by D. S. Butler
‘Oh, of course, let me.’ He managed to find a space at the bar, and Karen asked for a margarita.
They chatted for a while as the barman prepared Karen’s drink. The conversation seemed to flow easily, thanks to Tom. He obviously liked to talk, but that was better than sitting there in an awkward silence.
Ten minutes later, Karen was starting to consider whether it was too early to text Sophie for help. They were standing a little distance from the bar because there were no seats left. Tom had an amazing ability to keep up a monologue about himself with no input from Karen at all. Karen wondered if he’d even notice if she wasn’t there.
Plus, the music was too loud.
Now she sounded like her mother. She was getting old.
Boredom had made her drink quickly, and she was rapidly getting to the end of her first margarita. She suspected Tom noticed, because suddenly he excused himself to visit the little boys’ room. His loss, Karen thought. It was her round.
As soon as he left her side, Karen headed to the bar to order another cocktail. The barman was a young man with floppy hair and a goatee, and Karen thought he might be a student at the university.
When he set the margarita down on a small paper mat, she slid a ten-pound note across the bar.
He took the money, and then leaned forward so Karen could hear him above the music. ‘First date tonight?’
Karen picked up her drink. ‘How did you guess?’
He glanced to the side of the bar, presumably to make sure Tom wasn’t coming back yet. ‘Well, don’t tell him I told you, but he was in here last week with another woman.’
Karen was a little surprised. Not that there was anything wrong with Tom Prentice going on other dates, but he didn’t really seem to be the type to have great success with women.
‘Thanks,’ Karen said, turning away from the bar.
Dates were boring. She’d finish this drink and then make her excuses. There was no need to get Sophie involved.
Tom took a while getting back from the gents, and Karen thought there must be a queue. Men’s toilets didn’t usually have queues. It was always the ladies’ bathroom that had a line. One of life’s great mysteries. She waited a little longer, taking another few sips of her margarita, and gritted her teeth when somebody seemed to turn the music up even louder.
When Karen had almost finished her drink, she cut across the group of people in front of her and walked towards the toilets. They were in a long corridor behind the bar.
Tom was standing with his back to her, on the phone, and she couldn’t resist getting a little closer to hear what he was saying. Her mother had always said she was too curious for her own good.
Tom was pretty predictable really.
‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,’ he crooned into the phone. ‘Give the girls a kiss goodnight for me . . . I know, Linda, but it can’t be helped. I’m the only one who knows the system . . . I’m only putting in these hours for you and the girls . . . Of course I’d rather be at home with you, darling.’
Karen had heard enough. She tapped him on the shoulder.
When he turned around, he jumped and almost dropped the phone.
Karen handed him her empty glass. ‘I’m going home now, Tom, and I really think you should, too.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DI Morgan tapped the red icon to ignore Rob Miller’s call and stared at the house. From where he sat in his parked car, he could see into the living room and the dining area through his rain-splattered window. They were preparing dinner and drinking wine, but he wasn’t close enough to see their expressions. He imagined the couple looked happy and relaxed. They wouldn’t be so relaxed if they knew what Rob was up to.
He waited as they moved from room to room, disappearing from the dining area and then appearing again at the kitchen window. The window was partially clouded over with condensation from whatever it was they were cooking for dinner.
DI Morgan’s phone rang again, but he muted it and reached for the door handle. He climbed out of the car, turning his collar up and hunching his shoulders against the rain. Slowly, he walked towards the house, then rang the doorbell and waited.
The door was opened by Louise’s new man. Rob wouldn’t be happy with that.
‘I’d like to talk to Louise, please,’ DI Morgan said.
The man looked surprised and reluctant to invite him in. He narrowed his eyes. ‘We’re just about to eat.’
‘It won’t take a moment.’ He moved forward, so the man had no choice other than to step back or try to physically bar him from the house. The man chose to move aside. In the brief moment they stood there watching each other in the hall, DI Morgan weighed him up. He was tall and slim and wore a sulky expression. Most people’s sense of hospitality would lead them to greet a visitor pleasantly, even if it was dinnertime. For all this man knew, DI Morgan could be a close friend of Louise.
Louise Jackson came out from the kitchen, holding a tea towel. She was wearing a white apron, which had Keep Calm and Drink Prosecco printed on it in red letters.
‘I know you, don’t I?’ She looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I’ve got a terrible memory.’
‘I work out of Nettleham station.’
Louise’s face cleared, and her concern evaporated. ‘Ah, that makes sense. I must have seen you there.’
They stood awkwardly in the hallway, as the couple didn’t invite him any further into the house. He reached for his wallet and pulled out his card, handing it to Louise.
She frowned and looked down at it, confused.
‘You know DI Rob Miller,’ DI Morgan said. It was a statement rather than a question.
Louise tensed, and her eyes widened slightly as she looked up at him. ‘What is this all about?’
‘I thought I should let you know Rob could cause you problems.’
‘Problems?’ the man repeated, folding his arms across his chest and taking a step away from Louise.
The happy expression on her face had completely evaporated now. She looked tense and frightened as she ran her hands through her hair and tucked the stray strands behind her ears. ‘I left him. I moved away from the area to get away. What does it take to get the message through to him?’
