The Anna McColl Mysteries Box Set 1

by Penny Kline

  Lynsey sat with her knees pulled up to her chin. Her lip was bleeding. She licked it with the tip of her tongue, then glared at me defiantly.

  ‘Why didn’t you help?’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘There’s ducklings. He’s killed one of them. There were four, now there’s only three.’ Scrambling to her feet she started running towards the river. ‘Over there, by the tree, you blind or something?’ She started counting, slowly as if she thought I was too dense to take in what she was saying. ‘See, only three left. The dead one’s lying on the grass.’ Then she let out a shriek. ‘No, look, it’s still alive!’ She stumbled on a few steps, then crouched on her haunches with the tears streaming down her face. It was the first time I had seen her look genuinely happy.

  Aaron was ominously close to the water. Lynsey caught hold of his collar and pulled him towards her, then sat down again with her arms round his neck.

  ‘That boy,’ I said, ‘you could have hurt him.’

  She turned round, smiling. ‘I did.’

  ‘He wasn’t very big.’

  ‘Neither are the ducks.’

  An elderly woman with a yellow straw hat was approaching. When she passed us she opened her mouth as though she was going to speak, then closed it again and walked on.

  ‘Friend of yours?’ I asked.

  Lynsey nodded. ‘Lives at the top of the house.’

  ‘Your house?’

  ‘Had a heart attack. Like the doctor says she’s got to take more exercise, poor old sod.’

  ‘She looks pretty old. Shouldn’t she be in residential care?’

  ‘Up to her. Don’t s’pose they’ve got a place she can go. Walk along the Gorge, shall we?’

  ‘If you like, but I can’t go very far.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ The sullen expression had returned. ‘Whitchurch — d’you know it? I lived there when I first come to Bristol but like it didn’t work out.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Ask a lot of questions, don’t you? Got this friend, Deb. Used to get on OK but her boyfriend moved in. He’s a right shit. Which d’you prefer, human beings or animals? If you ask me humans are the lowest form of life.’

  ‘That’s what you think?’

  ‘It’s ’cos they know how to cheat. That’s why our brains evolved to be so big.’

  ‘It’s a theory.’

  ‘It’s a theory,’ she repeated scornfully. ‘I reckon if you meet someone who’s really good at cheating and lying you’ve a duty to make sure they never get another chance.’

  ‘You’ve had some bad experiences.’

  ‘Not ’specially. Why d’you say that?’ When I didn’t answer she peered at my face. ‘My mum died when I was a kid but I can’t really remember so I don’t s’pose it did me much harm.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘What about him? Went to live in America, didn’t he, married this rich bird, like he’d known her from before.’

  ‘You couldn’t go with him?’

  ‘Didn’t want to, did I?’ She tossed her head, bending to pick up a branch that was lying in the long grass.

  ‘So what happened to you?’ She wanted to talk but she was going to force me to drag each crumb of information out of her.

  ‘Went to live in a children’s home, didn’t I?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why? Better than being fostered. They wanted me to stay on at school, do A-levels, but like I couldn’t take it, not living in the home and that, so I went to London.’ She slowed down until we were walking side by side.

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘Why d’you want to know?’

  ‘You’ve whetted my appetite.’

  ‘I’ve what? Talk normal or I won’t tell you no more.’ She started swiping at the clumps of cow-parsley on either side of the path. ‘Found a room in this place near the railway. Like it was cheap ’cos when a train went past the whole house shook.’ She laughed, remembering. ‘Oh, I wasn’t laughing about the trains. The landlady, called Maureen she was, pathetic cow. Her ex used to come on a Saturday and take the rent money off her. Then she’d cadge cigs off Deb.’

  ‘Your friend in Whitchurch.’

  She nodded, looking into the distance, thinking about London. ‘I knew this bloke. Ray. Black hair he had, all sleeked down, and like a flat kind of face that made him look foreign, Czechoslovakian or something. You listening?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Three suits he had and a gold watch he wore down the end of his wrist, almost on his hand.’

