Bye Bye Baby (14 page)

Dr March held her patient with a direct gaze. ‘Are you sure, Anne? I know that living abroad makes the travelling difficult —’

‘No, it’s nothing to do with that, Dr March,’ Anne cut in. ‘I realise what I need to do is face my demons myself.’

‘That’s excellent, Anne. But perhaps you need a guide to do that.’

She shook her head firmly. ‘No, this is something I intend to do alone. Thank you for all of your care and counsel the past two years.’ She smiled brightly, loading it with confidence as she stood and offered her hand. ‘I’m taking control of my life and fixing what should have been fixed a long time ago.’

15

Jack felt beat. It had been another long day and he found himself once again slumped in his sofa, his energy rapidly being sapped by the welcoming softness of the cushions that just begged him to close his eyes and sleep. But he knew he had to get up, heat the grill and cook the two fat field mushrooms he’d grabbed at Highgate Village’s small greengrocer on the way home. The best he could do tonight was to press the meaty mushrooms between a ciabatta roll with some Dijon mustard and perhaps some rocket if any was still lurking in the crisper. That would be dinner . . . if he could raise his fatigued body from the couch.

As he imagined the smell of grilling mushrooms his mobile rang and he closed his eyes with a sigh. Dinner would have to wait. He glanced at the screen as he pressed the button. ‘Yes, Kate.’

‘Sorry to disturb.’

‘You’re not,’ he lied.

‘But I figure you’re at home, so —’

‘I could be anywhere, with anyone, clubbing even . . .’ He heard the pause and smiled to himself.

‘Right, yes, sorry.’ Her tone was no longer so certain.

He made it easier for her. ‘But as it happens, I am at home, just trying to find the energy to move from the couch where I landed a few minutes ago.’

‘I know the feeling. I just wanted to let you know, sir, that I’ve spoken again with Eva Truro, Fletcher’s old English teacher.’

‘And?’

‘It’s all fixed. I’m seeing her tomorrow at noon.’

‘Okay, that’s good.’

‘Seems like this female killer idea has legs.’

‘Yes, your instincts are right on the mark. And if Sarah gets a lead on these cold cases, I want you to take her to Sussex with you. Drop her off in Brighton.’

‘I’m going to Hurstpierpoint,’ Kate replied. ‘It’s not as far as Brighton.’

He could tell how hard she was working to keep her tone as pleasant as she could, but still he heard its edge.

‘I know, but take her all the same. She can catch the train from Brighton back to you at Hassocks Station for the return journey to London, or work it out whichever way suits, but give her a lift.’ His tone said there was no negotiation on this.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Was there anything else?’

‘No. Again, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’

‘I told you, you didn’t. I’m just sitting here thinking that I should fix myself something to eat. And if you haven’t already, then I suggest you do the same. I know you’re as tired as I am.’

‘I will. Er, night, Jack.’

There had been absolutely no need for that call, Jack realised. Kate had called him for the sake of it. He
wondered why. Perhaps she was still smarting from the way he’d given Sarah the limelight. It was important that he didn’t favour Kate over the others. It would be easy to, of course, because she was fast, smart and in his opinion the best detective on the team. But once petty jealousy began to breed amongst a small group, it was a very short hop to contempt and then he’d be dealing with squabbles all day when what he needed was a slick team working cohesively. No, it had been important to draw a circle around himself today so that Brodie and even Sarah understood he ran a tight but fair command, and to show that Kate stood on the outside of that circle, just as they all did.

He sighed and stood, stretched as he yawned, then reached for the bag of mushrooms that he’d dropped on the sofa beside him as he arrived home. The landline rang. He closed his eyes briefly in dread.

‘Jack Hawksworth,’ he said.

‘Ah, formal then,’ said a voice that he took a moment to recognise.

She helped him. ‘It’s Sophie.’

‘Sophie, hi,’ he said, genuinely pleased. ‘I’m sorry to sound so abrupt — it’s been a long day — and I’m equally sorry I haven’t called.’

‘That’s alright. I thought I should confirm tomorrow’s theatre tickets.’

‘You got them. Well done.’

‘Are we still on?’

‘Absolutely,’ he said, feeling a thrill of delight that there was something in this draining week to look forward to. ‘I’ve booked a table at Wan Kei in Chinatown for six-thirty — is that okay?’

‘Perfect. I’ll see you there, shall I?’

