Passion Killers (22 page)

“Start your life again, you and Ianthe,” Kim said quietly.

“Won’t I be charged?” Olivia asked. “And Katie, if she pulls through? You too, Kim. Won’t we be charged with Ahmed’s murder?”

“No.” Judy took her other hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s too long ago. DI Banham has already told me he won’t be following it up. If Kevin brings it up in court, it’s his word against yours. His defence will go for an insanity plea anyway, so it wouldn’t hold up. You’ve more than paid the price for that mistake.”

Olivia opened her handbag and took out a tissue. “To be honest, I don’t think I care any more,” she said, scrubbing hard at her cheeks. “If it wasn’t for Ianthe, I’d probably kill myself and save everyone a lot of bother.”

“Come on, Olivia,” Judy said sternly. “Katie is fighting for her life and you dare to suggest ending yours?”

“I’m going to insist that you and Ianthe stay with us for a while,” Kim said.

“It’s my fault Kevin turned out like this,” Olivia said, tears starting to flow again.

“Livvy, we were seventeen years old,” Kim said patiently. “We didn’t know we were playing with fire. And we didn’t do it on purpose. It just happened.”

Judy squeezed Olivia’s hand again. “You’re not the only one with a guilty secret,” she said sheepishly. “I’m a police officer, and I lied too. I knew Kim had red g-strings in those skips, and I said she didn’t, because I didn’t want them to interrogate her. And it gets worse. I knew about Ahmed’s death weeks ago, because Kim confided in me, and I kept it to myself.”

Olivia gave a watery smile. “I guess no one’s perfect,” she said.

“All we can ever do is try to hold it together,” Kim said.

“When I was a kid, shunted around from one foster home to another, I was determined to have it all when I grew up.” Olivia took another clean tissue from her bag. “I really believed I could, too. And I might have, if I’d gone the right way about it. I was going to law school, remember? But I got it all wrong. And now look at me – I’ve got nothing at all.”

“You’ve got a beautiful daughter and you’ve got your friends.”

“What about Katie? I can’t believe I may never see her again.” A tear dropped from Olivia’s eye.

“Katie’s tough,” Judy said encouragingly. “She’s a fighter. She could yet pull through.” She stood up and put out a hand to Olivia. “Look, we’ll go and get you a cup of something disgusting from the police canteen, and while you drink it, I’ll go and pick Ianthe up from the stables and take her home to pick up some things. Then I’ll bring her back here to fetch you and Kim, and we’ll all go and visit Katie.”

“And then what?”

“One day at a time, eh? You can both stay with us, at least for a few days until the injunction is sorted. We can all go together to the hospital every day, and when Katie’s better we’ll all live together until things even out.”

Olivia smiled sadly. “She’s OK, your Judy,” she said to Kim.

“Yeah. I know.” Kim looked away, biting her lip.

“What?”

“No, you’ve had enough for the moment. This can wait till later,” Kim said.

“Get it over with,” Olivia said flatly.

“OK. Social services turned up to see Bernadette, and Theresa’s mother phoned us. We went round to help her out, and guess what she told us?”

“Go on.”

“Bernadette’s father wasn’t Brian. It was Ahmed.”

“Jesus!”

“Jesus would have been less of a surprise,” Judy said, “seeing as she was an Irish Catholic, and Ahmed was an Arab.”

Olivia felt as if she’d been punctured. “What would Katie say to that?” she wondered.

“We’ll let you be the one to tell her,” Judy said. “When she’s well enough.”

“My God!” Alison exclaimed as they approached the hospital entrance.

The building was surrounded. Fans, journalists, photographers, television crews, friends and well-wishers all stood waiting for news of Katie Faye’s progress.

“There must be a thousand people here,” Banham said.

Journalists shivered in the February chill, notebooks hugged to their chests. Television cameras pointed at the doors, lights turning early evening into day, overhead boom stands connected. Everyone stood ready and waiting for the day’s headline story: the nation’s favourite soap star had been abducted by a serial killer, and lay unconscious and fighting for her life.

A host of fans had turned out too, some alone, some huddled together in groups, some holding large bouquets or single red roses, some crying, all waiting and wondering what would happen to Katie Faye.

“I hate the tabloids,” Banham said, digging in his pocket for his warrant card. “They’re like vultures, hovering and circling, waiting for a life to be extinguished so they can feast on the remains.” He held his card in the air. “POLICE!” he shouted authoritatively. “Clear a path.” He grabbed Alison’s hand and skilfully manoeuvred through the multitude of people.

She wasn’t sure if he held on to her so tightly because he thought she needed help getting through the crowd, or because he needed to hold on to her. Either way she didn’t object.

They stood in front of the hospital’s glass doors and turned to face the crowd. Banham spoke in a loud voice, showing little sign of the emotion Alison knew he was feeling.

“There is no news at present. Katie Faye is still in the operating theatre. A man has been arrested and has now been charged.” He was briefly distracted by a young blonde woman in blue jeans and a floral overall, wheeling a garden trolley overloaded with bouquets and plants of every conceivable colour.

