The Vows of Silence (10 page)

“How do you know?—you haven’t been here.”

“Well, has there?”

Simon shrugged again.

“God, I could hit you. You’re behaving like Sam.”

“Drop it, then. I just hated it, Cat. It was … I saw her in the kitchen through the window. It was a bad moment.”

She put her hand on his arm. She knew. Simon and their mother.

His mobile rang.

While Simon was outside where he could get a better signal, Cat went upstairs. Sam was sitting at the small desk in his room reading a comic. Hannah was in bed, asleep, fully clothed. Felix was in his cot looking grubby.

Everything blew up inside her at once and she went into the bedroom, furious that Chris could not organise his children properly, dismissive of his continuing jet lag, but as she reached the door Simon called up the stairs that he had to go.

“Another one,” he shouted.

“What?”

“Another shooting. I’ll ring you.”

The front door slammed. Good, she thought, take his mind off Dad. But then she pulled herself up short. Someone was prob ably dead, and they had still not found the killer of the young woman in Dulles Avenue. There was nothing good about it.

Sam had slithered past her, hoping to prove invisible.

“Sam, if you’ve finished your homework it’s—”

“
Mummy
, come here!”

You didn’t ignore anyone who called out like that.

Sam was standing, frozen, in the bathroom doorway, and as she came up behind him he turned to her, his face puckered with fear.

Chris was lying awkwardly. He was banging his head on the floor, his eyes were rolling back and a line of froth was bubbling out between his half-open lips.

Nineteen

The ball cracked into the pins. Four down.

Phil groaned.

“Right, stand back.” Helen bent, swung her arm back. Tried to look as if she knew what she was doing. It was her first visit to a bowling alley and she was enjoying herself but uncertain if her lower back might not be agony the following day. She smiled. So what, so what? She cast a glance sideways at Phil. Yes, she thought, and sent the ball down fast.

“Eight.”

“You have done this before.”

“No, honestly not. Beginner’s luck.”

“Quite.”

“I’m still winning.”

It was the fourth time they had been out in ten days. Luck. Yes, speaking of luck.

“Is that your mobile?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s coming from your bag.”

The phone was playing “Love Changes Everything.”

“God. Elizabeth! She must have reprogrammed it. It used to play ‘Oranges and Lemons.’ But as she dug around, the ringing stopped.

“My turn. Got to do better than eight.”

“Hang on.”
Lizzie
it read. “I’d better call her back.”

“You won’t get a signal in here. Phone her outside.”

She headed for the exit, and as she got into the air of the forecourt the phone rang again.

“Mum?”

Lizzie. Sounding unlike Lizzie. Sounding ten years old again.

“What’s the matter?”

“Mum …” Her voice came through shuddering breaths.

“Where are you?”

“There’s been a shooting. At the
Seven Aces
. We were waiting to go in. We’re in the street, everyone’s in the street, they wouldn’t let us leave, there’s police, they won’t let us leave—”

“A
shooting
?”

“Two girls. It was a hen party going in, they were going into the club, we were in the queue … Mum, I think one of them is dead, they both might be dead …”

“Don’t move. We’re coming.”

“They won’t let us move, the police won’t let us move, there are armed police, God, there are two
ambulances—”

“We’re coming, OK?”

The signal died as she ran back through the entrance area to the bowling alley, screaming for Phil.

Mobile ringtones fighting for attention in the narrow street. Sirens.

Simon’s own phone rang as he got out of his car. “Can’t talk. It’s a shooting.”

“Oh God, Chris is on the bathroom floor, he’s having a fit.”

“Sir?” The armed response command came up and Simon cut Cat off.

They had done a good, quick job on the scene in front of the club. Those who had been queuing were inside the foyer area, the public held back, tapes in place. The ambulances were there, a couple of paramedics inside treating for shock, four or five behind the screens which had been set up.

Simon went through. One body lay on the ground, covered, blood seeping. Another was concealed by the huddle of green-suited figures, drips held up.
DOCTOR
. Fluorescent yellow letters on green jackets.

“One dead, one badly injured. They were part of a hen party going in together. A couple of the others are inside being treated but they’re not critical. Just shocked. That one is too bad to move.”

