Death Bed (23 page)

H
aving spent evening after evening vainly searching back streets, it was typical that he chanced to spot her one night when he wasn’t even looking. He had just driven past Camden station, on his way home, when he caught sight of her on the opposite side of the road. She looked young – perhaps very young – and it struck him that a teenager might be more responsive to his vision than the people he had taken home so far. He speculated about her age as he watched her light coloured coat flap against her legs in a gust of night air. There was no reason for him to pull into the kerb and watch her because he wasn’t looking for anyone, and in any case they were on a main road which meant there would be cameras everywhere. But her slight figure held his gaze. As she turned into a side street he pulled out into the traffic and followed her. Once he had turned the corner he drew over but the girl had disappeared, which was just as well because he told himself he had no intention of approaching her. Nevertheless he parked and got out to stretch his legs.

The cold night air startled him; he hadn’t realised how hot it was in the car. The side street was deserted. About to get back in the car, he heard someone coughing. Stepping forward he peered into a narrow passageway between two buildings. The girl was leaning against a wall, barely visible in the unlit alley, illuminated only by a faint glow that spread out from the street. He could see she had long fair hair and was wearing a knee length mac and low heeled shoes, and was carrying a bag over her arm. Closer up she appeared older than he had initially thought, probably in her late twenties. She hadn’t seen him yet. Abruptly she bent double and vomited. When she straightened up unsteadily he knew what to do. This was too good an opportunity to miss.

He stepped smartly into the alley quickly brushing his hood off his head.

‘Are you alright?’

The girl looked up, startled.

‘Don’t worry. I’m a police officer.’

He waved his identity card in front of her.

‘Come on, I’ll take you home.’

‘No. I’m alright, really.’

It was a half-hearted protest.

‘That’s what they all say,’ he told her, smiling kindly, ‘but you don’t need to worry. I’m not arresting you. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just looking out for your safety. Come on now, you’re in no fit state to be out on your own. Best to be safe.’

He took hold of her arm and steered her back onto the street, jerking his hood up with his free hand before they left the shelter of the dark passage. He muttered something about the threat of rain but she wasn’t listening. Deftly he opened the door, shoved her inside, and clicked the seat belt on.

‘Won’t be long now,’ he said cheerfully as he leapt in behind the wheel. ‘We’ll soon have you home.’

‘How do you know where I live?’ she asked as the car accelerated.

He didn’t answer.

Vicky could hear her teeth chattering, and felt herself trembling as the car sped on through unfamiliar streets.

Although she stared fixedly out of the window she didn’t recognise anything they passed. They seemed to be driving for a long time.

‘How do you know where I live?’ she repeated anxiously.

She had been an idiot to drink so much that evening but had sobered up enough to realise that she was sitting in a car beside a stranger, with no idea where he was taking her.

‘Please stop,’ she called out, her voice rising in panic. ‘Stop the car. Thank you for the lift but I’d like to get out now.’

Still the man made no reply but carried on driving through the night.

There was no longer any doubt in her mind that she was at risk. The fact that the driver was a policeman made her situation more alarming because he would know how to avoid attracting suspicion. There was nothing for it but to jump out of the car at the first opportunity. They seemed to be travelling along a fairly main road. They had only to slow down for a red traffic light or a corner and she would leap out and make a run for it. By the time the driver realised what had happened, she would be gone. She fumbled with her seatbelt and managed to release it silently. The man didn’t look round. At last they stopped at a traffic light and she pulled cautiously on the door handle. It was locked. Struggling to control her alarm she leaned back in her seat and waited. There was nothing else to do until he opened the door and when that happened she would need to keep her wits about her. She couldn’t afford to give way to the panic rising in her chest which was making it hard for her to think clearly.

Finally the car stopped in front of a large wooden gate which opened, operated by remote control, and they drove in. Leaning against the seat as though asleep, she threw her head back to watch what was happening through half closed eyes. Her car door opened and a rush of cool air blew across her face. Suddenly, with a shriek of terror, she flung herself out of the car, throwing all her weight sideways against her captor in a desperate attempt to barge him out of the way. He stumbled backwards in surprise. She ran blindly but he followed and seized her by the arm. Vicky spun round swinging her bag at his face. He yanked it from her grasp and the frail gold chain snapped and dangled uselessly. Still gripping her arm, he tossed the bag over his shoulder with his free hand which he then pressed against her mouth, pushing her head backwards until she struggled to breathe. Her head was spinning with alcohol and terror and she felt her legs buckle, so that only his grasp of her arm prevented her falling.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ he hissed, leaning forward so that his mouth was touching her ear.

‘I want to help you.’

She could hear his breath wheezing in his chest.

‘Come along now,’ he went on.

She turned her head and saw that he was smiling at her.

