Their Little Secret

by Mark Billingham

It made sense. The man they were discussing was obviously someone who could easily feign such things, though now it looked as if he had finally found someone towards whom such devotion was genuine. ‘We know he was pretending to be something he wasn’t back then … but did you ever get any sense of what his real background might be? Anything about a family, any cities he might have talked about.’

  Ella took a few seconds. ‘It was like he was always trying to show everyone how clever he was, how brilliant this online thing of his was, to impress Pip. Trying a bit too hard. I thought that, even then, and I know Mum certainly did. I definitely remember thinking he might have been a working-class boy done good, you know? There was a bit of an accent sometimes.’

  ‘What accent?’

  ‘Midlands, I reckon. Flat vowels, whatever. Grass, bath …’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’m thinking Coventry, for some reason. Might just be something he said once. A football thing, maybe?’

  Something or nothing. Thorne scribbled it down anyway.

  He said, ‘We think he’s involved with a woman … that she’s involved in these murders with him.’

  ‘Right … blimey.’

  ‘Did you ever see him with a woman other than Pip?’

  ‘They went out in a group sometimes, but I think they were all Pip’s friends.’

  ‘He never mentioned a woman called Sarah?’

  Ella shook her head. She still appeared stunned by the revelation.

  ‘Never mind,’ Thorne said. It had been worth asking. Witness statements provided by the Brooklands Hill parents suggested that the man known to them as Conrad and the woman who called herself Sarah had first met in the coffee shop, several days after Philippa Goodwin’s death, but there was always the possibility that their meeting had been staged for the benefit of others.

  Thorne could not be sure how long this couple had actually been together.

  He stood up and said, ‘I’ll get out of your way.’

  ‘You’re not in the way. I’m just a bit … you know.’

  ‘If it helps, it means there’s way more chance we’re going to catch him.’

  ‘Yeah, course, I get that. Jesus, though.’ She stood up too and they both took a few steps towards the door, then stopped and looked at one another a little awkwardly.

  Thorne nodded towards the new photographs. ‘I like those,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, cheers.’ She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her long cardigan. ‘You should go to the Photographers’ Gallery in Soho; there’s some fantastic stuff in there.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘No kebabs or anything, but definitely worth a visit. I’m happy to go with you if you want.’ She smiled and looked down at her socks. ‘So I can tell you what’s good and what’s crap.’

  Thorne shifted from one foot to another … and there was Tanner again, having conveniently forgotten her own recent ‘interest’ in a potential witness, scowling and wagging a finger at him.

  He said, ‘To be honest, I don’t get a lot of free time.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  As soon as Thorne got to Becke House, Tanner suggested that the two of them grab a few minutes to talk things through, in advance of a full team briefing. ‘Get our ducks in a row before we address the troops,’ she said.

  As they sat down together in his office, Thorne said. ‘Why does anyone need ducks to be in a row, anyway?’

  ‘What?’ Tanner seemed keen to crack on.

  ‘Never understood it, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Tanner said. ‘So they’re easier to shoot?’

  Thorne shrugged and told her about the conversation he’d had with Ella Fulton.

  ‘Right, I’ll get Dipak to go down to the Blacksmith and whatever-it-is, wave our e-fit around.’

  ‘Toffeemaker,’ Thorne said. ‘In Clerkenwell. It was a song by a bloke called Jake Thackray … did comedy folk songs, sort of thing. I’ve been in there a couple of times.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘It’s decent enough, but the food’s vegan, so—’

  ‘I also think we need to revisit the house-to-house,’ Tanner said. ‘Step things up a bit. Widen the net and get officers working the streets near to where Gemma Maxwell lived and the area around Brooklands Hill.’

  ‘That’s a lot of officers,’ Thorne said.

  ‘I know it is.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Russell?’

  ‘It’s a double murder,’ she said. Matter-of-fact, like the boss of a small company which had got busy suddenly and needed to increase its stationery order. ‘I got the go-ahead from Russell first thing.’

