by Anita Waller
It was the roll of paper that was the final straw. Everyone realised just how important a piece of paper it was and Pilot was the first one to pick it up.
‘I’ll make copies of this’ he said. ‘We all need one, and we need to study the faces. We know Treverick can change like a chameleon and we don’t want him getting in here unchallenged. We have to put a name to a face. Properly.’
‘Now you’re thinking like a pro,’ Mark said. He tugged on his purple silk tie. ‘And now, may I have a cup of tea, please? This is thirsty work. We can talk more, maybe a bit more quietly, over a drink.’
Lauren and Jess went into the kitchen and Jess crossed to the window. She lowered the blind and then went to switch on the light.
‘He can’t see us with the blind down,’ she explained.
‘’Thank you,’ Lauren responded. ‘We’re all going to have to start thinking like that. And thank you for what you said about the children. It’s a comfort to know that there are so many of us watching their backs but you spend more time with them than anyone, so thank you.’
They carried the drinks through to the lounge and placed the two trays on the coffee table. They could hear the photocopier going in Pilot’s office and Lauren took his drink in to him. She pulled down the blind and switched on his light.
‘The electricity bill will go up, but we’ll be alive,’ she smiled.
Lauren had to put Dawn and Pat into the same double room that Dawn had shared with Freda and Josh was moved back into the box room he had occupied before. The camp bed wasn’t ideal but the room wasn’t big enough for a single bed.
It became something of an adventure for the children; they now had lots of adults to play with.
Dunbar made good on his promise and arrived the following day to begin his interviews. He concentrated on the newcomers to the family, Dawn, Josh and Jess. It soon became very clear that he was barking up any tree but the right one. He completed the interviews with all of them and then left to repeat question Mark’s men. He made no apologies for his overbearing manner towards the family and kept a formal attitude throughout.
Eventually, Dunbar arrived back at his office feeling disgruntled, and out of sorts. They were no further on with this investigation than the day Grace had knocked on the Wainwrights’ red door. All he had to show for his team’s efforts were four dead bodies; he had no hesitation in including Freda in the tally. Without Treverick’s bullet, she would still be alive. He sat down at his desk and picked up a report that had been marked for his attention. It confirmed that Matthew Shaw was indeed Ronald Treverick’s son. He had never doubted it for one minute but legally they had needed the proof.
He picked up the phone and rang Marcia. She answered almost at once.
‘Hi, Kenny,’ she said.
‘It’s DI Dunbar, Marcia.’
She sounded flustered. ‘Oh... sorry, I was expecting a call back from someone else.’
He laughed. ‘Clearly. Would his name be Kenny?’
‘Yes.’ She sounded embarrassed.
‘I just wanted to let you know that the DNA result shows that Treverick is unquestionably Matthew’s father. I’m sorry.’
‘No need to be sorry, DI Dunbar, I knew. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me. Treverick was the only person it could possibly have been.’
‘Will you tell Matthew?’
‘I already have.’
‘Oh?’
‘I thought it was for the best.’ Now she sounded evasive.
‘Right. Er... well, that’s all I rang for. If you need any more information, you have my number. You may get a witness call up at some point in the future.’
‘You caught him then?’
‘Not yet. But we will.’
He put the phone down and stared at it. There had been something not quite right. Her tone had been offhand; she hadn’t been like that before.
He dismissed it with a shake of his head and pulled some more paperwork towards him. He needed to go home and the sooner it was finished and filed, the sooner he could get off. Perhaps a new day would bring some advancement. He could only hope.
As he turned the corner to park up outside his home, he thought again about Marcia Shaw. She had definitely been offhand; could she possibly have been in contact with Treverick? Maybe another trip to Wadebridge might be in order. He locked the car and went through his front door.
He kissed Fran, said,
‘Hello, wife, I’d like food,’ and was asleep within five minutes. It had been a long day.
Chapter 37
Newspapers were delivered to Hillside by seven o’clock and by 7.05 am Dunbar was getting his first phone call of the day.
‘Have you seen the papers?’
‘Pilot? And good morning to you.’
‘Have you seen the papers? There’s an article by somebody called Kenny Raines. It’s an interview with Marcia Shaw. Headline is I had a love child with Ronald Treverick.’
