It took just under an hour to wind up proceedings, but for DCI Summers and Steven Terry, the work continued as TV, radio and print journalists took them aside for one-to-one interviews.
‘I caught Kate Summers before the press conference began,’ Nigel said to Charlotte as they tucked themselves away to the side. Just ahead of them, Steven Terry was being interviewed by a local TV reporter, the shot framed so that the theatre box in which he’d discovered Fred Walker’s body was just behind him. Charlotte noticed how he seemed distracted as he was speaking to the journalist, glancing at them now and then.
‘Kate Summers admitted they’re clueless about who did it. She still thinks Barry McMillan’s death was a suicide job. There’s no evidence to the contrary, though they still haven’t found his phone.’
‘I felt sorry for his daughter,’ Charlotte said. ‘Imagine having to put yourself through that ordeal.’
‘Excuse me,’ came an unfamiliar voice.
Charlotte looked around. Steven Terry was heading towards them, looking intently at her.
‘Hello, I’m Steven Terry,’ he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. His voice was confident and commanding; it was obvious he was a performer. Charlotte shook his hand and waited to see what he wanted.
‘I hope you don’t mind me reaching out to you, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so strongly in one person before,’ he continued.
Charlotte was taken aback. She wasn’t sure what he was talking about.
‘Now look, I’m not sure it’s appropriate for you to be peddling your clairvoyant stuff—’ Nigel began to interrupt.
‘It’s okay, Nigel, let’s hear what he has to say. Go on, Mr Terry.’
‘I know you’re probably sceptical about what I do; many people are. But I feel compelled to tell you this. I can’t see what I see and not share it with you.’
Charlotte felt her nerves jangling, but like a child who’s been told not to touch something dangerous, she couldn’t help herself.
‘What is it, Mr Terry?’
‘You are surrounded by danger. I don’t know who you are, and you don’t know me. But your life is in danger. Those who you love are also at risk. It’s to do with a dark episode in your past. The ghosts of your life are coming back to haunt you. And it’s the same evil force that claimed Fred Walker’s life.’
Chapter Eighteen
‘That’s how people like him make their living,’ Nigel said, as Steven Terry was ushered away for his next interview. ‘They give you a hint of something sensational. Then they clam up.’
Charlotte couldn’t tell Nigel, but the clairvoyant had hit a raw nerve. How had he known about her connection with the case? Maybe he’d already spoken to DCI Summers. She wasn’t ready to dismiss what he’d said as quickly as Nigel Davies was.
‘I’m not sure we’re any further forward,’ he said, after surveying the room. ‘We have a head start over the other media outlets with this story, and I don’t think the police have got any more information than I have. Notice how they haven’t mentioned the photograph to the news guys; it’ll be explosive when that gets out.’
‘When will you run it?’ Charlotte asked. ‘It can’t stay hidden forever.’
‘We’ve agreed not to publish it just yet, but only because DCI Summers raised a safety issue with us over the lives of the other two men. The photograph is the newspaper’s copyright, anyway. They have to seek our permission before they can run it. Which keeps us firmly in the driving seat.’
Charlotte was watching Steven Terry. He was caught up in the media frenzy and it didn’t look like he’d be free for some time.
‘I’m going to go for a coffee next door,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m hoping to meet up with Lucia for a bite to eat. Will you let me know if you hear anything else?’
Nigel nodded, took out his notepad, and headed into the clusters of reporters to secure his own story for the newspaper. Charlotte surveyed the old theatre, considering what a macabre place it was for Fred Walker to die. She sat down on one of the chairs that had been set out for the news reporters and texted Lucia. Fancy meeting up for a panini and coffee? I’m at the coffee shop by the Winter Gardens. Mum x
She was about to add that it was close to the arcade where Lucia worked, but she erased that bit. This lunch was about building bridges and trying to get a dialogue going with her daughter. To her surprise, she got a text back straight away.
