Mother Love (28 page)

FORTY-THREE

‘
W
e have to talk. Call me the minute you can.' Caroline wasn't expecting Sammy's voice on her answerphone. Olivia's maybe. Laughing and telling her it was all a big joke. She strolled to the kitchen, took wine from the fridge. She needed a drink first, a big one. Whatever revelations she'd been expecting, none bore the slightest resemblance to what she'd heard that afternoon.

Glass in hand, the reporter leaned against the sink, still taking it all in, trying to make sense of it: the baby, the accident inquiry, Jack's demands. Olivia had apparently been cleared of any blame, but Jack wanted her out of his life, said he never wanted to hear from her or see her again. Since leaving there'd been no contact between them.

She took a large sip, rolled it around her tongue. The abductor had worn masks and had disguised his voice but Olivia was virtually certain it was Jack. And if he was behind it, she'd said, he was obviously sick and needed help. Caroline hadn't told her what she thought Howe needed. And she didn't like the way Olivia seemed to be blaming herself for his actions.

She thought she knew Olivia as well as it was possible to know anyone and yet she'd no idea. Olivia's time in the States wasn't just a closed book, it was out of print. No wonder the journal had been in code.

The phone rang as she was pouring a refill. Picking up the phone and glass, she took both through to the living room, lay down on the settee.

‘Sammy. Hi.'

‘Didn't you get my message?'

‘Just about to ring.'

‘Yeah, yeah. The guy's a weirdo, Caroline.'

Tell me something I don't know.
‘Go on.'

Sam had entered Howe's apartment with the help of a neighbour, a young woman. No surprise there then. ‘Nothing hit me at first. Just some dude's place. Neat, tidy, functional rather than fancy, you know?'

Guided tour I can do without.
‘Go on.'

‘That's what I did. And it's like a show home. Nothing personal. No books, magazines, newspapers. No music, DVDs. I'm thinking this is a waste of time.'

‘Cut to the chase, Sammy.'

‘There's one room left. I go in expecting more of the same. And it's crazy. Everywhere you look there are photographs. Like wallpaper. Every inch covered. Even the ceiling. And every one's of some little kid.'

Wine spilled as she straightened. ‘A baby?'

‘Yeah. Few months old, year at the most, I'd say.'

‘Anyone with her?'

‘The odd hand here and there. But whoever it was has been cropped out.'

‘That figures.'

‘There's more, Caroline. The whole room's set up as a crèche. Crib, baby clothes, changing gear, talc, soft toys. You name it – it's here.'

Grace. Except she was missing.

‘The weirdest part? In the corner there's a sort of shrine? A doll dressed in pink, more baby pictures, lots of candles. It creeped me out, I can tell you. Whoever did this is a crazy, Caro.' Or mad with grief. ‘Are you taking this to the cops now?'

‘You bet. Thanks, Sammy. Ciao.'

‘DI Quinn, call for you on line four.'

Sarah gave an inward groan, had been on the point of leaving for home. Gone seven now, she'd only nipped into the squad room to skim reports, catch any developments.

It was almost light relief after another heavy session with Baker and Rust. The head teacher was being held overnight. A decision on charges would have to be taken tomorrow.

‘Who is it, Twig?' Paul Wood was already rabbiting into another phone. Sighing, she lifted the nearest receiver. ‘DI Quinn. Can I help?'

‘I hope so. I'm looking for my wife. My name's Jack Howe.'

FORTY-FOUR

‘
W
here are you, Mr Howe?' Sarah perched on the desk edge.

‘In Birmingham. The Hyatt. I'm here on business. Olivia and me, we'd arranged to hook up later in the week but I understand there's been some sort of incident? She's in a hospital somewhere?'

‘We need to talk.' But not on the phone. There were too many questions. She needed to gauge reactions, nuances.

‘Sure, what can you tell me?' Hint of American in the voice. No suggestion of anything other than genuine concern, curiosity.

‘What do you know?'

‘I read a few lines in a newspaper. Something about Olivia being injured in a fire. There were suspicious circumstances? You were quoted. What's going on here, Inspector?'

‘I'd like us to meet. Can you come in?'

‘Of course. But tell me, is she going to be OK?'

‘She's recovering well, Mr Howe. I don't think you have anything to worry about.'

