by Anne Coates
TWENTY-ONE
“Hi, it’s Sam Lockwood.”
There was a silence at the other end of the phone.
“We met at Liz Rayman’s funeral. I worked with her in Somalia.”
“Oh yes, Sam. Sorry I was in the middle of something and was miles away. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if we could meet up? I’m only in the country a few more days before I go back.”
Something in the back of Hannah’s mind urged caution. She couldn’t pinpoint her anxiety but that sixth sense seemed to be working overtime these days. Especially since the funeral.
“Okay. Where would you like to meet, Sam?”
“I could come to you if that’s easier?”
“No.” Her abrupt response needed, she felt, more of an explanation. “No I’ve an appointment in town later. Whereabouts are you? We could meet somewhere convenient to us both.”
They met in a small café, down a side street off The Strand.
Sam Lockwood was already sitting at a table and stood as she entered the room. It was, thankfully, warm inside but the windows were steamed up and, combined with the cigarette smoke, the café was clammy and uncomfortable.
“Hannah, good of you to come.” Hannah sat down in the seat opposite him. “I’ve heard so much about you from Liz, that I feel we are almost friends already.” He smiled and Hannah wondered whether he was one of what Liz had termed the misfits in Somalia. Or did he belong to the philanthropic group Liz had been part of?
“Well sorry but she never mentioned you.” Hannah knew she sounded rude but she still felt raw from the funeral and the oblique warning the bishop had given her. “In fact she talked very little about her time in Somalia.”
Sam smiled. “She was amazing out there. She had such compassion. Great with the kids. Everyone adored her.”
“Then why did she return so abruptly?”
“I don’t really know. There was some problem with local girls who went missing… I’m not sure how much Liz knew or thought she knew.” Sam shrugged and stared into space. “Sometimes the heat, the disease and poverty get to you in ways you wouldn’t expect.”
“And do they get to you as well?” Hannah smiled and sipped the mug of coffee that had just been brought to their table.
“Sometimes. But I just felt Liz had other issues…”
“Really? What sort of issues?”
“I don’t know exactly. Personal ones. She also came back with some files. Mainly day to day running of the outpost and that sort of thing. I telephoned Lady Rayman to see if she had them but she referred me to you. I understand you are sifting through all her correspondence and the like.”
“I am – as and when the police are finished with them.”
“Oh I thought they had returned everything.” Peter made a show of concentrating on his coffee but Hannah knew he was watching her face for any clue to whatever it was he wanted to know. There was something about him that didn’t ring true. And why should he know what the police had or had not returned? Unless Lady Rayman had told him which seemed unlikely to Hannah but she may have done.
“No. Not yet.”
Sam sighed. “Oh well, perhaps you could post anything you find on to our London HQ?” He looked at his watch as though he was expecting someone or had to be somewhere else.
Just then Hannah’s mobile phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said as she stood and moved away from the table. “Right. I’m on my way,” she said and finished the call.
She returned to their table and picked up her bag. “I’m sorry I have to leave now. Nice to meet you Sam, sorry I couldn’t be of any help –” she held out her hand.
“Problem?” he asked.
It took all the skill Hannah had learned during interviews to look him in the eye and say, “None at all. Just my next appointment has arrived early.” She smiled aware that he was staring after her as she made for the exit.
She walked down into The Strand and hailed a taxi.
Once inside she rang Janet to check she and Elizabeth were safe but there was no answer at the house so she assumed they were at one of their various toddler clubs. Her previous call had come from Celia Rayman. Her house had been burgled.
The police were very much in evidence when Hannah arrived at the Rayman residence. She was allowed into the ground floor sitting room where Celia and Mary were perched side by side on a sofa looking shell-shocked. DI Claudia Turner was sitting opposite them and a uniformed officer came in bearing a tray of tea.
All eyes were on Hannah who realised that whatever the burglars were looking for it wasn’t antiques and fine art. The room seemed totally untouched. Perhaps it was.
