Death's Silent Judgement: The thrilling sequel to Dancers in the Wind (Hannah Weybridge Book 2)

by Anne Coates

  “Who’s Nicky?”

  “A friend I made when I was pregnant. She’s been great at stepping into the breech when I need a babysitter.”

  “Must be hard, bringing up a child on your own. Don’t think I could do it.”

  “It’s easier when you earn enough to pay for childcare. And I wouldn’t be without her.”

  Claudia smiled as she looked into the rearview mirror then scowled and took a sharp right turning. “Hang on to your seat,” she commanded as she picked up the radiophone and barked a registration number at someone at the other end.

  Hannah stared at her.

  “We’re being tailed. Sorry I should have picked up on it earlier.”

  The rest of the journey was a blur to Hannah. All she wanted to do was get home and hug her child. But was it even safe to return? To lead whomever it was to her home and child? She could hear the DI on the radio. Then suddenly she relaxed back into her seat and slowed down. She turned to Hannah and smiled. “Just had a police car intercept them. Hope their tyres are up to scratch.”

  Hannah realised her breathing had been so shallow she was in danger of passing out and took a long inhalation. “I don’t understand…?”

  “Maybe you – or I – perhaps both of us have been asking too many pertinent questions. Let’s leave it for now. We’ve both had a stressful day. But we do need to talk properly Hannah.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Hello Hannah. Tom. Something’s come up and I need to speak to you. Phone me when you can and I’ll ring you back. By the way, I don’t suppose you’ve had your house cleaned recently so am sending a pro.”

  Hannah played the message over several times. Tom was obviously being ultra careful. Maybe too careful but she felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. She looked at her watch to judge when the best time to ring would be given the time difference. After seeing Patrick and then being followed, she was more on edge than ever. The doorbell rang.

  She ran downstairs and looked through the spyhole before opening the door. The man standing there put a finger to his lips and smiled.

  Hannah nodded and stood aside for him to enter. She waited in the hall until he came out of the sitting room and gave her the thumbs up sign. She walked into the room and sat on the settee, remembering the last time she had seen Graham Stradan. She had nearly fainted in terror as Tom had grabbed her and clamped his hand over her mouth before gently explaining that Graham was a friend, “special effects man” he had called him. That time Graham had found two bugs placed in her phones. Surely it hadn’t happened again? She was so careful now. New locks, security grills, virtually no one allowed into the house.

  It seemed an age before Graham returned to the sitting room. “Sorry Hannah, you’ve been bugged again. Not such a professional job this time. This one was under your phone in the sitting room and this one behind a picture in the hall. Everywhere else is clean.”

  Hannah shook her head in disbelief. “How?” The question hung between them stretching out into silence.

  “My guess, and it is only a guess, is that they were placed in haste. Maybe someone who visited you..? Last time they were in your phones which takes a certain expertise… Depending on where you take phone calls or talk to people these ones wouldn’t have revealed very much, would they?”

  “I don’t know… Anyway I hope they’ve been bored rigid with listening to Janet playing with Elizabeth in here.” She managed a smile but she felt sick. Violated. It didn’t make any sense. Or did it? “Would you be able to lift prints from them?”

  “Possibly if it was an amateur job the perpetrator may have been careless. Want me to try?”

  “Yes please.”

  Graham refused her offer of coffee. “How did Tom sound when you spoke to him?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Speak to him. Claudia Turner asked me.” And he left before Hannah had the chance to question him further.

  “Hannah you must be careful. Your name has come up on a list that…”

  “What do you mean ‘come up on a list’? What sort of list and why the hell has it got anything to do with me?” Hannah could hear the screechiness in her voice and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Tom. You’ve caught me at a bad time and I haven’t a clue about what you are referring to.”

  Tom had rung her from a safe phone. He hadn’t been able to get hold of Graham so had passed on his request through Claudia. Fortunately she didn’t ask why but maybe she had ideas of her own. She had passed on the all clear message.

  “Something I’ve been working on here threw up the name of the charity Liz was working for and your name was linked to it. You could be in danger, Hannah. I can’t tell you any details but none of it is good. What have you been meddling in?”

  “I haven’t been ‘meddling’ as you call it in anything.” She pronounced each word with an icy clarity. “I have been doing my work as a journalist. I wrote a piece about the charity when Liz was murdered.”

  “And?” Tom sounded tired and irritated.

  “And nothing.”

  “Yes there is. You wrote an article recently on FGM – remember?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “We get all the UK newspapers here.”

  “Well, that was nothing to do with the charity.”

  “Are you sure? Hannah I know you, you’re making links. This is a can of vipers you’ve opened. I just wish…” She never heard what he wished for as the line went dead.

  Hannah stood there, holding the receiver. She put it back in the cradle, thought for a moment than picked it up again. Her line was dead. Someone had cut her line. She grabbed her mobile and checked on Elizabeth sleeping in her room.

  Walking into her own bedroom without turning on the light she skirted the walls until she reached the window and looked out into the darkness illuminated in parts by the street lamps and lights from the houses opposite. A young couple was strolling down the street arms around each other. A dog-walker paused by a lampost. A car door opened and closed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Yet there was something she couldn’t see but she could feel it. And it chilled her to the marrow.

