends – plus any exes we might be able to dig up.’
Jess could see what a gigantic and daunting task it was. ‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘There must be something I can do.’
‘There is, as it happens.’
‘Anything.’
Mac opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a set of keys. ‘Could you nip upstairs to Harry’s flat and get some clothes – his suit, a clean shirt, underwear, whatever else you can think of. Unless we get lucky in the next few hours, Harry’s going to be charged and he’ll be in court tomorrow morning.’
Jess gave a nod. It was hardly a cutting-edge responsibility for an investigative journalist
but then she had said ‘anything’. ‘Sure, I’ll do it now.’ She picked up the keys and rose to her feet. As she opened the door she turned and asked, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had any news on Sylvie?’
‘Nothing useful. They let Keynes go yesterday.’
Jess’s eyes widened. ‘What? Are you kidding me?’
‘He admitted giving her a lift to Chalk Farm Tube but claims that was the last time he saw her.’
She didn’t ask where he’d got the information – he was an ex-cop and still had contacts in the Force – but she baulked at it. ‘And they believe him? They can’t. He’s lying. He has to be.’
Mac gave a shrug and she could see that his mind wasn’t on it; he was, understandably, preoccupied by Harry’s plight. ‘Okay, well … let me know if you hear anything else.’ She closed the door, passed through reception and headed upstairs.
It was six months since she’d last been in Harry’s flat, shortly after he’d first moved in and they’d been investigating the Minnie Bright murder. It had changed a lot since then. The walls had stayed white – she’d started painting them herself – but their starkness had been relieved by a couple of framed Edward Hopper prints, dark red curtains, a Persian rug and a soft brown leather sofa. It was still a very masculine space but it had a touch of warmth too.
The next thing she noticed was the two mugs on the coffee table, both of them full to the brim. She stood and stared at them for a while. Cold coffee. A conversation interrupted or two people who had changed their minds? Maybe two people who had decided to skip the small talk and … There was a crumpled blanket on the sofa. She bent down, picked it up and held it to her nose. Yes, there was a definite whiff of scent. A woman, then – and the first name that sprang into her head was Ellen Shaw.
There was nothing to prove it one way or another but her lip curled at the thought of the two of them together. Surely he wouldn’t? Not that it was any of her business what he did in his private life, but that woman was acid. She was corrosive, destructive, the type who could burn the soul out of a man and not think twice about it.
Jess chucked the blanket back on the sofa and went through to Harry’s bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and stared at the contents. It was then that it really struck her that he might not be coming home again. Trials were unpredictable and juries got it wrong. If Harry was charged, tried and convicted he could be looking at twenty years or more.
Quickly putting that thought aside she ran her fingers along the rail of suits, about ten or so, and tried to decide on the most suitable. Her eyes alighted on the grey Armani but she dismissed it instantly. It was too smart, too elegant. She chose instead a navy blue that was smart without being ostentatious. She laid it on the bed and added a couple of white shirts, two ties – one red, one blue – before going in search of some underwear.
Jess didn’t feel entirely comfortable rooting through Harry’s smalls, but she gathered up some pants and socks, added them to the pile and took the whole lot through to the living room. As she laid the clothes on the sofa, she noticed a slip of paper lying on the floor. She bent down and picked it up. It was in Harry’s handwriting: Back in half an hour. Please wait for me. And then she was in no doubt at all. Someone had been here last night, and that someone must have given Harry the gun.
25
Jess sat in the Mini in the car park of the Fox and scrolled through the menu on her phone. Mac hadn’t been quite as impressed by the note as she’d hoped – or convinced that it had anything to do with the case.
‘So maybe he had a friend round. There’s no law against it and there’s nothing to say it was Ellen Shaw. And even if it was, what’s the link between her and Caroline Westwood? Why would she want to kill the woman?’
‘I don’t know what the link is but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Ellen met Danny Street on Saturday night. He dropped her off right here, across the road.’
Mac’s ears had pricked up at the mention of Danny Street. ‘So where is she now?’
‘I did have an address, a flat in Stoke Newington, but Harry says she’s disappeared from there. I’ll try and track her down.’
‘Okay, we’ll see what we can find out this end. Call me, yeah?’
‘I will.’
Jess found the number she was looking for, pressed the button and listened to the phone ringing at the other end. She was pretty sure Ellen didn’t have a car or she’d have been using it on Saturday night instead of the train. This meant that she had probably got a taxi when she did a bunk from Pelham Road. If she’d been planning on staying away for a while – or even for ever – then she would have taken some luggage with her and no one wanted to lug suitcases on public transport.
Samantha Kendall answered the phone and Jess went through the usual chatty catch-up before getting to the point. ‘Look, I need a favour. It’s probably a long shot but I’m trying to track down a woman who may have got a taxi on Saturday night or Sunday morning. I don’t know where she was going but the pick-up was from nine Pelham Road in Stoke Newington.’
‘What makes you think she used us?’
