The Waiting Game (4 page)

In the early afternoon, Ellen got a call from the front desk. A woman was downstairs, asking to see Ellen; insisted no one else would do.

‘Who is she?’ Ellen asked.

‘Says her name’s Monica Telford,’ the desk sergeant said.

Ellen looked regretfully at the pile of files on her desk, waiting to be dealt with. She’d cleared the next few hours to work through them and could do without this. But she recognised the name and her sense of duty wouldn’t allow her to pass this to someone else.

‘Tell her I’ll be right down,’ she said.

Unusually, there was only one person in the reception area when Ellen went downstairs. A tall, attractive woman with long
dark hair wearing a navy-blue trench coat and a red silk scarf with a pretty butterfly pattern. Monica Telford. A local artist Ellen had met at an exhibition a few months ago. She’d liked Monica’s work and ended up buying one of her paintings.

When Monica saw Ellen, she stood up and smiled.

‘Ellen. Thank you so much for seeing me.’

At the exhibition, Ellen and Monica had only chatted briefly. Ellen couldn’t even recall telling Monica she was a copper. It was flattering, she supposed, to think she’d made a lasting impression. Flattering or not, Ellen wasn’t about to let this drag on for too long.

‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.

Monica looked around the waiting area, as if she was scared of being overheard.

‘Is there somewhere more private we could go?’ she asked.

Ellen nodded. ‘Sure. Follow me.’

‘Someone’s watching me.’

Ellen waited, dreading what came next.

‘I know it sounds crazy,’ Monica said. ‘And I probably wouldn’t have come in at all, if I’m honest with you. It was only when I saw that piece in the
Star
. Maybe you haven’t had a chance to see it yet? There’s this woman…’

Ellen held a hand up. ‘I’ve seen it.’

‘Of course,’ Monica said. ‘Sorry. Oh God, and you’re going to
think I’m some sad sap who’s making all of this up because I’ve read that? Shit. I should have realised that’s what you’d think.’

‘I don’t think anything yet,’ Ellen said. ‘Because you haven’t told me anything.’

Monica smiled. ‘I haven’t, have I? I’m making a right mess of this. Okay. I’ll start again.’

The story she told closely echoed what Ellen already knew about Chloe Dunbar, repeated in today’s paper for the rest of the world. For the last few months, Monica thought someone was watching her.

‘Just a feeling at first,’ she said. ‘Like, I’d be walking down a street, or in the park, and I’d think someone was following me. But whenever I looked around, there was no one there. At least, not anyone I recognised.

‘Then I started to notice things around the house. Stuff started moving. Oh, don’t look at me like I’m a crazy woman. I don’t mean moving around by themselves.
Being
moved. By someone else.’

‘What sort of stuff?’

By now, Ellen was going through the motions. Monica’s account was too similar to Chloe’s to be taken seriously.

‘The cushions in the sitting room,’ Monica said. ‘I arrange them in a very careful way. You haven’t seen my house but if you did, you’d know what I mean. I care a lot about how things look. I’ve organised my house just the way I like it. Everything perfectly beautiful and exactly in its right place. When something’s moved, I notice. Believe me.’

Ellen thought of her own child-friendly home, nothing where it was meant to be, and felt a pang of envy. It was a constant struggle to rein in her desire for neatness and order in the face of her children’s boundless enthusiasm for chaos and mess.

‘My kitchen, too,’ Monica said. ‘A bag of pasta put into the wrong cupboard, the salt cellar in the fridge. That sort of thing. And then this morning, something else. Something that’s really, properly freaked me out.’

‘Yeah?’

Monica leaned forward in her chair, making sure she had Ellen’s full attention. She looked excited. Almost like she was enjoying this.

‘He left me something,’ Monica said. ‘A cup of tea and a flower. A rose. They were on the kitchen worktop when I came downstairs this morning. The tea was still warm.’ She shivered. ‘Like he’d only just left.’

In her mind, Ellen was already running back through Chloe’s newspaper interview, going over what she remembered word for word. Making sure she hadn’t missed it. Even though she already knew.

