The Waiting Game (3 page)

The counsellor’s office was in a bright glass annexe at the back of Lewisham Hospital. From the waiting room, Ellen was able to look out across Ladywell Fields. She supposed all this light and green views was meant to make the clients feel better about themselves. If that was the case, it didn’t work.

She arrived early, hoping to get in and out before ten am. The big announcement at work was scheduled for ten-fifteen. Ellen didn’t want to be late. Luckily, Briony Murray, Ellen’s perky antipodean shrink, didn’t believe in not starting on time.

At the dot of nine o’clock the door to Briony’s office opened and the counsellor was there, smiling and inviting Ellen to come in. Inside, the two women sat in their usual positions, facing each other on two of the low, pale yellow sofas by the window.

‘So,’ Briony began. ‘How have you been?’

‘Good,’ Ellen said. ‘I think. Yes. It’s been a good week. Well, work’s been a pain in the backside but apart from that, everything’s fine.’

‘Why?’

Briony had blue eyes, the sort of blue that reminded Ellen of Japanese willow pattern. Blue eyes, clear skin and cropped blonde hair. Ellen didn’t know exactly how old the counsellor was, but guessed she was somewhere in her thirties. Ellen wondered how someone that young got to be so wise.

‘Well,’ Ellen said slowly. ‘I’ve been seeing quite a bit of Jim. Which is, you know, it’s going well. I like him.’

She thought about last night. He’d been so good. Waited patiently while Ellen spoke on the phone. First, to Chief Superintendent Paul Nichols, then Jamala Nnamani, the station’s press officer. Trying to work out what angle the story would take so the station could prepare itself to deal with the inevitable backlash.

Briony smiled. ‘You’ve been telling me that for the past three weeks. Glad to hear it’s still going well. Last week, you mentioned feeling guilty. Do you want to talk about that a little more this morning?’

Not really.

‘It’s normal, isn’t it?’ Ellen said. ‘Of course I’m going to feel guilty if I start seeing someone else. Especially if I start to like them.’

‘Is it normal?’

‘Yes,’ Ellen said. ‘I mean, who wouldn’t feel like that? I married Vinny. I made a promise to him and myself that I’d spend the rest of my life with him. And it’s breaking that promise if I fall for someone else the minute Vinny’s gone.’

‘But it’s not like that,’ Briony said. ‘Is it?’

‘You mean because it’s nearly five years?’ Ellen asked. ‘You think that makes it okay? Well it doesn’t. No matter what you say, Briony, it still feels like I’m being unfaithful to him. And what about Pat and Eilish? They think I’ve forgotten all about Vinny and I’m going to marry Jim and have more kids with him. What sort of mother does that make me if they’re going around thinking things like that? I’m selfish. There. I’ve said it. A selfish, stupid woman who can’t wait to rip her clothes off for the first guy who comes along and shows a bit of interest in her.’

‘Wow,’ Briony said. ‘He makes you feel like ripping your clothes off? I’d like to meet this guy. He sounds pretty hot.’

Ellen groaned. How did this happen every time? She hadn’t even known that’s what she thought. Well, the bit about ripping her clothes off, maybe. But the rest of it. All that self-pitying guilt. Where the hell had that come from? She knew –
knew
– the last thing –
the very last thing
– Vinny would have wanted was for her to give up on her life. He’d be happy she met someone else. Just as she would have wanted that for him. So what the bloody hell was wrong with her?

‘I just seem to make everything so complicated,’ she said quietly. ‘Why is that?’

Briony reached across the low coffee table and patted Ellen’s knee. ‘Complicated makes us interesting, Ellen. It only becomes a problem if you try to suppress those feelings instead of dealing with them. That’s why I’m here. To help you look deep inside yourself and not be afraid of what you see.’

It sounded reassuring. It
was
reassuring. Somewhat. Until Ellen remembered the reason she’d been referred to counselling in the first place. For killing a man. Ellen knew that if she looked too deep inside herself, she would find something that scared the living shit out of her.

