Shaping the Ripples (32 page)

“Actually, I quite like the odd visitor,” he smiled, surprising me. “It can get a bit lonely down here. We’re due to have some students in over the summer to help me with putting all the microfiches onto computer, so if you come back in the autumn it should be a lot easier to search through the records.”

“I might do that,” I said and headed for the lift. I decided that I might as well wait until I’d got back to my flat before giving Laura Smith a ring. As she’d let me have her mobile number I wasn’t worried about not being able to find her.

Back in the flat, I picked up the phone and dialed. Her extension at the station rang a couple of times before it was picked up.

“DI Smith,” came her businesslike voice.

“It’s Jack Bailey,” I said quickly. “Are you on your own?”

“Not at the moment, no,” she answered with no change in her expression.

“I’ve remembered something that I need to talk to you about,” I explained. “But it might be better to do it when Michael wasn’t standing next to you. Could you call me back later when it’s convenient?”

“I should think so, yes,”

“I’m at my flat for the rest of the day, so don’t worry about the time. But I would like to talk to you today.”

“Alright then. Goodbye.” Then there was a click and the line went dead. I held on to the mouthpiece, still unsure if I was doing the right thing.

The red message indicator was flashing, so I played the recording, absurdly hoping to hear Katie’s voice. In fact, it was the solution to a mystery. Linda Clarke’s voice apologised for not ringing to say that she was safe, and for making me so worried. Apparently, she’d got herself into such a state after I’d told her about the break in, especially on the evening she’d phoned me, that she had decided to make a run for it. She had been staying with a friend in Cornwall. All the time, I’d been looking in the wrong direction.

It was over two hours later that the phone rang, but I had hardly moved from beside it. I snatched up the receiver.

“Mr. Bailey,” came Laura Smith’s warm greeting. “I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to call you back, but I thought that it would probably better to speak to you from home. Now what is it that you want to say to me that you didn’t want DI Palmer to hear?”

“I went down to the newspaper archive today,” I began to explain. “After your warning about Michael Palmer and something someone else said I was curious to know what his story was.”

She interrupted. “I did not warn you about Michael Palmer,” she said, sounding rather alarmed. “I just advised you that you could normally expect to see the two of us together. I hope you haven’t been telling anyone else that I had warned you about a fellow officer.”

“Of course I haven’t,” I said hastily. “I appreciated that you were taking a chance in speaking to me in the way you did.”

“I’m starting to think that I made a mistake in saying anything to you. If that’s what this call is about, perhaps we’d better end it now.”

“I know about Ray Miller,” I said. A silence fell on the other end of the phone.

“So?” she said eventually.

“I’m just saying that I know what he’s capable of, why you told me what you did.”

Her voice sounded even more unsure. “As I’ve said already, I did not warn you about DI Palmer, and I apologise if you misunderstood my comments to you. As far as Ray Miller is concerned, to the best of my knowledge the enquiry into the matter concluded that DI Palmer had no charges to answer. I don’t see the point in discussing this matter any further.”

I could tell she was about to put the phone down. “Wait!” I called desperately. “That isn’t why I wanted to speak to you. I’m sorry – I’m finding everything a bit overwhelming at the moment and I’m not explaining things properly. I was just trying to say thank you and now instead I’ve upset you.”

“Why did you ring me, Mr. Bailey?” she asked in some exasperation.

“Among the newspaper articles that I saw today was a photograph of Michael Palmer getting out of his car,” I told her. “It helped me to remember something. The first time that I saw him after I’d found Jennifer Carter’s body, he looked so familiar.”

“That’s hardly surprising is it?” she commented. “DI Palmer is a very prominent officer and is often in the papers or on local television.”

“But that isn’t how I knew him,” I hurriedly explained. “The last time I saw Jennifer alive, as I was leaving her house the next visitor arrived. It was Michael Palmer. He was one of her patients.”

This time the silence on the line was electric. “Are you sure?” she asked finally.

“Completely sure,” I said. “He arrived in his silver Mercedes. There can’t be many cars around like that.”