‘I’ve got something to show you. I know you’re going to like it.’

A
fter a dull morning Geraldine was pleasantly surprised when Sam suggested they go out for a pub lunch.

‘Let’s just get away from this place for an hour,’ Sam said, and Geraldine agreed.

The atmosphere at the station was tense. Colleagues assigned to the Palmer Henry case who had been enthusiastic at the start of the investigation were now fractious. It felt as though they had done no more than go round in a circle. They had no definite leads and were going over old ground casting around hoping to find something new.

Geraldine and Sam went to a quiet local pub where Sam assured her the food was good. Geraldine ordered a prawn salad and Sam asked for a club sandwich with chips.

‘Make that a double portion of chips, will you?’ she added to the woman serving behind the bar. ‘I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.’

They sat down and began chatting in subdued tones about the case.

‘If you ask me, we’re worse off now than when we started because we’ve been on the case for weeks and where are we? Still none the wiser,’ Sam grumbled.

‘That’s not true. We’ve come a long way.’

‘Really? Well, who have we got as a credible suspect right now? After all this time.’

‘It’s not even three weeks,’ Geraldine said. ‘Just be patient. We’ll get there.’

Sam looked around.

‘Patient? I tell you what, I wish they’d hurry up with that food. I’m famished.’

‘I don’t know how you can eat so much without putting on weight.’

Sam grinned and patted her stomach.

‘I’m hardly skinny. If I didn’t exercise regularly - ’

The food arrived and Sam offered Geraldine some chips. Geraldine shook her head.

‘Go on,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve got loads.’

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

‘We’ve been at it for weeks now,’ Sam repeated, ‘and we still don’t know anything. I just think we should be getting somewhere after all this time, that’s all.’

She sprinkled salt and emptied two sachets of ketchup on her chips.

‘We’ve learned quite a lot about the killer,’ Geraldine pointed out but Sam disagreed.

‘Hardly. A few unsubstantiated comments, that’s all we’ve got.’

‘We know more than that.’

‘What have we discovered, exactly? He’s tall. He’s got dark hair. Yes, that narrows it down a lot, doesn’t it? There aren’t many tall dark-haired men knocking around North London, are there? And all that could turn out to be a load of tosh anyway, just like Robert bloody Stafford. So what have we got? Hopkins, the totally reliable witness. Not. Kingsley, who was making it up as he went along because he’s got no memory for faces. Great! We can’t put much store by anything either of them told us. For all we know the killer could be short, fat and ginger.’

‘Hopkins and Kingsley both said very clearly he was tall and dark-haired, and he spoke with an educated accent,’ Geraldine said patiently.

‘What? So he was educated.’ Sam snorted dismissively. ‘Ask anyone to describe someone they met once and they’d probably come up with something similar. You can’t set too much store by that.’

There was a hint of aggression in Sam’s voice that Geraldine had never noticed before. She couldn’t help wondering if it was provoked solely by Sam’s frustration with the case or if personal feelings were involved. Perhaps Sam had been hoping something might develop between them, despite her denial that she harboured any feelings for Geraldine.

‘Sam,’ Geraldine began and paused, uncertain how to express her concern.

‘What?’

But Geraldine decided against broaching the subject of Sam’s feelings towards her. Sam had made it clear she wasn’t interested in anything other than a professional friendship, and to suggest she might want more would only embarrass them both. In any case, Sam’s bad mood was no doubt due to nothing more than the investigation, which seemed to be going nowhere.

‘What were you going to say?’ Sam asked.

‘What happened with Wanda?’ Geraldine blurted out, curiosity overruling her decision not to pry into Sam’s feelings.

She waited, expecting to be told to butt out and mind her own business but instead Sam gave a rueful smile.

‘We were together for a while, but it got a bit too intense for comfort. She’s so wearing. You know how it is when you’re on a case. You can’t just drop everything because your partner throws a tantrum. She was always complaining I put my work before her – which I suppose I sometimes did – but in the end it pissed me off. I think we just got fed up with each other. Anyway, she’s with someone else now and they seem happy.’

‘I know what you mean.’

Geraldine told Sam about her ex-boyfriend, Craig.

‘He said he didn’t want to play second fiddle to a corpse.’ Sam laughed at that, and Geraldine joined in.

‘It sounds funny now, but I wasn’t amused at the time.’

‘Was it a tough break-up? Did you ever think he was The One and all that?’

‘No. We weren’t together that long, so I was disappointed rather than upset. But there was someone serious before Craig. We lived together for six years - ’

‘Six years!’

Sam gave a low whistle.

‘And then one day he just walked out, without any warning. I should have seen it coming I suppose, but I was so engrossed in work.’

She sighed.

‘Why do we do this to ourselves, Sam? Allow work to take priority over everything else? I could have been married to Mark by now, living in suburbia, worrying about our children.’