Alison noticed a blue van covered in enormous yellow and white daisies, parked illegally across an emergency bay in front of the hospital. Another woman was unloading more flowers from the back, while the woman with the trolley cut a path through the crowds to the door. Banham moved aside to let her through, and as she pushed the door open some fans rushed forward to add their own tributes to the pile.

“For Katie Faye,” she grinned, looking at Alison. “And all those.” She waved an arm at the van.

Alison watched Banham taking advantage of the distraction to pull himself together. Someone in the crowd asked him how near a miss Katie had had. He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. Alison moved closer to him, ready to jump in and take over if necessary.

He’s allowing himself to feel emotion, she thought, even if he’s not going to show it. This was a step forward for him; his counsellor was clearly getting through to him.

A camera man walked toward Banham, a red light flashing on the top of his equipment: obviously a live news bulletin.

“That’s all I can tell you at present,” Banham said, turning away. “We will keep the media informed. If you’re a fan, you might be better, certainly warmer, at home waiting for news by your television or radio.” He paused, and added quietly, “Everyone is doing all they can.”

“That’s the part of the job I hate,” he said as they walked through the revolving doors and towards the reception desk.

“You’ll be doing a lot more of it soon,” Alison said briskly. “If the rumours of promotion are true.” He looked at her with a puzzled frown, and she went on, “Apparently you’re going up to DCI and I’m going to be offered your job.”

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, the station jungle telegraph. I certainly haven’t been offered promotion. But Isabelle Walsh said she slept with Crowther to put him off his guard, so she could beat him to my job.”

Banham slowed as they reached the glass reception counter, and turned to face her. His eyes creased with amusement. “Strictly between you and me,” he said, “the DCI’s retiring and I’ve been offered his job.”

She said nothing, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart thudding. He looked so attractive with those lines crinkling around his eyes. She couldn’t bear the prospect of not working with him every day.

“I thought no one else knew,” he went on. “You can tell Isabelle she wasted her time.”

“Crowther will be pleased.”

“I shouldn’t think so. I enjoy the job I’m in. I turned the promotion down. So yours won’t be up for grabs.”

“You don’t want promotion?”

He shook his head. “ I like what I do. There’s a new DCI starting next month, but no one is supposed to know yet.”

Alison struggled to keep the delight off her face. She wanted promotion of course, but perhaps she wasn’t ready yet. Working alongside Banham tracking down killers was where she was happy.

The receptionist emerged from the back office and pointed them in the direction of Katie Faye’s room.

“This one hit home with me, you know,” Banham said quietly as they walked down the corridor. “I really wanted to save those women.”

There was pain in his voice. Alison had to squeeze her lips tightly for a second. “You might still have saved Katie,” she answered. “And all this exposure and publicity is what she thrives on. Remember what she said? She had no real family, and becoming famous was all she ever wanted.”

The skin around Banham’s soulful blue eyes crinkled again, but he could only manage half a smile. He looked away, and she wondered if it was to stop her seeing his eyes fill up. “She was already famous before all this began,” he said.

“But this proves how much the nation loves her.”

“I hope she lives to find out.” He stopped in his tracks and turned to look Alison in the eyes. There was such sadness in his eyes, she had to turn away. She’d broken one new year’s resolution; she was determined not to let herself start loving him again.

She turned back but still couldn’t look at him.

“I desperately want her to pull through,” she heard him say.

Her own eyes started filling up. “I do too,” she said, quickening her step and beginning to climb the stairs ahead of him. “We all make mistakes when we’re young. Those girls have spent their lives paying for theirs.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “But you know if she does pull through, we’ll have to look at charging her with accessory to Ahmed Abduallah’s murder.”

His face tightened. “That murder has been paid for, sergeant. PC Gardener asked the same question and that’s the answer I gave her. I certainly won’t be following it up.”

“Kevin Stone’s defence will use it.”

“It’s his word against theirs. Brian Finn pleaded guilty and served his sentence. He isn’t alive to retract that plea.”

“But it’s our job to get to the truth. That’s what we do.”

“We’ve got to the truth. It was manslaughter, not murder. Perhaps even accidental death. Those women have done more than a life sentence. I won’t be pursuing it.” His tone held a note of finality, and she knew the discussion was over.

“You really do care about them, don’t you?”

He stopped at the top of the staircase and put a hand on her shoulder. “Six women made a big mistake when they were seventeen years old. They’ve paid a high price for it. Three of them were murdered because of it. Olivia Stone has survived, but what kind of life does she have to look forward to? Kim Davis was drug dependent for years because of it, and if it came out now Judy would lose her job and she might very well lose Judy. And Katie Faye’s life is hanging by a thread, and she could end up with brain damage. Don’t you think they’ve paid for what they did?”

“Oh yes. I do. I always did. I was just seeing how the land lay with you.” She tipped her head to one side. “You’ve changed, Paul, and it’s all good. You’ve stopped hiding your feelings. So is it the counselling? Or is Lottie having an influence on you?”

He looked straight into her eyes. “Let me buy you dinner in that Italian restaurant where it all went wrong last time, and we’ll talk about it.”

For a second Alison was lost for words. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.

“No, nor am I. The wine was good, but the pasta wasn’t brilliant. What about the Indian in the middle of town?”

