‘Sorry for dragging you all the way down to Vauxhall.’ Adam was standing on the street, waiting for me. From the look on his face now that I could see him, I’d been right not to anticipate good news. ‘I didn’t want to talk about this in the office. I’m not officially working on the case and I thought my boss might start asking questions.’
‘And I thought it was just an excuse to see me.’ He looked startled and a little embarrassed. I’d been joking but from his expression I might have got closer to the truth than I’d intended. ‘Never mind. What did you want to tell me?’
‘They tested the blood.’
‘Was it Webster’s?’
‘It wasn’t human blood. The lab report said it was from uncooked beef.’
‘Okay. So … what? I don’t prepare food on my bed. It still shouldn’t have been there.’
‘So in that case it looks more like a prank than anything.’
I felt a wave of cold nausea sweep up from my stomach; when was the last time I’d eaten? ‘It’s a warning and you know it.’
‘There’s no evidence it’s him, Ingrid. I need evidence to take it further, you know that.’
‘What kind of evidence do you want? My blood on his hands?’
‘Ingrid, please. I don’t want you to come to any harm. But this isn’t going to get us any further towards the ultimate goal of putting John Webster behind bars. That’s what we both want. This accident has brought him out from under his rock. It’s an opportunity for him to bother you, and an opportunity for us to catch him.’
I was stuck on his choice of words. ‘What do you mean by accident?’
‘Alison’s been looking at the footage again with her colleagues.’ He ran a hand over the back of his head, ill at ease. ‘It looks like an accident. You saw what you wanted to see.’
‘I definitely didn’t want to see Belinda being murdered.’
‘No, but you went in with the assumption that she had been, in your place.’
‘I didn’t imagine the blood. Someone was in my flat.’ I felt as if the ground was sliding under my feet. ‘Don’t you think that’s serious?’
‘You’ve improved your security. It shouldn’t happen again, if it ever did.’
‘What do you mean, “if it ever did”?’
‘We talked about it, Alison and I.’ He was choosing his words with care. ‘We know you want to get John Webster out of the way. You can’t really live your life when he’s out there, can you? So maybe you felt you had to make sure we connected Belinda’s death with Webster.’
I was starting to feel angry and it stung like the blood flowing back into a numb limb. ‘You think I staged it.’
‘That’s one possibility.’
‘I didn’t make up seeing Webster the other night in the Temple. And I haven’t lied to you. Did your pal Alison ask you to put me off? Did she tell you I was wasting their time?’
‘No. That’s not what – I just thought—’ He lifted a hand as if he was going to touch my arm but then dropped it to his side again. ‘The trouble is it’s easy to get caught up in fear. You have every reason to be scared when things like this happen – God, anyone with your experiences would be on edge most of the time. These things you’ve found – you’re right, it could be Webster. But if it is him, you need to hope he gives himself away. You might need to encourage him instead of running away from him.’
‘That sounds incredibly dangerous,’ I said shakily.
‘It could be.’ He grimaced. ‘I know it’s not fair to ask you to do this but if it gets rid of him for good you could save a lot of people from experiencing what you’ve endured. And it would be a nice way to get revenge, wouldn’t it? Poetic justice. He’d hate for you to be the one who got him locked up.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I don’t know. It depends on what Webster does next.’ He lifted his shoulders, helpless. ‘All I can say is that I’ll try to keep you safe, if you’re prepared to take the risk.’
‘And Belinda?’
‘At the inquest her death will be ruled an accident, unless we have anything to contradict that. But Alison doesn’t hold out much hope at this stage. She’s under pressure to end her investigation.’
The injustice of it made my jaw tighten. ‘So I’m bait.’
‘I don’t like that word. We will get him, Ingrid—’
‘—but the evidence doesn’t add up. Yet.’
‘This could be the end of it.’
There would be no end, I thought, while Webster was still out there. No end, and no help. No way out of the trap I’d wandered into. It was lonely, being Webster’s target, as if I was an outcast animal limping after the herd while the predator kept me in sight.
I managed to smile at Adam, who was looking worried. ‘I can’t complain, can I? You warned me about him.’
‘I tried.’
‘You’ve been very kind, Adam. I appreciate it.’
‘You don’t need to thank me.’ He sighed. ‘Just think about it, all right? Let me know what you want to do. If you want to book a one-way ticket to Djibouti, I completely understand.’
I laughed at that. ‘I’ll bear that in mind. But I think I’m just going to go home.’ It would have to be the Underground, but at least the Victoria Line was quick and direct.
‘I’ll see you to your door.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘No, but I’d like to.’
There was a train at the platform when we got there and once it set off there was no possibility of conversation. It rattled over the rails, the brakes whining with tooth-gritting shrillness. A warm wind gusted through the carriage and pulled strands of my hair loose to blow around my face. There were no free seats. Adam stood opposite me, his eyes watchful as he considered our fellow travellers. Never off duty, I thought. Never quite relaxed.
At Oxford Circus, the carriage filled up and Adam moved to stand in front of me. The crowd pressed us closer together, his face inches from mine. He was looking away from me so I was free to study him without being observed: long eyelashes, a vertical scar on his cheek from some childhood injury, the bow of his top lip, the hollow at the base of his throat.
I had made him blush earlier.
It would be very inappropriate for me to develop feelings for Adam Nash.
