Keep Her Close

by M. J. Ford

  ‘It’s a good point. You say he wasn’t carrying any ID? No wallet or keys?’

  ‘Just a phone and that fuck-off knife he stabbed you with.’

  ‘The phone’s the thing then,’ said Pryce. ‘If we link Mull and Tyndle, the case is solved. I guess there’s a chance it will give us the location of the girls too.’

  Their corpses, anyway, thought Jo.

  Pryce swallowed and hit the pain-relief button again. After the wave had passed, he licked his lips. ‘Can you get me some water please?’

  Jo went into the hall, found a disposable cup, and lifted it to his lips. He drank gratefully, and a little spilled down his chest. She waited for his head to settle back on the pillow before speaking again.

  ‘I’m here on official business, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I guessed as much. You want to know what happened?’

  ‘And if he said anything before he died.’

  Pryce sighed. ‘I think it’s been a wasted trip then,’ he said. ‘I’d just got there, relieved the uniforms outside. I spoke to the old duffer in the lodge, did a circuit. I remember thinking it was unlikely he’d come there. The place isn’t big, is it? Then I saw someone coming over the wall – there’s another college over the back. Maybe I should’ve shouted, but in the back of my mind I knew he’d scarper. So I let him come over. He saw me pretty much straight away.’

  ‘Did you tell him you were police?’

  ‘Damn right I did. He … he came at me with … well, it looked like a kitchen knife. It all happened pretty quick, but we ended up on the ground. My hands were bleeding all over both of us. I … the knife must’ve slipped, because suddenly there was so much blood. I thought it was mine, but he stood up, I think, holding his leg. He wasn’t worried about me anymore. I knew I had to try and keep him alive, but I couldn’t stand up at all. I couldn’t even get to my phone. He bled out pretty quick, but he was talking.’

  ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He called me a cunt, I think.’

  Jo grinned. ‘Figures.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Pryce looked subdued. ‘Look, I know I fucked up.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. You’re a hero.’

  ‘Will I get one of those medals like you keep in your drawer?’ Jo chuckled. ‘I’m serious,’ continued Pryce. ‘Those girls … they’re out there somewhere …’

  But not necessarily alive, thought Jo. ‘Whatever happened to the others, you saved a life, Jack.’

  His eyes were glassy, as if the gravity of what had happened was finally sinking in.

  ‘I’d better go,’ said Jo. ‘You need to rest.’

  He nodded. ‘Keep me informed, won’t you? I want to help. I feel useless here.’

  ‘Just focus on getting better,’ said Jo.

  ‘They said I might be able to get out tonight.’

  ‘That isn’t the same as being better, you silly sod.’

  Chapter 23

  Her phone rang on the way out of the hospital. An Oxford number she didn’t know. But the voice on the other end was instantly recognisable. Hana Sigurdsson.

  ‘Detective, I think you owe me an explanation.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘A man called Lester in a horrible suit has just accosted me in the lobby of my hotel. He tells me that Malin’s disappearance is related to a personal vendetta against you.’

  Jo tried to gather her thoughts. ‘Ms Sigurdsson, that’s one possible explanation.’

  ‘One you and your colleagues didn’t think it necessary to share earlier this morning?’

  ‘We’re pursuing several avenues of enquiry.’ She knew as she was speaking that she sounded almost exactly like DCI Stratton, but didn’t know what else to say. ‘It would be premature for us—’

  ‘A man was killed this morning at a college. Was he trying to kidnap another girl?’

  ‘I really can’t share that information with you.’

  ‘I thought I could trust you,’ said Malin’s mother. ‘When you first came to my hotel, I was open with you, and I asked you to be the same. You assured me that you would.’

  ‘I am being as open as I can,’ said Jo.

  ‘Then tell me what is happening!’ For the first time since Jo had met her, Hana Sigurdsson sounded scared, her voice tremulous.

  But what could she say? ‘I’m sorry, Ms Sigurdsson. We’re doing everything we can.’

  The line went dead.

  * * *

  Carrick’s call came through on the way back to the station.

  ‘How’s Jack?’

