Patrick laughed and dug his fork into a bowl of curried vegetables. ‘Mmmm! Taste this!’ Before Megan could protest he leaned towards her, holding the fork to her lips. She hesitated for a moment before opening her mouth. There was something very sensual in the way he gently slid the food into it. He was looking into her eyes the whole time and Megan felt herself struggling to suppress a sudden gush of lust that threatened to overwhelm her.
Instinctively she started talking about work, telling him about the meeting Delva’s pervert had requested.
‘If this guy’s the O killer – the one you think could be a pimp – what sort of age do you think he’d be?’
‘Older than AB.’ She spooned more lime pickle onto her plate. ‘At first I thought he’d be younger because of the domination thing. But then I thought of the car Natalie Bailey was seen getting out of in the red light district in Wolverhampton. The other prostitutes said it was an old Ford Sierra. That’s not the sort of car a young, successful pimp is going to drive. They usually go for brand new black BMWs with state-of-the-art sound systems blaring out.’ She broke off a piece of Peshwari nan and dipped it into her balti. ‘I think this guy is a bit of a has-been. I’d put him between 35 and 45.’
‘Do you think he’s going to try and pull a stunt while they’re watching the wine bar?’
‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Question is, what?’
They were still talking about the murders as they left the restaurant.
‘How did you get on with Leverton about those medical records?’ Patrick asked.
‘Oh, that was really weird. I don’t know what he’s playing at, but he came up with some tale about the computer disc corrupting. He reckons they’ve lost all the records and everyone in the force is going to have to fill out their medical details all over again.’
‘Sounds pretty unlikely – I mean, they’d be sure to have some kind of back-up.’
‘Just what I thought. Oh, that reminds me,’ she said with a smile, ‘what were you doing walking off with my profiles this morning? By the time I realised they’d gone you’d swanned off somewhere and I couldn’t get them back!’
‘Oh – did I?’ Patrick mumbled, ‘I, er, didn’t realise.’
‘It’s okay, it didn’t matter!’ She laughed at his embarrassed face. ‘I printed out another set. You can keep them if you like – as long as you don’t leave them lying around for the students or anyone else to see.’
The car drew up outside Patrick’s flat. Megan kept the engine running. ‘Thanks for the meal,’ she said. ‘It was a real treat.’
‘Thank you for coming.’ He leaned across, kissed her on the cheek and was out of the car before she had time to register what had happened. He turned and gave her a quick wave before disappearing through the front door.
Megan pulled away feeling vaguely disconcerted. What had she been expecting, she mused, as she drove home through the snow-muffled streets. An invitation for coffee in his flat? An attempted seduction?
Her mind switched gear, suddenly filled with disturbing images she tried to keep buried. No one was ever going to get the chance to use her like that again.
At home she put the kettle on and went to the fridge for milk. Opening the door she caught a flicker of movement.
‘Ugh!’ She recoiled in horror. A half-eaten chicken on the middle shelf was crawling with maggots. ‘Oh God!’ She staggered over to the sink, retching. She’d bought the cooked chicken on Sunday and had been picking at the remains for the past couple of nights. How could it possibly have got like that?
She pulled on rubber gloves and ripped a dustbin liner from a roll under the sink. Walking gingerly back to the fridge she tipped the chicken, plate and all, into the bin liner and rushed out to the dustbin in the yard.
Back in the kitchen she shuddered with disgust. Maggots? In the middle of winter? As she reached for disinfectant and a scourer, the feeling of unease that had crept over her the previous night came back with a vengeance. Someone’s been in here, the voice in her head whispered. Someone’s trying to scare you. But who? No one, other than Tony and her sister, had keys. Why would Tony want to do that to her? Perhaps if she had been the one who’d had an affair …
What if it’s him? That voice again. What if AB knows you’re involved and he’s turning the tables? Putting the frighteners on you? What if he’s a policeman? Donalsen? Easy enough for a cop to break into a house …
‘You’re being stupid.’ She said it aloud, trying to convince herself. She shouldn’t have thrown that chicken carcass away. She should have taken it back to the supermarket and complained. Probably past its sell-by date.
