‘Come and tell me about the lady,’ Lucie crooned. But Justin couldn’t get free of Marshall’s grip. For the first time he appeared to realize that something was very wrong.
‘Nicola Walsh was always in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ Marshall gripped the knife.
‘Most people are.’ Hindle glared at her.
The prison towers were lost in cloud. It was getting dark.
‘Let them go.’ Lucie tried not to plead.
‘No!’ A man’s voice.
In the descending gloom, Lucie saw Jack racing past the bandstand. Shit. Jack wouldn’t be able to play it cool. Any other way of playing it would be fatal.
Hindle took advantage of the distraction and made for the yellow chute.
‘Stop there.’ A flash of blue steel.
In a macabre version of Grandmother’s Footsteps, Hindle was brought up short. She was close to the bushes where she’d murdered Sarah Ferris.
‘That was stupid.’ Trudy held the flat of the blade to Milly’s throat. It was only a frigging penknife but still she could decapitate her in seconds.
‘Don’t!’ Jack clasped his hands as if he was praying.
‘Jack knew all along, didn’t you?’
‘No heroics, Jack,’ Lucie hissed at him.
‘Lee never got you out of his head, he was wretched,’ Joanne told Hindle. ‘You wrecked our lives.’
Lucie mapped them out. Hindle, Joanne Marshall and herself were a triangle with Jack slightly to the side. Justin had only to go a few metres to get to his dad. But he’d have to pass Hindle and Lucie was sure the woman would think nothing of making him her pawn to balance out the hostage situation. However, if he made for Lucie…
Marshall had her eyes on Hindle. Lucie tipped her head, beckoning to Justin.
Justin might be nearly three, but he got the message. Come on. He flicked a look at Marshall’s hand clamped on Milly’s chest. He shifted. Yes, that’s my little soldier.
Justin moved closer to Milly.
Three-year-old boy chooses to be hostage with twin sister.
‘You think using kids as a human shield bothers me?’ Chewing gum, Hindle sauntered around the chute. Lucie saw the cocky ten-year-old who’d fooled Terry.
‘Stay back!’ Joanne Marshall whirled around in time to stop Jack sneaking up on her.
Then Lucie spotted Beverly. Indistinct in the rain-induced dusk, she slipped past the climbing frame. Lucie felt nervous. This was the Keystone Cops. She trusted no one but herself.
‘You murdered my husband. Now it’s your turn.’ Joanne Marshall was getting down to business.
‘He did that all by himself. You weren’t enough to keep him.’ Hindle’s laugh made Lucie go cold. ‘You botched it up last time. Think you’ll succeed second time around?’
‘Lee couldn’t bear me to go through the despair you inflicted on those mothers. Every Christmas, all those birthdays we missed. You murdered my children.’ Marshall’s voice was full of despair, Lee had saved her nothing. ‘My husband died before my eyes.’
‘Lee didn’t want your kids. Believe me, if Nicky had come looking for him, he’d have had a whole brood with her. You were an also-ran.’
‘Don’t rile her.’ Lucie kept her voice low. ‘She will hurt those children.’ Wretchedness had made Marshall oblivious to the value of life.
‘Like I said, do I care?’ Hindle was unadulterated evil.
‘What about my article?’ Lucie had to try. ‘This is not the attention that you want. Carrie will care.’
‘She can die here, in her killing field.’ Joanne Marshall jerked Milly’s head and exposed her neck. In the dimming light Lucie saw Jack flinch as if he’d been electrocuted. He too knew that with one sweep of the knife it would all be over.
*
Stella’s lungs burnt, blood drummed in her ears. She pushed on through the grey mizzle. As she passed the bandstand she saw people. Insubstantial. Motionless. As she stared, they took form. Lucie was a couple of metres behind Jack. There was something at her feet. A box. Stella recognized the yellow lid. It made no sense. Trudy – Stella must think of her as Joanne Marshall – was hugging Jack’s children. Stella had got it wrong. Joanne Marshall wasn’t a killer. She was keeping Milly and Justin safe from Danielle Hindle who, by the yellow chute, was far too close to her.
Stella saw the knife. Joanne was not protecting Jack’s children. She retreated from the gate and, keeping to the shadows, crept along the playground perimeter until she was behind Joanne.
