Tubing

by K. A. McKeagney

  She went back to his inbox and carried on looking down his list of emails. A couple of messages later there was one from Tiffany & Co. She opened it with a sense of trepidation. It said, ‘Dear Dr Elliot-Smith, we wanted to let you know that the engagement ring you ordered has been resized and is ready for you to collect.’

  There was more to the message, but Polly didn’t bother to read it. She clicked straight on the words ‘engagement ring’. It took her to a page on the Tiffany & Co. website. It was a stark white page with a picture of a sapphire and diamond engagement ring. It was beautiful.

  Thirty-five

  On Friday Polly had to go to work. She’d listened to James’s message. He wished her well, but made it very clear that he needed her back in the office as soon as possible.

  She was still reeling from having read Oliver’s emails. He’d made all those plans so that he could propose on their anniversary. She’d seen all his missed calls that night but chosen to ignore them. She had visions of Oliver sitting in the restaurant, a bunch of roses on the table, champagne on ice, an engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket, while she had been drunk on a train having it off with a stranger – well, someone she’d thought was a stranger. It was painful to think about.

  But then, did it really change anything? Asking her to marry him didn’t necessarily mean anything. Sebastian was engaged and it hadn’t stopped him tubing. Emmi. She hadn’t thought about her since meeting her on Saturday night. Maybe she should tell her what he’d been up to. But she immediately dismissed the thought. God only knew what he’d do to her if she did something like that.

  Then it occurred to her. Was tubing the reason Charlotte and Ed had split up? Had she found out what he was up to and called the wedding off?

  *

  She was running late when she left the house. She’d spent far too long going back and forth between the bedroom and the lounge window. She took a deep breath as she pulled open the front door, bracing herself for the worst. There was no one there.

  She’d intended to get the bus, but if she did she’d be at least half an hour late. James had said he wanted her in at nine sharp so she was forced to get the tube. On board, she couldn’t help looking around nervously; she was like a little bird, her head darting mechanically this way and that.

  She’d barely sat down at her desk when James appeared and said he needed a word. They used Lionel’s office – he was out for the morning. She could tell by the way he shut the door that he hadn’t invited her in to discuss her prospects of promotion or give her a bonus.

  ‘I’m going to get straight to the point, Polly,’ he said as soon as he sat down in Lionel’s chair. The leather creaked as he leant forward and placed his hands flat on the desk. ‘Court proceedings have been started against the paper because of our T&Cs.’

  Polly’s fingers immediately went to her lip and started picking.

  ‘You told me you’d changed that document, Polly, but it’s becoming abundantly clear that you didn’t.’

  Her fingernails dug in deep, but she didn’t feel any pain. There was a long silence

  ‘Do you have anything to say for yourself?’ he asked, annoyed that she hadn’t spoken.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said meekly.

  James considered her for a few moments, ‘Do you even care, Polly?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve called in sick over the last couple of months. Do you have some sort of illness you need to tell me about?’

  Silence.

  ‘No, I didn’t think so. In that case, Polly, you’ve left me no option. I’m going to have to let you go.’

  She’d known the words were coming. Her head dropped down on to the desk in front of her, and she pulled her arms up around her ears and started to sob.

  James didn’t seem to know what to do. He went over to her and patted her on the back. When that wouldn’t stop her heaving shoulders, he went to the door to try and signal to someone. There was no one about. He danced around the office, unsure what to do with himself.

  Eventually Polly lifted her head up for air. Her face was hot and clammy; she could barely get a breath in for all the snot and saliva that was clogging her airways. James offered her the handkerchief he kept in his top pocket. Polly had always thought it was for decoration. She blew her nose loudly and squinted up at him.

  ‘I’m so sorry, James,’ she said. ‘I just can’t believe all this is happening.’

  ‘What is happening, Polly?’ he asked softly. ‘It’s clear something’s wrong. You’ve always been so conscientious, but over the last few months … well, you’ve been like a different person.’

  Polly thought for a few moments – then she told him everything. She told him about seeing the girl pushed under the train, about Sebastian chasing her, following her, about the attack, everything – except about tubing.

  James listened carefully. He didn’t react to anything she said; he waited until she’d finished.

  The first thing he did was smile at her. Then he said, ‘I wish you’d come to me sooner.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ said Polly. ‘I couldn’t go to anyone. He tried to kill me. You’re the first person I’ve told.’

  ‘Well, we’re going to have to do something about it.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me to go to the police. I tried that, but he came out of nowhere; he knew exactly what I was doing. If he finds out … ’ She trailed off at the thought.

  ‘OK, OK,’ said James. He thought for a moment then said, ‘I know someone in the Met who owes me a favour. I’ll talk to them about it, see what they can do.’

  ‘No, no, please don’t,’ said Polly, reaching up to him, imploring.

  He knelt down in front of her.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll keep it off the record. I’ll explain the situation. No one will approach this Sebastian guy until you’re happy for them to. OK?’

  She slowly nodded her head, tears trickling down her cheeks again.

  He took her hand. ‘You don’t have to worry any more. We’ll get it sorted.’

