You'll Be Sorry Page 10

Joe came up behind him. “Seen something you like?” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “In the shop. Got your wallet out.”

  Dan laughed. “Ah, I’m with you. Was just checking my change. I need a drink. Mouth’s gone dry.” He scratched his head, stepped over to the corpse, and went down on his haunches. “You know,” he said, scratching his head again for good measure, purposely leaving a bit of himself at the scene, “I reckon this fucker broke her windpipe. Look…” He pointed at Monique’s neck. One of his head hairs left his hand and fell on her chest. “Her Adam’s apple’s over to the side a bit.”

  Joe stood beside him. “Shit, yeah. Poor bitch.”

  Dan nodded and sighed. “SOCO on their way?” He stood. “Shit, I’m going to have to warn them they might find my hair on her. I scratched my head. Remind me to tell them, will you? Reckon my psoriasis is coming back.”

  “Will do.” Joe stared at the body then turned away. “There’s cans of pop under the counter. I won’t tell if you won’t. Doubt the killer touched them. Even left the till intact.”

  Dan faced the counter and picked up a Sprite, clicked it open, and took a swig. He moved to the open front door and stepped out onto the street. Can on the ground, he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, cast his gaze up and down the road. The team wouldn’t be here for another ten or fifteen minutes. He’d have time for another smoke or two. As though waiting for a bus, he stood and thought everything over.

  Bollocks. I forgot to check out that flat address Monique gave me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mark left for work, uneasy at leaving Kerry alone. He contemplated turning back and calling in sick, but surely Dan wouldn’t know where she’d gone just yet. Yes, the DI had an astute mind, but nothing linked Kerry to Mark, so he reckoned she was safe for the time being. He’d get this shift out of the way, have some sleep tomorrow, and then look up some places for rent.

  She’d be okay. He’d be back with her by the morning.

  Halfway to Harmondsey, a string of police cars passed him. His stomach lurched, and he gripped the steering wheel. Had something happened to Kerry? He parked on the hard shoulder and set his hazard lights flashing. With shaking hands, he dialled the front desk.

  Cheryl answered.

  “Cheryl? It’s Lendall. I’m on my way in, but I saw our cars going into Gradley. Need me to go back?”

  “You in uniform?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Then go. We’re short as it is tonight, some virus going round and keeping officers off.”

  “Where do I need to go?”

  “You know The China Cabin?”

  Shit. “Yes.”

  “That’s where you’re needed. Woman found. Stone is there already.”

  Mark cut the call and blew out a long breath. Heart thudding fast, he swerved back the way he’d come, driving at high speed. He drove past The China Cabin and stopped in his own parking space, going back to the shop on foot. He approached several uniforms outside the small shop, their heads bent in conversation.

  Ted said, “Hey. I’d no sooner walked into the station than I was sent out here. I asked if I could wait for you, but—”

  “Not a problem,” Mark said. “I saw the cars and called in.” He looked through the window.

  “Anyone out here been inside?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Ted said. “Dan and Joe found her. They’re still in there.”

  Stone found her? “How did that come about?”

  “No idea. They came here on another matter.” Ted scratched his chin. “Good job they did. God knows how long she’d have been left otherwise. Shit.” He scrunched his eyes closed and opened them again, staring at the sky. “Have a few hours off the job to recover from one body, then another turns up. What the fuck’s going on around here?”

  Mark shook his head. “Not a clue.”

  Liar. I have a damn good idea.

  The thought chilled him, and he made Stone out behind the counter, drinking a Sprite. The DI placed the can beside the till and turned his attention to the lit doorway to the shop’s rear. Mark imagined the pizza delivery girl there. How had she been killed? Had Stone got hold of her, or was her death unrelated? People popped shopkeepers every day. This could have been a random murder. A robbery gone wrong.

  “Heard Dan saying nothing was taken,” Ted whispered. He shook his head, eyes watery. “Damn shame. Young girl, too, apparently. Just goes to show, you never know what’s around the corner.”

  No, you don’t, and that’s Kerry’s problem at the moment.

