Dead Alone (34 page)

Something in his voice made her believe him. All the way through, Joshua had been pointing out weaknesses. Verity’s, P.J.’s, Eve’s, the Broome family secret, his own mother’s, and now hers. Idiosyncrasies that played straight into his hands. She abandoned her position and moved to the back of the car where Maggie lay, inches from the rear bumper. There is a world of difference between being unconscious and struggling to stay alive. Maggie was blue. Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head and she was frothing at the mouth. Jessie pushed her fingers down Maggie’s throat, rolled her on to her side and watched the contents of her flatmate’s stomach regurgitate on to the compact earth.

When the engine suddenly burst into life, instinct took over. Jessie dropped Maggie, pulled
out her gun and shot once through the rear window without a warning. Then she moved round the right side of the car, kicked the door fully open and stared at the shattered glass on the old leather seat. Joshua was not inside. She screamed for back-up and started to run, frantically searching the other cars. Joshua had always intended to leave this place, the question was how.

Within seconds, police were streaming through the gates, checking every car they passed. Jessie was barking orders: ‘Lock the gates!’ ‘Check under the cars!’ ‘Find him!’ The paramedics arrived and Jessie led them to the Beetle, then watched as they carried Maggie’s limp body away from the car and laid her on a stretcher. Maggie was grey. She wasn’t breathing.

‘What happened?’ asked Jessie, moving incessantly around the working paramedics.

‘She’s choked.’

‘Oh my God,’ cried Jessie. ‘I left her, I …’ She fell to her knees and began to pray as one of the paramedics ripped open Maggie’s shirt and began to pump her heart while the other breathed air into her mouth. The equipment was charged, and everyone stood back as 200 joules of electricity passed through her flatmate’s body. Jessie continued to pray as oxygen was manually pumped into Maggie’s lungs. The paramedic felt for a pulse, the world shrank and time expanded. Sometimes Jessie thinks she is still on her knees praying to God on a piece of land into which the luckless were thrown.
She would kill Joshua if Maggie died. She would find a way. Somehow. And then the paramedic nodded. He’d found a pulse. They raised the stretcher to its full height and pushed Maggie across the crude, uneven burial ground.

The police, meanwhile, had stopped their frenetic search. Joshua Cadell had disappeared.

From the first moment she had seen him with wisps of mist swirling around his ankles on the morning Verity Shore’s remains were discovered, Jessie had sensed that there was something very special about Niaz Ahmet. And she had been right. About that, if nothing else. While the police had searched every car in the place, Niaz had slipped away to the back of the perimeter fence and gone in search of Joshua’s getaway vehicle. He knew this piece of wasteland was used by dealers, and he calculated that to transport their illicit goods safely it had to be done at night, when the place was empty. After the gates were locked. The car park was separated from the backs of the surrounding buildings by a high wire fence and a narrow passageway. The wire had been cut several months before. All you needed was to know where and which bits to untwist in order to escape unseen through the back of one of the buildings and out into a rabbit warren of narrow streets that led south to Old Street with its seven subway entrances or east to the sprawling council estate, north to Kings Cross, or east back to Bethnal Green.

Niaz found the bike propped unchained behind some rubbish carts. He removed the bolts that held the wheels in place and loosened the seat. When Joshua jumped on the bike and pushed down on the pedal, the front wheel jammed, the frame lurched forward and the seat dropped six inches, causing temporarily crippling injuries. Under normal circumstances, Niaz would not have been strong enough to overpower Joshua, but with his opponent on the floor, writhing in agony, all he had to do was walk up behind him and swipe him round the head with his standard-issue cosh.

Jessie heard the same unmistakable scrape of metal against metal and saw the large brown eye peer out at her. The expression had changed. As Jessie had known it would.

Jones’ tenacity had finally paid off: Frank had been found. The trail had led to a Dr John Gurney, who had arranged for wealthy, childless parents who did not fit the adoption rules of the time to have a child from care. At a price, of course. The child in question would have no siblings and no surviving immediate family. Names were changed, records were lost, death certificates were forged. Three stones were buried and one child went on to a new and hopefully happy life. Jones did not discover a paedophile ring, he discovered an eccentric and ageing philanthropist who believed he was
rescuing these children from a terrible life in care.

Irene, in her promise to Veronica to keep Frank away from St Giles, had signed him over as Trevor White. White was Trevor’s mother’s maiden name. That was why two cars had arrived the day after Veronica died.

