Tastes Like Fear (D.I. Marnie Rome 3)

by Sarah Hilary

  Gina nodded. ‘But he’d not been in touch with them for years. They didn’t come to the wedding. I never met them. I suppose with what happened to his sister … They lost touch.’

  ‘Where were they living? Where did Calum grow up?’

  ‘They had a house in Chiswick, but that wasn’t where he grew up. His dad was in the army, so they were always moving around.’

  ‘Do you have an address in Chiswick?’

  ‘Somewhere.’ She glanced around the room, hopelessly. ‘There was a solicitor’s letter, but Cal probably took it when he moved out.’

  ‘A recent letter?’ Noah asked.

  ‘From two years ago, after they died. That’s when he got the house.’ She stood up, putting her son’s phone aside to search the box files on the bookshelves. ‘He was going to sell, but it needed clearing and he kept putting it off. It was tough for him, seeing his sister’s photos, all those unhappy memories. Then he lost his job, and we were going through a bad patch.’

  ‘How did his parents die?’

  ‘A ferry accident in Italy.’ She opened another box file, moving her hands mechanically through the contents. ‘They were on holiday, on a cruise.’

  ‘Calum’s an electrician, is that right?’

  ‘It was good work, but he lost his job after they died. He … It was a difficult time. He should’ve taken time off to grieve. But Cal needs to be working, always. I told him it was good, me being the breadwinner for a bit. My turn, that’s how I saw it. But he hated it. He’s one of those men who needs to feel needed.’

  Calum had said the same thing at the station, Can’t stand being useless. And about Grace Bradley, Wondering where she is, missing her, praying for news. Had he been talking about his own family, the loss of his sister?

  ‘Do you know where Calum’s been working recently?’ Marnie asked Gina.

  ‘Freelance jobs, nothing permanent.’ She stopped searching for the solicitor’s letter. ‘I can’t find it, I’m sorry. He must’ve taken it with him. It was somewhere in Chiswick. I never saw the house and he didn’t talk about it, just said it was full of memories. His sister’s things. Not a happy place, he said.’

  Grace had called the house a squat. Calum had moved them out, she’d said, because he was worried about security. The half-finished tower block was better, safer.

  ‘He always tells me where he’s working.’ Gina wiped her hands on her skirt. ‘In case I want to get hold of him, like I did when Logan needed a lift that night.’ She blinked, moving her eyes as if she expected to weep or break down, but her face stayed stubbornly blank.

  ‘Was he working in any new-build tower blocks in south London?’

  ‘Those were his favourites.’ She reached for Logan’s phone, closing her hands around it. ‘He loved the security, the idea of security. He’d have had us living like that if I’d let him, in a tower block. But I hate heights and we couldn’t afford the sort of place he wanted. One of those brand-new blocks going up by the river.’

  ‘Was there a place in particular that he liked? Somewhere he’d worked recently?’

  ‘Brigantia Gardens.’ No hesitation. ‘Best views in London, taller than the chimneys at Battersea, better security than Fort Knox …’ She eye-rolled, then hugged herself, Logan’s phone tight to her chest. ‘He’d have moved us in there before they’d finished building it. Not that they did finish. It’s one of those places where they ran out of money. London’s littered with them. But to hear Cal talk about Brigantia Gardens, you’d think that didn’t matter.’

  She looked away, at nothing, her eyes grieving. ‘Cal’s idea of a dream home, never mind the fact that it’s standing empty, no sign of it ever being done. Never mind that there’s no family now. That was it. His dream home.’

  59

  Loz was the youngest at the table, and the ugliest. Dirty hair, gritty armpits, chewed fingernails. She pretended she didn’t care about that stuff, but she did, she really did.

  Christie’s face was super-smooth and her hair shone. Nothing freaked her out. She knew how everything worked in here, and outside. She knew how to get you to come back with her, and how to make you stay. She was scary, but not as scary as him.

  He looked so …

  Normal. Nice.

  Loz tried to imagine how it was when the others were here, Grace and Ashleigh and May, all in the same uniform, squeaky clean. May with her hair shining and her words hidden. She’d hidden at home too, but she’d never looked like a Barbie doll without the boobs. Loz hated it. Hated the stupid clothes and the smell of baby soap under the cooking. Hated the sameness.

