Authors: Catherine Hunt
Someone Out There (31 page)
She was acting strangely, gasping for air and clutching her stomach so that, at first, he thought she might be having some kind of attack. She stood in the street, staring up and down, before walking off. He had followed. He’d had to be careful because she kept stopping, looking behind her, waiting in doorways. As though she was being hunted, paranoid, and he gave a weak smile, he should know.
He tracked her to the police station and waited outside for forty-five minutes until she came out and got into a police car. It was clear she’d been crying, a fact that had shaken him. He had thought her incapable of tears.
Harry waited impatiently for more. But there was no more.
‘That’s all?’ Harry snapped, exasperated, and Ben flinched. ‘It’s, well, it’s interesting I suppose, but what to make of it?’
Ben shrugged, ‘Dunno. I’m just telling you, that’s all. It’s got to be something really serious to get her in that kind of state.’
‘What I’m interested in is this letter,’ Harry waved it at him.
Abruptly, Ben turned away, moving fast towards the front door.
‘Hey, come back, you can’t just leave like that,’ Harry shouted.
‘Good luck, Harry,’ Ben said, running off down the drive.
Anna Pelham crept close to the farmhouse cuddling the knife in her pocket. Laura should be home alone by now, she thought joyfully. She rounded the corner of the house, passing recycling bins and a pile of sawn logs. Never before had she dared come so near to Joe’s home. Just standing there, looking at the everyday things that were his, sent a thrill of delight through her.
She stayed in the shadow of the back wall, well away from the light spilling out of the kitchen window and across the garden. She could partly see into the kitchen: cream painted wood cabinets and an Aga. Slowly, she craned her neck out as far as she dared, impatient, itching for a sight of her prey, then pulled back as if she’d been stung by a hornet. She had seen Laura, sitting at the kitchen table.
Take your time, she told herself. There’s no rush, no need to take risks. Stay calm and pick your moment.
No sign of the moon tonight, luckily, the sky was full of cloud. She flitted across the lawn towards the double garage, stopping in an area of deep shadow beside it. She planned to wait for the kitchen light to go out then try the door, and if it was unlocked, go into the house and take Laura Maxwell by surprise. If not, she would revert to her original scheme. She would ring the doorbell, and when Laura answered, she would tell her that Harry was after her, had been to her house and threatened her. She would rush into the house, scared and upset, throw her arms around the lawyer and bury the knife in her back.
The light stayed on and Anna stayed put. Her right hand strayed to the pocket of her Parka, feeling for the knife inside, curling her fingers round the handle. Comforting.
After fifteen minutes she could wait no longer. There was now a light on in what she guessed was the main bedroom, the bedroom shared by Joe and Laura. Her body fizzed with outrage at the disgusting thought. Her heart was pumping, her senses razor-sharp. She moved out from the shadow, and at the same moment, the bedroom window opened and Laura stood framed in it. Instinctively, Anna swung back towards the cover of the garage, tripping the security light as she did so. She dived into the darkness, lay on the ground, her face pressed into the cold, damp grass.
The window shut with a thud, and after a minute or so, when she turned her head to look, the bedroom light was out. Quickly, she got to her feet and headed back to the front of the house, taking a wide loop down and across the garden, using the flower beds to screen her from sight. No more pussyfooting around, she thought, time to go straight in through the front door. She heard car tyres crunch on the gravel drive.
When she got in sight of the door, there was a minicab parked in the drive. Laura must be going out. She swore under her breath and the muscles in her jaw clenched tight with anger. This was not in the script.
She couldn’t see the front door, it was hidden under the tiled porch, but she heard the bell ring. She waited, heard the bell ring some more, watched as a man returned to the car. Then she heard Laura’s voice shouting out for the cab to hang on. The engine started up. Anna smiled – it seemed that Laura had missed the lifeboat.
Laura left work early because of the Law Society dinner and decided to take the following morning off. She let Monica know she wouldn’t be in until Thursday afternoon. The receptionist pursed her lips, disgusted that Marcus had invited Laura to the dinner; it was a privilege usually reserved for the firm’s partners, or potential partners. She hoped, fervently, that her boss had not gone off his head.