On paper, little Frank was perfect for Dr Gurney’s purposes. A loner. Trevor White became Gareth Blake and Gareth Blake was put to death on paper and reborn as son and heir to a Mr and Mrs Tennant. No one reckoned on Clare and her unceasing tenacity. Irene had always believed she’d failed and that Ray had found Frank and taken him away. She could never have imagined what had really happened. So she clung on to her secret, year in year out, believing that she was protecting Clare from the truth. Now Clare knew the truth, but that wasn’t the cause of the bravado in the big brown eye that stared back through the crack in the door.

‘Can I come in?’

‘It’s not a good time.’

Jessie shook her head. ‘I want to do this quietly, Clare. Don’t make me have to call for back-up. I need to talk to Alistair.’

Clare’s eye widened.

‘Let her in,’ said a voice from inside the flat.

They were sitting around the coffee table sipping whiskey-laden tea: Clare, Alistair, Irene. Irene’s bruise was now yellow.

‘How did you know Joshua Cadell was killing people, Alistair?’

Three mouths gaped at her like guppies in an aquarium.

‘Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be,’ said Jessie.

‘Don’t say anything –’ said Clare.

‘It’s okay,’ reassured Alistair. ‘You said she was smart.’ He looked at Jessie. ‘I was following the women on Ray’s orders. I had no idea what was going to happen.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ asked Jessie. ‘You could have stopped those women dying.’

‘Honestly,’ said Alistair, ‘it was only when Cosima died that I knew it was him for sure. I’d seen them leave a party together and drive off. He was dressed like a chauffeur. She was in on the joke – it got her away from some lecherous bloke.’

Jessie folded her arms in front of her.

‘How it looks to me, is that you knew Joshua’s modus operandi and were waiting until you could kill Ray and make it look like the Z-list Killer had struck again.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Clare.

‘It was my fault,’ said Irene. ‘I thought he was Frank. I went to tell him to warn Ray that the police were nearly at their door. I was terrified Clare was going to find out. I thought Frank would understand. All I did was tell Alistair the reason why his old man had never given a damn about him or his mother. Ray only had eyes for Veronica, he didn’t care who he hurt along the way.’

‘All those women I’d dug dirt on, I couldn’t find
a grain on Ray. I’d never even heard of Veronica and Frank. I thought Trevor had been another gang member. Ray had just used Mum to make Veronica jealous; he didn’t give a shit that he’d ruined her life. Or mine. The bastard. He probably would have killed Mum too, if she’d made a fuss, but she took herself back to the country and never got over it. Something in me snapped when Irene told me about Veronica. I hit her, left her unconscious on the floor, and went to the cemetery. Those fucking roses.’

‘Me, too. I was there too,’ said Clare. ‘Everything I told you was true. I was on my knees, I thought he was going to kill me, then this bloke turned up. Ray smiled at him and told him to finish me off. He raised his arm, I prayed to Mum to save me and it worked. Alistair hit Ray on the back of the neck. He went down immediately. We took him to the crypt, Alistair told me everything Irene had told him. Between the two of us, we soon filled in the rest –’

‘Clare didn’t do anything,’ interrupted Alistair. ‘It was me – and I don’t mind going to prison for it.’

‘Alistair –’

‘Please, Clare. You’re the best thing that’s come out of all this shit.’

‘I’m not letting you do this alone.’

‘Clare, please, we’ve talked about this.’

‘Alistair, if you identify Joshua, I will make a deal that we lower the charge to manslaughter.
You went back to Irene when we showed up, you woke her up and told her to return to the cemetery. You told Irene what to say to Clare. There was no tall, ghostly figure in the cemetery, but you were pointing me in the right direction and that probably saved Maggie Hall’s life. I will help you.’

‘How did you know?’ asked Clare.

‘The blood on your fingers,’ Jessie replied. ‘It wasn’t from your head. You never were unconscious. You pushed the biro off Ray’s vein.’ Clare opened her mouth. ‘But I can’t prove it and I don’t want to. The pathologist found the biro further inside his leg. It could have slipped.’

‘I’ll tell you –’

‘It slipped,’ said Alistair. ‘This is my fault. I killed Ray.’

‘No, it’s mine,’ said Irene.

‘No it isn’t,’ said Clare. ‘It’s my mother’s, for having the affair with him in the first place.’

‘Don’t be too harsh on her, Clare,’ said Jessie. ‘It was your mother who told the police where to find Ray.’

Irene and Clare stared at her in disbelief.

‘I traced the phone number. It was the payphone in the hospital. I think she was trying to make amends.’ Jessie stood up. ‘Alistair, will you come with me? There’s someone I need you to identify.’

