The Waiting Game (21 page)

Hands shaking like a bastard. Practically shitting myself I’m so scared. Something else too. Excitement. Feeling like if I can do this, I can do anything. I get the key into the lock, turn it and I’m inside, standing in a big, modern kitchen. An island the size of my own kitchen in the middle of the room.

Behind me, the door swings shut. The click of the lock makes me jump. It sounds loud in the quiet house and I stand still – too scared to breathe – waiting to hear if the noise has been heard upstairs. But there’s nothing and after a minute I relax.

I’m wearing my trainers, soft soles so I don’t make any noise. Even though it’s dark outside, the glare of the streetlights through the sliding glass doors make it easy for me to see where I’m going.

I shift around the kitchen, touching things every now and then.
Empty wine glass by the sink, little pool of red wine at the bottom. I lift it and drink the last few drops. Knowing she was drinking from the same glass a few hours earlier, knowing I’m down here, doing this while she’s sleeping a few feet away, it’s a turn-on. Feel myself getting hard and let myself enjoy it, just for a moment.

Pictures stuck to the fridge with little magnets. The kids. He’s dark, just like his mother. The girl has freckles and red hair and looks nothing like them. Other stuff gets my attention. A school newsletter. St Joseph’s. I clock the address and am about to leave it at that when I see something else. There’s a photo of the boy on the newsletter. Holding a football and smiling. Caption underneath says his name is Pat Kelly and he’s just been made captain of the school football team. There’s a list of football matches – times, dates, locations – alongside the photo. I take the newsletter, fold it up and put it in my pocket.

It’s a big house. As well as the kitchen, there’s a sitting room and a separate dining room. A downstairs loo as well. I didn’t plan on going upstairs, but now I’m here I can’t help it.

I go slowly, stopping at each step, listening out for any sign that someone’s awake. But there’s nothing at all. Just the in-out, deep breathing that gets louder the higher I go. Four rooms up here and a big bathroom with one of those fancy Victorian baths.

They sleep with their bedroom doors open, each one of them in their own room. I can’t help thinking how lucky those kids are to grow up in a house as big and lovely as this. Think about the shithole I grew up in and nearly laugh at how different it was to this.

I really didn’t plan to go into her room. Didn’t think for a second
I’d be brave enough for something like that. But she’s snoring. Loud, steady snores that make me brave. My father used to snore like that. One of the few times you’d feel safe because you knew, when the snoring started, he was gone and nothing in the world would wake him up.

She’s lying on her back, mouth open. On one side of the bed, the quilt has slipped away and she’s not wearing any clothes. I imagine all the things I could do to her, right here and now, and she wouldn’t stand a chance in hell.

I take the phone out of my pocket and creep forward into the room. My heart is louder than a fucking drum and my breathing is too fast. I do what I need to do and get out of there, lean against a wall and force myself to calm down. Angry now. Acting like some fucking idiot who’s never seen a woman naked before.

When I’m in control again, I go back, stepping just inside the door. The stink of the wine she’s been drinking. Stupid bitch. Two kids to look after and she’s so fucking out of it she doesn’t even notice there’s someone in her house.

I hated her before tonight and I hate her even more now. I’ve had enough, need to get out of here. Don’t even stop to look in on the children. Thinking I can do that another time.

The snoring and the smell follow me out of the house and down the road. Mixed in with all the stuff I don’t want to think about. I start running, thinking if I run fast enough, I’ll be able to get away.

Except there’s no getting away from any of it. Everything that happened, it’s so long ago now, you’d think – wouldn’t you? – I’d be
able to forget it. Doesn’t work like that. Shit sticks. And even though I’m running, I know it’s pointless. I can run and run but it won’t do any good. When I stop running, he’ll still be there with his stinking breath and his dirty moods and his big hands, like fucking table-tennis bats, banging on the table in time to Bat Out of Hell, music blaring out of the stereo through the thin walls until it feels like the whole house is vibrating with the beat of it.

‘Where are we with CCTV?’ Ger asked.

‘Still going through it,’ Alastair said. ‘I started with the camera that’s on the corner of Nightingale Grove and the station. Haven’t found anything yet. There’s another camera that’s positioned at the other entrance to the station, near the main parade of shops in Hither Green. I’m going to cross-check all the people and cars with Sunday night and the dates Chloe stated there was someone in her house.’

‘How long?’ Ger said.

