The Other Child

by Charlotte Link

  Valerie felt for her. A terrible situation: a dark autumn evening, a desolate place, a terribly mutilated corpse at the bottom of a gorge. And a young woman who was only expecting to find a lost sheep. She tried to go on as gently as she could, to give the woman time to gather herself.

  ‘Did you call the police immediately?’

  ‘First of all, I climbed back up as fast as I could,’ said Paula. ‘I might … I might have been screaming, I’m not sure. Once I got to the top, I wanted to call, but I didn’t have reception. It’s bad around here. I ran towards the main road, and somewhere there I got a weak connection.’

  ‘Then you waited for us? Or did you go down again, to look for the sheep?’

  ‘I went back down,’ said Paula. ‘But I couldn’t find the sheep. I’m afraid it’s gone further up the gorge. Probably I did scream, and it got scared. And now with these lights, and all these people … there’s no way it’ll come back now. I have to go and find it.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Valerie. She turned to Sergeant Reek. ‘Reek, can you climb down there with Miss Foster and help her to find the sheep? I don’t want her wandering around on her own.’

  Reek’s face expressed anything but enthusiasm, but he did not dare contradict her. He and Paula were about to start clambering down, when Valerie thought of one more thing.

  ‘Miss Foster, you said you come here in the morning and evening. So you were in the shed this morning?’

  Paula stopped. ‘Yes, around six o’clock.’

  ‘And you didn’t notice anything? Something different from usual … Maybe the animal was agitated, something like that?’

  ‘No. Everything was just the same as always. It was still dark, of course. Even if someone had been around’ – she swallowed, as the unpleasant idea dawned on her – ‘then I wouldn’t have seen them.’

  ‘Right. Sergeant Reek will take down your details. We’ll have to talk to you again.’ With that Valerie ended the conversation and started down into the gorge herself, a risky undertaking with her completely unsuitable footwear, and she cursed more than once. At the bottom she found the doctor. He had been squatting down by the body of the woman. It lay deep in the leaves. He straightened up.

  ‘Compelling conclusions, Doctor?’ asked Valerie.

  ‘Nothing which would really help,’ said the doctor. ‘Female corpse, between seventy-five and eighty-five years old. She was beaten to death with, I think, a stone at least as big as a fist, with which she was hit more or less at random on her temples and the back of her head, at least twelve times. She must have fallen unconscious quickly, but the perpetrator didn’t stop working her over. I’m assuming she died of a brain haemorrhage.’

  ‘Time of death?’

  ‘Roughly fourteen hours ago, so around eight this morning. Before that she lay unconscious for at least eight hours. From what I’ve been able to ascertain so far, she wasn’t yet dead when her murderer left her. The post-mortem will tell us more, but I would guess that the crime was committed between ten p.m. and midnight.’

  ‘Anything thrown up by forensics? Where she was found – is it the scene of the crime?’

  ‘From what I gather, she was attacked up at the top of the gorge. Then she rolled down here. The perpetrator apparently didn’t follow her down.’

  Valerie chewed on her lower lip.

  ‘At first sight, there seems to be a certain similarity to Amy Mills’s case.’

  The doctor had been thinking about this too. ‘Both were battered to death, although in different ways. Amy Mills’s head was rammed again and again into a wall, while this woman’s skull was smashed in with a rock. In both cases great brutality and strength were used. But major differences are also blatantly obvious …’

  Valerie knew what he was about to say. ‘The extreme difference in the victims’ ages. And then of course the scenes of the crime.’

  ‘It’s not unusual for a perpetrator to be lurking in a particularly empty part of a city for a possible victim,’ said the doctor. ‘But who hangs around on a godforsaken dale expecting someone to come along?’

