The music and singing stopped. For a good ten seconds there was silence, then a male voice shouted, “Who is it?”
It made Scarlett jump. Composing herself, she replied, “Police.”
There was another long pause. Scarlett picked out the sounds of scuffling.
Alex broke into a smile. He whispered, “Probably getting rid of the gear!”
After a few more seconds the man shouted from behind the door, “What do you want, man?”
“To talk to you,” Scarlett replied.
“What about?”
“A missing girl.”
There was another pause and then a female voice piped up. “What missing girl? What’s her name?”
Scarlett said, “Look, just open the door so I can talk. This is not a bust. We’ve got a fifteen-year-old girl who’s been reported missing and someone has told us she could be here. I just want to check that out.”
“There’s no fifteen-year-old girl here,” the woman’s voice replied. “There’s no one that young with us.”
“Look, just open the door, will you? I need to do a quick check and then I’m gone. As I say, this is no bust and I’m not here to turn you out. I just want to check things out.”
Scarlett could hear soft voices exchanging with one another behind the door. A couple more voices had joined the man and woman in the hall. She couldn’t make out what was being said. Then she heard the sound of things being dragged and scraped back, and a chain and bolt being released before the door finally opened. A thin, straggly haired man in a green combat jacket appeared. He held on firmly to the door. Scarlett recognised him as the man she and Alex had followed over a week ago. She watched him scrutinising her. Seeing his face take on a puzzled look she shied away her head. She knew he was racking his brains trying to work out where it was he had seen her, so she quickly flashed her warrant card, pocketed it and blocking his view of her face she held up the A5 photograph she had brought from work. It was a photo of a blonde-haired teenage girl. Yesterday afternoon she had furtively removed it from a missing-from-home file Uniform were dealing with back at the station.
“This is who we’re looking for. Her name’s Rachel.”
He studied the photo. “Never seen her. I’m telling you man, she’s not here.”
“Do you mind if me and my colleague just check? Just to satisfy ourselves, so we can tell our boss.”
The sentry turned around to face a man and two women standing a couple of yards behind him in the hallway. Scarlett watched them all exchanging glances. He turned back to face her and on a raised note said, “We’ve no one with that name staying here. I’m telling you she’s not here. Now, will you kindly go?”
Scarlett hardened her look. “Look, my friend, we can do this the easy or the hard way. The easy way is we come in do a quick check of the place, satisfy ourselves she’s not here and leave. The hard way is I now get on my phone and call up a dozen of my colleagues and we give this place a turning over. I’m pretty sure we’ll find some gear here and then we bust the whole lot of you for possession and you spend an uncomfortable night in the cells. Now, which is it to be?”
He loosened his grip of the door. “And that’s all you’re here for?”
Scarlett waved the photograph. “Honest. We just want to make sure she’s not hiding out here and then, once we’re satisfied, we’re on our way. That’s the last you’ll see of us. Do you think if this was a bust only the two of us would show up?”
The man turned back again and flashed the others an acquiescent look and then stepped back, opening up the gap.
Scarlett stepped into the hallway with Alex tightly behind her. Her stomach fluttered nervously as she brushed past the doorman. As he closed the door she saw an old armchair and two long wooden buttresses leaning against the wall – the items she had heard being dragged away before the door was opened.
In the room at the end of the hallway a light was blazing. Following the man they passed a bare staircase leading to the rooms above. He led Scarlett and Alex into a large square room occupied by a ragtag-looking bunch comprising seven men and three women. She knew from what Alex had told her that the squatters were a bunch of musicians and street artists. Not the types to be confrontational, but nevertheless they outnumbered her and Alex four to one and she slipped a hand into her coat pocket, wrapping her fingers around her police-issue incapacitant spray.
The group were lounging around the room on sleeping bags and old mattresses. Rucksacks spewing out their contents were dotted around, giving the place an untidy look. It stunk of cannabis, though there was none in sight. A window was open at the far end; Scarlett remembered what Alex had said earlier and could guess where the spliffs had gone. Looking around the room, Scarlett checked the faces again, though she hadn’t spotted Rose when she’d entered. The expression on the face of the man who had answered the door had changed.
Scarlett knew that look.
Racketing his head between her and Alex he arrowed a finger. On a raised note he said, “I know you two. You’re the guys who chased me and Rose on the Underground.”
At that moment, behind her, Scarlett picked up the sound of clomping feet on bare boards; someone was rushing down the stairs. She spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of a flaxen-haired girl in jeans and a parka making for the door. She shouted for her stop. The girl reached the handle, turned it rapidly, flung the door open and was out through the entrance even before Scarlett had made a step.
“Alex, she’s getting away!” Scarlett yelled and set off after her. By the time she’d reached the outside walkway the girl was fleeing into the stairwell. She screamed “Stop!” but it drew no reaction as the girl disappeared down the stairs.
Fuck!
Haring after her, Scarlett dashed into the stairwell, saw the girl two flights below and leapt after her, taking the stairs two at a time. By the time the girl had reached the bottom Scarlett had made ground and was only one flight behind.
