‘Hell,’ Sam muttered. Doug. He’d completely forgotten.
Shirley Ainsley paused by the doorway of the spare room. The three children were sleeping downstairs. She felt sick to her stomach, fearing imminent confirmation that her husband had fallen back into the nightmare of alcohol abuse from which he had emerged ten years ago. Back then it had been another traumatic event – the death of his younger brother from a heart attack at the age of just forty-five. The grief had led to depression, and drinking. It was to be another two years before he came back to her. Shirley had blamed herself for letting things get out of control at the beginning. But this time would be different. This time she was determined to tackle the problem head-on, no matter how painful it might be.
Eric had left the house ten minutes ago, having spent just half an hour in her company since coming home from work. Barely enough time to eat his evening meal. He had hardly spoken in their time together, save for muttering that he was off to see some work colleagues.
Shirley hadn’t believed him.
He had made his way straight upstairs upon his arrival home, taking his work bag up with him. He had come back down, saying that he had desperately needed the toilet, and indeed she had heard the flush. But his breath smelt of alcohol. And from the creaking of the floorboards above, Shirley was pretty sure that Eric had also been doing something in the spare room. Hiding drink, she suspected.
She looked around the room. Nothing seemed to be out of place. She moved around, pulling out each drawer in the cabinet and running her hands through the piles of aging underwear and socks – items that should have been thrown away long ago.
She found nothing – no hidden bottles of whiskey or vodka.
Then she turned to the bed. It was the last place. She crouched down at its base, and reached for the valance, slowly pulling it back. Peering underneath she used the small torch she had brought from the kitchen to sweep across the darkness. The space was empty. But then, just as she was bringing the torch out, something caught her eye – a cut in the fabric across the roof of the bed’s base. She slipped her hand inside and it met an object, balanced on the wooden slats that ran along the underneath of the bed.
She pulled out a brown, battered leather bag – she’d never seen it before. It felt too light to contain bottles of alcohol. Shirley looked at it for a few seconds, fearing where all this was leading. How would she approach Eric, and how would he react to knowing she had gone snooping like this?
But she would deal with that later.
Shirley pulled back the zipper and gasped.
This was much more serious than she had ever imagined.
36
Sam finally gave up on sleep at four am. For hours he’d struggled to find rest in a shallow slumber. His body just wouldn’t relax. He reached the realisation that he just didn’t want to sleep. Sleep was about rest and relaxation, but that was the last thing he wanted to do while Anna was still missing.
He paced around the flat for a few minutes, checking his mobile and home phone for any messages, texts or missing calls. There was nothing. Sam made himself a strong coffee, and then booted up the computer. He checked his email, just as he had done on returning from Marcus’s, some five hours ago. But there was nothing new there either. Now he craved what only yesterday he’d dreaded – contact from this sick individual.
Sam listened again intently to the audio of the train crash, eyes closed, hoping that something would rise from the recording that would help to explain all this. But all the recording served to do was to transport him back to that horrific event. It set his skin on edge, listening again to the girl’s desperate cries over the noise of the oncoming train.
Sam thought back to what Louisa has said about telling the police. Was he wrong in not telling them? It hadn’t been an easy decision, and it certainly didn’t feel comfortable. Would the person who had Anna find out if he did tell the police? It all depended on how closely he was being watched.
He slid across a pad of paper, and taking a pen, wrote out his sister’s name in the centre of the blank page. Around that he wrote several other names: Jane Ainsley, Shirley Ainsley, Alison Ainsley, girl at scene of train crash (drowned), Richard Friedman, Marcus Johnson, Louisa, Sam, Anna. And then two more names: Vincent McGuire, boyfriend of Jane Ainsley, and girl watching from the bridge. Between those names he wrote the words; Cathy’s murder, train crash, drowned girl, drugs in locker, Anna’s kidnap, Richard Friedman’s suicide.
Sam stared at the page until his head throbbed. He underlined Richard’s Friedman’s name three times. He still seemed the key to this. He’d had Cathy’s necklace. He said he’d killed her, whether that was now true or not. Sam flicked on the stereo and selected Coldplay’s Fix You from the hard drive: one of Anna’s favourite songs. He sat back, closed his eyes and could almost feel his wife’s warming breath on his neck. It made him feel like crying, but he needed to be strong.
Sam woke with his head flat against the computer desk, the piece of paper stuck to his cheek. He grimaced from the pain in his neck as he pulled himself upright. Sunshine bathed the room in an early morning hue of yellow. He looked at the clock. Just after eight. He may not have wanted to sleep, but he had needed it.
Sam dressed quickly before travelling over to the hospital. As promised, Louisa was waiting for him in the far corner of the cafeteria. But unexpectedly, Marcus was sat with her. Sam nodded a hello to him as he sat down, uncomfortable with his presence. Although he no longer believed Marcus was behind all this, it didn’t necessarily mean he wanted him so close this soon.
Marcus seemed to pick up on his unease. ‘Hope you don’t mind me being here. I can leave if you like.’
‘It’s okay,’ Sam said.
‘Any more news?’ Louisa asked.
