Tastes Like Fear (D.I. Marnie Rome 3) (28 page)

Big Eyes nodded, dropping her stare. ‘Sorry,’ she said, losing some of the spikes.

‘That’s okay.’ A breath. ‘I’m Christie, by the way.’

‘Hi,’ the kids said, one after another. The boy said, ‘I’m Joel,’ and one of the others gave his name too. Big Eyes didn’t say hers. On her guard.

Christie didn’t look like one of them any longer. Was that it? She’d lost her disguise. With Grace and the others, it’d been easy. Tell them about the house – somewhere warm, with free food, beds – and they followed like mice to a trail of crumbs. Big Eyes was suspicious of her, the way Christie had been suspicious of the rich creep in his plastic cape. Had she become someone like that, to be feared? Or like the religious couple telling her to be ready for what was coming when they had
no idea
what that was. Harm had saved her from the pervert, the threats and promises. She owed him. Even if she didn’t, she couldn’t go back empty-handed. But she could take someone he wasn’t expecting, someone to remind him why he needed
her
. Christie. He wouldn’t know what to do with Big Eyes, not without her help.

‘Did you know them?’ she asked the kids. ‘The girls who got killed.’

Joel shot a look at Big Eyes, but she shook her head. ‘We heard about them, on the news.’

‘Have you got somewhere to go?’ Christie asked, grudgingly. ‘Safer than this, I mean.’

Joel said, ‘Depends what you mean by
safe
,’ as if he had a story he could tell.

Christie could guess the story. Abuse. Boys like Joel always thought abuse made them special. Boys like Joel didn’t know they were born. He had a watch on his wrist that another kid would’ve killed for. And still might. She could see him dead. A look of surprise on his face that said,
I didn’t deserve this
, but he did. For sitting drinking beer from glass bottles, telling sob stories to his friends, every one of whom had a home to go to. Playing at being lost. Like the rain was a stream they could paddle their soft feet in before going back to their warm beds.

Big Eyes was different. She looked lost, but it could be a disguise or a trick of the light. Christie wouldn’t know for certain, not until she took the girl home to Harm.

‘What about you?’ The tunnel took her words, made them hard.

Softly
, Harm always said.
Softly, softly.

‘What about me?’ Big Eyes was staring at Christie, soaking her up with her stare.
Seeing
her. The way Harm had seen her two years ago, the way no one else ever saw her. Christie wanted to scream. She wanted to put her feet into these kids until her shoes were sticky.

Bring me another girl.

‘Have you got somewhere safe to go?’ she asked softly.

Big Eyes said, ‘No.’ It was a lie, but Big Eyes was good.

She didn’t care whether Christie believed her or not. She wasn’t like Joel or the others; this wasn’t a game for her. She was here because she’d run out of whatever else was on offer. Tears and shame and all the rest of it. Nothing left of her. She’d reached the end.

Christie pictured a house for Big Eyes, like the one she’d run from years ago. A nice house on a nice street. Curtains at the windows, pale carpets. Take your shoes off at the door, a rule of the house. Wooden floors downstairs so that echoes chased you and you held your breath when you crept to the kitchen at night to drink milk from the carton in the white hum of the refrigerator. Nice people sleeping in the bedroom upstairs. A man and a woman, him with brown hair and eyes, her highlights expensively done every six weeks, body tight as a twang, no comfort in her anywhere. The milk tastes blue and fatty and it’s forbidden like this, straight from the carton. Through the kitchen window, the cat’s eyes watch you. It’s shut out at night. You should be shut out too. Lists pinned to the fridge door, things to do and buy, goals for the week. The fridge’s cold breath makes the lists move, but they’re pinned with magnets, don’t fall. You gulp at the milk so it spills, staining the neck of your T-shirt. You’ll smell bad in the morning. You tip your head and drink, seeing yourself in the copper belly of the pendant lamp, the greedy way you’re sucking at the carton’s cardboard lip, your body squat, features spread fat across your face. You give Ugly a bad name.

This is the house Christie pictured for Big Eyes.

Nothing wanting, everything provided and paid for. She had no complaints, only that she couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t live.

It was the same for Big Eyes.

She’d reached the end of being her.

Ready to be wiped out, like Ashleigh and May.

Big Eyes wanted to die.

Christie could help with that.