A hand on the cold metal railing, Stella’s nerve failed. She should wait for the police. She looked at Jack. She knew that expression. He was about to go for the knife. He wouldn’t make it. The pounding in her temples was like a mallet smashing bone. Stella gripped the railings. She had no choice. She had one chance.
The railings were a metre high. If she made the slightest sound, Trudy would hear. It would be over. She heard Terry: Don’t over-think it. Smooth and steady.
Five, four, three, two, one. Stella shucked off her jacket and hoisted herself over the fence. Jack saw her. He stared through her. Jack knew how to be invisible. Make me invisible, she silently implored him.
Not daring to breathe, Stella ran through her plan. Grab Joanne’s hair, jerk her head back. The pain would divert. Go for the knife with the other hand. She would give Jack and Lucie valuable seconds to get the kids. It had to work or—
…hungry like the wolf…
The music came from behind her. It was her ringtone.
Stella forced her hand through the railings and scrabbled for her jacket, trying to shut it down. Knowing all the time that it was futile.
‘Stella, nice of you to join us.’ Joanne dragged Milly closer to Hindle. Milly struggled but Joanne was too strong for her. Jack started towards them. Joanne tilted the knife so the blade was a fraction from Milly’s neck. A line of blood beaded on her skin.
‘Please. Don’t.’
Stella would never forget the anguish in Jack’s plea for his children’s lives.
‘Drop the knife, Tru… Joanne.’ Stella tried and failed to inject her voice with authority. ‘It’s over. The police are coming. This won’t bring Lee back. It isn’t what Lee would have wanted.’ Stella traded on the relationship with her PA.
‘I’m not on your payroll now, Stella,’ Joanne said. ‘Don’t tell me what my husband wanted. You never knew him.’ She readjusted the knife. ‘Oh, and do tell the wonderful Jackie that getting you publicity for your detective agency not only led a murderer’s daughter to your door, but me too. I read your interview in the Guardian last year. If Jackie intended to reach a different class of reader than the rags that bitch writes for it worked. But for that article I’d never have heard of you.’
‘Stella, I think she’s saying that but for you, Rachel Cater would be alive.’ Hindle flashed a smile.
‘No one’s responsible for a murder except the murderer.’ Lucie growled.
‘We had lots of candidates for Jackie’s old job. We might not have employed you,’ said Stella.
‘Yes you would. Lee always said I get whatever I want.’ Marshall blinked as if she might cry. Stella saw that she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer like Hindle. Anger and grief for what Hindle had done to the children and their families had driven Joanne to madness. But surely Lee had been wrong, Joanne had got very little of what she wanted.
‘How did you know Hindle wrote to Terry?’ said Lucie.
Stella went cold. Then hot. Lucie knew about the letters.
‘Lee said that, before she was arrested, Hindle boasted about working with your dad. She told Lee she caught his sister’s killer. She said she and your dad wrote letters. He cried in my arms, saying even the police were on her side.’ She looked at Hindle.
‘How did you know she went on writing and that Terry kept them. No one knew.’ Lucie asked the question that Stella couldn’t bear to voice.
‘No one saw what she was like. Not even Lee. You made excuses, a bad home, father in
prison, mother going with all sorts. She took you in. Except me.’ Joanne hugged Milly. ‘I know her kind. She would have gone on writing to Terry Darnell, he was all she had. I knew he’d have kept them. Your dad was holding out for redemption. She’s not sorry and she never will be.’
‘Of course Terry kept my letters.’ Hindle looked happy. ‘I kept his.’
‘My dad never replied,’ Stella yelled. It took every ounce of control not to launch herself at Hindle. Did Terry write back?
‘Lee hated you.’ Looking at Hindle, Marshall pressed the flat of the blade into Milly’s neck.
‘Daddy, I don’t like this game,’ Milly squeaked.
‘No, darling. Soon we’ll go home.’ Jack turned to Joanne Marshall, ‘Do what you like to Danielle Hindle. Let me take my kids.’
‘No child is innocent.’ Marshall might be imparting useful information. ‘If Stella’s so-called detective father had realized that she pushed Robbie Walsh off the slide, Lee’s sister would have lived. Lee would be alive now.’