“Hannah, dear, thank you for coming so quickly. I’m afraid the focus of whoever broke in was the room you were using to go through Liz’s papers.”
“Did you find anything interesting, Hannah?” DI Turner’s tone was patronising to the point of rudeness. “Anything that might suggest why Liz was murdered?”
Hannah was appalled at the inspector’s lack of sensitivity towards Celia who looked furious.
“No I haven’t but you would know that as you would have had your officers go through everything first. I imagine they used a fine toothed comb.” She allowed that comment to take effect. “I am just organsing things for Lady Rayman. Lots of the papers and files are of no interest to anyone and can be shredded. There are some which relate to her estate which will need to go to her solicitor.”
“Did you know that your daughter had recently changed her will, Lady Rayman?” The DI’s tone was far more conciliatory to the grieving mother.
“No I didn’t Inspector but that shouldn’t surprise any of us, knowing that she was pregnant at the time of her death.” Lady Rayman’s back was ramrod straight now. “I haven’t seen the solictor yet as we need to be clear about all of the implications.”
The DI inclined her head and changed tack. “Hannah would you come with me just to look at the room from the doorway to give me some idea of what the perpetrators may have done?”
“Of course.” Hannah followed her out of the sitting room and up the sweeping staircase to the first floor room where Lady Rayman had deposited the files and boxes.
Hannah watched the scenes of crime team dusting for fingerprints.
“We’ll need you to go through all this to see what’s missing – if you have any idea, of course.” Hannah couldn’t understand why Claudia Turner was being so calculatingly cold after their previous conversations. Maybe she was just being professional in front of her colleagues? But in front of Celia and Mary as well?
“To be honest Inspector, I haven’t even looked in all the files and boxes yet. It does look as though someone has been very thorough in their search, as boxes are open when I definitely hadn’t even looked inside them.”
Claudia Turner glared at her. “Quite.” She surveyed the mess. “Anything strike you as unusual?”
Hannah parried the question with one of her own. “When did this happen?”
“Very early this morning I assume. The local nick received a call at around 7.30. Miss Cuthrington apparently noticed the door was ajar when she passed on her way downstairs to make breakfast…”
“How did they get in?” Hannah was still trying to process all the implications.
“Well, there was no forced entry. Do you have a set of keys to the front door?”
Hannah glared at her. “No I don’t.” She turned her attention to the room, trying to picture how she had left it. “I wonder what they were looking for?”
Claudia Turner echoed her thoughts as she too surveyed the scene. “Just what I was thinking. Do you think Liz may have brought back sensitive information? Maybe about WelcAf?”
Hannah didn’t answer but asked, “Isn’t it rather odd that whoever it was knew which room to go to?” She was really thinking out loud.
“It is, isn’t it?” Claudia Turner’s smile was not reassuring. “I’d like you to give the sergeant details of an
yone you have told about what you are doing here. And we’ll need your prints.”
Hannah inadvertantly looked down at her fingers. “I don’t recall telling anyone really.”
“Well think about it. I’ve asked Lady Rayman as well.”
Hannah was just about to dismiss the thought when she remembered a slither of conversation from earlier that morning: “I understand you are sifting through all her correspondance and the like.”
“Sam Lockwood.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Sam Lockwood knew. He worked with Liz in Somalia and said Lady Rayman had told him what I was doing.”
“When was this?”
“At the funeral when I gave him my card. But I had a coffee with him today. He has my address …”
Claudia Turner just managed to push her back onto a chair in the hallway. “Put your head between your knees.” It was an order which Hannah obeyed. Everything went dark. She couldn’t see. But she could hear Claudia barking into her phone. Then silence.
A glass of water was held to her lips. The darkness was evaporating but her fear was overtaking her, paralysing. Breathe, she told herself. Keep breathing.
“Hannah. Hannah can you hear me?”
Hannah tried to concetrate on the voice.
