She gave him a shy smile. ‘Will you be at the end of it?’
He gave her a sad smile in return. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I’m on a different bus to you.’
He got out of the car, ran into the station concourse, checked the monitor. He had minutes to board the train. He ran to the gate, went straight through, holding up a Metro transport pass and shouting to the startled female member of staff that he was police. Flustered, she let him through. Once there, he ran down the steps, along the underpass and up on to the platform. The train was still there. Without hesitating, Amar jumped on.
The door slid shut behind him. He looked up and down the carriage, with no idea where Flemyng might be, only hoping he was on this train. He started his search.
It didn’t take him long. The aisles were full of people taking off coats, storing luggage, checking reservations. Amar managed to blend in perfectly, looking like a lost traveller checking for his seat number. He moved up the train, and found Flemyng in coach C. Sitting by himself in an airline seat on the far side, looking out of the window, biting his nails. The seat next to him was tree. Amar sat down in it.
Flemyng glanced at him, then, once he had realized who it was, did a double take that under other circumstances Amar would have found comical. Flemyng immediately tried to get out of the seat.
‘Going somewhere, Martin?’ said Amar. ‘You’ve booked all the way to Edinburgh.’
Flemyng was trapped. He looked round frantically for a way of escape, but like a claustrophobe in a broken lift knew it was hopeless. Eventually he slumped back down in his seat. Sighed.
‘How did … how did you know where I was?’
‘Checked your laptop. Always cover your tracks. You’ve been so good at it for so long, but you’re getting careless now, aren’t you?’
He frowned. ‘My laptop? How … have you been in my house?’
‘I have.’
‘You broke in?’
Amar shook his head. ‘No your neighbour let me in. Elizabeth. Lovely woman.’
Flemyng sat back against the seat. Hard. ‘Why? Why would she …?’
‘Because I told her I wanted to question you in relation to a series of child sex offences that you were involved in a few years ago. Couldn’t let me in quick enough after that. Even gave me a lift to the station.’
Flemyng covered his face with his hands, groaned.
‘So. You and me are going to have a long chat. We’ve got hours to do it in. It’s a long way to Newcastle.’
‘But … but I’m going to Edinburgh.’
‘You were going to Edinburgh. Now you’re coming to Newcastle. With me.’
Another groan.
‘Right,’ said Amar, settling back, ‘let’s start. Anne Marie Smeaton. You can tell me all about her.’
‘Now I want you to tell me about the boys.’
‘The boys?’
‘The other boys. The dead ones.’
She holds her face in her hands once again. ‘Oh God … no … don’t make me. Please, don’t make me …’
‘Anne Marie, you have to.’
‘No … I don’t know anything about them, please, I don’t …’
‘I don’t believe you.’
She stands up. ‘That’s it. I’m goin’. I’ve told you about Trevor, that’s enough. That’s all I’m sayin’. This was a bad idea, stupid. I haven’t got time to stay here. I’mgoin’.’
‘Sit down, Anne Marie. Come on, you’ve got to keep going …’
‘No. I want Jack. I want to see Jack …’
He gets up, crosses to her, looks her straight in the eye. ‘Come on, Anne Marie, please. I’m trying to help you. If you run, what happens then? I can’t protect you.’
She is listening. She says nothing. He continues.
‘I can help you. But you have to talk to me. Please. Sit down. And we’ll keep going.’
She looks at the sofa, at the door and at him. Makes up her mind. She sits down again. He does the same.
‘Thank you. Now. Those boys. Tell me about those boys.’
‘No … Don’t make me, please don’t make me … I don’t know about them …’
‘I think you do, Anne Marie. I think you know about them. And you’ve got to tell me about them, you’ve got to. It’s important.’ He puts his hands in front of him, imploring her. ‘Come on, face it, Anne Marie, whatever went on then you have to face it. Then start to get over it. Face it. Tell me.’
She keeps her face covered, starts rocking back and forward where she’s sitting. He keeps pressing her.
