DYING EMBERS an unputdownable psychological thriller full of breathtaking twists

by MARGARET MURPHY

  A group of men stood in a huddle ten or fifteen yards from the entrance. They stopped talking and turned to look at the two women as they got out of the car. Lauren locked up and glanced doubtfully up and down the street.

  ‘Are you sure it’ll be safe here?’ she asked.

  Geri appraised the scabrous paintwork and acid-damaged front bumper. ‘They’re welcome to it.’

  They went to the broad steps of the shelter and were stopped by a man with dirty blond hair twisted into matted dreadlocks.

  ‘Got any change, love?’

  Geri gave him a pound. ‘Have you seen Adèle tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘What’s she look like?’

  ‘Long, fair hair, about five foot three. She usually wears a woolly hat.’ He shook his head doubtfully. ‘She’s a Big Issue vendor.’

  ‘Oh, her . . .’ He nodded, pleased to have remembered.

  ‘So, is she . . . ?’ Lauren prompted.

  He snapped out of his reverie. ‘No, haven’t seen her.’ He paused, trying to remember. ‘Not tonight.’

  The interior of the building was noisy and smelly. The high walls and open-plan design meant that sounds bounced about, echoing and redoubling. The floor space had been partitioned off with plywood, painted pastel yellows and greens, but it did little to muffle the noise. A reception desk and further panelling had been constructed across the back of the church, and a circle of pale stone marked where the font had once stood. The panels blocked the view to the interior of the building, and Geri’s eye searched upwards. A narrow balcony fringed the central aisle, and halfway down on the western side of the church stood a woman, or perhaps it was a girl — it was difficult to tell at that distance. She stared intently at Geri, continuing her disconcerting scrutiny even after it was plain that Geri was aware of her presence.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Geri turned gratefully to the woman who had appeared from behind the partition and now stood at the reception desk. She was tall, solid and meaty, with frizzy gold hair and a broad, amiable face.

  ‘We’re looking for Adèle . . .’ She searched her memory for a surname. ‘Adèle Moorcroft.’

  The woman gazed at them, the bland expression on her face masking a careful assessment of them both.

  ‘I’m a friend,’ Geri went on. ‘I haven’t seen her around for a few days, and I was worried.’

  ‘A friend.’ The woman’s tone was neutral.

  Geri was aware that someone had joined them — one of the men from the huddle standing outside. ‘I said I’d come and see her. She seemed anxious about something.’

  The man behind her laughed.

  ‘D’you want to come in, Drew, or are you just getting a warm?’ the woman asked.

  He shrugged. He was clean-shaven, but his chin had a bluish shadow that wasn’t all dirt. He wore a grey overcoat and a red baseball cap over long, black hair. His eyes slid away from eye contact, but Geri felt he was curious about her. The woman at the counter recalled her attention and the man slunk out of the door. Lauren touched Geri’s elbow to let her know she was following him.

  ‘Look,’ Geri said. ‘I’m not police or social security. I used to teach Adèle. I just want to know that she’s all right.’

  The woman stared back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘She isn’t here.’

  ‘Are you expecting her?’

  She chuckled. ‘This isn’t a hotel. Our guests don’t make reservations.’

  ‘But you must have some idea.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She wore an implacable, complacent look that made Geri want to shake her. She turned on her heel and left.

  Lauren was waiting for her outside.

  ‘No luck?’

  Geri shook her head. ‘You?’

  ‘I gave him a couple of quid. He said she left yesterday, or the day before. Sometime in the last couple of days. He was a bit confused about time . . .’ She paused, frowning.

  ‘What?’

  She shrugged. ‘Doesn’t make sense, really. He said something about avoiding the taxman. Adèle isn’t likely to be paying tax, is she?’

  ‘The taxman . . .’ Geri echoed.

  ‘Does that mean something?’

  ‘I don’t know. Adèle told me she was in trouble with the taxman just before she disappeared.’ Geri looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of the man. ‘Where’d he go?’

  ‘He got a bit nervous when I asked him why Adèle would owe taxes. Said it was a joke and cleared off.’

