Kill Me Again Part 17

'Maggie?'

She felt a leap in her chest. Thank G.o.d. Her eyes filled with hot tears.

'Duncan!' She whispered his name fiercely into the phone, hoping the police weren't right now standing on her doorstep, listening to her. 'Where are you? What's happening? Please, Dunc, tell me what's going on I'm terrified.'

Her voice broke. She wanted him here, holding her, telling her it was all going to be okay.

'I'm sorry, Maggie. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn't know what else to do.' Duncan spoke quietly, as if the words were difficult to say. He had always hated apologising being found to be in the wrong.

Maggie felt as if all the questions that had been piling up inside her were fighting their way out, scrambling to get over one another in their rush.

'But why did you go? Where are you? When are you coming back? Why did you have a picture of a dead girl on your phone?'

She heard a gasp from the other end of the phone.

'How do you know about that? Christ! Don't tell anybody else. Please Maggie, n.o.body must know. Promise me, Maggie.'

But Maggie had no time to answer. The doorbell rang.

's.h.i.+t! Somebody's at the door.' Maggie knew full well who it was and that she had no option but to open it. 'Give me your number, Dunc, please. Hang on a second.'

Holding the phone in one hand, she turned the latch on the front door and pulled it open.

'h.e.l.lo, Mrs Taylor. I believe you're expecting us. May we come in? But please do finish your call.'

The woman who opened the door to Tom and Becky came as a surprise. Tom had been expecting her to look just like Leo and Hayley Walker, but this woman looked worn out with black circles under her eyes, pale skin and flushed cheeks. She wore no make-up, and her hair was tied back. She was a similar build to the other women, and he imagined that when her hair was loose and she was wearing the bright red lipstick that he understood she favoured, there would be a striking resemblance. But just at this moment they couldn't have been more different.

'I'm sorry, Clare. I have to go,' Maggie Taylor said into the phone, her whole body turned away from Tom and Becky. 'Do you want to leave your number so I can call you back?'

She didn't pull pen and paper towards her from the hall table, so Tom could only a.s.sume that whoever she was speaking to had chosen not to leave their details. Tom was certain it wasn't somebody called Clare. Maggie's hesitation before the name had been slight but enough for Tom.

Maggie took a moment before turning back towards them, still grasping the phone, and it was impossible to miss the strain in her eyes. She was biting the corner of her bottom lip, as if to keep it from trembling, and the pinkish tinge to her eyes suggested she had been crying.

A thought struck Tom. Maggie Taylor was Alf Horton's solicitor, and Horton had been in the custody cells in the building next to Tom's office. So there was a good chance that Maggie could have been in the vicinity of police headquarters earlier in the week. As they made their introductions in the entrance hall, Tom glanced to his left. There was a coat rack, and scrunched up, sitting on a shelf above the coats was an emerald-green scarf.

It had been her, then. He was right. She had looked so different that day. The belief that it had been Leo was the one thing that had been keeping Tom hopeful about his ex-girlfriend. Knowing it wasn't her felt like a punch in the gut. Every bone in his body was telling him that something had happened to Leo, and his confidence that she was alive and well had been shattered. He had to find her, and his instincts told him it needed to be soon. But he was sure the woman had been thinking about coming into the office. And that woman, it now seemed, had been Maggie Taylor.

Maggie took them into the living room.

'Could I get you a cup of tea or coffee, or something?' she asked.

Both Tom and Becky declined.

'Mrs Taylor,' Tom began, 'we understand you have concerns that you're being stalked, and you provided us with a partial number plate for your stalker. Is that right?'

'Yes. I know the evidence is very thin, but coupled with the phone calls I've been receiving I thought I should get some advice. I've got to know the duty sergeant over the few weeks I've been working in Manchester and I thought I should have a word with him. He said he'd pa.s.sed it on to a colleague.'

'That's right, he did. But this van might be of interest in another investigation, and your partial number plate was better than you might imagine. It was enough to provide a match, and we think we've tracked down the owner. But before we get to that, can you tell me some more about why you think he's stalking you?'

Maggie Taylor looked uncomfortable.

'The van had been parked up the street, and then when I took the children out it was round the corner. We went for a cycle ride, and the van appeared part of the way round as if it had been following us. There were two men in it.'

'Did it not occur to you that this might be a coincidence? Perhaps the driver and his mate had chosen to park somewhere other than on the street while they had lunch, somewhere away from the job they were working on?' Tom didn't believe this for one single moment. 'Why did you feel particularly concerned about this van?'

'I don't know. Maybe it was because of the phone calls I'd had.' Maggie shrugged. 'Maybe I'm being overly cautious. My current client keeps whispering to me that nowhere's safe and I need to watch myself, and then I get calls from someone saying I need to be careful. They were sinister. It was the tone of voice the we know where you live that seemed so menacing.' Maggie attempted an unconvincing laugh. 'It all seems a bit of a cliche when I say it out loud.'

