by Penny Kline
Liz Cook had no interest in the view.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘the reason I wanted to see you. Carl said your client was friendly with Paula and you wanted to find out more about her. That’s why you went to see him, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said cautiously.
‘Only after you’d been — he didn’t tell me straight away of course but I knew there was something on his mind.’ She paused. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better tell you the whole thing. To cut a long story short I kept asking what had happened and we had a huge row and he admitted he’d told you all about me and now he was afraid you’d think I’d killed Paula.’
‘Is that what he said?’ I sounded too matter of fact. She wanted me to express astonishment at such an absurd idea.
‘It’s all so crazy. He thought I hated her — just because he and Paula used to be married. He used to visit her, not that I minded, but I did mind him lying to me all the time.’
‘You’d better start from the beginning,’ I said.
‘Yes, you’re right. Well, first I need to tell you a bit about Carl. I’ve met other actors, some of them quite shy, but Carl’s not like that. He has to be the centre of attention and he has to believe women find him irresistible.’
‘Go on.’
‘Right from the first weeks we were living together I knew he was still in touch with Paula. I suppose it was because he protested too much. Always talking about how extraordinary it was that you could be close to a person, then make a clean break and feel perfectly all right about it.’
‘So you asked if he’d been to see her?’
‘Oh, no, he’d never have admitted it. Sometimes I mentioned her name, suggested he must be worrying about her now she was on her own.’
‘But he denied it.’
‘Absolutely. It’s not as though I’m a possessive kind of person. If someone wants to be with me that’s fine. If not, I’d much prefer to be told straight out.’
I finished my pineapple juice. ‘So Carl thinking of you as jealous is just a projection.’
She looked at me enquiringly.
‘He projects on to you what he feels himself.’
‘God, I suppose that’s right.’ She ran her finger round the top of her glass. ‘There’s something else. A policeman came round, just checking a few details about Paula. He didn’t mention the business with the videos but … Well, I know Carl told you about it. He said he’d talked too much, it was because you were such a good listener.’
I opened my mouth to say ‘What videos?’, then closed it again.
‘You see he doesn’t know I know about it. Paula told me.’
‘You went to see Paula?’
She laughed nervously. ‘I had to. He was keeping something from me and of course I assumed he and Paula were … Sometimes when people split up they start to fancy each other again. Anyway, there was nothing like that. I could tell. But she seemed quite happy to talk and of course she thought Carl would have told me about being in prison.’
I picked up my empty glass. ‘Yes, I see.’ She frowned. ‘He did tell you?’
It was no good bluffing my way through the rest of the conversation. ‘No, actually he didn’t.’
‘Oh, God, now I’ve made everything even worse. Still, it’s not as though you’re the police. I mean, you’re nothing to do with them, are you?’
‘I’m a psychologist.’
‘Yes. Look, I’d better tell you about it. Eight or nine years ago, when Carl was living in London, he got involved in some deal, importing videos and selling them off cheap. It was idiotic. He’s not dishonest, just gullible, trusts people too much. The reason I’m telling you, he’s not like you think. He acts on impulse, then he worries himself sick imagining all kinds of ridiculous things.’
‘Paula told you all this — about the videos?’
‘Yes. Carl’s no idea I know about it. You won’t … ’
I was thinking fast. What if the picture of Paula I had built up in my mind was entirely wrong? Perhaps she had never forgiven Carl for leaving her. She could have been blackmailing him, not so much for the money, but as a way of getting back at him. A television actor with a dubious past. It was just what the papers loved. If it all came out it could ruin his chances of finding more work.
Liz was watching me, trying to work out what I was thinking.
‘Of course Paula’s death was a terrible shock,’ she said, ‘but he won’t show it, not to me. I’ve done everything to encourage him to talk but he just says she should have been more careful.’
She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. ‘I’d better go or he’ll be sending out a search party. If I’m later than usual he starts picturing me in bed with my boss.’ She laughed but not because she found the situation funny. Her aim had been to protect herself and she had ended up giving away Carl’s guilty secret. If he had been in prison the police must know about it. But would they have checked to see if he was on file — just because his ex-wife had been killed in a road accident? Did they realize that he might have a good reason for wanting to get rid of Paula once and for all?
It was only later, on my way home, that it occurred to me that Liz letting slip about Carl’s prison record might be less of an error on her part than I had imagined. I should have gone to look for Howard Fry. The seven days I had allowed myself to investigate Luke’s past had already increased to ten. Maybe I would extend it a little further, just until the end of the week. Then I would tell the police everything I knew. About Carl and Liz, Doug and Elaine, the Jesty family — and possibly even Faith Gordon.
14
‘I’m using this special method,’ said Janos, spreading a map of Bristol on the table and smoothing out the folds. ‘See, you hold the glass pendulum on a thread — like this.’
He leaned over the map, supporting his right arm with his left hand, keeping the arm as steady as possible.
‘Shh, in a moment. Watch!’
The pendulum started swinging, slowly at first, then faster. It moved in a diagonal from the top left-hand corner of the map towards the centre right. After a short time Janos placed it on the side of the table. Then he fetched a ruler and pencil and drew a line as near as he could make it to the diagonal.
