‘I did. She looked like she was in pain.’
‘Her arm, too. The patrol sergeant said he thought she had hurt her arm.’
‘She kept it in her pocket. It didn’t look right. I was waiting for you to ask her about it direct.’
‘She’s not great at direct questions. I tried pushing it with her before. She backed right off and stopped speaking to me. That was the first time I’ve seen her since. I need to be careful around her. She was even more guarded today. I assume it was because you were with me.’
‘None taken. The alarm is a good thing at least.’
‘Massive. A real positive. I didn’t expect to get that past her. She told me last time that she didn’t have a phone anymore. He must have taken it off her. That started real alarm bells.’
‘I bet. She said he doesn’t like her wearing make-up either, that’s another sure sign.’
‘It is.’
‘What do we know about this Craig?’
‘We know he used to beat on his previous partner. He was charged with GBH with intent but CPS knocked it down to try and get the job home. It still went nowhere. She wouldn’t support, but we did get her relocated out of the area. He doesn’t know where she is. It was the only way to keep her safe.’
‘Are you still in contact?’
‘Not me, it wasn’t my job. That was before my time. I was referring to the all-encompassing we. The police. I read through the notes before I met with Grace. His ex-partner was lucky, she got safe.’
‘As long as she doesn’t make contact with him. How many times have we seen that?’
‘The report’s very clear . . . the ex, she’s terrified. I saw the CSI photos. I’ve never seen anything like it. The injuries on her body . . . she had broken ribs and a femur that was so badly bruised the doctors were amazed it didn’t break. Do you know the force you need to worry a femur?’
‘A hell of a lot.’
‘They reckon he worked on it over a period of time. Probably beat her thighs with his fists. She said he did it to stop her walking far, to stop her going out basically. All her injuries were on the upper body or the thighs. Stuff that is easier to hide.’
‘A real piece of work. I’m surprised the CPS didn’t run it still, even without her support?’
‘She didn’t just withdraw support — she said explicitly it wasn’t him. Then she got angry with the police when he didn’t go down. The detectives that dealt with her said she turned real nasty towards the end. I think she was just scared.’
‘Leaving him to move on to his next victim,’ Harry said.
‘I suppose she got herself safe. She wasn’t thinking about what happens next or who else it could happen to. He’s been with Grace for a couple of years and she’s never reported a thing. Someone like that, they don’t just stop. The only way he stops beating his partners is if we lock him up or he drops down dead.’
‘I don’t suppose we could be lucky enough for the second?’
‘We certainly can’t rely on it.’ Maddie started walking up the road.
Harry slowed as she continued beyond their parked car. ‘Are we not leaving?’
‘Oh! Did I not mention the other job?’
‘Other job?’
‘Our burglar in interview. He said he did a couple of breaks in this area. We’ve only had one report along here — number 21. No one’s been there yet to talk to them.’
‘Can you not just send a DC up here? That sounds like a basic enquiry?’
‘Welcome to CID Harry! You can’t just be pointing at DCs and clicking your fingers. Most of the time there’s no one in the office to point at. I just need to get an account. I’ll get someone up here for a statement later.’
Maddie continued walking, trying to pick out the door numbers. She stopped at the end of a drive just a few doors up. A blue Ford hatchback was parked too far over and she had to walk on the grass to get to the door. She paused, waiting for Harry who was dawdling behind her, seemingly peering into the car. A teenage lad jerked the door open an instant after it was knocked. His face dropped immediately.
‘Oh!’ He grunted. He stepped away from the door, leaving it swinging open and called out, ‘Ma! It’s the Jehovahs!’
A woman appeared at the door, a minute or so later. She looked harassed. Her cheeks were flushed and she was holding laundry under her arm.
‘I’m really sorry, I haven’t got the time to be—’
Maddie held up her warrant card. ‘Maybe your son should take a moment to ask a question,’ Maddie said.
‘Oh! Yes, he should. Sorry about him.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Teenagers! Are you here about the break-in?’
