‘Yeah,’ she said, then hesitated as though deciding whether to go on… ‘Although I still don’t know what to make of Hannah…’
He waited for her to go on.
‘I know you say, Oh, that’s just Hannah… but her attitude, her aggression, did make me wonder whether to stay at one stage…’
He said, ‘She does have reasons for her aggression.’
‘Ahh.’
‘Why ahh?’
‘I usually read that as code for some sort of abuse.’
‘That’s very perceptive of you,’ he said. ‘Personal experience?’
She was puzzled for a moment, then said, ‘Oh, you mean my ex. That wasn’t really abuse. He just dominated me.’
‘Isn’t that abuse?’
Rebecca laughed. ‘That would make a hell of a lot of relationships abusive – not many are really equal, are they?’
Craig shrugged. ‘I can think of one that is. Marc and Hannah, because he knows how to absorb her aggression. They both get what they want from it. Truly synergistic.’
‘But she was in an abusive relationship before Marc?’
‘Something like that,’ he said.
Time to back off…
She said, ‘What about you, Craig?
He leaned forward, chin on palm – ‘What about me?’
‘I find it hard to believe you haven’t been married, or at least in some sort of relationship.’
‘I’ll take that as flattery.’ He sat up, took some wine. ‘I was married,’ he said. ‘She died.’
‘…Oh, I’m sorry. How long ago?’
‘Four years.’
‘What happened? Sorry – don’t tell me if you don’t want to.’
‘Illness. I’d rather not say any more if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not.’ Suicide… ?
At this rather opportune moment, the main course arrived.
Her rack of lamb was delectable – as good in its way as Hannah’s Stroganoff. She said so, and asked how his turbot was. The same, he said. He poured more wine and they ate in silence for a few moments.
Back to work. She said, ‘What about Sophie, where does she fit in?’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, she tends to agree with Hannah about everything – follow her line, anyway, and yet it’s you she flirts with all the time…’
‘What, you think she should be flirting with Hannah?’
‘No! I mean, she evidently likes you even though she doesn’t agree with you.’
‘The sign of a well-balanced and civilised personality, I’d say.’
‘Yeah, yeah…’
He grinned wickedly. ‘We’re not having an affair, if that’s what you’re getting at…’
It occurred to her that he was thoroughly enjoying himself, ebullient even, and she wondered what had brought it on… Being with her? Oh, don’t be so wet…
‘No, it’s not that,’ she said… ‘it’s just… well, she always seems so friendly and chatty, and yet she can’t wait to be gone. Has she got a boyfriend?’
‘No idea.’
‘Sorry, I’m being nosy again…’
‘Mm. No, I mean, you’ve got a point,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘She never gives anything away about herself, never has. She’s committed enough to BTA, very dedicated, but other than that, I really don’t know much about her.’
‘I wasn’t surprised to learn she was a social worker.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
‘Her views, and her efficient way of handling things – people.’
‘You are an observant person, aren’t you?’ he said.
She grinned back at him. ‘Just nosy...’
Probably enough digging for the moment if she wasn’t to get him suspicious, so she asked him about his job (it’s a job) what he did outside of work (reading, walking) whether he had family (mother and sister in Bristol).
By the time they’d had pudding (apple pie and custard) and coffee, she was surprised to find that nearly three hours had passed. She offered to go Dutch on the bill, but he refused.
‘I’ll walk you home,’ he said when he’d paid.
‘No – you paid for the meal, I pay for the taxi. I’ll drop you, then go home.’
‘All right.’
They waited outside for it. She made a roll-up and lit it.
‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ he said.
‘I don’t much, but I like one after a meal. Is it a problem for you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m an ex-sinner myself.’
‘They’re usually the worst.’
‘Not me.’
‘Good.’
The air was still soft, more like autumn than February. They chatted
easily until the taxi arrived.
They were maybe halfway to his house when a car shot out in front of them – the driver trod his brakes and they were slammed against their belts.
