Choked dipb-4

by Tania Carver

  She sighed. ‘OK. She’ll have to do.’

  The housekeeper ushered her in, shut the door behind her. Once inside, Helen looked around. She had been in the house a couple of times before. Rare occasions, when Jeff — with Helen as his plus one — had been invited to the odd party. The Sloanes had tastes that overlapped somewhat with the Hibberts’. She had felt the place then to be cold and empty; even with all those people mingling, drinking and enjoying each other’s intimacies, it hadn’t seemed like a warm place. Now, with just echoing blank walls and the odd little piece of angular furniture, the interior of the house looked even more severe. Like a boutique hotel, to be admired rather than stayed in.

  Helen was led into another room. It had two sofas facing each other. All black leather and chrome. A glass and metal table between them, the top polished and bare. And not much else. It was like a private doctor’s waiting room. Or a very high-priced psychiatrist.

  Helen had been in some posh places before. Plenty of them when she was still with Jeff and they used to make a habit of trying to enjoy themselves in the flashiest way possible, but there was something different about this house, this room. It wasn’t flash and it wasn’t posh. Although in its way it ended up being both of those things. It was designed to intimidate. Yes, it said, we’re rich. Richer than you. But we’re harsher than you. Colder than you. And because of that we could crush you. So don’t you forget it. At least that was how it made Helen feel. And she was sure she wasn’t the only one.

  The housekeeper left the room quickly, as if she couldn’t bear to be in it either. Helen wasn’t alone for long. She glanced up and saw Dee Sloane standing in the doorway. She jumped.

  ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘I’m light on my feet.’

  Dee Sloane walked into the centre of the room. She was right. Helen hardly heard her. She sat on the sofa opposite. Helen appraised her. Hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. No make-up. Her small, lithe body covered by a pink velour tracksuit. She curled her legs beneath her, stared at Helen.

  ‘You wanted to see us.’

  ‘I wanted to see your brother.’

  ‘He’s not available.’ Eyes dark, unreadable.

  Silence fell.

  Helen felt uncomfortable. Dee looked perfectly composed. Anger started to resurface in Helen once more. She could feel her breathing speed up, her body vibrate.

  ‘You wanted to see us,’ Dee said again.

  ‘Yes,’ said Helen, controlling her temper, ‘I did. And I’m sure you know why.’

  Dee waited.

  ‘Jeff’s dead.’

  Dee nodded. ‘Very sad.’

  ‘He was murdered,’ said Helen, the words spat out. ‘You know that.’

  Dee frowned. ‘Why should I know that?’

  ‘Because you killed him.’

  Dee’s eyebrows raised themselves in surprise. ‘Me?’ Her face all innocent.

  ‘No,’ said Helen. ‘Not you personally. You would never get involved. Never dirty your hands. Your style is to get someone to do it for you.’

  Dee leaned forward slightly, as if genuinely interested, frown still in place. ‘And why would I do that?’

  Helen leaned forward too, opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come out. She sat back. Looked round. A thought had occurred to her. ‘I’m not saying.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’ve probably got this room bugged. And you’ll use my words against me in some way if you get the chance.’ She leaned forward once more. ‘But you know. So drop the Little Miss Innocent bullshit. Let’s talk.’

  Several emotions seemed to pass over Dee’s face. Quick, fleeting and unreadable to Helen. Like coal-black crows flapping behind her eyes. Eventually she smiled. The effect was as though her body had suddenly become possessed by a human being.

  ‘We can talk in here,’ she said, head and shoulders dropping. ‘It’s safe.’ A sigh escaped from her like a dying breath. ‘It’s … Michael.’ She looked up at Helen, eye to eye. ‘He did it. He killed Jeff.’

  It was what Helen had wanted to hear, but now she was unsure of what to say next.

  And that was when she saw the tear roll down Dee’s cheek.

  58

  Jessie looked at her watch. Deepak stared out of the car window. Tension had ebbed away to boredom and Helen Hibbert was still in the house.

  ‘Put the radio on if you like,’ Jessie said.