  ‘You liked him.’

  ‘He was all right.’ She stopped to look up at the Suspension Bridge high above us. ‘Don’t know why I’m telling you all this crap.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘How d’you mean? Had a car crash, didn’t he? Wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault.’

  The tide was coming in, lapping against the bank. Soon the Avon would look like a respectable river, not just a narrow trickle flowing through the mud. The swing bridge would open to allow boats to leave the floating harbour and make their way down to the open sea.

  ‘So you moved to Bristol,’ I said, ‘lived in Whitchurch for a time, then came to Southville.’

  ‘Put his lead on again, shall I?’ She took hold of the thick fur on the back of Aaron’s neck. ‘Don’t want him running up into the woods, never know what he might find.’

  We were approaching the path that led up to Leigh Woods, a steep track, made almost impassable by tree roots and deep gullies where the rain had run down earlier in the year.

  ‘What d’you think of that Helen Sealey?’ said Lynsey. ‘Right stuck-up cow, if you want my opinion.’

  ‘I don’t know her at all, we only met briefly.’

  ‘Got stacks of clothes — and shoes. Don’t know how she finds the time to wear all the bloody things.’

  ‘She used to be a model.’

  ‘So what? I reckon she should never have been allowed that baby. Doesn’t really want it, does she? Can’t do if she pays someone else to look after it. Like I don’t see the point.’

  The thought had occurred to me but I had pushed it out of my mind. People gave birth and handed the baby over to a nanny. Why shouldn’t adoptive parents do the same?

  ‘There’s millions of people want babies,’ said Lynsey. ‘Really want them, I mean. Anyway that Rona’s too old, doesn’t look after her properly, doesn’t play with her enough, read stories.’

  ‘Chloe’s a bit young for stories, isn’t she?’

  Lynsey looked at me pityingly. ‘You don’t know about kids, then. I could tell you things about that Helen, information the police’d pay a fortune for.’

  ‘What kind of information?’

  Suddenly she thrust the lead into my hand and started walking back the way we had come. When she was about fifty yards away she turned and shouted over her shoulder. ‘You seeing Geraldine today?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What d’you do, make her lie on her back and tell you about her deprived childhood?’

  She didn’t wait for an answer. I watched her getting smaller and smaller, then she climbed the steps that led up to the fly-over and disappeared out of sight.

  *

  Sandy let me into the house. He looked strained, as though he had slept badly or was feeling unwell.

  ‘Not working on the cottage today?’ I said.

  ‘Later. Things to do in the garden now Geraldine can’t manage it.’

  I wanted to ask how much Geraldine had told him about our previous sessions. He would be eager to know what I thought about her agoraphobia, how serious it was, how long it would take to cure, but he wouldn’t ask, that would be breaking the rules.

  Geraldine was not the first client I had seen in her own home but there was something about this particular setup that made me a little uneasy. It was neither informal nor formal, the professional boundaries were too vague, the nature of my relationship with Geraldine and Sandy too ill defined. Still, i
t was only for another week and a bit.

  Halfway up the stairs Sandy felt in his trouser pocket. ‘I’ll give you a key, Anna. Save trouble all round, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, if you like. Thanks.’

  When I took the key he hesitated for a moment. ‘Find your own way up, can you?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ We looked away from each other, aware of the tension between us. Sandy saw himself as a friend, wanted us to remain friends, but during the next few days I would get to know Geraldine far better than I was ever likely to know him.

  ‘I’m so grateful,’ he said. ‘It’s all been such a worry. Five weeks ago we hadn’t a care in the world. Now … ’

  ‘Yes, I know, but when you think of it a strong reaction to a murder close by ought to be seen as perfectly normal. Maybe the rest of us can block things out of our heads too easily, dehumanize the victim, turn him into just part of the crime statistics.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He took my hand for a moment, then let it go, and started back down the stairs. I listened to his footsteps leaving the building, then continued on up and knocked lightly on the living-room door.

