Never Say Goodbye: An edge of your seat thriller with gripping suspense (Detective Tom Fabian Book 1)

by Richard Parker

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Having lingered in the back streets of Acton until the police traffic died down the man was surprised at how many commuters were around so early in the morning.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  He hadn’t wanted to make eye contact with anyone while he sat on the Tube. He’d been staring at an ad for toothpaste opposite him and snapped out of his trance.

  A bearded man in his twenties, wearing a canary yellow bobble hat, had suddenly blocked his view and was standing and half crouching before him. ‘Are you hurt?’

  The only reaction he could think of was to frown.

  ‘You’re bleeding.’ The man nodded downwards.

  He followed his gaze and could see dark red on the tips of his fingers. He turned his hand over and it was smeared over his palm. Marcia Cleveland’s blood was thick on the sleeve stitching of his blue coat. It must have got there when he stabbed her in the hallway.

  ‘Oh.’ What could he say? ‘Thank you.’ He hoped his nonchalant response would defuse the situation.

  ‘Maybe you should get to a doctor.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He fumbled in his pocket but knew he wouldn’t find a tissue there.

  The Tube slowed as it arrived at a station.

  ‘Looks like you’ve cut yourself.’

  The man wasn’t going to let it go and other people were looking. He needed a believable excuse. ‘I have… stitches. Looks like they’ve burst.’

  ‘You should really get that seen to.’ The man leaned forward some more.

  ‘I’m getting off here anyway.’ He squinted at the signs zipping by the window as the Tube decelerated. White City, a stop earlier than he wanted. He quickly got to his feet.

  Wobbling and staggering to his right he knew he needed to eat, but Marcia’s kick to his testicles was still making him feel sick. Was it low blood sugar though, or was he actually concussed from Adam Newman’s blow to his head?

  ‘Sure you’re OK?’ The man steadied him with a strong grip at his right elbow.

  Pain shot up it to his shoulder, and he hissed.

  ‘Sorry.’

  He took in the other occupants of the carriage. Most of them looked away but the majority of them had obviously taken an interest in their conversation.

  ‘Yes, really, I’m fine.’

  ‘You look very pale. I’m getting off here as well.’

  He formulated another response but suddenly something struck the back of his skull. He was now looking at the passengers’ feet.

  ‘God, are you OK?’

  He was lying on the floor of the Tube, and his head had hit somebody’s boot as he’d fallen. When had he last slept? He’d lain awake for hours the last time he’d been in his hotel bed. No wonder his brain was ready to shut down.

  ‘Call him an ambulance.’ A woman’s voice.

  The man in the bobble hat knelt down with him. ‘Think you need a breath of fresh air. I’ll take you off the train.’ But his attention was still on his bloody hand.

  ‘Something dropped out of his pocket.’ Another female voice observed.

  The man in the bobble hat reached over him and retrieved it. ‘Here…’ He handed it to him. It was the butterfly knife, blade secured in handles. But the good Samaritan’s eyes were on his own fingers now. They were sticky with Marcia’s blood. The man met his gaze and quickly stood.

  The Tube doors swished open.

  ‘Thank you.’ He quickly tucked it into his pocket and dizzily stood. ‘I’ll come with you, if that’s OK.’ That’s what he’d tell him. If it looked like he was accepting help, everyone else would be less concerned. ‘Would you mind calling me an ambulance?’

  ‘Sure.’ But the man in the bobble hat didn’t look it.

  ‘Thank you.’ He barged his way through the handful of people getting on at White City and stepped onto the platform, hoping to quickly lose his saviour. He hastily made his way to the exit. He’d come back when the coast was clear and get on the next train.

  But when he glanced back he could see the man behind him and his unsettled expression told him he knew exactly what he’d just handed back and why it might be covered in blood.

  He picked up his pace and darted around a few people walking his way. He had to lose him but that was going to be impossible once he got on the escalator. Would he try to make a citizen’s arrest? There was an exit to an escalator to his left, but he carried on to the next one. Taking that one he jogged back to the first exit and onto the platform to the train he’d just got off.

  The doors were already beeping, so he jumped onto a different carriage and turned to see them close and the man in the bobble hat emerge onto the platform too. He trotted forward and stood at the sealed glass, eyes fixed on his.

  He nodded thanks and tried to smile weakly. The train didn’t move.

  The man knocked on the window, so he swivelled his body away and met the bemused gaze of the other passengers.

  The man rapped again.

  Please move. He slid his bloodied hand into his pocket and felt the blade there.

  The banging became louder and more insistent.

  ‘Stop that man! Open the doors!’

  He shook his head at the others, as if the man on the platform was a lunatic.

  Their faces regarded him blankly.

  He fought the need to explain to them what was happening. That would look more suspicious than saying nothing.

  ‘I’m calling the police!’

  He focussed on his shoes, willing the train to leave.

  ‘He’s got a knife!’

  He puffed his cheeks. Then the Tube jerked into motion, quickly picked up speed and shot into the next tunnel.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  ‘Hello?’ Harriet picked up after one ring.

