‘It’s better this way,’ Liz said, her first words for half an hour. ‘We’ll get you to see your wife, don’t worry.’ Said without even looking up from the phone.
A half-hour trip from here as opposed to a five-minute trek from whatever secret spot Danny had found would mean a twenty-five minute delay in getting to Katie. Karl stood up and looked out of the window. The sky was aflame with red as the sun set. That, more than the ticking clock on the wall, was a reminder that time was pushing on.
‘So let’s go,’ he said.
Seventy-Eight
Mick
Myriad newbie detective days of stake-outs in cars and empty flats had made Mick a patient man, but this was different. He couldn’t relax. He climbed into the cargo area to get one of his bags, and the photo he wanted. Then he got some Sellotape from the glove box and his knife. He coated the back of the photo in tape because he didn’t want to ruin it.
Dangling from the keys in the ignition was a micro torch which he turned on so that the beam lit up his knee. He slid the A4 photo beneath.
The little circle of light illuminated the head and shoulders of Ronald Grafton. In his wedding suit and smiling at the camera, because why wouldn’t he? He was rich, powerful, invincible, marrying the girl of his dreams.
He shifted his arm to one side and the beam slid across the A4 photo to spotlight Liz Grafton. In her wedding dress and smiling for the camera, because why wouldn’t she? She was marrying the rich, powerful and invincible man of her dreams.
Mick slit the photo down the middle, separating the lovers, much as he had torn the couple apart last night. He wrapped tape around the paper Grafton, securing the photo to his thigh. Same with the bitch on the other side. Lots of tape, nice and tight, but none around their heads and shoulders. He swung the torch like a pendulum, lighting up Grafton, then the bitch, Grafton, then the bitch. Helpfully, the curve of his thighs lessened their flat, 2D appearance.
With one hand pressing down on the photo taped to his right thigh, he slit his own leg. One inch, deep enough to let loose blood immediately. It seeped up through the gash in Grafton’s paper neck slowly. He raised his leg so the blood ran down Grafton’s torso, over his suit. Grafton continued to smile. Throat cut, suit ruined, but still he grinned. Mick ripped the photo off his leg and stuffed it against his mouth like a starving man, and bit the face right off. No more smiling from Grafton.
Then he moved so that the light splashed over the bitch, and picked up the knife again.
Seventy-Nine
Katie
It wasn’t often someone woke from a near-death nightmare to find the real world far more frightening. But Katie would have gladly wished for her only problem in the world to be a runaway car with no brakes.
She was in the spare room which her father used for his pottery wheel and storing junk. No indication that it had once been her bedroom except for a small hole in the ceiling where she had poked a crutch at age ten. It brought back memories of the trampoline accident that broke her thigh. She would have gladly accepted a busted leg instead of the reality facing her.
A knocking at the front door. Maybe that was what woke her. She heard her father speaking. Something about a washing machine. And then the door slammed shut. The clock said 6.18 p.m., which meant she had been asleep for only a few hours. But her body ached as if she had been out for half a day.
Movement in her belly erased all negative thoughts. In the dream there had been no pregnancy, so maybe the real world was a better place after all. There was still a chance that Karl could beat the murder charge. If he was still alive.
That got her moving.
Her father heard her on the creaky floorboards and was at the bottom of the stairs by the time she reached the landing. He made a drinking motion, smiling. She made the same forced smile back and gave him a thumbs up.
After a minute’s silence at the kitchen table, he said, somewhat deadpan: ‘Karl is going to come by the house soon, before he goes to the police.’
Mother, bless her, had always approved of Karl, even when he stepped out of line. Father, though, had retained a neutral air, speaking neither negatively nor positively about him. It meant he never praised him, but neither did he shoot him down. Mother had gone berserk when he passed his driving test at twenty, on his fifth try, and she would have gone berserk about today’s situation. But not her father. Karl got his business loan approved. Karl’s wanted for murder. Same blank face. She didn’t know which reaction she would have preferred.
‘He’s innocent, Dad.’
He stroked his thick grey beard, thinking of a suitable reply. But she saw the doubt in his eyes, and then he confirmed it with: ‘I’m sure your ma would have said the same.’
Was that his way of saying he didn’t believe it? She didn’t ask. ‘Did he sound okay?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess. I’m sure he’s okay. But are you?’
She patted her belly in answer but father’s next line was: ‘You should get checked out again about that.’
What a thing to say. Sure, he was concerned, his only grandchild and all, but he should have known how worried she was. The hospital had performed an ultrasound, but that couldn’t highlight all possible problems, could it? She had to remind herself that the car crash hadn’t caused any harm to her belly, and neither had running from that madman.
‘I’ll come to the police station with you,’ he now said, looking a little ashamed, as if he had realised the error of his words.
She nodded.
‘I need to drop something at the theatre,’ he said. ‘But I’ll run you a bath first. Have a good soak. I’ll only be an hour. Will you be okay?’
She told him not to fuss over her. To go about his business, because she was going to be fine, didn’t need him by her side constantly. He stroked her hand, got up, and pointed at the phone on the wall.
‘Karl’s waiting for your call.’
Eighty
Karl
As Karl was calling Katie’s dad’s house and getting a dead tone, Danny turned the van into a cul-de-sac in a Bromley housing estate. Karl looked up from Danny’s mobile. It seemed they were going to the solicitor’s house, not his office. He scrutinised the houses and took a guess, but the van didn’t stop. Then they were at the turnaround at the end, and he stared at a detached house that he thought befitted a solicitor’s wage and standing, but the van didn’t stop. The vehicle mounted the kerb and drove down a path between two houses. There had once been a bollard to thwart cars, but all that remained was a concrete stub. Space was tight, and Danny drove slowly.
As Karl was getting no answer from Peter’s mobile, the path delivered them onto a hammerhead turnaround on a wide road that ran straight ahead. There was no street lighting. On the left were commercial businesses, large and lit by lamps, while on the right were smaller buildings, shrouded in gloom, that looked like houses, apart from the fact that each had a tiny car park out front.
As Karl was cursing the same dead tone from the landline, Danny stopped the van and pointed down the road. ‘On the right.’ He counted: ‘Fifteenth place.’
Karl counted. Fifteen was a long way, about 600 feet. There was a single car parked out front. At this angle they couldn’t see the front of the building, but there was a pinprick glint of light on the side of the lone car – a reflection from a lit window. It seemed to be the only place that might be occupied.
‘This is way out of the way for a solicitor’s office or house,’ Karl said.
‘He likes the peace and quiet,’ Liz said.
‘And a city office would attract all manner of scum,’ Danny said.
That made sense. A man with clients like Ronald Grafton would not want to deal with ASBO breakers and car thieves.