‘Will you be alright to —’

‘Jack, don’t start. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you outside the restaurant at six-thirty. Don’t be late or I’ll make you do more than pay for dinner.’

He smiled. ‘I won’t be late, I promise.’

Sarah arrived at the office before Jack had even unravelled his scarf or taken off his thick jacket.

‘Wow, you’re early,’ he said, glancing at his watch as he put down the cappuccino he’d picked up on the way into the Yard. ‘If I’d known, I’d have brought you one too.’

‘That’s okay, sir, I don’t drink coffee.’

‘Right,’ he said, a flicker of a smile touching his mouth. ‘What’s got you in with the birds then?’

‘Remember that former senior policeman I was trying to track down in Brighton?’

‘Sergeant Moss, is it?’ he said, taking a sip and feeling the rich caffeine hit the spot.

‘That’s the one. Well, he and I have been playing telephone tag but we finally spoke last night. I would have contacted you immediately, sir, but didn’t want to disturb you. I think we might have something.’

‘Sarah, always disturb me — I’ll never mind, okay?’ he said generously, thinking about Kate’s call. ‘So tell me what you’ve got for us.’

Sarah pushed her glasses further up her nose. ‘It’s an abduction case from the mid-seventies — Sergeant Moss said he’d be happy to talk to me about it and he’s going to dig up the file. Says it’s bothered him all these years, involved a teenage girl. The timing suits — it happened in the summer of ’75. My gut tells me it might yield something.’

‘Alright, good job, Sarah, it’s all yours. Run with it and get yourself down to see him, but first we’ll have a briefing here — I see Cam, Swamp and the others are dribbling in. Hang on.’

He motioned to Kate who had just arrived, bringing a gust of Rive Gauche perfume in with her. He liked the scent, always had. ‘Morning, Kate’

‘Sir?’ she replied crisply, no doubt also remembering the previous evening’s unnecessary call.

‘Sarah’s on to something. As we discussed I want you to take her to Brighton today. Use a pool car.’

Sarah looked at Kate and back at her boss. ‘Sir, I don’t mind catching the train. I could be —’

‘Listen to me, both of you,’ Jack said, and there was a new edge to his tone that neither had heard previously. ‘We are working on a serial murder case, which, I’m sure you both agree, doesn’t seem to be over yet. There are possibly more corpses coming our way — at least two, we’re all guessing. The Super — rather predictably — wants the killer caught, but I’m getting the impression that neither of you is cooperating as fully with each other as I’d like to achieve the Super’s goal. Take this time on the journey south to work it out, would you? Come back with good news from your respective tasks and a new attitude towards one another. Otherwise, one of you is gone. And don’t be too sure about which it might be. I’m not blind or deaf. I see the sneers and I hear the undertone. It won’t do. Not when I lead an operation. Is that understood?’ He eyed them both but he hoped Kate felt the greatest burn from his scorching words, because he knew the animosity was mostly one way, from her. But he wanted to sound impartial at this stage.

‘Yes, sir,’ they both answered, glumly.

Jack softened his tone. ‘Then get on with it, and bring back something that can help us break this case apart.’

Jack moved into the main operations area and got his team’s attention. ‘Alright, everyone, you know what we’re doing. It’s called legwork. I want to know everything we can about the schools and teenage lives of the two victims. I want to know exactly where Sheriff lived in this place called Hangleton and who he hung around with. We must find the stammerer — start hunting down a William Fletcher or Billy Fletcher. I need a deeper connection made between Sheriff and Farrow by close of today — what they got up to that might be prompting revenge killings now.

‘Split up the plod work between yourselves and go at it. I’m going to see the Super and explain where we’re at for his press conference tomorrow evening. By tomorrow lunchtime I want to be able to give him something to start working with, and I want this whiteboard filled with information.’

A chorus of mumbles greeted his urging and people started moving off to their respective work areas. Jack headed into his own office, hoping to get some thoughts on paper for his meeting with Martin Sharpe.

Joan followed him in and spoke quietly. ‘Jack, are you ignoring the messages from that Deegan fellow in the Ghost Squad?’

He looked at her, irritated. ‘What’s that all about then?’ he demanded, equally softly, for her hearing only.

She shrugged. ‘He gave nothing away. Said you were to phone him.’

‘He can whistle Tipperary backwards. I’m busy.’

‘He was rather insistent,’ she warned.

‘Well, Deegan can kiss my ar—’

‘Now, now, Jack. Don’t make me report you for vulgarity.’