There was one detail Martine Reynolds had left out of the piece. Something no one could possibly know about unless they’d been told about it. Chloe’s stalker had a unique MO. Every morning after he’d been in the house, Chloe came downstairs to find a cup of tea on her worktop. Beside it, a single rose, wrapped in black crêpe paper.

‘Why, Chloe?’ Raj asked. ‘It was such a stupid thing to do. I told you, don’t talk to the press whatever you do. What if Ricky sees it? Do you have any idea how he’ll react when he reads this? I’ve already told you, he wasn’t the person who broke into your home and attacked you. It wasn’t him.’

Raj looked more upset than angry and she felt bad about that. Everything he said made sense and she couldn’t understand now why she’d agreed so easily to the interview.

‘It was Nathan’s idea,’ she said. ‘The journalist is a friend of his. He said it would make a statement to Ricky and the police.’

‘It’s made a statement all right,’ Raj said. ‘Jesus, Chloe. If I was your ex and you accused me of something like this, I wouldn’t be too happy. From what you’ve told me about Ricky, he doesn’t sound like the sort of bloke who’ll take kindly to something like this.’

She wanted him to stop. If he didn’t stop, she’d start crying again, and she was so tired of being upset the whole time. These last few days, she’d been feeling a bit better. There’d been no more ‘incidents’ since the story in the paper and she’d started to hope that maybe it was all over.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice wobbled and Raj patted her hand, told her it was okay, but she knew it wasn’t. She’d been stupid. Raj was right.

They were sitting in the small kitchen at the back of the estate
agency where she worked. She could see Nathan getting up from his desk – again – and waddling over.

‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ Raj said before Chloe had a chance to answer. ‘Just a few more questions and then I wouldn’t mind a word with you, Mr Collier.’

‘Of course,’ Nathan said. ‘But before we do that, can I get anyone a cuppa?’

Chloe and Raj both shook their heads, then had to wait while Nathan made a big deal of getting a drink for himself.

Chloe usually made the teas and coffees and she wondered if Nathan was annoyed at having to do it himself. Or whether he was only getting the drink so he could earwig on their conversation. If that was the case, he was out of luck. Raj didn’t say a word the whole time Nathan was in the kitchen. Eventually, Nathan seemed to work out he wasn’t wanted and left.

‘Why do you need to speak to Nathan?’ Chloe asked. ‘You don’t think he could have anything to do with this, do you?’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Raj said. ‘But I have to keep an open mind. Until we find out who broke into your house last week, everyone is a potential suspect.’

‘It’s so hard to think straight,’ Chloe said, needing to explain. ‘I don’t know who I can trust. You’ve been really kind but it’s not helping, is it? If it’s not Ricky doing this to me, then that’s worse, in a way. Because then it could be anyone and I don’t understand why someone would want to hurt me or freak me out like this.’

‘We’ll find them,’ Raj said. ‘You’ve got to believe that. But speaking to this journalist, that’s not going to help. I don’t want you doing anything like that again, okay?’

She nodded. She hadn’t liked the woman anyway.

‘Do you really think you’ll find him?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Raj said. ‘Of course.’

But she didn’t believe him. It had been going on too long and the police had done nothing. The only person who’d done
anything
to help was Nathan. Maybe Raj was right and speaking to the journalist was a mistake. But at least it made her feel like she’d done something. Which was far better than sitting back and just waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

I would do anything for love.

Never understood that. Until now.

Meatloaf. The fat bastard won’t leave me alone. The old man’s fault. The Meat’s biggest fan. Back to Hell was the soundtrack to my life. Christ.

But I won’t do that.

What wouldn’t you do, Meat? Me, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do.

She was distracted last night. Easy to hate her when she’s like that. Not that I could ever hate her. Wish sometimes it could be easier, more straightforward. The way these things are meant to be. Wish she didn’t have to be so complicated.

She can’t help it. I know that.

Run right into hell and back.

In the blink of an eye.

It’s like she doesn’t want me to know what she’s thinking. Like she’s hiding the best part of herself. She’s scared. I understand that. Understand why, as well. We have more in common than she knows. I want to tell her that, just don’t know how to do it.

