The Winter Foundlings (30 page)

The man’s footsteps stomp across the wooden floor and he’s talking to himself again. Sometimes Ella pities him. He’s like the boy in her class who wears the wrong clothes: the others avoid him, but she can see how much he needs a friend, someone to laugh at the same jokes. The key scratches in the lock and when the man walks in, he looks triumphant.

‘What do you think of this, princess?’

The dress is balanced on the palms of his hands. Ella takes a step closer and studies his stitch-work on the collar, buttons shining like mother of pearl.

‘It’s perfect.’ She reaches out to touch the material, but the man yanks it away.

‘Don’t,’ he snaps. ‘Your hands are filthy.’

‘That’s not my fault. You should let me use the bathroom.’

The man stares at her. ‘You always take over, Ella. I don’t know why I break the rules for you.’

‘It’s so beautiful, I wanted to hold it.’

He relaxes slightly. ‘Sorry, I’m on edge, that’s all.’

‘Why do you make us wear white?’

‘That’s obvious, isn’t it? White’s the colour of purity. If you wear it long enough, your sins will be wiped away.’

‘What sins?’

The man looks away. ‘I’ve got to go to work now. But when I get back you can have a bath. All right?’

Ella makes herself kiss his outstretched hand and the man’s face softens. He kneels down until their eyes are level.

‘Don’t worry about the new girl, princess. It’ll always be you and me. No need to be jealous.’ His stubble chafes her skin as he kisses her cheek, and his breath encloses her in a cloud of sour air.

49

Kinsella was white-faced, propped up his on pillows, but still capable of staring me down. His gaze was intense enough to etch a pattern on my skin.

‘Thank you for indulging me, Alice.’

I mustered a smile. ‘You didn’t give me much choice, did you?’

‘I’m sure you had the opportunity to refuse.’ Kinsella’s pallor made him look even more ghostly, every bone visible under his skin.

‘Before you say anything, you know this room’s wired for sound and vision, don’t you?’ I pointed at the tiny cameras hidden inside the light fitments.

‘Honest to the last. It’s an admirable quality.’

‘I wouldn’t lie to you about the state of play, Mr Kinsella.’

‘Surely you can bring yourself to use my first name?’ The ghost of a smile trembled on his lips.

‘Tell me what you want, Louis.’

‘I thought I’d better confess. My wife fears for my immortal soul.’

‘You’re not dying. The registrar thinks you’ve got angina; if you see a consultant, it’s treatable.’

His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘My illness can run its course, for all I care. But I’d like to impart a few home truths first.’

If Kinsella genuinely believed he was at death’s door, the prospect didn’t seem to bother him. His wrist was still handcuffed to the metal bed frame but even that couldn’t disturb his calm. His eyes burned when he spoke again.

‘The killer’s enjoying Ella’s company so much that killing her will be more difficult for him in the long run. In every other respect he’s following the rules, but I’m afraid he’s formed the wrong impression about us.’

‘In what way?’

‘He knows about our meetings. It’s a simple case of jealousy.’

Nausea welled at the back of my throat. If he was telling the truth, the killer was out there somewhere, seething with resentment about my intimacy with his guru. ‘Is he still planning to take another girl tomorrow?’

Kinsella nodded, but his voice was losing strength. ‘This time he’ll stay in the delightful county of Berkshire.’

‘How are you two communicating?’

‘We don’t need to. I taught him everything twenty years ago.’

‘He works here, doesn’t he? It’s one of your pupils from St Augustine’s.’

‘Close, but not entirely accurate. You struggle to think laterally, don’t you, Alice?’ His smile widened. ‘How are you enjoying your stay at Charndale Manor?’

‘Tell me who he is, Louis.’

‘Send Alan Nash tomorrow morning. I’ll tell him the name, I feel I owe him a favour.’

‘You brought me here to tell me absolutely nothing?’

‘So much rage, Alice, and so near the surface.’ His eyes narrowed as he observed me. ‘Your father must have cut you to the quick.’

I resisted the impulse to slap his face. ‘He hurt himself more.’

Kinsella’s words rattled round my head as I left the room. My hands were shaking – with anger, not fear. Manipulation was his only reason for summoning me: he loved being the puppet master while Ella’s life slipped away.

