Cross Check: The second Posh Hits story Page 5

  “Sweet dweams, Cwessy.”

  That was when I knew. This is going to work! And one of the reasons it’s going to work is because I immediately went into my dressing-room, put on jeans and Thomas’ old sweater, and a pair of pumps, and I grabbed a jacket and my car keys and drove to London.

  Ooh, must stop writing, bath-time at the zoo – the children are beginning to realise this is a legitimate excuse to play with water and bubbles and splash and make a lot of noise and mess, though they are still quite tame as pre-schoolers go, but it is a huge, huge step forward, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  Same day – 10.30pm

  Okay, where was I?

  It didn’t take me anything like as long to reach Vauxhall as I expected, thanks to my trusty satnav. Or rather, Matt’s trusty satnav. I swapped them, thinking that if ever the Police come to me looking for the killer, there will be nothing on my vehicle to indicate that I have ever been to that part of London, whereas it would be perfectly reasonable for the address to be stored in Matt’s satnav.

  I had partly planned it, and partly was going to wait and see how things worked out once I got there. So many things depend on how it all pans out at the time, don’t they? The only important thing was not being seen, or at least, not being identified.

  So I had a baseball cap of Sid’s on my head. It’s not an unusual one, so I don’t think it will give him or Matt away. Fingers crossed. I had my hair all pushed up underneath it, so it wouldn’t be detected by any CCTV, and I wore some insanely huge sunglasses I’d removed the dark lenses from. I could still see, but the frames did cover up quite a bit of my face. I had decided to dump these somewhere on the way home. Lastly, I rubbed shoe polish all over the front and rear number-plates of the little runabout we all use.

  I stopped the car next to a wall a short way from the tower-block, and was pleased to find the car and myself shielded from prying eyes by probably the only mature tree in the whole of Vauxhall. I could only hope the car would still be there when I got back, and hopefully with all its tyres and windscreens undamaged. I quickly ascertained which of the three tower blocks was the relevant one and I went over to the outer door. It was locked. Obviously! I cursed, thinking I had failed at the fast hurdle. But here I had underestimated the helpfulness of the local drug-addict. A large man in a track suit and enough bling to sink the Belgrano ducked into the doorway and pressed a few numbers, and very sweetly held the door open for me to follow him through. He didn’t look up from the ground, so I don’t know how good a look he got of me, or if he noticed there was anything odd about my glasses, but he gave no indication of being suspicious or of finding anything even remotely odd about me. By the time I reached the urine-stained lift, he had disappeared through a door.

  I pressed the button for the ninth floor, pinching my nose and wondering if the stench could injure my unborn baby. Hopefully not. I will make an extra appointment at the clinic tomorrow to be on the safe side. The lift took simply ages, groaning its way slowly up the wires until it wheezed to a halt almost at the ninth floor. The door opened, and I jumped through the gap and out into the hallway, hoping the lift would still be there when I got back as I didn’t fancy hanging around in that corridor waiting for it to return.

  I didn’t see anyone. It was quite dark on the landing although a dim bulb glowed further down the hallway. A helpful sign pointed the way to the various flats, and another, less helpful sign indicated that a certain Chelsee was a young lady who was very free with her favours in return for a cherry-flavoured WKD, whatever that is. Why do people name their children after London boroughs? I just don’t see the appeal. I turned to the left and found myself outside the door of the right flat.

  This was one of the bits I hadn’t really planned to its full potential. I had no idea how I was actually going to get into the flat. I lifted the aged mat hoping find a key. Nothing. I swiped my gloved finger through half a centimetre of grime above the door, but no key there either. In a fit of hysterical self-recrimination, I tried the door handle and could hardly believe it when the door gently drifted open. Oh!

  I went in. The flat reeked of something I didn’t recognise. I felt nauseated but it was also somehow sweetish and pleasant. I tiptoed into the hall and eased the front door closed behind me. I paused, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. There was a faint gleam coming from a little further down the hallway on my right.