‘My dad could never have known that.’ Stella took the bait.
‘You have disappointed me, Stella.’ Marshall shook her head. ‘You and me, we’d have been a team. Instead you protected a monster.’ For a split-second Marshall forgot about Milly. She took the knife from her neck and jabbed it towards Stella.
‘I’m not a monster. I’m a married woman. I have a daughter. My name is Penelope Philips.’ Hindle sounded so reasonable, kindly even. It made Stella’s skin crawl.
Joanne Marshall’s voice cut the air.
‘You can start a new life. You can change your name. You can be the perfect wife and mother. It means nothing. You will always be Danielle Hindle, the girl who murdered two children in cold blood.’
One moment was all it took.
Everything happened in the right order. If it had happened differently, Milly and Justin would have been dead.
Jack tore across the playground to his children.
Lucie flipped open the lid of the box and began chucking out the contents.
The jungle climbing frame appeared to buckle then it vanished. Stella was enveloped in billowing fog.
She heard a cry. A terrible animal sound. She blundered towards it but became disorientated. She trod on something and, losing her balance, fell onto all fours. Pain shot through her knees.
The penknife lay on the rubberized ground. There was blood on the blade.
Stella scrambled to her feet and pushed on. She smashed into a yellow wall. The chute.
Lucie was sitting in the mouth of the chute. She looked exhausted. Stella reminded herself that Lucie had to be older than she let anyone think.
‘Did you hear that?’ Stella shouted although Lucie was right next to her.
‘They’ve got her.’
‘Both of them.’ Lucie’s spiral reporter’s pad was on her lap.
‘It’s not a bloody story!’ Stella was inflamed. Lucie could at least pretend to care.
‘Hindle the psycho and your killer PA. It’s over.’ Lucie gave her a weak smile. ‘Actually, could I have one of your ciggies, darling?’
‘I don’t smoke, Lucie. I never have,’ Stella said. ‘How did you get that dry ice?’
‘Borrowed your account number. It was meant to be the photo to end all photos. The scoop of the century.’ Lucie stared at her pad. It was blank. ‘I meant to take a piccy of Hindle in curdles of cloud. The devil in the playground. Shame about that.’ She turned over a page. ‘Pay you back. I’ll put it on expenses.’
Lucie had been at the office the day they’d delivered the dry ice. She must have hatched the plan there and then. Nothing passed her by.
Lucie took Stella’s hand. Her fingers were icy cold. Stella expected her to want help getting out of the chute, but she didn’t move. ‘Proud of you, Clean-Up! Pure gold, like your dad.’
Stella quelled fury with Lucie for dipping out of the situation to capture her story. The nice words would soon be balanced with sarcasm.
‘Stella?’ Through wreaths of dry ice, she saw Martin Cashman opening the playground gate.
‘Coming?’ Stella tugged Lucie’s hand.
‘You’re on it, Stell.’ Lucie let go and returned to her pad.
‘Jack didn’t murder anyone.’ Stella vented her frustration on Cashman.
‘I know.’ Cashman splayed his palms in apology. ‘Joanne Marshall has confessed. It means nothing, she wasn’t under oath. But it’s a start.’
Police officers, their hi-vis jackets bulked out by Kevlar vests, were fanning across the lawn towards the playground.
‘She also put her hand up for Rachel Cater. Said she wished she’d got Hindle. She managed to stab her, but it’s a scratch. Lucie stopped her. Our roving reporter, who knew!’ Martin lowered his voice. ‘There’ll be many who will wish Marshall had got Hindle.’
Stella felt bad for being cross with Lucie. She had taken part, after all. She glanced back. Lucie was bent over her pad. She deserved her story.
‘I need to find Jack and his children.’
‘She saved his kids too. Troupers, the pair of them.’ Martin gestured across the playground.
Jack was carrying Justin on his shoulders. Riding high and proud, the little boy clasped Jack under the chin. Milly skipped beside them. As they passed the climbing frame she made a grab and swung from the lowest bar. Jack paused and when she landed they went on to the gate. Stella saw someone break through the line of officers. Bella swept Milly into her arms and hugged her.
A family reunited.
‘Job done,’ Cashman murmured. Stella followed his gaze.
