It was a long time before he woke. He turned to face her, a worried expression on his face. She smiled at him and his worry lines receded. He reached for her, cradling her in his arms. She relaxed, enjoying the closeness and the warmth, wondering if he would want to make love again. She wanted to give him a sign, but could not, so she just snuggled up to him and enjoyed his warmth and maleness.
‘You don’t do this very often, do you?’ He nibbled her ear.
‘I’ve only ever been with one man before,’ she said, blushing at her lack of experience, and knowing that she was an exception in this modern age. Her mind flashed to Nicole with her many affairs, but look where it had got her.
‘I’m glad,’ he said. ‘I haven’t met many women lately who could say that.’
He pulled her even closer. ‘Again?’ He stroked her back with his hands.
The shivers started, deliciously engulfing her body, so, not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
This time it was slower and more intimate than the mad passionate abandon both had experienced previously, and far more satisfying.
Julie lay back on her pillow. She was happier than she had been for a long time. The bed heaved and she glanced over at him. ‘Where are you going?’ She could not see his face as he bent to retrieve his clothes from the floor.
He leaned over and stroked her face. ‘Sorry, love. I’ve got to go.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘There’s a case conference this morning and I have to be there.’
A vague, troubled feeling seeped through her. He did not have to tell her the case conference was about Nicole. She knew.
‘Got to go,’ he said, kissed her again and left.
Julie lay for a time, her head cushioned by the pillow and her limbs covered by the duvet. She realized he had not said anything about seeing her again and her former feeling of satisfaction dribbled away. She also realized that neither of them had mentioned the word love.
Suddenly she felt dirty and rose from her bed to jump into the shower and wash away the feeling that she had been a one night stand.
CHAPTER FIFTY
He thought he was immune to anger. It was unworthy of him and clouded his judgement. But then he was rarely, if ever angry.
He was angry now. The anger had fizzed and bubbled in him ever since he had heard about the woman’s death. She had been the chosen one and someone had stolen her from him.
Now he had chosen another to take her place, but he had to justify to God that she was a worthy successor, or God might make him pay for losing the woman.
This one however, was more sensitive than the woman. She had sensed his presence almost from the beginning. It was not difficult to discern she was uneasy by the way she looked round her office, as if she was expecting to see someone. Of course she never thought about the air conditioning duct. And then, on the bus, it was obvious by the nervousness in her every move, and the way she looked at the other passengers. She had not seen him though, sitting four seats behind her, because he was invisible.
He would have to be careful with this one. It would not do for her to identify him before he completed his mission. Maybe that was a good thing because it meant he would be able to speed up the process.
Watching her had been easy until she arrived home and went upstairs to her first floor flat. He knew she lived upstairs because he had crouched at the outside door and listened to her feet on the stairs. His anger grew, for how could he continue to watch her here. There were no balconies, bushes or trees to assist him in his job, only the open street, a glass bus shelter, or the lobby and stairs, where he could easily be seen. It was not in his interests to be seen yet.
He slipped into the darkness of a doorway in the building across the street and waited until he saw her light come on and her shadow cross the window. When her light went off he got ready to follow her again, but she appeared at the door in a jogging suit and started to run. He stayed where he was because he knew she had to return.
He was there when the policeman arrived.
The policeman sat in his car in the dark, waiting and watching.
It made his anger boil up zapping his brain with electric shocks until it became unbearable. He clasped his hands to his head forcing the interference to bend to his will. When he was calmer he concentrated on willing the policeman to leave, but his magic powers had deserted him and the policeman stayed.
The door opened at his back.
‘Get the fuck off my doorstep.’ The man’s voice was rough and brooked no argument. The dog with him growled.
He scuttled along the street until he came to a shop doorway that was not protected by a steel shutter. He slipped into the dark recess and watched the man drag his dog along the street, muttering as he went, ‘Bloody tramps.’
He relaxed on the cold wall. This was a better hiding place. It was dark, clammy and smelled of urine as well as the indefinable smell of decay and rot. He could still see the window of her flat and her street door from where he stood. But the policeman’s car was now empty.
