Double Dealing (Detective Sergeant Catherine Bishop Series Book Two) (18 page)

  He jerked her arm again and she kept walking. She risked a glance at him, but his eyes were fixed ahead. She tried to let more spit fall from her lips, knowing it was probably futile out here in the elements. The blood was dripping too, she could feel it. She flicked her head towards the man at her side, hoping some might find its way onto the sleeve of his jacket.

  Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and as they approached the building she realised where they were. Her heart sank. The younger man hurried forward and unlocked the door before shoving her inside. Her breath misted the cold air in front of her face. Plastic sheeting covered the floor and she shivered, wondering how many others had been dragged to this place before her. The door thudded closed and the room was illuminated as the single light bulb dangling overhead was flicked on.

  He turned her to face him. She lifted her chin and met his eyes without flinching. She was beyond fear now, adrenaline coursing through her. Blood dripped from her chin, falling to the plastic-covered concrete with a tiny sound, like a clock marking the passing of a second. Smiling in a way that was almost fatherly, he lifted his hand and traced the line of her cheek with a fingertip. She hated him, with his leering mouth and his wandering hands. The way he always stood too close.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he whispered.

She forced out a laugh. If the ride in the car had felt unreal, this was the stuff of an awful gangster film. He took the knife from his pocket and held it out to the other man who came forward, his face pale in the flickering yellow light. Lauren’s body tensed, her mind a mess of terror, regret and remorse. This was unthinkable, it couldn’t be happening.

  And yet, of course, it was.

  The young man wiped his palms on his jeans and took the knife, his hand trembling. Lauren wanted to close her eyes but whichever part of her brain that controlled that action had shut down long ago. The man behind her tightened his grip, holding her up like a human shield.

  Another step closer. His Adam’s apple jerked in his throat as he panted, ragged breaths slipping from his mouth. Lauren couldn’t move, her feet feeling as if they were stuck in setting cement, every muscle and sinew taut as she tried to lean back against the brute strength of the man who held her captive. It was hopeless. He let out a laboured breath and hissed, ‘Get on with it.’

  He was one step away, his eyes narrowed, his forehead damp. Lauren felt her bladder release, urine added to the mixed stench of terror, sweat and filth that was swimming from her pores in waves. He swallowed again and raised the knife, clutching it in both hands like a sacrificial offering. Lauren’s senses screamed, but no sound escaped her. Her mouth opened as her final seconds slipped away.

  ‘Do it.’ His voice was barely a whisper.

The breath shuddered from her as the blade touched her throat.

34

He stood there, an uncertain smile on his face. Anna glared at him.

  ‘What are you doing here, Rob?’ she demanded. ‘How did you know where I live?’ She kept the door on the chain.

He blinked a few times as if confused by her anger. ‘I phoned your mum and asked her. She seemed pleased to hear from me.’

Anna sighed. Her mum had loved Rob, though she wouldn’t be quite as keen on ushering him back into her daughter’s life when she heard where he had spent the past eighteen months.

  ‘Told her you’d just got out of prison, did you?’ she snapped. His gaze fell to the ground.

  ‘It . . . didn’t come up,’ he mumbled. Anna laughed.

  ‘Strange that. She must have asked what you’d been up to?’ Knowing her mum, she’d no doubt invited him around for tea.

  ‘I just said I’d been away and changed the subject.’ He shrugged.

  ‘The new subject being my address?’

  ‘I just want to talk to you, catch up, see how you’ve been.’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you. You’ve been in prison, I’m a police officer. That’s all we need to know about each other, I’d have thought.’

He gestured towards the door. ‘Can’t you take the chain off? I’m not going to force my way in.’ She shook her head, her eyes fierce.

  ‘The chain stays on. I’ve nothing to say to you, Rob. You made your choice and look where it got you.’

His laugh was bitter. ‘Yeah, good for you, Anna. You told me so.’

Her eyes widened. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it. Our relationship was over the day you started hanging around with those dodgy blokes. The day you started breaking the law.’

  ‘I thought Mother Teresa was dead.’ He smirked. She watched him, sadness creeping into her look of indignation. He blushed, scuffled at the ground with the toe of his trainer.

