Urge to Kill (1) (36 page)

Eppie threw the box away from her, as if it were red hot. The abused doll fell out and landed at her feet. She jumped back and stood staring at it.
He
knew she was here. She was no longer safe. Could he see her now? Outside the window was a large Chestnut tree. Common sense told her that he wouldn’t have climbed the tree, yet she dropped to her knees just in case. On the floor, she felt safer but knew it was a lie. She was trapped. He was coming to kill her.

Needing time to think, she crawled behind the sofa. Phone. She had to reach the phone that was on a small table near the door. Or get her mobile from the bedroom. That would mean she didn’t have to pass the living room windows. She began a fast, awkward crawl down the corridor.

Her battery was low. Matt’s line was busy, so was DS Withers. Fluff wasn’t answering. All the other numbers Fluff had written down were by the landline. Should she dial 999?

The woman was calm and efficient although Eppie must have sounded crazy, as she tried to explain about the doll. It was only after mentioning Matt’s name that everything moved fast. A reassuring man told her to stay where she was, to keep the door locked, and not let anyone in but the police. Someone would be with her ASAP.

It seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute, before the buzzer rang making her jump. By then Eppie had crawled to the front door, making a detour round the other side of the sofa so that she wouldn’t have to look at or touch the doll again. Pressing herself against the wall, she stood to press the intercom.

‘Mrs Turrell, this is Inspector Browning. I have been sent by DI Turrell.’

‘Oh, thank you.’

‘I understand we have a bit of a situation. The first thing we need to do is get you to a place of safety. There is no need to be frightened now. Just let me and my officers in please.’

‘Of course.’ Eppie pressed the open button and leaned against the wall. She would be safe now. She opened the door an inch.

‘It’s all right, Madame. If you would go back inside your flat we won’t need to bother you.’

‘Very well, Officer.’

She heard Mrs Williams’s door close.

His voice was familiar. Eppie had met him recently. She tried to think where.

Footsteps started to climb up the stairs.

One set of footsteps. He had said
officers
.

Suddenly she knew. It was Clive Draper. The man with the red star against his name. If she stayed here, he would kill her.

But where could she go? Her only exit was down the stairs. She had to leave now.

Slipping out of the door, she ran towards the small planter under the window on the landing. Squeezing behind it she made herself as small as possible and hoped the small bushy plants would conceal her.

He was at the top of the stairs, turning towards her. Pressing her face into the foliage, she held her breath. He put his hand against the door to the flat. She saw him smile when it yielded to his touch.

This was her only chance. It would only be a minute before he realised she wasn’t there. She shot from behind the planter and made for the stairs, taking them three at a time. At the door, she hesitated. Should she ask Mrs Williams for help, at least tell her to call the police? But it would take a while to explain, and if Clive caught up with her, he would kill the old lady as well.

Outside she felt safer but knew he could see her from the flat. Flattening herself against the rough bricks of the house, she moved along until she came to the hedge bordering the house next door. It was thick and thorny and offered no escape.

There was no way through to the back of the house. Her only chance was to head towards the road and across to the parking lot where there were bushes and trees.

He must have realised by now that she wasn’t there. If she didn’t take her chance now there might not be another. Even now, he might be looking out of the windows to see which way she had gone or thundering down the stairs towards her.

Taking a deep breath, Eppie ran. No cars were coming, and she shot across the road and ran behind the bushes that bordered the car park. Crouching down, she looked back towards the house.

He was there at the window. Had he seen her? Eppie knew she couldn’t wait to find out and began making her way through the parked cars towards the church, crouching and running at the same time. Already, the light was fading, and darkness would help her.

From a small rise in the churchyard, Eppie crept behind a gravestone and watched as Clive came out of the house, across the road, and into the parking lot. In the distance, she heard sirens. The real police were on their way. But Clive was between her and them. He was still coming towards her through the car park. She turned and ran, stumbling amongst the uneven surface of the graves.

CHAPTER 54

 
J
enny was pacing up and down Matt’s office as Matt walked through CID. Even from here, he could see her clenched fists and jaw. He was only halfway down the office when she flung open the door and marched out to meet him.