She stared at him quizzically. “Business and pleasure don’t mix, remember?”

“Nor do champagne and Guinness, but sometimes it makes you feel good.” Their eyes met, and the corners of his mouth curled, Alison sensed a little nervously. But when he spoke again, his voice was tender and sincere. “I know I’ve mucked you about in the past. But I’m not going to let the past rule tomorrow.” He began to walk on. “So will you come to dinner with me?”

She lengthened her stride and caught up with him.

“Will you?” he asked again.

“I’ll think about it, OK? Let’s see how Katie’s doing.”

The corridor outside Katie Faye’s room was a carpet of flowers. Alison and Banham trod carefully to avoid crushing them. He pushed the door ajar and they looked inside. Katie was back from the operating theatre. She lay still and pale in the bed, with more tubes going into to various parts of her body than the entire London Underground, it seemed to Alison. A monitor beside her flashed in a zigzag pattern, and bleeped every few seconds. To one side of the bed hung a clear plastic sachet of dark red blood, feeding into her through a tube attached to a needle in her hand. On the other side a container of clear liquid did the same job into the other hand.

A young nurse sat by her bed. Banham showed her his ID.

“How’s she doing?” Alison asked quietly.

“Not great,” answered the nurse.

“Will she make it?”

The nurse shrugged. “Not up to me to say, and it’s much too soon anyway. If she does, I’m betting she’ll be have some kind of paralysis, and her speech may well be affected. She’s suffered a lot of internal damage; she lost nearly six pints of blood, and all her organs were starting to shut down by the time they got her into theatre. It’s unlikely they’ll ever be back to normal. That’s if she pulls through at all.”

“On a scale of one to ten, what chance do you give her?” Banham asked.

“You didn’t get this from me -but no more than one,” the nurse said sadly. “We all watch
Screened
when we can. It doesn’t bear much resemblance to what really happens in a hospital, but we all love her to bits, and want to look like her. She’s so pretty.” She swallowed hard and corrected herself. “Was so pretty.”

Banham moved softly to the side of the bed and bent to speak into Katie’s ear. “It’s all over,” he said, with more compassion than Alison had ever known him show. “Kevin will go away for a very long time, and the Scarlet Pussy Club is history. You’ll never have anything hanging over you again. So you have to get better, do you hear me? So many people love you, and you have so much to live for.”

Katie’s eyelids fluttered. Alison touched Banham’s shoulder. “I think she heard you.”

They walked back along the corridor, in silence. After a few minutes Banham stopped. His blue eyes held hers for a few seconds, then he said, “Please, let me buy you that dinner?”

It took Alison all her resistance. “No. I’m sorry.” She shook her head a bit too hard.” No. My mind is made up. Detectives are notoriously unreliable. Their mobiles always ring and something turns up, and a five-course dinner turns into tea in a paper cup and a stodgy bun in the police canteen.” She didn’t dare meet his eyes. “And you end up eating both the buns and paying the one pound forty yourself,” she added.

He had stopped walking and was staring at her, smiling. “It’s not that big a deal,” he said. “It’s a thank-you, for helping me out with Lottie.” Then after a pause and a sharp intake of breath he said at a rate of knots, “No, it’s not, actually. It’s because I’d like to have dinner with you.”

She looked down at her brown cords and anorak. “I’m not dressed,” she said, realising she should just have said no.

“Go home and change. I’ll come with you. While you’re dressing, I’ll ring the restaurant. You choose which one.”

She moved her head from side to side, keeping her eyes cast downward as if she was weighing up the options, but actually taking the seconds to curb her enthusiasm. Then she looked at him. He looked so vulnerable. Her resistance melted. “OK, but it’s just dinner.”

His smile looked so sincere, and those crinkles appeared at the side of his eyes, the ones she found so damned irresistible.

They left the hospital by the main exit. Banham made another announcement to the press, leaving out the news that Katie might not make a full recovery. “She’s out of theatre,” he told them, “and the hospital will issue bulletins about her progress.”

“Can you confirm the rumour that Katie Faye was once a whore?”

The voice came from the back. Banham began to push through the crowd, fists clenched; Alison pulled him away. “Let someone else deal with him,” she told him. “It’s time to forget work.”

He blew out a breath and she felt him relax. They turned and walked towards the car park, leaving the crowd behind.

She halted her in her tracks. “I -do -not -believe it,” she said, staring at her car, all thoughts of their night out evaporating.

“What?”

“My car! Look! I’ve got another bloody puncture!”

“I’ll change it for you.”

Her eyelids slowly lowered. Never in the seven years they had worked together had he once offered to help her with her car. And now, as well as a night out at her favourite restaurant, he was offering to change her wheel. But –

“The spare’s in the garage being mended,” she said, trying not to let out a loud wail.

He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “We’ll phone the garage.”

“It’s after six o’clock. They’ll be shut.”

She looked at him, and their eyes locked. She squeezed her lips together. She didn’t know whether to laugh or let him see her disappointment.

He lifted his eyebrows and smiled that smile again. “The hospital canteen then? The tea doesn’t come in paper cups and their buns are home made. And I’ll pay.”