Dangerous Promises (41 page)

‘Here we go,’ said Velma. She stopped by one of the old three-storey redbrick houses and pulled out a set of keys from her pocket. A few seconds later the door was open and they were inside. Velma reached for the light switch and the hallway lit up. She turned to gaze at Sadie. ‘Jesus Christ, look at you! You need a doctor.’

‘I’m all right.’ Sadie’s eyes met Velma’s and she quickly looked away. ‘Okay, I’m not all right but it’s just cuts and bruises. They’re the least of my problems from the sound of it.’

‘You need to get cleaned up,’ Velma said. ‘There’s a bathroom upstairs.’

Sadie looked around. Off the hallway, to the right, was what looked like a waiting room with two sofas and a coffee table heaped with glossy magazines. ‘Where are we exactly?’

‘Work. It’s all right, you’ll be safe here.’ Velma started walking up the stairs. ‘You can have a bath, or a shower if you’d rather. There’s plenty of hot water. There’s shampoo and soap on the shelf and clean towels in the cupboard.’

On the first-floor landing were four rooms, all with numbers painted on them. Velma went into Number 1 and emerged shortly after with a blue-and-white-striped dressing gown. ‘Here,’ she said, passing it to Sadie. ‘Don’t worry, it’s clean. The bathroom is down the far end.’

Sadie followed quietly behind, not knowing what to say or do. She had switched to automatic pilot. Was Mona Farrell really dead? Royston too? And then there was Eddie… except that seemed like an age ago, more like years than weeks.

Velma opened the door to the bathroom and ushered her inside. ‘Take as long as you like. Do you need anything else? Just leave your clothes here and I’ll sort them out later.’

Sadie shook her head. ‘Thank you.’

Velma gave her a rueful smile. ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs. Try not to worry, love. I know it all seems like… but we’ll sort it out. We’ll find a way.’

Sadie went into the bathroom, closed the door and leaned against it. A short while ago, when she’d stepped out of the Capri and walked up the drive to Oaklands, she’d been convinced that the worst was over. But she’d been wrong. The memory of Mona Farrell falling through the air came back to haunt her. She squeezed shut her eyes, trying to block out the image. No, it wasn’t over. This nightmare would never be over.

56

Petra’s hands gripped the wheel as she headed back towards Shoreditch. Her body was rigid, her teeth chattering. There was nothing she could have done. She told herself this over and over again. Even if she hadn’t been drunk, she wouldn’t have been able to stop in time. Not that the filth would see it that way, which was why she’d had to take off double quick. Why hadn’t the silly cow looked where she was going? What was wrong with her? The road had been virtually empty, for Christ’s sake, and she’d chosen to run straight into the Capri!

Through the shock and the alcohol, she was struggling to think straight. She had to come up with a plan before she became paralysed by panic. As she drove, using every remaining ounce of will power to keep within the speed limit, she attempted to reconstruct the scene in her head. Apart from Sadie and the woman who had answered the door at Oaklands, had there been anyone else around? Could someone have seen her face or taken down the registration of the car? It seemed unlikely. It was late and it was dark. But Jesus, that was the least of her worries! The big question was whether or not Sadie Wise would grass her up to the law.

Petra glanced in the rear-view mirror, dreading the appearance of a flashing blue light. In truth, it was years since she’d been behind the wheel. She didn’t have a licence because she’d never passed her test. After her third fail she’d given it up as a bad job and left all the driving to Roy. She raised her eyes to the heavens, cursing her bad luck. She could be looking at a manslaughter charge. She wondered if the girl was dead.
Please God, don’t let her be dead.
But there had been something about the way she’d twisted in the air, the way she’d fallen, that didn’t bode well.

It was only when she got close to home that she realised she couldn’t possibly leave the car where she’d found it. There might be blood on the bonnet and there would certainly be damage, dents, evidence of the accident. But where to dump it? It couldn’t be too far away or she’d have a long walk back.

She circled round for a couple of minutes, the sweat running down the nape of her neck, until she found an empty spot. In her eagerness to get away, she was halfway out of the Capri before she thought about fingerprints.

‘Damn it!’ she muttered.

