A Narrow Margin of Error (25 page)

Wanda sobbed once. But still said nothing.

Beside her, Steven sat quietly.

Hillary leaned once more across the table. ‘Mrs Landau, I think
there hasn’t been a single moment since you killed Rowan when you didn’t regret it. I don’t think there’s been a single night when you haven’t been kept awake by remorse, or when you haven’t woken out of nightmares. And I also think, all this time, that you’ve only been able to keep on going because of Ferris.’

Slowly, Wanda let her hands drop. Her make-up was ravaged by the tears that had been silently coursing down her face.

She nodded.

A breakthrough! But there was still a way to go yet.

‘But, Wanda,’ Hillary used her first name, carefully building up the rapport, ‘Ferris is a man now. He doesn’t need you any longer. You can’t keep using him as an excuse. You have to face up to what you’ve done.’

Silence.

‘To give Mrs Thompson some peace, at last.’

Silence.

‘And to give yourself some peace too,’ Hillary persisted. ‘No matter what you think, whatever happens now, it can’t be worse than all those years of silence and self-loathing. You know that nobody really gets away with murder, don’t you, Wanda?’ Hillary said gently.

And Wanda Landau nodded.

‘Did it happen how I imagined?’ she pressed softly. They needed her to speak for the tape.

Wanda managed a weak and shaken smile. ‘Almost exactly. I … thought he wasn’t serious at first. Flirting with me, letting me know what he wanted. Of course, I turned him down, but he was so persistent. And then … well. It had been so long, and I thought all of that was behind me. But it was wonderful. He was wonderful. It had been going on for a few weeks, and no one guessed. It was exciting – daring, even. But that morning, when everyone had gone, I went to his room to say goodbye before he left for the Christmas holidays and….’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know how it happened. How we got to talking about a social worker who was due for a follow-up interview the next day.’

Wanda shook her head. She looked dazed. ‘I said something about worrying about them thinking I was too old to adopt Ferris. And then he started joking about it, saying if only they knew how … how sexy I was, and all of that, then they’d know how young at heart I was. I was appalled and begged him not to say anything. But instead of seeing how terrified I was, he seemed to find it funny. I tried to get him to see how serious it was, but Rowan never found anything in life serious or important. He said he’d reassure them how hot I was, and that I wasn’t a dried-up prune, and he just when on and on like that, saying that he’d stick around and give me a character reference, and I was getting more and more desperate.’

Wanda’s voice was coming in gasps now. ‘But he just wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t
understand
.’

Wanda’s voice rose on the last word, then she slumped back in the chair. ‘And I suddenly realized what an horrific mistake I’d made. Because I knew then, that he’d never understand. And that he’d ruin everything. I don’t even remember picking up the scissors. They were just in my hand. All I do remember thinking is that I had to save Ferris, that I simply couldn’t let him go into an orphanage or foster care. You hear such awful stories about them. About young children being abused. I knew I had to save him, you see?’ Wanda looked at Hillary, desperate for
understanding
.

Hillary nodded. ‘Yes. You couldn’t save your daughter, but Ferris would give you a chance to redeem yourself.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But the only way you could save Ferris….’ Hillary trailed off, feeding her the line.

‘Was to make him be quiet,’ Wanda said. ‘So I stabbed him.’

She began to sob again.

Hillary let her.

After a while, she said softly, ‘What did you do then?’.

Wanda looked surprised by the question. ‘Nothing. Well, I think I washed the scissors in the sink, and my hands, and I …
yes, I think I just let the scissors fall beside him and then I went to my room, and had a bath, and put my clothes in a plastic bag…. They were … stained, you see. And I walked to the park and put the bag in a bin, and just went home.’

Hillary nodded. She wasn’t sure what the barristers – either for the defence or the prosecution – would make of all that, but that wasn’t her domain. ‘All right, Mrs Landau,’ she said softly, ‘I’ve got a pad and pen here.’ She pushed the items across. ‘I’m going to call my sergeant in now. He’ll sit with you. I want you to write everything down. Everything you can remember. What you thought, what you felt, everything. And then sign it for me. Will you do that?’

‘Of course, Mrs Greene,’ Wanda said politely, reaching for the pen.

