The House Across the Street Page 22

  ‘Why don’t you telephone someone senior in the Met?’ Jilly suggested. ‘Or just phone Hammersmith police station, who know all about it.’

  ‘Stay here. I’ll go and speak to the governor,’ Forbes said.

  It was getting dark outside now, although it was only about half past five. Charles had often had clients complain that the police hadn’t taken them seriously when reporting a crime, or that they’d said they’d deal with it, then did nothing. Mostly he’d believed it was pure fantasy on his clients’ part. But now he was beginning to see it could be true.

  He wished he had taken John Sloane up on his offer to go to the cottage mob-handed. In fact, if the police didn’t pull their finger out in the next half-hour, he’d go back to the King’s Head and get a posse together.

  While waiting, Charles telephoned Pat. His friend was shocked that the Hammersmith police hadn’t informed Dover; he said it was normal procedure to follow up in another town, if they had information that the suspect came from there or had relatives or associates still in the town.

  ‘Hang on in there, Charles,’ he said. ‘I’ll ring through and put a rocket up their arses.’

  ‘I doubt she is in the cottage. We couldn’t see anything suspicious, aside from recent car tracks. But there might be something in the house pointing to where she’s being held.’

  ‘They’ve already searched the Hendon house and got into the garage. I was told they had some interesting evidence, but that’s all they would say. I know now why I left the force.’

  When Charles got back to Jilly, he could see she was wilting. ‘Come on, we’ll grab a quick bite to eat while we wait for them to get their act together,’ he said. ‘I’ll just tell the desk sergeant we’ll be back.’

  There was a fish and chip shop with inside tables just across the road.

  ‘Hmm, this is good,’ Jilly said as she tucked into cod and chips. ‘It doesn’t taste so good in London. I didn’t think I’d be able to eat, my stomach was churning so much, but maybe that was hunger and not anxiety.’

  ‘Things always look better after something to eat,’ Charles said. ‘I hope I’ll be able to go back into the police station and not snarl at anyone.’

  ‘You are funny,’ she said. ‘I kind of thought you were Mr Calm always. It’s good to see that even a barrister can flare up in anger.’

  ‘It’s not the barrister flaring up, it’s the man who cares for Katy,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve got to make them act tonight.’

  17

  Katy hauled herself across the room to the kettle. Every step hurt, and the plan she had in mind depended on Reilly coming back. She had been willing him to come for the last couple of hours, despite knowing full well just willing someone to do something was unlikely to have any effect.

  But she had to be prepared, in case he did come, and the kettle was her only weapon. She filled it up, then plugged it in. Next she had to move the bed away from the door to leave more space when he came in.

  Her broken arm and all the other injuries screamed at her to stop, but her determination was stronger than the pain. Luckily, it was a cheap bed and didn’t weigh much; she soon had it placed to the side of the room. Now she could sit on it, the kettle right beside her, and the electric fire a yard away from the door ready for him to trip over. Hopefully, as she flung the boiling water over him, he would fall right on to the fire. He’d have the keys in his hand and she could grab them.

  All she had to do now was wait and pray.

  Waiting for someone when you knew they would come eventually was one thing. Waiting for someone who might never come was quite another. Even worse was to be in pain and be forced to sit upright, poised for action. She knew that after hearing the click of the first lock, it took about ten seconds for him to descend the stairs and open the inner door. She didn’t dare fall asleep in case she didn’t hear that first click. She also had to keep turning the kettle on to make sure it was boiling hot.

  She picked up one of the books he’d left and started to read it again, but she couldn’t see clearly enough with her swollen eyes, so she had to abandon that. She took out the five-pound note she had in her purse, and stuffed it down her bra. That was her emergency money. If she did manage to get out, she intended to find a phone and ring the police. She just hoped the address was displayed in the phone box, or how could she tell the police where she was?

  Katy knew she would need to move like lightning when she heard his footsteps, and that was going to be hard when she was so badly hurt. She had to be standing, poised with the kettle, and ready to pounce on his keys the moment he stumbled. She needed to be out of that door in double-quick time, and lock it behind her. If she failed, she knew he’d boil that kettle and pour it over her.

