Friday's Child (3 page)

She shook her head. “No. I hold down two jobs. Neither seems to interfere with the other right now.”

Patrick tilted his head a little. It wasn’t his place to interrogate her, not here and not now, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Two jobs?”

Elle nodded. “Times are hard and singing isn’t what my mother calls a “proper job”. She keeps on at me to quit, but with Dad gone, I need to bring in as much money as I can.”

His hand closed over hers. “I’m sorry. When did he die?”

“He was shot in a hunting accident three years ago. He died instantly. So it’s just me, Abbie and Mum now.”

“Abbie?”

She stiffened, catching her breath. A light flickered in her eyes for a brief moment before it was extinguished. “What is it with all the questions? Are you some kind of cop?”

“Sorry. I ask a lot of questions at work so it’s a force of habit.”

“Are you a cop?” she repeated. Again the nervous glance over her shoulder.

Mr. Blue Suit had moved closer. He looked familiar, but Patrick couldn’t place him. He looked back at Elle. “It’s not just cops that ask a lot of questions at work,” he hedged. “Psychiatrists do. Private investigators do. The bouncer on the door did as well. Besides, it’s been almost fourteen years since I’ve seen you. That’s a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah.”

He smiled and winked, going back to his previous question. “So who’s Abbie? Hamster, goldfish, tortoise, that dog you always said you wanted…” He hoped his teasing would put her at ease, but she stiffened even further.

“Abbie is my sister. She’s thirteen and very precocious with it.”

Patrick tilted his head, something clanging in the recesses of his mind. “That’s a big age gap.”

She jerked her head, something glistening in her eyes. “Yeah. You don’t expect a baby sister when you reach twenty-two. Mum said they missed—” A hand dropped on her shoulder and she froze. Glancing up, she acknowledged Mr. Blue Suit who had managed to come up right behind her, without Patrick noticing.

That was more than a tad disconcerting. Had he got so focused on Elle that his training went right out of the window? Especially when he’d already identified him as a possible threat.

“Zeke, this is Patrick, an old friend. Patrick, this is Zeke.”

Patrick offered the tall, thin chap a hand. “Pleased to meet you.” The hand that took his was firm, the handshake brief, and the glint in his eyes warned him off as surely as the hand on Elle’s shoulder did.

Dropping his hand, Zeke turned his attention to Elle. “Don’t be long, Lisa. We need lots of orders for the CD tonight.”

“OK.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes as Zeke ran his eyes over Elle. He was glad when the man nodded and walked away. “He seems a little possessive. Is he your boyfriend?”

She shot him a scathing look, causing his cheeks to burn. “No, not that it’s any concern of yours, but he’s my manager. He doesn’t like me resting.”

“He pays you to work, not fraternize?”

Elle studied her glass, running a finger around the rim. “Something like that.”

Patrick wanted to ask more, but her tone indicated it was a closed subject. There was a time to push things and a time to leave them, and right now was definitely the latter. His mind whirled, trying to assimilate all the information he’d gleaned. Not to mention work out where he’d seen Zeke before.

He nodded to her empty glass. “Want another one?”

She shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but I won’t. I didn’t think clubs were your scene.”

“I was coming with my brother Liam, who claims to be your biggest fan this side of the equator. However, he stood me up in favor of the game instead. His fiancée, Jacqui, likes football as much as he does. Either that or she’s just humoring him. I wasn’t going to play gooseberry despite it being a cup match.”

“I prefer rugby.”

“Really?”

Elle nodded. “Thirty fit men in tight shirts and shorts running up and down a field. At least, according to the girls I work with.”

Patrick laughed. “Jacqui says the same thing.”

“But going back to rugby, what I like is the fact the players don’t fall down and act hurt like footballers do.” She smiled properly for the first time since joining him. “They fall down, and they get right up again and carry on, bleeding all over the place. Footballers lie there and go, ‘Ref, he tripped me up!’”

The laughter died down. Patrick studied his glass for a moment. He had to know why she left all those years ago. “What happened that weekend of the house party, Elle? Where did you go? When I woke, you were gone. No one saw you after that. You just vanished off the face of the planet.”

