I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Read online

  ‘Coffee?’ Tom’s voice draws me back to the room.

  To his mood, which is difficult to read. He is wearing

  pyjama bottoms for the first time and I wonder where he

  found them – I did not even know that he owned any.

  ‘Yes please.’ I watch him scurry from the room and

  then glance around, taking in the order and the very

  masculine style which is so different from my own home.

  His flat in Exeter is on the second floor of a waterside

  block, with a large balcony and view of the River Exe.

  It’s convenient for both the city centre and the station,

  which works well now that Tom spends so much time

  working in London. He used to work in criminal law

  but is now in corporate law. More lucrative and nearly

  all city-based.

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  Sometimes he talks about renting a place in London

  but, like me, he loves the country and the coast, and he

  is fond of this flat. It has good security so can be safely

  locked up when he’s away. It has video entry and cameras

  so is also perfect for me just now – almost as reassuring

  in terms of security as Leanne’s place in Dorset.

  On the opposite wall to the bed there’s a huge wardrobe

  which Tom had fitted a few months back at vast expense

  to house his work suits and coats. Proper wood – none of

  your veneer nonsense. There are two matching bedside

  tables but none of the clutter of my own bedroom back at

  my rented house. I glance to Tom’s side of the bed where

  there is a framed photograph of his parents. Tom looks

  most like his father. His parents had him late in life and

  have retired early. His father was a surgeon, his mother

  a GP. No wonder all this is so outside his comfort zone.

  Tom doesn’t realise what a charmed life he’s lived.

  At last he reappears with two mugs and I take one,

  trying to find a small smile.

  ‘So – do I call you Alice or Jenny?’ His tone is strained.

  ‘Alice. I’ve decided I’m going to stick with Alice. It’s

  my second name. My real second name, I mean, and I

  like it as my byline as a journalist. I’ve got used to it now.’

  ‘Right.’ He sips his drink, staring at the steam rising

  from the liquid, careful not to meet my gaze.

  ‘Look – you’re allowed to be angry, Tom. It’s a lot

  to take in. I do know that. Why don’t you just let it out.

  Be honest. If you need to be angry with me, be angry.’

  He keeps very still for a moment and I can see hurt

  in his eyes, which is once again like a slap. That is what

  was most difficult after he picked me up from the police

  station and brought us back here yesterday. Hurt rather

  than anger.

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  ‘I’m not exactly angry. I’m just a bit shell-shocked

  still. I mean – a paedo, Alice. You were seriously living with a paedo…’

  ‘There was no way I could know, Tom. Trust me,

  I beat myself up about it every single day, wondering if

  there was anything I could or should have done to protect

  those girls. But I had absolutely no idea. None.’

  ‘Right. Yes. Of course. I shouldn’t have said that. It

  must have been absolutely terrible for you…’ Finally, he

  looks at me. ‘Is that why you find it hard?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘With me, Alice. I mean – I try not to push it. Give

  you space and let things move at their own pace. But the

  truth is I never really know where I am with you…’

  I open my mouth to answer but my phone rings on

  the bedside cabinet and I check the screen. ‘It’s Matthew.

  I’d better take this.’

  ‘I’m surprised he has the nerve. Some help he turned

  out to be.’

  I turn away towards the window and press the phone

  tight to my ear. I don’t blame Matthew for the fake attack,

  even if Tom does. It was my own fault for insisting on

  driving separately. I’m expecting him to want an update

  on the quizzing by Melanie Sanders so it’s a shock to find

  he sounds almost breathless.

  ‘Right. I’m not going to dress this up, Alice. Better

  you hear it straight. Alex Sunningham has broken his

  parole conditions and gone AWOL. The teenager he

  ran off with in Scotland has also disappeared. She’s still

  not been in touch with her parents this morning and so

  there’s going to be a media appeal to find Alex. Chances

  are the tabloids will be all over it like a rash. Maybe TV

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  too. We felt you should be warned. And the police are

  going to want to interview you again today.’

  I press the phone tighter, tighter to my ear until I can

  feel the imprint of the screen. For a moment, I can’t speak.

  ‘What is it?’ Tom is now alongside me.

  I lower the phone to my chest for a moment, squeez-

  ing my eyes tight in a bid to regroup, and then I move

  the phone slowly back up to my ear.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, Matthew. I don’t know

  what to think. What are the police thinking? Do they

  really think she’s gone off with him, this girl? Or that

  he’s abducted her, or what?’

  ‘They don’t know. She’s an adult now but that’s not the

  point. The terms of his licence forbid any contact with her

  and he’s now a key suspect in your case too, so they need

  to find him urgently.’ There’s a pause. ‘Look – I want to

  be honest with you. Melanie Sanders asked me to report

  your reaction to her but I can’t split my loyalties here.

