The House Across the Street Read online

Then, just as she thought she would never hear the sound again, she heard feet on the steps outside the door. Had he come to feed her, or kill her? Her heart began to pound and she clutched the blankets round her more tightly, as if that would protect her.

  ‘Wakey, wakey,’ he said, and the jocular tone was scarier than a snarl.

  She peeped out at him. To her shock, he had in his arms what appeared to be an electric fire and a carrier bag, which could contain clothes or food.

  Her instinct was to jump up and thank him, but she reminded herself that she would get further with him by being offhand.

  ‘What day is it, and time?’ she asked, yawning as if she’d just had a little snooze.

  ‘Thursday and four in the afternoon. I intended to come in yesterday but I couldn’t make it.’

  ‘Well, you’re here now.’ She tried to sound casual, but her eyes were on the carrier bag. It was all she could do not to jump up and rip it out of his hands.

  ‘You are very calm,’ he said. ‘I expected to find you desperate.’

  ‘Desperate for what?’ she said. ‘Your company?’

  He looked fazed by that and held out the bag. ‘Some clothes and food. It was too early to get you hot food but there’s a pork pie, cake and some fruit. I’ll plug this fire in.’

  Trying not to pounce on the pork pie and stuff it in her mouth while standing almost on top of the fire was really difficult. Even if it was only a one-bar fire, she could feel the heat from it almost immediately. She forced herself to move away from the fire long enough to take a brown woollen sweater out of the bag, a pair of brown slacks, and a cream shirt. She put the sweater on immediately and the other things she folded and put on the bed. They weren’t new but they were good quality; she guessed they had belonged to his wife. There were also socks and some knickers. The latter were new, three pairs in a sealed cellophane bag from Marks and Spencer.

  ‘Very nice, thank you,’ she said and picked out the pork pie with trembling hands. It was a big one, enough for four people, the pastry all golden and shiny. She knew she could easily gobble it all down in about four seconds flat, but that would never do. ‘Excuse me,’ she said politely. ‘I’d rather have this on a plate with a knife and fork, but needs must.’ She bit into it and tried very hard to disguise her sheer delight at the taste.

  Nothing she’d ever experienced was as hard as not stuffing that pie down her throat. The meat was perfect, tasty and moist. The pastry melted in her mouth. But to eat a big pork pie elegantly without cutlery and a plate was so hard to do. So after a few mouthfuls she wrapped the waxed paper round it again and put it back in the carrier bag.

  ‘I’ll have it later,’ she said. ‘Now suppose you explain yourself? Why burn Gloria’s house down?’

  He leaned back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. ‘That bitch took my wife from me,’ he said. ‘But then you know that. The other bitch, her sidekick, told you and gave you that notebook.’

  ‘Gloria and Edna helped your wife make a new life for her and your children, away from you. But someone had to help them; you nearly killed Deirdre, and your children were suffering to see it.’

  ‘I only gave her a couple of slaps, she had a good life with me. The kids wanted for nothing – bikes, any toy they wanted.’

  ‘Toys don’t make up for seeing your mother with broken limbs. Because it wasn’t “just a slap”, was it?’

  ‘Do you know Deirdre?’

  Katy saw a flicker of hope in his face. ‘Of course not, how could I? She had a very private arrangement with Edna and Gloria. The only reason I even got to know about her and the other women was when my dad was blamed for killing Gloria. That’s why I was hunting you down.’

  ‘Hunting me down?’ His voice rose an octave.

  ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I was doing,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘And what were you going to do when you found me?’

  ‘Turn you in, of course.’

  ‘But you didn’t do that, did you? I know, because I was on your tail.’

  She realized that making out she’d already told someone where he lived might shorten her life. Being smarter than others was clearly important to him. ‘I regret that I didn’t go straight to the police station at Hammersmith. My plan was to ring my father’s lawyer on Monday morning. But hey, I’m here with you now, so why don’t you tell me something about yourself?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ He looked at her hard, his dark eyes like wet tar.

  ‘Because you are unhappy, and it might make you feel better to share it with me.’

