by Anne Coates
Tourism might be vital to the economy, but Hannah hated sharing her London, the streets where she liked to imagine her grandparents walking some 50 years before, as much as she hated the litter that abounded and the fact that these same shop-fronts became home, at night, to a forgotten but increasing population.
Two relaxed-looking constables strolled by them as they walked across Trafalgar Square and Hannah was sure she’d seen a nod of recognition between them and her companion. There was no reason why they shouldn’t know each other, but it did give Hannah an uneasy feeling, which wasn’t helped by the mass of sightseers and pigeons in what seemed like equal proportions.
Landseer’s lions looked anything but noble with children clambering over them to pose for cameras. And the pools around the fountains were put to good use by footsore tourists. Nelson surveyed the scene from above, while anyone wanting to see him in the famous square would get a crick in their neck.
The air seemed cooler as soon as they entered St James’s Park and made their way to the lake. “Shall we sit in the shade?” Hannah nodded and they found a spot under a vast tree. Tom picked at the grass.
“You were asking me about Princess,” Hannah prompted.
“Yes.” Tom’s thumbnail split a blade in two. “She’s not the first to disappear you know.”
“Who says she’s disappeared? Maybe she’s just staying with friends?” Tom gave her an odd sideways glance and Hannah mentally kicked herself.
Tom appeared to be making an in-depth study of the overhanging branches. “This is definitely off the record and I shall deny telling you anything if you write something…” Hannah nodded. “She’s not the first prostitute to disappear. There’s been a news blackout on this, but so far three women who worked King’s Cross have disappeared over the last two months and then their dead bodies have been found in one of their usual haunts some time later. Only the girls weren’t murdered there. They were dumped there afterwards and they weren’t a pretty sight.”
Hannah felt sick. Her first thought was to reassure Tom that Princess was alive and well, but something held her back. He appeared sincere but there were bent policemen… Princess’s story had never added up either, the only facts Hannah could be sure of were that she had been badly beaten up and presumably left for dead and she could vouch for the fact that the girl was alive. But could she trust Tom? She wanted to, but a small voice in her head warned her to hold back.
“I don’t know how I can help you really. I’ve still got my interview tape if you’d like to listen to that? She only mentions a few people by name. There was some community worker in Brixton – maybe he could help you?”
“Do you have his name?”
“Tony Vitello, I think. Apparently he’s a martial arts enthusiast.”
“That narrows the field.” Tom stood up and held out his hand to help her up. They were standing very close to each other. For a moment Hannah thought he was going to kiss her; she tensed and took a step backwards.
Tom looked at her with an unreadable expression, “Come on, let’s have an ice cream.”
◊◊◊
Sitting downstairs on a crowded number 12 bus, Hannah went over their conversation again and again in her mind. What were Tom’s motives? Why the lunch? Why not just invite her to his office and ask her about Princess. It would have been a lot quicker and cheaper. But expense didn’t seem to worry him. Maybe he was one of those policemen whom Caroline claimed took backhanders? He did pay for the lunch in cash. Not that that in itself was a crime… Surely he couldn’t claim that lunch on expenses? None of it made sense and the wine, sun and movement of the bus had a distinctly soporific effect. Once or twice she nodded off, only to wake as her head jolted backwards.
She was greeted at Nicky’s by the sight of two extremely happy babies lying naked in a shady part of the garden. The peaceful domesticity of the scene relaxed Hannah and she spent an hour playing with them while Nicky popped out to the supermarket. It was after six when they eventually got home.
Hannah put her key in the lock only to realise that the mortise had been locked. Surprised, she unlocked both. “Hello, we’re home,” she called, negotiating the buggy into the hall. “Hello!”
There was no reply. The house was too quiet. Hannah left Elizabeth, protesting loudly, in the buggy. The sitting room door was open. Hannah walked in terrified of what she might find. No one. Everything was as she left it in the morning. She went through the house, calling for Caroline who was very definitely not there.
