Pippa put down her phone and walked out of the room. He used it as an opportunity to cross the lawn in front of the window and try the back door. The spring in the handle pinged as he slowly depressed it but when it was all the way down it remained solid in its frame. Locked. No matter. Now he was sure she was alone he would allow her to let him in.
There was an ornate metal table with flowerpots on it under the kitchen window. He gritted his teeth and lifted it. He couldn’t afford to let it drag over the concrete. It was very heavy but after carefully hefting it three times it was positioned against the back-door panel.
A light came on above him. She’d gone upstairs to use the bathroom. He strolled across the window and returned to the front of the property. His shoulder still throbbed but he’d taken some painkillers in his hotel room. He’d ring the bell immediately, get her out of the bathroom so she would have to rush down to catch her caller.
Through the glass of the front door he could see the light was on in the hallway. He took off his hood but left on his woolly hat, pressed the button and heard the chimes inside. Moments later her shape came down the stairs but paused at the door. He slid his hand into his pocket and extracted the blade.
‘Who is it?’
‘Cab to the airport.’ He opened the blade.
‘I didn’t order one.’
‘Is this 67 Stratton Park Road?’
‘I didn’t order one,’ she repeated, warily.
He sighed. ‘This is the second time I’ve been pranked this week.’
‘Well, I’m very sorry but I definitely didn’t call you.’
‘Are you P. Warren?’
‘There’s obviously been a mix-up. I have to get ready for work now.’
He retreated a few paces before turning back. ‘Afraid this will still come off the credit card.’
‘What credit card?’
‘The one that was used to book the cab.’
‘Wait.’
The door opened and he tensed himself in readiness.
But the door clunked against a chain and only opened a couple of inches.
Pippa’s face peered through. ‘If you have credit card details for me then they’ve been stolen.’
He concealed the knife in his hand. ‘Not my problem. You’ll have to call the office.’ He turned to leave again.
‘Hang on, which cab firm are you with?’
He huffed. ‘Blue Dragon.’ The name of Joe Middleton’s company tripped easily off his tongue.
‘What’s the number?’
She wasn’t going to take the chain off but now was his best opportunity. ‘Hang on, I’ll give you a card.’ He stepped forward and ran at the door.
Pippa tried to shut it, but his good shoulder was against it before she could. He didn’t care if he broke a bone. She was his last call. But his harsh impact against it was sufficient and the panel smashed wide.
Pippa screamed and ran for the kitchen but he knew she’d have to unlock it before she could escape. And then the table would be blocking her exit. That gave him plenty of time. He closed the front door behind him and quickly followed her, blade extended.
The internal kitchen door slammed as he reached it and he heard the lock click. That was something he hadn’t anticipated. He stood back and booted under the handle.
He could hear her scream as she realised she was trapped in the kitchen. Then she went briefly quiet,
‘Police, quickly!’ she yelled into a phone.
He slammed his thick sole against the wood again. It still didn’t give.
Chapter Sixty-One
Fabian arrived at 67 Stratton Park Road before the patrol car. He’d been talking to the local police desk and was only two streets away when the officer had told him about the emergency call they’d just received from a resident named Pippa Warren. Fabian remembered Warren Street led off Cleveland.
He sprinted down the drive to the front door and banged on it. The light was on in the hallway but there was no movement inside. He beat it again. ‘Police, open up!’
Still no response.
Fabian jogged down the side of the house into the garden and saw a metal table positioned against the back door. The kitchen window was shattered and he slowed as he approached. ‘Pippa?’ He gazed through and could see spots of blood on the ledge inside. The door into the hallway was buckled and looked as if it had been kicked in. But the sink counter was blocking his view of half the floor.
‘Pippa?’
No reply.
He dragged the heavy table back from the panel and pulled the handle. The door opened outwards and he made his way into the kitchen. It was empty.
A bump from the door to his right. Looked like the utility room. He padded over and yanked it. Washing thumped around inside a tumble dryer mounted on a shelf in the tiny space.
He noticed the half open door into the hallway had several splits in it. He was about to pull it wide when he heard a moaning from behind him.
Returning to the garden he followed the sound to the shed at the end of the lawn. There was a trail of blood across the grass. A woman in blue silk pyjamas clutching a kitchen knife was curled in the space between the shed and the wall behind it.
‘Pippa?’
Her pale features looked up at him in alarm.
‘It’s OK. I’m a police officer.’
‘I escaped out of the window but I cut myself. I think he’s still in the house.’
‘I’ll get an ambulance, stay there.’
Fabian entered the house again. Could hear the siren of a patrol car approaching. He took a knife out of the block and inched towards the half open door to the hallway. He listened. No noise from beyond. He tensed as his fingers clasped the edge and pulled it open.
He could see clear into the hallway. The previously sealed front door was now wide open. Fabian had disturbed Pippa’s attacker and he’d slipped out in the time he’d been around the back.
Fabian rushed into the street and looked both ways as a patrol car pulled up but there was no sign of anybody in either direction.
‘DI Fabian.’ He flashed his ID at the uniformed officers. ‘Drive down the street. Suspect’s only just fled.’
