Human Remains (43 page)

Sam had been telling me all about Cheryl, Audrey’s friend. She’d been reluctant to talk, having only just been interviewed by someone from Major Crime – which was a great comfort to me. It meant they were taking Audrey’s disappearance seriously, at least. She had left Audrey around midnight in the town centre. Audrey lived just up the hill, about a mile away, and she hadn’t wanted to wait to share Cheryl’s taxi. So she had taken herself off up the Baysbury Road, protesting that she always walked home, it wasn’t far, and what was going to happen on a brightly lit main road? And that was the last time Cheryl had seen her.

In return, I told him about the ANPR results. I should have kept quiet about it, probably.

‘You know Colin works for the council?’ Sam said.

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘I guess it might have been a convenient place for him to steal numberplates.’

We sat in silence for a moment. My head was starting to ache.

‘Did Audrey seem OK, when Cheryl said goodbye to her?’ I asked at last.

‘Apparently. She was a bit drunk, but they all were. Not staggering, Cheryl said. A bit tipsy. Anyway, after that I went to see Audrey’s ex.’

‘You went to see Vaughn Bradstock?’ I asked. ‘And?’

‘He wasn’t there. The receptionist told me your lot came and asked him a load of questions, and after that he was all upset and went home. I went to his house but there was no answer. No car outside.’

We stared in silence at the road ahead, a mother with a pushchair and a toddler making slow progress past Colin’s house and towards the town.

‘He’s got her,’ I said.

‘Who? Vaughn?’

‘No. Colin.’

‘We don’t know that for certain,’ he replied.

‘I just feel it,’ I said. ‘And you know he won’t be giving her access to any food or water. How long do you think she’ll last, Sam?’

He looked at me. This wasn’t exciting any more. ‘She wasn’t depressed, or lonely. You heard her friend, this morning. She was happy, looking forward to going on a night out. He’s only ever gone for – well. You know.’

‘I just think the fact that he knew her is too much of a coincidence, don’t you? I think he’s got her somewhere. He’s waiting for her to die.’

I’d been thinking about telling Sam what I’d found out this morning, about Colin’s apparent visit to Grayswood Lane on Saturday, but that would have been crossing a whole new line beyond the one I’d already crossed by performing unauthorised searches on the system. Besides that, Sam had just given me an idea. Audrey wasn’t depressed, not the way I had been – without even fully realising that I was that bad, without even giving it that name. It had been the shock, really, but also the loneliness and the frustration at work and the feeling that I was slipping away, beginning to disappear. It had been like evaporating, as though I was going to cease to exist and nobody would even notice. And seeing Colin, outside his house, had brought back memories of things he had said to me. The words he’d used –
release – choice – acceptance
. It had been my decision. He’d not made me do anything I hadn’t already considered, already wanted to do. I had wanted it all to go away, and he had said that was alright, it was a decision I could make. He gave me the guts to do it, I think. Permission, if such a thing was needed. And he told me it wouldn’t hurt; it would be peaceful, quiet, on my terms. He told me I could sleep and wait for it to happen and that I would not be afraid.

If anything, Sam had been the one in the wrong. He’d hauled me back from a place I’d gone to willingly. But now, of course, I knew he’d been right to do it. There were still moments, though, when I thought of being alone, of closing the door, and waiting for the quiet and the stillness and the word he used a lot –
transformation
. Becoming something better, more beautiful, with no striving or effort. Just peace.

It still crossed my mind that maybe he was an angel after all.

The only thing that really made a difference was the thought of all those other people he’d done it to. They couldn’t all have been suicidal. And, by the sound of it, Audrey wasn’t – she hadn’t chosen his path, had she? He’d taken it upon himself to shove her down it, for whatever private gratification he was going to get. And how had he felt, when he’d realised I hadn’t transformed at all? When there hadn’t been a news report about me? When he’d realised that I’d escaped? Had he been pissed off, cross, upset?

And how would he feel if he saw me again? Would he even recognise me?

‘If he comes out…’ I said out loud, and then didn’t finish my sentence.

‘If he comes out what?’

‘I want to talk to him.’

Sam looked at me, alarmed. ‘What? No. I don’t think so.’

