It was a risk. If Jack caught her, he’d kill her, she knew that. But what did she have to lose? Patsy crept up the stone steps, eased the door just wide enough and darted through it. She felt the cold night air envelop her body and she ran as fast as her legs would allow. She’d no idea where she was or where she was going, and each time the moon was obliterated by clouds, she was thrust into pitch blackness.
She ran blindly in what she thought was a straight line. She couldn’t hear anything behind her. She was soon gasping for breath and stopped for a moment, bending over with her hands on her knees. She still felt weird—she’d not had her medication and she had a pounding headache. But she daren’t stop. Wherever she was, Jack would know the lie of the land better than she, so he could be on her within seconds.
Patsy ran on. She had no awareness of time passing, just the rush of wind through her hair and the ache in her legs. Suddenly she came to an abrupt and painful halt as she crashed headlong into a hedge.
She hit her leg on a tree stump and ripped the jogging bottoms on thorns. She fumbled about wildly, trying to free herself, frantically trying to untangle her hair from the grip of the bushes.
Then she fell like a stone onto her front, winded. She closed her eyes and took a moment to recover. This was no good. If Jack’s place was in an enclosed area, then she wouldn’t be able to get out.
Perhaps that’s why he’d not bothered to chase after her.
She scrambled to her knees and felt along the ground—it was just grass. Patsy crawled on her hands and knees, disappearing into the dense hedgerow. The twigs and branches of the hedge dug into her body and scratched her face but she didn’t care, she had to keep going. She tore at the undergrowth cutting and scraping her hands, until finally her palms hit tarmac. She was out. She’d stumbled upon a gap in the hedge and had made it onto the roadside.
Patsy lay still listening to her heart race. She felt dizzy and sick and there was a smell—the one she knew only too well, the one that always heralded a seizure. She turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Within seconds she lost consciousness.
* * *
Calladine was late home again. When he entered the house, both Zoe and Jo were back, sitting chatting with Lydia.
“You’re a dark horse! Zoe called out as he walked into the sitting room. “Why didn’t you say you were expecting a guest?” She winked.
“Because I wasn’t.” He rested the envelope Monika had given him on top of his writing bureau. “You came as a huge surprise—didn’t you, Lydia?”
She smiled up at him. “You should have known I wouldn’t stay away for ever. I mean, how could I?”
Calladine knew very well that she could have stayed away quite easily. But she wanted something from him. Information about his renegade cousin.
“We’ll talk about that later. But before you get too comfortable, I should tell you that I won’t help you with you know who. So if that’s what you want from me, then you’re barking up the wrong tree. My advice is to leave him well alone. He’s about to get a nasty surprise anytime now, and I don’t want you involved.”
Lydia stuck her pretty nose in the air. “I’m going up to have a shower. When I’m done we’ll talk, Detective.” She frowned at him and stalked upstairs.
“I don’t get it.” Zoe shook her head. “What are you doing? This gorgeous woman turns up on your doorstep and you go all difficult and uncooperative. You don’t know when you’ve got it made.”
“And you don’t know what she’s like.”
“I know you’re making her feel uncomfortable, and that’s not fair. She’s only here visiting friends before she starts her new job.”
“If she says so.” He glared at her. He knew better than to take on Zoe in this mood. Soon she’d have Jo at him and then Lydia would have all the back-up she needed.
How had this happened anyway? A few months ago he’d been a loner—the place was his own, his refuge from the stress of work.
Now all that had changed, and his tiny little cottage was full of women, each one with an axe to grind. Zoe had no idea what Lydia was like. She might very well be the most gorgeous woman in creation, but she took some keeping in check—and where her livelihood was concerned, she had a complete disregard for her own safety
“Devon rang earlier. He wants to speak to you again,” Jo told him, coming into the sitting room to join them. That meant he probably had something—hopefully something he could use.
“Okay. I’ll take the laptop into the kitchen, Skype him and see what he’s got—then perhaps we can eat.” Calladine was glad of the chance to disappear for a while.
“We’ll have to send out for something,” Zoe called after him.
“We’ve not had time to sort anything food-wise.”
“Make it Chinese, then.” One day they’d have to sort out a proper shopping and cooking rota. All these takeaway meals, convenient as they were, weren’t doing him any good.
“Tom! Nice to touch base again.”
Devon DeAngelo looked a little smarter than the last time they’d spoken. He was wearing a grey suit and a shirt and tie.
“Have I got you at a bad time? Are you going out?”
“I’m off to court. Homicide case we worked on. I’ll be glad to get the whole thing out of the way; the damn case was driving me insane—but you know that feeling, I bet. Now it just has to go right in court and I’ll cross my fingers that we get the result we want. The shit will hit the fan if the bastard walks.”
Shades of Fallon there. Calladine understood that feeling very well.
“Anyway, I’ve had your list checked and we can account for all the names, bar six.”
“Six! I don’t think we’re looking for that many—well, I hope we’re not.”
“I’ve emailed them over, plus the DNA profiles for four of them.
If you find any more bodies you’ll have something to check against.
Let me know what you find, then, if necessary, I’ll contact the families and break the bad news.”
“You’ve been a great help, Devon. There’s no way we could have come up with that information so quick. I’ll do my best and get back to you as soon as. Best of luck in court. Hope it works in your favour.”
Calladine closed the Skype window and accessed his email and looked down the list. There were six names—all on Alice’s original list, and all of them missing from home back in the States. As well as the DNA profiles, Devon had made notes beside each name—a brief sketch of their home lives, not good in the main. He wasn’t surprised some of them hadn’t gone back.
“Chinese it is then. Want your usual?” Zoe shouted through. “I think me and Jo will go over to hers for the night—give you and Lydia some space. A little quiet time to sort out your differences.”
“There’s no need. You can both stay; we don’t mind.”
“You speak for yourself, Tom Calladine.” Lydia stood in the kitchen doorway. She’d showered and was wearing a skimpy robe.
“I have a night of wine and debauchery planned for us both, so perhaps it would be better if your daughter was elsewhere.”
Zoe and Jo laughed at that. Why fight it? “See you tomorrow, then!” he called out as they left.
He sent the list to his printer. “I have a little work to do, and by the time I’m finished, the food should have arrived and we can eat.
After that—we’ll see where the night takes us.”
“You know very well where the night will take us, so don’t be coy. You do what you have to while I fix my hair. Keep the food warm when it arrives.”
He’d given Lydia the back bedroom, but she had no intention of using it. After she’d blow-dried her hair, they shared the food and took a bottle of red wine and two glasses up to Calladine’s bedroom.
“I like your house—it’s cosy.”
“You mean it’s small.”
“No, I said cosy. Sort of warm and comforting.” She ran her fingertips down his naked chest. “This bed is cosy too, and I like the way you’ve done the room.”