With shaking hands she took another bin liner and swept everything except the milk from the shelves of the fridge. Then she set to work with the disinfectant, scrubbing with the scourer. Scrubbing and scrubbing as if the effort would drive away the panic she felt inside.
Chapter 9
The car park at BTV was deserted as David Simon cruised past the raised barrier. He pulled up outside the back security gate.
‘Evening, Adrian.’ He gave the man on duty a wave as he strolled past the window on his way into the building.
‘Evening, Dave,’ the guard called. ‘Thought you’d gone home.’
‘No. Another bloody drinks do. Management Christmas party.’
‘And you’re complaining?’ Adrian laughed.
‘Well, you get a bit sick of it. It was the technical staff do last night and I’ve got the newsroom party tomorrow. Probably have that bloody woman breathing down my neck again!’ He shrugged, giving a short grunt of a laugh. ‘Not what you need when you feel as if you’ve got a permanent hangover.’
‘What you need is a glass of milk. Put a lining on your stomach. Come in here a minute.’ He pulled up a chair and pressed a button on his walkie-talkie. ‘Frank!’ he said, raising his voice, ‘Can you fetch us another carton of milk from the fridge?’
Five minutes later another security guard appeared round the door.
‘Thanks mate.’ Adrian took the proffered carton of milk, pouring a large glassful and handing it to his boss. ‘Do you fancy a coffee, Frank?’ he said, turning to the man, who was still hovering in the doorway. ‘I’ve got something to liven it up a bit!’ He bent down, taking a bottle of whisky from a cupboard near his feet. ‘None for you, though, Dave,’ he laughed. ‘You’ve got to pace yourself!’
Half an hour later David Simon was still sitting in the security booth. ‘Right, I’m off.’ He took a swig from the whisky bottle and rose to his feet a little unsteadily. ‘And remember – keep your filthy little habits to yourselves while you’re on duty. Yes, Frank, I mean you!’ He gave the guard a menacing look and then winked. ‘I don’t give a flying fuck what you get up to in the privacy of your own home, but don’t let Dildo Labia catch you at it again – got it?’
As he turned to go, a car drew up alongside the booth. He peered through the window at the driver. ‘Evening, Neil. Going to the Management do?’
‘No chance!’ Neil grinned back at him. ‘Just popping in for some stuff I’m working on – I’ll only be five minutes.’
Simon caught a movement in the back of the car. It was a little girl. She had been asleep in her car seat and woke with a whimper.
‘That your daughter?’ Simon smiled. ‘Doesn’t she look like her mum!’
Neil grunted a laugh. With a quick wave he drove into the car park.
*
‘Emily? Is Daddy there?’ Megan heard nothing at the other end of the phone. She waited for what felt like an eternity, wondering what to do. There was no point replacing the receiver and redialing: her two-year-old niece had developed a habit of answering it and then wandering off to play with her toys.
‘Emily!’ she shouted, hoping the child might be within earshot and remember that the phone was off the hook. Finally she heard a faint cry of ‘Daddy!’ and the sound of footsteps approaching the phone.
‘Neil – it’s Megan. Any news from th
e hospital?’
When he spoke his voice was gruff, as if he’d just woken up. ‘Yes – sorry, Meg, I meant to ring you…’ He broke off. Megan thought he sounded strange. As if he didn’t really want to talk to her. Maybe it was just stress.
‘Sorry,’ he said after a long pause, ‘I must have dozed off after Ceri phoned. I had a bit of a rough night with Emily. She kept waking up and asking for her mum.’
‘How’s Joe? Is he still okay?’
‘Yeah, he’s fine – no worries. The op was a success. Ceri’s got to stay with him again tonight and tomorrow night but they’re hoping to let him come home on Saturday.’
‘Oh, that’s brilliant! I thought they might have to keep him in over Christmas.’
‘No, I shouldn’t think so. Ceri sends her love and says will it be okay to have Christmas dinner at our house instead of yours? I think she’s worried about Joe travelling so soon after she brings him home.’
