Keep Her Close

by M. J. Ford

  Well, that was fucking stupid, Jo …

  Had they even used protection?

  She looked around for something to wear, and saw a dressing gown hanging on the back of his door. Hurrying over, she put it on. Through the fog, her mind tried to steer a critical path. What was the quickest way she could get out, with the least embarrassment and awkwardness? Her clothes would still be in the bathroom.

  She opened the bedroom door and smelled rich coffee. Pryce was wearing shorts, over in the kitchen. He seemed fresh as a daisy.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, sheepishly.

  ‘Morning,’ she replied.

  ‘You want breakfast?’

  The very thought threatened to turn her stomach. ‘Just fluids,’ she said. She pointed to the bathroom. ‘I’m going to …’

  ‘Go for it. You know your way around.’

  Don’t I just? Another wave of shame. She’d practically forced herself on him.

  She was relieved to get through the door. She found her clothes, neatly stacked, even – cringingly – her underwear. Forget the coffee. How could she even look him in the eye? She threw cold water over her face, tied back her hair, and dressed. Her slightly crumpled work clothes still carried the geriatric scents of The Three Crowns. In the mirror, she could’ve been the poster for a movie called Walk of Shame.

  ‘You really are old enough to know better,’ she told the face looking back at her.

  She had a couple of items of make-up in her bag, and did her best with them. Her phone was low on charge again. There was a message from Harry, just before 1 am: Did you get home all right?

  She texted back quickly, Yes. Thx 4 chat x, before considering he probably wouldn’t approve of the shorthand.

  Embarrassment stole over her again. What must he have thought, watching her demolish most of a bottle of vodka? She’d even said she could drive. The private mortification deepened at the memory. Harry’s nineteen-year-old daughter had been killed by a drunk driver. What a fucking dreadful thing to say. How could she? She sent another message.

  I’m really sorry. I was way out of line.

  Jo emerged from the bathroom, and Pryce walked over with a mug.

  ‘Maybe I should just go,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ He held the cup towards her. ‘We can be grown-ups.’

  She took it, and sipped. It was strong, working its magic almost instantly. Another two and she might feel half-human.

  A pity coffee can’t turn back time.

  ‘You feel all right?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I only had one drink.’

  As soon as he’d said it, she wished he hadn’t. The implication hovered between them. She had an excuse for what had happened. She could write it off as the sort of dumb thing people did when they were smashed off their faces. If he was sober, that meant something else.

  ‘It shouldn’t have happened, Jack.’ He turned away. ‘This case …’ she said, feeling the need to explain. ‘It’s messed me up. I like you, you’re a great cop, and you’ve had my back from the start …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘It’s not,’ she said. ‘I just needed someone, and I took advantage of my position.’

  ‘I said, it’s okay. Let’s forget it happened.’

  Jo could see he was protesting too much, but what was the point of pushing it any further? She told herself that things might be difficult for a while, but these sorts of fuck-ups happened all the time between colleagues. If they were still colleagues. Stratton and the Chief Constable might indeed have other plans for her.

  She drank the coffee and he poured her another from a filter machine. ‘Sure you won’t eat?’

  ‘No, thanks. The coffee’s doing wonders.’ He took out a pan and placed it on the induction hob. ‘You heard anything from the station?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. ‘I can’t help thinking they’re chasing shadows.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘This third suspect.’ He’d missed most of the conversation the day before, she realised.

  ‘The phone records suggest there’s someone else.’

  ‘Or just another phone,’ said Pryce. ‘Maybe Anna had two.’

  He seemed slightly annoyed with her, as if he’d suddenly had enough of the case and the evolving theories. Maybe things weren’t going to be okay between them after all, but she could hardly blame him for lingering resentment. ‘Why would she have two?’

  He shrugged, his face still wearing the same exasperated expression. ‘Look, I get that it would be great if there was another person involved, because it might mean the other girls are alive somewhere. But the fact is Tyndle killed Anna Mull …’

  ‘We don’t really know that,’ said Jo. ‘It might have been someone else.’

