Dead Time (30 page)

She could hear a loud confident voice from the porch.

‘Good morning, sir. We've had reports of a domestic disturbance coming from this address.'

‘That's ridiculous. There's no disturbance here.'

‘We take these things very seriously, sir. May I ask your name and whether you are the owner of the property?'

Joshua pulled Rose away from the kitchen door.

‘He killed someone, Josh.'

‘Not
now
, Rosie. If they arrest him now we'll never find out anything else about Dad and Kathy.

‘He deserves to go to prison.'

‘It was self-defence … he was looking after you …'

‘You're sticking up for him now?'

‘No, I'm just saying if you tell the police we'll never see him again and we won't find out anything else about Kathy and Dad.'

Rose was confused. Joshua was right but there was justice to think of. Frank Whatever-his-real-name-was deserved to be charged, to stand trial. He had said he was protecting her but how could he kill someone like that and not seem to care? Hadn't she thought, when she saw him walk back across the bridge, that he had been
smiling
? Something in the way he held his shoulders, his gait? As though he'd been pleased with what he'd done?

She could hear voices from the hallway.

‘It's some prank call, officer. I'm here with some of my family. They're seeing me off on a short holiday, actually.'

‘Very nice. sir.'

He was describing them as his
family
. It made Rose mad.

‘I've had enough of this. I'm going to tell them,' she said.

Then Joshua was beside her. He put his arm round her shoulder and pulled her towards him. He felt hot and his arm was tight, gripping her. There was more talk out in the hallway and it sounded as if it was moving closer, as if the policeman was coming into the flat. Joshua's voice dropped to a whisper. He spoke into her ear, his breath burning her face.

‘Rosie, this is our one chance. Don't give him up.'

‘We
have
to.'

‘I'm not saying never go to the police. I'm just saying not now.'

She didn't answer.

‘Let's find out as much as we can now, then we can go to the police later.'

She was leaning on him, her whole body feeling heavy. What was the right thing to do? For Ricky Harris? For Emma Burke? For Joshua and Rose? The noise in the hallway wasn't coming any closer. Instead there was the sound of footsteps going into the front room. Joshua was pulling her away from the door. No doubt he thought her silence meant she had agreed not to tell the police. Maybe he was right.

‘Come over here and look at this stuff.'

He drew her across the room, holding her hand, grasping it tightly, towards the things on the work surface.

‘I've seen the butterfly book,' she said, her voice croaky.

‘No, these notebooks. Look at them.'

There was a pile of books. They were small, like exercise books. There were six in all and each one had a label. Joshua picked one up. Rose took one with
Notebook Six
written on the front. She opened it. Inside was a photo of Ricky Harris. It was taken from a newspaper cutting. She flicked a page. There was a map of Camden and then a plan of Parkway East station.

There was laughter coming from out in the hall. The sound of footsteps coming towards the kitchen.

‘He's coming in here,' Joshua said. ‘Remember, we need to keep this Frank guy free. We need to find out what else he knows.'

Rose nodded. She was resigned to it. She did not have the strength to go against Joshua. She could hear footsteps along the hallway but she kept looking at the pages of the notebook in front of her. There was a key down the side of the map like a piece of homework. Numbers were written in red and each number had some writing by it but she couldn't decipher the words because they were just jumbles of random numbers and letters.

She replaced the book on the side as the kitchen door opened and Frank came back in, followed by a policeman.

‘Good afternoon,' he said.

Frank was looking tentative as if he didn't quite know what was going to happen. He looked from Rose to Joshua and then back again.

‘I was telling Mr Richards,' the policeman said, ‘that we had an anonymous phone call about a possible domestic incident at this address. I fear we've been misled but we did need to check the premises. You are?'

‘This is Rose and I'm Joshua.'

‘My niece and her boyfriend,' Frank said. ‘They've come to see me off. As you can see I'm just going on a trip. I'm a bit pushed for time, actually.'

‘That's fine, sir. And I guess, from the way the flat looks, that you are also relocating?'

