by Penny Grubb
‘Have you met her?’
‘No, have you?’
‘No … I’ve spoken to her … I don’t know much about her. Why don’t you trust her, Jess?’
He didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. Mel’s friend Jess didn’t like him. For her to say these things she must be worried.
‘It’s nothing I can pin down, it’s just some of the things she’s told Mel, like not reading that suicide note. How can that possibly be true?’
There was a ripple of shock through him at the revelation of how much Melinda had confided in Jess, but he pushed it aside as unimportant for now. As soon as he ended the call he rang Melinda’s number again. This time it went straight to voicemail. Either she was on another call or she’d turned it off. He left a short message asking her to ring him. He’d slowed to make the calls and the cold had begun to make him shiver. As he upped his pace and strode towards his car Jess’s words replayed in his head. That woman had left her a message … As far as he knew Joyce had never used Melinda’s mobile. She’d always called the house.
He speed-dialled his own home number and started to jog, pausing to punch in the access code as the answerphone cut in.
He could barely hear anything over the rising whistle of the wind. An empty doorway was the best shelter the street had to offer. He ducked his head away from the brunt of the winter weather and hunched over the phone trying to fashion a makeshift cocoon in which to hear what was being said. No new messages; six saved. He prayed Melinda hadn’t deleted anything recent from Joyce. The first two were quickly skipped as his own voice spoke out to him. The next was Melinda to herself, a reminder about something for Sam. Then Jess, a non-message asking Melinda to ring if she was going to some event or other. Then with the penultimate message he tensed and pressed the phone hard to his ear. Joyce Yeatman’s voice, calm enough but with an element of tension.
Melinda hello, it’s Joyce. Uh … could you call me back? Um … if you have the time.
The final message had come in less than 20 minutes later. It was Joyce Yeatman’s voice again, the tension more marked.
Hello, Melinda. I’m sorry to be on to you again, but if you’re free there’s something I’d like to talk through with you. It’s … well, it’s one of Gary’s friends from the old days. I … uh … we … have some of her stuff. I should have told you sooner probably, but … anyway. She’s been in touch again, wants to see me. To be absolutely frank I’m not keen on meeting her on my own and I wondered if you might come along. She knew Pamela. In fact it’s Pamela she wants to talk about.
The chill that ran through Webber as he stared at the phone was nothing to do with the icy blast of the wind. One of Gary’s friends from the old days … she … in touch again …
It could only be Edith Stevenson or China Kowalski. As he turned to sprint back the way he’d come, his phone again at his ear, he couldn’t find a shred of comfort in either name.
Chapter 44
It was clear that Farrar was pulled in too many directions to fully take in what Webber was saying so he kept the summary short and sharp, sticking with the key points. He wanted to operate with Farrar’s explicit backing. He’d do what he had to do without it … had already set someone on to tracking Melinda’s phone … but the panic hadn’t yet risen high enough to override caution. He’d been wrong not so long ago when he’d flown from behind his desk to rescue Sam from, so he thought, the malevolent clutches of Joyce Yeatman.
‘But where’s Melinda in all this?’ Farrar’s tone reflected the bewilderment of his expression as his embattled PA, glaring at Webber, harassed him about people waiting, deadlines slipping.
Webber responded briefly, reassuringly … dropping out the phrases that might yet keep Melinda out of trouble and his own rank intact once the dust had settled. Melinda knew someone … didn’t know her well … a coincidence … the Pamela Morgan saga … public domain … And now she’d been asked to go and meet a friend of a friend …
‘Edith Stevenson!’ Farrar looked shocked as the realisation hit him. ‘But she’s the one …’
‘Nobody knew,’ Webber told him. He swallowed the thought, it might not be Stevenson, it might be Kowalski, because there wasn’t time to muddy the waters with the implications of that.
‘Yes, do it!’ Farrar said as his glowering PA hurried him away. ‘Find Melinda. Get on to Suzie … tell her …’
‘I’m on it.’ Webber had been backing off the second the affirmative was out of Farrar’s mouth. He turned and ran back to the main office. His phone was at his ear. Melinda’s number was going straight to voicemail, but it hadn’t the first time he’d rung. She’d red-buttoned him. She was on another call. Who was she talking to? Where was she? Just as long as her mobile remained on, he’d soon know.
