The House Across the Street Page 17

  ‘I started to cry. I was scared, because one of these blokes had a knife, and he’d already told me he’d use it if I didn’t cooperate. But Katy, she started talking like she was a school teacher. She asked why would they want sex with an unwilling girl? She insisted it showed something really bad about a man’s character if he had to force girls. She pointed out they were good-looking, well dressed and had a nice car, and they could probably sweet-talk some girls into it. “But not us,” she said. “If you insist on doing this, we call that rape, and we’ll go to the police and get you arrested. I know your car registration.”

  ‘I was amazed, Charles,’ Jilly went on. ‘She didn’t even sound scared. She rattled off the registration number and she told the one with the knife to put it away or she’d have that to add to what she would tell the police. She didn’t falter once. Then she ordered them to drive us back to Bexhill.’

  ‘And did they take you?’

  ‘No, as we drove back into Hastings Katy told them to let us out and we would get a taxi. She said on the way home she didn’t want them to know where we lived, just in case they tried to get one of us another time. That’s what she’s like: calm, confident and she just has that way with her. I’ve got into all kinds of scrapes by being soft with blokes, but she always sees through them. That’s why I think she will find a way to outwit this man who’s got her.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so, Jilly,’ Charles said. ‘What you’ve just told me about Katy makes me feel more optimistic, and I’m going to look at some hospital records tomorrow.’

  ‘Is this at the Whittington, where Gloria and Edna met? Katy told me about that.’

  ‘Yes, the idea is to go through the names in the Emergency Department and see if we can find some beaten women who were treated there. We’re looking for the wife of the man who snatched Katy.’

  ‘Can I come and help you?’ Jilly asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not, because my friend the ex-policeman has kind of twisted a woman’s arm to get her to let us look at these registers. If you are there as well, it might be too much.’

  ‘I understand. I just wish I could do something constructive to find her,’ Jilly said sadly.

  ‘I know, but if there’s any further stuff, I’ll ask you to come along,’ Charles said. ‘I’ll ring you tomorrow night to tell you how it went.’

  13

  The hunger pains were back, worse than ever. Katy thought it was probably three days since Reilly last came. She’d read all the books he brought and now she was totally demoralized, and feeling ill. Being warm was preferable to being cold, but one minute she was so hot she felt she was burning up, the next shivering. Her whole body ached and she had never felt so scared and alone.

  She was convinced now that she would die here; she could only hope that if her temperature continued to soar she would pass out and be oblivious to pain, hunger and her surroundings.

  Writing notes in a small pad she’d found in her handbag had occupied her for some time. She noted how she felt, her thoughts on Reilly, Charles, Rob, Jilly and her parents. The things she wished she’d said to people but hadn’t. But all at once it seemed pointless, if she was going to die here. No one would ever find and read her notes.

  Was Reilly punishing her for slapping him? Somehow she doubted he’d been slapped by many women before, if ever.

  Sick as she felt, lying huddled in the blankets on the bed, she still wanted to understand Reilly. What had made him claim to love his wife, yet beat her? Then, when she left him, why couldn’t he accept that it was the consequence of abusing her? Added to that, he’d killed Gloria and Elsie, allowed her father to be blamed for their deaths, and he’d tried to kill Edna.

  Was he mad? What could have happened to him to make him so twisted?

  Aside from thinking about Reilly, she had been having some very strange dreams, believing other people were here in the room with her. Her father, for one, and Rob her brother. She thought it was real when she dreamed about her father, and she called out to him. That woke her to find the room was empty: just her, the bed, toilet and washbasin, nothing else.

  Another dream was about a garden, a fabulous one with lush grass and winding paths between brightly coloured flower beds. But she kept walking and walking, and she didn’t come to a way out. It seemed the paths just went round and round; there was no end, and no way in or out.

  A noise brought her back to the present. She thought she must be imagining it because she wanted someone to come so badly. But then she heard it again, and this time she knew it was real. That light, confident step was Reilly.