  ‘So, we’ve got nothing. She’s disappeared, could have gone anywhere, and we don’t even know where to start. Shit!’ She pushed a hand through her hair. ‘I should’ve come earlier. I should’ve done something. I knew something was bothering her and I did bugger all!’

  ‘Hey . . .’ Lauren touched her lightly on the shoulder. ‘You’re only human. Come on,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing more we can do tonight.’

  As they turned to walk down the steps, they saw someone watching them. Geri recognized the woman from the balcony. She was small and painfully thin, and her skin had an unhealthy grey pallor.

  At first, she didn’t speak, merely staring at Geri with her big, frightened eyes. She stood slightly hunched and her eyes seemed to flare occasionally as if she was in pain — not physical pain, but a deep, tormenting sorrow, or regret.

  ‘Can you help us?’ Geri asked.

  The woman didn’t answer, but a shiver ran through her as she stared at them.

  ‘Do you know where Adèle is?’

  Silence.

  ‘Can you get a message to her?’ She had to thrust her hands into her pockets to prevent herself seizing the woman by the shoulders and shaking her.

  ‘What d’you want her for?’ She spoke reluctantly; her voice had a damaged, cracked quality, and she seemed to have trouble with her breathing.

  Geri decided to come clean. ‘I know she was bothered about something. I saw her on Wednesday. I said I’d come and see her.’

  ‘Took your time.’

  ‘I know,’ Geri said, feeling her eyes water suddenly. ‘I wish I’d—’

  ‘She went on Thursday.’

  ‘Why? Do you know?’

  The woman flashed her a frightened look. ‘You won’t find her,’ she said, after a moment or two.

  ‘Is she safe?’ Lauren asked. ‘You can at least tell us that.’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you nothing.’ She stared at Geri, sizing her up. ‘You her teacher?’

  ‘I was,’ Geri said.

  The woman frowned slightly, then nodded. ‘She said to tell you she was sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? What for?’

  She shrugged. ‘That was the message. I’ve give it.’ She began to walk up the steps.

  ‘Is that it?’ Geri demanded, angry and frustrated. ‘Duty done, now you can just forget about her?’

  The woman turned on them, her eyes blazing. ‘How many times did you remember her, eh? Once a week when you got your Big Issue and felt all holy for parting with a quid?’ She turned away from them, heading for the church doors.

  ‘You’re right,’ Geri called after her. ‘I didn’t do enough. But I’m trying to put it right now.’

  The woman’s expression was one of frank astonishment. ‘Just what d’you think you can do?’

  Geri found it hard to answer. What could she do to set right whatever it was that had put Adèle on the streets and kept her there for two years?

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last. ‘I was hoping maybe you’d tell me.’

  The woman seemed to relent; she even smiled a little. ‘You’ve got to watch your own back on the street, love,’ she said. ‘No one’s gonna do it for you.’

  ‘Was it something to do with owing tax?’ Geri asked. ‘Is that why she left?’

  The woman took a sharp breath and shook her head.

  ‘Look,’ Geri said. ‘I’ve got ten . . . fifteen pounds. It’s yours.’ The woman hesitated. ‘I just want to know what’s got her so frighten
ed.’

  She plucked the money from Geri’s hand. ‘She’s running from the Taxman,’ she said in a low voice, glancing cautiously past them at the group of men further down the street. ‘He doesn’t bother the lads. He goes after the nice-looking girls like Adèle. If they can’t pay him, he lets them do sex work.’

  ‘Lets them—’ Geri clamped down hard on her anger. ‘How do I find him?’

  The woman shook her head in disbelief. ‘You suicidal, or what? You don’t go looking for the Taxman. Not if you want to stay healthy.’

  They were caught in a hail shower going from the car to the house. Geri jiggled the key in the lock as hailstones rattled on the pavement and stung their cheeks.

  ‘Come on!’ Lauren shouted, hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm.

  Geri took the key out of the lock and tried again. ‘It’s jammed,’ she said. ‘The key won’t turn.’

  ‘Bloody Nick!’ Lauren grumbled.

  ‘No, he’s at work.’

