The Tapestry Bag

by Isabella Muir

  The bus was on time and fairly empty, which was a surprise given the weather, but also a relief. We sat near the front and made sure Charlie’s long legs weren’t blocking the route to the back of the bus. Dad was quiet and I guessed he was feeling apprehensive.

  ‘We’ll try to get her talking, I’m sure with you there she’ll be more relaxed,’ I said. ‘She’s always liked you. For those last couple of years at school she spent more time round our house than her own.’

  ‘Yes, I remember all that music drowning out my wireless,’ he said, smiling. ‘Let’s just take it a step at a time, but don’t expect too much. She’s been through a lot and I’m sure her emotions are struggling to keep up with events.’

  Dad was right, I always had high expectations and then had to cope with being let down when things didn’t go the way I hoped. Whereas Greg and dad rarely had preconceptions - perhaps it was a man thing.

  As we approached the squat we had to negotiate our way through the litter and general debris, making sure that Charlie didn’t step on any of the broken glass laying in the gutters.

  ‘Okay, this is it. We’re here. Shall we all go in together or should I go in first and tell her you’re here?’ I said.

  ‘Let’s go in together, Charlie may ease the situation for us.’

  I pushed the door and we walked into the gloom. The stench of stale smoke and body odour was as strong as ever and it took me a while for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The three mattresses were still on the floor, with the tattered blankets thrown in a pile in one corner of the room.

  ‘Hello again,’ the voice came from the far side of the squat and looking over I realised it was the blonde-haired lad I’d met on my previous visits. ‘If you’re here for Zara, you’ve had a wasted journey,’ he said. ‘She’s not around.’

  Even in the dim light I could tell Charlie was longing to explore the musty smells and probably fancied his chances of snuffling up remnants of food. Instead, he was on his best behaviour, standing close to dad, looking up at him.

  ‘Do you know where she’s gone?’ dad asked.

  ‘This is my dad, he’s known Zara since we were at school together,’ I said.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t help you. I don’t know where she is.’

  I wanted to sit on the floor and cry, except there were two pressing reasons not to, the first being the dirt, and the second being the definite probability that I wouldn’t be able to get up again. Bean was increasingly impeding my movement, or I was eating too many biscuits. Nevertheless, tears came; I’d found Zara only to lose her again and the whole thing was starting to overwhelm me.

  ‘Has Zara spoken to you much since she’s lived here?’ my dad asked.

  ‘We don’t intrude on each other’s lives, we just share a living space. I’m Luke by the way. I know she’s been sad, when she’s not asleep she spends a lot of time crying.’

  ‘Who else lives here with you? There’s a third mattress?’ I said.

  ‘It’s spare now. It used to be Dee’s, but she moved out.’

  I remember Zara mentioning she’d given her overcoat to someone called Dee and I wondered if she’d gone to find her.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where Dee went?’

  ‘Dee’s family had money, but they threw her out when they found out she was taking drugs. She’s had a difficult time of it, worse than the rest of us.’

  ‘The rest of us?’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve all tried a bit of this and that, but Dee got caught up with a bloke, he introduced her to the hard stuff.’

  ‘LSD?’

  ‘I think so, yeah.’

  ‘She’s trying to turn her life around. Zara was a good friend to her. Perhaps Dee went back home. Anything’s possible. Is it okay if I say hi to your dog?’

  Dad made a small hand gesture, indicating to Charlie that he could move forward and Luke bent down to stroke him.

  ‘What about you, son?’ dad said.

  ‘I’m okay. Just trying to work out the meaning of life.’

  ‘That might take you a while then. How do you live, where do you get the money to buy food?’

  ‘I play this,’ he said, strumming his guitar. ‘I do alright, enough to get by.’

  ‘We wish you well,’ dad said.

  ‘How long have you been blind?’ Luke said.

  ‘Oh, a few years now.’

  ‘Is it hard, not being able to see the sky?’

  ‘I can still see it, I’ve got my memories.’

