Keep Me Close : An utterly gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist Page 15

  I stare at him and feel sick inside. To talk to me like that would be bad enough at any time. But in front of Calum Morgan…

  It’s nothing short of mental cruelty.

  ‘Please, give me another chance.’ I look pleadingly at Calum, though secretly I’m relieved to be shot of him. The man’s a monster. But my career in publishing is too important to me; I can’t bear to see it damaged like this. Not when I’ve sacrificed so much to hang onto my job. ‘Let’s talk about this. I’m sure we can work out a compromise.’

  Calum stands up, and I back away automatically. He seems to fill the office. His clever eyes note the instinctive movement, and I see a faint mockery in his face. But he shakes his head. ‘Kate, I don’t see how that would be possible. Not when you want so many changes.’ He gives me a sad spaniel look. ‘To be honest, I don’t think you like my book at all.’

  Mark has been looking admiringly at his top author, but at this, his head swivels back to me. ‘You don’t like his book?’

  His gaze unnerves me. It’s like being sized up by a vulture.

  ‘No, I love his book,’ I lie valiantly. ‘I mean, Calum, your new book is… Well, it’s wonderful. It’s life-changing. Life-affirming, in fact.’ I spread my hands wide in a conciliatory gesture. ‘All I want is to ensure it reaches the widest possible readership. Which means making a few minor tweaks. That’s all.’

  Calum, after listening to this in silence, transfers his attention to my boss. ‘You see? I’m not happy, Mark. And can you blame me?’

  ‘No, I can’t.’ Mark opens the door and jerks his head for me to leave. ‘Kate, I’m moving Calum to another editor. Whatever you’ve done to his manuscript, you can forget it. Just forward the original book file to me, and I’ll either edit it myself or find someone better suited to the task than you.’

  Speechless, I leave the office.

  Mark returns to Calum, leaving the door wide open, as though he doesn’t care who hears what’s going on.

  ‘I thought it would be inspiring to work with Kate, I really did,’ I hear Calum saying in his most sorrowful voice. ‘There’s something so vulnerable and feminine about her. The creative eye is instantly drawn to her. But you’re right. As an editor, she’s too much trouble.’

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  There’s something so vulnerable and feminine about her.

  Mark begins to say something soothing, but I stumble away, my hands over my ears, trembling with sudden, almost uncontrollable rage. My vision is tinged red, like I’m seeing the world through a blood mist.

  I feel like ripping my computer out of the wall, charging back to the office with it and chucking the whole thing at the odious man’s head. Both of their heads, actually.

  Except I don’t.

  That would be childish and merely get me sacked. Not to mention arrested for assault with a deadly computer.

  God though, it would feel so fantastic, just for that one moment. Just for the sheer pleasure of seeing their shocked expressions…

  *

  Logan takes one look at my face when I charge into the restaurant back home in Guildford, over twenty minutes late for our date, and almost flinches.

  ‘Bad day?’

  ‘I’ve had better.’ I catch a passing waiter, order a large gin and tonic and sit down opposite Logan. ‘I’ve just narrowly avoided getting the sack. And lost Calum Morgan.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he says carefully, watching me.

  ‘I’m not,’ I admit, grabbing an olive from the dish in the middle of the table, and a breadstick to go with it. ‘God, I hate that man.’ Briefly, I describe what happened and the things Calum said about me. ‘If I thought it was worth the emotional trauma, I’d sue him for harassment and the company for constructive dismissal.’

  ‘Do it,’ Logan says, also munching on a breadstick. His smile is encouraging. ‘If it makes you feel better.’

  ‘But it won’t,’ I point out bitterly. ‘It will make me feel worse. And how could I prove it? Those two bastards will back each other up and deny everything. Meanwhile, I’d be out of a job. And I need to keep the money coming in, especially if…’

  I tail off, not sure what I’m thinking. Well, not sure if I should be thinking it.

  Logan looks at me enquiringly.

