by Penny Kline
*
What Joanne called the flat turned out to be one room with the use of a shared kitchen and bathroom. Even so it was a pleasant enough room and Joanne seemed delighted with it. Two cans of white emulsion stood in the corner near the fireplace. On a small formica-topped table a brush and a bottle of white spirit had been placed neatly on a sheet of newspaper.
‘I thought white paint would make it look bigger,’ she said, noticing Karen staring at the cans. ‘The landlord said he didn’t mind.’
‘I should think he’d be pleased,’ said Karen, gazing at the walls that still had the marks of the previous tenant’s posters, and wondering how she would feel if it was her flat.
Joanne had switched on an electric kettle. ‘I’m afraid I don’t drink tea so there’s only coffee.’
‘Suits me fine.’ Karen strolled across the room and looked out of the window at the garden – a square of straggly grass, surrounded by empty flower beds on three sides and a strip of concrete close to the back of the house. A man was hanging a grey-looking sheet on the washing line, but it wasn’t the man in the suit. He probably lived in some luxurious place, paid for with the rent money his tenants paid out each month.
‘My parents live up by the golf course,’ said Joanne.
‘Oh, yes.’ Karen decided to feign ignorance of Mr & Mrs Stevens’ home, then realised they would have mentioned her visit while Joanne was away on holiday.
Joanne was watching her. ‘It was you who talked to them last week, wasn’t it?’
There was no point in lying. ‘Yes, I’m sorry. Look, I wasn’t checking up on you. It’s just that–’
‘Oh, I don’t care.’ Joanne took a couple of mugs from a rickety wooden cupboard. ‘You were curious about Natalie. That’s why I thought it would be better if I told you about her. She was younger than me. I expect you know that already. Younger and prettier and more intelligent. Not that she did any work – at school I mean – but she was never in bad trouble.’
She spooned instant coffee into the mugs, then opened the smallest refrigerator Karen had ever seen and took out a carton of milk. ‘You know how some people seem to be able to get away with murder?’ She gulped a little, realising what she said. ‘Most of the teachers seemed to think she was funny. Even when she cheeked them.’
Karen sat on the edge of Joanne’s bed. It had a cover made of striped Indian cotton, the kind of thing Karen’s mother sold at the shop. If Joanne wanted any wall hangings or brightly coloured ornaments she might be able to get her ten per cent off. More, since she had a feeling the shop hadn’t been doing too well during the last few months.
‘I’m an only child,’ said Karen, responding to Joanne’s obvious jealously of her sister. ‘I’ve often wished I had a brother or sister but I expect it can be difficult. People comparing you all the time, only I thought being the younger one would probably be worse.’
‘I hated Natalie,’ said Joanne, ‘but that doesn’t mean I wished her any harm. Now that she’s dead. Well, you can’t hate someone who’s . . .’
‘No.’ Karen’s voice came out as a whisper.
‘It wasn’t Liam who did it. He hasn’t got the guts. The police are so sure it was him they haven’t bothered to look for the real murderer.’ She passed Karen a yellow mug, then balanced her own on the mantelpiece and stood leaning against the wall.
‘Joanne?’ Karen had to find out as much as she could. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking but did you have some kind of row with your parents? Is that why you moved out?’
‘I’m twenty-three. Would you like to be still living at home? Ever since it happened my father’s insisted on driving me to work, then picking me up at the end of my shift.’
‘Yes, that must be awful, but I suppose it’s understandable.’
‘Oh, it’s only because he feels people blamed him for Natalie’s death. It’s only so he can be seen to be doing his duty.’
Her voice was cold, bitter. Suddenly she changed the subject. ‘You’re still at school. I heard Alex talking about you. I failed most of my exams, but I’m not stupid.’ She glared at Karen – but perhaps she was thinking about someone quite different. ‘You don’t have to be brilliant to do well. I didn’t realise at the time. I’m going to take them all again.’