“And you are certain that you got a good look at him, and that it was DI Palmer?” she quizzed. “It’s vital that you are one hundred percent sure about this, Mr. Bailey. Isn’t it possible that you’ve been frightened and disturbed by what you’ve read about DI Palmer, and that your memory of a similar man and car has been adjusted slightly as a result?”

“I was alarmed by what I found out,” I agreed. “But I’m sure that my mind isn’t playing tricks on me. It was Michael Palmer who was going into Jennifer’s house. We did only pass briefly, which is why it’s taken me that long to place it. But it was him. No doubt. He hadn’t told you, had he?”

She didn’t answer this last question but I didn’t really need her to. There was a hard edge now to her voice which told me how surprised and angry she was.

“Leave it with me, Mr. Bailey. I may need you to record this in a formal statement at some stage in the future. But I promise you that I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

Once again I was left listening to static on the line as she disconnected.

Chapter Thirty Four

The events of the day must have exhausted me, because I was asleep by ten o’clock. I was in the middle of a very strange dream in which I’d pushed Katie off a cliff, only for her to be caught at the bottom by Michael Palmer, when the ping of an electronic bell intruded.

In an instant I was awake, unsure whether the bell had been real or just a part of my dreams. If real, it could only have been caused by the elevator outside. But that only sounded if someone actually wanted to get on or off on this floor.

There were three apartments on my floor – my own, an elderly couple called Clough, and a high powered businesswoman called Beth Wainwright. I didn’t see that the Clough’s would be coming or going at what my clock told me was three in the morning. Beth would have been a possibility, but I’d travelled in the lift with her and her suitcase on Monday morning, when she’d mentioned that she was off to New York for two weeks.

I lay in bed, listening intently for any sound of movement. Sounds get hard to distinguish when your senses are heightened. Was that rustle someone moving outside the door, or just the wind in the street outside?

I got up as silently as I could, and crept into the living room. A little light seeped under the door from the hall outside. Then, as the breath caught in my throat, a shadow momentarily interrupted the light. Someone was out there. My hand reached out for the lock on the door. Fortunately, before I had opened it, the stupidity of what I was doing struck me.

If outside the door was the person who had already killed at least four times, then going out to face them naked and unarmed probably wasn’t the most brilliant of plans. I moved into the kitchen to collect the large knife, and then edged towards the bedroom.

I just hoped that they were still there as I rushed to pull on a jumper and pair of jeans. Then I went back to the door. It seemed better to try and surprise whoever it was, so I pulled the door violently open and rushed outside with the knife raised high in the air.

The hall was empty. The dial on top of the lift assured me that the lift itself was safely positioned on the ground floor. The door at the far end of the hall which led onto the stairs was, however, slightly ajar. I hurried towards it.

There was no sign of anyone on the stairs, but I decided to check thoroughly now I was awake. I ran down the stairs, the cold stone numbing my bare feet, and into the lobby. Again there was no sign of life, and the front door was securely fastened. Convinced now that I had just been spooked by my dream, I turned and prepared to go back to bed.

This time I decided to use the lift and spare my feet a little. The familiar ping announced that we had arrived at my floor, and the doors opened. I had left the door to my flat wide open in my haste, but as I got close, my eyes were taken to the small piece of white attached to the middle of the door.

It was just a small bit of sticky paper which someone had fastened there. I supposed that it may have been there before I opened the door, and I’d just not noticed it in my charge outside. More chilling was the single word printed on it;

“SOON” it read.

I ruled out any chance of sleep, and settled down in front of the television. Even so, I couldn’t shake the most powerful image from my dream, of throwing a screaming Katie off the cliff.

When morning came, I gave the police station a ring. The way things were going I might as well have them listed as my best friend to make discounted calls to.

Laura Smith’s extension rang unanswered for a time, until finally a male voice answered. “DI Smith’s phone.”

“I was hoping to speak to DI Smith,” I explained.

