To Katy that was as good as a kiss or saying, ‘I hope you get on alright.’
Katy arrived at Joan and Ken’s house in London just before one o’clock. Jilly came haring down the stairs to greet her, bouncing with excitement. She looked lovely in a turquoise wool dress Katy had never seen before, her blonde hair tied back with a ribbon of the same colour.
‘I thought you’d never get here,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve found us a flat, but they are only holding it till two. So dump your case and we must head out. I’ll tell you about it as we go.’
As they hurried away from Hammersmith towards Chiswick, Jilly explained she’d been told about the flat by someone she worked with. ‘It’s just down here, close to Ravenscourt Park. Jackie, the girl who lives there now, is going to Australia at the end of the month with her flatmate, and she asked her landlord if we could have first refusal so he doesn’t need to advertise it. I saw it last night and it’s really nice. Only one bedroom, and quite small, but it’s not dark and stinky. The furniture is nice, too.’
Katy was delighted to hear that the rent was only twelve pounds a week, which was a real bargain.
‘Apparently, the landlord, Mr Sawyer, likes long-term tenants who look after the place so he doesn’t have to worry about it. Jackie told him we were really quiet and well behaved, so we’d better look like we are,’ Jilly giggled. ‘Mind you, I’ve had to work so hard this week that when I get home I just want to fall into bed.’
Shaftesbury Road was tree-lined, and number 8 was one of the smaller terraced houses. The flat they’d come to see was on the ground floor, with a fair-sized sitting room looking on to the street. The bedroom behind it was smaller, but big enough, with two single divans and a huge built-in wardrobe. The kitchen was further down the hall and the bathroom beyond a door to the back garden.
Jackie, Jilly’s friend, showed them round while Mr Sawyer was talking to the tenant upstairs. ‘He’ll love that Katy is a legal secretary at the Inns of Court; he likes his tenants to have posh jobs,’ Jackie said with a snigger. ‘I told him I was a buyer at Harrods when I first came to see the flat. The truth was I worked in a café nearby, but I did occasionally “buy” stuff in Harrods. Later on, when I got a better job, I told him I’d left Harrods because one of the floor walkers kept coming on to me. Luckily, my flatmate is a florist in Victoria, and Mr Sawyer thinks that’s rather grand, as they do flowers for the palace.’
Katy could see why Jilly thought the flat was great. The furniture and decor were much like her home in Bexhill, just as shabby and worn. But Katy had always been happy at her friend’s home, and she’d known that for twelve pounds a week they weren’t going to get a mansion. Besides, they could tart it up – and it didn’t smell of damp and it wasn’t dark.
Half an hour later, the girls bounded back up King Street, having signed a lease starting at the beginning of March and paid two weeks’ rent in advance as a deposit. Mr Sawyer lived right out at Brentford, so he wouldn’t be coming round checking up on them, and the two girls living upstairs were much the same age as Jilly and Katy. So they weren’t going to complain about a bit of noise.
‘Let’s go to Hammersmith Palais tonight?’ Jilly suggested. ‘We need to do something to celebrate.’
It was Sunday afternoon, after lunch, when Katy finally told Jilly about the developments back home. They were up in their room, lying on their beds, both a little the worse for wear as they hadn’t got in from the Palais until one in the morning.
They’d had a fun evening, danced with dozens of different men, and drunk too much. They’d even arranged a double date with Rob and John, two rather earnest-looking chaps who worked for the Stock Exchange. Neither of the girls were smitten with either of their dates, but the young men were presentable, well mannered and offered to take the girls to the best Chinese restaurant in Soho. As Jilly had pointed out, ‘Why spend our own money exploring the fleshpots when we can get a couple of blokes to show us it all?’
Predictably, Jilly was really shocked by Katy’s news. She’d known that Mr Speed had been arrested, but not that Katy had kept so much of the story to herself. ‘So how is your dad holding up?’ Jilly asked. ‘And did you hear how Mrs Reynolds’ funeral went?’