'But nevertheless scary,' Becky said.

'I feel bad bringing you out here. I'm surprised you would think this worthy of your interest, to be honest, Chief Inspector?'

'Oh, I like to keep my ear close to the ground. And as I mentioned, the owner of the van could be of interest to us in another case.'

Tom was well aware that Maggie wasn't telling the whole truth if any at all and he couldn't work out why. But until he knew, he wasn't prepared to give her anything either.

'Could we possibly have a word with your husband?' he asked.

'Why?' The speed and almost fierce tone of her response surprised Tom, but he didn't react.

'Because he may have seen some similar behaviour. He might know if the van has been there for longer than you realise, or he might be able to add any number of things to the investigation.' Tom couldn't think of any, but he wanted to know what was making this woman so jumpy.

'I'm sorry, but he's away at the moment. He's gone back to where we used to live, down south. There were a couple of jobs he hadn't finished and he'd promised to go back.'

'Okay, well at some point we might need his contact details.' Tom was watching her closely and couldn't miss the flinch.

'Is there anything else you can tell us, Maggie?' Becky asked.

'Nothing I can think of, and I do apologise if I've been wasting your time.'

'Not at all,' Tom said. "I'm sure you haven't.'

Tom and Becky stood up from the sofa and walked towards the door.

Tom turned. 'Just one thing. A couple of days ago Friday, I think were you standing outside our offices the big building next to the custody suite where Alf Horton was being held? I'm fairly certain it was you, and it looked like you were going to come in. Did you want to see somebody from my department?'

Maggie Taylor shook her head. 'It wasn't me,' she said. 'I didn't even go to see Alf on Friday afternoon.'

Tom smiled and thanked her.

It wasn't a matter of her not telling him everything. She was telling him nothing. And he had never mentioned the time of day.

40.

'What did you make of that, then?' Tom asked Becky as they headed back towards the M60.

'I don't know what she's playing at. She made a complaint or at least she registered her concern but then she couldn't wait to get us out of the door. She was totally and completely fl.u.s.tered by our presence, and in particular yours. Why would that be?'

Tom focused on the road for a moment. He was certain Maggie had been standing outside the office a few days ago. And she must have been to the custody suite before, so she couldn't have been confused about which building she needed to visit. And she had been staring at the door, as if she couldn't decide whether to go in or not. And all of that had happened before the incident with the van.

'What about this Alf Horton character? I know he gives you the creeps, but what's the deal with him warning her about something?' he said.

'No idea, but he's a nasty b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I wouldn't put it past him to try to wind her up and it seems he succeeded.'

'What else did you notice? You're pretty good at reading people.'

'I noticed that she was unbelievably uncomfortable when we mentioned her husband.'

They sat in silence for a while, the grey skies and the thin drizzle making driving conditions less than ideal.

'Okay, Becky, next steps with Adam Mellor?'

'Everybody's on the lookout for either the van or his car. We need to get Julian Richmond to give us a contact his closest friend if possible so that we can get a list of his known a.s.sociates. We have intermittent checking on his home to see if he turns up there, and we're following up the story of a death in the family. We're also looking into any other property that he might own.'

Tom was happy with the actions Becky was proposing, but there was one other thing he wanted her to do.

'You know about the bodies that have been found in the ca.n.a.ls around Manchester in the past few years?'

'You mean the "pusher" cases?'

Tom looked at her sideways, his eyebrows raised.

'Sorry, I know they've all been declared either accidental or suicide, but you have to admit it's a bit odd.'

Tom knew what she meant. Over sixty bodies had been found in the last few years, and almost all of them were men. There was no evidence they had been murdered, and the general consensus was that they had been drunk and had fallen in. Suicide was always possible, but as one eminent psychologist had pointed out very loudly, ca.n.a.ls are not locations of choice for suicide and the chances of success without weighing yourself down beforehand are pretty slim.

'I'm interested in the few women they've found. I know the deaths go back fifteen years or so and some of the bodies are badly decomposed, but I'd like to see if any of the women died around 2003, and if so whether they had any links with Manchester University. Can you add that to the list?'

For some reason Tom couldn't get it out of his head that all those years ago there should have been a third victim.

Maggie had closed the door on the police as soon as she reasonably could without seeming rude and leaned back heavily against it. She knew her behaviour had been that of a guilty person she had met enough of them. But when she reported her concerns she had never imagined she would be interviewed by Tom Douglas. She had been expecting a constable a sergeant at most to be a.s.signed to her case.

