The House Across the Street Read online

  ‘I can imagine,’ Albert said, and half smiled. ‘Any news of Katy?’

  ‘Charles has got in with an old pal who was a detective. I’ve got a good feeling about that, but so far there’s nothing to report. But tell me, how are you feeling?’

  ‘Proud of my son,’ Albert said with a smile. ‘Wishing I could be helping to find Katy. Feeling sorry for your mum, because I know she’s hurting terribly inside, even if she doesn’t admit it. I’d like to be out in the garden, watching the spring flowers come up, and have a pint with you, and eat one of your mum’s Sunday dinners. I think that about covers it.’

  ‘You are so strong, Dad,’ Rob said, his voice quavering.

  ‘I went through worse in the war. Don’t worry about me, Rob, your mum is the one that needs the sympathy. But as we both know, she doesn’t make it easy for us.’

  They moved the conversation on to books, and it seemed only moments later the bell rang to say the visit was ended.

  ‘Before I go, Dad,’ Rob said, ‘I just want to tell you Mum’s been going to church. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone but I know she’s praying for you and Katy.’

  Albert just smiled. ‘Go now, son, and let’s hope your mum’s prayers get heard.’

  Katy had found a length of string in the bag Ed had brought containing stuff for her, and she was amusing herself by playing cat’s cradle with it.

  As usual, she had no idea how long it had been since Ed left. But she felt well again, and with a kettle, tea and books she was feeling alright and looking forward to him coming back.

  Her head told her she was mad to be looking forward to seeing him again. But she couldn’t seem to stop the troubling fantasies of him kissing her and the feeling that she wanted it to go further. She had to be really stupid to think there could be a happy ending to this! But if she lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, she could see them walking hand in hand on a sandy beach, laughing as they jumped over waves. Then she would snap out of it, think of her father locked up, of Gloria and Elsie dead, and the terrible things that Ed had done to his wife to make her run from him.

  Was she going mad? Could isolation make you love your captor?

  ‘You don’t love him, that’s absolutely ridiculous,’ she said aloud. Her voice seemed to echo around her prison. She pulled off the cat’s cradle wrapped around her fingers, as if it was chains.

  But even though she knew it was not healthy to begin to think of Ed as anything more than a brute, she still had her ears cocked for his return.

  Ed finally turned up after what seemed like hours to Katy. He was dressed in a pale blue sweater and light grey trousers and he smelled of expensive aftershave. It crossed her mind he had dressed up for her.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘What’s the weather like outside?’

  ‘Slightly warmer than the last couple of weeks, but with a strong wind blowing,’ he said.

  ‘You look a bit troubled,’ she said, even though he didn’t. ‘Care to tell me about it?’

  ‘I’d really like a cup of coffee,’ he said. ‘Care to make me one?’

  She laughed, and got up to make it. ‘Good job you didn’t want tea, the milk’s gone off, but some clever prison guard left me some powdered milk that’s okay in coffee.’

  ‘When I was a kid, the best treat in the world was tea with condensed milk,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I tried it again quite recently but it was horrible.’

  ‘I liked to stick my fingers in the condensed milk tin, and lick it off,’ Katy said. ‘I still find that scrumptious.’

  Ed looked thoughtful as he sat down on the bed. ‘Being a grown-up isn’t how you thought it would be as a child, is it?’

  Katy nodded her head in agreement. ‘What did you want most?’ she asked. ‘I mean when you were a child.’

  He sat looking at his hands for a moment or two. ‘I remember wishing I had a mother who sometimes took us down to the beach for a picnic. We lived so close to the sea, and although my brothers and I could go there anytime, we used to see other kids there after school with their mums. Their picnics always looked so good.’

  ‘Because you lived by the sea she probably thought you wouldn’t see that as anything special,’ Katy said.

  ‘She never did anything with us,’ he said. ‘Even when she had a new baby she expected me to give them a bottle. I’d come home from school and the baby was soaking wet and screaming. She’d be asleep, drunk as a skunk.’