  ‘She was in his van. The same van which hit Natalie.’

  He was right on that point. Still … ‘How do you explain the photo then? One of his pictures was taken before Tyndle was released.’

  ‘Maybe he just had contacts on the outside. This whole thing took serious planning. He might have paid someone to tail you, establish your movements. You never saw him. Could be because it wasn’t him at all, but someone more inconspicuous. I mean, come on, look at his face. It’s enough to send kids screaming.’

  Jo paused with her coffee. He’d said something similar back in the hospital bed about Tyndle’s appearance. It had bothered her then, but now she knew why.

  ‘Jack … when did you see his face?’

  He cracked an egg into the pan. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Back at St Edmund Hall, when you encountered Tyndle, he was still wearing his balaclava. When did you see his face?’

  He dropped in a second egg.

  ‘The photos from the crime scene,’ he said. ‘You sure you don’t want some omelette? Bit of paprika? I swear by it for a bad stomach.’

  Jo put down her mug. ‘I’m fine. Sorry to push, but you said it in the hospital too. That was before you could’ve accessed the crime scene photos.’

  Pryce put his arms above his head, one hand clutching a wooden spoon. ‘Steady on, detective. Heidi called me, when I came out of theatre. She told me.’

  Heidi hadn’t seen his face either, but Jo recalled Carrick had filled her in on the grim details. It was plausible, then.

  ‘Remind me never to get stuck on the wrong side of an interview with you!’ said Pryce nervously.

  He stirred the pan.

  ‘Go on then, I will have some,’ said Jo. ‘Don’t be offended if I can’t keep it down.’

  * * *

  As she ate, Pryce went to take a shower. Perhaps she was obsessing, but she couldn’t let it go. She searched her hungover mind for what exactly he had said in his hospital bed. She was pretty sure … no, certain – that his exact words were ‘With a face like that …’

  Like that.

  Is that the word he’d have used, if Heidi had told him, over the phone, about Tyndle’s disfigurement? It sounded a lot like he was picturing it, in his mind’s eye. In his memory.

  Or maybe she was reading too much into it. Because there really seemed no way Pryce could ever have known about Tyndle before, even if he’d searched through her case files. It wasn’t an incident she liked to shout about and her name hadn’t been connected with Tyndle afterwards, during the enquiry.

  The shower was still running. There was another way to check his story. She called Heidi.

  It was Dimitriou who picked up. ‘Oh, hi, Jo,’ he said. ‘I heard about yesterday. It sucks.’

  ‘Is Heidi there?’

  ‘Just nipped out for her billionth bathroom visit of the morning.’

  ‘You try being thirty-eight weeks pregnant. It’s not pleasant.’

  ‘A year off sounds all right though.’ He chuckled, then lowered his voice. ‘Listen, Jo, I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s a bit sensitive.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been goi
ng over the ANPRs. The good news – we’ve got Tyndle’s van using the A34 between Thatcham and Oxford repeatedly. But we’ve also pinged on the A4074 that runs past the road to Little Baldon.’

  ‘That’s good too.’

  ‘Yes, but here’s the thing. The cameras picked it up on the night our witness spotted the van parked up by the bridge,’ said Dimitriou. ‘During the window you specifically searched. I went back in the files, and it looks like Jack somehow missed it when he did his search. You went out and interviewed five drivers.’ He paused, and Jo imagined him looking around the CID room surreptitiously. ‘But there were six vans.’

  Jo glanced towards the bathroom door. The shower had stopped.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said.

  ‘Completely. I didn’t want to go to Carrick or Stratton yet, but it made me think. We’d have tagged the van as suspicious a lot earlier, and it passed loads more cameras after that. We’d have picked him up sooner, wouldn’t we?’

  Jo’s throat was dry, and she gulped her coffee. ‘Yes, we would. Can you identify the driver?’