‘I said four-thirty. How dare you keep me waiting? How dare you?’ she spat.

Matt was unsure of the best way to handle her. This was shades of McRay at his worst. So he simply said, ‘Sorry, Ma’am. But I think it is important we interview Clive Draper as soon as possible.’

‘I will tell you what is important,’ she snapped, already moving towards the stairs and the Superintendent’s office. ‘And right now it’s trying to get some sense into these so-called important men.’

Matt found himself hurrying to keep up with her, certain that his time could be better spent, especially now that they had a possible suspect. He hoped the meeting wouldn’t last long and he could get back to the important work.

Jenny strode up to the Superintendent’s secretary and, looking down on her coldly, said. ‘We are expected.’

Mrs Morris was an old faithful who knew how to deal with all comers. She wasn’t going to be put down. ‘Yes. Please go in, but knock first, as you are a little late and they may have started without you,’ she said with a gracious smile.

Jenny turned to give Matt a glare that said, ‘this is your fault,’ before moving to knock on the Superintendent’s door. McRay opened the door and ushered both to join the group around the table. The Superintendent nodded briefly before introducing them to the three other people.

Two were plump, important-looking men, used to getting their own way. The third was their lawyer, a smart, thirty-something young woman, who also looked as if she brooked no opposition.

She waited until they had sat down before continuing. ‘My clients will certainly seek damages, should any attempt be made to close the premises down.’

The Superintendent made as if to speak, but with one look she silenced him and continued outlining her client’s case. The argument moved back and forth, and Matt, finding himself not called upon to give any input, began mentally reviewing the case.

Clive Draper had been on the scene of both murders. Anne Clarke worked at En Jay’s and she had been found with the similar bruising on her neck as the victims. There had to be a connection. But Clive Draper would have had very little time, in a public place, to murder Sandi. How could he have done that?

He wondered if uniform had found any bikes with a squeak. And even if they had, how did it help to explain how the murder was committed. And where was Clive Draper? What did they know about him? He worked as a programmer at En Jay’s and lived with his mother who used a wheelchair.

It was obvious that Mrs Draper didn’t fully trust her son, but why? Matt knew it could be for a variety of reasons, but now he couldn’t think of any. His mind seemed to be sticking, going over and over the interview they had had with Mrs Draper.

She was reserved, polite, and appeared co-operative, but there was something wrong. True she was disabled and that might colour her behaviour. But she seemed to have adapted well. He thought of the speed that she had manoeuvred her wheelchair down the hallway, and how Fluff had flattened herself against the wall to stop her toes getting run over.

The idea shot into his head with such speed that he almost shouted it out. The wheelchair. Would Clive have taken his Mother’s cumbersome electric wheelchair out on Saturday night or would he use a lighter one or even have borrowed one from the spa?

That essential quiver of excitement was so strong that Matt knew he must be on the right track. Matt recalled seeing a wheelchair in the corner of the luggage room when Harry had wheeled out his bike. What if Clive had used that and, come to think of it, that room could be their crime scene. There would be no reason for anyone to go in there outside of checking in and out times when it would be piled high with cases. He had to find out now.

Deciding to risk the wrath of everyone, he stood, interrupting one of the important men mid speech. ‘I’m so very sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but I have to attend to something very urgent, directly concerned with the case,’ he added for good measure.

Making his way to the door he could hear several voices and commands rising in the air behind him, but he ignored them all and kept going.

Reaching the CID office, he knew he had to stop, calm himself down to think, and work methodically. He needed to know if the spa’s wheelchair had a squeak, if Clive carried an ordinary wheelchair in his car when taking his Mother out, if Harry remembered if that wheelchair had a squeak. And of utmost importance, he needed to know where Clive Draper was at this moment.

Opting to make the phone calls first, he was about to go into his office when Sam and Grant came in. Sam looked tired, and Matt guessed it hadn’t been an easy day for him, having to work with Grant. Plus, he would have got a blasting from Grant for going to Anne’s home. Now he was going to have to ask him to continue for just a little while longer.