King’s Cross came too quickly for me, for once, and we spilled out onto the platform along with a hundred other commuters. Adam walked beside me, escorting me through the endless tiled corridors filled with scurrying travellers until we reached what passed for fresh air, on the open space in front of the station.
‘Thanks, but you don’t need to come with me from here.’
‘I’d like to.’
‘You must have somewhere else to be.’
He shook his head. ‘No plans.’
‘Can I at least buy you a drink to thank you for your time?’ I asked impulsively. ‘There’s a nice bar near my place. If you don’t have anything else to do, I mean.’
He hesitated. ‘Okay. I’d like that.’
‘Come on. It’s not far.’
The bar was a moody, high-ceilinged place lit with great dusty chandeliers. There was a moment of pure awkwardness after I bought the drinks. I went silent, for once, tongue-tied because what the hell were we supposed to talk about, if not John Webster and Belinda and my fear?
Adam put down his glass. ‘Okay. We each ask each other five questions. They can’t be about work, or the last week.’
‘You first.’
‘What did you want to be when you were seven?’
‘Ballet dancer. What about you?’
‘Police officer.’
‘Consistent.’
‘That’s me. Four questions left.’
I reeled. ‘That doesn’t count as a question!’
‘You asked, I answered. My turn.’
We bickered gently through the next round of drinks and I found myself laughing a lot. He was at ease in a way I hadn’t seen before, leaning back in his seat, watching me lazily, picking up on my jokes and throwing them back to me. The awkwardness was gone. It was fun, and normal, as if we were any other couple on what might become a date. Webster wouldn’t dare to bother me when Adam was there, but that wasn’t the only reason I liked him being around.
‘Okay.’ He was on the second-last question, his eyes bright with amusement. ‘This has to be a good one.’
‘I’m waiting.’
‘Cats or dogs? I see you as a cat person.’
I felt the smile stiffen on my face. It was as if the lights had dimmed for a moment, as if my hearing had dulled too. The air in the bar was stifling, I realised. I had to get out.
‘What’s wrong? Ingrid?’
I picked up my bag and pushed my way to the door.
‘Ingrid?’ Adam was behind me. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I had a cat,’ I said. It was cold on the street but my shirt was sticking to my back. ‘I had a cat that I loved. His name was Geoffrey. He was grey and he liked to sleep on my feet and when he wanted me to wake up he would put his paw on my mouth and purr.’
‘Okay.’ I could tell Adam still didn’t know how he’d triggered my reaction.
‘He was one of the only things I had left after the fire.’ I swallowed. ‘He was out, you see, when the house burned. I found him two days later in a neighbour’s garden, in shock. He was such a comfort to me.’
‘What happened?’
‘I came home from work one day and I couldn’t find him. I was living in a flat and he wasn’t allowed to go out. I looked everywhere. Under the bed, the sofa. In the wardrobe.’ Tears were streaking my face.
‘Where was he?’
‘The freezer.’ I half-laughed, half-sobbed. ‘I don’t know what made me look in there. I was too late, obviously. He was dead. And Webster sent me a card the next day. It said, “Now you only have me.”’
By mutual agreement, we ended our evening at that point. Adam came with me to the courtyard gate and watched me unlock it.
‘I said the wrong thing.’
‘You didn’t know. It just brought everything back.’
‘I don’t like upsetting you.’
‘It’s fine.’ I sniffled. ‘Maybe we could try this again another time, though.’
He nodded and said goodnight, his hands in his pockets, a good metre between us.
Not how I had thought the evening would end. I had ruined it for both of us.
Helen’s door was closed, her curtains open so I could see her lights were off. I would have to thank her for coming to my rescue the night before. Flowers maybe – but was that too much? I didn’t want to encourage her … I fumbled with the unfamiliar new lock because it was stiff and awkward and I missed the old one, quite frankly, even though it had been practically an open door.
The flat was in darkness and I reached back to switch on the lights. Once again I had the feeling that something was wrong. Different.
But of course Vicki had been there after I left. I flicked the switch, only for nothing to happen.
‘First the boiler, now the fuse box. Typical.’ I stepped forward, fiddling with my phone to switch on the torch. My foot skidded on something that had spilled on the floor and I almost fell. I steadied myself on the table, peering down at liquid that glistened unpleasantly in the light of my phone.
A dark, dragging smear stretched away into the darkness.
I took two steps to my right to find the bathroom light switch and flicked it on. This time a shaft of light cut a lopsided rectangle out of the blackness, framing the blood that was in pools and splashes and smears from the sofa to the corner of the room, as if someone had crawled across it, bleeding all the while. My torch followed the trail to where it stopped.
‘Oh my God. Vicki?’ I dropped everything I was holding except my phone and ran to the corner, to the huddled body wedged between the TV and the wall, where she had tried to hide. Her head was bent to her knees, her hair hanging down in glossy curls where it wasn’t stiff with dried blood. I touched the back of her hand and it was cold – too cold, even allowing for the flat’s chill. Gently, I pushed her head back so I could see her face. Sightless half-closed eyes, pearly teeth gleaming in the light from my phone, blue lips, no sign of life.
It would be difficult to report it to the police, I thought, with that weird half-logic of shock. I didn’t even know her last name.
The boiler switched itself on with a click and I leapt to my feet, fear and horror surging over me.
They would have to believe me now. I had been right about Webster all along.