Somebody's Daughter

by Carol Wyer

  ‘Hatfield Herald, Wesley Pickle speaking.’ Wesley was a long-faced sports reporter with a deeply crevassed face who’d worked at the paper for many years and who’d not been usurped, mostly due to his reports that pulled no punches and often dished the dirt on players or sports stars.

  ‘It’s DI Ward here from Holborn House. Bev left me a message earlier today and I can’t raise her on her mobile. I don’t suppose you’ve any idea where she is or how I might get in touch with her?’

  There was a rustling sound of packets and a bored, ‘No idea where she is. All I can tell you is she left about fifteen minutes ago for a meeting. If she turns up, I’ll get her to give you a ring; in fact, I’ll stick a note on her computer screen.’

  ‘Thanks. You don’t happen to know what she was working on, do you?’

  ‘Bev wouldn’t tell me even if I was the last person alive.’

  ‘You couldn’t take a quick look at her desk and see if she left any clues?’

  ‘You’re asking me to spy on a colleague. I’m not sure it’s ethical.’

  ‘Wesley, I’m concerned about her safety and asking you for assistance to ensure she isn’t in any danger. Nothing more.’

  ‘Seeing as you’ve put it that way, I’ll have a snoop about and call you back.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  A sixth sense was telling her Bev was in trouble. Although she’d tried to end her message to Natalie in a casual, ‘forget it’ manner, the tone of her voice told a different story. She had been anxious about the caller who could be the killer, and knowing Bev, and her desire to succeed, if she’d been given half a chance to speak to or interview them, she’d be pursuing the story.

  The officer was back, a laptop in his hands. Natalie couldn’t fault the speed with which these tech wizards worked. He placed the laptop with a list of numbers on her desk in front of her and adjusted his glasses. ‘Over the last twenty-four hours there’ve been quite a few calls made to and from Bev’s mobile. I haven’t had a chance to go through them all but these two stood out.’

  There were five highlighted columns, three showing that one number had rung Bev’s mobile and two others revealing another one had. He pointed out the latter. ‘This number has only rung her twice, both times today – once at five thirty this morning and again at four fifty this evening.’

  ‘Hang on a moment.’ Natalie glanced at her own phone to see when Bev had rung her. ‘The second call was made immediately before she rang me. She called me at 4.53 p.m. Do you have any caller ID?’

  ‘It’s a pay-as-you-go phone.’

  ‘What about a location for it?’

  ‘I’m still trying to establish one. It’s switched off at present.’

  ‘And what about the other phone number you’ve highlighted?’

  ‘It belongs to one of our mobiles. As you can see, it rang Bev’s phone very late on Friday evening, then three times throughout Saturday, twice on Sunday morning and called her for the last time on Sunday evening, fifteen minutes after Lucy took everyone to task about somebody leaking information.’

  ‘The mole?’

  He nodded. ‘I reckon it could be.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It belongs to Poppy.’

  ‘No doubt?’

  ‘No doubt whatsoever.’

  ‘Keep this to yourself for now. I’ll handle it.’

  Ramsdown Way in Derby was an estate of about 200 cheek-by-jowl terraced houses, lining endless roads that wound around the estate like strands of fat spaghetti. Even using her satnav, Lucy, lost in the maze of streets with names such as Lark Rise and Swallow Avenue, was forced to ask an elderly couple walking a pair of beagles where she might find Hawk’s Way.

  Jay Yeomans lived in an end-of-terrace property with broken guttering, dead leaves gathered in front of the door and faded curtains hung at grubby windows. After she pressed the cracked plastic doorbell, it took a full minute before the man appeared, wearing a mustard jumper covered in brown stains and a pair of corduroy trousers, at least two sizes too big for his wizened frame. He rested his arms on the crutches keeping him upright and studied her ID.

  ‘I need to talk to you about your son.’

  ‘Rob? Why?’

  ‘Could I come in and discuss it?’

  ‘Yes, but I have to warn you, it’s not tidy. Since my knees went, I have trouble staying on top of everything.’