She looked relieved.

As she and Steven rose, the door opened and Jimmy walked in; as she’d known he would be, he’d been listening in with the youngsters.

Back in the observation room, Vivienne looked impressed.

Sam looked far more subdued.

‘You all right, Sam?’ Hillary asked, slowly feeling the tension draining out of her shoulders.

‘Yes, guv,’ he muttered.

‘You don’t look it,’ Hillary said mildly.

‘He feels sorry for her,’ Vivienne said, a shade defiantly. ‘So do I, sort of.’

Hillary nodded. ‘It’s all right to feel empathy for some of the people who do bad things, Sam,’ Hillary said. ‘We can all
understand
why some people end up doing something awful sometimes. But don’t forget: Wanda Landau can speak for herself, and she can hire solicitors and barristers to speak for her. She can defend herself in a court of law. Rowan Thomspon can’t. Rowan Thompson is dead.’

Sam blinked. ‘Yes, guv.’

‘Just remember whose side you’re on, Sam,’ Steven clarified
and endorsed simply. ‘It’ll mess with your head if you don’t.’

‘Yes, sir. It’s just … I don’t know that I’d ever be able to do what you just did, guv, that’s all,’ he admitted miserably.

Hillary rolled her tight shoulders. ‘I’m not proud of it, Sam,’ she said flatly. ‘But you’ll learn, if you do this job long enough, that if something’s got to be done, and it’s down to you to do it, then you just have to bloody well do it. That’s really all there is. Otherwise, you might just as well pick another career.’

Sam nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, guv.’

It was earlier in the day than she’d normally even think of leaving work, but Hillary felt drained. Steven was processing Wanda Landau, and there was nothing she could usefully do at the office anyway.

She drove back home to Thrupp almost on automatic pilot. At this hour, the pub car park was deserted, and she parked in her usual place right in the corner, next to a stand of willow and hazel trees.

As she got out of the car and shut the driver’s door, she was just reaching down with the keys in her hand to lock it, when an arm that felt made of steel slipped around her waist and pulled her backwards. Her startled gasp didn’t have time to turn into a cry for help as she felt a sudden, clean sting on the side of her neck. This was immediately followed by a warm, trickling
sensation
, and a splash of red dripped down onto her blouse, quickly followed by another, and then another.

She was bleeding. The shock was sudden, cold, and almost overwhelming.

‘Don’t scream.’ The voice that came from right behind her was half-whispered, half-growled. It was a good attempt to disguise a normal speaking voice, and Hillary felt the arms around her tighten in warning, threatening to cut off her breathing.

Her head started to pound.

Instantly, she understood two things. Firstly, her attacker was a man of vastly superior strength. Her hands had come up automatically
to clutch his forearm which was lying across her
collarbone
, and she could clearly feel the definition of rock-hard muscle under her fingertips. Which meant that he worked out.

Secondly, she knew instinctively that none of the moves she’d learnt in self-defence classes were going to be of any use to her in a situation like this. No matter how fast she might be, he would be quicker. He was younger, fitter and pumped up on adrenaline. So any backward kicks to his shin, or any attempt to use his own weight against him by trying to throw him over her shoulder would be futile and would probably only serve to enrage him.

Besides, he had what must be a razor-sharp blade to her throat. She’d barely felt it slice into her skin, but already she could feel a steady trickle of blood flowing from her neck. At least it wasn’t gushing. He hadn’t severed an artery. Still, the sensation of feeling her own warm blood trickling over her hand and onto her clothes was eerie and terrifying.

Even as she thought all this, she felt herself being half-lifted and half-dragged back into the stand of trees and behind a thick, yellow-spotted laurel bush. They were now effectively out of sight of any passing boat on the canal.

‘I’ve waited so long for this moment.’ The voice again, so close to her ear, she could feel his breath rustle against her hair, moving it a little with the strength of his excited, ragged breathing. She gave an atavistic shiver that snaked the length of her spine, and drew in a long, shaky breath of her own.

Shock was her biggest worry now. She had to keep her head and think clearly. If she could not fight her way out of trouble – and she couldn’t – she had to think and talk her way out of it. She simply couldn’t afford to let fear rule her. She had to think, damn it. Think! What did she know?

