Текст книги "Dangerous Promises"

Автор книги: Roberta Kray

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Текущая страница: 30 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

‘And then?’

‘And then she started dropping hints that she might know something about Eddie’s death.’

‘So why didn’t I go to the police?’

‘Because you didn’t believe her. Why should you? The girl’s a raging fantasist. And you were aware that she had big problems, psychological problems. You didn’t want to make things worse by involving the law.’

‘But that doesn’t explain why I said nothing to Joel.’

‘It’s not Joel you have to convince.’

Sadie gave a sigh, knowing this wasn’t entirely true.

‘If the cops ask,’ he continued, ‘just say that you didn’t think much about it, that you thought it would all blow over, that it was just in Mona’s head.’ He scratched at his chin, at the stubble that was casting a dark shadow across his jaw. ‘You have to keep things simple, straightforward. It’s the detail that trips you up.’

‘So what about the fair? I was there. People must have seen me.’

‘For sure, but that doesn’t prove anything. Tell it like it was, that you got a note from Mona, went along to the fair, but she didn’t show up so you just went home again. You weren’t especially worried because she wasn’t what you’d call the reliable sort. Anyway, next morning you decided you wanted to get away for a few days so you took a train to London and —’

‘Hold on,’ Sadie interrupted. ‘If I wanted to get away, why wouldn’t I have gone to the Lakes with Joel?’

Stone waved her objection aside. ‘Maybe you didn’t want to spend time with Joel. Maybe things haven’t been too good between you lately. I don’t know, maybe you just fancied some shopping in Oxford Street. But the point is that when you leave, you haven’t heard anything about the death of Peter Royston. You come to Kellston and —’

Sadie stopped him again. ‘So what about the Gissings? They kidnapped me, for God’s sake. They locked me in a cellar. They beat me up.’

‘Do you really want to go there with the law? You shot Wayne, remember. Even if it was in self-defence, they’re still going to question why you were carrying a gun. It’s against the law, in case you hadn’t heard.’

‘So they just get away with it?’

‘He’s got a hole in his leg. I wouldn’t say he’s got away with anything.’ Stone rubbed his fingers over his chin again. ‘Anyway, you ever heard that phrase: What goes around comes around? I’m sure the Gissings will get what they deserve.’

‘And what does that mean exactly?’

‘It means you’ve got more important things to worry about at the moment.’

Sadie knew that he was right. If she wanted to get off the hook, she’d have to do some clever wriggling. ‘Okay, but if I came to Kellston on Sunday, where have I been staying for the past few days? And why do I look like I’ve gone ten rounds with Henry Cooper?’

‘Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. How does this sound? You turn up at Oaklands, bump into Velma and she offers you a place to stay – somewhere cheaper than the guesthouse, somewhere more private. She works for Terry and he owns a lot of properties round here. She keeps a check on the flats that are empty and she offered to let you stay in one. That way she’d be making a few quid and you’d be saving money too.’

Sadie gave a nod. ‘All right, but what about the bruises? How am I going to explain why I look like this?’

‘You were mugged,’ he said, echoing what she’d suggested earlier to Petra Gissing. ‘A group of girls, five or six. It was dark, you were on your way back to the flat and they tried to grab your bag, but you held on to it. Something disturbed them and they ran off.’

‘I don’t have my bag – or my coat, come to that. The Gissings took them.’

‘You will have,’ he said. ‘You’ll have them by the morning.’

Sadie didn’t ask him how. She didn’t want to know. ‘Why didn’t I report it to the police?’

‘Because you’d had enough of the cops, enough of all their questions about Eddie – and as you didn’t think there was much chance of the girls getting caught, you decided to let it drop.’

Sadie’s head was starting to spin. Panic rose into her chest, squeezing the breath out of her lungs. ‘I can’t remember all this, I can’t! I’ll make a mistake. I’ll get something wrong.’

‘You won’t.’

‘I will!’

Stone reached across the table, put his hand over hers and looked into her eyes. ‘Do you trust me, Sadie?’

She stared back at him, feeling confused, afraid and defensive – and something else too, although she didn’t want to admit it. Grateful, perhaps. Relieved. Glad that he was here. ‘Why should I?’

He moved his hand away, sat back and grinned. ‘Do you know what I like about you?’

‘I shouldn’t think it’s a long list.’

‘You’re right,’ he said.

She waited but he didn’t elaborate. ‘Well?’