Katy told her a shortened version of all that had happened, but not about having the notebook. She didn’t think it was advisable to tell anyone about that until she’d had time to think it all through properly.
‘I can’t see why Edna is so scared,’ Jilly said, frowning with puzzlement. ‘Okay, maybe it was a nutter who started the fire at Mrs Reynolds’ house. But I can’t see that same nutter going for someone else, too.’
‘From what she told me about the injuries these men had inflicted on the women she and Gloria helped, I wouldn’t put it past them to go for Edna, too. In fact, she was the more visible one, as she picked the women up in her car.’
‘So she’s leaving town? Poor woman, just imagine at her age having to start all over again somewhere else.’
Jilly fell asleep a few minutes later. As Katy lay there, awake, her mind turned to what her friend had said. Poor Edna, she’d been through so much heartache, and had helped so many people. Yet who was there to help her now, when she most needed it?
On Sunday evening, just after six, Edna hurried out to her car with a big suitcase. After putting it in the boot she returned to the house for a box of packed personal treasures. She thought she would get her son-in-law to borrow a van in a few days to fetch the rest of her stuff. She couldn’t bear staying here another night, worrying that someone was watching her.
Mr Bonham didn’t agree that her life was in danger; he claimed that whoever had torched Gloria’s house would find that satisfying enough. He said they’d be too scared to repeat the act somewhere else in Bexhill.
But Edna’s mind was made up; she was going to start afresh in Broadstairs with her daughter, Claire, and her family. It was far enough away from Bexhill to never run into anyone she knew. Claire and Roger ran a hotel and they were always short of staff, so for the time being Edna would work for them, just until she got on her feet in the new town.
Remembering she’d left food in the fridge, she went back indoors to clear it out and take some leftovers with her. Then, after turning off all the lights and picking up another bag packed with shoes and a couple of coats, she left the house, shutting the door and locking it firmly.
It was very cold and it felt like it might snow, so Edna wasted no time in starting up the car and moving away. Perhaps for the first time since Gloria had died, she didn’t look around her in the dark street. If she had, she might have noticed the dark red Jaguar at the end of the street, if only because expensive cars were rare in her road.
Edna didn’t intend to drive all the way to Broadstairs tonight. She had booked a room for the night in New Romney, in a small guest house she’d stayed at several times before on the way to Claire’s. As she drove out of Bexhill towards Hastings, she felt a sense of release. By lunchtime tomorrow she’d be with her daughter and her two grandchildren, and a new chapter of her life would begin.
By the time she’d gone through Hastings and the road climbed up towards Guestling, she was feeling relaxed because there was little traffic, and the road was one of her favourites. She often drove along it to Rye during the summer, and she knew it well.
A car overtook her at speed just before she got to Winchelsea.
‘Silly man,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I hope he knows how narrow the road is further on.’
She passed beneath the old Landgate and started down the steep hill, which led to the marshes, when suddenly in front of her a car was coming up the hill with its headlights on full beam, blinding her and blasting on its horn. She had a momentary impression that it was also on her side of the road, giving her no choice but to swerve on to the other side of the road to avoid it. Suddenly, she saw the white-painted barrier seemingly leaping in front of her in her headlights and although she tried to brake and pull the s
teering wheel in the opposite direction, it was too late.
The barrier smashed with a loud crack and all at once her car was hurtling down the sheer grassy hill towards the river at the bottom. She heard herself scream, and she clung on to the steering wheel in the vain hope she could turn it to stop the fast descent. But the car was just bouncing over rocks, gaining speed as it went, and there was the river, as black and slick as tar in the car headlights.
She felt a spray of icy water as the car landed in the river; the water appeared to be coming in around the bottom of the door. She remembered once seeing someone in this same plight on a film. They couldn’t open the door because of the pressure of the water, and although the car seemed to be floating, she could see that the water level was already halfway up the door.
