The Disappearance of Katie Wren (13 page)

Chapter Eighteen

The Plan

“Oh, there's no doubt it was her,” I continue, as I take a seat at the breakfast table in Tim's apartment. “I saw her, and she most definitely saw me. She looked like a startled animal, caught in the headlights and -”

“Stop shouting!” Annabelle groans, raising a coffee cup to her lips but not quite managing to take a sip. “I get it. You saw Agnes. That's great, but there's no need to yell.”

“She was all made-up to look like a lady,” I add. “Hair tucked neatly into a bun. Discreet make-up. A maid's uniform. She was even walking properly, with good posture, but it was most definitely her. I wonder if those people know the kind of person they're employing. If they had any idea what she gets up to in her spare time, I'm certain they'd terminate her forthwith!”

“Yeah, maybe,” Annabelle mutters. “Maybe...”

“I found these,” Tim explains suddenly as he comes into the room. He sets some paracetamol on the table next to Annabelle. “I hope they help with the headache. They have codeine.”

“You're a doll,” she replies, scooping the pills up and washing them down with coffee.

“I was thinking,” he continues, “that perhaps a fried breakfast would make you feel better. I remember from my younger days, a good fry-up often settled the stomach after a night on the lash.”

“On the lash?”

“Well, you know... When one has had a few drinks too many.”

“You don't have to cook for me,” she replies. “I can grab a burger when I'm out.”

“Nonsense,” he continues, turning and heading to the kitchen. “I'll have a proper breakfast ready in absolutely no time. Eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes, the works. You can't possibly go out there on an empty stomach, especially not when you're already feeling so delicate. It's been so long since I last had guests, but I promise I haven't forgotten how to entertain!”

He stops in the doorway and takes an apron from the hook, slipping it over his head and then hurrying out of view. A moment later, I hear a clicking sound as he gets the gas cooker started.

“He's certainly keen to take care of you,” I tell Annabelle.

“I feel like shit,” she groans, taking another sip of coffee before sitting back and staring at the wall. She certainly looks rather green around the gills, and for a moment it appears as if she might suddenly throw up again. Then, with a furrowed brow, she turns to me. “Hang on. Did I imagine it, or did you say you went
inside
Knott's Court? As in, through the front door?”

“Only as far as the reception room, but -”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she continues, her eyes widening with shock. “Pardon my French again, but did you actually set foot in the place?”

I nod.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“The way most people enter a stranger's house,” I reply. “I knocked on the door.”

Her eyes widen even further.

“The gentleman I spoke to was very polite and understanding,” I continue, feeling a little amused by her lack of understanding. “I explained the situation, and he made inquiries with the head of the household staff, and -”

“Who?” she stammers. “Who'd you talk to?”

“A gentleman by the name of Mr. Stewart. I believe his first name was Dominic.”

“Fuck.” She seems genuinely stunned by this news. “I've been on this goddamn case for more than a decade, and I've never so much as gone up the steps at the front of the place.”

She pulls a notepad from her pocket, along with a pen, and starts scribbling.

“Dominic Stewart, yeah?”

“Yes, and -”

“Tell me everything you saw. Every detail, every little thing. Don't worry if it seems mundane or unimportant, just spill it all out. You're the first person I've ever spoken to who's actually been inside that effin' house!”

“Seriously?” I ask.

“For real. Not tell me what you saw!”

“It was a perfectly ordinary place,” I reply. “Honestly, Annabelle, I can't help thinking that you've rather demonized Knott's Court. From what I saw, there's absolutely nothing untoward going on at all. The reception room was pale pastel blue, with a rather beautiful grand piano and a wonderful view of the street. There was a chandelier, nothing too extravagant, and some antique furniture. There were paintings on the wall.”

I pause, watching as she furiously scribbles down every detail.

“The place was immaculately clean,” I continue. “I don't think I saw so much as a speck of dust the whole time I was there. And it was quiet, too. I didn't see further into the house, but I certainly heard nothing to indicate any great or mysterious activity taking place. Then again, I suppose it was rather early. I'm surprised they were even answering the door before nine in the morning.”

“Uh-huh,” she mutters, making more notes. “And?”

“And what?”

“What else?”

“I've told you everything I -”

“This Dominic Stewart guy,” she continues. “Black, slicked-back hair?”

I nod.

“A mustache?”

“A thin one, yes.”

“I think I've seen him before. I was never sure of his name, though. I had suspicions, but I couldn't prove it.”

“Really? After all the research you've done on the place, you don't even know the names of the people who work there?”

“I've had to be careful!” she hisses. “I couldn't just go barging in there, asking questions and trying to figure stuff out! If I'd done that, I'd have been suicided by now.”

“I'm sorry?”