But Stone just shook his head. He folded his arms across his chest, his face suddenly taking on a different, more matter-of-fact expression. ‘Let’s go back to the beginning. Let’s start with when you first met Mona Farrell…’

They went over the story again and again, adding and taking away, moulding and shaping until Stone was finally satisfied with her version of events. By the time they’d finished it was after three and Sadie was exhausted.

‘So what now?’ she asked wearily.

‘Now you go to bed and get some sleep.’

‘Where’s Velma? You said she was coming back.’

‘She is, but not until the morning. I thought we needed time to sort things out.’

‘And tomorrow?’

‘She’ll take you down to Cowan Road and you’ll tell your tall tale to the police.’

‘And you think they’ll believe it?’

‘Not all of it,’ he said, ‘but it should be enough to keep you out of jail.’

Sadie traced a finger across the surface of the table. She thought about it, looked up and gave a small nod. It might not be perfect, might not be ideal, but at least there was hope. At the moment she was prepared to settle for that.

Epilogue

It was five days now since Sadie had turned down the invitation to have Christmas dinner with the Hunters and had gone instead to her mother’s house. There had been nothing very festive about the occasion. They had sat across the table from each other, picking at the turkey and making small talk while they tried to skirt around any subject that might cause an argument. As this was pretty much everything – politics, religion, the state of Sadie’s relationship with Joel – there had been a generous amount of dull, heavy silences. When the day had finally come to an end, they had parted with obvious relief on both sides.

Sadie paused in her packing, her hand resting on the clothes piled into the suitcase. Sometimes, out of nowhere, she would feel that sick dread pressing against her chest again. It came in the dead of night, waking her from bad dreams, and in broad daylight too. A shudder of what might have been ran down her spine.

The memories of her time in the cellar, her escape, Mona’s death and the long exchange with Nathan Stone were always with her. Some of it was blurred at the edges, other parts so sharp and focused she could feel them cutting like a blade through her mind. Her thoughts drifted back to the morning she had faced the police.

Sadie had woken, washed, put on the dressing gown and walked down the stairs to the room with the sofas and the magazines. Velma had been waiting for her. There was no sign of Stone, but her coat and bag were lying on the coffee table. Beside them was the holdall that she’d left behind in Oaklands after Eddie’s funeral.

‘How are you, hon?’ Velma had asked. ‘Did you get any sleep?’

‘I think so, thanks.’

Velma had brought a set of clothes – a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a pale yellow sweater – everything slightly too big but gloriously clean. There was brand new underwear too. After breakfast, she had got dressed and they had strolled the short distance to a ground-floor flat just round the corner in Meckle Street.

‘Walk around, take a good look. This is where you’ve been staying for the past few days.’

And Sadie had wandered through the sparsely furnished rooms, trying to commit it all to memory: the magnolia walls, the tiny galley kitchen, the bathroom with its cracked bath and rust marks running from the taps. There were sheets and blankets, pillows and a gold-coloured eiderdown on the double bed.

They had left the holdall in the flat along with toiletries, more clothes and a Sunday newspaper dating from the day she’d allegedly arrived. Milk was placed in the fridge along with eggs, butter and a packet of ham. Teabags and bread were put in the cupboard.

‘Do you think the police will check?’ Sadie had asked.

‘There’s no way of knowing, hon.’ Velma had placed the key in her hand. ‘Best to be on the safe side, huh?’

There had been a tall Christmas tree in the foyer of Cowan Road Police Station, awash with tinsel, the fairy lights blinking. While she and Velma had waited, sitting on hard plastic chairs, Sadie had found her eyes drawn continuously towards it. It had seemed out of place, incongruous, in the otherwise cold and clinical surroundings.

Sadie’s recollection of the actual interview was broken and disjointed. She had done her best to play the part: a girl who had only just discovered that the police were looking for her, a girl who’d been mugged, a girl who flinched and became wide-eyed at the shocking news of the deaths of Mona Farrell and Peter Royston.

There had been a lot of toing and froing, officers entering and leaving the room. She had the sense of phone calls being made behind the scenes, of information being confirmed, details being checked, before the next set of questions was thrown at her. Why had she come to London? Where had she been staying? What had her attackers looked like? Why did she think Mona Kellston had come to Kellston? She had held her nerve. She had kept it simple. She had stuck to her story.

Eventually, she’d been released, but this had only been a reprieve rather than an ending to the affair. Back in Haverlea, she’d had to go through it all again, this time under the cool, judgemental eyes of Inspector Gerald Frayne. He had not believed her; she had seen it in his gaze and in the tight, straight set of his mouth. Over and over he had tried to catch her out, phrasing the same questions in different ways.

