Текст книги "Time to Die"

Автор книги: Caroline Mitchell

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bert

Bert scratched the new scrub of beard forming on his chin as he stared through the grimy window of the derelict room. He would be here soon, his next pawn in the game. Emitting a little chuckle, he thought of his next victim. Officer Knight was sure to shed a few tears over this one. She would blame herself, and she would be right. His targets didn’t deserve their so-called second chance, and the fact the interfering detective knew them gave them even higher priority on his list.

His thoughts were interrupted by a scuffling noise downstairs. His heart thumped a dull throb in his chest. What if it’s the police? He placed the open can of beans on the floor and cautiously walked out of the room to investigate. The police don’t normally hum, he thought, and peered out over the stairwell on the landing. A small skinny man sung to himself as he rifled through his bag, picking out scraps of food to eat and talking to his dog.

‘Look at this, Tinker, we’re going to dine well tonight. Ham sandwiches.’

Bert’s yellow teeth glistened as he drew back his lips in a sneer. He shoved his hand into his pocket and sharply drew back his finger as static electricity snapped from his tarot cards in response. His instincts had been proven right.

Bert snuck back into the bedroom and waited. Sliding out a half-empty bottle of whisky, he placed it on the bare floorboards and resumed eating his cold beans. The stage set, he waited for his prey to come.

Soft footsteps pressed against the stairs, followed by a hoarse bark. ‘Oh jaysus, mister, ya frightened the life out of me. I thought we had ghosts up here.’

Bert smiled, raising one wiry eyebrow in mock surprise. ‘Don’t mind me. Anyway, looks like you’re at an advantage with your guard dog there.’

‘Tinker? He just looks out for me, that’s all. I was planning to stay the night here, it’s a bit rough outside, and I don’t have anywhere to take me dog. Is that OK with you, mister?’

‘Sure. Care to share a drink?’ Bert raised the bottle and George shuffled over, keeping a tight hold of Tinker, whose hackles rose in spiked formation. Head lowered, he emitted a low rumbling growl before stopping to lick his paws.

The atmosphere between George and Bert warmed as they siphoned the whisky. The bottle drained and George looked sorrowfully at the empty tumbler before placing it back on the flask that Jennifer had loaned him. Sitting back against the wall, he interlinked his fingers as he placed them behind his head, wondering what she would bring him tomorrow. The shuffle of cards made him open his eyes and glance in Bert’s direction.

Sitting up, George rubbed his fingerless gloved hands together.

‘I love a game of cards. Do ya play poker?’

Bert shuffled the cards from hand to hand in expert fashion. They were large and feathered, but comfortable in his grasp. ‘They aren’t playing cards, they’re tarot.’

George shuffled nearer on his bottom, giving Bert a look of caution. ‘You should be careful with those, the dark arts aren’t to be messed with.’

‘It’s only a bit of fun. Haven’t you ever had your fortune told?’ Bert said.

Inebriated from the whisky, George gave a little chuckle. ‘When I was thirteen, I had me tealeaves read by a traveller on the common. A big fat lady named Ruby. Sure I was too busy looking at her ample chest to take in what she was saying. God, they could have suffocated me but what a way to go, I would have loved it.’

‘Would you like me to read for you?’ Bert said, forcing a smile.

George gave a little chuckle, the image of Ruby still alive in his memory. ‘Sure, why not.’

Bert laid out the cards in the usual manner and waved his hands over them as the images came into play.

‘What do ya see?’ George said, his eyes flickering from the cards to Bert.

‘I see you started off very differently to what you are now. You were well educated, but left home at an early age.’

George opened his eyes wide in amazement. ‘Well would ya credit it, you’re right, but it’s nothing I like to dwell on now.’

‘You’re very alone: apart from a few kind faces, it’s just you and your dog.’

‘I’m happy on my own. It’s exactly how I want it.’

‘It won’t always be. One day you’re going to return to your past. It hasn’t left you and it never will,’ Bert said.

George frowned. ‘I’ve put all that behind me.’

