The Edge of Sanity (15 page)

‘Sod it,’ he muttered, on all fours as he peered under the bed a minute later. Nothing. Apart from a truck-load of rubbish. Hmm? Had Mary been making up fairy stories, he wondered. Hallucinating, possibly? He risked life and limb and ferreted deeper under the bed, sifting carefully through lager bottles, porno mags, and … a used syringe.

Hell
! He glanced at the ceiling, then at his glove, which wasn’t nicked, thank God. DI Short curled a contemptuous lip, tossed the syringe aside, held his breath and went back under.

‘Aha!’ He surfaced, triumphant, seconds later. ‘A shoe,’ he informed the officers, who nodded and looked bemused at the shoe.

‘Not just any shoe,’ DI Short explained. ‘This …’ he waggled it ‘ … is a lady’s shoe.’

‘Well, I never.’ One of the officers smirked.

‘It’s Mary’s,’ DI Short snapped. ‘Which tells us she
was
here, in this bed.’

‘And under it.’ His voice drifted up from the depths, as he gave the officers the benefit of his rear end once again.

‘And what’s more,’ he said, emerging with a satisfied smile, ‘she was
not
dressing up her story in order to drop Charlie in it. A cartridge box.’ He offered up his next prize. ‘That’s wiped the smirk off your face, police constable.’

DI Short shuffled back on his knees. This meant that Charlie was indeed carrying. He pondered. It also meant …

‘Aagh!
Shit
!’ DI Short glanced down, and paled. ‘Oh, my … I’ve stabbed myself. ‘Punctured my bloody kneecap with a used—’

‘Silver drop earring, sir,’ one of the officer’s supplied, picking it up.

‘Yes, thank you,’ DI Short replied dryly, accepting the earring the officer proffered and holding it aloft.

Could be Mary’s. Equally, it could belong to any one of a number of women the lowlife had lured into his lair. It might be useful. DI Short cut his deliberations short and got to his feet, careful of his punctured knee.

The overriding concern was, the maniac was out there—with a firearm. And if he was, he’d use it. Charlie Roberts had about as much self-control as he had feelings. DI Short had to find him, fast. But find him where?

‘Tidy up, lads,’ he instructed, striding purposefully towards the door.

Meanwhile, he was off to have a chat to anyone who’d even so much as heard of Charlie Roberts, including those who wished they hadn’t. His last known contacts would have to be …

DI Short paused on the landing, plucked the silver drop earring from his pocket and studied it. Might it belong to the girl in the nightclub? Eyewitnesses had corroborated Mary’s story, apparently, that the scumbag had indeed been paying particular attention to a young girl, probably a minor. In which case, that same girl was one of Dead-eyed Charlie’s last known contacts. She’d have to be located—he pocketed the earring—pronto.

Chapter Ten

Jo studied her novel, turned the page over, and hadn’t the slightest clue what she’d just read.

A waste of time was exactly what she was hoping to achieve, but this wasn’t doing it. Concentrating was about as impossible as sleeping. And the damn clock seemed to be ticking too loud in her head.

How often, she thought guiltily, had she dreamed of having time on her hands in the past. To pander to her own needs, rather than those of the kids and the demands of the boatyard. Well, now she’d got it, hadn’t she? Time in abundance. She could pander until her heart was content. Paint her fingernails and her toes. The trouble was, she didn’t want to. She unwound her towel from her hair, dropped it into the bulging laundry basket, and then remembered the clothes she’d stuffed into the washer-dryer earlier, which would now need the assistance of a steamroller to iron. Damn.

Sighing, she headed downstairs with an armful of washing. The prospect of the utility room with only the dripping tap for company didn’t thrill her, but it was something to do. She could always put on a DVD while she waited and have a drink … of cocoa, which would be warm and soothing, though she’d prefer a drink that was more sleep-inducing.

Good job she hadn’t got one then, wasn’t it? Annoyed with herself, Jo dragged the washing out of the machine and stuffed in a new load. Was she really ready to give in so easily? Reach for a crutch that actually did nothing to help her stand up and fight back? No, she was
not
. Resolutely, Joanne made her cocoa and tried to make herself comfortable in the lounge, where the DVD served to relax her about as much as reading had. She watched it and saw nothing, apart from a layer of dust an inch thick on top of the TV. Dusting though, she had no inclination to do.

