Where Memories Lie (25 page)

“And Dom had no proof of ownership, not without doing the very thing he was trying to avoid.” Gemma couldn’t help but feel pity for Dominic Scott. “And then when he went home to tell his mum Harry wouldn’t cooperate, we were there to tell him Kristin was dead, murdered. No wonder he fainted on us. He must have realized his mother had killed her.”

Kincaid finished the thought for her. “And then, because Dom had failed in his mission, that night Ellen killed Harry, too.”

Gemma felt ill, not only for the vicious deaths of Kristin Cahill and Harry Pevensey, but for the brutal choice Ellen Miller had forced on her son. “And Dom—Dom had to decide whether to inform on the mother who had bullied him his entire life, in the process ruining his family’s—and more important, his grandfather’s—name—”

“Or let his mother get away with murdering two innocent people. No wonder the sad bugger decided it was easier to top himself.”

“Or three people,” said Gemma. She looked through the conservatory window at Erika, still sitting in the kitchen, and told him that Erika had seen a car waiting in her street last night, its lights dark, and that she had described it as looking like a Land Rover. “If
her cabdriver hadn’t waited until she got in her door—” Only then did the enormity of what might have happened really hit her.

“Bloody hell!” Kincaid swore so viciously that Gemma jumped. “Of course. Erika. Erika is the last, and the most vital, link. You were right to have been worried about her. Listen—” He stopped and Gemma heard Cullen’s voice in the background, and Kincaid responding with “No, hang on to the warrant. We’re not going to search the garage yet. We don’t want to tip Ellen Miller-Scott off. I have a much better idea.”

“I will not let you put another young woman’s life in jeopardy.” Erika crossed her arms, looking as stubborn as Gemma had ever seen her.

Gemma sat once more in the chair opposite and studied her friend across the small kitchen table. Although when Kincaid had explained to her what he meant to do, she’d agreed reluctantly, she knew that he was right. Now she just had to convince Erika.

“I know you don’t want to do that,” she said earnestly, meeting Erika’s gaze. “But you don’t want to see Ellen Miller-Scott get away with two murders, not to mention what she did to her son. And we can’t place her at the wheel of that car at the time of the collisions, any more than we could have placed Dominic.”

“But if you find evidence on the car—”

“It doesn’t matter. Any good lawyer would make mincemeat of it, and Ellen will have the best. All she has to do is say her son was driving, and that he took his own life because he felt guilty over what he’d done. She could even say Dom was drink-driving and both deaths were tragic accidents, and we couldn’t prove otherwise. But”—she leaned forward, pushing her empty teacup and plate aside—“we believe she’s going to give us the perfect opportunity to prove intent to commit murder.

“I think she waited for you to come home last night. I suspect she rang first to see if you were in—we’ll check your caller ID—and
when you didn’t answer, she took her opportunity, and if not for your cabbie, she might have succeeded. We’ll need to be prepared for her to ring you again,” Gemma added, “because if you are at home, she’ll need some ruse to get you out of the house.”

“But her son is dead! How could this woman go on with—”

“I don’t believe for one moment that Dom’s suicide will stop her from trying again. Ellen doesn’t know how much we know, so as far as she’s concerned, if she silences you, she removes the threat to her way of life and preserves her father’s legacy.”

Erika gazed out into the garden, and the slight movement of air from the open window moved a feather of white hair against her cheek. She sighed. “Gemma, I’m not disagreeing with any of that. No one wants to see this woman caught more than I. But I want to do it myself. I don’t believe that a decoy will convince her, and it’s my right to take the risk. If I hadn’t kept silent all these years—”

“Her father would have killed you the way he killed David,” Gemma said brutally. “Joss Miller must have been sure David hadn’t told you what he’d learned, and decided that killing you after he’d murdered David might cause unnecessary interest. But now you have a chance to close the books, and you need to let us do our job. And our job is to protect you as much as it is to catch a killer.”

There was a long moment, in which Gemma heard the neighbors who rented the flat upstairs from Erika scraping furniture across the floor. And then, in the following silence, a faint thread of music, the theme of an afternoon show on the telly.

