THE JAGGED LINE

by Carolyn Mahony

  Once she’d spoken to him, come what may, she’d go to the police.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  He ordered a whisky in the overcrowded nightclub and tossed it back in one, pushing the glass back at the barman and indicating at him to pour another. He’d been sitting here a while now and had picked out a couple of possibilities. The first woman was drunk and clearly in the middle of a massive argument with her boyfriend, who’d already made two abortive attempts to walk out on her. It was only a matter of time, he was sure, before he really did leave for good – and she was hot. The second was alone, lost in her own private world as she swayed on the dance floor – probably a drug-induced euphoria which somehow wasn’t quite so appealing – but she’d be a relatively easy conquest, if it came to it.

  It probably wasn’t the best time to be considering this – it was too close to the last time. But he was majorly stressed, things were piling up – and that was always the trigger. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. When pressure reached boiling point it needed a release, didn’t it? And better to release his frustration here on some stupid, pissed slag than on his family and friends.

  So he sat.

  And waited.

  It wasn’t long before the decision was made for him. He watched through hooded eyes as the boyfriend of girl number one stormed off. He left it another ten minutes, just to check he wasn’t coming back, then wandered over to the table just as she seemed to be reaching for her bag to leave. He flashed her a charming smile.

  ‘You look a bit hacked off. Can I buy you a drink? They do a great Snowball here.’

  She stared up at him through unfocused eyes. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. All I know is that it’s got advocaat in it and it tastes great. How brave are you feeling?’

  He saw her eyes flash to the door, as if expecting the boyfriend to re-enter at any time, then she looked up at him, defiance in her eyes.

  ‘Yeah. Why not? Thanks.’

  He slipped a generous amount of the liquid from his phial into her drink and a dash into his own. He was getting good at this.

  Quarter of an hour later, he was helping her into her coat. She was being loud and belligerent, slagging her boyfriend off, and he tried to keep his face averted from the bouncers as he shuffled her out into the night, wishing the stuff would hurry up and do its work. Normally, he’d have stayed longer in the club, making sure she was pretty docile before they left, but he was worried the boyfriend might come back. He needed to get her out of there.

  As it turned out, it wasn’t hard getting her back to his flat. She’d drifted off in the car and was completely out of it now as he opened the passenger door and hauled her out. In the flat she appeared disorientated, asking where she was as he shuffled her through to the bedroom. He threw her on the bed and looked around. Everything was ready, just as he’d left it.

  He picked up the handcuffs and clicked them onto her wrists…

  Later, as he locked the flat up and left, he was sweating profusely. It hadn’t happened to him before that he’d been unable to wake his victims up when he’d finished with them. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He could leave her there for a while, but not forever. He clung onto what he’d found on Google – that some people took longer to come round than others. But he hadn’t liked the look of her – or the other thing he’d read – that some people never came round. That they could fall into a deep coma and even die.

  Shit. That would be a game-changer.

  He turned the key in the lock and double-locked it. At least he didn’t have to stay here all night. He’d gagged her and left her handcuffed and tied to the bed. She wouldn’t be going anywhere. He’d check on her first thing in the morning.

  He drew a breath, trying to calm himself. He needed time to think – but the most important thing was to carry on as normal; not do anything that might arouse suspicion – he was good at that, wasn’t he?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Kirsty woke the next morning, hurting. As she got stiffly out of bed and looked at herself in the mirror, she saw that her neck looked ugly now the bruising was coming out, and she had several scratches on her face. She covered it all with make-up and a scarf as best she could, and headed downstairs.

  ‘I’d like that, Dan,’ she heard her mother saying on the hall phone. ‘I must say, it would be nice to get out. How about I come over to you, give you a lift to the garage so you can pick up your car, and then we can go on to The Bell from there? … Okay, I’ll see you then.’

  She started guiltily as she turned and saw Kirsty on the bottom step. ‘Oh, I didn’t hear you, love. I’ve got some porridge on if you want some?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kirsty tried to keep the censure out of her voice. ‘You’re meeting Dan later?’

  ‘Yes. I told you his car was in the garage being repaired. It’s ready now, and when he was here I offered to give him a lift to pick it up. I couldn’t just say I’d changed my mind because my children disapprove.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Kirsty–’

  ‘It’s probably best we don’t talk about it, Mum.’

  She brushed past her mother and walked into the kitchen.

  ‘What have you done to your face?’ Sylvia asked, following her in.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Kirsty kept her head averted as she moved over to put the kettle on. I got scratched in some shrubbery yesterday. It was stupid. Do you want tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee please. I need the caffeine.’

  At the breakfast table, Kirsty stirred her tea distractedly.

  ‘How was Rob yesterday?’ Sylvia asked.

  Kirsty shrugged. ‘Still mad with you – and not very happy with me either.’

  Her mother sighed. ‘Hopefully he’ll get over it – he usually does if you give him time to calm down. Things are obviously fraught for him. It’s a lot, taking over the business – especially now there’s another baby on the way.’

  Kirsty gaped at her mother.

