When she was out of the cab the blonde paid up. Unabashed, she said, ‘If you ever meet that Clara, don’t tell her I said anything will you, darling? She’s not that bad really.’
Amused by her sudden reversal, Eddie smiled, ‘My lips are sealed, darling.’
Reassured, she flashed him a smile and tottered off into the night with an air of confidence about her, as though the inner woman was declaring to the world that, except for a quirk of fate, she would have been on the catwalks of the world. Eddie reflected, as he watched her disappear, that it must be her hard-edged confidence that enabled her to survive the night predators. Clara, the mystery woman, must be of the same ilk.
Half-way home, the warmth from the heater being languor-inducing, his mind comfortably in neutral, it came to him. The dark-haired girl’s face floated up from his subconscious and he knew Clara was the girl in the photograph Alex had shown him, the girl who’d been part of the blackmail plot. It was too late to ring his pal now and tell him. He would do that tomorrow but what Alex would want to do about it, only heaven knew.
Chapter Twenty
Two days after Eddie had reported his sighting, Alex parked his car in the street outside Rose House private school. He was uncomfortable, worried that somebody might mistake him for a paedophile or something equally nasty, because that’s the way it was these days if you hung around school entrances without good reason. Eddie’s phone call informing him about the girl and telling him he’d understood she had a daughter at a private school in Stockton was his reason for being here.
He’d made up his mind that he wanted to hit back at Bridge, had a vague idea he’d force money out of the gangster to compensate Clark and his family. Eddie’s call had given him a place to start; he had to stop brooding and take some action or he’d go crazy.
A cluster of mothers were gathered at the school gate but he couldn’t see Clara. Perhaps Eddie had it wrong. This was definitely the only private school for young children in Stockton, but it was a bit of a gamble that Clara would pick up her child. She could easily have made other arrangements for her collection, another mother perhaps, or taking it in turns.
He was beginning to think his idea foolish, a product of his desperation, when he caught a movement in the distance, a female figure running. As she came into sharper focus the breeze blew her dark hair away from her face and he recognized the girl responsible for his entrapment. She looked so innocent as she blended in with the mothers, and Alex noticed she was smart and well-dressed. The others greeted her warmly enough and he had to admit she looked just like any one of them, no hint of that darker side, the side that had been prepared to ruin his life.
The first child charged out of the gates in wild abandon like a young colt released into pasture, ran straight to her mother. Then other young colts rampaged through the gates and ran to their parents. Through the open window Alex could hear high-pitched voices merging into an unintelligible cacophony. Not for the first time in his life, he wondered how teachers put up with it.
His eyes never left Clara. The memory of that portentous night in the pub returned now as he studied her. He felt anger and bitter resentment towards her for the way she had used him; he hadn’t been a person at all to her, just a thing. The small blonde girl who ran up and threw her arms around her clearly wasn’t viewed as a thing, a dispensable commodity. It was obvious from the way Clara’s face lit up, the way she bent to kiss her forehead, that the child was dearly loved. Alex would have found the scene quite touching if he hadn’t known what one of the participants was capable of.
Clara took the child’s hand, led her along the pavement to a red Nissan Micra, put her daughter in the front passenger seat. Alex started his Mazda, followed when she moved off, careful to keep a safe distance so she wouldn’t be suspicious.
Clara drove through built-up areas observing the speed limit. Alex kept so far back that he almost lost her at a set of traffic lights but managed to catch up again. Eventually they left the Stockton suburbs and travelled country roads towards the small town of Yarm.
Just when he was sure they were going right into Yarm itself the Micra made a turn into a housing estate that had crept out from the edges of the town towards the surrounding countryside. Alex slowed right down, concentrating hard to balance the need to keep her in sight against the risk of coming too close. To do that, more than once he allowed her out of his sight and, thinking he’d lost her, was relieved to catch her again.
