Authors: Michelle Davies
Lesley quivered with frustration. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, what are you going on about now?’
‘Please, I need you to think. This is important. How long has Rosie had her iPhone?’
‘She upgraded in February.’
‘So she’s had it less than four months?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it the same number as her old one?’
‘Actually, it’s not. She had a BlackBerry before she switched and Mack thought it would be a good idea if she got a new number at the same time as getting the iPhone, because she
needed a different SIM card for it anyway. She’d had her old number for a while and he thought it would stop people we used to know calling her and asking her for money. I remember she was
pretty annoyed she had to change it, but she went along with it.’
‘Do you know what happened to the BlackBerry?’
‘She probably threw it out or recycled it.’
‘Is there a chance she didn’t do either and has still been using it like she has her old laptop?’
Lesley frowned. ‘To do what?’
‘To message or call old friends like Emma?’
‘But she would’ve cancelled the contract on it when she switched to the iPhone.’
‘Maybe she didn’t. Do you pay the monthly charge yourselves?’
‘No, she pays it out of her allowance.’
‘Could she afford to have two phones on the go?’
Lesley exhaled. ‘Yes, she could.’
‘I bet you anything the number that came up on Emma’s phone is for Rosie’s BlackBerry. We have to find it. It might help us identify who this GS is.’
‘Is he something to do with her going missing?’
‘Possibly, but I’m afraid that’s all I can say for now.’
Lesley nodded. ‘If you honestly think Rosie didn’t throw her old phone away, it must be back at the house somewhere.’
‘Let’s go.’
They returned to find a scribbled note from Belmar on the island counter saying he and Mack had gone out for a drive to get a change of scenery.
‘It’ll do him good,’ said Maggie as Lesley fretted over the note. ‘Belmar will look after him.’
‘I should be with him. He’s not coping.’
Maggie noticed how troubled she looked.
‘Is something else the matter?’ she asked.
‘No, no,’ said Lesley hurriedly. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘If there is, I might be able to help.’
Lesley wouldn’t meet her eyes and made a show of reading the note again. ‘I wonder how long they’ll be?’
Maggie had to respect the fact that Lesley didn’t want to share whatever was bothering her, even though she was intrigued and wondered if it related to the case. She’d ask Belmar
when he got back if Mack was acting the same. If he was she’d tackle Lesley again.
‘Shall we look for the BlackBerry in the meantime?’ she said.
‘Sure,’ said Lesley, pocketing the note.
Maggie’s phone rang and her pulse misfired when she saw it was Umpire. She tried to collect herself as she answered but any fear she had that their first conversation since his visit to
her flat would be awkward proved unfounded. Umpire was business as usual.
‘Are you at Angel’s Reach, Neville?’
‘Yes, sir, I’m here with Lesley now.’
‘Kathryn Stockton was mugged last night. She’s in hospital.’
Maggie’s face must’ve registered her shock because Lesley asked in a panic what was wrong.
‘It’s Kathryn. She’s in hospital,’ Maggie relayed. ‘Is she okay?’ she asked Umpire.
‘Her face is badly beaten but she managed to fight her attacker off, although he took her phone. It happened on the other side of the village, by the river. We’re looking into it but
at this stage there’s nothing to connect the incident to Rosie’s disappearance.’
Lesley tugged at Maggie’s sleeve, so she broke off briefly to explain what Umpire had said. Lesley was not convinced by his theory.
‘It must be the same person who hurt Rosie, it must be!’ She lowered herself into one of the chairs around the kitchen table and began to cry softly. She looked exhausted.
‘I couldn’t interview Kathryn last night because she was too out of it to talk,’ said Umpire. ‘I’m on my way to the hospital now.’
‘The attacker must’ve been standing in front of her to hit her in the face, so she might have got a look at them first,’ said Maggie.
‘I bloody well hope so.’
As he hung up, Maggie turned her attention back to Lesley. She had stopped crying and was staring down at one of the newspapers on the table in horror.
‘I can’t believe some bastard took my picture yesterday.’
Maggie went over to see what Lesley was looking at and was startled to see it was a photograph of her in a shop, crying her eyes out, as two women comforted her. The headline above the picture
was
A MOTHER’S ANGUISH
but as Maggie read the copy she saw there was no mention of the anguish the paper was piling on by publishing the picture.
