Bones in the Nest (23 page)

Chloe looks at the roll of money in Emma’s hand and looks away. She has to pretend she hasn’t seen it, hasn’t got a whole load of questions queuing up in her head about how Emma got it and what for.

‘No. I don’t know if I’d be able to pay you back.’

She looks at the china set again and Emma puts her money away. Something flickers in the glass, the reflection of a car behind them, slowing right down, close up against the kerb. She stands still, not wanting to turn round, her instincts telling her to keep her face to the window. The car stops and the driver’s door opens.

‘Let’s at least go in and ask,’ Emma offers.

‘Yes.’ Chloe moves quickly, almost pushing Emma through the door and into the shop. She elbows the door shut behind her and grabs a dress off the nearest rail. ‘Can I try this on?’

A middle-aged woman behind the till waves them towards a changing cubicle at the back of the shop, barely
looking up from her knitting. ‘Help yourself.’

‘Chlo? What you doing?’ Emma has followed her. ‘That’s never going to fit you. It’s massive.’

‘Sh.’

She grabs Emma and pulls her into the cubicle as the door of the shop opens and a bell tingles.

‘What?’ Emma whispers but Chloe shakes her head.

‘How may I help you?’ This time it sounds like the woman has looked up.

‘I’m looking for my girlfriend. I think she came in here.’

‘Oh, really?’ The lady is helpful, chirpy almost. ‘Just a minute, I’ll have a look.’ She’s walking towards the back of the shop, they can hear her humming under her breath. She turns and hums her way back. ‘No, I’m sorry, there’s nobody here. Perhaps she went next door? Cats Protection have more clothes in stock for young people at the moment.’

There’s a pause and the door slams shut with a jangle of the old-fashioned bell.

‘Some people have no manners,’ the woman says, loud enough for it to be meant for them to hear.

Chloe lets go of the breath she was holding.

‘Now what?’ Emma says.

‘Are you girls all right?’ the woman calls to them.

They step out of the changing cubicle. Beyond the rails of musty clothes, the shop is empty and the road outside is clear. Chloe gives the woman back the dress.

‘Have you got a back door?’ Chloe says.

‘Is that man troubling you?’ The woman sounds like a social worker type. ‘It’s none of my business, of course. But
we do have a closed-circuit television camera. You need to tell the police if someone’s harassing you.’

‘Who is he?’ Emma asks. She looks first out of the window and then round the shop, as if she needs to double-check they’re alone.

‘I think you know,’ says Chloe.

‘What d’you mean?’ Emma shoves her hands in her pockets and turns away.

‘Like I said,’ the woman says, ‘I can save the tape. Do you want me to call the police?’

‘They won’t do anything,’ Chloe walks towards the door.

It sticks for a moment as she pulls it and the bell jangles above her head. Outside, the car has gone. Emma follows her out to the hot pavement. He was here, and sooner or later he’ll show himself again. Chloe thinks back and realises that she’s been seeing that car, seeing him, everywhere. Like a ghost, she thought she was imagining him. From the first night at Meredith House, that was the car on the kerb and he was the waiting driver. He can’t have known, then, how close he’d got to her, so when did he realise? After she went to the Chasebridge estate? Did he follow Taheera’s car all the way back to York? On the dusty road by the cooling towers she thought she saw the tail end of a car following the skip lorry, and after that? Did he get to Meredith House and find Emma before she and Taheera got back or had they already met? Whatever has gone before, she understands that he’s never going to let her disappear. Very well. Let him find her. Let him finish it.

‘See you, Emma.’

‘Chloe …’

‘Leave it. Just ask her if she’ll keep the set of china for me.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ve decided to go to work today. I’m going to Halsworth Grange.’

‘Chloe!’ Emma called out to her, her voice thin like a child’s. ‘He said he’s from a national newspaper. I was going to share the money with you. I did it for both of us.’

Chloe sets off running towards the city centre. She keeps to the edge of the pavement, dropping off the kerb every now and again to pass slower pedestrians. As the streets fill up with tourists, she slows to a walk. The tower of York Minster is watching her, but she looks away, keeps her eyes on the pavement. She presses on, head down, until she’s on Lendal Bridge. Glancing at the red pleasure boats, she wishes she could hire one, take it as far down the river as she can go and out to sea, drift until she’s found, a bone-picked skeleton rocking on the waves. She snaps back to the gritty pavement in front of her. Not a boat. Not starving or drowning. Not a church tower or a skip lorry in a narrow lane. No chance of anyone else trying to save her, only to make it worse. Because that’s what they all do in the end, the do-gooders and the false friends. It’s time to do it properly.

