Someone Else's Skin (23 page)

‘It means I could trash him in a fight.’ He sent a last look up at the apartment. ‘I wouldn’t mind a go . . .’ He’d used a different accent, inner city, when he was talking to Paton. Marnie wondered where it came from, whether it was the voice he’d used to get by in school. There was a lot about Noah Jake that she just didn’t know.

‘So did he write the threatening letter?’ Noah nodded at the notebook she’d slipped into her bag.

‘No. At least I doubt it. I’m beginning to think Hope got that wrong . . .’ They walked in the direction of the police station. ‘You know Lowell’s problem?’ she said.

‘Where do you want to start?’

‘Invisible ape.’

‘
He’s
the ape.’

‘Precisely. He can’t see what’s under his nose. I think he really believes he gave Simone what she wanted: a warm place to stay; sex on tap . . .’

‘He broke her nose.’ Noah made fists of his hands, burying them in his coat pockets.

‘He couldn’t sit still. Do you think he’s on something?’

‘Drugs? It’s the usual way kids like that pretend to rebel against their parents, and he can afford it.’

‘You really didn’t like him.’

Noah looked at her. ‘Did you?’

‘No, but after Leo Proctor . . .’

He glanced away. ‘Leo showed remorse. Paton? Is a deluded freak.’

What was making him so angry? Paton? Or the set-up in the apartment, the way Lowell’s dad had padded the place with money, security. The polar opposite, she knew, of Noah’s upbringing. On the other hand, as far as she knew, Noah’s childhood had been a happy one. Somehow, she doubted Lowell Paton had received a tenth of the natural affection Noah’s parents had given their son. ‘One thing’s for certain. Simone didn’t take Hope to the basement flat. She wouldn’t go within five miles of that place.’

‘Did you really think she might’ve done that?’ Noah was incredulous. ‘Gone back to the basement?’

‘She doesn’t know a lot of places in London, from what Ed says. People can make odd choices when they’re feeling trapped.’

Like leaving home to live in the damp basement of a friend’s house because you can’t stand seeing the impatience on your father’s face any longer. Or renting out the house where your parents were murdered, because you can’t sell it until you’ve at least got close to understanding
why
. . .

‘Do you think Simone’s dangerous?’ Noah asked. ‘What was it Ed said, about the war zone under her skin?’

‘I don’t know whether she’s dangerous or not. I thought I might get a clearer idea, after seeing Lowell.’ She shook her head. ‘He’s got denial down to a fine art, and she lived an isolated life before she met him, narrow frame of reference . . .’ She dug out her phone, pressing Ed’s number on speed-dial, getting voicemail. ‘It’s me, hoping for an update on Ayana. Call me.’ She returned the phone to her pocket.

‘Maybe we should try the Bissells. See if they can give us anything to go on. Ed gave me an address in Putney Hill.’ She named the street.

‘Nice address,’ Noah said shortly. ‘It’s on my run route. You can do five miles just going up and down the private driveways round there.’

‘Lots of money,’ Marnie deduced. ‘Not that it did Simone much good. I doubt the Bissells can help us, but we should cross them off the list for Welland.’

They were clutching at straws, Noah’s silence said as much, but they needed to keep moving, keep busy. If they couldn’t find Ayana, they could at least find Hope.

‘We’ll need the car,’ she told Noah, when they reached the station. ‘You’d better check in with Carling, see if he tracked down the Prius driver. Stuke, was it?’

Noah nodded. ‘I’ll meet you in the car park.’

Noah took the station steps two at a time, aware of the angry heat in the pit of his stomach. He knew he’d puzzled Marnie with his reaction to Lowell Paton, but how was he supposed to explain that Paton’s patronage was worse than Ron Carling’s prejudice? Noah didn’t understand it himself. He found Carling at his desk, with a message for Marnie: ‘Phone call from a Felix Gill. For the DI. You want it?’

Noah took the piece of paper. ‘Thanks.’

Felix Gill, the Proctors’ neighbour. He’d phoned to say he’d seen Hope with a ‘coloured lass’ at the Proctors’ house ‘just now’.

Noah called the number written on the note. ‘Mr Gill? It’s DS Jake. Thank you for the message you left. Is Hope still at the house?’

‘She wasn’t here more than ten minutes. I phoned as soon as they left. Four hours ago, give or take.’

Four hours.
Shit
. Why hadn’t Carling, or someone, passed on the message sooner?

‘Did they leave together, Hope and the other woman?’