  She shadowed him into the narrow hallway, squeezing past a mobility scooter and into a living cum dining room. Plates and mugs were piled on a coffee table in front of a television set. He lifted a control unit from the side of a shabby beige armchair and muted it, leaving antelope to silently frolic across African plains. He dropped onto the chair with a low groan and laid the crutches on the carpet in front of him. Lucy lifted a puzzle book from the seat of the other chair and placed it on the coffee table.

  ‘Why are you asking about Rob?’

  ‘I’m leading an investigation into several murders in Samford. Rob originally came forward as a witness but now his name has cropped up again in connection with the murders, and we are looking for him. Have you heard from him?’

  He dragged bony fingers over stubbly growth on his chin. ‘Not since the day he left, three years ago. You think he might have killed somebody?’

  Lucy sidestepped the question. ‘At this stage we simply need to talk to him. I understand he was discharged from the army on medical grounds and spent some time in hospital.’

  He nodded. ‘He should never have joined. It was a knee-jerk reaction to his mother’s death. They’d always been close, and when Una passed away, he took it badly. It didn’t cement our relationship. If anything, it drove a greater wedge between us, and I suspect he thought by signing up to the army, he’d find a replacement family. Basic training went well and it really helped him come to terms with Una’s passing. He came home during leave, we got on better and he even began going out with a local girl, Felicity. I thought things were on the up for him. He was mad keen about her, even considered putting a ring on her finger. Then he went on a training exercise to Kenya. It only lasted a few weeks and I don’t know what went wrong, but when he came home, he was a different person. He hid away in his room, stopped socialising, stopped seeing Felicity, and he cried… he cried such a lot, for no reason. It was like he was a child all over again but no matter how hard I tried to get him to open up, he wouldn’t. He was discharged and the army arranged psychiatric help, and he was admitted to hospital for ninety days.

  ‘He had a rough few years: clinics, meetings, hospital appointments, psychiatrists. None of it really helped. He drifted about, had a few jobs that didn’t work out, and three years ago, he announced he couldn’t stand it any longer. We both knew we’d reached the end of the road. I couldn’t handle his moods and he couldn’t stand living here, especially after Felicity got married. I thought he’d start over and when he was settled he’d get back in touch, but that didn’t happen and I haven’t heard from him since. I thought, when I didn’t hear from him, he’d travelled abroad not gone to Samford. Samford’s not far away at all.’

  ‘He never told you what happened in Kenya?’

  ‘No, but whatever it was, it transformed him.’

  ‘Why do you think he hasn’t stayed in touch with you?’

  Jay hesitated, dampened his lips, turned sad eyes to her. ‘We got to the point where we couldn’t stand the sight of each other. He couldn’t get it into his head I’d been through hell with him, watching him destroy himself and unable to help. We both needed a break from each other.’

  ‘But to have no contact with him for three years?’

  ‘You can’t understand what it was like for us. It was hard enough losing Una, but to watch him spiral downwards and to have to keep working at the relationship when he’d given up on everything – me, work and life – was too much for me. We ended up with nothing in common, two men circling each other, grunting or sitting in silence, or arguing until I wanted to rip off his ears. It was bloody
hard!’ He heaved the longest sigh. ‘When he announced he was leaving, a huge weight was taken off my shoulders. I loved my son but I didn’t love or even like the stranger he had become. I tried to but I couldn’t.’ His eyes shifted to the television screen and the prowling lioness that suddenly surged forwards from long dry grass and tore at the throat of a small gazelle, bringing the thrashing, defenceless creature to the ground.

  ‘Is there anyone I could talk to from that time in Kenya who might know what happened?’

  He spoke without turning his head from the screen, where the lioness was now ripping open the prey, red blood on her teeth and nose. ‘You could try Felicity. She married one of the lads from the same regiment as him.’

  ‘Have you never asked her?’

