‘The keys were never outside. He has to be picking locks, guv, there’s no other explanation. He let himself into the Fullers' apartment and he let himself in here. He came and went when he thought no one was home, but both times he wasn’t alone.’
‘Both times?’
Newport nodded. ‘He knew Abigail Fuller was watching him, guv, he says so in the recording.’
York paused for a long moment, one solid thought slapping him across the face. ‘Jesus, Holly, how did we miss this?’
She looked back at him perplexedly. ‘Miss what?'
Pulling his partner to one side, he whispered, ‘Abbey told me her parents didn’t allow her to leave the apartment when they were away. But she did. She went to the shop for groceries. Our man didn’t force entry, Holly, he was already inside, both times.’
‘No, that doesn’t make sense…’
‘Think about it! Abbey goes out to the shops, doesn’t lock the door. Remember the caretaker telling us that no one locked their doors during the day. Our man slips in while Abbey is at the shops. He hides. And he watches her. When she goes to bed, he plants the hearts and leaves. It wasn’t about Abbey, it never was. He knew she was there, because he was there, hours before!’
Newport leaned against the wall. ‘Jesus.’
‘And he’s been here before tonight too. The keys weren’t there last night because Andrew had them inside. But he’s been watching. He knew where to find those keys before now. He waited. Waited until Janine went out. Yesterday, the day before, who knows? Came along here, took the keys and made copies, and then returned them before Janine came home. He was in here last night when Andrew got back. He watched him come in, get into bed, watched him fall asleep. Then he put what remained of Janine in the fridge and left.’
Newport filled her lungs and exhaled loudly.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I want you to go over to Black Crystal, check out the CCTV. Then I want you to go home and get your head straight, okay?’
‘I’m fine, guv.’
‘No, you’re not. Go home, get some sleep, speak to Kellie, whatever you need to do. I’ll see you back at the station in a few hours.’
‘Guv, really –’
‘It’s not a request, Holly. If you want to keep on working with me on this, you’ll do as I ask.’
He spied Graham looking over his shoulder, trying to eavesdrop.
‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘But I’m not the only one who needs sleep, you know.’
He nodded. ‘Right now, you are. My battery backup just kicked in.’
28
Three streets away, Newport rolled the car up next to a phone box and shut off the engine. Beyond the windscreen the morning had become pallid, a none-event. One or two people were out and about now, heading towards Clapham South tube, milling around the coffee shops and avoiding eye contact with one another.
She reclined the seat and tried to relax, and suddenly the tears were spilling from her eyes, snail-tracking down her face. The crying grew harder and harder until her stomach was wracked with spasms. She pounded the steering wheel, ground her teeth, jarred herself back and forth, letting it all go. Kellie, the bodies, Abigail, Kellie, York, the bodies.
Kellie.
Kellie.
Kellie.
What was happening to her? All these other people going about their day, she envied the smug bastards. Why should they have it so easy? Her life had never been such a shambles. She’d always maintained the structure, the spine. So long as the backbone was in place, everything else just kind of worked out. Now her entire existence was a train wreck.
Slowly the tears dried. She settled back into the seat and took large heady breaths. She had to regain control.
She climbed from the car and went inside the phone box, pocketing her glasses. It only took two rings for Kellie to answer, and immediately she could tell something was wrong. Can’t talk over the phone, she said. Don’t know who’s listening. She sounded jittery, anxious.
Newport asked if she was okay. She said she was fine. But they should meet. Thirty minutes at St Paul’s Cathedral, the little café with the Andy Warhol replicas.
*
This time Newport arrived first and ordered two espressos before choosing a table near the back. She looked a mess but what could she do? Any time with Kellie was good time.
Minutes later, Kellie walked in and took a seat opposite. She too looked a little sleep deprived. Her pale green blouse was wrinkled and her pixiesque face bore no makeup.
‘I had to see you,’ Kellie said, slightly frantically. She picked up the espresso and knocked it back.
‘What’s going on, Kellie? You worried me on the phone.’
Kellie kept glancing over her shoulder, around the café. ‘I don’t know if they’re on to me, Holly.’
‘Who? What're you talking about?’
‘Keep your voice down, please.’ There was desperation in her tone, her eyes, an almost naked trepidation.
‘You want to tell me what’s going on?’
Kellie took one more look around, waved to the Barista for another espresso. ‘Remember yesterday, I told you I was working on something. Something big. Well I think it’s caught up to me. I’m in trouble.’
‘What have you done, Kellie?’
‘Don’t be so judgemental okay, I’m asking for some help.’
Newport shrugged. ‘The last time I saw you, you were moving on. You’d met someone else. Now you’re in trouble you need me again?’
‘Fine,’ Kellie snapped. She got to her feet, looked wired. ‘You don’t want to help me, I get it. I’ll just go. You can get back to your nutcase.’
‘Sit down, Kellie,’ Newport urged resignedly.
Kellie did. Instantly.
‘Start from the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.’