Cold seeped into his bones. He shivered. Maybe he should have run behind her, plotted her route. It would be useful to know where she ran to, where she could be intercepted. But that would have left him vulnerable to discovery. That was not part of his plan.
At last she came back. She was running easily as if she had only just started out. He saw her enter the stairwell, saw her hesitate, heard her query the dark. She was cautious. He watched the light appear in her window, like a signal from God. But now there were two shadows.
When the light eventually went out and the policeman still had not left he knew he had to do something. So he moved his cramped, cold limbs and crept across the road and up her stairs where he pressed his ear to her door. He heard nothing, but he could imagine their animal sounds and writhing bodies. She was no better than the woman who preyed on men. She deserved her fate.
It was time to send her a present.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Claire’s hands cradled the cup of tea which had long since grown cold. It was very early in the morning – she had been up all night – and the kitchen was quiet except for the occasional hum of the fridge-freezer motor.
The supper dishes lay piled on the draining board. She had not had the energy to load them into the dishwasher last night and no longer cared. Life had suddenly become too complicated and what had happened was, in many ways, beyond her comprehension.
She had gone over and over things until her mind was reeling. But despite trying to rationalize the situation and find excuses, the one factor that remained unchanged was her conviction that Ken had murdered Nicole.
She had been surprised the police had not come yesterday to question him, although if they had that would have been a disaster, but she supposed they were gathering their evidence. That meant they might come today or tomorrow, and when they did, what was she going to tell them?
It was all bloody Nicole’s fault of course. If she had not been such a bitch, grabbing other people’s husbands because she was not satisfied with her own, this would never have happened. Even in death she would not let go. But he belonged to Claire. She was Ken’s wife and the mother of his children.
With a start, she realized she had not given the kids any thought since last night. Maybe she should check on them. The tea slopped over the sides of the cup as she pushed it away, while the effort of standing sent the blood rushing to her head. She had to grab the edge of the table to stop from falling. She teetered and swayed as the giddiness hit her, and held on to the table with desperate fingers until the room stopped revolving. Tiredness swamped her. Her teeth chattered, her legs and arms quivered, even her bones ached. She pushed herself away from the table, forcing her legs to support her weight. However, it took all her energy to place one foot in front of the other, and she needed her hands to grip the banister to pull herself up the stairs.
The furthest away bedroom was Catriona’s, but Claire always checked on her first because she was the baby of the
family. Catriona was fast asleep, looking more angelic than she did when she was awake. Claire tiptoed over to the bed and pulled the quilt over her shoulders and under her chin. Catriona doted on her father and any doubts Claire had about supporting Ken vanished at that point. She would lie for him if necessary, if only for the sake of the children.
After checking on Jake and Charlie, Claire opened her own bedroom door. Ken was snoring softly, smiling in his sleep and looking more than ever like a little boy. Claire lay down on the bed beside him, fully clothed, and slung her arm round the hump in the duvet where his middle should be. She slept very quickly, at peace with herself now her decision to support him was made.
***
Several miles away on a local authority housing estate, Babs also sat in her kitchen, restless and sleepless and worried about Harry. The heating was off because they could not afford to keep it on all the time and she had pulled her heavy winter coat on over her dressing gown.
She knew she should not worry and that Harry could never have had anything to do with Mrs Ralston’s murder, but Harry was so scared and worried. He was convinced that because of the trouble with his boss, her firing him and all, he would be the prime suspect.
‘Don’t you see, Babs,’ he had said. ‘They’ll say I’ve got a motive.’
She had never seen Harry crying until last night. He had always said men should be strong and men should not cry, no matter what. But Harry was not strong, she knew that. He needed her and he needed his Rosie. Without them he always said life would not be worth living.
‘They can’t do anything to you without proof,’ Babs had said. But she was afraid to ask him where he had been the night Nicole was murdered.