  He shook his head. ‘If Rob couldn’t tell me what was going on, then it was because he didn’t want me to know. If his mother had been alive, it would have been a different story. He’d have told her everything. She was the only person he opened up to. I doubt he’d have spoken to Felicity but you could ask her. She doesn’t live far away. Nightingale Square, number 37.’

  ‘I’ll try her. Can I ask you – what was Rob like before he joined the army?’

  He looked into space, lost in the vaults of the past, then came out with one word: ‘Sensitive.’

  ‘Did he display any aggression?’

  ‘Rob! No. He was mild-mannered. I was surprised he wanted to join the army. I didn’t think he had any backbone at all. Una mollycoddled him. He was a sickly child and she kept him wrapped in maternal cotton wool right until she died.’ He gave a sad smile and his eyes became dewy. ‘She was a great mum and wife. We both missed her terribly. It’s been a downhill journey for us both since she left this world.’ Sorrow thickened his speech.

  ‘Do you have any recent photos of him?’

  ‘Nothing since he joined the army. Last one was taken at his passing out parade. I’ve still got it.’ He reached for a crutch and struggled to his feet, crossing the room to a drawer in a desk. He pulled out a photo album and stared at the maroon cover.

  ‘I like to look at it now and again,’ he said before holding it out to her.

  She rose and took it from his outstretched hand. She opened it onto a photo of a young boy and his mother either side of a snowman with a smiling face. She turned the pages, each picture a historical reminder of Rob’s life, until she reached a photograph of a sandy-haired, blue-eyed young man with his arm around a blond-haired girl in a floral dress.

  ‘I forgot about that one. It was taken the day before he went to Africa. That’s Felicity.’

  ‘Can I borrow it for the time being?’

  ‘If you promise to return it.’

  ‘I promise.’

  She took out the picture and passed the album back.

  ‘He hasn’t got a bad bone in his body,’ said Jay. ‘I don’t know what you think he’s done, or how involved you believe him to be in your investigation, but I’m sure he’s still the same sensitive, gentle giant he’s always been.’

  ‘Thank you for your time. I’ll bear all of this in mind when I speak to him.’

  ‘Please do and… will you send him my love? I’d really like to see him again. I really would. Please tell him to stop running away from whatever it is he’s running from and visit me, or get back in contact. I miss him.’

  ‘I’ll pass your message on.’ She made for the door quickly. Maybe Felicity could throw more light on the situation.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tuesday, 5 November – Evening

  The block of flats where Bev lived was one of several in a pleasant cul-de-sac, about ten minutes’ drive from the newspaper offices where she worked. Natalie had headed there on a whim, but having pressed the buzzer marked with Bev’s name three times, she had to admit the journalist was not at home. She was about to leave when Wesley rang her.

  ‘Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I couldn’t find anything on her desk or in her drawers but I have managed to get onto her computer and it seems she’s working on an article about the murderer who’s at large. I can’t see anything to suggest where she is although she scribbled 7 p.m. on her notepad with a question mark next to it.’

  ‘Is there a day or date?’

  ‘Only the time.’

  ‘If she puts in an appearance, get her to ring me immediately.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Natalie glanced at her phone. It was almost six thirty. Bev had written 7 p.m. for a reason. It would be madness if she’d agreed to meet the killer. Even news-hungry Bev wouldn’t do anything stupid enough to risk her life.

  She replayed the message from Bev – the killer had accused her of being guilty, as guilty as the others. If Tommy wasn’t responsible for the murders, maybe he also wasn’t behind the blackmail threats, which meant somebody else was. At present, that somebody could well be Rob. Was he intending to blackmail Bev, or kill her? Either way, if Bev had agreed to meet him, she was in real danger. She rang the technical department.

  ‘Any hits on the pay-as-you-go phone?’

  ‘It’s not been switched on again. We have a location for calls made from it to Bev’s mobile though. The first was made near Samford Bridge. The second, in the vicinity of Prince’s Park. I’m trawling through CCTV footage to see if I can spot Rob or anyone else we’ve spoken to during the investigation at either of those places at those times.’

