by Roberta Kray
Once she was outside the breath seemed to leave her lungs in a rush. She was aware of her damp jeans clinging to her legs and the chill evening air. A shiver ran through her.
‘I think our work here is done,’ Nick said. ‘You hungry?’
‘Not very.’
‘I could eat a horse. Blind fear always gives me an appetite.’
She was surprised by the admission. Most men liked to put on an act, to pretend they weren’t afraid even when they were. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed,’ she said. ‘You were great in there.’
‘Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid of Terry Street, especially in the current circumstances. He didn’t get to be boss by knitting scarves for the homeless.’
‘Thanks for doing all this. I’m grateful, I really am.’
‘Don’t mention it. You’re still not off the hook though.’
‘Yeah, but at least it’s a smaller hook.’
They got into the car and started the short journey back to Lolly’s. She didn’t ask why he hadn’t told her about the meeting between Sandler and Poole – she understood, when it came to his job, that some things were supposed to be kept confidential – and hoped he wouldn’t live to regret telling Terry. He would lose his job if the Marshalls found out. While she was contemplating this, a question jumped into her head. ‘Why would Poole bother to give Sandler money if he was going to shoot him the next day?’
‘Why not?’ Nick said. ‘It lulled Sandler into a false sense of security, made him feel like he was in control. And it wasn’t as if Poole would never see the money again. It would all go to Laura eventually.’
‘I guess.’
They were quiet until they drew up outside Lolly’s flat. Nick switched off the engine. ‘You fancy sharing a takeaway? My treat.’
‘It should be mine,’ she said.
‘Yeah, well, if you’d stop handing out diamond rings you might have some cash to spare.’
Lolly grinned. ‘Okay, but I’m paying next time.’ Then, on an impulse, she suddenly leaned across and kissed him quickly on the lips.
‘What was that for?’
She wasn’t sure how to answer. Perhaps she was still drunk. Except she didn’t feel that drunk now. Because she was relieved to have cleared the air with Terry? Partly. But mainly because it had simply felt right. She shrugged. It could have been awkward but somehow it wasn’t. ‘Just for being here.’
As they got out of the car, Nick asked, ‘Do you have any plans for tomorrow?’
‘Nothing special.’
‘How do you fancy a day out in Clacton?’
57
Friday 23 September. Kellston
Freddy woke with a start and stared into the darkness. A bad dream had brought him spiralling up from sleep and he could feel his heart thumping in his chest. The brown-haired girl, Lita, had been standing in front of him, her eyes accusing, her small pink mouth spitting out the words: ‘You killed Dana! You killed Dana!’ By the lifts it had been, down in the foyer, and other people had been gathered there, watching, listening, seeing him shamed in public.
Why had she done that? She should have been grateful – hadn’t he saved her from the Cecil brothers? – but instead she was bent on trying to destroy him. That was women for you. Never happy, never satisfied, always looking to put the knife in. You could walk to the ends of the earth for them and they’d still find fault with the colour of your shoes or the route you took.
He was damp with sweat, anxious and agitated. What if she’d gone to the police already? That would mean a knock on the door sometime soon. They would snap the cuffs on his wrist and escort him from the flat with the maximum of fuss. Just so all the neighbours could see, just so they could all point the finger.
Pushing aside the bedclothes he turned his head to look at the alarm clock: it was only ten past twelve. He’d barely been asleep for an hour. He pressed the palm of his hand against his clammy chest, hoping he wasn’t going to have a heart attack. He felt hot and cold and sweaty all at the same time. That wasn’t a good sign. Lita’s voice echoed in his head, as ominous as a death knell.
It was only a nightmare, he told himself. Calm down. Don’t get in a stress. But dreams had meanings. They were thoughts and ideas locked inside your brain. She knew about Dana. She must. It was the only explanation. And a part of him, some subconscious part, had sensed it. She was playing a game with him, cat and mouse, trying to lure him into the open, to make him give up his secrets.
