Each Day I Wake: A gripping psychological thriller: US Edition (18 page)

Tyrone Montague never liked meeting Quinn. It reminded him too much of the unpleasant side of the business they were in. Better, for that reason, to reach Quinn as normal by phone. But that wouldn’t do now. What he had to say to the man had to be face to face.

As arranged, Montague parked his car on the third floor of the car park on Tottenham Court Road and waited. A few minutes later, Quinn arrived, told his driver to circle until needed, walked over and sat on the front seat next to Montague.

“You look worried, Ty. Must be important to need to meet like this.”

Montague came straight out with it. “Terry Morgan is a copper.”

Quinn took a deep breath. “I always told you there was something wrong about him. And that you should keep off the filth that he peddles. How much does he know?”

“Enough.”

“Want me to ex him?”

“Not yet. He’s made an offer.”

“What kind of offer?”

“One-eighty thou and he wants to leave the country. Says he has issues with the police enough of his own and needs to start a new life a long way from us.”

“So, ex him anyway.”

“He knows about something we need. About Stella.”

Quinn shrugged. “She’s gone now. What’s the worry?”

“She kept a secret diary, Mike, with enough in it to bring the whole house down. That diary is being sought by the police in another case and if it comes to light we’ll all get put away.”

“What other case.”

“The Newsome girl. A copper called Ives is heading up a manhunt for her killer.”

Quinn clenched his teeth to show his distaste of what he’d just heard. “If I could find the sick mother that killed her, I’d ex him myself.” He paused. “So what led them to the diary?”

“That doesn’t matter. We need to find it before they do.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

Montague handed over the contact details Delaney had given him. “Give Terry Morgan a helping hand. You can ex him once we have the diary.”

Quinn waited. “Anything more?”

“Just that I need you to tell me the roof’s not about to fall in, Mike. First Tunny and
The
Herald
digging into our business. Now this. Should I be forgiven for feeling that problems come in pairs?”

“It’s under control, Ty. You know you can always depend on me to see you right. We’ve seen to Tunny. We’ll find whatever it was he had on us.”

“But we don’t have it yet?”

“Not for want of trying. We found nothing when we searched his place in Paddington. We’re beginning to think he must have had another address, somewhere he kept secret. But don’t worry, we’ll find it.”

“All the more reason to keep up the pressure on Hamilton.”

“That’s a given. He’ll tell us if anything comes into play about OAM. I’m sure of that.” He paused. “And we’ll find the diary. Trust me. Haven’t I always delivered?”

“Just make sure you do, Mike. Just make sure you do.”

We checked into The Wentworth, a budget hotel close to Euston station. It was one of those places where, to lower costs, staff numbers had been pared back and no one had time or interest in logging who came and went once you’d checked in.

Janet handled the formalities when we arrived, giving a false name. We were now Mr. and Mrs. Collins. James and Emily. She booked us in for four nights, paid in cash and there were no questions asked and no request for ID. Janet purchased internet access to cover the stay, again using cash. I remained silent throughout check in and did my best to keep out of line of sight of the security cameras.

We reached the ground floor room and unpacked the necessities from the small case that Janet had brought from Lichfield. The room was small. There was a desk against one wall and Janet had her tablet with her. She typed in the login she purchased at reception and we checked the internet for developments.

Janet looked up after completing the search. “There’s a little more on the Cathy Newsome case. Press interviews with her parents showing their grief and appealing for the killer to come forward. Distressing but, sadly, what we’ve come to expect. And there’s no mention of you.”

I was sitting on the bed beside her. “I wouldn’t expect it. Ives wants to trap me first.”

“You shouldn’t think that way. We’re going to outwit Ives. But first we’ve got to believe we can do it.”

I knew she was right. The greatest danger was that I placed myself in a corner and become an easy prey for Ives’ questioning. “You’re right, Jan.”

I told her about what happened at Brogan’s apartment.

She interrupted. “I wondered why you weren’t saying much about him
and
where you got that swollen lip.”

“Nothing was right about him, for all the time he was playing the
blood brothers
card, he was setting me up. Using me to find his sister’s diary.”

She held up her hands. “Whoa. You’ve found Della Brogan’s diary?”

I nodded. “You were right, Jan. The leather bound version was a decoy. The real one is online. We found the login amongst Della’s things. I printed out two copies at
The
Herald
. Gave one to Marshall, kept the other myself.”

“Where are they now?”

“I took both copies with me and locked them away in left luggage at Charing Cross station.” I showed her the paper receipt. “They’re safe there.”

“OK. But you have the login. We can access the journal here on my tablet.”

I gave her the log in details and, with a few taps on the virtual keyboard, we were in.

She sat back. “Two years. A mass of detail. Where do we start?”