A second cup of cocoa in hand, she trailed back upstairs, intending to sip it cocooned under the quilt, where at least she’d be warm while she watched the hands of the clock go round.

Course, it might have been a good idea to take
all
of the washing, Joanne. She eyed the clothes she’d discarded on her wicker chair before showering and found herself not caring. It didn’t matter if there was a mess in the bedroom, did it?

No more than slapping moisturiser over her face mattered, which she wandered to the bathroom to do anyway, from force of habit. Or shaving her legs, which she’d also done to pass time. The shaver had certainly had its work cut out. She hadn’t preened and pruned in a long time. Daniel’s shaver. Jo glanced from the mirror to the shelf, where she’d replaced it. He’d forgotten it in his rush to leave.

Sighing, she smoothed some freebie Elizabeth Arden stuff over her hands, sniffed it, then—on a waste not, want not basis, went the whole hog and smoothed it all over. She’d paid lip service to her beauty regime the last few months. It might not hurt to indulge a little. The old Joanne, the person she wanted to be—the person she knew Daniel wanted her to be—would have.

Well, that was that. All out of time-wasting tactics, Jo reached for her toothbrush, turned on the tap, and—nothing, apart from a horrendous metallic clunking, which was a subtle indication the plumbing was acting up.

‘Pants,’ she muttered, reaching for Daniel’s shaving lotion to give the pipes a good thwack, and then … .
Good God!
… blinked, surprised, as silence ensued. It worked, amazingly. She’d beaten it into submission. That was normally Daniel’s domain.

Dammit, why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Sleep would be out of the question at this rate. Jo dragged the comb through her hair, remembering she hadn’t been to the hairdressers since … she couldn’t remember when.

Maybe she would book that appointment to have it cut. It would be far less trouble. She unhooked Daniel’s shirt from the door and slipped back into it. Kayla and she could go together. Go shopping afterwards. Do the mother and daughter stuff that Jo knew she should have made an effort to do, but just didn’t seem to have the energy for.

She wouldn’t give her a hard time when she got home, she swore. As worried as she’d been, she’d make an effort to listen. And if Kayla wasn’t ready to talk, Jo would give her time, space, whatever she needed.

Anything.

Please God, make her come back home safe. Jo squeezed back a tear, raked her damp fringe from her face, pulled open the bathroom door.

Then froze.

The stranger in her bedroom gave a long, slow wolf-whistle. ‘Oh, darlin’,’ he drawled, appraising her appreciatively from top to toe, ‘I am
so
glad I dropped by tonight.’

****

‘
What the
…?!!’ Daniel jolted upright. Cold sweat pooled in the hollow of his neck and saturated the sheet beneath him.

He squinted against the oppressive dark, trying to focus his mind. A car backfiring, that’s all it was. Or thunder? Christ, he needed to get a grip. He ran his hands through his hair and tried to slow his racing heart. He could have sworn it was gunfire. Felt it, almost.

No, it was thunder, all right. Daniel winced as lightning cracked through the room, the skies colliding angrily in its wake. Looked like the mother of all storms. And it was heading his way. Disentangling himself from the bedclothes, he eased his feet to the floor and dragged a hand over his aching neck. He must have dozed. He hadn’t meant to do that. The last thing he remembered was coming from the shower he’d taken in an attempt to cool off.

‘Dammit!’ He covered the floor in three paces as another flash of light bathed the dark shadows white, flicked on the light switch—and the bulb fizzled and died.

Great. Stuck in a stifling shoebox, with a cat-flap for a window and no bloody light. Daniel stayed put as a thunderclap crashed directly overhead. Willing himself to stay calm, he leaned his back against the wall, took several slow breaths, and counted down slowly from one hundred.

At ninety-five the panic started to subside. It still simmered somewhere, but at least he could breathe. Okay. That was good. He’d been way down in the eighties and still counting when he’d hit the street earlier, gasping for air and hating himself for his weakness.

He’d get there though, back in control. He had to. He had a role to play. Not the one he’d envisaged for himself in his family’s future, but a role nevertheless. And France was definitely not on the agenda if he wanted to be hands-on in that role—which he did. Kayla needed him here, not an ocean away. Tonight’s events had brought that hard home. He should have seen it before, instead of burying his head in the sand, effectively being blind to anything but his own pain.

