Текст книги "Disgraced"

Автор книги: Annabel Chant

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

    Nineteen

Him

‘Please Sir.’ Rick’s voice came high and fast through the line. ‘I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m begging you. They’ve let me go. I told them I did it, but they won’t keep me in.’

‘Well,’ I said, not following. ‘That’s good news, isn’t it? For you, at least.’

‘No, Sir,’ he was practically gabbling. ‘You don’t understand. It was her father. The girl’s. He came in – I saw him – and spoke to that woman. She came in straight after, and told me I was free to go.’

‘So?’ I was still tired from the night before, and his words weren’t making much sense. ‘Giles said he wasn’t pressing charges.’

‘That’s what I mean,’ he said. ‘I’m not safe. I even admitted killing Charlotte, and they still let me walk.’

‘Where are you?’ The magnitude of his words was finally sinking in.

‘Still at the station.’ It sounded like he was starting to cry. ‘I don’t know where to go.’

‘I’ll be right there,’ I said. ‘Wait for me outside.’

I dressed quickly, and made my way down to the car park. It didn’t sound promising and the quicker I got there, the better. If Rick had admitted killing Charlotte, it meant I was finally off the hook. But it wasn’t just that. The fact that he was free to go smacked of skulduggery of a political nature, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

It was still rush hour, though, and the traffic was obstinately slow all the way. By the time I got there, I knew Rick would be climbing the walls. It served him right, of course, but he’d been one of my men, and the trouble he was in now was grave and personal. He deserved to pay for what he’d done to Charlotte and Felicity, but it had to be clear and above board, for both our sakes.

When I finally pulled up outside, he was nowhere to be seen. I jumped out the car and, after looking everywhere outside, went into the station. I couldn’t see him in there, either, and I could feel panic setting in – the chill of it sending a shiver up my spine as my heart began to race.

I went up to the front desk. ‘I’m looking for a Rick Palmer,’ I said to the young officer behind the desk. ‘You had him in custody – let him go an hour or so ago.’

‘Just a moment, Sir,’ said the officer, and turned to his computer. ‘Yes, he was released. I’m afraid I can’t tell you where he is now.’

‘Can’t? Or won’t?’ I could hear my voice rising, as the blood rushed in my ears. ‘Who took him?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you.’ The officer shrugged. ‘He left of his own accord, as far as I know.’

Of course he did. I’d told him to wait for me outside. I felt myself go limp.

‘Where’s DI Brown?’ I said, not wanting to see her, but knowing I had to.

‘Just a moment, Sir.’ He turned away, putting his phone to his ear.

It felt like hours until she appeared, standing there at the entrance to the custody suite, one hand on her hip and her eyebrow raised. I was almost pleased to see her. ‘Where’s Rick?’ I said, not caring who else was listening.

‘Come through,’ she said, pursing her lips. ‘It looks like your day’s begun as badly as mine.’

We went through to the interview room.

‘Why did you let him go?’ I said, as soon as she closed the door.

‘I had nothing to hold him on,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Believe me, I’m no happier about it.’

‘You have no idea,’ I said.

‘About what?’ She frowned. ‘What have I no idea about?’

I paused for a moment, not knowing what to say. ‘You shouldn’t have let him go,’ I said, finally.

‘I had nothing to hold him on,’ she said. She sounded tired, and sat down heavily in the seat I’d seen her in so many times before. ‘It wasn’t for the want of trying.’

‘But he blackmailed Felicity Flint,’ I said. ‘She’s in a coma.’

I knew it wasn’t enough, before she even spoke.

‘No charges have been brought,’ she said, sounding as frustrated as I felt. ‘I tried to bring charges, despite Mr Flint’s refusal to press them, but…he paid me a little visit earlier this morning.’

I almost asked more, but I knew it wasn’t worth it. We both knew how that little interview would’ve gone and, right now, the most important thing was to find Rick.

‘But he admitted killing Charlotte,’ I said. ‘He told me. Was he lying?’

‘Yes, and no,’ she said, heaving a sigh. ‘He did admit killing her.’

‘And?’ I didn’t follow. If he’d admitted it…

‘Why did you let him go, then?’

‘Because he didn’t do it.’

I didn’t speak for a moment – just sat there as her words slotted into place in my mind. Then, finally, I understood.

‘Ah, I see,’ I said, slowly. ‘The power of the Home Office. Your career versus their satisfaction. I suppose it wasn’t much of a choice.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ she said, looking away from me. ‘You’re not listening.’

‘I don’t need to.’ I looked out the window at the bleak morning street. ‘I know Giles. So what are you going to do? Frame me for it?’

She stood up. ‘You’re still under investigation, as are many of her other clients.’

‘I was never a client,’ I returned, angrily.