  This time she couldn’t get up. She just lay there, aware he was standing in the open doorway looking at her on the bed.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said. ‘Still got the hump ’cause I slapped you?’

  ‘I don’t feel well,’ she said, and it came out like a croak.

  She heard him shut the door and lock it, then come across to the bed.

  ‘I brought you some fish and chips, and some coffee in a flask,’ he said.

  That ought to have made her jump up, but instead it made her stomach turn over, as if she was going to be sick.

  ‘Come on, sit up and eat it while it’s hot,’ he said.

  Katy struggled to sit up, but the room began to swirl around, and as he put the newspaper bundle of fish and chips on her lap, the smell of it brought on nausea.

  With her hand clamped over her mouth, she just managed to stagger to the lavatory before being sick. There was no food, only fluid, and she sank down on to her knees and leant her head against the cold porcelain of the washbasin.

  ‘Well, that’s a waste bringing you food,’ he said. He came over to her with a cup of water, and gave it to her to drink. It had barely gone down before she brought it up again.

  ‘Come on, better get back to the bed,’ he said and, putting his hands under her arms, he helped her up.

  She heard the door close behind him and the sound of the key turning in the lock. The knowledge she was sick and alone again brought on tears she’d held back for so long.

  ‘Don’t cry, Katy!’

  She hadn’t heard Reilly come back in, and she certainly didn’t expect such a gentle reproach.

  He sat on the bed next to her and wiped her face with a wet cloth that smelled of lemons. ‘I think you need to drink some more,’ he said. ‘I took the fish and chips out, as the smell made you sick. Do you think you could drink some water?’

  Gently he helped her to sit up. She drank about half a cup, then slumped back down.

  ‘I brought a bowl down in case you get sick again. I’ve brought down other things too. Tinned rice pudding – I always like that when I feel poorly – some yoghurt, and some medicine to help settle your stomach.’

  Katy didn’t even look at the things he’d brought; she just closed her eyes and wished for sleep. She felt him covering her up, and her last thought was that he had been kind to her.

  On Monday morning, Charles picked up Pat just after nine and drove to the Whittington Hospital. He’d hardly slept a wink for worrying about Katy. This was now day nine, and his lawyer’s head told him she was already dead and her body disposed of. But his heart told him she was waiting to be rescued.

  The two men hurried to the Emergency Department, where they’d arranged to meet Mrs Haggetty. They were hoping she still wanted to help them and hadn’t changed her mind overnight. Even so, they couldn’t be sure she’d be able to get access to the records.

  ‘Have we got permission, Mrs Haggetty?’ Charles asked her anxiously as she came down the hospital corridor.

  ‘Call me Irene,’ she said. ‘And yes, I have got permission to show you the register. I’ll take you down there now.’

  She led the two men down the cream-and-green-painted corridor, back the way she’d just come, down a staircase, and along another corridor.

  Unlocking a door and flicking on a strip light, she led them into a windowless room which was filled, floor to ceiling, with files. T
housands upon thousands of them. Charles groaned.

  Irene raised one eyebrow quizzically. ‘It isn’t as bad as it looks,’ she smirked. ‘Mostly these are patients’ medical notes. The registers we want are just here.’ She waved her hand at two shelves filled with big hardcover books. ‘These are in year order, and we need 1955 to, say, 1963. Is that right?’

  ‘So just eight books?’ Pat sounded positively gleeful. ‘I’ll take the odd-number years, Charles, and you take the evens. Maybe Irene can flit between us to point out anyone she remembers?’

  ‘Well, I won’t know anyone from before 1961, as I wasn’t here, but we may find some of the women came here more than once.’

  ‘How much time can you spare?’ Charles asked Irene. ‘We don’t want to interfere with your work.’

  ‘I’ve got a day off today,’ she said. ‘Besides, finding a young woman in danger is terribly important.’