  A crash at the back of the house startled them both. Lauren looked at her wide-eyed. Geri started down the steps, but Lauren snatched at her coat sleeve. ‘Call the police,’ she whispered.

  ‘What, because we’ve locked ourselves out?’

  Lauren jabbed a finger in the direction of the back garden.

  ‘Probably just that bloody cat again,’ Geri said. But the woman’s words rang in her ears: You don’t go looking for the Taxman! Had he been here before? Was the note, the syringe, the acid attack on the car all down to the Taxman?

  To hell with him! He had bullied and terrorized her for long enough. She pulled free, tiptoed down the steps and up the side path to the back of the house. She sensed Lauren at her back, which gave her the courage to go on, although her heart hammered in her chest. The back door stood open, and the kitchen light was on. They both stood at the corner of the house, Lauren clutching Geri’s shoulder as if to prevent her going any further. They listened for a full half-minute, but all they could hear was the clatter of hailstones and the odd musical ping as a stone hit something resonant.

  ‘I’m going in,’ Geri breathed.

  ‘Don’t!’

  Geri gritted her teeth and walked to the house, side-stepping a plant pot that had fallen from the bench beneath the kitchen window. The kitchen seemed unnaturally quiet after the clamour of the hailstorm; she could see nothing in the shadows of the hallway beyond the kitchen lights. The house seemed almost to be waiting, holding its breath.

  Geri felt for the light switch just outside the kitchen door, hugely relieved to find that the hall was empty. The snick was on the front door Yale lock. A sharp hiss behind her made her jump and turn.

  ‘Lauren!’

  ‘The top bolt,’ Lauren said, nodding at the door. The bolt had been drawn across. Geri grabbed an umbrella from the rack next to the hall stand.

  They searched every room, every cupboard, under beds, behind doors. There was no sign that anybody had been there. Nothing had been moved, nothing taken, just the front door locked, and the back door left open.

  * * *

  He watched from behind the fence at the far end of the garden. They looked comical, the two of them, creeping up the side of the house, jostling forward, then pulling back. They left the back door open and he wondered if he should follow them — do them both, while he had the chance.

  Separate, they were harmless, but put the two of them together and it was like paraquat and sugar: potentially explosive.

  Lauren had information that could finish him. Frank had given the name Georgie, and the longer she was about, the more likely she would tell Geri Simpson. He stood, ready to vault back over the fence, but checked halfway. The lads had been stoned, easy to control, easy to dispose of. Control was the key: of the individual, and therefore the situation. It wasn’t enough to put the fear of God into Lauren and hope she kept quiet. Once he started on this, he had to follow through, he had to be sure he could finish her. Her silence had to be guaranteed. But two was more difficult than one. More unpredictable. And he’d never done a woman before.

  There was only the one car outside when he arrived. Lauren’s. Go in, do the job and get out again. That was the plan. But she wasn’t home, and when they came back together, he’d thought, if she sees me . . .

  He’d panicked and run for it, right across the lawn, without thinking. Footprints all over. Hopefully they’d go as the hailstones melted. As he watched, the lights went on in an upstairs room and Lauren moved across the window.

  He gripped the fence, still undecided, then an idea came to him and he smiled. Simple. He’d find out from Lauren what she’d told Geri, then he’d do her . . . And then he’d know what to do about Geri.

  * * *

  The police sent out a lone WPC. She gave them a reference number.

  ‘You’ll need it for insurance.’

  ‘Nothing’s been taken,’ Geri said.

  ‘In case you find anything missing.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to take fingerprints or something?’ Lauren demanded.

  ‘We’re short of resources. And you said yourself you’ve had nothing stolen. You probably disturbed them. They often lock the front to give themselves a bit of extra time if the owners come back unexpected.’

  ‘And what if they come back?’

  ‘Not likely. You might consider having a mortise fitted. Or a Yale deadlock — these old ones are so easy to open. All you need is a wire hook, in through the letter box and Bob’s your uncle.’

  ‘I’ll get it done tomorrow,’ Geri said.

  ‘Meantime keep them bolted. Front and back,’ she advised.

  ‘As if we needed telling,’ Lauren muttered as she closed the door after her.