  ‘What about the live footage?’

  ‘We’re going through it. We haven’t spied him yet.’

  ‘I know this increases your workload, but keep an eye out for Bev too.’

  ‘Do you want me to try and trace her car?’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘On it. I’ll let everyone here know we’re on the lookout for her as well.’

  Natalie pocketed her phone and wondered what else she should or could do. Until somebody came back with information on Bev, she was helpless. She hoped Bev wasn’t stupid enough to try and meet with a killer even though she knew nothing, not even fear of being attacked, would stop the woman.

  Lucy rapped on the door to 37 Nightingale Square. The house wasn’t dissimilar to the one Jay lived in, although it was in far better condition. A fair-haired woman who looked like the one in the photo Lucy had taken from Jay’s album opened the door, a hand on the swell of her extended belly. Lucy explained who she was and why she was there and was instantly admitted.

  The house was warm and toasty and filled with the aroma of herbs. Felicity shouted, ‘Whitey! Visitor!’ and waddled into the sitting room, where a low, square footstool had been placed in front of a dark blue settee. She fell back onto the cushions and swung her legs onto it. ‘The baby weighs a tonne. Think it could be an elephant not a human being at all. Whitey says if I don’t keep off my feet, I’ll get varicose veins.’

  ‘You got long to go?’

  ‘Two weeks if it arrives on time.’

  ‘Your first?’

  ‘Uh-huh. I didn’t want to have children while Whitey was still in the army. We waited until he came out.’

  A good-looking man in his thirties appeared, wiping his hands on a tea towel. ‘Hi, I’m Chris Whitefield but everyone calls me Whitey.’

  Lucy again explained who she was and her reasons for being at the house. Whitey sat next to his wife and put a hand on her thigh. ‘Poor Rob. He went through such a rotten time in the forces. He couldn’t hack it. It messed with his head.’ He captured Felicity’s fingers with his own and gave her a wan smile. ‘Still, his loss was my gain.’ He lifted her hand to his lips.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened to him?’

  ‘I’m not sure I can explain what happened but I can give you the facts. We were in the same regiment, best friends in fact. That was until I caught him attempting to rape a female officer, not only rape… he was… well… it was… anyway, I happened to be passing by, heard Lorna’s cries and intervened. I hauled him off her. He was drunk, crazy and fuming at me. He went for me, and during the
fight, Lorna ran away. He denied attacking her, said it was consensual, which wasn’t true.’

  ‘His father told me he was going out with you, Felicity, before he went to Kenya. Did you split up before he left?’

  ‘No. That’s what made it all the more dreadful. I thought we had something really good going on. I had no idea he’d been seeing somebody behind my back, and when I found out about the attempted rape… well, I didn’t want to see him again.’

  ‘Did he try and visit you?’

  ‘Once, after he got back, but he was a mess… crying and snivelling and begging for forgiveness. It was pitiful.’

  Whitey squeezed her hand again. ‘It was a horrendous ordeal for Felicity. She didn’t deserve to be treated badly, and as for Lorna…’ He blinked away tears.

  ‘Did she testify against him?’

  ‘She was going to. It took courage to admit what had happened but she had our support, all of us who knew him and shared the same billet with him. We were right behind her. Then…’

  It was Felicity’s turn to squeeze her husband’s hand and speak. ‘It was hard for Whitey. He and Rob joined the army at the same time and went through training together, but he knew it wasn’t right to let him get away with such a dreadful thing. Lorna was going to see the senior officer after a training exercise but the vehicle she and others were travelling in was involved in an accident and she didn’t make it.’

  ‘She died?’

  Felicity bit her bottom lip and nodded.

  Whitey’s voice croaked as he said, ‘And Rob fell to pieces. I don’t know if it was guilt, or if his mental health had gradually been declining. I suspect it was the latter. The way he behaved in Kenya was out of character for him. We all noticed the changes in him. It came as no surprise when he was discharged on medical grounds.’