“No. Well, he couldn’t be, could he? I could never have seen him. Not if he’s been in prison for the last thirty years.”
Carole felt sure Gaby was leaving something unsaid, but the girl would not give any more.
Stephen turned his attention to her flatmate. “You were with him for longest, Jenny. Did you see his face?”
“No.” Onstage the word would have been a thrilling whisper. “He had the scarf on when I came in. He wassitting here waiting. At first he thought I was Gaby. I had to show him a credit card to prove I wasn’t. It was
“Did he talk much?”
“Hardly at all.”
“Did he threaten you, Jenny? Say he’d hurt you?”
“Not exactly. But I don’t think he would have been afraid to hurt me. There was something, I don’t know…
“Was he carrying a weapon?”
“I couldn’t see anything, but I got the impression that he probably was.”
“Did he say anything that…” Stephen tried to find the right words, but ended up with the rather feeble “… anything that sort of seemed important?”
“He said – ” Jenny dropped her voice to another audition-tingling whisper, “‘After the old man died, and the boy, Gaby had to be next’.”
At these words, an involuntary shudder ran through their subject. Instinctively Stephen put his arm round his fiancee’s shoulder.
At that moment the doorbell rang, and a couple of local detectives arrived, somewhat disgruntled at being summoned to a crime scene where no one had been hurt and nothing stolen. Stephen had to spend some time impressing on them the seriousness of the incident before they agreed to put a call through to Inspector Pollard of the Essex Police.
By the time the two girls had been calmed, and the police arrived, the last train to Fethering was long gone. It was agreed that Stephen would stay in Pimlico to give Gaby moral support – and support through the police interrogations – while Carole took Gaby’s set of keys to Stephen’s house in Fulham. Carole was slightly miffed at not being on the scene for the next stage of the investigation, but knew the chances of her finding out anything further from the police were pretty minimal. So, obedient to her son’s instructions, she took the cab he had ordered for her round to his house.
She had been there before, but only a couple of times. First, on a tour of inspection just after he’d bought the place, perhaps her first realization of quite how successful her son had become in his career (whatever that might be). And then second, a few months after that, for a rather formal and awkward Sunday lunch party to which he’d suddenly invited her (a social experiment that had not been repeated).
But she remembered her way around. Following Stephen’s instructions, she found the drinks’ cabinet in the sitting room, and surprised herself by pouring a large Scotch. Her rationale was that she wasn’t going to sleep, anyway, so she might as well take something to calm her nerves.
She took the drink upstairs with her, located the new toothbrush Stephen had described in the bathroom cupboard, had a perfunctory wash, and slipped under the crisp clean sheets of the spare room bed. She thought to herself how well organized her son was domestically, with his cleaning lady and his – Instantly, she was asleep.
A creak of a floorboard woke her and she looked up to see Stephen just closing the door to her room.
“Sorry, Mum, didn’t want to wake you. I had to come back to pick up a clean shirt and some papers I need for a meeting.”
He lingered by the door, as if about to beat a hasty retreat, embarrassed by her presence in his house. “How’s Gaby?” asked Carole.
The question made up his mind for him. He came back into the room. Carole patted the side of her bed, then immediately felt awkward because she only had on bra and pants under the duvet. She shouldn’t feel awkward with her own son. Or perhaps it was worse with her own son.
Stephen sat down heavily on the bed beside her. He didn’t look as if he’d slept at all. With Gaby and Jenny to keep calm, not to mention questioning from the police, he probably hadn’t.
“Oh, Gaby’s bearing up,” he said. “Inspector Pollard arrived in the early hours.”
“All the way from Essex?”
“Yes. They’re taking this very seriously indeed. No more pussy-footing around the subject. Pollard is now actually saying that Michael Brewer is their chief suspect for the two murders.”
“God. Which makes it even worse. For Gaby, I mean, to think what might have happened last night if we hadn’t – ”
“I don’t need to be told to think about it, Mum. I haven’t thought about anything else all night.”
“Did Inspector Pollard let slip any reason why they’re so sure of Michael Brewer’s guilt?”
“Yes. There’s a DNA match from both sites. They’ve still got samples on file from the Janine Buckley murder. There’s no question it’s him.”
“But the cars were burnt out. How can you get DNA samples under those circumstances?”
“Oh, Brewer left them very deliberately. He’s not trying to disguise the fact that he’s involved.”
“You mean – he left calling cards?”
“Almost literally that, Mum. Playing cards.”
“What?”
“At each crime scene, a playing card was found. They definitely belonged to Brewer. Traces of his DNA all over them.”
The image came to Carole’s mind – something Jimmy Troop had described to Jude – of Michael Brewer in Parkhurst, playing endless silent games of patience. And, as he flicked over the cards, who could say what fantasies of vengeance had run through his head?
Well, he’d revenged himself on Howard Martin. Though for what offence it was hard to imagine. Bazza’s death, Carole felt pretty sure, had not been for revenge, just a necessity to stop the boy talking about his involvement in Howard Martin’s. Leaving a playing card there was just an act of bravado – or maybe the intention had been to frighten someone.
And now, Carole realized with sickening impact, this man was targeting her son’s fiancee. “So where’s Gaby now?”
“At the flat. Pollard’s still with her and Jenny. Trying to get anything else he can out of them about Brewer. Seems like it’s becoming a full-scale manhunt.”
“Well, he can’t stay hidden for long, can he? Nobody could. Least of all someone who’s spent the last thirty years in prison. The world must seem a pretty alien place to him, and I’d have thought it was hard for anyone to hide in an alien landscape.”
“Hope you’re right. Until Brewer’s caught I’m just not going to relax about Gaby for a second. I feel I shouldn’t be going in to work today, but if I don’t – well, that’d be the equivalent to chucking in the job, the way things are going at the moment.”
“Look, the police’re bound to catch Michael Brewer soon.”
“Yes,” her son said wearily. “Yes. I know, I know. And at least Gaby’s safe for today.”
“What? Is Pollard taking her into protective custody?”
“No, nothing like that is needed. Her Uncle Robert’s coming over to the flat. Pollard’s promised he won’t leave till Robert’s there, so at least I can feel vaguely relaxed for the rest of today.”
He scraped his fingernails up through his greying hair. “Oh, I wish Gaby were out of this. Somewhere safe.”
“Would she be safe in France?”
He looked up at his mother in puzzlement. “Why France?”
“Gaby has said on a couple of occasions that she’d like to see her grandmother in France before the wedding. Hoping to introduce you to the old lady.” Carole spread wide her hands. “Maybe this is the perfect opportunity?”
“Wouldn’t work. I can’t possibly take the time off at the moment.”