‘Are you all right?’ Craig asked, putting his arm round her.
‘I think so…’
‘Stupid fucker,’ the driver said as the offending car sped away. ‘Sorry, Miss – you two OK?’
‘We’re fine,’ Craig said.
And so they were – somehow their arms had found their way round each other and she’d known that instant that she was going to stay the night with him.
They reached for each other again the moment the front door shut.
Chapter 21
He dropped her near the city centre the next morning and she walked back to her flat. Inside, she scribbled down everything she could remember that might be relevant (Hannah’s abuse, the enigma of Sophie, Craig’s dead wife etc.) then made herself a coffee and a roll-up.
Then she had a shower, brushed her teeth and changed, and afterwards, another coffee while she thought about what had happened.
No regrets. It wasn’t the same as last time, she hadn’t compromised anything, and anyway (she smiled to herself) it had been a while – for both of them, she suspected…
She’d woken to find him leaning on one elbow, his eyes, monkey bright, studying her face. He kissed her softly, touched her softly…
‘Won’t you be late?’ she whispered.
‘Yeah, I rather think I might…’
Later, he asked if she wanted to shower before him and she said she’d have one back in her flat.
While he showered, she threw on her clothes and went quickly round the house; the upstairs (spare bedroom, tiny loft hatch) then the dining room, kitchen and utility. She had a quick look in the back garden, but it was little more than a yard with no outbuildings. So, no hidden lab, not that she’d thought there would be.
So, where did it all leave her, she wondered now?
He might not be involved, but Hannah and Sophie were a different matter... and Marc – the fact that the three of them had been in a militant group together in London was suggestive.
But Marc and Craig were quite close, weren’t they?
So why had she been invited to dinner? A put-up? Possible, as things had turned out… Sophie and Hannah sussing her out because they suspected her?
But why should they? They couldn’t know where the composition of the egg shell had led...
Although you could argue that they’d suspect anyone who’d turned up just when she had… But in that case, why take her onto the committee? To keep an eye on her? But of course, Hannah hadn’t wanted to take her on…
She was going round in circles.
What about it being Hannah and Sophie, with the lab side worked by Mary Broomfield in Bath?
A wave of tiredness washed over her and she sat back in the armchair for a moment and closed her eyes…
To be woken an hour later by her mobile –
‘Becca? Hi, it’s Naomi... are you OK?’
‘Fine, just groggy. How’ve you been getting on?’
Well, she’d joined Open Door, Naomi told her, but hadn’t been to any meetings yet, so hadn’t had a chance to meet Mary Broomfield. She
had, however, phoned the Chair, Di Elliot, and managed to find an excuse to invite herself round for coffee and a chat...
‘Oh, well done – what was she like?’
‘Refreshingly normal, although very outspoken on the right of people from Africa to come over here.’ She went on, ‘There’s a meeting tomorrow night, so I’ll see if I can get to know Mary then – if she goes.’
Rebecca told her to keep in touch, then phoned round the rest of the team. Nothing to report.
*
Brigg arrived at 12.15 and Herry shortly afterwards. Herry looked a bit better, she thought, although still pale. At least the bandage had gone.
She’d made a chart showing her suspects in the order of suspicion, together with whether she’d searched their home for a hidden lab:
Suspect House Garden
Hannah (& Marc) Bell Clear Clear
Sophie Rene Rented flat
Mary Broomfield ?
Emma (& Will) ?
Ron Young Clear Clear
Alan Shearing Clear Clear
Malcolm North Rented flat
Craig Holland Clear Clear
‘How clear is clear?’ Brigg asked. ‘Not a hundred percent, I take it?’
Rebecca shrugged. ‘There’s always the possibility of something outlandish we’ve overlooked,’ she said. ‘But… take Hannah and Marc’s house for instance – I’ve looked in every room, and Greg’s checked the garden. There was a loft, but the trapdoor isn’t big enough.’
