Текст книги "The Surrogate"

Автор книги: Tania Carver

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

61

Clayton couldn’t concentrate. He looked round the bar, at the walls, through the windows. Anywhere but where he was supposed to be looking. Down at the report in front of him.

He was deskbound, tasked with paperwork. Unable to work the case, unable to function like the copper he wanted to be, believed himself to be. He hated it. He saw faces, clocked movements. He knew what they were doing, what they were thinking. About him. They knew. They knew.

His heart was hammering in his chest, his hands shaking. But how much did they know? If it was everything, then that was it, finito. But if wasn’t . . . he might have a chance. A slim one. He shouldn’t have done it. Let Sophie stay at his place. He shouldn’t have taken that blow job from her in the car the other night. Hell, if he traced it all the way back, he shouldn’t have got involved with her in the first place.

All he wanted to be was a good copper. Well respected by his peers, well liked by his colleagues. And the ladies. But he couldn’t see that happening now. Because he was weak. And being weak made him do stupid, cowardly things. Like getting involved with Sophie.

He looked round again. Phil was at his desk, attacking a pile of paperwork he had allowed to accrue. He kept his head, down, focused on his task. Didn’t catch Clayton’s eye. Millhouse was geeking away at his computer, in his own virtual world as usual. But it was Marina and Anni that he felt most scared about. Anni had pulled her chair up to Marina’s desk and was sitting alongside her, poring over reports and statements, scrutinising photos. Every once in a while Clayton would look across, find Anni staring back at him. He would look quickly away, his eyes nervous, shifty. Guilty.

She hadn’t told. He knew that. Otherwise Phil would have said something. But it was only a matter of time. She wouldn’t keep that to herself. She was as ambitious as he was, and hard-working. She wouldn’t want to be seen to collude in mistakes he had made.

They would find out where Sophie was. Because they might still need to talk to her. And when they did . . .

He had to get a grip, think about what to do next. Get a damage-limitation plan in operation. Clayton sighed, went back to his paperwork.

Still unable to concentrate.

Anni read the statement over once again. Geraint Cooper, Claire Fielding’s friend at school. She reached the end. Read it once more. Put it down, rubbed her eyes.

‘Nothing?’ said Marina, looking up.

‘I think it’s just . . . I want to see something there, find a connection so much that I’m imagining things . . .’

‘Take a break,’ said Marina.

Anni shook her head. ‘Not yet.’ She took a mouthful of bottled water. ‘Right. Let’s go again. Connections.’ She looked down at the list she had made in front of her. ‘Lisa King. Killed in an empty house. Had shown properties to Ryan Brotherton. Susie Evans. Prostitute. Ryan Brotherton one of her customers.’

‘And Sophie Gale,’ said Marina. ‘Where he met her.’

Anni nodded. ‘And she informed for the police. In return for certain leniencies. Right. Claire Fielding. Julie Simpson. Girlfriend of Brotherton and her best friend. Then Caroline Eades.’ She looked through the piles of paper on her desk. ‘No connection. None.’

‘Caroline Eades. Never worked?’

‘Her husband’s an area manager for a recruitment agency. She was a stay-at-home mum. No connection with any of the others.’

Marina sat back, thoughtful. Sucked one of the arms of her reading glasses. ‘What do we know about Sophie Gale?’

Anni rifled through her pile of papers, brought one out. ‘Born Gail Johnson. First known address is in New Town.

Pulled in on a raid, let go, works for us. Changes her name to Sophie Gale.’

‘Reinvents herself.’

‘Up to a point. Then appears with Ryan Brotherton.’

‘So we have to assume they’ve known each other for a number of years. And in a number of capacities.’

Anni nodded. ‘We’ll never know now. She’s gone.’

‘Won’t she turn up again?’

Anni gave a small smile. ‘Probably. One way or another. They usually do. And usually attached to a man.’

Marina got a quick mental image of Erin O’Connor then. Sitting in her little New Town house, looking like she wouldn’t be there too much longer. Erin O’Connor. Sophie Gale. Both sounded like made-up names. Manufactured girlie names. Names a man might enjoy saying, especially at certain times and in certain situations . . .

‘Marina? You all right?’

