Текст книги "The Surrogate"

Автор книги: Tania Carver

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

24

‘Mind where you walk,’ Phil said.

Marina didn’t need to be told. The blood in Claire Fielding’s apartment had dried to various shades of dark brown and black, but it was still unmistakably blood. And the carpet and walls of the hall were still covered in it. The earlier smell of dirty copper and spoiled meat had dissipated somewhat. But that didn’t make the scene any less horrific.

‘Oh God . . .’

Phil noticed Marina touch her stomach as she spoke.

There had been a tense silence in the car on the drive across town, the air thick with unspoken emotion. This was the first time they had been alone together since they had met again. They had nothing to say to each other, yet everything to say to each other. Not to mention the scene in the bar.

‘So,’ Phil had said to break the silence, ‘Fenwick hasn’t changed much, has he?’

Marina managed a small smile. ‘Wanker.’

‘Still, at least he made you feel welcome.’

Marina didn’t reply. Another silence, then: ‘Did you hit him? When you took him outside?’

Phil smiled. ‘You like that, do you? The thought of two men beating each other to a pulp over you?’

‘Defending my honour. And my professional integrity, of course.’

‘Of course I didn’t hit him. I took him away for his own protection. That famous Italian temper of yours was about to make its presence felt.’

She laughed. ‘And he would have deserved it. I felt like walking out.’

Phil kept his eyes on the road. ‘Glad you didn’t.’

The rest of the journey had taken place in silence.

‘You okay?’ Phil asked, back in the flat.

Marina didn’t turn round. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Your . . . stomach. Is it hurting?’

She still didn’t turn, but he saw her shoulders tense. Her hand dropped from her stomach. ‘No. Everything’s fine.’

‘This isn’t upsetting you?’

‘I’m hardcore.’

‘Well, as I remember—’

‘Shut it, Brennan. Concentrate.’ She looked at the blood. ‘So this was . . . Julie Simpson.’

‘Yeah,’ said Phil, glad to be able to focus on the case. ‘She must have answered the door. Judging by the way we found her and the wounds inflicted, he killed her straight away.’

Marina nodded, looked at the wall. She pointed. ‘Intercom,’ she said. ‘Videophone?’

Phil nodded.

‘If she knew them, she would have buzzed them up.’

‘Does that rule out or rule in Brotherton?’

Marina frowned. ‘I don’t know. Can’t see her letting him up.’

‘No,’ said Phil. ‘But perhaps the intercom didn’t go. Perhaps he was already in.’

‘Someone let him in and he was waiting? Planned, premeditated. It would fit.’

‘So there’s a knock at the door, say. Julie Simpson goes to answer it. Next thing . . .’

Marina nodded. She examined the walls in more detail, traced the arcs of dried blood with her finger. ‘Very decisive. She opens the door . . .’ She positioned herself in the doorway, taking the place of the attacker. ‘He looks at her, knows she’s not the one he wants – probably because she’s not pregnant – then . . .’ She scythed her arm in an arc, ending abruptly, sharply. ‘Cuts her. Gets rid of her.’ She looked at Phil. ‘What does that tell you? What does that say?’

Phil didn’t know if he was supposed to reply, or whether she was just using him as a sounding board. He ventured an answer. ‘Well, he . . . Julie Simpson wasn’t the primary target. So get her out of the way, move on.’

‘Exactly what I think. Get her out of the way. He didn’t knock her out, tie her up, anything like that. He didn’t paralyse her with his needle. He killed her. Straight away. No hesitation.’

‘So . . . she was just an obstacle,’ Phil said.

‘Just something between him and his goal.’

‘Claire Fielding.’

‘Claire Fielding’s baby,’ Marina corrected him. ‘If I’m right.’

‘If you’re right.’

‘So.’ She again took the position of the intruder, mimed the actions. ‘He slits her throat, drops her to the floor. Does he wait to see that she’s dead? No. It doesn’t matter. She can’t move, can’t call out. If she’s not dead yet, she’s as good as dead.’ Marina moved down the hallway. ‘Then he comes along here.’

‘Just a minute,’ said Phil. ‘Slits her throat and drops her . . . doesn’t see her as a person . . .’ Something was coming to him. Connections were being made. ‘Knife . . . Could this person work with animals?’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Well, a farmer. Not a vet, obviously. Or someone used to slaughtering livestock? In an abattoir, maybe?’

Marina smiled in admiration. ‘It’s a possibility. Well done. We’ll make a decent copper out of you yet.’

Phil couldn’t help returning the smile. ‘Right then. Off you go, and leave us professionals to get on with it.’

‘My work here is done.’

