‘No,’ Bill murmured, thinking there was a lot more to Julie than appeared on the surface. ‘Maybe we’ll get a lead from forensics,’ he said, although there was a chill deep within him.
‘Let’s hope so. We have to catch this guy before he does any more damage.’ Sue hoisted herself off the desk. ‘Well, I’m for the off. I’d suggest you do the same.’
‘Sure, I’ll finish what I’m doing first and won’t be long behind you.’ He rustled about with some paper, pretending to be busy until the room was empty again. Then he sat back and stared at the address book where he had found the initial clue to Julie and her background. Once he had that it had not taken much detective work to find out the rest. Oh no, Julie was not what she appeared to be and he did not know what he wanted to do about it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Julie’s bravado fled as soon as Betty left her at the bus stop. It was the rush hour and there was a long queue, which she joined. ‘I’ll be safe here,’ she had told Betty. ‘You don’t have to wait with me.’ But now she was alone she was not so sure.
An icy wind whistled along the street, plucking at the edges of coats, and chilling fingers and toes. She shuffled her feet, fidgeted with her buttons, her gloves and the edge of her coat. Her neck and back muscles ached with tension and she shrugged her shoulders several times to rid herself of it. Her nervousness increased with each minute she had to wait and, although she was thankful for people around her, she was afraid that one of them might be the unknown stalker.
All the way home she imagined eyes watching her, footsteps behind her and menace everywhere, and she did not relax until she was inside her flat with the door locked behind her. She had to admit she was spooked, so spooked she had bought a mobile phone, although she had never felt the need for one before, considering them to be a yuppie status symbol or a kid’s toy.
The journey home had been a nightmare of suspicion, making her tense and on edge. Now her muscles ached with pent up energy and she longed to run it off, but there would be no running tonight because the dark was now her enemy instead of her friend. It held terror instead of relief. Even the familiar street outside seemed menacing, forcing her to cross the room to the window to pull the curtains with quivering fingers until they closed and forced the darkness, with its flickering shadows and images of dark street corners, to remain outside.
She had not realized until tonight how much she hated this room with its grubby paintwork, and peeling wallpaper. It was tawdry and squalid, and not what she was accustomed to. She longed for the tasteful furnishings, the fine art on the walls and the light décor of her comfortable flat in Edinburgh. Why on earth had she ever left it? She had to get back to her old life or she would go mad. Maybe she already had.
A scuffling noise whispered in the silence. She conjured up a vision of a horrible, crouching shape waiting for her on the stairs – a shape that even her imagination could not visualize.
She stared in horrified silence at the door, thinking she saw the knob move. Imagining she heard shuffling feet. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of splintering wood. Her paralysed fingers tried to close over the mobile phone, although she did not know if she had enough strength to dial. Time slowed. Her breathing became shallow, each breath more laboured than the one before.
She was not sure how long she stood there. It seemed an age, before she heard footsteps on the stairs and the knocking started. Low at first and then louder. Her heart thudded in her chest until she was sure whoever was outside could hear it. Her lips were dry and her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. She wanted to call out, to scream, but she had no voice. She had thought she was brave, thought she could respond to any threat. But she had been wrong. And now, it was too late.
‘Julie, open the door, I know you’re in there,’ Bill’s voice broke the silence with a thunderous crash.
‘Bill?’ she said, feeling stupid. ‘Is that you?’ She walked to the door and opened it with unsteady hands. Relief swamped her and she almost fell into his arms. She wanted to tell him how afraid she had been; wanted to confide in him; wanted his protection.
She felt him stiffen and realized she had flung herself at him. She pulled back, flustered, afraid she might frighten him off. But she needed him. She needed him badly.
Bill pushed her into the room and closed the door. ‘What are you playing at, Julie?’ His voice was cold making her shrink back into herself. She should not have rushed at him. After all, they had only just met.
He turned from her and stared at the photograph on the mantelpiece. He picked it up and held it in his hand for a moment before thrusting it in front of her face. ‘Dave, tell me about Dave?’
The photograph wavered and her eyes closed against the tears that threatened to come. ‘I told you, he’s dead,’ she said in a tiny voice that was not much more than a whisper. ‘I don’t want to talk about him.’
‘I bet you don’t,’ he hissed. ‘But I do. Shall I tell you what I know?’
Julie stared up at him her eyes wide and suddenly afraid.
‘David Chalmers,’ he said, as if he was quoting from a piece of paper. ‘Travelling salesman. Married Julie Forbes in 1996, left same Julie Forbes in June 2007 for a woman he had been having an affair with, namely Nicole Ralston. Committed suicide in July 2008 when same Nicole Ralston rejected him. Have I got it right so far?’
Julie nodded. Her brain was whirling and her thoughts were in a jumble. She slumped into one of the chairs and pulled her feet underneath her. If she could have curled up and died, she would have.
‘Here’s where it gets interesting,’ Bill snapped. ‘David’s wife, Julie, reverts to her maiden name, gives up her job as Managing Director of an art gallery and comes to Dundee to work in a department store.’ Bill looked at her. ‘Quite a change, wasn’t it, Julie? Then she becomes friendly with Nicole Ralston, the woman who drove her husband to suicide.’ Bill stopped and drew a long breath. ‘Why, Julie? Why?’