  To Katy that was such a sad picture. ‘Did Deirdre remind you of your mum?’ she asked.

  His eyes flashed dangerously. ‘No, she didn’t. She was about as different as could be. So what’s your theory about me, then?’

  ‘I don’t have one, Ed,’ she said. ‘Clearly, you had a miserable time as a kid. But then lots of people have that and they don’t all go on to kill.’

  ‘Maybe I didn’t mean to kill that woman and her daughter. I just wanted to teach her a lesson for taking Deirdre and my kids away from me.’

  ‘Well, you certainly did that! The worst kind of lesson. And what about her two surviving children? It’s a terrible thing you’ve done to them. Did you hate them because their mother took them to the beach for picnics? Gloria didn’t take Deirdre from you. You made it impossible for her to stay with you.’

  He lunged at her before she had a chance to move, pushed her back on to the mattress and punched her full in the face.

  ‘No, Ed,’ she screamed at him. ‘Don’t do this.’

  He punched her again. ‘Plead with me,’ he snarled at her. ‘That’s what women do, wind me up and then beg me not to hurt them.’

  ‘I’m not going to plead for anything,’ she spat out, trying to get free of his restraining hands. ‘You showed me you could be a good, kind man. Now you’ve spoiled that. Hit me, if it makes you feel big, but I won’t plead for anything.’

  He hit her again, and again. Everything in her line of vision was red, she assumed because her eyes were full of blood. When he’d tired of hitting her face, he hit her chest and abdomen and, although she tried to curl into a foetal position to protect herself, he just hit her back and sides.

  ‘Plead with me, bitch,’ he screamed at her.

  She wished she could see his face, as she was sure it was contorted with rage. But however much pain she was in, she wasn’t going to beg him to stop.

  ‘I’m going to kill you. You do know that, don’t you?’ he snarled. ‘You think you’re a cut above other women, but you’re not. You are just an interfering little busybody who stuck her nose into something she shouldn’t have.’

  He got up on his knees and punched her so hard in the stomach that she fell off the far side of the bed. She felt him grab her hair and pull her back on to the bed to hit her again. The bed seemed to be spinning, she couldn’t see anything more than a pinkish glow, and she felt herself slipping down into a dark place, with the pain and his voice finally receding.

  14

  Charles had always loved Brighton, but seen on a wet, windy and cold March morning it didn’t have its usual appeal. Everything looked seedy; white-painted houses had a patina of green mould on them, windows needed cleaning, dustbins were overflowing. There also seemed to be far more dog’s mess than in London.

  Pat had pulled in a favour yesterday evening, and found the addresses of three Mrs Reillys, all of whom had arrived in Brighton from outside the area, between two and three years ago, with children, and applied for emergency council housing. Only one of them had actually been given a council house. Pat’s source wasn’t able to tell him these women’s Christian names, where they came from, or even the children’s ages. He wouldn’t admit who his source was, either. Charles suspected it was an old flame who worked in the housing department. He thought Edna would be horrified to find out that, after all her and Gloria’s efforts to keep their women safe, there were other women out there prepared to hand over confidential information just because they fancied the man who was asking.

  He caught a taxi to the
first address in the Withdean area of the town. Blythe Street was very grim, with three-storey terraced housing that looked like it should be demolished. He doubted that any of the houses even had an indoor lavatory.

  Number 8 was one of the worst; even with the battered front door closed there was still a rank smell wafting out. There were no bells, so he knocked loudly. After getting no reply, he knocked again, this time even louder. A clatter of heels on a bare wooden staircase proved someone had heard him.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Mrs Reilly,’ he said to the woman who answered. She looked rough, about thirty, wearing a huge dirty Arran sweater and a pair of jeans, a cigarette in her hand. Her hair was plastered to her head with grease.

  ‘She’s on the top floor, you’d better go up,’ the woman said, looking him up and down. ‘Looks like she’s getting a better class of punter!’