In a moment of awful clarity, Hannah wondered if she had been deliberately lured away.
TWENTY-TWO
There was no note. Nothing. But the fluorescent pink bag was still in the bedroom, so Hannah assumed Caroline would be back – that is, if she had left willingly. Hannah didn’t know what to think. However, there were no signs to suggest Caroline had been forced out of the house. She felt guilty that her first reaction had almost been relief that she had gone. Her home was her own again. But she couldn’t have gone far if she’d left the precious pink bag.
Hannah was sorely tempted to look inside and part of her was surprised that Caroline had left it there, unprotected. Maybe she’d only popped out and expected to be back before Hannah. The bag held her attention; she had to admit she was curious. But that would be a gross invasion of privacy. She would have been furious if Caroline had gone through her private things while she was out and she had the right to the same respect.
Elizabeth by this time had howled herself to sleep and Hannah managed to pick her up and transfer her to the cot without waking her. She gazed for some minutes at her sleeping form and felt the familiar surge of love. The intensity of the emotion still surprised her. She had never felt like this about any man – even Paul. It was a physical, gut reaction for her and she wondered yet again how any mother could feel any less. Her thoughts turned to Caroline, so bitterly betrayed by the one person whose love should have been totally unconditional.
Where was that girl?
Hannah felt nervy and restless. She couldn’t settle at anything. In the end, she went into her study and flopped into the rocking chair, which creaked in protest. She closed her eyes. Sounds from neighbours’ gardens floated to her. Children playing, voices, music. The heady scent of roses wafted in. A normal, ordinary summer evening with people doing ordinary normal things.
But not me, thought Hannah. She rubbed the fingers of her left hand. Her initial irritation at Caroline’s absence was mutating into concern, a nagging worry and there was nothing she could do.
The telephone rang. Hannah jumped and took a deep breath before answering it. “Mrs Weybridge?”
“No. Who’s calling?”
“This is a company call,” said the slightly officious female voice.
“Sorry, not interested.” Hannah replaced the handset. She went over to the window and looked out. The phone rang again. Hannah deftly switched on the answerphone, then wished she hadn’t as the same voice let out a torrent of abuse after the outgoing message.
“Thank you.” Hannah erased the tape. Looking at her untidy desk, she decided occupation would be good for her and tackled the filing. She hadn’t done any for months and it made her feel good when the tray stood empty.
Still no Caroline.
Hannah made herself a coffee and turned on the television to watch what was left of the nine o’clock news. She had her back to the TV, when a familiar voice made her turn.
“ …fourth prostitute to be found murdered in this area and we’re very worried. Because of the nature of our investigations, there has been a news blackout up until now. However, this new development means that …”
Rooted to the spot, Hannah stared at the screen and the concerned face of DI Tom Jordan. The screen changed to Martyn Lewis summarising the main points of the news. Damn! She’d missed it. Then the awful realisation hit her like a kick in the stomach. Another working woman had been found dead – and Caroline was missing!
Hannah rushed
out of the room and managed to reach the loo in time to be violently sick. Gradually the bile ceased rising. Hannah stood shakily in front of the basin and splashed her face with cold water. All the time her mind was shrieking one word: No!
She was just drying her face when she realised she could now catch the ITV ten o’clock bulletin. She staggered downstairs and switched channels. Hannah sat through the first half until the newscaster’s voice said “and police reveal that four women have been murdered in the King’s Cross area. All that in part two after the break.”
The commercials had just finished when Elizabeth woke. Hannah groaned. She tried to blank out the wails but, unused to being ignored, the infant’s cries became even more insistent. Taking the stairs two at a time, Hannah dashed into her bedroom, picked up the baby and, talking to her reassuringly, descended the stairs and a more careful pace. She could have wept when she saw Tom’s face disappearing from the screen as she went back into the sitting room.