‘I'm selling it. Moving to the coast.'

‘Very nice. I'm very sorry to have troubled you. May I ask where you're going?'

‘A short break in Spain,' Frank said.

‘Lovely. A bit of sunshine at this time of year is always welcome. Now I'll leave you folks alone. Good day to you.'

The policeman walked towards the front door. Frank followed him. Rose looked round at Joshua. He had picked up two of the notebooks and was putting them into his inside pocket. The sound of the front door closing made him move away and stand against the worktop next to Rose.

Frank came back in.

‘I appreciate that,' he said, looking serious.

He walked across and picked up the holdall and began to put things into it. Joshua eyed Rose. Then he started to speak.

‘We understand about what happened to the boy on the footbridge. We know it was self-defence.'

Frank looked away from his packing, nodded and gathered his papers and the book together, and placed them into the holdall.

Joshua persevered. ‘I'm sorry if I was a bit off. You know it's been a long time for us. We've not seen or heard
of our parents for five years and I was sceptical about your story.'

Frank nodded.

‘So, if I was rude I'm sorry.'

‘It's all right. I have to go. You'll have to leave.'

The atmosphere had changed. The police visit had made Frank sober and busy.

‘Is there nothing you could tell us? Just one thing that would make us feel happier?'

‘I've already said too much.'

He zipped up the bag and began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Rose saw the tattoo again. She saw Joshua look at it, his forehead wrinkled.

‘Aren't you going to look after me any more?' Rose said.

‘Yes. I will. I'll be around sometimes. But you won't know it.'

‘But, Frank, what if Rose was in trouble and you weren't around? What then? What if someone else began to follow her and you didn't know about it. What would she do? How would she get in touch with you?'

‘She can't get in touch with me.' Frank began to shake his head. ‘I've already given too much information away.'

‘Just a phone number for emergencies. Please.'

Frank picked his jacket up from the side. He put it on, staring at Rose all the time.

‘I'm sorry. I need to go now. You'll have to walk out with me. I need to pick up a taxi.'

They walked behind him. At the front door he stood to the side so that they could pass. He looked unhappy. When they were out of the house, standing on the path, he pulled the front door shut and then slipped a set of keys through the letter box. He pulled his case on wheels and had the red holdall over his shoulder.

‘Just a phone number, Frank. Only ever to be used in an emergency. Just something that Rose will have in case something happens. You'd hate that, Frank, if something awful happened to Rose?'

‘Don't say that. It's my job to look after Rose whenever it's necessary.'

Frank stood on the pavement. He had his hand half up in the air for a taxi. The road was clear, though, no sign of a black cab in either direction. He put his bags down, took an envelope out of his pocket, then reached down into the zip compartment of his case and pulled out a pen. On the back of the envelope he wrote something and gave it to Rose. A taxi was coming towards them. Frank waved at it.

On the envelope was a mobile number.

‘I'll never answer this number,' Frank said. ‘No one will answer it. But you can leave a message for me and I will get it. But one thing …' He looked pained, as if everything had not gone the way he wanted it to. ‘If you tell anyone about this, then you will put Brendan and Kathy in extreme danger. I've told you too much but I have to
trust you. They love you and they've done this to protect you. Trust me. But if you tell anyone it could end badly for them.'

A taxi pulled up and Frank put his bags into it and leant into the window. Rose heard him say
Heathrow
. He got in and did not look back as the taxi drove off.

Rose and Josh watched it go.

A beeping sound made them look round. They saw Skeggsie across the road, sitting in the Mini. They walked towards him.

Rose stood on the footbridge at Parkway East station. It was dark. The sky was clear, deep blue and the moon was sharp and intense. Her eyes dropped to the tracks that went off into the distance – St Michael's Cemetery on one side, inky black; Chalk Farm Estate on the other, a hue of light seeping into the night sky.