“That's what happens to people who go poking about anywhere near Knott's Court. They die in accidents, or they get sick, or they're found hanging in their hallways. Seriously, that place doesn't hold back. If there's even the slightest chance that someone is asking questions, they deal with the problem. I saw that first-hand when Harry died.”

I watch as she furiously writes some more notes, and I can't help thinking that perhaps she's being a little unreasonable.

“Well,
I'm
still here,” I point out finally.

“Let's see how long that lasts,” she mutters.

“I beg your pardon?”

She glances at me.

“They let me inside,” I continue, “they spoke to me, they answered my questions, and then they let me leave. They even offered me the chance to stay a little longer and enjoy some tea and biscuits. That's hardly the behavior of people who are terrified of being visited.”

“Sure, but -”

“By your account,” I add, interrupting her, “shouldn't they have placed a bag over my head and dragged me off to be horribly murdered?”

“They were probably just surprised. I doubt anyone's ever been dumb enough to go knocking on their door before!”

“Maybe people have simply let the stories about Knott's Court get blown up out of all proportion?”

“They'll be watching you now!”

“How so? Will there be a man sitting outside in a dark car?”

Getting to my feet, I head to the window and look out at the street. There are several cars parked near the apartment building, but not one of them seems to be occupied. After a moment, I turn back to Annabelle.

“Don't you think it's possible,” I continue, “that you've got the wrong end of the stick here?”

“You don't understand.”

“I was there,” I remind her. “I was inside Knott's Court and they didn't seem bothered by that fact at all.”

“Of course they weren't,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I mean, look at you. Who the hell would be worried about someone like
you
showing up? You look like someone's friendly, dithering old granny. You look like the least dangerous, least devious, least threatening person in the world. No-one would ever be scared of you. They probably thought it was a joke.”

“I'll try not to take offense,” I mutter.

“You know what I mean!” she continues. “I guarantee, if
I'd
shown up, things would've gone very differently. They just didn't take you seriously, that's all.”

She makes some more notes.

“Well then maybe that gives me an advantage,” I point out.

“How do you figure that?”

“Maybe I should go back.”

She chuckles at the idea.

“I'm serious,” I tell her. “Maybe
someone like me
can actually get to the bottom of this mess. You say you've been trying to get to the truth about Knott's Court for a decade. Well, it doesn't seem as if you've managed to achieve very much. Perhaps you've simply been going about it all wrong.”

She stares at me for a moment.

“No,” she says finally, before starting to make more notes.

“No?”

“No. It's out of the question.”

“But -”

“What's out of the question?” Tim asks, arriving from the kitchen with a huge breakfast loaded onto a plate. “Now, I was out of sausages I'm afraid, but I'll get some later and have them all ready tomorrow morning. Or... I mean, I don't know whether you'll be here again tomorrow or...”

His voice trails off, and then he sets the plate in front of her.

“Do you really think Katie is mixed up in all of this?” I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on Annabelle. “My daughter is missing, and I can't afford any more distractions. If you honestly believe that Knott's Court has any relation to her disappearance, then I'm ready to march back in there and start asking questions, but if you're just trying to co-opt me into your own private obsession with that house, then I really don't think it's fair.”

She pauses for a moment, before getting to her feet.

“I'll prove it to you,” she tells me.

“And how are you going to do that?”

“How else?” She grabs her coat and heads to the door. “By taking you to church.”

“Don't forget about your breakfast!” Tim calls after her. “You need fuel if you're going to spend all day working!”

A moment later, we hear the front door swinging open and then shutting again.

“I expect she'll grab a burger while she's out,” I tell him, before feeling my phone buzzing in my pocket. Slipping out out, I see a message from Annabelle, telling me to hurry and join her in the car before we end up running late.

Chapter Nineteen

The Body

“See, that's my favorite piece of stained glass in the whole world,” Annabelle says as we stop halfway along the aisle. “It depicts the procession of Saint Barnabus as he made his way up from the banks of the river Elbz.”

“Saint who?” I ask, staring up at the brightly-lit window as sunlight streams through into the church. “The river
what
?”

“I might have got a few parts of that wrong,” she continues. “It might have been a different saint, and a different river. I'm not good with the details of all that stuff, but I like the colors and I think the guy has kind of a goofy expression. See what I mean?”

“I'm really not sure whether -”

“Harry Plume used to bring me here,” she adds. “Back when I started on the papers, we worked out of an office just down the road. Did you see that abandoned place on the corner?”

“The one with all the tarpaulin?”

She nods. “It's just an empty shell now. Kinda symbolic, huh? But in the old days, it was this thriving office filled with people who still gave a damn about turning out a proper newspaper. Real journalists, people who felt they had a duty to hold powerful people to account. That's what I signed up for, that's the kind of work I wanted to do. We'd work our asses off all day every day, but I noticed that Harry kept disappearing at lunchtimes, so eventually I asked him where he went. Turns out, he used to wander over to this old place and admire the windows. He brought sandwiches from home and everything. Anyway, he said it was fine for me to tag along, so I ended up admiring the windows too.”