OK. He was her stalker. He was obsessed with her. Which meant that he craved attention from her. She had to engage with him, and fast. The knife at her throat could end her with just one twitch of his wrist.

She licked her painfully dry lips, and tried to ignore the loud thundering of her heartbeat roaring in her ears.

‘So have I,’ she heard herself say. Her voice was just a little croaky, but not too bad. She felt him stiffen slightly, as if taken by surprise by her response. That was good, right? Keep him off guard and guessing.

Then she felt her ear being kissed. She blinked, forcing herself not to recoil. Talk to him. Give him what he wanted. Make him want to keep her alive.

But what should she say? She didn’t want to inflame him – she could end up being raped. And she didn’t want to anger him either. But what would make him angry?

‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me,’ she said gently. That, surely, was a safe enough opening gambit.

‘As if I could,’ Tom whispered, closing his eyes briefly in sheer bliss. Her hair smelt so good. And it felt wonderful to feel her softer, feminine length pressed up against him. And now they were talking. Finally, she was concentrating her mind, her whole being, on him. It was nirvana. ‘I would forget to breathe before I could forget you.’

Hillary dragged in another shaky breath, trying to think. Her phone was in her bag and her bag was still hanging by her side. Was the zip open? Could she reach down and reach her phone? Not without him feeling the movement of it, she was sure. And that would make him angry.

No. Concentrate. She had to concentrate on keeping him talking. He was waiting for her to reply. He’d said something dramatic, and she needed to respond in kind. He obviously saw himself as some great, heroic lover.

But her legs felt as if they were made out of water, and she could hear a primal scream echoing around somewhere in the back of her head. All she wanted to do was kick and struggle and scream, but she knew she mustn’t. Panic, and fear itself, were her worst enemies now.

But her legs felt so weak they wanted to buckle.

Damn it, she had to grow a bloody backbone!

And had she forgotten she had a job to do?

‘You’ve made it impossible for me to ignore you too,’ she heard herself say. ‘And the crosses were a good touch. They really got my attention. Raised it to a whole different level. Tell me about the missing girls.’ If she could get some details from him, they might be able to locate their bodies.

‘Let’s not talk about them,’ Tom growled in protest, shifting a little restlessly. ‘They were mistakes. They were nothing. It should always have been you.’

Hillary felt her panic levels rise as she realized she was making him antsy. ‘No, you’re right. We’re special.’ She forced the words out and realized she was still holding on to his forearm. She let her index finger slide just a little up and down along his skin. She could feel the tiny hairs under her sensitive fingertips and felt a sudden rush of nausea make her feel dizzy.

She forced herself to swallow it down. ‘I can tell you’re very strong.’ Flattery was good, right? It had to be. She wasn’t much of a psychologist, but it was a fair bet that psychos had big egos, surely? ‘But I don’t even know your name. What should I call you?’

Tom Warrington chuckled in delight. ‘Oh, my darling, you’re wonderful. I knew you would be.’ As if he was going to tell her his name! But here she was, trying to play him. It was fantastic. All of the others had just whimpered and cried, and got on his nerves with their stupid begging. But not his Hillary.

She was magnificent. He had a knife to her throat and she was still playing the game. It was almost too good to be true. Unbelievable. But it was happening. He’d never felt so alive. He felt like laughing out loud and shouting his triumph at the universe.

‘You know my name,’ he said, confusing her for a moment. ‘You can call me anything you like. Lover. Soulmate. Love of my life. Yeah, how about LOL for short, for Love of my Life.’

His whispering growl sounded playful now, elated, and
Hillary’s heart sank. He was getting too hyper. She could feel him getting jittery. She had to cool it down somehow. Slow it down.

Nobody was going to come looking for her, because nobody knew she was in trouble. She felt a wave of despair threaten to consume her as the thought came that she could die, right here, right now. And that would be the end.

She’d always known it was a possibility, of course, all the years she’d served on the force. She’d seen it happen to Mel, her old boss and long-time friend. And to others. Everyone thought it would never happen to them. But for every ‘Why me?’ there was always a harsher alternative. ‘Why not you?’