Their eyes met across the table.

‘That’s why we have to stick together, and support each other,’ Sam said.

She reached out and put her hand on Geraldine’s.

Geraldine tensed.

‘Sam,’ she faltered, ‘I like you a lot. But - ’

Sam removed her hand with an apologetic grin.

‘Don’t panic. I’m not going to jump on you when you’re not expecting it. I know you’re straight. Isn’t that why you’ve just been telling me about Craig and Mark?’

Geraldine shrugged. That hadn’t been her intention.

It hadn’t occurred to her to question whether she might be attracted to her colleague, but perhaps Sam was right and subconsciously she had been seeking to establish that she had never fancied a woman and never would. Sam grinned and Geraldine was surprised to feel a flicker of regret. They got on so well, and Geraldine had to admit to herself she was lonely. Maybe she had been talking for her own benefit, reminding herself of the men she had loved, because allowing herself to grow too close to Sam could introduce unwelcome complications into her life.

‘Come on,’ she said abruptly standing up. ‘It’s time we got back to work.’

D
ouggie was pissed off. It would wreck his nice little set up if anyone found out the police were taking an interest in him. And what did those bloody coppers mean about getting him a reduced sentence if he helped them out? It was more than his life was worth to say more. Douggie might not know who the softly spoken stranger was, but he knew better than to take his threats lightly. On balance, he’d far rather take his chances with the coppers.

As if he didn’t already have enough to worry about, now Mary was in one of her moods for no reason.

‘Something’s happened, Douggie. I can tell. There’s something you’re not telling me. I can see you’re worried but you don’t say anything.’

‘There’s nothing to say,’ he replied crossly. ‘And you’d do us both a favour if you’d shut up and mind your own business.’

‘This
is
my business, Douggie. You’re my business. What’s wrong?’

‘I told you, nothing’s wrong. I’m going out.’

‘Don’t walk out on me like that!’ she shouted.

He’d already had a few pints when George stepped through the door. Thinking his luck had finally changed, Douggie hurried up to the bar.

‘Have one on me. No need to thank me.’

Douggie gave him a friendly grin but George turned away without a word.

‘Haven’t seen you in here for a while,’ Douggie said after a moment’s silence. ‘Got anything for me then?’

George stared at his pint in silence for a moment.

‘It’s over, Douggie.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘There aren’t going to be any more jobs, not for you. They’ve found someone else.’

He squinted at Douggie.

‘It’s nothing to do with me, honest. But it’s best if you don’t talk to me again.’

Douggie made a show of not understanding.

‘What are you on about, no more jobs? You can tell them, they’re not going to find anyone half as good as me. I’m the best at what I do, you know that. And I’ve got the contacts, see? You tell them.’

George had almost finished his pint.

‘Tell them, George. We’ve worked together for a long time, you can’t just drop me for no reason.’

Douggie knew perfectly well why this was happening.

‘It’s nothing to do with me, mate. I’m just the messenger boy. If it was up to me - ’

George shrugged.

‘You’ve been seen, going in and out the copshop. They don’t like it. So that’s it.’

George stood up.

‘Been nice knowing you, sunshine. Thanks for the pint and all.’

Douggie watched him walk away, cursing that posh geezer and his bloody two thousand quid. It had cost him.

As he opened the front door he called out. There was no answer. He went into the kitchen and then the bedroom but Mary wasn’t there. The flat was empty. Terror hit him and for a few seconds he couldn’t catch his breath at the thought that the intruder might have returned and taken Mary away. He tried her mobile but it went straight to voicemail.

‘Hello, this is Mary. I can’t speak now but leave me a message and I’ll call you back soon.’

‘Mary, where are you?’ he asked out loud.

Although it was late, he rang her sister. No one answered. Despite all the driving he did, he was without a car right now. Careless of expense he took a taxi to Mary’s sister’s house, rang the bell and hammered on the door. Eventually the door opened on the chain and Mary’s sister peered out.

‘Who is it? Bugger off or I’ll call the police – oh, it’s you. What do you want? Have you got any idea what time it is?’

‘Mary’s gone,’ he gasped.

‘About time too.’

She began to close the door.

‘Wait.’

‘She doesn’t want to see you.’

‘But she’s here?’

‘Of course she’s here.’

Douggie was so relieved he staggered and almost fell against the door frame.

‘I thought - ’

‘Get lost, Douggie. She doesn’t want to see you.’

The door slammed.

Douggie waited five minutes then rang Mary’s mobile.

‘Hello, this is Mary. I can’t speak now but leave me a message and I’ll call you back soon.’

‘Mary, please,’ he stammered, but he knew it was no use.

‘Oh fuck off then, you stupid cow,’ he yelled and hung up.