  It turned out to be the tiniest – and filthiest – drawing-room I have ever seen. No doubt Lill would call it a lounge. I’m not sure it qualified for any normal description of a room. There was a threadbare sofa on one wall, half hidden beneath crap of every kind – pizza boxes, filthy garments, bottles and cans, boots, you name it. This mess spilled over onto the floor, so much so there was scarcely any room on the sticky carpet to set down a cup and saucer, let alone place one’s feet there.

  The television was on. Some particularly revolting porn film was on. Surely that meant someone was there? I scanned the room again and finally spotted him – practically comatose under all the debris on the sofa. He was oblivious to me, thank God, and everything else. There were syringes and little plastic packets all over the floor within arm’s reach of the sofa. I added the vodka bottles I had brought, two were empty and had been wiped clean of fingerprints, one was full. Rather nervously I popped the full one near him, and as I withdrew, a hand reached out and he gripped my arm.

  I almost screamed. He squinted at me.

  “Oo the fuck are you?” He growled. I was engulfed in foul breath and spittle. I pulled away. He didn’t seem to mind me being there, was barely even mildly curious.

  “I’m ‘er mate from the bingo.” I said in my best cockney accent. He seemed to believe me. He shrugged his shoulders in an “oh that’s fine then” manner. I thought he was dozing off again, but then …

  “Choo doin ere?” He further enquired. I indicated the bottle.

  “Brung you a prezzie, din I? Fort as we could fuckin’ partay.” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back, hoping I’d said the right thing the right way. I indicated the bottle and did a little jig. He leered at me, showing brown teeth and a yellow-coated tongue. There was a threatening roil from my tummy. I hoped I wouldn’t throw up – I’m fairly sure that would be forensic suicide.

  He peered at the label and nodded his approval. As if he could read, I thought.

  “Nice. Show us yer tits.”

  I gaped for a moment as I absorbed what he had said. Oh God! I jumped to my feet.

  “Need a slash, don’ I?” And I staggered off in a direction I hoped was likely to lead me to a bathroom, though I was too afraid to actually go in there. After the filth I’d already seen in the drawing-room, I couldn’t bear to think about the bathroom. He didn’t follow me, thank God.

  After a few minutes I peeked around the door frame to see he was already pouring the vodka down his throat. He seemed to have forgotten all about me. I stood there in the hall fidgeting about for another ten minutes, constantly expecting him to come looking for me or for Tracey to appear from somewhere. Clearly she was either out or in the bedroom. I could only hope she didn’t have a ‘john’ with her.

  At the end of another ten dreary minutes I heard a slight thump and taking a chance on it being the herald of good news, I went back in there.

  He was unconscious on the floor, face down. I nudged him with my foot. No response. I bent down and shook him. Still nothing. He was absolutely dead to the world. The vodka bottle was just one more empty one amongst several.

  Ten to one he would kill himself without my help. But Billy and Paddy didn’t have time to sit around waiting for that to happen. Armed with my latex gloves and my information from the internet, I filled one of his disgusting syringes and shoved it into the crook of his elbow, aiming for a vein but knowing it wouldn’t matter too much if I missed. There were so many tracks already there, showing grey against his dark brown skin, it was a job to find somewhere to stick the needle in. I stabbed it in
to his flesh and he didn’t so much a flinch. Out cold.

  I managed to heave him onto the sofa again, and still he didn’t stir. I left him on his back, the syringe dangling from a nasty little hole in his arm. Just about managed to close his fingers around it, with the thumb on the plunger. Hoped the prints would pass muster if examined closely by a professional.

  Time to let nature take its course.

  Now for Tracey. She had better not be out, I told myself. There is no way I’m coming to this hell-hole a second time. I headed for the bedroom.

  The curtain drooped limply down allowing light to filter in at the window, drenching the room in its stark white glare. Tracey was there on the bed. I knew she was dead. You don’t need a medical degree to know a person is dead when their face has been smashed to a pulp and there is an iron dumbbell on the floor. There was something matted onto one end of it and even in the half-light I could make out the separate spiky bristles. It was a clump of hair and blood. For confirmation I reached out to feel for her pulse but the story was clear as soon as I felt the heavy weight of her cold flesh.