  Valerie thought about it. Of course, someone might have been waiting for Paula Foster. She was not much older than Amy Mills, and she often came here. If she was meant to be the actual victim, then the old woman’s murder happened by accident. She was at the wrong place at the wrong time and literally ran into the waiting killer. But then there was the question of why the perpetrator would have been waiting for Paula here at night. And what was an old lady doing at night on a narrow, unlit farm footpath between a gorge and a field, almost a mile from the main road, when she was – as far as Valerie could see – well dressed, even dressed for a special occasion? What was she looking for?

  Or was she the intended victim from the start? Had the perpetrator brought her here and then set about executing her?

  A young policeman approached. He held a handbag in his plastic-gloved hands.

  ‘It got caught in a tree on the slope,’ he said. ‘It’s probably the victim’s bag. According to her cards, diary and what have you, the owner is a Fiona Barnes, neé Swales, born on 29th July 1929 in London. Resident in Scarborough. There’s a photo which seems to be of the victim.’

  ‘Fiona Barnes,’ repeated Valerie. ‘Seventy-nine years old.’ She thought of the young Amy Mills. Was there any connection?

  ‘And one more thing,’ said the enthusiastic young officer. He was new, trying to make a name for himself. ‘I phoned the station in Scarborough. Around 17:20 this afternoon a Fiona Barnes was reported missing. By her granddaughter.’

  ‘Well done.’ Valerie praised him. She wrapped both her arms around her freezing body. The wind blew ever colder; it swept across the moor and whistled down into the gorge.

  Right after being found, the corpse already had a name. That was quicker and easier than usual. It often took weeks to find out the dead person’s identity. But Valerie was wary of a premature optimism. Amy Mills had been identified quickly too, but that had not helped one jot.

  ‘I’d like to see the woman’s granddaughter right away,’ she said.

  The young officer beamed as he realised he would get to drive his boss. Sergeant Reek was tramping around somewhere out there in the dark looking for an injured sheep.

  Sometimes you just got lucky.

  Monday, 13th October

  1

  ‘Are you awake?’ whispered Jennifer. She poked her head through the door of Gwen’s room. ‘I saw the light was on.’

  Gwen was not in her bed. She had not even got undressed. She was sitting in a chair at the window, staring into the pitch-black night that still hung over the land. It was half past four in the morning. As yet, nothing announced the day which was about to begin.

  Cal and Wotan squeezed past Jennifer, bounded over to Gwen and licked her hands. Lost in her thoughts, Gwen ruffled their big heads.

  ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘I haven’t slept a wink.’

  ‘Me neither,’ replied Jennifer, coming into the bedroom and closing the door quietly and firmly behind her.

  They were all in shock. Everyone on the farm was since Leslie’s call late last night. After a police officer had visited her.

  Chad had disappeared into his room without a word, bolting the door behind him.

  Colin had paced back and forth between living room and kitchen.

  ‘Impossible,’ he said again and again. ‘It can’t be!’

  Gwen and Jennifer had sat motionless on the sofa, stunned and speechless.

  Fiona was dead. Brutally murdered. At the edge of a meadow, not all that far from the Beckett farm, but far from the path Fiona had wanted to take on Saturday night. No one knew how she had got there.

  Long past midnight everyone had gone to bed, although obviously no one had managed to sleep.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about something,’ said Jennifer. She seemed tense, but that didn’t surprise Gwen, whose nerves were highly strung. Her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but she was w
ide awake. She was sweating and shivering simultaneously. It was like the flu, only much, much worse.

  ‘Yes?’

  Jennifer sat down on the bed. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she started cautiously. ‘It might seem strange to you that I’ve been worrying about this, now of all times, but … I know you feel terrible and …’

  Gwen felt like she had a mouth full of cotton wool. It was hard to speak. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said with some effort. ‘It’s just … like a bad dream. Fiona was always … unbreakable. Strong. She was …’ Gwen looked to find the right words to describe what Fiona had been to her, but she did not find them. Finally she said, ‘She was always there. She was always there and it felt like she’d always be there. That gave me so much … security.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jennifer gently. She stroked Gwen’s arm briefly. ‘I know what she meant to you. I know too that you want to be left in peace, but we have to talk about something. It’s important.’

  ‘It is?’ asked Gwen indifferently.

  ‘Today the police will come and question us all about Saturday night,’ said Jennifer. ‘They’ll want to know about every little thing. And we should think about what we’ll tell them.’

  In spite of her lethargy, Gwen was annoyed. ‘Why? We can just tell them what happened.’

  Jennifer spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. ‘The problem is the fight between Fiona and Dave. It was a big one.’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘The police will latch onto it. Look: Fiona attacks Dave so viciously that he leaves the house angrily, even though the evening meal is his engagement party. A few hours later she’s dead. Murdered. They’ll put two and two together.’

  Gwen sat up straight. ‘You mean …’

  ‘They are bound to suspect Dave first of all. How do we know whether he drove straight home? He could have hung around outside. He could have intercepted Fiona as she walked towards Whitestone Farm.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous! Jennifer – I know Dave! He’d never do such a thing. Never!’

  ‘I’m just saying what the police will think,’ stressed Jennifer. ‘Dave had a motive, you see? He could have killed her in the heat of the moment, out of anger. He might have been scared that Fiona would ruin all your plans by constantly sowing doubts in your mind. She was in the way of all that he hoped for. He certainly would have had his reasons for wanting to silence her for ever!’

  ‘The way you’re talking – it’s as if you’ve already decided he’s the perpetrator.’

  ‘Rubbish. But the two of you must be prepared for the fact that the police will confront you with these suspicions.’

  ‘The two of us?’

  ‘They could suspect you too,’ said Jennifer slowly.

  Gwen stared at her in astonishment. ‘Me?’

  ‘Well, you were of course angry with Fiona too. And you were afraid she could destroy your dreams for the future. You still don’t know whether Dave might not be so angry that he never turns up again!’

  ‘But, Jennifer, that’s no reason for me to go and … that’s completely crazy!’

  ‘What did you do after Dave left?’ asked Jennifer.

  Gwen looked at her numbly. Her friend’s train of thought paralysed her. ‘You know. We both sat here in my room. I was crying. You were here for me.’

  ‘But then, later, I went for a walk with the dogs. You didn’t want to come with me.’

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘Listen, Gwen, it’s just a suggestion. You don’t have to accept it, but … Why don’t we just say you went with me? We took the dogs for a walk together. Then you’d have an alibi for the crucial time and wouldn’t have to defend yourself against any insinuations.’

  ‘I don’t need an alibi!’ said Gwen, horrified.

  ‘No, but it won’t do any harm to have one.’ Jennifer got up, turning towards the door. ‘You can think about it. I’m going out with Cal and Wotan. When I get back, you tell me what you’ve decided. If you want to do it, then we should just agree on our story, so you know exactly where we were walking at the time in question.’

  She opened the door and stepped out into the hall. ‘All right?’

  Gwen did not look all right. ‘Yes,’ she said nevertheless. ‘I understand. I’ll think about it, Jennifer.’

  She stared at the door closing behind her friend and suddenly thought: and Jennifer would not have to worry any more, either.

  2

  ‘Do you know this woman?’ asked DI Valerie Almond, holding a photo up in front of Dave Tanner’s face. Not yet completely awake, he nodded.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Fiona Barnes. I only know her a little.’

  ‘And do you know this woman?’ Another photo.

  ‘I don’t know her personally, just from the papers. It’s Amy Mills, the girl who was murdered here in July.’

  ‘Fiona Barnes was found murdered yesterday in Staintondale,’ said Valerie.

  Thunderstruck, he felt all the colour drain from his face. ‘What?’

  ‘She was killed with a rock. In some ways the murder is similar to that of Amy Mills.’

  He had sat down on a chair. Now he stood up. He ran a hand down his face. ‘Good lord,’ he said.

  To Valerie, he seemed thoroughly shaken.

  But in the course of her career she had seen and experienced too much to take anything at face value. Dave Tanner might really be completely shocked and surprised, but it could just as easily be a show he was putting on. Valerie would reserve judgement.

  She had turned up at Dave’s landlady’s property with a rather sleep-deprived Sergeant Reek who had spent half the night looking for the sheep, but found it in the end and dragged it back out of the gorge. She asked to speak to Mr Tanner. The name Tanner had electrified her the previous evening when she had given Leslie Cramer the sad news of her grandmother’s death and carried out a cautious first conversation with her. Like Amy Mills’s employer Mrs Gardner, Tanner gave language classes at the Friarage School, and now here he was being mentioned in connection with a murder for a second time.

  It could be the connection they needed. In any case, at the moment it was the only connection between the two immensely different women.

  Dave Tanner had still been in bed when the landlady knocked on his door and told him the police were there. She had snorted with excitement. Tanner had been surprised, but was prepared to talk then and there. He had pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper and shown the officers into his room. He offered them coffee, which they declined. Valerie had taken a good look at him. His puffy eyes told her that he drank too much, but that did not make him any more or less of a suspect. Valerie was annoyed that she had not investigated him right after talking to Mrs Gardner. She had tracked down Mrs Gardner’s ex-husband first. He had turned out to be a harmless fellow and, moreover, he could prove where he had been at the time of Amy Mills’s murder: on holiday in Tenerife. The hotel he named confirmed his visit.

  ‘We’ve spoken to Dr Leslie Cramer, Fiona Barnes’s granddaughter,’ said Valerie. ‘According to her statement, you had a very heated argument with Mrs Barnes last Saturday evening.’

  ‘It wasn’t an argument. Mrs Barnes attacked me – you no doubt already know what she said. In the end, I’d had enough and I left. That was all.’

  ‘Dr Cramer said that by your own account you drove straight back here and went to bed.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Witnesses?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your landlady?’

  ‘She was watching TV. She didn’t hear me come back.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because when she does, she always jumps out and intercepts me.’

  ‘Where were you on 16th July of this year? In the evening?’

  ‘I … had a date.’

  ‘You know that just like that? I wouldn’t spontaneously know what I had done three months ago.’

  He looked at her w
ith hostility.

  He’s starting to realise that his situation is rather precarious, thought Valerie.

  ‘I met my fiancée for the first time on 16th July. That’s why I mentioned a date, and why the date is fixed in my head.’

  Valerie looked in her files. ‘Your fiancée – Miss Gwendolyn Beckett, is that right?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Where did you meet her?’

  ‘In Friarage School. I don’t teach on that day, but I had gone over to collect some files that I had left there. Gwen Beckett was attending a course there. It was tipping it down when she was about to leave, so I offered to drive her home, and did.’

  ‘All right. What time was that?’

  ‘We drove off around six. I was at home by half eight.’

  ‘That’s early.’

  ‘We got to her farm at around half six. But we sat in the car talking for over an hour. She told me about her life, I told her about mine. Then I drove back.’

  ‘You were here at home then? On your own?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can your landlady confirm that?’

  He ran a hand through his hair helplessly. ‘No idea. I mean, unless the 16th July was a special day for her too, I doubt she’ll remember whether I was at home that evening or not. But perhaps you can explain what this is—’

  ‘Did you meet Mrs Fiona Barnes for the first time last Saturday?’ Valerie changed the topic abruptly. ‘Or did you know her already?’

  ‘I knew her. I had met her a couple of times on the farm, when I was picking up Gwen. She invited Gwen and me to her place once. She’s a friend of Gwen’s father.’

  ‘Was there ever any conflict between you on those occasions?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She never let show that she mistrusted you?’

  ‘She showed that she didn’t like me. She was cool and distant and always looked at me quite aggressively. But I really didn’t care.’

  ‘And the evening before last it started to bother you?’

  ‘She laid into me without holding back at all. Yes, it bothered me, that’s why I went. But I didn’t kill her. God! I wasn’t that bothered by the old lady and what she thought!’