by Anne Coates
◊◊◊
Shortly after ten, the phone rang. Elizabeth was safely ensconced with Nicky and Hannah was sitting at her desk staring at a blank screen and trying to focus on teenage marriage. Her next assignment.
Hannah rested her hand on the receiver. She didn’t want to pick it up but equally she did want to know if Caroline was on the other end of the line.
“Hannah Weybridge.”
“Hannah, hi it’s Rory. You won’t believe this but we’ve had a lead on Princess’s disappearance.”
“Really?” Hannah tried to sound enthusiastic but her heart was plummeting.
“Yeah, some cab driver remembered picking her up. Took her to your neck of the woods, actually.”
“Oh.” The blood drained from her body. Or that was what it felt like. Her arms were leaden. Her skin prickled. She knew there was a question she had to ask. “Do the police know?”
“He went there first. Was interviewed by your inspector yesterday morning.”
Hannah tried to swallow the bile that was threatening to choke her. Could Tom really have come up with the – hopefully, to him – unlikely possibility that Hannah had been shielding Princess all the time? Had the taxi driver remembered the address? Doubtful. Unless there had been some reason for him not to forget. And she wasn’t the only person living in East Dulwich. But Caroline was gone and Tom… Tom …
“Hannah? You still there?”
“Sorry Rory, I was just wondering. Have the police followed it up?”
“I don’t know. They sounded a bit cagey this morning. But that’s probably because they’re feeling a bit miffed.”
“Why?”
Rory laughed. “Oh you know. All those weeks of detective work bearing no result, then we lure out a witness with great rewards. Must be galling.”
“Yes.”
“Well –” Rory wondered at the monosyllabic answers. She could show a bit more interest. “Thanks for all your help. I’ll be in touch.”
Hannah shook herself. “Thanks Rory, it’s really kind of you to let me know so quickly. You feel a bit out of it working from home. Thanks.”
“Right. See you.”
Hannah wondered if she would. Unlikely.
◊◊◊
For a long time after the call, Hannah sat at her desk, head in hands. How much did Tom Jordan now know? Was it safe to call him? If she hadn’t been hiding Caroline, she would have called him, delighted he’d got a lead. But she wasn’t that good an actor.
And Caroline had left her warning.
You know who’s responsible.
Hannah had already had her suspicions about the inspector, which Caroline would neither confirm nor deny. But she did have his ring! That was something Hannah couldn’t dismiss.
If she didn’t phone him, would he wonder why? Hannah scratched her hand. She knew she didn’t have the strength for such subterfuge that conversation would demand. She was close to breaking point. Better to wait. Do nothing.
◊◊◊
At lunchtime, Hannah took herself off to Nicky’s.
“You look dreadful,” Nicky greeted her. “Worse, if anything than this morning.”
Hannah shrugged.
“Anything I can do?”
Hannah dredged up a smile. “You’ve done more than enough, stepping in for me with Elizabeth. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
“Hmm.” Nicky followed her into the sitting room. Elizabeth and Liam were sitting in the playpen. The baby girl stretched up her arms, wearing the special smile she reserved for her mother.
Hannah breathed in her daughter’s fragrance. Elizabeth grasped at her hair and chuckled. Hannah felt the knots around her heart tighten and she wanted to weep – for the joy of Elizabeth and the agony of the loss of Caroline. She cleaved the infant to her and kissed her head, her chubby fingers and her soft cheeks. This was what was important. She had done nothing wrong other than to omit to tell a police officer that a certain person he was worried about was in fact living in her house.
THIRTY-SIX
Tony Vitello brushed his shoes in time to the song he was humming tunelessly to himself. Satisfied with the result, he donned his jacket and quietly slipped out of the flat. His phone call had worked amazingly quickly.
It had been surprisingly simple to get through to the man at home. He was actually listed in the directory. A piece of luck that bode well for him. He was going to be a very rich man.