  Thorne was impressed, but not altogether surprised. Tanner was good at getting what she wanted and she didn’t have his chequered history with the brass. ‘Why this sudden focus on house-to-house?’

  ‘Because this pair are local,’ Tanner said. ‘They have to be.’

  ‘Margate’s hardly local.’

  ‘Margate was about … something else. Gemma Maxwell was killed because she needed to be. She’d confronted Sarah and told her she knew what was going on at the school, so they had to get rid of her. There’s no way Sarah could be sure that Gemma wouldn’t bring the police in and she didn’t want to take that risk.’

  Thorne could not deny that Tanner’s theory made sense. He thought about what Melita Perera had said about Brady and Hindley, about murder as a marriage ceremony. ‘So maybe killing Kevin Deane was just them making some sort of weird commitment to each other.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Tanner said.

  ‘They picked Margate, but it probably could have been anywhere.’

  ‘Because it didn’t matter.’

  ‘And Kevin Deane could have been anybody.’

  ‘But Gemma Maxwell was targeted and killed at home. Gemma lived near to the school because that was where she worked, so it’s reasonable to assume that Sarah, as a “parent” didn’t live far away either.’

  Thorne wasn’t quite so sure. ‘Some parents travel for miles though, if they think it’s the right school.’

  Tanner shook her head, convinced. ‘She went to and from Brooklands Hill twice a day and we know she met up with the other parents in the local coffee shop. They live somewhere nearby … Enfield, Walthamstow, Southgate.’

  ‘OK, so let’s say they do live somewhere close to that school, isn’t there every chance they’ve already upped sticks and moved?’

  Tanner nodded. ‘I thought about that.’

  ‘I mean, she can’t go back to Brooklands Hill, so she’s probably on the lookout for another school and that could be anywhere.’ Thorne found it hard to believe that a woman disturbed enough to pick up and drop off a child that did not exist would want to stop. ‘Anyway, if you’re right, it would make sense for them to move, now he’s killed someone on their own doorstep.’

  ‘You would think so.’

  ‘They’re all over the papers, the local news.’

  ‘Which is why we need to talk to every lettings agency in the area. Find out if any of their tenants have left in a hurry, skipped out without giving notice, whatever. That’s if they were renting somewhere. Maybe one of them owns a house, in which case we should also be talking to local estate agents and getting details of any properties that have been put on the market in the last week or so. Looking for anyone who seems a bit over-keen to sell quickly.’

  Tanner was as fired up as Thorne had seen her in a while. She had certainly been busy.

  ‘The lack of forced entry was bothering me, too,’ she said.

  It was why Thorne had been quick to question the whereabouts of Gemma Maxwell’s boyfriend. Once he had been eliminated, only one other explanation seemed possible. ‘She opens the door and Patrick or Conrad or whatever his name is just forces his way in. Then he kills her in the hall as soon as she turns her back on him.’

  ‘Or she knew whoever was at the door,’ Tanner said. ‘I mean, she might not have been comfortable with it, not after she’d confronted her,
but she would probably have let her in, right?’

  ‘Let Sarah in?’

  ‘I went through the CCTV again,’ Tanner said. ‘No cameras on Gemma Maxwell’s road, no security cameras on neighbouring houses, but I checked the footage from a traffic camera on the main road and got this …’

  She produced a photocopy from her bag and passed it across.

  A couple walking away from the camera. Long coats and hoodies. The time code on the bottom read: 21.36.

  ‘Fits in with our approximate time of death,’ Tanner said. ‘No, it’s not the best bit of evidence I’ve ever come across and it probably wouldn’t hold up in court, but I think it’s them. Parked up somewhere nearby or maybe heading to the tube station. I’ve checked every other camera in the area, but that’s the clearest shot I can find.’

  Thorne put the picture down on his desk. ‘So you think they were both there?’