Marina blinked. Anni was looking at her, concerned. ‘Sorry?’

‘You’d gone for a few seconds.’

She shook her head. ‘Yes . . . miles away . . .’ She was still thinking, grasping for something . . .

Something Erin O’Connor had said: At least I don’t have to pay for it any more . . .

‘Phil and I went to talk to Graeme Eades’ girlfriend. Erin O’Connor.’

‘His alibi.’

‘Have you checked to see if she’s got a record?’

Anni sat upright. It looked like electricity had been run through her already spiky hair. ‘What kind of a record?’

‘Prostitution.’

‘I’ll check.’

‘I may be wrong,’ said Marina, thinking how disgusted the woman had looked when she had said the phrase, but wondering if that could have been an act put on for their benefit. ‘I may be doing her a great disservice, but I just get the feeling there might be a connection.’

‘Go with your gut instincts. That’s how it works.’ Anni stood up. ‘I’ll go and check.’

She walked across the office. Marina watched her go.

So did Clayton.

Anni asked Millhouse to run a check on Erin O’Connor. While she waited, she looked round the office. Clayton was sweating like it was midsummer. And shaking like he had Parkinson’s. She hadn’t told anyone about his involvement with Sophie. Not yet. And if he didn’t give her cause to, she wouldn’t. But he didn’t know that. She bit back a smile. Good. Let him suffer.

‘Urm . . . yeah . . .’ Millhouse was staring at his screen. ‘Here . . . No, er . . . nothing . . .’

Eloquent as ever, thought Anni.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘what about Graeme Eades?’

‘The victim’s husband?’

‘The very same.’

‘Right . . .’ He started pressing buttons, scrolling through information.

Anni waited. As patiently as she could.

‘Uh . . .’ said Millhouse eventually, ‘here. Yeah, here. God . . . wow . . .’

Anni bent down to see what he was looking at. And there it was.

‘Graeme Eades, picked up, cautioned,’ she said. ‘Four years ago. Was anyone picked up with him? Either buying or selling?’

‘Uh, yeah, I’ll see . . .’

Millhouse worked away on the screen. Anni felt excitement rising within her. She tried not to let it show. So many times in similar situations she had allowed herself to hope, only to have those hopes dashed by reality. So when Millhouse asked her to look at the screen, she tried not to harbour too much hope.

‘Here . . .’

She smiled. Felt her toes curling. For once, her hope hadn’t been misplaced.

‘Fantastic, Millhouse. I could kiss you.’

‘Erm . . .’

She smiled. She could almost see the phrase ‘does not compute’ running through his mind. She all but ran back to Marina.

Clayton watched her go. He didn’t know what it was she had discovered, but he doubted it was good news. Anni didn’t even sit back down next to Marina, just leaned over the desk and spoke hurriedly to her. Marina then got up, and in a similar hurry to Anni, rushed over to Phil’s desk.

Oh God, oh fuck . . . She’s found something. There must have been a record left of his connection with Sophie. She had discovered it. That must be it. He was breathing so hard he thought his heart would develop an arrhythmic problem. Like having too much coke.

He tried to calm down. Think straight. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe they had discovered something that would further the investigation. A breakthrough. That was it. It might not be about him after all.

He forced his heart rate down, his breathing to steady. There was only one way to find out. He stood up from his desk, crossed the office to where Millhouse was sitting.

‘Hi,’ he said, aiming for nonchalance, but missing by several miles.

Millhouse barely grunted in response.

‘What was, er . . . what was Anni looking for just now?’

‘Graeme Eades,’ said Millhouse, clearly upset at being disturbed from whatever he had been doing. Obviously Clayton didn’t hold the same appeal that Anni did for him.

‘Can I have a quick look?’

‘You’re off the case.’

Clayton gave a smile that he hoped said they were all mates together but somehow just died on his face. ‘Come on, Millhouse.You know what it’s like. Please. Just for me.’

Millhouse sighed, went into the system. ‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s what she wanted to see first.’

Clayton swallowed hard. ‘Right. First? What did she look at next?’

Another grunt and a sigh, as if Millhouse was being asked to move a mountain with only a teaspoon. ‘This.’

He put the screen up, sat back. Clayton looked. And felt the shakes returning. Big time.