‘A coloured lass, yellow beads in her hair. Thick as thieves they looked.’ Gill freighted his voice with suspicion. ‘Took a suitcase. Brown. I made a note and called you right away. Couldn’t get through, mind you, but I kept trying.’

‘You didn’t speak with them?’

‘I didn’t like to, knowing you people were on the case.’

‘Were they on foot,’ Noah asked, ‘or in a cab?’

‘On foot, far as I could see. Could’ve been a cab waiting on the corner, I suppose.’

‘And this was about eight o’clock this morning?’

‘More like seven thirty,’ Gill said. ‘As I said, I’d trouble getting through to you lot, but I kept at it.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Useful to you, is it?’

‘We appreciate the call. Thanks.’ Noah rang off. He walked to Carling’s desk. ‘That call came through four hours ago. Who sat on it so long?’

‘Search me. I handed it across as soon as I saw you.’ Carling looked pleased with himself for having managed this much. ‘Sorted. Like a chav in a filing cabinet . . .’

‘I was here at nine this morning. Gill called at eight. The note should’ve been on my desk when I got in.’

‘Don’t look at me.’ Carling put his hands up. ‘I just passed it along. Front desk took the call. You’ve got a problem, take it up with them.’

Noah moved his mouth into a smile that made Carling flinch with its ferocity. ‘I’ve just spent two hours interviewing a deranged shit in a shiny tracksuit because we’re trying to find one of the women this phone call was about. If I’d got that message when I was supposed to get it, we could’ve picked her up and I wouldn’t now have a taste in my mouth that makes me want to throw up – and nut someone.’

‘Don’t look at me,’ Carling repeated, but he was nervous now. He sucked at his teeth. ‘I’ll talk to the desk. Tell them to be quicker off the mark next time. Okay?’

Noah held hard to what was left of his temper. ‘How’d you get on with Henry Stuke?’

‘No one’s answering the phone. I could go round, but I figured you’d want a piece of that action . . .’

‘So where’re we up to with the CCTV?’

‘Nothing from around the North Middlesex.’

‘How about Finchley, the refuge?’

‘Still waiting on it.’ Carling reached for the phone. ‘I’ll hurry them up.’ He looked straight-mouthed, serious.

‘Thanks.’ Noah nodded. ‘We need to expand the search area from the hospital to include the house where the women were seen this morning.’ He wrote down the address and handed it across. ‘And keep trying Stuke.’

‘Where’ll you be?’ Carling asked.

‘Wherever the DI wants me.’

Marnie was waiting in the car. She started the engine as Noah got into the passenger seat. He said, ‘Felix Gill called. He saw Hope and Simone, at the Proctors’ place. Four hours ago. I rang back. He’s at home.’

Marnie rested her hands on the steering wheel. ‘Four hours ago,’ she repeated.

‘I know. I gave Carling a hard time about it. He says the front desk took the message and only just passed it on.’

‘What exactly is Gill saying he saw?’

‘Hope and Simone going into the house, around seven thirty. Leaving with a suitcase, on foot. I’ve asked Carling to check the CCTV from near the house as well as the hospital.’

‘Good. We should get over to Leo’s place.’

‘It’s a better lead than the Bissells,’ Noah agreed.

Marnie released the handbrake, frowning. ‘They went to her house? That was a bit risky. If Simone wanted the pair of them to go into hiding . . . I’m surprised she let Hope talk her into collecting a bag of clothes from a house we could’ve been watching.’ She glanced at Noah. ‘Gill was sure it was Simone, with Hope?’

‘From his description, yes. A “coloured lass with beads in her hair”. He said they were as thick as thieves.’

‘What do we think of Gill?’ Marnie asked. ‘Is he just a nosy neighbour?’

‘I’d say so. There’s one just like him across from me and Dan. It’s one of the reasons we got curtains instead of blinds . . . Lonely, I suppose.’

‘Neighbourhood watch . . . I’ll bet Hope hated being under his surveillance. Too bad she wasn’t under ours.’

‘No one was watching the house.’ Noah felt a fresh flare of anger under his ribs. ‘What the
fuck
is wrong with us?’

Marnie flicked him a glance. Noah read regret in her eyes, and hard necessity in the line of her jaw. ‘Ask the accountants . . .’

‘I’d have done it myself if you’d asked me to.’

‘Not how it works.’ Marnie retracted the flippancy from her voice. ‘All right, let’s beat ourselves up later. Right now, we need to get on. How well do you remember the house?’

‘The Proctors’ house? Pretty well.’

‘Good. Let’s see if we can figure out what they took that was worth the risk of returning there.’