Julie bent her head onto her knees. ‘I don’t know why,’ she mumbled.
‘Julie,’ he bent down and took one of her hands in his. ‘Don’t you realize this puts you in the frame for Nicole’s murder?’
She pulled her hand out of his as anger spurted through her, making her shake with the heat of it. She lifted her head and glared at him. ‘What right do you have to pry into my affairs?’ she snapped. ‘It’s none of your business. But you had to find out about me didn’t you? It wasn’t enough to sleep with me. Oh, no. You had to know, didn’t you?’
‘It wasn’t you I was investigating, Julie. It was Nicole’s contacts, past and present. You were just there.’ Bill looked away from her and his voice reflected something – disappointment maybe. It was hard to tell because his voice was flat and emotionless.
As quickly as it had erupted the anger seeped out of her leaving behind despair. ‘What are you going to do about it?’ she muttered, not looking at him.
‘I don’t know, Julie. I’m going to have to think about it.’ He replaced the photograph on the mantelpiece and walked to the door without looking at her. ‘Remember to lock it behind me,’ he said, as he left.
Julie shuffled to the door, turned the key in the lock and then stood, her head pressed to the wood, silent, but screaming inside.
***
Claire, apparently calm except for the force she used to clatter the plates inside, stacked dirty dishes into the dishwasher. She looked across the kitchen table, her glance flickering past Ken to the plate of food he was playing with. ‘Aren’t you going to eat that?’ The kids had long since finished their meal and gone to pursue more interesting things in the playroom. Only Ken remained, pushing the food round and round on his plate.
‘Not hungry,’ he said, shoving the plate away.
Claire snorted. She lifted the plate and scraped the two complete chops, potatoes and peas into the waste bin. ‘I thought you liked lamb chops,’ she muttered.
Ken did not reply. He looked awful, grey-faced and shrunken
, with a dead look in his eyes she did not like.
‘They’ll soon be here,’ she said. ‘You’d better pull yourself together.’
‘I don’t know why they wanted to see us here,’ Ken muttered, getting up from the table. ‘I could have gone to the police station.’
‘They’re just trying to make it easy for us, they said. Besides they want to see us together and they know we have kids.’
Ken grunted, ‘Since when were the police considerate about things like that?’
Claire took his arm. ‘Let’s just go through to the lounge and you can get settled before they come.’ The lounge was tidy, but Claire busied herself plumping up cushions and rearranging ornaments.
When the doorbell rang she gave a final look around and, glaring at Ken, said, ‘Don’t slump. Look alert. Remember you’ve nothing to hide.’
‘Detective Constable, Blair Armstrong, and my fellow officer, Sid Low. I hope we’re not too late.’ He grasped her hand in his, but held on to it a fraction longer than Claire liked. She smiled at him, thinking he might be susceptible to female charm.
‘Come in,’ she said, ‘we’ve been expecting you. My husband’s in the lounge.’
‘Just a few questions, for the record.’ Blair was looking at her legs. ‘First of all I need to know your movements on Wednesday, 26th November 2008.’
‘Why that’s easy, inspector . . .’
‘Constable, ma’am.’ Blair corrected her.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I always get things wrong.’ She smiled at him and looked away as if in embarrassment, but not before she saw him readjust his position on the chair and straighten his tie. In another situation she would have laughed at him, but for the present it was better if he thought she was a silly female.
‘Your movements?’ he prompted her.
‘Oh, yes. As I was saying – constable – that’s quite easy. We were here at home all evening. Watched the telly, although for the life of me I can’t remember what was on.’ Claire had mugged up on the programmes and knew perfectly what had been on that night. She would probably be able to answer any question on the content and get off with it. She was not so sure about Ken though. ‘Didn’t much matter to Ken what was on anyway because he fell asleep in his chair. Not that he would remember or admit that. We went to bed after the ten o’clock news. And that’s about it really.’ She smoothed her skirt over her knees. ‘I’m afraid we don’t live a very exciting life.’
‘I see.’ Blair leaned forward. ‘That seems to cover what we need, but I’ll have to ask Mr Moody some questions of a more personal nature. Maybe he would prefer it if you weren’t here.’
Claire frowned. ‘You mean about his affair with Nicole. I know all about it. Can’t say I was very pleased but the woman chased him, and Ken’s not the strongest person in a situation like that. Are you, Ken?’ she reached over and clasped her husband’s hand. She could see from the policeman’s expression that he thought she was a martyr.
‘Right then, Mr Moody,’ Blair seemed to have lost some of his previous confidence. ‘How would you describe your relationship with Mrs Ralston?’
Ken glowered at his feet. ‘We went out a few times, but it was starting to get intense, so I ended it.’
‘Intense! In what way, sir?’
‘Well, she started to think it was more serious than it was. It was only a fling after all, but she started to want more. I told her she had made a mistake and there was no way I would leave my wife for her.’ Ken stopped and looked at Claire. She smiled at him and nodded her head. ‘I also told her I’d go to her husband if she didn’t stop pestering me. I can’t say Nicole was all that pleased about it, but she had to accept it. In any case I think she already had her eye on somebody else.’