He stood up. Walked slowly back to his desk, as if in a trance.

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Millhouse after him.

But Clayton didn’t hear. He sat down before the screen. Oh God, oh fuck . . .

The door to Phil’s office opened. Phil came out, shrugging into his jacket, Anni following. They both made their way to the front door.

Clayton sat there, watching them go. He had to do something, but he was too stunned to move. He had to be careful. Whatever he did next was important. Very important. His future career depended on it. He had to think. Find a way to make this work, come out of it clean.

Yes.

But first he had to make a phone call.

62

Graeme Eades opened the door. He looked to Phil like a different man. Like he had aged enough to become his own father in the space of a day. But worse than that, he looked like a ghost that hadn’t realised it was dead yet. Guilt will do that to you, thought Phil.

He was staying in a Travelodge on the outskirts of Colchester. His own house was being treated as a crime scene, examined for potential forensic clues, and would be for some time.

‘Would have thought he’d had enough of cheap hotels by now,’ Anni had said as they had walked up to the front desk and shown their warrant cards.

Phil hadn’t answered, just asked for directions to Graeme Eades’ room.

‘Mr Eades?’ he said. ‘Just a few more questions, please. Won’t take long.’

Eades opened the door fully, walked back into the room. He was dressed in a pair of chinos and a sweatshirt. It looked as if he had slept in them too. He needed a shave and his remaining hair had been sculpted into interesting swirls and whorls. He sat on the bed and waited, head down. Like a death-row inmate awaiting execution. But from the look in his eyes, he was already dead.

Phil stood before him, leaning against the built-in set of drawers. Anni sat in the chair.

‘We’ve been looking into your background, Mr Eades, and there are a couple of things we’d like you to clear up.’

No response.

‘Four years ago you were picked up and cautioned for kerb-crawling, is that correct?’

Eades looked up. He frowned. ‘What?’

Phil started the sentence again. Eades cut him off. ‘What’s that got to do with . . . with . . .’

‘So that’s correct? You were kerb-crawling? Looking to buy sex?’

He put his head down, sighed. Humiliation piling on top of guilt. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice a broken thing, ‘yes, I was.’

‘Just the once, or more often?’ said Anni. ‘Was this a regular thing?’

Eades looked up, eyes away from Anni. ‘Does it matter?’ He tried to hide his embarrassment, worked it up as anger instead. ‘How does this have any bearing on . . . on my wife? Is this relevant? Is this part of the inquiry?’

‘Yes it is, Mr Eades,’ said Phil, keeping his voice steady but authoritative. ‘We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.’ He said nothing more, waiting for an answer.

Eventually, Eades, seeing that they weren’t going away until they got an answer, sighed. ‘I used prostitutes . . . a bit.’

‘A bit?’ said Anni.

‘A fair bit. All right, quite a lot.Yes, I paid for sex. Happy now?’

Phil took a photo out of his jacket pocket, handed it to Eades. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’

Eades looked at the photo. Susie Evans’ face was smiling up at him. He frowned. ‘She looks . . . familiar. A bit.’

‘Have you had sex with her?’ asked Anni. ‘Was she one of the women you picked up?’

He kept looking at the photo. Eventually shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think so. Not really my type. But she does look familiar.’ He handed the photo back.

‘She was murdered a couple of months ago,’ said Phil, repocketing the photo.

Eades’ head jerked up, eyes wide. ‘And . . . and you think . . . the same person did it?’

‘It’s a possibility we’re looking into,’ Anni said.

‘We’re exploring all avenues,’ said Phil.

Anni took a photo out of her jacket, handed it to Eades. ‘What about her?’

Eades looked at it, and there was no disguising the fact that he knew her. He sighed as he looked at her face.

Phil picked up on it straight away. ‘You know her?’

‘Has she been killed too?’ It sounded like genuine concern in his voice.

Phil ignored the question. ‘Do you know her?’

Eades looked again at the photo. ‘Yes.Yes, I remember her very well.’

‘You met more than once?’ said Phil.

‘Yes. Regularly. We met . . . she had a flat we went back to. I didn’t pick her up on the street. Sometimes in a hotel. Yes . . .’ He drifted off at the memory.