  ‘On the mend,’ she said. ‘He said Tyndle came over the wall – it’s New College on the other side. They’ve got a lot of open ground, so it would be the easiest way in. I’ve been thinking – Tyndle must have a base in or near Oxford. If Stein was right, and he was watching me all this time, making plans, he had to have been staying somewhere close, but somewhere he couldn’t be seen coming and going. Not looking like that. Maybe he has connections locally. Someone who’d be willing to put him up. Might be worth checking the visitor log where he was serving time.’

  ‘We’re on it,’ said Carrick. ‘Listen, Jo, Stratton doesn’t want you back here.’ He sounded defeated. ‘The press are all over it. They’ll try to find you. Is there somewhere you can go, just to lie low while we figure this out?’

  ‘Fuck. Will they try my brother?’

  ‘It’s safe to assume that,’ said Carrick. ‘Your flat too.’

  Jo’s hands clenched on the wheel. ‘Any idea who leaked it?’

  ‘Not at the moment. Stratton’s trying to control the story, but it’s like bailing out a sinking ship.’

  ‘I could go to Lucas’s,’ she said, reluctantly. He wouldn’t be there, and it would give her a chance to pack a few things.

  ‘Do that,’ said Carrick. ‘I’ll share anything that comes up.’

  Jo turned around, and headed out towards Abingdon. To think, a week ago, she’d thought she was putting her past behind her, but now she was mired in it once more. Got to give credit to whoever came up with ‘The Josie Girls’, she thought bitterly. It had a ring to it, for sure. If it ever became ‘The Josie Murders’, more so. No doubt that’s what Tyndle had wanted. She called Lucas at work, on the way back to his apartment. She couldn’t see how he’d get dragged into this, but it couldn’t hurt to warn him. He didn’t answer, and she left a message, just saying not to speak to the press if approached. It would worry him, but she didn’t really care anymore. That ship had sailed.

  Heading back towards Lucas’s block, she felt like it was her on the run from the police. She called Paul, and left a rambling message on his answerphone about the possibility of press questions, then wished she could go back and delete it. This was the last thing he and his family needed. She was supposed to be an adult, not a little sister who needed looking after.

  Deidre Plumley was coming out of the elevator as she entered Lucas’s apartment building.

  ‘Hello, Jo!’ she said cheerfully. ‘How are you?’

  Jo pressed the button for the second floor. ‘Been better, to be honest.’

  ‘Yes, I saw that awful story on the news last night.’ The doors began to close, and Jo didn’t stop them. ‘I hope you—’ The lift climbed.

  In the flat, Jo opened her laptop on the dining table. Her inbox was piling up as the new investigation gathered pace, and the other ongoing enquiries continued in tandem. More crime scene reports, statements, photos. Qadir Suleiman, the owner of the Lounge nightclub, had been picked up in Glasgow and was being driven back down south. That night, and those arrests, seemed a lifetime ago already. Even if they put Suleiman and Catskill behind bars, it wasn’t going to save the girls.

  As she reached the most recent correspondence, one email caught her eye. The log for Lucas’s secret phone had come through. She paused a moment, cursor hovering over the link. Had this been the problem all along? Getting distracted by her personal life, and missing things on the case? Deep down, she knew that
wasn’t a fair assessment, but that didn’t mean Stratton would see it the same way if he found out.

  And now – what else was she supposed to do? They’d shut her out completely.

  She clicked through the records, and saw the phone had been used to call a single number, a landline in Oxford.

  Which made sense, if Lucas was fucking another woman behind her back. She logged onto the directory and found the address: 12 Orion Close in Temple Cowley. A check with the land registry confirmed the current owner since March that year was Carly Granger. The name meant nothing. Jo searched through the DVLA next for a driving licence. The woman in the photo was a redhead, twenty-nine years old. Pretty. She didn’t look like she sold winter holidays.

  Jo sat back, feeling vindicated and nauseous at the same time. She knew she was supposed to stay put, but the thought of being here when Lucas got back from work was plainly ridiculous. She’d taken enough shit. Maybe it was time to take control, of this at least. She grabbed her computer, her purse, and her coat. Someone – not Paul – could come later on her behalf and get her things and hand back the key to Lucas. She left the apartment, knowing she’d never set foot in the place again.