He couldn’t go back to sleep now. He stared again at the luminous dial of the alarm clock. He stretched out one leg and then the other. Slowly he swung them over the side of the bed, his feet coming to rest on the roughness of the worn carpet. He stayed like that for a moment, listening to the rain smattering against the window before pulling himself upright.
He padded over to the chair, sorted through the clothes that were piled on it and got dressed. In the living room he stood listening to the snores of his mother. Once he was sure that she was fast asleep, he picked up his keys and left the flat, taking care to close the door quietly behind him.
The lift jerked down to the estate car park, a subterranean pit stinking of piss and dope and alcohol. It was ill lit and gloomy, full of shadows. He kept his eyes peeled for any lowlifes as he walked towards the car. You had to have your wits about you in a place like this. The old silver Vauxhall was exactly where it had been left – no one would bother to nick it, not even to go joyriding. It was old and battered, dented and scratched. That it still ran was a miracle.
He drove up to ground level, the dream revolving in his head. He couldn’t shake it off. Resentment bubbled up inside him. What right did that girl have to accuse him? She was a bitch, a troublemaker, a fucking tart. She needed teaching a lesson.
It was quiet on the high street and even the takeaway was closed. He pulled in beside it and leaned over to peer up at Lita’s windows. All dark. He considered getting out, ringing the bell, waking her up. Why should she sleep when he couldn’t? He could confront her, right here, right now.
‘I know your bloody game,’ he would say. ‘Stay away from me or you’ll be sorry.’
Except, of course, that was exactly what she wanted. The words would be tantamount to a confession. She’d laugh in his face and then go and phone the cops. No, he had to bide his time until he thought of a better way to deal with her.
Driving on towards the station, his thoughts shifted to Dana. If she’d shown more respect, she’d still be alive today. He’d told her he needed more money to pay someone, a woman who could give them information about her mother. And what had she done? Turned up with nothing, sod all, claiming she’d had debts to pay. Well they both knew what sort of debts they were – for that fuckin’ junk she couldn’t stop taking. The girl hadn’t known the meaning of priorities.
‘A couple of days,’ she’d said. ‘I’ll have it then, I swear. A couple of days won’t make no difference, will it?’
And, of course, he’d seen red. Who wouldn’t? He’d borrowed a tenner off his own mother and now he wouldn’t be able to give it back and he’d be forced to put up with her moaning and groaning and saying what a shit son he was. That’s when the idea had come to him.
‘I’ve already set up the meet. I suppose I could pay her so long as you pay me back.’
‘Oh, would you do that, Freddy?’ she’d said. ‘You’re a real darlin’’
And there’d been something about the way she said it, something that made him wonder if she was on to him, if that was why she wasn’t paying out. Just taking the piss, laughing at him, letting him fork out for the info on her mother. Not that there was any info, or any woman, but she didn’t know that. And everything had got confused in his head and all his hatred of the female sex had risen to the surface.
He’d only meant to scare her, but somehow it had got out of hand. ‘We have to meet her at the arches.’
‘That’s a funny place to meet.’
‘Not if you don’t want anyone to see you. Sh
e’s nervous, see, worried someone she knows might spot her.’
‘Do you think she’s for real?’
That doubt in her voice feeding his anger. As though his judgement couldn’t be relied upon, as though he was the type of bloke who could be taken in by some lying bitch. ‘I wouldn’t be paying her otherwise.’
And Dana had trusted him so she’d let him lead her into that dark and dangerous place where the row of arches stood like gaping mouths. Only a thin light from the back of the station, barely enough to see by. Still, he’d had a good look round to make sure they were alone, that there wasn’t some dosser curled up for the night or some tart turning a trick in the shadows.
‘Over there. The one at the end.’
‘It’s a funny place to meet,’ she’d said again.
It was the last thing she ever said to him.