‘Yes. Do you mind if we step in?’
The woman stepped back. The layout looked the same as Grace’s. The woman led the way down a corridor and into the kitchen. She appeared to hunt for a clear surface to put the washing down.
‘Sorry about the mess. We’re going on holiday tomorrow. You know what it’s like the day before. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth all the hassle!’
‘I know what you mean. Anywhere nice?’
‘Yes actually. Lake Garda. At least I’ve heard it’s nice — we’ve never been. It’s a friend’s wedding.’
‘Ah, very nice, indeed. It’s a stunning setting.’
‘It will just be nice to have a few days away from here. It’s worked out to be quite well timed really, what with the break-in.’
Maddie took out her notebook. ‘I bet. I’ll try not to hold you up for long. I’m DS Maddie Ives . . . this is DI Blaker. We do actually have someone in custody for the burglary here. I read the report and I know there is an appointment for one of my colleagues to come up and see you for a full statement. Do you mind just giving a quick list of what was taken? We’re going to be searching this lad’s place and it would really help if we knew what we were looking for.’
The woman huffed a little. Maddie was aware that her eyes lifted to the clock. ‘Yeah, of course. I’m up against it a bit, but if you don’t mind me stuffing the washing machine while I talk?’
‘You go right ahead.’
The woman picked back up her pile of clothes and pulled open the washing machine. She stood back straight. ‘Actually . . . JOSH!’ she bellowed.
‘WHAT?’
‘Can you come down here please and talk to the police?’
‘WHAT FOR?’ The reply back down the stairs was instant.
‘Don’t be rude! They’re here to talk about what was stolen. Some of it was yours. Can you come and tell them what it was?’
Maddie heard the huff, even from where she was stood. The same lad who had answered the door appeared in the kitchen. He hung in the door.
‘Josh, is it?’ Maddie said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Sorry you’re a victim in all this. It’s Haines, right? Your surname, I mean. I left the paperwork back at the police station.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Great. And what was taken that you can remember?’
‘I had my Xbox down here with loads of games. It was ready to take to my dad’s.’
His mother cut in. ‘Josh is going to stay with his dad for a few days. He isn’t too keen on weddings.’ Her tone seemed a little frosty, like this had been the cause of upset in the house. Josh didn’t return her stare.
‘I was going to a gig. I had tickets. I didn’t want to miss it.’
‘You’re not going now, then?’ Maddie said.
‘No. My mum says I’m not allowed’
‘That’s right. Josh here, at fifteen years old, thought the best way to ensure a bright future was to get caught smoking cannabis at school. He’s currently suspended in his GCSE year. Something that might become permanent if I can’t make his case at a meeting with the school next week. He seems to think it’s funny of course. Maybe I should get the police here to take you down the cells — lock you up for a while. We’ll see how funny it is then, won’t we?’
‘Whatever, Mum. Everyone does it. I
just got caught.’
‘Well, more fool you then. And now you want me to buy you a new Xbox and let you go to a concert in London. You live in a dream world.’
‘Of course I do. And you’re perfect. What is it? Two bottles of wine a night?’ Josh turned away. Maddie heard the stairs thump as he made his way back up them.
The woman shook her head. ‘Sorry about him. He has a very active imagination. It’s been hard since . . . well, since his dad and I split up. This will be the first time he’s stayed there, actually. It might be good for his dad to see what I’m up against at the moment.’
‘Kids are never easy. It must be ten times worse when it’s just you.’
‘And the rest. So the Xbox you know about. There were some headphones too that belonged to Josh — Beats they’re called. We got them for him last Christmas. There was a stack of games. I don’t know what they’re called but I can ask him again if you like?’
‘Don’t worry. Xbox and games is fine for now. If we find some games I’ll ask him to confirm. The headphones I have. Anything else?’