They both stood there, smiling, not speaking. Unspoken emotions again humming between them like high-tension wires.

Marina broke the silence. ‘Where was Claire Fielding?’ She walked to the end of the hallway, her voice once again businesslike, focused.

‘Here, we think,’ said Phil, picking up the lead from her voice, following her. He stopped at the end of the hallway, pointed to scuff marks on the wall. ‘Signs of a struggle here.’ There was a potted plant lying on its side. ‘Maybe he attacked her, knocked her into this.’ He examined the wall. ‘Not much damage, though.’

Marina joined him. ‘There wouldn’t be. If it’s the baby he was after, he wouldn’t want her harmed. Well, not too much.’ She looked round. ‘Then what?’

‘We found her in the bedroom. Tied to the bed and . . . well, you know the rest.’

Marina stopped walking, looked round again. ‘This is the living room, yes?’ she said, pointing towards the room on her right.

‘Yeah.’

‘So . . .’ She looked round again, examined every surface with her eyes, stretched out fingers.

‘It’s fine,’ Phil said. ‘Touch what you like. The lab boys have finished here.’

Marina nodded. ‘Is this room how you found it?’

‘More or less. Presents on the coffee table, not much disturbed. ’

‘So the living room wasn’t touched. He either knows the layout of this flat, or he’s supremely confident about what he wants and single-minded about how he’s going to achieve it.’

‘Which is it?’

She gave a small smile. ‘I don’t know, Phil. I’m not Derek Acorah.’

He laughed. ‘You’re better-looking, for a start.’

She closed her eyes, shook her head. ‘Stop it,’ she said. She looked irritated by his interruption, but a smile played round her lips. ‘Now concentrate. He must have had some contact with her. She wasn’t chosen at random. She was targeted, picked out for a purpose.’ She rubbed her hand across her mouth. It was something she did unconsciously when she was thinking. Phil smiled inwardly at the memory. It was an endearing trait, he thought. ‘But . . .’ She took her hand away. ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean she was intimate with him.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, most killings like this are sexual in nature. And I don’t get a sexual feeling from this.’

Phil couldn’t stop himself smiling. ‘That’s reassuring.’

Marina blushed. ‘You know what I mean,’ she said, trying to cover her reddening face. Eventually she smiled too.

‘Right. So it’s not Brotherton, then?’

‘I don’t think so.’ She shook her head. ‘He doesn’t feel right. But . . . you never know. I may be wrong. It has been known.’

‘Not in my experience.’

‘Charmer.’

She looked at him once more and there was that connection again. She smiled, and as she did so, her features relaxed, tension leached from her body and her eyes became lit not just by warmth but by an inner light. It was a light Phil hadn’t seen for a long time. He moved towards her, smiling also.

‘Marina, I’ve . . .’

Suddenly the light was extinguished.The tension returned, like an invisible barrier had once again been erected.

‘Please, Phil,’ she said, her voice strong but not harsh. ‘Please. Don’t.’

‘But—’

‘Just don’t. Please.’

Phil felt exasperation build within him. He had to say something, whether she wanted to hear it or not. Whether she had given him permission to speak or not. ‘Listen, Marina. It’s been months now.You just—’

‘Phil, don’t. I can’t talk about it now. Please.’

‘But—’

‘No. We can’t – I can’t have this discussion now.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because . . .’ She pulled her coat around herself once more. Another barrier, thought Phil. Another shield. ‘I just can’t. Not at the moment.’

‘When, then?’

‘We will talk,’ she said. ‘But not yet.You’ll have to wait.’

‘For what?’

‘Until I’m ready.’

He just looked at her. She was irritating, she was a control freak, she was mouthy, she was arrogant. He sighed. She was beautiful, she was warm, she was witty, she was brilliant. He knew how he felt about her. It had never changed. He said nothing. Just nodded. He couldn’t blame her.

To take his mind off Marina, he looked once more round the flat. ‘Murder scenes always make me feel lonely,’ he said.

She looked at him, frowning, bemused.

The words surprised him. He didn’t know he had been thinking them and certainly wasn’t aware he was going to articulate them. Unsure as to why he was talking, he continued. ‘Yeah.’ He nodded, looking round. ‘Lonely. Depressing. I mean, beyond the obvious, you know.’

Marina seemed grateful for the change in subject and jumped on his words. ‘In what way?’

‘Well . . .’ He felt suddenly shy talking about it. But if there was anyone he could share an intimacy with, even a verbal one, it was Marina. Wherever they were at with each other. ‘It’s like . . . office buildings at night when the workers have left for the day. Or . . . theatres when the play’s finished and everyone’s gone home.’

