Gerald gave a nod and, having decided that he’d gleaned as much information as he could from Joel Hunter, rose to his feet. ‘Well, thanks for all your help. As I’ve said, try not to worry too much. Obviously if you hear from Sadie, you’ll let us know?’

Joel stood up too. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Keep on looking. I’m sure she’ll turn up.’

‘She hasn’t done anything wrong, Inspector. I’d swear to it. Sadie isn’t… She’s a kind person. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. This is all…’ Joel’s mouth twisted as he struggled to come up with the right words. ‘You have to find her. She’d never just leave like this, she wouldn’t, not without, not… She just wouldn’t.’

Gerald, feeling sorry for the guy, reached out and gave him a paternal pat on the shoulder. ‘We’ll keep you informed. If you think of anything else, anything at all that might be useful, just give me a call.’

A few minutes later the two police officers were back in the car. ‘Poor bastard,’ Gerald said as he pulled across his seatbelt. ‘He hasn’t got a clue.’

Turner put the key in the ignition but didn’t immediately turn it. ‘Do you think Sadie could be with Nathan Stone?’

‘It’s possible. The Kellston lads have paid him a visit and he says not. But if she doesn’t want to be found, he’s hardly going to point them in the right direction.’ As he sat back and gazed along the road, Gerald was starting to revise his theory about why Anne/Mona had called the flat. ‘Maybe our two girls have got separated or had a falling out. Mona went home to pick up some things – we know that for a fact. What if she was supposed to meet up with Sadie later and Sadie didn’t show?’

‘So she rang to see if Sadie was here.’ Turner bowed his head a little to gaze up at the top windows. ‘The two of them killed Royston, did a runner to London, split up and… maybe Sadie is with Stone and doesn’t want Mona to find her.’

In his head Gerald quickly reviewed all the paperwork they’d found at Royston’s place. ‘But why kill him? Royston didn’t have any evidence to link either of them to the murder of Eddie Wise. Nothing solid, at least. He was certainly digging, but that’s about the sum of it.’

‘Well, you know what these reporters are like, devious sods the lot of them. Perhaps he gave the impression of knowing more than he did.’

Gerald gave a nod. ‘You could be right.’ The autopsy, which had been done this morning, hadn’t told them much more than they’d already been able to gather at the scene, that Peter Royston had died from a blow to the back of his head at around eight o’clock and that his skull had been fractured. There’d been no need for any conjecture about the murder weapon: the piece of lead pipe had been found by his side, still covered in blood. Forensics had confirmed that there were no fingerprints.

The pathologist had provided one interesting fact, however: a cup of coffee had been thrown in Royston’s face shortly before he’d died. Had that been an angry response from someone who’d just heard something they didn’t like? It struck Gerald that this was more likely the action of a woman than a man, although he didn’t voice this opinion out loud. These days you had to be careful about making what could be perceived as sexist comments.

Turner switched on the engine and pulled away from the kerb. ‘The trouble is no one actually saw Royston and Mona Farrell together at the fair. Or the two girls come to that.’

‘It’s early days,’ Gerald said. They were still trying to track down all the fairground workers – as well as the visitors who’d been there last night – but it wasn’t an easy task. It could be days before they got statements from everyone.

‘It couldn’t have been planned, could it? I mean no one with any sense would actually choose to kill in a place like that. There’s too much chance of being seen. They could have gone to his flat or lured him to a quiet spot.’

Gerald dug out a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. He felt like he’d had this cold for ever. Why couldn’t he get rid of the damn thing? It kept him awake at night, making him tired during the day. He fought to stifle a yawn. ‘Planned or not, Royston’s still dead.’

‘He’s that all right.’

Gerald scowled and pressed his lips together. Sadie Wise was out there somewhere – probably in London. Hadn’t he had a hunch about her right from the start, a feeling in his guts? After all his years in the force he could spot a liar when he saw one. He balled up the tissue, his hands closing around it in a tight, determined fist. Well, she might have got away with murder once, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it twice.

51

Sadie was already starting to lose track of time. How long had she been here for? Three, four days? When she looked at her watch she was no longer sure whether it was day or night. The bulb attached to the wall was always on, a constant dim glow casting shadows across the room. She lay on the mattress and gazed up at the ceiling.

There were extended periods when no one came at all, when she would begin to fear that they had left her there to rot, and then she would hear that strange scraping noise again, followed by the sound of the key in the lock. She didn’t know which felt worse, the sick horror of abandonment or the sight of Kelly looming over her with all that hate in her eyes.

Sadie could feel a throbbing in her left eye, half closed from where the girl had punched her hard in the face. It was always the same routine, the same endless questions, the same lashing out.

‘So who was it, you bitch? Who did you get to kill Eddie?’

‘No one,’ Sadie would plead. ‘I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.’

‘You’re a fuckin’ liar! Tell me! Tell me, you bitch!’

‘I didn’t do anything.’

Wayne Gissing would watch with that sly, sadistic smile of his while his sister laid into her. And there was nothing Sadie could do to protect herself. If she tried to fight back, it only made it worse. Anyway, it was two against one; she hadn’t got a hope in hell. There was nothing she could say either; if she admitted that she knew who’d killed Eddie, Kelly would kill her, and by continuing to deny it… well, the outcome would probably be the same eventually.

Sadie lay very still, trying not to move. Whenever she changed position her body cried out in protest. She had bruises on her back, her chest, her arms and legs. Her face hurt too, a constant ache that wouldn’t go away. She longed for sleep, for release, but at the moment it simply wouldn’t come. Whenever she closed her eyes she would see Kelly looming over her again.

And then there was the hunger. Sadie was trying not to think about the empty pit in her stomach. Since being snatched off the street in Haverlea she’d only been given two sandwiches. The first had been in the afternoon after the night she’d arrived, and she had eaten it greedily, stuffing the bread and cheese into her mouth. It had been another thirty-six hours before she’d been provided with another. This time she had been more careful, tearing off small pieces in order to make it last and savouring every morsel. There was still water, but she was taking care to ration it. She drank only a limited amount every day in case it was not replaced.

Sadie could feel the four walls of the room closing in on her. Already she knew every inch of her prison, every brick, every cold slab on the floor, every cobweb. The door was firmly locked and didn’t even have a handle on this side. She had examined the lock over and over again as if by constant scrutiny she might discover a means of getting it open. But no, there was no way out.

She wondered if Joel had realised she was missing. He would have tried to ring from the pub at Grasmere, but would not have been worried when she hadn’t picked up. She had told him she might be visiting her mother and he wouldn’t know that number off the top of his head. Would he be home yet? It was only then, when he flicked through her address book and made the call, that alarm bells would start going off.