‘It’s certainly likely. I agree it would’ve been easy for her. But we’ve checked all the computers she could have had access to, including all the internet cafes in Sandmouth, and –’
‘It’s simpler than that, sir. We were so sure she could have produced a false passport using her technological know how –’
‘Which she could have done.’
‘We overlooked something much simpler. And impossible to trace. Look.’ Ryder frowned as Geraldine put her notebook down on his desk and opened it at a clean page. With a black biro she wrote the name SOPHIE CLIFF. ‘It couldn’t be done on a laminated photo driving licence, sir, but all it takes is a fine black biro, and the name on a standard green paper driving licence can be altered in seconds.’ She changed some of the letters of the name she had written, S to B, P and H to Bs, C to G, L and I to E, F to R and F to E. The name changed in front of their eyes: BOBBIE GEERE. ‘The second E of Geere is a bit squashed, changing the I to E, there isn’t quite room, but the rest of it…’
‘Pull her in. Now.’
Geraldine drove back to the motel. The manager barely looked up from his television. He shovelled a handful of peanuts into his mouth and shook his head. ‘She’s not been back since you were last here.’ He chomped noisily, mouth open. ‘People don’t generally come back. We’re more of a stopover. People passing through. Ships passing in the night.’ He seized another fistful of peanuts.
The local CID called on Sophie Cliff’s parents but she wasn’t there. They didn’t know where she was.
Geraldine went to see Thomas Cliff’s mother.
‘Have you seen anything of Sophie since your son’s death?’
‘What would I want to see her for?’
‘I’d like to speak to her –’
Mrs Cliff butted in. ‘I knew it was her all along. I told you, didn’t I?’
‘I just want to ask her a few questions –’
‘And now you don’t know where she is. She’s run off, hasn’t she?’ the old woman’s eyes glittered. ‘There’s an admission of guilt, if ever I heard one. You should’ve listened to me. I told you it was her, didn’t I?’
‘And you have no idea where she might be?’
‘How would I know? If you ask me, she’s probably left the country. She knew I was on to her. It was only a matter of time before you lot caught up. Took you too long, didn’t it? You should have listened.’
Geraldine returned to the police station but there was no news. Sophie Cliff’s description had been circulated to every train station and bus depot, airport and ferry operator, as well as every police station, but without any results.
The DCI walked into Geraldine’s office, unannounced as usual. ‘We’ll find her,’ he said, speaking more to himself than to her. She nodded. He didn’t sound very sure and left as suddenly as he had entered. Geraldine turned to her computer and tried to focus on her report.
A few moments later her phone vibrated. Geraldine felt an irrational flicker of hope as she took the call but it wasn’t Craig.
‘At last. I’ve been trying to call you for ages. Guess what?’ Hannah didn’t wait for a reply. ‘He’s back.’
‘What?’
‘Jeremy. He’s come back. Geraldine, how can I ever thank you?’
‘Hannah, I’m really pleased for you, really I am, but it was nothing to do with me. I hardly said anything to him. I only saw him for a few seconds.’
‘No, but you did go and see him. He said it made all the difference.’
‘I can’t think why.’
‘He said it made him think what I might be like, all on my own, if he didn’t come back.’ There was a pause. Geraldine wondered about the conversations her friend must have had.
‘I’d be like Geraldine if it wasn’t for you,’ she imagined Hannah saying to her husband. With an uncomfortable flash of insight she understood what they must think of her – pathetic, lonely Geraldine.
‘Geraldine, are you all right?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m really pleased for you, Han.’
‘We’re going away,’ Hannah babbled, ‘just the two of us. A romantic break. He says it’s going to be a second honeymoon. My mum’s taking the kids for a long weekend and guess what? We’re going to Dubrovnik. Your recommendation.’
‘That’s great, Hannah.’ Geraldine wedged the phone under her chin and resumed checking through the papers in her desk. ‘Look, Han, I’d love to chat but –’
‘I know, you’ve got to get back to work,’ Hannah interrupted her, but she wasn’t angry. She was laughing.