‘How are they allowed to get away with this kind of thing?’ Lesley asked her. Then she suddenly gasped.
Maggie, who was still reading the copy, gave her a sharp look. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s him. It’s him,’ said Lesley, jabbing the page excitedly.
‘Who?’
‘The one I couldn’t remember. From the queue!’
She pointed to a young, good-looking man just in frame on the left-hand side of the photograph. Wearing gym clothes, he stood side on and was looking intently at Lesley as she cried. Maggie saw
his hands were clenched into fists.
‘I swear to God he’s the one who was behind me in the queue when I bought our lottery ticket.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m certain, because I also spoke to him yesterday.’
‘You did what?’ said Maggie, stunned.
‘Yesterday, when I went out. I spoke to this man after he almost ran me down. It was him.’ Lesley pointed again to the picture. ‘It was definitely the same man. That’s
where I’d seen him before, when he got out of his car.’
Maggie struggled to take it all in. ‘You think the man in this picture is the same man who let you push ahead of him in the garage queue over a year ago and now you’re saying you
spoke to him just yesterday? Where?’
‘Here. He was right outside the house.’
Mrs Roberts was not going to make it easy for him. He had arrived at one minute to nine and still she pointedly tapped the face of her wristwatch like he was late. Then she
insisted he treat her in one of the rooms at the front of the house rather than the conservatory, which was his preference because he could gain access to the garden from it. It was a complication
he could do without.
‘You must try to pull your hand back as far as it can go,’ he said as her bony fingers clutched the weight he’d brought along for her exercises. He was trying to get her to
strengthen the flexor muscles in her wrist but there was a distinct lack of effort on her part. ‘Here, like this.’ He demonstrated the movement with his own hand, flexing it back until
it was at a ninety-degree angle with his forearm.
‘I can’t possibly do that, it’s far too painful,’ she said, and she dropped the weight onto the floor, where it rolled beneath the chair opposite. She arched her
eyebrows. ‘Pick it up then.’
If he didn’t have a reason to stay, he’d tell her to fuck off and walk out. But he needed to get into the garden before he left. Keep your cool, he told himself, because soon you
won’t need the stupid bitch’s money.
‘Don’t just sit there,’ Mrs Roberts sniped. ‘Let’s get on with the next exercise. I haven’t got all day.’
‘Are you going out?’
If she was, he could do what he did last time and let himself into the garden.
‘Good God, no, not with this injury,’ she said, as though she’d lost a limb rather than just strained it. ‘I have someone coming round at ten thirty regarding the
installation of a stairlift and I want you gone by then.’
‘You don’t need a stairlift, Mrs Roberts,’ he said exasperatedly. ‘It’s your wrist you’ve hurt, not your legs.’
‘If it’s my wrist now, it’ll be something else tomorrow. My arthritis is getting worse and I need to be prepared. Not that it’s any of your business what I do in my own
home.’
He flexed his own wrist again as he looked her up and down. She was frail enough that he could probably kill her with one hand. Quick grab of the throat, squeeze the life out of her and shut her
up for good. It was that easy. He found the idea thrilled him so much that he had to pick up the other weight he had in his bag and squeeze it to release the tension.
As he did, he checked the time. It was already 10.07 a.m., which meant he didn’t have long before she expected him to leave. His stomach churned with anxiety. He had to go outside before
he left. Everything depended on it.
‘This one doesn’t seem to be making a difference either,’ Mrs Roberts sighed. ‘The pain is too much. I thought you knew what you were doing but clearly you have no idea.
I should’ve known not to trust that idiot boy’s recommendation.’
She sat back in her chair. As he watched her close her eyes and feign exhaustion, the urge to hit her consumed him. It was addictive, the sensation of punching his knuckles into flesh and
feeling bone crack from the force of it.
‘You can go now,’ said Mrs Roberts, keeping her eyes closed.
‘Now? But we haven’t finished.’
‘I’ve had enough for today. Your money’s on the table in the hall.’
