Louise Voss & Mark Edwards 3-Book Thriller Collection: Catch Your Death, All Fall Down, Killing Cupid

Kate got out of the car, her legs so wobbly with desire that she could barely walk straight. She glanced down at herself and, sure enough, her nipples were rock hard and sticking out like light switches. Hopefully Mrs B wouldn’t notice. She shook herself slightly, took a deep breath, and walked up to Mrs Bainbridge’s front door again. Business first, pleasure later. The car was still parked in the drive, so hopefully she hadn’t gone out anywhere.

Kate tapped, hesitantly, thinking it less intrusive than the doorbell.

‘Mrs Bainbridge,’ she called, loudly and clearly, through the letterbox, catching sight of a flash of white shirt retreating through a door into what looked like the kitchen. ‘It’s Kate Carling here, you and Leonard knew my parents, remember? Derek and Francesca Carling? We last met when I was a little girl, you came to our house on the South Downs. Are you there? I’ve driven up from London to see you.’

Almost immediately, Kate heard footsteps from inside, and then the sound of the door being unlocked and unbolted. Mrs Bainbridge opened the door, but kept the chain on. Her face appeared in the gap, wrinkled and pale, but with the sort of bone structure indicating a once-powerful beauty. Kate recognised her only very vaguely, although thankfully Mrs Bainbridge didn’t have so much trouble with her.

‘Kate Carling! I’d know that face anywhere. You hardly look different to how you were at nine years old.’

Kate smiled, relieved. Mrs Bainbridge wasn’t a bit like the madwoman with the garden fork that Paul had described. ‘Well, I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not . . . How are you, Mrs Bainbridge?’

‘Call me Jean, please,’ Mrs Bainbridge said, unhooking the security chain and admitting Kate into the front room of the cottage. ‘What may I get you? Sorry if you find me a little disorganised, I had rather a shock earlier. It’s been quite a day for unexpected visitors. Anyway, would you like a drink? Tea, coffee, a cold drink? You look rather flushed.’

‘Oh – er – nothing, thanks, I’m fine, really. And I’m terribly sorry, but I think the unexpected visitor you’re probably referring to was Paul, my friend. He’s here with me. We rang the doorbell before lunch, and when there was no answer, he came round the back to see if you were in the garden. I’m so sorry he gave you a fright.’

Jean looked horrified. ‘Oh my goodness.’ She sank down into a chintzy armchair, her thin fingers raking absently along the arms of it. ‘Oh no.’

Kate sat down on the sofa next to her. ‘It’s all right, Jean, really. It’s not a problem. We just feel awful, that he scared you like that.’

Jean shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. It is a problem. I had no idea he was here with you! I suppose he was trying to tell me, but I wasn’t listening. I just assumed . . . He asked about Leonard and the CRU . . . If I’d known, I’d never have . . . Oh no.’

‘What?’ Kate asked, confused. Jean seemed to be really over-reacting, over what was merely a bit of entirely understandable fear-induced rudeness.

‘Never mind,’ she said, composing herself and sitting more upright. ‘So, my dear, it has been a very long time! What on earth brings you up here? You do know that my Leonard is no longer with us, don’t you?’ Her right hand flew to the third finger of her left, and twisted the large ruby ring around.

‘Yes. I’m so sorry, Jean. I was very sad to learn of his death. He was so good to me.’

‘He was very fond of you, Kate, and your parents. Perhaps I shouldn’t say so, but you were always his favourite, because you wanted to be a scientist just like him. You had a sister, didn’t you, what was her name?’

‘Miranda. She never wanted to be a scientist. In fact, I think she used to keep out of your way when you came to visit, because she’d get bored with me asking Leonard questions about experiments. She preferred to stay in her room playing with her dolls.’

‘And did you become a scientist in the end?’ Jean was asking these questions, politely, but under the surface she still seemed very distracted and flustered. Her eyes were darting between the telephone and the front door, as if she was expecting someone to arrive or call. Paul must really have freaked her out, thought Kate, as she answered Jean’s question with more than a hint of pride:

‘Yes. A virologist, just like Leonard. I couldn’t have done it without him, though. He organised me to go to Harvard, after the fire – you know, at the CRU.’

Jean hesitated. ‘The fire. Yes. I remember. Dreadful business.’ She patted her beautifully-coiffed silver hair. ‘Anyway, so what brings you up here? You hadn’t come to see Leonard, had you?’

Kate, who had already said that she knew Leonard was dead, was beginning to wonder if Paul might be right – if Jean was perhaps not quite all there. But she looked so together: her immaculate hair, smart clothes, and tidy house. Kate had first-hand experience of senile dementia, with poor lovely old Lil, and you couldn’t even begin to compare Lil and Jean. She decided that Jean must merely be a bit distracted at the unexpectedness of her visit.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t phone first, but I didn’t have your number, just your address. No, I knew about Leonard. But you might be able to help me. I’m after some information, really – about the fire, in fact.’

Was it Kate’s imagination, or did Jean’s hand tremble slightly?

‘The fire?’

