by Susan Lewis
Phillip Denby was entertaining one of his clients when Detective Inspector Radcliffe and Detective Constable Archer burst into his office. Phillip was so shocked that it took him a moment to comprehend what they were saying.
Neither of them bothered to explain in great detail, but by the time he was frog-marched out of the office he knew he was under arrest. He knew too that it was to do with Corrie, and not the prostitutes.
‘I’ll call your lawyer,’ he heard Pam say.
Cristos looked up as Jeannie came into the dubbing theatre. ‘I’ve got everything you asked for,’ she said. ‘Names, addresses, credentials. Provisional hotel reservations, hire cars …’
‘Did you speak with my mother?’
‘Yes. Your father’s staying behind to mind the shop, she’ll get whichever flight you say.’
Cristos nodded then turned back to the dubbing mixer. ‘Carry on with this scene,’ he said, ‘tail the echo over from the last. Try fifty frames. Bring the music in at forty. I’ll be back in an hour.’
He walked outside with Jeannie. ‘No news?’ he said.
Jeannie shook her head. ‘I’ve been trying every half hour. No reply from her home. Paula still hasn’t heard anything either.’
‘Are the cops telling you anything?’
‘Only that they’re holding her father.’
Cristos closed his eyes. When he had contacted DI Radcliffe the night before to report the fact that Corrie was missing, the last thing he had expected was that they would go and arrest her father. ‘What the fuck is going on over there, Jeannie?’ he groaned.
For several hours now DI Radcliffe had been listening to one of his CID officers interrogating Phillip Denby in the next room. DC Archer had been with him all that time, but she’d just popped out to fetch some coffee.
Radcliffe tilted his chair and rested his head on the wall behind him. This was one hell of a fucking mess, he was thinking to himself, and his stomach gave a violent lurch at the unthinkable prospect of finding yet another body on the banks of the Thames. Officers had been on the lookout all day, frogmen were dragging it even now. Nothing had turned up yet, so there was still hope – but where the fuck was Corrie Browne? Forensics were over at her studio now, but when he’d visited there himself earlier it was plain to see that there had been no forced entry and no struggle.
He looked up as DC Archer came back into the room.
‘All these months of tailing the bastard,’ he said as she handed him a coffee, ‘and we lose him the morning Corrie Browne disappears.’
Shaking her head Archer sat down on the wooden bench beside him. ‘I think we’re going to have to let him go, guv. I mean, those guys he was at the meeting with confirmed he was there right up until eleven forty-five. That puts him in Windsor at the time Corrie disappeared.’
‘But where did he go after? No one saw him at the airport, except a couple of old-age pensioners, he claims. And just how the hell are we going to find them without going public on this?’
‘Why can’t we go public, guv?’
‘We will, just as soon as we’ve spoken to Fitzpatrick. Did you get hold of him?’
‘Yes. He’s on his way over.’
Radcliffe sighed and scraped his fingers over the stubble on his chin. ‘We know it was a man who cancelled both the car and the flight … We also know that if Denby is to be believed then most of the evidence points to Fitzpatrick. But what I want to know, is who is trying to put who in the frame here. And why?’
‘I don’t think we should forget the fact that Corrie Browne suspected Fitzpatrick of knowing Bobby McIver.’
‘And neither should we forget that Phillip Denby is her father.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that she could have been conspiring with him to put Fitzpatrick in the frame.’
‘Oh come on, guv, you don’t believe that! If she knew her father had killed those women … Well, she just didn’t strike me as the type who’d cover up for him, even if he is her father. Especially not over something like that.’
‘But we know she had an affair with Fitzpatrick and we know that he broke it off …’
‘We’ve only got his word for that, guv. We’ve never asked Corrie Browne for her side of the story.’
‘No, we haven’t have we?’ Radcliffe sighed, slumping over the table and burying his fingers in his hair. ‘The question now is, will we ever be able to ask her?’
