Authors: Catherine Hunt
Instead of crying, she began to laugh. It was a shrill, manic sound in the night and Joe put his finger to his lips and shushed her. It hurt her chest but she couldn’t stop.
‘You’re making one hell of a noise. What’s so funny?’ he demanded.
‘Shh’ she snorted at him. ‘This is supposed to be a covert operation.’
‘I think we might’ve blown that,’ he said, laughing himself. ‘Let’s hope your angry old man isn’t on the prowl.’
They found no trace of the wires or the hosing and walked back to the car in silence. Joe would be doubting her again, Laura was sure, and she kept quiet because she didn’t want to hear him say it. When she got home, she found a message from Barnes waiting for her. He apologized for being out when she had come to the police station; he’d been called away to an emergency. The sergeant must have told him how upset she was because he said she was welcome to ring him on his mobile any time that evening. She rang at once and listened while he gave her a progress report. He spun it out, trying hard to make something out of not very much.
‘We’re still looking for Ben Morgan,’ he told her, ‘I’m sure you understand it’s no easy thing to find someone in a town as big as Brighton with so little to go on, but we’ll keep at it.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I realize it’s difficult and thank you. How about his home address? Have you had any luck tracing it? He used to live in Reading, I told the sergeant that.’
‘And he still does live there. Reading police have been round to his flat,’ Barnes said in a tone of admiration for police efficiency, ‘but there was no sign of him, and the neighbours hadn’t seen him for weeks.’
That’s because he’s been here trying to kill me, Laura thought, but stopped herself from saying it. The detective seemed less sceptical now and she intended to keep it that way. He addressed her as ‘Laura’ rather than ‘Ms Maxwell’. She wasn’t going to panic him with an outburst of emotion.
‘What about the phone?’ she asked.
They had traced the number of the mobile sending the texts. They’d got it from Laura’s company, O2, which had a record of the texts she’d received and where they’d come from. That was as far as they’d got. Tomorrow they would contact TalkTalk, where the mobile was registered, to find out more. It was possible to pinpoint its position to within about thirty feet, he said, even if it was switched off. But he didn’t want to get her hopes up because usually, in cases like this, the phone was dumped after the texts had been sent.
Barnes went on to tell her that a considerable amount of child pornography had been found on Harry Pelham’s computer as well as the death threats sent to his wife. There was, however, no trace of the ‘marcus.morrison3’ email address used for the website posting. Pelham, himself, had not yet been found but the detective was hopeful they would find him before much longer.
The Morgan divorce file arrived at Morrison Kemp early on Tuesday morning and was waiting for Laura when she got to work. She’d lain awake most of the night, thinking about the texts, thinking about Valentine, and was at her desk ploughing through the thick file, feeling exhausted, when Monica called to tell her that a Detective Inspector Barnes was in reception for her.
‘There’s a police car outside and he’s in a rush and … ’
Barnes took the phone from her before she could finish.
‘Are you alone?’ he said sharply.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Please come to reception now.’
Laura’s tiredness lifted. He must have made progress if he was here in person. Hopefully, she hurried down to see him.
Barnes had on his poker-face. Laura smiled as she walked towards him but his face didn’t crack and she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. There was a man with him, another officer, who he introduced as Detective Constable Andrew Fox. He asked if there was somewhere private they could talk.
Laura led them to the conference room.
‘We’ve got a fix on the phone,’ Barnes told her as soon as they were inside.
‘Great,’ she said and stopped. The policeman didn’t look like he totally agreed.
‘Isn’t it?’
Barnes nodded towards his colleague.
‘I liaise with the phone companies,’ the constable said, enthusiastically. ‘You see, a mobile is giving out signals all the time, even when it’s turned off. Those signals are picked up by base stations in the area where it’s located. In fact that’s why the Americans call it a cell phone because it’s covered by these base stations in small areas, in other words, cells.’
Barnes frowned at him and he took the hint and got to the point. ‘I’ve checked with TalkTalk. They say it’s a pay-as-you-go and they don’t know who owns it but it’s here, in this building, and it’s switched on.’