The candlelight exposed the doubt on Bert’s face as he spoke. ‘But you haven’t, have you? The truth is you have a lot to answer for. You think you’re punishing yourself now, but deep down you know it’s nothing in comparison to the act you’ve committed all those years ago. I can see it, here in the cards.’

‘I only agreed to this to be sociable. I don’t want to talk about it or think about it any more. So if you don’t mind I’m going to sleep.’

Bert turned over the last card. ‘I’m sorry, friend, I can’t stop a prediction once it’s started. You can close your eyes if you wish, but I’m going to finish.’

George folded his arms and shuffled back against the wall.

Bert revelled in the little man’s discomfort. The wind howled mercilessly outside as the rain beat against the path, and he knew George couldn’t bring Tinker out in that. He carried on, ignoring the fact that George had closed his eyes. He didn’t need him to be awake for the reading. Hell, now he had started he didn’t need him there at all. But it was always more fun revealing the ugly truth with the participant present. Bert snickered to himself as he watched his past open up in front of him. Officer Knight would not have been so charitable had she known of his history. It was distasteful to say the least, and he did not need to repeat it aloud. Bert read out his future like he was reading out the news.

‘You will return to your past by seeking out the highest point in Haven. From that point you will jump from the roof as an act of penance.’

George frowned as he opened his eyes. ‘You’ve lost the plot, mister. I’d never leave me little Tinker to fend for himself.’ He rolled the idea around in his head before commenting further. ‘And I don’t agree with suicide. Every day of life is a gift, and it’s a slap in the face to your creator if you bail out without very good reason.’ George gave an imperceivable nod as he agreed with himself. ‘Lots of people are lonely. It’s not a good reason.’

Bert regarded him comically. The reactions were always the same. They ask for the truth then get mad when it’s delivered to them.

‘I read what I see,’ he said, picking up his cards and sliding them into his pocket.

‘Well I wished I never asked now, you’re after putting me in bad form.’

Bert smiled and handed him what was left in his mug. ‘Here, I’m done with this. You want it?’

George nodded gratefully and outstretched his hand to grasp the neck of the bottle.

‘I’ll leave it with you. I’m heading off now, places to go, people to see.’

‘You don’t have to go, mister, I’m not vexed really. I can stay downstairs if you like.’

‘No, it’s not that, this was just a stopgap until the rain eased. I really do have somewhere to go.’

George raised the bottle, ‘In that case, sláinte, and no hard feelings.’

Bert tipped his hat and gathered up his belongings. ‘We’ll meet again I’m sure.’

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jennifer could tell by the way her sergeant was drumming her pen on her table that Claire did not believe her in the slightest. She had meant to tell the truth but she was too embarrassed when under scrutiny, and the last thing she wanted was to be told off for taking stupid risks.

‘Are you sure nothing else happened?’ Claire asked, lifting the pen and clicking on the head in the most irritating fashion. The clicking seemed to permeate Jennifer’s brain. If it weren’t for the murder enquiry, she would have taken some time off work to clear her head.

‘No, honestly,’ Jennifer said in her most convincing voice. ‘It was a stupid accident. I don’t know what I was thinking, going snooping in the woods when it was so muddy.’

‘Perhaps if you wore some suitable footwear?’ Claire said, pointing at her heels. ‘Although they’ve certainly reduced in height. Seeing someone new?’

Jennifer spluttered on her coffee. ‘How do you relate my heels to being in a relationship?’

Claire stopped clicking her pen and rested it on the table. ‘Experience. My first husband wasn’t much taller than me. He hated being overshadowed. The day after he left, I went out and bought a five-inch pair of red killer heels. They’re still in the back of my wardrobe somewhere.’

Jennifer crossed her legs. She had worn her navy kitten heels because they matched her pinstripe trouser suit. Skirts were off for the next few days, at least until the bramble scratches faded from her legs. ‘I’m afraid you’re off kilter on this one. I’m just being kinder to my feet.’

‘Of course, because you’d be the first person to fill me in, wouldn’t you? Remember, I have no life, I have to get my kicks through you.’

