‘The same thing happened to them a week or two before they topped themselves,’
Talbot told her.
‘You mean they were burgled?’
He nodded.
‘Either their houses or their cars,’ the DI said. ‘And in all three cases, the only thing that the intruders stole were photos of those three men. Just like you.’ He drained what was left in his glass and put it down on the table before him.
‘Do you think the same people broke into my flat?’ she asked incredulously.
‘Why would they do that?’
Talbot shrugged. ‘It might be a coincidence’ he said. ‘But it’s stretching things a bit. Four similar breakins in the space of ten days, no valuables stolen -just a photo of
the victim. In three cases, less than a week after the breakin, the victim commits suicide. You might be number four.’
‘If you’re expecting me to kill myself, Talbot, don’t hold your breath waiting’ she told him defiantly.
‘A man can dream can’t he?’
Despite her bravado, Cath felt the hair rise at the back of her neck. ‘Who were these men?’
Talbot smiled. ‘Now there’s the funny thing’ he said, humourlessly. ‘They were all professional men, all working on one project, all happy family men. All with plenty to live for.’
‘What was the project?’ Cath asked.
‘Those warehouses at Limehouse Reach.’
‘Jesus! Have you been investigating this?’
‘What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing?’ he snapped.
‘And it wasn’t murder?’
‘I think I would have noticed the difference,’ he answered, acidly.
‘But why do you think I might be involved?’
T didn’t say you were, I just said it’s a hell of a coincidence. Their places were robbed and only a photo was stolen. Now your place is turned over and nothing but a picture is nicked. The circumstances are the same, whether or not the perpetrators are remains to be seen.’
He prodded his empty glass, pushing it towards Cross who got to his feet and returned with the bottle, which he set down before the detective, watching as he poured himself a large measure.
‘One thing, Reed’ he said. ‘I don’t want you bothering the families of those dead men. If I so much as sniff that you’ve been round to any of their places I’ll arrest you.’
Cath smiled. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ she said, softly.
He eyed her malevolently.
‘Why did you tell me all this, Talbot?’
‘I thought you had a right to know.’
‘And if it scared the shit out of me that was just a bonus, right?’
‘Someone could be after you, I just thought I’d warn you,’ he said.
She watched as he sipped his drink.
‘By the way, have you had any weird phone calls or mail, any shit like that recently?’ the DI asked.
Cath nodded.
‘Some threatening phone calls,’ she admitted.
‘Did you report them?’
‘No. I thought they might be something to do with this child abuse story I’m working on, you know, parents warning me off.’
‘They actually made threats?’
She nodded.
‘Two of the three dead men had threatening phone calls too. Looks like you might have more in common with them than you thought.’
The DI finished his drink and got to his feet.
Cross rose with him.
‘I’ll see myself out,’ Talbot said, heading for the door.
‘How do I know they won’t come back, Talbot?’ Cath called after him.
‘You don’t.’
‘Then what about some sort of police guard?’
‘Are you fucking serious? I’ve got better things for my men to do than stand around here keeping an eye on you twenty-four hours a day.’
‘So what do I do?’ she demanded, getting up and following him to the front door.
He hesitated in the doorway.
‘Watch yourself’ he advised, a smile creeping across his face. ‘Sleep tight.’
She slammed the door on him.
Seventy-five
Frank Reed hadn’t slept well the night before, a fact confirmed by the haggard-looking reflection that stared back at him from the glass of the car window.
The teacher locked the door, transferred his briefcase to his other hand and set off across the playground.
He’d swallowed a couple of Panadol with his coffee that morning, but they seemed to have done little to relieve the gnawing pain thudding away at his temples and spreading over the top of his scalp. It felt as if the skin there was slowly contracting, squeezing his skull until he felt sure it would collapse under the pressure.
He raised a hand in greeting to one of his colleagues, whose car was heading for the teachers’ car park. He winced at the sound of the engine as the vehicle passed him. Every sound seemed to be amplified.
He walked on.
At the staffroom window he could see some of the other teachers getting ready for the day ahead. Two of them were gazing out into the playground holding cups of tea, as if steeling themselves for what the day might bring.
They both saw him, but when Reed raised a hand towards them they both turned away from the window.
Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough night.
Christ, that was an understatement.
He’d made a couple of phone calls, left a message on Cath’s answering machine, wondering why she hadn’t called back.
He’d even tried to phone Ellen.
Fucking bitch.
There had been no answer.
Perhaps they’d been at the police station giving statements. Even now, in the cold light of day, the absurdity, the inanity, of the whole episode seemed no clearer.
He had been accused of molesting his own daughter.
Even the thought made him feel nauseous.
What sort of mind could dream up such an obscenity?
Ellen?
Or her fucking lover?
He had wondered if Jonathan Ward might be behind it. The thought had tormented him all the previous night. He knew how besotted Ellen was with the man. Just how far would she go to please him?
What had they said to Becky to make her agree to such outrageous claims?
Did she really believe he had touched her? Hurt her?
The questions tumbled over in his mind as they had done the previous evening.
And, as before, there were no answers.