‘If anything happens or if he turns up here, you can call me. If I were you, I’d gather every piece of evidence you have and get a restraining order.’
She put a hand against the wall to steady herself and then stepped backwards, connecting with the stairs and sitting down with a bump. ‘He was so controlling. I had to move away. He just didn’t listen when I told him it was over. He’s clever about it, though. He sends notes and flowers, but there’s always a threatening overtone to them.’
DI Morgan listened to the woman explain how her six-month relationship with Rob Miller had ended. She described his obsession and his unhealthy appetite for directing her every move.
‘I thought moving away would mean an end to it, but it isn’t over, is it?’
‘Perhaps I should leave you to it,’ the man said, slipping past DI Morgan and reaching for his jacket on the hook by the door.
DI Morgan looked at him and said sharply, ‘There’s no need for you to go. In fact, I’m sure Louise could probably do with your support.’
The man offered up a weak smile and let go of the jacket. ‘I don’t want to get in the middle of anything. The last thing I want to do is get in the way.’
Both DI Morgan and Louise ignored him.
‘He wants to know what you’re doing and where you’re living,’ DI Morgan said. ‘That doesn’t seem healthy to me, and I thought you had a right to know.’
She nodded. ‘I did get in touch with a solicitor, but I haven’t bothered to follow up since the move.’
‘Well, I suggest you try for that restraining order.’
She took a deep breath, reached for the bannister and hauled herself to her feet. ‘I will. Thanks.’
‘If you need help, you can call me,’ DI Morgan said again, before turning and w
alking back to the front door.
He stepped outside into the soft rain, feeling guilty about ruining their evening. But she needed to know that Rob Miller was still sniffing around. When he got to his car, he looked back and saw both of them staring out of the kitchen window.
They didn’t look happy, but at least she was on her guard. Rob Miller had picked the wrong man to blackmail this time. Yes, this would probably cost him. He’d enjoyed working in an environment where he was judged on his skills rather than his past. But if he wanted to build professional relationships with the people on his team, he couldn’t keep secrets. Maybe he’d be shunned, but that was a chance he had to take.
There was only one way to deal with people like Rob, and that was to neutralise their power. The only way he could do that was to come clean to the people that mattered.
When Rick got home, he could hear his mother’s laughter coming from the living room. He took off his shoes, hung his coat on the rack and then stuck his head into the kitchen.
‘You sound like you’re having fun,’ he said.
Both Priya and his mother were sitting at the kitchen table, heads bent over what looked like children’s books.
Rick frowned. ‘Are you colouring?’
Priya looked up and smiled. ‘Yes, and don’t turn your nose up at it. Lots of adults do it now, myself included. It’s relaxing.’
Rick raised his eyebrows, but he had to admit his mother seemed very happy. She reached for a pink pencil and began colouring in the tail of a unicorn.
On closer inspection, he could tell they weren’t children’s colouring books. They were far too intricate.
His mum looked up and smiled at him. ‘Put the kettle on, Ricky, love.’
Rick did as he was asked, filling the kettle with water and then switching it on before turning to Priya.
‘Thanks for this,’ he said. ‘It’s lovely to see you both getting on so well. I don’t mind telling you I was a bit worried about having a carer in the house.’
‘We get on like a house on fire, don’t we, love?’ his mum said, grinning at Priya.
‘Yes, we do,’ Priya said as she put down the bright-green colouring pencil.
Rick got on with making the tea, thinking he’d lucked out when they’d had Priya assigned to them from the care agency. He was sure Sophie had had a hand in that, and he would always be thankful.
He filled the teapot and watched his mother shading in the leaves of a tree behind the unicorn.
Colouring, Rick smiled and shook his head. Who’d have thought it? She seemed perfectly content, though, and that was what mattered.
He’d found it very hard yesterday when his mother’s friends had visited, but that wasn’t Priya’s fault. She was doing what was best for his mum. Keeping her entertained, but at the same time sticking to a routine. Every time he’d come home, they’d been doing different things – playing cards, chequers and now colouring.
It was strange, but he hadn’t really thought about games. He knew his mother loved cards, but he hadn’t wanted her getting upset when she forgot the rules or couldn’t play properly. So instead of trying, he’d just stopped getting the cards out.
No doubt, there would come a time when she wasn’t able to do things like this, but right now she was coping incredibly well.
He finished making the tea and placed the cups on the table. ‘I’ll take over now, Priya. If you want to get off home early.’
She flipped the colouring book closed and put the pencil she’d been using in a pile with the others. ‘Thanks.’
‘Unless you want to stay for dinner,’ Rick offered. ‘We’re not having anything fancy, probably just pasta.’
‘Thanks, but I have a date tonight.’
‘Oh, well, have fun,’ Rick said, and began to flick through the colouring book Priya had been using.
‘You should have a go, Ricky,’ his mum said.
Rick pulled a face. ‘Me? Colouring? I haven’t done that since I was about five.’
‘Try it, you might like it,’ Priya said, then leaned over to give Rick’s mum a quick hug. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs Cooper.’