‘Good idea. So you moved here to have some peace and quiet. They have classes in the evening, don’t they? It must be pretty tiring, working at the cafe all day, then–’
‘I like it,’ she said. ‘It’s what I want to do. And besides . . .’ The pallor of her skin had returned. So had the sweat on her upper lip. ‘When the truth comes out, when they find what really happened, I want . . . I want . . .’ She never completed the sentence.
‘What truth, Joanne?’
But she seemed to be miles away. Then two bright spots of colour appeared on her cheeks. ‘You should ask Natalie’s friends. That’s who you want to talk to. Go and ask her friends.’
‘Who were her friends? Was there one in particular?’
Joanne stared at her for a few minutes, then spoke very fast. ‘Look, there’s nothing else I can tell you. The reason I’ve said as much as I have, I thought it might save you some wasted effort. I suppose you help your father. I know what he does.’ She was holding open the door, waiting to see Karen out of the building. ‘If you come to the cafe again pretend we’ve never met. It’ll be better that way, I’m sure you agree.’
Chapter Twelve
Russell had his own theory about Joanne Stevens. When Karen told him about her visit to Joanne’s flat he listened, without interrupting, then said she must have been trying to protect Liam Pearce.
‘Liam Pearce?’ They were walking across the old graveyard, taking a short cut through to the shopping centre. Russell had been waiting for her when she came out of school. She wondered if he had found out something important – or perhaps he just wanted to see her.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘What if Joanne knew Natalie was messing around with some other bloke?’
‘What if she did? You mean Joanne felt sorry for Liam, and that’s why she told me he couldn’t have killed Natalie.’
‘Fancied him, you mean.’
‘Joanne Stevens fancy Liam Pearce?’
Russell laughed. ‘Liam’s a lame duck. Good looking in a flashy kind of way, which is what appealed to Natalie I imagine, but basically a bit of a nerd.’
Karen’s brain was working overtime. ‘Russell, did you ever meet Ann Stevens?’
‘Who? Oh, you mean Natalie’s mother.’ He shook his head. ‘Why?’
‘When I went round there that time – it was only a feeling, but I got the impression she knew something but was terrified of telling anyone.’
‘What gave you that idea?’
‘Something she said when Walter Stevens was out of the room. About Natalie always wanting new clothes, excitement. I just thought it was rather strange. If my daughter was murdered I can’t imagine criticising her in front of a total stranger. Then she said . . .’ Karen broke off trying to remember Mrs Stevens’ exact words.
‘Go on.’ Russell sounded impatient, excited.
‘Something about Natalie’s father, but she was talking so quietly I could hardly hear what she was saying. Something about how Walter had just snapped.’
As they climbed the steps up to Lancing Road Karen thought she saw someone jump back, but when they reached the top there was no-one in sight, apart from an elderly man, shuffling towards the old people’s flats.
‘Russell, did you see someone?’ She pointed towards two dusty-looking shrubs that, in spite of the traffic fumes, had managed to produce a few pinkish flowers.
He laughed. ‘Where? The trouble with you, you’re so caught up with all this stuff you’re starting to imagine things. Listen.’ He sat on the low wall that ran along the edge of the flower beds. ‘We need to work everything out properly, not keep jumping about from one suspect to the next.’
‘You still think Liam did it?’
/> He nodded. ‘Seems the most likely candidate. If Natalie’d been messing him about he wouldn’t have liked that. Liam fancies himself with women, wouldn’t have taken it well, being passed over for some other guy.’
‘But there’s no real evidence against him.’
He thought about it for a moment. ‘No, you’re right. I once met a guy who’d been banged up for nearly a year for a crime he hadn’t really committed.’
‘Why? What was he supposed to have done?’
‘Hit someone outside a pub, but it was self-defence. The guy who was injured had threatened him with a knife only the knife never turned up. I reckon he passed it to a friend who ran off with it before the police turned up.’
‘I suppose there are bound to be some injustices like that,’ said Karen.
Russell nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose. Come on, let’s hear your list of suspects. Opportunity and motivation – that’s what we ought to be thinking about. Am I right?’
