Never Forget (31 page)

W
ithout another word, we followed her to the remote viewing room. Catherine was right. I did want to hear what Spencer was saying.

At this precise moment, I was unable to distinguish what exactly was causing the slight shake of my hands and a really unpleasant sweating in my palms as I opened the door to the viewing room. Nerves or adrenaline were both likely to produce this effect on me. Wingsy looked as if he was faring much better but I couldn’t be sure about that. We took a seat, already transfixed by the pictures and words coming from the monitor on the wall before we even reached the chairs. Catherine took a seat by the door.

‘Listen, it’s important. Ask me what you like, but hear me out first. I have to tell you this.’

With my eyes on the screen as I slid on to the cushioned surface, I located the speaker. I’d seen enough photographs by now to know what Adam Spencer looked like. The images I’d previously seen were those of a much less worried man. The Adam Spencer I was now looking at had a worn expression, sallow skin, bloodshot eyes. I could have passed him in the street and not recognised him.

‘Blackmail, yes. I’ll admit to blackmail. I’ll go to court and plead guilty. But murder, no. Not murder.’ His voice was raised, and his eyes locked on Pierre and then Mark. I wasn’t sure which one held his gaze, due to the angle of the camera, until I heard Pierre speak.

‘Tell us about the blackmail, Adam.’

Adam banged his head on the table and left it there for a couple of seconds. When he straightened himself up again he said, ‘It was Josie Newman’s idea.’ He held his hands up and added, ‘But yes, I’m as much to blame. I went along with it. She had this idea to blackmail Jake Lloyd.’

As he said Lloyd’s name, I felt a shiver go down my spine. I hugged my goosebumped arms.

Adam continued. ‘Josie had some compromising photographs of Amanda Bell and Jake Lloyd from a few years ago. She wanted money for them, as he was doing well for himself. Problem was, as it turned out, he wasn’t doing as well as we’d thought. We just assumed that he was kicking up a fuss about paying. Five grand is five grand at the end of the day. We’d sent him some sample pictures so he knew we weren’t kidding about. When I went to see him to collect the money, he told me he’d burnt them.’

Adam gave a dry laugh. ‘Thing was, what neither me nor Josie knew until later was that Lloyd was stalking one of your officers. I went to collect the money and we rowed. He said that he would pay the five grand but there was to be no more money. It got very heated and he told me that he “knew all about taking photographs”. At the time, that meant nothing to me. He handed me five thousand pounds in a large padded envelope. I took it off him.’

Adam paused, took a sip of a drink from the plastic cup next to him and rubbed his hands over his face. With a sigh, he said, ‘Later that night, I waited for him to go out, let myself in through an open window and went through some of his stuff. I found a load of photographs of a woman. It was obvious that the freak had been taking them for years, and without her knowing. I found a press cutting about a policewoman who had rescued some battered housewife, Annie Hudson. Lunatic husband had shoved an iron in her face and beaten the living daylights out of her. This WPC had got a bit of a kicking herself but saved the woman’s life, keeping the bloke off the wife till more police turned up. It was quite clear it
was the same woman as in the photos. Her name was Nina Foster. Do you know her?’

Credit to Pierre. ‘Go on,’ was all he said.

‘Anyway, I took the photographs, found an address for her on the internet and posted them to her in the envelope Lloyd had given me the money in. Figured it wouldn’t be too long before police came to talk to him. Thought it might shake him up a bit. You know, let him know that we were serious. Last thing I expected was that he’d confess to murdering his cousin eight years earlier.’

‘What happened to the money?’ asked the unseen Pierre.

‘The plan was to give some to Amanda,’ answered the haggard murder suspect. ‘Me and Josie were just trying to help her out. You’ve got to believe that. We felt sorry for her. We had a good life in Spain; she was stuck here being paid to have sex with disgusting men. She’s got a young son. She was doing some really sordid stuff with her kid in the house. We wanted to use some of Lloyd’s money to help her and her son. And teach Lloyd a lesson.’ He gave a humourless laugh and said, ‘Thing was, I didn’t want to give her any of Lloyd’s actual cash – you know, dirty money and all that, just didn’t feel right – so I called her, gave her €2,000 of my own to change into sterling and went with her to the travel agents to change it. No doubt you’ve got me on CCTV with her. I didn’t think there’d ever be a comeback on it. But then I didn’t expect her to end up dead either.’

He clenched his fists, leant his weary face towards the interviewing officers and said, ‘I didn’t kill Amanda Bell. It wasn’t me. But I must have led him straight to her door.’