When she eventually pulled on to a driveway he drove straight past, eyes straight ahead. After parking further up the road he watched mother and daughter get out and enter the house. He gave it a minute then drove back again, this time taking more notice of the house, which was semi-detached and expensive-looking, as were all the other houses he’d seen here. For sure, no one on a poor or even average income could afford them. Was there a husband? He doubted it somehow. What kind of man could condone her nefarious professional activities, unless she kept them secret from him or was a lowlife himself?
What was he going to do now? He decided, since he had no time to waste, that boldness would be best. Confronting Clara in her own home might just shake her enough to make her talk. If there was a man in her life, there was a good chance he’d still be at work and, though he didn’t like the idea of her little girl being around, Clara would surely have enough sense to keep her out of the way while they talked.
His mind made up, he drove back, parked outside the house and walked up the drive. She was quick to answer his knocking. He watched the expression in her eyes pass through neutral to puzzlement, settle on fear as she realized where she had seen him before.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ he said. ‘In the flesh but with more clothes on than last time.’
Desperation flooded her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder, then back at Alex. Her instinct was telling her to slam the door and run but she knew she had the child to consider. Desperation gave way to weary resignation because there was no way to escape the man standing before her.
Alex allowed himself a small amount of satisfaction in watching her predicament. For what she’d done to him it was less than she deserved, but it wasn’t going to help his cause.
‘I just want to talk,’ he said, trying to reassure her he wouldn’t harm her. ‘We can do it out here or inside.’
It didn’t convince Clara. She shrank away from him and tried to shut the door. He blocked it with his foot, pushed it open again.
‘No!’ she cried. ‘You’re going to hurt me and I’ve got a kid in here.’
‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I won’t hurt you or the child if you cooperate.’
Unsure of him, she looked up and down the street, seeking refuge. But it was quiet, nobody about. He waited calmly until she decided there was no way out of it, that she’d have to trust him. Biting her top lip nervously, she capitulated and let him come in.
He followed her down the hallway into the living room. The whole decor was white: the wallpaper, the rug, the sofa and chairs. He wondered if it was a subconscious attempt to contrast her home with the dirty way she earned the money to furnish it. The little girl was sitting at a white piano in the corner of the room, tentatively poking at the keys. It was like a picture from a magazine, something to aspire to.
‘Go up to your bedroom, please, Pauline. Mummy has a visitor.’
Obediently, the girl climbed off the stool and crossed the room to the door. As she passed she smiled sweetly at Alex and, momentarily, he saw the mother’s face, as it once had been, in her face. It made him sad.
‘Sweet child,’ he commented, then bitterly: ‘Pity about the mother, though. Clara’s the name, isn’t it?’
She nodded and lit a cigarette. Alex noticed her hand was shaking.
As a cloud of smoke drifted away, she asked, ‘How did you find me?’
‘Irrelevant!’ He could hear the vestigial anger in his own voice.
‘What is it you want?’ she asked, trembling.
‘I want t
he name of the guy who set it up. Was it the fat guy?’
Clara blenched, made an effort to control herself. ‘Look, it was nothing personal. I’m sorry.’
His anger resurged. ‘Everything’s personal and you’re evading me.’
Her hand started to shake again. A piece of ash fell on to the carpet.
‘You don’t understand. He’ll kill me if I talk. He’ll kill you too.’
Alex sighed. He could see Clara was genuinely frightened but he’d have to put more pressure on.
‘If I don’t get an answer I’m going to make it known, to all and sundry in that posh school your daughter attends, just what one of their parents’ professional activity entails. Then, as a bonus, I’ll make sure your neighbours get to know.’
He had no intention of carrying out his threat, couldn’t do that to the child. Watching Clara’s consternation, though, he knew she was imagining the collapse of the little world she had built for herself and her precious daughter. But she had brought this on herself and he was on a mission. Reluctantly, but determined to see this through, he turned the screw further.