There were people standing on each platform awaiting trains. Some people passed behind her. They must have wondered what a seventeen-year-old girl was doing standing on the walkway at 7.30 on a Tuesday night, holding a single white rose.

Above her the bulb that had once flickered now shone brightly.

It was three weeks since the night that Ricky Harris was stabbed. In that time Rose had had no sympathy for him, no grief for him, not a single moment's sadness. Now it was different. He had been killed because of her. She had not meant it to happen. Frank Palmer had not meant it to happen. But it had.

She laid the white rose on the ledge of the walkway.

Too little too late.

She looked round to see Joshua coming from the ticket office end. He smiled at her. She felt this tiny leap in her chest at the sight of him. He was wearing a jacket she hadn't seen before and his hair looked shorter, as if he'd had a trim. She hadn't seen him or been in touch since the previous Saturday. After Skeggsie had driven them home from Twickenham she'd needed time on her own, time to think. He'd needed time to think. It had been a couple of days of walking round dazed, taking in all the things they had found out.

That afternoon she'd decided to come to the station and pay her respects to Ricky Harris. She'd sent Joshua a text to let him know. He'd replied immediately and said he wanted to be there.

He came up to her and stood a few steps away. He didn't speak for a minute. She felt awkward, not sure how to greet him. It didn't matter, though. It wasn't as bad as it had been last week. The events since, the things they had found out about her mum and Brendan, had swept all that embarrassment away. It was unimportant now that they knew about Frank Palmer and what he'd done.

‘This where it happened, Rosie?'

She nodded and pointed. ‘He was laying there.'

‘Horrible.'

‘I didn't care about him. I didn't like him but …'

‘I know,' he said, reaching out and rubbing the back of her arm.

Some people went behind them, half running, half walking, looking over the edge of the walkway to see if a train was coming.

‘Hey, a rose from a Rose,' Joshua said, pointing at the white flower.

She gave a weak smile.

‘What have you been doing since Saturday?' she said.

‘This and that,' he said, moving closer to her. ‘Skeggsie and me have been trying to decipher the notebooks we took from Frank Palmer or
Richards,
whatever his name is.'

‘And?'

‘Nothing. Skeggsie says there doesn't seem to be much logic. He's tried using some software but nothing's coming up. He thinks the codes might come from a book. You know, where two people have the same copy of a book and the code is page number, line number, letter number.'

‘
The Butterfly Project
. That old book he had. Maybe that was it.'

‘Maybe.'

In the distance she could see a small square of light. It was a westbound train heading for Hampstead Heath and Finchley. She could just about hear the sound or maybe she was imagining it.

Joshua reached across and pulled up the sleeve of her jacket until her butterfly tattoo showed.

‘Why did you have this done?' he said.

‘My mum had one. You?'

‘My dad had one, on his ankle.'

‘What is it? What does it mean? Is it some kind of club membership?'

‘Seems pretty juvenile if that's what it is.'

She thought of the significance of the butterfly. Henry Thompson had asked her if her tattoo was symbolic – was it about something beautiful that dies young? He'd also told her that people used to catch butterflies and keep them in jars until they died. And mounted in glass cases. She'd told him that none of those things had anything to do with her tattoo.
It's a great shade of blue
, she'd said.

Even Frank Palmer had one on his arm.

It must mean something
, she thought,
it must
.

‘I don't understand what Frank Palmer meant when he said he was watching you. Protecting you. From what?' Joshua said.

She shook her head. She didn't know. She didn't know what to make of any of it.

‘Maybe we're right about Dad and Kathy being involved in national security? Terrorism? Maybe that's why you were in danger?'

‘What about you? Why isn't there someone watching over you?'

Joshua shrugged. ‘We can't know. Not until we find out some more.'

It was all a mystery. Did she really know any more now than she had three weeks earlier? That very first night when she virtually danced down to the station with her violin case on her back. Changing her clothes in the public toilet, putting make-up on like a schoolgirl on a first date. She'd been so excited, so thrilled to see Joshua again. What had it brought but anguish and uncertainty?