It was a ten-minute walk from the hospital to Lewisham police station. Ellen walked it in five, pushing her way through the crowded street market and running the final stretch until she reached the imposing white building where she worked. Europe’s largest police station, slap-bang in the middle of Lewisham, recently named the most dangerous place to live in the UK. Not a surprise to Ellen or any of her colleagues, who day by day felt they were on the losing side of the war against crime.

Instead of taking the lift to her office on the third floor, Ellen went straight to Room 1.10, the large meeting room on the first floor where Chief Superintendent Paul Nichols had scheduled his meeting.

All four of Ellen’s immediate team were already there, along with a fair scattering of other officers from across CID. The
chairs in the room had been laid out conference-style and Ellen’s team sat in a neat row at the back. She slid in beside Abby
Roberts
, said hello and asked about the latest rumours on Nichols’ announcement. She was interrupted by Raj Patel, leaning across Abby to get Ellen’s attention.

‘
Star
’s due out at eleven,’ Raj said. ‘I’ve asked Malcolm to grab a copy the moment it hits the shelves.’

Ellen nodded. ‘Good. What do you think Chloe’s playing at?’

‘She wants to be taken seriously,’ Raj said. ‘Part of me doesn’t blame her. The way she sees it, we’ve done nothing to protect her.’

‘Until the other night we had nothing to go on,’ Ellen said. ‘The attack in her house has changed things. But she already knows that, so why speak to the press?’

Before Raj could answer, the door swung open and Nichols strode to the lectern. He stood for a moment, surveying the room with obvious disdain as he waited for the chattering to die down. His gaze moved around the room, landed on Ellen and slid across to Abby. Briefly, so brief Ellen was certain no one else saw it, Nichols’ eyes dropped to Abby’s chest before he lifted his head and moved on to the rest of the room.

The room grew quiet. Nichols cleared his throat – delicately – and began.

‘Thank you for joining me this morning at such short notice. I know we’re all busy, so I’m not planning to keep any of you longer than is necessary. However, I felt it was important to bring
you together this morning to share some very exciting news. Yesterday afternoon we completed the recruitment process for a new Detective Chief Inspector.’

Nichols paused for dramatic effect, did something with his face that might have been a smile, and continued.

‘As you all know, our esteemed colleague Detective Chief Inspector Edward Baxter took early retirement this year due to ill health. The task of finding a suitable replacement has taken time. It has been imperative to choose the
right
individual to lead CID through these turbulent times of spending reviews and rising crime. We received many applications’ – his eyes slid back momentarily to Ellen – ‘and choosing the best candidate from a selection of such high-calibre individuals was a challenge.

‘But I’m delighted to announce we have made our decision and, with no further delay, let me please introduce the newest addition to our CID team…’

Nichols paused again and turned his attention to the door. Along with every other person in the room, Ellen watched in silence as a tall, blonde woman walked in and joined Nichols at the lectern.

Like Nichols, the woman looked around the room at the men and women gathered there. Unlike Nichols, when she reached Ellen, her face softened and she smiled. Ellen might have smiled back. She wasn’t sure. The shock of recognising her new boss had taken over everything else.

Nichols was a tall man but, standing alongside him, the
woman was just as tall. This was partly due to the red stilettos she wore. Ellen could just see the toes peeking out beneath her immaculately cut, flared black trousers. The shoes, Ellen knew because she’d been told this before, were Vivienne Westwood.

‘Hello,’ the woman said. ‘My name is DCI Geraldine Cox. I’m very pleased to meet you all.’

Nathan knew he’d never survive another night on the sofa. He ached all over, neck so stiff it was agony to move his head. It had been worth it, though. Lying there all night, knowing she was sleeping so close by. He could hear her breathing, the gentle sound of it soothing him on the lumpy, uncomfortable sofa. Besides, he was used to getting by without much sleep.

