Sleep Tight (21 page)

‘I’ll sort it,’ Leo answered. Tom just looked at her, and she laughed. ‘I thought you might be tired, so I had a word with the Japanese restaurant down the road. They’re going to do us some tempura, and then steak and salmon teriyaki. I just have to call them about twenty minutes before we’re ready – is that okay with you?’

Tom felt overcome with relief. Not his decision, not his job.
Fantastic
.

‘Whatever you’ve decided will be just terrific,’ he murmured with a grateful smile as he sank down on to the sofa.

‘Crap day?’ Leo asked.

‘Confused day, and too much has happened,’ Tom replied, blowing out a long breath of air through pursed lips as he picked up the waiting glass of wine. ‘As I told you on the phone, the bloody husband has done a runner. We hadn’t put him under formal surveillance because up until now he appeared to be co-operating, albeit grudgingly and with a few lies thrown in.’

Leo said nothing. Unlike any woman he’d ever met, she rarely expressed an opinion
unless he asked for it.

‘Anyway, enough about me. How did you get on at the cottage?’

Leo picked up her drink and took a sip. She looked puzzled.

‘I don’t know what to make of it,’ she said, frowning slightly. ‘They seem to have rifled through your drawers – but then never having looked, I don’t know if your drawers are normally tidy or not. Stuff was jumbled, that’s all I can say really. But they completely ignored anything of value in the house. You’ve got that lovely little abstract painting – a Spanish artist if I remember rightly. Paco somebody? That would have been so easy to take, but it’s still there.’

Tom shrugged. ‘I guess most people wouldn’t know its value. My brother Jack was a collector, and most of his paintings were sold or given to art galleries. I particularly liked this one, so I kept it. But even I don’t know what it’s worth.’

‘Well, whatever it is, it’s strange they didn’t just whip it off the wall,’ Leo said. ‘So as far as I can tell, they took absolutely nothing. They upended several boxes of papers, and they were spread all over the floor. But they were Jack’s boxes, not yours. What happened to Jack, Tom? You told me he died, but you’ve never seemed keen to talk about him.’

Tom was silent for a moment.
Jack
. The wild one of the pair of them. The one who had hated school and locked himself in his bedroom building computers, listening to Whitesnake and Black Sabbath at full volume when Tom was trying to study. Putting the essence of Jack into words was impossible, because life with him had been full of colour with never a dull moment.

‘You know he made a killing in the whole Internet security field and sold his company for a phenomenal sum of money, don’t you?’ Leo nodded. ‘Well, he went out and bought a mega-fast speed boat and killed himself, the stupid, irresponsible bugger,’ Tom muttered the last bit, his throat tightening, and took a long swig of his wine.

‘So how did the accident happen?’

‘Nobody knows. When he didn’t return, a search party went looking for him. They found the boat upside down in the water, but they never found his body. Washed away, according to the coast guard. The manufacturers said they couldn’t find anything wrong with the boat, so the assumption was that it was some kind of freak accident. Hitting a wave at the wrong angle when he was going too fast, or something like that.’

Leo stood up and went to get the wine bottle from the table to refill Tom’s glass. He couldn’t help thinking how great she looked, in a tunic top that was mainly white with a huge black rectangle on one side, and tight black jeans. They should have gone out really, so he could have shown her off to the world.

After she had poured more wine, Leo sat down next to him and curled her feet
underneath. She held his hand for just a moment or two.

‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘I’ll order the food now and go to pick it up in about fifteen minutes. You relax.’

Relaxing sounded good, but he knew it wouldn’t be possible. He opened his briefcase and pulled out the folder he’d brought home with him. He flipped the file open just as Leo leaned across to give him a soft kiss below his right ear. Tom moved his head slightly towards her and closed his eyes for a moment.

‘What do you want with a picture of our local war hero, then?’ she asked, with a puzzled tone in her voice.

‘What?’ Tom said, jolted from the moment. ‘What do you mean, war hero?’

‘It’s Sophie Duncan, isn’t it? Is that her name? Don’t you remember? There was a programme about her – well, it was actually about heroines of the war in Afghanistan and she was featured. It wasn’t a big segment, but because she was from Manchester I remembered her. She saved a load of people from some random bomb or other, didn’t she?’