‘How big’s the house?’ Herry asked.
She described it and he shook his head.
‘A loft in a house that size wouldn’t be big enough,’ he said. ‘A basement might be, though.’
‘We’ve checked with the local authority,’ Brigg said, ‘and none of them have one.’
‘What if they’d dug one?’ Herry said with the ghost of a smile. ‘Didn’t Fred West do something like that?’
‘That’s the kind of outlandish I meant,’ Rebecca said.
‘And you’ve looked at all the other properties?’ Brigg asked her.
‘Sophie lives in a first floor rented flat, as does Malcolm, which I think makes them a lot less likely. Alan, Ron and Craig’s houses I’ve had a good look around, and we’ve also checked the gardens and sheds.’
‘Craig’s the one you were with last night?’
‘Yes,’ she said. She knew Herry was looking at her, and to her annoyance, she felt herself flush. She hurried on, ‘Herry and I got into the basement under the charity shop. That leaves just the flat above it, Will and Emma’s, to eliminate.’
‘Tell me again why you’re so bothered about that,’ Brigg said. ‘I mean, it’s a first floor rented flat, like the others you mentioned, and the police have already had a look round it.’
‘Because the lease for the whole building is held by BTA,’ she said, ‘and I thought the place was ideal as soon as I saw it. Also, whenever I’ve raised the idea of moving the shop, there’s been a chorus of howls saying they couldn’t possibly put Will and Emma out a home.’
‘Not entirely unreasonable, if they’ve got a baby.’
‘I still want to eliminate it,’ she said.
‘Fair enough. Which leaves us with the house owned by Mary Broomfield in Bath. Is there any chance of Naomi having a look?’
‘Open Door’s next meeting is tomorrow, but Mary might not go. Even if she does, Naomi’ll have her work cut out getting an invite to her house.’
‘Mmm,’ said Brigg. ‘Have we got enough on her to send a gasman or someone to have a look round? How much have we got on her?’
‘She’s the only one we’ve found in the South West who’s both a virologist and a member of a suspect group. And we know there’s a link between BTA and Open Door, through Hannah Bell and Sophie Rene.’
‘OK, what have we got on them?’
‘Their records of violence, also their membership of Direct Action Africa. That’s the militant group in London.’
‘And Marc Bell was in that as well, wasn’t he?’ Brigg mused... ‘So you’re suggesting that Mary might have grown the virus in her lab in Bath, and is now storing it her house?’
‘Yes,’ Rebecca said. ‘Although to set against that is the fact that Tim Butterfield thought the security in the lab too good for that.’
Brigg looked at Herry. ‘Could she have grown it in her house?’
‘If she’s a virologist and got the equipment there, then yes.’
Brigg nodded slowly. ‘Then I’d better look out a utility man.’
*
Rebecca finally ran PC Groom to earth the next morning at 8.30.
His face darkened slightly as she told him what she wanted – he evidently hadn’t forgotten about the shop either.
‘I’m not sure quite what it is you’re asking me,’ he said woodenly. ‘Ma’am.’ He was tall and skinny with that slightly vacant look that suggested that, like Parsons, he was finding the rank of constable a bit beyond him…
‘You asked for the loo and then looked round the flat, didn’t you? For any sign of a hidden lab?’
He had, he agreed.
‘And you didn’t see any sign of one?’
Again, correct.
How to phrase this, she wondered? ‘Looking back, can you remember anything odd about the flat, anything at all?’
‘Depends on what sort of odd d’you mean, Ma’am.’
‘Well, anything – a locked door, an unexplained space, a large trapdoor to a loft?’
He slowly shook his head. ‘No, nothing like that.’
‘You’re quite sure?’
He hesitated… ‘Well, if you really mean anything…?’
‘Yes?’
‘Well…’ he frowned as he thought about it… ‘The thing is, I did need the toilet as it happened, and the seat, I noticed, was very close to the wall.’
‘How close?’