I turned to him, trying to make sure I had his full attention. ‘I’ve got an idea, Sam. I know how we can find Audrey.’

‘How?’

‘He can take me to her.’

‘What? What do you mean?’

I hesitated, wondering whether to tell him, what he would say if I did. And in that moment’s hesitation the chance passed, because Colin Friedland came out of his house and shut the front door firmly behind him. He got into a dark blue Fiesta which was parked on the driveway and reversed out into the road.

Sam had already started the engine. He waited until the Fiesta got to the end of the road and helpfully indicated left towards the town centre, and pulled out to follow.

‘Don’t start,’ he said, even though I’d said nothing. ‘I just want to see where he goes. Alright?’

‘That’s fine,’ I said.

‘Really?’

Once we were on the main road, a white van was between us and the Fiesta. We slowed down at the lights and I could just about see the side of the car, and Colin’s wing mirror.

‘Don’t lose him, whatever you do,’ I said.

‘I won’t,’ Sam said, with a sigh that suggested I was starting to get on his nerves.

We were both privately hoping that he was going to lead us to Audrey, but a few moments later he pulled in to the Co-op’s car park. Sam drove straight past, up to the roundabout and back again.

By the time we drove in, Colin had parked and was walking towards the supermarket. He was carrying a reusable Co-op carrier bag.

Sam reversed into a space in the row behind the Fiesta and cut the engine. I undid my seatbelt.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked. ‘We can just wait for him to come back…’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m going to talk to him.’

‘
What?
’ Sam said. It was the closest I’d ever come to hearing him shout.

I was rooting through my handbag for my mobile phone, just a cheap Pay As You Go one that Irene had given me – an old one of hers, I think – because the one Colin had taken from me was still in some evidence bag somewhere. I had considered buying a nice new one, but now I was glad I hadn’t – this would be ideal. It was small and lightweight. I found it at the bottom of the bag and to Sam’s surprise I undid the top three buttons of my shirt and pushed the phone inside my bra.

‘What the fuck?’

‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m going to sit outside the Co-op, and when he comes out he might recognise me. You know? He might want to – have another try.’

‘Are you actually fucking mad?’ Sam’s eyes were wide. I’d never heard him swear once, never mind twice. ‘He was trying to kill you, Annabel. And you want to let him have another go?’

‘Not really, no. But things are different now, aren’t they? I know who he is, what he is. I’m not vulnerable now. I know what I’m doing. But he doesn’t know that, does he? That gives me an advantage.’

Sam was frowning now.

‘You are mad. Seriously. What the hell are you thinking? And in any case, surely your lot will have him under surveillance or something?’

‘They’re all deployed to other jobs. I asked someone. Look, we don’t have much time,’ I said, ‘he might only have gone in to buy a paper. I don’t even know if this will work – he might not see me, he might avoid me. But if he has got Audrey, it’s not at her house or his house, is it? So where is she? He might take me to the same place, wherever it is.’

I opened the car door and Sam went to grab my arm, missed, and got out his side instead. It was raining, a dull soft drizzle that made everything look out of focus. The clouds overhead were dark grey, the wind picking up and cold.

‘Wait. Just wait a second,’ he said, standing in my way. ‘What if I can’t follow you? What if we get separated?’

‘I’ve got my phone. You hold on to my bag. I don’t think he’ll search me, or anything. If he does take me somewhere, it won’t be far. Get hold of DI Frost and tell him. When I get a chance, I’ll send texts, so they should be able to find me.’

‘And what if they can’t find you? What if you can’t get a signal? What if he kills you straight away? Annabel, this is insane…’

‘He won’t kill me,’ I said, cheerfully, setting off across the car park, through the puddles, in the direction that Colin had taken. And I was a little bit mad, I thought to myself. But Sam knew that all along, didn’t he?

I glanced back at him. He was following me, jogging to catch up.

‘Annabel,’ he said, breathless, ‘just hold on a sec. Stop.’

I stopped. We were on the ramp leading up to the arcade of shops, the entrance to the Co-op around the corner. I had already spotted a bench outside where I could sit and wait.

‘I’m going to look in the Co-op and just make sure he’s in there,’ he said. ‘After that I’ll come out and wait in one of the other shops where I can see you. Just in case he takes you somewhere on foot. Alright?’

