You Can Trust Me (38 page)

I nod. This ties in with what Shannon herself told us. “What about the locket?”

“I found it.”

“Where?”

“Where I've been staying.”

“Which is
where
?” I demand.

“Money first,” she says.

I count out one hundred pounds in twenties and hand them over.

“More,” she says.

I give her another hundred. “Now tell me
where
you got the locket. Then I'll give you the rest.”

The girl nods. She pockets the money carefully. I watch and wait, the gray sky pressing down, traffic fumes filling my nostrils, the air heavy and damp.

The girl takes a step away from me. Her lips curl into a snarl. I sense she's going to dart away and reach out to stop her.

“Fuck you.” She kicks out, her foot making contact with my shin.

I clutch it, consumed by the pain for a couple of seconds. Then I force myself up. The girl is flying down the road. I take a step forward. Pain shoots through my shin. Gritting my teeth, I push myself on. The girl is heading for the bus stop.

She slows as I speed up. A bus is pulling up.

I have to catch her before she gets on board. I have to find out what she knows. I chase after her, running hard. Harder.

 

SHANNON

The wrath of God lies sleeping. It was hid a million years before men were and only men have the power to wake it.

—Cormac McCarthy,
Blood Meridian

When I found out that Shannon had my locket, I was very angry.

Angry with everyone.

Shannon herself, of course, but also Poppy for stealing it in the first place. And most of all with Julia, the sneaky, self-righteous little bitch.

I didn't find out Shannon had the locket for a long time. Poppy claimed that she had sold it anonymously on eBay. In fact, she had given it to Shannon as payment for one of her junkie debts, and it was Shannon who had put it online. Julia just told me she had seen the locket on eBay, and that it had taken her several days to track Poppy down .

As neither of them mentioned Shannon—who was in possession of the wretched thing all along—I assumed the transaction had been a direct trade between the two of them. I discovered the truth only when Livy started sniffing around. Between the three of them, they caused Shannon's death.

After following Livy into Shannon's Torquay flat, it was easy to trail her to that cottage of Julia's in Lympstone. I was furious I hadn't thought before that Shannon might be hiding out there.

Of course, the fire failed to kill any of them, but at least it destroyed all trace of Julia's belongings. Finding Shannon afterwards wasn't hard either. I'd been on her trail for over a week by that time, so I knew who her friends were. Shannon, predictably, turned for help to the nearest person. I was already watching out for her. Stupid whore.

That's how she made the money she spent on her fancy clothes and jewelry.… She was a highly paid prostitute. Alexa Carling fixed it up for her—she's a whore too. Still, I don't think Shannon liked the life despite all the money she made. I think she preferred her job at Honey Hearts, where she was free to entrap men, to take from them with nothing given in return.

Anyway, I followed Shannon when she slipped out to the shops. Told her I had a knife. Forced her into my car. Took her to the beach.

In the darkness, I did what had to be done, retrieved Kara's locket and took one of Shannon's Chanel earrings as a keepsake. Blah, blah … another easy kill, dressed up to look like an accident thanks to drink and drugs.

So Shannon is over. An unplanned event born out of necessity. I don't like being pushed or challenged.

Those responsible will pay.

Julia has already paid with her life.

For Livy, the price is going to be much higher.

 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I pound along the sidewalk. The bus is already at the bus stop. The number 57 to Brixington. The girl jostles through the queue of elderly ladies easing themselves on board. Angry heads turn. I rush toward her. Almost there. The doors wheeze to a close and the bus pulls away.

The girl is on board. I race up to the stop, seconds too late. I slam my hand against the side of the shelter and bend over, panting.

“Shit.”

All the other people standing here stare at me as if I'm a lunatic. But it's my life that's insane right now. So insane, in fact, that chasing after a drug addict demanding money for information seems an entirely logical thing to do. If that skinny, greasy-haired girl up ahead gave Shannon Kara's locket, then she must know something about who killed her. And, therefore, who killed Julia.