‘Proof,’ he had said bitterly. ‘Unless they find out who did it they won’t look very far. Nicole’s already told them she thought I was the one stalking and playing tricks on her. And I can’t prove it wasn’t me. After all I hated her enough.’
‘Oh, Harry. Don’t say that. Hating someone isn’t proof of murder.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Harry’s voice had been bitter. ‘I can’t even give them an alibi for last night because I don’t know where I was.’
‘What d’you mean?’
She had never seen Harry look so shamefaced before. ‘Just what I say, I went out and got blootered, didn’t I. I got so drunk I don’t know where I went or when I got back here. All I know is that I woke up in my own bed in the morning.’
‘But you must have come straight home after the pubs shut, Harry, because you were here just after midnight.’ Babs fingers had been crossed firmly behind her back. It had been well after four o’clock before Harry had staggered into the house.
Babs shivered and, pulling her coat round her body until it gripped her like a straitjacket, wondered what the penalty was for perjury.
***
Ken woke with a headache pounding his temples. His mouth was full of cotton wool and his eyes ached. ‘Ooh,’ he moaned through lips that were thick and rubbery, and clasped one hand to his head.
‘You look like death warmed up,’ Claire mumbled as she hoisted herself onto her elbows.
‘I feel like death, never mind the warmed up bit,’ he complained. ‘I feel as if a road roller just rolled over me.’
‘Patrick called last night,’ she said, swinging her legs out of the bed.
Ken buried his head in the pillow and moaned.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, ‘I told him the doctor had sedated you and you were in no condition to speak to him. He’ll understand.’
‘Patrick never understands anything.’ Ken’s voice was barely audible, muffled by the pillow. ‘It’ll be a black mark against me.’
‘You should worry,’ Claire said. ‘Your opposition is gone and you’re the only one left able to do the job. He’s going to need you.’
‘For a time maybe,’ Ken muttered, ‘but as far as he’s concerned I’ll have fallen down on the job.’ He raised his head from the pillow and looked at her with an agonized expression on his face. ‘He never forgets.’
Claire stood over him, looking down as he sat on the edge of the bed. She had an odd expression on her face that Ken could not interpret, and a sudden feeling of dread, that she might be thinking of leaving, rushed through him. He grasped her hand. ‘As long as we’re together we’ll be all right. Won’t we?’
Claire nodded and looked away from him. ‘Won’t we?’ he repeated. He needed her, now more than ever before. Oh, God, he prayed, don’t let me lose Claire now. Not now after everything that’s happened.
‘Of course, Ken. We’ll be all right,’ Claire said, but still she did not look at him.
He let go of her hand and she walked over to open the bedroom curtains, letting in the watery daylight. She turned to him. ‘You’d better get dressed and go in to work. We don’t want people to be curious.’
The weak light pierced Ken’s eyes with all the brilliance of a floodlight. He clasped his hands to his head again hoping to soothe the beating pain. ‘I suppose,’ he said.
‘I’ll go down and prepare breakfast for you.’ She stopped with her hand on the door. ‘Will tea and two paracetamol be okay?’
***
Babs was not beside him when Harry woke. He slid a hand over to her side of the bed, but there was not even the slightest bit of warmth there and he wondered how long she had been up. It was cold outside the bed, but he rose quickly. It was the only way to do it otherwise he would be tempted to remain there forever, hibernating like the animals. But he was not an animal; he was a man, a man with responsibilities, a man on whom others relied.
The pipes in the bathroom shuddered and thumped as he filled the bath. He had often thought about installing a shower, but could not afford it. The water barely covered the bottom of the tub when he turned the taps off and got in. Babs would not appreciate it if he used all the hot water. Once his quick scrub was over he jumped out and hurriedly dressed. Only then did he open the curtains, although as yet, there was very little daylight.
‘I heard you moving around,’ Babs said, when he entered the kitchen. ‘So I put the kettle on.’ She laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You don’t look very great.’
‘I’m okay, Babs. It’s just that everything that’s going on is starting to get to me.’ Her hand felt warm and comforting on his shoulder and he turned his head to nuzzle it with his chin.