  Fabian was glad she wasn’t alone in her house. He walked to the edge of Marcia Cleveland’s lawn while three techs combed the garden. ‘I didn’t think you’d be asleep.’

  ‘Just making myself a cup of coffee.’

  ‘Got everything you need?’

  ‘Yes… thanks.’

  ‘Sorry. I haven’t changed the sheets this week.’ It was something that wouldn’t have bothered either of them in the past.

  ‘I brought a sleeping bag.’

  ‘Great,’ was all he could think of to say. ‘Stay there as long as you like. I definitely won’t be home.’

  ‘OK.’

  Did she sound relieved? ‘And remember to eat.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Eat.’ It was a familiar conversation. But Fabian still liked how it felt.

  ‘I’ll get something later.’

  Which meant she wouldn’t. He knew there was little point pursuing it further though.

  ‘You sound pretty keyed up. Lot on your plate?’

  He thought he’d kept his voice calm. She could always tell though. ‘Got quite a situation. Did you bolt the door top and bottom?’ Fabian examined the back door that Marcia’s attacker had walked in through.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The bottom one is always sticky.’ He knew she would be safe, that he was being ridiculous, but Marcia Cleveland was still fresh in his mind.

  ‘Both of them,’ she said firmly. Her tone thawed. ‘All secure.’

  ‘Good. I’ve got to go now but I’ll call you later. If you need to stay another day—’

  ‘No,’ she responded too quickly. ‘That’s fine. I’ll get the window repaired today.’

  ‘If Toby bothers you again, get straight onto me.’

  ‘I’m sure he won’t.’ She paused. ‘I feel so foolish.’

  ‘None of my business.’ How crass did that sound? ‘I mean, I want you to make it my business if he calls round again but… what you do is your business…’

  ‘I know what you’re saying, Tom. And thanks.’

  ‘You can use my place anytime.’ But Fabian realised that sounded odd.

  ‘I used the last of your milk. I’ll put some in your fridge.’
/>   ‘That isn’t necessary.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘I insist.’

  Now they were being ridiculously polite. Fabian wanted the conversation over with.

  ‘Tilly called me.’

  Good girl, Fabian thought. But would that make Harriet feel any better about the situation? She’d slept with her daughter’s boyfriend after all. He was still cold-shouldering that mental picture. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘She said she was back in her digs, but it didn’t sound like it to me.’

  ‘Has she told you about this new guy?’

  A pause. ‘No.’

  Normally Fabian would have been happy to be privy to something about his daughter’s life that Harriet wasn’t but suddenly he wanted to make light of it. ‘Think she’s got her eye on someone already.’ He wanted Harriet to know that, as far as Tilly was concerned, Toby was definitely off the scene. She had to have felt guilt about what she’d done every time she spoke to Tilly about him.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘She was very cagey.’ He wouldn’t mention he knew his name. ‘Sure she’ll fill you in.’

  ‘She didn’t when she called earlier.’ Harriet sounded deflated.

  ‘If she wasn’t in her digs, perhaps she was with him?’ he suggested lamely.

  She didn’t respond.

  ‘She’ll let you in on it soon, I’m sure. I think I made her put her foot in it. Look, I have to go.’

  ‘Right,’ she replied distractedly.

  ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Eat.’ Fabian hung up and headed back into the house.

  Banner was on her way out to get him with her phone to her ear. ‘They’ve picked up Garth Brennan.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘He called Kirsten Parr from a friend’s flat in Ealing. She got the address. McMann’s driving him back to the station now. Found him in possession of three wraps of cocaine.’

  But after Marcia Cleveland’s reaction to his picture, Fabian was convinced that Brennan wasn’t their killer. ‘Hold him until we get back there.’

  ‘Got that?’ Banner said into the phone and hung up. ‘If it’s not Brennan d’you think it’s likely he’ll attack someone else soon?’

  Fabian nodded. ‘He’s making tracks. And by the time we know who, he could be headed for the next.’

  He felt powerless. Even if they knew exactly which street he took off Cleveland it was still impossible to protect so many potential targets.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  As the man paced across Shepherd’s Bush Green he was relieved to be in more familiar territory. It was morning but still dark. Drizzle hung in the air. The incident on the Tube had left him curiously calm. Was it because the threat had been diminished by his desire to finish today, regardless? If anyone reported what had happened the police would be too late to apprehend him in time anyway.

  Would there be complications in store for him at Pippa Warren’s flat? But despite his reservations about his last visit he could already feel a different anticipation building. He’d nearly completed the route and however soon the police caught up with him he knew his mission would be fulfilled.

  As he passed his hotel he decided he would quickly call in and wash off the blood in case it got him any more unwanted attention. He crossed the busy road and climbed the steps to The Gresham, a grand name for the dog-eared flophouse he was staying in. The final address was only streets away and he’d planned the last appointment so he could easily slip back to his room to prepare himself for what came after.

  He pushed the door with his good left shoulder and dropped his hood. The middle-aged Middle Eastern woman at reception regarded his wet features. ‘Filthy out there!’ he said more convivially than the surroundings demanded.

  The woman didn’t react and returned her attention to whatever was on her iPhone.