‘Why did Mona Farrell call herself Anne?’

‘When we bumped into each other on the train, she told me that she didn’t like the name, that everyone called her Anne now.’

‘Really?’ Frayne said. ‘Only her family claim that no one ever referred to her that way.’

‘It’s what she told me.’ Sadie had given a light shrug. ‘I hadn’t seen her for years so…’

‘You didn’t think it was odd?’

‘Not everyone likes the name they’ve been given.’

It had gradually become clear to Sadie that the inspector had nothing on her. Oh, plenty of suspicions, that was for sure, but nothing he could prove. There were witnesses to her being at the fairground, but no one had seen her with Mona Farrell or Peter Royston. In the end, unable to charge her with anything, Inspector Frayne had let her go.

Although Sadie had finally managed to walk free, she had not escaped unscathed. Sometimes there was damage that could never be undone. The twisted mind of Mona Farrell had left a legacy and nothing could ever be the same again.

She remembered the look in Joel’s eyes, the horror and the pity when he’d seen her again for the first time. But over the next few days, as the initial shock subsided, his concern had been replaced by confusion and an endless barrage of questions: What had she been doing in London? Why hadn’t she told him about Mona Farrell and ‘Anne’? Why hadn’t she called to let him know that she’d been attacked?

‘I was only away for a few days. None of this makes any sense, Sadie.’

And he was right. It didn’t. It was a tissue of lies, but she had no choice. She couldn’t tell him the truth. To do that would have meant asking him to keep secrets, to scheme and deceive, to go against everything that made him who he was.

Joel had known that she was hiding something and the knowledge was a barrier between them, a wall that grew higher by the day. Her silence only made things worse. By refusing to talk, to explain, she fed his suspicions, creating a distrust that ate away at their relationship. As Christmas approached it had become clear to both of them that something had been broken – and could never be fixed.

Sadie finished her packing and took a final look round. Was there anything she’d missed? Her gaze skimmed the room, alighting on the framed photo on the dresser: her and Joel standing in the back garden with their arms round each other. She crossed the room and picked it up, a pain pulling at her heart as she ran her thumb across the glass, a final touch of his face before she left for ever.

Before the tears could start, Sadie put the picture down again. She fastened the suitcase, took it down the stairs and left it by the front door. Then she went back up to the flat, stood by the window and waited for the taxi to arrive.

Only a fraction of Gerald Frayne’s attention was on the Nine O’Clock News – unemployment down, a new Honda factory to be built in Sunderland; most of it was focused on the file balanced on his lap. He glanced up at the TV, sighed and returned his attention to the thick sheaf of papers.

Nina looked over at him. ‘You’ll wear that file out. How many times have you been through it this week? I thought the case was closed.’

‘There’s something we’ve missed. I’m sure of it.’ Frustrated, he flicked back a few pages. ‘It doesn’t add up. I mean why would Mona Farrell kill Eddie Wise? There’s no rhyme or reason to it.’

‘But you said they found her fingerprints in his flat. And wasn’t there a receipt for a knife in her purse?’

‘Oh, I’m not disputing that she actually killed the man, I just can’t figure out why. I mean, Peter Royston I get – he was sniffing round, threatening to expose her – but Eddie? What did she have against him?’

‘Did she need to have anything against him? I thought she had a history of psychiatric illness.’

‘Yes, but nothing like this. And he wasn’t just some random victim. According to Sadie Wise, she and Mona bumped into each other on the train, had a brief chat, a bit of a catch-up and then went their separate ways. That was on the Friday evening. By Sunday afternoon, Eddie Wise was lying dead on the kitchen floor with a knife through his chest.’

Nina took a sip of cocoa while she pondered on this. ‘Maybe, in some kind of twisted way, Mona thought she was doing Sadie a favour. There were problems, weren’t there, over the divorce? Hadn’t Eddie been avoiding the issue for quite a while?’

‘Years, apparently.’

‘Well, there you go.’

‘But how did Mona even know where he lived? London’s a big place. And fine, Sadie might have told her that she was starting the search in Kellston, but at the time – or so she claims – she didn’t even know where he was living herself.’

‘You think she’s lying about that?’

Gerald gave a snort. ‘I think the truth and Sadie Wise parted company a long time ago. None of it adds up. According to Joel, Sadie was trying to avoid Mona Farrell, refusing to take her calls, and yet she still went to meet her at the fair. Then there was all that business at the funeral. And why did she suddenly take off for London as soon as her boyfriend’s back was turned? No, it stinks; it’s rotten to the core.’