‘Just a hunch.’ Sam worked for an all-female cab firm with offices in east and north London. It was well known and popular with women, especially those who didn’t feel comfortable with a male driver. ‘I could be wrong.’
‘I’ll give the switch a bell and see what I can find out. Do you want me to ring round some of the other firms if I draw a blank?’
‘You’re an angel,’ Jess said. ‘I owe you one.’
They said their goodbyes and hung up. With nothing to do now but wait, Jess decided to head over to Hampstead. Quite what she intended to do when she got there, she had no idea, but she had to be doing something. She still couldn’t believe that the cops had released Keynes without charge. What was wrong with them? Anyone with half a brain could see that he was guilty as sin.
Half an hour later, as she turned into Leonard Close, she was just in time to see the red Porsche disappearing round the corner. Putting her foot on the accelerator she sped after him, hoping he wasn’t just going into work.
‘Come on, give me a break,’ sh
e muttered.
Jess quickly realised that she was in luck; he wasn’t going into Hampstead Village but had turned instead on to Rosslyn Hill. She could feel the tension mounting in her as she battled the two opposing fears of losing him and of getting too close. What if he spotted her? He could be on the watch for someone on his tail after his recent brush with the law. She kept her distance, praying that he’d stay in her sights.
As they passed Belsize Park Tube station and drove along Haverstock Hill, Jess felt her heart starting to beat faster. Jesus, was it possible that he was actually leading her to Sylvie? Surely he’d be more careful, but then again he was probably arrogant enough to think he could get away with anything.
Five minutes later the Porsche took a left and began to wind round the streets of Chalk Farm. By now Jess was convinced she was about to catch him red-handed. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that he’d come here, the very area where he claimed to have dropped off Sylvie on Saturday night. Her hands gripped the wheel as she saw the red car indicate to pull in.
Jess quickly did the same, sliding into a space twenty yards away. ‘Gotcha,’ she murmured. Now, finally, she was on the brink of solving the case, of freeing Sylvie from the clutches of her abductor. That’s if she was still alive. Christ, what if he’d already …
Then something unexpected happened. As the door of the Porsche opened, Jess did a double-take. It wasn’t Keynes that got out of the car but his girlfriend, Sarah Thorne.
26
Jess stared through the windscreen at the woman, bewildered by this turn of events. The Porsche was so low that she hadn’t been able to see the driver and had simply presumed it was Keynes. Was it possible that he and Sarah had been in it together? Or was she just standing by her man? Maybe Keynes had confessed to her, told her he’d killed Sylvie, and she was here to get rid of the evidence.
Jess didn’t have time to think either of these theories through. Sarah was already walking along the road, so Jess got out of the Mini and followed behind. It crossed her mind that she should call the police, get some back-up, but she rejected the idea instantly. What if she was wrong? She could imagine Valerie Middleton’s face if she dragged her over here on a wild goose chase.
The street was quiet, tree-lined and residential, a row of tall red-brick terraces with small front yards. Sarah stopped by the gate to one of the houses and glanced around. Her gaze alighted on Jess but she showed no sign of having recognised her. The only time their paths had crossed was in the office of Mackenzie, Lind when Sarah had been too busy storming out to take much notice of the girl standing by the coffee machine.
She had almost caught up when Sarah Thorne pushed through the gate, walked along the short drive and headed down the stone steps to the basement flat. Jess went on a little way in case the woman turned to look, then she stopped, waited a moment and hurried back. There was no one there now. Sarah had gone inside.
Before she could change her mind, Jess took a deep breath and followed, taking care not to make any noise on the steps. The door had been painted a shiny dark blue. She raised a hand and pressed the bell.
No answer.
Jess tried again, three long rings, but still no one came. She pulled a face. Deciding that she hadn’t come this far to be thwarted by the inconvenience of a mortice lock, she hammered on the door with her knuckles. ‘Sarah? I know you’re in there. Open this door or I’m calling the police! I mean it. You’ve got ten seconds, starting now. Ten, nine, eight …’
Jess had reached number five when there was the sound of a bolt being drawn back. Sarah Thorne opened the door and stared at her.
‘What the …Who the hell are you?’
But Jess, skipping the introductions, barged right past her and ran into the flat. ‘Sylvie?’ she yelled. ‘Sylvie? Where are you?’ She heard a movement coming from a room on the right and charged in there. What she saw brought her up short. Sylvie, dressed in a pair of elegant fawn linen trousers and a white cashmere sweater, was standing calmly by the fireplace.
‘Hello, Jess,’ she said.
Jess gazed at her, bewildered. There wasn’t a mark on the girl and no sign at all that she was being held against her will. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course.’
Before she had the chance to say anything else, Sarah stormed into the room, grabbed Jess’s elbow and swung her around.
‘Get out of my flat,’ she snarled. ‘Get out of here, you bitch!’
Sylvie gave a sigh. ‘Leave it, Sarah. It’s over. This is Jess, the reporter I told you about.’