‘Nothing,’ Sam replied. ‘Total silence.’
Louisa smiled sadly. She then reached into her bag and slid a piece of paper across the table. ‘I hope this helps, I really do.’
Sam pulled it up. Richard Friedman’s address. He lived in Hackney, West London, some ten miles away from the hospital. ‘Thanks,’ he said, recognising Louisa’s discomfort with all this. ‘It means lot.’
Louisa nodded. ‘Just don’t do anything silly, Sam.’
‘I won’t.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go. My first appointment is in five minutes. Let me know what happens.’
Marcus remained seated as Louisa walked away. ‘She really cares for you.’
‘I know,’ Sam replied.
‘She really didn’t enjoy keeping it a secret you know, that we were seeing each other.’
Sam just stared down at Richard Friedman’s address.
Marcus continued. ‘She didn’t want to hurt you. She wanted to help me, but she felt as though she was betraying you.’
Sam nodded. ‘I know she did it for the right reasons. She always does do things for the right reasons.’
‘I’ve missed you both,’ Marcus revealed. His face flushed with embarrassment that the words had sprung out. ‘We were all such good friends.’
‘I know,’ Sam agreed. ‘I never stopped missing our friendship.’
Marcus looked surprised. ‘Even though you thought I’d killed Cathy?’
‘I’m not saying I wanted to be your friend, but I did miss our friendship.’
‘And now?’
‘At the moment I can’t think any further than getting Anna back.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’d better go,’ Sam announced, looking once more at the address. A short tube trip and he would be there.
‘Let me come with you,’ Marcus said.
‘No,’ Sam replied, without hesitation.
‘Please, Sam.’
Sam shook his head and got up from the chair, determined to do this alone. ‘I want to do this on my own, Marcus. It’s nothing personal.’
‘Please, Sam, say yes,’ Marcus pleaded. ‘That’s why I came here this morning. I want to help. You n
eed someone to help you with this.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll let you know what happens.’
Sam turned and walked away, feeling a pang of guilt that he’d shut out Marcus so cruelly. But as much as he did believe that Marcus was innocent, it was still easier not to be around him. Marcus brought back too many bad, hurtful memories. Maybe one day that would change, and things could go back to being the way they were – two friends together, there for each other, nothing in between them.
But today was not that day.
Marcus caught up with Sam just as he’d exited the main doors.
‘Sam, wait a minute.’
Sam stopped and turned around to see Marcus jogging up to him.
‘Sam, why are you doing this?’
‘Doing what?’ Sam said, aware that there were colleagues – nurses mainly – within earshot. He guided Marcus away from the groups who were mingling at the entrance of the hospital.
‘Shutting me out, pushing me away.’
‘I just think it’s best if I go alone. Why can’t you just accept my decision?’
‘Because I need to do this as much as you do.’
‘Need to do what?’
‘I need to redeem myself Sam. I need to put things right.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I didn’t kill Cathy, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t blame myself for what happened. I left her, Sam, on her own, on those sand dunes.’
‘You said you were drunk, that you didn’t remember anything.’
‘I was drunk, and I don’t remember anything, Sam, but I still left her alone. If I hadn’t drunk so much, I’d never have just walked off, and Cathy would probably be alive today.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I do, Sam, I do. And I know you understand. You feel the same. I can see it in your eyes whenever Cathy’s name is mentioned. I can see the guilt. You blame yourself, just like I blame myself.’
‘Cathy was my responsibility on that trip,’ Sam said, feeling the pain of his regret just as much as the day she died. ‘She was my little sister. I’m the one who persuaded my dad to let her go – I promised to look after her. So yes, I do blame myself.’
‘Then we’re both in this for the same reason, Sam. We want to make amends. We want to find the bastard who’s behind all this. We want to do this for Cathy.’
Sam paused, thinking. All these years later, and Marcus still knew how to push the right buttons.
‘Please, Sam, I really need to do this. For Cathy and for myself. Please let me come with you.’
Sam examined Marcus’s face. It was like looking in a mirror. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
Sam and Marcus stood in front of the house, a Georgian terraced property whose painted white bricks contrasted markedly with the natural dark brown of the rest of the row. Sam had expected something run down, reflective of a man in mental torment, but the windows top and bottom were adorned with flowers and it all looked thoroughly presentable. Sam glanced at Marcus, to indicate that now was the time. They hadn’t spoken much during the journey to Hackney; both content to mull over the situation in their own heads. But they had talked briefly of a strategy for approaching Richard Friedman’s sister, Victoria. Both had agreed that it wouldn’t be easy.
Sam stepped forward and knocked three times. It was more than possible that she wouldn’t be at home. But just a few seconds later, someone approached the door.
‘Can I help you?’
The woman, unsmiling, peering at them over half-moon glasses resembled an old-style school headmistress, with silver grey hair tied back in a tight bun that seemed to pull her face taut. She wore a uniform-like outfit of dark blue blouse and skirt.
‘Hi. My name’s Sam Becker.’