“All right,” Erika agreed at last. “But I don’t like it. And I still don’t believe anyone can play me convincingly.”

Gemma smiled, her relief making her flippant. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were a bit full of yourself. Give us a bit of cred—”

The door buzzer sounded, making them both start. When Erika started to rise, Gemma motioned her back with a hand. “No,” she said softly. “Let me get it.” She grabbed her phone, her heart thump
ing, and went quietly towards the front of the flat. They had assumed Ellen Miller-Scott would stick with the tried and true, keeping her hands clean, but assumptions were just that. They had no assurance that she wouldn’t try to attack Erika in her flat in broad daylight.

But before she could peek out the bedroom window, she heard Melody’s voice calling out, “Boss, are you okay in there?”

“Melody!” Gemma unlatched the door and urged Melody inside. “What are you doing here?”

“Your mobile’s not picking up. I was worried about you.”

“Damn,” said Gemma, wondering if she’d missed other calls. Her signal had been patchy when she talked to Duncan.

“And I had something to show you,” Melody went on. She pulled a sheet of paper from her bag, and Gemma recognized it as another copy made from the
Guardian
archives.

Gemma took the page and moved farther into the hall, where she could hold the picture under the wall sconce, and stared at it, trying to take in what she saw.

“Ellen Miller-Scott and Harry Pevensey knew each other? She said she’d never heard of him.”

“I’d guess it was more a case of knowing in the biblical sense than a casual acquaintance,” said Melody. “I did some more research. Six months after this photo was taken, Ellen Miller married Stephen Scott, who was tall, blond, and blue eyed. It was a society wedding, and they made a very handsome couple. The next year, Ellen and Stephen’s son, Dominic, was born a bit prematurely.

“I looked up some background on Harry Pevensey as well. His mother was Indian, from Calcutta. Even though she apparently came from a well-connected family, I doubt that would have cut any ice with Ellen Miller’s father.”

“So when Ellen got pregnant, he found a more suitable candidate?” Gemma looked back at the photo, saw in the young man’s smiling face the dark good looks of Dom Scott. She handed the pages back to Melody and wiped her fingers against her trousers, as
if she could erase the imprint of Dom’s face from her mind. There was no way Ellen Miller-Scott could not have known whose child she had borne.

“Boss—”

“That was the one connection we couldn’t make, between Harry and Dom.” Gemma swallowed. “Ellen Miller-Scott killed her son’s father.”

The decoy arrived well before dark. Her name was Wendy Chen, and she was a detective sergeant with whom Gemma had worked when at the Yard. Not only was she as slight in stature as Erika, but Gemma had remembered that she had a flair for amateur dramatics.

Now, with a white wig and some of Erika’s clothes, they would have to hope that in the dark she would pass for Erika.

Melody had left to liaise with Kincaid and Cullen, and Gemma couldn’t blame her for wanting to be in on the action. But even though there was now another police officer in the flat, Gemma had no intention of leaving Erika alone until this was over.

She had rung Wesley Howard and asked him to take the boys to his mum’s for the evening—Kit would object to being assigned a
minder, but she didn’t feel comfortable leaving them on their own. She had no way of knowing if Ellen Miller-Scott had realized she had a personal connection with Erika, but she was taking no more chances with her family’s safety.

And she had rung the hospital and spoken to the charge nurse, who told her that her mum was resting comfortably and had started instructing the aides in how to care for the patient in the next bed—a sign, Gemma thought, that her mum was feeling at least a bit perkier.

When she tried to check in with Cyn, her sister’s phone went straight to voice mail, and her dad answered neither flat nor bakery. Like Harry Pevensey, her father refused to carry a mobile phone, and his stubbornness irritated Gemma no end. Hanging up, she came in from the garden feeling worried and aggravated in equal parts.

As Gemma didn’t want anyone to go out, just in case Ellen was watching the flat, they made do with a supper of salads and meats that Erika had on hand from the deli. Neither Gemma nor Erika, however, had much appetite.

As dusk fell, Wendy put on a pair of Erika’s trousers and one of the long, colorful jackets Erika favored, then fitted the wig and pulled the thick white hair up into a twist.