You wouldn’t want to live through me, Jennifer thought, before giving her sergeant a half smile and rising from her chair.

She jiggled her mouse as she powered up her computer. The Rivers mental health institution had finally sent her a picture of Bert Bishop. She clicked the link and gasped as the face of a bristly faced old man stared back at her. His wiry grey eyebrows jutted out over black beady eyes in an intense gaze. The pouches under his eyes combined with the weather-beaten face fitted the witness descriptions exactly. Jennifer put her hand to her cheek, recalling the contours of his bristled jawline when she made contact. There was no doubt about it. This was the face of the killer.

She chewed the lipstick from her bottom lip as she clicked on the confidential report accompanying the email. Her eyes greedily scanned the computer screen as it flickered into life. Bert had been assessed several times for making continuous calls to Christian Bowes. The source of the phone was unknown, although, like prisons, patients were known to smuggle items through visitors and use them as currency. Jennifer flipped open her journal, scribbling times, dates and the name of the doctor listed. A dart of pain from her bandaged hand reminded her of the urgency of the enquiry. Dr Lionel Carter. After further digging, she found his number and punched it into her phone.

[#]

‘Hey you,’ Will said, dropping a thick file onto his newly cleaned desk.

Jennifer swivelled her chair to greet him, opening her top drawer and rolling a Cadbury’s Creme Egg across the desk. ‘Here you go. I’ve cleaned your desk and given you chocolate, what more could a bloke want?’

The look in Will’s eyes relayed he could come up with several suggestions. ‘How are you feeling?’ he said, pushing aside the paperwork to unwrap the chocolate egg.

‘Fine. My hand’s a little stiff and I can’t do much typing but it’s better than it was.’

Will frowned, but Jennifer had already told him what to do with his suggestion that she should be at home resting.

‘You’ll never guess what I’ve found out about Claire,’ Will said, keeping his voice low.

‘As long as it’s not gossip,’ Jennifer said. ‘I like Claire, and she’s had enough mud slung in her direction over the years.’

Will looked affronted. ‘What do you take me for? It’s about her abilities. Haven’t you ever wondered what they are?’

Jennifer wondered all the time, but Claire didn’t seem comfortable talking about it so she figured she’d find out for herself. This seemed as good a time as any.

‘Go on then, what is it?’

‘Zoe said she can read auras, you know, the coloured energies people have around them. They change according to your moods. She can even tell if you’re lying. I wish someone had warned me, I’ll be on my guard from now on.’

Jennifer clasped her hand to her mouth, her earlier chat with her sergeant coming back to haunt her. ‘You’re joking me.’

‘Afraid not,’ Will said. As he chatted animatedly about his discussion with Zoe, two things crossed Jennifer’s mind. One was that she could understand why Claire would be cagey. Everybody lied, and people were bound to treat her differently once they knew. The second thing Jennifer noticed was how quickly Will accepted Zoe’s explanation. There was no mention of rational thought or not getting carried away; Zoe’s word was taken as fact.

‘Are you all right? You’re looking very miffed,’ Will said, throwing his chocolate wrapper into the bin.

Jennifer reddened, relieved that Will couldn’t read her thoughts. ‘Huh? Um no … I just need to have a chat with Claire. I wasn’t entirely truthful this morning and I think it’s time I came clean.’

‘Sounds ominous,’ Will said. ‘Nothing bad, I hope?’

‘I’ve had a breakthrough with the Raven case. Zoe and I have accessed the Facebook group Emily Clarke was using before her death.’

[#]

Claire did not look surprised to see Jennifer return to her door. Jennifer began with an apology, followed by admissions of what happened in the woods, her relationship with Will, and her progress on the Raven.

‘I take it someone has told you, then,’ Claire said, folding her arms.

Jennifer opened her mouth to speak then paused, measuring her words. ‘It just came up in conversation. Apparently you know when people are lying.’