  ‘Light’s not good enough and he’s wearing a hoodie,’ said Dimitriou. ‘Obviously wanted to stay hidden. Okay if I leave it with you? Pryce is a great guy, despite me always taking the piss. I’m sure it was just an oversight, but in the scheme of things, it’s a real fuck-up.’

  The bathroom door opened and Jack came out with a towel around his waist. The stitched up wound across his abdomen looked angry and sore.

  ‘All right, Dimi,’ said Jo. ‘Thanks.’

  She hung up.

  ‘Everything all right?’ asked Pryce.

  I don’t think it is. Not at all. Her stomach was recoiling, and she thought she might be sick.

  ‘Uh-huh. I was checking in on the investigation. All dead-ends so far. They’ll be bringing us back in no time.’

  Pryce smiled. ‘Make ’em beg, I say.’

  He went into the bedroom.

  Jo stood up – her heart felt like a panicking bird in her chest. It made no sense at all. None.

  At the window, she turned the blinds that opened into the courtyard below. Pryce’s dark grey Honda Civic was parked near the gate. Dimitriou had even said it …

  Come to think of it, professor. You own a dark car …

  She told herself to slow down, but her mind had other ideas, throwing Stein’s words back at her.

  Highly organised.

  You bet.

  Probably lives in Oxford.

  Check.

  Thrill-seeker.

  The pictures of him climbing stared back at her from the wall.

  One thing stopped her brain going into freefall panic. She didn’t know Jack Pryce. Never had, until he transferred. She’d met him for the first time less than six months ago. He was a fucking police officer. A good one. The son of another. There was no reason on God’s green earth why Jack Pryce should be involved.

  She’d slept with him.

  I’d say he’s been watching it all unfold as well, from closer than you think.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

  She spun around to find him standing a couple of feet away, fully dressed and smiling. He was wearing a hoodie.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, standing up quickly enough to tip over her chair. She caught it.

  ‘I can give you a lift if you want. Your car’s back at the pub, right?’

  ‘Oh … it’s okay, I’ll take a cab.’

  ‘Well, stay here. I’ll call one.’

  ‘I can do it outside.’

  He was blocking her way. ‘It’s freezing out there, Josie.’

  The way he spoke her name chilled her.

  She side-stepped, banging onto the table and sloshing coffee over the rim of her cup. She grabbed her bag.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Pryce. He was actually smiling.

  ‘I just need some fresh air.’

  She hurried to the door, which was chained. Her hand was shaking as she unhooked it. She heard him crossing the floor towards her. She turned the handle.

  It was locked.

  She twisted around. ‘Where’s the key, Jack?’

  ‘Will you tell me what’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘You’re scaring me. Did I do something?’

  He spread his hands, and every long finger made her think of the bruises on Anna Mull’s neck.

  ‘Just let me out,’ she said. ‘And stay away from me!’

  ‘Okay, chill out,’ he said. He lifted his palms towards her, and backed off.

  She watched him walk over to the kitchen, and open the top drawer. He pulled out a bunch of keys and threw them across the room. They skidded over the floorboards and fetched up against the bottom of the bookshelf. With her eyes still on Pryce, Jo stepped forwards, scooped them up, and turned back to the door. If she’d got all this wrong, then she’d answer for her behaviour later. Right now, she needed to get out.

  She pushed the first key in, but it didn’t turn.

  ‘You know, I didn’t force you last night,’ said Pryce. ‘You wanted me.’

  Jo tried the second key. It didn’t fit at all. She tried the first again.

  ‘These are the wrong fucking keys, Jack,’ she said.

  His hand went around her middle, and the other came up over her face, holding some sort of material against her nose and mouth. He dragged her backwards, trailing her scrabbling feet, until he fell into the sofa. With her legs extended in front, he held most of her weight. She reached for his hand, trying to prise his fingers from her mouth.

  ‘Easy does it,’ he said. ‘Easy …’

  Whatever chemical he’d doused the cloth with was working. She couldn’t breathe at all and with each second the room became more muted and her limbs became heavier. It felt like she was falling into a hole.

