The Catch (51 page)

He rang her mobile but there was no answer, so he sent a bland text:
Hope you’re ok?
He was on his way to the shop floor when Tim Masters pounced.

‘Uh-oh, here’s a man in trouble!’

‘Pardon?’

‘I s’pose Denham’s trying to decide if you can cut it under the new regime.’

Dan managed to look puzzled. ‘What new regime is that?’

‘Ah, he’ll be playing it close to his chest.’ Tim winked. ‘Some of us can read between the lines.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘No hard feelings, though, what with Hales as well?’

‘None at all.’

He walked away, but he’d only gone a few feet when Tim said, ‘So, when the big day comes ...’

Dan turned. ‘Yes?’

‘You reckon you can get used to calling me “sir”?’

Dan’s laughter echoed down the corridor, and might have been audible in the shop.

****

Robbie took an indirect route to Hollingbury, not discounting the possibility of somebody on his tail, but he saw nothing suspicious. Various parts of him still ached to buggery, but the news that Bree’s alibi had put him in the clear over Hank’s death acted as a very effective analgesic.

He knew Dan wouldn’t be home. It was a bonus when he discovered that Joan was out, too. She was a tough old bird, and nobody’s fool. Robbie’s charm worked on her up to a point, but never if there was any hint of tension between him and Dan.

Fortunately it was only Louis there, the lazy sod in Calvin Kleins and a
Stewie
T-shirt, bloodshot eyes and hair like a haystack.

‘No college?’

‘Going in for twelve.’

‘Jesus. The pressures of higher education.’

‘And you work hard for a living, do you?’

Robbie cackled. That was what he liked about Louis: only seventeen, but not afraid to dish out the backchat.

‘Need a small favour.’ Robbie held up the suitcase. ‘Just gotta stash this here for a day or two.’

Louis stared at it for a moment, then he let Robbie inside. ‘Better not be anything illegal.’

‘It’s not, I promise.’ Robbie gave him a close look. ‘Has Dan spoken to you?’

Louis twitched. ‘What about?’

‘Somebody ratted me out on my little sideline, and from that your big brother came to the conclusion that I was plying you with narcotics.’

‘Oh, fuck.’ Louis frowned. ‘He hasn’t mentioned it, though. And he can’t have told Joan, either. She’d go mental.’

‘Maybe he’s decided to say nothing. Anyway, for your info, I’m out of that game now.’

Louis was despondent. ‘So what am I supposed to do?’

‘Give up. Dan’s probably right. It’s bad for your health in the long run.’

Turning away, Louis muttered: ‘Who gives a toss about the long run?’

Robbie followed him upstairs, wrinkling his nose at the smell of Louis’s room. He wondered if his own pit had stunk like this at the same age.

‘They used to reckon it made you go blind, too much wanking.’

‘You’d know, I suppose,’ Louis said, and ducked away from Robbie’s playful swipe.

They stashed the case at the bottom of an old wicker laundry basket that held spare bedding. Then, from his wallet, Robbie brought out the micro-SD card.

‘You see what this is?’

Louis pulled a sarcastic face. ‘Duh. I do have an acquaintance with modern technology.’

‘Not what I meant,’ Robbie snapped. ‘Treat this like the most precious thing you’ll ever possess. And don’t let anyone know about it. Definitely not your big bruv.’

At this, Louis looked troubled, but he took the card, studying it in a manner that conveyed just how his greedy little mind was working.

‘Yeah, yeah, there’s a nice bonus heading your way.
If
you keep it safe. And you keep your mouth shut. Deal?’

‘Deal.’ A beat of silence. ‘So what are you up to?’

Robbie shook his head. ‘You don’t wanna know.’

****

Dan kept on trying Cate’s mobile, with no success. He became prey to a creeping paranoia, wondering if the police were about to march in and arrest him. He pictured Hayley, tearfully vindicated as he was led away in handcuffs, Tim consoling her; old man Denham thanking providence that he hadn’t yet signed over a share of the business to this low-life criminal ...

At eleven o’clock he phoned the law firm where she worked. He was put through to an administrative assistant, who crisply informed him that Ms Scott was unavailable.