He kept his phone in his hand, a talisman, she’d ring him back soon, everything would be fine. Melinda knew how to look after herself.
Trying to keep a lid on any outward show of anxiety, Webber peered over the shoulder of the woman who was setting up to track Melinda’s phone. ‘How long will it take?’
‘As long as the phone’s on, it should be quick … minutes…’
He was aware of a nervy edge to her voice, aware it was his looming presence that was causing it. He had to pull back, let her get on with her job. It would be quicker that way. ‘How closely can you pinpoint her?’ He couldn’t hold back the questions.
She stopped, twisted round to look at him, the worry of unrealistic expectations was clear in her expression. ‘I can’t pinpoint your wife, guv. I can only find her phone. It’s a smartphone with GPS. As long as it’s on I can get within a few metres.’
‘OK, OK. Get on with it. Let me know as soon as …’ His voice tailed away. Of course she would let him know. She might have found Melinda by now if he hadn’t kept hassling her. He forced himself to turn and walk away.
The far door opened and Davis came in. Webber leapt on this new focus to distract his thoughts. ‘Have you spoken to Suzie?’
Davis shook his head. ‘Her phone’s still going to voicemail. But I’ve just heard from Ayaan. He’s had no joy with Tiffany Drake or the friend. He’s had it from a neighbour that the friend went away a couple of days ago. Not due back till after Christmas. The thing is he’s heard from Suzie. He wasn’t too clear but she’d got something out of some emails and she was on her way to see another witness. He thinks it was Stevenson.’
‘Ayaan’s on his way back here, is he?’ Webber spoke the words mechanically, knowing he should be pissed at Suzie for pretending she hadn’t had their messages; had she targeted Stevenson because she knew Mel was on her way there with Joyce Yeatman? Behind him the woman at the desk was chasing Melinda’s phone. He had to force himself not to spin round to look at her.
‘He wanted to do a bit more digging,’ Davis said. ‘Speak to a few people. Apparently Stevenson has a neighbour primed to tell callers she’s out. He wants to be sure this one is really away.’
Webber nodded. ‘Where is he?’ His voice sounded far away. He didn’t care where Ahmed was and anyway he should already know. Where’s Melinda? That was the only question that mattered.
‘Outskirts of Hull,’ Davis said. ‘Melton way, not far from the Humber Bridge.’
‘… not far from the Humber Bridge …’
The phrase seemed to echo. It took a second for him to realise the words had come from behind. Then he was at the woman’s shoulder staring at the screen, Davis at her other side, no memory of the steps that had brought either of them across the room. It was more a grid than a map … not his thing … didn’t make sense. He wanted to see a flashing blip, a cartoon tracker overlying a map. It didn’t work like that.
‘Where …?’ He had to stop to gulp in a breath.
Davis came to his rescue. ‘What have you found?’
‘I’ve got it,’ she said. ‘Outskirts of Hull, not far from the Humber Bridge.’
Davis peered closer. ‘Can you get an exact location, show
us on something that looks a bit more like a map?’
‘It’s … she’s moving. I can’t tell … I’m guessing she’s in a car on the A63 heading out of Hull towards the bridge.’
‘Is she going to cross the bridge?’ Webber raked his memory for anything that linked Pamela Morgan, the quintets or anyone to the south bank of the Humber.
‘I don’t know.’ The woman’s voice was close to a despairing wail.
Davis had found a road map. He slapped it down on the desk open at the page showing the network of roads west of Hull. She grabbed it, shot Webber a glare and directed her words to Davis. ‘I got a signal in that area,’ she said, ‘and there … then there …’
Davis nodded. ‘So it would be a reasonable guess that she’s travelling west out of Hull.’ He looked up at Webber. ‘But she could be on a parallel road. If she’s going to go across the bridge she’d turn off on to the A15.’ His finger traced the route. ‘But it wouldn’t show up with that level of accuracy until she’s definitely made the move. And until we get in touch with her, all we know is that that’s where her phone is. It doesn’t mean she’s with it.’