  Even once he was locked in, she couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure she was safe. He might have a second set of keys. But she could lock the outer door and leave the keys in the lock, which would delay him. He was much stronger than her, and wearing shoes, so he could kick the locks in. She had nothing but socks on her feet, so if she couldn’t immediately see somewhere safe to run to, she’d have to hide.

  It wasn’t as if she knew where she was, not even which town she was in. She could be on a main road, in a wood, anywhere. She wouldn’t even know which way to run.

  Thinking through all these variables made her tremble with fright. There was so much that could go wrong. At school everyone had thought she was brave, because she always took dares. But she didn’t feel brave at all now. She’d been a good runner too, but she was too badly hurt to run today.

  ‘Please God, make me strong, help me if he comes for me,’ she prayed.

  She’d prayed a lot since she’d been in here. She thought, if she did get away, she’d go straight to church and give thanks. How Jilly would laugh at that. She was always talking about the ‘holier than thou’ people in Bexhill who went to church every Sunday but were horrified when a couple of West Indian families came to live in the town. But Katy had been brought up to say her prayers at bedtime, and although she’d never actually admitted it to Jilly, she’d never stopped.

  She had just put all three pairs of socks on her feet and boiled the kettle again when she heard the click of the lock she’d been hoping to hear. Jumping to her feet, she grabbed the kettle up off the floor and listened intently.

  He was fumbling with the second lock, and it crossed her mind he might have been drinking.

  The door opened to the left, so it would conceal her momentarily. He’d be confused because the bed, which had been right in front of the door, was no longer there. She hoped that would be enough to catch him off guard.

  The door opened. She could smell cigarettes and alcohol on him. Katy could hear her own heart thumping.

  ‘Been shifting the furniture?’ he said and moved forward. ‘Where are you? Not on the lav?’

  ‘No, just here,’ she said and swung the kettle forwards and upwards so the flow of boiling water caught the side of his head even before he turned to her.

  He screamed with pain. Stumbling forward, he did exactly as she’d hoped and fell on to the electric fire.

  The keys in his right hand fell to the floor. She stepped over him quickly, snatched them up and was out of the door, locking it behind her.

  Just the effort she had put into those few movements had exhausted her. She had to lean on the wall and take deep breaths before she could even attempt to go up the stairs.

  ‘Enjoy it in there,’ she yelled back through the door. ‘I hope the burns are agony. That should give you an idea what it’ll be like to burn in hell.’

  She climbed the flight of stairs with difficulty, and then paused to listen before going out through the second door and locking that one, too. He was crying like a girl.

  That took away at least a little of her pain.

  The second door was very thick; it not only locked with the key but had two big bolts, so she slid them across. He wouldn’t get through that.

  The door ope
ned into a short passage; at the end of it was a kitchen. She wasn’t going to linger and take a closer look. There was a part-glazed door to the left, through which she could see that it was dark outside. But it was locked, and there was no key. To the right was another door leading to a hall. He’d left the light on there, so clearly he’d come in that way. As she got to the front door she almost laughed when she saw the main fuse box. So with great pleasure she shut the main switch down to plunge him into darkness and cold.

  Once outside, with the door shut behind her, it took a few moments to get used to the dark. It was really dark too, with no street lighting – not even a glow in the distance from other houses or a town – and terribly cold and windy. She soon realized by the earthy smell that she was in the depths of the countryside, and the lane outside Reilly’s garden wasn’t even tarmacked.

  The stones hurt her feet, and she walked through a puddle without seeing it. So now her socks were wet and her feet were turning to blocks of ice.

  His car was there; the bonnet was still warm when she touched it. But although she had the car key along with the cottage keys, she didn’t know how to drive, so that wasn’t an option for escape.

  ‘The town can’t be far away,’ she said aloud. The angle at which he’d parked the car suggested he’d come from the right, so she went that way. Every bone in her body was protesting at walking now. Her broken arm was hanging at her side and pulsated agonizingly.