  ‘I’m not unhappy.’

  Katy sighed. ‘You are. I suspect you’ve always been unhappy, or you wouldn’t have started knocking Deirdre about. You miss her still, you want her back. You think that will make you happy again. It won’t, of course.’

  Katy was just plucking things out of the air to say, half-chewed-up bits of psychiatric jargon she’d picked up here and there. What she really wanted was to eat the rest of the pork pie and the cake.

  ‘I don’t want her back, not now; she was a stupid, pathetic woman and I manage fine without her.’

  ‘Who are you trying to kid?’ Katy asked. ‘You aren’t managing at all. You are full of anger. Until you let that go, you’ll never be happy or able to get on with a new life.’

  Katy sat back down on the bed and patted the blankets for him to sit beside her. ‘You fascinate me, Ed. I can call you that, can’t I?’

  He didn’t move to sit next to her but stayed looking down at her, those inscrutable dark eyes boring into her. ‘Yeah, you can call me Ed. What are you playing at?’

  ‘Playing at?’ She frowned as if she didn’t understand the question. ‘I just want to know about the man who intends to kill me. That is what you intend, isn’t it? Though I don’t really understand why you didn’t do it as soon as you caught me. I mean you could’ve stuck a knife in me, or strangled me and shoved my body in someone’s front garden.’

  All at once it came to her that he only liked killing at a distance. In a fire, pushing someone off the road. He didn’t like to be close up.

  ‘If you think that means I’m going to let you go, you are mistaken,’ he said.

  Katy smiled. She sensed he hadn’t got a plan at all.

  ‘What have you got to smile about?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve got some food, warm clothes and a fire,’ she said. ‘After how things were half an hour ago, that’s progress. You are also an interesting, nice-looking man. I can see why Deirdre fell for you. What was it about her that made you hit her?’

  ‘Shut your trap, woman,’ he snarled at her. His dark eyes became still darker and his face flushed an angry purple. ‘I’m going now, and I want no more questions or I won’t come again.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ she said, more calmly than she felt. ‘I only wanted to get to know you better.’

  He left immediately, slamming the door behind him. Katy picked up the pork pie again and wolfed it down.

  Only when her hunger was sated did she stop to think about what had passed between them. He was certainly a peculiar, troubled character. The way he’d rounded on her for asking him what made him hit Deirdre was interesting. She guessed he liked to forget he’d brutalized the woman he loved, and made himself believe it was Gloria who got his wife to leave him. No doubt Deirdre was a very weak woman, at least at the beginning of their marriage, until she’d finally had enough. Funny he couldn’t see that he’d driven her to run away.

  But considering why Reilly hurt women wasn’t going to improve her situation. Okay, she had some food for now and clothes, plus the fire, but she had no way of escape. And how could anyone find her? She had no doubt Jilly was pushing the police to do something. Michael Bonham would be, too. But their task was close to impossible.

  All at once the sheer hopelessness of her circumstances hit her and she broke down and cried. If she was right about Reilly not liking hands-on killing, it meant he was bound to leave her to starv
e.

  As Katy was facing the prospect of being left to slowly starve to death, Jilly was trying hard not to cry as she braced herself to speak to Rob, Katy’s brother. A letter had come from him to Katy today, clearly written before she was abducted. Jilly felt guilty about opening the envelope and reading the letter but, as she’d hoped, there was a telephone number in it for him.

  She had always liked Rob. At one time she’d had a bit of a fantasy going on about him, but nothing had ever come of it; he treated her like another sister. In the letter he spoke of visiting his father, how stoic Albert was, and about his concern that their mother might be losing her mind. Surely no normal wife would ignore her husband in prison for a crime he didn’t commit?

  Like Katy, Rob wrote a good letter, amusing, warm and interesting. Jilly was hopeless at writing letters, but then her parents weren’t bookish types like Mr Speed. And she supposed that dragon Katy and Rob had for a mother had kept them practising writing letters until they became good at it.

  Finally she felt brave enough to ring him.