  She’s a very good police officer, Alice, and you need her

  on side, as do I. No more keeping things from her. You

  need to be one hundred per cent straight with her and

  with me. So, do you have any idea, any inkling at all,

  where this Alex might hole up? Does anywhere come to

  mind? Friends? Relatives? Special places? Anything we

  can share with the police teams looking for him?’

  I try to think. I glance from left to right but can’t quite

  process this. I’ve tried so hard for so long not to think about the wretched man. To have to suddenly conjure

  him up and imagine him free. Out there. Missing. It’s

  too much to take in.

  ‘Look – I have absolutely no idea where he might be,

  Matthew. That’s the truth, I swear. I never want to hear

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  about that man again, quite frankly. But I get what you’re

  saying. From here on I’ll be straight with you. And the

  police. I promise. And thank you for telling me, Matthew.’

  I pause. A new thought. ‘So do you know when this will

  be made public?’ Oh no. My mother. I look at the clock and start to get out of bed. My mother always watches

  the TV news. Jeez. I take in that Tom is still watching me, his frown deepening.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll let you know if I hear any more. Now,

  are you feeling safe, Alice? You’re not on your own? I mean,

  I know it’s not Wednesday and that I’m off the case but—’
r />   ‘I’m with Tom. He’s still angry with me and with you

  too.’ I turn to look directly at Tom as I say this. ‘And I

  don’t blame him. But personally I’d like you to continue

  to help us, Matthew. Are you prepared to do that? To help

  me still? We’ll pay you – I mean, I’ll pay you if need be.’

  There’s a long pause.

  ‘OK. Unfair question. You don’t have to answer that

  now. I’ll ring you after I’ve seen my mother.’

  Tom is now glaring at me as I end the call. ‘You’re

  kidding me? You seriously still want Matthew Hill on

  this? After what happened?’

  ‘I do. Please, Tom. I know you’re pretending not to

  be furious, bottling it up, but I need you to bear with

  me. Please. Will you come to see my mother with me?

  It’s going to be all over the news. Alex Sunningham has

  done a bunk. I’ll explain on the way but I need to warn

  my mother. She’ll worry herself sick otherwise.’

  * * *

  An hour later we park up outside Mum’s nursing home.

  Tom is now in a different mood, more worried than

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  cross. Reluctantly he’s agreed to keep Matthew on the

  case after all. I watch Tom from the passenger seat; the

  news that Alex Sunningham has gone AWOL seems to

  have knocked him completely sideways. He says he feels

  helpless, which is the only reason he’s agreed to re-engage

  Matthew. Like DI Sanders, Tom thinks Alex is bound to

  be behind the stalking, although I still find this difficult

  to believe.

  ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ Tom looks

  anxious and is glancing around the car park, checking if

  anyone has been following us.

  ‘No. The security is good. It’s fine. I feel safe here.’

  ‘And have you told your mother about the stalking?’

  ‘No, no – of course not. She’s just not well enough.

  But she obviously knows everything about what happened

  with Alex and why I switched my name. I need to hurry.

  Do you mind waiting here?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  I check my watch. Damn – one minute past the hour,

  which means news time. I hurry inside but am slowed

  down by the reception security. I’m logged into the visitor

  book, given a pass and then accompanied to my mother’s

  room by a nurse.

  But the timing could not be worse. As I walk into

  the room, my mother has the TV remote in her hand

  and is switching between news channels, her eyes wide

  and staring. One bulletin is dealing with an arson story.

  Another has moved on to the weather. But my mother

  then flicks back to a satellite news channel and there he is.

  Alex Sunningham. His picture full-screen. The voiceover

  outlines the police appeal to trace him and then there’s a

  film recapping the background story with an older picture

  of him at his grand piano, beaming.

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  My mother turns to me as I stand in the doorway. She’s

  suddenly struggling even harder than usual for breath, her

  chest heaving and her eyes still wide with worry.

  ‘It’s him again. On the telly…’ And then she’s truly

  gasping for breath, her right hand up to her chest. Too

  many words. She’s pushed it too far.

  I clutch at the nurse’s arm. ‘Help her. Please. It’s a big

  shock for her. This story on the news.’

  The nurse moves swiftly to adjust the switch on the

  oxygen supply, coaxing my mother to breathe more slowly.

  Steady breaths.

  ‘Don’t try to speak, Mum.’ I lean in so that our fore-

  heads are just touching. ‘It’s OK. I know about all this on

  the news. It’s all right. That’s why I’m here. Please don’t

  be upset. Try to catch your breath. You don’t need to

  worry about this. I’m OK. Everything’s going to be OK.’