  He strode past her and ascended the stairs to his room. He swung the glass door to his corridor and fumbled out his key card as he reached the greasy door at the end. He had to swipe it a couple of times before he could enter.

  He went straight to the bathroom and ran his bloodied hand under the cold tap. He watched the pink water swirl against the cracked white porcelain until it went clear and then wrung his sleeve out. He cleaned the blade then wiped it dry with some paper towels.

  He caught his reflection in the scoured mirror before him. He couldn’t allow a glimpse of the man he used to be to give him pause. Most of him had vanished the night he’d killed Candice Langham in the private car park outside her home.

  He thought of all their faces the moment after he’d killed them. Their blank eyes immune to what he did then. At least they hadn’t felt the pain. He’d saved them from that. They didn’t know what it was to have the last of their innocence carved away. One part of him was still intact, however. And that part needed to make the call.

  He scraped his palms against the rough hand towel and walked into his seedy bedroom. His phone was still charging on the bedside table and he unplugged it and found he had a number of missed calls. He knew whom they’d be from.

  He dialled her number and took a deep breath. He wouldn’t explain. She was never going to understand. But the small part of him that was left needed to hear her voice.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Fabian was just heading out to his car parked outside Marcia Cleveland’s home when Banner came to the front door on her mobile.

  ‘Somebody answering our man’s description was involved in an incident on a Central Line Tube.’

  Fabian strode back to her.

  She listened to her phone. ‘Passenger reported it. Blue hooded raincoat.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘In the last half hour.’

  ‘Anything more?’

  ‘Tried to help him because he thought he was bleeding. Then the man dropped a knife.’

  Fabian raised his eyebrows.

  Banner nodded. ‘Butterfly blade.’

  ‘Where?’

  Banner listened. ‘White City. The guy got off the Tube but then got back on again going eastbound. Witness was left behind.’

  ‘Is the witness still there?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Alert the Transport Police. I’ll head over there and interview them myself. What’s next on that line?’

  Banner opened a Tube map on her phone. ‘Shepherd’s Bush. Holland Park’s next then Notting Hill Gate. District and Circle line. But he’d probably want to get off the Tube as soon as possible.’

  ‘Let me know if there are any more sightings.’ Fabian hurried to his Audi. He was about fifteen minutes away. The traffic would be picking up. What could the suspect achieve in the time it took him to drive there?

  ‘Did he seem overwrought?’

  The bearded witness with the yellow bobble hat had his arms folded tight against the breeze being sucked in from the street and was leaning against the tiled wall in the station. ‘Look, I explained all this to the other officer.’

  ‘I appreciate that but it’s vital you give me as much information as possible. You say he was a middle-aged man?’

  ‘Yes, but he had a woolly hat on so I could only see his face. He seemed more exhausted than nervous. Was gazing up at a poster, eyes half closed. It was only when I pointed out the blood to him that he got jumpy. He said he’d burst his stitches, stood up and then fainted. That’s when he dropped the knife. I picked it up for him and there was blood all over it. Got it on me as well.’ The man grimaced. ‘He asked me to call him an ambulance. I followed him off the Tube because it was my stop, and he circled around at the escalators and jumped back on. I tried to warn the other people on the train, but the doors had closed. Is he a terrorist?’

  ‘And he didn’t say anything else to you?’

  The man shook his head.

  ‘Did he seem injured in any other way?’

  ‘Not that I noticed.’

  ‘He wasn’t nursing his shoulder?’

&nbs
p; ‘Actually, he did wince when I tried to take his arm. He moved pretty fast when he got off though.’

  ‘You’d recognise him if you saw him again?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. Tall, late forties, weathered face.’

  ‘OK, somebody’s going to take a detailed description from you.’

  The man sighed. ‘I was meant to be at work an hour ago.’

  ‘You’ve called them?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘I’ll have to ask you to remain here.’ Fabian turned to a uniformed security officer. ‘Let’s take a look at the platform cam.’

  The officer led him to a door beside the ticket office. Fabian’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he answered.

  It was Banner. ‘There’s been another sighting.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Cameras picked him up exiting Shepherd’s Bush station. Forties, hooded raincoat.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s him?’

  ‘Got off the train that would have left White City around the time the incident was reported. And he was walking awkwardly, nursing his shoulder.’

  Chapter Sixty

  Again, he’d chosen the address because of the back garden. Although breaking into property offered more risks – neighbours, pets, alarms etc. – he’d learned it was far better to have everything contained than try to surprise people in more public places as he had with Candice Langham and Joe Middleton.

  He’d been standing in the garden, watching Pippa Warren through the window, for around twenty minutes. Daylight had just broken through the rain clouds but her lounge light was still on. So was the TV but she was engrossed by her iPhone. She was in blue satin pyjamas, dark hair up in a messy top-knot, barefoot and cross-legged on the purple couch. He knew the thirty-something was single – had found out what he needed to know on her Facebook page. She compulsively posted snaps of every episode of her life there. And he knew she was very proud of the new crushed velvet furniture she’d bought and photographed the previous Saturday. Her archive had completely familiarised him with the layout of her home.