“I said no!”
There was a silence. “I only thought — ” Paul began.
“No,” Kate checked herself. She tried to relax her tensed muscles. “I know. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Her anger was directed at herself for being tempted. She waited for him to argue.
“No, I expect you’re right,” he said, after a pause. He gave a strained laugh. “I can’t really blame you, I suppose. Still, the offer stands. If you need any help, just shout.”
The thank you lodged unspoken in Kate’s throat.
“Well, that’s all, then,” Paul said. He seemed to search for something else to say. “Look after yourself.”
She nodded, then remembered that he couldn’t see her. “I will.”
The connection remained for a few seconds, then the line went dead. Kate put down the phone, telling herself she had no cause to feel bad. In her distraction she even forgot what he’d said about Ellis.
She jumped at a sudden clatter from the lounge. She hurried through.
Dougal leapt down from the shelf where she’d left her plate. It lay on the floor with the carrots and remains of the fish scattered around it. The baked potato sat on the carpet like a dead tortoise.
Kate went to fetch a cloth.
CHAPTER 22
The weak sun of the previous afternoon was stronger next morning. It gave a hard, clear-edged quality to the dead verges and the bare black branches in the gardens. The streets had the clarity of old photographs, almost monochromatic in their brightness.
Kate watched them pass outside the taxi window. It dropped her outside the tube station, and the sun touched her briefly as she stepped out of the cab. Then she was in the shadow of the Underground, where the crispness of the day was lost in the stale, subterranean air.
She was later than usual. The early-morning commuters had already gone, and the station looked abandoned in the post-rush hour quiet. The dying rumble of a recently departed train was fading down the tunnel as Kate emerged onto the empty platform. She sat down on one of the plastic seats fixed to the wall.
Her eyes felt gritty with tiredness. She had hardly slept the night before. She had tried calling Collins but he wasn’t in, so she’d left a message for him to ring her.
After that she hadn’t been able to settle. She had gone downstairs to check the locks on the door, and then turned off the lounge light and peered through the window. The dark street outside was empty and full of shadows. She had waited for one of them to move until her eyes hurt. When she had gone to bed, she had lain awake and listened to every creak of the cooling house.
The electronic sign said a train was due in two minutes.
Kate yawned. From the entrance to the platform came the echoing scuff of a shoe. Still yawning, she put her hand to her mouth and glanced around, expecting someone to appear. No one did.
She was about to look away when she heard the scuff again. It was softer this time, but nearer. She waited, watching the opening in the wall.
The noise came a third time. Now it was from the other side. Kate turned. There was a second entrance on her right, this one only ten feet away. A faint squeak, like a rubber sole on concrete, came from it. But still no one appeared.
Kate looked quickly around. The platform was silent and deserted. She stood up, gripping her bag in front of her.
Slowly, she began to edge as quietly as she could away from the second entrance. She tried to visualise the layout on the other side, how far away the steps were. The scuff sounded again. She stopped.
She didn’t know which of the openings it had come from.
Kate didn’t move. There was no further sound. She waited, then began to creep along the platform once more. The first entrance was twenty feet away, then fifteen, then five. She halted at the corner, listening.
A faint, rustling whisper from the other side, like blown litter. Or breathing.
I’m imagining it. There’s nothing there.
The opening in the wall lay in front of her. Through it she could glimpse the bottom of the steps, disappearing upwards.
Just run. She tensed for the effort, and then there was a noise behind her, and she remembered the other entrance.
She spun around, the scream choking off as the windows of the train flashed past, elongated squares of light framing faces and bodies. Kate sank back against the wall as it slowed and stopped. She looked back down the platform. It was empty.
The train doors hissed open, and people were stepping off. Clutching her bag, Kate ran to the nearest carriage and jumped in. She watched, but no one else got on.
By the time she reached the agency, Kate had almost convinced herself that it had been nothing. A wind from the tunnel, a piece of paper, and her imagination. She actually smiled at the thought of leaping out to confront an empty crisp packet. Then she remembered Ellis standing in the doorway the day before, and her smile faded.
Even so, it was a good day. An importer of South American artefacts phoned out of the blue and commissioned her to handle the publicity for an exhibition of Mexican jewellery.
She had been recommended by a friend, the man told her with a faint American accent. He had been out of the country for the past month and would be out again the following week, so he didn’t have time to waste sifting through PR agencies.
Was she interested? She was.
The acquisition of a new client lifted her some way back towards the optimism she had begun to feel the previous day. It felt good to speak to someone without worrying about what they had seen or heard. She was eagerly reading the material the importer had faxed her when Caroline buzzed through and said that Detective Inspector Collins was downstairs.
Kate told her to send him up. She wondered why he was calling in person. They’ve caught him, flashed through her mind. She felt a spark of hope. But when Collins walked in she could see that they hadn’t.
The policeman looked tired. His face was seamed and grey.
The chair creaked as he lowered himself into it. The sergeant gave her a smile as he took the other chair, but his heart didn’t seem in it. A smell of cigarette smoke came into the room with them.
“Did you get my messages?” Kate asked.
Collins nodded. He was about to say something, but Kate couldn’t wait any longer to tell him her news.
“He was here,” she exclaimed. “Yesterday afternoon.”
Collins came alert. “Ellis? You’ve seen him?”
“No, but someone else did. I only found out last night, that’s why I called you.”
“What time was this?”
“I think it was about four o’clock. Ellis was standing in a doorway across the road.”
“Who saw him?”
“Paul Sutherland. He’s the one who was picked up for the breakin. He phoned last night and … What’s the matter?”
They were both staring at her. The sergeant had frozen in the act of writing his notes. Kate saw him glance at the Inspector.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
The sergeant dropped his gaze back to his notebook. Collins spoke gently.
“Paul Sutherland was killed last night.”
Kate felt herself blown back to another time, being told by the same two men of another death.
“Someone set fire to his house,” the Inspector said. “They poured petrol through the letter-box and then lobbed petrol bombs through the upstairs and downstairs windows.”
“Someone,” she echoed. She could hear Paul’s voice, quite clearly. He saw me and gave me this look … He was still staring at me when I left.
Collins rubbed his eyes. His skin wrinkled up like old leather where his fingers pushed it. “We haven’t got a definite ID. But some neighbours heard the glass going and saw a man standing in the street outside the house. They called the fire brigade and then went out, and the man was still standing there. They say he was just watching. He only ran off when they shouted. They didn’t give a very good description but …”