58
Friday 23 September. Kellston
Stella wasn’t sure what she felt. Not so much drunk as exposed, like her head had been cut open and a bright light shone into it. The Fox had closed over an hour ago and she’d come back to the house, gone upstairs and lain fully clothed across her bed. When sleep had eluded her, she’d headed down to the kitchen. There was no one else around.
She stood by the open back door, staring out into the night. Rain fell against the concrete of the yard. The air was heavy and humid like there was a storm brewing. In the distance she heard a rumble of thunder. When she turned she almost expected to see Dana sitting at the table, her fair hair falling around her face, her eyes as bright as a child’s. For all her bravado, all her smart talk and lip, there had been something curiously vulnerable about the girl, something that had brought out Stella’s maternal instincts.
What she felt was worse than just missing her. It was a physical pain that wouldn’t go away, a wrenching at her heart. Anger and guilt and regret tumbled through her mind. For some people – and Dana had been one of them – there was no joy to be found in the world. From the moment she’d been dumped on that church doorstep, it was as though her future had been predestined, a short life of abandonment and despair.
She lit a cigarette and knew what she had to do.
The rain cooled her as she walked along the alley, following its curve until she emerged onto Albert Road. A couple of cars pulled up but she waved them away. The punters swore at her, hissing their displeasure but she didn’t care. There was only one type of business she was interested in tonight.
She crossed at the lights and made her way round to the side of the station where a narrow road led down to the arches. The scene of crime police tape had already been pulled away. It lay coiled on the ground like a dead yellow snake. It was here, at the entrance, where she was clearly in view that she stopped and waited.
‘Come and get me,’ she murmured. ‘I’m ready for you.’
The other girls said he wouldn’t do it again, not so soon, wouldn’t take the risk. Or that now his murderous desires had been sated it would be a while before they rose in him again. But they didn’t know. Nobody did. The street girls were taking extra precautions, pairing up and writing down the registration number of every punter’s car. Although this only worked if they agreed not to both be away at the same time. And it didn’t stop you getting raped or beaten or strangled or stabbed; it just meant they might eventually catch the bastard who’d done it.
She sang softly under her breath while she waited, a song she remembered from long ago by the Everly Brothers: ‘Bye bye love, bye bye happiness . . . ’ She paced a few yards to her left, turned and retraced her steps. The rain was coming down harder now but she barely noticed. Her mind was focused on one thing alone.
Time passed. Ten minutes, twenty. She didn’t give up. She remained on guard, patrolling her patch. And then she saw it, the light-coloured car slowing as it approached, the driver trying to make up his mind. He drove on past but then stopped and reversed, leaning across to wind down the window.
Stella walked over to the car and bent to talk to him. ‘Hello, love.’
‘You free?’ he asked, as though there might be an invisible queue.
‘Yeah.’ She climbed inside. ‘Where do you want to go?’ Glancing at him, but not staring too hard – some punters didn’t like your eyes on them – just enough to get a few impressions. Middle-aged, thin, brown-haired with a bland sort of face. Unmemorable. The type it would be hard to pick out in a line-up.
‘Anywhere,’ he said, but he was peering through the windscreen at the road leading down to the arches. ‘Is it open down there?’
‘It’s always open, love.’
He seemed on edge, nervy, twitchy, his hands gripping the steering wheel. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. ‘Okay,’ he said.
She wanted to ask. ‘What’s your name?’ but she didn’t. It was pointless. Even if they told you, it was usually a lie. No ring on his finger but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married. Anxious because he didn’t do this very often or for another reason?
The car bumped down the narrow road. Flanked by two high red brick walls, it had a claustrophobic quality, like a tall coffin. From where she was sitting she couldn’t even see the sky. A piece of card in the shape of a Christmas tree hung from the rear-view mirror giving off a smell like disinfectant.
‘Wasn’t this where . . . erm, that girl?’ he asked.
‘It might have been.’
‘I saw it on the news.’