‘Who, Adam? Who did you lead to her door?’ asked Pierre.

‘Benjamin Makepeace. He turned up in Malaga. Me and Tony had been in the papers, the Spanish ones and the ones in the UK, when our second bar opened. We even made a point of going to the press in Birmingham ’cos that’s where me and
Tony met, at the children’s home in Leithgate. We thought it was clever publicity. We didn’t recognise Benjamin when he turned up, until he introduced himself. He came to the bar, bought us drinks, chatted to people in the bar. He wouldn’t leave at the end of the night. He got a bit weird. You know, all intense and very morbid.

‘Jason Holland was there that night. He’d come over for a few days. In the end, Jason took Benjamin out of the bar and tried to take him back to his own hotel. Turned out Benjamin didn’t have one. He crashed on the floor in Jason’s room.’

Adam put his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. After a few seconds of total silence, he moved his hands away and said, ‘Knowing what I know now, I could have saved that old lady’s life. Daphne Headingly worked at the home when we were there. After a few drinks, Benjamin started to talk about the day this kid called Peter died. He told me that he’d found Peter hanging and had seen one of the staff, Daphne Lloyd she was called back then, in the attic when he’d got there. He’d run away and told no one. I then found Peter myself, hanging by his neck. All these years and I had no idea Benjamin found Peter Woods’ body before I did… I’ll never forget what I saw, but I had no idea Benjamin had already seen him. To this day, he thinks he walked in on Daphne after she’d killed him. Why he didn’t tell anyone, I don’t know. I could tell from the way he talked, Benjamin had never got over it. He told me that he had seen her photograph in the paper – she’d won seven hundred and fifty grand on the lottery or something like that – and he’d got so angry. Then he’d seen her at Gatwick Airport when he was on his way out to Spain to visit us. He called it a “sign”. She was telling someone that she’d just flown first class from a holiday in Hong Kong. He was so angry that she was living such a good life when he knew she’d murdered a small boy in her care. He ranted on and on. I couldn’t get a word in to tell him the truth, and he was too drunk to listen anyway.

‘Peter was an uncontrollable little boy – taking risks, ignoring orders. We’d been told the attic was unsafe and out of bounds so it would have been the first place he’d go.’

Spencer went very quiet, head hanging forward to examine his feet. The only sound I could hear was the noise of my laboured breathing.

‘When I got there, what I saw… Daphne was getting Peter down, trying to get him breathing. She tried and tried. She saw me there and called for me to get help but I couldn’t move. For years I thought it was my fault he died. Fucked me up no end. I would have told Benjamin all that, but he’d passed out by then and to be honest, in the morning, I didn’t feel like bringing it up again.’

Adam had started talking and now he couldn’t stop.

‘Jason had a bit of a temper and I saw him lose it a couple of times with Benjamin. Jason used to talk to us all about his exploits with prostitutes. You know what it’s like? You have a couple of drinks, you take a bit of coke and talk about stuff.

‘I got talking about how I was going to see Amanda, help her out. Jason was gobbing off that he’d had sex with Amanda a few times, knew her well and once even made her eight-year-old son watch.’

Credit to Spencer: the memory of this conversation was doing him a lot more harm than the criminal justice system ever would. Another tortured soul to add to the list.

‘Jason went home to England and said he was taking Benjamin back with him. Benjamin was getting on everyone’s nerves. He was weird and creepy and seemed like one of those people who could go off at the deep end for no reason. We wanted him out of the way. I never saw either of them again. Jason’s dead, Daphne’s dead and Amanda’s dead too, because I led him to her.’

I’d heard enough. Wingsy followed me out of the room. ‘You alright, duchess?’ he asked, concern all over his face.

Catherine opened the interview room door a few inches to allow her face through the gap. It was if she was guarding
anyone else from seeing and hearing the goings-on behind her on the screen. ‘Nina, did I do the right thing? I thought you’d want to know who sent you the photos. It was one of the things he was insistent on telling us this evening.’

‘Yeah, thanks, Catherine,’ I said. I knew it was what she wanted to hear from me. ‘Glad you did. I’m heading off home now.’

‘I’ll come downstairs with you,’ said Wingsy.

A few minutes later, we were in the car park, saying goodbye.

‘You sure you’re OK?’ he said as we got to my car. ‘I can follow you home and join you for a beer. We’re days off tomorrow.’