‘Tell me …’
She makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat. It sounds like a wild animal caught in a trap, dying slowly.
‘You have to face it, you have to tell me …’
‘I don’t have to face it, I don’t … you don’t tell me what to do. That’s what he does, you’re just like him, just like him …’
He leans forward, aware that some kind of breakthrough has taken place, but not sure what. He tries to keep his voice even when he talks, swallowing down his excitement. Just like who, Anne Mane? Who?’
She pulls back, aware that she has said too much.
‘Who? Tell me.’
She doesn’t reply.
‘I’m not like him, whoever it is. I’m honestly not. I’m trying to help you. Please, just tell me about him.’
‘I can’t …’
‘You can. Come on, Anne Marie, you’re doing really well, getting really strong. Just tell me.’
She doesn’t reply.
He decides to take a chance. He has to do what he can to keep her talking. Whether she is guilty or not he has to do everything to keep her talking. ‘Look, I know you didn’t kill all those boys. I’m sure you didn’t. I never for one minute thought that. But I do think you know who killed them. So tell me. And I can help you.’
‘Help me to do what?’
‘Find whoever’s done this. Turn them in.’
She looks at him, her broken face trying to find truth in his words. She’s distraught, he thinks, carrying the knowledge of the killer’s identity is obviously a burden to her, on top of everything else she has to go through. She opens her mouth to speak, thinks better of it.
‘Anne Marie …’
‘No. I can’t. You don’t know. The bad spirits. He’s one of them. The worst one. He’s the one who talks to me. Tells me I’m a bad person. He’s there even when he’s not. I see him in my dreams and he won’t let me go … He tells me how I let these things happen. How I can’t stop them … I can’t stop them … I can’t stop him …’
‘Anne Marie, look. It’s not you doing this. Any of it. I believe that. What does he do to make you think that?’
The tears start again. She seems to be sobbing her heart out. ‘I black out … an’ when I do, things happen. Things I can’t remember …’ She holds up her bandaged hands. ‘I hurt myself. I could hurt other people … I can’t remember … And then he calls me, tells me these things … these horrible things …’
‘What horrible things? When does he call you?’
‘Last night, he called me last night. Told me … reminded me about the deal …’
‘The deal? What deal?’
‘The deal. The one I made with him, all those years ago.’
‘What kind of deal?’
‘If …’ She sniffs, wipes her nose on her sleeve. ‘If … he knows. I have to do what he tells me. Or he’ll tell everyone what I did. Who I am. When I try to get away from him somethin’ happens. Somethin’ … bad.’
‘Something bad? Like killing all those boys?’
She nods, crying too much to speak.
‘Why? Because you try to get on with your life and he doesn’t want to see you do that?’
She nods again.
‘So he kills a boy? Why?’
‘He tells me what to do … sometimes when I black out, I don’t know …’
A cold chill goes through him. ‘What are you say
ing? He kills them? Or what? He makes you kill them?’
‘The bad spirits … I … black out … I don’t know … I could hurt myself or other people, those I love … I don’t know … he tells me … he tells me I have to keep quiet, but it hurts, hurts so much I black out … But it’s Jack he wants …’
‘Jack? Why?’
‘He says, he says he’s just rehearsin’. It’s juh – just to prove his power over me. That he can get me to do what he wants … That … that wuh – one day when I’m l-least expectin’ it, one day he’ll come for Jack …’
‘And, what? Tell him about you? About what you did?’
‘Wuh – worse than that …’
Donovan lets the words sink in. ‘Oh God … You mean he’ll …’
‘Jack … he’ll get Jack … or make me do it …’ Another fresh bout of sobbing.
‘Oh God …’
23
Jamal was glad he had thought to get on the scooter.
Milsom, the woman and the boy had gone straight to the car that was parked round the back of the flat he was in. An Audi A4. He had zipped round on the scooter, careful not to be seen, and watched them load bags into the boot.
