The Waiting Game Read online

  ‘Of course,’ Ger said. ‘Haven’t you?’

  Not as much as she should have. Hardly at all, in fact. Her last few weeks working with Ed hadn’t been easy. He’d done something she hadn’t agreed with and she was finding it hard to forgive him. She knew she should put aside whatever issues she had and make the most of the little time he had left, but she was finding that hard to do. At one stage, she’d considered him a close friend. Not anymore, though, and that hurt. Because she felt that way, she’d chosen to put distance between them. A distance that, in all likelihood, probably caused her more pain than it did him.

  ‘I see him a bit,’ she lied. ‘But you know how it is. Family, work…’

  The excuse sounded pathetic and she trailed off, unable to finish, unable to look Ger Cox in the eye as she handed Ellen a bright yellow mug.

  ‘Milk?’

  Ellen shook her head. ‘Black, no sugar. This is perfect. Thanks.’

  ‘I’ve gone through the current caseload,’ Ger said. ‘I think I’m pretty much up to speed with your team’s priorities. Biggest case at the moment is this double murder on Loampit Vale?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You’ve made an arrest?’

  Ellen nodded. ‘Charged him an hour ago. He’s being held over tonight and we’re at the Mag’s Court first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Ger said. ‘And what about this?’ She pulled a copy of the Evening Star from her desk drawer and placed it on the table. ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Ellen had thought of little else since her interview with Monica. ‘Someone else came in earlier. Claims something similar is happening to her.’

  ‘Before or after this went out?’ Ger asked.

  ‘After,’ Ellen said. ‘But it’s not what you think. At least, I don’t think so.’

  Ellen told her about the tea and the rose, explaining it was the one detail left out of the newspaper report.

  ‘And there’s no way this woman could have known about it?’ Ger asked.

  ‘Not unless she’d spoken to Chloe,’ Ellen said. ‘Which is possible, I suppose. Although I did ask if she knew Chloe and she claims she’s never even met her.’

  ‘Well check it out,’ Ger said. ‘Thoroughly. Get Patel to speak to Chloe again. Ask her if she knows this Monica Telford. And do a trawl of the local flower shops. Find out if anyone’s been buying up roses lately. Check online retailers as well. See if anyone’s been doing a regular delivery to SE London.’

  She sounded irritated and that irritated Ellen. Of course she was going to bloody check everything out. She’d be doing it right now, in fact, if she hadn’t been hauled in here to ‘talk things through’.

  ‘What about this journalist?’ Ger asked. ‘Martine Reynolds. Is she as bad as I think she is?’

  ‘Worse,’ Ellen said. ‘More concerned with shit-stirring than actually finding the truth. She won’t care what’s in the best interests of the public. The only person’s interests she cares about are her own.’

  ‘I’ll get someone in the press team onto it,’ Ger said. ‘See if there’s something we can do. What else?’

  ‘I’ve arranged for a car to patrol both houses at regular intervals for the next week,’ Ellen said. ‘Nights only. During the day, we’ve got the COs doing the same thing on foot. I’ve told both women to stay with friends or family if they’re scared. I’ve told them to get their locks changed, get an alarm, all the usual advice you’d give. And they’ve both been given the leaflets on stalking and how to deal with it. Forensics have been through Chloe’s house. Didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Not sure what else we can do at this stage.’

  ‘Phone them everyday,’ Ger said. ‘Keep in close contact with them. And get someone across to interview Chloe’s ex. Again. I know he’s got an alibi, but let’s make sure he didn’t get someone else to break into Chloe’s place.’

  ‘Except if Monica’s telling the truth, it’s not him, is it?’ Ellen said.

  ‘Maybe she knows him too,’ Ger said. ‘Although the most likely explanation is that she’s making it up. She read Chloe’s story and decided to claim the same thing is happening to her. What did you think of her?’

  ‘Difficult to tell,’ Ellen said. ‘Very charming, very attractive. Although, there was something a bit off.’

