Hank was still frowning. He seemed preoccupied, as if he was trying to work something out. He moved towards the front door, glancing again at the row of boots. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he murmured.
She took a deep breath, her heart pounding. This was like the first time she had stood ready to jump into the deep end of the local swimming pool; knowing that once her feet had left solid ground, she would fall deeper and deeper, into the unknown.
‘Hank. We’re going to Bronco’s on Thursday night … if you want to meet up with me?’ There! She had said it. She had crossed over a line, and there was no going back.
Hank hesitated, but didn’t turn. It was as if he didn’t want to look at her. ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ he said softly. He stepped out of the door, gave Rowdy a scratch on the head and walked to his police car.
Stunned, she watched him leave. What had happened? Why had he become cold and disinterested?
He had made all this fuss about wanting to go out with her then when she made herself available, he rebuffed her. Why? Was he playing a game of cat-and-mouse, and now the cat had got his mouse, the game was over?
She wanted to be angry with him, yet all she could feel was bewilderment and loss.
Chapter Twenty Five
Mission Hills Police Precinct, Kansas City
1.10 am. Jan 1, 2000
The Chief of Police needed to clear his head. He opened the window a crack and instantly felt the cold. The moon was a silver disc in the black sky, the snow bright white with deep purple shadows.
He turned back to his desk. The first wave of hostages stated that Ruby had been so scared she’d been trembling from head to foot. Her bank card had been found in the ATM machine. Did that mean she had gone to the bank to withdraw cash – nothing more? The last time she’d been seen had been outside the bank at eleven-thirty-five. Hank Gephart had been found twenty minutes later at Olathe.
There was no way Ruby could have gone that distance in twenty minutes; neither by foot and neither by car. The roads were impassable, vehicles buried four foot under snow.
‘Sir.’ Sergeant Waltz opened the door and approached the desk with a folder. ‘A Deputy Sheriff Branagh asked me to give you this. It’s a dossier on Ruby Mortimer-Smyth.’
The Police Chief opened the folder and saw a pile of incident sheets. ‘Send Branagh straight up.’
‘He’s on the phone to the feds but I’ll tell him when he’s finished.’ As the door closed, the Police Chief flipped slowly through the dossier, his frown getting heavier. ‘Molly, did Ruby develop a drink problem while she was in Kansas?
Madame van de Ghellinck butted in. ‘Impossible, she didn’t-’
‘Excuse me, I’m asking Molly.’
The girl paused. ‘She might have had a couple of beers … to loosen up.’
‘Did you think she needed to loosen up?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Seemed to me she’d been raised way too strict.’
‘Mother wasn’t strict,’ Madame van de Ghellinck protested. ‘She just expected the best from us.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ the Police Chief asked.
‘We were both pushed to our maximum potential. How do you think I became wife of a government minister? By chewing gum and reading Enid Blyton?’
The Police Chief was sure glad he wasn’t married to this lady. He turned back to Molly. ‘Would you say Ruby was emotionally repressed?’
‘Definitely.’
Madame van de Ghellinck interrupted. ‘If she was emotionally repressed, it was because her real mother abandoned her when she was seven.’
‘Is that right?’ The Police Chief narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. ‘Did her mother ever come back?
‘No. Ruby never saw her again.’
The Police Chief studied the wedding photo of Ruby. He studied Madame van de Ghellinck. How come two sisters turned out so different? One bold and bossy; the other shy and timid.
He spoke his thoughts aloud. ‘What made Ruby so shy?’
Eyes flashing anger, Molly turned on Madame van de Ghellinck. ‘Because she kept putting Ruby down. Making out that Ruby wasn’t worth a crock of shit.’
‘Madame van de Ghellinck reared back. ‘How … how dare you!’ she stammered.
‘Ladies, let’s keep it civilised.’
The Police Chief was thinking. He recalled what the stepsister had said earlier. “Ruby has the need to please everyone. She wouldn’t dream of doing anything that would upset mother.” The pieces were beginning to fit. Ruby, craving love, had allowed her stepmother to put her in an emotional straightjacket.