‘My iPad. It’s white, but it was in a gold case. I had a smaller tablet too. A Samsung thing. It’s old, I’m not even sure it even switches on. I lost some jewellery. Costume stuff, luckily none of the good bits. And we had a stack of letters. They were messed up but I think maybe one or two are missing. It was a stack of bills. Something I was going to worry about later. I have no idea why anyone would take them. And that’s it, I think.’
Maddie closed her book. ‘Thanks for that. Like I said, someone will still come out and take a more detailed report. It looks like we might get a charge on this one. I’ll keep you informed. I didn’t take your name?’
‘Nicola. Well, Nikki, actually. Nikki Haines.’
‘Thanks, Nikki. Can I take a number? Just in case no one has?’
‘Oh. Yeah, I called in on this phone but you can take it.’ She picked up her phone and spun it over to reveal a sticker with a phone number on the back. ‘It’s new,’ she said in explanation.
Maddie jotted it down. Harry already had the front door open.
‘You can get back to your packing now!’ Maddie said, as they spilled out.
‘I need to. We have a taxi picking us up at four a.m. tomorrow. It’s all rush, rush!’
‘Sounds like it. Have a wonderful time.’
They made it back to the car and Maddie checked her phone. She had left it under the armrest. It showed a missed call and voicemail from Rhiannon. It connected to the car and played through the speakers as they pulled away.
‘Hey, Maddie. The hearing went ahead for Routledge this afternoon. He was first on. He went guilty, as we expected. The court has bailed him. He’s on a tagged curfew and has signing-on conditions. He’ll be back for sentencing in three weeks. I was thinking I would go round and see him later. Maybe he’ll talk a bit more freely outside of custody. I’ll speak soon.’
The call ended.
‘Good timing,’ Harry said.
Maddie was staring forward, her mind racing with options. ‘It is.’
‘And a good result? Unless I’m missing something?’ Harry must have picked up on her sounding pensive.
‘It is a good result. Especially with him. He’s a slippery one. He never speaks to us in interview, but this time he did. I think I know why, too . . . he’s terrified of something. He wouldn’t tell us what. He was desperate to get locked up.’
‘Sounds like a good idea to go and see him then.’
‘It does. She’s sharp — Rhiannon, I mean. She has a big future.’
‘Someone you’ve taken under your wing?’
‘I’m not sure she needs that to be honest. I like working with her. She’s the perfect mix . . . the enthusiasm of someone brand new in, but the ability of someone with far more experience. I think she had a bit of a tough upbringing. She talks about it occasionally — but just bits, you know. What she did say sounded a lot like mine.’
‘Like yours? How so?’
Maddie flicked a glance left. ‘You interested in my upbringing, Harry?’
‘Not really. I’m just trying to work out if I should get in a car with you again.’
Maddie chuckled. ‘That’s hardly something you can talk about. I remember the last time I got in a car with you!’
Harry turned away. His attention seemed to move outside of the window. He took a few seconds to reply — long enough for Maddie to worry that she might have upset him.
‘You’ve got me there,’ he said, eventually.
* * *
Grace stood over her chair. The vice was still covered. She always covered it over during the day. She didn’t even like to catch a glimpse of it. She still couldn’t even write its description in her diary; she could only refer to it as the chair. That didn’t sound so scary. She dropped to her knees and leaned forward. She had her phone gripped tightly in her left hand. She pushed it under the seat cushion, far enough until she felt a solid strip of wood that formed a ledge. She had worked the stitching apart enough to fit a phone in it. She was confident it would stand up to the chair being frisked. Her diary, however . . . that was different. It was jammed down the side with a stubby pen tucked into its spine. It was out of sight and as far down as she could get it but it would be found easily enough if someone was looking. There was nothing she could do about that except not to give Craig a reason to search it in the first place. She needed to be able to reach it when she was sitting in the chair, when her left arm was clamped so tightly that she could barely move. That was when she usually wrote in it. It helped her cope with the pain, helped make the words flow. She could talk about how it felt. The phone was in its place. She pushed her fingers down to feel for her diary. She just brushed the top of it. She did that maybe ten times a day. She liked to know it was there. She liked to touch it. It was going to set her free.
