Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(27)

The news report moved on to the next story. The restaurant was starting to get busy, and they came back to their seats, where Kate filled Tristan in on her conversation with Alan.

“Nine Elms Wrecker’s yard?” said Tristan. “That’s a creepy coincidence.”

Kate nodded. It wasn’t just creepy; it terrified her. Two young women killed in exactly the same style. She looked down at her half-eaten fish, the grease pooling around the yellowing batter, and she thought of Kaisha’s decaying yellow flesh. She moved the plate to the next table. Tristan pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen, then turned it toward her.

“What?” she asked.

“The Nine Elms Wrecker’s yard is just off junction six of the M5. We’re going to drive right past it on our way home.”





12

When Peter got back to his cell, he switched on his radio and lined up the three packets of chocolate eclair toffees next to each other on his bed. He was looking for the pack that was slightly shorter.

Enid had a heat sealer at home, but opening and then resealing a bag of sweets meant a small amount of the bag’s lip had to be cut off. He found the shorter bag, opened it, and tipped the paper-wrapped toffees across the blanket. There were thirty-two in total. He started to open them, examining each one and rewrapping them. When he opened the sixth, he found the faint white line in the toffee he was looking for. Cadbury’s chocolate eclairs are made of hard toffee with a soft chocolate center. He pressed his fingernail into the faint white line, and the two halves of toffee eased apart. The chocolate center had been scraped out, leaving a small cavity, which had been filled with a clear pill capsule. He took it out and popped the two halves of the toffee in his mouth. Carefully, he wiped the capsule on a piece of tissue. He could see the paper inside, tightly wrapped up. He went to the cell door and listened. The post trolley rumbled down the corridor. It slowed and then moved past.

He sat back on the bed with his back to the door, eased open the pill capsule, and took out the strip of paper and unrolled it. It was filled with his mother’s neat writing in black ink.

Peter,

This man who calls himself “a fan,” he’s the real deal. I asked for ten grand to show me he was genuine—and he paid! It arrived in my back account two days ago. The money came from a limited company account. He’s calling it a “sweetener”—a payment to establish trust..

Enclosed is another letter from him. I haven’t read it. I don’t want to know about what he does to young girls. And I don’t want you talking about it with me either. What I’m interested in is his plans for me and you. He says he can break you out of there. He says he has a plan. He will arrange for me and you to start a new life somewhere far away.

I will find out more.

Enid



Peter sat back on the bed. He had communicated privately with his mother like this on and off for the past eight years, always being careful how and when they did it. This man had approached Enid a few months back, when she was walking in a park, and he’d let it be known that he was a fan and wanted to communicate with Peter. This had happened before. People would often approach her to pass on gifts to Peter, or to get things signed by him, and Enid always made sure it was worth her while. The Fan had bigger, bolder plans, and he had the money to make them happen.

The radio had been playing in the background in his cell, but when the news headlines came on, the top story made him sit up.

“The body of sixteen-year-old Kaisha Smith has been found dumped and mutilated on a stretch of riverbank near Hunter’s Tor in Devon. Kaisha was a pupil at Hartford School, a local independent school, and she’d been missing for twelve days. Police are treating her death as suspicious.”

Peter got up and went to the radiator dial and retrieved the last letter from the Fan, the one he should have thrown away. With trembling fingers, he unrolled the paper. He already knew what it said, but he just had to be sure. Yes, Kaisha Smith was the name of the girl, and the location was the same. Peter searched through the rest of the chocolate eclairs on the bed and found the second note inside. He read it with mounting excitement.

He lay back on his thin bed and imagined feeling the sun on his face. Sitting with Enid by the sea, making his own tea and drinking it from a proper cup. They would have new identities, and money. Peter liked to see her enjoying new clothes but hoped that she wouldn’t change her perfume. His mother had used the same perfume ever since he could remember, Ma Griffe.

He thought back to when he was little and how he used to perch on the end of her bed and watch her get ready to entertain one of the many uncles who used to call at the house. She’d take out the square bottle from her nightstand, and using a Q-tip, she’d dab it on her throat and between her bare breasts. If he was good, she’d let him dab it on for her, as long as he was careful and didn’t spill any. She’d hold out the bottle as he dipped the end of the Q-tip and then tip back her head. The skin on her neck was so smooth back then, and her breasts were small and firm with large, dark nipples. When he was four, she was only twenty. So young.

Peter lay back on his bed and pulled up his T-shirt, patting the white flesh of his belly. He had swallowed all the letters from his mother and now the ones signed from the Fan. Once digested, a little part of them became part of him. Ink and paper into new flesh. He looked around the small cell, and he was excited but cautious. Who was this person? Could he really break him out of the hospital and take him away somewhere and give him and Enid a new life?