Читать книгу The Unquiet Dead - Gay Longworth - Страница 8

For a few seconds Jessie continued to stare at the blank screen. Then she pulled on her leather jacket and ran down the stairs to the exit. Outside, the rain had stopped and the sun had come out. Her bike was parked in its normal place; it only took a minute before she was in her helmet and off the stand. It wouldn’t have taken long to walk to Marshall Street, but she didn’t want to waste any time. Something serious had happened in that boiler room. Why did she feel as if she had known it would?

Up ahead she saw the blue-and-white police tape spinning in the wind. The search crew were just beginning to spill out of the monolithic building as she pulled up. She dismounted, flashed her badge and joined the constable on guard.

‘What happened?’

‘Roof caved in. One man down. They’re bringing him out now.’

‘Came from nowhere,’ said a young man covered in dust.

‘I knew something was up with that place,’ said another. ‘You could just feel it.’

Jessie followed paramedics through the labyrinth that was the underbelly of the baths until she reached the cement corridor. The clattering wheels of the medics’ trolley stopped; they snapped up the undercarriage, lifted it and carried it down the flight of steeply cut steps. DCI Moore was standing at the bottom. She looked Jessie up and down but said nothing. Jessie’s high-heeled boots and trouser suit looked ridiculous now.

‘Is is Anna Maria?’

‘Too early to say,’ said the DCI. ‘A beam came down on the lid, sealing it shut. Now the fucking structural engineers won’t let anyone in until they’ve given us the all clear. Meanwhile, she may be down there, suffocating, and we’ve got an officer with serious concussion after being hit by a falling brick.’

‘Where’s Mark?’

‘They’re patching him up. He nearly had his arm sliced off by that lid.’

‘Four people and they still couldn’t lift it,’ said Jessie.

‘What’s your point?’

‘I don’t know. Pulling something like this off would have taken planning, people.’

‘Maybe all that was required was a victim.’ DCI Moore suddenly pushed herself away from the wall. ‘I can’t just wait around gossiping. I’m going to talk to that bloody engineer again. Call me if anything happens.’

Jessie felt the insult keenly, but did not respond. She sat on the bottom step and waited, her bad mood deepening with every minute she sat there. How could she have been so stupid as to bet on something as unpredictable as other people’s lives? The paramedics returned with their trolley. The injured officer’s head and neck were encased in a thick padded yellow brace. He was fastened to the stretcher. What they couldn’t strap down were his eyes, which were rolling in his head like a mad mare’s. He was singing nursery rhymes. When he passed Jessie, his eyes fixed on her for a long moment that left her feeling as if she’d just seen something she shouldn’t.

‘Go away,’ he said. Then his eyes started rolling again.

The medic made a sign and the trolley was again lifted into the air and Jessie was alone once more. Soon the damp had seeped through her trousers, leaving her skin cold and itchy. Men with measuring instruments came and went; she took no notice of them. The cold air chilled her to the bone, but she did not leave. The voice behind her made her jump.

‘I was thinking Reading – lots of petty crime that creates an avalanche of paperwork and no results,’ he said, walking heavy-footed down the steps towards her. ‘Or maybe Birmingham, where the men really know how to treat a woman.’ In the poorest areas of Birmingham rates of domestic violence were extremely high. ‘And don’t get on your high horse, Driver. You know they often ask for it.’

The black mist turned red. Jessie felt the fury whip through her like the wind as she turned on Mark. ‘Did you ask for it when your mother abused you?’ she said in a mean whisper.

‘You bitch,’ spat Mark.

Jessie stood. ‘And when you said, “No, don’t lock me in this cupboard,” you really meant, “Yes, leave me here in the dark for hours.”’

Mark didn’t respond immediately. Finally he said, ‘I’ve been waiting, wondering how long it would take you to throw that back at me. All that bullshit about how I could trust you – what a load of shit. Mum had no choice and you know it.’

‘Trust! You don’t know the meaning of the word. Moore has been here two seconds and you turn on me in an instant. And as far as choice is concerned, there is always a choice.’

He flew down the stairs towards her. ‘Sanctimonious cunt.’

It was reflex. A spasmodic response to his ugly words. To his descending mass. A bent elbow, fast and hard, into the solar plexus. Mark fell forward, letting out a high-pitched wheeze, landing on his knees on the hard floor. Jessie reeled from the shock of the words, from the shock of her own actions. Mark coughed. Jessie stood motionless.

‘You all right, Mark?’ asked Moore from the top of the stairs.

‘It’s the damp,’ he croaked.

Jessie bent down to his level. ‘Don’t ever speak to me like that again,’ she whispered.

He turned to face her, a look of real hatred in his eyes. ‘I’m going to see to it that you end up in fucking Dundee.’