‘Let me see the tape,’ I snapped at Burns when I reached the observation room.

I’ve always hated watching myself, but this time it was essential, because I knew I’d missed something. Kinsella’s enjoyment was evident as the film replayed. Getting a straight answer from a sadistic psychopath is a clinical impossibility, because lying only increases their pleasure. He might have been physically weakened, but all the intellectual power lay in his hands. My fists clenched as I listened to his voice.

‘Water-boarding was invented for people like him,’ Burns muttered.

‘He knows I’ve moved to the hotel. Someone here must have told him.’

‘Not necessarily. There’s a TV in his room, and bulletins have been filmed there. He’s probably seen you going in.’

I didn’t reply, but I thought he was wrong. No one knew that I’d left the cottage apart from my contacts at Northwood. I tried to remember who I’d told. I’d let Gorski’s office know. Apart from that, I’d only spoken to Judith, Garfield and Tom, but news seemed to spread around the hospital like wildfire.

Burns reached past me to turn off the computer, and something about his bulk made me want to touch him, in the same way that it’s tempting to caress statues in museums. His scale was so monumental, it looked like he’d been chipped out of granite. ‘You did what you could, Alice. He never had any intention of helping us.’

His statement finally explained why I was so attracted to him. It wasn’t just his physical draw, although the depth of his gaze appealed to me, and the way he held himself. It was his capacity for fairness. I’d worked with Burns for three years and never heard him lie. I listened to him explain why the team was struggling to identify Northwood staff who’d lived at Orchard Row. Records only went back fifteen years and the local authority couldn’t access their archives.

‘So far there are no matches,’ he said.

He looked so bleak that I could guess what he was thinking. Maybe Kinsella’s claim that the foundlings would return to him like homing pigeons was pure fantasy. My theories might be responsible for wasting hundreds of hours of police time.

Alan Nash barged past as I left the room and I gritted my teeth. Someone must have told him about Kinsella’s request for a meeting the next day, because he wore the smug look of an actor who’s trumped an audition and stolen the lead role.

50

Bubble bath scents the air like candyfloss, and Ella’s whole body aches to climb into the warmth. Her hands are grimed with dirt and so is her white dress, the collar turning grey. She wishes there was a lock on the bathroom door, because the man is moving around outside. It would be stupid to let herself relax. When the bath is half full, she climbs in without taking off the dress. The warmth soothes her skin and she sinks backwards, letting herself submerge. All she can hear is the song of the water, the man’s footsteps drowned into silence. But when she opens her eyes again he’s sitting there, on the edge of the bath.

‘Enjoying yourself, princess?’

She stretches her lips into a smile, then starts to rub shampoo into her hair, but the man refuses to vanish.

‘We need to talk,’ he says. ‘You know the new girl’s coming tomorrow, don’t you?’

Ella nods just once, keeping her mouth closed.

‘There’s no need to get upset. It won’t change things between us.’

‘But we’re happy as we are.’

‘I know.’ The man’s face looks strained. ‘But I have to follow the rules. This is the last time, I promise. They’ll find out about us after that.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘We can get across to France – run away, like you said. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

Ella forces herself to nod, but all she can see is her granddad and Suzanne waiting for her at home.

‘From tomorrow you’ll live up here with me until we leave.’ The man’s smile exposes the sharp points of his teeth. ‘Listen, I have to go out soon. Give me your dress and I’ll put it in the tumble-drier.’

Ella wants to refuse but the man is holding out his hands. The water splashes as she pulls the shift over her head, wet cotton pressing against her mouth, making her panic. She slips back under the suds as fast as she can, but the man’s still standing there, his eyes round and glassy, holding her dress in his hands.

51

I stayed at the Laurels longer than I’d intended. The broom cupboard’s stale air was preferable to the hotel’s odour of furniture polish, desperation and burnt food. I spent half an hour scribbling down the names of everyone I’d met at Northwood. Logic told me that someone in my immediate circle had told Kinsella that I’d left the cottage, and if he could persuade them to share details about me, maybe they were following other instructions as well. The list turned out to be extensive. I was on first-name terms with psychiatric nurses, doctors, administrators, the regular drinkers at the Rookery, and half a dozen guards who monitored Kinsella whenever he left his cell. By seven I’d lost track of time, still gazing in disbelief at the names on my list. When the phone on my desk jangled into life, I almost jumped out of my skin.