‘And would you say you developed a relationship with her?’ said Anni.

‘Well, I think so. We were together for . . . we used to see each other for quite a while.’

‘And you talked about . . . what, exactly?’ said Phil.

‘Oh, all sorts. Life, my family. Everything.’

‘So why did it end?’ asked Anni.

‘I met Erin,’ he said.

Anni folded her arms. ‘And you didn’t have to pay for it any more.’

‘That’s right.’ Eades looked up, realised what he had just said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that . . .’

‘That’s all right, Mr Eades,’ said Phil. He held his hand out for the photo.

Eades seemed reluctant to hand it over. He sighed, looked at it once more. ‘Oh, Sophie,’ he said.

Phil and Anni exchanged glances. They made to leave.

Graeme Eades stood up.

‘Please,’ he said, looking unsteady on his feet. ‘Please. Find my baby. My girl.’ He looked up. ‘It was a girl, you know . . .’ Then away again. ‘And she’s the last part of . . .’ He couldn’t bring himself to say his wife’s name.

He crumpled to the bed, curled up and sobbed.

They left him to his grief.

Outside, Phil shook his head, as if to dislodge Graeme Eades’ voice, the image of him lying there.

‘We have to find her,’ said Phil. ‘And fast.’

They drove back to the station.

Clayton stood outside in the car park. It was freezing, wind whipping his jacket back, promising ice and snow. He didn’t notice. He had his phone to his ear.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘pick up . . .’

It switched over to answerphone. ‘Hi, this is Sophie. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you really, really soon.’ Her voice dropped, low and teasing, on the last three words, holding the promise of fun and sex. It worked. Clayton knew that.

‘Listen, Sophie, it’s me, Clayton. I need to see you. Now. It’s important. I don’t know where you are, but go back to the flat, I’ll meet you there.’ He ended the call. Sighed.

Fuck . . .

He put his phone away. Thought. Took it out again. He would try his flat. Maybe she was there already. In the shower or something. He dialled, waited. Heard his own voice on the answerphone.

He started to leave a message.

‘Sophie? It’s Clayton. If you’re there, pick up.’ A long pause. Then a sigh. ‘Okay. Look, I’m coming back to the flat now. I really need to talk to you. Now. I’ve left a message on your mobile. If you’re there, wait.’ Another sigh. ‘This is so fucked. I’ve . . . we’ve got to . . .’ Another sigh. ‘No. I can’t say on the phone. We have to talk it through. We have to sort it.’ The message ended.

Across the room, sitting on one of Clayton’s dark leather armchairs, Sophie Gale took another drag on her cigarette, held it, let out a long plume of smoke.

The red light on the answerphone flashed. She didn’t move. Just put the cigarette to her lips once more, took down another mouthful of smoke, slowly exhaled.

Waited.

63

Phil was pushing the Audi as fast as he could without breaking the speed limit down the Avenue of Remembrance on the way back to the centre of Colchester. Beside him, Anni was feeling troubled.

‘Boss,’ she said, with evident trepidation.

‘Yeah?’ he said, not taking his eyes off the road.

‘I think there’s something I should have told you.’

He risked a glance at her. Her head was angled away from him but he could clearly see the tension in her neck. ‘Go on.’

The engine seemed to roar in the silence between them. Eventually Anni spoke. ‘It’s about Clayton.’

Phil waited.

‘He’s . . .’ She sighed. ‘I saw him. The other night. When I was staking out Brotherton’s house.’

Phil looked at her, frowning. He said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

‘He was . . . he brought Sophie Gale back home. In his car.’

Phil took his eyes fully off the road. ‘He did what?’

‘And . . .’ She had to keep going. There was no turning back now. ‘And she gave him a blow job. In the car.’

Anni turned her face away to the window once more. She could feel Phil’s eyes on her, burning into her intensely. The road taking care of itself.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ His voice quiet, controlled.

Anni knew that wasn’t a good sign. ‘I . . . I didn’t know if it was my place, boss. I just thought he was being a dick. I confronted him with it.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said he would tell you. Sit down and tell you everything. ’

‘Everything? What’s everything?’

Anni sighed, shook her head. ‘About . . . Clayton used to work vice. He knew Sophie from back then. Was one of the team she used to be an informant for.’