  ‘Off how?’

  ‘She didn’t seem as scared as I’d expect,’ Ellen said. ‘At one point, I got the feeling that she was enjoying herself.’

  ‘Speak to her again,’ Ger said. ‘Let her see we’re taking this seriously. I know it sounds like overkill but if this Telford woman is making it up, the next thing she’ll do is approach the journalist for her own exclusive. We don’t want that.’

  ‘And?’ Ellen asked.

  Ger frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Mag’s Court tomorrow,’ Ellen said. ‘I need to be there. You don’t have a problem with that?’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with sorting this shit out. You can always send Raj to court if you need to. I don’t want you pushing yourself too hard, Ellen. You’re officially still on a thirty-hour week. Which is fine. I’m all for flexible working for parents. Heck, I wouldn’t have got this far without some flexibility over the years.’

  That was a load of rubbish. No one got to DCI on part-time working. Yes, it was more than possible to be a detective and work part-time. But the moment you stopped being a full-time employee, it was as good as writing an e-mail to the senior management team telling them you had no interest in ever being promoted above your current role.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Ellen said.

  ‘I know.’ Ger pointed to the paper. ‘This worries me, though. If Chloe’s telling the truth, then the attack on Friday night means he’s escalating. Makes me worry about what he’ll do next.’

  ‘Nothing,’ Ellen said. ‘Because we’ll stop him. Right?’

  ‘Right.’

  Ger didn’t look up from the newspaper and Ellen stood up, sensing she’d been dismissed. She was at the door, about to open it, when Ger spoke again.

  ‘Ellen, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.’

  ‘About what?’ Ellen asked, knowing too well what Ger was talking about.

  ‘The job,’ Ger said. ‘I couldn’t tell you when I called. I still had another round of interviews to get through after that. Of course, if I’d thought for a second I was even in with a chance, well, I’d definitely have said something.’

  ‘So why did you call?’ Ellen asked.

  She waited, hoping Ger would explain and things between them could go back to the way they were before this morning’s announcement.

  ‘I wanted to speak to you,’ Ger said. ‘I was having a bad day and I wanted to hear a friendly voice. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  Ger smiled. ‘So I’m forgiven?’

  ‘Nothing to forgive.’

  She couldn’t wait to get out of there. Ger was still smiling and Ellen did her best to smile back. It wasn’t easy. She knew why Ger had phoned her. It had nothing to do with Ellen’s friendly voice (let’s face it, she didn’t have one) and all to do with pumping Ellen for information, getting the gossip on the team at Lewisham in advance of her interviews.

  Ger Cox had been using her. And that hurt more than Ellen was willing to admit. Even to herself.

  Eight

  ‘That’s all done for you, love. Here are your new keys. Two sets there, so you’ve got a spare in case you need them. And those locks are strong. No one will get through them in a hurry.’

  Monica stood and stretched. She’d been sitting in the back garden with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and a magazine, relaxing while the locksmith changed the locks on the front and back doors.

  She took the keys from his outstretched hand and smiled. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am,’ she said. ‘It’s such a relief.’

  He smiled back. He was a good-looking guy. Dark hair and fantastic, greeny-blue eyes. Great shoul
ders, too. He most definitely worked out to get a body like that.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Who are you so keen to lock out? An ex, is it?’

  She flicked hair back from her face, maintaining eye contact with those greeny-blues.

  ‘Something like that,’ she murmured. ‘Girl like me, living alone. Can’t be too careful, can I?’

  ‘Suppose not,’ he said, face serious, like he wanted to show her how responsibly he took his job. ‘You’ll be safe as houses now. No one will be able to break through those babies.’

  ‘Except you, of course.’

  Christ, she thought, listen to yourself, Monica. Flirting with the guy who’s come to change the locks. Just how desperate are you?

  The locksmith started to say something else, but she cut him off.

  ‘I’ll get my cheque book,’ she said. ‘Then you can be on your way. Wait here.’