‘Well, there’s Joanne. She hated her sister. Said so herself.’
Russell frowned. ‘If she’d killed Natalie she’d hardly have let you in on how she felt about her.’
‘Perhaps she wanted to confess. And Walter Stevens. He belongs to some society, something to do with Victorian morals. There’s a kind of church hall place, quite near where you live. You’ve probably noticed the sign.’
‘Poster with a picture of some kids in a field?’
She nodded. ‘Maybe Walter thought Natalie had let down the family.’
‘By having a kid? Surely not. So he lay in wait for her and whacked her over the head?’
He was mocking her. It was getting on her nerves. One minute he seemed interested in the case, keen to help. The next he started treating her like an idiot.
‘It has been known,’ she said coldly. ‘A father killing his daughter.’
‘Of course. Sorry, go on.’
‘Well, that leaves Olive Pearce,’ she said, joining him on the wall, although it felt damp from last night’s rain.
‘Liam’s mum? Looks the violent type, does she?’
‘No. Oh, I don’t know. How can you tell? She’s really fond of the baby. I’m certain of that. If Natalie was threatening to move out, taking Justin with her, to go and live with her parents . . .’
‘I thought they wouldn’t have her. I thought her father said she’d brought disgrace on the family.’
‘No, I was only guessing. It’s only an idea.’
Suddenly Russell stood up and announced that he had to buy some food for his father’s cat.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said.
‘No, better not. Some other time maybe.’
‘You’re going to visit your father?’
He nodded. ‘I drop by most days. He gets fed up, sitting there on his own.’
She waited, hoping he would suggest they meet later on – or the following day – but he just started walking away from her. When he reached the bend in the road he raised a hand and called over his shoulder.
‘Keep up the good work. See you.’
*
She didn’t want to go home. Her mother and Alex would be whispering together – stuff about solicitors and how on earth they were going to get enough money to buy out her father’s share of the house. That was the thing about divorce. It started off with everyone talking about love, and ended up mainly about hard cash.
The jeans shop on the corner of the High Street and Kersfield Road was selling two pairs for the price of one. Karen looked in the window, wondering if it was a genuine bargain, but without any great interest.
It was getting cold. She decided she might as well go home but she would spend the evening in her room, working on her English assignment. When Alex invited her to come and watch some boring TV programme she would say she was too busy. Her mother would be pleased she was concentrating on her work, and Alex would take the opportunity to have a good smooch, sitting with his arm round her mother’s neck as though they were kids out on their first date.
The thought of it made Karen feel unwell. Or it could be the fact that she had skipped lunch. She decided to visit Tessie before going home. Perhaps Mrs Livingstone would offer her something to eat. Tessie’s other brother, Nick, lived off sausages and baked beans. It would make a pleasant change from the experiments Karen’s mother kept forcing on her and Alex.
A woman, sitting in the burger bar, caught her eye. A skinny creature, dressed in a brown sweater with a matching cardigan and a string of colourless glass beads. It was Ann Stevens, the last person Karen would have expected to see in such a place. But even more surprising, the woman with her was Olive Pearce.
The two of them were deep in conversation. There was a pot of tea on the table and two plates, one empty, the other with the remains of a half-eaten pastry. Karen pulled up the hood of her jacket and watched them, while keeping most of her face turned in the other direction.
From her vantage point, close to the adjoining shop, she could see the baby, strapped into his buggy, eating what looked like a bag of crisps.
Olive Pearce had her elbows on the table and her fingers rubbed the back of her short, straggly hair, as though she was trying to relax the tension in her neck.
Did they meet up quite often – the two grandmothers? Karen had assumed Liam Pearce and Walter Stevens were not on speaking terms but – in her limited experience – it seemed women were more ready to compromise, especially if there was a baby involved. Could grandparents go to court to ask for the right to see their grandchild? It was something that had never crossed her mind before.