  ‘There’s things I’ve seen I wish I hadn’t.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you, son,’ dad said, holding out his hand. Luke stood and held dad’s hand in his.

  ‘Likewise,’ he said. ‘If Zara comes back I’ll tell her you came. I can see why she talks about you both, you are good people.’

  We left the squat and walked in silence back to the bus-stop.

  ‘What now?’ I asked dad, once we were on the bus.

  ‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘Maybe we need her to make the next move?’

  ‘But that means doing nothing.’

  ‘Sometimes that’s all you can do.’

  ‘If I could find out more about Dee, that would give me a lead.’

  ‘You heard what Luke said, he doesn’t know where Dee has gone. If she’s gone back to her family to try to sort herself out, then the last thing you want to do is interfere.’

  ‘The only way I’m going to find Zara is by doing just that. Interfering.’

  The bus took a corner a bit too fast and dad and I were both thrown forward in our seats. Charlie made a quiet bark, as if to reprimand the driver.

  ‘You okay?’ I said, once we were back on the straight again.

  ‘I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. What about you? You didn’t bump that baby of yours, did you?’

  ‘No, Bean is hardy. Takes after its granddad.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’

  ‘Granddad, or Gramps? Any preference?’

  ‘Let Bean decide, shall we? Crikey, what a thought. My little Janie, a mum.’

  ‘Er, yes, strange thought, isn’t it? Do you think I’ll be any good at it?’

  ‘You will be perfect. And don’t forget that husband of yours, he’s going to make a great dad.’

  ‘You don’t believe Zara would be silly enough to take hard drugs, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know, love, but whatever she has decided to do you need to accept it’s her decision. We’re each of us responsible for the choices we make.’

  When we got back to dad’s I remembered the envelopes. I took them out of my jacket and laid them on the kitchen table.

  ‘You remember I told you about an envelope that turned up a while back, with a press cutting?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Well, I’ve had another one.’ I read the letter out to dad while he drank his tea.

  ‘Some guttersnipe trying to make money out of someone’s misery. It’s a nasty thing and the product of a sick mind,’ he said.

  I sighed a little too loudly. I didn’t want dad to worry about me, but as each day passed I felt like I was losing my grip on the situation. I wanted to take a trip in Dr Who’s Tardis back to those easy schooldays, when everything was possible and the most complicated thing to concern me was which shoes to wear.

  ‘Don’t lose your focus,’ dad said, reading my mind. ‘Talk me through what you’ve found out so far.’

  ‘Joel is run down by an unknown person. Zara claims she is responsible. But you know what Poirot says? That the first instinct of the criminal is to divert suspicion from himself - or herself in this case. If Zara had done it she’d hardly be admitting it now, after all this time. There’s no way that Zara is a criminal, I’m certain of that, if nothing else.’

  ‘Okay, what’s next in your synopsis?’

  ‘Greg saw Joel and Zara out running together, happy and in love.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Zara runs away from our house and on
the day she leaves Mr Peters sees her at the cemetery, putting a note behind the gravestone, which I’ve found. Mr Peters doesn’t report the sighting until months later.’

  ‘Why do you think that is?’ dad says.

  ‘Because he didn’t know people were looking for her?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What? You think there’s another reason? Do you reckon Mr Peters knows more than he’s saying?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘C’mon, tell me what you’re thinking. You’re the ex-detective remember. I’m just a probationer.’

  ‘Well, it could be Mr Peters has seen more than he’s letting on. Maybe, just maybe, he’s worked out a way of making a bit of cash on the side. There’s not much money in running a newsagent. The last couple went bust, didn’t they?’

  ‘Oh, crikey, dad. What about Owen? I need to factor him in somewhere.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’ve had time to come to work. You’re not letting your library work suffer, are you? You were lucky to get that job, you need to hang on to it.’

  ‘Owen was in love with Zara. Still is, I’m sure. He hated Joel and we know he has a temper. Maybe he had something to do with the accident? His dad said the last time he came back to visit was about three months ago. That’s the same time Zara went missing.’