‘I’m Dan, a friend of hers. A friend of Robbie’s, as well. And I urgently need to speak to her.’

‘You can’t. She hasn’t come in.’

‘Is she off sick?’

‘I don’t know.’ The woman’s attitude softened. ‘She’s already missed an important meeting, and I can’t get hold of her on the phone.’

‘Me neither,’ Dan said. ‘And you’re sure she hasn’t been in touch?’

‘No. It’s really not like her ...’ The assistant’s voice trailed off, and Dan had the sense of someone passing her desk. When she spoke again it was in a confidential tone: ‘She had a visitor earlier, a detective sergeant. He seemed surprised that she wasn’t here.’

Dan thanked her, a tremor in his hand as he put his phone away.
Where was she?

He remembered what Cate had said about the possibility of a link between Hank O’Brien’s death and the murder of her ex-husband. Dan had clumsily poured scorn on the suggestion, because he knew there wasn’t a link – at least not in the way that DS Thomsett had meant it.

But now Dan wondered if he’d been wrong to dismiss the idea.

What if there
was
a connection?

What if the connection was Cate?

The Blakes saw Stemper off, then retired to the kitchen. Gordon had picked up Caitlin’s handbag and riffled through it with a prurient curiosity. Other than her phone, which Stemper had switched off, there was nothing of interest in the bag – not so much as a pocket vibrator. He tutted.
Young woman of today ...

‘We should set some ground rules,’ Patricia said, ‘since you so blatantly want to screw her.’

Gordon, still smirking at the absence of sex toys, felt that an outright denial would be unconvincing. ‘Not desperately.’

‘No? I imagine she’s a step up from your usual “outlets”.’

Gordon was flabbergasted. He’d always been
so
careful. ‘Patricia, I—’

‘Save it. The reason you mustn’t is that you might leave DNA on her body. Now, promise me you can control yourself in there. Because it
will
be a temptation, a nubile young woman tied up and at your mercy ...’ Patricia licked her lips, as if deliberately trying to push him over the edge.

‘I’m certain.’ He coughed to hide his embarrassment. ‘I thought, with Stemper having hurt her, that I’d take the role of “good cop”, as it were.’

Patricia nodded. ‘It plays to your strengths.’ And when Gordon looked puzzled, she added: ‘Well, you’re hardly the threatening type, are you?’

****

It was a relief to be left alone, even though the solitude offered no distractions from the pain. Cate’s torturer had been right: as the damaged toe swelled up it only hurt more and more, a throbbing so huge that it seemed to inhabit the whole room.

She felt wretched about giving them Robbie’s address, but it was something they’d find easily enough by other means. And Robbie, she had to pray, could look after himself. Better than she had done, at least.

She had no idea how her colleagues would react to her absence. The assumption, surely, would be that she was ill, or grieving for Martin. Her mother was expecting to see her at lunchtime, but even if Mum went to the house there were no clues to her whereabouts. Cate found herself wishing that DC Avery had turned up this morning and taken her in for questioning ...

She heard the door open, a thump as it swung back and hit somebody’s foot. Little sighs and the clink of crockery: something was being manoeuvred through the doorway.

‘Caitlin, I’m
so
very sorry about all this.’

It was the man who had labelled her as ‘feisty’. The smoothie. He set down what he was carrying and came over to her. He smelled of shower gel and moisturiser; a subtle cologne, as he leaned in very close, and when he spoke she felt the soft pressure of his breath against the hood.

‘Eyes shut tightly for a moment, my dear.’

She felt his weight settle on the bed alongside her. As the hood was removed she opened her eyes a fraction, glimpsed a bare room lit by a single bulb, a heavy wardrobe blocking the window.

‘No peeking.’ His arm brushed her neck and she was sure he gasped at the contact. Some soft, smooth material slid over her head and covered her eyes. A silk scarf?

The man was breathing rapidly, radiating tension, and Cate had a sudden clear sense of why he was alone with her. She bit down hard on her lip.

‘Don’t be alarmed,’ he said, because of course now he could see her face; her emotions were there to be read. ‘I thought you’d welcome refreshments. Paracetamol, too, after that gruesome business earlier ...’

