‘See you at the station,’ she said, softly, and as she walked away she became aware that someone was watching her. She turned. Jade’s boyfriend frowned at her before Jade grabbed his wrist and tugged him through the doors into the shop, the crowd surging forwards behind them. Wendy walked on, towards the Costa, wishing she’d had a chance to introduce herself to Jade and the other girls. When she looked back, Carmella was talking to Mervyn Hammond.
Oh shit, please don’t let Patrick be angry, she thought. But now she had an even greater reason to make this work. She was going to have to push things forwards. She knew exactly what she needed to do.
Chapter 22
Day 6 – Chloe
Chloe was gutted. Her mum had made her wait because she had to take an important call from a client, and then Brandon had announced that he needed the loo just as they were about to leave, and the traffic had been predictably horrific, and they had to stop for petrol and there was a long line at the garage. By the time she got to Waterstones, having run the last hundred yards, her stress levels were off the scale and, as she feared, the queue was already so long that the chances of getting in were less than zero.
She joined the line anyway, behind a group of shrill twelve-year-old girls and tried to figure out if there was some way of getting farther ahead without getting her hair pulled out. Security staff walked up and down the line, presumably to stop queue-jumping and fighting among fans, or to drag out any girls who fainted with excitement.
If only Jess were here. She’d know how to get them in. The thought was followed immediately by a rush of sadness. Jess wasn’t here. Tears welled up in Chloe’s eyes and she remembered the dream she’d had a few nights ago. She’d been waiting down at the Rotunda to meet up with Jess, but her friend hadn’t turned up and Chloe felt increasingly panicked. Just before she woke up, her pillow damp beneath her face, Chloe realised: Jess wasn’t coming. Not ever.
She inhaled deeply, aware that the twelve-year-olds were gawping at her. Maybe she shouldn’t have come . . . It was too soon after Jess’s death, too painful to think how much Jess would have loved this. MissTargetHeart – Rose – too. Brandon kept going on about it, how it was ‘mad’ that Chloe knew two girls who’d been killed, till she’d been forced to smack him around the head and tell him to shut up, which made him cry and go running to Mum. It wasn’t ‘mad’. It was tragic. Although she hadn’t really known Rose, not properly.
The twelve-year-olds were whispering and giggling now and, irritated and embarrassed, Chloe left the line, stalking down towards the store. She could see Mervyn Hammond up ahead, talking to a woman with auburn hair. The woman turned and Chloe realised she was that cop, the one who’d stood next to the detective at the vigil when he made his appeal for information. And just beyond the female cop, Chloe saw Jade and Kai, right at the front of the queue.
Her knees wobbled and all of a sudden the wintry sun seemed too bright. She staggered away, almost colliding with a security guy, and sat down on the kerb, sucking in deep breaths. It all came rushing back to her, the reason why she didn’t talk to Jade anymore; what had happened to that girl; the things that she hadn’t told the police about . . .
She forced herself to her feet, praying that Jade and Kai hadn’t seen her, and walked briskly away. She needed to be far away. To be anywhere but here.
Chapter 23
Day 7 – Patrick
Patrick cracked his knuckles and checked his reflection in the mirror, making sure he didn’t have anything caught in his teeth and that his hair wasn’t sticking up. He knew that Mervyn Hammond was the kind of person who placed high importance on image and Patrick needed Hammond to take him seriously, even if the PR man had a faintly ridiculous air about him – an older man with dyed black hair and a smooth Botoxed face, a permatan and bling on his wrist in the form of a diamond-studded Rolex. As Carmella had pointed out, Hammond probably wore control pants to keep his stomach sucked in. But despite all these ludicrous foibles, Hammond had power, friends in the press and other high places, and the means to afford teams of expensive lawyers. Patrick needed to tread carefully with him.
He cracked his knuckles again, gave his reflection a final once-over, and left the Gents. Careful or not, he was looking forward to this.
Mervyn Hammond was waiting in interview room one, Carmella sitting opposite him. Hammond had brought his own large coffee from Starbucks, along with a bag of mixed nuts, which sat open on the table. When Patrick had spoken to Hammond on the phone he had explained that the PR man was not under suspicion of the murder of Rose or Jessica, but that information had come to light that they needed to ask him about. Patrick had expected Hammond to protest, to come in flanked by an entourage of lawyers, but he had been surprisingly willing and had come alone, driving his own limited-edition F-type Jag Coupé, at which several cops had gone into the car park to gawp. Maybe, Patrick thought, Hammond found this kind of thing exciting, interesting.
‘I’m diabetic,’ Hammond explained, catching Patrick eyeing the bag of nuts. ‘I need to snack regularly or my blood sugar goes . . .’ He pointed his thumb downwards like a Roman emperor ordering an execution. ‘That is all right, I assume, Detective Lennon?’ He chuckled. ‘I met your namesake a few times, you know. Up himself, he was. Paul was always the talented one . . . though they both shared the same dodgy taste in women.’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ Patrick said, referring to the nuts. He took the seat opposite Hammond, who was wearing a suit that was slightly too tight, his fake tan glowing orange in the badly lit interview room where the body odour of the youth who’d been questioned here last still lingered. ‘I should point out that you are here voluntarily, that you are not under caution and that you can leave at any time.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to be locked up. Unless it was a women’s prison.’ He winked at Carmella. ‘Enjoy the book signing, Detective?’
Patrick was eager to get started. ‘Thank you for coming to talk to us, Mr Hammond.’
‘Call me Mervyn.’
‘Mr Hammond, we want to ask you some questions about one of your clients. Like I said on the phone, some information has come to light that is connected to a case we’re working on, and we are hoping to get some information from you to help clear it up.’
‘It’s not Bruce, is it? I warned him about those small boys.’ He guffawed and said, ‘I’m only kidding. It’s obviously about OnTarget and the murders of those two teenagers. It’s all over the papers this morning. Both massive OnT fans; the boys sending their condolences to the families; planning a minute’s silence at tonight’s gig. That was my idea, by the way. Though the boys really do care, you know. They love their fans.’
Patrick studied Hammond’s face, trying to work out if he was taking the piss. Before he could ask the next question, Hammond scooped up the bag of snacks and leaned across the table towards Carmella.
‘Nut?’
‘No thank you,’ she said coolly.
His eyes flicked up and down her upper body. ‘Yeah, you don’t look like the type of woman who likes nuts.’ He turned his attention to Patrick. ‘Ever thought about a TV career, Detective? I reckon you’d do well with those rugged, alternative looks. Plus you’ve got a good backstory – wife trying to kill your nipper. You could probably get a book deal. The cop who arrested his own wife. The Mirror would serialise that, no question.’
Patrick blinked, then took a deep breath. Of course, it would be easy for Hammond to find that out – it had been in the papers at the time, although the detail about Patrick arresting Gill himself had been omitted. He was disconcerted by the fact that Hammond had made the effort to research him, though. But he couldn’t let that show.