N
ow don’t get me wrong, I was only too aware that senior officers frequently spoke to the public and often had to break the worst news to victims, families and sometimes their own staff. However, not usually staff who had just found out that they’d had a stalker for half their life. Throw in the stalker’s cousin who kidnapped children and hanged himself, and add a good measure of the stalker’s aunt recently being murdered, and no suspect in custody, and my level of concern went up a notch.
I put the kettle back on. The DCI was bound to want tea.
The sound of the doorbell brought me from the kitchen to the living room. Catherine was up and out of her seat and tottering towards the hallway. I wouldn’t be able to walk in heels that high. I stood waiting, palms a bit sweaty and too warm in my jumper. I should have got changed, put something else on. I moved to straighten a photograph on the wall.
I could hear a whispered exchange but couldn’t make out any words this time. Probably just as well. Perhaps I had misheard earlier and my mind was playing tricks.
The heavy footsteps of the DCI were interspersed with the tapping of Catherine’s impossible heels. The door was pushed open.
‘Nina. I’ve got a few things to tell you about Jake Lloyd,’ Eric Nottingham began. I pointed to a chair and sat back down on the sofa. He sat, pinching the pleats of his trousers, gathering the material to prevent creasing. The slight shift in
the material lifted the hems and revealed Mr Men socks. I loved that. I looked up at his face and he winked at me. ‘My children bought them for Father’s Day.’
I smiled.
‘We can’t tell you everything that’s going on, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate. Jake Lloyd is in custody and being interviewed. In his house, we found…’ He glanced at Catherine. I didn’t take my eyes off him. ‘Well, we found hundreds of photographs of you. Some look recent but others not so recent. It would seem that he’d destroyed some of them just prior to your arrival with Wingsy. The arresting patrol could smell burning and tracked it to a room off the kitchen where they found the remains of some photographs. It’s likely he was watching you for some time. There were a substantial number of press cuttings, too, about you and your sister.’
He paused. He seemed to be taking it worse than me. I watched him pull at the knot of his tie with immaculate fingernails.
‘Can you tell me what he’s said in interview?’ I asked.
The DCI took a deep breath, blew the air from his cheeks and said, ‘He’s still being interviewed but Lloyd claimed that he was “only looking out for you”. He followed you because he was worried about you. His even crazier cousin was fixated with the story of you and your sister but according to Lloyd this was more because he was fascinated with what happened to you both – how it…’ Another uncomfortable pause for Nottingham while he fidgeted in his seat until he added, ‘How you were both – er – abducted.’
I filled in the words for him. I liked him and didn’t want to see him struggle on my account. ‘How it was orchestrated?’
‘Yes, yes. That’s it,’ he enthused. ‘How it was
orchestrated
.’
I was glad to have helped out.
‘Jake Lloyd maintains that he was watching out for you and not out to do you any harm. You had any threats, breakins, that kind of thing?’
‘No, nothing at all. Funnily enough, until yesterday not even the feeling that I’ve been followed, but I clearly have. Now I’m concerned that someone’s been in my house. Probably my imagination.’
‘Thing is, Nina…’ One more pause, a bit more trouserarranging and a flash of Mr Tickle. ‘Thing is, without anything further…’
Again, I went to his assistance, poor bloke. ‘What I think you’re trying to say, boss, is that, unless there’s any further evidence against him, you’re going to release him.’
He responded by dropping his head further forward and shaking it slowly. ‘We’re doing all we can to establish any links between him and the murders, but yes, basically…’ He lent his elbows on the pressed folds of his trousers. I fought the urge to warn him of the danger of creasing them after all that effort.
‘I understand, sir,’ I reasoned. ‘You can’t do any more without further evidence. What do you both suggest I do?’ I looked from Nottingham’s lined face to Catherine’s. And they looked at each other.
M
y parents’ house was not an option. I’d brought them enough pain over the years. My mum usually averted her eyes from mine on the occasions we met. Bringing more trouble to her door wasn’t something I wished to heap upon her. Stan was completely out of the running. I thought about friends from outside of work, then Laura; I even contemplated Annie. In the end, I settled on a hotel. Nothing fancy, obviously as the taxpayer was footing the bill, but something with its own bar, or a pub next door. I wasn’t fussy.