‘I’ve a friend who took photographs of your nocturnal wanderings,’ he lied. ‘You might say it’s case of the biter bit because I’m willing to send them out.’
That seemed to hit home. More ash fell on to the carpet. She stamped on it with her foot, disposed of the cigarette in an ashtray. Then the tears came and she covered her face with her hands.
‘He’ll kill me!’ she groaned. ‘He’ll kill me.’
Alex, his tone softening, said, ‘Nobody will know I got it from you. You’ve a lovely little girl upstairs and I’m not a man who would let anything happen to her mother, even though that mother has harmed me. But I do need information and I will expose you if you withhold it.’
Her hands dropped away from her eyes which were glistening with tears. She was wondering whether she dared trust him.
At last she spoke. ‘You’ll keep me out of it? You promise?’
‘I’m a doctor. This dirty work has been forced on me but I still value life, yours included. Believe me, I’ll keep my word.’
Biting her fingernails, she stared at the far corner of the room while he waited patiently. He thought she was going to shut him out again, that her fear was going to preclude any other emotion or impulse. Then, suddenly, she turned her gaze back to him.
‘The one with me that night. His name is Grimes, Jack Grimes.’
‘A dirty name if ever I heard one. Rhymes with crimes. Where does he live?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Great Ayton, 14 Hollywell Road.’
‘Nice little village that,’ Alex mused. ‘What is he to you, Clara?’
‘Nothing at all. Sometimes he sets me up with rich clients. That’s all.’
Alex lowered his head, looked at her from under his eyebrows and pushed the boat out.
‘That night you and he were working for Charles Bridge. Did you know that?’
Alex noticed her sharp intake of breath. Bridge’s name had an effect on her, no doubt about that.
‘Grimes bragged about working for him, said he was big time. But that night I didn’t know who he was working for. I swear it. All I was interested in was the money he paid me.’
‘The root of all evil.’
Whether it was from anger or shame, he didn’t know but Clara’s face went red.
‘I’m a single mother. Money keeps my daughter in a good school, gives her chances I never had. There are no druggies on the streets round here. Wouldn’t you do something for your daughter if you were me?’
Her attempt at self-justification annoyed him. ‘Bridge threatened my daughter, my family. How would you like it if your daughter were threatened by a gangster like him? You were part of it, lady, for the sake of dirty money.’
He hadn’t intended to launch an attack but he saw it had hit home. Clara lowered her head, couldn’t meet his eye.
‘Grimes told me none of that. He just said they were setting you up for your wife.’
‘He lied, of course. It was to put pressure on me to help Bridge escape from prison. That’s what you were part of, Clara. Small ripples become dangerous waves, don’t they?’
She couldn’t answer him. Alex decided it was time to go. He rose and started across the room. Clara remained seated but called out to him, her voice hoarse.
‘There’s more. It might help you.’
He halted mid-stride, went back, sat on the edge of the chair and leaned towards her. She was biting her nails. He figured she was still afraid but, somehow, he had disturbed her conscience.
‘Fire away,’ he said. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘Sometimes I clean Grimes’s house for him,’ she began. ‘He lives on his own and pays me for it. One day I found something in the bin, part of a letter he’d torn up. But he hadn’t done it well enough because I could still get the gist and it disturbed me.’
She hesitated, eyes far away, face drawn, as though at a dark place in her mind she was staring down into a precipice with one foot raised tentatively, knowing that there could be no going back once she took the next step. Alex waited patiently for her to commit herself.
It came out in a rush, like water from a broken dam. ‘The letter was from the hospital telling Grimes he’d tested positive for Aids, that he had to report for treatment.’
Alex blew out his cheeks. Her announcement had been certainly dramatic. But was it any use to him? As he pondered the matter she raised her head and looked straight at him. She was clearly relieved, as though she’d carried a secret too long, was glad now she’d shared it with someone and wanted to say more.
He met her gaze and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Why do I get the feeling there’s more to tell?’