  Dad shook his head, his expression showing more than mild concern.

  ‘Another idea I’ve had,’ I said, reflecting that perhaps I had achieved more than I thought.

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Petula. What if her dad found out about Joel, perhaps he wanted to teach Joel a lesson for treating his daughter so badly. It could be that it all got out of hand?’

  ‘Okay, this is the point at which you really do have to involve the police. I mean it, Janie. It’s getting too dangerous for my liking and Greg would have an absolute fit if he knew the half of what you’ve been up to. Promise me you’ll take these envelopes and their contents to the police and let them pursue it.’

  ‘I promise.’ I didn’t need to cross my fingers behind my back when I agreed. I said I’d take the letters, I still had no intention of telling them about the squat. I had to protect Zara for as long as it took to find out the truth.

  Chapter 30

  Then, suddenly, he asked: ‘Are you a judge of finger-marks, my friend?’

  ‘No,’ I said, rather surprised, ‘I know that there are no two finger-marks alike, but that’s as far as my science goes.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  The Mysterious Affair at Styles - Agatha Christie

  The officious Detective Sergeant Bright made me wait fifteen minutes before showing me into the same airless room we’d sat in before. Once again he brought with him a dirty ashtray and a packet of cigarettes. I had to smile when I realised he also had a glass of water in his hand. He put it down in front of me and I nodded my thanks.

  ‘I understand you’ve something to tell us about Zara Carpenter?’

  ‘Well, yes, kind of,’ I said and placed the two envelopes in front of him. ‘I received this one a few weeks ago and this one the other day.’

  ‘You do know that withholding evidence is a crime?’

  ‘I’m not withholding them, they are here in front of you.’

  ‘You’ve taken your time to show these to us. Why is that?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t think anything of it. At least not the first one, I thought it was just a childish prank. Then, when I got the second one I wondered if there might be more to it.’

  ‘I see,’ he said, taking off his glasses and peering more closely at the envelopes. I went to pick one of them up.

  ‘Don’t touch them,’ he said, in a voice well suited to an army sergeant major.

  ‘I was only going to point out how the handwriting is the same on both of them. Do you see? And it’s the same writing on the letter that’s inside this one.’ I pointed, taking care not to touch anything.

  ‘Fingerprints, you see. We can get a lot of information from fingerprints,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve already touched them, I’ve opened them and shown them to my dad.’

  ‘Your father? How is he involved?’

  ‘He’s not involved, he’s just my dad. He used to be a policeman, so he’s switched on about evidence and all that stuff, in fact he was the one who told me to bring them here to show you.’

  ‘Well, he did the right thing there. Used to be a policeman, you say? Local, is he?’

  ‘Yes, but it was years ago, before your time.’

  ‘Couldn’t stick it, then?’

  ‘He was a brilliant detective, actually,’ I could hear my voice escalating in pitch as I rose to my dad’s defence. ‘He had an accident, he’s blind. So that makes police work kind of difficult, as you can imagine.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Now, let’s concentrate on the matter in hand, shall we?’

  He took a pair of thin plastic gloves from his jacket pocket and put them on. Then he carefully opened the first envelope and slid out the press cutting, smoothing it out flat on the desk.

  ‘It’s about Zara.’

  He said nothing, but continued to open the second envelope and was quiet as he read the letter.

  ‘How does this person know about my friendship with Zara? It’s clear they’re trying to scare me,’ I said.

  He didn’t reply, but put the contents back in their respective envelopes and removed the gloves.

  ‘I have a theory,’ I said.

  The detective shrugged his shoulders. ‘So did Einstein,’ he said, with sarcasm.

  ‘Blackmail.’

  ‘That’s a serious accusation.’

  ‘It’s a serious crime.’

  ‘We need proof.’

  ‘You have it there, in front of you.’

  ‘This is proof of nothing, except someone who has decided they’ll have a laugh at your expense and give you a bit of a runaround. Take my advice, Miss…’

  ‘Mrs.’