His voice was tight, strained, London. His gaze flicked sideways, not at her face but her tits. That’s all she was to him: tits and a cunt, a body to fuck. He wasn’t interested in her name, her history, her grief. And after he’d fucked her what would he want then? Some kind of retribution, perhaps, for what she’d forced him to do.
They emerged into the dark expanse of the arches. He drove to the far end, pulled up and switched off the engine. He went to get out but she said coolly, ‘That’ll be a tenner.’ She wasn’t going anywhere without the cash. Always get it upfront in case they do a runner or decide, after they’ve shot their load, that you weren’t worth the bloody money.
He looked for a moment like he was going to wrangle over the price, try and get a discount because of the wet and bedraggled state she was in. His mouth set in a thin, straight line. But then he got out his wallet and reluctantly passed over a couple of crumpled fivers. Stella shoved them down her bra and nodded. ‘Ta.’
She opened the car door and stepped out into the rain. There was no one else around, at least no one she could see. The ground was wet, littered with rubbish, and she hoped he wasn’t going to want to lie down. A thin streak of lightning flashed across the sky followed by a crack of thunder. The rain fell more heavily. He strode towards the mouth of the nearest archway as if he knew where he was going, as if he’d been here before. She had a bad feeling about him. It was instinct as much as anything else, a sense of something being off.
She wasn’t afraid. She felt numb, disconnected. She wondered where Dana had died. There would have been markings, she thought, but it was too dark to see clearly. She walked beside the man, casting quick sideways glances, trying to read his expression. Inside the archway, black and smelly, he roughly pushed her up against the wall, his stale breath in her face, his hands all over her.
He fumbled for his flies, pulling out his cock like it was precious treasure. He pushed up her skirt and entered her with a groan. She looked over his shoulder at nothing. She listened to his heavy breathing, his grunts and growls, his whispered obscenities. His right hand, which had been gripping her breast, moved up towards her neck. She felt the fingers close around her windpipe. Her head, pinned against the wall, began to spin. She struggled but that was what he wanted, to feel that he was taking her by force, exerting his authority, proving his maleness.
There wasn’t time to think twice. It was now or never. She reached into the pocket of her jacket, grabbed the knife and plunged it deep between his shoulder blades. He gave a gasp, stopped moving and then staggered back. She did
n’t look into his eyes. She stayed very still, watching as he silently revolved in a half circle, crumpled and then slumped to the ground.
Another flash of lightning lit up the sky. She stared down at him, his body unmoving, no breath coming from his lungs. His limp cock lay like a pale worm between his legs. She felt no pity, no guilt. She had done it quickly and painlessly, affording him a mercy he hadn’t given Dana.
After a while she bent down beside him, pulled out the knife and returned it to her pocket. She walked over to the car – he hadn’t locked it – opened the passenger door and cleaned the handles with the sleeve of her jacket, inside and out.
Then she walked away.
59
Friday 23 September. Clacton
Last night’s storm had cleared the air. There was hazy sunshine and a light breeze, the perfect conditions for a day out by the sea. As Lolly climbed into Nick’s car she flapped a piece of paper at him.
‘Look what I got this morning.’
He grinned. ‘I’m presuming that’s an invitation from DI Latham, requesting the pleasure of your company tomorrow.’
‘You got one too?’
‘I got a phone call.’
Lolly put the piece of paper back in her bag and fastened her seatbelt. ‘I don’t understand why he wants to meet at the house. What’s wrong with the police station?’
‘Perhaps he wants to add a little drama to proceedings, bring us all together at the scene of the crime and hope one of us loses our nerve.’
‘But you can’t be a suspect. Why do they want to see you?’
‘I’m as good a suspect as anyone else,’ he said, with mock indignation. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘You don’t have any motive for wanting Esther dead.’
He started the car and set off along the high street. ‘I might. Anyway, they’re not looking for the murderer – Mal’s firmly in the frame for the actual deed – they’re looking for the person who helped the murderer.’