  I sigh. ‘Dr Forster thinks my mother should be moved into a home. She all but accused me of neglect on the phone. And maybe she’s right.’

  ‘I thought you were dead set against that idea.’

  ‘I am. And Mum will be too. But that accident… her fall.’ I shake my head, staring away at nothing. ‘I wasn’t there for her. Too wrapped up in my own life. She could have broken her hip.’

  ‘But she didn’t.’

  ‘No thanks to me.’ My large gin and tonic arrives, and I thank the waiter with a grateful smile, then gulp some down. ‘I haven’t drunk this much in years. Now look at me. I was dreaming about gin all the way back on the train. I could demolish ten of these.’ I take a more leisurely sip, smiling ruefully at him over the rim of the chilled glass. ‘Sorry. But my throat feels like the Sahara.’

  ‘Go ahead, it sounds like you deserve it.’

  He’s so understanding.

  ‘What about you? How was your day?’

  He hesitates, looking uncomfortable. ‘Not too bad.’

  ‘Logan?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. It’s been a tough few years for us. Apparently, the company may be downsizing. Losing a few people.’

  ‘You?’

  Logan shrugs. ‘Too early to say for sure.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It may not happen.’ He raises his own glass to me in a wry salute. ‘To things that may not happen.’

  ‘Or have happened, but we don’t give a toss about.’

  We clink glasses, and I down another few fingers of gin, wishing I didn’t feel so crappy. But I’m pretty sure Mark will call me tomorrow and gloat horribly as he gives me the bad news down the phone…

  That man’s never liked me. He’s been hunting for an excuse to get rid of me for ages, and Calum’s furious tirade will have given him just the ammunition he needs.

  And if he sacks me, what will I do? How will we pay the bills? There’s Mum’s money, but we can’t live off that indefinitely, and if she does move into a residential home, it will wipe out all our reserves.

  I may have to sell the house.

  Always assuming Mum’s solicitor will allow it, of course. Given that he’s been blocking me at every turn.

  I gasp. ‘Do you think Mr Adeyemi is preventing me from using the Power of Attorney so he can make sure I don’t sell the house? He’s always been so insistent that Mum’s brain is working just fine and that she doesn’t need to go into a home. But what if that’s because the money he stands to get in her will is tied up in the house?’

  ‘So he doesn’t want you to sell the house, because you might use the money to pay for your mother’s care instead of him inheriting it?’

  ‘Precisely.’ The waiter arrives and we order our food. I just pick something off the menu almost at random, not really caring. Once the man has gone, I lean across to Logan, saying in a low voice, ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that before. It seems outlandish. Impossible, even. Yet everything tells me I’m right. My God, the man’s a ghoul. I wish there was some way to prove it.’

  He nods but shifts in his seat, his gaze wandering around the busy restaurant.

  ‘Logan,’ I say, recalling his gaze back to me, ‘what’s the matter? You’ve been acting uneasy ever since I walked in the door. What’s happened?’

  His eyes meet mine. ‘I can’t hide anything from you, can I?’ With obvious reluctance, he turns to the jacket slung over his chair and produces a folded sheet of paper from an inside pocket. ‘This was on my doormat when I got back from work tonight. No envelope, no indication of name or address. But since it was shoved through my letterbox at some point during the day, it’s obviously meant for
me.’ He hesitates. ‘Have you been to the police about those notes yet?’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance. Besides, I thought you advised me against accusing Mr Adeyemi of sending them.’

  ‘Well, that was before this one arrived.’ His jaw is tense. ‘Kate, I think it’s time you started taking these letters seriously.’

  ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘Are you sure you want to read it?’

  I thrust out my hand, glaring at him. ‘If it’s something to do with me, then yes. Absolutely.’

  He hands over the sheet, and I unfold it, already guessing what it must be, butterflies in my stomach.

  ‘Shit.’ I read the note through twice, and then crumple it up in my fist before downing the last of my gin. ‘This came to you? At your flat?’