There was no discernable emotional reaction, her face remaining serious, business-like even. ‘Victoria Friedman. You’d better come in,’ she said, in impeccable Queen’s English.
Sam and Marcus followed Victoria through the house. The place was immaculate, furnished with antiques including an impressive grandfather clock in the hallway. The burgundy carpet was thick and luxurious.
They reached the living room.
‘Please, do take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?’
Sam and Marcus both declined as they sat down on the high-backed sofa. It looked like the kind of furniture that usually resided in a stately home with security ropes around it.
‘So,’ she said, as she sat on the chair opposite, ‘how can I help you?’
Sam spoke. They’d agreed that as far as possible, he would do the talking. ‘I wanted to talk to you about your brother.’
‘Well I gathered as much as that,’ she shot back.
‘Specifically about what he said to me about my sister.’
‘That he murdered her?’
Sam nodded.
‘My brother couldn’t have killed your sister,’ she replied. ‘He could never have killed anyone. He was the gentlest man I’ve ever met.’
‘But he said he’d killed my sister, and he had her necklace.’
She didn’t register any surprise. The police had already been through this with her, probably at great length. In fact, Sam was probably repeating the questions that the police had asked her, so it was little wonder if her responses were assured. ‘He wasn’t himself. He didn’t know what he was saying.’
‘But the necklace?’ Sam pressed.
‘I don’t know how he got it,’ she said.
‘And that doesn’t make you suspicious?’
‘It makes me wonder how he got hold of it, but it doesn’t make me think he killed your sister.’
Sam thought of his next question, wondering if there was a better way of getting more useful information from her. She was being defensive, abrasive even, but that might just have been her manner. After all, she hadn’t had to let them in – she would have been well within her rights to say no at the door. But instead she had chosen to engage. ‘How do you think he might have got the necklace?’
She shrugged. ‘He liked to collect things, antiques, like me. Maybe he bought it from a shop.’
‘Or maybe someone gave it to him?’ Sam suggested.
‘Probably not,’ she dismissed.
‘What makes you say that?’
She looked at Marcus. ‘Because Richard didn’t really have any friends, not since Margaret died.’
‘He didn’t have any friends?’
‘He spent most of his time in the house, or at the hospital,’ she said. ‘He used to have friends, before Margaret’s death, but not after. He retreated into his own world, and pushed people away.’
‘You said that Richard was gentle,’ Sam said. ‘But you heard about what he did? How he stole my friend’s phone and threatened us both. He talked about my sister’s murder too.’
Victoria Friedman sucked on her top lip, thinking of an appropriate response. For the first time she looked rattled. It excited him that he might have found a way through. Is this how Paul Cullen felt when interviewing him? And then she was back in control. ‘Richard was a gentle man, but you’ve got to understand that since Margaret’s death, he was not the same person as he was before. He was in his own world. I’m sure he didn’t know what he was doing. I’m sorry for what he did to you and your friend, but I think it was just a cry for help.’
‘Has he lived here ever since the accident?’
She nodded. ‘I asked him to come and live here because I was worried what he might do. He’d started to talk about harming himself. I thought I could save him from the demons, but I couldn’t. Deep down I knew it was going to end like it did. I think he was waiting for justice before ending it.’
Sam leant forward, intrigued by the remark. ‘Justice? What do you mean?’
She blinked several times. ‘Do you know how Richard’s wife was killed?’
Sam nodded. ‘By a hit and run drunk driver.’
‘On a zebra crossing,’ she added. ‘And do you know how many years her killer rec
eived?’
Sam shook his head.
‘Seven years,’ she said, blinking through her anger. ‘He could have been out in four. That’s next year. He could have been walking around, free to do whatever he wanted, free to enjoy life to the full. Free to kill again and destroy another family’s life. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. He didn’t show the slightest bit of remorse.’
For the first time Marcus spoke. ‘You said he could have been out next year?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, straightening up and tightening her facial muscles. ‘He could have been out. But not now he’s dead.’
37
Sam sat forward, with Marcus doing likewise. ‘Dead? How?’
Victoria shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I know it might sound heartless to you, but I don’t care how he died. I’m just glad that he did die.’
Sam just looked at her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Marcus glance at him.
She continued, even toned, as if she was talking about some everyday occurrence, rather than a man’s death. ‘I’m not a vengeful woman, but it really was the best thing that could have happened, for everyone. That individual was a danger to us all, and I was happy when I heard the news. I can’t pretend otherwise.’
Sam thought about what she had said. There was a time when he had felt the same way about the man now sitting to his left. He had wished him dead. Not out of revenge, but justice. ‘You said you thought Richard had been waiting for justice. Did this happen recently?’
‘Late last week,’ she replied. ‘Richard got a call from the police to let him know what had happened.’
‘He committed suicide?’
She oozed nonchalance. ‘Like I said, I don’t know how he died, and I don’t care. I didn’t ask Richard for the details, and he didn’t offer me any.’
Sam continued. ‘But you think this is what led to Richard’s death? You think he killed himself because he felt that justice had been done – that this guy wouldn’t walk free?’
‘Yes, I believe he did.’
Someone To Save you Page 24