  ‘Hello, Rob, it’s Jilly Carter. I had to open your letter to Katy to get a phone number for you, and I’m afraid I’ve got worrying news for you.’

  It was a relief to find he knew at least some of it. Apparently, Michael Bonham had got his number from Hilda Speed and informed him that Katy was missing. Rob was so happy Jilly had rung him that it was tempting to make light of the situation, to make out she really thought Katy would walk through the door any minute with a long-winded story about the old friend she’d met and gone off on a bender with. But both she and Rob knew Katy wasn’t that kind of person.

  ‘So it looks bad,’ she said. ‘I wish I didn’t have to say that to you.’

  ‘I know, even our mum broke out of her usual chilliness to admit she was worried.’

  ‘She rang you? She hasn’t even rung here to check if there’s any news.’

  ‘I went to Bexhill yesterday, after I’d visited Dad in Lewes,’ Rob said. ‘Mum’s struggling with it all. She was never good at telephoning, especially a stranger’s number. So she’s basically been sticking her head in the sand. She still refuses to visit Dad, but I suspect that is more out of fear of visiting a prison, rather than not wanting to see him. She is really worried about Katy, too. I could tell by the way she couldn’t get her words out. Anyway, Jilly, thanks for trying to give me all this bad news in a kind way. I came back here to Nottingham last night to sort out some things, but I’m going back to Bexhill later today. My parents need me, to keep Dad’s spirits up and to stop Mum from cracking. My plan is to try and persuade Mum to come with me to visit Dad. As much as I’d like to come to London and try to help find Katy, I think I’m more use at home with Mum.’

  ‘You are right, there’s nothing you can do here,’ Jilly admitted. ‘I was so happy to get the job of my dreams at the zoo, and then we found a flat and we were so excited, talking about the cushions and lamps we’d buy to pretty it up. We wanted to have wild parties and do all that crazy stuff people do when they first get to London, but all I’m doing now is crying. I’m so scared for her, Rob.’

  ‘Me too, Jilly,’ he said. ‘Why did she have to think she was Sherlock Holmes? And why, if she was intent on trying to find a killer, didn’t she just leave a note about where she was going?’

  ‘What if she is dead?’ Jilly cried to him. ‘I can’t imagine life without her in it. And I’m sure you can’t, either?’

  ‘No, I can’t, we always shared everything until I went to Nottingham. I think that’s part of the reason why neither of us were keen on going steady with anyone. We were too busy having fun together.’

  ‘She always told me how much she loved her little brother,’ Jilly sobbed. ‘Sometimes I was even jealous.’

  ‘She used to tell me she loved you,’ Rob said, and his voice sounded shaky. ‘I used to be jealous too, so we’re both as bad as each other.’

  He had to go, as it was his landlady’s phone he was ringing from. But he said Jilly could phone Bexhill any time with updates or news. ‘Look after yourself,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope in a few weeks’ time, when all this is over, we three can laugh about it all.’

  Charles had taken a copy of the page of information that Edna had given him and handed it to the police on the same night he got back from Broadstairs. He was disappointed they didn’t seem very enthusiastic, or motivated. A curt ‘Leave it with us, and we’ll look into it’ was far too vague for his taste, so he took a few days off work to investigate himself.

  So far, with the assistance of an ex-CID friend who still had close contacts in the police force, he had been able to locate the former marital home addresses of three women. At two of these addresses the husband was still living there. Mr Birchill, the one in a council flat in Kentish Town, was massively overweight and barely able to walk; a neighbour said he rarely went out. He had no driving licence, much less a Jaguar.

  The husband at the second address, in Hampstead, was a surgeon at the Royal Free Hospital and he had a Mercedes, not a Jaguar. Furthermore, Charles had gleaned from the newsagent further down Haverstock Hill that Dr Foster had been on a cruise in the Caribbean with a girlfriend for three weeks over the Christmas and New Year period. So he couldn’t have set fire to Gloria’s house.