  ‘Yes, which makes it less likely it’s from your mother’s pet solicitor. I’ve never even met the man. How would he know where I live or even that we’re seeing each other? Yet somebody hand-delivered it while I was out at work.’ He stares at me. ‘Kate? Are you okay?’

  ‘My mother saw him today,’ I say slowly. ‘Mr Adeyemi. She may have mentioned you. Or maybe Ruby did. The two of them are always cracking jokes about…’

  My head is swimming. Too much gin, drunk too quickly on an empty stomach. And now this shock.

  I blench. ‘Sorry. Back in a minute.’

  I stumble to the ladies’ restroom, which is not empty, cram myself into a narrow cubicle and promptly throw up my olives and breadstick.

  I kneel on the cold lino beside the loo for several minutes, gasping, tears in my eyes, and wish I never had to move again. Then someone knocks on the cubicle door to ask if I’m okay, and I give some kind of husky assurance, at which the woman moves discreetly away.

  The letter is still scrunched up in my fist.

  Gingerly, I open it up again and smooth it out, force myself to read it again through teary eyes, wincing at David’s signature at the bottom.

  THAT BITCH YOU’RE BANGING IS A MURDERER. GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I finally give in to pressure and go to the police station. Logan accompanies me. We wait for about half an hour before one of the officers is free to see us, and then we’re ushered into a small side room. Logan and I sit side by side, and I feel like this is a declaration of intent. It’s like I’m telling the world we’re together, that we’re a couple. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with that idea. But I’m also glad I’m not here on my own.

  The police officer is a woman in her late twenties with short-cropped hair, watery blue eyes and a thin-lipped mouth, who introduces herself as PC Plimley.

  She’s perfectly pleasant to us at first, but when I explain about the poison pen letters and describe how I’ve heard sounds outside the house at night, and once thought I saw someone lurking in the shrubbery, her manner gradually changes.

  I can tell she not only thinks we’re time-wasters, but that I’m bonkers.

  ‘Did you bring any of these letters?’ PC Plimley asks me, somewhat sceptically, as though expecting me to say I have thrown them away. Which I nearly did, in fact, but am now glad I thought better of it.

  I produce the crumpled letters in their see-through plastic folder and pass this across the table to her. She unsnaps the folder and takes out the letters, shooting me a dubious look. She then spends several minutes reading through them in silence, her mouth moving from time to time as though shaping the words, though the notes are hardly long enough to merit so much time.

  I can’t tell from her expression what she thinks of them.

  Having read them, she turns them over and studies the paper itself in minute detail, even holding the letters up to the light, as if expecting there to be some kind of clue as to the identity of the sender on the reverse of each sheet, or on the two envelopes that accompanied them.

  Finally, the constable shakes her head. ‘Miss Kinley, why did you wait so long before bringing these to us?’

  I feel like I’m being accused of something. This makes me defensive.

  ‘I didn’t think they were important. Not at first. But then I found the outside security light smashed, and Logan said…’ I stop myself. I dislike women who rely on men to guide their every move. ‘That is, I decided it was time. That enough was enough. When Logan got his letter, you see, it was no longer just about me. I could handle it being about me and David. It somehow didn’t seem as serious. But when he drags Logan into this—’

  She interrupts me, raising thinly arched eyebrows. ‘He?’

  I feel awkward, unwilling to come straight out with it and name Mr Adeyemi. It suddenly feels ridiculous to do so. Dangerous, even.

  I lapse into silence instead.

  ‘We have a possible theory.’ Logan glances at me for confirmation, but when I say nothing, he continues more cautiously. ‘There is someone who might be sending these letters. But obviously, we don’t want to accuse that person without proof. They might be completely innocent, after all. So we hoped… I mean, Kate thought the best idea would be to bring the letters to you and allow the police to investigate.’

  PC Plimley looks faintly amused. ‘For that, I’m afraid we’re going to need more than a few hand-delivered letters.’

  Logan frowns. ‘Does that mean you’re not going to do anything?’