  ‘Why not? This Sarah rings Gemma Maxwell’s bell and says, “Really sorry to bother you like this and I know it might be a bit awkward after our conversation earlier, but could my husband – or boyfriend or whatever – and I come in for a quick word?” Easier for them to do it together, don’t you reckon?’

  Thorne remembered one of the other teachers saying that their murdered colleague had felt sorry for the woman she was planning to confront.

  Yeah, that sounds like Gemma …

  ‘And I spoke to Phil …’

  Thorne waited.

  ‘He can’t swear to anything, but he thinks it’s at least possible that it could have been a woman wielding the hammer.’ Tanner turned her palms up. ‘I mean, we probably won’t know either way until they’re in custody, and we can separate them. Even then …’ She looked at her watch and pushed her chair away from the desk. It was time for the briefing. ‘Right, I think they’re more or less lined up.’ She looked at him. ‘The ducks.’

  Thorne nodded, but said nothing; thinking about the damage that even the slightest of women could do if the weapon was deadly enough.

  Thinking about the thickness of a skull.

  ‘So, let’s go and shoot the fuckers …’

  FORTY

  The first day at a new school was always nerve-racking, so she had decided to ease herself into it by starting with a pick-up. The afternoon runs were usually more straightforward than the morning drop-offs, because people were that much more likely to look twice at anyone arriving first thing without a child in tow. Even then, Sarah had a story – she’d come rushing back with something Jamie had forgotten when she’d dropped him off ten minutes earlier – but all the same, she didn’t want to take any chances on their first day.

  Traumatic enough for Jamie as it was.

  The drive to Woodford had not been as bad as she’d feared. She knew she’d get used to it quickly enough and, having scoped out the parking set-up the first time she’d visited the school, she had no problem finding somewhere handy, a few streets away.

  Not quite as full of itself as Brooklands Hill, that was obvious.

  Not quite so many 4 × 4s clogging up the roads around the place.

  She guessed the parents would be a bit easier to deal with …

  Still jittery, though, on that five-minute walk back to the school gates, still desperate to make the right impression straight away, and it didn’t help that she was so concerned about Conrad.

  What Conrad was up to.

  He’d left home just before she did and hadn’t seemed particularly keen on telling her where he was going; changing the subject like she wouldn’t notice, then being a little too affectionate at the door. Even though she was never likely to complain about that, it had felt like he was making rather too much effort, especially considering he’d had her against the dressing-table just before breakfast. Saying goodbye as if where he was going didn’t matter, like it was unimportant compared to how much he’d miss her while he was away and what he would do to her when he got back.

  ‘I’ll be thinking about that all day,’ he’d said. Smiling as he pulled on his jacket, then rubbing himself against her just before he opened the front door, so she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  Still busy, lining up a new mark.

  Still in those early, tricky stages, feeling the woman out, needing to be sure she was a worthwhile target, taking his time.

  That was what he’d told her the night before …

  Those first few minutes were always the worst, hovering a few feet away from a group of women who clearly all knew each other well. Not wanting to intrude. A shy smile when one of them – permed and stubby – looked her way. Then, finally – thank God – a wave which let her know it was all right to join them.

  ‘I love your hair,’ the stubby woman said.

  An empty compliment before a ‘hello’ or even a basic introduction. Why did women do that? Men always seemed happy enough just to stick out a hand and say, ‘I’m Terry,’ or whatever. That said, she was very pleased with her new look. She was still getting used to being blonde, but she loved what the stylist had done. Her hair was shorter, almost a bob. Ironically, it wasn’t unlike that of the woman whose fault it was Sarah had needed to change her appearance in the first place.

  Mind you, that teacher’s hair had not been looking its best, last time Sarah had seen it.

  She smiled and brushed at her fringe. Said, ‘Oh, thanks.’

  No, that was not a look she’d be seeing in a shampoo advert any time soon. Matted with blood? Because I’m worth it …

  ‘I’m Patti.’