Chapter 8
Frank Dolton swept through his front door into a grand entrance hall, his footfalls echoing around the open space. In front was his bespoke oak staircase that matched the material underfoot. He could still feel a breeze and hear the sound of raindrops bouncing off the carpet of fallen leaves outside. His front door was still open. He turned to it. His driver was standing on the threshold and he suddenly looked awkward. The floodlight covering the front door clicked off behind him.
‘Sorry, sir, will I be needed any further?’ he said.
‘Oh. You have the thing, yes? With your kid. I think I’m in for the night, thank you, Peter. Just have your phone on you.’
‘Very good, sir. I shall park the car in the garage.’
Frank spun on his heels and made towards the kitchen. ‘Make sure you give it a wipe to dry if off!’ he called out. There was a reply. He didn’t stick around to hear it and it didn’t matter anyway. He heard the front door pull shut.
The kitchen was immaculate. All the surfaces were wiped down and the fruit basket was freshly stocked. He never ate the damned stuff but it gave off the right impression. It was a large room with a vaulted ceiling that had panes of glass on both sides of the pitch. The rain ran down them in squirming rivulets. Three hanging lights dripped down from the centre to illuminate the island that contained the only item that was out of place in the whole room: a handwritten note.
Your evening meal is in the main oven. The accompanying vegetables are in the sides. Have a lovely evening. Sasha.
Sasha was a fine cook. He much preferred to be home in time before she left. Then she would serve the dinner immediately and clear away the dishes after. On days like today when he was late, he would have to serve up his own meal and stack his own dishwasher. He could always leave it on the side for the housemaid in the morning.
He took the plate out of the main part of the range cooker, careful to use the oven gloves, but it was warm rather than hot. He pulled back the wrapped foil to reveal a pork chop and a clump of buttery potatoes. He took an assortment of vegetables out of a smaller part of the same oven and slid them onto t
he plate. He hunted the fridge for the prepared pudding — Sasha’s forte — then he remembered that he had asked her not to prepare puddings for a couple of weeks. The scales were tipping over twenty stone now. He was six foot four, but that was still some way over his ideal weight.
He devoured the meal quickly with a large glass of red wine. Then he hunted again for something that might constitute a pudding. He settled for another glass of red and carried it through to his study. His computer monitor came to life with a nudge of the mouse. Already he had new emails. He scanned through the list. One was from his accountant and there were two invitations to business seminars and a regular contact from a local estate agent who was constantly trying to prompt him into expanding his property portfolio. He would deal with them all later. A notification swept in from the bottom right corner: Alexa would like to be friends with you on Facebook.
He barely used Facebook — a waste of everyone’s time. Occasionally he would post a picture of himself in his latest acquisition or when he was on holiday. His last two uploads were of a new sports car and from behind the wheel of his yacht. From time to time, he liked to remind people how well he was doing. But Alexa’s profile picture popped up too. It was thumbnail sized, still large enough for him to make out an incredible female figure wrapped in black lingerie. His interest was piqued. He clicked on it. Facebook opened up on the woman’s profile page. The privacy settings were tight, so he couldn’t see if he had any mutual acquaintances. There were a few more pictures that were similar in tone to her profile picture. They looked like professional modelling shots. That was the problem with Facebook — you never knew what was true. Those pictures almost certainly weren’t.
He clicked to close it. He should reply to his accountants, really. They needed some information before they could complete his tax return. He had been putting it off. He brought his email back up and opened the message. They wanted clarification on some of his expenses. There was a list of them. It meant going back through his diary and receipts. It was just about the only job he did himself. It could wait until tomorrow. His cursor chased across the screen to shut the computer down. Another notification snagged his eye: the same profile picture, the same woman. But this time Alexa had sent a direct message:
HE WILL KILL YOU an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist Page 8