The whole dam collapsed and it came gushing out in a torrent. ‘There was a girl living with Grimes, only sixteen years old. She left him and later wrote to me telling me she had the virus. She said it must have been Grimes because he was the only one she’d been with. She wouldn’t tell her family or anyone it was him because she was afraid he’d hurt them.’
Alex shook his head sadly. ‘So young and so naïve.’
Clara glared at him. ‘She paid the price for her naïvety. She died! Then her parents wrote to me because they found one of my letters to her. They couldn’t understand why she hadn’t spoken out. They thought I might know something.’
Alex grimaced. ‘It was tantamount to murder. I take it you didn’t tell the parents the truth.’
A single tear rolled down her cheek, dropped on to the white carpet.
‘I wanted to but I was afraid he would harm me or my daughter if he found out. I’ve been feeling bad about it.’ Another tear started its journey. ‘If Grimes finds out I told you all this I’m dead.’
‘He won’t know,’ Alex reassured her.
‘Someone has to stop him.’ She was mumbling so that he hardly heard. ‘Maybe it was providence brought you here.’
For a moment, he was bemused. ‘Stop him! You mean he’s still at it.’ Then, surprised at his own naïvety, he added quietly. ‘So there have been others?’
Clara hissed, ‘Of course there have?’
After that there didn’t seem much more to say. The magnitude of Grimes’s evil seemed to hang between them, a sinister force to take the breath away. Alex stood, stared down at Clara, pitying her sad life and the sad company she kept, wishing he’d never laid eyes on her.
‘I’ll be paying Mr Grimes a visit.’
‘You’ll stop him doing it again?’
‘I’ll certainly frighten him.’
‘And you’ll keep me out of it? You promise?’
‘That’s what I said.’
Clara followed him to the door. As he opened it, he glanced up, noticed the daughter sitting on the stairs watching them. She smiled and waved at him.
He said, ‘Hope she never finds out.’
Clara’s brow wrinkled. She looked at her daughter. ‘Finds out what?’
She glared at Alex, who knew he’d touched a nerve. ‘Look to your own soul! I’ve a feeling it’s been in bad trouble and there’s more coming its way.’
He smiled ruefully. ‘Nothing’s more certain,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s more certain.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Number 14 Holywell Road, Great Ayton, the abode of Jack Grimes, purveyor of death by disease, could easily have been the home of a country gent. Even in the dark, studying it through the slits of his balaclava, Alex could see that. He was at the back of the detached house where the extensive garden, thick with trees and shrubbery, would offer enough cover for his approach.
He slipped inside the back gate, crossed the lawn and flattened himself against the wall. After a minute waiting there, he decided it was safe to move and edged towards the nearest window. It was open half an inch. Grimes must be a confident man to leave it like that these days, or maybe he felt his reputation was enough security. Either way, it was no problem for Alex to raise it and scramble in.
A shaft of moonlight gave him enough light to see he had entered the kitchen. Avoiding tables and chairs, he crossed the room and entered the long hall. He paused and listened. Like a giant heartbeat for the whole house, the grandfather clock’s ticking dominated. He heard other sounds further off, a raucous rise and a sibilant falling away and realized someone was snoring upstairs.
He climbed the stairs. One of the bedrooms was the source of the noise. The door was open slightly and the snoring was sonorous now, like being close to an animal in its lair. He thought of Grimes like that, an atavistic force in his primitive cave. This was a point of no return and he hesitated, knowing once he stepped inside that room he was committed. Part of him was reluctant, so he had to steel his resolve before he slipped inside the door.
It was darker in the bedroom. Alex stood still allowing his eyes to adjust. He could make out Grimes on the bed; he was lying on his back, chest rising and falling, each descent accompanied by a whistling sound which, in any other circumstances, might have been comical. Alex felt inside his pocket for the syringe, reached into another pocket for the handcuffs. Eyes fixed on Grimes’s supine figure, he approached the bed.
Stitched Page 12