‘Semantics, Mr Fforbes.’ She spoke smoothly, now she was back on familiar ground. ‘We have a record of your abuse of her. Whippings…canings…’

‘All consensual and at her explicit request.’

She gave a disinterested shrug. ‘We both know you assaulted her, even if the charges were withdrawn.’

I couldn’t help a smile at this. ‘Christ, you must love Giles Flint.’

‘Almost as much as I love you,’ she said. ‘And we’re getting closer in the Aimee Maitland case, you’ll be pleased to hear.’

I slumped at this. It didn’t seem right – Aimee’s name being brought up alongside all this backhanded dealing. If any of them had been interested at the time, maybe she’d still be alive.

‘Well, there’s nothing more to be said, I suppose,’ I said, going to the door. ‘You’ve got your own ideas, wrong though they are, and you’ve let a guilty man walk free.’

I opened the door to go but, as usual, I hadn’t got halfway out before she called me back.

‘You weren’t listening, Mr Fforbes,’ she said, looking up into my eyes, anger flashing in hers. ‘We let him go because he didn’t do it.’

    Twenty

Him

I was barely halfway home when a text came through on my phone. At first, I thought it might be Grace, and pulled out my phone feeling, for the first time that day, some degree of hope. But it was another unknown number.

Rick, I thought, feeling relieved but, if it was, he wasn’t giving it away in a text. It was simply a postcode, over East London way, and the word now.

I keyed the postcode into my satnav and headed over there.

The address, when I reached it, was that of a disused wharf in Deptford. I pulled up outside the high, steel gates of a warehouse. One of them was hanging half off its hinges, the warning sign on it barely legible from the weathering of years. It was like stepping back into the Docklands of several decades ago, before the facelift of the Eighties. The whole place seemed depressing and deserted.

It wasn’t entirely deserted, though. In the distance, towards the river, I could just make out the figure of a man. It wasn’t Rick – that much was obvious from his build. He was far too tall, too thin and imposing, and I felt my hackles rise. The whole situation had the feeling of a hit, and I was tempted to turn tail and get out of there but, at that moment, whoever it was turned to me and raised their hand, in a gesture of salute, and I realised who it was.

I pushed my way around the gate, ignoring the threat of the warning sign dangling uselessly from it, and made my way towards him, along the wharf, its jutting concrete flanked by the licking currents of the Thames.

‘You made it, then,’ said Giles. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d got my message.’

‘I got it, all right,’ I said. ‘Mind telling me what we’re doing here? It’s hardly your usual choice of venue for a get-together.’

‘All will become apparent.’ Giles didn’t meet my gaze, but instead stared out across the water. On the other side, a new building was under construction, the cranes a burnt orange against the pallid bleakness of the sky. ‘You might want to borrow these.’

He handed me a set of binoculars. He put another pair to his eyes, and I copied him, training the lenses towards where he seemed to be looking. When I focused in on what he was looking at, I put them down again, quickly.

There was a man standing near the top of a huge tower of scaffolding, its metal bones an exoskeleton encasing a newly-built tower block. I couldn’t make out anyone else, but I had the feeling he wasn’t alone. He kept glancing behind him, nervously. As I put the binoculars to my eyes again, his gaze turned in my direction.

It was Rick. I couldn’t make out his face clearly, but I knew his mannerisms and his build well enough to be in no doubt it was him. The only thing I wasn’t sure of, was what the hell he was doing up there – he was shit scared of heights.

I must have let out a gasp, because Giles turned to me, a cold smile on his face. ‘Your friend appears to be enjoying the view, wouldn’t you say?’

‘That’s not the thought that springs immediately to mind,’ I said. ‘What are you trying to achieve, Giles? He’s already admitted to everything. The bitch won’t listen.’

‘I’m not trying to achieve anything,’ he said. ‘I’m ending it. Doing what you should’ve done in the first place. And he didn’t do the murder. Don’t you listen to anything you’re told?’

‘Yes – a nice little story you’ve concocted, the two of you.’ I looked through the binoculars again. Rick was shuffling backwards on the scaffolding, his head turned away, over one shoulder, as if he couldn’t bear the view in front of him.

‘Have it your own way, Nathaniel.’ Giles put the binoculars back up to his eyes. ‘You always were a fool.’

‘I’m a fool?’ I couldn’t help a snort of disbelief. ‘You know this is going to rebound on all of us, don’t you?’

‘Not this time.’ Giles’ voice was calm and assured – the polar opposite of mine. ‘He’s written a suicide note, with the assurance his family will be looked after.’

‘Those kids don’t need money, Giles.’ I could hardly believe what I was hearing. ‘They need their father.’

‘He’s not the only one with kids.’