  The next morning the landline was working again. She phoned British Telecom to see what the problem had been but was assured there had been no break in the service. She had not imagined it.

  She looked at the card Graham “Special Effects” Stradan had given her while Janet got Elizabeth ready for Tiny Tots Club.

  “You look worried, Hannah. Anything I can help with?”

  Hannah smiled. “No it’s nothing just the phone was playing up yesterday.” She thought for a moment. “I think we ought to get you a mobile, Janet. Just in case it happens again. I know I’m paranoid and overprotective but…”

  “But better to be prepared for all eventualities, don’t you think, Elizabeth?”

  “No,” came the resounding reply.

  “Her favourite word at the moment.” Janet laughed and ticked the toddler. “Come on then, let’s hit the road.”

  Hannah gave her daughter a hug and as soon as the door was shut behind them, she phoned Graham using her mobile. Graham answered on the third ring. “Stradan.”

  “Hello Graham. Hannah Weybridge here. I think I may have a problem.”

  Graham had arrived within the hour. However before then Hannah had received another perplexing phone call.

  “Hannah – Celia Rayman. I’d like you to come here as soon as you can. There’s something I need to show you.” It was quite unlike Celia to be so curt – to the point of rudneness. Hannah agreed to go as soon as possible.

  She was still thinking about what Celia might have to show her when Graham arrived.

  He handed her a mobile phone. “Just bought this – a pay-as-you-go. New and clean.”

  “Thanks Graham. I think Tom’s call to me was intercepted yesterday evening. The line suddenly went dead. This morning it was working again and BT says there had been no problem.�
��

  Graham’s face looked grim. “That would have to have come from a local exchange. I’ll look into it, Hannah but for now be wary of anything you say on the landline. Don’t stop using it or we’ll alert whoever’s doing this. But make any sensitive calls on your mobile. By the way,” he said as he was doing up his coat, “I lifted some prints from the bugs but they didn’t show up on any police records. Sorry.”

  Hannah ignored that statement. She had a more pressing concerns. “Tom said my name’s come up on a list. Something to do with the charity Liz worked for. WelcAf. I just don’t understand…”

  “I think you need to talk to DI Turner, Hannah. Be straight with her about anything you’ve found. You can trust her.”

  But can I? Hannah thought after Graham had left and she booked a minicab to take her to Kensington.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Sam Lockwood made his way down the narrow staircase of WelcAf HQ in Hammersmith. He was no nearer discovering what had happened to the information Liz Rayman had brought back to the UK. It struck him that he may have been set up. Perhaps she brought nothing back with her? He couldn’t for the life of him believe she had been murdered because of her work in Somalia but…

  That journalist Hannah Weybridge had been cagey. There was something quite unpleasant about the way she had dismissed him. Maybe he should have confided in her. Sought her help. He kicked himself for his gaucheness. But he was a medic not a bloody snoop.

  He thought about ringing her to ask if she would meet him again. Couldn’t do any harm; she could only say no.

  He took his mobile out of his pocket along with her card and began tapping in the number. The afternoon darkness made him pause underneath a street light. He pressed connect and stepped out into the road.

  He never saw the car speed out from a side turning. He felt the impact of hard steel against his body then nothing more.

  By the time the police and ambulance had appeared, there was a protective ring around the body, parts of which were at strange angles. Blood had trickled from his nose and the light rain had joined forces with it. The crowd was strangely quiet as they moved back to allow the professionals in. Someone felt for a pulse then shook his head. Police tape had already cordened off the area. A uniformed officer was taking down the names and addresses of bystanders. Most were stunned into silence except one elderly woman was shouting the odds. She looked as though she’d had a few too many but there was no mistaking her message.

  “That effing car aimed itself at that man. It picked up speed and never stopped. It’s murder, I say.” And she kept muttering “murder” under her breath as the officer led her to one side.

  Photographs were being taken of the corpse. Another officer watched and as the flash lit up the body again he saw something in the dead man’s hand. He put on a glove and gently removed the business card and placed it in an evidence bag. As he did so he noticed the name. Hannah Weybridge – a bell rang in his memory. Was she the woman who had been involved with…

  Just as he was making the connections he realised that someone was sobbing loudly right by the tape. He turned and saw a young woman wearing a huge woollen wrap and Doc Martens, with rings on all the fingers he could see clutching at a screwed up tissue and a man in a smart light grey suit. Neither was dressed for the weather and must have come out of one of the buildings.

  As he approached them, the man, ashen faced, spoke. “He was one of our field workers. Sam Lockwood.”

  “And you are, sir?”

  “Michael Dresdon, CEO of WelcAf Charity. Our offices are just behind us. Sam had just been to visit us prior to his return to Somalia.” He handed the officer a card. “My contact details.”

  “Thank you sir. Do you know who his next of kin is?”

  “Well he’s not married so I suppose that must be his father. All his details will be on record in our office.”

  “Perhaps you could wait for the investigating officer, there? It would save a lot of time.”

  “Of course.” He put his arm around Cheryl and led her back to the anonymous door through which they disappeared.