  She wrote out the cheque in the kitchen. Two hundred quid. Sickened her to have to throw money away like that. She glanced out the window into the back garden. The locksmith was still there, standing with his back to her, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

  The image stirred a memory. Summertime. The Greenwich Union beer garden. Carrying her drink outside. Coming out of the pub into the sudden brightness of the summer afternoon. Seeing him for the first time. He was leaning against the tree, eyes half-closed. Laid-back, relaxed. Like nothing in the world got to him. She decided there and then that she would get to him, though. Oh yes.

  He was wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt. It was a look that suited him. His right hand hung loosely by his side, holding a burning cigarette. As she watched, he lifted this to his mouth. At the same time, he turned his head. Their eyes met. A trail of smoke drifted from his mouth into the hot, still air around him. He smiled and right then she knew she was lost.

  The memory faded, replaced by others she didn’t want to think about. Suddenly, the man in the garden irritated her. The way he was standing, waiting for her to come back out. She wanted him gone.

  She leaned out the window and told him to come inside. Then she handed him the cheque and dispatched him through the front door as quickly as she could. When he was gone, she breathed a sigh of relief and went back into the kitchen to get the wine. Carrying the bottle outside, she refilled her glass and sat down. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, soaking up the last bit of warmth from the pale autumn sun.

  Soon it wouldn’t be warm enough to sit outside. She was determined to make the most of it while she still could. Her mind drifted back to that summer. As it seemed to with increasing frequency these days. Ellen Kelly had asked if she could think of anyone who might want to hurt her. Of course not, Monica had told her, why would anyone want to hurt me?

  Meeting Kelly today was an interesting experience. Different from the first time. Back then, Monica had no idea how intertwined their lives would become. Truth was, the first time Monica hadn’t registered anything special about Ellen Kelly at all. She’d been interested in Kelly as a potential customer but, apart from that, the woman held little appeal for her.

  Today was different. Today was about getting the measure of the woman. At the end of it, Monica had to admit, Kelly had been more impressive than she remembered. Attractive for sure, although the signs of middle age were already starting to show in the crows’ feet at the corners of her eyes and the start of a crease either side of her nose and mouth.

  It was repulsive, really, the way white skin aged so quickly. Monica, with her mixed-race genes, was graced with her mother’s smooth, flawless skin. Black don’t crack, her mother used to say, and it was true. So far, at least. Her mother’s beautiful face flashed before her. Still hard to believe she’d never see that face again. She shook her head, banishing the sadness. Went back to thinking about Kelly.

  Apart from the skin, it was clear Kelly looked after herself. She had a good body – not as voluptuous as Monica’s but not bad, either – she dressed well and her dark, bobbed hair was glossy and carefully styled. Not much of a personality, though. Monica had found her cold and charmless. Almost like Kelly couldn’t be bothered making an effort. It baffled Monica how some people could go through life like that, not realising the importance of getting people to like you. Because once they liked you, it was so much easier to get them to do things for you.

  She thought about pouring herself another glass of wine, but decided not to. Wine wasn’t what she needed right now. The day was young and she had plans for later. The encounter with Kelly had left her with a restless energy. There was only one thing to do when she felt like this.

  She went upstairs. In the bathroom, she undressed and turned on the shower. As she washed, she did a quick run through the current men in her life, wondering which one to call. There was Harry, of course. In some ways he was the easiest option. But she wasn’t in the mood for all that. Not tonight. She nearly went with George, the barrister, but quickly chose excitement over predictability. George was too boring for his own good. Almost made her feel sorry for his wife.

  An hour later, she was ready. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, liking what she saw. Black leather strapless dress that fit like a second skin. She turned around, admiring the high, tight curves of her backside. Rolled her shoulders, loving the way the muscles rippled under the skin. When she turned back, she lifted each arm, one by one, checking the flesh around her armpits. Not even a hint of bingo wings. All those long hours at the gym were worth it.