Janet – Terry had said she was one of Hammersmith’s best detectives – was escorting Danielle Hindle towards the strobing lights of police vehicles on Dalgarno Gardens. Stupidly, Stella looked for Terry.
‘Can I drive you home?’ Cashman said.
‘Thanks.’ Stella looked for Jack but he’d gone. She went to the railings for her Barbour. The missed call was Cashman. He’d texted. We’re coming. The inopportune call had saved her life. She’d never have got the knife off Joanne Marshall. The woman was desperate, she didn’t care who she hurt to get to Hindle. Stella looked around the playground. Despite the cheery play equipment, it would never be a place of innocence.
Something was bundled in the chute. Not something. Someone.
‘Lucie.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
2019
The fog had thrown her. Not fog, Penelope realized. Tear gas. Except she wasn’t crying. She never cried. Then she realized what Lucie May had in her box. If she’d taken the picture with the ice, it would have been a character assassination.
The crazed wife of Lee didn’t notice. Penelope was about to say that it was pointless to keep the kids. They were innocent. The girl had the makings of a bitch but her brother was sweet, he reminded Penelope of Kevin. She’d always had a soft spot for him.
Once all hell let loose she’d moved quickly. But suddenly Joanne Marshall was there. Penelope tried to dodge the blade. She backed into something. That damned chute.
Marshall came at her. Penelope had cried out. A howl of frustration and fury. She’d seen the knife go in but felt nothing. Not at first. It hurt now.
Ages ago she’d pushed Robbie off the slide. Or so they said. She was a different person now. It was water under the bridge now. Then Sarah threatened to tell tales. Because they were dead they didn’t get any blame. People forgot what they were really like. It wasn’t fair. None of it was.
‘Get up.’ Lucie was rubbing her head. ‘Stop hiding down there, you abject coward. Marshall’s in handcuffs. Soon you will be too.’
‘Will you still be doing the profile?’ Penelope had asked.
‘Of course. It’s my job.’ Lucie sank onto the edge of the chute and got out her pad.
She had been taken away in a police car. No Terry this time. Penelope found herself looking for him. He’d been kind. Not like this lot, chuffed with themselves for catching a mad woman. L
ike kids playing a game.
In her hospital bed Penelope began to map it out. New name. New life. Christopher and Carrie would come round, she’d make sure of that. Then they could get back to normal.
Chapter Fifty-Four
2019
Five to ten. The blinds in the CID office were drawn up. Dust motes danced in sunlight streaming into the room. The floor space filled with desks, a table, filing cabinets, two plug-in radiators and cupboards. One piled with miscellaneous redundant objects, a half-drunk bottle of mineral water, a tin of Coffee Mate, several redundant landline phones, their receivers bound in place by the cables.
It was two days since the two murderers were arrested in the Wormwood Scrubs playground. For Stella, it might have been months or minutes because, shocked by the course of events, time had no meaning.
Danielle Hindle and Joanne Marshall were in custody. Hindle had broken the conditions of her licence and would return to prison for two years. Her identity had been blown. Joanne Marshall had wasted no time telling other prisoners on remand. Marshall had been charged with murder and attempted murder. She had withdrawn her confession and, like Danielle Hindle, expressed no remorse for brutally depriving Rachel Cater of her life and Agnes Cater of her daughter. If she was found guilty, Cashman had told Stella that her sentence would be harsh.
Stella had come to Hammersmith police station to give a witness statement. Janet, Terry’s one-time colleague, was taking it. Not generally the job of a chief inspector, but Stella was special. They were alone in the CID office. The other detectives were, Stella presumed, out solving crimes.
‘You’re a great witness, Stella. This account is clear. It fits with Jack Harmon’s although, with his children being involved, naturally he was more subjective.’
Stella had made herself relive the day. Starting with Carrie Philips in the playground, Kevin Hood turning up at her house, the confounding moment when she understood that Trudy was Lee Marshall’s widow. Finishing with the playground.
A framed commendation certificate was propped carelessly on its side beside a transistor radio. As if the officer’s ‘dedication, professionalism and leadership in the case of a kidnapping and assault’ was all in a day’s work. The radio was scrawled with the owner’s initials. Stella knew that, however honest and true the occupants, items in offices walked.
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