  The officer stared after them. Coincidence? The murdered dentist Liz Rayman had worked for this charity. Her friend Hannah Weybridge had written about her death in The News. And now Sam Lockwood is mown down by a hit and run driver with her business card in his hand. He turned as he saw a plain clothes officer walking towards him. Maybe this info would help his promotion prospects.

  “Okay constable …

  “Fielding, Guv.”

  The CID officer smiled. “So Constable Fielding what have you got for me?”

  Fielding opened his notebook and began reiterating the facts as he knew them… He handed over Michael Dresdon’s business card and the evidence bag holding Hannah Weybridge’s.

  “Good work.” The officer made some notes in his own book including the constable’s number. “Right I’ll go and see what Mr Dresdon has to say.”

  FORTY

  Mary Cuthrington answered the door and led Hannah into the drawing room where Lady Rayman was sitting, looking at a photograph of Liz. She stood up as Hannah entered. Mary closed the door but from the inside – she was evidently a party to whatever was going on.

  “Hannah, thank you so much for coming. I didn’t want to discuss this over the telephone.” She kissed Hannah on the cheek and guided her to sit on the sofa with her.

  “Just as well, Celia. I recently discovered that someone had planted some bugs in my house.”

  The two older women exchanged glances. “DI Turner sent someone here to check. There was a device in the room you were using, Hannah,” Mary said.

  Hannah wound a strand of hair around her finger. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You have no need to apologise, Hannah. Whatever our daughter was engaged in has exposed you to danger as well. I hope you can forgive us for involving you.” Celia had been holding Hannah’s hand and now looked near to tears. So unlike her usual self. “What I am going to tell you is confidential. I – we – have complete faith in your discretion.”

  Confused, Hannah looked from Celia to Mary. Were they, as she had once thought, in a relationship? And why tell her now?

  “Hannah you once asked me about Lord Rayman and whether I thought Liz was looking for her father among the homeless people she treated.”

  “Yes, and you told me that Liz knew exactly what had happened. End of story.”

  Celia looked across at Mary who was sitting opposite them. She was smiling at Hannah.

  “Mary..?” Celia prompted. Mary still said nothing. “My husband didn’t desert me, Hannah. He went away for a while and returned as Mary Cuthrington, my companion.”

  “I don’t understand… I…” Hannah was at a loss as to how to respond and wasn’t even sure she understood what she was being told. Was Mary a transexual?

  As if reading her thoughts Mary said, “I’m transgender, Hannah.” She let that fact sink in before adding, “I always knew I had been born into the wrong body. For as long as I can remember. But I tried to live my life as a man. I married Celia and we were blessed with a daughter. But I couldn’t carry on living a lie…”

  “So we agreed that Lord Rayman should disappear. Mary had the treatment and operations and eventually returned to us. For which I am truly grateful.” She smiled across at Mary.

  “Liz always said it was like she had two mothers…” she mused.

  “We told Liz as soon as she was old enough to understand and it has been our secret ever since.” Mary went over and sat at the other side of Hannah. “I hope this hasn’t upset you, dear?”

  “No, not at all. But why tell me now? There was no need.”

  Celia stood and walked across the room to where some envelopes were piled on a side table. “I found these this morning. Almost by chance. They were tucked in a box file with miscellaneous papers. In one envelope addressed to us there was another, addressed to you. Our letter was mostly personal but did touch on what Liz had uncovered in Somal
ia. She asked us to pass on your letter personally. As we have no idea what it might contain, we decided to be honest about us. In the hope that you would respect our confidence.”

  “That goes without saying Celia, Mary.”

  “Well, I don’t know about you Mary but I could do with a drink. Shall we go and organise some while Hannah reads her letter?”

  Hannah was unprepared for the papers in the envelope. There was just a short personal message from Liz entreating her to take any action she could as a journalist to expose the trafficking of young girls – children – as sex slaves. The enclosed papers detailed the routes used by the perpetrators. It seemed that after the girls had been raped and abused by the terrorists, they were sold on to syndicates who transported them across the world, many of them to the UK, Europe and the US. Hannah found a timeline detailing the routes – and a list of names and addresses where some of the girls had ended up.

  Hannah was unaware that Mary and Celia had returned until a handkerchief gently dabbed the tears from her face and a glass of brandy was held to her lips.

  “Don’t say anything dear,” Mary said, “but please honour anything our daughter has asked of you.”

  Hannah nodded. “I need to get to an office. I’ll go to The News. I can make copies of this and have them couriered to safe places. I won’t take this home. And I’ll need to speak to the police.”

  Her mobile rang. As if on cue it was DI Turner. “Hannah I need to speak with you.”

  When Hannah explained where she was and that she was heading for the newspaper offices, Claudia said she would collect her and take her there. They could talk en route.

  DI Turner was taken aback by Hannah’s appearance. She looked terrified. She wondered if she’d already heard the news about Sam Lockwood.

  “Hannah I’m sorry to have to tell you this but Sam Lockwood was killed by a hit and run driver earlier today.”

  Hannah said nothing, just stared. “It was outside the offices of WelcAf and he had just called your number on his mobile. Did you speak to him?”