  He had the urge to run back to his flat, but what good would it do? It would only frighten her, and until he could get all the details, she was better off not knowing. Also, while Dan remained in the shop, he wasn’t out there trying to find Kerry.

  Mark turned away from the window as Stone walked towards the front door. He joined them on the pavement, his shoulders a rigid line, his chest expanded with importance.

  What a fucking arsehole.

  “Right, door-to-door needs doing. Every place in the nearby vicinity needs checking. The usual enquiries. Did anyone hear or see anything, you know the drill.”

  The officers paired off into partners, and Ted stepped towards Mark.

  “No, Ted. You’re okay to go on your own. This one here,” he jerked his thumb at Mark, “he’s needed to man the door.”

  Mark’s stomach rolled. Shit. Does he know? Has he guessed I’ll go straight home and warn Kerry he’s here?

  Dan sneered and turned his attention to the other men. He directed two to the opposite shops, to those that looked as though people lived above them. Another three were sent in the direction of Mark’s flat, Ted one of them, and Mark held his breath with the thought that Kerry would open the door to him. Mark couldn’t ring her to give a warning—he didn’t have a house phone, and she hadn’t brought her mobile with her.

  Stuck in a hard place, he watched the officers disperse. Dan winked at him and reentered the shop, closing the door. Alone, Mark could do nothing but his job—that and think of various scenarios that would reveal Kerry’s hiding place.

  Please don’t let her open the door.

  It was pointless praying; he couldn’t do anything to stop the next turn of events. Mind all over the place, he concentrated on the coffee shop down the way. The scent of drying rain filled his nose.

  If Stone had killed the woman back there in the shop… Was he deranged? Was his hold on Kerry that imperative that he’d killed to find her, his need to keep her in his life overriding the fact he’d snuffed out an innocent’s life?

  The more Mark thought about it, the more he believed Stone had something to do with this. Strong coincidences just didn’t happen. The quicker he got Kerry to safety, the better. He needed her away from this mad bastard.

  * * * *

  The arrival of SOCO had Dan walking on hot coals. Despite needing to stick around and keep an eye on proceedings, part of him wanted to return to his office and stay out of the way. But no, that wasn’t a good idea. If they found something, he could explain it away while at the scene. They’d find his hair on her anyway—he’d remembered to tell them that—but he prayed none of his skin particles had remained on her neck.

  Bloody stupid, taking my gloves off.

  Giving in to the desire to feel her throat beneath his hands, skin on skin, had seemed a good idea at the time, yet he should have known better. He’d allowed the thrill of the kill to encompass him, override his senses. If luck remained on his side, forensics would discover nothing on her neck except what he’d intended them to find.

  He’d put that in place now.

  The photographer had finished snapping images of Monique, so Dan went into the storeroom and asked of he could check her head for wounds. The lead SOCO agreed—then shouted at him when he held Monique’s neck without gloves on.

  “Fucking hell, Stone,” she snapped. “What’s the matter with you, doing that?”

  “Fuck, sorry
. Thought I had gloves on.” He made a show of looking at Monique’s head. “No blunt force. Again, apologies about me messing up.”

  “Be more vigilant in future, for God’s sake,” she said.

  He shrugged and paced the shop floor. Brushed arms with Joe, who also paced, seeming lost in thought. What did he make of all this? Was the scenario Dan had fed him plausible enough? That someone had killed Sara Westholm, Kerry had gone missing, and then this shop bitch was dead?

  “I’ve been thinking, Joe,” he said, stopping mid-stride. “I think all this has something to do with me.” He suffocated the urge to laugh.

  “What do you mean?” Joe stopped, too, and folded his arms.

  “What if someone I caught has been set free?”

  He won’t buy it. If he does, I’m one lucky fucker.

  “What, and came back to get revenge?” Joe chuckled. “Sounds like a sodding film.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Just mulling over the possibilities.” Shit.

