‘No. We’ve got a situation here… Tibbs is missing, Dunne’s dead and from the looks of it he’s been murdered.’
Barnes sucked in air, rubbing his forehead, eyes closed in concentration. ‘How? Tibbs?’
‘Suffocation, with a pillow, no idea about Tibbs but I’d say she’s our best bet. We’re waiting for the boss right now and SOCO. That’s all I can tell you. What’s going on there, have you found Hooper?’ Langley was clearly in the middle of a shitstorm and Barnes was about to make his day worse.
‘No, and the bad news is that I reckon Tibbs is on her way to France.’
‘Shit, are you sure?’ Langley’s voice was hushed.
‘As sure as I can be, but it’s going to take too long to find out through official channels. I need to make contact with Hooper now, oh, and by the way, she’s changed her name to Clarke. Can you get someone to make a start with the paperwork, though, in case we need it?’
Langley was ahead of him. ‘Leave that with me. You focus on Hooper and keep me informed. I’ll let you know what’s happening here.’
Barnes didn’t bother with niceties and neither did Langley. Barnes’ head was mashed, processing everything he knew, for a start that there was no central database that logged the passports of everyone who left the country. So the only way to check was via each airline separately and the paperwork was a pain in the arse with data protection blocking the way, a pen-pushing nightmare. In the meantime, all he could do was make sure Frankie Clarke stayed safe until they knew for sure. Then they could alert the French police and hopefully track Tibbs down.
Leaving the yard office, he ran towards the house and when he entered the kitchen found Jenny frantically trying and retrying numbers. Pacing the kitchen, Barnes’ thoughts were split into two locations: Margaret Tibbs’ house in Elkdale and another in France, his imagination filling in the blanks for that one.
‘She’s not answering. Should I try Jed?’ Jenny’s forehead was creased with worry.
‘Yes, please try him.’ Barnes was doing his best to remain calm while inside fear and the thrill of the chase shot bolts of electricity through his body, adrenalin fizzing in his veins. He wanted to be in two places at once, to be part of the action in Elkdale but not until he’d done what he set out to do: make sure Frankie was safe.
Jenny paced the kitchen, her ear pressed to the phone, then impatiently shook her head and jabbed at the screen. ‘Jed’s phone won’t connect. What’s wrong with them? Where on earth are they? I’m going to ring Ken and if he won’t answer, I’ll try Spud.’
Barnes was becoming more impatient. Speed was of the essence. ‘Jenny, give me Jed’s number, I’ll keep ringing him; you focus on Frankie. Keep ringing, no matter how many times, okay.’
Once he’d tapped the number into his phone Barnes stepped outside. He needed some air. His head was pounding, stress and dehydration taking their toll. Glancing at the address on the Post-it note he decided to give Jed two more tries, then he was going to contact the local police station in France. While the formal wheels turned in slow motion back at his own station, Barnes had to act quickly: it was his best shot, and Frankie’s life depended on it.
33
The second Frankie turned away, Margaret slowly slid the carving knife from inside her rucksack and then slipped it into the back pocket of her shorts, sharp end down while the wooden handle prodded her back, like it was nudging her, eager to do its work. She watched intently, weighing up her prey as she filled the water bottle and asked questions, hard to hear over the bloody annoying yapping from the dogs trapped in their cage.
‘So where are you staying, then?’
‘In a gîte, not far from here, I’m with friends but they’ve gone into Nantes shopping – not my thing so I decided on a quiet stroll.’ Margaret managed to make herself heard over the incessant noise.
She could feel her temper rising, a pulse in her temple throbbed. She craved quiet, wanted her final kill to be serene, like a symphony, a cinematic masterpiece played out in slow motion. The solution to that was simple but to silence the dogs would alert her prey so she had to put up with them, but maybe afterwards, just for fun, an encore.
The water bottle full, Margaret watched as Frankie went over to one of the cupboards and brought out two small bone-shaped treats which she gave to each of the dogs, and finally peace reigned. It was then the idea came to Margaret, how she was going to end Frankie. She always knew she’d have to improvise but that added to the thrill, and now Frankie’s two little darlings would play a part, centre stage in fact.
‘Now be quiet, for goodness sake! I can hardly hear what this nice lady is saying thanks to you two.’ Flipping around Frankie rolled her eyes and smiled as she walked back towards Margaret, passing her the ice-cold bottle that was already coated in condensation.
‘Thank you, I really appreciate it, but I don’t suppose you have some paracetamol? I can feel a headache coming–’ Margaret was interrupted by a phone ringing upstairs, barely audible.
‘Shit, oops, pardon my French.’ Frankie’s eyes followed the sound and her expression changed to one of worry. ‘Yes of course, but could you just hold on a tick while I grab my phone, I think that will be my boyfriend telling me he’s at the docks. I was in such a hurry to get downstairs I left it in my bedroom. Won’t be a min.’
Margaret smirked and watched as Frankie took the stairs two at a time, waiting until she was out of sight before going over to the cage and dragging it into the middle of the kitchen, a few feet from the bottom of the stairs and as the dogs began to bark and growl, seated herself on top and waited for Frankie to return. From where she sat she could see through the screen and down the path to the gate, and to her left the path of Frankie’s descent.
Then it would begin. There would be no hiding or making it look like an accident, oh no, this time her prey would know exactly what was going to happen, and why. In her past endeavours she’d had to use the skills she’d learned from her father. He had not only taught her to cut keys in the shop; he’d explained the intricacies of picking a lock.
Margaret had loved those times they spent together when he shared the tricks of the trade, assuring her that any lock could be picked if you had the right tools, and her dad had them all. He’d used them to help stranded customers get into their homes; she’d used them to open doors and then kill people. His grey toolbox was one of her prized possessions, battered, rusty, but a part of him and she’d kept it and its contents safe, just in case they ever came in handy. And they had, to get into Jones’ and Butler’s houses where she’d made it look like they’d been remiss and left doors and windows open, and the same at the Hooper house although the burglar alarm was a bit of a nuisance. She hadn’t needed her tools here, she’d been able to walk right in, it was so easy.
A faint voice from upstairs: ‘Just nipping to the loo, sorry, two ticks.’
The dogs were really pissing Margaret off now and she couldn’t be bothered to answer over the racket so instead took a moment to praise her own ingenuity, eager for this to be over so she could return to Elkdale and tell Herbert all about it. That’s if she made it back, if she got away with it like she had the other two. She was at first irritated by having to even contemplate failure, now she was reconciled.
It was Herbert who’d set her nerves on edge… he was such a worrier. He had applauded her meticulous forward planning, then tactfully suggested it wasn’t foolproof but hey-ho, that was the nature of the beast. Yes, she knew it was a risk leaving the country; there’d be a ticket trail if the police ever checked, but she’d covered her tracks as best she could.
Apart from the flight and the small, chic boutique hotel in Paris where she was taking a well-earned break, respite from caring for her terminally-ill partner, she had paid for everything else with cash. Her train ticket for the TGV, then her taxi, and for the decidedly shabby place in the next town. For all intents and purposes she’d be wandering around Paris, enjoying the sights while the hotel staff obeyed the Do Not Disturb sign on her door, when in fact she was hiking around Saint Suplice, stalking her prey.