‘That’s a kind offer, but I’m OK. It was the shock of finally hearing straight from the horse’s mouth how those photos got to me. The stupid thing was, Wings, I was so bothered that whoever sent them did it to get Lloyd out of the way. The truth is, they were only sent to get even with Lloyd. They had nothing to do with me, and he really did just confess because he believed in his sick way that it proved how much he was looking out for me. I’m kind of taking comfort in that: none of this is about me and never was. Best news for a long time.’

‘Well, as long as you’re sure you don’t want company, I’ll see you in a couple of days.’ He leaned across and gave me a peck on the cheek before striding off to his own car.

Once I’d run an eye over the back seat and the boot, I drove home. My plan was to lock myself in and hide under the bedcovers. It had been another of those days, and I was envisaging spending what was left of the evening relaxing at home. I was going to be very disappointed on every level.

B
ill called me as I got home. Using the last of my energy, I cradled the phone to my ear as I opened the front door. ‘Hang on,’ I said, ‘just got to get into the lounge.’ I kicked my shoes off as I went, dropping my bag at the bottom of the stairs, shrugging my jacket off all at once. The effect was that I dropped the mobile. ‘Trying to do too many things at once,’ I explained.

‘You worked late again, then?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, we got Spencer in the bin for the three murders. Two down, one to go.’

‘Think you’ve got the right one this time?’

‘Definitely not, if Spencer is to be believed. He’s talking but denying it. It turns out that Spencer got the photos of me by breaking into Lloyd’s and sending them to me. It was all part of a complicated blackmail plot. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.’

‘You want me to come over, Nin?’

‘No. You’ve worked long hours too,’ I said, feeling how tired I was and longing for sleep that I probably wouldn’t get if Bill came over, however tempting that thought was. ‘Think that we’ll be pulling out all the stops to find Benjamin Makepeace now. There’s still no sign of him.’

‘Probably right under our noses the whole time. Nina, what’s that noise?’

‘The sound of me pouring wine. Let’s be honest, I deserve it.’

I heard Bill’s chuckle down the line.

‘Fancy going out somewhere tomorrow night?’ he asked.

I hesitated.

‘Or not?’ he added.

‘Sorry, sorry, got distracted then. Looking out into the garden and it looks as though my shed door is open. I thought I heard banging when I was opening the wine. Course, I’d love to go out tomorrow, but with Spencer in the bin I’m going to have a really long lie-in. Can I let you know in the afternoon?’ I thought I heard a sigh but, as one police officer to another, Bill, of all people, should really understand.

‘It’s that I’m on an early morning warrant the day after next,’ he said, ‘so I have to get up at 3am. Perhaps not too late?’

My love life felt as if it was slipping away. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said in a more cheerful manner than I felt.

‘Well, goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

‘Night, Bill.’

I stood for several seconds thinking about our conversation and hoping that this wasn’t the beginning of the end. Police officers had relationships all the time, got married, had children, I couldn’t understand why I struggled so much. I was going to have to put more effort into this one.

The noise of the shed door smacking against the frame jolted me into putting the phone down, unlocking the back door and making my way outside to secure it. I’d never got round to putting a padlock on the shed. I had an old lawnmower and a few rusty, token tools stored there. Knowing how frequent break-ins to sheds were in the area, I guessed I’d probably had several night-time thieves sneak a peek and leave empty-handed and disappointed. The few pathetic items I had in there weren’t worth stealing, and word of that had probably got round, so I never worried over the contents. It was a sturdy shed, however, and, if the local burglars could have nicked that, they probably would have.

As I got halfway across the lawn, I smelt a musty odour. There was quite a breeze blowing, sending my shed door on
a non-stop shuttle between open and closed as well as causing the trees backing on to my boundary to bend and rustle. In conditions like this, there was no way I could trace the origins of the smell. The coolness of the evening stopped me from hanging around to find out. I ran the last couple of metres to the shed door, pulled the bolt across and legged it back to the kitchen.

Once inside, I banged the door shut behind me, shivering as I did so. I rubbed my arms to warm myself up before turning towards the window, where I’d abandoned my mobile phone and my untouched wine. As I reached towards the glass, I realised that two things were very wrong. Firstly, my mobile wasn’t where I’d left it. Secondly, the
knife-block
to my right next to the sink had spaces for six steak knives and four carving knives. They were a very good set of knives, given to me for my thirtieth birthday by my great Auntie Lou. They had a twenty-five-year guarantee. One was missing. Whenever I used one, I washed and dried it, replacing it at the end of every meal. I hadn’t eaten a meal in my own house for days. I most certainly hadn’t eaten steak. My world went quiet.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement. I had seconds to decide whether to grab another knife and turn, or stay still and hope my imagination was playing tricks. It was not my mind playing tricks. This was happening. Someone was in my house, feet from me, with one of my knives. And he’d come to kill me.