‘Have a great time, and call me when you get back,’ Geraldine said, but Hannah had already hung up.
63
Candles
Driving home, Geraldine took a detour up Harchester Hill and turned into Harchester Close. The police cordon had been cleared away. A ribbon of blue and white tape fluttering from a gate post was the only evidence they had been there.
Geraldine parked outside number 17. The house was concealed from the road by high hedges. She paused at the gate and peered at the house front with its boarded up windows and black smudged brickwork. She crossed the empty drive and tried the garage door. It wouldn’t open. The house looked deserted. She tried the bell. It didn’t work. She knocked, loudly. No answer. A memory of blackened worktops above a floor littered with sooty debris flashed through her mind; a melted kettle, grotesquely misshapen, a congealed mess that had once been a phone, a coating of ash covering every surface. The stench of burning plastic seemed to fill her lungs and she turned away, breathing so deeply it made her light headed.
Halfway down the path Geraldine glanced back at the house. A glimmer of light flickered through a narrow gap in the boards over an upstairs window. Geraldine stared, but there was no further sign of life. She strode back up the path and rapped smartly on the front door. There was no answer. She examined each of the downstairs front windows but they were impenetrable. She rattled the side gate. It wasn’t locked so she went through into the back garden. She couldn’t see anything through the first four windows or the patio doors, but when she reached the final window at the back, she found a gap between two boards. Standing on tiptoe, she squinted through into the darkness, but couldn’t see anything inside.
Summoning back up, she pulled off one shoe and hammered at the wood without making any impression on it. She turned and grabbed an ornamental tree growing in a terracotta pot, raised it above her head and hurled it at the path. The pot shattered. Seizing a long shard of clay she levered gently at the gap, prising the boards apart until she was able to work her fingers through the space and grab the edge of one plank in both hands. With a sudden effort, she shoved it and staggered as the wood gave way under the pressure. Splinters pierced her flesh and she scratched herself on a nail. She didn’t stop to examine her injuries, but pushed at the planks, which had been nailed roughly across the window, until there was a gap wide enough for her to clamber through. She was careful to avoid contact with any remnants of glass left behind in the frame when the window had shattered in the explosion.
Climbing on to an upturned pot, she wriggled through the gap, landing awkwardly on her hands and knees on thick carpet. She pulled herself upright, swore under her breath as her knee hit a low table, and felt her way to the door. The stench of burning hung in the air. She wondered if she should have waited for back up, but couldn’t turn back now. Someone was in the house. It could only be Sophie Cliff. If they waited, they might lose her. They might not find her again.
Moonlight shone through the window illuminating the study she was in. She stepped out of the room into darkness. The windows were boarded up. No lights were on. She felt in vain for her torch. It must have slipped out of her pocket when she fell in through the window. If she hadn’t been inside the house before, it would have been impossible to negotiate her way around in the dark. As it was, she was going to find a few bruises on her upper arms and shins.
It was difficult to move around silentl
y. At one point she thought she heard footsteps behind her. She spun round, squinting into the darkness, but couldn’t make out any movement. All was quiet. She was making her way towards the front of the house when a slight noise made her stop. Above her head it sounded like someone had closed a door. In the faint light from her phone screen, she found her way to the stairs and began to climb, listening at every step.
Silence.
At the far end of the landing a line of light shone beneath a door. Shuffling towards it Geraldine felt, rather than heard, a presence behind her. She spun round. A heavy object clouted her on the shoulder. Startled, she lost her balance and staggered, disorientated in the darkness. Before she could recover, her assailant gave her legs a violent tug. She fell backwards to the floor. Something pressed down on her knees. Her hands were efficiently tied together and her ankles bound before her head began to clear. She was dimly aware of a shadowy figure above her as a rough cloth, like a towel, was wrapped around her head.
The darkness was impenetrable.
Firm hands gripped Geraldine under her arms and dragged her along the floor away from the stairs. She yelped as her shoulder hit a sharp ridge. She was being manoeuvred through a doorway. She waited, listening. Faint scratching sounds. The soft thud of feet on carpet.