Had Ruby busted out of the straightjacket?
He went over the facts. Ruby came to Kansas. Her neighbours treated her “real special”, giving her the confidence she’d always lacked. She met Molly, started drinking and socialising with bikers. She had friends. And, more importantly, she was a long way from home.
He looked back at the dossier. One incident sheet caught his attention. ‘Did she wear red nail varnish?’ he asked.
‘Definitely not.’ Madame van de Ghellinck snorted. ‘Mother would never allow it. Far too vulgar.’
The Police Chief paused. “Mother”. Madame van de Ghellinck was using that word a helluva lot. He stared at the emaciated women with the helmet-shaped hair and clenched hands. Yeah, he thought. Ruby wasn’t the only who’d been strapped in an emotional straightjacket.
He gave Molly a steady look. ‘Red varnish? Did she wear it?’
Molly shrugged, glanced away. ‘I dunno.’
‘Because it says here,’ he continued. ‘She wrote “oink” on police vehicles.’
Molly leant forward. ‘Did Hank - I mean Sheriff Gephart - write the reports?’
The Police Chief checked the signatures on each of the incident sheets. ‘Nope. The primary was Deputy Joseph Branagh. He signed them all.’ He was interrupted by a knock, and Sergeant Waltz popped his head round the door.
‘Deputy Sheriff Branagh to see you, sir.’
Branagh was small, with close-set eyes, and a mean mouth. ‘Sir, I would’ve got here earlier but I was out hunting her down.’
‘Hunting her down?’ The step-sister tutted and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘How utterly ridiculous. Ruby is far too law-abiding to even drive above the speed limit, let alone rob a bank.’ She sighed impatiently. ‘I do wish you people could have met her.’
‘I met her.’ Branagh spoke low. ‘And I tell you something …’ The light from the tensor lamp shone upwards distorting his face and making his eyes gleam with a fanatical light. ‘She’s as guilty as hell.’
Five weeks earlier …
Chapter Twenty Six
She stood gazing into the sunset. She heard hammering and saw a white picket fence had grown up around her. It was Hank, driving in the last post - to finally enclose her.
Ruby had time to ponder her dream now that she and Mary-Jo had finally put five pairs of ice-skates on five pairs of small, excited feet. She watched as Mary-Jo’s daughters swayed and staggered across the ice rink, the older ones holding the hands of the younger ones.
The sky was blue, the air crisp and cold, the bright sun reflecting off snow and ice. Ruby wore sunglasses, a woollen hat low on her head, a tartan scarf over her mouth, a chunky crew-neck Arran jumper, and jeans.
‘You okay?’ Mary-Jo asked, sipping from a thermos cup of hot chocolate. ‘You seem pensive.’
‘I’m fine.’
But Ruby was not fine. She knew Hank was not the type to play mind-games, so why had he backed off last night - just as she was softening towards him. In hindsight, she understood he’d been bossy for her own good. Plus, he had never officially charged her for all her misdemeanours. And because of his intervention, he had fixed her problem with Schoettler; there had been no noise that morning.
And the slow dance last night …
Absent-mindedly her eyes moved over the ice rink. A girl of about seventeen pirouett
ed at speed, her long red hair flying. The girl slowed to a halt, her attention taken by a big, broad-shouldered man on skates, who was clumsily skating towards the safety rail. With a bounce on one toe, the girl went after him and patted him playfully on the buttocks. At this, the man wobbled dangerously and, panicking, tried to slap her hand away. With a last, desperate lunge, he grabbed the safety rail, heaved himself off the ice and swung round to fall into a chair.
Ruby straight straight.
Hank!
He was laughing, his teeth white against his flushed face. The girl sat on his knee, pinched both his cheeks between her fingers to make him look like a chipmunk, then jumped up and skated gracefully back onto the ice.
Ruby gasped. The girl from Bronco’s!
Hank was on his feet, a camera at the ready. ‘Roxanne,’ he shouted.
Roxanne?