  ‘Come in.’ Geraldine was sitting very still. When she saw me she rose a little, then sank back into her chair.

  ‘Anna, so kind of you to come, and on such a lovely day.’

  The same feigned surprise, the same attempt to turn the session into a social visit. Or was I reading too much into her remark, was she simply making an effort to be pleasant, appreciative?

  ‘It’s extraordinary,’ she said, ‘I feel better already. One of these days I might even venture out into the garden.’

  ‘Good, I’m glad.’ One of these days; why not now; but perhaps her announcement that she was virtually cured was simply a way of persuading me, and Sandy who had hired me, to leave her in peace.

  This was our third session. The second had gone badly with Geraldine apologizing for her silly demand that I tell her what to do, then spending the rest of our time together trying to tell me about other people’s problems.

  ‘Last time you were here,’ she said, loosening her belt a notch, then returning it to its original hole, ‘I made you angry. Yes, I did. I’m not an interesting person, I’m afraid, very dull, very ordinary.’

  ‘It can be hard talking about yourself if you’re not used to it.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not that, it’s just that I feel such a fraud. You hear of people with the most terrible lives and here I am taking up everyone’s time when I really ought to be able to pull myself together. I mean what would I do in an emergency, if Thomas was ill or the water-tank burst?’

  It all sounded rather familiar. I wanted to ask if Rona Halliwell had been up to see her but as far as I could tell she had no visitors, preferred to be on her own, apart from when Sandy and Thomas were at home.

  For the next half-hour I tried to focus her attention on how she had been feeling before she heard about the murder, and immediately afterwards. On when it was she had realized she was unable to leave the flat.

  She found it hard to remember, she had such a bad memory.

  ‘All right, then, before all this,’ I said, spreading my hands as though Geraldine and the room we were sitting in were one and the same thing, ‘how did you spend your time, what kind of things did you do?’

  ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘there was my French class. Once a week, on a Thursday, an extra-mural course organized by the university.’

  ‘French conversation?’

  ‘I beg your pardon? Oh, yes, that’s right. I did the beginner’s course last year. This was a little more advanced although I’m not sure I was really ready for it.’ She laughed, a brittle, false little sound. ‘What else? Shopping, coffee with friends although I try to get out of all that as much as possible. Such a waste of time, just silly gossip, discussing whoever happens not to be there. Some of them are quite malicious.’

  ‘Some of your friends?’

  ‘I suppose they’re friends. Of course when Sandy was still in the property business he had colleagues he had to entertain.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ And now she was left with no role to play, only the realization that she had devoted herself to being a good hostess and missed out on a career of her own? Wasn’t that enough to make anyone feel depressed? ‘So things are rather different now Sandy’s embarked on a new way of life.’

  She ignored my comment. ‘Then there were Thomas’s open evenings, sports days, concerts, you know the kind of thing.’ She cocked her head on one side. She had so many irritating mannerisms. ‘Thomas,’ she said suddenly, ‘he’s never been a good eater but recently … I wondered, I haven’t eaten a great deal myself since … D’you suppose he’s picked up my lack of appetite? I wouldn’t like to think — ’

  ‘I expect he’s worried about you,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, that’s what Sandy says, that’s why I want to get better.’

  We looked at each other. ‘I saw Lynsey this morning,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, did you, it’s her day for cleaning the ground-floor flat.’

  ‘She cleans for the Sealeys?’

  ‘It was Bryan’s idea. Rona Halliwell’s got quite enough to do looking after the baby. How old do you think she is, getting on for seventy, wouldn’t you say? Of course, Lynsey’s glad of the extra money so it all seems to have worked out rather well.’

  ‘How do you get on with her?’

  ‘With Lynsey?’ She thought about this for a moment. ‘She’s a strange creature, I didn’t take to her at first, but apart from the hair and those depressing black clothes she’s really rather … Well I suppose I’ve just got used to her.’