  Charles wondered if that meant Mrs Reilly was a prostitute. He couldn’t blame any woman taking up that career if she was on her own with children to support, but he couldn’t imagine any man eager for sex wanting to pay for it in such a dirty, miserable house.

  It looked like no one had ever swept the stairs, and the last time the house was painted must have been at the turn of the century. The door at the top of the stairs was open, and he could hear a wireless playing inside. Charles knocked and called out her name.

  ‘Yeah, what is it?’ The woman who came to the door was still wearing a housecoat, and had curlers in her hair.

  ‘Are you Mrs Reilly?’ he asked.

  ‘What if I am?’ she said, sticking her chin out defiantly.

  She was probably in her late thirties, and was no doubt reasonably attractive once she’d put her make-up on. But she had a blotchy face, the sign of a heavy drinker, and her body looked like a couple of lumpy pillows, held in rough shape by the belt on her housecoat.

  ‘I’m not sure you are the woman I’m looking for. Would you mind telling me your Christian name?’

  ‘Freda,’ she snapped. ‘So unless you called to tell me I’ve won the pools, piss off.’

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t got any good news for you,’ he said with a smile. ‘And for disturbing you.’

  She smiled back, revealing a broken front tooth. ‘You’re a real gent, don’t get many of them round ’ere. What’s this other woman done?’

  He realized she thought he was a policeman. ‘She hasn’t done anything wrong, unless you count marrying a dangerous man. I just want some help in finding him.’

  ‘Seems to me most of the women in Brighton bringing up kids on their tod ’ave married a wrong ’un,’ she said. ‘I often think, whatever ’appened to ’appy ever after?’

  ‘I hope you find yours one day. Thank you and goodbye, Freda,’ he said and backed away.

  Out on the street he put up his umbrella. He doubted many taxis came this way. Consulting his street map, he found that the second Mrs Reilly wasn’t far away, so he began to walk.

  Hardy Place was a block of council flats, and by the time he got there he was quite wet, despite his umbrella, and his feet were like ice. The flat he wanted was on the second floor.

  This was a neat and tidy place; someone kept the stairs and concrete landings to the flat clean. Even the children’s playground on the ground floor was well maintained. He knocked at number 22 and it was opened almost immediately by a tall, attractive woman of mixed race.

  He introduced himself, already knowing this couldn’t be the woman he was looking for, as he’d been told she was small, with strawberry-blonde hair. He explained he was looking for a woman called Deirdre and asked her Christian name; she said it was Dawn. After a couple of minutes of polite chit-chat, Charles left. He just hoped the last woman on his list was the right one.

  She lived close to the station – which, if nothing else, would be convenient if this was a dead end. It would be good to catch the train and head back to London.

  Number 83 Station Road was above a greengrocer’s shop, with its own front door to the side of the shop. He knocked and waited, hoping this wouldn’t turn out to be a waste of time. The door opened and Charles’s first thought was that the woman bore a remarkable similarity to Katy. Small, slim, with the same colour hair and blue eyes. But whereas Katy’s eyes were azure blue and sparkled with life and intelligence, this woman’s eyes looked dull, with dark shadows beneath them. She was wearing a blue sweater and a knee-length, grey pleated skirt. A little old-fashioned for a woman who was only in her early thirties.

  ‘Deirdre Reilly? Now don’t look alarmed, I’m a lawyer, and I promise you I am not here to make any difficulties for you.’

  She looked panicked. He gave her his card, assured her again that he was here just to talk to her, and asked if he could come in. After scrutinizing his card, somewhat reluctantly she agreed. She said her name was now Purcell.

  Deirdre was clearly a real homemaker because he could see the furniture, which must have come with the rented flat, was shabby, yet she’d added cushions, some plants, a few pictures and a bright red blanket over the sofa to make it homely. But two old black-and-white school photographs took pride of place: a girl and a boy. He guessed they were around eight and seven respectively. All she had in her life now.

  ‘No one but me knows this address,’ he assured her. ‘You and your children are absolutely safe. But I think your husband, Edward Reilly, has abducted a young woman called Katy Speed.’