‘This is going to end badly,’ I said. My head was starting to swim. The docks…the water…the sky…everything was spinning around me, a wash of grey. ‘Don’t do this.’

‘Pull yourself together.’ Giles raised his arm. ‘And watch. It’s the least you can do.’

I looked through the lenses again, to see Rick cowering nearer the edge of the scaffolding. Out of the corner of my eye, I was aware of Giles waving his arm in slow, steady strokes above his head and, as he stopped, Rick stepped…no…was pushed forward, over the edge of the scaffolding.

In something approaching slow-motion, I watched as his body fell, turning over and over in a graceless arc, his arms and legs flailing against the empty air, down towards the cold, hard rubble of the building site.

I didn’t see him land – the ground was hidden by cabins and heavy plant machinery – but I felt it inside me as a blow to my chest. I sank to the ground, not in horror, but in grief. This time, I knew, Rick wouldn’t be walking away, and my heart went out to his family. To Sandy – the tough and embittered wife he’d tried to protect – and to his daughters, who’d grow up being told all the wrong things about their dad.

‘Get up, Nathaniel,’ said Giles, coolly. ‘It’s over. The line’s drawn under this now. We never mention this again. We move on.’

I hauled myself up, my body as heavy as the concrete beneath my feet, and watched as Giles dug his hands into his overcoat and strolled off down the wharf. As he went, I heard a high-pitched sound on the air and, if I hadn’t known Giles better, I’d have sworn he was whistling.

As I strained to listen, another sound came, this time from my pocket. A text message. I didn’t look at it straight away. I was still too blown away by what I’d seen. I couldn’t believe Rick was dead, and I blamed myself. If I’d been more careful with the tape…if I hadn’t put temptation in his way…would things have turned out differently?

I couldn’t answer that. I suspected Rick would still have tried blackmail. He was desperate to pay off Charlotte, and he might even have gone direct to Felicity at the start. Who could know? What I did know was that I hadn’t helped matters and, ever since then, things had gone from bad to worse. I was feeling more and more isolated. Everyone I’d ever relied on was falling away from me like petals from a dying flower – Alex…Max…Giles…even Ronnie… I’d even resolved to push Grace away, for her own sake.

Standing there by the Thames, the cold concrete beneath me, reminded me again of the time we’d walked along the Embankment. She’d been out of control then, in a tail spin. I’d despaired of pulling her out of it but, somehow, between us, we’d managed it. I wondered what she was doing and what she’d made of my text.

God, I missed her. At that moment, I’d have given anything to be by her side or, better still, tumbling with her, wrapped in the soft, silk sheets of my bed, nothing on my mind but the glory of her nakedness. I knew I’d done the right thing, distancing myself from her, but my resolve had never been weaker and, when I finally took out my phone and read the text, it dissolved altogether.

    Twenty One

Her

Max was on a mission – that much was apparent. Liv hadn’t reappeared from the Ladies. She’d just texted me to say she was getting a cab home. I’d broken the news to Max, only to get a mouthful for my pains. I sat at my desk, poring over the Grewer files and wondering why Nathaniel hadn’t responded to my message. I couldn’t make it out.

What had I done, exactly, for him to ignore me? It was hardly my fault how things had ended. At no point had I envisioned him being dragged off on murder charges, immediately after sleeping with him for the first time. What had I been supposed to think? What did I think, even now? He’d been released for the time being, but the investigation was ongoing. It didn’t necessarily mean he was innocent, only that they didn’t have enough to charge him.

When I finally heard the alert go off on my phone, I took it out straight away and read it. It was from him, but it wasn’t what I was longing to hear.

You’ve a bright future ahead of you, Miss Anderton. Best you stay away from me. Take care, Grace.

I read it several times, willing it to mean something other than what it so clearly did. He was washing his hands of me. He didn’t want to see me again, and he was using my public persona as an excuse. I felt a lump growing in my throat and shoved the phone back in my bag, wanting the pain to disappear along with it. It didn’t. I carried on with the Grewer account, blinking hard as I looked at the figures on my screen and tried to check them against the data in the file. My eyes stung and the more I looked at them, the less I could take them in.

All I could think of was Nathaniel’s dismissal of the olive branch I’d thrown him. I’d been willing to trust him, to take a chance on him being the man I’d grown to believe he was, rather than the egotistical psycho described by the tabloids. But I’d been wrong. He was that man. He must be, because I was hurting so bad and he didn’t care. He could switch his feelings on and off like a light switch, clearly. Well – if he’d ever had feelings for me at all.

I carried on battling with the Grewer account for an hour or so more, the pain giving way to anger. He’d led me on. He’d put me through that whole charade at the Castle, before pretending to be in love with me, and now he was cutting all ties, simply because of who I was. It wasn’t fair. He could’ve at least explained things to my face. I deserved that. It was when I realised I was actually biting my lip in fury that I pulled out my phone again and texted him back.

