CHAPTER 65
Winston had been reassigned to solitary so that he could continue dealing with Peter. They had been together on the ward for many years, and Peter knew that at Great Barwell continuity was an important factor in keeping a prisoner calm.
When Winston delivered Peter’s evening meal, he stayed at the hatch for a moment longer than usual. His eyes were solemn and wise. Peter went to the hatch to take the tray from Winston.
‘What are you up to?’ said Winston, holding the tray back.
‘I’m about to eat this slop,’ said Peter.
‘No. I know you better than you think. You’ve attacked patients and doctors in the past, but out of anger. You weren’t angry this morning. You planned it.’
Peter leaned closer to the hatch.
‘You’re a clever man, Winston. How did you end up stuck in this shithole on a zero hours contract?’
‘From one clever man to another, Peter. Why did you do it?’
‘I finally found Meredith Baxter too irritating to bear. I never bought all that happy-clappy eagerness to make a difference. If I hadn’t killed her, one of the other patients would have had a crack at it.’
‘You want to be in solitary for a reason,’ said Winston, his wise eyes seeming to reach into his head. ‘What’s that reason?’ For a moment Peter wondered if Winston could read his mind.
‘Never trust us, Winston. Never trust any of us. We’re beyond help. The murderers and the rapists and the kiddy fiddlers in this place are all the same. We get off on the pain of others.’
Winston hesitated, then dumped the tray through the hatch. The gloopy food spattered down the inside of the cell door.
‘You’re gonna rot in hell.’
‘Hell isn’t real, Winston,’ shouted Peter, ‘but zero hours contracts are. Think about it.’
The hatch slammed shut.
Peter wasn’t able to eat anything. His heart was pounding and he was sweating. Was this really going to happen? Everything seemed so quiet and small in Great Barwell. A trip to the lavatory seemed far. He’d spent so long in this place – was he really about to leave for ever?
When Winston returned for his tray, his face was an impassive mask again. The spit hood was pushed through the hatch and Peter pulled it on, his hands shaking.
Then he put his hands in front of him whilst they were cuffed. His solicitor Terrence had argued for Peter to be cuffed with his hands in front of him, due to an injury to his shoulder when he’d been Tasered and restrained. When the cuffs were secure, Winston unbolted the door and led Peter down the short corridor to the exercise yard. Winston unlocked the door slowly and methodically.
‘Okay, Peter, you’ve got fifteen minutes,’ he said.
He stood back and Peter stepped through into the small yard and smelled the fresh evening air.
He watched through the small window as Winston locked the door again, taking his time over the three locks. He removed the keys and clipped them back onto his belt and disappeared from view back down the corridor.
Peter moved around the small space. He looked up, just seeing the patch of dark sky, stained orange from light pollution. It was so quiet. Too quiet. He frowned, feeling the material of the spit hood cold against his face.
Joseph had been in contact with air traffic control as he flew over London, but as soon as he flew over the outskirts of the M25 the constant updates faded out. He’d given his final position and flown onwards. He waited until he was close, and the perimeter fence of Great Barwell and the long low buildings came into view ahead, then he put in a call to the observation tower, announcing that an air ambulance was asking for clearance to land.
‘We’re responding to an emergency call, a doctor working at the hospital has been stabbed, request permission to land,’ said Joseph over his radio. There was silence. He knew that they would be making some checks, but hoped after the recent death of Dr Baxter that they would give him clearance, which would buy valuable time.
‘You have clearance to land,’ said the voice on the radio.
Joseph fist-bumped the air, grinning wildly. He checked the radio was muted and then shouted with excitement: ‘Yes! Yes! Here we go, you fuckers!’
Peter waited a few more minutes, pacing and trying to look as if he was taking the air. The silence seemed to stretch out, and he wondered if his mother was on the move, heading to the place where they would meet later. So much time seemed to have passed already from his fifteen minutes. He was scared. Winston would be coming back soon.
His heart began to beat faster as he heard the far-off drone of the helicopter engine. Was it just a plane going past, or was this for him?