“You’ll see she uses initials.”

“No surprise there. It’s common enough amongst the journal crowd. Adds to the sense of secrecy.”

“Even if the same initials apply to more than one person?”

“That’s a little more strange but still not that uncommon.”

I knew I had to tell her. “The reason Brogan tried to kill me is in there. An entry Della made just before she died saying that someone she called
TM
was going to kill her. Brogan is convinced that
TM
is me.”

She looked worried by what she’d just heard but tried to conceal it. “Why would he think that?”

“I think that was his motivation in coming to Lichfield all along, in seeking me out. Something Della must have told him in the time they spent together before she died that he took to mean I could be involved. And when he found that in the diary he took that to be proof enough.”

“We’ll just have to show otherwise. You’re not the only man in the world with those initials, that’s for sure.”

“There’s something more, Jan. When I was leaving Brogan’s apartment, I had to stay out of sight as Ives and Lesley arrived. Something about the way they made their way to Brogan’s door makes me think they weren’t coming for me but for Brogan. And the more I’ve thought about it, the more certain I am. Brogan wouldn’t have called them, not if he planned to kill me. So why was Ives there? What did he want from Brogan?”

Janet looked back. “Ask yourself, Tom, what did Brogan have that might have been of importance to Ives? The diary. And I think we’ll find the proof of why that mattered to Ives in the diary itself.”

I lay back on the bed as Janet began speed-reading the entries to Della’s journal.

I could feel fatigue taking over, tempting me to sleep, but I tried to force myself to stay awake.

It didn’t take Mike Quinn long to discover what he needed from Terry Morgan – or should he call him John Delaney. That was not the most difficult call. It was only Montague’s instruction to keep the man alive as long as they needed him that prevented Quinn from finishing Delaney the first time he had him in his sights. But Ty was right. The undercover cop had to be kept on side, at least until the time was right. He knew too much and there was no knowing who he’d told.

They met as arranged on the St Paul’s side of Millennium Bridge and stood talking, looking down onto the Thames flowing beneath them.

Quinn was working hard to appear to be supportive and it hurt the more knowing that he was standing next to an undercover copper. “I understand, Terry. There are times when it’s best to split. Make a new start. With Ty’s help you can make that happen.”

“He filled you in on the deal?”

“Yeah. One-eighty for the diary. Seems no more than fair.” Quinn paused. “So, you know who has it?”

Delaney shook his head. “I have info from the Ives operation. The one working the Newsome case.”

Quinn determined to not let mention of the girl’s name divert him from the main task in hand, no matter how revolted he felt that sex crime had impinged on his world. “OK. Who does Ives think has the diary?”

“Brogan. Marshall Brogan. Stella’s brother.”

Quinn clenched his fists. Brogan. Interfering once by trying to capitalize on the break-in to Ty Montague’s office was a bad enough incursion into their affairs but here was the Irishman named again. “And what makes Ives so sure?”

Delaney smiled. “He has the diary. It was signed out to him as part and parcel of the things he collected from Stella as next of kin.”

“So, Ives now has the diary?”

“That’s the important thing, Mr. Quinn. I’ve heard that, yes, Ives has the diary left in Stella’s things but, no, there’s nothing of any importance in it.”

“So what are we worried about?”

“There’s another diary. The real one. The one Ives has is a dummy, a decoy.”

“And Brogan has the real one?”

“Who else?”

Quinn began to turn to walk away. “We’ll be in touch.”

The undercover policeman pulled him back. “You don’t want me to help?”

Quinn gave a stare that said
don’t ever touch me
. “I’ll take it from here.”

Delaney took his hand away. “Sorry, Mr. Quinn. I didn’t mean anything. But you need my help, you really do.”

“OK, Terry. If you insist.”

I’d been asleep for over three hours when Janet woke me.

“I think I’ve found it, Tom. The reason why Ives was going to see Marshall Brogan. He’s trying to make a connection between Cathy Newsome’s killing and the death of Della Brogan.”

I came round and focused on what she was telling me. “Slow down. What makes you so sure?”

“It’s here in the diary. One of her clients is a serial killer. A serial killer who boasted to her that he’d killed young women like Cathy Newsome. Someone with the initials
TM
.”

“More evidence to allow Ives to pin this on me.”

“Don’t think that, love.” She showed me the new file she’d made on her tablet. “Look, Della wasn’t fazed by using the same initials for different people. If their initials happened to come out the same, so be it. She still knew what she meant; it was
her
journal and she could post there just as she wished. No one else was ever meant to see it. So, I made a list. Each time an entry appears in the diary with someone referred to by a set of initials, I added them to the list together with the date that entry was made and a guess, if you like, of the kind of person that might be. Female friend, dating agency colleague, client – you get the idea.”