41

‘Grace must have been in here the whole time,’ Noah told Marnie. ‘When we were talking with Emma about the crash, when she was telling us about the arson. She was in here the whole time.’ The cupboard was fetid with the girl’s fear. ‘We found a note in her pocket with this address on it, and Emma’s name. Someone told her it was a safe place to stay … The paramedics said she hadn’t eaten in three days, maybe longer. Sedated. Hypernatremic. Twitching, just like Fran said, but that could’ve been shock.’ He turned to look at Emma Tarvin’s bedroom. ‘I can’t believe it. Can you?’

He couldn’t believe a seventy-six-year-old woman had taken a fifteen-year-old girl prisoner. Starved her. Tied her up and beaten her. Or maybe it was Emma’s arrogance he couldn’t believe, drinking tea and fielding questions with their missing girl locked in the next room. Inviting their attention by reporting Abi time and again, her opinion of the police so low she couldn’t imagine being caught.

A glass on the bedside table was filled with dead water where the old woman put her teeth at night. Marnie could picture the teeth inside the glass, water magnifying their grin.

‘And
why
?’ Noah said. ‘Why did she do it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Marnie said. ‘But I’m wondering if Abi Gull does.’

‘Yeah,’ Abi said. ‘I know what that cow is. Like
you
finally give a shit.’

‘What is she?’ Marnie asked.

‘An evil bitch.’ Balling her fists in the high pockets of her hoody. ‘An evil
murdering
bitch.’

‘Who did she murder?’

Abi stared at the wall. She wasn’t going to speak his name, not in here. But Marnie had done her research after Ron called in the fire, or rather she’d asked Colin to do the research while she was driving back from Sommerville. Thanks to Colin, she knew exactly what Abi was hiding.

‘It was worth it, that’s what you told DS Carling. Worth being caught. Worth being arrested.’

This was personal between Abi and Emma. Fire was personal, and so was violence of the kind Marnie had seen in Emma Tarvin’s eyes, and was seeing now in Abi’s.

‘Your brother Clarke died of a drug overdose in January.’

‘So?’ The same edge had been in Abi’s voice when she’d asked whether Ashleigh Jewell had died of an overdose. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Marnie had suspected Abi of being a dealer. But that was before Colin told her about the girl’s brother. ‘Clarke was ten when he died. How long had he been an addict?’

‘He wasn’t an
addict
.’ Kicking the leg of the table. ‘Bitch.’

‘Where did he get the drugs that killed him?’

Silence. You didn’t speak to the police; that rule was written all over this girl’s face.

‘Come on. It’s obvious. He got the drugs from Emma Tarvin.’

‘Prove that, can you?’ Abi was scared of Emma. Not as terrified as Grace had been, but Emma hadn’t locked Abi in a cupboard and beaten her with a walking stick.

‘You’ve been watching her,’ Marnie said. ‘Did you see Grace Bradley go into her flat on Tuesday night? The night of the crash.’

‘Seen a lot of kids going into her flat.’

‘You knew we were looking for a girl with red hair. DS Carling showed you a photo.’

Abi shook her head, reluctantly, as if it pained her to tell the truth. ‘I never seen her.’

‘How often does Mrs Tarvin leave her flat?’

‘Not often enough, or I’d have done her before now, wouldn’t I?’

‘We found prescription drugs in her flat. Painkillers. Antidepressants. Too many for one person, but she has prescriptions. So we have proof of hoarding, but that’s not proof of dealing.’

‘In other words, there’s fuck-all you can do. Like there was fuck-all you did about Clarke.’ Abi leaned forward, stabbing at the table with her finger. ‘I
told
the police it was that bitch, said I seen kids going into her flat and coming out off their tits on whatever she’d sold them. How’d you think she afforded that big telly? She’s got them doing her shopping, running errands, anything she likes. She’s got a
lookout
, for fuck’s sake. That’s how she gets to stay in her flat being waited on hand and foot. She loves us lot grovelling because she hates our guts, wishes we were dead like Clarke. Sweets, that’s what she calls them. It’s not like coke, not like heroin. She’ll give
sweets
to anyone thick enough to go up there and beg her for it. Little kids, she doesn’t care how young.’

‘What’s her lookout’s name?’ Noah asked.

‘Linton Mays.’ Curling her lip. ‘He was mates with Clarke until shit started going down. Now he works for that bitch. Telling her who’s new, who wants to score. Making sure you lot don’t get in the way of her fucking deals.’

‘Eleven years old. Wears a beanie, rides a girl’s bike. That’s Linton Mays?’

She nodded. Blinked. ‘He was a nice kid, before she got her claws into him.’

‘Do you know a girl called Christie Faulk? Linton says she used to come on the Garrett.’

‘
Her
.’ Abi folded her arms, hard as nails again. ‘Yeah. Why?’

‘Have you seen her recently?’ Noah asked.

‘Not since the abortion.’

‘Christie had an abortion?’

‘She’s whoring for that old bitch, so yeah. She gets an abortion because she’s told to. Then Tarvin chucks her out anyway. That’s the kind of cow I’m talking about. She lets you stay, pretends she likes you, and maybe you fall for it, because she’s old, like
your nan
old. Gets you hooked on her shit until you’re paying for it any way you can. Nicking stuff, whoring. Christie moves in, and it’s like the sun shines out of
Emma
, yeah? Cooking, cleaning, shopping. She’d have shaved her head for that bitch. But Tarvin chucks her out as soon as she sees which way it’s headed.’

‘Which way was it headed?’ Marnie asked.

Abi screwed a finger to the side of her head. ‘She’s going nuts. Trying to be what
Emma
wants. Dressing like a slut, going with anyone, even old blokes, the ones no one else’d touch. Tarvin liked whoring her to the weird ones. Found her on the streets, so yeah. Probably she was scared she’d end up back out there. Always trying to fit in, trying to please everyone. Stupid cow.’

‘Emma found Christie on the streets?’

‘Begging, that’s what she said. Silly cow probably thought she was being saved. She was so
grateful
, it made me puke. So loyal. Nothing’s too much trouble as long as
Emma
’s saying she counts for something. Like giving blow jobs gets you a case review.’

Noah tried to imagine the girl Abi was describing. Desperate to please, frantic for a foothold in what must have looked at first sight like a normal life. A woman old enough to be her grandmother, who needed help with shopping and cleaning. Someone Christie could help, a place where she felt wanted, valued. What had it done to her to be thrown out by her protector?

‘When was the last time you saw Christie?’ Marnie asked Abi.

‘Back before Christmas. Way back.’

‘Linton says he saw her with Ashleigh Jewell.’

‘Yeah? I never, but it figures. Probably pimping for that old bitch. She told me if I was ever in trouble I could go to
Emma
for help. Told loads of girls the same shit. Seriously, she was
mental
. If you’re looking for her, you’d better have a fucking straitjacket.’

‘Did you ever see her with this man?’ Noah showed Ledger’s photo on his phone.

‘Saw her with loads of men.’ Abi didn’t look at the photo. ‘It’s not the men you want to worry about. It’s
her
. Tarvin. And it’s the kids. It’s
us
. What’re you doing about us?’

Her eyes burned in her face. ‘I seen eight-year-olds up there.
Little
kids. She doesn’t give a fuck, makes you beg her, “Please, Mrs Tarvin. Thank you, Mrs Tarvin.” She’s a psycho.
Evil
. So, yeah.’ She threw herself back in the seat. ‘I kicked the shit out of her, and you know what? I wish I done a proper job, not stopped until I’d put her
in the ground
. Before another one of
us
ends up there.’

Tears heated her stare suddenly, and she was a thirteen-year-old girl grieving for her dead brother, grieving and scared. ‘None of us is safe with her up there. None of us.’

Back in the incident room, Noah updated the whiteboard with Grace Bradley’s details, and the rest of the information gleaned from Abi Gull. ‘The hospital says we can’t interview Emma until a doctor’s seen her. Grace is a different problem. We can see her, but she’s not talking. To anyone.’

‘We need that to change if we’re going to find Christie Faulk.’ Marnie broke the seal on a bottle of water. ‘What about Jamie Ledger?’

‘Plenty of phone calls in response to the news last night. Colin’s working through them. And we’re checking the sites where Ledger was working before Battersea, in case he made any friends or found any boltholes.’

‘Call the hospital again. Tell them we’re bringing in a victim support officer to see Grace. Explain what’s at stake.’ Marnie drank a mouthful of water. ‘And find out when we can talk to Emma. It’s possible she spoke with Grace before she started beating her, or while she was beating her.’ She fastened the cap back on the bottle. ‘Since we’ll be charging her with assault and unlawful imprisonment, I imagine she’ll want to cooperate.’

‘You don’t think there’s a chance she was involved in anything worse?’ Noah was thinking of Emma’s hands, knuckled with rings. ‘May, or Ashleigh? Grace was with May the night she found her way on to the Garrett, and if the girls knew Christie Faulk …’