  Someone had saved me the trouble. I left. Immediately. I just about managed to keep myself together until I got to the car.

  On the way back to my car I stopped in a urine-soaked phone box. How is it these people are so incontinent? This is something they never set up an NHS helpline for. I would have rung 999 to request an ambulance, disguising my voice and making up some story about how I’d heard the sound of a fight a while ago and now it had gone quiet. But the line was dead. My money wouldn’t go in, and there was no tone from the receiver, so I hung up. I’d just have to let them be discovered by chance and hope that it was before Matt had to take the children back. I now realised I hadn’t thought about that side of things properly so that was another worry to think about once I got home.

  I sat in my car for a few minutes composing myself - I’m not the cold assassin I once was. I gave myself a little pep-talk about the huge difference these deaths were going to make to the children’s lives. Eventually I grew calmer. I had a mint to calm my stomach and keep the nausea at bay. Then I drove home.

  By the time I locked the car back in one of our garages, I was feeling a quiet pride in my accomplishment.

  Sorted.

  I slept well.

  Monday 14 July – 9.30am

  Of course I had been expecting them.

  Matt and Lill were in the kitchen giving the children their breakfast. Sid had gone out to buy some wood. (What do men need with so much wood? It never gets used, it just gets accumulated, usually in a shed or similar out-building. Ditto packets of cheap paintbrushes and thick gardening gloves. And masking tape. Chaps always have oodles of masking tape. Even Thomas had, and he never so much as lifted a screwdriver.)

  I was lurking in the drawing-room cunningly concealed behind the swags of curtain, ostensibly looking for a book I’d left there the day before, but in fact I was on the look-out.

  As soon as I saw the car come to a halt just outside the gate at the bottom of the drive, I flew into the kitchen and squealed, “act naturally, the cops are here, there’s nothing to worry about, just take my lead and pretend I live here and you work for me and I’m your boss, I’ll be in the morning-room!”

  Matt was looking at me through narrowed eyes. Lill simply stared at me, confused. She said, “but you are my …”

  “No time now!” I said and raced down the hall to the morning-room, just getting inside the door when the front door bell rang.

  Thankful that I had taken more care than usual this morning with my appearance, I settled myself down in a chair by the window overlooking the garden. I found an old Sudoku book and pen down the back of the cushions and was ready to look bored and posh.

  I heard Lill open the front door. There was a murmur of voices followed by the sound of the heavy front door closing. Footsteps approached the morning-room. There was a tap on the door and Lill put her head round.

  “Yes, Mrs Hopkins?” I said in my coolest voice. I felt quite pleased with this. I couldn’t have sounded less interested if I had known she was about to announce she’d spotted a woodlouse.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you, Mrs Barker-Powell. There are some policemen here to see you, if you can spare them a few minutes?”

  “Policemen, Mrs Hopkins?” I said, sounding baffled and disinterested.

  “Yes, Madam. Will I show them in?” She looked genuinely worried.

  I did a big sigh.

  “I suppose so.”

  The door creaked as it opened. I made a mental note to ask Matt to oil it for me. Two large men in cheap suits came into the room, and immediately the room seemed full. Lill was about to leave but one of the men asked her to stay, saying she might be needed. Behind their backs she shot me an anxious look.

  “Is there something I can do for you, gentlemen?” I asked in my Lady Penelope voice.

  They introduced themselves, whipping out their ID just like they do on Mid-Oxford Murders.

  “We appreciate this is a bit unexpected, Mrs Parker – ooh, er, sorry, Mrs Barker-Powell. I’m afraid we’re here with some sad news.”

  I did a little concerned face. “Oh?”

  “It concerns a Mr Michael Quilper and Ms Tracey Ann Foxman. Are these people known to you?”