Jessie stayed low, talking low. ‘Don’t count on it, Mark. That lid hasn’t been moved for years. You’ve just stumbled across some old skeleton, that’s all.’

‘What are you two whispering about?’ They both ignored Moore.

‘I saw hair. I saw flesh. I saw clothes. You’re wrong, and that’s something you can’t stand. Go away,’ he seethed, echoing the words of another delirious man.

Jessie backed off, but only because she was so frightened of her own feelings. She had already hit him, but still she wanted to grind her nails into his face and pull the flesh off. She wanted to hurt him, destroy him.

‘We’ve been given clearance,’ said Moore as she passed. Jessie didn’t care. She wanted to get out. She ran up the steps, back along the corridor, through more doors and up more steps until eventually she found herself bursting out on to the street. A dozen cameras flashed. The news was already out. Behind the barrier, men and women jabbed microphones and shouted questions. Jessie took gulps of air as the name Anna Maria filled the cul-de-sac. The dead end. There were only two ways to go. Through the pack on the street or back into Marshall Street Baths. For the first time ever, she preferred the press pack to her fellow police officers. Nothing would induce her to return to that place. She may have been at loggerheads with Mark on many previous occasions, but nothing like that had ever happened. She had been taught unarmed combat in order to be able to disarm a person, defend herself, break up a fight. She never thought she’d use the skill to start one. A small corner of her brain had to applaud Mark for not hitting her back. He must have wanted to, but he didn’t. She’d lost control. He hadn’t. Now she’d have to apologise to him. Violence was never the answer. Wasn’t that what she was always telling the schoolkids, the young men banged up time and time again?

‘DI Driver,’ called a woman’s voice as she walked to the car. Jessie turned. It was Amanda Hornby, the Channel Five crime reporter. ‘Have they found a body?’

‘No comment.’

‘They’ve sent SOCO in there, so they’ve found something.’

‘No comment.’

‘Come on, Detective, give me a break.’

‘Leave me alone,’ Jessie hissed, pushing on past her and out into the gathering crowd. Dazed, she walked on as the pavement grew thick with onlookers, some staring without shame, some shuffling past and smiling into mobile phones, trying to pretend they weren’t really interested, while others stood away from the gossipmongers, watching and waiting for the body-bag. She had to elbow her way through the crowd. ‘Excuse me –’

‘They’ve found a body,’ Jessie heard one woman say.

‘All cut up,’ spoke another.

‘I’m trying to get through –’

‘That poor girl,’ said a third. ‘Her dad buggered off, her mother’s always away …’

An old man blocked her way. ‘Will you please move!’

The man turned, tipped his hat and stepped aside.

‘Thank you,’ said Jessie, escaping at last.

The man nodded. ‘Check the date,’ said a voice. Jessie turned back, but the man in the hat had already merged into the crowd.

Jessie moved on, turning down streets in no particular order, fuelled only by a desire to lose herself. She looked down at her hand and saw that she was shaking; the fight had caused adrenaline to rush around her system. Wanting Bill, she phoned the flat but there was no answer. She cursed herself for not making an arrangement with him, she should have hired him a phone. Where would he be? Where was she, for that matter? Jessie’s phone buzzed in her hand. It was a local number she didn’t recognise.

‘Hey, Jess, fancy a drink?’

‘How did you know?’ she said, smiling with relief.

‘Because you’re terribly bad at hiding your alcohol dependency,’ he replied.

‘Where are you?’

‘In a phone box, outside, hang on …’

Jessie saw the glass door rotate towards her. Bill emerged, looking skyward.

‘It’s okay,’ said Jessie. ‘I know exactly where you are.’

‘You do?’

She put her phone away and called his name. He waved, astonished. She hugged him tightly.

‘That’s weird,’ said Bill.

‘That’s magic.’

He took her arm. ‘I always thought you were a bit of a white witch.’

Jessie took the seat opposite her brother. Before picking up the tumbler of neat whisky, no ice, she slid Bill’s packet of fags towards her, pulled one out and lit it. Bill said nothing. She inhaled deeply, took a sip of whisky, inhaled again, then stubbed out the cigarette. Bill winced. ‘I’ve got some fairly serious codeine at the flat,’ he said.

‘Thanks, but I like to annihilate myself the old-fashioned way.’

‘I thought you didn’t smoke.’

‘I don’t.’ The alcohol hit her empty stomach and the nicotine rushed to her head. Her heart beat a little faster for a while and then settled back down again. She finished her drink.

‘Feel like a new woman?’ said Bill.

Jessie nodded. ‘Yeah, and that new woman’s thirsty.’ She stood up. ‘Same again?’ Bill passed his glass over. ‘You’d better grab a menu – they do food and you look like you need some.’