  * * *

  Geri woke with a violent start. The doorbell was ringing, and someone was hammering at the door. She peered at the green LED of her alarm clock. Seven thirty-five. She groaned. ‘Nick!’ It was still dark, and very cold. She struggled into her dressing gown and jammed her feet into her slippers.

  ‘All right,’ she grumbled, stumbling down the stairs. ‘I’m coming!’ She hadn’t slept well and in her few snatches of sleep had dreamt that the catch on the front door was faulty and the door kept blowing open in the wind.

  She drew back the bolts and Nick stormed in, furious. ‘What the fuck’s all this about? Locking me out of my own house.’

  ‘Before you start,’ Geri interrupted sharply, ‘we were burgled last night.’

  ‘Burgled?’ He looked past her as if searching for signs of the break-in.

  ‘Nothing was taken. I’m going to get someone to fit a new lock.’

  ‘Oh, great — there goes my sleep for the day.’

  ‘Thanks for your concern,’ Geri said, ladling on the sarcasm, ‘We’re a bit shaken up, but we’ll get over it.’

  Nick glared at her, a muscle in his jaw jumping. ‘I’ve just finished a twelve-hour shift,’ he said. ‘I’d like to get a bit of kip.’

  ‘Who’s stopping you?’

  ‘If you’ve got some locksmith banging and hammering—’

  ‘I’ll get him to come later, all right?’

  He didn’t answer. His eyes widened suddenly, and he paled so dramatically that Geri actually looked over her shoulder expecting to see the burglar returned, axe in hand.

  ‘What about my workshop?’ he demanded.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Oh, you bloody idiot!’ He pushed past her, running down the steps and around to the side of the house, returning a few moments later. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I overreacted. I thought—’

  ‘You thought your bike had been stolen. Now I know where I come on your list of priorities.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I—’

  ‘You’re a self-obsessed, selfish bastard, Nick.’

  There was a finality in her voice that she had never heard before, in all their arguments, and reading the look on his face, Geri realized Nick had heard it, too. They both knew what it meant, but neith
er was ready to acknowledge it. Not yet. For a moment, they just looked at each other, then Nick stalked past her and went straight upstairs.

  Lauren waited until Nick had gone to bed before venturing downstairs. Geri had showered and dressed, but she still felt fragile. ‘You look a hundred,’ Lauren remarked.

  ‘That’s a comfort,’ she shot back. ‘At least I don’t look as old as I feel.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Lauren ran a hand over her face. ‘Tell me I look human,’ she said.

  Geri glanced up from buttering a piece of toast. Lauren’s complexion glowed with good health and her eyes sparkled as if she’d had eight hours of dreamless sleep. ‘I’m too good a friend to lie to you,’ she said. Then, ‘Could you do me a favour? Phone a locksmith and get something fitted that might keep out a determined five-year-old for more than two seconds.’

  ‘Where will you be?’

  ‘Big Issue office.’

  Lauren considered for a moment. ‘On condition you report back.’ Geri nodded. ‘And, if you’re going to do any manhunting, you’ll let me tag along.’

  ‘I thought you were working today.’

  ‘I’m too shaken up by the burglary,’ she said, flashing her a wide-eyed, wounded look.

  ‘Yeah,’ Geri said, a little sourly, ‘I can see that.’

  ‘Am I to give Nick a key?’

  Geri looked up and saw the teasing glint in her friend’s eye. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said. ‘Just don’t bloody tempt me.’

  35

  The Big Issue office was closed when she arrived, so Geri walked into the shopping centre and window-shopped for an hour. She got back just after ten and joined a queue of three men who were picking up their morning’s quota of magazines. The office was divided into two: the counter, which was slightly raised above floor level, and a glass-fronted interview room, which was furnished with comfortable chairs and a coffee table.

  Geri asked to speak to the manager while the men stood to one side, sipping tea from plastic cups, apparently in no hurry to leave, and evidently curious about her.

  The manager, a lean, angular man of about thirty-five, came out of a room at the back of the premises. He raised the flap at the end of the counter and stepped into the main foyer.