Cristos was with Bud Winters in the Black Tower. There were other Universal executives in the office too, but Cristos was the only one on his feet. He was pacing up and down in front of them, informing them that the answer print would be back the day after tomorrow and then he wanted to take it to France and put the finishing touches to it there.
‘There’s a completion clause to this movie,’ one of the faceless suits started to say.
‘There’s nothing in my contract to say it can’t be completed in France,’ Cristos roared. ‘And that’s where it’s going to be finished! Are you receiving me? If you fight it I’ll just fly Lance Burgess, his assistant and all the dubbing guys out there at my own expense.’
‘But even the jury didn’t arrive yet,’ Bud Winters pointed out. ‘What’s the rush? We’ll get it there.’
‘I’m on a flight for London this afternoon,’ Cristos stated. ‘The others will fly to Nice just as soon as they have the print. I’ll join them there. Story over.’
In the end, after much grunting and shaking of heads, it was agreed that Cristos could do it his way. And they would foot the bill – Bennati was too important to them to risk upsetting him.
Cristos went straight to his office, informed Lance that he’d got the go ahead, told him to get everything in motion and two hours later he was on his way to London.
‘I just don’t fucking believe any of this!’ Radcliffe cried, slamming his office door behind himself and DC Archer. ‘One of those two bastards knows where that girl is and I can’t hold either of them!’
‘What’s the latest, guv?’ one of the other CID officers asked, popping his head round the door.
Radcliffe gave him a thunderous look, so it was left to Archer to explain.
‘We just had corroboration from one of Annalise Kapsakis’s neighbours that Fitzpatrick was outside her house, trying to get in, the morning Corrie disappeared.’
‘Does it cover the time she disappeared?’ he asked.
‘Just about. The neighbour couldn’t be exact, but the person we really need to speak to is Annalise Kap …’ She broke off as Radcliffe’s phone rang, then watched his face become more and more taut by the second as he listened to the voice at the other end. ‘What is it, guv?’ she asked, when he replaced the receiver.
‘They’ve just broken into Kapsakis’s flat,’ he said, shaking his head incredulously. ‘She’s overdosed.’
‘Oh my God,’ Archer breathed. ‘How bad is it, do we know?’
‘Not yet, she’s on her way to hospital now. Come on,’ he said, picking up his coat, ‘let’s get over to the flat. And let’s pray to the patron saint of policemen that she’s left a suicide note, ’cos if she doesn’t pull through it could be the only way we have of finding out just what the fuck is going on with that family.’
Siobhan was in the room overlooking the sea. The rabbits were playing around her feet, five of them now – Luke had brought three more on his last visit. On her lap was a bunch of dandelions, but it was only Luke’s hand that took them to feed the rabbits. Siobhan’s eyes were fixed on the rain spattered windows.
Luke was sitting on the floor staring up at her. Once in a while he picked up a rabbit smoothed it then put it down again. Eventually he stood up, slid his hands into his pockets and started to pace the room. ‘She was going to see Bennati,’ he said, then spun round suddenly and glared at the door. ‘Is anyone listening there?’ he snapped certain he’d heard a footstep outside.
All was silent.
Rubbing a hand over his unshaven face he walked to the window. ‘O
ctavia told Annalise about you,’ he went on quietly, then he smiled a sad and distant smile as he ran a finger through the condensation. ‘She told her everything. I told Annalise it was over between you and me. It didn’t make any difference. It’ll never be over for us though, will it Siobhan?’
He rested his head against the pane looking out at the dull grey sky. The waves lapping the beach were a faraway sound. Siobhan’s breathing was so light he could barely hear it. A rabbit hopped across his foot. He looked down, then scooping it up he carried it across the room to Siobhan. ‘Is this your favourite?’ he said, holding it in front of her face. ‘Is this the one you like best?’
Siobhan’s eyes remained sightlessly on the window, and as the monstrous rage stirred its unholy power through his gut, Luke’s hand tightened around the helpless animal.