47

Felix Gill answered his front door promptly. He must have been waiting in the hall. ‘You’ll want to find out what they took away,’ he said, ‘in the suitcase.’

‘Do you know?’ Marnie asked.

‘It was heavy. The coloured lass,’ he stole a glance at Noah, ‘took it off Mrs Proctor, when they came out of the house. She looked surprised by how heavy it was. I said to myself, “That’s not just clothes, is that.” Off they went, down there.’ He pointed to the corner of the street, where it joined the main road.

Marnie had brought a torch from the car. ‘You didn’t speak to Mrs Proctor?’

‘They didn’t see me.’ Gill looked proud of his powers of subterfuge.

Noah asked, ‘How did they seem to you?’

‘In a hurry.
She
had her head down, as per usual. It was the other lass in charge.’

‘How do you mean?’ Marnie asked.

‘She took the suitcase for one thing, and she was holding Mrs Proctor’s elbow, steering her along. She had the whip-hand, all right.’ He glanced at the torch in Marnie’s hand. ‘You’ll want to look inside, see what’s missing.’

‘Yes, we’ll do that.’

‘Mind you, it’s her house,’ Felix Gill said. ‘She’s entitled to take what she likes. That’s right, isn’t it?’

The Proctors’ house had the same chill as before, with no immediate clue that Hope and Simone had been inside four hours earlier. Noah and Marnie went upstairs, searching the bedroom for missing clothes. It wasn’t easy to see what Hope had taken. No gaps in the wardrobe, or the drawers. Beds smooth, shutters closed. Dust line-danced through the white slats. From the look of it, no one had been in either bedroom since Noah and Marnie’s last visit. Someone had opened the bathroom cabinet: a smudge of fingerprints on the mirrored glass. The bottle of antidepressants was missing, together with the Vaseline, antiseptic cream, plasters. The makings of a first-aid kit. Nothing to account for a heavy suitcase, assuming Felix Gill had read the situation right.

They searched the rooms downstairs, finding everywhere the same as before. Noah wondered if his memory was letting him down, but Marnie said, ‘I can’t see that anything’s gone, can you?’ He shook his head. ‘So what was in the suitcase?’

They stood in the kitchen, looking at the knife rack. Nothing new was missing, just the knife that was bagged in the evidence locker back at the station. ‘We should’ve conducted a proper search. Then we’d know for sure what they’d taken.’

‘We didn’t have a warrant,’ Noah reminded her. ‘And the show-house furniture, new beds . . . It didn’t look like the place was hiding anything.’

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘It looked like it was hiding everything.’

In the hall, they stopped outside the cupboard with the latched door.

Noah’s skin crawled. This was where the Proctors had kept at least one of their secrets, in the torturously small space under the stairs. Marnie slid the latch. It came easily, without a sound, as if Leo oiled it regularly. She shone the torch inside, the light moving muddily over the stone floor and walls. ‘Are those scratch marks?’

Noah peered. ‘Hard to tell.’

‘Check it out, would you?’

Noah glanced at her. ‘You mean . . .’

She handed him the torch. ‘Get a proper look at what’s in there. Tell me what you think.’

Noah stripped off his jacket and hung it over the banister. He crouched and drew in his head, moving sideways to fit his body into the small space. The slant of the stairs forced him to keep his chin drawn in against his chest. His shoulders blocked the light from the hallway. Not enough room to move his elbows properly. He ended up holding the torch under his chin as he searched the floor and walls, painstakingly, every cold, gritty inch.

Raw stone grazed the ends of his fingers. He kept his nose closed against the ammonia stink of Hope Proctor’s fear. How long had she been in here, each time Leo locked her up? Minutes? Hours? Days? Noah didn’t think he could’ve lasted minutes, never mind any longer.

The weight of the house was crushing. He was acutely aware of Marnie standing behind him in the hallway. Near enough to reach out and shut the door, slide the oiled latch and lock him in. He set his teeth and completed the search. Not just the floor, the walls too. Hope could’ve banged on the wall that joined this house to the neighbours. They’d have heard it, surely. These new-builds had hollow walls. She hadn’t banged on the wall, Noah was certain of it. Sitting instead with her knees hugged to her chest, and her head drawn in, making herself as small as possible so the space would feel less like a box, or a coffin.

He ran the torch’s light over the place where Marnie had spotted scratches, touching his hand there. Scarred patches snagged at his fingers, thin grooves in the stone and plaster. Maybe Hope hadn’t sat still the whole time . . .