Jo needed him, too, he’d finally realised. Maybe not in the same way as she had before—he swallowed a tight lump in his throat, but she needed him to be a father to Kayla, and a friend to her, if nothing else. And he would. If that’s what Jo wanted, then that’s what Daniel would be, because he couldn’t stop caring about her, no matter what happened, which simply left him no choice. He’d stay around until Jo needed him to do otherwise.

As lightning bathed the room blue-white again, Daniel waited for the heavens to clash, then almost had heart failure as his mobile rang, shrill and stark against the darkness. ‘
Shit!
’ Bolting back across the room, he located the bedside table and snatched up the phone. ‘Jo?’

‘Hi, Dan. It’s me,’ Jo said lightly. ‘How are you?’

How was he?
Daniel frowned.

‘Look, sorry to bother you,’ Jo went on, almost conversationally. ‘I know you’ve had a busy day at work, but—’

Bother him? Busy day at …
What?
‘Jo, you are
not
bothering me,’ Daniel cut in. ‘What’s happening? Is Kayla okay?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Jo replied. ‘Yes, Dad’s fine, too. Much better now, thanks for asking.’ She paused pointedly, and Daniel’s heart froze.
Dad?
What fucking dad? Jo’s father was long since dead, and buried in Dublin.

‘It’s just that the lights are on the blink again,’ Jo went on, nonsensically.

Daniel swallowed back a hard knot in his chest. ‘Jo, what’s wrong?’

‘About an hour,’ Jo continued to talk gibberish. ‘And, well, I’m a bit frightened, to be honest. I was wondering if you could come over. I think it’s just the fuse, but you know how hopeless I am with these things.’

What?
Daniel dropped onto the bed, disbelieving. Jo, hopeless? She was as practical as he was—more, probably. She could wire a plug blindfold.

‘Jo, what the hell are you talking about?’

‘And with the storm and everything …’ Jo went on, a tremulous edge to her voice, did he detect? ‘Well, will you come?’

‘Of course I’ll come. You know I will,’ Daniel assured her, his mind racing through all kinds of scenarios. Had she been drinking? No, her speech was no way coherent, but it definitely wasn’t slurred.

‘Yes, now would be good, if you wouldn’t mind,’ Jo answered a question he hadn’t asked. ‘I’m not even sure I know where the fuse box is.’

Bullshit. Jo knew exactly where the fuse box was. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said, cold fear settling like ice in the pit of his stomach.

Chapter Eleven

‘Not bad,’ the intruder said. ‘Course, he’d have been here a lot quicker if you’d offered him a shag. I would have been, darlin’. No doubt about it.’

He trailed his eyes approvingly over Jo’s legs. ‘Ask me, the bloke must be nuts, leaving a bird like you.’

Jo pulled her shirt tight.

‘But then, I don’t suppose you’d want his hands all over you, would you, sweetheart?’ The man smiled languidly, looked away from Jo, and strolled around the bedroom. ‘His having murdered your kid, an’ all.’

Jo flinched. She prayed silently that Daniel would come. That he wouldn’t. That her legs wouldn’t give way as the floor shifted beneath her.

The man strolled back towards her. ‘Still, no worries, he
is
coming, isn’t he?’ He inched Jo’s chin up with the barrel of the shotgun. ‘Like a lamb to the slaughter.’

Jo looked right at him, hoping she might see some hint of what drove him, and then closed her eyes against the coldness she saw in his.

He went on with a sneer. ‘And it gives us a bit more time, doesn’t it, sweetheart? Now, what shall we do while we wait?’

Jo’s eyes shot open as he hooked a finger over the top button of her shirt. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, her tone neutral and her gaze steady on his. She willed herself not to do anything to provoke him. Not to give into tears.

What did he want? Her head reeled as her mind screamed the question again. If he was a sick little thief in the night, why didn’t he just take what he wanted and go? It was just so much stuff anyway, not worth a jot compared to what really mattered. He couldn’t take her few precious memories. If it was something else he was intent on, why didn’t the bastard just get on with it?

Why did he want Dan? What was he …? Oh, God, no! Jo’s stomach clenched and curled up inside her.

He was going to hurt him.

She could see it in his vile, flat eyes. They were swimming with pure evil. It was Daniel he wanted for some reason. Jo was sure of it. She was the bait, that was all. And, God help her,
she’d
lured Daniel into the bastard’s trap

Charlie’s mouth twisted into smirk as he flicked the button open and trailed his hand down to the next one. ‘That’s for me to know and
you
to find out, darlin’.’