The Last Voice You Hear (27 page)

‘There’s somebody out there,’ he said.

Five minutes they’d been here, enjoying the tea party from Sarah’s personal hell: the one where policemen arrive, and throw their weight around. So far, metaphorically only. Burke sat next to Sarah on the sofa; Russell in the armchair to their left. But Maddock stood by the window and Ross too near the burner, shoulder to the stone fireplace into which it had been fixed. He was sweating, though sweating might be something Ross did as a matter of course. He had that basted look.

It had been Ross who’d said, ‘Well, isn’t this nice,’ while Sarah poured.

‘You’ve come a long way,’ she’d said, ‘and you look like you need a hot drink. But when you’re finished, you can leave. You don’t have any business here.’

‘You’re harbouring a criminal,’ Ross said. ‘We’ll be leaving soon as we’ve taken charge of her.’

It was as if there were two different scripts: Sarah’s aiming for a credible, real-world effect, while Ross’s edged towards the ballistic. Burke, nominally in charge, possibly hadn’t recovered from Zoë’s car-kiss yet. He didn’t look comfortable in his bones let alone on the sofa. With every moment that passed he faded like the Cheshire cat, leaving a grimace instead of a grin behind him.

Sarah said to Ross, ‘Your dialogue sounds like a second-rate cop show,’ and immediately regretted it. She’d been better off acting like Zoë was his fantasy: tolerable, but best disregarded.

‘I think it’s time we talked about warrants,’ said Russell.

Russell was older than Sarah, successful in his own right, and had had student run-ins with the police: drugs and protest, like everybody else. And now, like everybody else, he’d grown out of both, and was generally in favour of the law. So why did Sarah wish he wasn’t here? It wasn’t just that she wanted him far from danger. It was that she couldn’t trust him not to recognize the big gap between everybody else’s view of things, and the way they might turn out to be.

This was a gap Sarah knew. She’d fallen into it before.

Burke said, ‘It’s funny, but as soon as somebody says
warrant
, I start wondering what they have to hide.’

And the lines in the room solidified and set, and Sarah knew this wasn’t going to end with polite goodbyes.

He said, ‘So you haven’t seen Ms Boehm in years?’

It was as if he’d decided Russell wasn’t there.

‘I’ve already told you that.’

‘Have you spoken to her lately?’

‘Once or twice.’

‘When, is what I was asking.’

She said, ‘I’m really not sure. Do I need a lawyer?’

‘Would you be happier with one?’

‘I’d be happier with a policeman.’

‘We are policemen, Ms Tucker.’

‘Why does that not comfort me?’

Maddock said, ‘Who’s that?’

All turned.

He said, ‘There’s somebody out there,’ and he was looking towards where the cars were parked, on the gravelled expanse bordering the ostrich pen.

Ross was by his side in a second. Burke was stiffer, slower, car-bashed; as he got to his feet Sarah thought
Keep
moving
, but he didn’t; he halted halfway, and looked back at her and Russell both. The nearest phone was in the kitchen. There was another upstairs. He wasn’t about to let her get near either.

She had a mobile of course, but the signal here was atrocious.

‘Where?’ Ross was asking.

‘Over there. Beyond the cars. Far side of that wire fence.’

‘Her?’

‘It was just a glimpse. She wore a black jacket, didn’t she?’

‘Until you pulled it off her.’

Sarah said, ‘This is ridiculous. You’re looking for a woman I’ve not seen in years. You’ve no authority here. I’d like you to leave.’

Maddock said, ‘Who else lives here?’

‘What do you mean, who else? Nobody does. Just the two of us.’

‘So who did I just see?’

‘You’re asking me? You’re seeing goblins for all I know.’

‘Sarah,’ Russell said.

Burke said, ‘Let’s all calm down. There’s no point things getting out of hand,’ and said it as if he’d been here, done this, recognized the circumstances: a bunch of rogue coppers, nearly past pretending, and a pair of householders
knowing too much
. Sarah thought
Thanks, Zoë
, and squashed the thought immediately. Last time anything remotely like this happened, it had been her own fault.

Sarah
, Zoë had said.
I’m not gunna make a big thing of this.
But I can’t just walk away. That would make me bad as them.

‘So who did I just see?’ Maddock asked again.

‘Probably one of the neighbours.’ Russell’s voice was remarkably steady, and Sarah wondered if he was finding out how brave he was, or if he’d not realized the ground had shifted in the last minute.

‘Doing what?’

Russell shrugged. ‘We’re in and out of each other’s places all the time. They keep their tractor here.’

Ross looked at Burke. Burke looked away.

Russell said, ‘They’ve got a key. Never bother with the bell.’

He knew. He knew things had changed.

Maddock said, ‘I’ll take a look.’

Sarah said, ‘This is pointless.’

‘She’s here,’ Ross said. He wasn’t talking to Sarah; just announcing his conviction to the room. ‘She had no other friends, no contacts. Nowhere else to go.’

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said. ‘You’ll never make Inspector. That’s not deduction, that’s plain stupid.’

‘Word of advice. I’d keep quiet, now.’

In her own home, he was telling her this. She was still holding her teacup, she realized: on her feet, cup in hand. She pointed at his eye. ‘Zoë did that, didn’t she? What did you think, she’d go to pieces at the first threat? Jesus, you’d better hope you don’t find her again.’

He took a step towards her. Russell moved to her side. Burke put a hand in the air: all he needed was a whistle. ‘That’s enough.’ He looked at Sarah, at Russell. ‘You two should sit down.’ To Ross he said, ‘And you, keep it together.’

‘You’re not policemen,’ she said.

‘Oh, but we are.’

But he didn’t meet her eyes when he said it.

She said, ‘You’re not here officially. Are you kidding?

You’ve not said three words that’ve made sense since you arrived. Best if you just go, wouldn’t you say?’

He looked to Ross, and seemed about to say something. What the manuals call a conflicted moment: if it weren’t for Ross, this would be close to over; wouldn’t have got this far to start with. Sarah could see Ross as the driving force: obliterating Charles Parsley Sturrock; triggering everything that came after. Wensley Deepman had witnessed that killing, and thought he’d found a way inside big money. It had probably taken Ross all of five minutes to find he didn’t want to hock his life to a twelve-year-old thug.

Ross: who, as she watched, extended a thick fist and unfolded it for her gaze. In its palm, a silver worm, attached to a metal hoop.

‘You still want to say she’s not been here?’

Sarah didn’t say anything.

And before Burke could speak, Ross went on: ‘You told them to sit down. They haven’t yet.’ He turned back to Sarah. ‘This can go clean or get messy. Any more fuss and you’re under arrest. You’re impeding an investigation.’

‘Do you think we’re stupid?’ she said.

‘Don’t ask questions you know the answer to. Sit down, both of you.’ And to Maddock he said, ‘Go and take a look.’ He put a finger to his eyepatch. ‘And remember. She’s got sharp fucking teeth.’

Maddock, limping, didn’t need to be told.

But she didn’t make it: having pushed the door open, she retreated back inside. There was a new car by the house, a big black one. It could be anybody’s – friend or neighbour; salesman or census taker – and if it were any of those, they’d soon be on their way. Zoë was hungry, but not stupidly so. She wasn’t about to blunder into company. Pulling the door to, she leaned against the jamb, becoming aware, as she did so, of the heavy smells this confined space contained: of recently opened tins of paint; of something oddly reminiscent of cocoa; of her own last cigarette.

It could be a friend or a salesman, yes. Or it could be a bunch of policemen, mad as stoats, and up for punishment.

. . . She’d punched her own name into search engines the odd time or two; out of vested interest rather than vanity. When your living relied on your reputation, it was useful to know what was said about you. And how many hits had it taken before she’d matched her name with Sarah’s? There was only one Big Story Zoë had ever been involved in, and it was both of theirs. If she’d come looking for herself, how long would it have taken her?

There was something hard and pointy in her back, so she stood up straight, and studied the house through the crack in the door. It gave no clue as to who was inside, except maybe for that curl of smoke working out of the chimney: did you light a fire when heavies dropped round? That was more a friends-and-neighbours thing. Maybe they’d lit the fire for Zoë. Maybe they thought she’d be cold, without her jacket.

And besides, it could be Sarah’s car . . .

So here she was, hiding in the shed from Sarah’s car, while Sarah sat warm by the fire, wondering what was keeping her. This was ridiculous. She needed to eat, then be on her way. She ran a hand through her hair, suppressed a wild yawn, then stepped out into cold grey daylight, just as the cop who’d jumped her down by the canal limped round the side of the house.

Sarah stood.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘To the bathroom.’

‘Sit down.’

‘You are not going to tell me –’

‘Sarah –’

‘– to sit down –’

‘Sit down,’ he said again.

‘– in my own house.’

‘I just did.’

‘Ross,’ said Burke.