At Gemma’s insistence, Erika had drunk her usual before-dinner glass of dry sherry, and now her cheeks were flushed pink against her pale skin. “That’s not right,” she said, and made Wendy sit at her dressing table while she redid the wig, but after two attempts she dropped the brush in frustration. “It’s like a man trying to tie a necktie on someone else. My muscle memory isn’t cooperating. And that awful wig doesn’t look a thing like my hair,” she added, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Let’s try movement, then,” suggested Wendy, leading her into the sitting room. “That’s the most important thing. Walk across the room for me.”

When Erika complied, Gemma saw that she was holding her
spine stiffly upright, and moving more slowly than usual. “No, just relax,” said Gemma. “Talk to me while you walk. Pretend you’re going to the shops.”

“That woman will never fall for this,” Erika muttered as she took another few turns around the room. “She doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Let me try.” Wendy demonstrated, holding her shoulders forward just a bit, changing the angle of her head, and adding a very slight halt to her step. The transformation was amazing.

“I don’t look like that,” protested Erika, incensed.

“Oh, but you do,” said Gemma, laughing. “That’s very good. It would fool me, at least from a distance.”

“The eye sees what it expects to see,” explained Wendy. “Miller-Scott had a chance to watch you last night, Erika, and maybe other times as well, so she’ll have a visual imprint. That’s all it takes for most people to make a quick identification if you give them the right cues.”

Gemma sobered instantly at the idea that Ellen Miller-Scott might have watched Erika more than once, and nerves began to get the best of her. The time seemed to pass like treacle dripping from a jar, and she had to stop herself checking the clock every other minute. “You’ll be all right, won’t you?” she whispered to Wendy when Erika had gone into the kitchen. “If she believes you’re Erika, she won’t hesitate to run you down.”

“I was a gymnast,” Wendy assured her. “I can drop and roll like a champ.”

When it grew so dark that Gemma could see her reflection in the garden window, she drew the shade. It would have to be soon, or Ellen wouldn’t believe she could lure Erika out.

Kincaid had rung to tell her they had the unmarked cars in position, two at the bottom of Arundel Gardens—one either side of the Kensington Park Road T-junction, and two at the top end—either side of Ladbroke Grove. They believed Ellen would come down the curve of Landsdowne Road and cross Ladbroke Grove. Her car had
been facing down the street when Erika had seen it the previous evening, and that route would give her the best visibility as well as the best chance to get up speed.

But how, Gemma wondered, did Ellen intend to get Erika out of the house and into the street? She couldn’t drive the car up on the pavement, as she had with Harry Pevensey—the cars parked either side of Arundel Gardens would block her access.

“Erika—” The burr of the phone made them all start, even though they’d been prepared.

They looked at one another, then Gemma nodded. “Easy now,” she whispered to Erika. “And whatever she says, agree.”

“Hello?” Erika clicked the phone on, sounding only a little breathless, as if she’d had to cross the room to answer. “Yes. Yes, it is,” she said, then listened intently, and Gemma heard the faint sound of a woman’s voice issuing from the handset. “You do?” Erika sounded a little befuddled, and Gemma thought Wendy Chen wasn’t the only one with a flair for drama. “But that’s—Well, it’s rather late, but—Are you sure you won’t—Yes, I see.” She nodded, as if the caller could see her. “Yes, all right. Five minutes, then. Across the street. Thank you,” she added, then disconnected.

“Of all the bloody nerve,” she said, turning to Gemma and sounding not the least bit confused. “She said she worked at Harrowby’s and knew something about my brooch, but that if anyone knew she’d spoken with me, she’d get into trouble. She said she’d be waiting in a red Fiat across the street.”

“Is there a red Fiat?” Gemma asked Wendy.

“Yes. She’s scouted.”

The knowledge that Ellen Miller-Scott had been spying on Erika made Gemma felt cold. Had she seen the unmarked cars? “I’ll ring Duncan. Wendy, countdown.”

“I’ll just make sure my hair’s on straight,” said Wendy, showing her first sign of tension. “We want to be certain she’s in position before I go out.”

Stepping into the conservatory in order to get the best reception on her mobile, Gemma called Kincaid. “She’s on her way,” she said when he answered. “She said five minutes, and we’re down one. She told Erika she’d be waiting in a red Fiat across the street.”