Claire smiled. ‘That’s one way of putting it. I’m an empath. I can read people’s energies, see their auras, and take on other people’s emotions. Sometimes I can determine if they’re telling the truth or not. Just like with you earlier today. I knew you were hiding something, but I trusted it was for a good reason, and if it were important, you’d tell me. Everyone is entitled to their privacy, Jennifer, and as thrilled as I am that you’ve got it together with Will, who you see in your own time is none of my business.’

Jennifer nodded, keen to change the subject. ‘I take it your abilities don’t stand up in court.’

‘No. Think of it as a copper’s intuition. Evidentially you can’t use it, but it can point us in the right direction.’

‘It’s a cool trait. Remind me to bring you into interview.’

Claire smirked. ‘It’s not foolproof, so I don’t rely on it too heavily. I mean, it’s not like a lie detector test. But let’s put all that aside for now, I’m more concerned about your investigation. It’s time we called the DI in here, and work out a plan of action for the Raven.’

Claire was impressed to see Jennifer had made good headway into the investigation, having arranged an informal appointment with Bert’s psychiatrist the next day. Ethan, her DI, had taken the decision to bring Lexton MIT fully up to date on their investigation. Although unhappy at being kept in the dark, progression of an undercover officer in the Facebook group was welcomed, and Zoe’s activity was being closely monitored.

Officers would be briefed and kept on standby for any forthcoming raids, and although Ethan had given her a telling-off for withholding information, Jennifer felt she was finally making some progress in the investigation. She was painfully aware of the lack of physical forensic evidence, but she was closing in on the killer, and if anyone could help her, his psychiatrist could.

[#]

An evening call from her sister was the last thing she expected, and Jennifer cradled the phone as she whipped together some eggs.

‘Hi, how are you?’ Amy asked.

Jennifer gave a wry smile. She always recognised when her sister’s calls were leading up to something. ‘Fine, just making an omelette for supper. Is everything OK?’

‘Mmm? Oh yeah, fine … Josh stop that … no, Lily isn’t allowed Lego …’

Jennifer diced a spring onion and plopped it into the egg mix, imagining her nephew presenting his little sister with his latest Lego creation.

‘Sorry,’ Amy said, ‘I was wondering if you’d be free to babysit Josh and Lily some night? Just for a couple of hours. I haven’t been out with David for ages, thought it would do us good.’

Jennifer stood open-mouthed as thin blue smoke began to rise from the frying pan. Amy rarely asked her to babysit Josh, and always brought Lily with her.

‘Yeah, sure, I’d love to … oh crap, hang on, my pan is burning.’ She turned off the pan and pushed it to the side. A thought occurred to her. Jennifer wondered if the offer was a thinly veiled peace offering. Amy was the only person she knew who looked upon the offer of babysitting as a treat. ‘So how did it go? With dad, I mean. It’s OK to talk about him, I won’t snap your head off, I promise.’

‘It was all right,’ Amy said flatly.

‘Just all right?’ Jennifer said, trying to remember that she wasn’t supposed to have seen him. ‘Is he still off the booze?’

‘Oh yeah, he’s been off it for some time now. He goes to AA, or so he tells me. He’s got a girlfriend, she’s American.’

Jennifer pretended to sound surprised. ‘Really? I take it she’s an improvement on mad Peggy from Hackney then?’

Amy snorted. ‘Anything’s an improvement on that silly woman. Dominique, this one’s called, very glam. She was his hypnotherapist.’

Silence passed and Jennifer gave in to her curiosity. ‘Dad has a therapist? Go on then, spill the beans.’

Amy whispered conspiratorially down the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘She’s very wealthy. I liked her at first but now …’ A door closed in the background and Amy’s voice drew closer to the phone. ‘… She’s a bit pushy, and she doesn’t like kids.’

Jennifer smiled. Not liking children was a hanging offence in her sister’s eyes.

‘And dad’s no better, he didn’t even bring them a bag of sweets! And I know I’m always telling you off for buying chocolate but they could have brought Josh something, the tight gits.’

‘Mmm,’ Jennifer said, not entirely surprised. Their father had never even sent her a birthday card.

‘And that’s not all. I went to a real effort, baking a Victoria sponge and those nice little jam tarts that you like.’