With you in 10. I’m starving. Order me a brie and cranberry panini and an Americano. Lx
That was unexpected. It gave her ten minutes on her own to think, and she was grateful for it. She placed the orders and found a table with a view across to the promenade. Her mind was whirring frantically, trying to work its way through the new information. She didn’t know what to do other than to carry on until their untruths were revealed. But what Steven Terry had said shook her; it made it feel like they were in danger.
She would have to warn Will about Bruce Craven’s half-sister. She thought back to the holiday camp. It was too far back in time to recollect what Bruce had said about his family. She knew his parents were dead, killed by carbon monoxide poisoning, but she was as certain as she could be that there was no other family. Besides, when Bruce Craven’s name had resurfaced once again after their move back to Morecambe, she’d checked at the library. The newspaper cuttings hadn’t mentioned a half-sister.
There was nothing unusual about Bruce’s father having a child by another relationship. But for it all to work chronologically, the sister would have to be older than Bruce. That would place her around sixty years old, or even older, Charlotte calculated.
Whenever she imagined Bruce, she recalled him as a young man: strong, powerful and thickset. She wondered how he would have looked more than three decades on, and she shivered at the thought that his half-sister might bear some resemblance to him.
Then there was Jenna and her secret daughter. She’d been cagey with Charlotte when they’d talked about relationships; perhaps she’d had some bad experiences and didn’t want to discuss them. It was fair enough. There were things in Charlotte’s life that she didn’t care to share.
But concealing that Piper was her daughter? Jenna must have known she and Will had purchased that guest house all along. It must have sent a chill through her when she realised it was the place where her daughter had been held a captive. But why hadn’t she said anything? Was this part of the intimidation that she’d experienced after Bruce’s disappearance from the Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp? Charlotte was desperate to make connections, but she just couldn’t see them in the limited information that she’d got.
‘Hi, mum!’
Lucia seemed unusually bright and not out of breath.
‘That was quick,’ Charlotte said, looking at her phone to see how long she’d been in a world of her own, mulling things over.
‘I was heading into town anyway,’ Lucia replied. ‘I might as well make the most of being off school.’
The waitress arrived with their food and drinks, and they sat in silence as she went through the routine of working out who had ordered what.
Charlotte had been thinking about how to tackle Lucia, and against all her parental instincts, she’d decided to go softly with her daughter. If it flared up, Lucia would become even more secretive and then she’d be none the wiser about what was going on in her life.
‘Have you and Olli made up now?’ she asked, thinking that was probably safe territory to make a start.
‘Yes, it’s all blown over. He just caught me at the wrong time, you know me and Olli, we fall out then we patch things up.’
‘He’s only worried about you, you know. We all are.’
Charlotte watched Lucia tense. She reckoned her daughter was viewing this as her own press conference. Tell them what they need to know, but don’t give them all the facts. She wanted to reach out and hug her tight, like she used to do when she was a little girl. She knew that if she did, she’d be spurned with a teenage display of mock
disgust.
‘Look, mum, I’m almost an adult now. I know what I’m doing. You’ll have to trust me.’
There were so many questions Charlotte wanted to ask. Who was this guy with the purple Mohican, for a start? Instead, she kept it non-confrontational.
‘I know we have to let you off the leash sometime,’ she began, ‘But please promise me that if anything is wrong, you’ll tell me or your dad. Or Olli. Please don’t keep it to yourself. We’re here if you need help.’
‘I’m fine, Mum, honestly.’
Lucia was devouring the panini like she hadn’t eaten for months.
‘Will you tell me what happened at the arcade? Why did you leave your job?’
Lucia took longer to chew the mouthful of food that she was working on, making her wait for an answer.
‘I just got bored, that’s all. Have you any idea what a crappy job it is exchanging notes for coins all day? I just wanted something different.’
‘You know there’s always work at the guest house. You used to enjoy that, working with your friend.’
