The venom in those words made her shudder. “Please can we leave now? Let’s go home and call the police, report him,” she pleaded. There was so much hatred in Shane’s eyes. “What’re you thinking, Shane?”
“George, you take the girls home,” he said, taking her phone from her. “We’re going to have it out with Mr Elf Man here, tonight.”
Georgina begged him not to, but after he’d baited Elf Man, she decided against arguing. Instead, she kissed him goodbye, forced Amelia to join her and Isla and walked down the stairs to the dance floor, where she kept vigil, scanning the busy room for the pommie. No loners, only youngsters out enjoying themselves.
Outside the foyer doors, queues of revellers waiting to go inside, she hailed a passing cab and helped Amelia into the back. With Isla taking charge in front, Georgina stared at the entrance for Elf Man. No one appeared as the taxi drove away.
22
The view from the railing of the VIP room was panoramic of the club. Partygoers were filling up the dance floor, while more introverted guests sat around tables and chairs at the side. Elf Man, if he obsessed over Georgina as much as Shane suspected, would try to follow the girls. He ordered Oliver to search for the Brit downstairs. “Shit! He didn’t go for it,” he said into his phone to Oliver. “He’s still here, mate. Give it a reccy, would you?”
With Oliver hunting for the pom, Shane leaned on the railing and watched the crowd below, his leg jigging up and down to the music. He wouldn’t admit it to Georgina, but he enjoyed disco; he loved dancing to it, especially with fit girls grinding on him. Yeah, he loved that. The new football season was almost upon him, which meant parties. They were legendary, the Swans parties. The women, my God, the women, he thought, watching a couple of hotties dancing. They smiled up at him.
“Bugger!” Oliver sidled over to them. Shane could foresee what was in store for him. Oliver would walk the ladies up the stairs, palm one of them on him, whereupon he would start chatting to her and end up kissing her. From his vantage point, he spotted at least three covert photographers, all out to get their lenses on something juicy to sell to the tabloids.
Four of his fellow teammates emerged from the bar carrying drinks. He caught their attention, and summoned them up to join him in the VIP area. Behind them a group of hot women traipsed, a mixture of blondes, brunettes, white, black and Asian. He waved them all up and shook their hands in turn. “Ladies, help yourselves to the champers.”
Oliver joined, holding hands with the two girls from downstairs. “No sign of the Elf,” he said, walking the girls over to a table and settling down.
Shane, in deep discussion with his rover and ruck rover about the upcoming season, forgot about Elf Man. Being captain of the Sydney Swans he tried to treat everyone equally and made it a matter of pride to get along with each member of the team on a personal level. Out tonight, he had his rover, left forward pocket, a ruck rover and centre half-forward. The conversation was lively, taking his mind from Elf Man.
And he lost himself even more when one of the entourage joined them, her hands all over him. Valerie, a brunette, six feet tall, with a killer hour-glass figure, demonstrated intentions he didn’t need to read into. As the conversation went on, he talked less to his teammates, and enjoyed more of her touch, until she moved in.
Valerie was a superb kisser. After five minutes, Shane opened his eyes and checked on Oliver. He grinned when he saw a blonde head going up and down behind the table, Oliver’s eyes closed, his expression one of bliss. Valerie’s fingers on his chin, he turned his head back to her.
“Shall we find somewhere a little more comfortable?” she asked, her hand on his chest, sneaking underneath his open shirt. “So strong.”
“I’m game.” He kissed her again.
The vibration in his trousers caught him off guard. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he answered it to the sound of Georgina’s voice. “Hey, babe,” he said, putting his finger up to shush Valerie. “Are you all right?” He breathed a little easier when she confirmed they were home safe. “No, we lost him. Tell Isla we’ll be back when we’ve dealt with him. Don’t wait up, okay? And don’t worry; we’ve got this.” He winked at Valerie, who played with his belt.