Sarah looked at Burke. ‘You’re doing this all wrong,’ she said. ‘You want us to believe you’re who you say you are, you shouldn’t be playing it this way. Not one bit.’

‘Your friend,’ he told her, ‘is a dangerous woman. You can’t blame us if we’re on edge.’

‘And I’m just back from half a day’s drive. You can’t blame me if I need the bathroom.’

Ross said, ‘Just exercise a little control, all right?’

‘I’m having my period. You want me to paint you a picture?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ he said.

‘The problem is,’ said Burke, ‘we don’t want you using a phone right now. In case she has a mobile. You understand?’

‘It’s not her you don’t want me contacting.’

He piled through that. ‘So I’ll walk up with you. Okay?’

‘Does it make any difference if it’s not?’

Russell said, ‘I’m having difficulty believing this is happening.’

‘Oh, it’s happening,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be long.’

She left him with Ross. The stairs were narrow, ‘a feature’: it was tempting to shove Burke down them. But it wasn’t his neck that needed breaking. Reaching the top, she headed straight for the bedroom.

He caught her by the elbow in the doorway. ‘This isn’t where you’re going.’

‘There’s things I need.’

‘What things?’

There was a look Sarah could do that she hadn’t grown up with: she’d learned it during her marriage. She used it now, and he released her elbow, and stood watching as she took a pair of jeans from the back of a chair, then gathered various items from the top of the chest of drawers.

‘You planning a complete makeover?’

‘You know what us girls are like.’

As she passed him, heading for the bathroom, he put an arm out to stop her. ‘You don’t need all that.’

‘I’m going to get cleaned up.’

‘Put it on the bed.’

She dumped everything on the bed: jeans, talcum powder, tampons, mobile phone, deodorant. The mobile phone, he took, looking like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite find the words. Sarah wondered if it was shame blocking them.

She said, ‘You expect me to apologize?’

He picked up jeans and tampons and handed them to her. ‘Five minutes,’ he said.

As they left the room she closed the door behind her, which had been the object of the exercise.

In the bathroom she used the loo, changed into her jeans, and ran the shower. The plumbing was another feature: like having a steel band on the premises. It took a moment to notice the thumping on the door. ‘I told you,’ Sarah called, opening the window. ‘I’ve had a long drive. I need to clean up.’ He shouted back, but she couldn’t tell what. Clearing toothbrush mugs from the windowsill, she climbed on to it. Here at the front of the house, she faced a fair fall on to gravel. She’d fallen further, and had the scars to prove it, but it wasn’t her best memory. Now, anyway, was not the time to dwell on it. She climbed out.

The ledge was maybe three inches wide.
You could walk
all day on a three-inch strip
, she told herself.
All the room in
the world.
It felt different high up, that was all. She straightened, holding the frame for balance. This was okay. This was really okay. If she kept telling herself so, it would convince. Look neither round nor down. Just edge along, facing the wall; it was yards to the open bedroom window. A three-inch ledge for a couple of yards. There’d been a time she could have managed that on her hands.

But it was only three inches wide for the length of the window.

Things got trickier then. There was no window frame; only a sort of stone dado rail, an inch and a half wide, two feet below her, where the second storey met the first: as if they’d built the second separately, and it didn’t quite match. For hand-support there was only the stonework, which was rough enough to allow a little purchase. But this wasn’t anything she paused to think about; stepping down before her mind changed, she allowed her left foot all the time it needed to find that ledge, then balanced a moment, suddenly sure they were down below, watching her. Waiting for her to fall. But they weren’t. With her left hand she found a knobbly edge of stone to clamp on to while she completed the step down. From the bathroom behind her the shower thundered on. It really would be an idea to get that seen to. One thing at a time, though. Stepping down threw her heart in her mouth. Standing flat against a wall was not simple; the height was an added complication.
Don’t think about the height.
Her right hand pressed flat against stone; tried to mould a handhold out of unyielding surface, which yielded as she had the thought, or maybe that was an illusion brought on by being scared witless . . . Either way, her fingers found a grip, and she edged an inch further.
This is how you do it,
Sarah.
An inch at a time, like the rest of life. It was going to be fine, except her left foot slipped and she fell to the ground: only she didn’t. Somehow, she didn’t. Her left foot slipped, then found the ledge again; her left hand probed and found another hold. Behind her, the shower thun- dered; in front of her, the bedroom window yawned open. Bless Russell, who liked a through draught. Another step, and her fingers would reach the window frame. From there, it would be like hauling herself out of a swimming pool: another dumb dangerous moment behind her.