She let me touch her last night. Would have let me do more, too. I felt her skin when I put my hand inside her shirt. The shock of it. Electricity through my body. Shock after shock. Her face close to mine, smiling, letting me know she felt it too.

Exquisite pain. Knowing what I wanted but holding myself back. Making sure to take it slowly. Don’t want to scare her off.

You can go your whole life not knowing. I nearly did. If our paths hadn’t crossed, maybe I’d have gone on like that. Now I know, though. And that changes everything.

‘I suppose I should congratulate you,’ Ellen said.

‘Only if you want to.’ Ger smiled. ‘I can understand if this might be a bit awkward for you. Which is why I wanted to see you. I was hoping we could talk things through, iron out any potential issues before they become a problem.’

They were sitting in Ger’s office. What used to be Ed Baxter’s office until Ed left on long-term sick leave. So far, Ger hadn’t added any personal touches and the room was almost exactly as Ed had left it. The only thing missing was the framed photo he’d kept on his desk. Ed and his missus on holiday in Costa del
Somewhere or Other.

‘Can’t stand clutter,’ Ger explained. ‘Lucky for me, Ed was the same. Nothing worse than spending your first day in a new job clearing up someone else’s crap. Coffee?’

She swung off her chair and went to the Nespresso machine on the shelf behind her desk. The coffee machine the team had bought Ed as a fiftieth birthday present.

‘He left this for me,’ Ger said. ‘Told me it belonged here, not at home with him. Truth is, Ellen, I think the chemo’s left him feeling so bloody sick he can’t stomach anything right now.’

‘You’ve been in touch then?’ Ellen asked.

‘Of course,’ Ger said. ‘Haven’t you?’

Not as much as she should have. Hardly at all, in fact. Her last few weeks working with Ed hadn’t been easy. He’d done something she hadn’t agreed with and she was finding it hard to forgive him. She knew she should put aside whatever issues she had and make the most of the little time he had left, but she was finding that hard to do. At one stage, she’d considered him a close friend. Not anymore, though, and that hurt. Because she felt that way, she’d chosen to put distance between them. A distance that, in all likelihood, probably caused her more pain than it did him.

‘I see him a bit,’ she lied. ‘But you know how it is. Family, work…’

The excuse sounded pathetic and she trailed off, unable to finish, unable to look Ger Cox in the eye as she handed Ellen a bright yellow mug.

‘Milk?’

Ellen shook her head. ‘Black, no sugar. This is perfect. Thanks.’

‘I’ve gone through the current caseload,’ Ger said. ‘I think I’m pretty much up to speed with your team’s priorities. Biggest case at the moment is this double murder on Loampit Vale?’

‘Right.’

‘You’ve made an arrest?’

Ellen nodded. ‘Charged him an hour ago. He’s being held over tonight and we’re at the Mag’s Court first thing tomorrow.’

‘Excellent,’ Ger said. ‘And what about this?’ She pulled a copy of the
Evening Star
from her desk drawer and placed it on the table. ‘Should I be worried?’

‘Maybe.’ Ellen had thought of little else since her interview with Monica. ‘Someone else came in earlier. Claims something similar is happening to her.’

‘Before or after this went out?’ Ger asked.

‘After,’ Ellen said. ‘But it’s not what you think. At least, I don’t think so.’

Ellen told her about the tea and the rose, explaining it was the one detail left out of the newspaper report.

‘And there’s no way this woman could have known about it?’ Ger asked.

‘Not unless she’d spoken to Chloe,’ Ellen said. ‘Which is possible, I suppose. Although I did ask if she knew Chloe and she claims she’s never even met her.’

‘Well check it out,’ Ger said. ‘Thoroughly. Get Patel to speak
to Chloe again. Ask her if she knows this Monica Telford. And do a trawl of the local flower shops. Find out if anyone’s been buying up roses lately. Check online retailers as well. See if anyone’s been doing a regular delivery to SE London.’

She sounded irritated and that irritated Ellen. Of course she was going to bloody check everything out. She’d be doing it right now, in fact, if she hadn’t been hauled in here to ‘talk things through’.