  ‘Goodbye, Rob.’

She started to close the door, but just before she disappeared he said, ‘Anna? I’m sorry.’ She hesitated, holding the door still for a second. ‘You know this missing woman?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Is she dead? It seemed serious, the questions your boss was asking.’

  ‘I can’t talk about it, Rob, you must know that.’

His face twisted. ‘Yeah, someone with as much experience of being questioned by coppers as me ought to.’

  ‘I’m not going to feel sorry for you,’ she told him. He met her eyes, then turned away. She just heard him as he began to walk up the path.

  ‘I’m not asking you to.’

 
The Indian restaurant was quite busy again, the buzz of conversation and friendly waiting staff giving the place a cosy, welcoming atmosphere. Jo Webber glanced around.

  ‘I’ve not been to this place for years,’ she said.

  ‘I was in here two nights ago,’ Knight admitted, and she laughed.

  ‘Hot date?’

  ‘If that’s what you call going out with five colleagues plus a wife and a woman they’re trying to set your sergeant up with, then yes.’ he smiled.

  ‘Your sergeant? You mean Catherine?’ When he nodded, Jo winced.

  ‘Oh. How did she take it?’             

  ‘She didn’t seem too pleased.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. What happened with Claire Weyton had to hurt.’

  ‘I was worried about her,’ he admitted. ‘She seems to be better than she was though.’

  ‘I know what it’s like to have people trying to matchmake,’ Jo said. ‘Mates of my friends, blokes they work with, even my assistant’s brother.’ She took a sip of beer. ‘I think the job puts people off.’

  ‘I can’t think why.’ Knight raised his eyebrows and she laughed.

  ‘You get all the same old jokes: “Nice for you to meet a man with a pulse”, “Watch out or she’ll lock you in her freezer.”’

  ‘Funny.’

  ‘The first time, perhaps.’

  ‘I won’t talk about your job at all then.’

She laughed.

  ‘I bet you mention work within the next five minutes. Your colleagues, a point from my post-mortem report . . .’

  ‘It was Catherine who said I should phone you actually,’ he admitted.

  ‘Ha. I’m glad she did.’ She waited as he blushed, smiling at him. ‘Catherine told me you have an ex in London.’

Knight swallowed nervously. ‘Yes, Caitlin.’

Jo nodded. ‘I think I told you that I’m divorced?’

  ‘You did.’ Knight fumbled for another topic of conversation. ‘Caitlin’s pregnant,’ he blurted. Jo stared.

  ‘Pardon?’

Knight groaned inwardly. Why the hell had he said that? There was no going back now though. ‘My ex-girlfriend. She’s pregnant.’

  ‘I see.’ Jo hesitated, then said, ‘And how’s that going to work?’

  ‘Sorry, how do you mean?’

  ‘Will you travel down to see the baby? Move back there?’ She didn’t seem too perturbed.

  ‘Oh, it might not be mine,’ he explained. Jo looked sceptical.

  ‘Don’t you know? Doesn’t Caitlin?’

  ‘She doesn’t,’ he admitted, feeling stupid. ‘I could be the father, but so could the bloke she’s living with now. She met him before we split up.’

  A waiter arrived with their starters and Jo broke a piece off a poppadum.

  ‘And you thought this was a good time to tell me about it?’ she asked. Knight was studying the tablecloth, mortified. When he dared to glance up, she was struggling not to laugh, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. ‘Your face . . .’ She started to giggle and Knight joined in, relieved.

  When she calmed down, she said, ‘My husband was seeing someone else as well.’

Knight grabbed another chunk of poppadum. ‘Really?’

She nodded. ‘He worked in the hospital too, as a nurse in A&E, and he was sleeping with one of the consultants. She dumped him after a couple of months.’

  ‘What an idiot. Him, not her,’ he clarified.

  ‘The worst part was,’ she hesitated. ‘While we’re confessing . . .’ He nodded, wondering what was coming. ‘Just after he left, I had a miscarriage. I hadn’t even known I was pregnant.’ She kept chewing, her eyes blank. Knight had no idea what to say without sounding trite or inappropriate. Instead, he took her hand before he could doubt himself. Her face relaxed slightly, and she said, ‘God, he was an arse.’