For somebody like Tom Douglas to come all this way to talk to her about a possible stalking incident, the driver of the van had to be linked to a serious crime. It had to be the murders. It was the only thing that made sense.

She grabbed the phone, terrified that somebody would ring her and ruin her chance of dialling 1471 so she could get the number that Duncan had called from. She didn't think he would have blocked it if he was using a call box because he could just walk away.

Duncan must have known it was somebody official at the door. He would have heard her called Mrs Taylor, and the fact that she had called him Clare would have been all the signal he needed. He had muttered 's.h.i.+t!' and hung up without another word.

1471 worked. She tried to connect, but there was no answer.

Maggie wanted to scream. Whatever was going on, she knew Duncan would have freaked out if he had guessed she was talking to the police and that might be the last she heard from him. Why on earth hadn't she said she was talking to her husband and asked Tom Douglas to give her a moment? He didn't know Duncan was missing, and it would have seemed the most natural thing in the world, but she had panicked. And why had she shouted questions at Duncan when all she wanted to say to him was 'Come home' and 'I love you'?

Duncan, darling where are you? The thought revolved around her head, beating against every conscious thought.

One other thought was battling for supremacy. Who are you, Duncan?

She walked through to the kitchen and sat down. She waited two minutes and tried the number again. It rang until it automatically disconnected.

Her laptop pinged and she stared at the screen.

It was a message on Facebook, and it was from Stacey Meagan, the girl in the photo with Duncan.

I got your message, but not sure if I can help you. The boy in the picture is Michael. He was a bit older than me. He was at Pat's when I arrived and left when I was still in my early teens. I do remember he had a crazy coloured bike, though. He was eighteen when he left. He came back a few times the first year, but then Pat never heard from him again. She was devastated. I have no idea where to find him. Sorry.

Maggie read the message over and over. Michael. His name was Michael. He was in foster care. Surely that couldn't be right. His mother was alive until he was twenty. Maggie had a.s.sumed he was a friend of one of the other kids. Why would he have been in foster care?

She slowly and thoughtfully typed a response.

When Michael left, do you know where he went? And do you by any chance know his surname?

That was a risk. Stacey Meagan might think it odd that she was searching for somebody but didn't even know his surname, but she would think of something if that came up.

Michael left to go to university. I think Pat told me he bombed out at the end of his second year. I'm sorry, I can't remember his surname. There were so many of us, see, coming and going all the time. But I'll ask some of the others if you like?

Maggie pressed her palms together, index fingers tapping against her teeth. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know any more, but she couldn't stop now.

Thank you, Stacey. You have been really helpful. If you could ask around I would be grateful. In the meantime, do you by any chance remember which university he went to?

She was sure the answer would be Leeds. At least that would make sense. The reply was instant.

No problem I've already started spreading the word. I can't ask Pat she's in a home now and sadly she has Alzheimer's. If I catch her on a lucid day I'll see what I can do. Oh, and the university, it was Manchester.

Maggie hadn't heard the front door open, but was suddenly conscious there was somebody behind her in the kitchen. She spun round, aware that tears were streaming down her face. 'Sorry,' she said, quickly scrubbing away the tears with her fingers.

Suzy had returned home with the children and she ushered them into the sitting room, telling Josh to choose a DVD, then pulled the door shut and turned to face Maggie.

'What's happened?' she asked. 'You look like you've seen a ghost.'

Maggie leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling, trying to curb the tears.

'Duncan phoned, but he hung up when the police arrived and didn't leave a number. I don't know who he is, Suzy. He's not even called Duncan. He's called Michael.'

Maggie didn't look at Suzy's face. She didn't want to see what her sister thought of Duncan, and she knew Suzy would find it impossible to disguise her feelings. To give her credit, she didn't say anything; she just reached out and grabbed Maggie's hands.

Duncan had never wanted to talk about himself much, and Maggie had always felt that each time she learned a new fact about her husband there was a sense of discovery, as if she was getting closer and closer to him. Now she seemed so naive.

'Why's he been lying to me? Do you know, if you'd asked me a week ago, I would have said we didn't have secrets. There was that stupid cupboard, but I guessed it held mementoes of his mum things he didn't want to share. There were gaps, but I didn't think of them as secrets; I thought of them as private thoughts and feelings that I would learn as time went on.'

She pulled a tissue from the box that Suzy had put in front of her and blew her nose.

'You know how it feels, Suze, when you really love someone. You start off as separate people whose bodies and minds are touching, but gradually you begin to feel more and more as if you're melting into one another, as if you can't get any closer without getting inside their skin with them. Each little detail that I learned about Duncan pulled me further and further into him. It was wonderful. Do you know what I mean?'

Suzy was quiet for a long moment, and Maggie opened her eyes and turned towards her. Tears were now streaming down her sister's face.