Laura visited Valentine on her way home. He was in the same pitiful state, but a rather surprised Jeff Ingham told her that, in the last two hours, he had started eating more. It was too early to say if that would last, the vet cautioned.
She got home soon after four. Joe wouldn’t be back until late; he was going straight from work to the nursing home to collect his mother and take her to the theatre. Laura rang him to ask how his day had gone and whether he’d clinched the business deal he’d been so keen to get. He was curt and uncommunicative, then accused her of checking up on him because she didn’t have any faith in him. She guessed the meeting had not been a success.
It was one more thing to worry about and she fished out a bottle of brandy from the kitchen cupboard. She drank two glasses of it, fast, and felt it calm her jagged nerves. But then fear dropped over her again like a black sack and she realized, sick inside, that she didn’t feel safe anywhere, not even at home. Exhausted with it, she laid her head down on the kitchen table. She drifted off to sleep, woke, then drifted some more; broken thoughts and half dreams chased through her head.
When she woke again the time was 6.23 p.m. Laura groaned, the taxi that Monica had ordered for her was due in less than an hour. It was a shame it was coming, otherwise she would just stay where she was and to hell with the tedious dinner. She struggled to her feet, crawled up the stairs to shower and change.
Pain ran through the whole left side of her body; her left hip and back were stiff because she’d been trying to avoid putting any pressure on them, and her shoulders ached from hunching over to protect her rib. Bruises flared vividly against her white skin, swollen skin, the stitched cut on her leg was red and angry. In the bathroom mirror, her eyes looked tired and haunted.
She chose a knee-length black dress and a red jacket, which would cover up all the damage, put on some pearl earrings and a lot more make-up than usual. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, feeling shattered. The shower and the alcohol had relaxed her and she badly wanted to lie down and sleep. She opened the bedroom window, breathing in the cold air to wake herself up. A cloudy, black night stretched across the lawn and the fields beyond, broken suddenly by a stab of light as the lamp on the side of the double garage snapped on.
It was then that she saw it, or thought she did. A movement by the side of the garage, just for a moment, then nothing, only shadows. Someone was out there. She felt her skin contract with fear.
Laura shut the window, turned off the bedroom light and stood in the dark looking out, looking for movement, a figure creeping towards the house. Nothing. Just the hairs on the back of her neck standing at full attention and her scalp prickling.
The doorbell rang and she nearly shot through the roof. Relief. The cab had arrived and now she was delighted to be going to the dinner, because she would be with other people. She would be safe.
She snatched up her bag from the bed and headed for the front door, then stopped on the landing, paralysed by a new, awful thought. How could she be sure? Maybe it wasn’t the cab at all, maybe it was something else entirely. What if she opened the door and there, waiting for her, was the killer.
The bell rang again, twice this time, insistent. She stood, frozen, for a few more seconds, then took off her shoes and ran into the front bedroom where she could see the driveway from the window. The minicab was there. She sobbed with relief. But then the driver came into view, got into the cab. Dear God, he was leaving! She banged on the window, opened it, shouted for him to hang on. The engine started.
Laura flew down the stairs, clutching her shoes, out into the night, sharp gravel spiking her feet. Just in time, she wrenched open the door of the cab and collapsed onto the back seat.
The cab drove off and Laura’s heart slowed down a little. So glad to be gone; so glad to escape from her own home. It had come to this.
The waitress refilled her glass with the sweet, sickly dessert wine. It tasted foul and was giving her a headache and she wondered who had chosen it, then remembered the Society had a wine committee and its chairman was Marcus Morrison.
He was sitting across the table from her, holding forth. Earlier, he had been keen to introduce her to his cronies and remind them of her notable career. He explained that he was building on that and giving her new opportunities to develop her talents. He talked about her in the third person as if she was a clever monkey and he was conducting an interesting experiment.
Not that his behaviour mattered; she knew that at the same time as she resented it. How could it matter when someone was out there waiting to kill her; had vowed to kill her by the end of the week? She was surprised she had the emotional space left to feel annoyed by him.