‘Of course it’s okay – tell her not to worry. I’ll buy all the stuff and bring it over on Sunday night. Actually, I could come on Saturday if you like – if you and Ceri need to catch up on your sleep I could sit up with Joe.’
‘Thanks. Actually, I was going to ask if you could come and babysit tonight.’
Megan hesitated for a moment, remembering Delva’s assignation at the wine bar and wondering if Leverton would want her to be there.
Neil continued apologetically, ‘I feel really bad about asking you…’
‘No, it’s okay.’ She felt torn between work and family. If she went to the wine bar she just might see the killer. But surely that was a very remote possibility? And if he was someone from BTV and he recognised her, wouldn’t that screw up the whole operation?
‘I’ll have to check but I think I can do it,’ she told Neil. ‘Tell you what: I’ll call you back within the next hour if I can’t make it. What time do you want me to come?’
‘Oh not till about half-eight. And I won’t be late. I’ll only be out for a couple of hours.’
Megan replaced the receiver, still torn. Should she leave Delva to the police? Almost immediately, the phone rang out.
‘Doctor Rhys – message for you from Mr Van Zeller. He asked me to let you know that he won’t be in today because he’s going to interview someone at Long Lartin jail.’
‘Oh, right. Thanks, Eric, for letting me know.’ Megan frowned and reached under her desk for her bag. She fished out her diary, flipping through the pages to December 21. It was blank.
Patrick usually let her know of prison visits at least a fortnight in advance, and she could have sworn the inmate he wanted to interview at Long Lartin had turned him down. There must have been a last-minute change of mind. How strange, she thought, that he hadn’t mentioned it at the restaurant.
She glanced at the clock. Dialling Leverton’s number, she wondered if Delva would back out of going to the wine bar when the time came. Last night she had agreed to go through with it, but would she change her mind as it drew nearer?
‘Martin? It’s Megan.’
‘Oh. I’m glad you called. I’ve just been on the phone to Delva Lobelo.’
‘She hasn’t called it off, has she?
“I was worried that she might, so I sent one of my DCs round to her house this morning to fill her in on what we’re planning to do. I’ve just been talking to her about the route she’s going to take when she leaves the wine bar.’
‘Why? Do you think he might try following her?’
‘Possibly, yes. As far as I’m concerned the meeting’s a red herring. I reckon he might sit in a car somewhere near and wait for her to leave; then he’ll follow her and find out where she lives. That’s if he doesn’t already know, of course.’
‘Do you think he does know? It wouldn’t be hard to find out.’
‘Especially if you’re right about him working at BTV. Anyway we won’t be taking any chances. We’ll keep the house under surveillance and make sure she’s tailed to and from the wine bar.’
‘What if he’s planning to break into the house while she’s at the wine bar and lie in wait for her?’
‘Don’t worry – we’ll be watching the place all night.’
‘What will you charge him with if you get him?’
‘Depends where we catch him. Technically if he follows her home that makes him a stalker, so we might be able to nail him for that. Up to now all we can really do him for is sending obscene material through the post, so it really all depends on what he does tonight.’
‘What do you reckon are the odds of him turning up at the wine bar or the house?’
Leverton paused. ‘Not good. If this guy’s one of the killers he’d have to have a screw loose to risk a stunt like this.’
Megan considered this before making her decision. ‘You don’t need me to be there, do you, Martin?’
‘Not if you don’t want to be, no.’ He sounded surprised and slightly disappointed.
Megan gave Leverton her sister’s telephone number in case he couldn’t raise her on the mobile. It suddenly occurred to her that he ought to be told about her connection with Neil.
‘Martin, I should have told you this before. My brother-in-law works at BTV. He co-presents the early evening news with Delva Lobelo.’
There was a moment of silence at the other end of the phone as Leverton took this in.
‘Neil Richardson – he’s your brother-in-law?’ His tone of voice was a mixture of surprise and curiosity. He paused again and said, ‘Does Delva Lobelo know that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Forgive me for saying this, Megan, but I assume you’ve ruled out any possibility of him being involved in this?’