But it was clear that nothing was over for Sarah Thorne. Her face was bright red, her eyes gleaming with fury. She was out of control. And then, before Jess could even think about taking evasive action, Sarah swung back her arm and punched her right in the face.
Although the punch wasn’t excessively hard, it caught Jess just under her left eye and was enough to send her reeling back. She tumbled to the floor and Sarah was instantly on her, slapping and biting and pulling her hair. Their breath came in short fast pants as they rolled across the carpet, arms flailing, legs kicking, in a clumsy, scrappy hit-and-miss brawl.
Jess, who’d been taken by surprise at the suddenness of the attack, was at a disadvantage. She reacted instinctively, her responses more defensive than offensive, but nothing she did could shake off the other woman. Sarah was taller and stronger and driven by rage. As the blows rained down on her, Jess twisted and turned and tried to push her off. Somewhere, in the periphery of her vision, she was vaguely aware of Sylvie standing back – in shock, perhaps, or more likely not wanting to get blood on her cashmere.
Jess could feel herself growing weaker, the last of her fight ebbing away, when there was an explosion of noise from the front door. Suddenly the room was full of people and voices, heavy boots and uniforms. The police got hold of Sarah, restrained her and bundled her away. Sylvie was marched out of the flat too.
DI Valerie Middleton helped Jess to her feet. ‘Just in time. Are you all right?’
Jess, still dazed, raised a hand to her face and winced. She looked around her, in shock, before her eyes focused on Valerie again. ‘No offence,’ she said, ‘but just in time would have been five minutes ago.’
27
It was over two hours since Jess had been brought to Cowan Road. She had been seen by a doctor – nothing broken, just a black eye, a split lip, some missing hair and a lot of bruises – before finally making her statement. Now she was sitting in a room off the foyer while she waited for Valerie. A cup of coffee lay untouched on the table; she craved caffeine but her mouth was too sore to drink it.
The inspector came through the door and sat down. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. How are you feeling now?’
‘Like a mug.’ Jess leaned forward and put her head in her hands. ‘I can’t believe Sylvie was in that flat all the time while I was … God, I was convinced something terrible had happened to her.’
‘Yes, well, that’s what she wanted you to believe.’
‘How did she and Sarah even know each other?’
‘Yoga class,’ Valerie said. ‘The two of them got talking. Sylvie told her about the honeytrap job and Sarah had an idea about how she could teach her philandering fiancé a lesson. She’d just found out that Joshua was seeing someone else and wanted to make him pay for it.’
‘The Swiss Cottage girl?’
Valerie nodded. ‘That’s the one. And that’s where he went after dropping off Sylvie on Saturday night. Although it wasn’t something he wanted to admit to in a hurry.’
Jess was concentrating hard, trying to sort out the threads of the story in her aching head. ‘So Sarah contacted Mackenzie, Lind and arranged for a honeytrap. How could she know that Sylvie would be chosen?’
‘By describing the type that her boyfriend was attracted to – slim and blonde, clever, cultured. Had it all gone wrong and they’d chosen someone else for the job, she would have cancelled, said she’d changed her mind.’
�
�But it didn’t go wrong.’
‘No,’ Valerie agreed. ‘And then all Sylvie had to do was to persuade Joshua Keynes to leave the bar with her. She probably knew that Brett would turn up – he was in the habit of following her around – and that gave her the perfect excuse: a scary ex-boyfriend that she had to get away from in a hurry. After slipping her mobile under the passenger seat and being dropped off at Chalk Farm, she simply walked to the flat and disappeared. It was only a matter of time before she’d be reported as missing and – especially after the phone was discovered – the finger of blame would be pointed right at Joshua. Which is what Sarah wanted, of course, for her fiancé to be right in the middle of what could turn out to be a murder inquiry.’
Jess pulled a face, a gesture she instantly regretted as a sharp pain ran down her cheek. ‘Except Sylvie made a phone call to say she was okay. Why did she bother to do that? If she hadn’t got in touch, the alarm would have gone off much earlier.’
‘Because Sylvie needed a get-out clause. At some point in the future she’d have to reappear and act surprised that everyone thought she was missing. I just went away for a while. I called Lorna. What’s all the fuss about? But by slipping in the comment about Friday night she knew you’d be convinced something was wrong. She was relying on you to persuade everyone else that she was actually in danger.’
‘So how was she going to explain the Friday night comment when she eventually showed up again?’
‘Just by saying she thought the two of you had a casual arrangement to meet up again but as she never heard from you she presumed it was cancelled.’
‘And by the time she’d reappeared, the damage would have been done to Keynes’ reputation – no smoke without fire and all that.’
‘Exactly.’
Jess raised her eyes to the ceiling. No one liked being used, taken for a fool, but that was exactly what had happened to her. She’d fallen for Sylvie’s ploy hook, line and sinker. ‘I walked straight into it, didn’t I?’