‘What’s Ian McCloud’s take on it all?’

Gerald’s old colleague at Cowan Road had kept him in the loop as the London side of the investigation had progressed. ‘His theory is that Mona had some kind of obsession with Sadie. There were press clippings found in a shoebox in her bedroom, pictures of the happy couple on their wedding day, except Eddie had been cut out of them all. And there were other items that had been taken from the Haverlea flat – not valuables, just personal stuff, an empty perfume bottle, a lipstick, strands of fair hair pulled out of a comb.’

Nina inclined her head, gazing at her husband. ‘But if Mona was fixated on her, it’s hardly Sadie’s fault.’

‘Unless she used that obsession to her advantage.’

‘Which was what, exactly? Even if she did somehow manipulate Mona into murdering Eddie, then why turn up at his flat? Why go and talk to him about the divorce? She was putting herself in the frame when she didn’t need to.’

‘Maybe it was too late by then.’ Gerald pressed on his temples with his fingertips, feeling the start of a dull, throbbing headache. ‘She was already in London and people knew she was looking for him. By getting Eddie to sign the papers, it would look like she didn’t have a motive. And maybe… maybe the timing was off. Perhaps Mona made her move earlier than she was supposed to. Another few hours and Sadie Wise would have been completely in the clear.’

‘But if she had his signature, she had her divorce – so why have him killed at all?’

‘Bitterness, revenge? Your guess is as good as mine. The guy walked out on her, don’t forget, and fleeced her in the process.’

‘Years ago,’ Nina said. ‘Do you really think she’d risk everything she’s got now, a home, a fiancé, a future, just to get her own back? It seems pretty extreme.’

Gerald’s gaze floated back towards the TV for a moment. He stared at the screen, but all he was really seeing was Sadie Wise sitting in the interview room. Her face might have been battered and bruised, but her eyes were full of grim determination. ‘So perhaps there was another motive, something we don’t know about.’

‘Like what?’

But Gerald was at a loss. All his instincts told him that Sadie was lying, that he couldn’t believe a word that came out of her mouth, but proving her guilt was a different matter entirely. It always got under his skin when he had a case with loose ends, and this one was virtually unravelling at the edges. There were too many unanswered questions, too much left up in the air.

The only part of the investigation that he’d had any real control over was the murder of Peter Royston and, other than the fact that she’d been at the right place at the right time, there was no solid evidence that Sadie had actually colluded in the killing. Witnesses had come forward to confirm that she’d been standing by the Big Wheel for over fifteen minutes, that she’d gone nowhere near the back of the fairground and that she’d left alone after the police and ambulance arrived.

Gerald looked at his wife again. ‘And Mona Farrell being knocked over. You don’t think that’s a touch coincidental? The one person who could have filled in the gaps and suddenly she’s dead.’

‘You think it was deliberate?’

Gerald briefly dropped his gaze, staring down at the papers as if by a sheer effort of will he might be able to read between the lines. He looked up again and shrugged. ‘Let’s just say it was convenient for Sadie.’

‘So they haven’t found the driver yet, the person who did it?’

‘It’s still under investigation.’

Nina yawned, lifting her fingers to cover her mouth. ‘So what now?’ she asked. ‘What are you going to do?’

Gerald shook his head. The more he thought about the case, the more his temples ached. ‘What can I do?’ It seemed to him that the end of the story was as shrouded in mystery as the beginning: Sadie’s trip to London, the mugging, the hit-and-run. Nothing was clear. It was all smoke and mirrors. ‘Unless some new evidence comes to light, the case is closed.’

‘And can you live with that?’

Gerald gave her a wry smile. ‘I’m going to have to, aren’t I?’ He allowed himself one last glance at the page, his eyes quickly scanning the list of items found in Mona’s bedroom in Hampstead. It included a Liberty silk scarf and a paperback copy of a novel called Strangers on a Train. He shook his aching head. No, there was nothing to help there. He closed the file and placed it neatly on the table beside him.

Petra Gissing stood at the sink, gazing out at the back yard. Her arms were wrist-deep in the bowl, but she’d forgotten all about the washing up she was supposed to be doing. Sometimes, without any warning, it all came back to her – the girl appearing out of nowhere, the screech of brakes, the dull thud as Mona Farrell’s body hit the car – and suddenly she was back on Station Road with the panic coursing through her veins again.