I turn to her, and for a moment I can't help but feel slightly surprised by the hint of awe in her eyes. She's staring up at the windows as if they actually mean something to her.

“You're freaking me out,” she says suddenly.

“Why?”

“You're staring at me.”

“I'm just surprised, that's all.”

“By the fact that I give a damn about stuff?”

“This Harry fellow was important to you, wasn't he?”

“He was the best person I ever met,” she replies, turning to me for a moment before heading off along the aisle, leading me toward the altar. “This might surprise you, but when I first arrived in London I was kind of a mess. I didn't really have my shit together, and I was kinda this loud-mouthed, slightly annoying asshole.”

“You don't say,” I mutter.

“But Harry pulled me up on it,” she adds as we reach the end of the aisle and stop in front of the altar. She checks her watch, almost as if she's waiting for something specific. “He said he saw something in me, something good, but that I was in danger of wasting it. Now, for the record, I'm still not convinced he was right about all of it. I'm not sure I'm good. But his words struck a chord, and I started to clean myself up a little. And Harry took me under his wing. He taught me a whole lotta stuff that they never mention at school, and he introduced me to contacts, and he trained me to basically be like him. He made me believe that our work was important. That we had a duty to go face-to-face with powerful people and ask questions.”

She pauses, staring straight ahead for a moment.

“And then they killed him for asking the
wrong
questions.”

“You mean Knott's Court?”

“Knott's Court and the whole festering system that keeps that place propped up.”

I look at the altar and see a rather beautiful gold crucifix.

“I hate gold,” Annabelle says after a moment. “Who the fuck wants a gold cross? Give me good old-fashioned wood any day.”

“Why are we -”

“Is there someone behind us?”

“I beg your -”

“It's not a trick question,” she continues, checking her watch again. “There's someone behind us, isn't there?”

I pause, before turning and looking back along the aisle. At first I don't see anyone, but finally I spot a figure in the process of settling on one of the farthest pews, in the shadows right at the very back.

“Just one person,” I whisper, turning back to her. “A man, I think. It looks like he just arrived.”

“They're following us.”

“Who are?”

I sigh as I realize what she means.

“I'm sure a man can come to church one morning for other reasons,” I tell her. “You can't just assume that he's some paid detective who's been sent to keep tabs on us. I'm afraid we're simply not that important.”

“This is why I brought you here,” she continues. “To show you that these assholes, as friendly as they might have been to you this morning when you knocked on their door, are now following you. Well, following
us
. Believe me, the fact that you're hanging out with me is going to set a few alarm bells ringing. They already know about my connections to Harry, and that'll be all they need. They might have treated you like a doddery old fool when you visited, but now they'll be a lot more concerned. If that scares you, then it should. If it doesn't, then you need to wake the fuck up and smell the coffee.”

I can't help sighing. “Annabelle -”

“I've been waiting for this moment,” she adds, her voice stiff with tension. “Like I told you before, I've always been very careful in the past, to make sure they don't get too worried about me. I've been on their radar for years, ever since they murdered Harry, but they weren't concerned enough to actually do anything about it. But I always knew that one day I'd have to step into the light and let them see that I'm after them. That's the other reason I brought you here this morning, Winnie. I want them to see that I'm onto them. I want them to know that I'm picking up where Harry left off. By coming here with you, I'm sending them a powerful message.”

“This is ridiculous,” I tell her. “There's no -”

Before I can finish, I spot movement at the far end of the aisle. Turning, I see two more men stepping into the church. One of them takes a seat ,while the other remains standing. I tell myself that there's no reason to be concerned, that it's perfectly normal for a church to receive visitors, but deep in my chest I can't shake a flicker of concern.

“Three now, right?” Annabelle whispers.

“Yes, but -”

“They're not being very subtle,” she continues. “That's a bad sign. It means they're more worried than I expected. Maybe it means they've decided to nip this thing in the bud.”

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

She glances at me. “What's wrong? Do you think they wouldn't kill someone in a church?”

I open my mouth to ask if she's serious, but somehow I can already see the answer in her eyes.

“I'm joking,” she continues. “Maybe. Kinda. They might just be sending a message in return, to let me know that they know that I know something's up. Or they might have been told to stage a little tragedy. It's hard to tell for sure.”

“Do you really believe this?” I ask, starting to fear that Annabelle might be seriously mentally ill.

“Listen to me very carefully,” she continues, “because I suspected this might happen, so I made arrangements. These guys are smart, but they're not omnipotent, and there's one thing they hopefully haven't counted on.”

“What's that?”

“They have guns,” she adds. “I promise you, they have guns hidden beneath their coats, with silencers. And they didn't bring them for protection.”

“This is ludicrous,” I stammer. “You're imagining all of this! Just because three people came into the church after us, that's no -”

“Four.”

“I'm sorry?”

“There's a fourth. I guarantee it. He'll be at the other exit, just in case we try to make a run for it. He'll probably have made sure the priest is otherwise occupied, too.”

“You can't be serious...”

She checks her watch.

“I'm getting out of here,” I tell her. “I'm going to go to a different police station, and I'm going to force them to take Katie's disappearance more seriously.”

“Wait!”

I can't help sighing.

“If you try to walk out now,” she continues, keeping her voice low as she places a hand on my arm, “they'll make their move.”

“According to you, they're going to do that anyway.”

She looks at her watch again. “Where the hell are those nuns?” she whispers.

“I beg your -”

Before I can finish, I spot movement in the corner of my eye. Turning, I see that two of the men are now walking calmly toward us along the aisle.

“Shit!” Annabelle whispers. “The timing's a little screwy.”

“They probably just -”

“They'll be here,” she adds under her breath. “Don't sweat it. They haven't missed a session yet.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on!”

I turn and look past the altar, but I quickly spot someone moving far off at the far end of the church. I feel a flutter of panic in my chest as I realize that, just as Annabelle promised, there seems to be a fourth man blocking the only other way out. Still, I tell myself to stay calm. There's nothing here to threaten us. It's just -

Suddenly hearing the voices of children, I turn and look back along the aisle, just in time to see several little boys being ushered into the church. I watch as they're followed by some girls, then by more boys until there must be close to thirty children here, guided by two nuns. The sight is quite surreal.

The two men, meanwhile, have stopped halfway alone the aisle. Slowly, they both turn and look over their shoulders.

“The local school,” Annabelle says with a grin. “Once a week, they bring the kids here for extra-curricular activities. They're like clockwork. I guess punctuality is next to godliness, huh? And while the four bastards with guns might have hearts of steel, even
they
know it'd be unwise to start shooting people in a church full of kids. You didn't think I'd bring us here without some kind of back-up plan, did you? Please, I hope you don't take me for a complete fool.”

I open my mouth to ask what she means, but the children are already hurrying this way.

“I think I delivered my message,” Annabelle continues, turning and starting to make her way along the aisle. “This way, Winnie. We don't have any time to lose.”

I hesitate for a moment, before hurrying after her. As we pass the two men, I glance at their faces and see that they're staring at me with calm, stony expressions. Each of them has one hand reaching into a coat pocket, and I have to admit that it
looks
as if they're holding concealed guns. Still, as I pass the nuns and the last of the children, I try to tell myself that I shouldn't buy into Annabelle's paranoid conspiracy theories just yet.

“Keep moving!” she hisses at me. “They know we know!”

I keep pace with her until we reach the door, and finally we step back out into the sun-drenched square at the front of the church.

“This way,” she continues, grabbing my hand and leading me away from her car. “I don't trust that thing, not anymore. We're gonna go on foot to our next appointment.”

“
What
next appointment?”

“You remember the guy with the goat's head, right? Well, Bob managed to get hold of the body for a second autopsy, and he's very kindly invited us along. We need to get there and see what he's discovered while we still can. By the end of the day, those assholes are gonna be scouring the streets for us. I've made sure they know to be worried.”

“This makes no sense,” I tell her. “If those people are really as dangerous as you claim, then why in the name of all that's holy would you want to antagonize them like this?”

“To flush them out. To make them realize that we know.”

“But -”

“If I hadn't brought you to the church,” she continues, “they'd have found us someplace else, and they'd have killed us. It's better to know that they're after us than to merely suspect it. We need to stay on our toes.”

“That's a load of rot!”

“You shouldn't have gone to Knott's Court his morning, Winnie. You should have told me you were thinking of doing something so utterly stupid.
You're
the one who escalated this. I'm just reacting. But I needed to see them first. I needed to see with my own eyes that I wasn't imagining the whole thing. And I wasn't.”

“You're blaming me?” I ask incredulously.

“You knocked on their door, didn't you?”

“Well, perhaps if you hadn't been hungover, I wouldn't have had to!”

“Oh, blame the whiskey.”

“I'm quite serious!”

“It's fine,” she adds, stopping once we get to the next corner. She pulls me out of sight, and then she peers back the way we came. “They're out of the church,” she continues, before turning to me. “This is our chance. They don't usually fail when they go to cause trouble for someone, so they won't have had a back-up plan. That means they weren't prepared to track us today, and that in turn means we have a slight head-start.”

“We must go to the police!” I tell her. “If any of this is even remotely true, we -”