“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, Miss Powell, it’s supposed to show you what the difficulty is.” There was an uncharacteristic bite to Collins’s voice. “Believe me, I don’t enjoy having a murder suspect running around like this, and if I could do any more to get my hands on Timothy Ellis I would. But with the information we have at the moment, there’s nothing more we can do, and if you can offer any constructive suggestions, I’d be very happy to hear them.”
Immediately, he seemed to regret his loss of composure. His tone became conciliatory. “Look, I know it’s distressing. We will catch him, I promise you that. But you’ll have to accept that there’s only so much we can do. He’s obviously targeting areas where he knows you go, but that still covers most of West and Central London. It’s a big city and we can’t just guess where he’s going to turn up.”
Afterwards, Kate berated herself that she didn’t have to guess, that she should have known what Ellis was going to do next. But it wasn’t until the call from the Parker Trust the following morning that she saw the inevitability of it.
“Hello, Mr Redwood,” she said, wondering what petty complaint the Trust’s chairman had now. “How are you?”
There was no reciprocal pleasantry. “You know why I’m calling, I expect?”
Kate hastily tried to think if there was something she’d forgotten. “No. Should I?”
“It’s about the poster.”
Oh, God. “Oh?” Kate heard herself say.
“I presume you know what I’m talking about?”
She tried to sound indifferent. “Perhaps you should just tell me, Mr Redwood, and then we can both be certain.”
“Very well. I’m talking about a highly offensive poster concerning you that’s been brought to my attention. Is that plain enough?”
The receiver felt heavy in her hand. She’d known there was a chance that some of her clients might see them, but she had told herself it was a slim one.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“So are we. Miss Powell. This is hardly the sort of profiling we anticipated when we hired your agency.”
“I’m not happy about it myself.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, that’s small consolation. I presume you knew about the poster’s existence already?”
“Yes, but — “
“And yet you didn’t inform us?”
“I didn’t think it was any of the Trust’s business.”
“I disagree. I made it clear at the outset that anything which affects the Trust is very much our business.”
“The posters are aimed at me, not the Trust. I’m sorry that you’ve been involved, but I can’t see that you’ve any cause to be concerned about them.”
“Miss Powell, your agency currently represents the Trust, and as long as it continues to do so any adverse publicity you receive reflects on us by association. As a publicist I would expect you to know that. I also would expect you to realise that we cannot continue a relationship with a company whose head is involved in some kind of sordid smear campaign. And I might add that we have no intention of doing so. Under the circumstances — “
“Under the circumstances you’re not concerned that an associate of the ‘charitable’ Parker Trust is the victim of what’s obviously a sick and malicious slander, is that right?” She had spoken heatedly, without thinking, but it gave Redwood pause.
“Obviously, we’re not unsympathetic,” he said, cautiously, “but our sympathies can only extend so far.”
“Obviously. But, equally obviously, it wouldn’t enhance the Trust’s reputation as a humanitarian organisation if it became known that it had treated the victim unfairly. Callously, even. Particularly not when the victim was a woman, the Trust is run by men, and the slander was largely sexual in nature.”
Redwood was silent. Kate gripped the receiver, forcing herself to wait him out.
“The Trust doesn’t respond to threats. Miss Powell.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m only telling you what would happen under those circumstances. As you say, I’m a publicist. I’m expected to know these things.” She held her breath. Her knuckles on the phone were white.
“We’ll let it pass this time, Miss Powell,” Redwood said, finally. Kate breathed out, silently. “But only this time. Any further hint of scandal or controversy concerning either you or your agency, and you can consider your relationship with the Trust terminated. I’ll notify you of that fact in writing. So there’s no misunderstanding of the position in future.”
“Thank you. I really am very sorry about this, and if you’d like to send us a bill for cleaning the posters off your walls — “
“That won’t be necessary, since there’s only one, and it arrived in the post.”
“The post?” Kate echoed.
“That’s right. It came this morning. And while you, no doubt, think that your personal life is your own concern, when it comes to an issue as emotive as abortion, I might remind you that the Trust believes strongly in upholding Christian ethics, and that particularly includes the sanctity of life. Be it born or unborn.”
Kate felt control of the conversation slipping away from her. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about what the poster accuses you of. While we obviously don’t accept the accusation at face value, nevertheless — “
A terrible comprehension was growing in Kate. “What does it say?” she demanded.
“I hardly think there’s any point in my repeating it — “
“I want to know what it says!”
There was a pause, in which she could sense Redwood swing from puzzlement to understanding. Something like satisfaction entered his voice. “Perhaps you’d better check your own post, Miss Powell,” he said, and hung up.
Her head throbbed as she buzzed Clive on the intercom. “Has the post arrived yet?”
“Yeah, I’m just sorting through it now. I’ll bring it up.”
She listened to the downstairs door open and close, then the approach of his footsteps. He came in, smiling until he saw her expression. “What’s wrong?”
Kate shook her head without answering. She held out her hand for the pile of envelopes. Clive watched, worried, as she shuffled through them. She stopped when she reached the large brown envelope. Her name and the agency’s address were written on the back in untidy block letters. She slit it open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in half. Kate took it out.
This time her head had been put onto the body of a woman wearing a white nightgown. The front of the gown was gory with blood, and the woman’s hands, which she held stiffly by her sides, were dripping and red. Printed in the same colour across the top was a single sentence.
KATE POWELL KILLED HER UNBORN BABY.
Kate set it down on her desk. Her hands were unsteady. “He sent one to the Parker Trust,” she said. “He posted it.”
Clive was folding up the poster with a look of angry disgust. “The bastard. The fucking sick bastard.”
Kate began to say something, but then an awful thought swept whatever it was away. “Oh, shit.” She stared at Clive. “The Filofax.” She saw understanding spread over his face. He sat down. “He’s got a complete list of all our clients. Every one.” She fought for control as the enormity of it registered. “He doesn’t even have to bother sticking the posters up, he can just send them the bloody things! Christ, he probably already has!”