‘Liquid lunch today.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get back.’

Jessie ordered another round, picked up a menu for Bill and returned with the drinks in hand.

‘I hit Mark Ward,’ she said, once a good amount of the second drink had hit her stomach. ‘Don’t worry, no one saw.’

‘You hit him? Why? Where?’

‘In the solar plexus.’

‘No, I mean where were you?’

‘In this horrible place around the corner. I’m feeling a bit better now, but as soon as I walked in there, I don’t know …’ She frowned, trying to remember where the feeling had come from. ‘I can’t explain it. He’s called me names before. Big deal, right; don’t dignify it with a response, all that crap … So why today? I could have killed him. I’m not joking. I have never felt so angry in my life. Except … no, not even then.’

‘Except when?’

Jessie paused for a moment. No one really touched on this subject. It was taboo. ‘When Mum died, and the doctor told us she’d known for months. I was furious, still am. But not like today. I didn’t want to kill the doctor.’

‘But you wanted to kill Mum?’

‘Yeah, well, the cancer had done that for me.’

They sat in silence for a while.

‘Do you miss her?’

‘That’s a stupid question, Bill.’

‘Sorry.’

‘We never talk about her,’ said Jessie quietly. There was another pause.

‘It’s been five years, what more can we say about it?’

‘Nothing. But we should still talk about her.’

Her mother had energy enough for all of them. A husband, three sons and a daughter. That it was not inexhaustible, as Jessie had been led to believe, was something she still could not comprehend.

Bill lit a cigarette. He offered the packet to Jessie. She refused. The moment had passed.

‘I dream about her,’ said Bill, halfway down his cigarette. ‘She’s always laughing.’

‘I don’t,’ Jessie admitted. ‘You know the thing that terrifies me the most? I can’t remember what she sounded like. I can’t hear her voice.’

‘I’ve got tapes she sent me when I first went to Africa. I’ll send them to you, if you like.’

She looked away from her brother crossly. ‘I don’t want tapes, Bill. I want her.’

This statement was followed by the awkward silence that Jessie was used to getting from her brothers when she tried to talk about their mother. Her father was the same. None of them would talk to her about it.

‘I feel cheated,’ she said to the windowpane. ‘I want to go shopping with her for my wedding dress.’

‘Christ, Jess, I thought you said it was over with that guy.’

‘It is.’

‘Who are you getting married to then?’

‘I’m not getting married to anyone.’ Bill looked more perplexed than ever. ‘Oh, never mind,’ said Jessie, finishing her drink. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

‘Boss?’ said a voice behind her. It was Burrows. ‘They need you at Marshall Street Baths.’

‘Is is Anna Maria?’

‘They wouldn’t tell me.’

Burrows looked over at Bill, nodded curtly then returned to the door, which he held open for Jessie. She kissed her brother on the cheek; he held her hand.

‘You’ll be all right, Jess,’ he said.

She pulled her hand away. Sometimes she wasn’t so sure.

The media frenzy had doubled in the short time Jessie had been in the pub. White vans with satellite dishes and company logos were stretched back into Broadwick Street. She and Burrows made slow progress through the crowd. No one took much notice of them, they blended in with all the other hacks and hawks. As they pushed to the edge of the pack, in a quieter place further away Jessie saw Amanda Hornby. She was standing in front of a camera, a small microphone clipped on to her lapel. She glanced nervously at the spiral-bound pad she held in her hand. Jessie looked at her watch. A special bulletin. Live from the scene. There must have been some development or else there wouldn’t be this frenetic activity. Amanda looked up and caught her staring. Jessie tried to look away but it was too late, the news reporter had clocked her and she was coming over.

‘Oi, get back here!’ the cameraman shouted.

‘I’d do as he says,’ said Jessie.

‘Why are you back, Detective Inspector? What’s going on? Is Sarah Klein here to identify her daughter?’

Sarah Klein? Here? ‘Three minutes to air,’ said the cameraman, sounding exasperated.

‘It’s not my case.’

‘But you’re here.’

Jessie couldn’t argue with that.

‘Why?’

A car pulled up to the barrier and Jessie inadvertently looked around. She saw the familiar red hair emerge.

‘Sally Grimes – isn’t she the pathologist who helped you with the celebrity murders?’ said the reporter. Jessie ignored her. ‘So you’ve definitely got a body then?’

Jessie turned back to Amanda Hornby. ‘You know too much.’

‘That’s my job.’

‘Amanda!’ shouted the cameraman. Amanda put a finger to her ear then glanced down at her watch. She started walking slowly backwards. ‘I know nothing. Just one thing, give me one fact, that’s all I’m after.’

Jessie watched her retreat.

‘One fact, that’s all,’ she pleaded again.

