Death Bed (25 page)

A
fter an uneventful morning Geraldine spent an equally tedious afternoon trawling through documents. Just when she thought her day couldn’t possibly get any drearier she heard a knock and looked up to see the profiler, Jayne, peering round the door.

‘Come in.’

Jayne sat down and smiled warmly at Geraldine.

‘What can I do for you?’ Geraldine asked, trying to hide her impatience.

‘Reg asked me to drop by and have a word with you.’

Geraldine fixed her face in what she hoped was an interested expression.

‘We’re all committed to working together to reach a successful conclusion to this case.’

‘Of course.’

Geraldine forced a smile.

‘Reg thinks you may be feeling some resistance towards my work.’

Jayne paused.

Geraldine was perturbed to hear that the detective chief inspector had been discussing her with Jayne. She wondered what else he had said about her.

‘We need to talk. I’d like to explore how we both see our relationship moving forward. Working in the Met can seem very different to the home counties - ’

‘Have you worked in the force outside London then?’

‘No. But I’m here to talk about you, Geraldine.’

‘Well I’ve worked on murder cases in Kent and in the Met and it may surprise you to learn that it’s actually not that different. When people are murdered they die just the same - whichever force you’re on. Take it from someone who knows.’

She smiled at Jayne, no longer bothering to conceal her irritation. She had no doubt Jayne was feeling equally antagonistic towards her now.

‘Geraldine, I’d like us to - ’ Jayne began.

Geraldine spoke at the same time.

‘Now if there’s nothing else, Jayne, I really must crack on. Perhaps we can discuss the similarities and differences between the Met and the rest of the force when we’re not up to our eyes in the middle of a case. I’ve got work to do, even if you haven’t.’

She turned away pointedly and began typing.

‘Geraldine, we need to talk.’

‘About what for Christ’s sake?’ Geraldine’s voice rose in exasperation.

‘You’ll get on a lot better if you listen to what other people have to say. I know what I’m talking about. I’m trained to understand - ’

‘Oh please, spare me any more of your insights. You want to talk about the way I work, is that it? Well, why don’t you listen to me, because I’m also trained in my profession and I can tell you that your so-called insights are no better than anyone else’s.’

‘Geraldine, I’m trained to see things others don’t see.’

‘What ‘things’ exactly have you seen then? All you’ve told us so far is that you think the killer wants to control his victims because he ties them up. A child of ten could work that one out. You think he might be keeping his victims’ teeth as trophies, and the dismemberment is escalating because a leg is more substantial than a finger. What other ‘deductions’ have you made, Jayne? That someone who’s already killed at least twice might strike again. Well, I’m sure no one else would have realised that without the benefit of your insight. Might be this, might be that. I’d like to get on with establishing some facts that will actually help us to find this maniac, so can we please cut the time wasting crap about us wanting to work together and be friends?’

‘I never said I wanted to be friends with you,’ Jayne retorted. She went out, closing the door forcefully behind her. With a sigh, Geraldine returned to her work.

The rest of the day passed slowly. At about eight o’clock, well past the end of her shift, she went home and had supper while watching the news. Thankfully there was nothing about the Palmer Henry investigation. In her bedroom she touched the drawer beside her bed, half opened it then closed it again without taking out the envelope she kept there. Not for the first time she wished she had more than that one small picture of her mother, the size of a passport photo. A week ago she had seen Geoffrey Hamilton’s collection of photographs: Donna’s face smiling straight at the camera, the picture Lily had shown Geraldine which had been snapped when Geoffrey had taken the two girls out for the day, another with Donna posing against a background of garden flowers, and a stack of other photos showing Donna’s face in profile, Donna putting a bag of apples into a basket in a supermarket, the back of Donna’s head disappearing into her flat and even a photo of her closed front door. He had so many pictures; she had just one.