  ‘My advice to you would be to leave this to the professionals. Don’t go meddling in things you don’t fully understand. Go home to your husband and let us make our own enquiries.’

  ‘That’s just it, you don’t. What have you done since you had the new lead?’

  ‘That’s not any of your business, now is it? I think we’re finished here. I’d just like to take your fingerprints if I may and your father’s if he agrees, to eliminate them.’

  ‘Do you think they will help you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Will the letters help you with your search for Zara?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss the case with you, but I thank you for bringing this evidence to our attention. And now, Miss, I bid you good-day.’ He stood up, pushed his chair back from the table and looked at me expectantly.

  ‘Will you let me know what happens, if you work out who sent them?’

  ‘The desk sergeant will take your fingerprints and if you could ask your father to come in to the station as soon as possible?’

  ‘Right, yes,’ I said, as he ushered me out of the room and handed me over to the desk sergeant. Having my fingerprints taken gave me a rush of excitement, before I reminded myself this wasn’t a game or a scene from a drama, it was real and scary. Zara could be in danger and I wouldn’t be able to rest easy until I knew she was safe.

  My best chance now was for Zara to turn up again at the squat so I could try to understand why she thought she was to blame for Joel’s death. Hercule Poirot would have solved the case long before now.

  I wondered if I should tell her I knew about her attempted suicide. Owen’s violent streak was also on my mind; Zara was the only person who could explain the truth about the day Owen hit her. But I didn’t want to scare her. At this stage I was scaring myself with the thought of what might have happened.

  My Friday session in the library van was so busy I barely had time to think, but just as I was tidying up ready to close for the day I had a last-minute customer.

  ‘
Hello, it’s Janie, isn’t it? Gran told me you’d taken over from her. Says you do an excellent job.’

  ‘Thanks, you must be Libby. Phyllis has told me a lot about you, you’re her favourite grandchild.’

  ‘Yes, well, her only one.’

  ‘And you’re living down in Devon?’

  ‘Cornwall, near Falmouth. At least I was, I’ve decided to move back here. I miss Gran too much and my job down there is boring. I need a new challenge.’

  ‘You’re a journalist, is that right?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been on a local rag down there and the most exciting thing to happen is when one of the locals catches a prize-winning fish. I thought there might be more going on here. I’ve managed to get a job with the Tidehaven Observer. You never know I might get the chance to report on a juicy murder.’

  I hoped she was joking, but let the remark go unanswered.

  ‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you, I’m sure your gran will be pleased to have you nearby. She’s a special lady,’ I said.

  ‘I know, I’m lucky to have her. She’s got a soft spot for you, you know. Always on about your undiscovered potential. Am I too late to choose a book?’

  Meeting Libby meant I had the means of publicising all the discrepancies concerning Joel’s death and Zara’s disappearance, but I couldn’t risk it. For one thing the police would probably charge me with interfering in a criminal case and then there was the problem of letting people know I’d tracked Zara down. I had to keep that discovery secret until I could determine for sure whether Zara was at risk. And right now the whole truth felt even more elusive.

  Greg suggested a Saturday night out at the pub. A few of his darts mates would be there and I guessed they were hoping to talk tactics before the next match. With the thought of a night out, I’d spotted a closing down sale in one of the clothes shops the last time I was in Brightport. So, I planned to combine a shopping trip with a quick visit to the squat in the hope Zara might have returned, or at least that Luke might have more news.

  It was a crisp, sunny morning and Brightport town centre was buzzing with people who were glad to see blue skies, despite the chilly start to the day. I got off the bus in Town Hall Square and planned to walk round to the squat before browsing for clothes. A crowd had gathered around a young musician and as I edged my way through to the front there was Luke, sitting on a small fold-up stool, playing his guitar. He’d put a cap on the floor beside him and people had already shown their appreciation by half filling it. He finished playing, to rapturous applause and more tossing of coins. I ferreted in my bag for my purse, moved forward to put the money into the cap and then someone caught my eye.