Elle set the glass down on the table. “Stuff happened. I had to go home.”

Patrick pressed his hands together, his stomach twisting. “Was it…?” He took a deep breath. “Was it something I did or said? Did I hurt you or push you away?”

She shook her head, shoving a hand through her hair. “No, no, it wasn’t you.” But her voice wobbled and experience told him she wasn’t being entirely truthful. “I have to go.” As Patrick reached over to grasp her hand, she pulled away, rising quickly. “Please don’t. I have to go. Thanks for the drink.”

Patrick’s entire body chilled and numbed as she moved away from him. What had he done? One minute she was chatting and the next the portcullis came slamming down, the drawbridge went up and she was gone. Whether Elle was here or not, the guy he’d been watching for hadn’t made an appearance. He listened to half of the second set, and then walked out to where he parked his car.

He wasn’t at all happy with the fact she worked there. Was she involved? Or, if not, could he warn her and get her away before she did get caught up in it all? Why had she suddenly reappeared in his life now?

Lord, whatever is wrong with her, please, give me a chance to put it right.

****

Eleanor drove home, still unsettled. She had no idea how she made it through the second set. Patrick and his familiar presence had set her whole body on edge. How could he still cause a reaction like this after so long? What they had shared that year was magical. He made her feel wanted and loved.

But why had he left half way through the second half of her performance? He seemed to have enjoyed the first set. She’d perfected watching people unnoticed over the years. And he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her.

It’s not fair, Lord. Why bring him back into my life when I can’t have him? Haven’t I been punished enough?

She parked on the drive and let herself into the dark house. Blue light flickered from the open lounge door and she went in to find her mother sitting in front of the TV, waiting for her. Nothing changed, did it? “Hey, Mum. How’s Abbie? Did she complain about her stomach today?”

“No.”

“I really would like to take her to a doctor and have her checked out.”

“And have you take time off work to do so? She’s fine. When you were her age, you always faked a stomach ache to get out of school, too. I’m wiser this time around.”

Maybe Mum was right. Maybe it was nothing.

“I should check in on her, just to make sure.”

“She’s sleeping. How was your act tonight?” Mum stood and folded the blanket she was sitting under. Somehow, she still managed to make the word “act” sound dirty.

“The performance was OK. We got several pre-sale orders on the CDs—not enough to make Zeke happy, but then nothing’s good enough for him these days. A man I was at university with, Patrick, was there.”

Her mother’s eyes darkened. “Patrick?”

“We were doing the same course. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Is it
him
?” Mum’s face hardened as she spat out the venom laced words.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response as half the students on my course were men, Mum.”

“Eleanor Jay, don’t you talk to me like that. I always said Jay should have been Jezebel.”

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Good night.” She headed quickly up the stairs, biting her tongue. Why did her mother hate her so much? She peeked into Abbie’s room.

Abbie lay curled up on the bed, her still figure illuminated by the shaft of light from the door. Her long fair hair spread out on the pillow behind her. Eleanor stood in the doorway, a lump in her throat. Years ago she’d tried all the options she could think of to get away, but they would never work out. She’d tried to take Abbie and move to the other side of the country, or even to Australia. But every single plan had failed. Now her mother was old, bitter, and ill-tempered.

One day it’ll be different. I’ll tell you the truth, and we’ll leave here together. Just you and me.

Closing the door, Eleanor went back to her own room. She dropped to her knees and reached under the bed. Her fingertips grasped the edge of the shoe box and pulled it towards her. She sat on the bed and placed the lid beside her. A pile of photos gazed up at her. Rummaging through them, Eleanor found the one she wanted.

Patrick’s broad grin and blue eyes sparkled up at the camera. His arms wrapped securely around a much younger her. A weeping willow hung over their heads, the lake behind them with a family of swans gliding across its calm surface. Her fingers ran over it.

I wish I could change the past and tell you the truth as to why I left, but I can’t. And now I’m in too deep. I’m sorry.