‘Yes,’ I said, surprised at the wave of relief. ‘Thanks. Don’t…’

‘What?’

‘Just don’t interfere.’

I left him then and plonked myself down on the bench. It was tempting to watch Sam to see where he went, but now I was in full view of the Co-op and if – just if – Colin had caught sight of me, I didn’t want to ruin this enterprise before it had even started. I kept my head bent low but chanced a brief glimpse up, at the door.

For this to work, I had to look right. The rain was helping a good deal, soaking my hair already and plastering it to the sides of my head. I’d left my coat in Sam’s car and I was sitting on the bench in my blouse and cardigan. I looked down at the wool and saw the rain settling on the fibres, tiny droplets that sparkled in the light from the shop window. I closed my eyes slowly and opened them again, and when I raised my eyes I saw the automatic exit doors of the supermarket slide open, and the figure I recognised as Sam coming through. He walked past me and if he acknowledged me I didn’t see it, just his legs, his stride purposeful. He went out of my line of vision. I thought of the CCTV footage, of the camera that was positioned somewhere behind me and to my left, no doubt pointing in another direction. I thought of the way I’d looked. I let my shoulders sag.

I listened to the people, the conversations going on, snatches of voices. I could smell the fish and chip shop. My face still, my eyes opening and closing slowly. Waiting. Even this, even this feeling, trying to fake it now but actually it was easy to do: the loneliness, people all around me but even so I might as well not exist. Sitting here on a wet wooden bench in the rain wearing my cardigan, the rain soaking my hair and my clothes, and nobody looked at me, nobody stopped. Feet walking past. Schoolkids laughing and pushing each other around. I didn’t look at them. I didn’t look up. It was this – inertia – this waiting, waiting for something to happen, for something to act upon me so that I didn’t need to act myself.

I remembered then how it felt, waiting for him.

After a while I almost forgot to look up. It was such a strange feeling. Quiet, cold, waiting.

I saw a pair of feet walking directly towards me and I almost thought to myself, at last, someone is going to ask me if I’m alright, and I nearly raised my head. Then I remembered what I was doing, and why, and I kept still, my eyes looking down at my knees.

He stood directly in front of me. I found myself looking at a pair of brown brogues, obviously coated in some kind of water-repellent suede protector spray, because there were small bubbles of water on them that hadn’t soaked in. Dark blue jeans, with a crease down the shin where they’d been ironed.

‘Annabel?’

I recognised the voice and for a moment I was afraid, a shuddering fear that was oddly accompanied by the same jolt of relief I’d felt when I’d thought he was an angel. His voice was so calm, quiet; so soothing.

‘Annabel?’ he said again, and this time I looked up, slowly, raising my head and blinking as though I wasn’t sure of anything, where I was, what I was doing.

He was looking at me with concern. And then he looked left and right, as though he was worried someone might be playing some kind of cruel trick on him. He looked at the bench and brushed the raindrops off it with his hand, shooting the water off and on to my feet, down my legs. Then he sat down next to me.

I lowered my head again. What was I supposed to say? This was difficult – I could get this wrong, so wrong…

‘You’re – you are… Ed?’

‘That’s right,’ he said, his tone even. ‘You remember.’ He was leaning towards me, and as I thought about what to say next he touched me on the arm, a light touch.

‘How are you, Annabel?’ he asked.

I shook my head in reply, slowly, and then faster so that my wet hair swung in rats’ tails around my cheeks. I pulled a face. Was it working? I had no idea. At the same time as trying to create these feelings – whatever they were that had attracted him to me in the first place: desolation, grief, confusion, despair – I realised they were still inside me, somewhere.

‘You said I could go,’ I said then. ‘You said it would all go away and I’d be alright.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It didn’t work,’ I said. ‘I’m still here. I’m still in hell.’

He paused then and took his arm away and I had the terrible feeling that I’d said the wrong thing without knowing it; that I’d somehow given myself away. The phone, small as it was, felt like a brick against my skin, sticky and warm. My blouse was damp and clinging to me, and I pulled the wet cardigan around me just in case he could see the outline of the phone.