The morning of Connie’s birthday we found ourselves yet again under siege from an army of media and television crews parked outside the front of Jim’s apartment building. The intercom system in the hallway was constantly buzzing, as was the house phone.
I flicked on the teletext to see if that could provide a clue as to just what the hell was going on, and there it was, in headline format:
Police employ the services of young psychic in hunt for child killer
Not only did it clearly spell out Connie’s name, with a preview of the television documentary due for transmission that evening, it went on to specify that she was currently being ‘safeguarded’ in the Birmingham suburb of Edgbaston at the apartment of Detective Chief Inspector Robbins, together with Detective Sergeant Crossley, for her own protection.
“Oh, fuck!” Jim exclaimed when he read it. “How the bloody hell did they get hold of that?” He was grim-faced and patently furious at the disclosure. “If I get my hands on whoever did this they’ll wish they had never been born.”
I pointed towards the bedroom I was sharing with Connie. “I suspect you’ll find your informant in there,” I said dryly. “No doubt sleeping like a baby.”
Jim glared at me, aghast. “You’re kidding me, right? What crazy idea prompted her to do that?”
I shook my head in frustration. “I should have warned you, Jim. I’m sorry. I had a gut feeling she was planning something stupid, but I never guessed she could be that irresponsible. She obviously thinks by revealing her whereabouts she can help us trap the killer. The question is: what the hell do we do now?”
“Christ knows! I need to think.” He paced about the flat, cup of coffee in one hand and mobile phone in the other. “Frank,” he shouted in the phone; “you’ve heard, have you? Listen; get a squad car round here pronto, will you. I’ve got to try and shift the bloody press mob away out of here. Yeah; soon as you can. Thanks.”
“You can’t just order them to move,” I pointed out. “And, even if they do, they’ll be back the moment your back’s turned.”
“So, what do you suggest? Ignore them?”
“Why not? If you try to move Connie away from here they’ll only follow us. Why not play it cool? Insist you don’t know what they’re talking about. Then, if Connie and I stay put all day, they’ll eventually lose interest.” I shrugged – an expression of resignation. “I don’t see what else we can do. And, anyway,” I added, as an afterthought, “the best thing you can do is to deny it; otherwise you really will have the DCS on your case.”
He gave the matter some thought, still pacing around the room in a temper. “Okay. You’re right. We might just get away with that. I can’t think of an alternative, anyway, so we’ll go with it. I’ll go down and wait for the squad car – say a few words to them.”
“You’d better calm down a bit first, Jim. You won’t convince anyone in that foul mood.”
He gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be alright, Ange. But keep away from the windows, won’t you? I’ll try to think of a way to get you out of here later.” He gestured towards the bedroom. “And tell that little sod I’ll wring her neck when I get hold of her. Oh – and wish her a happy birthday for me!”
Initially, I don’t think the approach worked too well. The phone still didn’t stop ringing for the first hour after Jim had left, but at least the porters were managing to keep the press outside the building, so the intercom was silent. I woke Connie with one hand around her throat.
“This is what Jim is going to do to you when he gets hold of you!” I whispered.
“What? What’s going on, Angie?”
“Don’t play the little innocent with me, young lady. You know exactly what’s going on, since you’re the one who’s caused it.”
She sat upright in the bed, sleep still in her eyes and her hair all tussled. She rubbed her eyes and looked at me in confusion.
“Angie; honest – I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s going on?”
“The press camped outside the front of the building is what’s going on. You trying to tell me you had nothing to do with it?”
“No!” she protested loudly. “I don’t know anything about it.” I saw her bottom lip begin to tremble, and she looked so crestfallen I couldn’t help but believe her. “Angie! Please. Why would I want the press to find out where I’m staying?”
I leant forward and kissed her forehead. “Okay, I believe you. And I don’t know how or why, Connie, but someone’s found out you’re here and blabbed to the media. The only thing I can think is someone followed you here from the college. No doubt one of those fucking vultures outside. Anyway, I’m sorry I blamed you – I thought you might’ve had some crazy idea of making yourself the bait. And a happy birthday, Sweetheart. Welcome to the adult world.”
At least this prompted a smile. “Thank you, Angie. Are they still there – the press?”
I nodded. “Jim went to talk to them, on his way out. He’s going to deny you’re here, so it looks as though we’re stuck indoors till they’ve disappeared.”
“I don’t mind. We’ll find some way to spend the time until this evening. We’re not cancelling the party, are we?”
