Home Before Dark (44 page)

Wake up, Wardo, company.
Ward rose to his feet. A young mother, maybe not so young,
pushing a baby in a Maclaren stroller and dragging a fouryear-old,
turned in at the entrance to the building. What was
she doing out with the kids this late? As if it was any of
his business. With a friendly smile he went to her assistance.
'Here, let me give you a hand with that.’
She let him, didn’t even question what was he doing there,
hanging about the lobby after midnight. As he helped her up
the steps with the stroller, Ward explained: he’d left his frontdoor
key in his girlfriend’s apartment and she wasn’t back
yet. He charmed her with the little story he’d prepared.
'I’m Eddie, by the way. Eddie Lister.’ He hesitated. 'Jelena’s
friend?’
He looked neat and respectable enough in Ed’s dark blue
suit from Brooks Brothers. Ward had been waiting three
quarters of an hour.
She gave him a blank look.
'Jelena Sejour in 4A . . . the coloured girl?’ He used the
non-PC label to give her something to remember.
'Oh . . . oh, yes. Sure, I know who you mean.’

He held the front door wide open for them, then picked
up his rucksack and followed mother and children into the
building. Outside their ground-floor apartment, he said goodnight
and started to climb the stairs.

71

Jelly hadn’t moved from the bed where she’d thrown herself
down when she came home. She’d kicked off her shoes, what
was left of them, then couldn’t be bothered to change out of her clothes. She always predicted that if they ever met it would be a total shambles. Now her only satisfaction was
knowing she was right.
The apartment was as she’d left it when she ran out make-up,
underwear, rejected clothes, towels everywhere, like it had been hit by a hurricane. The look she’d taken so much trouble putting together seemed stupid and pointless now. The ashtray on the glass coffee table beside her was choked with half-smoked butts, various shades of lipstick on the filters. World go away, she thought.
Mistigris was glaring at her from his favourite spot on the top shelf of the closet. She couldn’t see Minou, her other cat. She needed to pee, but wasn’t ready yet for any “Iteration to the state his kiss had left her in. She still had
that dumb schmalzy waltz from the ballet twirling in her

head.
Jelly didn’t recognise the number when it came up in the display window of her cell. She just knew it was him. She
removed her earphone, waited till the fourth ring, then with
a sigh hit Talk. 'Yes?’
Ed said quietly, 'Whatever you do, don’t hang up. Just listen

'Why are you calling? You got three seconds.’
'It’s not about us, Jelly. Check your e-mail. I’ve sent you
a drawing of somebody. It’s important you look carefully at
his face. If you remember seeing him anywhere tonight, maybe
at the Met, or walking back from the restaurant . . .’
'Oh my God! How dare you pull this shit on me?’
'It’s not what you think. I’m not trying to scare you, really
I’m not.’
'Eddie, don’t do this to me, please.
PLEASE
. .. just leave
me alone.’
She switched the cell off and threw it down, then with a
loud wail burst into tears. After a while, she got up from the
bed and walked over to her computer. The little envelope
was laying there in her intray. If she opened it, she’d feel
bound to answer and that was exactly what he wanted. She
highlighted Ed’s e-mail and moved the cursor to the delete
option, then hesitated.
What if he wasn’t messing with her?
She heard a sound outside her door. Her eyes swivelled to
the kitchen and entrance hall a second before the doorbell
rang.

A little drunk, I poured myself another whisky, then went
over to the corner windows and stood gazing out at the
East River. I was thinking about Jelly, the way she’d reacted
just now. She’d more or less accused me of using the threat
of Ward as an excuse to keep talking to her, as a way of
holding on. Maybe she was right. If we were followed
tonight, the truth is, I hadn’t noticed. But still … I still
needed her to look at the face in the drawing. Just to be
sure.
The phone rang. I walked unsteadily across to the desk
and picked up.
'Where’s Campbell?’ The detective’s wife, Kira, returning my call. 'I haven’t heard from him and I’m worried.’
'If I knew where he was, Mrs Armour, I wouldn’t have
troubled you, but I’m sure he’ll be in touch,’ I said, trying
to sound more confident than I felt.
'He called me from some place in Jersey. That was over
two hours ago.’
'Did Campbell say what he was doing there?’
'Waiting for you.’
'Mrs Armour,’ it was an effort to speak without slurring
my words, 'I never told your husband or anyone that I was
going out to La Rochelle.’
'He got the number off Grace’s cell phone.’ ; My head swam. 'Grace Wilkes? The housekeeper at
Skylands?’
I heard her hesitate. 'Campbell didn’t tell you?’
A tremor of alarm ran through me.
'He went back out to the house this morning before he
left Norfolk and found her dead. She’d been murdered.’ I sat
down heavily in the chair.
'Jesus.’ I was sobering up fast. 'Are you sure?’
'Am I sure?’
'I’m sorry, I’m just taking this in.’
I heard her stifle a sob. 'Oh God.’
I felt at a loss. 'Look, I’m sure he’ll be okay’
'Then why am I getting nothing from his cell?’ she asked,
her voice rising and shrill. 'I warned him. I tried to stop him
getting involved with this case. He knows about computers
. . . not psychopaths.’
There was a silence. I thought I could hear her weeping.
'It’s all your fault. You got Campbell into this. He would
never have taken the risks, if you hadn’t offered him … so
much. He didn’t tell me he was in trouble, he had debts he
needed to pay. Oh God, I just know something’s happened
to him.’
'Mrs Armour, I promise you your husband has more than