‘My brother fancies you,’ said Jessie flippantly. ‘And that’s a fact.’

Amanda swore silently, turned to the camera and nodded once. ‘That’s right, Sarah Klein the mother of the missing girl arrived here ten minutes ago, creating quite a scene. She was driving her car, turned into Marshall Street just behind me and was blocked from continuing any further by the growing number of photographers and journalists who have congregated here. Eventually she got out of the car and forced her way though the crowd, refusing to answer any questions. It was only when the extent of her distress became evident that they allowed her to pass.’

Jessie listened in horror.

‘That’s correct. The actress was due to appear in a West End production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf in a month’s time. The much-revered director, Timothy Powell, isn’t saying anything at present as to whether this is still the case, though it is assumed she will not carry on with a play the subject of which is a couple with an imaginary child. Things are looking less hopeful here. Just a few moments ago the pathologist Sally Grimes arrived and was rushed inside. Although the police are saying nothing at this stage, I think it is safe to assume that rumours regarding the discovery of a body are true. The exact cause of death is unknown, but it is being treated as suspicious. Sally Grimes became a fully qualified Home Office pathologist just a few weeks ago.’ Jessie watched the reporter’s face go taut with concentration as she listened to the next question from the studio. Amanda nodded. ‘That’s right, it means that Ms Grimes’ evidence can be used by prosecutors, in this case the Crown Prosecution Service, in a court of law. However, the police are refusing to confirm that Anna Maria Klein’s body has been found, so for the moment –’ she glanced briefly at Jessie – ‘nothing is fact.’

Jessie fell in behind Burrows, and they made their way slowly to the front where Jessie showed her badge once more. Waiting at the door was Sally Grimes. Burrows raised the crime-scene tape for Jessie to duck under and she went to join Sally.

‘What are you doing here?’ Jessie whispered.

‘Carolyn Moore paged me.’

‘You know her?’

Sally nodded. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘What did she want?’

‘They’ve found something they’ve never seen before. They want me to have a look at it.’

“‘It”?’

‘That’s what the message said.’

‘How well do you know her?’

‘She’s a ball breaker.’

‘Any advice?’

‘Give her a wide berth,’ said the redheaded pathologist. ‘She wasn’t always like that.’

The officers who had performed the search that morning milled around the foyer in silence. Somewhere a radio was on.

‘… Clinical psychologist Dr Martin Rommelt is here in the studio discussing the disappearance of Anna Maria Klein. Dr Rommelt, what effect do you think being rejected from Celebrity Big Brother, Jnr would have had on Anna Maria?’

Jessie looked at Sally for explanation.

‘I heard this on the radio coming down here. Some journo found out that she’d put her name up for the Big Brother house, but was turned down because she wasn’t famous enough.’

‘And they think what exactly?’

‘They don’t think anything. All they can do is speculate until you lot make an announcement. Before the Big Brother story broke they were discussing what effect having an absent father and famous mother would have on a teenager.’

Sally and Jessie walked back through the increasingly familiar network of subterranean passageways and doors. Outside the new boiler room another group of people stood listening to another radio.

‘… Friends are saying that Anna Maria was depressed recently. Normally a gregarious girl, she had become a little withdrawn, secretive. One schoolfriend who wishes to remain anonymous said that Anna Maria had been fighting with her mother more than usual. When asked what was usual, the friend replied, “Most days there was something …”’

‘I hope the poor woman isn’t listening to any of this,’ said Sally.

Jessie experienced the same feeling of apprehension as they left the bright light of the boiler room behind them and approached the final set of doors. Sally pushed them open and they both felt a rush of cold air. It was Sally’s turn to shudder. The long narrow walkway came to an abrupt end where it fell away to darkness. Jessie could hear someone crying. A woman. They walked towards the sound. Sarah Klein was sitting at the bottom of the stone steps, her head in her hands. Jessie immediately changed her mind about the actress. She’d heard too many women cry not to know the difference between crocodile tears and the real thing. When she heard them approach, Sarah Klein looked up, startled.

‘Sorry,’ said Jessie. ‘We didn’t mean to frighten you.’

The woman started sobbing again. Sally carried on without stopping, but Jessie held back. Sarah Klein shouldn’t be on her own. There should have been a family liaison officer with her. Where was the tea, the hanky, the gentle arm on the shoulder, the offer to call someone, drive her somewhere? Why wasn’t she being looked after? Sally called her from inside the ancient boiler room. Jessie didn’t respond.

‘Jessie –’ it was Sally again, this time more insistent – ‘I think you’d better come in here.’

Reluctantly, Jessie left the sobbing woman and walked into the dank and dimly lit room. Curled up on a piece of tarpaulin, on the dry earth between the tanks and the coal stores, was the body of a perfectly preserved middle-aged man.