Speak No Evil (29 page)

‘Jack? Why?'

‘He says, he says he's just rehearsin'. It's juh – just to prove his power over me. That he can get me to do what he wants … That … that wuh – one day when I'm l-least expectin' it, one day he'll come for Jack …'

‘And, what? Tell him about you? About what you did?'

‘Wuh – worse than that
…'

Donovan lets the words sink in. ‘Oh God … You mean he'll
…'

‘Jack … he'll get Jack … or make me do it
…'
Another fresh bout of sobbing.

‘Oh God …'

23

Jamal was glad he had thought to get on the scooter.

Milsom, the woman and the boy had gone straight to the car that was parked round the back of the flat he was in. An Audi A4. He had zipped round on the scooter, careful not to be seen, and watched them load bags into the boot.

His heart was hammering in his chest. They were off. Leaving. He had no choice but to follow them. He pulled the scooter up behind a wall, killed the engine, risked a glance round. Definitely getting ready to move out.

While he was watching, he reached into his pocket, getting his mobile out to call Donovan. But the phone wasn't there.

‘Shit …'

He checked every pocket, trousers, jacket, even ones he knew he never kept it in. It wasn't there. And then he remembered. He had left it on the desk, just beside the laptop.

‘Damn … fool …'

Angry with himself, he thought quickly. As he saw it, he had no choice. If they were leaving, he had to follow them. He might never get another chance like this again. None of them might.

Milsom slammed the boot down. The other two were already inside. He got behind the steering wheel, turned the ignition on. Jamal readied his scooter.

The car sped off.

Jamal followed.

*

Countryside flew by outside the window. Being unfamiliar with this side of the country, Amar had no idea where he was. Countryside changed to urban, changed to countryside again, to urban. It didn't matter. He wasn't interested. All he was interested in was the man sitting next to him.

The ticket inspector had been round, Amar, knowing expenses would be picking up the bill for this trip, had paid the full fare. He had checked Flemyng's ticket.

‘Edinburgh Waverley,' he had said, marking it and handing it back.

Amar had given him a smile. ‘I think he may get off before that.'

‘That's quite all right, gentlemen. As long as you don't stay on afterwards that's no problem.'

Flemyng, crushed up against the window and unable to move, turned pale, looked like he was about to be sick. Amar kept smiling, giving the impression to fellow travellers that nothing was wrong.

‘So,' said Amar, settling back into the cramped seat and stretching out his legs, another disincentive for Flemyng to make a dash for it, ‘are you OK? D'you want anything?'

‘A coffee.' He looked round desperately as he spoke. ‘I'll go to the buffet car and get it.'

He made an attempt to rise. Amar gently, but firmly, pulled him down again.

‘The trolley will be around soon. Might even treat you to a sandwich then. If you're a good boy. If you tell me what I want to know.'

‘I need to go to the toilet.'

‘Then I'll come with you.'

Flemyng looked at him, aghast.

‘Don't worry,' said Amar, smile in place, ‘you're not my type. Believe me, it'll be more harrowing for me than it will for you.'

Flemyng said nothing. Amar could see his mind whirring, trying to find a way out of his present situation. He was clearly used to worming his way out of trouble, he thought. That's how he had survived this long.

‘So,' said Amar, ‘I think it's time for you and me to have a little chat.'

I don't have to talk to you,' he said making one last, defiant stand. ‘You're not even police. Before I say anything I want my solicitor present.'

Amar shrugged. ‘Fine. I'll call the police. Have them waiting for us at the other end I'll tell them you went on the run when we tried to ask you about abusing children. As well as some other stuff we want to put to you. Now I'm no expert, but that kind of thing means you're guilty, doesn't it? I'm sure they'll think so.'

‘This is kidnapping.'

Amar looked round at the rest of the people in the carriage. No one was taking any notice of them. ‘Then tell someone. See what they say.'

Flemyng looked round also.

‘Go on, tell them that I kidnapped you. Tell them to get me off you. Go on.'

Flemyng sighed. He was finally accepting that there would be no escape for him: He settled back into his seat, resigned to whatever might happen to him next.

‘That's better. Now. Time for a chat. I asked you yesterday if you knew Anne Marie Smeaton. You said no, very unconvincingly, I might add, and ended our chat pretty quickly afterwards. And then legged it. So I'll ask you again. And this time I want the truth. Did you know Anne Marie Smeaton?'

Flemyng sighed. ‘Yes. I did.'

‘Good.'

‘But not very well.'

Amar rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, here we go.'

‘I … I didn't. We … I came into contact with her as part of my job. As a social worker. That's all.'

‘You and her were lovers.'

‘That's not true.'

Amar stared at him, anger in his eyes. But he kept a smile in place and his voice low so as not to arouse the suspicions of the other travellers. ‘Now listen. There are certain kinds of people that I don't like. Paedophiles are one lot. Liars are another. So are people who think that all gay men like Shirley Bassey. Now I know that you're at least two out of three. And that's enough to make me really angry. And like the Hulk used to say, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry. So stop fucking me about. Right?'

Flemyng realized he had pushed things as far as he could and relented. ‘All right. All right. I'll tell you the truth. Anne Marie. ‘Yes, it's true. We were lovers for a time. She came to Bristol and we met through work. Things got a bit … personal.'

‘Do things always get a bit personal with you and your clients?'

Flemyng blushed. ‘No. She was … I liked her.'

‘And presumably you knew who she was. Who she used to be.'

Flemyng nodded.

‘And that was, what? A turn on for you?'

‘It did add a certain … frisson, yes.'

Amar digested Flemyng's words. ‘A certain frisson. Right. If you say so. So how did it work out, this relationship? What was in it for you?'

‘I … I liked her. She was a, an interesting woman.'

Amar folded his arms, pretended to think. ‘Right. You sure you didn't like her son better?'

Flemyng looked scared, as if he had been caught out in a lie. ‘What? I … no, I …'

‘Oh come on. Don't fuck me about.' Amar tried to keep his voice quiet, his face from betraying his anger. It was a struggle. He turned in to face Flemyng, cutting him off from the rest of the carriage. ‘What kind of appeal could a grown woman have for a bloke who gets his kicks from abusing kids? Unless this woman was a child killer and had a boy of her own. Get in with her, wait until the boy's the age you like them at and bang. You're in. Christmas has come early for a sick little fuck like you. How'm I doing so far?'

Flemyng covered his face with his hand. ‘Oh God … oh God …'

‘Is that a yes?'

Flemyng, without raising his head, nodded.

‘Good. Well, now we're communicating. What about the dead boys?'

Flemyng looked up, frowned. ‘Dead boys?'

‘Oh don't start all that again. The truth, remember? The dead boys. Everywhere Anne Marie went there's been a dead boy. He was one of yours in Bristol. Adam Wainwright. James Fielding in Colchester. Patrick Sutton in Hull. And, of course, Guy Brewster in London. All your own work.'

Flemyng looked genuinely confused. Amar didn't believe it. ‘I really don't understand. I … I couldn't kill another human being …'

‘Just abuse them and fantasize about it.'

Flemyng didn't reply.

Amar leaned in close. ‘Tell me.'

Flemyng recoiled in his seat, backed right up against the window until he could push himself no further away. ‘I don't know, I don't know …'

‘I don't believe you. You're a liar and a manipulator. You tried it with me, you tried it with everyone. You're very good, I'll give you that. You got away with it for a long time, but you don't fool me.'

The tears started in earnest then. Great big self-pitying sobs.

Amar sat back, knew he would be getting nothing more for the time being. Maybe Flemyng had been telling the truth. Maybe he knew nothing about the deaths. And maybe he was lying. Back to square one.

The refreshment trolley appeared. Flemyng was still sobbing when a uniformed stewardess leaned across and asked if they wanted anything. Amar shook his head.