She swallowed hard, her jaw clenching. But it hadn’t been her fault. Already she had dismissed the version where her eyes were on Sadie Wise instead of the road, where she didn’t even bother to look before she put her foot on the accelerator. No, that wasn’t how it had happened. The girl had run straight out in front of her. It had been a done deal. There hadn’t been a chance of her stopping in time.

Anyway, there were rumours flying round that Mona Farrell had been sick in the head and that she was the one who’d killed Eddie. It wasn’t public knowledge yet – her family were rich and influential and busy trying to sweep it all under the carpet – but if it was true, then surely Petra had done the world a favour. One less nutter on the streets had to be a good thing.

Wayne came in through the back door, interrupting her thoughts. He brought with him a gust of chill winter air and the attitude of a sulky schoolboy.

‘Don’t start,’ she said.

He stamped his wet boots on the mat and glared at her. ‘I didn’t say nothin’.’

‘You don’t need to. Just get over it, huh? It’s been weeks now and you’ve still got the bloody hump. You can’t change what’s done so just grow up and deal with it.’

‘Yeah, right,’ he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. ‘Twenty fuckin’ grand you cost me. Do you know what I could have done with that?’

Petra raised her eyes to the ceiling – she’d heard it all before – and let her breath hiss out through her teeth. ‘Frittered it away on beer and fags, probably. Jesus, you should be thanking me, not having a go.’

‘And how do you figure that out?’

‘Because if it wasn’t for me, you’d be six foot under by now. Do you really think Nathan Stone was going to pay up? Well, I’ve got news for you – he wasn’t. What he was going to do is come round here and blow your bloody head off your neck!’

‘Says you,’ he grunted.

‘Says anyone with half a brain.’ Petra didn’t have any regrets about releasing Sadie Wise. The girl, as she’d promised, hadn’t gone to the law, not about the kidnap and not about the accident either. At about eight o’clock on the morning after she’d let her go, Petra – who hadn’t been to bed yet – had received a phone call from Stone. His instructions had been curt and to the point.

‘There’s going to be a car arriving in ten minutes, a grey BMW. Give Sadie’s coat and bag to the driver.’

Petra didn’t have a problem with that. She knew where they were. While she’d been cleaning out the cellar, she’d found them stuffed into a crate in the bigger room. ‘And then what?’ she’d asked. ‘What happens next? I don’t want more trouble. I didn’t even know about… She shot Wayne, don’t forget. She could have killed him. Why don’t we —’

But Stone had hung up before she’d had the chance to finish. The BMW had duly arrived and Petra had hurried out to hand the things over. She’d thought about asking the driver to pass on a message to Stone, but had second thoughts when she saw the evil look in his eyes.

The rest of the morning had been equally tense for her, trying to act normal when the kids got up while all the time stressing over what Stone might do next and wondering whether the law would come knocking on the door.

Petra took her hands out of the bowl and dried them on a tea towel. She gave her son an impatient, irritated glance. ‘And don’t ask me to say I’m sorry ’cause I’m not. I’ve got better things to do for the next ten years than stare at the four walls of a prison cell.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said dismissively.

‘And don’t “yeah, yeah” me. That girl could have bleedin’ well died in that cellar. Then what? You’d have had a bloody corpse to deal with. Don’t you ever think about anyone but yourself? We’d have all gone down for it, the whole damn lot of us!’

Wayne curled his lip, the loss of the money still rankling with him. ‘She wasn’t going to croak, for Christ’s sake. A few more days and he’d have paid up. That’s twenty grand you flushed down the toilet.’

‘I saved your bloody skin is what I did. Try showing some gratitude for a change.’

‘Thanks for nothing,’ he said sarcastically.

Petra made a tutting noise and got on with making the lunch. While she peeled the spuds a small triumphant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. It was good to know that she was still in charge, still in control. She’d played a smart game and got away with it. Not one of them, not Wayne, Kelly or Sharon, had managed to suss out what had really happened that night.

Petra’s thoughts slid back to the morning after. She recalled Sharon going out – it must have been almost midday by then – before stomping back into the house, waving her arms about. ‘It’s gone! It’s bloody gone! Some thieving toerag has nicked my car!’

‘Are you sure?’ Wayne had asked.

‘Of course I’m bloody sure.’

‘Maybe you didn’t park it where you thought you did.’

Sharon had put her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing. ‘I know where I parked it. I’m not a bleedin’ idiot. I’m calling Old Bill.’

‘You can’t,’ Wayne had said sharply.

The two of them had exchanged a look. At this time, of course, they hadn’t even realised that Sadie Wise wasn’t in the cellar any more.