  * * *

  Orion Close was in the middle of a modern estate of identical semis built in the nineties. Her heartbeat galloped as she saw Lucas’s Land Rover actually parked in the driveway of number 12, beside a black Audi. Fancy that …

  For once fate seemed to have conspired with her. She’d only been planning to gather intelligence, but this whole sorry mess could come to a head much quicker than anticipated. She didn’t even think about leaving. It struck her, as she slowed, that this was almost exactly the same time of day she’d gone to the college a few days before. It was a regular thing, then. A mid-afternoon quickie.

  She pulled over up the street, took out her phone, and dialled Lucas’s number. It rang several times, and she was just wondering whether to leave a sarcastic message about imaginary skiing trips, when he picked up.

  ‘Hey, babe.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m just dumping some waste at the tip. Everything all right?’

  She hung up, then drove further along the road. She parked over the end of the drive, on the pavement, and climbed out. A woman with a pushchair coming along the pavement tutted as she squeezed past. Jo ignored her and marched to the front door. She rang the bell – a long, insistent blast. No one came. They were probably upstairs. She slammed a fist on the door, then opened the letter box. ‘Lucas?’

  Through the small, distorted glass pane a shape appeared. A woman.

  ‘Who are you?’ came a fearful voice.

  She banged the door with her fist.

  The least you can do is look me in the fucking eye.

  ‘I’m here to see Lucas,’ she said. ‘Open this door. Now.’

  The shape retreated quickly down the corridor.

  Oh no you don’t …

  Jo went to the side gate, and tried to open it. It was latched. Without thinking too hard, she hoisted herself over, and landed on the other side, then walked along the side-passage. There was a trampoline in the back garden, covered in dead leaves. Kids?

  Through a set of French doors she saw a girl, maybe thirteen, in school uniform, and immediately regretted her rash actions. The girl was on the phone, watching her.

  Jo pulled out her badge, and laid it against the glass.

  ‘I’m police,’ she said. ‘It’s okay.’

  The girl rushed the other way.

  Fuck …

  Jo jogged back to the side-gate, opened it from the inside, and ran into the drive.

  A family of three were walking along the road towards her. A girl of eight or nine wore school uniform. The woman was Carly Granger, wearing a bobble hat with a few strands of red hair poking from the bottom.

  The man holding the girl’s hand was Lucas.

  The schoolgirl spotted Jo first and said something to her mother, who looked across. A second later Lucas saw her and stopped. Carly glanced at him, and said something. Then the front door opened and the older girl came running out, crying ‘Mum! Dad!’

  Lucas let go of the girl’s hand and rushed over, wrapping the older one in his embrace.

  Jo couldn’t move from the spot. Dad?

  ‘What are you doing here, Jo?’ said Lucas over the girl’s shoulder.

  Jo was reeling, eyes snapping to the woman and kid then back to Lucas. Carly was speaking to the younger girl.

  ‘I think I should be asking the questions, don’t you?’ she said.

  ‘She was trying to get in,’ said the girl he was hugging. ‘Who is she, Dad?’ Lucas kissed the top of her head. ‘Go to your mum a sec, Jen. It’s all right. I know her.’

  He said it like she was his work colleague or something.

  Lucas’s older daughter fixed Jo with a suspicious glare as she retreated to Carly’s side.

  Lucas came forward in small, uncertain steps. ‘Babe, I know I’ve messed up, but please, hear me out …’

  ‘They’re both yours?’ asked Jo.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lucas quietly. He stopped, about two metres away from her.

  Jo’s mind was trying to process, trying to catalogue their time together and work out how, over the last six months together, she hadn’t seen this. Hadn’t had a fucking clue.

  ‘Does Carly know about me?’

  Lucas’s eyes registered surprise. ‘You know her name.’

  ‘I’m a detective,’ said Jo.

  ‘Then you know we’re not a couple,’ said Lucas. Jo shrugged, buying time to process the information overload. ‘Maybe we could go somewhere else,’ Lucas added. ‘Talk.’

  ‘What is there to talk about?’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ said Lucas.