3

Patrick sat in the office, the blinking cursor on the computer screen in front of him slowly driving him to insanity. He had typed up the report of the nightclub visit on Friday—not that it took long. Nothing had happened. The bloke had been a no show. The recording was useless. Mind you, that turned out to be a blessing in disguise as all it would have consisted of was him chatting up a nightclub singer.

And that would have gone down as well as a dose of the proverbial salts. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Nothing had gone right so far today. And that on top of the dead ends he kept running into, only served to darken his already foul mood.

Having spent the entire morning on a wild goose chase, Shay had gone to pick up lunch from the deli on the corner, leaving him sitting here. He pulled up Shay’s half-written notes from the morning’s escapade.

Received tip off from Tiny re FT seen at mall. Ten minutes later received call re shots fired and CO19 responding. Arrived to assist or apprehend FT. Mall open as normal. No FT. No CO19.

The phone in his pocket chirped. He pulled it free. “So help me, Shay, if this is you wanting to know if I want chips again—” He didn’t recognize the number and immediately hit a button on his phone to secure the line. “Page.”

“I need to see you.”

“The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown.” He waited. The response would tell him who it was.

“There I met an old man who wouldn’t say his prayers.”

Skinhead?
He knew not to ring direct, and it wasn’t contact day. He thought quickly. “Ten minutes. Mitre Square.”

Patrick hung up and stood, pulling his coat on as he left the desk. Half way across the office, he met Shay coming the other way.

She held up the twin cardboard drinks carrier and paper bag. “I got you a cappuccino and chicken mayo on brown bread.”

“No time.”

She frowned. “Now what? You promised me you’d eat something.”

“Meeting a snout in ten. If you’re that bothered about the food, you eat it, and I’ll go alone.” He accelerated down the hall.

Running footsteps followed him. “Patrick, wait. I’ll eat on the way. What’s the rush?”

“Skinhead wants a face to face.” He kept walking. “It has to be important for him to skip protocol.”

“Maybe he just wants to see your happy smiling features,” Shay commented. “In which case he’s going to be disappointed. You have your grumpy head on.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Shay.”

“You need a caffeine fix.”

“What I need is for things to stop hitting the fan and people to follow simple instructions.” He unlocked the car.

She set the bag and coffees on the roof while she opened the door. “Chill.”

Patrick scowled and got in the car, slamming the door. He started the engine as she got in beside him. “Don’t have time to chill,” he growled.

“Hey…” Shay grabbed the dash as he pulled quickly out of the space. “Watch it. I have hot coffee on my lap. You’ll spill it.”

“Chill,” he tossed back at her. “Your skirt is coffee colored anyway. It won’t show.”

“It’s dry clean only.”

Patrick ignored her, instead focusing on the road ahead. He could come up with a dozen different reasons for this meet and none of them good. Hopefully Elle wouldn’t be working today, as it was a Saturday. As much as he wanted to see her, he didn’t want to have to explain he wasn’t stalking her.

He parked and pulled the library book from the glove box. He hadn’t read it, but he could borrow Liam’s copy. “Watch the front.”

There wasn’t a queue inside, and he quickly made his way to the history section, the heels of his shoes tapping in the quiet building. They really should carpet libraries. It would do wonders for the noise level.

He studied the guide on the history shelving unit, and then slowly meandered down the aisle, hoping the book hadn’t been checked out. A tall, skinny man in his twenties stood further down the aisle. His jeans had seen better days. Close cropped hair, leather jacket, chewing gum and plaid bovver boots completed the ensemble.

Patrick paused by the books on Jack the Ripper. Mitre Square was the place where Catherine Eddowes met her death on thirtieth September 1888. He pulled out the relevant book and started to flick through it.

The man moved closer, running his finger along the books until he pulled out the one on Catherine Eddowes. He glanced sideways at Patrick. “Post grad.”

“Research for a script,” Patrick responded. The name Skinhead fitted. He kept his gaze on the book. “Have you read this one?”

“Yes, there’s a lot on Mitre Square in chapter seven.”

Patrick nodded. “You were told no contact.”

“This can’t wait. There’s something happening tonight at the club. Something big.”