  ‘Thought you had a headache,’ he replied, face still at the window.

  She shrugged.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I can do without.’

  Jessie’s phone rang. She was grateful for the distraction. It was Mickey Philips, his voice breathless and urgent, as if he had run a long distance to deliver an important message.

  ‘We’ve found where Josephina Brennan was being kept,’ he said, ignoring niceties.

  Jessie’s boredom disappeared as he told her about the discovery at the house in Jaywick, the dead body, the dead dogs. The message Marina had left for them.

  ‘It’s your team investigating, so I thought you’d want the heads up.’

  ‘Thanks. You got a name for the body yet?’

  ‘There’s a car at the scene registered to a Graham Watts. Looks like his driving licence photo, so we think it might be him. The name ring any bells?’

  Jessie thought. ‘Graham Watts? No. But I’ll get it looked into.’

  Deepak registered the name as she said it, took out his phone, started accessing the internet.

  ‘Appreciate it,’ said Mickey. ‘You getting on it now?’

  ‘I’ll pass it on. We’re following someone who may be able to lead us to Jeff Hibbert’s killer and we can’t break off from that. I’ll get the DS dealing with Josephina to give you a call and liaise. Sort out whose patch is whose.’

  ‘Cheers.’ There was a pause. ‘Well, speak soon.’ He hung up.

  Jessie did likewise, turned to Deepak. ‘Got anything?’

  He glanced up from his iPhone. ‘Not yet. I’ll keep looking.’

  There was so much adrenalin coursing round Jessie’s system she could barely sit still now. She called the station. Gave them Mickey’s news. Then she turned her attention back to the gates. Deepak looked up.

  ‘They must be getting on well in there,’ he said. ‘Wonder what they’re talking about?’

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ she said.

  59

  Helen didn’t know what to do. Of all the responses she had expected from Dee, this was definitely not among them.

  ‘Yes,’ Dee continued, ‘I know all about it. Why wouldn’t I?’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Why wouldn’t I …? ’

  Helen looked round quickly, checking the doors. ‘Where is Michael? Is he here? Is he going to—’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Dee leaned forward over the glass table and touched Helen’s hand. Pressed down firmly. Helen noticed that her hand was warm. Comforting. She had expected it to be cold. Something else surprising.

  Dee gave Helen a shaky smile of reassurance, then sat back, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a paper tissue she had produced from her sleeve. Helen stared.

  Dee’s head dropped once more. Soon her shoulders were shaking. Helen could tell even before the sobs came that she was crying. ‘I … Oh, it’s no good … Listen, I can’t … It’s Michael. He’s … ’ Dee stood up. ‘Look at this.’ She unzipped her velour tracksuit top, pulled up her T-shirt. ‘Look.’

  Helen looked. She saw huge welts along the woman’s stomach, yellowing bruises all joined together like a painful daisy chain. Dee pulled her T-shirt up further. More of the same.

  ‘This is what he does to me,’ Dee said, her lip trembling, tears still on her cheeks. ‘This is what he does to me all the time … ’ She sat down again, head in hands, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. ‘They’re all over, all over … my, my body … ’

  ‘But if I remember, I thought you liked—’

  ‘Playing’s one
thing,’ said Dee through her tears. ‘It’s fun, it’s consensual. But this … ’

  Helen stared at her. She had never liked Dee. Always found her creepy and strange, lacking any kind of human dimension, any kind of connectivity. When they had sat down to talk, she had expected her to try something. But she had never seen this coming. And now she understood. It explained everything. The way Dee was, her character, her manner … all because of this.

  ‘I’m … I’m so sorry, Dee. It must be … horrible.’

  Dee looked up, eyes red-rimmed. ‘Oh, you have no idea.’

  ‘And from your own brother … ’

  Dee nodded silently. ‘Why … why did you come here, Helen? What did you want?’

  ‘I … ’ Helen was thrown by the question. She had almost forgotten. ‘It’s about Jeff. I just wanted you to know that … that whatever he was up to, I had no part in it.’