At the bottom of the stairs the girl flung out a hand and straight-armed the entrance door, half bursting, half falling out onto the footpath. Scarlett followed.
Spinning away left, the girl raced towards the main road. Scarlett was only yards behind now and screamed at the top of her voice, “Rose, for Christ’s sake, stop!”
Her cry brought about a response.
Forty-five
Scarlett had a firm hold of Rose’s parka sleeve as she led her toward Alex’s car. He triggered the locks and Scarlett opened the back door. As she steered her into the rear Rose made a feeble attempt at shucking her off. Scarlett gripped Rose’s sleeve tighter.
Rose stopped resisting, threw her an indignant look and said, “There’s no need for this, I’m not going to run away.” As she dropped into the seat she added, “Anyway what’s with the tough-cop stuff, Scarl?”
Scarlett flashed a look of surprise. Another memory triggered. It had been a long time since she’d been called that. And Rose was the only person to call her Scarl since being unable to pronounce her full Christian name at the age of two. Scarlett looked at her for a few seconds, then answered, “Because I’m not letting you get away. It’s taken me too long to find you.”
“Why all this fucking pretence?”
Arching her eyebrows Scarlett met Rose’s annoyed glare. “What do you mean pretence? And stop swearing, Rose.”
She huffed. “This tough-cop attitude. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“What are you on about, Rose?”
“You! Telling my mates back there you’re a cop. I heard you.”
Scarlett let go of Rose’s sleeve. “I am a cop.”
Rose threw her a flabbergasted stare. “Since when?”
“Since Mum and Dad got killed, and you….” She wanted to say more but knew the timing wasn’t right. She didn’t want to antagonise her sister further.
Still wearing her astounded gape, Rose said, “Well fuck me! What happened to Mrs Top Barrister?”
For a moment Scarlett stare
d at Rose. She sensed a note of resentment in her voice. It got to her, but she took a grip on herself and answered, “Gave it up. After what happened to Mum and Dad I joined the Met.” Proudly she added, “Been a cop nearly eleven years.”
Rose let out a short laugh. “Well fancy that. My sis is Old Bill and me a dropout.” She shook her head. “Well at least Dad’ll have been pleased.” Her face dropped. “This is what this is about isn’t it? Mum and Dad’s killing. You’re arresting me aren’t you?”
Scarlett held her gaze. “No, I’m not arresting you. I’ve been looking for you for years. Believe it or not, Rose, I just want to take you home.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit, Rose.” She paused and held up her hands. “Alright, some of it is about what happened to Mum and Dad, but you’re not under arrest. I just want to know what happened. Okay?”
Rose turned her head away. She replied softly, “You’re wasting your time then, aren’t you?”
Scarlett wanted to say more. Rose had a lot of questions to answer, but again she knew this wasn’t the time or the place. Alex’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“Your place, then?”
Scarlett glanced across the car roof. Alex was opening his door. His timed intervention was perfect. She exchanged looks and nodded. Then, child-locking the back door, she slammed it shut and jumped into her own seat.
Alex started the car.
As he pulled away from the kerb Rose piped up, “If I’m not under arrest, then why are you locking me in?”
Scarlett half turned and in the confined space she caught a whiff of stale drink on her sister’s breath. It smelt sour. Cider? She was also aware of an odour coming from her clothes. It was the unpleasant smell of cannabis mixed with dampness. Scarlett said, “I’ve already told you. I’ve been looking for you for the last eleven years and I’m not about to let you go again now I’ve found you. Not at least until you and I have had a good chat, anyway.”
Beneath her breath she muttered back. “Bleeding liberty, that’s what this is.”
****
Half an hour later they pulled up outside Scarlett’s house. As she opened the door Rose said, “Isn’t this Aunt Hanna’s house?”
Rising from her seat, Scarlett said over her shoulder, “Was Aunt Hanna’s house. She died, Rose. Two years ago. Cancer.” She opened the rear door to let her sister out.
Rose shuffled sideways and met Scarlett’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Pausing, eyeing the Victorian frontage up and down she added, “I liked Aunt Hanna. We had some good fun with her when we were little. Remember?”
Scarlett did remember. She tightened her mouth and nodded.
“So this is yours? Did she leave it you?”
Scarlett still held Rose’s gaze. “It’s both our house. She left it to you as well.”
Rose swung her legs out onto the footpath. “Neat,” she said and set off up the path.
Scarlett unlocked the front door, and as Alex followed Rose into the hallway she deactivated the alarm and then tapped in the code to set the door chime. If Rose made an attempt to leave she’d know. As she shut the door she double-locked it.
Rose stuffed her hands into her parka pockets. “I’m not a prisoner, you said. So why all this? If I want to leave, I will.”
Scarlett took a deep breath. Rose had her back to her. She pulled off her shoes, tossed them against the skirting and then snapped, “You just don’t get it, do you Rose? I don’t think you understand the state of your situation here. You are a major suspect in Mum and Dad’s murder and you’re acting as if nothing has happened.”
Rose set off towards the lounge. She shrugged her shoulders, answering back, “Whatever,” and went through into the front room.
