Authors: Kate Rhodes
Crossbones Yard (14 page)
Her face contorted again. It was hard to tell whether she was going to cry or scream.
‘It’s all right, love,’ Burns muttered.
‘It’s not, Don.’ Her soft voice was shrill with distress. ‘And do you know what keeps me awake? It’s not what he did to me, it’s what I didn’t do to him.’
‘No one could have stopped it,’ I replied.
‘I should have fought though.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I should have killed him when I had the chance.’
The sleeve of her sweatshirt fell back as she wiped her face, revealing half a dozen crosses, scattered across her wrist and
forearm. They had faded to narrow silver scars, each one a few centimetres in diameter. I shifted my eyes to the window while Burns comforted her. God knows how many times Ray Benson had carved his hallmark into her skin. It was impossible to imagine how she must have felt when they pulled her from the trap, naked and covered in wounds.
forearm. They had faded to narrow silver scars, each one a few centimetres in diameter. I shifted my eyes to the window while Burns comforted her. God knows how many times Ray Benson had carved his hallmark into her skin. It was impossible to imagine how she must have felt when they pulled her from the trap, naked and covered in wounds.
Lola was nowhere to be seen in the morning, but the spare room door was firmly shut, bedsprings groaning as I walked along the hall. Maybe Lars had moved in without my noticing. I poured myself a glass of apple juice and looked at Will’s van through the window. It was still shrouded by a huge white awning. Burns’s men must have spent yesterday inspecting his dirty clothes and worn-out shoes, hunting for drugs under the driving seat. Hopefully he was safe somewhere, lying low, with his mystery friend.
Back in my room I got into my tracksuit and tried to decide which circuit to choose. It was a toss-up between laps of Southwark Park or a long straight sprint to Blackfriars Bridge, before the city woke up. As usual the river won and I was setting off across the square when someone called after me.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Alvarez emerged from his car.
‘What does it look like?’
‘Solitary jogging is off limits, I’m afraid.’
‘I don’t jog, I run.’
‘Same difference.’
‘All that power must go to your head, mustn’t it?’
Alvarez didn’t answer. As usual his expression was neutral, coal-black eyes studying my mouth. For a moment it crossed my mind to invite him upstairs for a different kind of exercise.
‘You’re under police protection,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t guarantee your safety.’
‘Come with me then.’
‘Not in this suit.’ His mouth twitched, as though he was trying to smile. ‘Another time maybe.’
I turned on my heel without saying goodbye. Alvarez had found the perfect job. It allowed him to be arrogant, rude and controlling all at the same time.
After fuming quietly over a cup of coffee I dragged my bike downstairs. Alvarez’s car pulled out behind me, in hot pursuit along Tooley Street. It reminded me of the cat and mouse game Will taught me in the garden when we were kids. He was always the cat, hiding behind a tree, waiting to pounce, just when I had forgotten he was there. At the hospital Alvarez appeared again in the corner of my eye, while I chatted to a nurse from the fifth floor. He stood by the entrance, broad-shouldered and thuggish, refusing to leave me alone. I decided to sprint upstairs, which killed two birds with one stone. It gave me the workout I needed, and left him stranded, hundreds of feet below.
It was eight o’clock when I sat down at my desk, leaving me an hour to catch up with the two hundred and nine emails in my inbox. Deleting the reminders to renew subscriptions to professional journals was the easy part. If they wanted my money badly enough they could always post me a bill. The next task was to wipe every message copied to me for information only, normally because someone was covering their back in case a diagnosis turned out to be spectacularly wrong. After forty minutes my incoming mail had been whittled down to sixteen messages to be answered today, and another twenty that could wait. I was still basking in relief when the phone rang.
‘Is that Dr Quentin?’ The female voice was oddly familiar, a deep monotone, roughened by a lifetime’s cigarettes.
‘Who is this, please?’
‘Marie Benson. You said I could call you for a chat.’
‘That’s right,’ I floundered. For some reason it wasn’t Benson’s face I saw when I closed my eyes, it was Myra Hindley’s, with her deep-set eyes and sullen pout. Marie had never looked like anyone’s idea of a murderer. ‘This is a surprise, Marie. How can I help you?’
There was a quiet, rasping sound, like she was struggling to breathe. Or maybe she was laughing.