“Any ID?”

“Yes. The other girls told us. Dead one was Claire Pescod.”

“Any idea where the shots came from?”

Bronze Command pointed to the buildings opposite the club. “Either somewhere in there, but it’s a semi-derelict building—”

“The old granary.”

“–or next door … offices—top floor unoccupied, no one there at this hour.”

“Night security?”

The armed officer shook his head.

“Any sign of the gunman?”

“I’ve sealed off both buildings and they’re secured. We’ll go in after we’ve completed the exterior check. If he’s in there, he won’t be going far.”

“How long’s it been?”

“Twenty minutes. We’ve been here ten—the second ARV followed straight on.”

“Right. Thanks. I’m going inside. Who else is here?”

“DS Willis, DC Green.”

The paramedics were lifting the injured girl steadily, slowly, drips still held high, crowded round the stretcher.

“DC Green?”

“Sir?” Fiona Green turned from the club doorway.

“Go in the ambulance. Doesn’t look as if she’ll be in any fit state to talk but we need anything you can get. Let me know.”

“Sir.”

“David?” Simon spoke to Sergeant Willis as he went into the foyer of the club. “I need to set up a temporary incident room here. Is there an office?”

“The manager’s already handed his over to us, guv. He’s with the rest of the staff. They’re waiting in the bar.”

“How many uniform have we got?”

“Four outside, two in.”

“That’ll do for now. Right, let’s get on with it.’

Twenty

He was not out of breath. He had walked steadily for a couple of hundred yards. Got into the van, moved off, driven out onto the Bevham Road. Speeded up on the bypass.

Three miles. Turned left. Country road. Drove at forty. Turned right into the old airfield.

Rabbits fled away in the sweep of the headlights. It was a warm night.

Doused the lights. Switched off the engine. Torch. It took a couple of minutes to peel off the panel.

D.F. STOKES. PLUMBING. CENTRAL HEATING. CORGI REGISTERED. 07765 400 119.

He rolled up the plastic and slipped it under one of the corrugated-iron panels of the hangar, between the metal hoop and the struts. Seven struts down. It was completely hidden.

He was back on the road by nine ten. Heading in.

Twenty-one

“Send the ambulance away,” Richard Serrailler said.

“Dad, he needs to go to hospital.”

“You heard what your father said. Send the ambulance away. You heard what I bloody well said. Just do it, why can’t you?”

Cat knew that this was not Chris, equable, cheerful Chris, not the Chris who was her husband but some other man, some irritable stranger leaning back on the sofa with a pillow at his head. But she was hurt in spite of what she knew.

She had telephoned her father and the ambulance, and her father had arrived first, with Judith, who was now upstairs with the children. Chris had come round slowly from his fit and she had managed to help him downstairs. The paramedics had tried to take over but Chris had lost his temper and sworn, and only agreed to sit here under sufferance. He had been going to take
a shower, he said, and he planned to continue.

The green-suits stood by, waiting for a decision. Cat got up and beckoned them outside. “I’ll persuade him,” she said, “and then my father and I can bring him in. I’m sorry about this.”

“So long as you can manage, Doc. But you should try to get him to come with us, it’d be safer.”

“I know. But you heard him.”

Their bleeper went for another call and they left. Cat watched the ambulance turn in the driveway. Not wanting to go back into the kitchen, not wanting her medical mind to throw information at her which she wasn’t ready to deal with.

She headed upstairs.

They were on the big bed, Judith and all three children, Felix asleep on his tummy, the other two leaning against her listening to
The Fantora Family Files
. Hannah had her thumb in her mouth but she pulled it out as Cat appeared.

“Is Daddy dead?”

“Has Dad gone in the ambulance?” Cat sat down beside them. “No and no, he’s on the sofa having a glass of water and Grandpa is with him. When he’s feeling up to it, we’ll drive him to the hospital.”

“Why? That’s what the ambulance does, it drives people to hospital.”

“Daddy will be more comfortable in the car.”

“Going in an ambulance is cool.”

“Yes and uncomfortable.”

“I’m happy to hold the fort here,” Judith said.

“Thank God you could come.”