  ‘Oh … hasn’t he told you? I’m sure he will – they’re still adjusting, I think. It’s come as something of a shock apparently.’

  ‘Are they mad? The twins aren’t even two yet.’

  ‘As I say, I think it was a bit of a surprise. But the girls should be easier by the time the new one – and let’s hope it is one – arrives.’

  No wonder he was feeling stressed, Kirsty thought as she drove into the office after breakfast. But then, so must Lizzie be. And he wasn’t exactly being supportive, going out for the night last night – and lying to his wife about it.

  ‘If you must know, I was over at our flat, decorating,’ Robbie snapped. ‘I didn’t want to tell Lizzie because she’d have had a go about wanting me at home and I needed some space.’

  ‘You’ve had the flat for ages. It must be nearly done, surely?’

  ‘Don’t you start. It takes time when you’re doing it yourself – and that’s something we don’t have a lot of at the moment. To be honest, your attitude these days isn’t helping either.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s my fault, too, now – the fact your flat isn’t getting decorated?’

  She caught herself up, knowing she wasn’t helping the situation.

  ‘No, it’s not your fault,’ her brother said tiredly, surprising her. ‘It’s mine. It’s all mine. I just feel so trapped. I love Lizzie and the girls but …’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It’s all so much more domestic than I ever imagined. And now we’ve got another baby on the way – and I feel as if I’m barely keeping my head above water. I look at mates of mine with no ties, no debts, and find myself hankering back to a life I left years ago.’

  ‘You know what they say about the grass being greener.’

  ‘And it’s true, I know – I’m not saying I want to leave Lizzie or anything–’

  ‘Rob–’

  ‘I’m not. But sometimes – and I’m sure Lizzie feels the same – I can’t help wondering where I am in all th
is.’

  ‘You need a break. Both of you. Bring the kids to Mum’s and let us look after them while you and Liz go somewhere nice. Mum and I will love having them.’

  ‘It would be good…’

  ‘Then do it. Your and Lizzie’s relationship is the most important thing in your life, Rob. There are times when you need to put it first.’

  ‘You’re sounding very grown-up all of a sudden.’

  ‘I know what it’s like to have a relationship fall apart, and it’s not nice.’

  ‘I know. Sorry.’ He sighed. ‘It’s getting to me, this row with Mum. Has she said any more to you?’

  ‘Only that he’s just a friend and she has no intention of it becoming anything more. She’s not going to stop seeing him, though, Rob, and in fairness, it’s not for us to interfere in her friendships – especially when she’s known him for years.’

  She conveniently omitted the fact that her mother and Daniel were picking his car up from the garage and then going out for lunch.

  ‘It just got to me – seeing him in Dad’s chair.’

  ‘I know.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m not handling all this stuff well…’

  ‘Nor am I.’

  Rob shook his head wearily. ‘You seem to be doing a lot better than me, but I can’t think about it at the moment. I need to get off – I’ve got a viewing in half an hour.’

  He peered at her more observantly. ‘What have you done to your face?’

  Her fingers went automatically to the cuts on her cheek. Should she tell him what had happened last night? What had happened with Simon? They might be getting on better this morning, but nothing had changed since yesterday. Much as it destroyed her to realise it, she still didn’t know how much she could trust him. And if he was totally innocent, what would he do? Call the police in all likelihood. And she wasn’t in the mood for more confrontation over that.’

  ‘I fell in a bush. Don’t ask!’

  ‘Poor you. You look battered.’

  ‘You know, I’d be happy to come and help you decorate the flat if you want a hand?’

  ‘No – no, it’s fine. Thanks for the offer, but I see that as my private space at the moment.’ He softened the words with a smile. ‘Anyway, what do you know about decorating?’

  ‘Can’t be that difficult if you can do it,’ she quipped back. ‘And I’ve not even seen the flat yet.’

  He acknowledged that with a nod. ‘I know – and if I get stuck maybe I will throw a paintbrush your way, but I’ve nearly finished now, so I think I can manage. You can come and see it when it’s finished.’

  She shrugged. ‘Suit yourself: the offer’s there if you want it. I hear you’ve got Simon coming over for dinner tonight?’

  She tried to sound casual as she asked the question.

  ‘Lizzie mentioned she’d invited you. I wasn’t totally surprised you said no.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m busy myself tonight as it happens,’ Kirsty said, avoiding his eyes. She looked up. ‘Rob…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We do need to talk. There’s something I need to do first, but after that, can we sit down and have a good chat?’

  Her brother looked at her dubiously. ‘What about?’

  ‘A couple of things. There are issues that need sorting.’

  She half-expected him to launch into her again and she braced herself, but surprisingly no attack was forthcoming. Instead he gave a resigned little sigh.

  ‘Okay. You’re right, we do need to talk. How did it go with Simon last night? What was that all about?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’ll tell you later, when we talk about the other stuff.’

  He eyed her suspiciously. ‘You’re not about to do anything stupid – or dangerous?’

  ‘No.’ A tingle ran down her spine at the thought of what was to come.