‘You asked
me
for help, remember?’
me
for help, remember?’
‘I did. But I wasn’t expecting to get it, to be honest.’
‘Underestimated me then, didn’t you?’
Her game plan was becoming obvious. All she wanted to do was dangle clues in front of me, then pull them away as soon as I reached out.
‘Marie, I haven’t got much time, I’m afraid. Is there something you want to tell me?’
‘In a rush, are we?’ She sounded affronted.
‘I’ve got an appointment soon, but if you want a longer talk I’ll call back.’
‘It’s just an invitation, Dr Quentin.’ The teasing tone had made a comeback. ‘You could visit me, if you like. Maybe we could help each other out.’
‘I’m not following you.’
‘We could share some information, tit for tat.’ She laughed again, a grating sound, like fingernails being dragged across the receiver.
‘Women are getting killed, Marie. That’s all I know. The police don’t share their findings with me. I wouldn’t have anything to trade.’
A long pause was punctuated by Marie’s measured breathing. ‘If you were a bit more open, Dr Quentin, we could find so much common ground.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You give me a clue, then I give you something in return.’
‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid.’
‘Pity,’ she sighed. ‘You know where I am if you change your mind.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Think about it, Dr Quentin,’ she murmured. ‘We’ve got so many friends in common, you know.’
The static on the line buzzed for a few seconds, but the white noise failed to clear my thoughts.
Hari put his head round the door as I hung up. He was wearing his immaculate saffron turban, and his ever-present smile. He told me that he and Tejo had spent hours preparing a feast for that evening, and that I should arrive by eight.
‘She’s invited someone for you, by the way,’ he said.
‘Oh God, no.’ I covered my eyes with my hands. ‘I’m not coming.’
‘He lives near us. The perfect match, she says.’
‘That’s not fair, Hari. I haven’t been on a blind date since I was twelve.’
‘So it’s definitely time you went on another.’ For a second his smile pulsed even more brightly, then the door clicked shut behind him.
There was no sign of Lars when I got home from work. Lola was curled up on the sofa, like a cat after a large meal.
‘Where’s lover boy?’ I asked.
‘Sainsbury’s. We ran out of cornflakes.’ She giggled. ‘He’s beyond gorgeous, isn’t he?’
‘He is. And he’s reduced you to a state of adolescent frenzy, hasn’t he?’
‘I know. But what about you?’ She examined me more closely. ‘The last few days must have been absolute crap.’
I slumped on the sofa beside her. ‘You could say that. The fucking police won’t let me out of their sight. I can’t even go for a run.’
‘But that’s good, Al. Thank God they’re taking it seriously.’
‘One way to look at it, I suppose.’
‘Why don’t you eat with us tonight? Lars is making some Swedish thing with mackerel and potatoes.’
‘Jesus, it must be love. No thanks, I’m going out.’
‘You don’t look thrilled about it.’
‘It’s a set-up, that’s why. They’ve dug up some weirdo for me.’
‘A sixty-two-year-old lawyer who likes kinky sex?’
‘Or a stamp-collecting librarian with bad skin.’
Lola rolled her eyes. ‘Ever the optimist, Al.’
After my shower I decided to make an effort, slipping on a grey silk dress which exposed a little too much cleavage, and my favourite chunky silver jewellery. Whoever Tejo had chosen would at least get a run for his money. I even bothered to blow dry my hair, rather than running a comb through and letting it frizz. My make-up was subdued, smoky eyes and dark pink lips.
‘You look amazing.’ Lola came into the hall and helped me on with my coat. ‘Go on, girl. Get sozzled and have a good flirt.’
‘They’re Sikhs, Lo. There won’t be any booze.’
Lola’s face froze in horror as she tried to imagine enduring a stone-cold-sober blind date.