On his way to find somewhere more comfortable, he glanced at Oliver’s table. The blonde woman’s back hid Oliver, but by the way she was grinding on him, fully clothed, Oliver wouldn’t stop her, even if he wanted to. “Good boy!” he whispered, spotting a lonely table. Good enough for Oliver, good enough for him, he thought, excited to sit and acquaint himself with Valerie.
Getting comfortable, Valerie on his lap, Shane let her unzip his trousers, as he kissed her deeply. Then, he heard raised voices in front of him. When he leaned to the side, three guys with cameras pointed them at him. His heart lurched, his mind immediately playing scenarios where Georgina found pictures of him with Valerie in the national newspapers. Luckily, his teammates were trying to bar them from entering the VIP lounge, but two of the three paparazzi weren’t having any of it; they attempted to push past, to take more photos of him with Valerie. Shane cursed, then threw Valerie from his lap and got up. “No fucking way!” He moved with purpose towards them.
When he approached the first photographer, he grabbed his camera and looked through the pictures, deleting all featuring him, while his teammates held him by the scruff of his neck. “Now, fuck off, you vulture.” He handed the camera back. “Go find a real job, one that matters to people.”
“Oh, like yours? Playing a game for money? And badly,” the photographer countered.
Moving on to the second paparazzo, he resisted and Toby, his ruckman had to punch him in his gut. Shane prised the camera from him and flicked through the photos of him, deleting them as he went. “You lot really do need to get a life!” He gave the camera back, looking over the vulture’s shoulder for the third guy. “Where’d he go?” he asked his teammates. “He was right there. There were three of them.”
Toby shook his head. “Nah, mate, only two.”
His other workmates agreed with Toby; there were only two photographers. “No, three, the third guy at the back, behind the other two, where is he?”
Oliver shrugged, too busy with his blonde to notice at the time.
“And you’re no fucking help!”
In the centre of the dance floor, a man trying to make his way to the front doors, squeezing through the throng of revellers, carried a camera, Shane noticed. The pom turned around and grinned up at him, then fled. “Elf Man! Get him!” Shane yelled at Oliver and the Swans. “I need those fucking pictures!”
Feeling sick, he raced down the stairs to the dance floor. Once there, he tried to remain polite, asking people to mind themselves. He couldn’t move for dancers. Annoyed, he started pushing people, shouting at them. Oliver by his side, Shane sprinted for the foyer, where the beefy doormen greeted them. “A guy with a camera just came out of here,” he barked. “Where’d he go?”
“Keep your knickers on. He went that way.”
Following directions, Shane ran to the left, along Oxford Street towards Queen Street. There was no doubt he would kill Elf Man, wring his bloody neck, or better yet, beat him to death with his bare hands.
Shane and Oliver carried on past the turning for Queen Street, until they came to Wallis Street, opposite Centennial Park, where Shane stopped to catch his breath. Looking around, he couldn’t find Elf Man, only randoms walking to and from their chosen destinations. “Shit!” His phone went off in his pocket.
“Let’s see the damage.”
Shane hesitated. “He’ll fuck everything up.”
Oliver waited with expectation.
“If George finds out, I’m a dead man.” Swallowing his fear, Shane opened Chatter. “You don’t deserve her,” he read out loud. “He’s going to use them.” The three photos were bad. In one he was barely visible; it mostly showed Valerie’s back. The other two were horrendous, his face clear, with her on his lap. “I’m so fucking dead.”
“Ask him what he wants,” Oliver suggested.
“Why bother?” Hope vanished. “He wants George.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to hand her to him.”
Taking Oliver’s advice, Shane typed out the message and sent it. With late night drinkers walking past them, he waited for a response from Elf Man. Nothing.
“You have to fight for her, mate,” Oliver said.
Putting his mobile away, Shane started back towards the club. “Let’s go home, while I still can.”
23
DI David Coates knocked on the door of the five-bedroomed country house and stood back, listening for signs of life inside. The house sat in an acre of land, surrounded by trees and bushes of varying types. He took in the home’s surroundings. At the rear of the garden to his right he spotted an ornate pond, which if he investigated, he assumed would hold fish of all descriptions. “All right for some.”