“Very organized.”

She smiled. “That’s the only way to be.” She paused and scrolled down to the entries she’d made for
TM
. “This is where it gets interesting. There are different people she’s referring to here. Two of them I get straight away.”

“One of those is me?”

“Yes. You’re there as
TM
. Eight times over a three-week period. Every one of those occasions, I have no doubt, will be shown to be connected with interviews you carried out with her about what she knew about the finance story you’re investigating.”

“And the other
TM
?”

“That would be Tyrone Montague. He’s the best thing in her life until they split up and he takes up with a younger model. The whole messy end of that relationship is all in the diary, blow by blow.”

“No surprise he’s in there.”

“No surprise. But there’s a darker side. ”

“How dark?”

“There’s this from April 4th.”

Threatened by TM again. Isn’t breaking up enough for him? Why doesn’t he trust me that I’ll keep quiet about all those girls and what he’s been doing with them. He only has to look after me. See me right. That’s all I’m asking.”

I understand. “Sounds like she’s blackmailing Montague and not just on what she knows about his financial wrongdoing.”

“Yes. But what exactly has he got to hide? What’s he been doing to all those girls? And what girls does she mean?”

“There has to be a way of discovering more. Otherwise, if Ives gets hold of the diary all this is going to point to me. He’ll be quick to infer that I’m the one Della is writing about.”

Janet held my hand. “You can’t let yourself think that way, Tom.”

I was close to the edge once more. Close to believing I was
TM
, the one doing the killing. “You see, Jan, I can’t stop thinking it must be me. I’ve seen the girls. I’ve seen how they die. Nothing you’ve found in the diary says it couldn’t be me.”

She held my hand. “Except I
know
you, Tom Markland. It’s not you. Believe me, that’s the truth.”

“You’re that sure?”

“I’m that sure.”

I wished I could tell her that I’d been linking up with the girls on a dating site. I couldn’t understand why I wanted to keep this from her.

I knew at this moment she was the only one who had the confidence in my innocence that I lacked myself. I had to fight back the feeling that I was deceiving her. There was nothing I could bring to mind to say that she was right in having this much faith in me.

I tried to move on. “So, if it’s not me, then who?”

She smiled. “That’s better. You could go to the police.”

“And trust Ives? He’s got just one thing on his mind and that’s making sure he puts me away.”

“Then give him the evidence that it’s not you.”

“There is no evidence.”

“So we find it.”

“Where do we start?”

Janet returned to her tablet and scrolled to the place in the diary that she wanted to point to. “This is mentioned more than once. The Dragon Bar. Della is saying that’s where
TM
picks up young women.”

I couldn’t let Janet know what I now realized I knew.

A stream of memories was coming flooding back at the mention of the name. I knew where the bar was. It was on Lexington Street in Soho. I’d been there. I had a clear picture in my mind of what the place looked like. It was gaudy, packed with young things seeking older men with money.

I looked away from Janet. “OK, let’s find where it is.”

I played along as Janet made the map search that located the Dragon Bar in central Soho.

I needed to move the conversation on again.

“You said there may be other
TMs
in the diary?”

“I’m still not sure. There are references to others with the same initials and it’s just not altogether possible to make what Della is saying about them fit Montague.”

“Show me.”

Janet reopened the journal and began scrolling through it to find what she wanted.

“Here, look at this from April 19th.”

Waiting for TM. Why is he this late? Doesn’t he care that I’m left out here on the wire?

I tried to remain skeptical. “She could still be writing about Montague.”

“Agreed. But, later on the same day, she has more to say.”

Still no sign of TM. Doesn’t he know I can get someone else to supply me if he insists on being as unreliable as this. Cold turkey.

She looked up. “That’s not so much like Montague. More like this
TM
is her dealer.”

“We know someone must have been supplying her with heroin. That’s how she died.”

“So, there could be this other person in Della’s life with the initials
TM
.”

“You said there could be more?”

She returned to her list. “I thought at first this could be you. There are references to an investigator of some kind – she doesn’t say which - asking for meetings with her, then getting close to her. He has the initials
TM
, but I know it’s not you, Tom.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because they became lovers, and not in a good way.”

She showed me another section from the diary.

TM calls me his bitch, lays it on mean and dirty, has no shame in what he does and wants me to do. But for all that I need him, I really do
.

“I know my husband, Tom. That’s not you. Could never be you.”

“So, there are three or even four possibles, if I count myself.”

“That’s not going to happen. But there is a problem. It’s not clear in all that Della has written if the dealer and the lover are one and the same or not or whether all three are in fact different sides of Montague’s dark personality.”

I looked deep into her eyes. “There’s one way to find out. I’ll go the Dragon Bar tonight and see if he’s there.”