  Dee looked at her sharply. ‘Do you know where they are now? What they’re planning?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her head went back down. The sobbing started up again. ‘Did you … ’ It was hard to make out the words through the sobs. ‘Did you want money — is that it? Money to say nothing about … anything?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose I did.’

  Dee nodded through her tears. ‘Come here, get money, walk away and keep quiet.’ She sighed. ‘How easy.’ Another sigh. ‘How easy … ’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Take your money. Fine. I don’t care. And walk away. You won’t say anything. I know. You’ve seen what he did to Jeff. You don’t want that to happen to you.’

  ‘No. Definitely not. I won’t say anything. You know me.’ Helen couldn’t believe how easy this was.

  ‘I know, Helen. Money buys your loyalty.’ Dee looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Money can buy anyone’s loyalty … ’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  Dee looked up, straight at Helen. ‘I can talk to you. We used to be close, once.’

  Helen couldn’t remember that, but she kept listening.

  ‘It’s Michael. I want to … to leave.’

  Helen shrugged. ‘Then leave. There’s nothing stopping you.’

  ‘Oh but there is, Helen, there is. He’s got all the money. I’ve got nothing. I have to beg him for anything I want.’

  ‘But he’s your brother, not your husband. I’d never stay with a man who did that to me.”

  ‘Doesn’t matter what he is. The fact is I can’t leave him.’

  Helen sat back, thinking. A plan came to her. She leaned forward once more. ‘Dee, that money you mentioned. To pay me off. Where were you going to get it from?’

  ‘Michael’s account. Or the company account.’ She frowned as if the answer was obvious. ‘Why?’

  ‘How d’you get it?’

  ‘Internet banking. Transfer it to my account.’

  Helen smiled. ‘Then why don’t you just transfer a huge amount for yourself and leave him?’

  Dee looked like the idea had never occurred to her. ‘But … I couldn’t … ’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’d find me … track me down and … like Jeff … ’

  Helen thought again. This was her area of expertise. Getting money out of men. ‘Why not set up a new account and siphon funds off into that? Make it a shell company, some kind of subsidiary, a fake, and little by little take money from him until you’ve got enough to get away on?’

  Dee thought about it, then shook her head. ‘It’s good, but … ’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I want to get away now.’

  ‘What, right now? Today, you mean?’

  Dee nodded. ‘This thing with Jeff, it’s … too much. Too far. I can’t stay here any longer.’ She leaned across the table, took Helen’s hands. ‘Help me. Please.’

  ‘Right,’ said Helen, her business head firmly on. ‘How much can you get out of his account in cash, today?’

  ‘Cash? I don’t know … not much. But he does have a safe in the house.’

  A shiver of anticipation ran through Helen. ‘How much is in there?’

  ‘He usually keeps about … seventy, a hundred thousand in cash … ’

  Helen could barely contain her excitement. ‘Then go and get it.’

  A cloud passed over Dee’s face. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He watches me all the time, never lets me out of his sight … ’ She fell silent. ‘He’s going out later.’

  ‘What time?’

  She chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘Seven. Tonight.’

  ‘There’s your window of opportunity, then,’ said Helen, holding Dee’s hand. ‘Here’s what we’ll do. This afternoon you set up a fake account. Make it at a high street bank with a branch you can get to. At seven o’clock you clear out the safe. Then, with your bag packed, come and meet me and we’ll take off and lie low somewhere. When a few days have passed and the new account has gone through, we walk into a branch of the bank and close the account, taking the money with us. How does that sound?’

  Dee’s eyes were wide. ‘Can we do that?’

  ‘Of course we can. Cut me in and I’ll make sure it works.’

  ‘The two of us together?’ Dee laughed.

  ‘The two of us together.’

  ‘And you’ll … you’ll come with me?’

  ‘Course I will. Make a new start together. Just the two of us.’ Or just the three of us, thought Helen, including the money.

  Dee was smiling. She had never looked more human. I’ve really misjudged her, thought Helen.