A woman’s face appeared through a small gap. “Yes?”
“Mrs Peebles?” Upon hearing her confirmation, Coates reached inside his suit jacket and retrieved his identification wallet. “Detective Inspector David Coates, ma’am,” he said, to her irritated expression. “Before you close the door, please hear me out.”
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about him,” she snapped. “Go away. We don’t want to know him, or what he does.” She slammed the door.
Coates sighed. “Even if he’s killed again, and you can help me find him?”
Nothing. She might have closed the door on him, but he knew she was listening. “Please, Mrs Peebles, he’ll kill again.”
“I can’t help you, I’m sorry.”
A step closer to the door, he leaned forwards. “Can I ask why not?”
“Because I, we, my husband and I, the last time we spoke to him must have been a year and a half ago.”
“Please, can I come in and talk to you about him?” The first couple of droplets of rain landed on his coat. Dark grey clouds promised to soak him any minute. “Please, Mrs Peebles.”
The door opened. Ursula Peebles sighed. Then she stood to the left and invited him in. “You’re in luck. Victor just put the kettle on.”
Coates took her up on her offer and asked for a cup of coffee. The first thing he observed about Peebles’ mother: her age; she had to be in her mid-to-late seventies, and slow moving. He followed her through to the huge kitchen, where she offered him a chair behind a long table big enough to seat twelve. “Milk, one sugar, please.” He examined the surroundings.
North Ferriby was situated off the A63, a few miles away from Hull, the Peebles’ hometown. Coates had set off from Lewes four hours earlier; he was grateful for the pick-me-up. “Thanks.” He sipped his beverage.
Unexpectedly, Ursula Peebles started their conversation. “I apologise for shutting the door on you. You must understand that Victor and I have grown a tough skin over the years. After his arrest, people would yell at us from outside. Everyone seemed to blame us. Strange how our lives are split in two: before it happened, and after.”
Trying to imagine her pain, Coates put on his most sympathetic face. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The Peebles had disowned their son, which must hurt, he thought.
“So am I. He was such a lovely child. He loved his family, his brothers and sister; he would do anything for them.” Her face changed to sombre. “Until he fell under Ince’s spell. I swear he caused all this. None of this would’ve happened, if Michael–”
“Who’s he murdered?” came a male voice from behind him.
Turning in his chair, Coates eyed Victor Peebles for the first time: a short, squat man, balding, with an air of intelligence about him, stood in the hallway. Peebles’ narrow, suspicious eyes were on him, waiting. “Her name’s Tara Henson; she lived down south in a small town called Lewes.” Coates took out his phone in case his interviewees wanted to view their son’s handiwork.
Mr Peebles walked inside the room and went to the sink. “Well, we haven’t seen Arthur in over eighteen months. So, how can we help you find him when we don’t know where he is? He’s dead to us now. If I’d had my way, I wouldn’t have paid for the solicitors, but she made me.”
Coates couldn’t understand their mentality. He liked to think that no matter what Hannah did, he would support her. There were limits to unconditional love, he guessed. “You could tell me about him, what he was like growing up, that kind of thing. Any input will help.”
“And you don’t have any doubts he’s responsible?”
“None. All we need to do is apprehend him. Forensics picked up so much trace evidence, semen, saliva, hairs, skin and a bloody fingerprint.” He heard Mrs Peebles’ gasp at his mention of semen. “I’m afraid he… Before he murdered her.”
“You can say it, detective. Our son raped that poor woman.”
“He’s a monster,” Mrs Peebles whispered.
He couldn’t argue with her. Monster described Arthur Peebles well. By all accounts they’d given Arthur the same opportunities as his brothers and sister, who had all made something of themselves. No, they weren’t responsible for Arthur’s sickness, not that that stopped people from thinking so. “Don’t blame yourself, Mrs Peebles. Look at how the rest of your children turned out. And you didn’t treat him differently, did you?”