‘Then why not be having it for dinner?’ he snarled.
Cristos’s first stop when he arrived in London was Corrie’s studio. The two police officers standing duty there went inside with him while he dumped his luggage, but he didn’t stay long. He had contacted the police station from Heathrow, so already knew about Annalise, and leaping back into his hire car he headed straight for the hospital.
He found Phillip Denby waiting in a corridor outside the ward. It was debatable which of the two men looked the most strained. ‘What news on Annalise?’ Cristos asked.
‘She’ll live,’ Phillip answered, tears starting in his eyes. ‘I was with her a moment ago, but she won’t tell me why she did it. She just keeps asking for Corrie.’
‘Oh God!’ Cristos groaned. ‘Have you told her?’
Phillip shook his head. ‘Not yet, no,’ and he started to sob.
‘Hold on in there,’ Cristos said, squeezing his shoulder. ‘She’ll be all right. They both will,’ but in that moment he was very close to breaking himself.
‘I thought they were holding you,’ Cristos said, as Phillip blew his nose.
‘They were. They let me go in the end for lack of evidence.’
‘But why the hell did they arrest you in the first place?’
‘It’s a long story. But it seems they’ve been tailing me for some time and lost me that morning around the time she disappeared. And when you told them that I was meeting her at the airport …’
‘Fitzpatrick!’ Cristos muttered. ‘It was Fitzpatrick who told me you were meeting her. Where is he now, do you know?’
‘All I know is that the police have questioned him and let him go. That was hours ago. Maybe it was yesterday – I’ve lost all track of time.’
As Cristos looked into Phillip’s ravaged face he could feel his own panic rising. He loved her so much his entire body ached with the fear of what might have happened to her. Not even in his mind could he bring himself to voice his suspicions, but they were there, driving through his brain like daggers. To think of her knowing even a moment of terror was too agonizing to deal with. He had to find her, dear God, he just had to. She was the whole world to him now, the whole world and more.
‘You don’t think …’ Phillip whispered. ‘Cristos, you don’t think she’s …’
‘For Christ’s sake don’t say it,’ Cristos answered in a strangled voice. ‘Don’t even think it.’
– 26 –
FOR DAYS NOW Corrie had been drifting in and out of consciousness. From time to time when lucidity, like the first tentative rays of dawn, seeped through the darkened mass of her mind, she had been dimly aware of someone standing over her, watching her. She’d tried to speak, knowing what she wanted to say, but something was preventing her tongue from moving. In those moments she was trying to tell Cristos she loved him. But then, as though someone were clenching a hand, the fingers of light would vanish and she would find herself once again enclosed in a pit of total darkness.
Now, as the debilitating layer of numbness started to peel from her mind again, she parted her eyelids, moaning softly at the sudden dagger of pain in her head. After a while, when it had begun to subside, she tried to shift her body, but the stiffness sent frenzied messages of protest to her brain. The ache clawing at her stomach, she eventually realized was hunger, which dimly made her wonder when it was that she’d last eaten.
Had they given her food on the plane? As the question coasted through her mind it seemed to take with it another stratum of the debilitating crust that had formed in her head like rock. Then panic put its seering finger to the rawness as she asked herself if the plane had crashed. Was she lying here, buried in a tangle of metal? Were other parts of her body strewn somewhere amongst the debris? She couldn’t feel any of them. But she could! She couldn’t move them, but when she tried the pain assured her that her limbs were still there. Her arms, she realized were behind her back, and her legs … She forced herself to move her feet and felt a pressure tighten on her wrists.
She gave herself some time to think about that, but it wasn’t until she attempted to move her swollen tongue and felt it press against the dryness of something that seemed to stretch across her mouth that what had happened to her suddenly revealed itself in all its horrific and blinding clarity.
Luke!
Luke had been there, standing behind her when she’d turned away from the telephone. She hadn’t heard him come in, she hadn’t even heard him close the door. But he had been there, standing over her, his madman’s eyes gleaming.