She watched until the end of the programme but there was no further mention of the dead prostitutes. Elizabeth was out for the count after being changed and fed. Hannah returned her to her cot and then searched her handbag for the card Tom had given her that afternoon.
Hannah dialled the number of his mobile phone five times and five times was told that the number was not answering. Hannah wanted to scream. She dialled his home number with little hope that he would be there.
She was right. His disembodied voice on the answerphone told her to leave her name and number. She hung up then thought better of it and rang again to leave a message. “Hello Tom, it’s Hannah Weybridge here, I’ve just seen the news. Would you ring me please? Thanks. Bye.”
She thought of ringing the station but if he wasn’t there she didn’t want to get into any complicated explanations. All she could do was wait.
◊◊◊
Hannah woke with a start. She held her breath. Someone was closing the front door – very quietly. The lamp in the sitting room was on, the door ajar. Transfixed, Hannah watched the door move silently open. The only sound was her heart pounding deafeningly in her ears.
“Hannah, are you there?” the gravelly whisper was followed by a face peering round the door.
It was some seconds before Hannah could speak. Caroline tiptoed in. Without her glasses, and wearing heavy make-up she looked completely different. She reeked of cigarettes and booze. It made Hannah gag and broke the spell. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled silently down her cheeks.
“I thought you were dead.”
Caroline laughed. “What the fuck made you think that?”
Fear quickly transformed itself into fury. Hannah jumped up. “I’ll tell you what the fuck made me think that, shall I?” Her rage was palpable. “I come home to an empty house, no note to say where you’d gone. No phone call. Then I hear on the news that a fourth prostitute had been found dead at King’s Cross…”
“I wasn’t at the Cross…”
“Ohhh –” Hannah was close to murder herself. “It doesn’t matter where you were, does it?” she enunciated. “The fact is I didn’t know. I was worried sick. Can’t you understand that?”
Caroline sat down. Hannah’s outburst had a sobering effect on her. She looked so young and vulnerable. “Look, I …”
“No, you look. Four prostitutes have been killed. Four! Three weeks ago, you turned up on my doorstep half dead. Are you trying to tell me there is no connection?”
Caroline sat shaking her head. The colour had drained from her face and she looked shattered. “Who was it? D’you know who it was?” she asked quietly.
Hannah capitulated. “No, I missed most of the news. Caroline, where were you? I’ve been so worried.”
“I’ve been working.”
“What?” The word came out like a shriek. Hannah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “One minute, you’re begging me to let you stay here. You swear you can’t face the streets again and the next you’re off without a word…”
“I did it for you…”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” Hannah stopped pacing and sat down abruptly.
“Here.” Caroline handed Hannah a roll of notes. Hannah stared at the money then counted out 250 pounds.
“What’s this?”
“You need money. So there’s money. It’s not rent or anything like that. It’s a present. A thank you.”
Hannah stared at her. “Caroline, I can’t take this.”
“Why not? My money was good enough for you before. It was all earned the same way, you know.”
Hannah breathed in deeply. “I’m not criticising how you got the money.”
“No?”
“Of course not, I …”
“Don’t tell me you’ve got another nice commission to expose some poor bleeder’s shame and you don’t need my fucking dosh, right?”
Hannah was stunned by Caroline’s accusation and her language. One night on the streets had transformed her. “No, that’s not right.”
Nausea welled up again, “It’s just that… Caroline, I didn’t want… I didn’t mean you to … for me…” Hannah felt drained and out of control. Everything was going too fast. She couldn’t think straight. Only minutes ago, she had thought Caroline was dead. Now here they were arguing about money.
“No well… look, Hannah, can we talk in the morning? You look all in and I’m shagged. Is it all right if I have a bath now?”
Hannah waved a hand. “Help yourself.” She went into the kitchen for a glass of water, then dragged herself to bed, all emotion spent.
TWENTY-THREE
Thursday 5 August, 1993
The ringing phone wrenched her from sleep. “Hello?”