Then very quickly the sound of the engine grew louder, until it was deafening. The helicopter appeared suddenly in the square of sky, high above, rotor blades spinning. He felt the air pressure as it bore down. A bright light shone down into the yard, lighting up every corner of the tiny square, and Peter saw the outstretched arm of the helicopter pilot waving at him. He waved back with his cuffed hands.
A rope ladder was held out of the window, and it dropped and unfurled, the edge narrowly missing the side of Peter’s head. It went taut, and he put his foot on the first rung and looped his cuffed hands through the steps of the ladder.
Winston appeared at the window in the door. At first he was confused, but he reacted quickly, fumbling with the keys in the lock.
Peter was barely able to hold on with his cuffed hands when the rope ladder creaked and he started to rise up out of the exercise yard. Winston finally got the last lock open. He burst through the door and ran over, his fingers grazing Peter’s ankle before he was carried up out of his reach.
‘Goodbye, Winston!’ cried Peter over the roar of the helicopter. He was shocked to feel a tinge of sadness at leaving him behind. Winston gaped in shock. His eyes were wide with surprise.
The exercise yard below Peter became smaller, and he saw two other orderlies rushing in beside Winston, but they watched helplessly as he rose up, clearing the razor-wire fences, and on into the cold night sky. The helicopter stopped and hovered for a second, then flew over the hospital buildings as Peter clung on to the rope ladder for dear life.
The freezing cold wind against his face was real. The sweeping motion of the helicopter carrying him away was real. Peter couldn’t believe this was really happening. As he flew over the main entrance, staff and orderlies poured out of the big glass doors and could only watch as Peter Conway, the Nine Elms Cannibal, flew past, clearing the razor-wire perimeter fence.
And then he was gone, flying off into the night sky.
CHAPTER 66
Kate didn’t know how much time had passed when she heard the sound of a door opening. Jake had fallen asleep on her lap, and she gently moved him onto his sleeping bag. Then she got up and went to the door and listened.
There was a crash. Jake opened his eyes and quickly began to panic.
Kate went to him. ‘Shush, it’s okay, stay calm,’ she said, speaking to herself just as much as to Jake.
She picked up the bottle of water, which was now half empty. She held it in her hand and moved closer to the door.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Jake.
‘I’m going to throw this bottle right in his face. As soon as I do, you duck round him and run for it. Get ready.’
Mindful of the camera, she held the bottle at her side.
‘Mum?’
‘What?’
‘Aim for his bollocks – swing it back and then slam him right up in the nuts,’ said Jake.
‘Good idea,’ she said. She braced herself as they heard bolts shoot home behind the door, and then the huge door began to open. She started to swing the bottle back and forth. When the door slid open she stopped dead and almost lost balance. The water bottle fell from her grip.
Peter Conway stood in the doorway.
His eyes played over her, unblinking. He wore blue trousers, a red woollen pullover and trainers. The clothes looked brand n
ew. The trousers had a crisp crease down the front of each leg, and one of the trainers still had its price tag. Kate saw that Peter’s hair was now long and grey and he wore it tucked behind his ears. He smiled to reveal a row of browning teeth.
‘Hello, Kate,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while.’
Kate shook her head and took a step back. For a moment she wondered if she was dreaming. It wasn’t possible that he could be here in front of them, out of prison.
‘How? How?’
Peter smiled. ‘How? What, Kate? How do I keep looking so young?’ He looked to Joseph, who had come in behind him and stood beside him grinning wildly, as if he’d just met Tom Cruise.
‘How are you here? Where are we?’ she said, pulling Jake close to her.
‘Joseph here hatched the most genius plan. The best plans are always the simple ones. He used a helicopter air ambulance,’ said Peter.
‘The police will know he stole a helicopter,’ said Kate, looking between them.
‘No, they won’t,’ said Joseph, still grinning and starstruck. ‘My family’s company owns and leases the helicopter, and we flew under the radar to the outskirts of London where we landed on farmland. They’ll find it, but not for some time.’
‘Is this my son?’ asked Peter, suddenly taking an interest in Jake.
Kate was unable to speak as he moved closer. His eyes were the same brown colour she remembered. His voice sounded the same.