“Everything is okay at home. Elizabeth and Janet are safe. No one has been to the house. Can you hear me Hannah? They are safe.”
“Thank God.” Hannah unclasped her hand and saw blood. Her nails were bloodied too. “Sorry.” She sniffed loudly. Someone handed her a tissue and she wiped her nose and hands. “Sorry, it’s just…”
“No need to explain now, Hannah. I’ll get a car to take you home.” Hannah nodded her thanks. “Have you got any contact details for this Sam Lockwood?”
“In my bag. He gave me his card with the charity’s HQ on it.”
Claudia indicated to the PC nearby to retrieve the bag. “No need to worry Lady Rayman and her companion. We’ll just get you home quickly.”
Hannah rummaged in her bag for the card and handed it over to the DI. She stood up and leaned on the balustrade as she made her unsteady way downstairs. It was only when she was ensconced in the back seat of the car that she realised that even Sam Lockwood knowing what she was doing didn’t explain how he or anyone else would have known which room she had been working in. But perhaps they’d had enough time to look in several rooms before hitting on the right one?
And how had Claudia Turner managed to check out her home so quickly? Presumably she’d contacted the local police station which was only a few minutes away. Or was her house under observation. And if so why? She was hardly a suspect. Her blood ran cold at the thought that Claudia Turner knew a lot more than she was letting on. Perhaps she thought Hannah might be under threat as well?
The shudder that thought sent through her body was like a powerful jolt of electrical current.
After the events of the previous year she had vowed she’d never put herself and her child at risk again. And yet, it seemed, she had done just that.
But she wouldn’t, couldn’t give up now. Liz had been killed for a reason – one which she was determined to uncover. Her appointment that afternoon might just throw some light on the situation.
TWENTY-TWO
Hannah managed to leave the house discreetly with her green holdall. The minicab was right outside her door so shielded her from prying eyes. As a precaution she had determined to go to Kings Cross Station first where she’d change into her charity shop clothes and leave her own clothes in the bag with Sam Smith in Lost Property.
She knew that Tom had had an arrangement with “Snapper” and was relying on his discretion. However she hadn’t seen Sam since Caroline’s funeral so was unprepared for his reaction when she’d visited him the day before.
“Why Miss, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He beamed at her. The noise from the station was muted in here.
“Hello Sam, I wasn’t sure you’d remember me.” Hannah held out her hand but he came round from his side of the counter and gave her a hug. His limp seemed more pronounced but generally he looked in much better shape than the last time she’d seen him. But who looks their best at funerals? His prematurely grey hair was neatly trimmed. His shirt was pressed, and the jumper he was wearing looked expensive. Then Hannah realised it was home knitted. Obviously a work of love.
“You’re looking good yourself, Sam.” She smiled.
“I am, I am. Sit yourself down and I’ll make us a brew.” Hannah’s heart sank.
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble…”
Sam laughed. “S’alright I know you don’t drink tea. I’ve got some coffee.”
“You do? How?”
“Ah a certain mutual friend said that if I you ever came to me I was to give you any help you needed – and warned that you don’t drink tea.” This was all said from the little cubby hole to the left of the desk. Hannah surveyed the rows of shelves that disappeared into darkness housing the lost items which had been found but not claimed. A bedraggled teddy with one eye looked down on her and she wondered how long it had been there.
Sam limped back into view bearing two mugs. Hannah resisted the urge to relieve him of them before they spilled. It was surprisingly warm in the office and Hannah undid her coat buttons and loosened her scarf.
“Sit down, sit down –” he indicated the chair on her side of the counter. “So what brings you here, not that I’m not delighted to see you, of course.”
Hannah felt guilty that her only reason was to ask for his help. She hadn’t given him much of a thought since Caroline’s funeral. But Tom had told her that Sam had been his snout and had given him valuable information. “He might be able to give you a story or two,” Tom had joked.