‘Grant and Sam, you’ve come just at the right time. I need you to pick up a Clive—’

‘Can’t do,’ Grant intervened, before he could finish. ‘Working on higher orders,’ he grinned, enjoying Matt’s position and plonking himself wearily down at his desk. ‘Madam needs these interviews compiled, ASAP she said. And Sam is assigned to me.’

‘In your dreams, crap head. What do you need, Guv?’

Matt looked down at Grant, decided not to waste time arguing with him, and turned to Sam instead. Sam had picked up on the signs that something important had come up and perked up at the prospect of catching the murderer.

‘Sam, you have the address. He is Clive Draper—IC1 male, late twenties, fair hair, tall. Remember, you interviewed him after the first murder. He lives with his disabled mother at this address. Keep a watching brief until I get there, but let me know if he starts to move.’

‘Right, Guv,’ Sam said, already half way out of the office, eager to get started and all tiredness forgotten.

‘She won’t like it,’ Grant intoned.

‘She doesn’t have to. You let me worry about that.’ He did not intend to discuss his decision with Grant, so he turned and made his way to his office where he dialled the spa.

It seemed an age before he was put through to Mrs Trowbridge, but he thanked her quick intelligence as she went to do as he asked, promising to call him back straight away.

She also gave him Harry’s number. Matt was about to dial it, when Jenny stormed into the room, banging the door so hard behind her that it bounced back open.

‘What the fuck do you think you are doing?’ she stormed, almost dancing with rage.

Matt hadn’t the time to humour her. ‘Making a phone call,’ he said, continuing to dial. This was vitally important. Too important to be sidetracked by personalities or egos.

‘You. Do you realise how stupid I looked in there? They think I have no control at all over the people under me.’

There was no answer from Harry’s line, so Matt replaced the receiver. He would give Jenny one more chance to understand what he was doing.

‘Look, sorry about cutting out. But it suddenly became clear. If I’m right, we could catch this killer, and you’ll get all the glory. That is what you want, isn’t it?’ He watched as she fought her anger and was impressed when she managed to nod.

‘Tell me. Make it fast and good,’ she said, moving to sit at her desk.

‘I think the squeak is from a wheelchair. The spa has its own wheelchair. It is kept in the luggage room, which is beside the reception area. The perfect killing room. Mrs Trowbridge is checking to see if it has a squeak at this minute. Also, Clive Draper took his mother to dinner there on Saturday night. She is in a wheelchair. Fluff and I both felt she was not being entirely truthful when we interviewed her yesterday. Now we know that an apparent suicide victim, with the same bruises as the other murder victims, worked at En Jay’s with Clive Draper.’

Matt paused for breath, aware that he now had Jenny’s full attention and that Grant was heading towards the office. ‘Plus, we haven’t been able to catch up with Mr Draper yet. We need to check that wheelchair too.’

She had taken it all in and wasted no time. ‘Get round to the Draper household.’

Matt jumped in before she could rattle off any more commands. ‘I have sent Sam, on a watching brief only.’

She raised her eyebrows but didn’t slip back into anger. Matt admired her professionalism. ‘Join him. If Mr Draper is there, bring him in. If not, ask the mother the questions left over from earlier. Then we’ll put out a call for him. Picture?’

‘Membership application,’ Matt turned to the computer and brought up Clive Draper’s picture on his spa-joining form.

‘Doesn’t look like a murderer, but then, they so rarely do,’ she commented, reading Clive’s details.

From the doorway, Grant coughed. ‘Your lists, Ma’am.’

Jenny didn’t bother to look up. ‘Leave it for now.’

Matt didn’t want Jenny distracted by anything and moved to shut the door on Grant, but Grant pushed past him to place a CD on Jenny’s desk. She looked up at him, surprised that he was insisting. Matt saw the signs of her temper returning.

‘What part of “not now” did you not understand DI Grant?’

‘Yes, give us a five minutes, Grant,’ Matt intervened.