‘I know, but you mustn’t forget that no matter what happens I’m here for you and so is Rosie. As far as both of us are concerned you’re the greatest man that ever lived.’
‘Thanks, Babs,’ he said, ‘you’re the best.’
Babs turned to the cooker and lifting a pot she ladled porridge into a bowl. ‘Eat that,’ she said. ‘You’re going to need all your strength.’
Harry’s stomach turned when he looked at the plate. He was not hungry, but he knew Babs would worry if he didn’t. ‘Thanks,’ he said, forcing a smile. He poured milk on the porridge, lifted his spoon and ate.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Andy nobbled Bill as soon as he arrived. ‘In here a minute,’ he said, ushering Bill into his office and closing the door.
‘What’s up?’ Bill fidgeted. He had been hoping to get a cup of coffee inside him before the meeting, and the bacon roll he had brought was cooling off.
‘Grant, bleeding, Donaldson. That’s what’s up.’ Andy glowered, ‘Of all the sods they’ve chosen to attach to us, it had to be him.’
Bill forgot about his bacon roll. He did not like the Crime Management Unit at the best of times. They always wanted things done by the book and he preferred the old-fashioned way of just getting on with the job. There were too many bleeding meetings nowadays. They got in the way of the work.
‘It can’t be that bad,’ Bill said. He did not know Grant Donaldson very well, but he had always seemed like a straightforward kind of man. Not like some of the younger high-flyers.
‘I’ve worked with him before,’ Andy’s voice held something ominous in its tone.
‘We don’t gel, and I’m the one who’ll have most contact with him.’
Bill tried to sidle out of the office. ‘If that’s all then . . .’
‘Stay where you are,’ Andy snapped. ‘We need to get our act straight before the briefing so that we’re the ones doing all the talking. It’s the only way to stay ahead or he’ll take over the whole damned thing.’
Bill nodded. So that was it, Andy did not want anyone encroaching on his case. It made sense.
‘Come on, we’ll get a head start in the conference room before anyone arrives.’
Bill tossed his bacon roll into the waste bin. It would not be worth eating now anyway.
By the time the briefing meeting started, Bill and Andy had the tables rearranged to suit themselves, photographs pinned to the display board, and names and diagrams scrawled on the whiteboard. Two chairs were positioned at one side of the boards and another solitary chair sat at the other side.
Sue Rogers was the first to arrive, closely followed by Blair Armstrong and Sid Low. Several other officers wandered in and positioned themselves around the room. Last of all was Colin Wilson in deep conversation with a tall, heavily built man who looked as if he was some kind of an executive rather than a police officer.
Andy smiled a greeting. ‘I’ve kept a seat for you here,’ he said to the tall man, pointing him to the single chair off to the side. He waited until the newcomer was seated before he said, ‘I’d like to introduce Grant Donaldson who has kindly agreed to join us. Some of you may know him already, but for those who don’t he’s from the Crime Management Unit. I think everyone else knows each other, so let’s get started. Bill, maybe you want to kick off since you’ve been working this case from the start.’
Bill stood up. ‘Nicole Ralston,’ he said pointing to the photograph on the display board. ‘Found, by her maid, yesterday at her home, apparently strangled. Time of death thought to be about midnight – this was indicated by the medical examiner, but is still to be confirmed following the post-mortem. Mrs Ralston had been in touch with us prior to this with complaints she was being stalked. An investigation of her complaints was carried out and interviews held, but these were inconclusive.’ He turned to the whiteboard. ‘Suspects – not a lot at the moment because we’ve been looking for a stalker rather than a murderer. But the options we’ve got are; number one, the stalker who may or may not be known to her; number two, the husband who, we are told, is in Paris on business; number three, a lover or lovers, there has been some suggestion that Mrs Ralston had a certain weakness for men; number four, the unknown factor that always has to be taken into account in every investigation.’ Bill looked at Colin Wilson. ‘Anything from forensics yet?’
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