  ‘We can investigate, of course. Especially if this escalates. Sending threatening letters is against the law. But frankly, there’s not a great deal to go on here, and police officers are not mind readers. Besides which, the force is pretty stretched at the moment. Serious crime has to be our priority.’

  ‘And in the meantime, if someone tries to kill Miss Kinley…?’

  ‘Oh, come on. That’s a little melodramatic, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’ve read those letters, PC Plimley. You may not find them very credible. But they still contain threats against Miss Kinley’s life, pure and simple. And what about the broken security light?’

  ‘Hmm.’ She studies his face, scans the three letters again, and then puts them slowly back inside the folder. ‘Your boyfriend committed suicide?’

  Again, I feel like I’m the one being accused of something, not the victim. ‘Yes, like I told you at the start.’

  She nods. ‘Just trying to get things straight. Is there any chance this suicide might have looked suspicious to other people?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Okay.’ She snaps the folder shut, and then starts scribbling down some notes. ‘I’m going to keep this as evidence. If you get any more letters, bring them straight in and drop them at the front desk for me. Try not to handle them too much. If you can wear gloves to open your mail for the next few weeks, that could be useful.’ She looks up from her notepad. ‘You said “he” before. Can I have a name?’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ I mutter.

  ‘Miss Kinley,’ she begins, and then pulls a face. ‘Kate…’ She taps the folder. ‘These letters are pretty nasty. To be honest, I’d be inclined to dismiss them as empty threats. Some crank winding you up about your boyfriend’s death. Except for one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask sharply.

  ‘The fact that there’s been evidence of an intruder at the property recently, along with damage. That’s an escalation. A physical intrusion into your life. So if there’s someone who you suspect may be behind these letters – perhaps someone with a grudge against you, or an axe to grind – then you really ought to give me this man’s name upfront.’ She pauses, looking from Logan to me, and then adds with a sigh, ‘I can assure you, we’ll be discreet in our inquiries.’

  I bow my head for a moment, conflicted.

  Then warm fingers close over mine, and I glance up, startled, to find Logan has taken my hand. He smiles at me encouragingly.

  ‘The man’s name is Mr Abayomi Adeyemi,’ I say abruptly, and transfer my gaze to the constable. ‘And he’s my mother’s solicitor.’

  *

  The cold wind cuts through my
coat outside the police station. It’s late afternoon and already heading to a pearlescent darkness, the streetlights on and the sky glowing with that faint eerie orange you get above urban conurbations.

  Logan gives me a hug. ‘Well done,’ he says softly, and then kisses me on the lips. ‘I know that wasn’t easy for you. But it’s done now, and you can put it behind you.’

  ‘Until Mr Adeyemi discovers I’ve accused him of sending me threatening letters,’ I point out.

  ‘You heard her. They’ll be discreet. If it wasn’t him, he’ll probably never know. And if it was, then the police will nab the bastard.’ He squeezes my hand again, smiling. ‘And then he won’t be able to claim that inheritance from your mother, will he? Not if he’s found guilty of intimidation.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Well, you should. That’s your money he’ll be trying to claim.’

  I frown, thinking that possibility through. ‘But why would Mr Adeyemi send me letters like that about David? And to you too. I don’t get the why of it. Maybe I’m missing something, but it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Who knows? Maybe Adeyemi’s hoping to drive you away.’

  ‘To make me leave home, you mean?’

  ‘It’s possible. You said your mum is sweet on him. And he disapproves of her going into a residential home, probably because you might have to sell up to finance it long term. She’s still relatively young, after all.’ He sees the confusion on my face and explains, ‘If you weren’t around, Adeyemi would be free to court her himself. Maybe even marry her.’ He shrugs. ‘Why hang out for some piddling gift of money when you can get the whole thing, including the house?’

  I stare at him, aghast. ‘You can’t be serious? She’s not a well woman. And he’s a professional. Her solicitor, for God’s sake.’

  ‘But that’s a big house with large grounds. And look at its location. It must be worth several million, at least.’

  ‘Probably,’ I admit, uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation.