Strange Blood (20 page)

God, is that what she thinks of me?
Megan looked away, tears blurring her vision. There was a silence. She waited for the door to slam. Instead she heard a strange, muffled, sighing sound. Running into the hallway she saw Ceri slumped against the coat rack, her shoulders heaving with sobs.

‘Oh Ceri! Please don't cry!' Megan hugged her sister to her. ‘I never meant for you to get mixed up in all this, but when I saw him following you…'

‘I … know!' Ceri stuttered through her tears. ‘I … do understand.'

Megan led her back into the living room and sat down on the sofa beside her. ‘Shall I get you a cup of tea? Or could you do with a brandy?'

Ceri shook her head. ‘The way I feel, I'd just end up drinking the whole bottle.' She reached for a tissue and blew her nose.

‘I'll make some tea, then,' Megan said. ‘What time are you supposed to be picking the kids up?'

‘Well, not until half past three, really,' Ceri sniffed. She followed Megan into the kitchen. By the time the kettle boiled she had begun telling the story of her affair with Justin. She described how miserable things were between her and Neil. How much more attractive she had begun to feel in the new clothes she had bought for work. The admiring glances from some of her students and her irresistible attraction to Justin. ‘I knew it was mad,' she said. ‘But I couldn't stop myself. It was like a drug, Meg. I couldn't stop thinking about him.'

‘How old is he?' Megan tried to keep her voice neutral.

‘Twenty-one.' Ceri tapped the side of her head. ‘But he's much older than that in here.' She looking pleadingly at Megan. ‘You don't believe he's a murderer, do you?'

‘I don't know, Ceri.' Megan sighed. ‘I don't know what to think.' She looked at her sister, dreading asking the question that had been on her mind since the moment she'd seen Ceri on the bed. ‘There's something I need to know,' she began. ‘Please don't hate me for asking you, but those shoes – the ones you had on when, you know…' she tailed off, gauging her sister's reaction.

‘Oh God!' Ceri buried her face in her hands. ‘I can't bear the thought of all those people seeing me like that!' She rocked back and forth in her seat and Megan reached out to touch her shoulder. ‘He wanted me to dress up for him.' Ceri's voice was muffled by her hands. ‘It was all part of the excitement. I bought stockings and suspenders and those tarty shoes and he…' She broke off, wiping away the tears that were now streaming down her face.

‘He what, Ceri?' Megan held her breath. She was thinking about the red suede shoes in Joanna Hamilton's wardrobe. The ones she might have been wearing when she was murdered. ‘Did he ask you to wear red shoes?'

Ceri stared at her, her eyes puffy with crying. ‘Why? Is that what the other women were wearing? Tessa Ledbury and that Joanna woman?'

Megan bit her lip. She mustn't allow Ceri the opportunity to cover for Justin Preece if he was guilty. It was obvious her sister was besotted with him; that she would defend him to hell and back. ‘They weren't wearing any shoes,' she said, ‘but the police have a theory the killer might go for women who wear red.' This was a lie, but it took attention off the shoes. She felt bad, doing this to her sister, but she had to get to the truth.

‘He wanted me to wear black, actually.' Ceri cupped her hands over her nose and mouth, as if to keep the next sentence from Megan. Megan waited. Eventually the hands dropped and Ceri began to speak, her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘He said he'd fantasised about me giving my lectures in a black mini skirt. He said he'd imagined what it would be like if I was wearing stockings and suspenders; getting a glimpse of them when I reached up to write something on the board.' Ceri closed her eyes and pressed her lips together until they turned white.

‘And the shoes?' Megan's voice was barely more than a whisper. It was like walking on eggshells.

‘They were my idea.' Ceri took a deep breath and tipped her head back. ‘I got them off e-Bay,' she said to the ceiling.

*   *   *

Patrick pushed open the door and picked up the letters that lay on the mat. He had half-expected Megan to be at home, but the place had a neglected look that suggested she'd been far too busy to spend much time there. There were dirty dishes in the sink and the pedal bin in the kitchen looked as if it could do with emptying. As he carried the rubbish through the hall the phone rang. He hesitated a moment before going to answer it. He was almost certain it would be Megan, ringing to see if he was back. It rang five times before the answering machine cut in. He stood there listening to the recording of her voice, his stomach tying itself in knots. He knew he should pick it up. But if it was Megan he knew he would be unable to speak without giving himself away.

The machine beeped. There was no message.

*   *   *

Megan was worried about leaving her sister. They had driven off at the same time, Megan heading for Tipton Street and Ceri for the nursery. Megan had suggested she take the children over to her house for the night. She would have to let Patrick know. She glanced at her watch. He probably wouldn't be back yet. She must remember to phone later.

As she negotiated the Friday afternoon traffic in Wolverhampton town centre Megan wondered what on earth her sister was going to do. Neil wasn't due back until next Wednesday. That meant plenty of thinking time. But Megan couldn't see how Ceri was going to avoid coming clean about Justin. Even if she decided to try to make a go of it with Neil, there was a good chance he'd find out what had happened. If Justin Preece was charged with anything Ceri would probably end up in court as a witness. And even if he wasn't, the college would be bound to find out that Ceri had been caught
in flagrante
with one of her students. She would almost certainly lose her job. How would she explain
that
to Neil?

Megan shuddered. She couldn't help thinking of the children. Their little world was about to come crashing down around their ears and she desperately wanted to protect them. But there was nothing she could do. It was all down to Ceri.

At Tipton Street Dave Todd came to meet her in the foyer. ‘Guv's got Sean Raven in Number One,' he said, ushering her along the corridor to the suite with the two-way mirror. ‘I thought you'd like to sit in.'

In silence she seated herself at the table placed up against the mirrored window. Foy and Kate O'Leary were in the next room, sitting opposite a haggard-looking Sean Raven. She glanced at the clock on the wall. He had been in custody for more than forty-eight hours, during which time he probably hadn't slept. No wonder he was looking so rough.

‘We've got your stepson in the cells downstairs. Young Justin.' Foy had his back to Megan but she could hear the sarcasm in his voice. ‘He's been telling us all about your nasty little habits.' There was a pause. ‘About the sick things that turn you on!'

Megan glanced at Dave Todd, her eyebrows raised. He gave a quick shake of his head. Rising to her feet, she walked out of the room. Todd followed.

‘I'm sorry, Dave, I'm going. I can't listen to any more of this.' Foy had gone too far, trying to play the man and the boy off against each other with blatant lies. It was one thing fighting dirty with the likes of Carole-Ann Beddowes, but when it was someone facing a murder charge …

‘Keep me posted, will you?' she said. ‘And tell your boss I won't be available for
Crimewatch
tomorrow night.'

Megan battled her way through the worsening traffic, tapping out her home number when she came to a standstill in one of the inevitable jams. All she got was the answer-phone. Perhaps Patrick's taxi from the station was stuck in traffic too. She hoped he hadn't missed his train. As she pressed the ‘off' button her mobile rang out. It was Ceri, saying that she was going to have to stay at her own house because Emily had been invited to a party. Megan suggested they came over later but Ceri said the children would be too tired. She would come tomorrow instead.

As the traffic began to move Megan flexed her shoulders, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand. She felt worn out. Her mind was in a turmoil, running through endless scenarios. She needed to talk it all through with Patrick. Perhaps in the morning she would have a clearer idea of what to do. Her stomach rumbled and she realised she'd had nothing to eat since the slice of toast she'd grabbed for breakfast. And there was no food in the house. She groaned. Never mind. She would stop off for a takeaway and a bottle of wine.

*   *   *

The pages of the newspaper fluttered in the breeze from the open window. Black Magic Killer. In letters four inches high. And on pages three, six and seven, a storyline and a cast of characters to fool a gullible world. The photograph of the witch was laughable. Is that what those idiot journalists thought a witch looked like? How ridiculous they would look when the next one was found. Then they would realise they were dealing with a far higher intelligence.

‘Oh, am I glad to see you! I thought maybe you'd missed the train.' Megan flung her arms round Patrick. He had been coming to the front door, hearing her scrabbling with her key in the lock.

‘I've missed you,' he whispered.

‘Me too. I've had the most god-awful day.' She had a bulky white plastic carrier hooked over her elbow and as he drew her to him it jabbed his skin.

‘Ow,' he said, flinching.

‘Oh sorry. It's the takeaway. I didn't have chance to do any shopping so I called for a Chinese on the way home.'

Patrick looked into her eyes and saw that they were filled with tears. ‘Meg! What's the matter?'

‘I … I'm sorry,' she stammered, ‘It's just that … it's Ceri … something terrible happened…'

‘What? Oh my God! She's not…'

‘No, no … she's not hurt or anything,' Megan sniffed.

‘What then?'

‘It's a long and very depressing story,' she said, pulling a tissue from her pocket and dabbing her face. ‘And I'm going to need a large glass of wine.' She glanced at the carrier bag in her hand and held it out. ‘This is probably stone cold. Will you stick it in the microwave while I open the wine?' Her voice trailed off as she headed for the kitchen.

Patrick stood in the hall like a lost child. Seeing her had changed everything. Before she arrived he had worked out exactly what he was going to say. But how on earth could he tell her now?

He followed her to the kitchen. On automatic pilot he pulled bowls from the cupboard and doled out the contents of the aluminium cartons. Perhaps he could go to Holland without saying anything. Pretend he was going back to Liverpool. He could easily do that without her finding out. And then he could sort things out. Decide what to do. Perhaps he would never need to tell her …

‘Patrick, what's wrong?' Megan was standing in front of him, a glass in her hand.

‘Oh, nothing.' He forced a smile.

She smiled back, stroking his jaw with her finger. ‘I'll take this through to the living room,' she said, picking up the wine bottle and the other glass. ‘Will you bring the food?'

He nodded, perching on the edge of the table as he waited for the microwave. The takeaway had been wrapped in yesterday's newspaper. He glanced at the pages. There was a photograph of Joanna Hamilton, her face smeared with sweet and sour sauce where one of the cartons had leaked. How he wished he could turn back the clock.

When he carried the tray through Megan was halfway through her glass of wine. He topped her up and watched her picking disinterestedly at her food as she talked about her frustration with the murder investigation and the trauma of the police raid on her sister's house.

‘I don't know what Ceri's going to do,' she said, pushing a chunk of pineapple around the plate with her fork. ‘I keep thinking about the children. What's it going to do to them if she and Neil split up?'

Patrick stared at the food on his lap, unable to look at her.

‘Patrick?' She pushed her plate aside. ‘What's up?' She took his hand and looked into his eyes. ‘You've been really quiet all evening. Something's happened, hasn't it? Please, tell me what's wrong.'

He took a deep breath, still avoiding her eyes. ‘I wasn't going to tell you,' he mumbled. ‘I didn't want to spoil things…'

‘Tell me what?'

He looked up slowly, blinking away the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes. ‘If I tell you,' he said, ‘There's something I want you to remember.

She stared at him, shaking her head in confusion.

‘I love you Megan.' He pulled her to him, clinging on like a drowning man.

‘And I love you!' Her words were muffled by his chest.

‘It's Kristine,' he whispered into her hair.

Megan recoiled at the sound of the name of Patrick's exfiancée. The woman he had been planning to marry.
Would
have married had he not come to study at Heartland. ‘Kristine?' She frowned. ‘What about Kristine?'

‘Megan, she's pregnant.'

For a moment she stared uncomprehendingly at him. ‘You mean she's met someone else?'

His eyes dropped to the carpet.

‘But that's good, isn't it?' Megan began. ‘That makes everything…'

‘That makes everything totally fucked up.' He snatched her words and threw them back in her face. ‘She's six months pregnant, Megan. She says the baby's mine.'

Chapter 15

Megan stared at Patrick, unable to believe what he had just said.

‘What do you mean? How can it possibly be
your
baby?' Her mind had already done the calculation. Six months. December. Christmas. He had gone back to Holland at Christmas. To
finish
with Kristine.

‘You did it with her at Christmas, didn't you?' Megan leapt off the sofa. You callous bastard! Screwing her and then dumping her…'