As her blindfold was removed, lights flashed. It wasn’t her eyesight playing tricks on her. The room was lit by flickering candles. They covered every surface: standing on cupboards, along a shelf above the radiator, on the ledge below the window.
‘The electricity’s off,’ Sophie Cliff said casually, as though this was a normal power cut. ‘They never put it on again. You have to do everything yourself.’
Geraldine looked down at her hands, straining uselessly against the cord. She turned her attention to her ankles which seemed to be more loosely secured. If she had enough time, she thought she could work them free. With difficulty she hoisted herself into a kneeling position so her feet were behind her, hidden from view.
‘Sophie.’ She was relieved her voice sounded calm. ‘Untie me please. I want to help you.’
‘You let him go.’
‘What?’
‘It was you. I remember. You found him and you let him go.’ Sophie’s voice rose in a shrill crescendo. ‘He killed Tom and you let him walk away.’
‘Sophie, I want to help you. Believe me, I want to see Tom’s killer brought to justice as much as you do, but I have to work within the law.’ She resisted the hysteria threatening her composure.
‘Justice? Law?’ Sophie shrieked, losing all vestige of control. ‘There is no justice. Not in this world. But it’ll all be over very soon. You and me, we’re going to burn.’ She seized a candle and held it high above her head.
‘Sophie, put the candle down before there’s an accident.’ Geraldine rubbed her ankles together frantically. The cord was definitely loosening.
Sophie flung the candle on the bed, still attached to its saucer. Smothered by the folds of the duvet, the flame went out. She ran round the room, seizing candles and hurling them at the bed. ‘For Tom!’ she yelled. ‘For Tom!’ Only some of the candles went out. Geraldine watched, desperately trying to free her feet.
With a sudden rush the bed burst into flames. Geraldine groaned. Terror threatened to paralyse her. The pain in her ankles helped her remain alert. Scraping the skin off the top of one foot she broke free of the cord around her ankles and leapt to her feet. Flames flickered up the wall. The wooden slats of the headboard began to hiss above the blazing bed.
Geraldine forced her legs to carry her forwards. She found herself praying. ‘God, get me out of this alive.’ A voice was whimpering in fear. Her ankles stung from chafing. Her eyes were smarting. Instinctively she ducked her head as she walked forwards, step by step.
Sophie Cliff was staring, aghast. Flames licked the ceiling. She clutched at Geraldine’s arm, as though she had just woken up to what was happening. ‘Help me. Please. Help.’ She swayed once then pitched forward, head first. Geraldine struggled to keep her balance as she stepped forward to break the other woman’s fall.
Geraldine walked backwards to the door, dragging Sophie across the carpet. It wasn’t easy, with her hands tied together. Smoke engulfed them. The heat was almost intolerable. The confusion of pain and terror threatened to overwhelm Geraldine, but she wasn’t alone. She focused her mind on saving the unconscious woman in her charge.
As soon as she managed to haul Sophie through the bedroom door, Geraldine leaned her shoulder against it and pushed it closed. There wasn’t much time. The room was about to reach flashpoint.
Sophie was so light, Geraldine was able to lean down and scoop her up, even with her hands tied. Holding Sophie across her outstretched forearms, she lurched along the landing and had nearly reached the stairs when her legs gave way. Behind her, she heard the roar of flames, accompanied by loud crackling sounds. The bedroom was ablaze. Spurred on by fear, Geraldine shuffled backwards on her elbows and knees, pulling Sophie along in her wake. When her feet reached the top step, she lost her grip on Sophie and fell, slithering down the stairs.
At the foot of the stairs she hesitated. She couldn’t remember if this was the house with a double locked security front door. But first, she had to struggle back up for Sophie Cliff. She was halfway up the stairs, crawling on her elbows and knees, when she heard crashing and shouting. Over her shoulder she saw a bright light and two uniformed officers burst in.
‘Over here!’ Geraldine shouted. The hoarse whisper that issued from her lips was barely audible above the hissing of the flames.