  Harm said softly, ‘We don’t say grace here. Unless you’d like to?’

  Loz shook her head. When Harm picked up his fork, Christie did the same. As if the blackout blinds and candles were normal – as if all of this was normal. Eating off camping plates in the dark, the candles making everyone’s shadow spooky. It wasn’t dark outside, not yet. Was it?

  Panic made her feet kick under the table. She didn’t know what time it was outside. She squeezed her knees together, focusing on staying calm, on making them think she was calm.

  ‘Eat up,’ Harm said, smiling at her.

  Loz loaded her fork obediently. Her mouth was flooded with saliva because she hadn’t eaten in so long. When she opened it, spit squirted out like juice from a lemon. The curry tasted funny, made her thirsty. Her feet kicked again. What if it was poisoned?

  May was strangled, stupid. He doesn’t poison you, he strangles you.

  She ate the curry, stopping to drink water whenever she could.

  ‘This is nice,’ Harm said. ‘All of us together. It’s good to have you with us, Loz.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s nice to be here.’

  She could do this, play along, even though her stomach was tied in knots and she wanted to pee really, really badly. It was like being back home, pretending she wasn’t sad, that she didn’t care about being the ugly one, whose clothes were too big, who looked stupid in a dress, whose hair was a black lump of knots. The one who couldn’t open her mouth without putting her foot in it, and who didn’t want a hug at bedtime or any other time thanks, glad they’d stopped saying We love you, because how old was she anyway – eight? Glad that was all over.

  Christie handed her a paper towel. ‘Your nose is running. And your eyes.’

  ‘It’s the curry.’ She wiped at her face. ‘Thanks.’

  Harm brought a fresh glass of water from the barrel, setting it down by her right hand. ‘Here,’ he said gently. ‘It’s okay. It feels funny at first, of course it does. Everyone’s the same here. We’ve all been through something bad, or horrible. It’s all right to be sad. You don’t have to talk about it, but you can if you want to. You can be yourself here. Just … be yourself. We understand.’

  He was good. Most people would’ve made that speech sound puke-worthy, teachers or counsellors or parents. But he made it sound like a thing anyone with any sense would say, like if you had a voice in your head that spoke sense instead of just the other voice, the one that hated you. He made it all sound okay, and suddenly Loz understood why May had liked it here. Why she’d wanted to be here instead of home, why she’d stayed.

  Harm looked good, and he sounded good. Most psychopaths did. Loz had read enough to know that. They were charming, lovable even. Some of the stuff she’d read made psychopaths sound like pets, like you could pat them on the head or feed them biscuits under the table and they’d stick by you no matter what. A lot of what she’d read was bullshit. A lot of the world was bullshit. Loz wasn’t stupid, not in that way, but he was good. Not just creepy, not even with the candles sliding his shadow around the room, not even knowing what he’d done. She could see why May had liked him. She understood why her sister had wanted to be here. What she couldn’t understand was why he’d killed her. If it was him. It could’ve been Christie. Or Eric. Loz didn’t think it was Eric, unless he was crazier than he looked, but she could believe it was Christie. Listening at doors, ha
nding out phoney keys, looking at Harm like she’d do anything for him, crawl over broken glass, kill …

  Spit filled Loz’s mouth. Her feet wouldn’t stop kicking under the table. She was afraid she was going to puke up the food, because her stomach was one big knot. She needed to find out who’d done it. That was why she’d come here. To know what had happened to May, find her sister’s killer. Except now she felt stupid and scared and wished she’d stayed away, wished she’d phoned DI Rome or Noah Jake, and her mum and dad must be freaking out …

  ‘You’re not eating,’ Harm said. ‘Are you sick?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Perhaps you need to wash. It’s nice to be clean. We can get you some better clothes, too.’

  He didn’t like her smell. Didn’t like the dirt under her fingernails or the way her hair was matted up on one side of her head. He wanted her to look like the others. A stupid plastic doll.

  She didn’t know why she said it.

  Didn’t know she was going to say it.