earned—’
'I don’t care about money she screamed.
'You have to help me,’ I said quietly. 'You’ll be helping
Campbell. It could even save his life.’ I paused. 'I need to
understand what’s going on inside Ward’s head right now,
what he thinks I did to him.’
There was another longer silence.
'His head is the website. He believes you came to the real
Skylands . . . came for June. He wants the world to know
you killed her, and his father.’
'I’ve never even been near the place. Look, I met June
Seaton once at a party in New York. We spent an evening
together. That was it. I never saw her again.’
'Maybe, but in his mind you were there.’ She hesitated.
'He may have blocked out what really happened that night’
I thought about the boy’s face and hands covered in his
mother’s blood.
'What are you saying? My God … he was nine years old.’
'Campbell asked me if I thought Ernest could have
murdered his parents and suppressed the memory. There
are precedents. If he had reason to fear his mother was
going to run away, abandoning him to an abusive father it’s
possible.’
'But what’s this got to do with me? With my family?’
'June Seaton wrote you a love letter she never mailed.
it came to light two years ago, the letter could have triggered
a response in Ward. Awakened feelings of remorse he can never
admit to himself. So he transfers his guilt onto you . . .’
'Then why didn’t he come after me? Why Sophie?’
'To make you suffer. He wanted to “avenge” his parents’
deaths and destroy your life. He used your daughter, but
wouldn’t have bargained on falling in love with her … which,
I suspect, only created more unresolved conflict.’
'Love? Didn’t you just tell me the guy’s a psychopath?’
'I think he’s going through a psychological purge that he
doesn’t fully understand – or rather it’s going on in him.’ She
paused. 'It’s not over yet.’
'What do you mean?’
'Campbell found evidence that Ward may be getting ready
to kill again. We were on the phone, he was going through a
closet, I think he said it was in the maid’s room, when he
came across … a computer bag or rucksack.’
'Jesus Christ.’
'I don’t know if I should be telling you this. There was a
name on the pack with an address Campbell said looked the
same as your Paris office. He thought you might have been
Ward . . . only he wasn’t sure you weren’t being set up. I
called the police. I didn’t know what else to do.’
'You did the right thing. What was the name?’
* 'He read it out to me. David something or other.’
'Was it David Mallet?’
'Mallet. . . Mallory. Mallet, yeah that’s it. He knew it was
made up because it’s one of the placeholder names we both
*se in our work.’
I heard myself ask, 'Did you say Mallory?’

* rang Jelly back on her cell. It was switched off. I tried her
“ndline and got a recorded message – she had Call Intercept.
A female robot asked me to identify myself before the call
could continue. I gave my name and added (before I remembered
the system wasn’t designed to recognise a message)
that this was a matter of life and death.
'Thank you. Please hold.’
After what seemed an eternity, measured out on an instrumental
version of 'Mr Bojangles’, I heard the same recorded
voice say, 'The person you are calling is not available. Thank
you. Good bye.’
I cursed, waited a moment, then punched the redial
button.

72

Jelly walked over to the door, her bare feet making no sound
on the stripped pine floor. She eased the tiny security flap
over the peep-hole to one side and put her eye to the fisheye
lens. Guy Mallory was standing in the hall, his back half
turned, looking down the stairwell.
He swung around then, as if he’d heard something, and
she saw he was wearing a suit and tie, which looked odd with
the rucksack slung over one shoulder. He took a step closer
to her door and she straightened up, thinking fast.
'Jelena, I know you’re there.’
Too late to pretend otherwise. 'Guy? What are you doing
here?’ She tried to sound groggy, as if he’d just woken her.
'I told you, I don’t feel like seeing nobody.’
She peered out again. His face, distorted by the wide
angled lens, had a wooden, almost mask-like expression. 'Are
you all right?’

'Yeah, I’m fine,’ she said. 'I took some Tylenol. Now please
go away. Lemme get back to sleep.’
'I had to make sure you were safe.’
'Safe? I’m okay, really.’
'It was just that when you wouldn’t let me up before, I
thought maybe it was because your stalker friend was there
with you. And you couldn’t talk, you know? I just wanted to
check you were okay.’
'He’s not here, Guy. I’m fine, thanks.’
'You haven’t heard from him then?’
She hesitated. 'Not really . . . he . . . well, okay, I did see
him briefly. He took me out to lunch, we discussed the situation
and that was it. No plans to meet again.’