  With a final push, she raked her nails into his face, towards his eyes. She felt his head turn away but she found his socket and drove her finger into the soft tissue as far as she could, hooking the top of his nose. Pryce screamed and flung her off him. She rolled over the coffee table and her foot smashed into the front of the TV. Pryce was bent over with his hand over his face.

  Jo stood up, but her left leg was completely paralysed, and she had to drag herself towards the bathroom door. Pryce came after her, eye leaking blood, but she got in first and slammed the door behind her, crushing his bandaged hand as it reached through. He howled in pain and withdrew it. Jo locked the door.

  ‘Let me in, Josie,’ he said.

  He threw himself against the other side, but the lock held. Jo pressed her back into the door. ‘Fuck you!’ she shouted.

  The door shook under another impact. Jo didn’t have her phone. She scanned the room, searching for a weapon. A set of electronic scales. A shower curtain pole. A chair. In the mirror, she looked petrified.

  There was silence on the other side of the door, and she waited, struggling to find a regular rhythm to her breaths. Her head was slowly clearing, feeling returning to her leg. She’d no idea what he’d soaked the cloth in. Chloroform? Did people even do that outside of spy films?

  The seconds passed.

  But still she waited, pinned by fear. She pressed her ear to the door, listening for any sound, for at least two minutes. She was almost sure he’d gone.

  Either he’d given up, or he’d gone to get something to break down the door. Was he waiting outside? She thought about screaming, but her voice wouldn’t come. Even now her reasonable self was clinging to the idea that this wasn’t really happening. Couldn’t be. Detective Jack Pryce couldn’t be a killer. Not after last night.

  Her insides revolted at the thought, and she rushed towards the toilet as her diaphragm went into spasm. She made it just in time, dropping to her knees and spewing a noxious flood of vomit. It wasn’t just the booze, she was sure. It was wanting to somehow eject everything that had happened the night before. A second evacuation followed, and she gripped the seat as her body took over, then rolled back so she was sitting against the edge of t
he bathtub. She wiped her mouth. Her forehead was clammy.

  I can’t stay here. I’ve got to get a message to the others.

  She picked up the bathroom scales, went to the mirror, and brought the corner down hard on to the glass. The pane splintered. Another whack scattered several jagged pieces into the sink. She selected one about nine inches long, wrapped one end in a flannel, and brandished it as she returned to the door. Silently, she slid the bolt open and put her hand on the handle, listening again and hearing nothing from the room on the other side.

  Now or never …

  She flung the door open. Pryce wasn’t there. Edging out, she scanned the living area and the mess their brief fight had caused. The coffee pot was still on in the kitchen. She checked the bedroom too, and the sight of the crumpled sheets almost made her throw up again. Last of all she went to her bag for her phone, but it had gone.

  He took it.

  She looked around for a landline, but couldn’t see one. At the window, she saw that his car was no longer parked below. There was a man in a fluorescent tabard, crouching and checking what might have been a fuse junction. She opened the window.

  ‘Hey! You!’ she called down.

  He stood, looked round, then up. ‘Me?’

  Jo held out her badge. ‘I’m a police officer. Don’t go anywhere. I need to use your phone!’

  Chapter 29

  A police car arrived in four minutes, and she met it at the gates. In ten minutes she was back at St Aldates.

  Stratton gave her the floor in the briefing room, and the eyes of all the bewildered detectives and uniforms were on her as she laid out the case against Pryce, starting with the ANPR anomaly first, then the evidence for his prior connection with Tyndle. She didn’t go into the profiling similarities. ‘And when I confronted him, he attacked me, then fled the scene.’

  Everyone was speechless, and she wondered if she hadn’t been convincing.

  ‘Any questions?’ said Stratton.

  ‘Yeah, what were you doing at his accommodation?’ asked Carter. ‘Are you two … you know …?’

  ‘No,’ said Jo. ‘I misplaced my house keys last night and needed a place to stay.’ Carter looked unconvinced. She wondered if they could still smell the booze on her.