Images of the dark man flashed into her head like snapshots. The steely glint of his eyes in the light from the streetlamps, the way he attracted shadows, she’d been mesmerised. The way he’d moved, the way he’d shifted across the room, there was something magnetic about him. She wanted to see him again, though she wasn't quite sure why.
Pushing the thoughts down, she glanced up when she heard the door click open. That sad-looking policeman with the funny hat was back. What was his name again? Nicolas, that was it! She wondered what was wrong with him. He didn’t look well, like he had a bad cold and hadn’t slept.
‘Couldn’t find him,’ the Nicolas muttered as she sat down opposite.
Abbey frowned.
‘But he’s around here somewhere, I'm sure,’ he added.
‘Couldn’t find who?’
‘Keanu Reeves. I thought you wanted me to find him for you?’
Abbey smiled. ‘Shut up.’
Nicolas smiled back.
‘You think I’m stupid, don’t you?’ she said suddenly. ‘Just another stupid kid.’ Nicolas held her eyes, his silly hat perched on his head. ‘I’m not, you know. I know how to take care of myself.’
Still, Nicolas remained quiet.
‘The first time they left me alone, I was seven,’ she revealed. ‘They filled the freezer with pizzas and took off. Said they’d be back in a couple of weeks. I walked to school and back every day while they were gone. I cooked my own food. Still don’t know where they went, but they came back with tans. And the second they walked in the door I was their precious little darling. After they did it a handful of times I knew I wasn’t precious to them, I was no more valuable to them than some fancy jewellery or expensive watch.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘One day it just kind of hit me. I realised I was on my own. I knew this wasn’t normal, only because other kids at school talked about their lives and their mums and dads and their homes, and I knew I was the freak, not them.’
As the room descended into quiet once again, she watched Nicolas’s tired face carefully.
‘It’s okay. You don’t need to say anything. I know what people think of me.’
Nicolas leaned forward and took her hands in his. She noticed the sadness in his eyes again. ‘I don’t think you’re stupid, Abbey. That’s the truth. I think you’re quite remarkable.’
‘I’m a freak.’
‘No, you’re not,’ said Nicolas vehemently. Your parents were the freaks for not wanting to watch you grow up. Things will only get better for you now, I promise.’
She listened to the detective’s words. Just listened. She didn’t know if he meant what he was saying, but she couldn’t help liking him and his big sad eyes.
‘Nicolas,’ she uttered, ‘are you my friend?’
The sad detective nodded. ‘Of course I am.’
Abigail glanced back at her shoes. ‘But you’ll leave me too. Everybody does.’
27
The mist had lifted and the bruised clouds had blown over by the time York and Newport reached Janine Bluestock’s flat in Clapham. The sun was on the rise, colours flowing across the sky in long purple brushstrokes. With no wind, the day was looking to be another hot one.
The law student’s flat sat in a courtyard just off the Common, centred in a modern block. Judging by most of Clapham the little estate was a diamond in the rough, a genuine find. Standing in the dusky morning smog between a Mercedes and a Lexus, York looked the building up and down - too high end for a student. Daddy’s dollar perhaps?
‘So what did he say?’ Newport asked, fracturing the morning still.
‘What did who say?’
‘You know who I’m talking about.’
‘Do I?’
‘Fine, you don’t want to tell me, I can live with that. Next time you collapse, your arse stays on the floor.’
He looked sideways at his partner. ‘I know you’re wondering how I know about Kellie,’ he threw in. It was the one thing he could think to say to get her off the topic.
‘You don’t know about Kellie.’
They found the narrow staircase and began the ascent.
‘Maybe I should,’ he said.
‘And maybe I should know why you collapsed!’
Eyebrows raised, York turned to look at his partner. ‘Kilroy thinks I might be diabetic.’
‘Bollocks, Nick. You’re doing it again, telling me what you think I want to hear. It’s not going to cut it anymore.’
‘I’m allowed some secrets, Holly.’
‘Not from me you’re not!’
‘Listen, you asked me to trust you, I have pushed you no further. Why can’t you extend me the same courtesy?’
