Kill Me Again (44 page)

‘I’m going back to the hospital,’ he said to Becky. ‘Don’t hang about for too long – it’s probably better to make an early start tomorrow.’

Becky shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine. I got about four hours’ sleep earlier, so I’m okay. You go – see how Leo’s doing.’

Tom nodded his thanks and headed for the door, turning as he went. ‘Call me if there’s anything at all. Seriously, Becky. I want to know straight away.’

He strode out of the building towards his car, head down against a biting wind, and the frustration swept through him again. He knew he was missing something, but it wouldn’t come to him. The streets of Manchester were quiet. Maybe the cold was keeping everybody indoors, or perhaps it was later than he thought. Still, he had been told at the hospital that he could call in any time. Leo’s operation had gone well, but she was still in an ICU cubicle. As long as he didn’t disturb either her or anybody else, he knew they would let him sit with her for a while.

Arriving at the hospital, he walked head down, hands in pockets down the quiet corridors of the sleeping building, passing nurses and other staff going briskly about their business.

‘Tom?’

He lifted his head at a voice he recognised and smiled. ‘Louisa. It’s good to see you,’ he said, meaning every word. She looked exhausted, though, and he realised that her job must be every bit as demanding as his own.

‘I hear the operation on Leo’s arm went well,’ he said.

‘Yes. I think your girlfriend will be out of ICU soon and on the road to recovery. I’m pleased for you both. Sorry, Tom, I need to go. A patient.’ She gave him a tired but gentle smile.

‘I…’ he started, but she didn’t hear him. ‘Bugger,’ he muttered to her retreating back.

Leo was asleep when he got to her cubicle. Her arm was bandaged, but the skin on her face looked a much healthier shade. He decided to stay for a while. It was peaceful, and maybe he could get his thoughts together.

He hadn’t intended to doze off, sitting upright in a not particularly comfortable hospital chair, but that was what happened, and he had no idea how long he slept. When he eventually surfaced, Leo was awake and watching him.

‘Hi, sleepy head,’ she said, her voice still hoarse from the ordeal of the last few days. ‘Thanks for coming to see me.’

‘You couldn’t keep me away,’ he said, reaching over to stroke her good arm.

They talked in little more than whispers about anything and everything. Everything, that is, except the last few days. That would need time, and it would have to be on Leo’s terms. Tom knew how she had been taken and where she had been kept. The police had the perpetrators in the custody suite, charged and ready to appear before the magistrates in the morning. She didn’t need to say another word until she was ready.

‘Tom,’ she whispered, ‘do you think you could do something for me?’

‘Of course. What do you need?’

‘Before all this happened I was seeing somebody.’

‘I know, Julian Richmond. Nice guy.’

Leo looked startled.

Tom laughed. ‘No, Leo, I wasn’t having you watched. When you went missing I spoke to him – that’s all.’

For a moment she looked sad. ‘It really is over for us, isn’t it?’

Tom nodded. ‘You’ll always be special to me, but we can’t go back. We’d probably slip back into how we used to be because that’s what people do.’

‘I know. I fucked it up.’ The regret was clear in Leo’s eyes.

‘We both fucked it up. I expected too much, too soon. But what about Julian?’

‘I like him. Quite a lot, actually. Since you… well, I’ve been scared, but he seems to get that. His ex-wife was a real cow. Much worse than yours.’

Tom smiled. Kate was okay. As long as she had plenty of money and could live the life she wanted, she didn’t make too many waves, and they got on fine.

‘Do you think you could contact Julian for me?’ Leo asked. ‘He may never want to see me again, but I’d like to know.’

‘Of course he’ll want to see you – I’m sure of it – but I’ll call him in the morning. Does he know you’re okay?’

‘I don’t know. I got Ellie to log onto my Facebook account for me, and let the small number of friends I have on there know that I’m safe and well, but he’s not big on Facebook I don’t think.’

Leo carried on chatting, but Tom stopped listening. Facebook. That was it. Bloody Facebook.

Four cups of black coffee in the space of three hours, and Becky was buzzing. It was one in the morning, and she knew she should go home, but she had a feeling that Michael Alexander – presuming he was still alive – might show his hand.

Every policeman in Manchester was looking for the guy, but the trouble was, nobody knew what he looked like. They didn’t even know if he was here.

Becky’s mobile rang as one of the PCs on the team pushed a note under her nose.

‘Becky Robinson,’ she said, stifling a yawn and trying to read the note at the same time as listening on her phone.

‘Becky, it’s Tom. Where are you?’

‘In the incident room. Why?’ Becky scanned the note, her eyes widening slightly.

‘Tom—’ But he was already talking.

‘What was the name of the woman who was trying to track Michael Alexander through his ex-foster mother?’

‘Just a minute,’ she answered, keen to get this question answered so she could tell him her news. ‘Grace Peters.’

‘Bollocks. How could I forget that?’ he said.

‘Why? Oh, shit. I’ve got it now. Maggie Taylor’s sister! Suzy Peters.’

‘Check out Maggie’s full name. If Grace isn’t her middle name, check out everybody else in the family. I’m coming back to the office.’

‘I think you’ll want to hear this, too. The only records of Duncan Taylor that we can trace start twelve years ago – at the same time as Michael Alexander disappeared. And there’s something else. I’ll give you two guesses where the Taylors used to live.’

Tom didn’t need two guesses. Suffolk. Where according to the National Crime Agency’s database four women had been drowned and a symbol carved into their thighs.

Tom was silent for a moment, and Becky waited. She could almost hear his brain ticking over. ‘I have a feeling Maggie Taylor knows full well who her husband is. I just hope to God she listened to what we told her earlier.’