  I maintained a blank look then said in my I-don’t-see-how-this-concerns-me-but-I’m-very-polite voice, “No, I’m very sorry, I don’t think … Are they from the village? Because I really only know Madison and Sacha Maxwell-Billings and of course, Mavis and Henrietta from the cottages on the Green. I haven’t lived here very long, and you know what they say, it takes a while to build relationships in a small village. Oh and the Vicar and his wife, charming people, Stephen and Bridget …”

  The sergeant shook his head.

  “No, Mrs – er – Park, I mean, Barker … They’re not from the village. Actually we haven’t really come here to speak to you but to see your housekeeper.”

  “Oh.” I said again and turned a look of mild enquiry on Lill. She seemed shaken and darted me a ‘help’ look.

  “Well,” I said, “if it’s bad news perhaps I ought to take Mrs Hopkins into the kitchen where she can sit down before you tell her what it is?”

  They agreed. So we trooped through to the kitchen and leaning heavily on my arm, Lill resumed her seat at the table next to Matt and the children.

  “Ah.” Said the sergeant on spotting the children. He glanced at me, dismissed me as being of any practical use, then said to the constable, “perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking the kiddies into the garden for a few minutes so’s I can have a chat with Mrs Hopkins?”

  The constable chivvied the reluctant children outside, where they remained with their noses pressed against the glass and ignoring the constable completely, began to cry.

  “And you sir, are Matthew Hopkins, I assume?” The sergeant said to Matt, who nodded warily and said,

  “Just Matt, thanks.”

  “Would it be better if I …?” I suggested, and pointed to the door.

  “Er, no, Mrs Perk – er – no, it’s probably best if you stay, if you don’t mind.” He indicated a chair and I sat down. He settled himself at the table with the three of us. He took out a notebook – the classic little TV detective’s black notebook. As he checked his notes, Matt was giving me a hard what-the-hell-have-you-done look. Lill merely looked a bit upset. From outside there came the sound of two small children grizzling and one inexperienced constable trying to placate them.

  “Now then, Matthew …”

  “Matt.” Said Matt.

  “Matt, then. I’m sorry to tell you that early yesterday afternoon, neighbours called the police to the flat your ex-girlfriend, Tracey Ann Foxman shared with her new partner, Michael Quilper. On gaining access to the said flat, police officers discovered the couple were unfortunately deceased. An ambulance was called but sadly the couple were beyond assistance. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Matt and Lil
l gave excellent performances. Well, I suppose they weren’t really performances – this really was the first either of them had heard this happy news. They both appeared stunned, and very slightly upset. Whereas I fought the urge to cheer and shout “ta da!”

  The sergeant continued, raising his voice slightly to compete with Billy’s heart-ending sobs. “Can you tell me when you last saw either Ms Foxman or Mr Quilper?”

  Matt looked like someone returning from a long way off. He sat up in his seat and frowning with concentration, said, “um, yes. It was about ten days ago, I suppose. The last time I went to collect Paddy, my son.”

  “That would Patrick Hopkins, your son with Ms Foxman? The little boy outside?”

  Matt nodded. The sergeant continued. “So the children have been here ten days?”

  Matt seemed startled. “What? No. No, when I got there she said he was out with Mick, so I couldn’t see him. She told me to come back again, but to give it a few days and so I went back on Thursday afternoon. But I didn’t see either her or Mick, there was no one in the flat apart from the children.”

  “And you had arranged to bring both children back here?”

  “Er, no. Just Paddy. But as I say, when I got to the flat, Tracey and Mick weren’t there, just the kids. I waited for an hour, but they didn’t show up, and in the end I had to come away, but I couldn’t leave Billy, Mick’s little one, there all on her own. And besides there was the state of the kids. They were filthy, they hadn’t been dressed, I didn’t even know if they’d had anything to eat. The flat was – well, it was bad. Definitely no place to leave kids. I tried calling Tracey on her mobile but she didn’t pick up. I left about half a dozen messages telling her to call me and telling her that I had Billy with me. Although it wouldn’t have surprised me if they hadn’t even noticed she was missing.”

  “And so you came back here on Thursday night with both children and without seeing either Tracey or Mick?”