Tom held up the photo – the one that had been taken at the guest house in Anglesey; the one of the woman that Mrs Evans believed to be Olivia Brookes. Finally, and belatedly, Tom remembered where he’d seen her before. He and Leo had watched the programme together on some obscure satellite channel, but he’d been engrossed in something else at the time and had only glanced intermittently at the screen. She was right.

Sophie Duncan.

He needed to speak to Becky. Now.

31

With a weary groan Becky pushed the keyboard away from her and stretched her arms above her head. It was time to go home. It had been a frustrating day, but try as she might she couldn’t find a connection between the multiple threads of information that had been revealed over the last fourteen hours, and maybe a good night’s sleep was what she needed.

She shuffled the papers on her desk together into a pile and grabbed her bag from the bottom drawer. And then her mobile rang.

‘
Bugger
,’ she muttered. ‘Is there no peace for the wicked?’

She grabbed the phone and turned it round to check who was calling. Unless it was somebody important they could sod off. It was Tom.

As Becky listened to what he was saying, she felt the heavy weight of her tiredness dissolve. Tom had identified the woman at the guest house. Was this the breakthrough they had been waiting for?
Please, please
, she prayed to a God she didn’t really believe in.

Sophie Duncan.

Becky had never heard of her personally, but finding out where she lived should be a doddle as she was an army officer.

Nic was still hanging around making himself useful – unlike some others on the team. But then, he was career hungry rather than career disillusioned, so as soon as she had tracked down Sophie’s address she called him over, keen to share her excitement at the latest development with somebody.

‘This woman might just be able to answer all our questions. DCI Douglas said he’d meet us there, but I don’t think we need him at the moment. We’ll see what Captain Duncan has to say about why she was pretending to be Olivia Brookes, and then decide if we need to call the boss. Okay with you?’

Nic looked overjoyed. Poor bugger couldn’t have much else to do on a Sunday evening –
a bit like Becky herself. As she grabbed her keys and walked out of the airless incident room, she realised that since leaving London she hadn’t been on a single night out, with the exception of the celebration after their success with the rapist case earlier in the week. Was that really only a couple of days ago? Anyway, that was something else she was going to sort out. She was going to move on and get herself a social life.

‘Ready?’ she shouted to Nic, who was gathering together his stuff.

As they drove across Manchester, Becky ran through everything she thought they should ask Sophie Duncan.

‘Primarily, we want to know why she was pretending to be Olivia Brookes. But we also need to know if she has any idea where Olivia really is, and who the hell came visiting during the week. That could be totally irrelevant – it could just be Sophie’s boyfriend or something. But I want to know. I’d like you to take notes, Nic, but don’t ask any questions. If you think I’ve missed something, have a quiet word and tell me. I may well have done it on purpose, so don’t go blundering in there, okay?’

Nic nodded his head in short sharp movements, about twenty times more than was absolutely necessary. ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he said. Boy, this lad was eager.

When they finally pulled up outside the house, they were disappointed to see that it was in darkness. The night hadn’t quite closed in yet so there was still a bit of light, but Becky would have expected to see some lamps on by now. Perhaps they lived at the back of the house. There were two cars in the drive, so that was a positive sign.

Becky parked on the road, blocking the gate. She had no reason to believe Sophie was going to try to make a run for it, but they had already lost Robert and she wasn’t about to lose anybody else.

She pulled out her warrant card so she had it at the ready, and made her way up the drive, Nic striding out behind her, glancing around him as if it were the first time he’d ever been on a suburban street.

Three sharp raps on the door knocker had no result whatsoever. She tried the bell, and heard it ringing inside. Still nothing.

Becky pushed up the flap on the letterbox, and had a good view into the hall. There was nobody there, but she could see a stair lift at the bottom of the stairs. That would suggest that whoever used it – and she didn’t know if Sophie’s injuries were sufficiently bad to warrant a stair lift – must be downstairs.

‘Nic, see if you can get a response round the back, would you? Don’t make them jump, though. Be discreet.’

Nic disappeared into the darkness, and Becky waited, continuing to hammer on the door.

