by Anne Coates
“Where did you take her, Jim, do you remember?”
“As it ‘appens, I do. I log all my fares, don’t I. Habit of mine.”
“So? Where?”
Jim took out a notebook and made a show of turning back several pages. “East Dulwich.”
A jolt that was like an electric shock shot through Tom’s body. His mouth was dry. His muscles tensed.
“You don’t happen to have the road as well, do you?” he asked with a casualness that would have won him an Academy Award.
“Sorry guv, I only note areas.”
“Think back man,” Tom commanded but in vain.
“Sorry. Too far back. Been on holiday since then.” He smiled. “Still that’ll do won’t it? For the reward?”
“We’ll let you know.” Tom stormed out of the room.
It was too much of a coincidence. Hannah Weybridge! That scheming, lying… He wanted to hit something hard. He had been positive there had been someone else in the house the other evening. He had suspected Elizabeth’s father at first, but that was obviously out of the question.
Could it have been the elusive Princess?
Oh Hannah, Hannah…
Why did she have to be involved? And how was she involved? That was something, he determined, he’d know very soon. If Princess had been hiding there…
Back in his office, he picked up his phone then slammed it down again. “No, I’ll take her by surprise,” he said aloud just as the duty sergeant downstairs buzzed through to him.
THIRTY-THREE
Thursday 12 August, 1993
Hannah was sitting at the table, sipping wine and idly shelling pistachios. The wine and sun were having a soporific effect. She felt relaxed. Elizabeth was sitting on a sheet being entertained by a rather boisterous two-year-old.
“Careful, Joel,” she admonished as the toddler looked about to hit her daughter over the head with a wooden truck. Elizabeth beamed and made a grab for the vehicle. Their childish giggles filled the air.
On a day like this, it was hard to imagine that evil existed. That Caroline sat imprisoned in her home. Restless. Hannah knew she was straining at the leash. By this time the day after tomorrow, she hoped, Caroline would be gone. The Reverend John Daniels had agreed to have her stay after a brief explanation from Hannah.
Hannah didn’t drive, so the vicar was going to meet them at the nearest station. She felt an immense relief and guilt. She wanted to be rid of the girl, but at the same time she experienced a protective, almost maternal, feeling towards her. And then she felt guilty all over again. Her first duty was to Elizabeth. There was no room for Caroline. Literally or emotionally.
The object of her love suddenly shrieked as she keeled over. Hannah picked her up and spoke gently to her, then offered her the bottle. After a few minutes, Elizabeth’s eyelids drooped then fluttered open. Clear green eyes stared up at her for a moment, then lost their focus and closed.
“That was well timed,” said a heavily pregnant Linda carrying out a tray of food. “We’ll be able to eat in peace now. Joel’s just given up the struggle to stay awake too. How I’ll manage with two of them, I just don’t know.”
Hannah knew very well. Linda had a talent for organisation that made her well-ordered life appear enviably serene. “You cope with everything,” she said with a smile as she placed Elizabeth in her pushchair, which she moved into the shade. “I don’t know how you manage it. “
Both Linda and her husband David were teachers in secondary schools. Linda had taken minimum time off to have her first child and would be back at school by the time this child was six weeks old. Hannah wondered how she could bear it.
“With my selfless aid and support of course.” David’s broad grin robbed his words of any criticism of Hannah’s single state. “She’d be nothing without me,” he said as he put the barbecued chicken onto the table. “And nor would this meal.” He kissed his wife on the top of her head and patted her enlarged abdomen.
Linda gave him a gentle shove. “Go and get some more wine and some mineral water for me. I think the sun’s gone to his head,” she said to Hannah.
David returned and sat down at the table. “So how does it feel, hitting the big time, Hannah the hack?”
“Ask my bank manager. He’s probably happier than I am.”
Linda looked at her shrewdly. “This prostitute girl’s really got to you hasn’t she?”
“Yes and no.” Hannah stretched her arms above her head. “It’s work. And I have to take what I can get.”