‘Well, we’ve fallen out now, so that won’t be happening any more,’ Lucia replied, taking a big sip of her Americano.
‘That’s sad. I liked Terri a lot.’
Charlotte paused a moment, nervous about asking the question.
‘Where have you been getting your money from?’
Lucia finished her coffee. Charlotte didn’t think it was physically possible to polish off that much food and drink so quickly.
‘Oh, you know,’ Lucia replied, her face reddening.
‘That’s just it, I don’t know,’ Charlotte insisted, as much as she dare.
Lucia flared up, as if Charlotte had gone back to a lit firework and there was still unburned gunpowder left in it.
‘You’ve heard of the internet, right? I’m just selling stuff online until I find another job, okay? Old clothes, books, CDs from when I was a kid, that sort of thing. You said you’d trust me. This doesn’t feel very much like trust to me!’
‘You just seem to have a lot of money at the moment—’
‘Look, mum, thanks for lunch, but I think I’m done now. I’ll see you later.’
She moved her chair backwards, scraping it on the floor, and stormed out of the shop, leaving Charlotte feeling like an embarrassed, incompetent parent.
‘Kids… you just can’t win, can you?’
She recognised the deep, confident voice and turned around to confirm it, coming face to face with Steven Terry.
‘I thought I’d come in here for a coffee. I was worn out after all those questions. I’m on stage this evening too. What are they like in Morecambe, a friendly lot?’
He seemed much different now, more informal and chatty than the man who’d startled her earlier.
‘Yes, the Winter Gardens is a lovely venue. That’s when nobody is leaving dead bodies there, of course.’
She stopped abruptly. What a stupid thing to say. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. That was insensitive of me. It must have been terrifying, finding his body like that.’
Why couldn’t she have a conversation with anybody without causing offence?
‘That’s all right. I’m more accustomed to all of this than I’d like to admit. I know DCI Summers of old; I was involved in a very sad case not far from here, in Blackpool. She’s a tough cookie, but I’d rather have her on my side than against me. The bad guys don’t stand a chance.’
‘What is it you do?’ Charlotte asked, moving her chair so she could face him directly. He was sitting two tables away. She’d been so intent speaking to Lucia that she hadn’t noticed him walking in.
‘Officially, I call myself as a clairvoyant, but that doesn’t describe what I do very well. I can sense things, in people and in places. It’s how I knew Mr Walker was up in that theatrical box. The moment I walked into the Winter Gardens I felt the echoes of his fear, the hatred that lead to his death, and the pain of his final moments.’
‘Can you see what happened? Do you know who did it?’ Charlotte was genuinely intrigued.
‘No, it’s hard to explain, it’s something I feel, not something I see. I felt it when I saw you. I hope you didn’t mind me saying. It’s just that sometimes it’s so powerful that I have to speak up. I felt it with your daughter just now. That was your daughter?’
‘Yes, it was? What did you feel? I’m so worried about her. She just won’t speak to us, but I know something is wrong.’
Steven Terry looked at her, studying her face.
‘Not everybody wants to hear what I have to tell them. Are you certain you want me to say?’
Charlotte wasn’t certain at all, but with so many worrying things going on around her, she felt compelled to listen.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘I don’t really want to hear it, but I think I need to.’
Steven Terry took a deep breath.
‘Your family is being torn apart by secrets. You are gripped by the past, and it will not let you go. Your daughter is carrying secrets too, though I think you know that already. These secrets are about to surface. But if you keep them to yourself, if they don’t come out, they will place your family in enormous danger.’
Chapter Nineteen
Speaking to Steven Terry in the coffee shop had done nothing to put Charlotte’s mind at rest. The man’s ability to pinpoint the most important issue was unnerving. He’d got it in one; it was secrets that were causing their problems. But there was no way they could reveal what those secrets were.