She thought she could trust them, Emma and Taheera. She even dreamt of a time when she’d have that place of her own, and she’d invite them in to say ‘thank you’ for everything they’d done, in to her little flat with the blue iris china and a cake she’d have baked. But that’s someone else’s dream. They’ve never done anything except make things worse, but she knows what to do now and she doesn’t want to be distracted. She looks over her shoulder as she crosses
the road near the city walls and thinks she sees the same dark blue car, tucked in behind a van. She quickens her pace and passes under the arch where the traffic is one-way, coming towards her. If it’s him, and he’s seen her, he won’t be able to get to her without passing two sets of lights. She speeds up and runs out into the road as the pedestrian light flashes green. She sprints all the way to the station.

‘Come on, Terry,’ she whispers, ‘let’s see how clever you are.’

She finds her regular platform and the local stopping train. She takes a seat near the toilet, where she can watch for the guard. She has an old ticket in her purse and a story about throwing the wrong one away, but the train pulls out and there’s no sign of anyone in uniform. She sits for a while, catching her breath, the sweat drying on her skin. In the police cell she sat like this, waiting. Unable to do anything except see what would happen next. There was no point in using any energy to shout or fight or argue. Taheera was dead. She got herself killed in that beautiful garden and they thought it was Chloe’s fault. Maybe it was in a way. Maybe Taheera was tainted by being near her. Or perhaps it was to do with that boy. The one who died. Chloe can’t understand it. Why would someone so smart and beautiful spend her time with criminals? Maybe she liked getting her hands dirty. Chloe sighs but there are no tears now.

She is startled by a man coming into her carriage. He’s wearing a denim jacket and his hair is short. She sits up straight, staring ahead, willing him to catch her eye. He turns and she sees he has a goatee beard and glasses. He’s carrying a guitar case. It’s not him. She’s not sure if it’s relief
or disappointment but she slumps down into the seat and lets her forehead fall against the hard, cool glass of the window.

When the train reaches the station near Halsworth Grange, her stomach contracts, a muscle memory that she should get off, but she stays where she is, holding her breath until the doors slide shut and the train jerks forward. Next stop, Doncaster.

The exit leads her into the Frenchgate Shopping Centre and she’s confused for a moment, losing her bearings. This side of the Centre is new. A group of teenagers rush by, laughing, clutching cans of energy drinks in their hands. A fat boy pulls a face at her and shrieks like a parrot and they all laugh some more. One of them points at her and calls out: ‘Freak!’

She looks around for the entrance to the old bus station. There’s a sign for ‘Transport Interchange’ and she follows it to a staircase, which finally leads her to a line of bus stops. She thinks the numbers might have changed too, so she looks on the alphabetical list on the wall, but there it is: the number seventy-six still goes to Chasebridge.

The circus was back in town, squad cars ringing Eagle Mount Two. Bernadette Armley wasn’t going to be happy about several pairs of regulation police boots messing up her carpet on the hunt for her eldest son, but the force wanted to know where he was the night she stood at her window, watching a young man run towards his killer. The same son who’d asked her to clean up after him, but spared her from seeing the body. They also wanted to question her about her refusal to let a female detective into her home, giving a suspect time to slip away before a second officer arrived.

DCI Khan had given the instructions, before returning to Eagle Mount One with Sean, in order to pay Jack Denton a visit. A knock on the door got no response. Sean opened the letter box.

‘Dad, open up. Come on. I’ve come for my stuff. Come on, Dad, you owe me!’

Khan moved away and made himself busy, checking out the view from the far side of the landing, beyond the lift.

‘Dad! I know you’re in there. I’ll start with my wallet and my keys but then you owe me, big time. You told Starkey I was police, didn’t you? Fuck you, dad!’

He kicked the door so hard the wound in his heel throbbed. Bending down he pressed his ear to the open letter box. There was a sound of someone moving, a muffled groan.

‘Come on, Dad. I’ll give you ten seconds, then I’m going to kick the door in.’

Sean watched through the letter box as a clenched and twisted hand appeared at the partially opened bedroom door. Jack Denton steadied himself, squinted to focus and stumbled forward into his hallway, hair on end and wearing a filthy jumper, covered in something that looked like sick. Like father, like son, Sean thought. But at least he’d made it to the toilet in time, unlike Jack.

‘Dad,’ his voice softer now, ‘come on, open the door. I need to get my stuff. Then I’ll be off. We can pretend none of this ever happened.’

He straightened up and stood back as his father unlocked the door. The whisky breath was unmistakable.

‘What d’you want?’ he slurred. ‘Who the fuck’s this?’