The woman shot Davis a grateful glance and turned back to her screen.
Webber pulled in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. He was behaving like an idiot, practically asking for an IT trace on Melinda’s thoughts and intentions. It put a block on rational thinking. He had to take a mental step back. If it wasn’t Melinda what would he do?
Ahmed!
‘Get on to Ayaan,’ he rapped out. ‘He’s practically on the spot. Patch him in somehow. Get him there … wherever it is.’
As Davis reached for the nearest handset, Webber cast about for his own phone. It had been in his hand. He scrabbled through his pockets. Where had he put it? He spotted it gleaming at him from an empty desk and dived across for it. As he reached out it sprang to life, the shock sending a shaft of fire through him. He had to make a double grab to stop it tumbling to the floor. The screen told him it was Melinda’s friend Jess.
‘Jess? Is Sam OK?’
‘He’s fine but I’m afraid my baby-sitter’s cried off. She isn’t well.’ A sudden hope that she’d rung to say they wouldn’t be going out and would look after Sam for as long as necessary died as she went on. They weren’t cancelling their trip. They were taking their child to its grandparents. They would drop Sam off with him. She’d rung to know exactly where he was.
‘That’s good,’ she said when he told her. ‘I thought you might be the other side of town. We’ll be there in about quarter of an hour.’
There was no option but to agree. She added that she hadn’t heard from Melinda, though she’d tried to get in touch. ‘It just went to voicemail,’ she told him. It did nothing to relieve his anxiety that she’d been worried enough to try.
As the phone disconnected, he was aware of Davis talking to someone on another phone about Edith Stevenson. He wanted to hear that they’d found her, found her with Melinda, that they were nearby. But Melinda’s phone was somewhere west of Hull.
He saw Davis pull a face. Edith Stevenson’s house was empty; no one there. As he listened to Davis interrogate someone on how closely the house had been checked, his thoughts raced at random. They didn’t know enough about Stevenson … didn’t know anything except that a killer and major league drugs dealer had sought her out after Tom Jenkinson’s murder. Why?
Webber wanted to be on the road right now heading for Hull. He couldn’t. He was tied to this place … had to wait for Sam … was there anyone here who might be persuaded to play childminder? As he drew in breath to speak, his handset pinged a message. He stared at the small screen. Disbelief hollowed out a void deep inside him.
It showed a missed call from Melinda.
‘Mel!’ If Davis’s head hadn’t shot up, Webber wouldn’t have known he’d spoken her name aloud. His fingers seemed to lose all sense of touch as he fought to find the right buttons to return the call.
There was no ring tone. Melinda’s voice crackled from the speaker telling him she wasn’t available to take his call.
He felt stunned. The handset stood out in sharp relief against the activity around him. Davis was talking to Ahmed, telling him where to go, where Melinda had last been tracked. The woman following the signal bent over her task. They sat in his peripheral vision out of focus as though draped in gauze. He didn’t know why he had his phone on speaker. Melinda’s message morphed into a robotic voice inviting him to speak after the tone.
‘Ring me,’ he snapped at it, hearing anger in his words. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t anger he felt. ‘Ring me,’ he said again, softening his tone. If the whole room hadn’t been listening he would have said something else … maybe … but what?
The moment he cut the call the phone beeped again. She’d left voicemail. He stared at the small screen. Then Davis was at his elbow saying something, gesture more than words easing him on to a chair.
‘Ring her back, Guv. You were both on the phone at the same time.’
‘She’s left a message.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’ Davis’s calm tones were reassuring. The DI plucked the phone from his hand and clicked through to retrieve the voicemail. ‘See what she said. If she rings it’ll cut in.’ The phone was back in his palm. ‘Listen to her message.’ The intonation behind Davis’s words made it more an order than a suggestion. ‘Tell me what I need to know; anything I need to pass on to Ayaan.’