But Fabian guessed it was already too late.
Chapter Sixty-Two
‘A man’s broken into my house and I’m trapped in the kitchen!’
‘OK, try to stay calm.’ The female emergency operator placated.
‘I can’t open the back door, he’s blocked it!’
‘What’s your name and address?’
‘Pippa Warren. I’m at 67 Stratton Park Road.’
‘OK, help is on the way to you, Pippa. I’ll stay on the line. Are you secure where you are?’
‘No. He’s trying to kick the door down.’ Her ragged voice rose. ‘Hurry, please!’
Harsh thumps on wood.
‘Pippa, are you there?’
‘Get out of here! I’ve called the police!’
‘Pippa, pick up the phone.’
Harder thuds.
‘They’re on their way! You’d better leave!’
‘Pippa?’
The banging intensified.
‘Pippa?’
‘Get away!’ she shrieked. Minutes later she picked up the phone again. ‘He’s going to bust through at any moment!’
‘Do you have another exit? A window?’
‘Yes, but I can’t open it.’
‘Find something to break it.’
‘OK.’ She screamed before glass shattered. Then screamed again.
‘Pippa?’ The operator’s voice trembled.
Fabian could hear the sound of the door slamming open then glass shards crunching. The phone casing scraped as it was picked up.
‘Lizzie was hunted from Fitzrovia to Embankment station. Nobody helped her,’ a male voice calmly stated before hanging up.
This was the second time Fabian had listened to the audio clip Banner had sent him on his phone and there was something familiar about the
suspect’s voice.
He switched it off when he discerned his own fist bang the front door.
From the driveway he watched Pippa Warren being helped up into an ambulance in the street. Her leg had been bandaged but she hadn’t cut a major artery on the glass.
She met his eye as she was settled on a seat inside.
‘Take it easy.’
She nodded, bewildered.
If he’d arrived a few moments later there was no doubt Pippa would be dead. The doors were sealed, and the ambulance sped away. Pippa had given Fabian a similar description to the one the witness at the station had. But where was her attacker heading next?
Who was Lizzie? Fabian opened the map on his phone again and pinpointed Warren Street. It was a main road off Cleveland Street. Warren Street was also a station. If the suspect got onto a train there was no way of telling where his route would surface. But as he’d mentioned Embankment it seemed like he wanted to tell them exactly where the next destination was. And it sounded like the final one.
His phone buzzed. It was Banner and she was back at the office.
‘Anything on Embankment station?’
‘On the 18th of March 2016, a prostitute, Lizzie Chambers, came out of the Tube with her face cut up. Officer on the scene was already dealing with a street brawl. By the time that situation was under control the girl had vanished. And she hasn’t been found since. The girl’s father, Saul Chambers, made an official complaint about the Met’s handling of the incident. The number we’ve got for him has been disconnected though.’
‘Chambers? Is McMann there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Get him to pull those credit card details I asked him to check…’ He heard Banner relay the order.
‘Didn’t the card used in Joe Middleton’s cab belong to someone named Chambers?’
He listened to their muted dialogue.
‘Yes,’ Banner confirmed. ‘Sue Chambers.’
‘Get me her phone number. Quick.’
Chapter Sixty-Three
‘Saul?’
‘No, Mrs Chambers, this is Detective Inspector Tom Fabian.’ He adjusted his headset and turned his Audi into the next side street. He was hunting for any sight of the man in the blue hooded raincoat.
There was a pause. ‘What has he done?’ she asked apprehensively.
‘Why would you say that?’
‘He phoned me early this morning. I’m worried sick.’
‘Why?’
‘He called to tell me he loved me and then hung up. He won’t pick up now.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘He’s been working away. What’s happened?’
‘Working where?’
‘Leicester.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know he’s in Leicester?’
Another pause. ‘He told me that’s where he was.’
‘Doing what?’
‘He’s been helping a friend on his land. Building cattle sheds.’
‘For how long?’
‘He’s back and forth. It’s been going on for months now. It’s been part of his therapy.’
‘Therapy? In relation to your daughter’s disappearance?’
‘Yes. It slowly ate him up. The way Lizzie was ignored. The police never tried to find her.’ There was accusation in her voice.
Fabian guessed how Saul had decided to get the attention of the police. ‘Did he ever make any threats?’
‘Tell me what’s happened.’
‘Please, just answer.’
‘No. But his behaviour has become more and more erratic since he was prescribed fluphenazine.’
‘What’s that?’
‘An antipsychotic.’ She choked back emotion. ‘Saul was a proud third generation farmer. But he let Manorbrook fall apart when Lizzie disappeared. One night he took his shotgun down to the cattle shed…’
Fabian was convinced. ‘Has your husband made any recent trips to London?’
‘No. Not since the year Lizzie disappeared.’
‘I’m positive he’s here. Any idea where he’d go?’
‘No. He doesn’t know anyone there.’
‘He has your credit card?’
‘Yes. I told him the police had been in touch about it being stolen.’