Janine Bluestock’s door was a subtle shade of blue. It felt kind of appropriate.
Bringing up the rear, Newport had fallen quiet. ‘You’re right,’ she muttered. ‘I’m not being fair. The Kellie situation has got the better of me.’
York pounded on the blue door. ‘Look, Holly, I don’t know who Kellie is, and I don’t need to know. It’s your business. But if you want to talk about it, you know where I am. I’d like to think the same comes back to me.’
Newport looked almost ashamed. ‘It does. Of course it does. But seriously, how do you know about her?’
York winked at her.
About to knock again, the door suddenly swung inwards. A young guy standing in pyjama bottoms greeted them with sleep in his eyes.
‘Yeah?’
The detectives flashed their ID and York introduced them. ‘We’re here in connection to an incident, sir. Can we come in for a minute?’
Stepping aside, the guy opened the door all the way. He rubbed his eyes as they passed.
‘Out last night, sir?’ asked Newport.
‘Yeah, yeah I was. And it’s Andrew.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘We’re sorry to bother you so early, we didn’t expect anyone to be here. This is Janine Bluestock’s flat, yes?’
Blinking himself more awake, Andrew glanced up sharply. ‘What’s happened? Oh my god, is Jan okay?’
‘There has been an incident, Andrew. I’m sorry to have to tell you, Janine was found dead this morning.’
‘Oh god no,’ shuddered Andrew. He began sobbing in big wet gasps, grabbing for nothing. He stood, sat back down. Stood.
‘I know this is not easy, Andrew, but were you Janine’s boyfriend, flatmate, relative?’
Fighting for breath, the kid sat back down. ‘Oh my god, we were going to move in together, get engaged…’
‘Andrew?’
He looked confused. ‘She was my girlfriend. Well, last night...’
Moving from the window, York joined the conversation. ‘Last night?’
‘Yeah, we were at Black Crystal, you know, that club on the high street. We had a row…of sorts. Jan said she didn’t want to be with me anymore, said I was getting too full-on, you know. Wanted to concentrate on her career or something. It was only temporary, she didn’t mean it. Anyway, she disappeared back into the crowd. That was the last I saw of her. Oh, Jesus, what happened to her?’
He stood again.
‘Sit down, Andrew,’ Newport urged. ‘If you rowed, why are you here? Do you live here with her?’
‘Oh no, I’m in halls. Jan’s parents own this flat, they let her live here rent-free. She gave me her keys last night, wanted me to clear my stuff out. But I was drunk. I came in and crashed.’
The detectives shared one of their glances. York disappeared into the kitchenette. Newport began to stand. ‘Andrew,’ she said slowly, deliberately, ‘have you been anywhere near the fridge since you came here?’
‘The fridge? No, I told you, I went straight to bed.’ Andrew began to stand too. ‘What is this?’
From the kitchenette York suddenly yelled, ‘Holly, get him out of here, right now, go!’
Without hesitation, she grabbed the student by the arm and yanked him across the room. ‘Time to go, Andrew!’
‘Hey wait, you have no right –’
<
br /> ‘Listen, Andrew, if you want to see something that will scar you for life, be my guest, stick around.’
*
‘Taken a full bite this time, huh?’ said Will Graham excitedly. ‘Whoa, he’s really beginning to enjoy himself, isn’t he?’
Graham was kneeling at the fridge examining the human heart sitting on a dinner plate, centre shelf. It was bathed in a small pool of coagulated blood. Behind him, York chewed a plastic straw he’d picked up off the counter. Other uniforms were rifling through the small apartment, that familiar buzz and static filtering from one room to the next.
‘Where’s Holly this fine morning, Nick?’
York shifted his stance. ‘Holly’s married, Will. Remember that gold thing on her finger?’
‘Oh…yeah, I didn’t mean…erm…’
‘Besides which, she almost broke your wrist earlier. What’s wrong with you, you got a death wish?’
‘Maybe I’m into the whole fem-dom thing, you know,’ Graham smirked. ‘Whips and chains and all that.’