The car headlights were still working for the moment, but beyond them it was pitch dark. She turned her head back towards Winchelsea in the vain hope someone might have seen the accident, but there were no lights that might have been rescuers. Straight ahead of her, across the river, it was just marshland. She put her hand on the horn, but that didn’t work; the only sound was her own voice screaming with terror.
As the headlights suddenly went out, instinctively her hand went to the window handle, but as she cranked it round, so a deluge of icy water came in and she immediately felt the car sink deeper. But the window was the only way out. She grabbed hold of the top edge of the window and tried to haul herself up and out. She got her head and shoulders out, but despite pushing up desperately from the driving seat, she was stuck, half in, half out, and the icy water was rising around her all the time.
She realized then she was never going to see Claire, her son Robert or her grandchildren ever again. She was sure the car she’d swerved to avoid was the same dark red Jaguar that had overtaken her before Winchelsea. He must have followed her, raced past her, then turned at the bottom of the hill to drive up again to meet her and force her off the road.
Why did she set off at night? She should have stayed till the morning. So few cars came down this road, and even if one came now, they wouldn’t be able to see her and her black car in the river.
The car went down again, bringing the water up to her neck. She screamed for help and tried in desperation to force herself through the window, but the icy water was having a paralysing effect on her. She seemed to have lost all her strength and the will to continue to fight.
That man had got rid of both of them now. It was all over.
7
‘So do you think you are going to like this job, Katy?’ Joan asked as she passed the vegetable dish around the table.
Katy paused before answering, remembering how scared she was on her first day. Everyone seemed so posh and super intelligent that she felt like a country bumpkin who had no business to be there.
‘I was terrified on Monday,’ she admitted. ‘But I know who everyone is and what they do now, so it’s getting easier. I think it will work out okay.’
‘I was the same at the zoo for the first few days. I couldn’t even find my way around.’ Jilly grinned. ‘I felt stupid, like I knew nothing about animals. But suddenly it all seemed to fall into place. But they’ll probably call me “the new girl” for years yet.’
Ken looked from one girl to the other. ‘Well, I have to hand it to you both, you’ve done so well. You’ve got jobs you like, and you’ve found a flat you can afford. Not that we want you to leave, we like having you here. But we admire you for wanting your independence.’
The phone rang in the hall before either girl could answer.
‘Who can that be?’ Joan said as Ken got up. ‘No one ever rings at teatime.’
Ken put on his telephone voice. ‘Underwood, may I help you?’ he said, making both the girls smirk. ‘Yes, she’s here, I’ll just get her for you,’ he said and came back into the living room. ‘For you, Katy – some toff, judging by his voice.’
Katy hurried to the phone. It was Michael Bonham.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Is this good news – you’ve managed to get my dad released?’
‘I wish it was good news, Katy,’ he said. ‘And it’s not to do with your father, at least not directly. Edna Coltrain’s car came off the road near Rye at the weekend. Her car hurtled into the river.’
‘Oh no,’ Katy gasped. ‘Is she –?’ She stopped herself, unable to say the word.
‘No, she’s alive, but only just, it was touch and go. A man walking his dog heard something odd, saw lights by the river and then heard what he thought was a scream. So he rushed down there. The car was almost totally submerged by then and Edna was face down, half in, half out of the car window. Somehow he managed to get her out and gave her artificial respiration. Luckily, another person stopped his car on seeing the beam of the first man’s torch and called the ambulance. She’s in the hospital at Hastings.’
‘You said it wasn’t directly to do with my dad, but that sounds as if you think this wasn’t a true accident?’
‘No, it doesn’t seem so. The police think she was deliberately forced off the road. Edna has recovered enough to tell them she thought it was a dark red Jaguar. She said one overtook her at speed just before Winchelsea, and then a short while later what looked like the same car came up the narrow road, on the wrong side of the road, straight at her, headlights blazing. She swerved to avoid him, but he still hit her.’
‘How terrible for her!’ Katy exclaimed.