‘Why the fuck didn’t he tell me?’ His voice seemed all the louder in contrast to its previous quiet and control. His hand left the steering wheel, began massaging his chest. Anni noticed he seemed to be having problems with his breathing.

‘You okay, boss?’

He ignored her question. ‘Why didn’t he tell me?’

‘I don’t know. He said he was going to. But he didn’t. But it made me look into her background. That’s when I came up with the whole prostitute thing.’

‘Which he wasn’t going to say anything about.’

‘I . . . I don’t know. Boss.’

Phil sighed and kept sighing, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

‘Boss . . .’

‘Christ . . .’ His hand clenched harder at his chest. Anni began to worry that he might be having a heart attack.

‘Shouldn’t . . . shouldn’t you pull over?’

Phil gave an angry shake of his head. ‘Call him. Phone him now. I want to know what the hell he’s playing at.’

Anni took out her mobile, speed-dialled Clayton. She waited. Looked at Phil. ‘Answerphone.’

‘Bastard . . . leave a message. Tell him I want to see him back at the station. Now.’

Anni did so, hung up.

‘He was in the office when we left,’ said Phil in between gasps. ‘Call them. See if he’s there. No, call Marina. Ask her.’

Anni did what she was told, spoke to Marina, listened to the reply. Rang off.

‘He’s gone. Left just after we did.’

Phil seemed to be breathing through clenched teeth. ‘Did . . . did she say why?’

‘She said he went to talk to Millhouse just after I did. Then left in a hurry.’

‘And you were asking Millhouse about Sophie Gale.’

‘Yeah.’ Realisation hit her. ‘Oh God . . .’

‘You know the way to his place?’ said Phil.

Anni nodded.

‘Direct me. Now.’

Phil put the siren on.

64

‘Oh God, oh God . . .’

Marina stood in the toilet cubicle, the door locked. She didn’t care if anyone heard her or not.

After Anni’s phone call she had started to feel unwell. She couldn’t describe what it was exactly, just a pain in her lower stomach. Sharp, stabbing. She knew that wasn’t right. She hurried off to the toilets, locked herself in. And had her worst fears confirmed.

Blood. She was bleeding.

‘Oh God . . . the baby . . .’

The baby. All the conflict she had been undergoing disappeared in an instant. There was something wrong with the baby. She had to get it sorted. She clutched her stomach as another wave of pain rippled through her. She gasped, rode it out. Then reached for her phone. Speed-dialled her GP. Hoped he could see her straight away.

Her call was answered, an emergency appointment booked. She made a note of the time, closed her phone. Case or no case, this was important. She hadn’t realised just how important until this moment.

She flushed the toilet, just in case anyone was listening outside, rearranged herself, went off to the doctor’s.

‘Sophie?’

Clayton rushed into his flat, left his keys on the side table in the hallway, ran into the living room, looked round. He saw her over by the window. She was sitting in an armchair, unmoving. The blinds were drawn behind her. He let out a sigh of relief.

‘Thank Christ, I thought somethin’ had happened to you.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, without moving.

Her voice sounded strange, remote. Not at all like he was used to. But he didn’t have time to think about that. He had too much to tell her.

‘Listen,’ he said, crossing the room, sitting on the arm of the chair, ‘they’ve found a connection. Between you and Graeme Eades, the husband of the last victim. From when you used to . . . when you were workin’.’

She said nothing. Clayton frowned. He had expected a bigger reaction than that. He pressed on.

‘They want to talk to you, yeah? So we’ve got to think of the best way to do this. How it looks like I’m gettin’ in contact with you and you’re comin’ in, yeah? To chat. How we goin’ to do that, then?’

Sophie said nothing. Just continued to stare straight ahead.

Clayton began to get exasperated. ‘Sophie . . .’ He stood up quickly as if the arm of the chair was too hot to sit on any longer, paced the floor until he stopped in front of her. ‘Have you been listenin’? Sophie, we’re in trouble.’

She moved her head to the side, inclined her eyes upwards to him. ‘You’re in trouble, Clayton.’