York plucked the half-chewed straw from between his teeth and threw it at Graham. ‘Concentrate, yeah?’
‘Yeah…I mean I am concentrating…I’m just, you know…what’s going on with you anyway, Nick, you look awful. Wheeler told me you collapsed earlier, is that true?’
‘True enough.’
‘Wow, someone’s got some sand in his vagina this morning! Need some sleep? Hey, I’ve got a joke about that. This old woman, right, she walks into this Chemist –’
‘Will! Con-cen-trate.’
‘Fine.’ Graham went back to work as Newport pushed her way into the flat.
‘How's the boyfriend?’ York asked.
‘Pretty shaken up,’ she replied, the anger back in her eyes. ‘He doesn’t have anything to do with it. If he does he should be on stage.’
He noticed Newport’s gaze shift attention to Graham. She shuddered slightly.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ she muttered. ‘Graham just gives me the creeps.’
York smirked. 'I think your little stunt back at the house has made things worse. It turned him on.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘Anyway, forget that. Notice anything about the front door?’
‘Yeah, no forced lock again.’
‘So?’
‘So Janine Bluestock didn’t have her keys, she gave them to her boyfriend. He was going to clear his stuff out and leave the keys outside. Janine always hid them in the light fixture over the door.
'But Andrew never left.'
‘Exactly, so how'd the killer get them? How did he manage to get Janine Bluestock's heart in the fridge without waking the boyfriend?’
‘We don’t know that it’s Janine’s heart.’
‘Yes we do.’
‘So our boy’s good at picking locks, so what?’ said Newport.
York shook his head. ‘I think it's simpler than that. Anyone can pick a lock with enough know-how. But this guy gets off on watching. He knew where to find those keys.’
‘The keys were never outside. He has to be picking locks, guv, there’s no other explanation. He let himself into the Fullers' apartment and he let himself in here. He came and went when he thought no one was home, but both times he wasn’t alone.’
‘Both times?’
Newport nodded. ‘He knew Abigail Fuller was watching him, guv, he says so in the recording.’
York paused for a long moment, one solid thought slapping him across the face. ‘Jesus, Holly, how did we miss this?’
She looked back at him perplexedly. ‘Miss what?'
Pulling his partner to one side, he whispered, ‘Abbey told me her parents didn’t allow her to leave the apartment when they were away. But she did. She went to the shop for groceries. Our man didn’t force entry, Holly, he was already inside, both times.’
‘No, that doesn’t make sense…’
‘Think about it! Abbey goes out to the shops, doesn’t lock the door. Remember the caretaker telling us that no one locked their doors during the day. Our man slips in while Abbey is at the shops. He hides. And he watches her. When she goes to bed, he plants the hearts and leaves. It wasn’t about Abbey, it never was. He knew she was there, because he was there, hours before!’
Newport leaned against the wall. ‘Jesus.’
‘And he’s been here before tonight too. The keys weren’t there last night because Andrew had them inside. But he’s been watching. He knew where to find those keys before now. He waited. Waited until Janine went out. Yesterday, the day before, who knows? Came along here, took the keys and made copies, and then returned them before Janine came home. He was in here last night when Andrew got back. He watched him come in, get into bed, watched him fall asleep. Then he put what remained of Janine in the fridge and left.’
Newport filled her lungs and exhaled loudly.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I want you to go over to Black Crystal, check out the CCTV. Then I want you to go home and get your head straight, okay?’
‘I’m fine, guv.’
‘No, you’re not. Go home, get some sleep, speak to Kellie, whatever you need to do. I’ll see you back at the station in a few hours.’
‘Guv, really –’
‘It’s not a request, Holly. If you want to keep on working with me on this, you’ll do as I ask.’
He spied Graham looking over his shoulder, trying to eavesdrop.
‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘But I’m not the only one who needs sleep, you know.’
He nodded. ‘Right now, you are. My battery backup just kicked in.’
28
Three streets away, Newport rolled the car up next to a phone box and shut off the engine. Beyond the windscreen the morning had become pallid, a none-event. One or two people were out and about now, heading towards Clapham South tube, milling around the coffee shops and avoiding eye contact with one another.