‘Shit! The silly cow! I knew there was something wrong, something she was hiding when I spoke to her yesterday.’ He groaned. ‘That’s all we need. It was irrelevant before. The information gave us no leads; it was no help at all. In actual fact, the only people who knew about this young lad were you and Lauren, his mother and myself. And now, this damn journalist and the rest of the public. It was as irrelevant as that. It’s not even been passed on to my team. Now he’s going to know something as big as this and what will that do to him? He’s possibly going to go after his own child as well.’
‘What will you do?’
‘God knows. Go and get the paper for a start, then we’ll take it from there. Thanks for the heads up, Pilot.’
He disconnected and leaned back on the kitchen chair. Fran wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind and kissed the top of his head.
‘It’ll be over one day,’ she whispered.
‘You reckon?’
‘I reckon.’
Dunbar called his team together and went through the information he had on Marcia and Matthew Shaw. He spoke for quite a while; he wanted them to have all the facts, but when he got to the end DC Johnson spoke.
‘Does this help, sir?’
‘Not at all. I suspect she’s been well paid for this article and it will be a one-day wonder. However, Treverick will be aware of this by now. What really bothers me is if he likes little boys as well as little girls. Our evidence so far points to little girls only, but who knows? I’m going to Wadebridge after this meeting to talk to her again. Sarah, you’ll go with me, please. This silly woman has put herself and her son into danger for the sake of a few quid and her fifteen minutes of fame. And I’m damn sure she doesn’t have the Farmer-size fortune to pay out for protection. Right, I’m dealing with this issue along with Sarah. You all know what you’re doing?’
There was a chorus of yeses and Dunbar stood. Sarah followed him into his office and waited for him to speak.
‘I could quite cheerfully strangle her.’
Sarah nodded.
‘Know exactly what you mean.’
‘But why? She seemed like a nice young woman when I met her. What on earth can she be thinking of...?’
‘Let’s go and ask her, sir.’
The journey didn’t take too long; traffic was light at this time of year. He pulled up outside Marcia Shaw’s house with some difficulty; there were several journalists milling around obviously waiting to get a photo or speak to her. After knocking on the front door, they waited patiently for some sign of life. He bent down and called through the letter-box, telling her it was DI Dunbar. There was absolutely no reaction.
There was a shout from across the street, and Dunbar turned to see a tiny, old woman waving at him. ‘You a copper?’ she asked.
‘Yes I am, madam,’ he called.
‘Then come here.’
Sarah followed him across to where the old lady waited for them and she hustled them inside her home. It was beautiful. Cushions were on every surface and the colours in the ru
gs glowed and matched perfectly the shades in the wallpaper on the fireplace wall. Lamps and candles lit up the gloom caused by the overcast skies outside and Dunbar looked around appreciatively.
‘Sit down,’ she said.
‘Well...’
‘Cup of tea?’
He nodded weakly. ‘Thank you.’
‘And you, young lady?’
‘Thank you. We both have milk, no sugar.’
She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with their drinks and a plate of biscuits.
‘Right, now get that down you and we can talk. My name’s Poole, Mrs. Take your time because I reckon that lot out there will be gone soon. They’ll give up. Some of them have already gone. And I’ve got something for you.’
She handed him an envelope that said DI Dunbar on the front. ‘She popped it through my letterbox some time during the night. I can’t tell you what time cos I’m a bit deaf, like, and I didn’t hear her. I found it when I came down this morning. There was a little note pinned to it that said, “Keep this till DI Dunbar comes.” ’ She reached across and picked up the plate of biscuits. ‘Eat,’ she instructed. ‘They’re all homemade.’
And so they ate. Dunbar finished his snack and then slipped on a pair of latex gloves before opening the envelope. He realised he was probably being overcautious but didn’t want any nasty surprises inside the envelope.
‘How did you know it was from Miss Shaw?’
‘We look out for each other. It’s not the first note she’s put through my door. If she’s expecting a parcel or something and she’s going to be at work she drops a note through and I look out for the van. I look after her place if she goes away – we watch out for each other. Has she done something bad? Why are all that lot out there? They’ve been banging on her door and hanging around all day. It’s a good job you had your uniform on, Miss, or I’d have thought you were one of them vultures.’