‘Now, you hold it,’ he ordered, ‘only start at the bottom left.’
‘All right,’ I said, ‘if I must. You know what does it, Janos, it’s the movement of your body. We’re never completely still, especially if we hold out one of our limbs.’
He ignored my explanation. ‘Keep quite quiet. Concentrate. Close your eyes if you wish.’
I did as I was told. Already I could feel the pendulum begin to move. When I opened my eyes Janos had the ruler poised.
‘Now I draw another line and we see where the two lines bisect.’
‘Oldbury,’ I said. ‘So you think Luke’s hiding out at the power station.’
‘Somewhere in that direction. What we need now is a large-scale map of the Severn Estuary. That way I will be able to pinpoint more accurately.’
‘Not now, Janos.’
‘Tomorrow then. You come back tomorrow.’
I nodded vaguely. ‘It’s kind of you to go to so much trouble.’
‘But you think I’m a big fool. We shall see.’
He walked up the steps with me. One of the tenants had forgotten his key and was standing by the front door, emptying his pockets.
‘Darren,’ said Janos, ‘meet our neighbour from across the road. Anna McColl, psychologist.’
Darren mumbled something inaudible. I put out my hand and he held it for the briefest time possible.
‘He was in an assessment centre,’ explained Janos as Darren disappeared inside the house. ‘I keep an eye on him. He’s not a bad boy really.’
Janos, Michael and I couldn’t exclude myself. All bending over backwards to help the unstable, the unhappy and those with criminal tendencies. What about the people who pulled themselves together, tried to make a go of things, strug
gled on regardless? No one seemed to find them half as fascinating.
Back at the flat the phone was ringing. I lifted the receiver, praying it was Luke. I would have to think fast, devise a way of persuading him to talk.
It was Michael.
‘Anna? I rang you before but there was no reply. Look, I’ve seen him. I’m sure it was Luke. He was sitting on one of those seats outside the art gallery.’
‘Where? Why didn’t you go after him?’
‘I was on the opposite side of the water. By the time I got there he’d have disappeared. Anyway, I thought it might be worth the two of us having a look round. What d’you think?’
I paused. Was he speaking the truth or was it simply a way of luring me into spending the evening with him?
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Where are you exactly?’
‘The phone box near College Green.’
‘I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.’
*
‘It can’t have been him,’ I said. We were sitting in more or less the same spot where Michael thought he had seen Luke less than an hour ago. ‘What was he wearing?’
Michael rubbed his neck and stared into the distance. ‘Oh, just the usual T-shirt and jeans.’
We had circled the floating harbour, staying near the water as far as possible. Past the Industrial Museum, the steam engine, the SS Great Britain, then over the Swing Bridge and back along Hotwells Road, turning down Anchor Road and emerging on the quayside just below the window where Liz Cook and I had sat together earlier on.
Now we were back where we had started from, outside the Arnolfini Gallery. It was a warm evening and all the tables were full. A short distance away two streams of traffic were crossing Princestreet Bridge, one leaving Bristol, another on its way in, preparing to spend the evening in the pubs and clubs. Outside the entrance to the Arnolfini people were queuing up to see an American dance group that had been written up in the nationals as ‘the greatest exponents of contemporary dance in the world.’
Michael jerked his head in the direction of the queue. ‘Your kind of thing?’
‘No.’
He laughed. ‘You and me, we’re quite alike in some ways.’
‘Are we?’
‘Oh, don’t worry, in plenty of other ways we’re completely different. You with all your degrees and qualifications.’
‘What about them?’
‘That’s what people with higher education always say. They forget about the rest of us who had to leave school at sixteen and earn our own living.’
I decided to change the subject. ‘Perhaps it’s a mistake to keep searching for Luke. If he doesn’t want to be found I suppose that’s up to him.’
I didn’t mean it. So far I had put off telling Michael about the violent fantasies. As he saw it I was looking for his brother out of the kindness of my heart, not because I wanted to reassure myself that Luke was innocent. Could Paula’s death have been prevented if I had taken the fantasies more seriously? It was a fear I was unable to admit to anyone. Not Martin or Nick, not even Michael. Instead, I decided to tell him about Liz Cook.
‘Carl Redfern’s girlfriend phoned,’ I said. ‘We arranged to meet at the Watershed. That’s why I was out the first time you phoned.’
‘Carl Redfern? Oh, Paula’s ex. What did she want?’
‘To tell me about Carl and why he suspected she might have pushed Paula in front of the traffic.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘They both suspect each other. The first time I saw Carl he told me how careful Paula always was. I don’t think he could believe she’d have let herself be forced into the road.’
‘I doubt if she had that much choice.’
‘No, I suppose not. Anyway, this kind of thing always stirs up people’s secret fears. Carl told me Liz was insanely jealous of Paula. Then, later, realizing what I might think, he concocted some kind of alibi. A visit to the Theatre Royal on the evening of the accident.’
‘He’d made it up?’