‘I’ve got her,’ a man’s voice called out. ‘A female. On the stairs. We need medical assistance here right away.’
‘Fire!’ a second voice bellowed. ‘Any other doors or windows open?’
Geraldine tried to speak but at that moment the wooden railings of the banister above them burst into flames, hissing. She screamed.
‘Get her out of here!’ another voice shouted. A man was leaning over her. Lifting her.
‘There’s a woman up there. At the top of the stairs. She’s unconscious.’
‘Up there! Anyone else in the building?’ Two figures raced past her up the stairs.
Geraldine struggled to answer. ‘No one. I’m all right. I can walk.’ An officer ran down the stairs with Sophie Cliff across his shoulder. Geraldine followed and they hurried out of the building.
Outside, all seemed confusion, then uniformed constables had a cordon in place, a fire engine thundered up and was manoeuvred into position and a hose unfurled as the huge vehicle reversed slowly up the drive.
Geraldine waited by the gate. Her hands had been untied. She shivered inside a silver foil blanket someone had thrown over her shoulders. Fire officers brought the blaze under control.
‘You’re sure there’s no one else inside?’ a fire officer asked her, shouting above the noise.
‘We were here a couple of weeks ago,’ Geraldine heard a voice say as a small group of fire officers hurried past her. She watched as paramedics carried Sophie Cliff, still unconscious, into an ambulance.
‘She was lucky. You were nearly too late to save her,’ a fireman told Geraldine.
‘Ten days too late.’
The officer opened his mouth to reply, but Geraldine turned and limped away past the police cordon, through the gathering crowd of onlookers shocked into silence by the second calamity to close their road in as many weeks. She started up her engine and drove round the corner where she pulled over and sat, shocked and trembling. Her hands stung as she clutched the steering wheel. She felt utterly alone and wished Peterson had been with her at the end.
64
Life
Geraldine’s spirits sank as she pulled into the hospital car park. It took a frustrating few minutes before she manoeuvred the car into a tight space. The mortuary never fazed her but she disliked everything about hospitals. Perhaps it was the idea of people in pain that upset her. Corpses suffered only indignity. Sophie Cli
ff was the third patient Geraldine had been to see in Harchester General in almost as many days. No one had yet thanked her for visiting. Somehow she doubted if Sophie Cliff would be any different. Passing the hospital shop, she bought a bunch of yellow chrysanthemums. As soon as she paid for them, she regretted her impulse. They were half dead before they left the shop.
Unlike Gordon and Barker, Sophie wasn’t in a room by herself. Geraldine entered the ward and a strong smell of disinfectant hit her. A row of faces glanced up as she walked past. They wore a variety of hopeless expressions. Sophie Cliff lay at the far end of the ward, gazing listlessly up at the ceiling, white as the bed sheets. Geraldine almost didn’t recognise her without her glasses. She looked quite pretty in an ordinary kind of way.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Sophie greeted Geraldine as she approached. It sounded like an accusation. Geraldine clutched the weary bunch of chrysanthemums and wondered what to do with them. Sophie’s brows drew together. ‘What do you want?’
‘I just came by to see how you are, that’s all. I’m not here on an official visit.’
‘Not come to interrogate me then.’
‘No. Someone will be along to question you soon.’
Sophie turned her head away and Geraldine saw tears in her eyes. ‘Why did you do it?’ she whispered fiercely. ‘They must all think you’re a great heroine,’ Sophie turned to face Geraldine, suddenly angry, ‘rescuing me like that… I tried to kill you…’
‘Well, I’m still here.’ Geraldine tried to smile. ‘And so are you.’
‘You don’t understand. I should have stayed there in the house, like he did. In the smoke. I meant to do it. Only I was scared. The fire… I wanted to run away. You shouldn’t have been there. It shouldn’t be like this.’ She was crying in earnest now, her pale cheeks glistening. She made no attempt to wipe her face. ‘You should have left me there. You had no right to be there.’ Geraldine swallowed her meaningless platitudes. How could time heal Sophie Cliff’s wounds? It wouldn’t bring her husband back.
Road Closed Page 28