Alastair shrugged. ‘Could take a few hours, could take the whole day. I’ll go as quickly as I can but…’

They’d agreed Ellen could remain on the case. For now. As long as she had no more involvement with Monica Telford.
Which suited Ellen just fine. Jim’s name had been added to the list on the whiteboard, a double-ended arrow connecting him to Monica. Another line, with a questionmark, between his name and Chloe’s photo.

‘Forensics found something interesting,’ Malcolm said. ‘Chloe has a water filter in her kitchen. One of those jugs that filters the water for you. They ran a tox test and found traces of benzodiazepine. According to the tox guys, that’s a psychoactive drug commonly used to treat anxiety and extreme pain. Diazepam by any other word. Too mild to be conclusive, but might be worth asking the doc to run a toxicology report. What do you think?’

Goosebumps spread out across Ellen’s arms and back. The room suddenly felt very cold. There was silence as the team digested this new piece of information. Ger was the first to speak.

‘You said the traces were mild. How mild?’

‘The water we drink is shit. Pardon me, Ma’am. But tap water, it’s full of all sorts of crap. Tiny traces of benzodiazepine aren’t that uncommon. Lots of other things in there too. I can give you a list if you want.’

‘No thanks,’ Ger said. ‘Isn’t that what the filter’s for? To filter out all the crap.’

‘Exactly,’ Malcolm said. ‘Which is why it’s unusual.’

‘That would explain why the poor kid never woke up the nights she claimed someone was in her house,’ Ger said. ‘Anything else?’

‘Nothing we don’t already know,’ Malcolm said. ‘No sign of a break-in, no sign of a struggle before Chloe died. The killer caught her completely unawares. They’ve picked up several different sets of prints from the house and we’ve got matches for Jenkins and Collier. Nothing surprising about that, though. Both men admit being in the house at different times.’

‘Any other prints?’ Ellen asked.

Malcolm nodded. ‘Chloe’s, of course. Several others too. No matches, though. Oh, and that includes no match for Ricky Lezard. If he was ever in the house, there’s no trace of it.’

‘What about Monica?’ Ellen asked.

‘Chloe said they didn’t know each other,’ Abby said. ‘Why would she lie about that?’

Something niggled at the back of Ellen’s mind, but she couldn’t nail it down. Chloe and Monica. There was a connection somewhere. If only she could find it.

‘I still think it’s worth a try,’ she said. ‘Can we get a DNA sample from Monica? Prints, too. We can cross-check these with what we’ve picked up from the house.’

‘That’s not your call,’ Ger said. ‘For the record, everyone, Ellen won’t be dealing with Monica Telford anymore. If Monica calls or tries to speak with Ellen, you’re to put her straight through to me. Got that?’

Ellen saw the glances passed between her colleagues but knew no one would be stupid enough to say anything. She’d asked Abby to keep her mouth shut and sincerely hoped she could be
trusted to do that. She already knew she could trust Alastair. The last thing she needed right now was everyone commenting on her love life and what a mess she’d made of it. She was more than capable of doing that herself, without anyone else’s input.

When Nathan got into work on Wednesday, Carl was already there. Sitting at his desk like nothing in the world had changed. Carl stood up when Nathan walked in, approached him with his arms open, like he wanted to embrace him. The sheer, barefaced cheek!

‘Nathan.’ Carl’s eyes were red-rimmed, like he’d been crying. Nathan wasn’t about to fall for that one. He’d seen, first-hand and too many times, what Carl’s attitude was where women were concerned. Treated them as if they were no better than common prostitutes. Swaggering about the place after each dirty encounter, winking at Nathan, making him complicit, somehow, in his disgusting behaviour.

‘You can gather up your things,’ Nathan said, brushing past him.

‘Huh?’

Nathan looked at him. Grey skin, red eyes, shoulders stooped over like an old man’s. If only Chloe could see him.

‘You can’t stay,’ Nathan said. ‘I’d have thought that much was obvious.’

Stupid, brash fool didn’t get it.

‘What you doing, Nathan? You can’t think I had anything to do with it? Listen to me, man. Whatever the police told you, me and Chloe, it was the start of something special. I liked her. Really liked her.’

‘You
liked
her?’ Ice in his heart, ice in his voice. Let this horrible creature know just what he thought of him. ‘She deserved something better. Now go on. Clear your stuff and get the hell out of here.’

‘And that’s it?’ Incredulity made Carl’s voice shrill. ‘All the work I’ve done for you, all the extra hours I’ve put in, all the fucking money I’ve made and you just stand there and tell me to leave? You can’t do that.’