What had happened then? She must try to think. She had to control this panic and steady the heaving in her chest. They had talked, she remembered that, but what had he said? What was it he had told her?
The pinions on her memory seemed to shift, letting the words through. He had said that she’d left him with no alternative. He had told her that he couldn’t allow her to go to Bennati when he needed her himself. Then he had … Oh, God … He had pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and told her it was a licence for them to get married.
All Corrie could remember after that was the sudden pain that had exploded in her head. Perhaps, she thought now as tears started to burn her blindfolded eyes and the monotonous thud of pain seemed suddenly to intensify, he had fractured her skull.
But how had he got her out of her studio, and down the steps to his car? If he’d carried her, or even dragged her, surely someone would have seen. But they couldn’t have, otherwise she wouldn’t be here now. But where was she? All she could sense was the dry stench of … What was it? Oil? Earth?
Suddenly her whole body froze as from somewhere very close by she heard a rolling metallic sound. The abrupt splash of sunlight pierced her eyes through the blindfold, and she realized that what she had heard was the opening of something like a garage door. Then there was the metallic sound again and the sunlight vanished – all she could hear now was the soft tread of footsteps coming towards her.
As wave after wave of paralysing terror washed over her images of the murdered prostitutes began racing through her blacked-out eyes. It was here, in this very place, that he had killed them – and each one of them had been trussed in the very manner she was now! And now she was here, and he was stooping over her, his breath warm on her face, his fingers raking through her hair …
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve brought you some food.’
As he released her mouth Corrie started to choke on her sobs. ‘Luke,’ she pleaded. ‘Luke, please let me go.’
‘Sssh,’ he said. ‘It’ll be all right,’ and he tugged the blindfold from her eyes.
Corrie’s sight was blurred and his face was swathed in shadow, but through the dim light she could see the gleam of his smile – it turned her heart to ice.
‘No,’ she cried, as his fingers slowly circled her throat. ‘No! Luke, please!’
The breath jerked from her body as suddenly his grip tightened and he dragged her up by her neck until she was on her knees in front of him. ‘I told you,’ he said, ‘that you would come to me in the end.’
Corrie was too petrified to speak, but as his lips came down on hers a whimper of pure te
rror erupted from her throat.
‘I don’t want to kill you,’ he whispered.
‘Luke, let me go,’ she begged, her voice rasping through the pressure of his fingers. ‘Please, let me go.’
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘You’ll run to Bennati.’
‘No, I’ll do anything you say … Luke, I swear …’
She fell against him as he suddenly released her neck, and hugging her with one arm he slid his other hand into his pocket. ‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘See what we have here.’
Corrie looked down, but in the darkness she couldn’t see what he was holding. It was only when she heard the quick spring of metal that she realized it was a knife.
It was nine thirty in the morning when, feeling more tired then he ever had in his life, Cristos slumped onto the sofa in Corrie’s studio and pressed the button on the answer machine. Even knowing it was useless, he had been out there all night combing the streets of London looking for her. He had to do it, he had to do something or he was going to drive himself insane.
The messages on the answerphone were all for him, most of them from Jeannie. When they’d finished he let his head fall back onto the cushions and closed his eyes. For a while it seemed as though the merciful arms of sleep were going to carry him to a much needed oblivion, but somehow they couldn’t quite reach him.
He had never felt anything like this before in his life. The frustration, the sheer impotence was almost as bad as the fear. He knew he was in danger of losing what little control he still had over himself, and Goddamnit, if he didn’t get some sleep soon, he would!
He no longer knew which was worse, the way he blamed himself for not having realized what was going on, or the anger he felt at Corrie for not telling him. But as he sat there, surrounded by her things, feeling her presence so strongly he could almost smell the lemon cleanness of her, could almost touch her sleepy softness and hear the beloved ring of her laughter, he knew that nothing, but nothing could be as bad as this.