‘Thank God.' Rustle on the line, maybe checking the time? ‘Look I've only just got in and I have a couple of meetings in the morning. Can we make it late afternoon?'

‘I'd rather it was sooner, Mr Howe.'

‘Give me a number. I'll give you a bell the minute I'm through. Which hospital is it?'

For a few seconds she weighed up whether to tell him. He could find out easily enough and he was her husband. The presence of the police guard quashed any lingering qualms. ‘The Queen Elizabeth.' His low chuckle was unexpected.

‘Sorry. A mother-in-law joke. You wouldn't get it.'

Olivia was drifting off to sleep. When the door opened, for a second she thought she was dreaming.

‘They won't let me stay long, darling, but I had to see you.'

‘Jack?' She fought to stay calm. ‘What are you doing here?'

He smiled. ‘I bought you a present, Livvie.' She tensed when he slipped a hand in his jacket pocket. A scented candle. ‘I thought it might help pass the time.' He dropped a matchbook beside it.

‘Thank you.' Her lips barely parted; her mouth too dry. Still the most beautiful man she knew, she asked herself how she could ever have found him attractive. When he sat on the edge of the bed, she flinched.

‘Now what exactly have you been saying to the nice policemen, Livvie?'

‘Nothing, Jack. I don't remember anything. I can't help them at all.'

‘Good.' Still smiling, he gently stroked her hair. ‘That's excellent, Livvie. Excellent. The way I see it, there's only one problem. He really should have been charged by now, don't you think?' Head cocked, he studied her face. ‘God, you're ugly when you frown like that. Surely you know I never leave anything to chance? I have an exit strategy, Liv. And his name is James Rust.'

‘But, how?' Her frown deepened. He raised an eyebrow, started humming. It took her a while to recognize the tune:
I get by . . . with a little help from my friends.

‘Jack and Jill, Livvie? God, you're thick. I couldn't have done it on my own, could I?'

‘Jill Paige? But she's . . .?'

‘A really good friend, Livvie.' He yanked her hair before releasing it then rose to his feet. ‘But no more now. You need to rest. Catch up on your beauty sleep, eh?' He leaned in closer. She felt his hot breath in her ear. ‘Mum's the word, Olivia. And if you breathe another, next time I will kill you.'

Olivia watched him walk to the door, turn and blow a kiss. When he'd gone, she let the tears flow freely. No ropes bound her wrists, no gag bit into her mouth, no wire noose dangled in front of her eyes, but she was as much at his mercy here as back in that hellhole basement. She'd known all along, of course. Her freedom now was an illusion. His hold over her would end only in death. She'd known that, too. But she couldn't do this alone; she reached for her phone. Like Jack, she needed a little help from a friend . . .

Caroline stared at her BlackBerry, a finger hovering over a fast dial key. On her lap a picture emailed by Sam of the shrine in all its glory. Frigging weird. She'd mulled it over long enough. Olivia had to know about Howe's crazy obsession. The reporter narrowed her eyes. No. It was too big for a phone call. Time on the screen showed 7.30. Right. She'd pay a quick visit. Jumping up from the chair, she held out a steadying hand, felt dizzy, a little light-headed. Adrenaline rush? More likely the booze. God knows where the whole bottle had gone. She scowled, muttered a few bollocks. There was no way she'd risk her licence.

Glancing down, she caught sight of the picture, now lying on the floor. OK. She dialled a cab. Cinderella would go to the ball.

Twenty minutes later, the driver dropped her at the steps of the QE. Glancing up, she froze; for an instant assumed she was hallucinating. But booze conjured up pink elephants, didn't it? Not mad bastards.
With a story to tell.

‘What the hell are you doing here, Jack?'

‘Caroline.' He gave a lazy smile. ‘That's no way to talk to an old friend.'

Got that right. Not if she wanted a cosy little chat before delivering his balls on a plate to Quinn. Accustomed to thinking on her feet, Caroline reckoned she had around thirty seconds to hook him. She needed the mental equivalent of a PhD.

‘Olivia's told me everything, Jack. How about cutting a deal?'

‘Everything? I very much doubt that.'

‘You're right, of course.' She only had half the story. ‘That's where the deal comes in. I need your side.'

‘My side?' He laughed out loud. ‘So what's in it for me, Caroline?'

‘Talk to me, or the cops. Give me what I want, and I won't hand you over.'