  ‘Before the murder,’ I said, changing the subject again, hoping to catch her unawares, break through her defences, ‘I expect you used to walk in Leigh Woods.’

  She turned her head away from me but her voice was perfectly steady. ‘Actually I prefer the open country. I always find woods rather gloomy. Do the police know what weapon was used?’

  The question surprised me. I had thought she preferred not to talk about the murder except when I tried to ‘force’ her to face up to her fear.

  ‘They think it was a hammer,’ I said.

  ‘Just an ordinary one? The kind anyone could have in their tool box?’ For a moment she sounded quite excited, then the flat voice returned. ‘Oh, I can’t bear to think about it. Whoever did it still on the loose. I can’t sleep at night, unless I take two of my tablets but I don’t want to become dependent on them, that would be so stupid.’

  With half an ear I listened to her describing articles she had read in women’s magazines — about the inadequacy of some family doctors, about housewives on sleeping pills and tranquillizers … Now she had mentioned the murder weapon, quite calmly, almost objectively, was it possible to believe her when she still insisted it was the memory of Walter Bury’s violent death that was making it impossible for her to leave the flat?

  ‘Right,’ I said, trying another tack, determined to discover what was really going on in her head. ‘I want you to lean back in your chair and close your eyes.’

  ‘Like this?’ She did as she was told, squeezing her eyes shut and clutching the arms of the chair.

  ‘No, try to relax. Start with one foot and try clenching and relaxing the muscles in your ankle, then your calf, then your thigh. Then do the same with the other leg.’

  She opened one eye to see if I was watching her, then closed it again. ‘I’m afraid I’ve always been rather tense. I think some people are born that way. I had a friend who used to listen to a tape of the sea, waves lapping on the sand, but I don’t think it did her much good.’

  I made no response and she continued with the technique, clenching and unclenching her legs, her arms, her stomach muscles, chest muscles, neck. Finally she sat up straight. ‘D’you know, it really works. What a clever idea.’

  ‘Just stay leaning back,’ I said softly, ‘close your eyes again and try to remember the time when Helen told you a body had been
found in the woods.’

  Her breathing became uneven, strained. ‘Try to breathe from low down, not up near your breast bone. Place your hands on your rib cage and feel the air going in and out of your lungs. Now think about that day. The weather — was it hot like today or dull and wet? How did you spend the morning? What was Sandy doing?’

  ‘It was very warm,’ she said slowly, ‘but overcast. Sandy drove to the Do-It-Yourself place to buy some wood. Then what? Oh, I know, Thomas had forgotten his swimming trunks so I had to call round at the school.’

  ‘In the car?’

  She nodded. ‘I had lunch on my own. I suppose I did. I was reading a book, a spy story, but I decided to take it back. It seemed silly, out of date, now the Berlin Wall’s come down.’

  ‘So you went to the library7.’

  ‘Oh, not that day. Sandy took it back later.’ Her face was screwed up, trying to remember. She looked younger, almost childlike, and for the first time that morning I felt genuine empathy. Beneath all the superficial chatter something was making her terribly unhappy.

  For a moment I thought she had fallen asleep, then she raised an arm to smooth her hair. ‘Can I sit up properly now?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Did I do that right?’

  ‘How did it make you feel?’

  ‘Tired,’ she said, ‘and sort of light headed.’ She stood up, steadying herself on the arm of the chair. ‘Before you go would you like to see Thomas’s room?’

  ‘Well, yes, but — ’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ She was across the room in an instant, holding open the door, smiling brightly. ‘Up a short flight of stairs. It’s in the roof. Thomas loves it.’ The stairs were steep and we had to bend to avoid banging our heads on the ceiling. When we reached the top she pulled open the door and flattened herself against the wall so I could pass in front of her. ‘After you, Anna.’

  It was the first time she had used my name. ‘I suppose in the old days a kitchen maid slept here. I expect it was freezing cold and very uncomfortable.’