Megan could hear the embarrassment in his voice. Of course, he had to ask and she had to give him an answer. She suddenly realised that with a few carefully chosen words she could find out exactly what Neil was up to: get him tailed and find out if Ceri’s fears about him having an affair were justified. It would be so easy. The merest hint that Neil’s behaviour had been giving her sister cause for concern would get Leverton on his trail like a fox after a rabbit. It was so tempting.
Megan summoned up a mental image of her mother. What would she have done in a situation like this?
‘Yes, of course I’ve ruled him out,’ she heard herself saying.
*
Emily was sitting in her pyjamas watching Nickleodeon when Megan arrived. She leapt out of the chair and pulled at the sleeve of Megan’s coat.
‘Flintstones!’ she lisped. ‘He throwed the cat out of the window!’
Neil poked his head around the door, his shirt undone and his hair still wet from the shower.
‘Bye, Meg – I won’t be late. Help yourself to food and stuff.’ He kissed Emily on the head and breezed out, slamming the front door behind him.
‘Daddy gone to Elizabeth’s,’ Emily informed Megan, her eyes still glued to the television screen.
‘Oh,’ Megan said, taken by surprise. When she spoke again she tried to sound unconcerned. ‘What does Elizabeth look like? Have you seen her?’
Emily glanced round at Megan, looking at her as if she had said something quite mad.
Megan tried again. ‘Does Mummy know Elizabeth? Do you go to Elizabeth’s with her?’
‘Course!’ Emily replied, wearing the same expression Ceri put on when asked a stupid question. ‘Look! Dino bited Fred on the bottom!’ She went into a fit of giggles and Megan realised that interrogating a two-year-old was a pretty pointless exercise.
*
Delva Lobelo sat at a table in the crowded wine bar staring at the half-empty glass in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see two plain-clothes officers chatting over a bottle of red. Out of sight on the other side of the room there were at least half a dozen others all pretending to be punters out enjoying a pre-Christmas drink.
Delva had never felt so alone. She glanced at her watch. She’d arrived on the dot of eight and it was now twenty-five to nine. She was aware o
f the curious glances of the people at the next table. She knew she’d been recognised and that made it even worse. She felt her face burning. How much longer was she going to have to wait?
*
Megan managed to lure Emily away from the TV with the promise of a bedtime story. It was nearly ten o’clock by the time the child finally closed her eyes. Megan sat gazing at her for a long time. Did all children look so angelic when they were asleep? She thought of Tony’s new baby and wondered when it was due. By the look of his girlfriend’s bump it couldn’t be long. She wondered if Ceri knew. There was so much she wanted to talk to Ceri about.
She crept downstairs and switched on the television. She wanted to see the local news bulletin. Not that there was any real chance of Delva’s stalker being apprehended at the wine bar.
‘The BTV headlines tonight…’ Megan recognised the newsreader. It was the reporter she had seen at yesterday’s police press conference. After the first thirty seconds she relaxed. If anything had happened it would have been mentioned in the headlines.
There was something, though, further down the bulletin and relegated to a few lines of copy. It was about the Jackson case, simply stating that the police were no nearer to finding the killer. A non-story, really.
‘That’s all from us for tonight. Elizabeth Dawson will bring you the next news from BTV at ten past six tomorrow morning…’
Megan sat bolt upright. Elizabeth who? She couldn’t remember Neil ever having mentioned an Elizabeth working in the newsroom. But then again, she reasoned, BTV was known for its short contracts and high turnover of staff. She wouldn’t have recognised the chap reading the bulletin if she hadn’t seen him at the press conference.
Her mind raced. What should she do when Neil arrived home? Ask him outright if he’d spent the evening in bed with one of his colleagues?
Megan’s train of thought was derailed by the sudden sight of her own face filling the television screen. She stared, open mouthed, in total bewilderment until the voice of the continuity announcer kicked in.
It was a trailer for the documentary BTV was screening next week. How cunning of them to show it straight after the news. Someone in the newsroom obviously suspected that she was involved in the Tina Jackson case.
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