Please don’t make my decisions for me. Don’t you think I deserve an explanation, at the very least? These last few days have been awful.

 

I read it back and was about to send it, when I stopped. I added three more words and then pressed Send.

I miss you.

I put the phone down on my desk and tried to get on with my work, my heart racing in my chest as I realised how desperate I must sound. He didn’t want me and I was refusing to let it go. Should I have simply accepted it and moved on? Ronnie had told me I should take a chance on him, and that was what I was trying to do, but now I wondered if it might have been safer to let it go. I still didn’t know whether I could even trust him.

When, a few minutes later, he texted back, I could barely key in my password, I was so nervous. I opened the text and my heart gave a huge thump as I read his reply:

I miss you, too, you nutter, and of course you deserve an explanation. I just don’t think you should be seen with me. I don’t want to damage your good name.

I didn’t even hesitate. I texted back immediately:

I’ll wear a hat.

I pressed Send, then thought again.

And sunglasses.

…I added, pressing Send again, mere seconds later. His reply came swiftly this time, within a minute.

See that you do. I’ll meet you outside Ffyvells at five thirty.

I couldn’t stifle an exclamation of delight and, as soon as lunchtime arrived, I headed out to the shops, in search of the necessary articles of disguise.

The weather had improved by lunchtime and, as soon as five o’clock hit, I rushed to the Ladies to get ready for our rendezvous. As well as a straw hat and ridiculously large sunglasses, I’d bought a summer dress and sandals to replace my tired work clothes. They were too hot, anyway, now the sun was out, and didn’t go with the sun hat. I stepped into the dress – it was strappy, long and cream with pale blue flowers – and slipped on the sandals. I pulled my hair up into a knot at the nape of my neck, and gingerly added the hat and the sunglasses to the ensemble. I gazed at myself in the mirror for a moment or two, wondering if anyone would recognise me. I had no idea.

I was ready by twenty past, and went downstairs and out onto the steps. I was excited, but horribly nervous, too, having no idea how the evening was likely to pan out. I found the much-abused box of cigarettes in the bottom of my bag, took one out and lit it. I inhaled deeply and waited. Almost immediately, the by-now familiar hand stretched across me to swipe it, but I neatly side-stepped and turned to face him, blowing the smoke I’d inhaled into his face.

‘Ouff!’ Nathaniel stepped back, flapping his hand in front of him to dispel it. ‘What was that for?’

‘That’s for not getting in touch sooner,’ I said. ‘I’ll throw it on the ground now, shall I? Save you the bother.’

‘Littering’s an offence,’ he parried, sounding amused as I suited my actions to my words. ‘You look…unrecognisable, Miss Anderton.’

I smiled, taking this as a compliment, before grinning wickedly; ‘You look…extraordinary.’

‘Oh.’ He sounded crestfallen. It was hard to be sure, because I couldn’t see his eyes. He was wearing sunglasses too, and a cream Panama hat. ‘I thought we looked perfectly matched.’

Since he was wearing a cream linen suit and an open-necked pale blue shirt, I couldn’t argue. If we’d tried, we couldn’t have been more colour-coordinated, and it gave me a warm feeling inside. ‘You look gorgeous,’ I whispered in his ear, as he leaned in to kiss my cheek.

‘You too,’ he said, bending down to pick something up. I looked down to see what it was. I raised my eyebrows – not that he could probably tell behind my sunglasses. ‘A hamper?’ I said, feeling ridiculously relieved and light-hearted suddenly. ‘And wicker, no less.’

‘Only the best for Madam.’ He held out his other hand to me. ‘We’re going for a picnic.’

‘A picnic?’ I actually giggled with relief, as I took his hand. I’d been so worried the evening was going to turn into some kind of formal de-briefing – that I’d be assessed, somehow, and found wanting – but it appeared not.

‘And that’s not all,’ he said, sounding proud of himself. ‘We’re going by bus.’

He let go my hand and reached into his pocket, drawing out a disreputable and battered-looking pamphlet. I took it from him, and he took my other hand again.

‘This is a timetable,’ I said, holding it up in front of me.

‘I know what it is, Miss Know-It-All,’ he said, smugly. ‘I found it at home.’

‘How long have you had it?’

‘I…have no idea,’ he said, sounding less sure of himself. ‘Someone left it…I don’t know when.’

‘You don’t say.’ I couldn’t help laughing. ‘It’s out of date.’

‘Do buses go out of date?’

‘You’re a nightmare.’ I decided it was time to take charge. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I thought…Hyde Park?’

‘Come on.’ I took his hand more firmly, and steered him up Lombard Street to where we could catch a bus.