“Good God, no. We definitely are not cancelling. But if that lot” (I nodded towards the window) “are still hanging around, we’ll have to think up some seriously sneaky way of getting us out of here. Maybe Jim’ll come up with an idea during the day. Come on, young lady; you get dressed and I’ll make you a birthday breakfast.”
Connie and I spent the morning spring-cleaning the flat; God only knew when it was last done. I wouldn’t have minded but I happened to hate housework; still, I told myself, we were living there, so it was as much in our interest to have the place clean and tidy. At one stage I left Connie to it whilst I went off to make the coffee. Now, that I didn’t mind doing!
Just when I felt boredom moving in, my mobile went off. It was Jim, checking on the media.
“Has she admitted the leak?” he demanded.
I let out a sigh. “She denies it, Jim. And I believe her. Connie agrees it would’ve been irresponsible to inform the media where she’s staying.”
“So how did they find out? Another bloody psychic vision?”
“I don’t know, Jim. I suspect either Connie or one of us was followed here. But I don’t think it matters now, anyway. Any way you look at it, we’re stuck with the problem. The question now is: what we do about it?”
Have they gone yet – the press?”
“Hang on; I’ll take a peep out of the window.”
There were only two of them left and they didn’t appear to be terribly interested – which was probably understandable, considering the weather; once again, it was, quite literally, pouring down.
“There are two of them left, Jim,” I informed him. “And, thankfully, they’re getting soaked. Shall I invite them in for coffee?”
He growled something indecipherable, then said, “That’s two too many. Christ knows how we’re going to get you out of there during daylight. I reckon as soon as you show your face the rest of them’ll start coming out of the woodwork.”
“Did they buy your story this morning?”
“Yeah. Grudgingly, but most of them did. That’s probably why the television people have fucked off – I’d guess those two out there are stringers.”
“How did you get on with the DCS?”
I could almost see him shrugging. “I effectively told him to piss off – as we agreed. Connie’s not at my place and that’s the end of it, as far as he and I are concerned. And I’m not responsible for press speculation. But that’s another good reason for you both not to show your faces outside; if he finds out I’ve been lying he will happily lynch me. Are you okay there, Ange – for the time being?”
“Don’t worry about us, Jim. We’re busy doing some overdue housekeeping – I never realised just what an untidy sod you are! Any further developments, by the way?”
This time I distinctly heard him sigh. “No. But this morning I managed to persuade the TV interviewer to contact her producer, and he’s agreed to splash the photofit on tonight’s Crimewatch programme. And I’ve also given them the bastard’s real name. It’s time Arnold Brownlaw suffered some anxiety of his own, don’t you think?”
“Good idea. What about tonight, Jim? I’ve already assured Connie there’s no way we’re going to cancel her dinner party. So, how you going to help us escape?”
“Well, I agree about not cancelling. What I thought we’d do is to send a squad car there to collect you for about 7.30, and at the same time I’ll have a taxi waiting for Connie at the side of the building, by the fire exit. Peter Corkhill has already contacted a local taxi firm and put them in the picture. I can arrange for the security staff to open the side exit, so as the squad car, with you inside, pulls away from the building the taxi can set off in a different direction.” He paused, presumably to give me time to consider his plan. “So, what do you think?” he then asked.
“Sounds like a plan, Jim. I don’t see why it shouldn’t work. So, we’ll all meet up at the restaurant at about eight, then?”
“Yeah. If you don’t hear from me again, I’ll see you both at Alphonso’s later. Enjoy the housework!”
One of the things I made a point of doing during the day was ensuring the battery on my mobile was fully charged. Better to be safe than sorry, I thought. I made Connie and myself a late lunch – I wasn’t very good at cooking, either! Then we settled down to watch an afternoon film on the telly.
Later, I had a snooze and then took my turn, after Connie, for a long soak in the bath, after which we dressed for the evening. Connie looked exceptionally pretty, wearing the outfit we had purchased during our shopping expedition to London. It was a short, elegant black evening dress, with a slightly plunging neckline; personally, I thought it made her look older than she needed to, but Connie insisted that was exactly what she wanted. Fortunately, the special shoes we had bought in Wolverhampton, before returning to Henry’s, went very well with the dress. She blushed when I told her how lovely she looked. I made do with one of my evening trouser suits; perfect for the evening, but slightly below Connie’s level of elegance. She was, after all, the star of the occasion.
I glanced out of the window just before 7.30, to see our two stringers were still waiting patiently for their non-existent story. It was still raining, but not as heavily as it was earlier; more like a persistent drizzle.