Webber shook the lethargy out of his head. He had to get a grip. This was no time to worry about Melinda leaving anything inappropriate; they had to find her. ‘Put it on speaker.’ He slapped the phone back into Davis’s hand and reached for the nearest landline. He’d call her from that while they listened to her message.
Melinda’s tone was a mix of excitement and indignation, the words rattled out.
Martyn, are you ever off your bloody phone? You won’t believe what Joyce has done. Stupid cow’s been holding out on me. Some damn-fool idea of loyalty to her husband.
Her voice rose and fell. Traffic noise overlay everything she said. A shiver of anticipation ran through him. She was driving fast. The message began to break up. The handset on the desk cut across her words with the ringtone from her mobile. One … two … and it cut out. Davis reached across to disconnect the line before her voice could invite them to leave a message. It had been the wrong number calling. She’d cut it off.
… suicide note … unsigned … been on to the paymasters …
Her voice was hurried now. He heard Davis say, ‘Paymasters?’ The woman at the desk looked up. ‘I thought she said papers.’
Stevenson … I can’t go into it all now … Joyce has gone to pieces but I want you to pick her up before she does any damage … I’m going to get–
She stopped abruptly but the line remained open. Webber found himself holding his breath.
Stevenson’s gone completely off the …
The words disappeared into background noise. Webber imagined Melinda turning away from the phone which, he hoped, rested in its cradle. The quality of the sound suggested it wasn’t held to her head.
… anyway, Jess … can’t get … Joyce … tried to call you … Ring me.
Her final volley of speech was all but inaudible and the line disconnected.
‘She’s moved.’
Webber was at the desk in a stride looking at the screen that made no sense to him. ‘Where? When?’
‘It showed up just before you picked up the voicemail. If she was on the A63, she’s turned off. She might be heading for the bridge.’
Davis’s voice; ‘Ayaan, have you got that?’ As Webber looked round, he saw yet another telephone handset … everyone was on the phone … this one passed from Davis to the woman at the desk, Davis telling her, ‘He’s coming in from the other direction. He’ll come off at the A15. Keep him on track.’
‘What’s over the bridge?’ Webber floundered, struggling to pull detail out of his head. It was the wrong
case. He knew more about it from his discussions with Melinda than from briefings at work.
Then Davis was in his face again. ‘I’ve sent someone to get Joyce Yeatman.’
‘But she’s with Mel.’
‘She’s not. She answered her phone at home not ten minutes ago.’
‘What did she say? What’s she told Mel?’
‘Soon as she knew it was the police she burst into tears and slammed down the phone; hasn’t answered it since, but like I say, I’ve sent someone out to get her. Edith Stevenson isn’t at home but I’ve left someone there in case.’ Davis pointed to the mobile that Webber clutched in his hand. ‘Ring your wife, Guv. She might answer now.’
Webber pressed the buttons and stared at the small screen, resenting every microsecond of the time it took to make its connection. Then it was ringing again. Once … twice …
Connected.
Melinda’s voice loud and clear. ‘At last! Where have you been?’
His heart thumped hard at the sound of her voice. She was breathless, her words disjointed as though she was running.
‘Mel, are you OK? Where are you?’
‘Listen Martyn, its Edith Stevenson … Joyce didn’t tell me until … The note. She read it, all of it when she first found Pamela. She … coroner didn’t see it all … Then China Kowalski … Hang on, is that …?’
‘What? Mel, where are you? What’s happening? Are you with Stevenson? Are you OK? Stand still, you’re breaking up.’
He heard a tut of exasperation. When she spoke, her voice came through clearly. She breathed heavily but he had the impression she’d stopped moving. ‘I’m fine.’ The words were snapped impatiently. ‘And no, she’s here somewhere, but I can’t find her. If I’d known what I was coming into I’d have …’ A pause. ‘I got on to the pay…’ She’d turned her face away from the phone. It was that word again, paymasters / papers.
The woman at the desk behind him was speaking to Ahmed. ‘Not the bridge. Don’t go to the bridge.’