  By midday, amongst the emergencies and general accidents they had found dozens of women whose injuries appeared to have been caused in a domestic situation. They ranged from broken limbs, knocked-out teeth, damaged eyes and jaws, to cuts and bruises, and burns too. All but two of these women claimed their injuries were accidental. Of the two who admitted their husband was responsible, neither would make an appointment to speak to the almoner.

  ‘That’s another problem, you see,’ Irene said. ‘Mostly I work Monday to Friday, so if these injured women come in at the weekend or during the night, all the sister can do is try to persuade them to come back to see me. Even during the week my work takes me all over the hospital. I could be checking that a frail elderly patient has someone to look after them when they get home, or maybe an unmarried expectant mother needs advice. Sometimes it’s just arranging for a district nurse to call when a patient goes home. There is always a lot to fit in. So if the injured woman doesn’t choose to book an appointment to see me, or wait, I don’t get to see her. We have been known to do follow-ups at home if the injuries are bad enough to warrant that, but we have to be extremely careful. We might just make the situation very much worse if the husband thinks his wife has been telling tales.’

  They didn’t stop for any lunch, though Pat went and got three cups of hospital coffee for them. Then finally, at half past two, they found a name that Edna had put on her list. Suzanne Freeman, from Golders Green. Half an hour later, they found Margaret Foster.

  ‘I do remember her,’ Irene said excitedly, pointing to Margaret Foster. ‘Her husband was a surgeon. Look, she even gave a real address in Hampstead Village. She’d been in before, as I recall. Serious injuries, too. She actually confided in me that she lived in fear of him, never knowing when he was going to explode with rage. For years she thought he was just letting off steam because of his stressful work. Everyone else who knew him thought he was charming, caring and almost godlike.’

  ‘Edna remembered her quite well, too,’ Charles said. ‘She said she settled in a village not far from Eastbourne. But she couldn’t remember what she changed her name to.’

  ‘I can find that out,’ Pat said.

  Spurred on by some success, they carried on with enthusiasm, but without any further results. By half past four they were flagging when Pat found another one of the names on their list. Edna had remembered only the name Deirdre, and that she ended up in Brighton, but she’d said she was a little wisp, and she’d been tortured not just beaten.

  ‘It says here this Deirdre’s injuries looked like torture: cigarette burns, rope marks on her wrists, weals on her back, as if from a cane, and a broken arm. So it must be the same woman,’ he said.

  ‘I remember her,’ Irene said jubilantly. ‘Just saying her name has brought her right into focus. A pale face, golden-red hair, frightened big eyes and terribly thin. She had two children with her, I think. Reilly was her surname. I remember that because I loved those Old Mother Riley films when I was a girl. But that address she gave in Hornsey is a false one. I was worried about her, and checked it out. It doesn’t exist.’ She paused, looking thoughtful. ‘I am surprised she eventually made her way to Edna and Gloria. I really didn’t think she had it in her. Worse than that, I honestly expected to read in the papers one day that she’d been found murdered, or had taken her own life.’

  They had to call it a day; it was getting late, and they were all hungry.

  ‘Thank you so much for your help, Irene,’ Charles said. ‘I think we’ll run checks on these three. But if we have no luck, maybe we can come back again?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said with a broad smile. ‘And meanwhile, I’ll put my thinking cap on and try to come up with some other names. I hope you find her. You will ring and let me know?’

  They assured her they would, and left the hospital.

  ‘So who is going where next?’ Charles asked his friend.

  ‘Well, I can get a mate of mine to check out the London addresses, to see if the husband has a red Jag. Why don’t I go down to Eastbourne tomorrow and find Margaret Foster? You could go to Brighton and look for Deirdre. I’ll get the local police checking names. Usually when someone has changed their name, especially if they have children, it pops up in council housing applications or school records.’

  Charles looked thoughtful. ‘If these two women are always looking over their shoulder, expecting their husbands to track them down, they probably won’t want to open the door to us. What do we do then?’

