The Stranger You Know (37 page)

‘Score one for me,’ I said aloud, trying to keep my spirits up. Trying to keep the fear at bay because I had things to do before I could leave and every instinct for self-preservation I possessed was pushing me towards the door.

I needed the evidence, because I was reporting this as a crime. I wanted it on record. Swain was on the Met’s wanted list already because of video evidence we’d seized of him sexually assaulting dozens of unconscious women, but when we caught him – and we would – I wanted him charged with the crimes he’d committed against me. He owed me that much, even if I wasn’t going to be first on the indictment. Others had suffered more than me, but I had endured quite enough from Swain. I would have my day in court, and he would hopefully have a decade or so in prison when we finally caught up with him.

I put the bag inside another bag and left it in the hall, hoping it wouldn’t stink too badly the next day. There was no point in calling it in now. The response team would never consider it a priority at that time of night; I’d be in a queue behind every domestic and suspected burglary and bar fight in east London, and I wasn’t inclined to wait around in the flat for hours, wondering when or if I was going to be attacked. Better to wait until early turn started for the local CID and hand it over to a nice, friendly detective who could take a statement and file a report. I wanted to be free to leave as soon as I was ready to go. Just being in the flat was close to unbearable. My jaw ached and I realised I was clenching it, and my fists, as the adrenalin played on my nerves. What else did I need to do?

Oh yes. That was it. Find somewhere to go. Which was where I ground to a halt for the second time. I didn’t know anyone nearby: Rob and I had chosen Dalston in part because we never socialised around there so we could keep a low profile. I had no mobile phone so no numbers for anyone I could trust not to panic, which would teach me to learn some off by heart. I only knew Rob’s, my parents’ and my brother’s. I was not going to involve my parents in this particular flap; I couldn’t go to my brother either, because someone – a niece or his wife or even Dec himself – would be bound to let it slip to Mum and then I would be in even more trouble for not having told them in the first place. The rain rattled as the wind caught the drops and flung them against the windows. I couldn’t stay in the flat; it wasn’t safe. I didn’t want to leave without knowing where I was going.

I stood in the middle of the living room, shivering, and considered my options, none of which were appealing. Back to the office, where there was nowhere to sleep at all. Stay where I was and hope Swain had sent the flowers because he couldn’t get past our security arrangements. But I already felt I was being watched, and I’d never sleep. Trek to Liv’s house, though she lived in Guildford, miles outside London, and it would take me an age to get there. I didn’t want to risk it without knowing she’d be in. Call the office, get put through to Godley and let him take over – but he was fully occupied and I couldn’t divert him from a murder investigation for the sake of a sick prank, even if it had me terrified. Stay in a hotel – somewhere cheap and soulless but with decent locks on the doors. It wasn’t an appealing option. I didn’t want to be on my own with my fears, even if it was somewhere other than the flat. I would never relax enough to close my eyes, let alone sleep. But it looked as if I was out of luck.

Except that I knew one person who was nearby, and at home, and would be more than pleased to help. In fact, he would be angry if I didn’t call on him. And he owed me a favour. It was a terrible idea, but it was a better option than anything else I’d thought of.

I just hoped the surveillance team wouldn’t have started yet.

Chapter 30

‘Go. Away.’

‘Sir, it’s me.’ I was crouching by the letterbox, trying not to let the skirt of my coat get wet, the wind tugging at my hair and clothes until it felt as if someone was pulling at me, trying to get my attention. I was half-whispering because I really didn’t want to attract the interest of passers-by, the media or even Derwent’s neighbours. There was only one person I was trying to reach, and he was having none of it.

‘Fuck off. I’m not telling you again.’

‘It’s Maeve. Kerrigan,’ I added, then rolled my eyes. He only knew one Maeve, I was fairly sure. I checked over my shoulder – no one – and levered open the letterbox again. I could see his feet, and realised he was sitting at the top of the stairs. Forgetting about speaking softly, I snarled, ‘I’m only here because I need help. Now if you’re not going to man up and let me in, I’m going, but I want you to know I think you’re a— a—’

‘A what?’ He sounded interested.

‘A twat. Sir.’