  ‘But you are free,’ she reminded herself. ‘Even if you don’t know where you are.’

  Down at the police station in Dover, Charles was being asked the same questions again, for the third time now. Jilly was distraught that no one was rushing up to that house in St Margaret’s Bay.

  Suddenly she’d had enough of policemen who just stared at her, the smell of stale cigarette smoke, and a background noise of people shouting in other rooms nearby.

  She rushed out of the door, down the steps of the police station and up the street to the King’s Head. She found John Sloane, who was still at the bar, and only then did it cross her mind that he’d be no use to her if he’d been drinking.

  ‘Did you mean what you said about going to Reilly’s place?’ she asked him. ‘We went there this afternoon, and Charles is at the police station now trying to get them to act, and get up there. But they aren’t doing anything. Would you or one of your friends take me and break in? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ve got this feeling Katy is there.’

  Sloane swayed on his feet, looking at her with half-closed eyes. ‘I’m too drunk to go anywhere, darlin’.’

  ‘I can see that, but can someone else take me? Please, John, I’m afraid Reilly might kill her.’

  ‘What is this, John?’ another man asked. He had shoulders as wide as a barn door. ‘Where does the lady want to go?’

  ‘St Margaret’s Bay, mate,’ Sloane said. ‘You got your car, Lance? Will you drive us?’

  Jilly looked pleadingly at the big man. ‘It’s my friend, Katy. She was abducted, and I think she’s in Ed Reilly’s place. It’s on an unmade-up lane at the top of the hill, above the town. Please, Lance, I’m so scared for her.’

  Lance looked confused. He hadn’t been in the pub earlier, so he didn’t know the background. Drunk as Sloane was, he appeared to realize this.

  ‘Look, mate, it is serious. I’ll explain as we drive.’

  Faced with Sloane’s drunken insistence, Lance agreed, grinning rather foolishly at Jilly.

  ‘So where’s the posh boy?’ Sloane asked once they were in the car and driving out of Dover. He was in the passenger seat, with Jilly in the back. As he turned to her, he breathed out fumes of whisky but appeared to have sobered up a little.

  ‘In the police station. I just couldn’t stand any more indecisiveness from the police,’ she said. ‘They were going on about the problems of getting a search warrant. I can’t possibly go back to London tonight without knowing if Katy is in that cottage, dead or alive.’

  She explained a bit more about Reilly. Sloane whistled when she got to the bit about him burning a house down with two women in it. ‘Shit! Why didn’t you tell me that this afternoon? The man needs stringing up.’

  ‘I know. There’s a lot more to it, too. Katy’s father was arrested for setting the fire, and so she started doing her own detective work, to prove his innocence.’

  ‘If she’s in that place, we’ll get her out,’ Sloane said firmly. ‘And don’cha worry about me being pissed, darlin’. I work best with a bit of jungle juice inside me.’

  The cold and the pain made Katy feel very strange. Her feet were so cold and wet that every step felt like walking on daggers. She could barely see out of her swollen eyes. Her arm hurt so much, and she couldn’t see the stones in the lane well enough in the dark to avoid the bigger ones. Time and time again, she stumbled.

  ‘You will reach the road soon,’ she said aloud. ‘Someone will come by and give you a lift.’

  But the words were hardly out of her mouth when she fell again, and this time she couldn’t stop herself. She felt a sharp pain in her ankle and her forehead hit something hard.

  For a second or two she saw stars before her eyes.

  Then just blackness.

  ‘This is near it!’ Jilly said, leaning forward in her seat to point out a milestone caught in the headlights at the side of the road. ‘I remember seeing that just before the taxi driver stopped, so the lane is just along here on the left.’

  Lance slowed right down. ‘I never liked Ed Reilly. He was always weird, even when we were kids.’

  ‘With his mother being a drunken whore, knocking out little bastards like shelling peas, I suppose he was bound to go wrong,’ Sloane said. ‘Look there!’ He pointed to the lane.