Charlotte spent another ten minutes on her own after Steven rushed back to the theatre. He had a soundcheck to work through, once the theatre staff had dismantled the press conference set-up. He’d invited her to the show over the weekend. Charlotte wasn’t sure that she could face that; twenty minutes chatting to him had been enough.
She tried to avoid thinking about her fallout with Lucia. She hadn’t a clue where her daughter had gone. If only she’d paid more attention to the letter from school. Would Lucia would be counted as a truant if she was challenged on the street by a police officer? This was all uncharted territory, but then her entire life seemed to be like that since Barry McMillan had hanged himself.
It needed positive action, to see Jenna again so she could ask her about Piper, face to face. It meant another thankless journey on a regional railway line, since it wasn’t something her friend could discuss on a prison payphone.
She was beginning to see Jenna through different eyes. Charlotte had despised her for abducting Lucia and attempting a blackmail scam. But the more she learned about her former friend’s life since leaving the holiday camp, the more she was beginning to see her as a victim. It looked like the nightmares had continued for Jenna; had she kept Charlotte and her family safe by maintaining her silence?
She booked in her visit at the prison and used a phone app to get her train tickets for early the following week. With her mind distracted from her troubles, she had a sudden flash of inspiration about Fred Walker’s death. While she was thinking about other things, her mind had joined up some dots.
Her breakthrough came from a comment that Barry McMillan had made as they were walking back along the promenade on the night he died. It was only a throwaway remark, and it had passed her by completely when he told her. As they walked past a redeveloped arcade on the opposite side of the road, he remarked that he owned a part-share in the building but had never been inside.
At the time it seemed a reasonable enough thing to say. He was, after all, a celebrated author who’d made a good deal of money from his writing; why wouldn’t he have invested some of his money in his home town? But the photograph and the manner of Fred Walker’s death had given her pause. Were these men connected through property or building deals?
She checked the time on her phone. She was going to pay Jon Rogers a visit at Morecambe Library. If anybody knew who owned what in the town, it would be him. She settled the bill and made her way through the side streets towards the library. She checked in at
the reception desk and was delighted to discover that Jon was available to see her.
‘Hello Charlotte,’ he greeted her. ‘I take it we’re on first-name terms now?’
‘I guess so,’ she replied. ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling in like this, but I want to ask you a couple more questions, if that’s all right? It’s just that you seem to know everything there is to know about this town.’
‘It’s nice that you ask,’ he said. ‘The youngsters probably couldn’t care less about the history of the town. I suspect jobs like mine won’t exist in the future. Once they pension me off, that will be it. All that local knowledge, gone forever.’
Charlotte thought about Lucia and Olli. He was right. They didn’t care about their immediate environment. They were more bothered about the content on their phones and laptops.
‘We had a lady enquiring about your place after I saw you last; she was asking about the holiday camp and your guest house. It was the same lady who I mentioned to you last time we spoke. It’s funny how Sandy Beaches keeps coming up. Anybody would think there was buried treasure there.’
Jon Rogers didn’t know how close he was, but it wasn’t treasure that was buried at Sandy Beaches Holiday Camp.
Charlotte knew who the lady was already. She didn’t need him to tell her.
‘I hope you don’t mind. I sent her your way. I gave her your web address and suggested that she stay with you if she was visiting the area. We need to support local businesses as much as we can.’
Under normal circumstances, Charlotte would have been grateful for the referral. But bearing in mind who he’d sent their way, she’d rather have told him to keep his big mouth shut. Instead, she diverted him from his course.
‘I wondered if you knew anything about some of the building projects around the town. What sort of things was Fred Walker involved in?’
Jon Rogers looked surprised at her change of subject.
‘That’s an interesting question to ask, bearing in mind the poor gentleman’s recent demise. What a shock that was. And Barry McMillan too. It’s interesting that you ask; the thought had crossed my mind too. I was considering mentioning it to the police, but I suspect they’d dismiss me as some local history fantasist.
Circle of Lies Page 10