‘That must be you, Kerrigan. Only you would take so long to come up with the word “twat”. I was expecting something really good.’ He got to his feet slowly, with some difficulty, balancing on one leg as he turned to reach his crutches. ‘I’ll let you in but it’ll be a while before I can get to the door.’

‘Take your time,’ I said, shuddering with the cold. I couldn’t feel my hands any more, or my ears.

Instead of coming down towards the door, Derwent levered himself up, out of sight.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I was making tea. It’ll be stewed if I don’t get the bag out of the mug sharpish.’

I fumed on the doorstep for another five minutes while Derwent did whatever he had to do and then came down the stairs with roughly as much fuss and as many dramatic pauses as an elderly diva making her Vegas debut. When he finally opened the door I pushed in past him.

‘Wait until you’re invited, missy.’

‘That’s vampires, not house guests.’ I turned. ‘When are they coming round with your heavyweight belt?’

‘Oh, you saw that?’

‘I think the world’s seen it by now. It was a hell of a shot.’

‘You’re telling me. I bruised my hand, look.’ He showed me his fist, which was red and swollen and had a gash on top of one finger.

‘Is that a fight bite?’

‘Yeah. If he didn’t have such big horse teeth I’d have been fine because it was a direct hit on his nose. Knowing my luck, he’ll have rabies.’

‘You got a round of applause from the coppers I was with when they saw it.’

‘Really?’ He looked pleased. ‘The guys at the hospital didn’t even consider arresting me. They talked Pace into letting it drop. Nice of them.’

‘I think a lot of people were hoping something like that might happen to him.’

‘You know me. Being a hero comes natural.’

‘I’m sure.’ It was freezing in the hall and I made for the stairs. ‘I’m going up to get warm.’

‘You’re not going to wait for me?’

‘I’ve done a lot of waiting for you this evening already.’

I ran up and into the living room, which was warm and softly lit. He had drawn the blinds, shutting the world out, and I started to feel I could relax for the first time in hours. I took off my boots and coat, and held my hands over the radiator, wincing as the warmth started to bring them back to life.

Derwent made it up to the top of the stairs eventually and abandoned the crutches with a clatter. He limped in to the sitting room.

‘Make yourself at home.’

‘I knew you’d want me to be comfortable.’

He ignored that. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure? If you’ve had a fight with your boyfriend, I’m not providing a sympathetic ear.’

‘You wouldn’t be the first port of call for that,’ I agreed. I was still shivering. At this stage I was starting to think it was because I was ill or in shock. The flat was boiling. Derwent was wearing a T-shirt with his tracksuit bottoms. I tried, very hard, to send a message to my nervous system that it could calm down for the time being. ‘I couldn’t stay in my flat.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because of a bunch of flowers, would you believe.’

Derwent listened, asking the occasional question, as I faltered through the story. He had dropped the attitude. I was talking to the police officer version of Derwent, focused on the facts and their implications. I wished I had the luxury of a cool-headed assessment of the situation, but I was far too involved for that.

‘First thing: who knew Rob was going to be away?’

‘No one.’ I got a look for that and tried again. ‘Okay. I did, obviously. I mentioned it to Liv, who might have told Joanna, I suppose. People Rob works with. I didn’t tell you.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘I didn’t tell my parents or any of our friends.’ I chewed my lip. ‘That’s it, as far as I know.’

‘Did you talk to anyone about it over the phone? Could your landline be bugged?’

‘I only use the landline to pick up messages, mainly from Mum. I always use my mobile.’

‘What about email?’

‘No.’

‘Facebook?’

‘I’m not on Facebook.’ Like I wanted to share details of my personal life with the world. Derwent should have known better.

‘Any other social websites?’

I shook my head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Is your place bugged?’

‘I don’t know. That’s what Swain did before.’ I was starting to shake again.

‘Get that checked out.’ Derwent had sat down on the arm of a chair while we were talking and now he jumped up and started to pace. He got two steps before his leg went from under him and he collapsed inelegantly into the chair. ‘Oh, fuck-a-doodle-do.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine.’ He righted himself. ‘What about Boyband? Does he keep his mouth shut?’

I ignored the jibe. ‘As a rule.’

‘And you thought the flowers were from him.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t think the message sounded like him. It was patronising.’

‘Could you imagine Chris Swain saying it?’