  He pulled over to the side of the road, leaving the engine running as he turned in his seat.

  ‘Lovely house.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s too big for me, but I couldn’t face moving again.’ She smiled. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’ He nodded, suddenly shy again, and she laughed at his expression. ‘You’re like a nervous teenager on his first date.’ She raised a hand to his cheek, cupping his jaw and running her thumb over his lips. He closed his eyes, savouring it, then felt her breath on his face, knowing she was moving closer. Her mouth, her hands in his hair. Cold noses. The day disappearing, evaporating. The world outside ceasing to be for a short time.

  She pulled away from him, then bent close again and kissed his cheek.

  ‘I’m glad you phoned. Good night, Jonathan.’

35

The first phone call of the day confirmed what they’d known already – Keeley Pearce was their unidentified body. DCI Kendrick had taken the call, and as he relayed the message to the rest of the team, there was a moment of silence, a second of reverence. Officers would be despatched to inform Ailsa Pearce and to ask her to formally identify the body.

  Then the noise started up again. Catherine sat at her desk, checking through her emails. As Knight headed for his office, she met his eyes and mouthed, ‘Well?’ He gave her a tiny smile and she resolved to interrogate him later on.

  When Knight’s door had closed behind him, Melissa Allan sprang out of the next office and treated Catherine to a dazzling smile before approaching her desk.

  ‘Good morning. DI Shea would like a word.’

Catherine hesitated just long enough to make Allan’s smile dim a few watts, then said: ‘I’ve no time now, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It can’t wait.’ Allan took a step forward.

  ‘It’ll have to.’ Catherine beamed, switching off her monitor. She felt Allan’s resentful eyes on her back as she crossed the room to Anna Varcoe’s desk.

  ‘Don’t ring me again, do you understand?’ Anna snapped at whoever had called her. Catherine perched on the corner of her desk as she slammed the receiver down.

  ‘All right?’

  ‘That was Rob Hunter, phoning me at work as if that’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do.’ She looked up at Catherine, furious. ‘He even came to my flat last night, wanting to talk. I told him to get lost. I’m so bloody annoyed.’

  ‘I’m sure he realised. Are you ready?’

Anna held up her notebook.

  ‘As long as I can stay away from Rob.’

  ‘I think we can arrange that,’ Catherine replied. Chris Rogers fell into step with them as they passed his desk.

  ‘Sarge . . .’ he said. Catherine held up a finger.

  ‘Is this going to be about Ellie?’

  ‘No.’ He looked wounded.

  ‘Carry on then.’

  ‘It’s just that Faye . . .’

Catherine strode ahead as the two DCs broke into laughter and jogged to catch her up.

  This time when they arrived at the premises of Worthy and Son, there was no welcoming smile from the receptionist. John Worthy hurried to meet them as soon as they arrived, smoothing down his waistcoat.

  ‘Back already, Sergeant Bishop?’ He smiled. ‘And with two colleagues this time. How can we help you?’

  ‘We’d like to speak to your staff again, Mr Worthy. I’m hoping your second-in-command is back in the office?’

  ‘Alex? Well, yes he is, but . . .’ Worthy shuffled his feet.

  ‘Could you let him know we’re here, please?’

  ‘I think he’s on a conference call at the moment,’ he replied with an apologetic shrug. There were footsteps behind him and he turned.

  ‘It’s all right, John, we’ve just finished.’ He was tall with his hair cropped short and wore a casual navy blue shirt and jeans. Standing beside him in his shabby tweed jacket and cord trousers, John Worthy looked like a poor relation.

  ‘I’m Alex Lambert.’ He came towards them, hand outstretched, a broad smile fixed in place.

  ‘Mr Lambert, we’d appreciate it if you could answer a few questions.’ Catherine kept her tone neutral. Lambert nodded.

  ‘No problem at all. Shall we go through into my office?’

  ‘Thank you. Mr Worthy, would you be able to show DC Rogers the rest of the building, please?’

Worthy nodded, bewildered. ‘I’m not sure what any of this has to do with . . .’

The rest of his protest was lost as Lambert led Catherine and Anna away from the reception area.