  “Though it is plausible, if a bit far-fetched. I mean, there aren’t that many men you’ve helped put away that can walk out—triple life sentences and all that. I’m discounting those who committed minor crimes here, those you caught as a uniform or early in your DI career. Those types don’t have the nous to embark on something this big. You putting them away wouldn’t have affected them to this degree.” Joe frowned. “I suppose we could check the databases. No harm in doing that.” He nodded. “Yeah, I’m warming to it. And if nothing comes of it, if no one’s been released lately—and I’m talking big-time con—at least we’d have covered that base.”

  Dan released a mental sigh of relief.

  Joe took to pacing again, hand to his mouth in thought.

  Gullible twat.

  Dan walked behind the counter and stood in the rear doorway. The white suits worked over the body, seemingly oblivious to her being dead. She was a job to them, part of a puzzle, one they’d piece together and hopefully come up with a blank canvas.

  His thoughts wandered to Sara Westholm’s post-mortem and whether the ME would uncover something—an error on his part, a sign that pointed to him. Time would tell. For now, he’d play the good copper, the worried husband whose wife had failed to come home. Shit, the ME enjoyed too much alcohol anyway. Maybe he’d conduct Ginger Fatty’s examination while still under the influence. Miracles happened. Dan could attend, swerve the ME’s thoughts in another direction should he discover something too close for comfort. He’d gain a perverse sense of satisfaction watching that woman get sliced and diced, her brain weighed, her innards removed, inspected.

  His thoughts inevitably turned to the woman who had caused all this. His darling wife, she who had the cheek to take off without a word. Where was she? Was she worrying about him tracking her down? She should be. He’d warned her of it enough. He hoped she gnawed her fingernails, bit them down to the quick, and jumped every time someone knocked on the door of wherever she’d hidden.

  Who was the copper helping her? With no cash, she had limited options. But what if she had been taken and the bloke Monique said she was with wasn’t a copper?

  His thoughts threatened to spin out of control.

  Must remain focused.

  “You okay, Dan?” Joe asked.

  “Um, yeah. Been thinking about where Kerry is.”

  Joe shook his head. “Yeah, that’s got to be tough. Still, we’ll find her. These things take time. And if she went of her own accord…you know how hard it is to find someone who doesn’t want to be found.” He looked at Dan. “Not that she doesn’t want to be found. I’m just speculating.”

  The thought of losing control taunted Dan. Laughed inside his mind.

  No, I won’t lose it. I won’t.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kerry found it difficult to sleep after Mark had left. She’d taken a quick shower and borrowed another of his shirts. This one, white with red stripes, almost reached her knees, and she’d folded the cuffs several times up to her elbows. She’d mooched around the flat, tidying here and there, in the end so restless she’d occupied herself with scrubbing the bathroom. That done, she did the same in the kitchen. An hour and a half had passed, and now she polished the living room furniture.

  If she could just get away like Mark had said, things might die down. Dan couldn’t keep looking forever. Surely he’d get bored, meet someone else? She tried to imagine him doing that and failed. He acted like he owned her, like he could do whatever he wanted with regards to her. No, he wouldn’t give up searching.

  She wished him dead. That something terrible happened to him and removed him from the equation. Her hate for him festered, and it wasn’t until her arm ached its protest at her vigorous dusting that she stopped to make a drink.

  In the kitchen, she flicked the kettle on and leant against the worktop while it boiled. The clock’s tick drew her attention, and she glanced at the wall. Midnight neared, and still her body buzzed, sleep far from her mind.

  She smiled and spooned instant coffee into a cup. Steam puffed from the kettle’s spout in a steady stream, hitting the underside of the wall cupboard above and fanning out into the room. A soft click sounded, and she poured water over the coffee. Catching sight of herself in the kettle’s shiny side, she winced. Her face appeared misshapen in the convex surface—more so than it really was—but the angry bruise around her neck gave her pause. Hate smouldered inside her. God help him if he tried to take her back. She’d fight him, kicking and screaming. She probed her tooth with her tongue—still solid in the gum.

  A loud knock rapped on the door. She squealed then clamped her lips closed, her hands shaking. Coffee splashed onto her fingers, her feet, and the floor. She quietly placed the cup on the worktop and reached for a tea towel. Heart beating too fast, she dried her hands and stooped down to wipe her feet in case she needed to run.