‘Almost touching. Uncomfortable if you had to sit down, I should think.’
She said, looking at him, ‘What room is next to the bathroom – on that side?’
‘Bedroom. There’s only the one, it’s a small flat.’
‘Did you look in there?’
‘Looked, but didn’t go in. The kiddie was in the cot and I didn’t want to wake him.’
‘Was there a door in the wall – the one adjacent to the bathroom?’
He thought about it… ‘Yeah, there was… wardrobe, I s’pose.’
‘So there’s a space between the bedroom and the bathroom?’
‘Must be.’
She closed her eyes a moment. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘You didn’t ask, Ma’am. We were told to look for a laboratory, or some sign of recent work and I didn’t see any.’
She started counting to ten, but gave up at five. ‘So how wide d’you think this space was?’
‘I couldn’t say. Like I said, I didn’t go in.’
‘Guess…’
‘Five feet? Maybe more.’
She thanked him through gritted teeth and left. Phoned Brigg from her car. After a short silence, he said,
‘D’you want the police in again, or are you sure enough to raid it?’
‘Raid it, sir. I thought it looked good when I first saw the shop, but of course, we concentrated on the basement. And then I took those stupid plods’ words for it. It fits…’ She reminded him of Emma and Wills’ nervousness and Hannah’s vehement opposition to any move.
‘Yes, it does fit, doesn’t it?’ he said. ‘Do it.’
Chapter 22
I regret to say I was still abed when Rebecca called me on Thursday morning.
‘I need you and Tim, plus a lot of gowns and gloves and so on. We’re going into the flat above the charity shop.’
‘I thought you’d eliminated that.’
‘Anything but. Can you meet me at the hospital in an hour?’
‘Don’t you need a warrant?’
‘On its way.’
I phoned Tim a
nd told him to get all the stuff ready, then showered, swallowed some cereal and coffee, and left.
Tim was waiting for me with cases of gowns and gloves and a Red Bag. I told him what was happening as we took it all to my car.
Rebecca arrived ten minutes later. There were two men with her she introduced as Greg and Phil. ‘Can you follow us to the shop?’ she said.
‘Wait,’ I said, ‘Are they coming inside with us?’
‘Greg is – he’s been vaccinated. Phil’ll wait outside as back up.’
We followed her through the city and parked in the space behind the shop. Rebecca went inside, returning a few moments later with two worried looking middle-aged ladies. They locked the shop and drove off.
We gowned up, then climbed the iron stairway. Tim carried the Red Bag.
Rebecca waited until we were all on the platform at the top, then pushed the bell. I thought I heard a baby cry.
There was no answer, so she pressed it again, a long, continuous ring.
Still no answer.
She tried the door. It opened. We could hear the baby crying quite clearly now. Rebecca made a signal to Phil below, then went inside.
‘Police,’ she called, ‘anyone at home?’
No answer, except for the crying.
She went further in. We followed her down a narrow passageway to a dark and dingy little hall. An open door led to a kitchen behind us, another into a bathroom. No one in either. She went on, stopped at a door on the left, a bedroom. There was a double bed on one side and a cot on the other. The baby in the cot had struggled to its knees and was clinging to the bars, its mouth a large O as it screamed its displeasure. Its nappy was bulging and the stench made your eyes water.
Rebecca said, ‘Greg, check the living room –’
She went over to the baby, but didn’t touch it. ‘Poor little mite… How could they leave you like –’
‘Boss!’ Greg’s voice, urgent – ‘You’d better come…’
We followed his voice into a large living room. It was dim because the curtains were drawn. Greg was kneeling by the sofa. On it were two figures, a male and a female, one draped over an arm, the other half lying on the seat.
Rebecca went over – ‘Oh my God…’ she breathed…
Two others lay slumped in armchairs. Both male. All four were dead.
I ask myself now how I knew that. They were unmarked so far as I could see and could have been asleep, but I knew that they were dead.
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