  ‘It really isn’t,’ said Jo. ‘You’ve got a family you never told me about.’

  ‘I was going to. I wanted to. I only found out they were moving here recently. I hadn’t seen them for years. Jo, it’s … there’s a lot I haven’t told you.’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’

  ‘Jo, I used to have a problem. A drink problem. A really fucking bad one. It messed my life up for a long time. Theirs too.’ He was speaking quickly, eyes filling with pleading tears. ‘Jo, I didn’t see my kids for three years. I couldn’t see them until I’d cleaned myself up. Then they were here – in Oxford – but I’d already met you. I should have told you, but it was going so well. I didn’t want to lose you, scare you away …’

  Jo heard the words coming out of his mouth, saw his face twisted up with emotion, and a part of her even then wanted to comfort him. But it was a tiny part. And not nearly enough. Because the rest of her was a ball of rage and shame and disappointment. ‘Goodbye, Lucas,’ she said, and walked past him towards her car.

  She climbed in, started the engine and pulled away, just as a squad car drove into Orion Close with the blues flashing.

  Chapter 24

  The embarrassment and anger came in waves. First, it was Pinker and Williams who’d answered the call from the dispatcher, responding to ‘a possible break-in attempt’.

  Lucas tried to diffuse the situation but that only complicated matters, as he wasn’t the registered homeowner. So then Carly had to step up and explain. She had to defend Jo, the crazy bitch who’d just jumped her garden fence and terrified her poor daughter. Jo was asked to wait in the back of the police car, the doors locked. Despite the fact that she outranked them both, there was still procedure to follow.

  As Carly led the girls into their house and Lucas lingered, Pinker questioned Jo, who did her best to convince him it was just a mix-up. The look of pity on his face was almost too much to bear. Andrea Williams, she could have coped with, but Pinker … the chance of him keeping this to himself was tiny.

  Then there was the fact that most of the neighbours, many on the school run themselves, seemed to think it was a spectator sport. Every one of them another witness to her abject humiliation. Th
e other woman. The blind, foolish female. The fucking cliché.

  In the end, they let her go, though Pinker apologised with fist-chewing levels of condescension that he’d have to write it up. No crime had been committed, he said, so it wouldn’t be logged on her official record. It could have been much worse, she thought – the fact that a girl had called it in might easily have caused more alarm in the current climate. They could have sent detectives too. Small mercies.

  Jo managed to hold it together until she was back in her car and well away from Orion Close. Then she pulled over in a bus stop and burst into tears, wrenched up from deep in her gut.

  Her phone’s chimes brought her round. If it was Lucas, she already knew she wouldn’t answer. But the number was Andy’s. She wiped her eyes, gathered her wits. Told herself there was no way he could have heard about what had just happened. Not yet.

  ‘Jo, we found an address for Tyndle through his benefit claims. In Newbury. Local police are there now.’

  ‘Don’t keep me in suspense. They find anything?’

  ‘You could say that, yes.’

  ‘The girls?’

  ‘Not exactly. I think you should get down there. I’m bringing Stein too.’

  ‘What about Stratton? I thought he wanted me out of this.’

  ‘I think he’d understand,’ said Andy, cryptically. ‘Just meet me there, okay?’

  * * *

  Getting out of the city felt like a release, and as Jo left Oxford behind, her eyes were dry again. She’d never been one for self-pity – it was one of the traits she’d shared with her dad. When he’d collapsed, quite suddenly in the garden at just sixty-two years old, only to be told he had an advanced brain tumour, his first response was to worry about the upkeep of his veg patch.

  The address was actually in Thatcham, east of Newbury itself, on a rundown estate of tower blocks and poorly maintained low-rise social housing. It was the sort of place Jo knew well from her early days in uniform. Domestic violence, anti-social kids, joyriding. The estate where they sent rookies, because the day-in, day-out taught you more about the people skills you’d need to be an effective police officer than just about anything else. The kind of neighbourhood where neighbours slashed each other’s tyres or got into fist-fights. Where suspects always ran, even though they knew they’d be caught, because having a criminal record did nothing detrimental to their life prospects – they didn’t have any in the first place.