He found a smile for her. ‘If he rings again, keep him off my back for now, could you? Lie if you have to.’

She tsk-tsked as she left.

‘Please?’ he called to her retreating back.

‘I call in my favours from time to time, Jack,’ she said over her shoulder and he knew she would do her best to protect him. ‘Now go and see the Super, he’s waiting for you.’

The screen she was in front of put itself to sleep and Anne stared back at her reflection, wishing once again that she’d never felt her maternal clock tick over, wished she’d never mentioned babies or being a family. If only Kim had stayed, or if only she’d been able to keep one of the little ones alive, she might have remained solid, grounded, in control. But their son had died and Kim had left. He said it was to go travelling for a year, to recover his equilibrium, but Anne knew it was a way of giving her sufficient time and space to graciously move out of his home in Brittany and settle herself back in England.

And now she had entered a very new and dark place. She felt as though she was staring into an abyss and whispering at her from its depths was the Jesters Club, still laughing at her, still calling her Bletch, still stealing her life from her.

Had Dr March been aware of Anne’s teenage trauma, she might have begun pushing some alarm
bells. But no one knew. No one except Anne and the Jesters Club. And so now Anne was taking charge and putting things right.

She’d had so many plans at fifteen — to leave Hove, go to London and make something of herself. But the Jesters had changed everything, and their evil smiles had stretched across the decades to torment her again, triggering all the rage and despair she had buried all those years ago. And now she wanted vengeance.

She bumped the keyboard accidentally and the screen came back to life, dragging her out of her dark thoughts and back to the present.

What had she been thinking about? Ah, that’s right, sad old Clive, who had remained in a time warp; not leaving Hangleton for many years, getting nowhere fast as a tradesman, working for a glazing business on contract work that paid reasonably well, but so infrequently that he had never been able to lift himself beyond the council estate where he’d been born. When his father had died he’d moved with his mother to a small two-bedroomed flat in Harmsworth Crescent. The old girl was still there, almost blind, desperately needing professional care. It had been a simple case of looking up all the Farrows in the phone book who lived up Hangleton way. There had been only three, and Anne’s brilliant recall from as far back as junior school told her that Clive’s mother’s name was Nancy and there was only one P & N Farrow living in Hangleton. Right enough, a phone call from a fake marketing company had told her there was now only Nancy in this dwelling. Two days later Anne had made her second call, this time as an old schoolfriend, with a made-up name, trying to put together a
reunion of Goldstone Junior School. Nancy had been very helpful, not only giving her Clive’s address in London but also where he worked.

‘When did Clive move to London, Mrs Farrow?’ she had asked innocently.

‘When he met Lisa,’ Nancy had said, as though Anne should know who Lisa was. ‘A nice girl who suits our Clive — you probably know what I mean.’ Which had sounded to Anne as though Lisa was a few pennies short. ‘But her people are in London and she’s got a steady job at a department store. Didn’t want to move down south so he’s gone there, you see?’

‘Must be hard without him.’

‘I do miss him. Clive’s a good boy.’

Not quite as good as you think, Nancy
, Anne thought but said instead: ‘And this place where Clive works, er, Pony Express, is he enjoying it?’ Not that she had cared.

‘I wouldn’t know, dear. I don’t see him and he doesn’t even ring much anymore. If you speak to him though, ask him to call me would you love, because there might be a place for me at that nursing home.’ She didn’t say which one. ‘He’s best outdoors and not working too closely with others — if you knew him at school I think you know what I mean. He’s one of those people who delivers things for companies.’

‘A courier?’

‘That might be what it’s called, dear. He doesn’t earn very much. I think they’re living in a council flat.’

And so, despite his slowness of mind, the once small flame of ambition that had once flickered in his youth had guttered and spat and finally died. Clive did indeed sound like he’d remained the loser he was in his youth
and Anne had convinced herself that she had done them both favours by ending his ordinary life and its dark secret. He had died sobbing like a baby and she had felt nothing for him. Clive had been cruel to her and, in her opinion, deserved to know how it felt to be alone and frightened and fearing that your life was about to be stolen by someone else.

He had swallowed the water gladly, begging her not to hurt Lisa.

‘I didn’t rape you. None of us did. Only he did and only he attacked you that second time,’ Clive had blubbered to her in the back of the van.

‘I don’t care that you didn’t! You should have stopped him, Clive . . . both times. You helped him to abduct me! You should have helped me against him. You let my baby die, you bastard. Now you’re going to pay for your cowardice.’