Ruby remembered shouldering through the laughing crowd, hearing voices shouting around her: ‘You’ve got yerself a maverick, Hank.’ ‘What’s Roxanne going to say?’
As Ruby watched, Hank lowered the camera from his face. There was cheerful laughter in his eyes when he stared at the girl, but there was also something more. And as Ruby watched, she realised what it was. It was the look of love.
Hank loved this girl.
Ruby stumbled to her feet. With every breath she seemed to be gulping down a terrible anguish. ‘I’ve got to go Mary-Jo. I’m … I’m sorry. I’ve just remembered …’
She had to get away.
This time next year, I’ll be in Paris. This time next year, I’ll be in Paris. This time next year, I’ll be in Paris.
She chanted the mantra in her head, every word a brick that formed a wall, a wall that protected her from the pain.
*
She reached home, dropped into an armchair and gazed into space. Crying seemed the most appropriate response but her biggest fear was that if she started she would never stop. She would forget him in time, she told herself. Life would slowly erode the memory; and if she did remember him, she would chuckle at such a silly infatuation.
The telephone rang. It was Molly, speaking fast. ‘Hank knows you’re married.
‘But … how?’
‘Last night. At your house. He said he saw men’s boots and a box with Mrs Mortimer-Smyth written on it. He checked the name against the lease, and that confirmed it. I didn’t know what to say. Christ, he is so angry!’
Ruby stiffened, her misery flung aside at this injustice. ‘He’s angry! I’m the one who should be angry! He’s been acting all lovey-dovey with me yet all this time he’s had a girlfriend.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘I just saw them ice-skating. I’ve never seen two people more in love.’
‘Well, he’s single. He’s got a right to play the field.’
‘Not when he wants to build a picket fence around me.’
‘What?’
‘He was talking about his little house on the prairie … Oh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care anyway.’
Molly’s voice dropped low. ‘Just to warn you. Hank’s a nice guy, but he’s been deceived and he’s not happy, so I’d advise you to keep out of his way.’
‘I thoroughly intend to keep out of his way - permanently.’ Ruby heard the ringing of the doorbell. ‘Molly, I’ve got to go. There’s somebody at the door.’
Ruby went to the window and peered out. A patrol car was parked at the curb. Hank! She jumped back, electrified. How should she react? She would be coolly detached, she decided, but willing to soften immediately if necessary.
But it wasn’t Hank.
‘Mrs Mortimer-Smyth?’ the policeman queried.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m Deputy Stone from the Sheriff’s Department.’ Taking off his hat, he stepped in and waited for her to shut the door. ‘This is an official warning,’ he began. ‘Our reports show that on a number of occasions you broke the law.’ He opened a folder and read from a list: ‘Swimming in a no swim area. Vandalism of a police vehicle. Riding a motorbike without a licence. Destruction of a neighbour’s property. You have not been formally charged with these misdemeanours, but I am here to warn you that your next offence will be taken very seriously.’ He put his hat back on. ‘Good day to you, ma’am.’
Ruby was too stunned to speak. She watched the policeman drive off. Then she realised what had happened. Hank, discovering he’d been fooled, wanted to punish her - and what better way to do it than to send the authorities to her home to threaten her. What sort of mean, vindictive person would do such a thing? How could she have got him so wrong?
Ruby immediately phoned Molly. ‘Could you give me Hank’s phone number, please?’ Her voice sounded amazingly calm and sane, but she didn’t feel that way. Her insides were heaving and her hands were trembling.
‘Sure.’ Molly read it out. ‘Are you going to apologise to him?’
‘Not exactly.’
Molly must have heard the icy undertone. ‘Ruby, listen,’ she said urgently. ‘Give him time to calm down, yeah? I know how you guys strike sparks off each other. And it’s not a good idea to speak to him today. He’s hosting a barbeque for the Sheriffs’ Association. So leave it a week. Stay low. And whatever you do - keep out of his way.’
Ruby had an image of Hank turning steaks in the sunshine, laughing with his police chums. She had been planning to phone him to tell him what a bastard he was. Now she would do more, much more. ‘And his address?’ she asked pleasantly.