“Yes, thank God you could read to us, you’re a good reader aloud,” Hannah said, wriggling closer to her. “She’ll be able to look after us, we’ll show her where everything is and what we do.”

“And what time you’re supposed to be asleep, which is
now
.”

“Right,” Judith said. “End of this chapter and then I learn how to put the Deerbon Three to bed.”

“Felix is easy-peasy, you just dump him down.”

“And I put myself to bed so there’s only the baby-waby girl.” Sam dived for cover.

Judith closed the book with a snap. She said nothing but both children went quiet.

Cat slipped out.

Chris was sitting as she had left him, his colour better, his expression mutinous.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “You heard. Now bugger off, the pair of you.”

Twenty-two

“Serrailler?”

“It’s me, I’m at …” But Cat could hear the sirens and voices down the phone. “I’ll talk to you later. I’m at the hospital with Chris.”

“Hold on.” Simon walked a few yards away up the road. “It’s just a scare … some kids letting off fireworks but some woman thought it was a shooting. What’s wrong with Chris?”

“We’re waiting for an MRI scan. I tried to tell you. He had some sort of fit.”

“When? Why?”

“I don’t know. Dad’s here with me.”

“Guv?”

“Got to go. I’ll call you as soon as I’m free. Text me.”

“Yes.”

“Cat? Chin up. It’ll be fine.”

“Will it?”

“Yes. Chris is tough.”

The woman had gone to hospital as a precaution, shocked but unhurt. The rest of the street had calmed down.

In the armed response vehicle they were preparing to leave, after another abortive call-out.

“What
is
all this?” Clive Rowley said. “As if we didn’t have enough, with a real killer out there. Flaming kids.”

“Didn’t sound like kids. Men, that woman said.”

“She wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Hardly surprising.”

“Probably cap guns. You ever have a cap gun, Clive?”

“No.”

“My dad’s still got his. No caps though. He says they smelled of sulphur … give out quite a crack though.”

“Could have been caps. Could have been fireworks.”

They had scoured the streets but whoever had terrified the woman and whatever had made the gunshot noise had long gone.

“You on training this weekend?”

The ARV was backing.

“Yes. All of Unit 3.”

“Tim?”

“No. Baby should be here by then. I’m off from tomorrow.”

“My back itches,” Clive said.

It itched right in the middle, beneath the body armour and his shirt, driving him mad, but he’d have to wait until they had checked in and been stood down before he could get at it.

“What do you reckon?” he asked Duncan. “Nuts?”

“This lot? More like malicious.”

“I meant the other one. The one earlier this evening. He’s killed three women now.”

“Two. Two dead. Tonight’s was a deer rifle with telescopic, Dulles Avenue was a Glock. Doesn’t have to be any connection.”

“Course there’s a connection. Got to be.”

“Why? Coincidence.”

Clive shook his head. “I don’t buy that. No one’s heard a gunshot in Lafferton for years apart from that bloke who topped himself and then we get three women shot in three days. Got to be a connection.”

“You heard if forensics came up with anything at the old granary?”

“Not a sniff. Not yet. Give it time. I don’t think he was in the granary at all, me, I reckon he fired from the roof of that office block next door.”

“They’ll have to go all over that as well.”

“What makes you say that, Steve? That he was on the roof? They found that rope by the fire escape.”

“He jumped across. Easy enough. From the roof he’d a clear sighting down onto the street.”

Clive Rowley shrugged and twisted about, trying to get at the itch and not succeeding as the vehicle swayed round a corner. False alarms were going to
happen until everything settled down. Women thinking they’d heard gunshots, kids messing about—inevitable. Frustrating.

But there were two good days coming up—training days were always good. They reminded you what it was all about, what you were there for, what might happen and how you dealt with it. They kept you up to the mark, sharpened you. This time round they were training on the old airfield. Best of all. “Kids,” his sister said, “you’re like a load of bloody kids, running round playing goodies and baddies.”

He was off tomorrow. He might go up there. See her, see her kids. He hadn’t been for a couple of weeks. Let her wind him up about being a big kid himself. The van pulled up outside the station. Clive was the first out. Couldn’t wait to get processed and then strip to sort out his flaming itch.