‘I’ll pay you till the end of next week,’ Nathan said. ‘You’re on a week’s notice, anyway. Check your contract. You’ll see I’m not doing anything I’m not supposed to.’

Unlike you, he thought. Seducing a poor girl, getting her into bed and then what? In all the time he’d been here, Carl had never stuck with any woman beyond a few dates. Even if Chloe hadn’t died, Nathan wouldn’t have put up with it. Carl had to go. No two ways about that.

He’d expected Carl to have another go. Wasn’t expecting what Carl said next, even though he ought to have known it would come to this eventually.

‘I get it,’ Carl said. ‘It’s nothing to do with her being dead, is it? You’re getting rid of me because you’re jealous.’

Carl stepped closer, so close Nathan could see the little pores
on his nose, smell the sour, metally stink of last night’s beer on Carl’s breath.

‘You wanted her for yourself, didn’t you? No point denying it, mate. You were about as obvious as it was possible to be. Perving all over her any chance you got. Touching her, standing too close. She noticed it all, you know. We had a right laugh about it. A right laugh about you. Jesus, mate. You looked in a mirror lately? Chloe was class. She’d never have looked twice at a fat fucker like you. She was way out of your league. You’re pathetic, you know that? A pathetic fucking loser.’

‘Stop it!’ Nathan put his hands over his ears, trying not to hear. But Carl kept going until he couldn’t – wouldn’t – stand it. He charged forward, head down, body slamming into Carl’s. The two men flew back, crashed into Carl’s desk. Carl shouting. Fist out of nowhere smacked into his cheek. Flashes of pain. On the ground now. Face pressed against the slate-grey carpet tiles he’d got fitted five months earlier. He’d let Chloe choose them. Told her the place needed a woman’s touch.

He tried to get up, but Carl was on top of him. Grabbed Nathan’s hair, jerked his head back and slammed it into the ground. Blood in his mouth. Taste of metal. White, bright pain. Screams. Stop it. Please. Carl had his arm, twisting it behind and up his back, pulling hard.

‘No!’ Screaming louder now. Made no difference. Arm yanked higher. Any further it would break. Nose still bleeding. Crying. Snot, tears, blood.

And then nothing.

His arm was free and the pressure of Carl’s weight on his body was gone. Carl’s shadow, standing over him. He tensed, waiting for more.

‘You’re not fucking worth it, mate.’

Shadow moved away. Electronic ring trilled across the office as the door opened. Gust of cold air, then the door closed again and Carl was gone. Nathan curled over on his side, cradling his damaged arm with the good one, crying like the pathetic loser he was.

‘We made the front page again.’ Abby smacked the latest copy of
The Evening Star
on Ellen’s desk. A black-and-white photo of Carl Jenkins took up the top half of the front page. Underneath the potentially libellous headline,
Police incompetence lets killer walk.

Ellen knew she shouldn’t take it personally but found it difficult not to. It was a classic Martine Reynolds piece of lazy journalism. Full of unfounded accusations of police incompetence. The journalist also made it pretty clear Carl Jenkins was their main suspect. Lezard and Collier were mentioned too, but only in passing.

‘Glad to see I get a mention,’ Ellen said. ‘Wouldn’t want Raj getting all the credit.’

‘Where does she get this shit?’ Abby asked.

On the last big case Ellen had worked on, Reynolds had a source inside the station. Ellen’s ex-boss, Ed Baxter. With Baxter out of the picture, she wondered who else might have leaked this information. The most obvious answer, of course, was one of the voluntary Community Support Officers doing the legwork the paid detectives didn’t have the time or the inclination for. There was someone else, too, but she dismissed that idea almost as soon as she thought it. He might be angry, but he’d never stoop this low.

‘Could be anyone. Disgruntled CSO more than likely,’ Ellen said. ‘Chances are we’ll never know who. Listen, have you heard anything from Raj?’

‘You think this is him?’ Abby asked.

‘Course not,’ Ellen said. ‘Just wondering how he is, that’s all.’

‘I haven’t spoken to him,’ Abby said. ‘Left a few messages but he hasn’t got back to me. I imagine he’s feeling pretty low.’

‘Let’s pay Jenkins another visit,’ Ellen said. ‘Nathan Collier, too. Their office is just down the road. I’ll treat you to a coffee in Danilo’s along the way.’

‘Carl Jenkins no longer works here.’

‘Since when?’ Ellen asked.