‘Don’t you have anything you want to say to me after all these years?’
Peter’s presence seemed to fill the tiny room. Kate looked at Joseph. He was smiling and his eyes were bright. He was drinking this in, loving it. Peter came closer, towards Jake. Joseph lunged at Kate, grabbed her by the hair and pulled her out of the storeroom, holding a knife to her neck.
‘You don’t touch him!’ she cried, craning her neck to keep her eyes on Jake.
Peter went to him and put out his hand. ‘You’re a good-looking boy. You have the same eye as your mother,’ he said, indicating the starburst of orange in Jake’s eye. ‘I’m your dad.’
Jake looked bewildered, hesitated, then shook his hand.
‘No! Jake! No!’ cried Kate.
Jake and Peter looked at each other and Jake seemed fascinated. This was what she had always feared, that they would meet and have this father–son connection. She fought against Joseph, but he held her tight, one hand on her hair and the other wrapped over her chest.
‘Let me see your teeth,’ said Peter, crouching down. He pulled Jake’s gums back. Jake stared back in shock as his straight white teeth were exposed. ‘Have you been brushing twice a day?’ Jake nodded. ‘Good lad.’
Peter let Jake go and straightened up. He turned back to Kate, stepping out of the storeroom. Kate hoped he would close the door, shutting Jake safely away, but he didn’t. ‘Kate. You probably know that Joseph here is a fan of my work. He’s been paying homage to me. He’s quite the Peter Conway aficionado. He was most creative, don’t you think? Although, bad luck with victim number four.’
‘I’m sorry that happened,’ said Joseph, his voice hoarse against Kate’s cheek.
‘How have you been communicating?’ asked Kate.
‘Toffees,’ said Peter with a smile. ‘My dear mother hid notes in toffees she brought in during visiting. I, in turn, placed my replies in empty pill casings, which I stashed far up in my mouth between my teeth and gums. When she visits, I’m allowed to give her a peck on the cheek. And when I did, I spat my reply in the empty pill casing out in her ear. Devilishly simple.’
‘How did Enid manage to get the pill casings with your replies out of the hospital?’
‘She wore a fake hearing aid. She’d switch it between her ears, pushing the pill up inside it. They always used to give my poor mother the once-over, checking every orifice with a torch, but they never thought to check that hearing aid.’
Peter smiled and came up to her. He ran his hands over her body, squeezing her breasts and smoothing his hand between her legs.
‘Are you checking me for weapons?’ asked Kate.
‘No. I just wanted to cop a feel.’ He grinned.
Joseph laughed, his mouth close to her head. She wanted to close her eyes and turn away, but she was trying to catch Jake’s eye as he stood inside the open freezer. She flinched as Peter lifted her sweater and found the scar on her stomach.
‘That’s healed up nicely,’ he said, tracing the tip of his finger along the puckered hard line of the scar tissue. He smiled and then smoothed her sweater back down. ‘Right. Time is marching on. Joseph, you know I have places to be, so shall we start?’
‘Yes,’ said Joseph, his mouth still close to Kate’s ear.
Peter turned and went to Jake, grabbed him by the hair and pulled him out of the storeroom kicking and shouting.
‘You don’t touch him,’ cried Kate, panicking. ‘You don’t deserve to touch a hair on his head!’
Peter came up close to Kate.
‘You don’t shout at me,’ he said. He slapped her hard around the face. Jake cried out. It was so hard that she almost passed out with the pain. ‘You’re hardly mother of the fucking year.’
There was a large van parked a few feet from the storeroom. Peter and Joseph pulled them around it, and Kate saw they were in a large warehouse. In the centre was a bedroom, but not a real bedroom. It was constructed like a film set. It had three panels making up the walls, and each panel had a bracket behind it, keeping it upright.
‘Recognise it, Kate?’ asked Peter.
Joseph dragged her towards it, and Peter pulled Jake by the arm.
Kate was stunned into silence. It was a perfect replica of her old bedroom in the flat in Deptford all those years ago. It had the same wallpaper, and there was a fake window with the same view overlooking the street and the row of shops.
‘I re-created it all from the crime scene photos, sourced everything I could online,’ said Joseph. ‘I also got access to the flat, to take that photo outside the window. That’s the actual view.’
Kate looked between them, petrified by the craziness of it all. There was even an identical bedspread to the one she’d had back then, the blue one with yellow cornflowers. The lava lamp was on the bedside table, the orange wax lazily blooming out from the bottom and breaking away in a circle to float to the top. The small TV was there with the lamp on top – the terrible Laura Ashley lamp Glenda had bought her the birthday before.
Kate’s blood ran cold as everything fell into place.
‘You’ve been copycatting Peter’s murders,’ she said. ‘I wondered what you were going to do after victim number four . . . I was victim number five, wasn’t I?’
‘Yes,’ hissed Joseph in her ear.
‘She’s very clever, isn’t she, Joseph?’ said Peter. ‘Yes. You would have been my fifth victim. Or should I say, after tonight, you will be my fifth victim.’
There was something so sure in his voice, something almost religious about his declaration, and it chilled Kate.
‘Why are you doing this, Joseph?’ asked Kate.
‘For years I’ve grown up living in the shadow of a so-called brilliant barrister. My brother Keir is the first-born, the heir, and I am the spare. My whole life I was told I’d never be memorable, that I would never do anything great like my father, but no. Tonight, I’m showing them what I’m capable of. My father thought he’d put Peter away for life, and now the son he never thought would amount to anything has set him free!’
Kate felt Joseph shaking. His body trembled and he gripped her more tightly.
‘And what’s in this for you, Peter?’ she asked. ‘You know they’ll catch you again.’
Peter grinned and shrugged. ‘My life in prison is all black and white. Yes and no. The Inside and the Outside. Wrong and right. It’s regimented. There’s never a grey area. Either way it’s a risk, but I get to step out and experience life in the grey areas. Joseph here is setting me and Mother up with a new life on the Continent. In return, I he
lp him complete his work. He paid homage to my first four victims, and now you are my fifth. Think of it as a cameo. A reboot.’
‘What about Jake?’ said Kate, thinking fast and seeing an opportunity. ‘You don’t need him. He wasn’t even born when all this happened. It has nothing to do with him. Let him go.’
‘We need a witness to tell everyone what happened. To pass on the legend. You, Kate will be dead, and myself and Joseph will be long gone. We can’t just rely on the police to piece it all together.’ Peter laughed, showing his brown teeth.
Kate suddenly felt reality tipping away. It was all so surreal. She heard a strange laugh erupt from her throat.
‘What’s so fucking funny?’ said Peter, his face clouding over. ‘You’re not supposed to be laughing!’
A look passed between the two men, a look of panic.
‘You two,’ said Kate, laughing.
‘You think I’m funny, BITCH?’ shouted Joseph, pulling back and spinning her round to face him. ‘Do you think this is funny?’
He let her go and went to Jake. In one movement he took out his knife and sliced a piece off the top of Jake’s ear. It was only small, but Jake cried out and put his hand to it, blood pouring between his fingers.
‘No! Please!’ cried Kate, running to Jake, regretting that her stupidity was being taken out on him.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re funny,’ said Kate, holding Jake and checking the wound.
‘YOU DON’T LAUGH AT ME!’ cried Joseph. ‘I can buy anything I want. I have so much money, and these days you can buy anything. You can buy passports and safe passage. You can bribe and fight, and you can make your dreams and fantasies come true. I pity people like you. You’re nothing. And you don’t FUCKING LAUGH AT ME!’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Peter, holding up his hands to Joseph. ‘Jesus. We need to get on with this.’
Kate looked at the replica bedroom, the lamp glowing and the bed neatly made. Amongst all of the craziness and the fear, that bed looked so inviting and comfy. For the first time she wished she’d arrived home that night, after working the Crystal Palace murder scene, and she’d left the bag in Peter’s car, and he’d driven home. She could have sunk into that cosy mattress and lived the rest of her life uneventfully.
Nine Elms: The thrilling first book in a brand-new, electrifying crime series (Kate Marshall 1) Page 32