She went to bed and tried to sleep but was unable to settle, disturbed by a nagging idea she had overlooked something. She’d had the same sensation before when she had been on the brink of solving a case, but this time there had been no breakthrough and she dismissed the feeling. After a couple of hours she gave up even trying to sleep, rolled out of bed, slipped the photograph in the pocket of her dressing gown and put the kettle on. She sat down in her living room, put the photograph on the table in front of her and stared at it for a long time.

Milly Blake didn’t know it, but before long she was going to meet her abandoned daughter for the first time in over thirty years. Geraldine hadn’t yet thought through the ramifications of finding her mother. She might have siblings, probably none older than herself but almost certainly there would be a younger brother or sister, perhaps several. She might even meet her natural father - although that seemed unlikely given the circumstances of her birth and her mother’s age at the time, barely sixteen. Whilst her adopted mother was alive Geraldine hadn’t been told the truth about her birth. Now she felt as though she had been waiting for this moment all her life. It was like being in love, an unbearable longing to see another person, only this was someone she had never met. Her whole life was going to change utterly. She might discover a complete new family.

It wasn’t realistic to expect their first meeting would be like the fairytale she had imagined. She was fully prepared for her mother to greet her with suspicion, even hostility, but she knew their relationship would develop given time. Because once Geraldine found her mother, she wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than a proper relationship. She had waited too long to be brushed-off again. It might be irrational, but she needed the intimacy of a close relationship with her mother.

After all, she and her mother couldn’t be very different. They looked so alike, the chances were they would be similar in character as well, which meant her mother would be pleased to see her, even if she had fought to avoid a meeting.

She must have been curious during all those years they had been separated. Maybe she regretted having abandoned her baby but was afraid to contact her daughter because she expected to be rejected, and couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again. Geraldine knocking on her door might be the best moment of her life, finally laying to rest a guilt so painful she hadn’t been able to summon the courage to look her own child in the eye.

Geraldine hadn’t told anyone about her decision to find her mother. She trusted Sam implicitly but still hadn’t told her what she was planning. It was private. Sam wouldn’t understand. How could she, although it was quite possibly the most significant event in Geraldine’s life right now? She might have a sister. A kid brother. Sudden excitement hit her and she wondered if she would ever feel the happiness of this wild hope again - because even if the meeting with her mother went well, the reality of the encounter could never match her anticipation. After a lifetime of isolation she would finally belong somewhere, even if it turned out she wasn’t welcome there.

N
ow there were two of them somehow the situation didn’t feel quite so hopeless, if only the woman would stop crying. She was doing his head in, going on and on like that.

‘What’s your name?’ Jon called out.

Anything to stop her incessant snivelling.

‘What?’

‘What’s your name?’

‘What’s it to you?’ she stammered.

‘I just want to talk.’

‘Why?’

Jon could no longer contain his irritation.

‘I’ve been lying here all on my own for - I don’t know how long.’

He felt as though he’d been there all his life.

‘For as long as I can remember.’

He thought about his flat, his new job and what had happened to him, and an unexpected rage shook him. In a way, this was all Simon’s fault. If he hadn’t been so callous Jon might never have jumped into a stranger’s car so readily. But there was no point wasting his energy feeling angry with Simon. Right now he had to concentrate on finding some way to escape. There were two of them in this dangerous predicament and they had to work together.

‘I just want to talk with someone.’

She didn’t answer, but at least she was quiet. He tried again.

‘We have to work together.’

‘What for? He’s going to kill us.’

‘You don’t know that,’ he answered quickly, before she yielded to hysteria again. ‘I’m not giving up that easily.’

He felt strangely heartened by his own words; his voice sounded firm and bold. He would never have dared think so positively if he’d been by himself.

‘So what’s your name?’ he asked again.

‘Victoria. Vicky.’

‘Vicky,’ he repeated and broke off, unexpectedly moved by the banality of their exchange.

The only other person he had spoken to for days was his captor, who was hardly a human being.

With an effort, he controlled his emotions.

‘My name’s Jon.’

‘Who is he?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘How come you’re here then?’

He didn’t answer straight away.

