by Max Manning
Norton finished off his beer and threw the empty bottle onto the sofa. He was starting to warm to Detective Inspector Day. The man knew what he was talking about.
Day finished speaking, and the camera panned in for a close-up of Gem Golding. She glanced down at the script the police had prepared for her and then looked directly down the lens of the camera.
Norton edged nearer the television, fascinated. It was almost as if she were in the room with him.
“When this man attacked me, tried to strangle me, broke my wrist, and took my car, I was treated for my injuries in the hospital and then sent home. Of course, I was still in shock. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened to me. I wanted to put it all behind me and get on with my life. Now I know that was the wrong approach to take. The wrong approach for me. I consider myself fortunate to have survived. I should have spoken out sooner.” She hesitated, licked her lips, and took a deep breath. “This man needs to be caught before he harms another innocent person. Evil will thrive if we don’t challenge it. That’s why I’m speaking out now. Please, please, call the police if you think you have information that will help them put this monster behind bars.”
The camera panned even closer until Gem’s face filled the whole screen. Her cheeks had more color than when she’d started speaking, and her eyes seemed to stare defiantly at Norton.
He didn’t want to believe it, but there was no denying what he’d heard, no other way of interpreting her words. The rage that drove him rose inside him like an icy mist. They’d gotten to her, turned her against him. She would pay for her betrayal.
Norton clenched his fists, then uncurled his fingers slowly. His anger gave him power, as long as he kept it cold, controlled.
He stood up and swung his right boot at the television. The screen shattered, exploding like gunshot, spraying bullets of glass onto the carpet. He heard a gasp behind and turned. Alice stood trembling in the doorway, a freshly opened bottle of beer in her hand.
Norton reached out, took the beer, and gave her his broadest smile. “There’s so much crap on TV these days,” he said.
Gem the Victim
Gem slid the key into the lock, pushed the front door open, and stepped inside. Detective Sergeant Shields had told her that she would be arranging for a police patrol car to be parked overnight outside the house for the foreseeable future.
She closed the door, making sure it was double-locked. The promise of a police guard was reassuring, but she still wasn’t expecting to get a lot of sleep. The house was far too big for one person. The space and the silence put her on edge. She walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, her stomach grumbling. Nerves had made it impossible for her to even think about eating before the TV appeal, but now she was famished. Typically, her mother had made a point of stocking up with ready-made meals before going back to Wales. Gem unwrapped a cottage pie for one, put it in the microwave, and set the timer for eight minutes.
The microwave hummed as she poured herself a large glass of white wine and sat at the kitchen table. The police had been pleased with the way the appeal had been received by the viewing public. People had started calling in to report sightings of Norton within minutes of the broadcast ending.
Gem sipped her drink and closed her eyes, tension flowing from her body. Drew would have complained that the wine was too cold to taste of anything. He’d always insisted that a bottle of white straight from the fridge needed to be left to warm a fraction before serving. She took another, larger sip. She definitely preferred her vino icy.
The microwave pinged. Gem used an oven glove to carry the steaming meal to the table. She picked up a fork and dug into the mash, which had the consistency and color of gluey tapioca.
Her first and—hopefully—last television appearance hadn’t been as scary as she’d expected. She’d started off shaky but had soon gotten into her stride. She put a forkful of mash and minced beef into her mouth. It was hot, salty, and incredibly bland, but she was hungry enough not to care.
Publicly condemning her attacker had given her a lot of satisfaction. Telling the world about what he’d done to her felt liberating. Refilling her glass, she wondered whether he’d watched the broadcast. She needed him to understand how much she despised him. She hoped with all her heart that he’d gotten the message, that she’d shattered his sick fantasy once and for all.
Gem pushed the half-eaten meal away, picked up her glass of wine, and walked through into the living room. She heard a vehicle pull up outside and crossed to the window. Shields had been true to her word. She sighed with relief at the sight of the uniformed officer sitting behind the wheel of the patrol car.
The criminal psychologist’s warning had been clear. Gem knew that if she’d achieved what she’d set out to do, then she’d put herself in serious danger.
45
Fight
The Detective
Day hadn’t been back to New Scotland Yard since his disciplinary hearing. Riding the elevator to the fourth floor, he had mixed feelings. He’d always felt privileged to work at the Yard. The place had a purposeful buzz about it, a feeling that everybody knew what they were doing and why they were doing it. But he was back today because he’d been called in, like a schoolboy summoned to the principal’s office.
The elevator door opened, and he stepped out into the corridor. Detective Chief Superintendent Sherri Cox’s office door was closed, and he could hear the soft murmur of voices inside.
He knocked once and entered without waiting to be invited in. Cox looked up, surprised, from behind her large oak desk. “Good afternoon, Elliot,” she said with a tight smile. “It’s been a long time.”
The only empty chair was positioned next to the other police officer in the room. He was the last person Day wanted to see. Detective Chief Inspector Rob Hardy gave him a curt nod.