  The room was a contrast to the old-fashioned style of Worthy’s office. Lambert sat in a chair that looked like it would have been more at home on a space shuttle than in an office. His desk was made from curved silvery metal with a black glass top. The carpet was also black, the walls painted a light grey. There was a lime green sofa along one wall, as well as two armchairs of the same colour facing Lambert’s desk.

  ‘Please sit down,’ he said, the smile still evident. He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, revealing an expensive-looking watch. No wedding ring, Catherine noted. She was silent, wanting Anna to take the lead.

  ‘John said you were asking about Lauren Cook?’ Lambert tilted his head to the side, smiling at Anna. ‘I don’t know her well, I’m afraid. I’ve only been with the business a couple of years.’ Catherine made a note and Lambert’s eyes followed her pen across the page. ‘I hadn’t realised that I was so interesting.’ He laughed.

  ‘Mr Lambert, do you remember a woman called Keeley Pearce coming to work here?’ Anna asked.

  It was subtle, but his eyes narrowed for a second.

  ‘I don’t, I’m afraid.’ His voice was smooth, unflustered. ‘Was she a temp? We do have them from time to time. I don’t have much to do with the packing staff, I’m more interested in the web design and marketing side of the business.’

I’m sure you are,
Catherine thought. Lambert didn’t seem the type to get his hands dirty somehow.

  ‘She worked here for a few weeks about eighteen months ago, we understand,’ Anna continued.

  ‘I’m sorry. As I said, I don’t remember the name.’                           

Yet you knew she worked in the packing department.

  ‘But she did work here?’ Anna had noticed his mistake too.

  ‘I don’t know for sure.’ Lambert ran a hand through his hair, looking up at Anna through his eyelashes. ‘Margaret on reception deals with all the HR stuff, you’d be better off checking with her. Shall I call her in?’ He stretched out a hand and picked up the receiver of his desk phone.

  ‘That won’t be necessary at the moment.’ Anna paused for a second and made eye contact with Lambert. ‘Tell us more about Lauren Cook.’

   ‘There’s nothing to tell. She’s reliable as far as I know, turns up and does her job. I don’t know anything else about her.’

  ‘What about your other members of staff?’ Catherine put in. Lambert’s eyes flicked from her to Anna and back again.

  ‘Who should I answer first?’ He gave a broad, easy smile.

Anna nodded towards her sergeant. ‘She’s the boss.’

  ‘You haven’t given either of us a straight answer yet in any case, Mr Lambert,’ Catherine pointed out.

He gazed at her for a few seconds.

  ‘I think I have, Sergeant, but let me try again. Firstly, I know who Lauren Cook is but have never spoken to her, other than “good morning” or “good night”. I think I once said “excuse me” when I had to squeeze past where she was working. Secondly, I don’t know this woman . . . what was her name? Keeley?’

  ‘Thank you for clarifying that, Mr Lambert.’ Anna’s smile was an effort.

  ‘Please call me Alex.’

  ‘Could you tell me about disciplinary procedures here at Worthy and Son, Alex?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, if an employee turned up for work drunk or under the influence of drugs, for example?’

Again, the reaction was subtle, but it was there. Lambert blinked a few times before forcing a smile. ‘I’d be very surprised if they did.’

  ‘Come on, Mr Lambert, you’re not running a convent,’ Catherine snapped.

  ‘Playing the bad cop, Sergeant Bishop?’ he asked with a smirk. She gave a hollow laugh.

  ‘You caught me out.’

  Chris Rogers was chatting with John Worthy and Margaret from the reception desk. Catherine kept her distance, took out her phone and scrolled through her emails, not wanting to interrupt.
Shit.
She hadn’t replied to Ellie’s text yesterday. Opening the message, she read it again
:
Good to talk last night
.
She had no idea what to say to that. Just “You too” seemed almost rude, especially a day late. Glancing over at Chris, she closed the text again.

  After another minute or so, he joined her.

  ‘All right, Sarge?’ he asked in an undertone. She nodded.

  ‘How’s it going with them?’

  ‘Interesting. John Worthy plays the role of bluff country gent quite well, but I don’t think he’s a naïve as he makes out. And a fly couldn’t fart around here without Margaret knowing about it - she’s switched on. She doesn’t like Alex Lambert.’