The girl looked at Flemyng, back at Amar. ‘Is he all right?'

Amar tried to smile. ‘He'll be fine. Just had a bit of bad news.'

‘Can I get him anything from the trolley?'

‘Nah,' said Amar looking from the sobbing heap of Flemyng back to the girl. ‘He doesn't deserve it.'

She is still crying. ‘He thinks he can do what he likes. I tuh – try to get away from him, I do, but he keeps catchin' up with
me …
they said I was liar, I was manipulative. They never met him …'

Donovan rubs his face with his hands. Thinks. ‘So. These blackouts. Do you really think you do something bad when you have them? Or do you think he just plays on that, gets you into such a state of panic that he can make you believe you've done something?'

She looks at her bandaged hands. ‘I don't know, I don't know …'

‘Well, assume he does,' says Donovan, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. ‘Say he doesn't want you to be happy. So he, what? Plants things in your mind. Taunts you. Keeps you in a state of unease, never knowing whether he's going to catch up with you again? Does that sound right?'

‘No …'

‘Look, Anne Marie. I don't believe it's you. I've seen your psychiatric report. There's nothing in there to indicate that you would do that.'

She looks up ‘You've seen my …'

‘It was in the background stuff you gave Wendy Bennett, yes. And I'm not even convinced that this psychopathic personality diagnosis you had all these years ago is correct.'

She looks at him, and, although still sobbing, it seems like her face has been lit by a small shaft of sunlight. ‘Really?'

‘For argument's sake, let's say it's him. Why would he do it?'

‘He wants to make his point, that he can do what he wants with me,' she says in between sobs, ‘So the boys have to die. An' … an'… he's workin' his way through to Jack … if I don't do what he says, he'll go after Jack …'

‘So … if you know he kitted all those boys and you know for a fact he's going to go after Jack, why haven't you gone to the police about him before? Told them everything?'

‘Buh – because they might think it was me … because it might have been me … he says he always chooses boys who won't be missed. Says I could have done the same, they're kids nearby to where I've been livin' … Says there's evidence from each one that he's kept back. That he could plant on me if he wanted to …'

Her head goes down and she starts sobbing again.

‘And you've carried this with you for years?'

Without looking up, she nods.

He sits back thinking about what to do next, how to approach what she's just said in the most delicate way. Mind made up, he leans forward again.

‘Tell me his name.'

She shakes her head vigorously, hands still covering her face.

‘Come on, Anne Marie, tell me his name. Please. Tell me his name then I can help you.'

She looks up at him then with a complete lack of hope in her eyes. ‘You can't. Oh, you can't. He's too … No … I've got to go. Again …'

‘You won't. Look
—'

‘I will. You don't understand. There's been a tabloid journalist askin' round. She's on to me as well. She tried to bribe Rob. Come on to him.' A ghost of a smile played on her lips. ‘Rob just belted her one.'

‘Well, that's … good, I suppose. Look, he can't get to you. We can get you protection from him.'

She looks at him, begging, like she really wants to believe him but can't make that leap of faith. ‘No … I'll have to move …'

‘No you won't. Listen to me, Anne Marie. I've got friends on the police force, they can protect you. I can protect you. Please. Just tell me the name of the man after Jack. The man who is making you think you're a murderer.'

She closes her eyes, opens them again. When she speaks, there's pleading in her voice. Worse than he has heard before.

‘You've got to help me. You've got to promise to help me. And Rob. And Jack. Especially Jack. He needs protectin' the most.'

‘I will. I promise.'

‘And there's that journalist.'

‘Don't worry about her. We'll get her stopped.'

She sighs. ‘It's too late …'

‘No, it's not.'

‘Yes, it is. What about that boy who was killed last night?'

‘What, you're saying he did that? He's here in Newcastle?'

She looks at him, speaks like a sinner seeking absolution. ‘I don't know … he doesn't need to be …' She looks down to her bandaged hands once more. ‘He can make things happen wherever he is …'