  Once she’d cleaned her face, James told her to go back to her desk and get on with some work. He called his friend at the Met from Lionel’s office. A few minutes later he went over to Polly’s desk and leant down close to her, his knees clicking as he knelt down.

  ‘I’ve set up a meeting for this evening at my house.’ He handed her a piece of paper. ‘Here’s my address. It’s set up for seven p.m., but feel free to come earlier if you want to; I’ll be in from about five.’ He pushed back the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a solid gold watch. ‘I’m due in court later this morning to sort out the T&Cs mess, so I really need to go. Will you be OK?’

  She wanted to hug him, tell him how sorry she was for the entire mess. But she didn’t; she just nodded awkwardly and he rushed off.

  Thirty-six

  She took James up on his offer and turned up at his house just after half-past five. He was pleased to see her, if a little flustered. It dawned on her that the ‘drop round earlier’ bit had been more of a gesture than anything. She apologised profusely and tried to slope off again, but he wouldn’t hear of it and dragged her in through the front door.

  James lived in a three-storey town house off Sloane Square. A large hallway led to high-ceilinged, impeccably decorated rooms. They went into the living room. There was a formal three-piece suite in the centre of the room that looked anything but comfortable. In the corner were two beaten-up old leather chairs with a small coffee table between them facing an open cabinet containing a flatscreen TV.

  He told her to make herself comfortable in the corner while he got them some tea. She lingered around the sideboard looking at his photos for a while before sitting down. One man featured prominently in the pictures. He was in his thirties, Oriental-looking, maybe Cambodian or Vietnamese. They looked good together, even though James must have been at least fifteen years older. Polly was happy for him.

  Jam
es returned with a teapot and two matching cups and saucers. They were white bone china with blue and yellow polka dots. She could barely believe this was the same unassuming guy she’d worked with in the office over the last year. She felt guilty that she’d never had any time for him before now. She was always civil, but had never really bothered to get to know him. But here he was doing everything he could to make her feel at ease, letting her hide out in his home.

  They talked for a bit about nothing very much, then James excused himself so he could finish off some bits of work. He left Polly with the remote control for the TV. She must have fallen asleep soon after he left the room. She remembered flicking through a couple of channels; the next thing she knew James was standing over her, trying to wake her.

  ‘Polly,’ James said gently. ‘DS Watson is here, my friend from the Met I was telling you about.’

  Polly opened her eyes. A woman in her late forties was standing next to him. She was surprised: she’d expected a fat, balding middle-aged man with coffee breath and BO, not this slim, sharply dressed lady in front of her. She looked good for her age despite the lines on her face and the puffiness under her eyes.

  ‘Hello, Polly,’ she said, putting out her hand for Polly to shake. Polly rubbed her face with her palms and straightened up before taking her hand.

  DC Watson, who insisted she call her Gin, sat on the chair opposite. James grabbed a hard-backed chair from the dining room.

  Gin rifled through her bag then placed a notebook and pen on the small coffee table.

  ‘OK, Polly,’ she said. ‘James has filled me in on a few bits, but I’d like to hear the whole story from you, if you’re up to it.’

  Polly hesitated momentarily. Now was the time to tell the truth, to tell her about tubing. But she didn’t. She told her the edited version of the truth. She didn’t lie, just omitted things. She started at the point where she’d seen Sebastian push Sarah under the train and how he’d chased her out of the station. She told her about him suddenly appearing outside her office when she’d tried to call the police. It was difficult to explain the attack on the train – she could hardly say she went willingly to meet him – so instead she said he followed her. The part about Oliver and Sebastian knowing one another was patchy, but she needed to explain how he knew her name. She went on to tell the detective sergeant that she was pretty sure he’d also killed ‘Mousey’, although she instantly regretted mentioning that bit.

  Gin listened in silence. She didn’t make any notes in her notebook, even though it lay open on the table.

  When Polly had finished she said, ‘Sounds like you’ve had quite a time of it.’ She said it with no inflection in her voice. Her face remained emotionless and her body language gave nothing away. Polly wasn’t sure what to make of her.

  ‘I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask, if that’s OK with you, Polly,’ Gin said. Polly didn’t like the way she kept tagging ‘if you’re up to it’ or ‘if that’s OK with you’ on to her sentences. The way she said it was like an afterthought, like something she’d just remembered from her training at police school, a nicety to put people at ease then catch them out.

  ‘OK,’ said Polly.

  ‘How did Sebastian know where to find you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When you tried to call the police from outside work and then later when you were going home on the tube?’

  ‘He must have been following me.’

  ‘Right,’ said Gin. ‘And where were you going when he attacked you on the tube?’

  ‘Home,’ said Polly without thinking.

  ‘This was straight after work.’

  ‘Umm, well, no,’ Polly said suddenly remembering how late it had been. ‘I’d been working late. I think it was half-seven or eight.’

  ‘OK, and you were on your way home?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where were you exactly when he attacked you?’

  ‘Just coming into Baker Street.’

  ‘Isn’t that the same station where you saw him push Sarah under the train?’