I turned my head to my left as slowly as I could. My voice was a whisper; I just about heard myself speak. ‘Hello, Benjamin.’ I risked facing him; it seemed better than having my back to him. I knew it wouldn’t stop him. I could see emptiness in his eyes as his gaze locked on to mine.

He said, ‘What I hate the most is children being hurt and families breaking up.’ His face was pale and the muscles in the side of his neck bulged. A sob escaped from his lips. ‘She was supposed to be looking after Peter but instead she killed
him.’ Both of his hands moved up to the sides of his head, as if the images in his mind were causing him pain. I saw the glint of the blade in his left hand. My mind flew back to the pathologist’s reports stating that the wounds were likely to have been caused by a left-handed person. At least the evidence would match. That was something.

Having turned to face him, I took a voluntary step forward. What did I think I was doing? Years of Officer Safety Training and I didn’t ever recall the instructor telling us to move towards the man with the knife. My feet seemed determined to demonstrate the Home-Office-Approved Get-Yourself-Killed Manoeuvre.

I stopped myself from advancing any further. I didn’t know why he’d come to kill me, but more pressing was how I was going to stop him.

‘Benjamin,’ I said, ‘I know what really happened.’

His head snapped up, and he lowered his hands from his head. I focused on the knife. That instruction came back to me at least: all those hours practising in the gym at headquarters with a trusted colleague waving a rubber knife around. I was much fonder of that scenario. Keep your eyes on the blade, I told myself.

‘Benjamin, please listen to me.’ I was struggling to keep my voice even. I could sense the hysteria rising. ‘Daphne, the woman at the home with Peter. She didn’t kill him. Everything points to it being an accident.’

‘What?’

I stole a glance at his face. His eyes were bulging. I looked back at the knife and tried to calm my heart rate. It felt impossible. The red mist had enveloped me totally. I could only see Benjamin and hear him over my own hammering heart. Nothing else existed. His fingers tightened and loosened their grip around the blade handle. I forced myself to concentrate on the knife, mainly to save my life but partially – remaining optimistic – so that I could describe the weapon to the patrol that would surely burst through
the door any moment. Problem was, I couldn’t see the door. I couldn’t see anything but the murderer and the blade only feet from my face.

He pounded his fist on his chest, still clutching the weapon. ‘A fucking accident. I don’t think so. When I got there, he was, he was…’

I risked another glance at his face. His mouth was agape, saliva in the corners of his mouth, eyes staring into a historic horror. The event might have been in the past, but for Benjamin the scenes were very much alive.

‘Benjamin, Daphne tried to save Peter,’ was all I could manage to say.

Suddenly I was aware how dark the room had become. Perhaps it had been dark for some time and I’d only just noticed. I was having trouble making out Benjamin’s frame, his sweat-soaked shirt, the bags under his eyes. Panic burst alive within me. I couldn’t afford to pass out. I didn’t want my name added to Operation Guard’s list of victims. I wouldn’t have my details on a pathologist’s report.

‘Benjamin. Listen. It would be easier to talk to you without the knife.’ I said, propping myself against the kitchen worktop, fingers numb from gripping the counter. I was now peering at his face, prepared to take the chance because the knife was so close to his own face. Also close to mine. He’d taken a step towards me, that much was clear, but as to when he’d done it – the red mist had blurred the details. I was left with all I needed to know – I was going to die.

Makepeace stared at me, unblinking. ‘Jason Holland,’ he sneered through his teeth. I thought of the rotting flesh lying undiscovered until Wingsy and I found him. ‘Holland had a thing for prostitutes. Did you know that?’ he shouted at me. ‘One of them was Amanda Bell. She had a son. Just eight years old. Her son is better off with his father. Boys need their dads. And you – I’ve read about you in the paper. Instead of going after Jake Lloyd, you come after me. I have to see that the right people are punished. And now, you’re going to die.’
As he was saying these chilling words to me, the last words I was going to hear, he pulled a length of curtain wire from his pocket with his right hand. I knew I’d been right about the curtain wire. But smugness was superseded by fear.

‘No, Benjamin,’ I said, voice croaking, ‘I was stalked by Jake Lloyd for years. Please understand that I’ve been a victim in all this too.’