She would have given anything to listen to the conversation, but there was no hope of that. If she entered the burger bar one or other of them would be bound to notice her. The place was emptier than usual, with only two short queues waiting to be served, and half a dozen tables already occupied.
Ann Stevens turned her head a little and Karen noticed that she had a purple bruise on her cheek. If anyone asked her about it she would say she had bumped into a door. People like Mrs Stevens always covered up. They were too afraid to tell the truth.
As she watched, Ann Stevens got to her feet, brushing the crumbs off her pleated skirt and reached for an anorak on the back of her chair. Karen dodged into a doorway and a few minutes later she saw her leave the burger bar, then stand quite still, craning her neck to look between the shoppers and over their shoulders.
Was it some sixth sense that made her realise the person she was looking for was less than ten feet away?
‘Oh, there you are.’ She snatched hold of Karen’s sleeve, making her freeze, as though she had been caught shop-lifting. ‘Thank goodness. I saw you out in the street but I thought you’d have gone by now.’
‘Oh, hello, Mrs Stevens.’ Karen tried to sound mildly surprised, but nothing more. She was wondering if Olive Pearce had also seen her. If so the two women would have exchanged notes and realised she had found a way of getting acquainted with each of them. Hopefully there hadn’t been time.
Ann Stevens’ face was very close. ‘That time you came to the house . . .’ She ran out of breath and had to wait a moment, steadying herself on the wall. ‘I’ve been so worried, especially when Joanne told me who you were. Your father – he used to be a policeman.’
‘Yes, but he’s not now.’
‘No, a detective, a private detective. I had to speak to you but I didn’t know where to find you. About Walter, what I told you – Joanne’s father – he’d never have harmed her, he worshipped her, only wanted the best for both the girls. What I meant – I was upset – it’s just that he thought they should be brought up to do as they were told, learn respect.’
Karen could feel Mrs Stevens’ breath on her face. She took a step back. ‘Yes, I understand.’
‘If you’re strict with children, especially teenagers . . . Natalie didn’t like it.’ She put her hand up to her face, touching the purple bruise. ‘I just thought if I explained.’
‘Yes, I thought tha
t’s what you meant, Mrs Stevens.’
‘Did you? Oh, thank you.’ She relaxed a little. ‘So you didn’t say anything to . . .’
‘Not a word. I promise.’
‘Thank you, dear. Thank you ever so much.’ She opened her handbag and for a moment Karen thought she was going to offer her money. Then she found a tissue, blew her nose, and hurried off down the street.
On her way to Tessie’s house Karen thought about what Ann Stevens had said and tried to decide whether it had let Joanne’s father off the hook, or had exactly the opposite effect and made her even more suspicious.
Then she thought about Olive Pearce, sitting in the burger bar, and wondered if Liam knew about the meetings between the two grandmothers. There were so many things she needed to find out and the feeling had been growing that no more progress would be made until she met Liam Pearce and managed to persuade him to tell her his side of the story.
She would have to catch him on his own, but that would be difficult now he had sprained his ankle. She had been hoping to see him when he was playing football – but what good would that have done? He was hardly likely to have come straight off the pitch and agreed to start talking about Natalie to a total stranger.
*
Tessie was in the shower. Her mother invited Karen into the kitchen, then sat down at the table, smiling at her, but looking distinctly on edge.
‘Haven’t seen you for ages, Karen. How’s everything?’
‘Oh, all right.’ She had no wish to discuss her parents’ divorce. ‘They set us masses of work these days. At school, I mean.’
Mrs Livingstone nodded. She wasn’t really listening. She had something on her mind. Something about Tessie? As usual she was dressed the way Karen imagined the perfect wife and mother was supposed to. Smart skirt and matching jumper. Shiny apron, with a picture of Paddington Bear on the front.
What would it be like to have a mother who had no job, just did the odd bit of voluntary work, and devoted the rest of her time to the house and her husband and kids? Mrs Livingstone was the spitting image of Tessie – or should it be the other way round? When you saw her you knew how Tessie would look in twenty years time. What a thought!