She felt her stomach clench with fear. In this building. What the hell did that mean?
‘Does Morrison Kemp occupy all three floors?’ Barnes asked.
She nodded. ‘Are you saying Ben Morgan is here, in this building?’ she asked, horrified.
‘Have you any idea where the phone might be?’
Laura stared at him, her mind slow and stupid. It was stuck on the awful thought that Ben Morgan was no longer out there, he was right in here with her.
‘Have you any idea who might have it?’ Barnes persisted.
Why was he asking that? It was obvious who had it, surely.
‘Ben Morgan … he must be here, somewhere,’ she said again.
‘Have you seen him?’
‘No, but if his phone’s here then he must be, mustn’t he?’
Barnes gave her an odd look.
‘Just run me through the people who work here and who’s on which floor,’ he said.
What was the matter with him, she thought. Why was he wasting time asking pointless questions when he should be searching the building?
‘Excuse me saying so, but is that relevant? Shouldn’t you be trying to catch him?’
‘There’s a car outside. If he’s here and he tries to leave, we’ll pick him up. Now please answer the question.’
The confusion clogging her mind lifted, leaving behind a cold, hard, terrifying thought. What if it wasn’t Ben Morgan? What if someone else, someone here at Morrison Kemp had sent her those texts? Was that what Barnes was getting at?
She pulled herself together and answered him, trying to work out as she went through the staff if that particular individual could possibly have some kind of grudge. It would have to be a damn big grudge.
‘Are you thinking that one of my colleagues might have sent the texts?’
Barnes shrugged and didn’t answer.
Through her fear, Laura felt a stab of irritation with him. He was scaring her badly, he should at least explain things to her properly so she knew the worst, instead of leaving her to try and guess.
‘I’ll do this as discreetly as I can,’ the detective said, taking his own mobile from his jacket pocket. ‘I’m going to call the number and see if we can hear where it’s ringing. Andrew, can you take the first floor.’
The constable went off up the stairs leaving the door open behind him. Monica appeared, offering tea, eager to find out what was going on. She was disappointed. Her tea was refused, and Barnes waited until she had retreated to reception before dialling.
Laura felt sweat start on her forehead. Listen for the phone; don’t think about what it means.
Barnes made the call but she could hear nothing. Was the number actually ringing? She didn’t know, he didn’t say, just sat there with his impassive face, the phone to his ear.
A loud shout came from upstairs and she almost jumped out of her skin. So much for discreet. Barnes shot off towards the first floor, nearly colliding with Monica, who’d either been lurking in the corridor or was extremely quick off the mark. Laura followed, less eager, held back by a feeling of dread. Monica was ahead of her at the top of the stairs with Barnes; he was pointing towards an office, asking whose it was. Laura assumed it was where they’d heard the phone though there was no longer any sound of it ringing. By the time she arrived the three of them were inside the room. She stood in the doorway staring in shock and surprise.
Monica had her back to her, her body craning towards the two men standing by the shelves of law books on the far wall, listening to what they were saying. There was a gap in one of the shelves and a few books were lying on the floor. The constable was examining a mobile and talking to Barnes. He stopped abruptly when he saw Laura appear.
‘We understand this is your office, Ms Maxwell,’ said Barnes in a tight voice.
It wasn’t a question and she didn’t reply.
‘The mobile was hidden behind the books,’ he gestured at the shelf.
Laura stared blankly. She felt light-headed.
‘Can you tell us how it got there?’
This time it was a question, a big question, and she had no answer.
‘Can you explain how Ben Morgan, as you allege, could have used it to send you threatening texts,’ he stopped then added, ‘or anyone else for that matter, Ms Maxwell?’
The ‘Laura’ was gone. She knew what he was thinking – that she was some kind of nutter; a flake who wanted attention, for what reason he could not begin to guess and didn’t much care. He suspected that, as a way of getting it, she had sent the texts to herself.
She walked unsteadily into the room. ‘I have absolutely no idea what’s going on,’ she said, leaning heavily against her desk.