“I don’t know how you cope with freelance,” said Linda as she helped herself to salad. “Always wondering where the next job and fee is coming from.”
“Well, I imagine The News pays well, doesn’t it, Hannah?”
Hannah nodded. “Mmm, this chicken’s delicious.” She chewed thoughtfully. “It’s a bit strange seeing your work sensationalised like that though. I was stunned this morning.”
“Ah well, let’s hope it does some good and that poor girl turns up alive somewhere.” Linda gave Hannah a pat on the arm. “And I think you know more than you’re letting on.”
“Well, that comes with hob-nobbing with a certain police inspector, I expect,” said David. He smiled conspiratorially at Hannah. “Now let’s talk about something that’s not work or babies.”
THIRTY-FOUR
As soon as Hannah walked in, she knew that the house was deserted. There was stillness, a silence that echoed the emptiness. In spite of the sultry heat, which lingered into the evening, a cold tremor ran through her body making her shiver. Elizabeth was asleep in her buggy. Hannah left her in the hall and made straight for the room Caroline occupied.
Everything was extremely tidy. Nothing was out of place, but as Hannah’s gaze swept the room, she noticed that nothing was in place either. There was a curious absence of the bits and pieces Caroline left cluttering up the place. No bottles and jars on the chest of drawers. No screwed up tissues smeared with make-up that always looked incongruous set against the background of nursery rhyme wallpaper.
The dark red curtains fluttered in the light evening breeze. Hannah shuddered. In that moment, she knew that Caroline had really gone – presumably forever. Slowly Hannah walked across the room and opened the wardrobe. Empty hangers stared back at her. Hannah wanted to scream. She opened and shut the drawers in a frenzy – they were void of anything that had been Caroline’s. The room had not just been emptied, it had been meticulously cleaned. Hannah realised that was what had confused her as she entered the room. It smelled so strongly of cleaning products.
Hannah flopped down onto the bed. For several minutes, her brain refused to take in what her eyes confirmed. She mentally cursed herself. She had known she shouldn’t have left her alone today. Today of all days. She should have insisted she came with her to Linda’s, but selfishly Hannah had wanted her friends to herself. She had wanted the sort of day she had enjoyed pre-Caroline. A normal relaxing midweek lunch with friends.
Caroline had been very quiet after she had read the article that morning. “You found Tony, then,” was her only comment but she looked, momentarily, hurt and vulnerable. For the rest of the morning, she had an absent quality about her and she was very definitely displeased about being shipped off to the Reverend John Daniels. She’d used every argument under the sun to change Hannah’s mind. Hannah was deaf to her pleas.
“I need to be in London, Hannah,” she wheedled.
“Why?”
“I just do,” Caroline replied. She was furious with Hannah. How dare she order her about like this? Like a child. Well she wasn’t a child and she wasn’t used to having her life run for her. She was pissed off with all the rules. No smoking. No swearing in front of the baby. And precious Elizabeth ruling the roost, her every whim and wish catered for. Brat! Caroline sighed. She didn’t really think Elizabeth was a brat. She just roused all sorts of feelings in her that she didn’t want to think about.
“That’s no argument.”
�
�I know.” Caroline was worried that Hannah had interviewed Tony. Just when she was getting so near to the bastards who had done for Lisa and the others. But she couldn’t tell any of that to Hannah. “I’m a Londoner. I’ll be bored rigid in the sticks.”
The journalist was unmoved. She had a distinct feeling that Caroline was no longer safe with her. She had no idea what the newspaper appeal would throw up, but it would be better for everyone if Caroline were elsewhere – and protected.
The Reverend John Daniels had asked few questions and Hannah had told him only that she had a young friend who was in need of his protection. He didn’t ask what she needed protecting from, nor, Hannah felt, did he want to know. Evil was evil to him, from whatever source. He agreed to have Caroline for a trial two weeks and they could then discuss the matter. Hannah was almost light-headed with relief. This huge responsibility was shifting away from her.
And now she was gone. Though heaven knew where.