‘This morning,’ Collier said. ‘I expect certain standards from my staff, Detective Inspector. Carl behaved in a manner I found
unacceptable. I had to let him go. I had no choice.’

Ellen and Abby were sitting across from Nathan Collier in his estate agency office on Lewisham High Street. When he’d seen the two detectives coming in, Nathan had switched the sign on the front door to Closed before taking a seat behind his desk and inviting them to sit down as well.

‘Unacceptable?’ Ellen said.

‘Fraternising with another member of the team,’ he said. ‘I won’t tolerate that sort of thing.’

When he spoke, he looked at her face but avoided eye contact, eyes sliding away to a spot just above her head. She wondered if this was because he was lying or just nervous.

‘Are you talking about his relationship with Chloe?’ Abby asked.

‘Relationship!’ Collier’s voice rose several pitches, his round face glowing. ‘Carl Jenkins wouldn’t know the first thing about relationships. He’s only interested in one thing when it comes to women.’

‘What’s that?’ Ellen asked.

‘Sex.’ He spat the word out like it hurt his mouth. ‘Women are simply objects for men like that. Treat them mean, keep them keen. He used to say that, you know. As if it was something to be proud of. As if poor Chloe hadn’t endured enough already. She was making such progress.’ He smiled. ‘She would have been coming to church with me this weekend, you know. We were so close.’

‘So close to what?’ Abby said.

‘To saving her,’ Nathan said.

Ellen shifted on her chair. She needed to move around. It helped her think. She stood up and walked to the window, looked out at the street. The market, all the people going about their daily lives. For some of them, this day could be their last. And they had no idea.

She turned back to Nathan and Abby, both looking at her, waiting. Nathan’s desk was at the back of the office, a big, ugly teak affair that was too large for the place. Two smaller desks near the front. Chloe’s and Carl’s, Ellen guessed.

‘How did Carl take the news that he was out of a job?’ Ellen asked.

‘He wasn’t happy about it,’ Nathan said, rubbing the bruise under his right eye.

‘Did he do that to you?’ Abby asked.

Nathan shook his head, but Ellen was certain he was lying.

‘What are you going to do?’ Ellen said. ‘You can’t run the business single-handedly, can you?’

Collier shrugged. ‘I’ll get new people. Property market’s booming right now, while the job centres are full of people who can’t find jobs. One phone call and I’ll have them lining up to be interviewed. To tell the truth, a change is overdue. Carl stopped pulling his weight a while back. I was planning to get rid of him, anyway. As for Chloe, well, I offered her the job out of the kindness of my heart. Thought she could do with a helping hand. As
you can see, it wasn’t a helping hand she wanted, was it? Turns out she wasn’t the person I thought she was. In many ways, I think the business is better off without both of them.’

‘So you’re saying Chloe’s death is good for business?’ Abby asked.

Nathan flushed. Again. ‘That’s not what I said, Detective. You weren’t paying attention. I cared deeply for Chloe. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very good at her job. She made simple mistakes and was incapable of prioritising. I tried my best to make excuses for her. She was stressed and worried and that can have a terrible effect on a person’s work. Of course, I realise now the true reason for her distraction. She was too busy making eyes at a fellow worker. And that saddens me, Detective. As I’ve already said, it’s not the sort of behaviour I expect from my employees.’

Outside, Ellen breathed thick mouthfuls of dirty Lewisham air, relieved to be away from the sweaty, prissy company of Nathan Collier.

‘He did it,’ Abby said. ‘Carl Jenkins isn’t our man. It’s that sociopath we’ve just been speaking to.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Ellen asked.

‘Serious?’ Abby said. ‘Didn’t you hear him? All that stuff about correct behaviour and standards and bloody
saving
her. He’s a creep. A religious creep, too. The worst kind. Saving her. There’s a euphemism if ever I heard one.’

‘Get hold of his medical records,’ Ellen said. ‘See if he’s been prescribed Diazepam anytime recently.’

Abby nodded and started to say something else but it got lost as Ellen’s phone started ringing. Alastair. Calling to say he’d found something on the CCTV footage at Hither Green station. Any chance Ellen could get back right away to take a look? Every chance, Ellen told him.

‘Got to get back,’ Ellen said after she’d hung up. ‘See if you can track down Jenkins. Let’s get his side of the story. See how it compares to Collier’s version. You okay to do that?’

After she’d left Abby, Ellen practically skipped back to the station. They were getting close to something. She could feel it. Abby was right. Nathan Collier had guilt written all over him.