‘Have you any idea who that might be, sir?’
‘Not a clue,’ Ken said. ‘We were barely speaking by the end.’
Blair asked a few more questions before saying. ‘I think that will be all for now, sir. We may want to speak to you again though.’
Ken and Claire watched the policemen drive off. ‘I think that went quite well,’ Ken said.
‘Yes,’ Claire said. ‘I’m not sure you didn’t go a bit too far though with that comment about Nicole being interested in someone else.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Ken said. ‘It’ll take the heat off me if they’re hunting around for someone else.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The taste of his disappointment was bitter in his mouth. Even the air around him in this claustrophobic place seemed tainted. He longed for the security of his hiding place deep beneath the store beside his only companions, the creatures and crawling things that also inhabited the dark places. But he had not been able to move because there had been three of them in the office. They clustered like witches round a cauldron, round the package he had left for her.
He was the instrument of God. His plan should not have failed, but it had. He had delivered his gift to her in the same way he had delivered gifts to the woman; the one who had cheated him; the one who was dead. But this one was not responding in the same way.
Where was the fear? Where was the distress?
Without fear and distress there was no point in providing gifts, but how could he move to the next stage without them?
It had not been part of the plan to have other people there. She should have been on her own. He had watched her face when she opened the package, but apart from a blasphemy, there was no response, no fear, no distress. The most she had shown was distaste, which was not the same thing at all. Then, if that was not enough, they had removed the gift so he could not claim it back. And claiming it back was part of the ritual. It was as if they had stolen part of his soul.
At the first opportunity, when the office was empty and the door closed, he wriggled back along the duct to the next grating, the one overlooking the food hall. But it was as if the fates were conspiring against him. He could see, but could not hear, when she was sitting in the restaurant area which was well out of hearing range of any of the ventilation shafts. The fat one remained with her, the busybody who had taken his gift from her and hidden it. After a time the policewoman joined them and she, in turn, took the gift away.
At this stage in any mission he should have been feeling the familiar build up of excitement, the forerunner of completion when he would offer his ultimate gift to God.
The gift of the chosen one’s power.
But the doubts gathering in his mind made him dispirited and discouraged. Had he been mistaken? If he had been allowed to complete his previous mission she would never have been chosen. Was God punishing him for failing? And if he did complete a mission on someone who had not been chosen, someone who did not have enough power to make the gift to God worthwhile – did that mean he would have to pay the ultimate price and donate himself to God?
He remembered the sandwiches and the tea and the little tokens of kindness he had witnessed. He also remembered her refusal of Patrick Drake’s offer of promotion, a sign that she did not want power. But then she had been forced to take it, a sign she did want power. Then there was last night with the policeman, surely proof that she, like the other one, used sex for power.
What he needed now was more proof that she was the chosen one and he could only resolve his dilemma if he continued watching her.
His mind was still muddled when he followed her home. He felt rather than saw her eyes examine the travellers in the bus, but he kept his head down, studying a newspaper he had no interest in.
Later he had hovered outside her door, but the intense silence signalled to him that she knew he was there. And then, when the policeman came he had barely had time to tiptoe up the stairs to a higher landing. He sat on the stairs, smiling to himself. Surely the policeman being here was proof that she was evil. If she was not evil she would tell him to leave.
A door opening higher in the building forced him to scuttle down the stairs, past her door, through which he could barely hear raised voices, and dow
n another flight of stairs to the entrance door to the building. He did not need to open the door very far to slide round it. After a quick look around him he scurried to his hiding place of last night. From that vantage point he could watch her window until the light went out.
He had hardly taken up his position when the policeman left the building, slamming the door behind him. Anger surrounded the man like an aura. She must have told him to go.
He flexed his fingers and stuck them into the coat pocket where he kept God’s implement. The blade was sharp and it needed a sacrifice, but he did not dare contaminate it with the wrong sacrifice or he would never be able to use it again. Because then it would be Satan’s tool.
He waited until her light went out before leaving. Still confused, still looking for proof.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Bill spent a sleepless night. His confrontation with Julie had done nothing to relieve his mind and he still did not know what to do. However, as he tossed and turned he knew he would have done anything to have her warm body lying beside him.
Eventually he rose, washed and shaved, and went into the office, ostensibly to work. He was the first to arrive and he wandered aimlessly round the room looking at the photographs, flow charts, and the list of suspects that had been marked on the display boards, but not registering anything. The paralysis in his brain did not improve when he sat at his desk, if anything it became worse and the urge to bang his head on the desk top was almost too much to resist.
He was still staring moodily at the address book on his desk when the others started to drift in. The noise of their feet, voices and the whir of computers powering up played a noisy tune in his head.
‘Christ, you look like death,’ Sue plonked her rear end on the corner of his desk. Sometimes Bill thought she preferred that to sitting in a chair at her own desk.
He grunted, threw the address book into a filing tray with a gesture of disgust and started to play with a pencil, turning it round and round before stabbing dots on to a piece of paper.
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