‘Too late, honey. I'm seeing them tomorrow anyway.'

‘And will you tell them the truth?' Pulling Sam's pic out of her shoulder bag. ‘Like I will?'

‘Olivia, darling. Why didn't you tell me? I'd have done anything for you, you know that.'

Sitting at the bedside, Elizabeth Kent clasped her daughter's hand. Olivia looked tired, drawn, deathly pale. As for Elizabeth, she felt she'd aged twenty years in twenty minutes. She'd driven to the hospital in response to a tearful phone call, words she hadn't heard in a while: ‘I need you, Mummy.'

She'd hoped it would be a turning point. Perhaps Olivia would allow her to get close again. The recent distance between them had been unspeakably painful. Her daughter's story infinitely more so.

She'd sat in stunned silence hearing for the first time about the marriage, the birth of her grandchild. And the appalling death.

For what seemed a lifetime Elizabeth hadn't been able to speak; the shock so profound she feared she might faint. Now she lifted her head, looked at Olivia and asked the question again.

Olivia was calmer now. She'd rehearsed the scene several times before her mother's arrival. She'd always hoped it would never come to this, realized after Jack's visit it was inevitable, and vital she played her role to perfection.

‘I wanted to tell you. I longed to tell you.'

‘Then why . . .?'

‘It was my fault.' Avoiding Elizabeth's gaze, she traced a circle on the sheet with her finger. ‘I'm not going to blame Jack. I should have been stronger, stood up to him more. I should have picked up the phone, talked to you. I just didn't want you to worry, Mummy.'

‘But what about you, darling? I can't begin to imagine your pain. I could have been there for you.'

‘I was wrong . . . so wrong. I know that now.' She bit her lip, eyes welled with tears. ‘I'm so sorry, Mummy.'

She cradled her daughter's head. ‘You poor child. If only I'd known.'

Elizabeth so wanted to believe Olivia. But the story was so thin, it barely stood up. She knew her daughter's apparent composure was superficial. Olivia had control of her voice but couldn't hide the trembling in her hands. Clearly she was under enormous stress. For her part, Elizabeth was finding it difficult to grieve for a grandchild she hadn't known existed when her own child's suffering was staring her in the face.

‘I think you should rest now, Olivia. You're exhausted, I'll come back—'

‘No!' Eyes widened in what? Panic? Fear? ‘I haven't finished. I must tell you now.'

Elizabeth kept her voice an even soothing tone. ‘There's no rush, dear. We'll have all the time in the world tomorrow. We'll talk when you're less upset.'

‘I may not be here tomorrow.'

‘What on earth are you saying?'

Olivia took a deep breath. The next act was crucial. ‘Jack's in the country. He's been here tonight. He blames me for . . . what happened to Grace.'

‘Then he is behind this? It was his voice on the tape, wasn't it?'

Olivia nodded, closed her eyes, felt a draught as her mother moved. ‘Where are you going?'

‘I'm calling the police, of course.' Delving in her handbag. ‘He has to be locked away.'

‘No. You must listen.'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Olivia. He can't be allowed to get away.'

‘You don't understand.'

Clutching her mobile. ‘No. I don't.'

‘He won't come back, he's had his fun.' She gave a brittle laugh. ‘He never intended to kill me, Mummy. He wanted me to suffer. To atone for what he sees as my sins.' Olivia swallowed. ‘But I can't take any more pressure. I'd rather die than give evidence in court. I mean it. You've no idea what I've been through. I just want him out of the country. Out of my life for good.'

‘You're wrong, Olivia. You can't know he won't come back, try again. You'll never be free, don't you see? You must tell the police.'

‘I've gone through it a million times. Going to the police isn't the answer.'

‘Then what is?'

‘Jack's a bully, a control freak. The way to beat a bully is to scare them even more.'

‘And you know how to do that?'

‘Yes.' Olivia held out her hand, drew her mother closer. ‘But I need you to do something for me.'

FORTY-FIVE

‘
I
think you'd lie through your teeth to get what you want, Caroline.' Howe raised a whisky glass in mock toast. Fact was Jack Howe had no choice but to find out exactly what the reporter knew and more importantly what she intended to do with it. It was why he'd agreed to her request. Why they were in his hotel room, sitting across a low marble table on which lay a voice recorder.