  ‘Sarah.’ She smiled again, nice and nervous this time, and stared expectantly through the gates towards the school entrance. ‘It’s my son’s first day.’

  ‘Oh.’ The stubby woman turned to her friends. ‘First day …’

  There were assorted oohs and ahhs. A thumbs up and a pair of crossed fingers. One of them said something about her own child’s first day, which was clearly a lot more interesting.

  ‘What’s your son’s name?’ Patti asked.

  ‘Jamie.’

  ‘Bless him.’ The woman’s curly mop wobbled as she nodded. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. You’re probably a lot more nervous than he is.’

  ‘I think you’re right.’

  The kids began to emerge and the women turned to watch. ‘Just moved to the area, then?’

  ‘Yeah, still in boxes.’

  ‘So, where were you before?’

  ‘South of the river,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Oh, big move, then.’

  ‘My partner has a company that makes online videos for students. You know, lectures and things? The office has moved out here, so …’

  Patti stood on tiptoe and waved to a girl who was ambling towards the gates, eyes fixed on the screen of a pink mobile phone.

  ‘Actually, I think I’d better go in and get him,’ Sarah said. ‘He’s a lovely boy, but bloody hell does he dawdle!’ A couple of the other parents laughed and nodded in sympathy and by the time Patti had embraced her daughter and was shouting ‘Nice to meet you’, Sarah was halfway across the playground.

  They seemed nice, Sarah thought, the other parents, and she’d know all their names within a day or two, because she always did. It had all gone as well as she could have wanted. She smiled at the children as they ran past her and waved to one of the teachers, confident that she’d find somewhere inside easily enough where she could skulk for ten minutes.

  Now the niceties were over with, though, her feet at least partway under the table so to speak, all she could think about was Conrad.

  Fuck, why was she letting him ruin her big day?

  Well, because she loved him, it wasn’t rocket science … but if he loved her as much as she thought he did, as much as he said he did, why wasn’t he being open and honest with her?

  Why would bloody, bastard Conrad keep anything from her?

  How could he?

  They were not Conrad and Sarah, any more, not Sarah and Conrad. There was no and anything. They had become someth
ing else entirely, a third person to whom they both gave flesh and blood, and secrets would only make that person sick if they weren’t winkled out.

  Terminally.

  She pushed through the door into the school and marched past a row of brightly coloured lockers to the Girls’ toilets. She nipped smartly inside, cut straight into a cubicle and locked the door.

  And breathed …

  It was ridiculous, she thought, nonsensical. Hadn’t everything Conrad had done before he’d met her, or had told her he’d done, been reliant on what an amazing liar he was? Cheating women, creating false identities and fake businesses, all of it? It was the way he’d made his living, for pity’s sake. The success he’d had, the money he’d been able to make, would certainly suggest that he was very good at lying and he definitely thought he was. He’d bragged about it more than once.

  Sarah wasn’t convinced, though.

  Perhaps because she was even better at it than he was.

  The stupid thing was that, having been lied to by enough men to last her a lifetime, the fact that Conrad was a professional liar had, in a strange way, been part of the attraction. She had known all along what she was getting. It had been a comfort, of sorts, provided of course that the lies were restricted to the women he targeted and were never about anything that really mattered, that affected her.

  Not that it made a fat lot of difference in the end. Conrad could be the greatest liar the world had ever seen, for all the good it would do him.

  Because she would know.

  FORTY-ONE

  The woman’s eyes narrowed when she asked him if he’d been ignoring her messages.

  ‘I’ve had a lot on,’ Conrad said. ‘I’ve been busy.’

  The woman told him she understood, that it must be terribly hard to be apart from someone so special. That tearing himself away must be almost impossible.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous—’

  She leaned back on her sofa and closed her eyes in mock ecstasy, then hissed the name slowly, as if it was an incantation. ‘Sarah …’

  ‘It sounded urgent,’ Conrad said. He was standing close to the door, keen to get this over with.