‘Tell me about you,’ he said instead. ‘How did you get here?’

‘You know,’ she answered vaguely. ‘He seemed nice and I thought - that is, he said he was taking me home. I was wasted. He told me he was a police officer, and I was stupid enough to trust him. By the time I realised he was lying about taking me home, it was too late. I tried to run away when he was getting out of the car, but … well, I didn’t and now I’m here. I don’t even know if he is a policeman. I don’t know anything about him, except that he’s crazy - ’

Her voice shook and she fell silent for a minute.

‘So what about you?’

Jon told her how he had gone out and got drunk after Simon had left him.

‘I don’t get it,’ she said when he’d finished. ‘This guy was your flatmate and he just walked out? How could he do that? I thought you said he was a friend. Some friend! So is the rent in your name or what? You can find someone else to share your house, can’t you?’

‘He wasn’t just my flatmate.’

‘Oh, you mean he was, like, your partner? Oh my God, you’re gay. Why didn’t you say?’

‘Yes. I’m gay. So what?’

‘No offence. I’m just trying to understand what’s going on, that’s all. I mean, what does he want with us?’

There was a pause.

‘So how did
you
get here?’ she asked, adding ‘and you can spare me the graphic details!’

Jon realised she was making a feeble attempt to sound light-hearted and promptly resumed his narrative, before she broke down again.

‘That’s it, so far as I can remember.’

He closed his eyes when he finished. His throat was burning and he felt exhausted with the effort of talking.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Victoria asked.

‘What?’

‘You said you’re not going to stay here. So, how are we going to get away?’

He didn’t answer.

‘I said, what are we going to do?’

Now she was feisty, he felt drained of energy.

‘We can’t stay here,’ she persisted. ‘We can’t just lie here and do nothing.’

‘Well what do you suggest?’

‘I don’t know. You’re the one who said you weren’t going to give up.’

‘Alright, let’s try and stay calm. I’m thinking, alright?’

‘I thought you had a plan - ’

‘I said, I’m thinking.’

He wondered if she knew it was hopeless.

‘What is all that shit anyway?’ she asked after a while. ‘All that crap he was showing us?’

‘It’s his collection.’

‘What do you mean, his ‘collection’?’

‘That’s what he calls it.’

‘But what is it all?’

He wondered if she had seen the grinning skulls, lined up in a row on one of the shelves.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Jon - ’

‘Yes?’

‘I need the loo. I think - ’

Her voice faded and she began to cry again. He didn’t know what to say.

‘It’s alright. You can’t help it. You just have to – Look, when we get out of here, we’ll soon get cleaned up. What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower.’

‘A long hot bath.’

‘I don’t think I’d really want to lie in a bath with me inside it right now,’ he replied and she laughed.

‘It’s so cold in here,’ she complained.

‘I could do with a nice hot cup of tea,’ he agreed.

‘Hot chocolate!’

‘And hot buttered toast!’

‘Stop it! I’m starving. Now, what’s the plan? You’re going to get us out of here, aren’t you?’

‘Sure. Me and superman.’

‘You said - ’

Her voice wobbled and he realised she was being serious, pinning her hopes on his ingenuity.

‘Yes, yes. Don’t start crying again. We have to keep thinking. There must be something we can do. There’s two of us and only one of him.’

‘So one of us can keep him occupied - ’

‘While the other - ’

He stopped. It was a fantasy. They were both chained, hand and foot. What could they possibly do?

‘How about if I ask him about his bloody collection?’ she suggested.

‘The only thing I can move is my head.’

‘We have to get him to lean over you then, so you can head butt him and knock him out.’

‘But - ’

‘I’ll tell him I think you’re dead,’ she went on, excitedly.

‘Then when he comes over to have a look, you can do it.’

‘And then we’ll still be tied up here, and the only person who knows where we are will be unconscious, or dead. And so will I, probably.’

They fell silent and a few moments later Jon heard her crying again. This time he didn’t try to stop her.