“Oh shit!” Hannah’s expletive seemed to fill the room. The ungrateful bitch, she thought. Going off and not even leaving a note of farewell.
A note!
Hannah grabbed the thought like a lifeline. Caroline had probably left a note downstairs.
She had. Propped on the Edwardian mantelpiece in the sitting room was an envelope with her name scrawled across the front. Hannah tore it open. The contents were brief.
Sorry to go off like this but I don’t fancy the vicar! Thanks for all your help and thank James too. Don’t worry about me. I’ll phone soon.
Luv Caroline.
PS You know who’s responsible.
◊◊◊
It was as though she had been kicked in the stomach by a horse. A physical blow. She read and reread the words: You know who’s responsible. For the murders was implicit.
Her face was burning. Her stomach churned and she had to make a dash for the loo. Her lunch seemed to have made an incredibly rapid journey through her digestive system. Hannah clutched at the hand-basin for a few moments. In front of her, reflected in the cabinet mirror, a drained haunted face looked back at her. After washing her hands with excessive zeal, Hannah splashed her face with cool water and tried to calm herself with some deep breaths. She put the loo seat down and sat on the edge.
It was preposterous of course. She didn’t know anyone who could possibly commit such a crime. Murder. Prostitution. She’d only had a vague idea of that world before The News interview. She remembered two women who worked the pub she frequented as a student. The women seemed then unattractive, sleazy. Part of a different world. One had burst into the loo when she’d been in there. “Don’t mind me love,” the woman had said as Hannah hovered, rigid with embarrassment. “That bastard! Men are all such bastards…” Hannah had made her exit half apologetically.
And now she’d had a prostitute living in her home, sleeping in the room she’d so lovingly prepared for her baby. And with her had come the whiff of death, disease and deceit. How Hannah hated Princess at that moment. And how she longed to know that Caroline was safe and with someone who would look after her. Not that she was incapable of looking after herself. She had more than proved that. But if there was someone out there, who for some reason wanted her dead…
You know who’s responsible.
I don’t, Caroline. I don’t!
Hannah’s face was cradled in her hands. Her face felt hot and dry. Burning. Her hands were cool.
I don’t know anyone who could murder four women, do I? How long, she asked herself, had Peter Sutcliffe gone on leading a “normal” life in front of his friends and colleagues? Not to mention his wife. If she were to be believed. After murderers were convicted, there was always someone who’d creep out of the woodwork and say how strange they’d found the perpetrator, how he’d always acted so differently etc.
Most people were capable of many sins. But murder?
And then she remembered Chris’ words: “Of course I could and would kill if I had to.” Would kill if I had to… if I had to. Hannah wanted to scream. In that moment she hated Caroline for putting such a thought in her head. For tormenting her.
Another thought flashed into her mind. Caroline had not met Chris. In fact, thought Hannah, as reason reclaimed her mind, Caroline had met remarkably few of her friends. But she had met Gerry Lacon, said a small voice from the recesses of her mind. And Gerry, had been one of her clients, or so she’d said.
Hannah dismissed the idea. He was a doctor committed to saving lives. Or so he had proclaimed. Going with a prostitute wasn’t a crime, however unsavoury it might seem. And yet all the dead women were prostitutes… Hannah thought of Sarah. Surely she would know. No. Maybe it had been a case of mistaken identity. Caroline had mistaken Gerry for someone else. After all, a lot of her business was done in half-light.
You know who’s responsible.
Responsible. That was the key word. Someone she knew – and Caroline knew – was involved, not necessarily the murderer. Someone who had dealings with prostitutes.
Tom Jordan!
For a moment Hannah couldn’t breathe. Please God, don’t let it be him. It mustn’t be him. It must not. She liked Tom. There was something very attractive about him. And then she recalled the ring.
Caroline had Tom’s ring in her possession. He said he’d lost it, but was he telling the truth? And was Caroline? Hannah decided that when the girl rang, she’d ask her to explain everything. At least she’d know and not be wracked by these unpalatable possibilities.