I packed a bag, got in my car and, waved off by Catherine, left for a fifteen-mile drive to a modest en-suite double. Leaving my own home didn’t really please me very much but, while neither Catherine nor Nottingham could insist that I did, I didn’t feel like arguing. Besides, I had no food in the house and thought that a trip to the busy restaurant feet from my hotel room for a medium grilled steak and bottle of Rioja might cheer me up a bit. I had to say, it did exactly that.
Wingsy phoned my mobile as I got back to my room from the bar.
‘Heard what happened, Nin. As it currently stands, they’re looking at no choice but to let him out with bail conditions not to come anywhere near you.’
‘Yeah, totally understand, but now I’m in a hotel room and don’t even have a bloke to share it with.’
‘Which one are you in?’
‘Can’t tell you that. Security risk.’
‘The Premier Inn, then.’
To be fair, it was where we put everyone.
‘I’m only here for one night. I can’t live here forever but they’re just being cautious. Totally understandable.’
‘When are you back at work, honey?’
‘The DCI insisted that I have the rest of the week off and come back Monday. Not too sure what to do with myself for four more days. I can hear your kids in the background, Wingsy. Sounds busy there.’
‘You can always babysit at the weekend.’
‘I’ll pass on that one, thanks.’
‘Listen – ’ he lowered his voice and the sound of siblings rowing lessened as if he had moved to another room ‘ – I have something for you and need to drop it round. Your place about noon tomorrow OK with you? It’s just some stuff you left in the car.’
‘Oh, thanks, Wingsy. I’m always doing that. See you in the morning.’
We both knew full well that I had not left anything in the car.
26th September
F
ollowing a very comfortable night’s sleep, I drove home, looking out for a grey Shogun all the way. I didn’t think that Jake Lloyd would be that stupid, but I had met some inept criminals over the last fifteen years. Joe Bring came to mind. Shoplifting joints of beef by putting them in his boxer shorts had been his trademark for a while, prior to poultry. At least it got one over on those who bought cheap ‘ask no questions’ joints of meat in their local pub – their Sunday lunch had left the supermarket rubbing against someone’s genitals.
I stopped off to get some shopping and a card for Stan. I bought him a couple of magazines and some grapes. Predictable, but I figured Pinot Grigio was not a viable option. I then drove to the hospital, excited at the thought of seeing my old friend but determined to make the effort not to talk about the photographs I’d received or the man arrested for his obsession with me. Last thing I wanted to do was to worry him.
I checked my phone as I was rushing across the hospital car park towards the main entrance, and re-read Samantha’s text giving Stan’s ward and bed number. I even felt slightly nervous about seeing Stan. I could only put that down to not knowing how he was feeling physically and what my own reaction would be to that. What exactly did happen when those you’d always relied on needed you?
Glancing up as I got to the entrance, I saw Eric Nottingham coming down the stairs into the main foyer. He was looking directly down the staircase and I was a little to his right. It was a huge hospital with dozens of wards, thousands of patients, and, had it not been for his earlier revelation that he knew Stan, I would have put it down to coincidence. Regardless, I turned sharply to my left and ducked behind the pay and display machines. Keeping out of sight until I saw him through the window behind me on his way to the car park, I stood for a moment, wondering if he’d been to see Stan, and why I’d hidden from his view. I was being a bit of a silly cow. I liked Nottingham and should have said hello. I’d avoided him to sidestep talking about work or Jake Lloyd, though. I was here to see Stan. I wanted nothing to overshadow that.
Grapes and magazines in hand, I followed the blue line which the map promised would take me to Stan. Don’t cry, you silly moo, I thought to myself, as I buzzed the ward’s intercom. I paused once inside the double doors to cover my hands in the gel that was supposed to stop infection. A gel that stopped cancer would be more use to us all, but one thing at a time. I made a bit of a meal of the gel-rubbing and concentrated hard on appearing cheerful.
Deep breaths and confident walking took me to Stan’s bed. He was propped up, glasses on, reading a tabloid newspaper.
‘Come all this way and you look like you’re on a spa break.’ I feigned annoyance.
He dropped the paper and put his arms out. We hugged. Me less hard, as I didn’t know if he was in pain.