The stillness of the night was interrupted by the sound of running feet, coming fast towards her.

‘We need to get in there, Ma’am – now,’ Nic said, and without waiting for her to comment he put his size-twelve foot out and booted the front door with all his strength.

The door flew inwards, busting the housing for the Yale lock completely out of the frame. Nic started to run towards the back of the house and Becky chased after him. He kicked open the door to a sitting room, and fell to his knees next to the body of a young woman on the floor.

Tied to a chair by her arms and legs, she had obviously tried to move and tipped the seat on its side, narrowly missing a metal hearth fender with her head. Blood was clotted on the outside of her trousers, and Becky thought she might be dead. But as Nic reached out to feel for a pulse, her dark eyes shot open.

‘About fucking time. Get these sodding ties off me, will you? Is my mum okay?’

Becky glanced around, but there was nobody else there.

‘Upstairs – she can’t get down. If that bastard has hurt her…’

But Becky didn’t hang about to hear what Sophie Duncan was going to do to her attacker. She ran to the bottom of the stairs and glanced upwards to where she could see a crumpled form. She raced up the stairs and fell to her knees on the top step, reaching out her hand to touch the neck of the elderly lady lying on the carpet.

As her hands made contact, the woman flinched. ‘Get off me, you monster,’ she said through dry, cracked lips. Becky dragged her phone from her back pocket and spoke to the lady as she dialled.

‘It’s okay, love. My name’s Becky. I’m a police officer. You’re all right now. I’m just going to get you an ambulance.’ Becky spoke quietly into the phone as she summoned assistance.

As she hung up, she stroked the woman’s cheek gently with the backs of her bent fingers. She didn’t want to move her in case she was hurt, and she didn’t seem to be cold. Nevertheless, there was a coat hanging over the balustrade and with the utmost care she laid it over the woman’s shoulders.

‘Can you tell me your name, love?’ Becky asked.

‘Where’s Sophie? What did that pig do to my Sophie?’

Just at that moment there was a yell from downstairs.

‘Mum? Are you okay, Mum?’ Becky turned at the sound of running feet, or rather stumbling feet. Sophie was hobbling towards the stairs, limping, falling, getting up and dragging herself. Nic was trying to support her.

‘Bastard ropes, they cut off the circulation. Christ, that hurts. Mum – are you okay?’

‘She’s okay, Sophie,’ Becky answered. ‘I’ve called an ambulance. Nic, can you get some water for both of them please?’

‘Sophie, come here darling,’ the weak voice beside Becky murmured.

Becky shuffled over so that Sophie could drag herself upstairs and sit next to her mum. Becky could see how much blood had congealed on the outside of Sophie’s trousers, and was amazed she had managed to move at all.

‘Oh, Sophie – did he hurt you?’ her mother mumbled.

‘Take more than that psycho to hurt me, Mum. You know that,’ Sophie spat out the words. ‘But what about you? Why didn’t you stay in bed?’

‘I wanted to get to you. I was going to try to slide downstairs on my bottom, but when I tried to get down on the floor, I fell over. I was so worried about you, but I couldn’t get up. I’m sorry, love.’

Becky could see Sophie was struggling to speak.

‘Whoever’s fault this is, Mum, it’s definitely not yours.’ She stroked her mother’s face gently.

‘Can you tell me who did this to you, Sophie?’ Becky asked. ‘And why?’

‘Oh, I’ll tell you who, all right. It was that crazy freak Robert Brookes. He is
so
going to pay for this. Hurting me is one thing. Hurting Liv is another. But hurting my mother is one thing he is not going to get away with. And don’t give me that look. What would you do if it was your mother and your best friend?’

*

When Tom arrived at the hospital he found Becky sitting on a hard blue plastic chair with her head tilted back against the wall. She looked totally knackered, but the night was far from over. Before disturbing her, he decided to grab a couple of cans of coke from the vending machine. Not his drink of choice, but they needed the caffeine, and he was certain the coffee would be vile and would come in plastic cups that were too hot to hold.

He put Becky’s can down on the seat beside her and sat down on the other side, opening the can with a pop. Becky sat upright, and turned towards Tom.

‘There’s one for you there,’ he said, pointing with his can.