“I’m afraid that both she and her partner are in a meeting at the moment, sir. Is it something that I could deal with for her?”

Over the next few minutes I explained who I was and the events of the previous night. He checked the details a few times, and then confirmed that he would pass the news on to Laura as soon as possible.

Faced with the choice of brooding at home, or brooding somewhere else, I decided that I might as well get some exercise. I sorted out a packed lunch for myself, and then drove up to the North York Moors. The day was cold, but bright – just right for walking.

Out in the peace and solitude, it felt a little easier to get a perspective on things. If Michael Palmer did have something to hide, I trusted Laura Smith enough to believe that she would ferret it out. And if it wasn’t him, then all I could do was wait. Sooner or later the killer would be coming for me, and I was determined that I would be ready for him. I’d even brought the kitchen knife along in my backpack.

So my thoughts turned inexorably to Katie. I mentally relived some of our time together, and found myself grinning foolishly as I walked. Then I recalled the last evening, and the look of hurt in her eyes as I’d turned her away. Maybe I had been a coward in not being prepared to give our relationship a chance. What would it hurt to give it a try?

It seems to me that the after effects of great evil are very like those of throwing a large stone into a river – the ripples stretch on and on. Sometimes they’re clearly visible, other times you can’t see them at all, but they’re always there, changing and affecting everything around them. If you’re unlucky enough to have been at the centre of the damage, the best you can hope to do is steer the ripples a little; minimise the additional wounds. At least, that’s how I’ve always thought of it. Maybe I was wrong with that, as with so much else.

By the time that I’d got home, I was starting to feel terribly guilty about the way I’d treated her. In the last awful few months, being with Katie was the only thing that made sense. Was I really going to throw all that away because I was afraid it would all go sour in the end?

Eventually I came to a decision. If I was to survive the current threat, my life afterwards would be immeasurably poorer without Katie in it. In fact, I could even go so far as to say that I couldn’t imagine any sort of meaningful life that didn’t have Katie in it. And if I was to die in the next few days, I realised that I didn’t want Katie to never be sure what my real feelings for her were, or if I’d ever change my mind about our relationship.

I suppose the note on my door had actually made me relax a little. The implication was that I was his next target, so I didn’t have to worry about protecting Katie. I just wanted her to be sure that I loved her, whatever happened to me.

I wanted to call her straight away, to hear her voice. But my clock told me that it was already eleven. I hesitated, my hand on the phone, before deciding that I could wait and ring her first thing in the morning. It was a decision that I was going to regret.

Chapter Thirty Five

The lack of sleep of the previous night, and the peace I felt at my decision about Katie combined to send me into a long and deep sleep. So deep, in fact that it was after ten o’clock when I woke up. My immediate impulse was to ring Katie at once and try to sort things out with her. Maybe we could even spend the day together if she was ready to forgive me.

Having built myself up so much that my stomach was tied in knots, it was a great disappointment when Rebecca’s voice answered the phone.

“Rebecca, it’s Jack. I need to speak to Katie.”

Her reply carried none of her usual life and spark. “I’m not sure that she wants to speak to you Jack. You’ve really hurt her, you know. I don’t think that I’ve ever seen her so upset.”

“Well can you ask her if she’ll speak to me?” I pleaded. “I want to tell her how sorry I am.”

“I’m not sure that an apology is going to help much,” she said, unmoving. Suddenly a note of passion crept into her voice. “How can you be such an idiot, Jack? I’ve never seen a couple more obviously meant to be together than you and Katie. How can you possibly let her slip through your fingers?”

“I know,” I admitted. “That’s why I’m ringing. I’ve realised how stupid I’m being, and I want to tell Katie that I love her and to ask if she’ll give me another chance.”

“I should think so too,” she commented, slightly mollified. “But I’m afraid that you can’t talk to her in any case. She isn’t here.”

“Do you know where she is?” I asked. “I really want to speak to her as soon as possible.”

“She’ll be back tonight. She said she needed a day off on her own to think things through. I just hope for your sake that she doesn’t decide that she’s better off without you.”