‘Nina, I hope you haven’t taken time off work. I’m probably going home later today.’ His face was pale but he had just the same alert eyes and strong grip when he embraced me.
‘Like I wasn’t coming to see you. I got you some grapes, a gardening magazine and one about which celebrities are
sleeping together.’ I put them down on the table on wheels beside his bed.
He peered over at the cover. ‘Am I supposed to know who any of these people are?’
‘No, the shop was out of the geriatric edition. How are you feeling – how did it go?’
‘It went very well and I feel quite good. The food wasn’t as bad as I expected. You look pale. Are you eating?’
‘Never mind about me. You’re the one in hospital. What did the doctor say?’
‘He’s very pleased and, as long as I can get about, I’ll be home later today. Samantha was here this morning and she’s staying to look after me.’
This annoyed me but ridiculously so; she was his daughter, after all.
‘Oh, and I had another visitor. Left just before you got here. Eric Nottingham.’ He let the information sink in, watching my face. ‘He wanted to catch up, make sure everything was going well for both me and for you. He’s a decent man, you know. He cares about his staff. A dying breed. He and I go back years. We got to know each other years ago on a course. We have a similar outlook on life.’
Then Stan’s sudden change of topic caught me off guard. This was a trick I liked to use myself.
‘I understand that you spent last night in a hotel. I think you should tell me all about it.’
H
appier now that I’d seen Stan and knew that everything that could be done for him was being done, I drove home with the window down, singing along to the radio. It was a clear, crisp day and I needed some fresh air after the stale atmosphere of the hospital.
Once indoors, with the shopping put away, I had a bit of a tidy-up for Wingsy’s arrival. I even hoovered. Each time I heard a car pull up, I drew back the curtain and peered into the street. It wasn’t that I was anxious for his arrival, but I felt slightly worried in my own home alone. I couldn’t live in fear of Lloyd but he clearly knew where I lived, as well as where I shopped, drank, parked at work and even that I used to wear a trilby in the late Eighties. That was possibly the most disturbing part.
After peeking out half a dozen times, I finally glimpsed Wingsy’s Honda pull up three doors away. I nipped to the front door. He paused at the gate, opening it with one hand, a bulging carrier bag in the other. I saw the outline of a bottle of wine through the flimsy bag. I grinned at him and welcomed him in.
‘Result, having a few days off,’ said Wingsy once we were in the kitchen, waiting on the kettle.
‘I suppose so,’ I replied, opening the milk he’d brought.
‘Got you a present, Nina.’
‘Red wine by chance? You know me so well,’ I chirped as I poured boiling water on to teabags.
‘That, and something for you to watch in private.’
I turned to look at him, a frown on my face. I saw him reach into the bag and rustle his way to the bottom before pulling out a DVD in a white cardboard envelope.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ I asked.
He nodded and placed it on the kitchen work surface, sliding it across to me. Hand still on the top of the envelope, he added, ‘You’ve never seen this and I didn’t make you an extra copy and drop it off here. I haven’t even seen it all myself so I don’t know everything that’s on it.’
I snatched it up and slid it into the nearest drawer, hiding it among a pile of teatowels.
‘Thanks, mate. I – ’
Wingsy put his hand over mine as I slammed the drawer shut. He leaned in close to my ear before saying, ‘Nina, some of it’s a bit disturbing. I’m only giving it to you because I think you should be aware of what’s going on.’ He removed his hand and retreated a step. ‘He’s still in custody.’
‘What?’ I said.
‘Jake Lloyd. He’s still in custody. They were talking last night about a Superintendent’s Extension on his original twenty-four-hour detention time. If the super granted another twelve hours, he’s staying in until at least this evening.’
‘Then why did Nottingham send me to a hotel last night? That makes no sense.’
‘It was getting fairly late and they had to make a decision. They wanted to make sure you were OK so they stuck to a plan that ensured you were out of harm’s way. I’m not sure what triggered the extension on his detention. Mel was moaning so I had to go home. And I missed this morning’s briefing. Leave it with me. I’ll try to find out.’
‘Wingsy, thanks for coming over,’ I said. ‘Is there any news from the Incident Room about the murders? I’ve been so caught up in the whole Jake Lloyd thing, it’s only now I’ve taken a breath that I’ve begun to think again about three people slain with no obvious motive or suspect. Could the killer be Lloyd?’