Quickly she drew back in, pulled off her cardigan and used it to wipe down the wheel and the inside door handles. Had she touched anything else? Had Sadie Wise? She didn’t think Sadie had been wearing her seatbelt – she hadn’t been wearing her own – but just in case she cleaned the metal parts of that too.

Petra got out of the car, put her cardigan back on and looked around at the surrounding houses. There were no lights on. With her right hand in her pocket, she used the corner of the cardigan to surreptitiously wipe the outside handle and the edge of the door before walking around to the passenger side. She made another rapid survey before repeating the procedure.

It was too dark to properly assess the damage to the car. She glanced over at the bonnet, but didn’t look too closely. Whatever was there, she didn’t really want to see it. It hadn’t been her fault. She hadn’t meant to do it.

Then, with the keys grasped tightly in her left hand, she hurried home with her shoulders hunched and her head bowed. It felt like an eternity before she finally made it back to her own front door. She let herself in, her breath coming in fast short pants. What now? She listened out for any sound from upstairs. There was only the noisy rumble of Wayne’s snoring.

Petra went into the living room and put the car keys back on the table. Then, remembering that her prints would be all over these too, she snatched them up again and wiped them clean. When this was done, she walked through to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of whisky out of the cupboard. She poured herself a shot with shaking hands, downed it in one and immediately poured another. It was only then that she finally began to calm down.

The big question, however, still remained: would Sadie Wise keep her mouth shut? The girl’s earlier argument, that she had more to gain by keeping quiet, had been persuasive. But the accident might have changed everything. What were the odds? Petra rubbed at her forehead, trying to get her thoughts in order.

There was, she eventually decided, nothing to be done about that particular problem other than to cross her fingers and hope. There was, however, plenty she could do about the evidence of Sadie’s abduction. Jumping to her feet, she grabbed a bucket from under the sink, filled it with hot water and added several hefty squirts of bleach. If the law did turn up on the doorstep, they wouldn’t find anything amiss downstairs. She was going to scrub that cellar top to bottom and she wasn’t going to stop until every trace of Sadie Wise’s presence had been removed.

57

Sadie didn’t look in the mirror until after she had taken the shower. She spent a long time under the hot water, trying to slough off the dirt and the blood along with all the misery of the past few days. She soaped and scrubbed, wincing as her fingers came into contact with the damaged flesh. Her skin was mottled with bruises, old and new, plum-coloured, ochre and brown. After the cleansing was over she stood very still, tilted back her head, closed her eyes and just let the water run over her.

When she was finished, the room was full of steam. She dried herself off and put on the dressing gown. It was only then that she finally got the courage to wipe clear the mirror with the back of her hand. She was astonished, even disgusted, by her own reflection. It was like staring at a stranger. The whole left side of her face was swollen, her cheek raked with scratches, her left eye half closed.

‘Sadie Wise,’ she murmured. ‘Look at the state of you.’

It was a minute, maybe two, before she got the energy to move again. There was a comb on the window ledge and she pulled it through her hair, getting rid of the tangles. Next she tackled the problem of the bad taste in her mouth. There was toothpaste in a mug and a couple of used toothbrushes. She was tempted to risk one of the toothbrushes, but somehow couldn’t bear the thought of it. Instead she squeezed the toothpaste onto her finger and spread it around her teeth. She rinsed out her mouth and repeated the procedure until the only thing she could taste was mint.

When she was done, Sadie left the bathroom and walked down the stairs. ‘Velma?’ There was no response. She passed through the hall and headed for the room she had seen when she’d first entered the house. When she reached the open door, she gave a tiny jump. There was a man sitting on one of the sofas. He lifted his head and gave a thin smile. It was Nathan Stone.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Velma called me,’ he said.

‘Why would she do that?’

‘Because she’s a friend. Because she knows you’re up to your neck in it and you need some help.’

Sadie couldn’t dispute either of these things, but she still didn’t welcome his presence. ‘I see,’ she said tightly.

‘Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there all night?’

Sadie hesitated – did she really need this on top of everything else? – but with little other choice she finally ventured into the room. She perched on the end of the unoccupied sofa and glanced at him. ‘Where’s Velma?’

‘She’s gone to Oaklands to pick up some clothes for you. She’ll be back later.’