  Oh God, please don’t let that be him.

  The knock came again, louder this time. Her mouth sagged open.

  Shit. Oh God. Shit!

  “Hello?” a male said.

  Was that him? Was he disguising his voice? She tiptoed to the living room and stared at the bottom of the front door. Slowly, she descended to her knees and lowered her head to the floor. She rested her cheek on it and stared through the half-inch gap. Someone stood on the other side in black shiny shoes.

  “Anyone home?” he said again with another set of raps.

  Kerry jumped, fear and adrenaline pumping through her.

  “It’s the police!”

  Please don’t let it be him, please don’t let it be him…

  She stood on shaky legs. “What do you want?” She lowered her voice and adopted an accent. “Getting me outta bed this timah night ent funny. Come back in the morning.”

  “Uh, I’m sorry, but I need to ask a few questions.”

  He’s sent someone else to get me. Either that, or he’s waiting out there with them ready for when I open the door.

  “I ent opening me door when it’s gone past twelve! Think I’m stupid, do ya? Shit, you could be anybody. Anyone could say they’re a copper. Hear about it all the time on the telly.”

  Please go away. Please…

  “Miss…Mrs…?”

  “What now?” She held her breath.

  “Are you in tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Husband’ll deal with you then. I ent much good with no police business. You can come about three, all right?”

  “Okay, Mrs…?”

  “Mrs…” Kerry glanced around in panic. “Thorn. Name’s Mrs Thorn,” she said, gaze on rose the wall canvas.

  “Okay, Mrs Thorn. I’ve got you in my notebook for three tomorrow afternoon. Have a nice night.”

  “Yeah. Whatever. Nice night after being woken up.”

  She closed her eyes, held still. Footsteps walked away, and another set of raps sounded farther down the outer corridor.

  She released a breath. Maybe it was a genuine house-to-house call. But what if they’d playacted? What if that bl
oke only knocked at the neighbour’s place to make it look authentic? She opened one of the wall cabinet doors and gripped an iron ornament shaped like a dolphin. Heavy. Descending to the floor again, she eyed the gap. No feet. Breath held, she scooted across the carpet and backed onto the sofa, her legs up, arms around her shins. Ornament gripped in her fist, she stared at the door.

  Muffled conversation filtered in. The neighbour’s door closed. Footsteps walked past and paused. Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath gusted out. She imagined Dan waiting, head bent, contemplating his next move. A throat cleared, and the footsteps continued, their echo fading. Maybe the officer had paused to write something in his notebook. Maybe…

  The fridge motor whined, and she gasped, looking towards the kitchen even though the only way in was the front door. Nerves shot, she rested her forehead on her knees and closed her eyes. She waited like that for what seemed a long time. Cramps squeezed her calf muscles, and she stretched her legs out, rotating her ankles. Car doors slammed in the distance, and, heart racing again, she jumped up and walked over to the large window overlooking Gradley.

  Movement to her right caught her attention, and she stared onto the street. Three police officers conversed on the corner, their notebooks out, heads bent while they compared information. Ted Dowling came out of the opposite building and joined them. They glanced up, and one of the officers she didn’t know pointed in her direction. She shrank back just enough to keep out of their sight. Her pulse fluctuated in her neck. She grasped the windowsill and leant her temple on the wall. The officers crossed the street and turned left.

  Kerry fanned her face with her hand and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. At the sink, she rested her forehead on the cool edge and sucked in deep breaths. Her world closed in on her. Dan closed in on her. How had he found her so quickly?

  It must have been the china shop woman. No one else knows I’m here, and Mark wouldn’t have told him. Would he? God. What if I’ve fallen into a trap?

  Panic welled.

  She sipped water and coached herself into a calmer state. Rationally, she went over everything since she’d left Dan. Tonight’s police visit…if it was Dan and his cronies, they’d be back, but she wouldn’t be here. As soon as Mark arrived in the morning, she’d tell him she needed to get the hell out. No way could she stay here now.