‘I try not to imagine Chris Swain saying anything at all.’ I sighed. ‘Look, I don’t think we’re going to get to the bottom of this tonight. It was creepy as hell and I generally assume that means Swain was involved. I hope you can understand why I ended up here.’

‘Yeah, I know why you’re here. Let Uncle Josh look after everything.’

I tried not to look repelled but it was a struggle.

‘Drink?’ Derwent said.

‘I don’t need anything.’

‘I was telling you to get me one.’

‘Oh.’ I bit back
get it yourself
. Being on crutches, he couldn’t carry a drink easily, and it was the least I could do. ‘What do you want?’

‘Beer. In the fridge. You know where the kitchen is.’

I did. I was on my way back, bottle in hand, when a thought struck me. I doubled back to make sure, then went and stood in the doorway of the sitting room until Derwent looked up.

‘Over here, love. Don’t ever quit and become a waitress, will you? You’re rubbish.’

‘You lied to me.’

He raised his eyebrows.

‘You said you were making tea, but the kettle’s cold and there are no mugs in the sink or the dishwasher or in here. You have no milk in your fridge and I couldn’t find a single tea bag in your kitchen. You don’t even drink tea. You told me that before. What were you doing? Tidying up? Hiding the evidence?’

He gave me his widest, whitest smile, the one that reminded me of a hunting dog grinning. ‘Give me the beer.’

‘Not before I get an explanation.’

‘Come on.’ He held out his hand. ‘If you need me to say it, I’m impressed, Kerrigan. You put it all together.’

‘Yay for me. I still want to know what you were doing.’

‘Tidying.’

‘You never tidy because you never make a mess.’

‘What does it matter?’

‘It matters because I don’t like being lied to.’

He stretched. ‘Well, I’ve never lied to you about anything important. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I thought I did.’

‘It’s true.’ He looked straight at me, his eyes limpid. ‘You can trust me. But you can also trust me to be a bit of a lad. I thought you were coming round to tick me off for punching Pace on camera. I wanted to make you wait.’

‘Thanks very much.’

‘Any time.’ He looked as ashamed of himself as it was possible for Derwent to look, which was not very. ‘You should get to bed. Get some rest. You look like death.’

‘Where am I going?’

‘In there.’ He indicated the room next to the living room.

I picked up my bag and went in, flicking the light on. I stopped for a second, then reversed.

‘That’s your room.’

‘So?’

‘So you seem to have misunderstood.’ My face was flaming.

‘No, you have. This is a one-bedroom flat. I am letting you have the bedroom. I do not propose to sleep with you and that phrase includes any possible meaning you like, from sharing a room to shagging. And don’t flatter yourself.’

He was amused, not angry, but I was still mortally embarrassed. It put an edge in my voice when I replied. ‘And what about you? Where are you going to sleep?’

‘The sofa.’

‘No. You’re injured. I should sleep there.’

‘It’s not on offer.’

‘I am not sleeping in your bed when you were shot a day and a half ago and you should still be in hospital.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘It’s obvious,’ I said. ‘You look dreadful.’

‘Said the woman with bright red eyes and crazy hair. Fuck me, it’s like getting a lecture from Coco the Clown.’

I put a hand up, encountered frizz and decided not to fight that particular battle. ‘Never mind how I look. You are recuperating and you shouldn’t be doing it on a sofa.’

He rubbed both hands over his face. ‘Give me strength. Listen, Kerrigan, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. This leg? Hurts like buggery. I’m not going to be getting much sleep tonight even if I’m in my own bed.’

‘Didn’t they give you painkillers to take home?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And?’

‘I don’t like them. I’m not taking them.’

‘You are so stubborn.’

He levered himself to his feet. ‘I know. But it’s my body. I don’t like drugs and I don’t mind pain. I just don’t think there’s any point pretending I’m going to sleep tonight. And you look as if you could sleep for a week.’

‘Two.’

‘There you go.’ He limped past me, holding on to the wall for support. ‘I’ll get a spare duvet out and nick a pillow and I’ll be fine.’

There was no arguing with him, ever. I was too tired for a fight anyway. The thought of sinking into a real bed at long last was enough to make me give in. I brushed my teeth in a bathroom that was antiseptically clean and male from the toiletries to the towels. When I came out, Derwent was leaning against the wall in the hall.