  At the house next door to the third address he was told the Talbots had moved away three years ago. Charles didn’t know whether the Mrs Talbot the neighbour was referring to was, in fact, just a girlfriend. Or maybe his wife had gone back to him, after all? Charles didn’t know and couldn’t really ask. He did ask if they had a Jaguar, though, and was told they had a grey Rover.

  The next step was to check the other names on Edna’s list against the electoral roll and find addresses for them. This was long and laborious, but he did find another four marital homes, though he couldn’t be certain that these houses didn’t belong to another person of the same name. He could hardly knock on doors and ask if a wife beater lived there.

  He pretended to be doing a survey for the electricity board so he could go straight to the houses in question. At the Edens’ house, Mrs Eden was no older than nineteen; she was heavily pregnant and they’d only lived in the house for three months. At the Camerons’ home, Mr Cameron was black; a photo on the hall wall proved his wife and children were, too. The Butlers were well over sixty, and at the final house Mrs Seymour insisted he come in and have a cup of tea with her and her husband. Mr Seymour was in a wheelchair, and it was clear they were devoted to each other.

  Demoralized, Charles went for a short walk on Hampstead Heath after calling at the last house on his list. He had found in the past that walking helped his thought processes. Knowing that Katy had come to Hampstead on that Saturday morning, six days ago now, pushed her right into the forefront of his mind again, a position she’d slipped out of while he’d been looking for wife-beating husbands.

  What had that man done with her?

  As a lawyer Charles knew anyone abducting a person almost always meant them real harm. Even those demanding a ransom, who promised to release the victim without harm after the money was paid, still often killed them.

  So how could he find Katy? He didn’t know who had her, or where he was keeping her; in fact, he knew nothing other than that he had a dark red Jaguar. And that he didn’t mind travelling to kill.

  But there was one person who might be able to shed light on this killer: his former wife, the woman he beat until she ran away.

  Charles took Edna’s list out of his pocket and stopped trying to look for addresses for this man. He looked again at what Edna remembered about the women who hadn’t returned home.

  Claire had said her mother never wrote down the addresses of where the women moved to after saying goodbye to her and Gloria. She said she thought them too dangerous for her to keep, just in case an irate husband resorted to breaking and entering to find any records.

  Edna did well to carry in her head so many women’s names – both their married names and the
ones they changed them to. In many cases she remembered which town they went to as well.

  ‘But which is the wife of our man?’ Charles said, looking at the list. Brighton, Hastings, Eastbourne, Lewes and even one in Tunbridge Wells. There was no guarantee these women hadn’t moved on somewhere else. Or that they would even talk to him. If they had run and changed their names, cutting themselves off from friends and relatives to escape their husbands, were they likely to take the risk of talking to a stranger who might destroy their present security?

  How long would it take him to try and find these women, too? He couldn’t take a long leave of absence from chambers. Besides, these women wouldn’t necessarily have any idea where the murderer was hiding Katy, either. So it could all turn out to be a fool’s errand.

  He paused at a big oak tree, leaned back on the huge trunk and looked up. He loved trees, especially in winter without their leaves; the way he could see their bare framework.

  Katy was a bit like that: no frills or flounces, a straightforward young woman who said what she thought, did what she thought was right. Fearless, intelligent, persistent. She had a lovely face, such a delicate complexion, pretty hair like spun gold, and clear blue, honest eyes. He hadn’t met many honest women in London. Mostly they were out to ensnare a man with good prospects; often they cared more about their appearance than they did about others.

  Katy was worth going on a fool’s errand for. He had to find her. He was going to find her.

  12

  The day after Reilly brought Katy the pork pie and other things, then went off in a huff, he returned.

  Katy was surprised. She’d eked out the cake, expecting that he would stay away for days. Having the electric fire and warm clothes had improved things, but she wished she had something to read to pass the time.

  So when he appeared again, wearing a very wet raincoat, his hair dripping, and carrying a bag with four paperback books, a toothbrush and paste, and her handbag which held her make-up and hairbrush, she didn’t pretend indifference because she felt like hugging him. It looked like he was softening; she even wistfully hoped he might release her. That was an unrealistic wish, of course.