  Just came out with it, opening her mouth as usual, words falling out:

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  60

  ‘Calum Marsh drives a white van for Resa Electrical. I’ve logged the registration. No recent sightings, but at least it’s in the system now. He knew the layout at Battersea because he’d been there as part of the team in charge of wiring.’

  ‘He was injured,’ Debbie said. ‘In the crash. He had a neck brace, broken arm—’

  ‘Collarbone,’ Noah corrected, ‘and it wasn’t broken, just badly bruised. His injuries weren’t debilitating, not if he was determined. He knew how to get on site, knew exactly where the loopholes were in the security system. His sister Neve went missing when he was fifteen.’

  Noah pinned up a photo of a teenage girl, her dark hair cut into a blunt fringe, her mouth straight and unsmiling, eyes fixed over the photographer’s shoulder.

  ‘Gina says he spent four years looking for her, part of his dad’s search party. Homeless shelters, the streets, anywhere a teenage girl might go. Four years of searching. Neve was smart, independent, ambitious. She’d been talking about leaving home since she was twelve. Calum kept persuading her not to do it because he was terrified of being left alone with their dad and his rages. After she went, everything was much worse.’

  ‘Cut to the chase,’ Ron grumbled. ‘He didn’t get enough attention when he was a kid and now he’s a psycho? Fine. Let’s get him and put him behind bars. Now we know where he is.’

  ‘We need to understand what we’re up against,’ Marnie said. ‘If we storm in, we could get Loz killed. Better to talk him down, if we can.’

  She looked to the hostage negotiator, Toby Graves, for his agreement.

  ‘The more we know, the better.’ Graves nodded. ‘But we’re against the clock, so I get that too. Two at-risk kids in there. Tell me about them, specifically in relation to Calum’s psychosis.’

  Noah said, ‘Aimee’s his favourite. He’s convinced she’s sick, needs his protection. He doesn’t know that Aimee is actually Eric. He thinks he’s found a lost girl like his sister.’

  ‘If Aimee’s Neve,’ Debbie said, ‘why does he need the others?’

  ‘He’s worked around homeless shelters for years. Gina says he was always looking for someone to save. Doing what he couldn’t do for Neve.’

  ‘So why’d he start killing them?’ Ron demanded. ‘Apart from he’s a nut-job.’

  ‘We don’t know, but the timing’s significant. He killed May on the day his son died. He was out the night of the accident looking for Grace. He might blame himself for the crash, but it’s just as likely he blames Grace. Maybe he started blaming the others, too. He’ll have been angry about May’s pregnancy after all the warnings he gave the girls, the morals he tried to enforce. From what Grace says, there’s a lot of shame in the mix. They all felt it, but they didn’t all understand it. I think Calum was made to feel ashamed as a child. As a brother and a son. That sort of shame can be dangerous.’

  ‘Maybe he was warning them about himself,’ Debbie said. ‘He was a teenage boy once, and an unhappy one. Maybe that’s when he first realised something was wrong with him.’

  ‘We know he finds the outside world a hostile place. Gina says he went through periods when he was very anxious, and bewildered. When they were buying their first home, he wouldn’t consider anywhere with open access at the back. Always scoping out the exits, she said. And he was fascinated by prisons – four walls, locks everywhere. Gina says he watched programmes about prisons the way other people watch property shows.’

  ‘He’s made this place into a prison,’ Ron said. ‘Locked them all up for their own safety.’

  ‘They’re happy, Grace says. He makes them feel loved and valued. Useful.’

  ‘So it’s a cult. They’re worshipping him in there. Until he kills them.’

  It was a cult, Noah thought, of a kind. Toxic, peculiar. The family in thrall to Harm, who was in thrall to Aimee. ‘We have eyes on Brigantia Gardens. We’re checking the access points and the security. The danger’s if he realises we’re closing in and panics.’

  ‘He’s panicked twice already,’ Ron said. ‘If by panicking you mean killing.’

  ‘Who’s holding the balance of power in there?’ Graves wanted to know. ‘Calum, or Christie?’

  ‘It’s unclear, but we have to assume Calum’s the killer. The size of the bruises on the girls’ throats, and May was carried into the penthouse. There’s a good chance Christie’s helping him. Grace says she’s in love with him.’

  ‘The fact that he calls himself that,’ Debbie said, ‘tells us everything, doesn’t it? He’s not Calum in there, with those girls. He’s Harm.’