His heart was hammering in his chest. They were off. Leaving. He had no choice but to follow them. He pulled the scooter up behind a wall, killed the engine, risked a glance round. Definitely getting ready to move out.
While he was watching, he reached into his pocket, getting his mobile out to call Donovan. But the phone wasn’t there.
‘Shit …’
He checked every pocket, trousers, jacket, even ones he knew he never kept it in. It wasn’t there. And then he remembered. He had left it on the desk, just beside the laptop.
‘Damn … fool …’
Angry with himself, he thought quickly. As he saw it, he had no choice. If they were leaving, he had to follow them. He might never get another chance like this again. None of them might.
Milsom slammed the boot down. The other two were already inside. He got behind the steering wheel, turned the ignition on. Jamal readied his scooter.
The car sped off.
Jamal followed.
*
Countryside flew by outside the window. Being unfamiliar with this side of the country, Amar had no idea where he was. Countryside changed to urban, changed to countryside again, to urban. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested. All he was interested in was the man sitting next to him.
The ticket inspector had been round, Amar, knowing expenses would be picking up the bill for this trip, had paid the full fare. He had checked Flemyng’s ticket.
‘Edinburgh Waverley,’ he had said, marking it and handing it back.
Amar had given him a smile. ‘I think he may get off before that.’
‘That’s quite all right, gentlemen. As long as you don’t stay on afterwards that’s no problem.’
Flemyng, crushed up against the window and unable to move, turned pale, looked like he was about to be sick. Amar kept smiling, giving the impression to fellow travellers that nothing was wrong.
‘So,’ said Amar, settling back into the cramped seat and stretching out his legs, another disincentive for Flemyng to make a dash for it, ‘are you OK? D’you want anything?’
‘A coffee.’ He looked round desperately as he spoke. ‘I’ll go to the buffet car and get it.’
He made an attempt to rise. Amar gently, but firmly, pulled him down again.
‘The trolley will be around soon. Might even treat you to a sandwich then. If you’re a good boy. If you tell me what I want to know.’
‘I need to go to the toilet.’
‘Then I’ll come with you.’
Flemyng looked at him, aghast.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Amar, smile in place, ‘you’re not my type. Believe me, it’ll be more harrowing for me than it will for you.’
Flemyng said nothing. Amar could see his mind whirring, trying to find a way out of his present situation. He was clearly used to worming his way out of trouble, he thought. That’s how he had survived this long.
‘So,’ said Amar, ‘I think it’s time for you and me to have a little chat.’
I don’t have to talk to you,’ he said making one last, defiant stand. ‘You’re not even police. Before I say anything I want my solicitor present.’
Amar shrugged. ‘Fine. I’ll call the police. Have them waiting for us at the other end I’ll tell them you went on the run when we tried to ask you about abusing children. As well as some other stuff we want to put to you. Now I’m no expert, but that kind of thing means you’re guilty, doesn’t it? I’m sure they’ll think so.’
‘This is kidnapping.’
Amar looked round at the rest of the people in the carriage. No one was taking any notice of them. ‘Then tell someone. See what they say.’
Flemyng looked round also.
‘Go on, tell them that I kidnapped you. Tell them to get me off you. Go on.’
Flemyng sighed. He was finally accepting that there would be no escape for him: He settled back into his seat, resigned to whatever might happen to him next.
‘That’s better. Now. Time for a chat. I asked you yesterday if you knew Anne Marie Smeaton. You said no, very unconvincingly, I might add, and ended our chat pretty quickly afterwards. And then legged it. So I’ll ask you again. And this time I want the truth. Did you know Anne Marie Smeaton?’
Flemyng sighed. ‘Yes. I did.’
‘Good.’
‘But not very well.’
Amar rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, here we go.’
‘I … I didn’t. We … I came into contact with her as part of my job. As a social worker. That’s all.’
‘You and her were lovers.’
‘That’s not true.’