  ‘Good, because I don’t need anything else to worry about at the moment.’ He got up from his chair. ‘I’d better crack on. I’ll catch you later.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Harry stood outside the terraced house in Enfield and looked around him as he waited for someone to come to the door. The garden he was standing in was small with barely enough room to house the two wheelie bins squeezed in side by side. Cars were randomly parked on both sides of the busy street, and opposite there were various shops providing anything from DIY, to insurance services, to a steaming cup of coffee sitting out on the polluted pavement. Having spent half the morning trying to pacify his mother and sort social services out, he was glad to be back on the job getting on with what needed to be done.

  The door was opened by Susan Porter herself.

  ‘How are you doing?’ he asked, as she led the way through to a small but airy lounge at the back of the house.

  ‘Up and down. Trying to keep busy so I don’t think about the funeral this afternoon.’

  He’d forgotten about that. ‘Sorry if this is a bad time.’

  She shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. What d’you want to talk to me about?’

  ‘Just a couple of things that have come to our attention, then I’ll leave you in peace. You mentioned in our last conversation that Paul had been in a fight the night before he was killed, but I remember you saying you didn’t know who the fight was with?’

  She looked puzzled. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘Well, it was with a bloke called Ken Lazard. Does that name mean anything to you?’

  ‘Yeah, of course. That’s the bloke whose wife he ran over.’

  She flopped down into a chair, her brow clearing dramatically. ‘Why didn’t he tell me, the silly sod, instead of leaving me to suspect all sorts of horrible things? Was it him what killed Paul, then?’

  ‘We have no evidence to support that. It’s just a line of enquiry.’

  ‘But it could’ve been?’

  Harry didn’t answer.

  ‘Oh, shit … I feel bad now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cos of what I said to Mr Cartwright’s daughter ’bout the tenants upstairs. I thought it might’ve been them – dunno why really, except that some of Tim’s friends are a bit rough and we didn’t take to ’em.’

  Harry suppressed an irritated sigh. ‘Why didn’t you say anything to me about that when we talked?’

  ‘Cos I was scared. I thought if it was them, they might come after me next. Someone pushed a note through the front door threatening me if I spoke out about anything.’

  ‘What!?’

  Harry took a breath and counted to five. ‘Have you still got that note?’

  She hesitated…

  ‘Have you?’

  She got up from her chair and moved over to where her bag was sitting on the floor.

  ‘I told Kirsty Cartwright I’d got rid of it, but …’

  She fished out an envelope and handed it to Harry. It was a very simply worded message.

  If you don’t want to end up like your boyfriend, keep your mouth shut.

  Harry found it difficult to hide his exasperation. ‘You should have shown me this when I first came to see you. It’s hard enough for us trying to find Paul’s killer without feeling you’re keeping information back that could be useful.’

  ‘I were frightened – so would you be if you got a note like that shoved through your letter box. I feel a bit better thinking it could be that Ken Lazard bloke. I mean … he’s not so likely to want to take it out on me, is he? – I weren’t in the car. It’s like I said before – I knew Paul was up to something but he wouldn’t tell me what. I got it into my head it was to do with the guy who lived in the flat above us, but I didn’t know that for sure. That night, Paul had the fight: he wouldn’t tell me what it was about but when he was killed the next day, I thought it must be linked. I didn’t dare say anything in case they came after me, too. And then when Mr Cartwright was killed after visiting the flat…’

  Harry decided not to mention that Kirsty had already told him about that.

  ‘Why did he go up?’


  ‘They were doing their usual thing of being noisy, and he could see it were getting to me. He went up to have words wiv ’em. It quietened down after that, but I was scared they’d think it was me what sent him up.’

  ‘Why were you suspicious of them? I interviewed Tim Burman. He seemed alright.’

  ‘Tim’s okay, but there’s rough types what hang around with him – and foreigners.’ She looked defiant. ‘Paul didn’t like ’em. He reckoned they looked shifty.’

  ‘You said you told Kirsty Cartwright about her father’s visit?’

  ‘Yeah. Poor cow doesn’t believe his death was an accident; she’s trying to get to the bottom of things.’

  Harry groaned inwardly. That was all they needed. He stood up to go, aware that he’d probably outstayed his welcome on today of all days. ‘Well, thanks for filling me in on that. Are you planning on staying here with your brother for a while?’

  ‘He says I can stay for as long as I like. The travelling ain’t easy for my work, but until you find out who killed Paul I feel safer being away from Barnet.’

  ‘I can understand that. As soon as we know anything, we’ll tell you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Susan’s smile was wobbly as she escorted him to the door. ‘I still can’t believe any of this. It feels unreal – you know? I keep expecting Paul to walk through that door or call me on my mobile. Only it don’t happen. I’m dreading this afternoon.’

  ‘What time’s the funeral?’

  ‘Three o’clock.’

  ‘Is someone taking you?’

  ‘My brother. He’ll be back anytime now. Will you be going?’

  ‘Someone will be there. It might be me.’