Sean hadn’t notice Khan moving in close behind him.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Sam Nasir Khan. An honour to meet you again, Mr Denton. You son is a credit to you.’

Jack had nothing to say. He blinked his rheumy eyes and shook his head. Sean thought it was a nice speech, nicely wasted: his nan was the one who deserved the credit, but Khan’s words had the desired effect on Jack, who stepped back, leaning crookedly against the wall.

‘Go on then,’ Jack said to Sean. ‘Get your stuff and fuck off.’

Khan waited just inside the entrance to the flat. Sean headed towards the lounge and looked back to see the two men eyeballing one another, except Jack was still having problems focusing, rubbing his eyes as if he was seeing things, only to find the apparition of the detective still filling his hallway.

In the lounge the empty beer cans were where Sean had left them, but his shoes, jeans and T-shirt had been placed in a neat pile on the settee. He felt the pocket of his jeans and was relieved to find the familiar shape of his wallet in one pocket and the weight of his keys in the other. The tidiness was confusing though.

‘Has he been back? Terry Starkey?’

‘Aye.’

Sean came back into the hall, palming his wallet out of the jeans pocket and flicking it open. It was empty. Cards and cash both gone.

‘He’s robbed me, the bastard.’

‘He needed some cash for petrol. He’ll pay us back.’

‘You mean he’ll pay you back, I can’t see him doing me any favours. But my cards, Dad, you let him take my cards.’

‘He said it’s a gas guzzler, that car. It’ll be fifty quid for him to get to York and back. He said he’s found that lass, the one who killed his brother.’

‘York? Shit. When was he here, Dad? How long ago?’

‘Hours ago. I don’t know. I’ve been asleep.’

Khan ducked out onto the landing and spoke quickly into the radio.

‘Funny,’ Jack said, wheezing a laugh through his broken
teeth. ‘I’d have liked to have seen that, you two having a happy family reunion.’

Khan hit the lift call button and called back.

‘Come on, Sean. We’ve got to get to York before Starkey gets to the girl.’

‘What d’you mean, “happy families”?’ Sean said quietly, ‘I’m not related to him.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Jack was close enough for Sean to smell vomit through the whisky stench. ‘She was a looker once,’ Jack said quietly, a strange smile creasing his loose skin.

‘Hang on a minute, sir.’

Whatever Jack was about to say, he would have to say it in private. Sean pushed his father towards the kitchen.

‘Saint Bernadette, we called her,’ Jack said. ‘She used to do the soup kitchens during the strike. When I came out of the hospital, I helped her out and she helped me. He was on the picket line, old man Starkey, or down the pub. I walked her home a few times, and the rest.’

‘You’re full of shit.’

‘Am I?’ He said, whistling something tuneless through his teeth. ‘She was kinder to me than your mam ever was. Mind you, that wouldn’t be hard. They all showed me more respect than that bitch ever did.’

Sean fought the urge to grab him and slam him against the wall. He heard Khan’s phone ring out on the landing.

‘Yes?’ Khan said. ‘Mrs Coldacre, of course I remember. Did he? When was this? Thanks.’ He called through the doorway of the flat: ‘Sean? Are you coming? He was at Halsworth Grange half an hour ago; he must be heading north.’

Jack Denton was shrinking from his son, his back pressed against the cooker, but Sean wasn’t looking at his father. Out of the kitchen window he saw a familiar car slow down and stop.

‘Sir! He’s here.’

Khan came into the kitchen and they watched as Terry got out of the car. He leant back for a moment against the bonnet, then pulled himself up as if he’d seen something, like a cat who’s spotted a sparrow. And then he ran.

‘Who’s he after?’ Sean said.

‘Come on!’

Khan led the way out of the flat, radio in hand, as they took the stairs two at a time.

‘Dawn? Can you see the front of the blocks? OK. IC1 male, cropped hair, denim jacket, could be following someone.’

The fire door clattered shut behind them.

‘Shit. OK, get an ambulance for her and wait for instructions.’

Outside, the police cars were still. The estate seemed frozen, not even the swings moving on their chains.

‘Mrs Armley spotted someone,’ Khan said to Sean, ‘while Dawn and the boys were searching her home. A slim young woman, apparently, running over the playground. But she wasn’t running away, she was running towards the Eagle Mount flats.’ He stood back, looking at each blank-faced tower block in turn. ‘The old woman’s so shocked, she’s collapsed.’

‘Chloe Toms?’

‘Must be.’

Sean looked around them. ‘Where did Starkey go?’

Still nothing moved.

‘Which block did she push the brother off?’ Khan tipped his head back and scanned the rooflines.

‘Eagle Mount Four.’

Khan was already heading towards it.