Now here she was, perched on the chair in his office not knowing where to start. She wound a strand of hair around her finger. “Have you seen Marti and Gina recently?”
“Why?” Sam was evidently a master poker player.
“They were with you the last time I saw you at…”
“Princess’s funeral,” he finished for her. “Still can’t think of her as Caroline. Poor kid. That was a bad business. But it’s an ill wind…” Sam gulped his brew.
“Is it? Why?”
“Oh I’m just wittering on. Sorry. Yeah Marti’s fine – finishes her degree this summer. And Gina, she’s okay, I suppose. Still taking risks, silly cow.”
It had amazed Hannah that Marti was financing her degree and bringing up her children with the money she earned as a sex worker. Marti confounded her. But she had helped Hannah discover what had been going on in relation to the murdered prostitutes.
Thinking about them brought Hannah close to tears as her finger worked a pattern on the countertop. Sam placed his hand over hers. “I was so sorry to hear about your friend, Hannah. Must’ve been a real blow for you coming so soon after…” He left the sentence unfinished. “I read your piece in The News.”
Hannah nodded and swallowed hard.
“That’s why I’m here Sam. I need a favour.”
“Fire away.”
“I was wondering if I could leave something with you for a couple of hours tomorrow?”
“’Course you can. You didn’t need to come all the way here first to ask. As long as it’s not hot and doesn’t move.” He laughed.
“No to both of those. I’ll just look a bit different that’s all.”
“Don’t say any more. What I don’t know won’t kill me.” There was an awkward pause as he looked at her obviously appalled at what he’d just said. He finished his tea. “Heard from Tom lately?”
Hannah arrived at the King’s Cross in plenty of time and made her way to the Ladies’ toilets. It was a bit cramped trying to change in one of the cubicles without dropping items on to the none too clean-looking floor. She made sure she taken enough time in the cubicle for anyone who’d come in at the same time as her to have long left and went out to wash her hands and complete her transformation i
n front of the mirror. She removed her contact lenses and donned an old pair of glasses. The hat, which she found really itchy, concealed her hair and pair of holey gloves completed her look. She hardly recognised herself. And to be honest she didn’t want to – looking like this she felt her sense of self plummet. She almost felt the way others would regard her – worthless.
The clothes were uncomfortable and smelled. She couldn’t quite define the odour but it was a mixture of stale body odour, cigarette smoke, and many indefinable and probably unsavoury fragrances. She had been going to wash them before wearing them but thought the fresh smell of the clothes might give her away. She put everything she thought she might need into the many pockets she’d acquired with the coat. The camera was already discretely fixed to her lapel. Everything else went into the holdall which she clutched to her stomach as she made her way out onto the concourse and headed slowly towards her first test.
“Yes luv what can I do for you?” Sam looked up from his newspaper and his eyes showed no recognition.
“Could you look after this bag for a few hours, Sam?”
Sam stared hard, removed his glasses, wiped them on his sleeve and returned them to balance on his nose. “By the ’eck love, you’ve done a good job. Give it ’ere.” He looked lost in thought for a moment. “We close at six.” Hannah hadn’t thought about the timings going back and must have looked crestfallen.
“Let’s think – where are you going to be? Don’t need the exact address,” he said seeing her hesitation.
“Waterloo.”
“Right. I’ll take the bag and meet you in the Anchor – you know that pub in The Cut?” she nodded. “I’ll be there from about 6.30 and I’ll wait for you. Be careful.” He returned to his newspaper as though uninterrupted. Hannah thanked him and passed him her business card with her mobile number. She’d decided, in case of emergencies, to keep the phone with her and turn it off while she was with Lucy.
One of the first things Hannah had noticed about the homeless was the sense of aimlessness. They walked slowly – they didn’t have anywhere to rush to – so she made herself concentrate on reducing her speed which was amply helped by one of her old boots really pinching her toes, making her hobble. She made her way to the underground and took the Victoria Line to Leicester Square where she changed for the Northern Line.