That explained the sudden acceleration in the murders. ‘Do you bank online?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe that will help us. Could you access your account? As quickly as possible.’
‘Please tell me what sort of trouble he’s in.’
‘We have to locate him right now. I’ll stay on the line.’
The phone clunked, and Mrs Chambers’s slippers slapped as she headed off to another room.
Fabian squinted at a lone figure walking down the pavement of the rainy residential street he was in, but it was a woman in the dark hooded coat.
A few moments later she returned. ‘I’ve got my laptop.’
Fabian heard her set it on the table and her fingers rattling the keyboard. ‘We need to find any transactions that will tell us exactly where he is.’
‘How can we do that?’
‘There’s usually a postcode.’
‘Last one was a withdrawal from the Co-operative ATM. W12 8PQ. Hammersmith and Fulham.’
Fabian heard Mrs Chambers exhale.
‘Anything else?’
‘The one before that. It’s for The Gresham Hotel, W12 8PT.’
Chapter Sixty-Four
Fabian didn’t wait for the backup he’d summoned when he reached The Gresham. Traffic was manic and he didn’t want to waste a second. He climbed the steps to the dilapidated façade and pushed in the glass door.
The grubby reception smelt like a men’s locker room and the dark-haired boy manning the desk didn’t look much older than fifteen. Fabian flashed his ID. ‘Police. Have you got somebody staying here named Chambers?’
The boy silently checked his screen and nodded.
‘Which room?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘Do you know if he’s in?’
The boy shook his head. ‘I’ve only just taken over from my mother.’
‘I’ll need a key.’
The boy didn’t look too sure. ‘I should ring my father.’
‘No time.’ Fabian held out his hand. ‘Quick.’
The boy opened a drawer and pulled out a swipe card on a plastic chain. Coiling it up, he passed it to Fabian. ‘First floor, turn left, end of the hall.’
Fabian took it from him and hurried to the stairs. How far behind him were backup? But he couldn’t delay. What if he was up there and attacked him? That was a chance he would have to take and a conversation with Metcalfe at a later date.
He swiftly ascended the stairs. Reaching the top he looked through the reinforced glass of the swing door to his left. Nobody in the corridor. Fabian pushed the panel and it groaned and juddered shut behind him.
He tried to pad quietly along the threadbare Turkish carpet runner, but the floorboards creaked with every step. Fabian picked up his pace. If Chambers heard him coming he would be more suspicious if it sounded like he was trying to be stealthy.
He reached room seventeen and listened.
‘Who’s that?’ A familiar male voice asked.
Sounded like they were right behind the door. No spyhole.
‘Room cleaning.’ He waited.
There was a pause. ‘Come back later.’
‘OK.’ But Fabian gingerly inserted the card into the slot. Nothing happened. No flash in the tiny bulb beneath it. ‘What time would be convenient?’
‘Look, just miss me out for today.’
Fabian slid the card into the slot again and this time it buzzed and the bulb flashed green. He barged the door in as hard as he could.
It struck bulk the other side and Fabian heard a grunt. He pulled it back and swung it in again. Squeezing quickly through the gap he found a man crouching against the
opposite wall of the room holding his arm. He was wearing a dark blue raincoat with a hood and a black beanie hat.
‘Police officer.’
As he looked up, Fabian recognised the bloodshot face and burst capillaries in his cheeks.
‘And you’re not Gavin Streke, are you?’
Saul Chambers didn’t acknowledge Fabian, even though they’d met once outside the home of Emily Mortimer when he’d come forward, pretending to be a neighbour and witness. He dropped his eyes to the carpet.
Fabian checked he wasn’t holding a weapon and identified the emptiest part of the room. ‘Move over to the window.’
Chambers didn’t budge.
Fabian could see him quickly considering his options. ‘There are four other officers in attendance, so escape isn’t an option,’ he lied.
Chambers silently straightened his tall frame and strode to the dirt-streaked pane.
‘I can understand why you’ve rushed things. You knew your time was limited as soon as your wife told you we were investigating your credit card transactions.’
He rolled his eyes to Fabian.
‘So why the appearance at Emily Mortimer’s?’
‘I needed to meet you. Wanted to assess who would be tracking me.’
‘And to throw the investigation with your story about two suspects.’
Chambers blinked once but said nothing.
‘I know about your daughter. Know what happened to Lizzie.’
‘So you’re interested now?’ he said acridly. ‘Why wasn’t she as relevant then as the lives I’ve taken?’
Chapter Sixty-Five
Saul Chambers took off his beanie hat to reveal thinning grey hair plastered to his glistening red scalp. ‘We brought up Lizzie where she was safe. But we always knew she’d become curious about the world outside the farm. When she was sixteen, Sue and I had to let her go.’ There was something more than sadness in his eyes. ‘We knew what she was about to walk into but she’d already disowned us.’
‘She disowned you, at sixteen?’
‘There was nothing more we could do. She was too destructive at home.’
Sounded to Fabian like a declaration they’d regularly convinced themselves with.
Never Say Goodbye: An edge of your seat thriller with gripping suspense (Detective Tom Fabian Book 1) Page 18