‘I really didn’t work it out until Cosima. I wouldn’t have let those women die – that would have been the sort of thing he did, and I’m nothing like him.’

‘I believe you,’ said Jessie.

‘He saved me,’ said Clare.

‘And that will work in his favour as well. What about Tarek? Where is he?’

‘Channel Five, I think. I wanted to warn him off. Tarek had used up his lives, Ray was going to get rid of him, permanently, if he made any more trouble. He was going to sue if you came after him again. You would have unwittingly created a hero. Ray St Giles, a hero? It doesn’t make sense, does it?’

‘No,’ said Jessie. ‘It doesn’t.’

‘I’ll come and visit,’ said Clare as Jessie led Alistair to the door.

‘I’d like that. You should both go and meet my granddad, he’s practically family now.’ Clare hugged him. At last she had a brother. A true blood brother. Veronica had been wrong. Bad blood was better than no blood. Jessie looked at Clare.

‘What are you going to do about Frank?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Clare. ‘I come with quite a story.’

‘I deny everything,’ said Joshua. ‘I had absolutely nothing to do with the crimes you are accusing me of. Ask Maggie if I forced pills down her throat. I didn’t.’

‘Maggie can’t talk at the moment.’ She’d had her stomach pumped, her blood washed out with saline, and adrenaline injected into her to keep her
blood pressure from dropping again. Initial tests showed no Rohypnol in the blood. But Sally had found traces of many other pharmaceuticals.

‘Where is your evidence?’

‘We have someone who can place you at the house in Barnes. You left your own evidence with Eve Wirrel, and when Cosima’s dress is fully examined, I have no doubt we will find something you left behind there.’

‘If the crime is sleeping with Verity and Eve, then you’ll have to arrest half of London. Including my dear old dad.’

‘You were also seen driving Cosima to Haverbrook Hall the night she died.’

‘Come on, Jessie, you can’t really think –’

‘Don’t “Jessie” me.’

‘Why not? It worked for P.J.,’ said Joshua sharply.

Jessie leant across the table. ‘And I myself saw you leaving my flat after you’d slept with Maggie.’

‘So? The girls like me.’

‘They like your mother. Her status.’

Joshua shrank from her.

‘I spoke to your mother’s agent this morning. I’m afraid when Henrietta showed your work to him, she told him in no uncertain terms that he was
not
to get you a deal. She ruined your career.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘I’m afraid it is. Just like she used to lock you in dark places on your own, like she used to tell you bloodthirsty stories then make it all better
when you had nightmares. Violence and affection are intertwined in your psyche, Joshua.’

‘Bullshit! Armchair psychobabble. I’m sure it works great with lesser mortals, but –’

‘Your methods were ingenious, but the messages to your mother were obvious once I knew where to look.’ Jessie pushed over the four titles:
A Smuggler’s Tale; Father Bernard – A Recusant Priest; Isabella of France;
and the manuscript on London’s Great Disease. ‘Henrietta told you that loyal mothers like her would jump into the burial pits to be with their dead children. More and more bodies would be piled on top of them until they died of suffocation. But you know deep down that her loyalty is only to herself. She won’t join you in this pit. She has her reputation to think of.’

‘Why? Why would I kill all those women?’

‘Because they were famous and you weren’t, and it drove you mad. You knew what they were really like, behind the glossy photos and the PR bollocks.’

‘No. You’re bluffing. I know you.’

‘Not as well as you think.’ Jessie slowly pulled back her leather jacket and showed him the minidisk clipped to the inside. ‘I lost a good track, recording you.’ She pressed ‘play’ and Joshua’s voice filled the room.

‘… I would not have had to slit another vein after Cosima died because everyone would have known it was me whether it had my insignia or not. Eventually, all the great artists stop signing …’

Jessie stopped the machine and looked at Joshua. ‘Add it all up, and it’s not a bad case against you,’ she said.

‘I want my mother,’ he said.

‘She’s had to go on a book-signing tour.’

‘I want my mother,’ Joshua said again, louder.

‘Christopher is here. He wants to see you.’

Joshua suddenly stood up and ran to the locked door. ‘NO! I WANT MY MOTHER! I WANT MY MOTHER! MOTHER! MOTHER!’ He turned back to Jessie. ‘She always comes in the end, always …’

Jessie took his arm and led him back to the chair. ‘We’ll get you help.’

‘She loves me,’ said Joshua. ‘She won’t be able to cope without me. She needs me, you see. I’m all she has, don’t you understand …?’

Jessie softly closed the door as Joshua continued to mumble quiet words to himself.