  Polly couldn’t believe she hadn’t made the connection before. ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  ‘OK,’ Gin said in her slow, protracted manner, mulling it over. ‘What tube line do you usually get home from work, Polly?’

  ‘Central Line.’ Shit, Polly thought the second the words were out. She knew exactly what was coming next.

  ‘But Baker Street isn’t on the Central Line.’

  She was right, of course. Polly thought about saying that she had been going to meet a friend or something, but no doubt Gin would want to know who they were and every other minuscule detail about their life.

  ‘I like to mix it up sometimes,’ she said. ‘The journey gets a bit boring if you get the same lie … line all the time. Gives me a chance to see other parts of London and — ’ She’d started babbling inanely.

  ‘But you’re on a tube train underground.’

  Polly let out a nervous snort, ‘Yeah, it’s funny really, isn’t it? I know lots of people who do it though, especially if — ’

  ‘OK, OK,’ said Gin, raising her hand to stop her.

  Polly took a deep, shaky breath, suddenly wondering why she’d started all this.

  Gin resumed her questioning. ‘When did you try to call the police from the phone box?’

  ‘A week ago.’ Polly thought for a moment. ‘It was last Friday.’

  ‘And when did you see him push Sarah under the train?’

  ‘On the Tuesday.’

  ‘Three days before?’

  Polly knew where this was going. ‘No, the Tuesday before that.’

  Gin paused, cocking her head back, confused. ‘Why did you wait ten days to contact the police?’

  This was all going horribly wrong. She should have worked all this out beforehand. ‘I don’t know. I was scared,’ she replied weakly.

  Silence. Gin didn’t say anything. She just looked at Polly intently, as if she was trying to read her mind. Eventually she spoke.

  ‘It’s quite a coincidence that Oliver and Sebastian went to medical school together, don’t you think?’

  ‘Well … ’ Polly struggled for words. ‘Yes … I guess it is.’

  ‘And you’d never met Sebastian before you saw him push the girl under the train?’

  Polly could feel her face burning; she prayed it didn’t show. At least she had the darkness of the room on her side. The sun was setting outside and James hadn’t switched any lights on in the room yet.

  ‘No,’ said Polly firmly. She tried to sound as definite as possible.

  ‘Not even at a social event?’

  Polly was starting to get annoyed. Gin was asking all the wrong questions. ‘I don’t really see what all this has to do with what I saw, or the fact that I’m being stalked by a psychopath.’

  ‘I’m just trying to get all the facts, Polly. There’s no need to get upset.’

  ‘I’m not getting upset,’ she said, clearly getting upset.

  ‘It’s OK, Polly,’ interrupted James. ‘We only want to help. Gin’s going to have to pick Sebastian up and interview him. She just needs to make sure she’s got everything straight first.’

  ‘OK,’ said Polly, calming down.

  Gin was watching her carefully, her posture straight and upright. ‘I’ve one last question for you, Polly. and then we’re finished.’

  Polly waited, expecting the worst.

  ‘Why do you think he’s responsible for the murder of the other women, the one with the mousey hair? You only saw him push Sarah under the train, right?’

  ‘Right,’ replied Polly.

  ‘So what makes you think he killed this other girl?’

  Polly knew mentioning Mousey had been a bad idea. It was proving very difficult to tell a truthful, coherent story when so much had to be left out.

  ‘Well … ’ She was willing herself to think of something. ‘I saw it in a news story online and it seemed like a similar type of thing.
’

  ‘I don’t understand. Other people have committed suicide on the Underground in the past couple of months. Why do you think he killed that particular girl? Do you know her?’

  ‘No,’ said Polly a little too quickly. ‘But I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I read in the paper that she had no reason to kill herself – just like Sarah,’ she added as an afterthought.

  Both women stared at one another. Polly desperately wanted to look away, but was too scared – liars always looked away first.

  After an eternity, Gin inhaled sharply and picked up her notebook and pen from the coffee table.

  ‘OK, so what’ll happen now is I’ll get some uniforms to pick up Sebastian tomorrow morning,’ she started, then changed tack, reacting to the panic suddenly etched all over Polly’s face. ‘Don’t worry, they’ll arrive unannounced and take him straight in for questioning. You’ll be perfectly safe, I give you my word on that. I’ll also start looking into the other girl’s death.’

  She put her notebook and pen in her handbag then closed the buckle making sure it was securely fastened.

  ‘Try to get some rest, Polly, you look like you need it.’ She suddenly broke into an unexpectedly warm smile. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, reaching out and patting her arm.

  James started walking her to the door. They were almost out of the room when Gin suddenly stopped and turned back, ‘There’s nothing else I should know is there, Polly?’

  Now is the time, Polly’s brain screamed, tell her, tell her everything. But she couldn’t.

  ‘No, there’s nothing else.’

  ‘Good,’ Gin said before turning to leave the room.

  Polly slumped back in her chair. She tried to tell herself that she’d done the right thing, that it would soon all be over, but unease niggled and prodded at her, refusing to let her alone.

  Thirty-seven