Chapter 68

By chance, Peter Prance was also watching the news. He didn’t like television, but until Jas paid him he had nothing else to do and he needed something to take his mind off that last girl. There was something about her pinched little features and slight figure that kept on haunting him. He chided himself yet again for being too soft. That girl meant nothing to him, after all. Why couldn’t he forget about her, as he had almost forgotten the Indian girl?

Despite these stirrings of compunction, when Superintendent Thornton first appeared on the screen, Peter was delighted. His delight increased when Thornton began to describe how the clothes had been found and said they were certainly Margie’s. Now that Jas would have proof that he’d followed instructions and dumped the clothes in the Welland so they would be discovered, perhaps he’d pay him what he was owed, or at least give him a reasonable sum on account. But then Thornton started talking about a scarf, a garment he said he was equally certain belonged to Ayesha Verma.

Peter was immediately terrified. He jumped to his feet, opened the door of his flat and listened. There were no sounds of echoing footsteps in the stairwell, but he knew it would be only a matter of time. He closed the door again and leaned back against it. He felt sick and giddy. He turned to the tiny sink and retched several times, but could not vomit.

How could he have made such a stupid mistake? He had put Ayesha Verma’s clothes one by one into an incinerator at a rubbish tip, again exactly as instructed. How could he have missed the scarf? It must have stuck to the bottom of the Harrods bag, or been rolled into such a little ball that he hadn’t noticed it. Subsequently, he had used the bag for Margie’s clothes, removing them from the clear plastic bag that Moura had given him before he’d left the hotel. The scarf was sheer – he remembered she’d had it folded loosely around her neck – and almost weightless. That must have been why he hadn’t spotted that it was still in the bag. But how could he have been so stupid? Jas would be furious. The whole elaborate exercise had been planned to make the police believe the disappearances of the two girls were totally unconnected. Jas would come after him now. This time he knew he’d get the mother of all thrashings. Never mind the money any more, he’d be lucky if he escaped with his life.

If he stayed in the flat he’d be like a rat in a trap: there was only one way down to the street and Jas’s men knew exactly where to find him. He had to leave, now. There was no time to collect together his few possessions. He snatched up a coat and hat from the peg behind the door and ran out of the flat. He didn’t bother to lock the door: even the few seconds saved by that might be invaluable.