Amar stared at him, anger in his eyes. But he kept a smile in place and his voice low so as not to arouse the suspicions of the other travellers. ‘Now listen. There are certain kinds of people that I don’t like. Paedophiles are one lot. Liars are another. So are people who think that all gay men like Shirley Bassey. Now I know that you’re at least two out of three. And that’s enough to make me really angry. And like the Hulk used to say, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry. So stop fucking me about. Right?’
Flemyng realized he had pushed things as far as he could and relented. ‘All right. All right. I’ll tell you the truth. Anne Marie. ‘Yes, it’s true. We were lovers for a time. She came to Bristol and we met through work. Things got a bit … personal.’
‘Do things always get a bit personal with you and your clients?’
Flemyng blushed. ‘No. She was … I liked her.’
‘And presumably you knew who she was. Who she used to be.’
Flemyng nodded.
‘And that was, what? A turn on for you?’
‘It did add a certain … frisson, yes.’
Amar digested Flemyng’s words. ‘A certain frisson. Right. If you say so. So how did it work out, this relationship? What was in it for you?’
‘I … I liked her. She was a, an interesting woman.’
Amar folded his arms, pretended to think. ‘Right. You sure you didn’t like her son better?’
Flemyng looked scared, as if he had been caught out in a lie. ‘What? I … no, I …’
‘Oh come on. Don’t fuck me about.’ Amar tried to keep his voice quiet, his face from betraying his anger. It was a struggle. He turned in to face Flemyng, cutting him off from the rest of the carriage. ‘What kind of appeal could a grown woman have for a bloke who gets his kicks from abusing kids? Unless this woman was a child killer and had a boy of her own. Get in with her, wait until the boy’s the age you like them at and bang. You’re in. Christmas has come early for a sick little fuck like you. How’m I doing so far?’
Flemyng covered his face with his hand. ‘Oh God … oh God …’
‘Is that a yes?’
Flemyng, without raising his head, nodded.
‘Good. Well, now we’re commun
icating. What about the dead boys?’
Flemyng looked up, frowned. ‘Dead boys?’
‘Oh don’t start all that again. The truth, remember? The dead boys. Everywhere Anne Marie went there’s been a dead boy. He was one of yours in Bristol. Adam Wainwright. James Fielding in Colchester. Patrick Sutton in Hull. And, of course, Guy Brewster in London. All your own work.’
Flemyng looked genuinely confused. Amar didn’t believe it. ‘I really don’t understand. I … I couldn’t kill another human being …’
‘Just abuse them and fantasize about it.’
Flemyng didn’t reply.
Amar leaned in close. ‘Tell me.’
Flemyng recoiled in his seat, backed right up against the window until he could push himself no further away. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know …’
‘I don’t believe you. You’re a liar and a manipulator. You tried it with me, you tried it with everyone. You’re very good, I’ll give you that. You got away with it for a long time, but you don’t fool me.’
The tears started in earnest then. Great big self-pitying sobs.
Amar sat back, knew he would be getting nothing more for the time being. Maybe Flemyng had been telling the truth. Maybe he knew nothing about the deaths. And maybe he was lying. Back to square one.
The refreshment trolley appeared. Flemyng was still sobbing when a uniformed stewardess leaned across and asked if they wanted anything. Amar shook his head.
The girl looked at Flemyng, back at Amar. ‘Is he all right?’
Amar tried to smile. ‘He’ll be fine. Just had a bit of bad news.’
‘Can I get him anything from the trolley?’
‘Nah,’ said Amar looking from the sobbing heap of Flemyng back to the girl. ‘He doesn’t deserve it.’
She is still crying. ‘He thinks he can do what he likes. I tuh – try to get away from him, I do, but he keeps catchin’ up with me … they said I was liar, I was manipulative. They never met him …’
Donovan rubs his face with his hands. Thinks. ‘So. These blackouts. Do you really think you do something bad when you have them? Or do you think he just plays on that, gets you into such a state of panic that he can make you believe you’ve done something?’
Speak No Evil Page 22