‘What about this journalist?’ Ger asked. ‘Martine Reynolds. Is she as bad as I think she is?’

‘Worse,’ Ellen said. ‘More concerned with shit-stirring than actually finding the truth. She won’t care what’s in the best interests of the public. The only person’s interests she cares about are her own.’

‘I’ll get someone in the press team onto it,’ Ger said. ‘See if there’s something we can do. What else?’

‘I’ve arranged for a car to patrol both houses at regular intervals for the next week,’ Ellen said. ‘Nights only. During the day, we’ve got the COs doing the same thing on foot. I’ve told both women to stay with friends or family if they’re scared. I’ve told them to get their locks changed, get an alarm, all the usual advice you’d give. And they’ve both been given the leaflets on stalking and how to deal with it. Forensics have been through Chloe’s house. Didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Not sure what else we can do at this stage.’

‘Phone them everyday,’ Ger said. ‘Keep in close contact with
them. And get someone across to interview Chloe’s ex. Again. I know he’s got an alibi, but let’s make sure he didn’t get someone else to break into Chloe’s place.’

‘Except if Monica’s telling the truth, it’s not him, is it?’ Ellen said.

‘Maybe she knows him too,’ Ger said. ‘Although the most likely explanation is that she’s making it up. She read Chloe’s story and decided to claim the same thing is happening to her. What did you think of her?’

‘Difficult to tell,’ Ellen said. ‘Very charming, very attractive. Although, there was something a bit off.’

‘Off how?’

‘She didn’t seem as scared as I’d expect,’ Ellen said. ‘At one point, I got the feeling that she was enjoying herself.’

‘Speak to her again,’ Ger said. ‘Let her see we’re taking this seriously. I know it sounds like overkill but if this Telford woman is making it up, the next thing she’ll do is approach the journalist for her own exclusive. We don’t want that.’

‘And?’ Ellen asked.

Ger frowned. ‘What?’

‘Mag’s Court tomorrow,’ Ellen said. ‘I need to be there. You don’t have a problem with that?’

‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with sorting this shit out. You can always send Raj to court if you need to. I don’t want you pushing yourself too hard, Ellen. You’re officially still on a thirty-hour week. Which is fine. I’m all for flexible working for parents.
Heck, I wouldn’t have got this far without some flexibility over the years.’

That was a load of rubbish. No one got to DCI on part-time working. Yes, it was more than possible to be a detective and work part-time. But the moment you stopped being a full-time employee, it was as good as writing an e-mail to the senior
management
team telling them you had no interest in ever being promoted above your current role.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Ellen said.

‘I know.’ Ger pointed to the paper. ‘This worries me, though. If Chloe’s telling the truth, then the attack on Friday night means he’s escalating. Makes me worry about what he’ll do next.’

‘Nothing,’ Ellen said. ‘Because we’ll stop him. Right?’

‘Right.’

Ger didn’t look up from the newspaper and Ellen stood up, sensing she’d been dismissed. She was at the door, about to open it, when Ger spoke again.

‘Ellen, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.’

‘About what?’ Ellen asked, knowing too well what Ger was talking about.

‘The job,’ Ger said. ‘I couldn’t tell you when I called. I still had another round of interviews to get through after that. Of course, if I’d thought for a second I was even in with a chance, well, I’d definitely have said something.’

‘So why did you call?’ Ellen asked.

She waited, hoping Ger would explain and things between
them could go back to the way they were before this morning’s announcement.

‘I wanted to speak to you,’ Ger said. ‘I was having a bad day and I wanted to hear a friendly voice. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

‘I suppose not.’

Ger smiled. ‘So I’m forgiven?’

‘Nothing to forgive.’

She couldn’t wait to get out of there. Ger was still smiling and Ellen did her best to smile back. It wasn’t easy. She knew why Ger had phoned her. It had nothing to do with Ellen’s friendly voice (let’s face it, she didn’t have one) and all to do with pumping Ellen for information, getting the gossip on the team at Lewisham in advance of her interviews.

Ger Cox had been using her. And that hurt more than Ellen was willing to admit. Even to herself.