“Hannah? You sound as though I’ve woken you up?”
“You have.” For a moment she couldn’t place the voice.
There was a throaty chuckle at the end of the line. “Sorry, I thought children always got parents up early. I’m returning your call.”
Tom Jordan. Hannah sat up in bed and her mind went back to the events of the previous evening. “I saw you on the news. It was a bit of a shock. I wondered if it was …”
“No, it wasn’t Princess.” He coughed. “Look I really can’t talk now. Could we meet later?”
Hannah was silent.
“If it’s a problem, I could come over to you?”
Hannah was about to protest then thought it would be a bit suspicious. “Fine, I should be in all day but give me a ring first.”
“Right.” Tom’s voice sounded clipped. Maybe someone was with him.
“Bye.” Hannah hung up. And went over to Elizabeth’s cot where she was, surprisingly, gurgling contentedly. “Come on, little one. Time for breakfast.”
◊◊◊
The roll of notes was still on the coffee table where Hannah had left it. She opened the curtains and windows; the bright sunlight mocked her fears of the night before. Hannah placed the baby on the play mat with some toys and went through her post. No bills, a few circulars, press releases and a bank statement. She opened it reluctantly. Overdrawn but just within her limit. Her last payment hadn’t gone in yet, so it wasn’t too bad.
Hannah contemplated the envelope she’d saved till last and slit it open. She glanced at the few typed line:
Sorry Hannah, this one isn’t quite right for us either. Keep them coming though. Regards Joanne.
The letter was tossed onto the pile with the others. Rejections were becoming rather too familiar these days. She didn’t seem to be able to break into the short story market.
Hannah thought of the novel she was always meaning to write but never got around to. She was always amazed that politicians who, whilst complaining about the hours they put in at the House, found the time to write endless tomes. Discipline maybe. There’s no time like the present, she admonished herself. She ought to do it for Elizabeth. The object of her thoughts suddenly lurched forwards and let out a cry as she landed on her chin. Hannah knelt down beside her. �
�I think it’s time for someone’s nap,” she said as she lifted her up and rubbed noses. Elizabeth responded with a well-aimed poke in the eye.
◊◊◊
By the time she came downstairs again, Caroline, looking scrubbed and rested, was in the kitchen making coffee. She handed a mug to Hannah.
“It’s time we had a talk, young lady,” Caroline pulled a face but followed her into the sitting room.
“I had lunch with Tom Jordan yesterday.”
“Yes, I know.” Sitting with the window behind her, the light made a halo round Caroline’s head. She looked like any other teenager about to be hauled over the coals for staying out late. But when Hannah looked at her more closely she saw that she’d obviously been crying. Hannah didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already had been.
“He’s concerned about you,” Hannah said gently.
“You didn’t tell him I was here!” Caroline looked appalled.
“No, of course not.” In spite of herself, she felt irritated at the girl’s obvious lack of trust in Tom. She had her own reservations but… “He wanted to see me to talk about you.” Caroline snorted. “He said you’d disappeared and he is concerned for your safety.”
“I bet he is.”
“Caroline, I think it’s about time you levelled with me, don’t you?” Hannah tried to make eye contact, but the girl looked away. “Four women – four! – have been murdered.”
“I know, I saw in the paper, Lisa – and Mimi – was me friends, you know?” Hannah didn’t but nodded. “An’ I’ve seen the other two around a lot.” Her eyes looked dangerously close to overflowing and she rubbed them with the back of her hand.
“Do you know anything about how they died?”
The girl nodded mutely. She got up and walked out of the room. Hannah heard her mounting the stairs and a few minutes later she returned with the voluminous pink bag. She dumped it on the floor and sat down.
“I may, I may –” she stressed the word – “know something about how they died. Something. That’s all.” She leaned forward and clutched Hannah’s hand. “And I can’t tell you, because if I do, you’ll be in danger too.”