‘Are you sure?’ He knew he sounded desperate but after last night’s failure he was starting to feel it. Rob’s detective sister-in-law had eventually showed up at her
sister’s house as he waited outside, but instead of leading him back to where she lived, as he’d hoped she would, she stayed the night. With that part of his plan unravelling he had to
gain access to Mrs Roberts’s garden now to make sure the rest of it was still in place. Unsettled, he felt a shooting pain in his head. Not a migraine now, he thought despairingly. Not
fucking now.
‘Why don’t you have a glass of water or tea or something, then we can start again?’ he suggested, teeth gritted against the pain as it mushroomed.
‘Good God, man, don’t you ever listen? Just go. Go on, leave now,’ said Mrs Roberts, flapping her hand at him like she was trying to shoo a pigeon.
The migraine blurring his vision, he left the room without saying goodbye and went into the hall. How the fuck was he going to handle this? It was now 10.14 a.m. He was running out of time.
His fee was where she’d said it was, on the table near the door, on top of a bundle of leaflets and envelopes. As he picked it up, he noticed one of the leaflets was for a company that
installed stairlifts. Turning it over, he saw someone had written a mobile number on the back in a spidery scrawl. He pulled out his phone and called the number.
‘Good morning, I’m calling on behalf of Mrs Roberts, from Verma Lodge in Burr Way,’ he said, careful to keep his voice at a level she wouldn’t hear from the room she was
in.
‘I’m almost there,’ said the man who answered. It sounded like he was driving.
‘I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid Mrs Roberts has been taken ill and needs to reschedule her appointment.’
‘But I’m just around the corner,’ said the man, sounding pissed off. ‘Are you sure I can’t pop by? It won’t take that long.’
‘She’s really not up to it now. Could you come at the same time next week instead?’
‘I suppose so,’ said the man grumpily. ‘If she feels better by then.’
‘I’m sure she will.’
His mood jumped from anxious to triumphant and he felt his headache ease a little. As quietly as he could, he tiptoed back along the hallway and into the conservatory. To his relief, the doors
leading to the garden were unlocked. He slipped outside then broke into a run across the lawn, which squelched underfoot from overnight rain. He knew exactly which way to go and in no time had
reached the large, Scandinavian-style pool house next to the swimming pool, hidden behind a tall hedgerow on the right side of the garden. Pulling open the door, he was at once struck by the scent
of flowers and sneezed violently as it triggered his allergy. Looking round, he saw some idiot had left a bunch of daffodils stuffed into a jar by the day bed. Annoyed, he kicked it to one side as
he checked everything else was in order. Satisfied it was, he went to pull the door closed as he left.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
Jolted, he spun round to see Mrs Roberts standing right behind him, her face twisted with fury. She was out of breath but otherwise fine. So much for her legs being the next to go.
‘How dare you go traipsing around my property without my permission! Are you trying to steal from me? I should’ve guessed as much. I knew I should’ve got better references
before letting you in. Right, you’ve got ten seconds to leave before I call the police . . .’
She stopped and her hand flew up to her mouth. He tried to move but it was too late. She was looking past him at the day bed and had seen everything.
‘Oh . . .’ she croaked. ‘You did this in my house?’
‘It wasn’t me,’ he said as calmly as he could, advancing towards her.
‘I’m not stupid,’ she screeched, pointing at the open doorway. ‘Oh my God, here, all this time.’ She started backing away. ‘I’m calling the police and
don’t you dare try to stop me.’
The pain in his head exploded like someone had pulled a trigger and it took every bit of strength he had not to drop to his knees and howl.
‘I can’t let you do that,’ he managed.
‘Stay back, stay away from me,’ she screamed.
The pain blurred his vision again and he clutched his left hand to his forehead in a futile attempt to salve the agony. He could barely see Mrs Roberts now, but he knew she was right in front of
him. He reached out with his right hand and it smacked against her collarbone. She tried to scream but it came out more like a cough and as he inched his fingers up and closed them round her
throat, her veins were like gristle beneath his grip. Her bony fingers clawed at his arm to let go but he didn’t.
With just one hand he squeezed.
Hearing that Lesley had recognized the man in the queue as the same one she’d encountered outside Angel’s Reach had a similar effect on Umpire to a shot of
adrenaline. Crowing with excitement after Maggie rang to tell him, he ordered HTCU to enhance the image of the man taken in M&S as much as they could before the press office circulated it to
the media.