  She smiled. The face in the mirror smiled back.

  It was time.

  Nine

  Carl was on the phone. Speaking in the loud, showy-off voice he used when dealing with women clients. Or punters, as he liked to call them. Even though he knew Nathan hated the word. Said it showed a lack of respect and just because they were estate agents, that didn’t mean they had to live up to their reputation.

  Chloe was pretending to work, but really she was on the internet. She’d done a Google search, typing in her own name. Her face stared out at her from the computer screen. The same photo they’d used for the newspaper. It was a good enough photo, although you could see the spot on her chin. She’d tried to cover that over before the interview, but obviously hadn’t done a good enough job. She wished now she’d asked them to airbrush it out.

  Spot aside, she looked okay. Scared, yes, but that look suited her. It was what made her attractive to a certain type of man. The sort who thought he wanted to protect her. Then turned nasty when he found out it wasn’t protecting she was after. Men like Ricky. All slimy charm one minute, then – before you knew it – hands around her throat as he banged her head against a wall. Calling her a stupid bitch and other names she didn’t want to think about.

  She knew Carl had read the piece in the paper. It was obvious from the way he kept looking at her. Curious and shy at the same time, like he wanted to ask her about it but didn’t know where to start. Different from how he usually was, with his sly smiles and cheeky remarks, whispered so that Nathan couldn’t hear. Knowing Nathan wouldn’t stand that sort of disrespectful behaviour.

  Apart from Chloe and Carl, the office was empty. Chloe’s desk was near the front and she sat facing the window. She was the receptionist; her job was to greet people as they came in, find out what they wanted and direct them to the right person – Carl for rentals, Nathan for sales.

  She liked it here. Enjoyed watching people outside on the street, going about their day-to-day business. It gave her a good feeling, knowing they had no idea she was looking at them. During the summer, the heat through the glass had turned the office into a furnace. She preferred it at this time of year. Today, there was just enough sunshine for lots of natural light to stream in without the unbearable heat.

  ‘You okay?’

  Carl’s phone call was over and he came over, stood right by her desk and looked at her computer screen. She shut down the browser, making her face disappear.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

  He fo
lded his arms, frowning. The smell of his aftershave – a strong, herbal scent – filled the air around her. She pushed her chair back and stood up, wanting to put some distance between them.

  ‘Coffee?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Chloe, listen.’ He sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m not very good at this. I just, you know, wanted to say, I think what’s happening to you, it’s horrible. I know I can be a bit of a bullshit merchant at times, but I don’t mean it. You know that, right? I mean, if there’s anything I can do, you’d tell me, right?’

  While he spoke, his face grew redder and redder. He looked like telling her this was physically hurting him. Made her feel a bit different about him, if she was honest.

  She patted his arm – hard muscle through the cheap shiny suit – and smiled.

  ‘That’s really sweet of you, Carl. I appreciate it. Really I do. Now then, you sure you don’t want a coffee?’

  He smiled, too. A really genuine smile that she’d never seen before. For the first time, she noticed how good-looking he was. Easy to miss it under the attitude and the loud clothing. Strange, she thought, how you can think you know someone and all along you’ve got them completely wrong.

  She waited for his answer, but he didn’t say anything. Just stood there staring at her with that goofy look on his face. Made her feel a bit goofy herself. Until she remembered this was Carl. Loud-mouth Carl with an ego the size of the Shard.

  That was how Nathan had described Carl the day he’d offered her the job. Difficult to believe she’d been here six months already. And in all that time, this was the first proper, genuine conversation they’d had.

  Carl was still staring at her, like he’d forgotten she’d ever asked him a question. Almost, she thought, like he’d forgotten where they were. This was work, after all. Not the time or the place to be making those goofy eyes at her. No matter how nice it made her feel.

  When the phone rang, they both jumped. Then laughed. Doing it all at the same time as each other. She rushed forward to answer it. Carl did the same thing and their hands brushed against each other as they both reached out to grab the handset.