‘Yes. It’s just that I seem to have an almost complete memory loss surrounding the events of that night, which is odd, considering I wasn’t badly injured or anything. I was in hospital for a while afterwards, although I’m still not sure why. I’m trying to help out my friend Paul – his twin brother died that night, under slightly suspicious circumstances – and we want to find out exactly what happened. You see, his brother, Stephen, was my boyfriend at the time. Paul and I have been told different versions of the same event, and something isn’t quite right.’

‘Oh, my dear,’ said Jean, now sounding distinctly panicky. ‘Don’t you perhaps think that some things are best left alone? I mean, you never know what you might uncover.’

Kate looked sharply at her. What was that supposed to mean? She leaned forward and stared at Jean gravely. ‘So you do know something? Please tell me, Jean. I think it’s important. Not just for Stephen’s family, but for my room-mate, Sarah – she died that night, too. And I’ve got this nagging feeling that something else was going on too; that there was more than just research into the common cold going on – I think I’d discovered something at the time but I just can’t seem to remember what it was.’

There was a moment’s silence, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Kate realised she was holding her breath.

‘I don’t know, Kate,’ Jean said, keeping her gaze steady. ‘There were a lot of secrets. Leonard used to fret that there might be more secrets than he knew about, and it used to keep him awake at night. But he would never tell me. He always said it was better for me not to know what his fears were. And I think it might be better for you not to know, too.’

Kate shook her head. ‘Now I really want to know,’ she said simply. ‘Please.’

Jean stood up, her legs still long and enviably slim in smart navy trousers. She walked over to a polished walnut writing desk in an alcove under the stairs of the cottage, fished around in a small china dish to retrieve a key, and unlocked the desk. Folding the slanted front of it down to reveal a series of small drawers, she brought out an A4 brown envelope from the largest of them.

‘Honestly, Kate, I really don’t know anything. I don’t have any of Leonard’s research papers or documents apart from what’s in here. It was just a few loose sheets that I found under our bed after he died. He must have been looking over them one night before he went to sleep. I don’t know why I kept them, it’s all classified material so I should have sent them back to the lab. They’re mostly just numbers and formulas, as far as I can tell. Some sort of case studies perhaps? I kept them because I saw your name on one of the sheets. You have them – but I don’t know if they will be of any use.’

‘Thank you,’ said Kate, mystified, opening the envelope. Inside were five or six sheets of printed reports. ‘It’s probably just my medical records from when I was a volunteer there.’

‘Kate, dear, while you look at those, would you excuse me for a moment? I have a rather important telephone call to make upstairs.’

‘Of course,’ said Kate, engrossed in studying the sheets, trying to find her name.

Jean vanished upstairs, and it occurred to Kate that it was odd that she couldn’t wait until Kate had left to make the call. What could be so urgent, and private? She heard a door close, and stood up to investigate. There was a phone downstairs, but she felt it would be too sneaky to attempt to listen in on another extension. Besides, Jean might hear the click as Kate picked up.

Kate put the envelope back in her shoulder bag, and moved silently towards the stairs. She couldn’t hear Jean’s voice, so she started climbing the staircase. She could pretend to be in search of the bathroom – and did, in fact, need it.

When she reached the landing, she saw the bathroom ahead. To her right was a closed door. Feeling awful, and horrified at her lack of respect for Jean’s privacy, she gently pressed her ear against the door. She could easily hear Jean’s voice now – she obviously had only just been connected.

‘Hello. It’s Jean Bainbridge again . . . No, I must speak to him . . . When? Well, you must get a message to him . . . It was a misunderstanding. There is nothing to worry about, he was a friend of a friend, I just panicked when he . . . What? Oh my word. No, I’m sure that’s not right, they aren’t – no, please don’t.’ She was becoming more agitated. ‘Leonard wouldn’t want this. You must get hold of him and stop him! Hello? Hello?’

Kate shot into the bathroom, although her need for a pee had been forgotten. She flushed the toilet, pretended to wash her hands, and waited till she heard the bedroom door slowly open again. Kate timed it so she emerged at the same moment as Jean.

‘Sorry, hope you don’t mind, but I was dying for the – Jean? What’s the matter?’

Jean’s face was ashen, and her eyes full of tears. She reached out and clutched Kate’s sleeve, an expression of abject panic on her face. ‘You must leave, now. You and your friend. Immediately!’

‘Why? What’s happened? What’s going on?’

‘Oh Kate,’ Jean said, her voice trembling. ‘I’ve done something very silly . . .’

Chapter 26 (#ulink_cd522919-ff8a-5b85-9665-0e57af9eff5a)

Kate jogged across the road to the tennis club car park where Paul was standing beside the car, fiddling with his mobile phone. His face lit up with delight when he saw Kate, but when he saw her expression his smile vanished.

‘What is it?’

‘We’ve got to get out of here. Now.’

‘Why? What’s going on?’

Kate felt like the old woman who’d swallowed a fly . . . and a spider and the rest of the menagerie: panic wriggled inside her. Why did Paul insist on knowing what was going on before he would do as she asked? It was such a typical male trait. She just wanted them out of here, this second.

‘Get in the car and I’ll tell you later.’