  ‘She’s not the only one.’ Catherine screwed up her face.

  ‘Arrogant prick?’

  ‘Yep. I’ve left Anna talking to him because I was either going to slap him or throw up on his horrible chairs. Anna’s letting him think she likes him.’

  ‘I suppose you want me to go in there now?’

  ‘He might respond to a man-to-man type approach. He wasn’t going for mine.’

  ‘Which was what, bull-in-a-china-shop?’

  ‘As if. What about the staff out there?’ She jerked her head towards the packing and printing part of the building.

  ‘All very chirpy. I made myself noticed, did a lot of looming over people’s shoulders like you said.’ He grinned.

  ‘I’m going to go through and do some myself.’

Rogers laughed.

  ‘With respect, Sarge, you’re too small to loom. You’d be better off giving them a tap on the kneecap.’

  ‘Ha bloody ha. Go and give Alex Lambert a grilling with Anna.’

  ‘Will do.’

He turned away and she took her phone out again
:
Enjoyed chatting too. Coffee?

 
The packing department was cold, a bitter draft blowing through a pair of double doors that stood open as a delivery driver heaved a pallet of brown cardboard boxes out to his waiting lorry. A conveyor belt about half a metre wide snaked through a hole in the wall and ended in a semi-circle. Stacks of cardboard and rolls of tape were scattered around the place. The cement floor was painted a dark green with a yellow line warning employees not to stray too close to the conveyor while it was moving.

  A group of people huddled in one corner where an old kitchen unit and a sink stood. She’d caught them at breaktime. Perfect. There were two women and two younger men. As Catherine approached, Sarah Watson, the woman she and Anna had spoken to the previous day, looked up and smiled.

  ‘Back again?’ the taller man asked, the hostility clear in his voice.

  ‘That’s right. Can I have a quick word?’

  ‘Why not?’ he shot back. ‘Not like we’ve got anything better to do. Not as if we’ve been working all morning in this bloody icebox and these are the only fifteen minutes we get to ourselves.’ He took a mouthful from his cup and said, ‘Well?’

  ‘Come on, Billy, she’s just doing her job. Aren’t you bothered about Lauren?’ Sarah asked.

Billy gave a scornful laugh.

  ‘She’ll have gone off with some bloke, I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’

Sarah shook her head. ‘Not Lauren, she wouldn’t do that to Mark.’

  ‘God knows why, he’s a proper thicko,’ the other woman spoke up.

  ‘Would you like some hot chocolate?’ Sarah offered. Catherine accepted and thanked her.

  ‘Could you remind me of me your names, please?’ she asked, raising her voice over the whine of the kettle.

  ‘Can you tell us why we should?’ Billy retorted. He had broad shoulders and wore a belligerent expression. Catherine sighed.

  ‘Because it’ll be so much easier if we do this here rather than at the police station.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘No, not a threat. More like a fact.’ Catherine had met people like Billy hundreds of times before. The best approach was to ignore the hostility. It was usually all hot air. He sniffed.

  ‘Let’s get it over with then.’

Billy Kilner, Dan Raynor and Josie Hayward. Catherine scribbled them all down, though they had a full staff list already. Sarah handed her a mug and she took it with a smile, the rich scent of the chocolate welcome in the chill air.

  ‘How can you work in here? It’s freezing.’ Catherine cupped both hands around her drink.

  ‘I’ll go and close the doors,’ Dan Raynor said, hurrying away.

  ‘Two pairs of socks, fingerless gloves, and we move around a lot.’ Josie Hayward smiled.

  ‘You’re busy?’

  ‘Not as busy as we were; there were ten of us working in this department a few years ago. It’s busy enough though, with Lauren away.’

  ‘You’re missing her then?’

  ‘It’s easier with five, especially when you’re loading pallets. We’re supposed to have two to a box, but we can manage them on our own if we need to.’ Josie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t tell Margaret that, she’s Health-and-Safety mad.’

  ‘Do any of you remember a woman called Keeley Pearce? She worked here for a few weeks a while ago?’

Billy frowned. ‘The name’s familiar . . .’