The phone went dead in Becky’s hand.

Ten minutes later the door to the incident room burst open, and Tom marched across to Becky.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘Maggie Taylor – Grace Peters. Same person. She doesn’t use Facebook really. Like I said before, it’s an account set up to nosy at other people’s info. She’s liked a few groups, but nothing else. No posts, and she hasn’t got any privacy settings because there’s actually no information about her.’

‘And she was checking on Michael Alexander?’

‘According to Stacey Meagan, yes.’

Tom swivelled a chair and sat down to save Becky from craning to look up at him.

‘If Maggie was trying to find out about him, that suggests she didn’t know any of this either until recently.’

‘After what we said to her this afternoon, she must be absolutely terrified now. Let’s get her on the phone.’

Becky picked up her desk phone and punched in the numbers. The phone at the other end rang six times and then went to answerphone. Becky glanced at Tom.

‘Try it again. If they’re all asleep we might have woken them up.’

Becky dialled again, and this time the phone was answered on the fourth ring.

‘Hello.’ The voice sounded hesitant.

‘Who am I speaking to?’ Becky asked.

‘This is Suzy Peters. Can I help you?’

‘It’s DI Becky Robinson, Miss Peters. Can I speak to your sister, please?’

‘DI Robinson, it’s the middle of the night.’

‘I know. I need to speak to her, Suzy. It’s urgent.’

There was a sigh from the other end of the phone. ‘Give me a moment.’

Becky heard footsteps and then all was silent. She thought she heard a faint call of ‘Maggie’ but she might have been wrong. The footsteps came back, but the phone wasn’t picked up, and she heard them retreat again. She looked at Tom and pulled a face.

There was a clatter as if the phone had been dropped and a muttered curse followed by a rustle.

‘DI Robinson – Maggie’s not here. I’ve searched the house, and her car’s gone. I’ve no idea where she is.’

‘Has your husband arrived yet, Suzy?’ Becky asked, concern for this family giving her voice a clipped tone.

‘My husband? I haven’t got a husband. There’s just me and Maggie’s kids here. Why?’

Becky calmly told Suzy Peters to make sure all the doors were double-locked. They were concerned for Maggie, but they were going to do their best to find her.

She put the phone down and stared at Tom. ‘Where do we look?’

‘Near water, at a guess.’

68

The bare branches of black trees bent in the force of the wind. A plastic bag scuttered across the road in front of Maggie’s car; the only sounds were the purr of her engine and the wind whistling through the crack she had left open at the top of her window. She needed fresh, clean air.

Neither of them spoke except when directions were needed. All Duncan had said when they got in the car was ‘Drive towards Manchester.’ She had no idea where they were going. She didn’t want to go anywhere with him, but he hadn’t left her any choice.

Duncan had dragged her off the bed. ‘You’re coming with me. I need your help.’

‘Don’t, Duncan. If ever you loved me, don’t make me do something bad. Whatever you’re planning, please don’t involve me.’

She hadn’t been frightened of him to begin with. This was Duncan - albeit not the
same
Duncan – and all she had felt at that moment was anger at what he was putting her through.

‘I have to involve you. Otherwise my life is finished.’ His mouth was turned down in an ugly line.

‘Why do we have to go?’

‘I’ll explain on the way. But you either come now, or I take my kids and we disappear forever.’

She knew he would do it. She could feel his desperation. The first thin fingers of fear started to touch her. But how far was he prepared to go? She didn’t know, and she couldn’t risk him trying to take Josh and Lily. She had to go with him whether she liked it or not.

The car had been recovered that morning from where she’d been forced to abandon it the night before, and at least Maggie was driving and had some control. She still hadn’t worked out how Duncan expected this to end, but every version of an ending that she dreamt up seemed worse than the last.

‘Turn right,’ Duncan said. She realised they were skirting Manchester, and not heading into the centre. Where was he taking her? He wouldn’t tell her, even if she asked, so Maggie decided it was better to say nothing. She didn’t want him to hear the uncertainty in her voice.

They drove on for another ten minutes in silence. Maggie knew deep down that it was all going to end, one way or another, that night. And before that happened, there was one truth she needed to know. It seemed the whole of their marriage had been built around it, and however the night ended she had to understand one thing

‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth about your mother, Duncan?’

She kept her eyes on the road. She didn’t want to see the look on his face.

‘What do you mean?’

Maggie didn’t speak. She was waiting for him. Finally he banged the flat of his hand on the dashboard and Maggie jumped.

‘Okay, so I was brought up in care. Are you happy now? Do you think I want people to know that? I’m ashamed of the fact that I didn’t have one decent parent to my name. Can you blame me for making up a story?’

For a minute she felt his pain. But this was the tip of the iceberg, so she steeled herself to him.

‘Yes. I blame you for lying to me. Tell me what happened.’

Duncan turned his head to look out of the side window. His voice was slightly muffled, and Maggie knew he didn’t want her to see his vulnerability.

‘I never knew my father. He was probably a one-night stand – my mother never told me. We lived in Chorley, just north of here. By the time I was five, my mother had given up any idea of being a parent. She preferred to get pissed every night and go out on the pull. Oh, she wasn’t a prostitute. She didn’t even get
paid
for it. She was a slut and a drunk. I got taken into care. My foster mother applied to adopt me, but I didn’t want that. I hoped right up until I was eighteen that some member of my family would come for me. My mother died when I was eight, having refused to see me since I was five years old. Obviously it was the booze that killed her. So I made it all up. I made up a story that I was happy with.’