The taxi was revving its engine when I got downstairs, but there was no sign of Alvarez, or the squad car that had been trailing me for days. Maybe they had forgotten about me, decided to enjoy their Friday night, go to the pictures instead. The car headed south, along Southwark Bridge Road, past three boarded-up pubs for every one still in business. The smokers of south London must have gone home in a
sulk, to get pissed in the comfort of their own homes. It was a relief to watch the streets spin past. Life was getting back to normal, with no chaperones watching my every move. Maybe my pen-pal had grown bored of his project and moved on to someone else. The taxi driver talked non-stop as he wove through Camberwell, delivering a gruff rant about the state of the nation. He held strong convictions about everything, from house prices and gangs taking over the neighbourhood, to his passion for Leonard Cohen.
sulk, to get pissed in the comfort of their own homes. It was a relief to watch the streets spin past. Life was getting back to normal, with no chaperones watching my every move. Maybe my pen-pal had grown bored of his project and moved on to someone else. The taxi driver talked non-stop as he wove through Camberwell, delivering a gruff rant about the state of the nation. He held strong convictions about everything, from house prices and gangs taking over the neighbourhood, to his passion for Leonard Cohen.
The tsunami of conversation finally came to a halt when we reached Deepdene Road. Hari and Tejo had been renovating their redbrick Victorian semi for years. It looked glossy and prosperous, two perfectly clipped box bushes guarding the porch like sentinels. I lifted the brass door knocker and waited to be admitted.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Tejo beamed. She looked effortlessly beautiful as always, in a pale blue shalwar kameez covered in delicate silver stitching.
‘My God, you’re pregnant!’ I exclaimed.
‘You beast.’ She wagged her finger at Hari. ‘I thought you told her.’
‘And I thought you did.’ He looked apologetic then kissed me on both cheeks.
‘IVF,’ Tejo whispered as they led me along the hall.
‘That’s brilliant! Congratulations.’
‘Four months to go,’ she grimaced, ‘and I’m already as big as a bus.’
The kitchen door swung open, and I took a deep breath. After I sat down there was just one vacant chair next to mine at the large wooden table, nine people smiling and chatting to each other. A few of them I already knew: Hari’s sister and her husband, some familiar faces from Guy’s. Tejo passed round a platter of samosas and pakoras.
‘Don’t let Alice near them,’ Hari laughed. ‘She’ll scoff the lot.’
‘It’s true I’m afraid,’ I nodded.
‘Who are we waiting for?’ someone asked.
Tejo smirked. ‘Alice’s date.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve set me up.’ I covered my face with my hands.
The woman next to me gave me a sympathetic look. She was Japanese, with fine grey hair swept back from her face, a network of laughter lines circling her eyes. ‘Are you divorced?’ she asked.
‘Single.’
‘That’s okay then.’ She gave a gentle smile. ‘Not too much baggage to carry around.’
I laughed. ‘You’d be surprised.’
Before she could tell me her name Tejo struck her glass with a fork, as if she was making a toast.
‘An announcement, everyone, about our missing guest. Be gentle with him, won’t you? He’s had a bad time.’
‘Of course we will,’ a balding man opposite me replied solemnly. ‘If you tell us what’s happened to him.’
Tejo gave an enigmatic smile. ‘He’ll tell you himself, if he wants to.’
Hari helped himself to another bhaji. ‘You’ll like him. Shy, but interesting.’
God knows why Tejo was so keen to introduce me to a man who was caught up in some terrible personal trauma. Luckily the Japanese woman was interesting enough to keep my thoughts occupied. She told me that her name was Kyoko and she worked at the British Museum as a conservator.
‘What does that involve?’ I asked.
‘I mend broken porcelain and china. Today I was working on a twelve-hundred-year-old vase. It’ll take weeks to mend, maybe months.’
‘It must be satisfying when it’s finished.’
She looked surprised, then smiled at me as if I had misunderstood. ‘It’s the carrying on I enjoy, not the finishing.’ Her small hands mimed the slow piecing together of fragments. Something about the gesture reminded me of my own job. Except we’re meant to fix people in double-quick time, glue them back together, then send them out of the door, before they’re too expensive to mend.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the mystery man arrive, standing with his back to me by the kitchen door.
‘He’s handsome,’ Kyoko whispered. ‘You’ll love him.’
When I turned round again, Alvarez was sitting beside me. My initial reaction was outrage. He must have showed Tejo his ID card, bluffed his way inside. I was about to deliver a piece of my mind when Hari gave me his usual innocent grin.
‘Alice, I want you to meet our good friend Ben.’
The shock took a moment to register. Then my pakora dropped out of my hand, showering the table with crumbs.
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