Barnes made it clear he wasn’t going to continue to look for Ben Morgan or anyone else in connection with the texts. He referred to them as ‘alleged threatening texts’ and, with a sardonic look on his face, gave her back her mobile. He thought she’d been wasting police time.
Rather belatedly, he asked Monica if she’d mind leaving the room while he talked to Ms Maxwell in private. She did mind but she had no choice; in any case, she had a fair amount of gossip to be going on with. Laura Maxwell had complained to the police that someone was sending her nasty texts; they had investigated and found the offending phone hidden in her office. Laura couldn’t explain how it came to be there; they suspected she’d been making the whole thing up.
Monica was hardly surprised. Laura Maxwell was neurotic, no doubt about that. From the minute she’d arrived as some hot-shot from London, it was obvious she was highly strung with an over-inflated idea of her own importance. The way she’d treated poor Sarah Cole was heartless and shocking, blaming her for her own mistakes then getting her fired. Monica’s pinched face had a rare, satisfied look.
Laura recovered enough self-possession to try to persuade Barnes to think again. It was true she had no explanation for the phone being here in her office, but everything she had told him was true. Why, after all, would she make it up? She saw him raise an eyebrow at that as if he might be expecting her to provide the answer.
‘If I sent the texts to myself’, she protested hotly, ‘why would I be stupid enough to hide the phone in my office where you would be bound to find it?’
Barnes looked at her speculatively, ‘I don’t think I’m the person who can answer that, Ms Maxwell,’ he said.
She was scared, she told him, very scared, frightened for her life. Please, at least would he keep trying to track down Ben Morgan? No go. He had better things to do. She wanted to yell at him then, to yell that he was making a big mistake and that mistake would kill her, and when it did, it would be his fault. But she said nothing because she thought it would only make things worse. She remembered the website posting and that the police had found no evidence it had come from Harry Pelham’s computer – probably Barnes thought she had sent that to herself as well. She knew his attitude was not unreasonable, that he might have grounds for his scepticism, but the knowledge didn’t help, just filled her with a hopeless, directionless fury.
When the policemen had gone, Laura’s anger drained away fast, replaced by dread. She wanted to ring Joe and tell him what had happened but she shied away from it, knowing that when he heard where the phone had been found, he, too, would doubt her.
Would anyone believe her, she thought despairingly. Would Emma believe her or would even Emma think she had gone nuts? It was academic anyway because Emma was away and couldn’t help her. There was no one to help, she realized, her insides churning with fear, she would have to deal with this on her own. She was alone with whoever it was out there who wanted her dead, had promised she would be dead, painfully, by the end of the week. She wondered if this was the day she would die.
Shut up. Stop scaring yourself. Concentrate on what you can do about it.
She made a big effort to get a grip and work out what to do. She was no further forward than she had been a few days ago, when it all began. Except it didn’t seem like days, but like months and years, an eternity of dread. Another injection of fear, fast and terrible, shot through her. Of course, she was further forward because she knew now, for certain, that none of it was chance. She was being relentlessly targeted by a killer, a killer who liked to play vicious games.
Was it Ben Morgan? Had he somehow got past Monica and sneaked up to Laura’s office to hide the phone without anyone seeing him? But why, if he’d got so far, hadn’t he just waited and attacked her when she came in? Was he worried it was too public, that she’d scream and people would come running, that he could not be sure of killing her? And what was the point of leaving the phone? Easy question, she could answer that one – to discredit her with the police, to leave her vulnerable, to panic and confuse her.
There was something very calculated in what was happening that didn’t really fit the Ben Morgan she remembered. He had been highly emotional, on the edge of coping. He had lashed out because he thought he would lose his daughter, but that had been the crazy act of a sick man. She tried, without very much success, to picture him as the perpetrator of this purposeful, ruthless campaign against her.
But if not him, then who? Someone who had access to her office. Someone close by then. Her eyes flicked nervously towards the door. Someone out there wanted to kill her and now that someone was in here, in her own office. Nowhere was safe for her anymore. Not out there, not in here, not anywhere.