‘Why?’
‘I want to drop him a note.’
‘Just a note?’
‘Yes.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
*
Ruby wrote HANK GEPHART IS A CONNIVING COWARDLY SNEAK, folded the paper and stuck it in the pocket of her jeans. She wore the silver pantsuit top, scarlet lipstick and big flashy ear-rings. The other night, Karla had left his pouch of tobacco behind. Now, she made a spliff-looking-thing, grabbed up the bottle of tequila and headed for her car.
Twenty minutes later, she drove into a shady residential area and stopped at the corner. Hank was just as she imagined he would be. He stood on the front deck of his house, chatting with his police pals while holding a long fork in one hand and a beer bottle in the other as he stood over the barbeque. There was no sign of Roxanne - or any other females; only burly cop-types who were all laughing uproariously in a jolly male-bonding drunken afternoon.
A smartly-dressed couple walked by, frowning their disapproval. She punched the cassette player and ZZ Top blasted out causing a flock of pigeons to take to the sky. Two teenage boys stopped sponging the bonnet of a car and stared at her in adolescent lust.
She accelerated gently, cruising down the middle of the road. Hank, hearing the loud music, glanced over. His frown opened up to popped-eyed astonishment as he recognised the slut with the carrot-sized spliff who was smiling up at him. As one, his guests stopped laughing and stared at her with narrowed hunter’s eyes. They were like a pack of mean, overfed lions that wanted to chase after the juicy antelope galloping by, but couldn’t quite make the effort.
As she drove on, she glanced in her rear-view mirror. Hank had come down the steps - the barbeque fork still in his hand - and stood on the curb watching her go. At the next junction, she made a U-turn and cruised back, driving the front left wheel on and off the pavement, and wanting to laugh at the incredulity on his face.
‘Stop!’ he ordered.
She held up the bottle of tequila in friendly salute, slugged back a mouthful, choked and continued driving. Out of sight of the house, she made another U-turn and cruised back, snaking wildly. This time, all the policemen were on the pavement, looking like they were about to explode with anger.
‘Hi, Cupcakes!’ she called to them as she drew level. As the men jumped forward, she threw out the note, jammed her foot on the accelerator and shot away in a squeal of tyres and the smell of burning rubber.
‘Put that in your pipe and smoke it, boys!�
�� she yelled.
*
That evening, Ruby heard the sound of a fist hammering on the front door. Hank stood on the door mat, his face dark with rage, his eyes pin-points of neon blue. ‘What the hell were you playing at?!’
‘Fuck off!’ She flung the door shut, but he banged it open with the heel of his hand.
‘Don’t you dare close the door!’ he raged.
Rowdy, who had been turning circles in his usual embarrassing show of affection for this man, stopped and looked confused.
The fury in Hank’s eyes filled Ruby with fear. But a part of her refused to be cowed; it rose up hard and vicious. ‘You step across this threshold and I’m gonna report you.’
He ignored this. ‘You were smoking a joint in front of every sheriff in the county! What were you trying to do? Get yerself arrested?’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘You know what …?’ He gave a nasty laugh. ‘I would! You talk of reporting me, but I should be reporting you.’ He jerked his chin towards the interior of the house. ‘Does your husband know what you get up to at nights?’
She went cold, thinking that Edward could now be listening to this exchange. Hank, believing her husband was at home, had come here to make trouble for her.
Hank grunted darkly. ‘I know he’s not here. But maybe I’ll come back when he is. Let you stew.’
‘You can’t scare me. My husband knows what I get up to.’
Hank snorted. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He locked eyes with her. Sometimes she felt like he could look her in the eye and know all the stuff that was inside her head.
He stabbed a finger at her. ‘And I didn’t appreciate your note. If anyone’s a conniving sneak, it’s you. Pretending you’re single. Why didn’t you tell me you were married?’
‘Because … because it’s none of your business.’
‘It is my business when a married woman asks me out on a date.’
‘I didn’t asked you out on a date.’
Brake Failure Page 18