Day slid the chair away from Hardy to the far edge of the desk before sitting down. Cox rolled her eyes, brought her hands together, and clasped them tightly.
“I know that you two have a serious personal issue, but I would be grateful if you would both keep this discussion strictly professional,” she said. “In fact, scrub that. I’m not asking you to behave professionally. I damn well insist on it.”
Day kept his eyes fixed on Cox. At least ten years his senior, she wore a smart, dark jacket and skirt, and her jaw-length bob appeared several shades blonder than when he had last seen her.
“I’d like to know what I’m doing here,” he said.
Cox sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “I’ve called you in because I want to remind you that the Drew Bentley case is now officially being investigated by the eastern murder investigation team and that DCI Hardy is heading the inquiry.”
“I don’t need to be reminded about that,” Day said. “My team have already passed on everything we have on Bentley’s death.”
Cox’s lips twitched in irritation. “The problem is you are still pushing hard on the carjacking involving Bentley’s girlfriend. Rob feels that as the same suspect is involved in both crimes, it makes sense for you to drop the carjacking case.”
Day glanced across at Hardy, whose thin lips had twisted into a sneer. He imagined him sitting at the dinner table with Tom, telling him that his incompetent father had been called to the Yard to have his ass kicked.
“I don’t see any problem with my team following up leads generated by the hard work they’ve already done. If something turns up that eventually results in Bentley’s killer being caught, then surely that’s a good thing?”
Hardy snorted loudly and shook his head. “I don’t want you and your team of amateurs stomping clumsily all over my operation. A murder inquiry takes priority. Forget about the carjacking, and let me get on with catching Bentley’s killer.”
Day stifled a strong desire to carry out his previous threat to hurl Hardy out a window. The fact that
he’d have a high-ranking officer as a witness made it easier to stifle that urge.
Refusing to address Hardy directly, he turned back to Cox. “If you’re ordering me to close the carjacking inquiry, then I have to say I don’t think it’s a good idea. The work we’ve put into the investigation is starting to bring leads in, and I assure you that everything will be handed over to the MIT.”
Cox unclasped her hands and drummed her fingers on the desk. “I’m happy for you to keep the case open, but I don’t want you getting in the way of the murder investigation. Any information you receive that could lead to an arrest must be passed on to Rob and his squad. Is that clear?”
Day forced himself not to look at Hardy. The briefest glimpse of that reptilian smile would threaten his already severely tested self-control. Permission to keep the Gem Golding inquiry open counted as a minor victory, and he’d settle for that.
“You can rest assured that I will never do anything that will jeopardize the chances of bringing Drew Bentley’s killer to justice,” he said.
46
Surrender
Gem the Victim
Gem slept for longer than she had for weeks, but tiredness still pinned her limbs to the bed. The sleep had been fitful, her dreams haunted by Drew. He’d appeared before her, his presence vivid but mundane. Drew walking purposefully past her, unresponsive as she called his name. Drew sitting on the side of their bed wearing his best work suit, staring at the screen of his cell phone.
She rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, pausing briefly to check her reflection as she passed the mirror. She looked pale and drawn, but then she was never at her best first thing in the morning.
A few minutes under the hot spray perked her up, and for the first time in weeks, her stomach felt settled enough for her to think about eating breakfast. After dressing for work, she put the kettle on and dropped a couple of slices of white bread in the toaster, walked to the front door, slid back the bolt, and opened it. The police car was still parked right in front of the house.
Gem stepped outside and tapped the front passenger window. The noise made the police constable jump. He lowered the window and leaned toward her.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
Gem bent down to get a better look at the officer. She guessed he was about her age, and considering he’d been on duty all night, he looked remarkably fresh.
“I was wondering if I could get you a coffee or tea and some breakfast,” she said.
The constable smiled and shook his head. “Very kind, but no thanks.” He pointed at a large, hot drink flask on the seat beside him. “I still have some coffee left, and I’m off to the station canteen in a few minutes. I’ll be back on guard duty this evening though.”
“That’s good to hear,” Gem said. “Can I ask you your name?”
The constable smiled, and Gem detected a faint blush on his cheeks.
“I’m PC Weaver. PC Mark Weaver.”
“Well, PC Weaver,” Gem said. “Thank you. It’s nice to know you’re going to be out here tonight.”
The constable gave an embarrassed nod and reached for the button to raise the window. “Just doing my job,” he said.
Gem used her phone app to order a taxi, and it arrived outside her door fifteen minutes later. She climbed into the back seat and double-checked that the driver knew their destination. The journey to Covent Garden usually took around half an hour, and she’d gotten into the habit of using that time to plan her workday.
Paying for a taxi to and from the office wasn’t cheap, but after what had happened to Drew, there was no way she was going anywhere near a Tube station platform. She was optimistic that she’d be able to get back behind the wheel of a car soon.