  ‘Play it by ear, I suppose,’ Pat said. ‘It might be as well to write down our credentials and why we want to speak to them, just in case. Then we can put that through their letter box, if they’re too frightened to speak to us.’

  Katy woke with a start. She thought it was a dream that someone was in bed with her, but as she moved her hand tentatively to sweep the space beside her, she felt someone close by. The overhead light was no longer on, and she was covered in something warm and soft that didn’t smell of mould.

  ‘Who are you? Where have you taken me?’ she yelled out in panic.

  ‘It’s okay, Katy, it’s only me, Ed,’ came his voice from right beside her. ‘I stayed because you were so ill.’

  Katy clutched at herself. She was still fully dressed, and the warm and soft thing over her felt like an eiderdown. ‘Put on the light,’ she ordered.

  She heard a switch and a light came on from below the level of the bed. Enough light to see she was still in the same cellar, and Reilly was fully dressed beside her, except for his shoes.

  Too shocked to speak, she could only stare at him.

  ‘How do you feel now? I was worried about you,’ he said.

  Her mind was whirling. How could a man she knew to be a murderer, who intended to kill her also, stay and keep an eye on her because she was ill? The lamp and the eiderdown, where did they come from? How long had she been asleep?

  ‘You’ve been out of it for over twenty-four hours,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘I got you to take some stomach medicine, and when you kept that down I fed you chicken soup. Then you went back to sleep, but I thought I’d better stay. So I got the eiderdown and the lamp, also a kettle and stuff, if you’d like a cup of tea.’

  She could only nod, too stunned to process the revelation that she’d been lying in a bed with him – and now he was offering to make her tea.

  He didn’t speak as he was boiling the kettle and making the tea. She sat up and wrapped the eiderdown around her. It was very similar to one her parents had on their bed, with a green-and-white paisley pattern. When she and Rob were small, they used to borrow it to make a den in the spare room. They’d put a blanket over the clothes horse, then the eiderdown made it cosy inside. It was good to have something that felt like home.

  ‘One sugar,’ she said, as she watched him spooning some tea into a teapot. ‘And pour mine while it’s still weak.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he said and gave a mock salute.

  ‘You are a real puzzle,’ she said once she had the mug of tea in her hand and a digestive biscuit. ‘How can you switch fr
om being cruel to kind like this? You are a handsome, personable man. Please explain, Ed. I want so much to understand you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Were your parents cruel to you?’

  ‘I never knew my dad; he didn’t hang around long enough to even know about me. Mum didn’t care about anything but drink. All the men who came into her life while I was young slapped her around. I could see she deserved it.’

  ‘How can you say that about your mother?’ Katy exclaimed.

  ‘She was a tart, a drunk, a liar and a thief. We kids had to fend for ourselves. Sometimes her men hit her because she didn’t take care of us or our home. Well, it wasn’t a home, it was a filthy tenement. But I don’t know why I’ve told you that. Other kids had it bad back then, too.’

  Ed got to his feet and Katy realized he felt he’d opened up too much.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you are feeling better.’

  A surge of excitement ran through Katy. She felt things had moved on to a different plane, and perhaps now he might let her go.

  ‘Come back soon,’ she said. ‘I like your company.’

  Ed left without saying another word, and Katy felt a bit puzzled. It was true, she really had liked his company.

  It felt very weird to be getting to like a man who had abducted her.

  Rob looked at his father coming into the visiting room at Lewes gaol. Albert had a worrying grey tinge to his face, and he seemed to have shrunk since he’d been in here.

  ‘Good to see you, Rob,’ he said, reaching out to squeeze his son’s shoulder in greeting.

  ‘I’d like to hug you, Dad, but I guess that isn’t appropriate in here?’

  ‘No, son, but imagine I’ve given you one.’ He sat down across the small table. ‘How’s your mum?’

  ‘Very nervy, she’s not eating,’ Rob said. ‘I tried to get her to come today, but she wouldn’t. If it’s any comfort, it’s not that she doesn’t want to see you, only the stigma of going into a prison.’