He walked jauntily around the corner to the side road where he had parked his Porsche. He didn’t notice two men disengage themselves from a small group who were sitting on the steps of a large house opposite, drinking beer from cans. Beer that the two men had so thoughtfully provided when they unobtrusively joined the group listening to the England versus the West Indies test match coverage on the radio.
They caught up with him just as he was unlocking the car door.
“Mr Vitello? Tony Vitello?”
His body tensed for combat as he swung round. His martial arts training was no match for the hypodermic needle, which plunged into his side. Within seconds, his lifeless body slid down the car. His face held an expression of surprise. The two men slipped away before his body hit the ground.
◊◊◊
The message light on the answerphone flashed three times.
“Hannah, James. I’m just going into theatre. A pump job so I don’t know what time I’ll be back. May be late. I’ll ring again before I leave the hospital. Bye.”
“Tom Jordan here. I’m rather tied up so don’t ring back. I’ll call again soon.”
“Hannah, hi it’s Cheryl Thompson. Just wondered when we could expect the teen marriage piece? Speak to you soon. Bye.”
The one voice Hannah wanted to hear above all the others was absent. Oh Caroline where are you? She rang Cheryl, who was in a meeting, and left a message that the feature would be with her within the next two days.
And then she stared at the still blank screen. Inspiration was in short supply but, Hannah told herself, so was money. She couldn’t afford the luxury of worrying about Caroline. She needed money to support Elizabeth. And there was absolutely no point in having someone else looking after her baby daughter while she mooned around.
For the next two hours, Hannah concentrated with a supreme effort of will. Finally, she sat back in her chair with a passable first draft before her. She sighed and stretched her arms up high, allowing her head to loll backwards. Hannah missed the exercise classes she used to attend before the advent of Elizabeth. You could really work off stress then. She was never disciplined enough to exercise on her own.
She longed for a sauna and a Jacuzzi, but immediately thought of the compensatory small body, which nestled into hers in the small hours of the morning. She was so proud of Elizabeth and of herself for having borne her. And yet it is such an everyday occurrence. Women have babies. They become mothers for better or worse. Hannah hoped she would always be the mother Elizabeth needed. Not like Caroline’s mother.
It occurred to her that she’d never asked Caroline her surname. She wondered if Tom knew. Had he, in fact, visited the mother in the unlikely event of her daughter finding sanctuary there? Apart from sending her money, did Caroline keep in touch with her mother?
Certainly with me she doesn’t, thought Hannah, cursing the girl yet again for not phoning. I don’t care where you are so long as you are safe. And if I don’t hear from you by tonight, I’m going to read the photocopy of your notebooks.
The ringing phone made her jump.
“Hello, Hannah Weybridge.”
Silence. No, not silence, Hannah could hear background noises. A typewriter? Muffled voices. The line went dead. Hannah fervently hoped that someone wasn’t checking her movements. Don’t be so paranoid, she told herself. But she couldn’t prevent the knot of fear lodging in her stomach. She switched on the answerphone and went to collect Elizabeth.
She didn’t notice the man leaning against the van opposite her house, reading a ne
wspaper.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The television was on for the early evening news.
Elizabeth and Liam were playing happily on the floor. Hannah smiled as Nicky came in carrying two glasses of white wine.
“Lovely, just what I need.” Hannah sipped gratefully and turned her head slightly towards to television as the newscaster said:
“A man was discovered dead by the side of his car in Streatham, South London, this afternoon. He has not been officially identified but local people named him as Tony Vitello, a local community worker. Mr Vitello lived nearby. Police are treating the circumstances of his death as suspicious and appeal for witnesses to come forward…”
Hannah had turned white. Her eyes looked enormous, the shadows under them deeper. Nicky touched her hand, which was icy. “Hannah… Hannah… what on earth …?”
“I… I… excuse me I …” Hannah’s head rolled back onto the top of the Chesterfield and her eyes closed.
Nicky’s light touch on her arm brought her back to the present. Hannah turned to her and smiled wanly.
“Sorry I’ve just had a bit of a shock, that’s all.”