She reclined the seat and tried to relax, and suddenly the tears were spilling from her eyes, snail-tracking down her face. The crying grew harder and harder until her stomach was wracked with spasms. She pounded the steering wheel, ground her teeth, jarred herself back and forth, letting it all go. Kellie, the bodies, Abigail, Kellie, York, the bodies.
Kellie.
Kellie.
Kellie.
What was happening to her? All these other people going about their day, she envied the smug bastards. Why should they have it so easy? Her life had never been such a shambles. She’d always maintained the structure, the spine. So long as the backbone was in place, everything else just kind of worked out. Now her entire existence was a train wreck.
Slowly the tears dried. She settled back into the seat and took large heady breaths. She had to regain control.
She climbed from the car and went inside the phone box, pocketing her glasses. It only took two rings for Kellie to answer, and immediately she could tell something was wrong. Can’t talk over the phone, she said. Don’t know who’s listening. She sounded jittery, anxious.
Newport asked if she was okay. She said she was fine. But they should meet. Thirty minutes at St Paul’s Cathedral, the little café with the Andy Warhol replicas.
*
This time Newport arrived first and ordered two espressos before choosing a table near the back. She looked a mess but what could she do? Any time with Kellie was good time.
Minutes later, Kellie walked in and took a seat opposite. She too looked a little sleep deprived. Her pale green blouse was wrinkled and her pixiesque face bore no makeup.
‘I had to see you,’ Kellie said, slightly frantically. She picked up the espresso and knocked it back.
‘What’s going on, Kellie? You worried me on the phone.’
Kellie kept glancing over her shoulder, around the café. ‘I don’t know if they’re on to me, Holly.’
‘Who? What're you talking about?’
‘Keep your voice down, please.’ There was desperation in her tone, her eyes, a
n almost naked trepidation.
‘You want to tell me what’s going on?’
Kellie took one more look around, waved to the Barista for another espresso. ‘Remember yesterday, I told you I was working on something. Something big. Well I think it’s caught up to me. I’m in trouble.’
‘What have you done, Kellie?’
‘Don’t be so judgemental okay, I’m asking for some help.’
Newport shrugged. ‘The last time I saw you, you were moving on. You’d met someone else. Now you’re in trouble you need me again?’
‘Fine,’ Kellie snapped. She got to her feet, looked wired. ‘You don’t want to help me, I get it. I’ll just go. You can get back to your nutcase.’
‘Sit down, Kellie,’ Newport urged resignedly.
Kellie did. Instantly.
‘Start from the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.’
Running a finger around the lip of her espresso glass, Kellie said, ‘I was following a lead for a story, nothing more. I didn’t think it would actually go anywhere.’
‘What story? Has that fucking paper threatened you with your job again?’
The Barista arrived with two more espressos. Newport hadn’t finished the first.
‘No, no, nothing like that. A week or so ago, I went to meet this bloke in Brighton. A contact. I’ve used him before, had one or two stories out of him. He’s generally been pretty reliable. Anyway, he tells me about this European child trafficking ring operating out of London. Mostly closed-market, need-to-know stuff. Apparently it’s a group of Eastern European labourers. Disguised as such at least, that’s their cover; plumbers, sparkies, the like.’
Newport put down her coffee. ‘Kellie, there are scoops and there are scoops. And then there’s stupidity.’
‘But just imagine, Holly. Imagine if I break this story and snag the exclusive. Every tabloid this side of the Thames would want me. No more shitty articles for Mr Fat Prick editor.’
‘So what’s happened since?’
‘I chased it, didn’t I!’ Kellie’s head snapped back and forth. ‘I was put in touch with another contact, bloke named Reggie Hayes. He gave me an address in Camden where these guys were supposedly operating out of. So I staked it out. I watched it for days. People were coming and going, mostly men. Any women going in looked like whores, you know, fishnets up to their tits. But the men definitely looked Eastern European, Poles or Romanians or something. Their dress sense was fucking hideous.’
Hunting Abigail: Fight or Flight? For Abigail, it's both! Page 15