I can't let her get away. It starts to rain. The road is packed: shoppers bustling and weaving around each other. I peer along the road. The bus is right at the other end of it, but I'm certain I can see the girl peering out at me through the back window, her lank hair framing her anxious face. I watch, defeated, as the bus vanishes around the corner.

“In a hurry, my love?” An old man with a cane and a cheery, red face smiles at me.

I nod, grimacing.

“Never mind, eh.”

But I do mind. My best chance to find out what really happened to Julia and Kara is vanishing before my eyes. I can't let this be it. I dash along the sidewalk to the little mini cab office. I hurtle inside.

“I need a cab.
Now,
” I say.

The young guy behind the counter eyes me nervously. “Ben!” he calls out. A middle-aged man with close-cropped gray hair saunters out from the back office.

“Where to?” he says cheerily.

“I just saw an old friend get on a bus,” I say, the lie sliding off my tongue with frightening ease. “We lost touch, but we used to be really close. I have to try to find her. Please, hurry.”

The two men look at each other; then the older man grins. “Car's outside, love. Let's go.”

I explain which bus I saw the girl on. My driver knows its local route, and a few tense minutes later we see it up ahead.

“D'you want me to drop you so you can get on board?” he asks.

“Er, no,” I say, blushing at how odd I sound. “I think I'd rather wait to see when she gets off.”

“Okeydokey.” The driver glances at his meter and drives on.

I strain my eyes, looking for a glimpse of the girl. She's still standing at the back of the bus, staring out of the side windows. I shrink back against my seat. I don't want the girl to see me, to know I'm following her.

On we drive. It turns out the bus goes to Topsham, then Lympstone—where Julia's cottage is. I keep my eyes focused on the girl. At every stop, my cabdriver slows. He must think I'm mad. I smooth down my hair, feeling self-conscious. We reach Lympstone, but the girl doesn't get off the bus. Past Lympstone, we zoom alongside fields, their flowers shiny yellow in the lowering light, and turn onto the main road into Exmouth.

I watch. And watch. Bus stops come and go. A drizzle sets in, the passing sidewalks gleam for a few seconds as the clouds part to allow sunshine through, then deaden again. The scrawny girl with the lank hair and the track-marked arms stays on the bus, though as it fills, I lose sight of her from my taxi.

Minute after minute passes, and I'm just starting to think I must have missed her somehow when the bus stops close to the center of Exmouth and the girl gets off. She looks around, her gaze shifty, then scuttles away, hunched over against the rain.

My phone rings as I shove some cash at my cabdriver and scramble out. It's Robbie.

For goodness' sake.

“Hi, Livy.” His voice is warm and intimate. Far too intimate. “Can you talk? I was a bit worried about how we left things earlier. I—”

“I can't talk, Robbie,” I snap. I'm beyond irritated, wound up like a spring and tired of being nice. “I explained earlier that I would call you when I could.”

“I know, it's just—”

“You're not listening,” I interrupt. “Please don't call me again.” I flick the phone off.

The girl takes the right turn at the roundabout at the top of the road. I follow her, keeping my head down. I'm aware that if she turns around, she will see me immediately, but she doesn't. She takes a right, then a left. She's walking purposefully, like she's got a definite goal in mind. Or maybe she's just hurrying to a place where she can get out of the rain. It's still drizzling, a fine mist settling on my hair and my clothes.

The girl makes a sharp right turn. I peer around the corner after her. My heart thuds as I realize where we are: the building containing the Honey Hearts office is halfway down this road, and the girl is heading straight for it. A moment later she stops outside and jams her finger on the intercom buzzer. A voice answers. Male. I can't hear what he's saying, but the girl is speaking loudly.

“
Yes,
Honey Hearts on the second floor…”

I stiffen, remembering how Damian and I wondered if Shannon had originally been given Kara's locket from someone at the honey trap agency and if discovering this connection was what had brought Julia here. The scrawny girl doesn't look much like the other agents I've seen, but if she's not an agent, then what is she doing at Honey Hearts?