  ‘The taxi driver wouldn’t come along here, so we had to walk,’ Jilly said as Lance turned into the lane and the car lurched over a pothole. ‘God, it’s bumpy!’

  ‘I’ll bill you for repairs to my suspension,’ Lance said. ‘Christ Almighty, what’s that?’

  He did an emergency stop, his headlights playing on the ground ahead. It looked like a sack lying in the lane.

  Jilly leaned forward in her seat again. ‘Golden hair – I think it’s Katy!’ She was out of the car like a bullet, running forward, splashing through a puddle.

  The men followed her quickly, leaving the car engine running.

  ‘It is Katy, but she’s unconscious,’ Jilly called back, kneeling beside her friend and smoothing her hair back from her face, which was badly beaten. ‘God, she’s been in the wars. He’s smashed her to a pulp. If it wasn’t for her hair, I wouldn’t know her. Can we get her into the car?’

  ‘Christ Almighty! She’s a mess!’ Lance exclaimed as he reached Katy and struck a match to look at her. ‘Should we be moving her?’

  ‘She’ll freeze to death if we don’t get her away from here quickly,’ Sloane said. ‘Poor kid! Wait till I get my hands on that bastard.’

  In the light from the car headlights he felt as if he was looking at a lump of liver, not a face. He’d seen blokes almost torn apart in fights many a time, but never a woman in such an appalling state as this. ‘Take her feet, Lance, I’ll take her head, into the back seat and straight to hospital.’

  It was only once Katy was receiving emergency treatment at Dover Hospital that Jilly thought to ring the police station and get a message to Charles about what had happened.

  Katy’s condition was critical; she was drifting in and out of consciousness. She was suffering from a broken arm, ankle and two ribs, plus a chest infection and innumerable lesions caused by the beating she’d received at the hands of Ed Reilly.

  Charles arrived so quickly after her phone call that Jilly saw then just how much he cared for her friend. His face was white, his eyes frantic with anxiety.

  ‘They won’t let us see her, not yet,’ she said, restraining him from going into the ward. The doctor had told her it might be weeks before Katy recovered, and he was afraid the mental scars would t
ake years to heal. ‘She is really poorly and needs an operation to fix her broken ankle and arm.’

  ‘I was furious with you when you ran out of the police station,’ he said. ‘I had the mad idea you’d got the train back to London! I should’ve known better.’ He looked across at Sloane and the big man beside him, both waiting anxiously with Jilly. ‘You called the cavalry?’

  At Charles’s remark the two men grinned sheepishly.

  ‘I can’t thank you two enough,’ Charles said.

  ‘I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress,’ Sloane said. ‘You should’ve let us come with you in the first place. We could’ve beaten the shit out of Reilly.’

  ‘How did Katy get away?’ Charles asked, confused by this turn of events.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Jilly said. ‘We found her lying in the lane. The only thing she said when she came round briefly in the car was, “Is that really you, Jilly?” But she passed out again after that.’

  ‘So we don’t know where Reilly is, then?’ Charles said. ‘After you called the police station, Jilly, the sergeant said they were going straight over there. But he’ll probably be gone by now.’

  Ed Reilly wasn’t going anywhere. He’d managed to grope his way to the bed after all the lights went out. His scalded face and neck hurt like hell and he’d burned his hand on the electric fire when he fell over it. But what really hurt was that he’d been bested by a girl.

  He knew he could probably kick the lower door open, but not the second one. That was solid oak – and she would’ve shot the bolts across, too.

  So all he could do was wait for the police to come.

  Police Constable Withers slowed right down once they were in Hart Lane. Neither he nor Perkins knew Reilly’s place, or even the lane, and they’d been told the cottage was concealed by trees; then there were the potholes, some deep enough to break an axle.

  Withers had wanted to come here earlier when the barrister chap was urging them to check if Reilly was holding the girl there. But the sergeant wasn’t one for spur-of-the-moment actions, or bending rules. In Withers’ opinion he was a gutless wonder. Surely, when someone’s life was in danger, rules had to be bent and risks taken.