  ‘Do the girls see it that way?’ Graves asked. ‘From what you’ve told me about Grace, she’s struggling even now to see him as a bad guy. We need to know what kind of reception we’re going to get in there, whether they want to be rescued or if they’ll fight with him, for him.’

  ‘Loz won’t,’ Noah said. ‘Christie and Eric, maybe. But not Loz. For one thing, she’s angry.’

  ‘Not too angry, I hope.’ Graves shook his head. ‘From everything you’ve said, putting this man on the defensive would not be a smart move.’

  61

  Christie was the first to stand up.

  Slowly, putting back her chair, no need to hurry. She knew that the key in Loz’s pocket wouldn’t open the door, and that there was no signal on her phone. She’d let Loz keep the phone to make her feel safe, like the handing-out of the key to make her feel she was in control. As if a thirteen-year-old was in control of anything.

  Christie tucked her chair under the table, making it neat, resting her hands on its back. Big hands, square wrists. Evidence – that was what they needed. To make an arrest, bring a conviction. No evidence on May. Crime scene too clean. That was why Loz had come here. To get evidence.

  Across the table, Harm blinked at Loz, his fork still in his hand.

  The table rocked, water tilting in the cups, shadows crawling the walls.

  Loz said, ‘What’s wrong?’ She reached for her cup.

  Funny – she knew she should be scared, but she wasn’t. Not any worse than before. As if she was watching this on a screen, as if it wasn’t real. May – that was real. Not this.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Christie said. ‘I’ll take her back. I’ll take her away.’ Her hands squeezed the chair, her eyes on Harm, watching him the way you’d watch a car that was coming down a road you were crossing, hoping it wouldn’t speed up. ‘I’ll take her. Don’t—’

  ‘How old are you, Loz?’ His voice was the same, soft, but his face had changed.

  Loz heard Christie’s breath coming in short bursts.

  ‘Thirteen,’ Loz said. ‘Fourteen in July.’

  ‘How are you … pregnant?’

  Loz rolled her eyes like she’d seen other girls do, the ones with the fake tans and hair extensions, the ones who boasted about abortion
s. ‘I can draw you a picture if you like.’

  Like May’s pictures. Everything in them. Fear and tears, and love and Eric.

  ‘Who’s the father?’ Harm’s face was stiff as a mask.

  Had he looked like this when May told him about her baby? Like he wanted to break … everything?

  Loz said, ‘Eric.’

  ‘Who’s Eric?’

  ‘No.’ Christie grabbed her by the arm, hauling her up from the table. ‘I’m taking her. It’s my fault, I should have checked—’

  ‘Eric’s upstairs,’ Loz said. ‘He’s upstairs—’

  Christie wrenched her arm and Loz bit her tongue. Shut her eyes for a second against the pain, opening them to see Harm right there in front of her, his face like someone was dragging at it from behind, skin pulled back, eyes slitted. Teeth … she could see his teeth.

  ‘Who’s upstairs?’ he demanded.

  Two sets of hands on her. Christie’s and his. Like they were going to fight over her, pull her apart.

  Good. Evidence …

  If she was all over the floor, there’d be evidence.

  Harm leaned in, red between his teeth and in the whites of his eyes. ‘Who is upstairs?’

  ‘Aimee!’ she shouted in his face. ‘Eric is Aimee, up there in your stupid special room! That’s Eric, pretending to be Aimee. You idiot! He got my sister pregnant and then you killed her. You killed my sister for that – for nothing! Your special girl is a boy … He’s a boy!’

  62

  ‘Calum’s credit card was used at Vauxhall tube station an hour before Loz went missing. It’s not been used since. CCTV gives us this.’ A face, female. ‘Grace has identified her as Christie Faulk.’

  Christie’s face was grey. Eyes hooded, mouth flat. She could have been anyone.

  ‘Vauxhall’s the nearest tube to Brigantia Gardens,’ Noah said. ‘No local sightings of Calum, but his credit card was used to buy bottled water and a lot of liquid fuel. Long-life food, the kind Fran found in May’s stomach, and Ashleigh’s. Chemical toilet cassettes. You name it.’