‘Yes, very frightening, even before she landed in the river. The police found a big dent on her wheel arch and wing, and traces of dark red paint on the bodywork. They also found tyre marks indicating a car turning at speed down the bottom of the Winchelsea road. It’s unlikely someone would overtake a car at speed, then double back minutes later unless they were up to something. The dent on the left-hand wing bears out her story, too. If she had hit an oncoming car travelling on the correct side of the road, it would be her right-hand wheel arch which would be damaged. The dark red paint does match a shade of maroon used on Jaguar cars.’
‘Heavens!’ Katy exclaimed. She suddenly felt a bit faint. ‘So this might be the same person who set the fire and killed Gloria and her daughter?’
‘It could be,’ Bonham agreed. ‘Edna was making her way to her daughter’s in Broadstairs. I think this person may have followed her.’
‘He’d have to be local to know that road so well,’ Katy said thoughtfully.
‘Not necessarily, he might just have driven along that road at another time. It’s a popular scenic route, and people do tend to remember it as being dangerous. So, Katy, I’m sorry I had to disturb you with this news, but I felt you ought to know.’
‘I’m glad you did. Will you see Edna? If you do, can you say how sorry I am, and wish her better. I didn’t ask, what are her injuries?’
‘The shock – and coming so close to drowning – was the worst thing. She banged her head badly on the windscreen, sprained her wrist and has many cuts and bruises. Now she has a chest infection brought on by the shock, I suppose, and the extreme cold. But another minute or two in the river would’ve killed her. It really was a miracle that someone saw what had happened and helped her. As you probably know, there are no houses down there, just marshland. The chances of anyone coming along on a winter’s night were very slight. As Edna said herself, thank God for dog walkers. And yes, I will pass on your message.’
‘I bet she’s even more terrified now.’ Katy’s eyes filled with tears, remembering how she had thought Edna was overreacting in thinking the same person who killed Gloria would come for her, too. ‘She left Bexhill because she felt someone was going to get her.’
‘Well, she’s safe now, in a private room at the hospital, and there is a policeman outside to check visitors. She’s reasonably calm. But I think she’ll feel safer when she’s settled in at her daughter’s.’
‘So does my dad know about this?’
‘Yes, I went to Lewes gaol today and told him. It doesn’t, of course, actually exonerate
him, but it’s enough to get the police looking harder at the evidence. Oh, and your brother visited him; that really cheered him up. Rob said he would phone you for a chat about all this.’
Bonham went on then to ask how she was getting on at her new job, and how the flat hunting was going. She was able to tell him she liked the job and they’d found a flat.
He said he would ring or write if there were any further developments, before wrapping up the conversation and wishing her a pleasant evening.
‘Strewth!’ Jilly said when Katy returned to the living room and told them about Edna. ‘Poor lady. Whoever is doing this is a really evil person. Let’s hope they catch him quickly.’
After dinner, Katy went up to the bedroom, leaving Jilly downstairs. She got out the notebook Edna had given her and just held it for a moment while she thought what she must do. The book held the original addresses of all the women Edna and Gloria had helped. As long as their husbands still lived in the same place, and if one of them owned a maroon Jaguar with a dent on the wheel arch, that was possibly all the evidence the police would need to make an arrest. But how could she be sure the Bexhill police would come up to London and check cars?
She couldn’t. She’d often heard that the South Coast police didn’t like to stray into the Metropolitan force’s stamping ground. They might request that the Met check the addresses out, but there was no guarantee that would be done. Even Mr Bonham had said one of the failings of the police was that they didn’t share information and manpower with other areas. Once she’d handed over this information, she wouldn’t be able to get it back. And she’d never forgive herself if they didn’t act on it.
‘So you do it,’ she murmured to herself. ‘It can’t be that big a task. You only need to check any cars at the addresses of women who left and never went back. They are all within quite a small area.’
Katy knew if she told Jilly what she intended to do, she’d try to stop her. Joan and Ken would disapprove, too. But if she could get all the addresses together without them being aware of what she was doing, then on Saturday she could check them all out. It was going to be difficult to find an excuse to be out on her own all day, but she’d think of something.
The House Across the Street Page 9