  He told her as quickly and simply as he could who Katy was and all that had happened.

  ‘Gloria is dead?’ she said in horror. ‘That kind, wonderful woman who helped me so much? I owe my life to her and Edna.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she looked at him as if almost pleading for him to say it wasn’t true. ‘And it was Ed who did it?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. And unless we can find him, I think he will kill Katy, too.’

  ‘He’s a devil,’ she said in almost a whisper. ‘Even now, three years on, I still think he’ll search me out and punish me again.’

  Charles told her that Katy lived opposite Gloria, and her father had been arrested for the murder.

  ‘The police are aware now that Albert Speed didn’t do it, but he’s still on remand until his case comes back to court.’

  ‘Katy lived in the house opposite Gloria’s?’ she asked. ‘Does she have similar colouring to me?’

  Charles agreed she did.

  ‘Then I saw her from out of the front bedroom window when I was staying there. She was helping her father in the front garden. I thought how young and carefree she looked, bright and pretty like a spring morning. Because she reminded me of my younger self, I almost wanted to go over there and warn her to be careful before committing herself to any man. The trouble is, she’s Ed’s type. Oh dear God, I hope he doesn’t hurt her the way he hurt me.’

  She told him some background about how Ed had made big money from building houses, then the blunders he’d made had caught up with him and he lost it all.

  ‘I met him just before he crashed; he still had a big house and all that. When the business went under, we had to move to a little flat, not much bigger than this one. He didn’t like that. The children were born there and it put a huge strain on him.’

  Charles nodded. ‘I don’t have any sympathy for him, but I can imagine what it did to his ego. So did he build up another business?’

  ‘Yes, he went to work for a man in the building trade who was doing much the same as Ed had done, but not cutting corners. Ed did the sales and marketing for him. Then he bought us the house in Hendon. I thought everything was going to be alright then. But of course it wasn’t.’

  ‘Does he still live there?’

  ‘I would imagine so, he was very proud of it.’ She gave Charles the address.

  ‘Right, Deirdre. Is there anywhere you can think of where he might have taken Katy? Some place he used to go to as a child, or when he had his business. Or even somewhere belonging to a friend.’

  ‘He doesn’t have friends,’ she shrugged
. ‘He cultivates people who are useful to him, but he doesn’t have that caring instinct normal people have. He seemed so loving and generous when we first met, I thought I was so lucky, but it was all a facade. Not real at all. He only wanted power over me. To bend me to his will. Poor Katy, I wish I could tell you that he’ll let her go, but he won’t. If I hadn’t got away when I did, he would’ve killed me, and probably our children too. I absolutely know that. I’m sure he tells anyone who will listen that I was the love of his life and all that, but he doesn’t know the meaning of the word love.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Deirdre. Edna was lucky she survived him driving her off the road. She’s still terrified, afraid he’ll find her. But Deirdre, please think hard, is there anywhere he ever mentioned that he might have taken Katy to? Anyone else who might be able to help me – and the police, too, of course?’

  ‘Is Katy your girlfriend?’

  ‘I only took her out once, just before he snatched her. But I’d like her to be my girlfriend.’

  Deirdre made them both a cup of tea. Charles could see she was thinking hard; her brow was furrowed with concentration.

  ‘He was a bit obsessed with Dover,’ she said as she handed Charles his tea. ‘That was where he was born, and he lived there until he enlisted in the army for the war. When we first got married he took me back there. I thought he was going to be all sentimental about it, and I expected to get some insight into his past. But he got very angry when we were there, ranting about his mother drinking all the time and how he had to take care of his brothers and sisters. The place he lived in as a boy had been pulled down, but he went on and on about how awful it was.

  ‘The odd thing to me was that he kept going back there. He never took me again. He’d just go on his own; sometimes he said he’d been, or was going, but mostly he said nothing, just disappeared. The only reason I knew where he went was when I found petrol receipts in his jacket pockets. There was a card from an estate agent, too. So he might have some place down there.’