‘Why can’t she?’ Petra had asked. ‘She’ll have to report it or the insurance won’t pay out.’

‘All I’m saying is there’s no point in being hasty.’ Wayne had got up off the sofa, gone into the hall and put on his coat. ‘Let’s have a scout round first, see if we can spot it.’

It had been a while, well over an hour, before they’d come home again. Petra had later learned that they’d found the Capri in a matter of minutes, panicked at the state of it and decided to get rid. The car had obviously been in an accident and there were smears of blood on the bonnet and front bumper. Knowing that the filth would have them all down as suspects – apart from Petra who didn’t drive – they had taken the car to the yard and reduced it to scrap metal. A decision had been made to wait a few days, until after they’d got shot of Sadie, before reporting it as stolen.

Petra put the potatoes in a pan, added cold water and placed the pan on the hob. Her son had done her a favour, although he didn’t know it. With the car destroyed, the evidence of the hit-and-run had gone too. With no eye witnesses to the accident – at least none that were prepared to come forward – she was off the hook.

Wayne sat back and glared at his mother as she moved around the kitchen. ‘I still don’t get it,’ he said.

‘What don’t you get?’

‘It’s a bit of a coincidence, ain’t it, the Capri getting nicked like that on the night you let Sadie Wise go.’

Petra assumed an innocent expression – she’d had plenty of practice over the past few weeks – and met his gaze head on. ‘Well, it wasn’t the girl, if that’s what you’re thinking. The keys were still here, weren’t they, and the car wasn’t broken into. Anyhow, I took her to the high street and put her in a cab.’ She left a short pause and then added slyly, ‘Perhaps you should be looking closer to home.’

Wayne frowned, not getting her gist. ‘Huh?’

‘Well, where was Sharon on the night in question?’

‘She was here, for God’s sake, she didn’t even go out. You know that.’

Petra gave a snort. ‘I don’t know nothin’ and nor do you. She says she was here. She says the car was nicked. How do we know she’s being straight? I reckon she knows more than she’s letting on.’

Wayne opened his mouth as if about to protest, but then slowly shut it again. Petra could see the cogs turning in his brain, an effort that gave his face a strained, constipated look. No one liked being taken for a mug, least of all her son.

‘Still, it don’t matter now,’ Petra said. ‘All done and dusted, ain’t it?’ She turned her attention back to the potatoes, stirring the pot as the water bubbled. Divide and rule, that was the trick. If she could drive a wedge between Sharon and the rest of the family, she was halfway to getting what she wanted. It might take time but she had plenty of that. Already she was making plans for how she’d redecorate the master bedroom.

Sadie Wise placed her suitcase on the bed and glanced around a room that was already familiar. Her heart sank a little, knowing that this would be her home for the foreseeable future. How had it come to this? But in her heart she knew exactly how and there was no point in going over it all again. When she’d turned up at the front door, Mrs Cuthbert’s face had fallen. No one liked trouble and Sadie seemed to carry it around with her.

‘Oh, it’s you. I’m sorry but if you’re looking for somewhere to stay —’

‘I am,’ Sadie had interrupted quickly, ‘but not just for the night. I’m after something more long-term, a few months maybe.’

‘A few months?’

‘At the very least. I’m moving back to London, you see, so I need… The room I had before would be fine if it’s still available.’

Mrs Cuthbert had hesitated, torn between an inclination to refuse – at her age she didn’t need any unnecessary bother – and the prospect of a regular income from a small shabby room that was always hard to let. Eventually the latter had won out and she’d stood aside, albeit with a show of reluctance, to allow Sadie across the threshold. ‘I don’t want any trouble, mind.’

‘There won’t be any, I promise.’

Sadie opened the suitcase and started to empty it. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d come back here. It was, she suspected, because she lacked the energy to go anywhere new. With so much changing in her life, she craved some kind of familiarity, even if was only in the form of a small single room with peeling wallpaper and a pervasive smell of damp. Anyway, it wouldn’t be for ever. Once she was back on her feet, she’d be able to get a place of her own.

Having left most of her stuff at her mother’s house, the process of unpacking didn’t take long. Once it was done, she shoved the case on top of the wardrobe and wondered what to do next. It was almost six o’clock – too late for job hunting – but she felt that kind of restlessness that comes with the hope of making a fresh start.

She went over to the window and stared down at the street. Inevitably, she was jolted back to that traumatic night when she’d finally managed to talk her way out of the cellar only to witness the gruesome sight of Mona Farrell being mown down in front of her. She wrapped her arms around her chest, shuddering at the memory.