“There's no one on reception up there, but I know Mrs. Carling is in.” The girl is shouting now. “She
always
comes in on a Sunday afternoon to catch up on paperwork. Please let me in, she's my
mother,
for fuck's sake.”

Alexa Carling is this girl's mother? My heartbeat quickens.

I edge closer. If the girl looks around, she'll see me, but she's pushing at the door, as if expecting it to be buzzed open. It stays firmly shut.

I reach the office block next to Honey Hearts. I duck behind the far wall, then peer carefully around it. The rain is getting heavier. I wipe a strand of damp hair out of my eyes.

The girl is hammering the door now with her fist. She swears out loud, then pulls a phone from the small plastic bag that swings from her hand. She presses at the buttons, making a call, then holds the mobile to her ear.

A second or two pass. The girl is huddled under the doorway. She makes a pathetic figure, white-faced, rocking slightly back and forth.

“Mum?” The girl's voice is harsh: hurt, trying not to cry. “I'm outside. That bastard security guard won't let me in.”

There's a pause while whoever is on the other end of the line speaks.

“
Please,
Mum. I'm not going to—” The girl stops abruptly as the door opens.

A second later and she disappears inside.

I lean against the wall behind me and let out my breath in a slow, shaky sigh. I am close now, to answers. Everything comes back to that locket. And the locket keeps bringing me here. Honey Hearts is the connection between all the disparate elements that Damian and I have been struggling to make sense of since Julia died.

And yet I still don't understand how.

The rain falls harder, driving into my face like tiny knives. Water trickles down the back of my neck. Without stopping to think through what I'm doing, I march over to the front door of the office building. I press on the buzzer for the Honey Hearts office on the second floor. There's no reply, so I press the button marked
MAIN RECEPTION.

“Yes?” It's the security guard who spoke to the girl.

“Hello.” I give my maiden name, Small, as I did before. “I'm one of Mrs. Carling's, er, clients at Honey Hearts. I'm sorry to bother everyone on a Sunday, but I really need to speak to her. Please let me in so I can pop up to see her. It won't take long, but I have to see her now. It's an emergency.”

I wait. A drop of rain threads its way down my cheek. There's a long pause. And then the door buzzes. I push at it, my chest tight with anticipation.

I'm in.

The security guard does a slight double take when he sees the state of me: wet through with bedraggled hair.

“I spoke to Mrs. Carling,” he explains. “She's with someone right now, but she says she can see you in just a minute if you want to wait up in their reception.”

“Thank you.” I take the flight of stairs to the second floor. Was it really only a week since I was here? It feels like I've lived several lifetimes.

I reach the deserted reception area, wood-floored and beige, and remember how struck I was before by how respectable and dull the place seemed. I look around, but there's no sign of either the girl or Alexa Carling.

I'm too wound up to sit down and wait. I pace backwards and forward. How is Alexa Carling mixed up in all this? I peer along the corridor to her office. She must be inside. I head towards the room, slowing as I reach the door. I glance up and down. There's no one else here. I stop and press my ear to the door.

I hear Alexa Carling immediately. “I don't want to hear it, Poppy.” She sounds so full of contempt that I shiver.

“I'm sorry, Mummy.” It's the girl, Poppy, her voice all wheedling and babyish. She's clearly hoping to come across as endearing, but from the sound of Alexa Carling's voice, she's falling way short of the mark.

I take another look along the corridor. No one is coming. I bend down and peer in through the keyhole. I can see the pair of them facing each other in the middle of the room.

Alexa takes her daughter by the wrist and wrenches her arm away from her body. She stares down at the track marks I know are there, then shakes her head. “Give me back the keys,” she says.

“No.” Poppy tries to back away, but Alexa keeps a tight grip of her wrist.

“This was your last chance. I told you, if you started using again…” Alexa's voice is like steel, but I can hear the pain behind her words. For a second I forget why I'm here and imagine how I would feel if my own daughter were a drug addict.