Jennifer’s mouth watered at the prospect. Her sister was the best cook she knew.

‘David took the kids into the sitting room and I brought dad and Dominique into the kitchen for a chat. She started looking around the place saying how quaint everything was. Quaint. I’ll give her blooming quaint …’

Jennifer giggled into her hand, reluctant to interrupt her sister’s flow.

‘So I gave them tea and cake using my best china, and … well, you’d think I’d given her poison. She started going on about how bad carbs were for you, and wouldn’t allow dad to have any either. Then it just went from bad to worse.’

‘Worse? How could it get any worse?’ Jennifer said, abandoning her unmade omelette as she pulled out a chair to sit down.

‘She started saying that dad had to sort out his issues before he could move forward, and it wasn’t long before I realised that we were the issues she was talking about.’

‘Bloody cheek. What did he say?’

‘He couldn’t get a word in. Then she said that in order for him come to terms with things, we would have to set up a family meeting so we could all move forward. I said “What things?” and she said – wait ’til you hear this – she said that when dad was regressed, he said you set fire to the boathouse on purpose. Have you ever heard anything so stupid?’

Jennifer held her breath, relieved her sister could not see the look on her face. A sick feeling of dread erupted in the pit of her stomach, the words filling her with shame.

‘Hello? Are you there?’ Amy said.

‘Yeah, sorry, I’m just … astounded.’

‘That’s how I felt … for about two seconds. Then I told her that when we were living in the boathouse, dad was pissed most of the time, and then I told her that her theory was thoughtless and cruel. I’ve looked it up, she’s filling his head with false memories through her hypnotherapy sessions.’

‘Yeah … that’s what it is.’ Jennifer’s hand caressed her throat as a red flush spread from her collarbone to her jawline.

‘That’s when I threw them out.’

Jennifer would have laughed if she were not feeling weak at the revelation. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

‘Well, I politely asked them to leave. Dad was full of apologies but she wasn’t. I don’t think she liked me calling her a quack.’

This time Jennifer did laugh. ‘Oh dear. She didn’t do a very good job at impressing you, did she?’

‘Honestly, I don’t think she could have insulted me any more if she tried. First my kids, then my house, my baking, and finally you! Who does she think she is? Snooty cow.’

‘So what now?’

‘I’ve told dad we’re not here to make him feel better about himself. If he just wants to rake over the past, I’m not interested. He’s said he’s sorry, but we’ll see where it goes.’

Jennifer was not sorry things had worked out the way they did. At least now, Amy was back on her side. The comment about the fire made her feel sick to her stomach. The last thing she needed was being confronted about the past. Her sister’s loyalty had proved itself to be fickle, and if the truth came out, Amy would never forgive her. Jennifer emptied the contents of the pan in the bin, having lost her appetite. Much of her life was spent raking over the bones of her past, and she wished she could wipe the slate clean. She shook her head at the irony. She was hunting down a group whose aim was the exact same thing.

She recalled how Zoe mocked her for being so straight-laced. If only she knew. The boathouse … it was so long ago, but the memory was easily recalled, bringing with it a fresh dose of pain. That awful night, when her father came home drunk, calling her dead mother’s name. His breath, soured from beer and cigarettes, was heavy on her face as he climbed into bed, clawing at her nightdress. She wriggled free that night, and he always acted as if he didn’t remember a thing. But Jennifer knew. If he didn’t take her innocence then one of his scummy friends would. She hoped the memory resurfaced in his regression sessions. She’d like to see how his girlfriend would cope with that little nugget of information. But as bad as he was, her father was right. She had set fire to the boathouse. Had she really wanted to kill him as she placed the candles under the curtains where he slept? Hatred had consumed her for the man that was meant to be her protector. It was him or them. She had to protect her sister. Or was that too easy an explanation for a woman who couldn’t face her past? Jennifer rubbed her eyes, trying to push the memories back into their box. She couldn’t face them. Not now. She would rather spend the rest of her days risking her life protecting others, than face her own fraught past.