‘You’re not a victim,’ he said. ‘Police officers are never victims – you ignore them like you ignored Peter’s murder.’

I wanted to point out the twisted logic of this accusation coming from someone who was a murderer himself, but he was beyond rational argument, insane with hatred. I was wasting my breath. And it was possibly my last one.

My brain romped back to Officer Safety Training. What was it they told you to do in close proximity to a knife attack? Oh, yeah, that was it. Attack. Wrap yourself around the arm holding the knife as it came for you. Like hell. But right now it seemed to be my only option. I’d have to hope he hit a kidney – at least I had two of them.

‘Benjamin, the knife,’ I said, trying as best I could to sound like I wasn’t scared out of my wits. I watched him stare down at the hand holding my kitchen steak knife, as if he wasn’t sure how it had got there. I took the opportunity to slide a little to my right, away from the corner I’d been backing into. The movement refocused him. He pivoted his head in my direction. My hands went down to the kitchen drawer handle.

As he lunged the knife at me from his left side I pulled the drawer out, knowing it would come loose, and threw myself back into the ninety-degree corner of the cupboards, jarring my back as I did so. I swung the drawer and its contents up as I lurched to the side. His arm hit the wooden base of the drawer and the gas and electric bills in it spilled to the floor. But it wasn’t enough to stop him coming at me. Most of the material was chipboard. By now I was in danger of ending up on the floor. Even during training, with my mate looming
over me with a rubber knife, that hadn’t ended well. The last thing I could let happen was to find myself on the ground.

I straightened up, put my hands on the edges of the worktops and pushed my feet off the ground. I had all my weight behind my legs as I brought my knees up to my chest and kicked out at his abdomen. The force of the kick, and the impact as he tried to pick up speed in the last couple of feet between us, had the desired effect of winding him and pushing him backwards. Unfortunately, as I flung my head back I caught my skull on the plinth around the bottom of the wall unit.

The blow stung but didn’t hinder me. I was cornered. I ran for the door. Mistake. He grabbed my right hand with his, the one holding the wire. I sensed rather than felt a movement with his other hand. The blow to my stomach stopped me in my tracks for just a second until I remembered he was armed so I did the only thing I could think of – I went for the arm holding the knife. I caught a glimpse of it, processing the thought that it was covered in blood. He must have cut himself when I kicked him. That would give me an advantage.

I didn’t realise I had fallen until I felt the cold ceramic tiles on my bare arms. I’d tried my best, but I was in pain and couldn’t work out why. I slumped on the ground, finding breathing trickier than it had been a couple of minutes earlier, when all I could hear was my heart.

Another sound came to my ears but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I could have sworn I heard the back door opening, but I doubted that Makepeace would leave me alive so he was hardly likely to walk away. He’d come to make me pay for Jake Lloyd’s obsession with me. It was a totally insane reason to kill me and a terrible one to die for. The pain in my stomach was like no other I’d ever felt. It began somewhere in my middle but raced like a flash-fire all along my body, making any movement hurt. I was half sitting up with a view of Makepeace’s knees straight in my eye-line. I couldn’t lift my head to look up at him.

A shower of earth rained down on me, scattered with fragments of crockery, as Makepeace’s knees fell away from my view and were replaced by his shoulders. My gaze followed the shoulders to the ends of the arms and saw that one was still holding the bloodied knife, the other the curtain wire. He must have stabbed himself and passed out. But where had the earth come from, and the other pair of feet?

A scrawny, unkempt face came into view. ‘Love, love. You alright?’ It looked familiar but my mind was doing funny things. I put it down to shock, but, if I wasn’t mistaken, Joe Bring, the world’s worst shoplifter and burglar, was in my kitchen.

‘You’ve been stabbed,’ he said, crouching to speak to me.

‘No. He has,’ I said, struggling for breath. I tried to point at the knife in his outstretched hand. Joe jumped up to stamp on Makepeace’s wrist. A grumbling noise came from the prostrate killer as he involuntarily released the handle. The
jogging
-
bottom-clad
Joe kicked it to the far side of the kitchen.

‘Gonna get you an ambulance. Where’s your phone?’ said Joe, bending back down. He smelt quite bad, but then he always did. My sense of smell brought me back to the severity of the situation. If I was dead, I wouldn’t be repelled by Joe’s scent. It got stronger as he lifted me under the arms and inched me along the ground to lean me against the oven door. ‘You need to stay upright,’ he told me, running towards the living room. He actually was getting some use out of those joggers – how about that?