Scarlett stiffened and balled her hands into fists. Alex tapped her on the shoulder, threw her a sideways glance which said “leave it”, and slipped past her issuing a weak smile. “I’ll make us a drink while you two get reacquainted.”
Scarlett sensed the wit in his comment and let out her own smile. Then, slipping off her coat and hanging it up, she walked into the lounge.
Rose was lolling on one half of the sofa. She still had her hands jammed into her coat pockets.
Scarlett said, “You can relax, Rose. Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable.” She nodded towards her sister’s feet. “Would you mind taking off your shoes?”
Rose looked at her defiantly. “I thought you said half of this house was mine. If I don’t want to take off my shoes I don’t have to.”
Scarlett threw back her sister an angry glare. Grinding her teeth together she said slowly, “Rose, you are trying my patience. Will you please take off your shoes?”
Alex appeared in the door way, leaning against the jamb. “Listen, you two, you’ve not seen one another for eleven years. Why don’t the pair of you just rewind and start again?”
Both sisters fixed their eyes on Alex. As he turned back to the kitchen they locked eyes with one another. Slowly Rose bent down, untied the laces of her battered trainers, and making a loud huffing sound, toe-heeled them off.
She wasn’t wearing any socks and Scarlett saw that her feet were covered in grime. A feeling of sorrow and remorse overcame her.
Forty-six
In her kitchen Scarlett tidied away the still-warm plates from the dishwasher. Then she dragged out the cutlery. Above her she caught the sound of the bath emptying. She stopped what she was doing and strained her ears. Within a minute she heard the bathroom door opening.
Rose called down, “Can I borrow something to sleep in?”
Scarlett responded, “Sure, help yourself. Front bedroom, second from bottom drawer, in the unit next to the wardrobe.”
Hearing her bedroom door open she allowed herself a cautious smile. It felt as if Rose was finally settling into the situation, though she knew from experience she dare not take anything for granted. It was too early. The past four hours had been a struggle and a strain. Scarlett had been so conscious of every aspect of what she had said. She had pried and probed Rose, but only about her lifestyle and what she had been doing these last few years. She had so much wanted to question her about the killing of their parents but deviated away from that line of enquiry. Alex had eased things. At times he’d taken control of the conversation, joking about how hard it had been to follow her and the guy she had been with on the Underground, despite his army surveillance training. Especially how easy she’d given them the slip. Rose had laughed and explained that Gareth, the man she had been with, was a good friend she’d met in a squat eighteen months ago, and then she’d given them the run-down on how she had managed to survive on the streets. Scarlett had been mesmerised by some of her sister’s tales, thinking that some of them overshadowed her own frightening experiences as a cop on the streets of London. She was also astonished as to how close they had been in proximity to one another over the years, expressing her surprise that she had not noticed or bumped into her sooner. She reiterated that she had been searching for her for the last eleven years, but when Rose shied away her eyes, she pushed it no further, and moved on to the story of how she came by owning their aunt’s house. Avoiding mentioning their parent’s death she told Rose that she had moved in with her after university while she searched for a job. Within weeks of doing so she had learned that Aunt Hanna was battling leukaemia and that the first few years of living with her had been spent going backwards and forwards to hospital while she underwent treatment. “Initially Aunt Hanna fought the cancer. She had blood and bone marrow replacement and at one stage it went into remission. We had a fun couple of years together. You know what Aunt Hanna was like.” She saw Rose nodding and continued. “Life and soul of the party. Most of the time she was like a teenager. Remember how it used to wind Mum up? How she used to tell us to ignore her?”
Again Rose nodded, a smile lighting up her face.
“Well, she never changed. She carried on even when she got ill again.” Scarlett could f
eel a lump emerging in her throat. She gulped it away. “The leukaemia came back three years ago. She had more treatment but it didn’t work this time. She died two years ago.”
As she finished her story she saw Rose’s eyes start to water. She lifted her voice. “Aunt Hanna never once got down. She was funny right to the end. Many a night we laughed together until we cried.” Scarlett felt her own eyes filling up as she finished.
That was when Alex had come to the rescue again with his offer of ordering pizza for them all.
And with the telephoning of the pizza shop had come the first sign of a change in Rose’s demeanour; she had finally taken off her parka and slunk back into the sofa.
Hearing Rose’s soft footfalls coming down the stairs brought Scarlett’s thoughts back to the moment. She continued to put away the cutlery. As she returned the plastic holder to the dishwasher Rose appeared in the doorway. Scarlett glanced her way and saw she was wearing one of her long T-shirts.
Canting her head and running a fan of fingers down through her fair tresses Rose said, “God, this feels so good. It’s years since my hair felt like this.”
Scarlett couldn’t believe the transformation in her sister. She still looked pale and gaunt, but now there was a sheen to her skin and she couldn’t help but notice for the first time that her striking features reminded her of Mum. Like her ghost looking back. And, like herself, Rose had inherited their mother’s long shapely legs.
“Gosh, Rose, you look so different. You look good.” Then she said, “I’m just going to stick the kettle on, do you fancy a warm drink?”
Scream, You Die Page 18