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Matthew

  It’s mid-morning now and, even as he rings the bell,

  Matthew wonders if he’s making the most terrible of

  mistakes. He checks his phone, skimming for the head-

  lines. The press conference regarding Alex Sunningham

  has made several key bulletins but there’s no update from

  the police. No leads and no apparent sightings. Matthew

  had originally planned to make this quick call on ‘Ian

  and the little people’ last night, but everything ran too

  late. He didn’t have time then and he doesn’t really have

  the time now but he can’t put the sound of Ian’s quiet

  sobbing on the phone out of his mind.

  When the door is finally answered, Matthew is en-

  tirely surprised. The man is older than his voice, slim

  and immaculately dressed. Shirt and tie, a clean if slightly

  shabby cardigan, and trousers with a sharp crease down

  the middle.

  ‘Ian Ellis?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘I’m Matthew Hill. We’ve been talking on the phone

  about the little people.’

  ‘Oh, right. Oh goodness – so you’re finally taking

  the case?’

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  ‘Not exactly. Look, I haven’t really got much time to

  be honest, Ian, but I thought I’d check in on you briefly.

  You sounded a bit upset the last time we spoke.’

  Ian blushes and looks at the ground as if considering

  something. Then he jerks his head back upright to chal-

  lenge Matthew with a very direct stare. ‘Right – come

  in, come in. They’re upstairs. We’ll need to be quiet.’

  Ian puts his finger up to his lips and leads the way up a

  steep staircase, creeping ever so gently. On the landing

  he stands opposite an open door that leads into what ap-

  pears to be a large bedroom. He nods towards the floor

  at the entrance to the room.

  Matthew leans forward as Ian again signals with his

  eyes towards the carpet at the bedroom’s entrance. ‘I’m

  sorry, but I’m not seeing anything, Ian.’

  Ian lets out a puff of air as if deflated. ‘Ah, yes – they

  do that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Make themselves invisible when it suits them. Just

  between us, I think they’ve configured themselves just

  now so that I’m the only one who can see them. Part of

  their plot.’

  ‘To kidnap you?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Ian frowns. ‘Obviously.’

  Matthew pauses. He can just see into the room now.

  It appears to be a woman’s bedroom. There are pink slip-

  pers on the floor and a soft, fluffy dressing gown is draped

  across the bed. There is a smart, green dress hanging on

  the wardrobe as if ready for an outing. In the corner he

  can just make out a dressing table with perfume bottles

  and little china bowls and trinkets.

  ‘I tell you what, Ian. How about we have a quick cup

  of tea. Go over what we’ve got.’

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  ‘Excellent idea. I knew you’d be interested once you

  realised
what I’m up against.’

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Ian sets about making tea

  with the enthusiasm and chatter of someone unused to

  company. Matthew had guessed loneliness would be a part

  of the picture here and is worried he will make things

  worse, not better – offering some kind of false hope.

  Ian’s quite a bit older than he expected. On the phone

  he sounded late fifties, maybe sixties, but in the flesh he

  is clearly well into his seventies.

  ‘The truth here, Ian, is I’m still feeling I’m not the

  right man for your investigation, but I wondered – if I

  had a bit more detail – if I might see some way forward.’

  ‘Suggest another investigator, you mean?’ Ian puts a

  selection of biscuits on a plate – Hobnobs, digestives and

  two chocolate-covered wafers – and leads the way into

  the sitting room. Again it’s in immaculate order. Matthew

  imagines Ian having nothing much more to do than clean;

  he feels his heart sink further.

  ‘So, do you mind me asking if you live here alone at

  the moment, Ian?’

  Ian holds out the plate and Matthew shakes his head.

  ‘It’s just I noticed that the bedroom upstairs – the one

  the little people seem to be interested in – it appeared to be a woman’s bedroom. Partner? Daughter? Other relative?’

  Ian dunks his biscuit in his tea and examines it as if

  waiting for the precise softness before moving it swiftly

  to his mouth.

  ‘You’re observant. I expected that. But you’re not going

  to start going on about triggers again, are you, Mr Hill?’

  ‘No, no. I was just trying to gather the information

  I need here, Ian. To try to suggest how someone might

  help you.’

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  ‘I have just one child – a daughter who lives abroad.

  Canada. Jessica.’ Ian puts down his tea and biscuits and

  moves across to select a photograph from a dresser. From

  the frame a large, jolly woman in her late forties or early

  fifties beams alongside a huge black dog. ‘I haven’t seen

  her in a few years, sadly, as neither of us has very much

  money. And, well, travel is spectacularly expensive. Also

  I worry what might happen. If the little people followed

  me, I mean. An in-flight emergency. I couldn’t have that

  on my conscience.’

  ‘Quite.’ Matthew puts his hand up to his mouth to

  conceal a smile. He’s surprised to be rather liking this