‘I’ve no idea. Anyway, the reason Liz wanted to see me, she knew what Carl was thinking and — ’
‘She wanted to sound you out.’
I nodded. ‘Inadvertently, or perhaps it was intentional, she told me how Carl had been in prison a few years back. Something not too serious, illegal videos, but if the press got hold of it’
‘You mean, if Paula had been feeling vindictive … Shouldn’t you tell the police?’
It wasn’t what I had wanted him to say. I wanted him to laugh about the paranoid reactions of the people on the fringes of what had happened to Paula. I wanted him to agree that their stories were best forgotten.
He was opening the copy of the evening paper he had been carrying under his arm, spreading it out on the table and turning the pages until he found the one he wanted.
‘You haven’t seen this, have you? The girl who went to the police seems to think they didn’t take her story seriously enough. She’s given an interview to some journalist. Look, there’s a picture.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘Oh, don’t worry, there’s no mention of Luke. Read it. I didn’t want to upset you. I thought if we could find Luke … ’
I pulled the paper towards me and held it down flat as the breeze from the harbour threatened to lift the page. Rhiannon Pascoe’s small, pale face stared out at me. It looked faintly familiar but there were so many more or less identical young girls wandering round Bristol in the uniform of torn jeans or shorts, denim jacket, four or five rings in each ear, hair in imitation dreadlocks.
Underneath the photo a few lines described how she was a New Age traveller who had witnessed a road accident and was helping the police with their enquiries. The rest of the page was taken up with an article about the travellers, together with comments from a couple of local councillors, one in favour of a policy of nonharassment, a second adamant that the travellers must be moved as far away as possible — to abandoned industrial estates on the edge of the city.
‘What d’you think?’ said Michael. ‘I’d say your inspector friend was right. She looks a bit of a case to me. Just wants someone to pay her some attention.’
‘But why would she make up a story like that?’
‘Who knows? You’re the psychologist. It must be a crime to invent evidence, isn’t it? If there’s any justice she’ll end up in court and it’ll serve her bloody well right.’
I was surprised at the degree of anger in his voice. Up to now he had seemed almost too tolerant of other people’s shortcomings. Luke’s attempt to pass himself off as schizophrenic, Doug’s attempted seduction.
‘Michael, did you know your mother used to meet Luke in a wine bar in Clifton Village?’
He was reading the newspaper. He kept his eyes fixed on the page but his whole body had tensed. Then he breathed out heavily and took hold of my hand, squeezing the fingers together until I flinched, letting out a small involuntary sound.
‘A wine bar in Clifton? Yes, I believe she did mention it.’
‘I saw your mother yesterday.’
‘Oh, yes.’ He didn’t seem particularly interested. ‘She came to your office, did she?’
‘No, she phoned, asked me to call round on the way home.’
‘Typical. She must have known perfectly well it would be miles out of your way. What did she want?’
‘I’m not sure. She lent me a photo of Luke.’
He frowned. ‘You should’ve said. We could have shown it to people. Someone might have recognized him.’
I took the photograph from my inside pocket and placed it on the table. He studied it for a moment, turning it over to see if there was a date on the back.
‘When was it taken?’
‘Before he went up to university. It’s not even a very good likeness.’
‘No, you’re right. By the way, did you tell her about our trip to Keynsham?’
‘Shouldn’t I have done?’
He smiled suddenly, folding up
the newspaper and holding it in place with a glass ashtray. ‘I don’t see why not. What did she say?’
‘I can’t remember. Nothing.’
He stood up. ‘Another drink?’
‘No thanks. I’d better go home.’
‘In case there’s another silent call? I’ll drive you back.’
His car was parked near the cathedral. We strolled along the quayside, stepping over the ropes that kept the boats safely moored to the edge. A tramp was lying asleep on a bench. Beside him an empty bottle rolled backwards and forwards on the cobbles. The sickly smell of cider — and something else that had been added to it — rose from his body, dissuading anyone from going too close.
‘I’m quite happy to walk back to the flat,’ I said.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Walking down here from your place is one thing. Walking back up that hill’s quite another. The inhabitants of Cliftonwood must either keep extremely fit or ruin their respiratory systems for life.’
His mood had changed again, but I wasn’t surprised. I felt the same way myself. Depressed and anxious one minute, then the next convinced that Luke would turn up any day now and everything would be all right. The police would ask a few questions then file a report and take no further action.
Sighing deeply he climbed into the car and sat staring through the windscreen, forgetting to unlock the passenger door. I tapped on the window and he jumped slightly, then leaned across and flicked the lock.
‘Sorry, I’m feeling a bit edgy. I don’t know about you but this whole business is starting to get me down. I keep thinking — d’you suppose Luke could have had a thing about Paula and when she didn’t reciprocate … ’
I felt sick. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Luke can’t take rejection. That’s why he’s so wary of people. Well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain to someone like you. If he took a risk with Paula, then felt she’d let him down … ’
‘Come on,’ I said, ‘we can’t sit here all evening. I’ll make you some coffee.’
‘Thanks.’ He was still staring straight ahead. ‘Incidentally, I keep meaning to ask, you’ve never been married, have you?’