Deadly Admirer

by Christine Green

  At that moment the phone rang. We were both startled but the colour drained from Vanessa's face as though her blood pressure had just dropped thirty points.

  ‘I'll get it,’ I said as I lifted my arm to pick up the receiver.

  Vanessa's hand cracked down on mine. ‘Leave it,’ she said. ‘Let it ring.’

  ‘But …’ I began to protest.

  ‘It's him,’ she said, ‘he knows we're here.’

  It took a few seconds for her words to register. He knows we're here. We. We!

  There was no doubt about it. He was after me too.

  Chapter Nine

  The phone continued to ring, its harsh tones vibrating between us like an old and bitter recrimination.

  ‘Why didn't you tell me he was ringing you?’ I asked when it finally stopped.

  Vanessa looked away as though embarrassed. ‘He's only rung a few times, just recently. He says the same thing each time.’

  ‘Which is?’

  She paused for so long I felt annoyed with myself as well as her. Her caginess wasn't a trait I was used to in nurses and it made me feel distrusted. But I told myself to keep my mouth shut and eventually she'd tell me what I wanted to know.

  ‘He says,’ she began eventually, ‘he says, “I love you, Vanessa. We'll be together soon … don't trust anyone. I'm always watching you.” Then he rings off.’

  ‘That's all?’ I said, selfishly feeling thankful I hadn't been mentioned.

  ‘That's enough, isn't it?’

  ‘And he always gives you the same message?’

  She nodded. ‘There's no emotion in his voice. It's as if he's reading it.’

  ‘What about his accent?’ I asked.

  ‘I'm not sure, Kate,’ she said despondently. ‘He doesn't seem to have an accent. He sounds like a machine.’

  I wished he was a machine – I could short his terminals!

  Vanessa broke the uncomfortable silence that followed with an offer of tea. I followed her downstairs and into her white and blue kitchen which was less cosy than an operating theatre and without the warm temperature.

  ‘He didn't do much in here,’ she observed, ‘just opened the drawers. I try to keep everything tidy.’

  The tea was made properly with leaves and a warmed pot and a tray with bone china jug and sugar bowl and cups to match. Hopefully I looked round for biscuits: there were none.

  ‘We'll have tea downstairs, shall we,’ said Vanessa. It wasn't a question.

  The living-room was quite tidy considering books, all hardbacks, had been strewn over the floor. The furniture and furnishings showed Vanessa liked things to match. The autumnal leaf design in delicate gold and russet of the curtains was matched with the three-piece. A basket of dried flowers sat in an empty grate and on the low mahogany coffee table a bowl of oranges and tangerines glowed with a waxy tinge. Only the slight pink tones of the ruched net curtains jarred the room's colours; an incongruity like the huge earrings she wore the night I first met her.

  ‘When we've had the tea I'll help you clear up,’ I suggested.

  ‘Thanks, Kate,’ she replied, smiling with relief, ‘I could do with a hand and I don't really want to be alone. Now that he's got my diary he can always be one step ahead of me. He's killed once, next time it might be my turn.’

  There was no answer to that, so I turned my attention to my tea, wondering why it smelt old and musty like worn socks. It tasted even worse.

  ‘It's Chinese,’ said Vanessa, obviously misinterpreting my expression. ‘It's so lovely and fragrant, isn't it?’

  ‘It certainly is,’ I said. ‘Very …’ I couldn't quite think of a word that described it. I swallowed the contents of the small cup quickly, grateful that she hadn't served it in a mug.

  ‘Are you sure,’ I said, ‘that May Brigstock was killed by … him? As a murder it looked more like the work of Exit. I mean the police must have some reason for believing it to be the nephew.’

  ‘It was him, Kate. It was him. No one believes me. Even you. I suppose you think I've done over my own house. You think I'm nuts, don't you? Did I imagine that black van? Did I? Did I?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘Don't upset yourself, Vanessa. I saw it too. And what I also see is that, because you are so sure, you must have a very good idea who this man is.’

  She sighed then and said quietly, ‘Will you stay for a while, Kate?’

  I assured her that I would and that we could spend the time tidying the house, and I hoped as we did so Vanessa would tell me more about herself than she had done so far.

  We started in the bedroom, which took longer than necessary because we began chatting about our training and like nurses everywhere that meant the reminiscences went on and on.

  ‘How about a drink?’ suggested Vanessa. ‘I've got plenty of gin and tonic.’

  Two gins later I was beginning to wonder why I'd never liked the stuff before.

  Eventually we finished tidying the lounge and we still had a half bottle of gin to go.

  That is, until the phone rang again. I'd just come back in from washing up the cups when it rang.

  ‘You answer it,’ Vanessa said. She stood in the middle of the room staring at the telephone that rested on a small shelf by an armchair.

  ‘You're sure?’ I asked.

  ‘Then maybe you'll believe me.’

  I lifted the receiver and said nothing.

  ‘Vanessa, I love you,’ the voice began. A dull monotone, accentless. Disguised, I thought.

  I still said nothing.

  Then the voice changed to a whisper. ‘If that's that interfering bitch from Humberstones you'd better get a slab ready for yourself. Don't think I'm kidding. I always get what I want. Leave Vanessa alone – she's mine.’

  Then for a moment there was only the dull twirring of an empty line before I put down the receiver. I shivered but I hoped Vanessa didn't notice. I had to try and seem in control.

  ‘I think you and I should stick together. Pack a bag and come and stay with me until this is all sorted out.’

  She didn't answer at first, then she said, ‘I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here. I'm not moving.’

  ‘We could have protection,’ I said. ‘Mr Humberstone could come to stay with us.’

  She laughed. ‘Honestly, Kate, I don't care if we have a military armed guard. I'm staying put. That's what he wants, don't you see? He could be watching the house now. Lying in wait. He could have a gun.’

  ‘Why should he have a gun?’ I asked.

  ‘Why not?’

  Why not indeed?

  Upstairs again Vanessa sat on the duvet-covered bed propped up by matching peach-coloured pillows. I sat on the edge of the bed with a note-pad and pencil poised, feeling like a journalist just granted an interview with a reluctant actress.

  ‘I'd like a list of men that you come in contact with,’ I said, ‘every male person. Milkman, shopkeeper, old boyfriend, even the postman.’

  ‘That's ridiculous, Kate,’ she said with a wry smile.

  ‘No, it isn't. If he's out there, he knows you from somewhere, perhaps from the past, perhaps more recently.’

  ‘What do you mean – if?’

  I mumbled something about a slip of the tongue and then urged her to think hard.

  Her hairdresser was male, not homosexual, her dentist was male, she knew a male nurse, her insurance man was male although she called him her financial adviser, her garage mechanic was male. The list of male contacts grew longer while my heart sank. I began to wonder if women in Longborough worked at all. By the time she got to the butcher and the postman, I too began to think this was a ridiculous list.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Great list, Vanessa. That should give me plenty to start on.’

  Would I ever finish, though?

  ‘How about the ex-boyfriends?’ I asked.

  Her blue eyes stared at me and then she smiled. ‘How far back?’

  I knew then I was in for a long list. ‘Five years?’
/>   She nodded and closed her eyes. ‘There's Sean of course, but it's not him and Paul … and …’

  ‘Tell me about Paul.’

  ‘He raped me,’ she said flatly.

  ‘He denies that. He said you were willing and that he still loves you.’

  Propping herself on one arm Vanessa shot me a glance that would have stopped Genghis Khan in his tracks. ‘You're very gullible, Kate, aren't you?’

  I felt myself becoming hot. I knew that believing people too easily was one of my faults. But I consoled myself with the idea that there were people around who could even fool lie detectors. Sometimes intuition was all there was, and my intuition told me Paul Oakby, randy and aggressive though he was, had been telling me the truth.

  ‘Let's not talk about Paul,’ I said. ‘The man following you you describe as of average height and build – Paul Oakby is well over six feet and heavily built. It's not likely to be him, is it?’

  ‘No, it isn't,’ said Vanessa miserably.

  The gin and the phone-call had suddenly depressed us both.

  ‘Let's get on with the list,’ I said quietly and guiltily. The nurse in me felt I should be prepared to listen and counsel, but the rest of me wanted to be out and looking for him. The phone-call had finally convinced me he did exist and that Vanessa definitely wasn't a psychiatric case. Even so, I wasn't so gullible that I didn't know my client was keeping secrets from me, just as surely as a squirrel stores nuts.

  Eventually I had a list of exes – Sean, Paul, someone called Ray Potten who she saw for about three months, and an Andrew Norten who she had seen about four times.

  ‘That's all,’ she said. ‘In the last five years.’

  ‘I'll have something to work on now. Anyone else you can think of before that?’

  ‘Not really,’ answered Vanessa uneasily. ‘There's only my exhusband …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My ex-husband. He's happily married again now. We brought out the worst in each other.’

  ‘Why didn't you tell me you'd been married?’ I asked, trying to keep the irritation from my voice.

  ‘It was a long time ago. I was divorced by the time I was twentythree. Anyway he was a placid type, a bit jealous but not the type to follow me or make threats or … kill anyone.’

  ‘Is he the type to hold a grudge?’

  She shook her head. ‘I've told you. He's remarried and very happy.’

  ‘I'd like to talk to him though,’ I said.

  ‘You'll be wasting your time,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘Perhaps I'd be wasting my time anyway, Vanessa.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘I mean that the only name you haven't given me is the right one, because I'm damn sure you know who this man is. What I can't understand is why you're protecting him.’

  ‘I'm not,’ she blurted. ‘It's … it's … so difficult. I can't talk about it.’

  ‘You're going to have to try,’ I said gently.

  She stared at me for a moment, her eyes glistening, then she turned her head and said, ‘I do suspect someone but … he's someone from way back and—’

  She broke off with a choked sob. After a moment she turned back and said huskily, ‘I've been diagnosed as paranoid, you know. One psychiatrist termed me a manic-depressive paranoid. I've been taking tranquillisers for years. I was only allowed to do my district nurse training because someone at the top was sympathetic to people with mental disorders. You see, I've been followed by the same man for years and now he plans to kill me. He said he would, and although no one believes it, one day they will.’

  ‘When you're dead, you mean?’

  ‘Precisely, Kate.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘I can't tell you all the details, it's just too painful and part of me says I could just be imagining things, but then I didn't imagine May Brigstock, did I?’

  ‘You don't have to give me details if you don't want to, Vanessa, but give me his name and an address and I'll do the rest.’

  ‘Oh, Kate, will you?’

  ‘That's what you employed me for. The sooner you tell me who you suspect the better.’

  ‘I don't know where he lives exactly but my sister will know.’ ‘Your sister in Derbyshire?’

  ‘Yes. I haven't seen her for years and she doesn't want anything to do with me and she might not see you unless …’

  ‘Unless I lie?’

  ‘Well, yes. You could pretend you were a social worker or something.’

  I smiled. ‘I'm beginning to think even social work would be easier.’

  Vanessa wrote down her sister's name and address and then she paused and spoke very slowly as though even his name had the power to affect her.

  ‘His name is Colin – Colin Tiffield. There, I've said it,’ she said, giving me a sad half smile. ‘He's the most evil man in the world.’ ‘I'll find him,’ I said. ‘And I'll stop him.’

  But my confidence was all show because Vanessa's words had made me shudder. And I didn't like leaving her alone but if I was to find him, then I had to.

  ‘What about your job?’ I asked as I picked up my shoulder bag.

  ‘I'm off sick until he's found. I don't care about anything else any more. If he comes I'll kill him.’

  ‘How?’

  She lifted the pillow beside her to reveal a homemade arsenal: a carving knife, a rolling pin, a pepper pot, and some sort of spray.

  ‘Do be careful,’ I urged. ‘He could use those things on you. If you hear anything unusual just ring the police. If you like I'll come back tonight. I'll be going to Derbyshire in the morning.’

  ‘No … don't do that. You could ring me, though.’

  I agreed I'd ring about ten thirty.

  She stood up as I was about to leave. ‘See yourself out, Kate,’ she said. ‘I'm going to barricade myself in.’

  ‘You will eat, won't you? And get that window fixed.’

  She nodded. ‘I've got plenty of food in, I won't starve. You will remember I'm relying on you, won't you? I'm not leaving here until he's found or … until he comes to get me.’

  ‘Don't say that,’ I said, as a shiver like iced water trickled slowly down my spine. She was like the victim of a witch-doctor's curse and I knew that unless I found him quickly, by the time HE found her she wouldn't be in any shape to put up much of a fight.

  Chapter Ten

  As I left I had the feeling I was being followed. I felt ashamed I hadn't had more sympathy for Vanessa. It unnerved me. It wouldn't have been so bad if I'd been sure. But I wasn't.

  It started when I saw the black van just after leaving Percival Road. The black van stayed behind me until I got to the High Street. But not directly behind me, two cars back so that I couldn't see the driver, or the number plate. Even if I had seen the number would it have made any difference? If I was being followed it seemed that our man had a whole range of vehicles to choose from. Or was there more than one man? Someone paid to follow, some one like a … a contract killer.

  I didn't tell Hubert. But he guessed something was wrong when he found that I'd run out of chocolate biscuits.

  ‘What's the matter with you? No cream cakes, no chocolate biscuits? Have you gone on a diet at last?’

  ‘No, Hubert. The investigation is beginning to take off. Food buying is taking a dive.’

  ‘What investigation?’ asked Hubert.

  ‘I don't think that's very funny,’ I said. ‘I've got a definite lead now.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said Hubert, not sounding convinced.

  To prove it I rang the Derbyshire number Vanessa had given me. There was no reply. But optimistically I said, ‘I'll be away for the day tomorrow, Hubert. I'm off to Derbyshire; well, I will be if I can find someone at home.’

  ‘I could come with you,’ said Hubert, hope shining in his eyes as bright as religious fervour.

  ‘Another time,’ I said. ‘It's only a tentative sort of visit to someone who might know where Vanessa's
follower is living.’

  Hubert shrugged. ‘You're sure you've got the right man?’

  ‘Well, I'm not absolutely sure,’ I said, ‘but Vanessa seems sure.’

  ‘I thought she was convinced it was Paul Oakby,’ said Hubert with some satisfaction.

  ‘That's a different issue, Hubert, entirely different.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Hubert positioned himself on the office chair opposite mine and stared for a few moments over my shoulder.

  ‘You should have more than one man up your sleeve, Kate. Perhaps she's got it wrong; after all she's so good-looking it does widen the field quite a bit.’

  ‘I'll find out tomorrow, Hubert, and I'll let you know. But if you want I can show you my list of men she does know.’

  ‘Does know in the biblical sense?’ asked Hubert with his usual hint of shyness when it came to sexual matters.

  ‘Do you mean were they f … f …?’

  ‘There's no need for that, Kate.’

  ‘I was only going to say friendly.’

  ‘Huh!’ said Hubert, unconvinced.

  ‘These are the men she knows,’ I said, showing him the list.

  Hubert gave a low whistle. ‘I know one or two of these blokes – the postman and Jason the hairdresser, and Rajih Shah, the dentist. They all seem normal to me. What about her boyfriends?’

  ‘Sean, her latest ex, has moved to Cornwall. Paul Oakby I've seen and I suppose that just leaves the two casuals and her exhusband who lives in London. I doubt he makes regular sorties up here anyway.’

  Hubert frowned. ‘I didn't know she was married,’ he said pointedly, as though I were deliberately keeping their nuptials a secret.

  ‘Neither did I, Hubert, neither did I.’

  ‘What's she up to now?’ asked Hubert.

  ‘She's not up to anything as far as I know. She's simply holed up at home, behind barricaded doors and with an arsenal of weapons under her pillow. She expects me to sort of pluck this man from the air …’ I tailed off dispiritedly.

  ‘Well now,’ said Hubert, ‘I've just had some news that might cheer you up.’

  I bit back a retort about why didn't you tell me before and said, ‘Yes, Hubert?’