Time had slowed down now that every moment was precious. It seemed like the man on her left had been talking at her non-stop for hours, days – who knew how long? His monologue, about government plans to cut legal aid, didn’t leave room for any input from her and she was grateful for that because she couldn’t focus on what he was saying. She sat, fiddling with an earring, not listening, her mind filled instead with dark and fearful things.
Had there been someone prowling round the house? She couldn’t be sure; she could have imagined it, her nerves were shot to bits. Maybe it was a fox or a cat that had set off the light. Sudden hot rage flooded her. Her fists clenched hard and her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. She tilted her head back, opened her mouth ready to let out a scream of frustration and grief.
The drone from the legal aid man stopped; from the corner of her eye she saw him look at her oddly. Morrison had also stopped talking and was staring at her: some achievement to silence them both. The urge to scream subsided, now she wanted to laugh insanely instead. With an effort she closed her mouth, forced a smile at Morrison. Sitting at the table behind him, Laura saw another man watching her. Ronnie Seymour, the rather smooth, rather out of his depth lawyer who was representing Harry Pelham.
No-one had brought her any of that horrid wine for some time and it looked like the dinner was over. The legal aid man got up from the table without another word and went off to find a new victim. Morrison waved at her to join him, and with a sigh, she eased herself carefully out of her chair. She had sat too long and her battered body didn’t like it.
‘Are you all right?’
Ronnie Seymour was beside her, a look of concern on his face. She told him she was fine. He hovered, asking if she was enjoying the dinner, asking if she liked living in Sussex and if she missed her London firm; was life at Morrison Kemp a bit dull in comparison? I wish, Laura thought.
‘Not at all dull, no,’ she told him.
‘You’re happy then. Happy you made the switch?’
‘Very much so.’
He hesitated, ‘It’s a shame the Pelham case has become so nasty. My client is anxious to calm things down.’
‘Do you know where he is then?’ she asked sharply.
For a second he was thrown off balance. She was shrewd, but then he knew that from tangling with her over the divorce.
‘I’m hoping it won’t be too long before the police can talk to him,’ Ronnie said. ‘I wonder if we could have a proper chat about what’s happening? Tomorrow, maybe, if you have time? I can come to your office.’
Before she could reply Morrison appeared with three other men. He put his arm proprietorially round her shoulders.
‘As Ronnie has already found out, Laura is a worthy opponent.’
Ronnie managed a grin and Morrison waved his free arm around the dining room in a sweeping gesture.
‘Excellent dinner. Big improvement on last year, eh? Good move, I think, to insist on having our own wine, courtesy of our own wine committee, chosen, I have to say, by yours truly.’ He tried to look modest.
‘In my opinion, Marcus,’ said one of his sidekicks, swaying on his feet, ‘the waitresses were a lot better looking last year … and a lot more friendly.’
There was a burst of lewd laughter. ‘No comment,’ said Morrison holding up his hand for silence. ‘Laura, you must pass on our compliments to your husband. Great dinner, great hotel.’
Some ‘hear, hears’ from the others.
‘Your husband?’ Ronnie queried.
‘Yes,’ she said, and for some reason her voice dried up. She coughed to clear her throat. ‘He’s Joe Greene. This is his hotel.’
She had been close, so very close to a kill. Anna woke up next morning full of purpose, convinced that today was the day she would deal with the Maxwell bitch once and for all. She’d slept badly, plagued by the dream from her childhood, more bloody than she could ever remember it. At four in the morning, it had left her clutching at her mouth in panic.
It always began with a loose front tooth; her tongue would touch it and feel it move. She knew she must leave it alone, but however hard she tried not to, she would put her fingers in her mouth and move the tooth back and forth to test it. It would come out in her hand with a tearing, sucking sound and a jet of bright red blood. Other teeth would follow and she would try, frantically, to push them back in. Blood gushed from her lips, her remaining teeth split with loud cracking sounds, crumbling until all of them were gone, leaving her mouth a mess of gore and tissue.