‘When do you go to the theatre?’

He blushed. ‘You don’t know everything about me, you know.’

‘Clearly.’

‘But it is,’ he said, warming to his theme now. ‘You know in the theatre when they turn the stage lights off after a show and put the working ones on. To reset the stage and stuff. It’s really bleak. Depressing. Like the thing that gave the place life, the play, the actors, the audience, whatever, has gone. And you’re still there. And you shouldn’t be, you should have gone with them. But you are there, on your own, and you’ve got to keep going.’

She looked at him, frowning. Gave a small nod of her head. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said.

He nodded also, wondering if she did know what he meant. Wondering also whether he had still been talking about crime scenes.

‘I think I’ve seen everything for tonight,’ she said. ‘D’you mind giving me a lift home, or should I call a cab?’

‘I’ll take you home.’

He turned the lights off and they left the flat.

Dark and empty. A stage set with no actors.

25

H e was hunting again.

He didn’t really need to. Not yet. But it was good to plan ahead. In fact, it was essential. And he had to keep working at it. Hone his skills. Improve all the time. Never too old to learn something new. Plus he was good at it. And he enjoyed doing things he was good at.

The animal had no idea he was watching her. And he liked that feeling. Just planning something that his prey had no idea about, sitting there watching her, that made him feel good. He drew power from that. Enormous power. He could feel his erection stirring at the thought. A feral lust.

This one was tricky. But that didn’t bother him too much.They all presented problems; all he had to do was work out the best way round them. They were obstacles in the path to his goal. And obstacles could be overcome.

This one was about vantage point. The housing estate was open. If he sat watching from the side of the street he would be seen. He knew the type of people they were round here. Anything – anyone – that didn’t look like it fitted in, and they called the police. So he had to be careful. Cunning.

He had parked before the entrance to the estate and walked in. From there it had been easy to go to the house opposite and find a shadow to crouch in. Simple. They all had huge plastic wheeled bins and large cars parked out front. Some of them even had skips and rubbish from home improvements. Plenty of places. Anyone looking at the street would see a normal housing estate. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to be scared about. No one would ever notice him.

He watched the house. She was moving from room to room like she couldn’t settle. Like if she left a room for too long she would forget what was in it. And she had been alone all night. Her husband was coming back later and later. Like he didn’t want to be with her. Didn’t matter. Soon he wouldn’t be with her at all.

She would be his. Or the part of her he wanted would be his.

Lights at the end of the street. Sweeping round. A car coming into the turning.

He stayed completely still. Head down, so the beams couldn’t even catch his eyes, waiting until it had gone past. It slowed, stopped.Turned in to the house opposite.

The husband coming home.

The husband turned off the engine, the lights.Took his briefcase from the passenger seat, got out.Walked towards the house. Slowly, like he didn’t want to go in. Closed the door behind him.

He stood up, slipped out of the shadows and down the road. He had seen enough for the night.Time to head back now.Things to do. Duties to perform.

But he would be back.

Very soon.

26

‘Not here. Round the corner. He might see.’

Clayton put his foot automatically on the brake, then eased it off again. He drove the car past the house Sophie shared with Brotherton and parked around the corner. He turned the lights off. Highwoods was an area consisting entirely of housing estates with a huge Tesco at the centre of it. Most of the houses were large and fronted by laurel hedges but crammed so close together it made them seem smaller than they were.

Clayton looked at Sophie, her face lit by the overhead light in the car. ‘How do you usually get home from the gym?’ he said.

‘Taxi. Sometimes I take the car. But sometimes I’ll meet a girlfriend and have a drink.’

‘Bet he doesn’t like that.’

She gave a smile Clayton couldn’t read. ‘He would prefer it if I brought them back here for a drink.’

‘Then he could keep an eye on you.’

Sophie nodded, gave a grim smile. ‘Yeah. He does that all right. That’s why most of my girlfriends want to meet me in town now.’

Clayton said nothing.

‘I’m not saying I don’t enjoy it; it’s just . . . I like to pick and choose, you know?’

‘You like to be in control.’

This smile wasn’t grim but teasing. ‘Sometimes . . .’ She leaned across the seat towards him, whispered in his ear. ‘But sometimes I do like to do what I’m told. If it’s the right person telling me . . .’

Clayton could feel his erection springing up immediately. She moved in closer to him, licking the side of his neck. Goosebumps ran over his skin. He couldn’t sit comfortably. Her hand was on his chest now, smoothing down the front of his shirt, heading down towards his belt buckle . . .

‘No . . .’ It sounded like someone else had borrowed his voice and was doing a bad, timid impression of him.