Elizabeth stirred and murmured as she picked her up, carried her upstairs and placed her in the cot. Hannah gazed down at her sleeping child and felt that overpowering love surge through her veins.
“I love you, darling,” she whispered.
She watched the tiny mouth make little sucking movements and heard a deep sigh escape her daughter’s lips. Hannah smiled and tiptoed out of the room.
She went into what she now thought of as Caroline’s room and looked round. Everything was just the same. Hannah felt the tears well up. “I’ve let her down.”
For a few minutes, Hannah gave way to her emotions. Then, making an effort to pull herself together, she blew her nose and came to a decision. When Caroline rang, she’d invite her back – to stay at least until they could work out an alternative that was acceptable to Caroline. No more Reverend John Daniels. Hannah made a mental note to phone him early the next morning just as, on cue, the telephone rang.
Hannah went into the study to take the call.
“Hannah?”
“Yes.”
“You okay? You sound a bit nasally.”
“Touch of hay fever, I think.”
“Hmm.” There was a brief pause. “Look I’m phoning from the hospital. I just picked up a patient’s copy of The News and – well – I – um – it’s her isn’t it?” James’s voice had actually risen a pitch.
“James, please don’t ask me anything. She’s gone and I don’t know where I –” Hannah’s voice broke.
“Oh Christ, Look I’m first on call. I can’t leave but I’ll be with you as soon as I can tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay. Oh and James – “
“Yes?”
“Will you bring that package we sent you?”
“Sure. Oh there goes my bleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Hannah slept fitfully.
At three o’clock in the morning, she got up to make herself a cup of hot chocolate and wandered from the kitchen to the sitting room. She switched on a lamp and her eye caught her copy of The News. She picked it up and settled on the settee.
Her “Princess” story was spread over pages two and three with a teaser on the front page. Hannah opened the paper and saw that Caroline had drawn spectacles on her photos. There were a few more doodles but nothing which might act as a clue.
Hannah sat drinking her chocolate and wondering where Caroline had gone. And with whom? Hannah cursed herself for not challenging the girl with the knowledge that Tony
Vitello was living in Streatham. What was it Tom had called him? A nasty piece of work? Well her own observation confirmed that. But more to the point, did Caroline trust him? Had she trusted him?
Hannah dipped her finger into the chocolate froth. She felt something, some vital clue was eluding her. She picked up the note she’d left on the coffee table and looked at it again, studying Caroline’s childlike handwriting. It was the postscript that caught her attention. It really did look like an afterthought. As though it had been written hurriedly.
Something that had been niggling at the back of her mind suddenly leapt forward with startling clarity. Supposing Caroline hadn’t left of her own volition?
The more Hannah thought about it the more it seemed likely. The note was a decoy. Written to allay any fears. And the postscript a pointer, maybe a warning for Hannah herself to be careful.
On the other hand, there had been no indication of a struggle, of any violence. But did there have to be? Hannah asked herself. Perhaps Caroline had answered the door innocently enough and then had been persuaded by some means – a gun? – to depart quietly leaving a note to quell any suspicion? And the cleaning up – it was as though Caroline had never been there…
Hannah shivered from both the coolness of the early morning and the fear, which was taking root in her mind. If Caroline had been forced to leave, then she was obviously in grave danger.
Taking the cup into the kitchen, Hannah tried to make some sense of it all. The worst-case scenario was that whoever had tried to kill her, had somehow discovered that Caroline was still alive and had tracked her down. Presumably to make sure they did a proper job this time. Hannah took this appalling thought back to bed with her.
As she slipped under the duvet, Hannah realised with searing clarity how close she and Elizabeth had come to being snared in the same net. If they had been at home too… the prospect didn’t bear thinking about. Unless… unless whoever it was had been watching the house and had waited for her and the baby to leave. Or else someone had acted out of consideration for her. Someone like Tom Jordan? Hannah felt sick and weary and more alone that she’d ever felt in her life.