“Did you know that man?”
Hannah shook her head. “No.” She reached for her wine and drank deeply. “No, not really. But I interviewed him the other day about that missing prostitute. I just hope it’s not connected in any way.”
“What do you mean?” Nicky was intrigued. She knew little of Hannah’s work world, but was witness to the obvious strain she’d been under the last few weeks. And, she was willing to bet, it had nothing or little to do with being a single parent. Hannah was hardly the stereotypical deserted woman.
“Well, his talking to The News and then his murder.”
“If it was murder.” Nicky squeezed her hand. “But whatever the cause, it’s not your fault. You didn’t kill him.”
“No?” Hannah forced a smile. “Maybe it’s just a horrible coincidence. God, I’ll be glad when this is all over.”
“All what is over?” Nicky had a shrewd idea that Hannah was more involved than she let on, but they didn’t know each other well enough for real confidences yet.
Hannah contemplated the other woman. It would be so nice to get it all off her chest but… “The investigation,” she said obliquely. She picked up Elizabeth. “Now I think we’d better be off, don’t you, little one?” Two pools of green looked up at her. Hannah lifted her so their faces were level. They rubbed noses. Elizabeth’s chubby arms reached out. Dimpled fingers clutched at her hair. “Come on, you bully.”
“How are you fixed for tomorrow?” Nicky asked at the door.
“Could you possibly have her for the morning? I only need a couple more hours’ work on the article.”
“Fine. See you about nine then.”
Hannah kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Nicky,” she whispered and Nicky was left wondering what exactly was going on.
◊◊◊
Before bathing Elizabeth, Hannah checked the answerphone. One voice needed no introduction.
“Hannah, I wanted to catch you before you hear the news. Tony Vitello is dead. Not my patch of course, but it looks suspicious. We’re waiting for the post mortem. We need to talk. I’ll phone you later. Take care.”
James’s disembodied voice followed. “Sorry Hannah, I won’t be back tonight – another emergency. I’ll speak to you as soon as I can. Be careful.” The last words seemed to be underlined.
Hannah went downstairs and locked and chained the door. Then she went through to the kitchen and made sure the garden door was bolted. She had always felt so safe in this house. Being alone had never bothered her before. Should it now? If only she knew who the enemy was – for sure. She needed to read Caroline’s notebooks and could do nothing before then. Unless, of course, Caroline phoned. That possibility seemed more and more remote.
Hannah bathed Elizabeth, and once she was asleep in her cot, ran a deep bath for herself.
From the other side of the road, a man watched the house from the vantage point of his white transit van. He spoke into a radio-phone.
“Party is now at home. Property was inspected before her return.”
◊◊◊
She was in the bath and didn’t hear the front door open and close. Facing away from the door, the first she knew of the intruder was a ghostly presence reflected in the steamed-up mirror opposite her. Her eyes widened momentarily as the chloroform on the gag hit the spot and she sank under the bubbles, lifeless.
Within minutes, her body had been lifted, the bath cleaned, and various items removed. Outside, a private ambulance waited, but no one was particularly interested as the front door opened and two paramedics wheeled out a body on a stretcher. Seconds later they and Princess were gone.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Hannah felt no better after her bath. Her mind kept returning to Tony Vitello’s death. It was obviously murder, but was it because he had talked to her? That was hardly likely, seeing as he’d said so little and offered no new information on Princess. And she was missing too. Hannah dismissed the idea that Caroline was involved.
And what about Tom Jordan’s role in all this? Hannah was glad that she hadn’t had to speak to him in person; she’d be sure to give herself away. Oh Caroline why did you have to pick on me? And why haven’t you phoned?
The ringing broke into her thoughts. Hannah stared at the phone on her desk. Innate caution made her switch on the answerphone. She heard her own voice apologise for being unavailable and ask the caller to leave a message.
There was a pause. “Hello?” said a hesitant voice unused to leaving messages on machines. “It’s Marti here. I …”
Hannah snatched up the phone. “Hello Marti, it’s Hannah.”