  They arranged when and where to meet later that night, and Helen left the house elated. It couldn’t have gone better if she had planned it.

  60

  Well,’ said Deepak, watching Helen Hibbert leave, ‘she’s looking pleased with herself.’

  Helen Hibbert got into a taxi. She had almost skipped towards it, grinning.

  ‘Doesn’t she, though?’ said Jessie. ‘Wonder what all that was about.’

  Deepak had his hand on the door handle. ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jessie, getting out the other side, ‘let’s.’

  They walked up to the gate.

  Jessie’s headache, like the fog, had just about disappeared.

  61

  Marina opened her eyes to find herself in a strange bed in a strange room. She flung back the covers, began to panic. Then remembered.

  Her brother, Alessandro. Jaywick.

  She sank back down again. Closed her eyes once more.

  Jaywick. She had driven here the night before, straight after going to the house. She shivered. The house. Her stomach turned over at the memory. She felt something in her hand, looked down. Lady, Josephina’s toy dog, clutched tight. Her knuckles were white, fingers locked stiff. She closed her eyes, blocking out the light. She had turned up on his doorstep and collapsed from exhaustion.

  She remembered the drive. Jaywick never got any better. Just south of Clacton, it was originally a small town of 1930s prefab holiday chalets for Londoners to vacation in. Many of them had decided to move there permanently. The intervening years hadn’t been kind. Like a promising young starlet overtaken by career excesses, the original dimensions were still in place but the place was now a ruin. A very English shanty town, an Essex City of God. The chalets were all rundown, some derelict, their windows and doors smashed in and turned over to tramps and squatters. Crack dens thrived. Some owners had attempted imaginative home improvements — a caravan attached to the side of one house in place of an extension; a dormer window too heavy for the structure and forcing the lower floor to collapse. The streets were narrow, tarmac and concrete cracked open, decorated with massive waterlogged potholes, choked with weeds and shrubs. The houses crammed together. Here and there were decent homes, well-maintained attempts to hold back the decay, but it was like a swimmer going against the tide.

  Marina had last been to J
aywick for the opening of the Martello Tower art gallery a few years ago. From the clothes they wore and the way they spoke, she doubted everyone she met at the opening was local. And driving through the streets, seeing the boarded-up shops, cafés and pubs, she had wondered what sort of person would live there.

  Now she knew. Her brother.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  She opened her eyes once more. Alessandro was standing at the end of the bed. Mug of something hot in one hand. He sat down next to her. She felt the bed almost give under his weight. He handed her the mug.

  ‘Drink this.’

  She put it to her lips, sipped. It was awful.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Supposed to be tea.’ He shrugged. ‘Never was very good at the domestic stuff.’ He looked down at the carpet. ‘Don’t drink it if you don’t want to.’

  She put it down beside her, sat up. Looked around. It was the main room of one of the chalet bungalows. She was lying on a fold-out sofa bed. The sheets and duvet were faded and worn thin, on the wrong side of clean. What other furniture there was seemed to have been either collected or gathered up rather than intentionally bought. Off in a galley to the right was something that looked more like an Al Qaeda biological weapons testing facility than a kitchen. The room smelt of damp and dirt and lonely, desperate male.

  She caught Alessandro looking at her. Knew he was seeing the room through her eyes. And from his downcast expression, he was probably thinking something similar.

  ‘So.’ He looked up. ‘What brings you here?’ His eyes were sharp, his voice forming a hard, brittle shell around the words. ‘Must be serious. Thought you’d lost my number.’

  Marina didn’t rise to his words, although she could feel herself gearing up for a fight. He was her brother. He knew which of her buttons to press. Just as she knew his. Instead she tried another sip of tea. Managed to swallow it. Not too bad when you get used to it, she thought, hoping she never had to get used to it.

  She replaced the mug on the floor, ignoring the improbably breasted cartoon blonde on its side. Noticed that its interior was ringed brown like a centuries-old tree. Looked up at her brother and sighed. Awake but still tired. ‘Where do I start?’