He sounded so pleasant, so gentle, Cate longed to believe he was being sincere, but deep down she felt sure he was playing a part. Not that she objected to his offer of painkillers: anything to alleviate the throbbing in her foot.

He fed her the pills, then held a glass of water at her mouth and let her drink. Coffee to follow, he said, and he asked how she liked it, as though she was a friend who’d popped in for cake and a gossip.

‘I’ll have to hold the cup, of course,’ he said.

‘You could untie my hands.’

His lips smacked together, as if cutting off the answer he would like to give. ‘Sorry, no.’

You’re not allowed
, she thought.

‘The man who brought me here, what does he want?’

He sighed. ‘My dear, why don’t we run through my questions first, and then we’ll see about yours?’

The aroma as he lifted the coffee to her lips was like manna from heaven. His hand was trembling, so it was difficult to drink without scalding her mouth, but the first taste produced an almost ridiculous surge of pleasure.

‘Nice?’ he asked. ‘Now, let’s begin with this movie connection, just so we understand it correctly.’

Her voice shaky, Cate explained the deal that Robbie had made. She described her part in the negotiations, and the dispute with Hank in the pub, and she went on insisting that his death had been a tragic accident.

‘I don’t know how many times I have to say it.’ To her disgust, she sounded whiny and afraid. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’

‘Ssh, don’t get upset.’ She felt him briefly stroking her head, his fingers gliding through her hair.

He moved on to the fact that O’Brien’s property was back on Compton’s books.

‘You know your brother has taken the car there? The one that hit O’Brien.’

Her reaction was quite genuine: No, she didn’t know anything about that.

‘But you can see how it all appears so convenient? Not to mention that he seemed to know just where to look.’

‘Where to look for what?’

‘Oh, Caitlin, please.’ He chuckled, and she felt his breath on her face. She sensed his hands floating just millimetres above her skin and fought to conceal her revulsion.

‘I have no idea what you want. Please. You must be able to see I’m telling the truth.’

‘You were lying to us earlier, about the other man in the pub. What’s his real name?’

‘I don’t know,’ Cate said, and understood that for Dan’s sake she had to change the subject. ‘I wish I could help you, because I think you’re just trying to soften me up, before that psychopath comes back.’

‘Caitlin, my dear, that’s nonsense—’

‘It’s not. He’s going to torture me again, and you’ll stand by and let him do it.’

She turned on the waterworks, bawling like a child, with an intensity that was about eighty per cent genuine. Her interrogator hushed her, whispering soft assurances, his hands finally settling on her skin, crawling over her shoulders and back before slipping round to the front. This was appalling, but better than selling Dan out to them.

‘I-I know he ... he killed Martin, and you w-won’t stop him from—’

She broke off as she registered the jolt of shock that passed through him.

‘Martin?’

****

A big mistake, to phrase it as a question. A big, big mistake.

And it had been going so well. Had the environment been more conducive, Gordon wouldn’t have ruled out a mutual attraction; and in the startling new landscape of a life where Patricia was privy to his darkest secrets, who could say what adventures lay in store?

He’d been skilfully gaining Caitlin’s trust, developing a strategy to tease out the truth about the second man in the pub, when she had lobbed this at him:

Martin?

‘My ex-husband. He was stabbed to death on Saturday afternoon.’

Without a word, Gordon carried the coffee tray to the door. He was fumbling with the handle when Patricia opened it. She must have been lurking outside. Her lack of trust rankled, but there were more pressing matters to discuss.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘Something about a stabbing.’

‘Her ex-husband, Martin-somebody. She claims that Stemper killed him.’

Patricia spread her hands. ‘Why wouldn’t he have told us?’

‘I don’t know. But it seems a bizarre thing for her to lie about.’

‘I’m sure Stemper will have an explan—’

A noise downstairs cut her off: a heavy rapping on the front door. But Stemper wasn’t due back for hours, and they weren’t expecting anyone else.

The police
, he thought. Perhaps Stemper had been seen, bundling Caitlin into the car.

A second of speechless panic. There was no disputing the gravity of their crimes: a woman held prisoner in their home, the victim of physical torture ...