I peered at his face, confident he wouldn’t lie to me. If Lloyd was responsible for the murders as well as for watching my every move, he’d been one busy bloke. Even so, I needed to know.
His answer did little to put my mind at rest. ‘It’s a possibility.’ He kissed me on the cheek and made his way to the front door.
‘Wingsy,’ I said with my hand on the latch, barring his way. ‘During the briefing following Lloyd’s arrest, did much else come out about him? Catherine and Nottingham have told me they were still searching, but was there anything else?’
‘There was a bit about his finances. He’s in TV production, travels a lot but it seems that his company’s going to the wall. He made a few bad decisions on the work front and with personal investments, that kind of thing.’ He broke eye contact with me again. I was a bit disappointed with my friend’s reply. Talking about money seemed a bit gutless when there was bound to be more depraved stuff.
‘Anything else?’ I tried one last time.
‘He took five grand in cash out over the counter at his bank on 13th September. The rest’s still being worked on.’
After Wingsy had left, I cleared the cups away, put some washing on and got the hoover out. My mind continually returned to the disc in the drawer. Impossible to ignore it. Twice I got it out and twice I put it away. As I plugged the vacuum cleaner in, I remembered that I had already done this once today. Perhaps I was losing the plot. I remembered my Aunt Lou telling me about some of her cousins who were sectioned under the Mental Health Act, or whatever they had in her day. One thought he was a dog and used to bite people when they came to the front door.
Banishing such ridiculous thoughts, I bolted to the kitchen, pulled open the drawer and rushed back to the lounge. I had to watch the DVD whatever the consequences.
Frustrated at having to locate the remote under the chair cushion for the second time that week, convinced that I
hadn’t left it there, I put the disc into the player and sat
cross-legged
on the floor in front of the telly. The screen came to life, showing me a view of a police station interview room, Jake Lloyd centre stage. The two police officers in the room introduced themselves as DC Daniel Clark and DC Mark Russell.
The view of the interviewing officers was not clear, but it wasn’t supposed to be. The voice of Daniel Clark was familiar and I thought back to the earlier briefing regarding Amanda Bell’s finances and our visit to June and Donald Lloyd. I thought of the fresh-faced Danny and how his mum must be so proud. He had a good manner about him in interview and handled Jake Lloyd, who was at least fifteen years his senior, very well. Mark Russell I had seen in the Incident Room but hadn’t got to speak to. He was the squad’s only black officer and was new to the investigation, having just returned from honeymoon.
The first fifteen minutes were taken up with introductions, cautioning Jake and other legal formalities. While I knew it pretty much word for word, having said it hundreds of times myself in interviews, I sat transfixed throughout, watching the suspect’s face. He remained calm and nodded away, answering politely when required to. By the time Danny and Mark started to ask him questions, I was sure that my legs had lost all feeling from sitting on the floor. I thought about moving but I was spellbound.
Lloyd was facing Danny when he asked, ‘What can you tell me about the photographs sent to Detective Constable Nina Foster at her home address?’ Danny held up a package and I heard a rustling. I processed the thought that the photos were now in a sealed evidence bag. ‘These are the photos and are exhibit SB/1.’ Sandra exhibited them, I thought; that’s good of her.
‘The photographs were ones I had taken of her, officer, but I didn’t send them to her.’ There was a pause. ‘I told her this morning when she came to my house that I tried to make
sure nothing would happen to her.’ Lloyd shifted in his chair and looked straight up at the camera, as if he was speaking directly to me. ‘I’ve looked after her for years.’ He smiled. I ran to the bathroom and threw up.
Breakfast, fortunately had been light and I’d not had lunch. A few minutes later, I returned to the lounge. The DVD was still playing. I pressed pause and went to get some water and headache tablets. If I was going to watch the rest of the interview, I needed to get a grip. I made myself a sandwich and took it back to the sofa to rewind the part I had vomited through.
Remote in one hand and lunch in the other, I prepared myself to listen to whatever else Lloyd had to say. The best way forward, I reasoned, was to be objective and listen as if I had never met the man and as if the plethora of snapshots being referred to were not images of me. That was bound to work.
Mind back on the task and sandwich untouched, I pressed play. It got worse, so much worse.