'I find that hard to believe. Stalkers are very persistent.’
'Look, if there’s one thing I’m sure about. . . I’m sure he’s
not a stalker.’ But she didn’t sound sure.
Jelly thought about Ed calling her, e-mailing her, calling
her back again – she’d refused to take his last call . . .
maybe it was her fault for giving him the wrong idea. The
next thing he’d be round here. Now he knew where she
lived.

'It’s just that I saw this guy earlier hanging out in the lobby
downstairs, he looked a little crazed.’
'Yeah? So what else is new? This is New York, Guy.’
'He could come back. All I’m trying to do here is protect
you.’
Behind her the phone started ringing. Jelly let the flap fall,
turned and leaned her back against the door. Shit. She raked
her fingers through her hair and closed her eyes, uncertain
what to do.
'Are you going to get that?’ she heard Guy say through
'tiie door.
“Oh what the fuck. She twisted the lock.
Brushing past the girl as she held open the door to her
apartment, Ward made straight for the telephone on the glass
table and picked up.
He stood listening, looking back at Jelly, taking in her
barefoot deshabille, the disordered room, the bleak ammoniac
smell of cat-litter – a pewter rectangle with blunted edges.
He had to close off his senses.
'You know an Ed Lister?’
She nodded miserably.

'You want to talk to him?’
Jelly shook her head. 'I don’t want to talk to him.’
He pressed the number two key, declining the call. 'Didn’t
I tell you? This guy’s just not gonna let go.’
He watched her open a pack of Marlboro and light up a
cigarette as she came back into the room. She sank down
onto the edge of the bed and he saw the tears.

'Hey, it’s okay. As long as I’m around, I won’t let him hurt
you.’
'You don’t understand,’ she said, exhaling smoke.
'You have feelings, I know,’ he said gently, 'but they’re not
real. You don’t even know him. Jelena, none of it’s real. Mind
if I sit?’
Ward slipped his rucksack off his shoulder and lowered it
onto the rattan couch, then cleared a space and sat down.
'A stalker,’ he went on, same soft voice, 'however sincere
he may seem, is a natural liar. All that sweet talk he laid on
you about true love and destiny, it’s written in the stars – all
lies. The fact he was hanging around downstairs, don’t be
surprised if he tries to come back now and “rescue” you
from danger.’
She frowned. 'Why would he think I’m in danger?’
'You’re not in any danger . . . except from him. It’s a
common stalking fantasy. He dreams of proving his love for
you by an act of chivalry. Another one is turning the tables;
where he’ll claim he’s the victim and that you are stalking him, the stalker stalked. You see what we’re up against? If you
don’t give him what he wants your friend is going to turn
violent. You need to tell the authorities about Ed Lister, report
him to the police or the
FBI
. Don’t wait.’
She laughed. 'Go to the cops? Are you kidding?’
'It happens very fast. With someone like Ed, love can turn
in the blink of an eye to a deep hatred that’s every bit as
consuming. If he can’t have you, believe me, he’s going to
make sure no one else can either.’
He lifted that straight from his own 'profile’, the one
Campbell wrote, with a little help – no doubt – from his
widow, Kira.
'What’s up, Mistigris?'Jelly smiled. 'He only goes to people
he knows don’t like cats. His name means “joker” in French.’
'I like his name.’ He kept a neutral expression as the animal
jumped up on his lap and started purring. 'You need to call
somebody.’
She shook her head. I couldn’t do that to Ed. Anyway, I
happen to know he’s flying back to London tomorrow.’
'You forgive my saying so,’ he leaned back, stroking the
cat’s ears, 'but you don’t know that. You don’t know squat
about Ed. It’s not safe for you to stay.’
'Hey now, wait just a minute . . .’
'When I leave here I’m driving out to my grandmother’s
house in New Jersey.’ He spoke with an urgency he needed her to feel. 'There’s plenty of room. If you want it, you got
a bed for the night. No strings.’ “Thanks, I’ll be fine.’
Still acting stubborn. Dumb of her, but only to be expected.
He could see she was rattled now, trying to put on a brave face.
'Your life is in danger, Jelly. Where else can you go?’
“'Ś* She took a deep drag on her cigarette, screwing up her
eyes and choking a little on the smoke, then stubbed it out
in a full ashtray that he couldn’t look at without seeing a
dark tunnel, widest at this end and narrowing down to
nothing.
'You said Jelly just then.’
'Other people call you that?’
She glanced at him. 'Yeah, it’s my nickname.’
He shrugged. 'We don’t have a lot of time.’
'Okay, okay.’ She sighed. 'There’s my girlfriend, Tachel. I
guess I can stay at her place tonight. You could drop me off
there. She lives not far from the expressway – you know
Woodside?’
Ward smiled. 'Not a problem.’
'I need to change out of these clothes.’
'You want I’ll wait outside.’
'Stay there. I’ll use the bathroom.’