“Right. Tell Sergeant Chen to be careful, but she has to give her a chance to make the attempt.”

“She knows,” said Gemma, but he had already rung off. She looked at her watch. Two minutes.

Hurrying into the sitting room, she found Wendy emerging from the loo, patting her hair and straightening her long jacket. “Feel like I’m going for a bloody audition,” she said.

“They’ll be right behind you.” She glanced at her watch once more. “Showtime.” Then the absence hit her.

“Wendy, where’s Erika?”

“She went into the bed—”

The front door latch snicked.

“Shit.” Gemma felt the blood draining from her face as she met Wendy’s eyes. “She’s done a bunk—”

“I’ll get her,” said Wendy, starting for the door.

“No.” Gemma grabbed her sleeve. “We can’t let Ellen see two Erikas. Stay inside.”

Then she dashed for the door. If she could pull Erika back, maybe they’d still have enough on Ellen to prove intent.

But when Gemma emerged from the flat, she saw Erika just stepping in between the two cars parked in front of the building. And then Erika was in the street, and a dark shape came hurtling down the chute of Arundel Gardens, straight for her.

Gemma leaped for the pavement, shouting, as the world erupted into a barrage of sound and motion. Erika seemed to bounce back from the Land Rover’s front fender, disappearing between the parked vehicles, just as two cars came screeching round from either side of Kensington Park Road, blocking both lanes of traffic.

The Land Rover braked hard, skidding. As the driver threw the
car into reverse and looked back, Gemma saw her face clearly. Ellen. They had been right.

But two more cars roared round from Ladbroke Grove and pulled up behind the Land Rover. Ellen Miller-Scott was boxed in.

As Gemma ran down the steps towards Erika, the front doors on the parallel lead cars flew open and four uniformed and armored officers jumped out, shouting, “Armed police!” guns drawn as they crouched behind the shields of their doors.

Reaching Erika, Gemma knelt, mouth dry with fear for her friend, but Erika was already pulling herself up.

“Are you—”

“I’m all right. Just bruised. I—”

The far-side doors of the rear car sprang open. Cullen emerged from the front, then Melody from the back. They were wearing body armor over their street clothes, and they advanced on the passenger door of the Land Rover, guns drawn.

Then, just as Kincaid jumped from the rear car’s driver’s seat, Gemma saw Ellen’s blond head disappear from view.

“Gun!” Cullen shouted. “She’s got a gun!”

Kincaid and Melody froze. Cullen, his eyes not wavering from Ellen Miller-Scott, yelled, “Put your hands up! Let me see your hands!”

Time seemed to stop between one breath and the next, and Gemma heard the blood pounding in her ears. Then she jerked into action, throwing her arms round Erika, pulling her down and shielding her with her own body, her heart contracting with terror.

Then Ellen Miller-Scott’s blond head reappeared above the seat, slowly, and Doug was shouting, “Open your door! Let me see your hands! Do it now!”

The driver’s door of the Land Rover swung open and Cullen screamed, “Take her! Take her!” to Kincaid.

Kincaid sprinted to the car, and then Ellen Miller-Scott was tumbling out, her wrists pinned in Kincaid’s hand. He spun her round against the car, hard, and patted her down.

Diving into the passenger side, Cullen emerged holding a small, neat gun. “Bloody bitch!” he said, raising it in the air, and Gemma knew he was feeling the adrenaline dump. “She had a fucking gun! She was fucking going to shoot me!”

Ellen Miller-Scott turned her head to look back at Kincaid. “You’ve nothing against me.” Even restrained against the Land Rover, her voice was a level drawing-room drawl. “I was defending myself against harassment. My lawyer will be in touch with your commissioner before you can draw breath.”

Struggling out of Gemma’s loosened grasp, Erika stood and limped towards Ellen Miller-Scott. Her hair had come free from its twist, falling in a mass of white about her shoulders, and when she raised a pointing finger, she looked like a Fury unleashed.

“That was your father’s gun,” she said coldly, clearly. “And you are your father’s daughter. I will see you rot in hell.”