‘What? We both are! We’ve got to, got to . . .’ He put his hands to his head, screwed his eyes up tight, beat his fists against his temples. Opened his eyes again, looked at her. ‘We’ve got to sort this. Now.’

Sophie said nothing for a while. Just as Clayton was beginning to think she hadn’t heard, she sighed. There was no sense of resignation in the sigh, just a weary acceptance of a tedious situation. She kept her eyes on him.

‘I suppose it had to happen sometime. Sooner or later.’

‘Yeah, it did.’ He stopped. Was she talking about the same thing? ‘What had to happen?’

She stood up, moved towards him. Pressed her body right against his as she spoke. ‘There’s no point in pretending any more. I should say it’s been fun. But I’d be lying.’ She put her hand on his chest, started moving it slowly in circles. ‘And we’ve had too many lies, haven’t we?’

‘What . . . what you talkin’ about?’ He stared at her, seemingly hypnotised by her touch.

‘A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. I learned that working in a scrap metal yard. Same with a police investigation. And that’s you, Clayton.’

He was totally confused now. ‘Wh-what?’

‘Finding you were on the team was a bonus. Something I could work with. And when it all went wrong with Ryan, moving in with you seemed the perfect thing to do. Keep an eye on you, keep them away from me. But now it seems like that won’t work out.You’re off the team. And they’ve found out about Graeme Eades and me.’

‘So? We can sort it. We just need to get our story straight . . .’

She gave him a sad smile. ‘No, Clayton. I think it’s got beyond that. We’ve all got to make sacrifices now.’

‘What you talkin’ about?’

‘Family, Clayton. Family. Family ties. Stronger than anything. ’ There was sadness behind her words.

She was still stroking him, pressing her body against him. He didn’t understand her words but he enjoyed the feeling. Despite everything, he found himself getting an erection.

‘So I’ve got to go now.’

‘No, listen—’

‘Sorry, Clayton.You are the weakest link. Goodbye.’

He didn’t feel the blade at first. Not the first blow. Or the second. But by the third he was feeling it. The pain had caught up with the shock by then. Sophie moved away. He looked down.

She had stabbed him in the stomach. Hard, fast. His shirt front was covered in blood. No longer required to make its way to his heart, it was pumping out of him in gushing torrents.

‘No, no . . .’

He put his hands on his stomach, tried in desperation to catch the blood in his fingers. Couldn’t. It just ran straight through.

‘Oh God, oh God . . .’

He stumbled round, not knowing what to do, his panic increasing the rate his blood pumped out at. He looked to Sophie for help. But she had put on her coat, grabbed her holdall, which had been at the side of the armchair. She wasn’t even looking at him.

‘Help . . . help me . . .’

His voice, like the rest of him, was becoming weaker.

She ignored him, walked towards the door.

Something clicked inside him. He mustn’t let her get away. He had to stop her. Call an ambulance, call for assistance. He fumbled inside his jacket for his mobile, his fingers slippery with blood. Eventually he got it out, punched in 999. No use. He had turned it off on the way to the flat.

‘Oh God . . .’

He tried to thumb it on. Waited for it to power up, to find his network.

‘Come on, please . . . come on . . .’

Dancing black stars were moving into the edges of his vision. He tried to blink them away. But every time he blinked, they just seemed to increase in number. He looked round the room, tried to focus. He was aware of Sophie reaching the door.

‘No . . .’

The phone had eventually found a signal. He managed to dial 999, held it to his ear. It was ringing. His legs were weak. He felt like he wanted to sit down. He fought it, remained on his feet. Waited for the phone to be answered.

It was. He was asked which emergency service he wanted.

‘Ambulance. I’ve been . . . stabbed . . .’

Sophie heard his words, turned. She crossed the room, took the phone from his hand, threw it as far away from him as she could. It hit the wall. Broke. She nodded, pleased with her action, turned, walked back to the door.

‘No . . .’

His legs were ready to give way. With one last surge he managed to lurch across the room, blood following him, keeping pace as he went. He reached her by the door, put his hands on her. She turned, ready to swat him away.

Clayton knew he was fighting for his life. He knew his last breath wasn’t far off and he had to do something. He grabbed her, tried to remember his training. Hung on to her as hard as he could.

They were fighting by the door when the entryphone buzzer went.