“Oh it’s you I… well anyway. I thought we’d better have a chat. I’m in the White Swan. Can you meet me here?”
“Ye-es. When?” Hannah’s pulse was racing.
“Tonight.”
“Well I – “
“Look, I can’t hang around, I’ve got a punter. Wait for me if I’m not here.” The line went dead.
Hannah made two calls. One to Nicky whose husband was home and she was prepared to come round and babysit. The second to book a mini-cab. Hannah dressed quickly in cotton trousers and a large T-shirt and fitted the tiny recorder she still had into her bra.
The minicab and Nicky arrived at the same time, so there was fortunately no time to explain her hasty departure. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she promised on her way out through the front door. “Oh and lock the door behind me.”
◊◊◊
The White Swan was not as busy as it had been earlier in the evening with commuters grabbing a pint before catching their trains, but the regulars made quite a crowd. Hannah looked round but couldn’t see Marti through the haze of cigarette smoke. She made her way to the bar.
“Hello luv, back again.” A statement rather than a question from the barmaid she’d bought a drink for. “Not looking for Jaynie again, are you?”
“No, why?”
“’Er bloke’s not someone to cross.” She leaned forward over the counter and lowered her voice. “An’ the old bill’s taking an interest. Bloke by the dartboard.”
Hannah waited a moment before turning slightly. She looked over straight into the piercing gaze of a man she vaguely recognised. For a moment she couldn’t place him, then she remembered he’d been in the pub when she’d met Jaynie. “What’s his name?” Hannah asked under cover of ordering a spritzer.
The barmaid measured the wine into a glass and stood directly in front of Hannah as she added the soda. “Don Martin,” she said in a low voice. “And mine’s Mary,” she added with a smile.
“Hannah. Have one yourself.”
“Ta very much.” Mary turned away to get Hannah’s change.
Just as the latter was sipping her wine, a man’s voice startled her. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her ear and could smell the acrid odour of stale sweat, bee
r and cigarettes.
“You doing business luv?”
Hannah swung round to the florid face of a man in his 40s, just an inch or two taller than herself. His fine, wispy hair was heroically trying to disguise a receding hairline. Froth from his beer outlined his full, flabby lips and there was no way his stubble could be called designer. A black T-shirt, straining over a large beer gut, which made him look about seven months pregnant, failed to meet his jeans, which looked as unsavoury as their wearer.
“I’m sorry?” Hannah instinctively leaned away from him.
“I said, are you doing the business?”
Hannah’s throat went dry. She felt disgust, pity, fear in equal quantities. She was almost mesmerised by the horror the man presented. She opened her mouth, but the words she heard came from a different direction.
“No she isn’t, Dave, and you can piss off,” Mary hissed as she handed Hannah the change.
“My mistake, no offence meant.” Dave shrugged and moved away to be swallowed up by a group of drinkers at the other end of the bar.
As Hannah watched his departure, she realised the whole scene had been taken in by the officer at the dartboard. His face was unreadable, but Hannah’s gut feeling was that he had put the other man up to it. But what on earth for? Just to embarrass her?
“You wanna watch him.”
“Who? Dave?”
“No, him –” a slight movement of her head indicated the policeman. “’E’s a shit of the first order. Be careful.” And with that eloquent warning, she went off to serve someone else.
A raucous belly laugh erupted from the other end of the bar and Hannah felt as if all eyes in the pub were on her, mocking her. The atmosphere seemed friendly enough, but there was an undercurrent of menace that Hannah did not like. God, these women earn their money, she thought. And she wondered how Marti, with her taste for classical literature, coped. How did any of them, she mused.
“Mine’s a large Bloody Mary, luv.”
Hannah’s reflections were interrupted by the arrival of Marti who was hardly recognisable in her working garb. A long, lightweight yellow plastic raincoat covered a black micro skirt and camisole top. Her legs, emanating from high boots, were bare and bronzed. Her face was heavily made up.