‘That’s not what your body’s saying.’

He gasped as she found his erection. ‘I can’t . . .’

‘Sshh . . . I won’t tell anyone.’ She eased his zip down. ‘And neither will you, will you?’

‘Wh-what?’ He thought she had said something important but he didn’t know what it was. There was also something else he should be thinking about, something important. but he couldn’t remember. He could only concentrate on one thing at a time.

‘I said,’ said Sophie, working her hand into his trousers, ‘you won’t tell anyone, will you? About meeting me, about anything I’ve told you . . . You’ll keep my name out of it, won’t you?’

He felt her hand gripping him tight, working him up and down. She began to lower her head into his lap.

‘Will you?’ she said, looking up, eyes staring directly into his.

There was no love in those eyes. No warmth. Just calculated professionalism. His lust mirrored.

‘No,’ he said between gasps. ‘No . . .’

She lowered her head. He closed his eyes.

Anni Hepburn was cold. She had taken over from the Birdies over half an hour ago, having asked for the job specifically. Sometimes she got so hyped about a case that Phil gave in to her, let her put her energy to use.

But despite remembering to wrap up warm, she was still cold. She couldn’t put the car heater on in case it ran the battery down. The same with the radio. She knew they all did it, but if she needed to get away quickly and the battery was dead, the whole investigation could collapse and she would be in trouble. And she didn’t want that. So she sat there, several layers of clothing wrapped tightly round her, staring at the house.

Scrap metal must pay, she thought. Nice house. Not her style, and bigger than she would be able to afford. Unless she married a scrap metal merchant, obviously. Though if they were all like Ryan Brotherton, she wouldn’t bother.

She was just wondering how she was going to entertain herself for the next few hours to stop herself from falling asleep when a car approached. She sat up immediately, watching. The car came to an abrupt halt, then continued round the corner, away from the house. She sat back again. Probably nothing, she thought. But she would keep watching, just in case.

The lights on the car were turned off, but no one emerged. Strange, she thought. Maybe another car had been sent on surveillance. Not a BMW, though. Hardly a pool car.

She watched, waited. There were two people in there; she could make that out from the silhouettes. Then there was movement, the silhouettes rearranging themselves, one moving to the other side.

Oh God, she thought. Doggers.

She shook her head, tried not to watch as the woman’s head disappeared under the dashboard and the man threw his back in ecstasy. If she had been feeling difficult she could have walked over, tapped on the window, flashed the warrant card and put the fear of God into them. But she was on surveillance. Still, it was tempting. Not because of the law-breaking aspect, but because it was so long since she had been in a relationship or had any real excitement along those lines and she was jealous.

She and Clayton had almost been an item. A work attraction, that kind of thing.They had gone for a drink a few nights ago. Just to see whether the fact that they got on so well was because they were friends who worked together, or if there was something more. Jesus, was it only a couple of nights ago? Felt like ages. And yes, she had gone back to his flat. And yes, they had had sex. Or something approaching sex. It wasn’t very good. And afterwards they both knew it was something they had done more out of a sense of duty to each other than from anything approaching burning passion. The next day had been surprisingly easy and they had laughed it off as a bad idea. And that was that. The question had been answered. They were friends who worked together. Nothing more. She didn’t want it to develop any further. Besides, she knew what he was like, knew his reputation. She didn’t want to be just another conquest of his. Someone else to show off to the lads about down the pub. Just leave it at that.

As she watched, the silhouettes separated. The one in the passenger seat made some adjustments and rearrangements and got out. Anni reached for the binoculars. A thrill ran through her. The woman she was watching matched the description of Ryan Brotherton’s girlfriend, Sophie.

‘You two-timing bitch,’ she said to herself, laughing.

She watched as Sophie walked to the front gates, let herself in, walked up the driveway and into the house.

She turned her attention to the car. The headlights came back on and it turned round, ready to come past her and drive away. She raised the binoculars to her eyes, tried to get a look at the driver as it went.

‘Oh my God . . .’

Clayton. Unmistakably Clayton.

Her mind was racing. She reached quickly for her phone, ready to make a call. Who to, she didn’t know. Phil? Clayton himself? And say what? Ask what was going on?

She sighed, put the phone down. No. She would wait until the morning, have a word with him.

She sat there, still watching the house, not expecting anything more to happen. Her mind was racing. She was no longer cold. She was hot.

And angry.

Clayton was with another woman so soon after her. The fact that there was nothing between the pair of them wasn’t important. It showed a lack of respect. And it wasn’t just that – the woman he was with was involved in a murder inquiry. And that was serious.

There would be no sleep now.

She sat there watching. Planning.