Rick waited until he heard the front door close and then opened the colouring book again. Feeling a little self-conscious, he picked up the yellow pencil and began to colour in the sun.
Stephen Fox jogged up the steps and jabbed his thumb repeatedly at the doorbell. He could really do without this. As the elder brother, he’d always been expected to look after Martin, to stick up for him in school when he got bullied, to help him with his maths homework when he struggled, and, these days, to force the medication down his neck when he refused to take his pills.
He’d received a panicked call twenty minutes ago from Martin’s ex-girlfriend. She hadn’t seen him in over a year, but she’d come home from work to find him in her living room. She’d been almost hysterical on the phone, but Stephen was thankful she had called him rather than the police. He’d liked the woman on the few occasions he’d met her. Her name was Matilda, though everyone called her Matty. They’d met when Martin was on an even keel. His disease had peaked and troughed over the years, and he could be charming when the tablets were working.
A pale-faced Matty yanked open the front door. ‘Thank God. He’s in there.’ She pointed to a door along the hallway.
‘Everything is going to be fine, Matty,’ Stephen said, trying to reassure her as he walked down the hall.
Martin had caused various problems over the years, and Stephen had assumed he was beyond being shocked by his brother’s actions, but what he saw in the room made him stop and stare.
Martin was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He wore a polo shirt and jeans and had covered his arms and face with Biro scribblings. He reminded Stephen of a tattooed tribal warrior he’d once seen on the Discovery Channel.
He stepped into the room and turned in a slow circle. Scribbles defaced two of the walls. Matty’s shiny ivory wallpaper with a circular pattern had been completely ruined.
‘I’ll pay to have it redecorated,’ Stephen said, turning to look over his shoulder at Matty. ‘I’m sorry.’
Her eyes were wide, and she was trembling as she asked, ‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘He’s not been taking his tablets. It happens sometimes.’ He shrugged, trying to make it look like it wasn’t a big deal.
‘How did he get in?’ she asked.
That was a good point. ‘Does he still have a key?’
She shrugged. ‘He shouldn’t. Why don’t you ask him?’
That was easier said than done. Trying to communicate with Martin when he was in this state was a gamble.
Stephen knelt beside him and lowered his head to make eye contact. He looked into his brother’s dark eyes and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘We need to go now, Martin. You’re going to come with me, okay?’
Martin didn’t respond. His dark eyes gazed into the distance. After collecting him from their mother’s house the day before, Stephen had made sure Martin took his medication, but usually a few doses were needed before it really kicked in properly. He grabbed his brother’s hand and lightly tugged on it. It took a little while, but Martin finally stood up. He allowed Stephen to pat down his pockets.
Stephen produced a key from the back pocket of Martin’s jeans. ‘I think this was how he got in.’
Matty’s jaw dropped open and she snatched it back from Stephen. ‘He must have made a copy!’
Stephen had no idea why Martin would have done that, but he had long ago stopped trying to work out how his brother’s mind worked.
‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back,’ Stephen said.
‘You’d better, or next time I’m calling the police.’
Stephen’s eyes narrowed. Did she have no empathy or concern for Martin, a man she’d shared her life with for months? He understood it must have been a shock to find Martin in her house, but his brother had never been violent, and he’d assured her he would pay for the damage. Some p
eople had no compassion.
‘Come on, mate,’ Stephen said, putting his arm around his brother’s shoulders and leading him out of the room and to the front door.
They’d made it down the front steps and were almost at Stephen’s car when Martin finally spoke. ‘Where are we going?’
Stephen swallowed hard at the blank, lost look on his brother’s face. ‘We’re going somewhere safe.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Karen called DI Morgan as she walked away from the White Hart. He answered on the third ring, but his voice sounded distant, as though he was talking on a hands-free device.
‘How did the date go?’ he asked. ‘I take it your evening wasn’t great if you’re calling me at eight thirty?’
‘It was awful. Horrible. And that’s all I’m saying on the matter. I’m starving, so I’m going to grab some food. Do you still fancy getting a takeaway, or have you already eaten?’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Lincoln. I’m walking downhill this time.’
‘I gathered that. You’re not out of breath.’
‘Have you even walked up Steep Hill yet?’
‘No.’
‘Well, until you do, you shouldn’t comment. Steep Hill would have Mo Farah panting for breath.’
DI Morgan laughed. ‘I’ll tell you what, I’m in the car at the moment so I’ll come and meet you there. We can eat out.’
‘Fine by me,’ Karen said and then frowned, wondering about the change of plan. She’d thought DI Morgan was spending this evening unpacking.
‘I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes,’ he said.
Karen saw she was approaching the Jews House Restaurant and slowed down. It was a cold evening, and the warm light through the mullioned windows looked welcoming. ‘If you haven’t walked up Steep Hill yet, I guess you haven’t eaten at the Jews House?’
‘I haven’t, but I’ve heard of the restaurant. Someone recommended it a while ago.’
‘It’s nice,’ Karen said. ‘I haven’t been for a while, but it’s one of the oldest buildings in Lincoln. I’ll see if I can get a table.’