Soon after it started to get bright he had an idea. A surprise for her. A burglar alarm. He’d sort it today. No arguments. Get one of those fancy ones that connected to the police station. If that didn’t show her how much he was willing to do for her, he didn’t know what would.

He got up early – easy enough when he hadn’t actually been sleeping – and prepared breakfast for them both. Thought about
going out to the garden, looking for a flower to put on the table, but realised in time that she might misinterpret the gesture. Worse, it might make her think of the flowers that were left out for her at night. He definitely didn’t want her thinking that. The whole point of him being here was to make her feel better, not worse.

He used up all the bacon in her fridge and made a cheese and onion omelette to go with it. When it was all ready, he was starving, but he didn’t want to start without her. He went and knocked on her bedroom door. Pushed it open when there was no answer, stood for a moment, watching her sleep. She hadn’t mentioned her head yesterday and he hoped it had stopped hurting. He hated to think of it.

‘Chloe?’

She stirred, but didn’t wake. He walked over to the bed, shook her shoulder gently and stepped back so she wouldn’t think he was standing too close.

She looked a bit surprised to see him, but she got over that. Sat up, pulling the quilt up so it covered her entire body. Not necessary because she was wearing pyjamas, but he liked what it said about her that she’d do that.

‘I’ve made you breakfast,’ he said.

She smiled and his heart soared.

‘Breakfast?’ She giggled. ‘I never eat breakfast, silly. There’s never enough time.’

‘Well there is this morning,’ he said. ‘We can go in late. A
good breakfast sets you up for the day. That’s what my mum always said and she was right.’

He left then, giving her the privacy to get dressed and ready without him in the room with her. Plenty of time for that later.

Ellen was pretty sure she liked Geraldine Cox. They’d worked together on a case not so long ago. Cox had helped Ellen track down a missing child. They’d worked well together and Ellen had come to think of Cox as a friend of sorts. Even still… she wasn’t sure how she felt having Cox as her boss.

It was the surprise element that most annoyed her. Maybe once she got over that, she’d feel better about things. Or when she found out why Ger hadn’t called, let her know in advance what today’s big announcement was all about. Failing that, it wouldn’t have killed Ger to have at least mentioned she was in the running for the job. They’d only spoken a few weeks ago. Ger had called ‘for a chat’. Now, Ellen suspected the purpose of the call was less ‘chat’ and more fishing expedition.

Back in the open-plan office, everyone was tipping in with their first impressions of their new boss.
Arrogant. Hot. A ball-breaker. Cold bitch…

‘Enough.’ Ellen held up her hand, stopping the stream of invective before it got any worse.

‘She’s a good copper,’ Ellen said. ‘And that’s all that matters. Calling her a cold bitch is the sort of sexist nonsense I thought
you lot had got over since you’ve dragged your macho arses into the twenty-first century. Malcolm.’ She turned to short and chubby Malcolm McDonald. ‘If I ever again hear you refer to any female officer as a cold bitch, you’ll be out of here and back in uniform quicker than you can shove another one of those disgusting bloody pasties down that mouth of yours. Got that?’

Malcolm blushed, shoved the pastie under a pile of paper and muttered an apology. Ellen would have said more, but she was distracted by what was on her desk. True to his word, Raj had got his hands on an early copy of today’s
Evening
Star
. It sat
faceup
on Ellen’s desk. Chloe Dunbar’s frightened face staring up at her from the front page. Steeling herself against the inevitable hysterical prose, Ellen picked up the paper and started reading.

Raj pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. ‘What do you think?’

Ellen looked back at the newspaper, scanning the story again.

‘It happened last Tuesday night,’ Chloe said. ‘Someone was in the house. I woke up and heard him walking around downstairs. I was terrified. I knew it was him, you see.’

‘Who?’

‘My ex. He’s been following me for months. Stalking, I suppose you’d call it.’

‘And you’ve reported it to the police?’

When I ask this question, Chloe’s eyes fill with tears.