Sadie could see his gaze roaming over her, examining, probing, taking in the extent of the damage. Feeling self-conscious, she lifted a hand and pulled the top edges of her dressing gown together. ‘Why don’t you just come out and say it?’

‘What?’

‘That you’ve seen me looking better.’

‘Wouldn’t that be a touch insensitive?’

‘Since when did that stop you?’

Stone’s eyebrows shifted up, but he let the jibe pass. ‘Velma thinks you should see a doctor. I can get one if you want, someone discreet. He can come here, look you over.’

Sadie quickly shook her head. ‘I don’t need a doctor.’

‘He won’t go blabbing to the law, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘I don’t need one,’ she repeated, repelled by the thought of some stranger, doctor or not, examining her battered body.

‘So you want to tell me what’s been going on?’

Sadie gave a shrug, not sure where to start even if she wanted to. She looked around the room, studying the dark red walls and the chipped cream woodwork. A pair of heavy black drapes was drawn across the window. On the coffee table were neat piles of magazines –
Mayfair
,
Playboy
,
Penthouse
– and she stared at the covers for a while before shifting her gaze again. There was a potted palm in the corner, the tips of its slender green fronds turning brown. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘When was the last time you ate?’

‘I don’t know. Yesterday? The day before?’

Stone rose to his feet, went over to a door at the back of the room and opened it. ‘Okay, you talk while I make something to eat.’

Sadie hesitated but then stood up too and followed him through to a shabby-looking kitchen, smelling of stale cooking and dope. A layer of magnolia paint was peeling off the walls to reveal a pale bluey-green colour underneath. In the centre of the room was a table with four chairs. She pulled one out and sat down. ‘I don’t think I can,’ she said.

‘Eat or talk?’

‘Both.’ Sadie pushed an overflowing ashtray to one side, placed her elbows on the table and cupped her chin with her hands. ‘Either.’

Stone took a loaf of bread from one of the cupboards and placed it on the counter. He opened the fridge and peered inside. ‘Then you’ll just have to force yourself.’ He pulled out a tub of margarine and a carton of eggs and put them beside the bread. ‘Poached or scrambled?’

Sadie didn’t have the strength to argue. ‘It doesn’t matter. Scrambled.’

Stone took three eggs from the carton and broke them into a small glass bowl. He whisked them up with a fork and added salt and pepper. He dropped two slices of bread into the toaster and then lit the gas ring on top of the cooker. He placed the pan on the stove and put a knob of margarine in it.

Sadie watched him while he worked. His movements were brisk, efficient and oddly comforting. He was wearing a pair of dark blue trousers and a navy sweater. His grey hair, swept back from his forehead, was slightly mussed as if he’d rolled out of bed and forgotten to comb it.

‘I’m listening,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Just start at the beginning.’

58

Sadie’s account was stumbling at first, full of pauses and reversals, until she finally got into her stride. Even as she was telling him about her first meeting with Mona Farrell, the words sounded odd and fantastical, more like a fairy story than a real-life event. By the time the scrambled egg was placed in front of her, she had reached the point where Mona had turned up at the flat in Haverlea. She stopped and stared down at the plate.

‘Eat!’ he ordered. ‘Or at least try.’

Sadie picked up the knife and fork. She took one mouthful and then another. She had thought herself beyond hunger, but her body had other ideas. In three minutes flat she had the plate cleared of everything but a sprinkling of crumbs.

While she was eating, Stone had been pottering round the kitchen. Now he brought two mugs of tea to the table and sat down opposite to her. ‘You take sugar?’

Sadie shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘If you like.’

‘Why didn’t you tell Joel about Mona Farrell?’

It was a question Sadie had asked herself a thousand times. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure. I suppose it didn’t seem that important at the time, not after I first got back from London, and then Eddie was killed and… When the police asked me if I could think of anyone, anything, I just thought it sounded crazy, like a tale I’d invented so they wouldn’t suspect me.’ She rubbed at her eyes, momentarily forgetting the bruises and flinched at the pain. ‘It was only when Mona sent the book that I really began to wonder if she could have had something to do with it. And then it felt like it was too late to tell anyone, that it would look like I’d been deliberately hiding something.’