She had reached Harwich with plenty of time to spare, constantly checking her mirror in case those two coppers were following her. She hadn’t seen them or noticed any car that gave any indication of following. Although since her knowledge of that came exclusively from Hollywood movies, she wasn’t entirely sure.
And now she walked, the only person out, her heels clacking and crunching, echoing all around. Behind her were houses, flats. Both old and old-looking. In keeping with the local character. The land stopped the other side of her. She could make out shapes in the fog, lights over the water from the port. It looked like something from a science fiction film, a hulking, crash-landed mothership sitting ominous and indistinct in the mist.
She walked along the footpath towards the agreed spot. A lifeboat station was on her right, the runway positioned on the stony shingle beach. On the other side of her were landed wooden boats. Pulled in and piled up. The dark disguising the fact that most of them, holed and rotting, would never set sail again. Their final resting place. Their graveyard.
She kept walking, away from the houses and flats now, finding herself alone. The boats were now piled up on both sides. Her breath caught from something more than cold. The overhead street lights cast deep, dark shadows, providing perfect cover for muggers and rapists. She could see ahead to where the path was clear and open, where it rejoined the rest of the town and her assignation was to take place, but to get there she had to walk through this first.
She moved slowly, eyes darting, alert for any sudden movement, any attack, listening for changes in sound. She could hear only the white-noise drone of the waves breaking against the shingle beach. That and the beating of her own heart.
She tried to joke with herself, think of it as a final test to go through before starting her new life. Go into the darkness, come out in the light. Just her and the weird sister. How was that going to work? Would they get on? Have much in common? If Helen had been asked earlier, she would have said no. Definitely not. But now she wasn’t so sure. There had seemed to be a connection when they talked. Kindred spirits, and all that. And there was the money, too. That was probably what would keep them together.
She clutched her coat more tightly about her, kept a firm grip on her suitcase. Despite telling herself there was nothing to worry about, she wished she had something else to hold, something she could use as a weapon if she needed to.
And then she heard something. Or someone.
She turned. The sound came from her left. Movement, someone coming towards her. Helen froze. Then heard a voice.
‘Hello, Helen.’
She turned. It was Dee. Sliding out of the shadows.
Smiling.
78
‘Well I wish we’d stopped. That’s all I’m saying.’ Jessie looked sulkily out of the car window.
Deepak sighed and shook his head. A reply felt unnecessary. She knew what he was thinking, what he would say. They were working, they might lose Helen Hibbert if they stopped now, the fish and chip shop would still be there once they had finished … all that. She knew what he would say because she had heard it all before. Many times.
‘Look,’ said Deepak, staring through the windscreen. ‘If she goes any further down there, we’re going to lose her.’
‘Then we get out of the car and follow her.’
Deepak didn’t look happy about that.
‘What, now you don’t want to follow her?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s cold. I didn’t bring appropriate clothing.’
Jessie smiled, looked away.
After leaving the Sloane house, they had gone back to Helen Hibbert’s flat to question her and found her leaving, pulling a suitcase behind her. They had followed her, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Deepak was very good, she had to give him that. All the way down the A14 to Harwich. Sometimes he had been one car behind her, sometimes two or three. At one point he was even in front. But he never once lost sight of her. And never let her know she was being tailed.
They had pulled back as she had negotiated the old narrow lanes of Harwich, waiting until she had parked and got out before bringing their car alongside her. They had watched as she set off walking, pulling her suitcase behind her.
‘Looks like she’s got a hot date,’ said Jessie, then turned to Deepak. ‘Sorry. Cold date.’
‘Very funny,’ he said, face straight.
They watched her walk towards the stacked old boats.
‘Very brave,’ said Deepak.
‘Or stupid,’ said Jessie.
‘Maybe she’s meeting someone there,’ said Deepak.
‘Let’s hope it’s who she wants to meet.’
Deepak leaned over to the glove compartment, took out a pair of miniature binoculars.
‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ said Jessie. ‘Apart from bringing warm clothing, of course.’
Deepak ignored her, watched Helen Hibbert.
‘She’s stopped,’ he said.
‘Let me see.’ Jessie made a grab for the binoculars. Deepak held her off.
‘Just a minute.’ He kept watching. ‘There’s somebody with her.’
‘Let me see.’
Again he stopped her. He smiled. ‘Well, well, well … ’
‘What? What?’ Jessie scowled. ‘I hate it when you do this.’
He put the binoculars down, turned to his superior. ‘This gets better.’
79
Right at this very second, Tyrell had never hated himself more. Never could hate himself more.
They had arrived there with no trouble. Once Amy saw what kind of venue it was and what was happening there, she had become angry. Striding up and down in the car park, swearing, ranting to herself that she had allowed herself to be duped, played. Josephina and Tyrell had just stood there, silent. She had then hurried them inside, pulled them to the back of the hall, hidden from the rest of the punters by the huge hay bales. And that was when she had handed him the gun, told him to hold it against Josephina’s head. The little girl had just stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears, threatening to spill over.
‘Tell her,’ Amy had said, ‘that if she doesn’t stand still and do what she’s told, she won’t get to see her mother. Ever.’
Tyrell had stared at the gun in his hand, felt its cold heaviness, then looked at the girl and back to Amy. He had shaken his head. ‘No. I won’t.’
‘Really?’ Amy had smiled then. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘One of us has to do it. You want me to? Shall I? Do you trust me?’ He didn’t have to answer her. She knew what he was thinking. She smiled, seeing he had no choice. ‘Thought so.’
He had looked between Amy and Josephina and reluctantly held on to the gun. ‘I hate guns,’ he said to Amy. ‘And I really, really hate you.’
She shrugged. ‘Not the first time you’ve told me that. Just do as you’re told. And make sure she does what she’s told. And don’t get clever. Don’t even think about using it on me.’
He hadn’t. Not until she had said it. And by then it was too late.
‘Just do it. We get this done, go back to the house, get sorted and it’s all over.’
Tyrell’s hand was shaking. He really did hate guns. The sound they made, the look of them, the heft of them. They were cold, hard. Dead to the touch.
And now he was standing there, holding the automatic on a child. A child he had made promises to, who trusted him. Now she couldn’t look at him. She was shaking too. The threatened tears had never happened only because she was too frightened to cry.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’m not … not going to hurt you. You know that … ’
He didn’t know if he was speaking to the child or to himself.