‘I know it’s difficult,’ I say. ‘But it’s important people know about this, Chloe. Just think how many other people are being let down by
those being paid to protect us.’

‘The police won’t do anything,’ she says. ‘Of course I’ve reported it but they don’t take it seriously. Oh they pretended. Even sent a detective around at one point. For all the good he did.’

‘He?’

‘DC Patel. He was nice enough, I suppose. Just didn’t really help me.’

For the readers’ benefit, DC Raj Patel works in a team led by formerly disgraced Detective Inspector Ellen Kelly, now back in her job as if nothing ever happened.

‘Let’s go back to Tuesday night,’ I say.

‘I hid in the bathroom,’ she says. ‘I could hear him. Coming up the stairs. I was so scared, Martine. You have no idea.
’

‘What happened next?’

‘I thought he was going to kill me,’ Chloe whispers. ‘So I ran. But he came after me. I tried to get out of the house but I couldn’t get the door open.’

Her voice trails off and I have to encourage her to keep going. She’s not finding this easy.

‘He hit me, knocked me out and left me for dead. I don’t know how long I lay there, unconscious. And I don’t know what he did to me while I was lying there.’

She falls silent and, for a moment, I am silent too. Trying to imagine the terror she must have felt.

‘You said your ex,’ I say then. ‘You’re sure it was him?’

She nods her head. ‘I’ve told them. But they won’t do anything to
stop him. That’s why I’m speaking to you. I don’t know what else I can do. I know he’ll come back, you see. And the next time, I won’t be so lucky.’

‘He didn’t kill her,’ Ellen said.

‘Maybe killing her’s not what he wants,’ Raj said. ‘If she’s dead, it’s all over. She woke up. That hasn’t happened before. I think he hit her because he didn’t want her to see him.’

‘Which means it’s someone she knows,’ Ellen said. ‘But not the ex?’

‘We’ve already questioned him,’ Raj said. ‘He has an alibi for Tuesday night. He was out drinking with a group of friends. Pub first, then on to a club. Didn’t leave there until 4am. According to the bouncers, he was too pissed to stand up at that point.’

‘But Chloe doesn’t believe that?’ Ellen asked.

‘I can understand why,’ Raj said. ‘If she believes it’s her ex doing this, then at least she can make some sense of what’s happening. It must be even more terrifying to think she’s being targeted by a complete stranger.’

Ellen got that. Crime victims often wanted to find meaning in what had happened to them. The problem was, sometimes there was no meaning. Other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

‘And we’ve no other suspects?’ Ellen asked.

Raj shook his head. ‘She works in an estate agent’s. Meets a lot of different people every day. We’ve interviewed her two colleagues. Both male. Haven’t discounted them, but there’s nothing
to indicate either of them are behind this. And I’ve gone through a list of clients she’s dealt with over the last four months. We’re interviewing everyone but haven’t found anything so far.’

‘Reynolds has been clever,’ Ellen said. ‘Chloe comes across as very plausible while we seem utterly incompetent.’

She ran through what she knew about Chloe Dunbar. Twenty-five-year-old single woman, living on her own in Hither Green. She’d been in several times over the last few months, complaining that someone had been breaking into her house at night-time while she slept. With no evidence of a break-in and no sign that anything had been taken from her home, the case had been a low priority. Until last week, when Chloe was attacked in her house and knocked unconscious.

‘She didn’t mention the other stuff,’ Raj said. ‘Why’s that, do you think?’

‘Maybe Martine left it out on purpose,’ Ellen said. ‘She kept it simple, easier for people to relate to Chloe that way. And easier for us to spot any potential nutters who read the story and get in touch claiming the same thing’s happening to them.’

‘Maybe.’ Raj didn’t sound convinced. ‘Anyway, Chloe’s coming in later. I can ask her myself, I guess.’

‘Good.’ Ellen looked at the paper again. ‘You know this is serious, right? She could be in real danger.’

‘I’ll take care of it,’ Raj said.