‘Where are you?’ Reg sounded as irate as ever.

‘Sorry, I’m on my way. Give me five minutes.’

He sighed deeply when I apologised, as though my failings were too numerous to mention. I piled my notes into my briefcase and set off at a brisk trot, excess adrenaline coursing through my system. In an ideal world I’d have gone for a run, releasing pent-up energy through the soles of my feet, but it was pitch dark and a foot of compacted snow covered the ground. The hotel offered even less chance of exercise, because the complex was hunkered beside a main road. I made a mental note to go to the gym the next morning. An hour on the treadmill would be better than nothing.

When I reached the car park, Reg fixed me with a disapproving stare.

‘How was your day?’ I asked.

Driving conditions had been atrocious, and he’d been ferrying people around without so much as a thank-you. On top of that, his other half kept phoning to ask when he’d be home.

‘At least she misses you.’

‘Don’t bank on it,’ he grumbled. ‘All she wants is a lift to the shops.’

Reg took ten minutes to vent his spleen, which gave me the chance to look out of the window. Part of me wanted to escape when we passed through Charndale. No matter how many ghosts Will had seen at the cottage, a night alone by the fire still seemed appealing. When we reached the hotel I thanked Reg for the lift and he thawed for a moment.

‘At least you’ve got manners, Alice. You’re not going out again tonight, are you?’

‘I don’t think so.’

He breathed a sigh of relief. My nonexistent social life meant that he could spend his Friday night watching TV. He marched up the stairs with renewed energy, clearly looking forward to slouching on the sofa with a beer.

The bar was heaving with journalists and detectives, standing in cliques, women in the minority. The noise was almost as overwhelming as the testosterone, and it seemed understandable that alcoholism was rife in both professions. They did so much waiting around – in their shoes I’d have been guzzling beer by the litre too. I edged round the side of the crowd to the members’ bar, desperate for a cup of coffee, but when I reached the entrance I heard Burns’s low Scottish drawl. Through the crack in the door I saw him sitting beside Tania. His arm was slung around her shoulders and her glossiness had vanished. She was weeping silently, rivulets of mascara coursing down her cheeks. My feet rooted themselves to the spot. He was murmuring something, doing his best to offer her comfort. Eventually I stumbled back to the main bar, the cacophony of voices even louder than before.

‘Can I get you something?’ The barmaid eyed me with concern.

‘Double brandy, please.’

The raw alcohol scoured my throat, but it had the desired effect. A few minutes after knocking it back, I was comfortably numb.

I sat down on the bed when I got to my room. At least seeing Burns and Tania together had put an end to my fantasies. It was time to move on. The couple next door were yelling at each other like banshees, but it didn’t seem to matter. I unloaded my briefcase onto the table, even though there was little more I could do for Ella Williams. I’d combed through every detail of the case and given the team my advice. Whether or not another girl was abducted lay beyond my control. I might as well try and relax for the evening.

My phone rang as I was choosing between
The Matrix Reloaded
and
Good Will Hunting
on the movie channels. Tom Jensen’s voice sounded as cool as ever when he greeted me.

‘What are you up to, Alice?’

‘Not much, to be honest.’

‘Me neither. Do you fancy a drink?’

‘I was planning to vegetate.’

‘Come to the Fox and Hounds instead, it’s near your hotel.’

‘Can you give me a lift back?’

‘No problem.’

When he rang off I had mixed feelings. A few hours spent admiring his good looks would improve my mood, but the last thing I needed was more confusion. I changed into jeans and a black cashmere jumper and reached for my leather jacket. On the way out the mirror threw back a glimpse of a thin-faced twelve-year-old, drowning in clothes she’d stolen from her big sister.

Reg was furious when I called for a lift. He reminded me that I’d promised to stay indoors. He could catch pneumonia because of my last-minute arrangements. When we reached the pub he insisted on writing Tom’s name, address and phone number in his notebook.

‘Text me when you get back from your hot date,’ he growled as I got out of the car.