As the taxi turned right into City Road, Gem’s cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and was surprised to see it was Detective Inspector Day.
He got straight down to business. “There are a couple of things I need to speak to you about.”
Gem waited, sensing the detective was making an effort to pick his words carefully.
“We may have made some progress in the hunt for Norton. We suspect he may have been staying at a guesthouse in Stepney. We’ve had an anonymous call to our helpline claiming that someone matching his description has been seen near Stepney Green Tube station, and we know he was once in a relationship with the owner of the guesthouse.”
Gem’s heart missed a beat. Stepney was no more than three and a half miles from Shoreditch. She’d taken comfort in the fact that London was a sprawling city of nearly nine million people. Finding out he’d been so close made her feel physically sick.
“Should I be worried?”
“No, there isn’t any reason for you to panic. There is going to be a patrol car parked outside your house every night until this is sorted.”
Gem swallowed hard. “Yes, it was a comfort to know it was there last night.”
“Good,” Day said. “The other thing I wanted to mention was that our inquiries into Mr. Bentley’s background have turned up a few interesting facts. We now know that he was a resident at Greenhills children’s home in south London at the same time as Connor Norton and that they were close friends. They even shared a room.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’s true.”
Gem couldn’t make sense of what she was hearing. She knew Drew had spent some time in the childcare system, and he’d occasionally joked about not having a family to share his success with, but he’d always made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about those times. The past was the past, he’d insisted.
“You’re telling me Drew used to be friends with the man who killed him? The man who attacked me?”
“It’s looking that way. Norton ran away from the home and was put on the missing persons list. Around the same time, a local fifteen-year-old girl vanished. Police feared Mary Freeman had been abducted. They never found a body.”
Gem found this revelation confusing. What was the detective trying to say? What had this to do with her and Drew?
“Why would Norton surface after all these years and set out to destroy our lives?”
“I don’t know,” Day said. “As far as you can remember, did Drew ever mentioned the missing girl, Mary Freeman?”
“No, never. Why should he?”
“I don’t know, but we have to explore every avenue. If you think of anything else Mr. Bentley may have said about his time in the children’s home, then please let me know.”
Gem slipped her phone back into her bag and stared out the window at the snaking traffic, her thoughts still occupied by the mention of a missing girl and Drew’s time in a children’s home. None of it made sense.
The Detective
Day clicked the Play button and listened to the recording of the anonymous caller one more time.
The woman spoke so fast, her words blurred. “The man you’re after, the carjacker, I’m sure I saw him standing outside Stepney Green Tube station last night. He was wearing a dark baseball cap and a hooded top. It was definitely the man I saw on television. I’m certain of it.”
It wasn’t much to go on, but the Underground station was only a ten-minute walk from the Roman Villa guesthouse. More significantly, Day thought, the anonymous caller sounded like Alice Shelton.
On his way out to the parking lot, he looked in on the squad room. Shields had taken a well-deserved day off. Only three of the seven desks in the room were occupied, two of them by civilian support workers he’d asked to dig up everything they could find on the investigation by Croydon police into the disappearance of Mary Freeman.
Thirty minutes later, he pressed the guesthouse doorbell and held it down for several seconds. After a minute or so, he rapped hard on the door with his knuckles. He was about to try the bell again when the door opened slowly.
Alice She
lton’s left eye resembled a ripe plum, shiny, purple, and swollen to a slit. Her lower lip was fat, split, and encrusted with dried blood. Day peered down the hall and dug out his cell phone, but Shelton held up a hand.
“He’s not here,” she said, her voice distorted by her swollen lip. “He’s gone.”
Day stepped into the house, put a hand gently on Shelton’s shoulder, and walked with her into the back room. He sat her down on the sofa, glancing at the shattered television screen and the glass scattered on the carpet.
“I think I should call an ambulance,” he said. “It looks to me like you might need stitches.”
Shelton shook her head. “There’s no need. I’ll be all right. I’ve got plenty of painkillers. To be honest with you, I’m just pleased that he’s gone.”
Day looked at the television again and then at the mess Norton had made of Shelton’s face. What sort of creature is this man? he wondered.
“It was the television appeal by that Gem Golding woman,” Shelton said. “He was watching her, calmly drinking beer, then he kicked the screen in.”
“How long had Norton been staying here?” Day asked.
Shelton bowed her head and said nothing.
“Was he already with you when I came around with Detective Sergeant Shields?”
Shelton nodded. “I was too scared to say anything. He was standing in the utility room, listening to our conversation.”
Day choked down his frustration. If she’d given Norton up straightaway, they’d have him in jail, awaiting trial.
“When did he do that to you?”
Shelton lifted a shaky hand to her face, touched the swollen flesh, and winced. “The lip straight after smashing the television, the eye after getting up early this morning before he left. A little farewell gift is what he said. Something to remember him by.”