“Of course not. She knows this, detective.”
He needed more from them. “He’s been out of prison eighteen months now, Mr Peebles. I don’t suppose he’s tried contacting you in that time, has he? Please, if you know anything, even his assumed name, it’ll help, sir.”
“Is that why you came here?” Mr Peebles asked. “Even after I made it clear we don’t speak to Arthur anymore.”
“We saw him at the parole hearing, where I told him we never want to see him again. We paid his legal expenses against Victor’s better judgement.” Mrs Peebles’ voice broke, strained.
Mr Peebles unfolded his arms and stepped towards the table. “You’re upsetting my wife, detective. You need to leave now.”
Coates held his hands up, palms displayed. “I didn’t mean to.” He delved into his pocket when his mobile saved the day. “I’m sorry! I need to take this.” Mrs Peebles wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. Asking the caller to wait, Coates stood, then followed Mr Peebles to the front door. “Again, my apologies.” Taking out his cards, he handed one to his interviewee.
He cursed under his breath at the closed door. Turning, he put the mobile to his ear. “Sorry about that, sir.” He walked along the driveway. “I was interviewing the Peebles. What’s new?”
“I set you up a meeting with someone in the Ministry of Justice. He’s an aide to Richard Luckland, the Justice Secretary. He agreed to meet you after I explained the situation. From what I gleaned from our brief conversation, Luckland wants Peebles brought in quietly. I get the impression his arrest will be a source of embarrassment for both the MoJ and the probation service.”
“Now that I can do. You can let the aide know we’re on the same team.”
“No need. You can assure him when you meet on Friday.”
Disappointed, Coates said, “Friday’s four days away, sir,” he moaned. “Peebles could kill again at any time.”
“The best I can do, inspector. How’s Sergeant Packard getting on with the tattoo angle?”
“We’re in talks with the victim’s neighbour.” Coates sighed. “But, like you say, we’ve other leads we can follow up until Friday. Thank you for reaching out, sir.”
After hanging up, Coates opened his car door and slumped heavily in his seat. Why didn’t they understand the gravity of the situation? Politicians were such dicks, he thought, closing his door, and switching on the engine. Releasing the handbrake, he set off on his long journey back to Lewes.
24
Georgina was nervous. “Is this necessary?” Pulling into the car park of the Dover Heights Gun Club, she waited for a reply. Everyone in her family, including her dad, hated guns. After her stalker managed to penetrate their previous ho
me’s security, she allowed Shane to buy a pistol and keep it in the house. “I hate those things.” She spotted a space and parked her Jeep.
Shane reached behind him and picked up the two cases, one bigger than the other. “Football season starts soon, babe. That means I’m not going to be around as much, so I need the peace of mind you’re safe. This is the only way. It’s easy, George. Honestly, you make sure the magazine’s loaded, you take the safety off and pull the trigger.”
She exited her Jeep, still not convinced. Shane knew how to shoot. A member of the club and regular user of the firing range, he was licensed, adding to the other two million permitted gun owners in the country. The previous day he’d brought home the second, smaller gun. When he handed her the Beretta 21 Bobcat, the weight of the tiny pocket pistol surprised her. “Let’s go!” She met him at the front of the Jeep.
“You might enjoy it.” He took her hand and walked towards the gun club entrance.
Since he and Oliver had returned in the early hours of Saturday morning, Georgina thought Shane was acting strangely: quieter than usual, jittery. Whenever she asked him what was wrong, he shrugged it off, gave her a kiss and told her not to worry. Georgina knew better. Something happened on Friday night at Fever, she could tell.
Inside, Shane went to reception while she waited, listening to the gunshots in the distance. When he came back, he carried two sets of noise dampers, which looked like headphones. “For me? Oh, you shouldn’t have,” she quipped. “And in my colour, too.”
Mr Invisible Page 10