‘You’ve not seen the newspapers, Mrs. Poole?’
‘No. Can’t see too clear these days so I have the evening news on the telly instead of reading about it. Will she be on that?’
‘Possibly.’
He took out the piece of paper and read through it quickly before putting it back inside the envelope. Nestled in the bottom was a key.
‘It looks as though she’ll be away for some time, Mrs. Poole. I’m going to leave you my number and when all that lot have disappeared, if anything out of the ordinary seems to be going on across there, can you call me, please? Don’t approach anyone, not for anything. Just ring me.’
She nodded. ‘I hope Marcia’s ok, and Matthew of course.’
He handed her his card and they walked towards the door, thanking her for her hospitality.
‘Give her my love if you speak to her, will you? I’m going to miss our little chats. And that little lad ran errands for me.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be back. She’s just taking some time away for now. Listen to the news tonight. Thank you, Mrs. Poole.’
They went back to the car and Dunbar handed her the letter. ‘I couldn’t read it and digest it in there, so look at it, read it out to me and let’s have your thoughts on it.’
Sarah smoothed out the letter.
DI Dunbar – I’m sorry if I’ve upset you but I believe I did the right thing. I was paid quite a lot of money for my interview and I’ve explained to Matthew exactly who is father is and why we have to go live elsewhere. In England, Matthew will never be rid of the link to Treverick, so we’re leaving. Nobody will know us where we’re going and that’s how I want it. I have taken everything I want from my house but I am leaving you a key just in case you should need to go in. I don’t know what will happen when Treverick reads that article but I do know he will be able to find that address. Thank you for your kindness and I hope you catch him soon. Marcia and Matthew Shaw.
‘Short and sweet, but you were wrong to give Mrs. Poole false hope. She’s definitely not coming back, ever.’ she said.
‘You think she’s done the right thing?’
There was a moment of hesitation. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Why? Treverick didn’t know anything about his son...’
‘Didn’t he? You’re sure about that? And she’s scared. She’s looking out for the most precious thing in her life and doing what’s right for him. She’s obviously thought about the fact that she’s told you – and you’re possibly the only person she’s ever told – and realised the enormity of this secret. She doesn’t know who you might have shared it with and I actually think she’s done a very brave thing.’
‘Only Pilot and Lauren knew apart from me and out of everybody attached to this case I would say that the three of us are definitely the people who don’t fit the criteria for accomplice to Treverick.’
She laughed. ‘Maybe you’re right. This really was the biggest red herring, wasn’t it? All it did really was confirm what his name was ten years ago.’
‘Until now it was a red herring,’ he said grimly. ‘Who knows what will happen after this.’
They arrived back at the station and began to work on their reports. The mood in the big room was sombre. They all felt they were getting nowhere and everyone was repeating work, going through witness interviews, potential sightings that had cropped up after the initial television broadcasts; they searched for anything they might have missed or dismissed first time round.
Just after six o’clock, Dunbar decided to call it a day. He popped his head round the door of the main room and told everyone to have an early finish.
‘Be back here for eight tomorrow. Keep thinking about what you’ve been checking and we’ll have a brainstorm first thing.’
Chapter 38
So, he had a son. He could vaguely recall the girl – that was where he thought he had lost his wallet and she had confirmed that for him in the interview with the journalist. He wondered what she had called the boy but knew it wouldn’t be too difficult to find out.
He might have to take a little careful trip to Wadebridge and see if he could find her house again; get a look at this son. Ten years old and he hadn’t known.
It was a long article and he reread it several times. He didn’t want to miss anything. It briefly occurred to him that if he had known about this child, his life might have been different but he quickly dismissed that thought. His mission to take Angel had been solely about payback to Amy Thornton. Killing her on their wedding day hadn’t been enough; using his son wouldn’t have done anything to assuage the anger he felt towards the Farmers and Thorntons.
He carefully cut out the two-page article and folded it tightly. It fit into his wallet with a squeeze but he needed it with him. Maybe he could have a chat with this Kenny Raines; maybe he knew where this tart was living with his son. Maybe.
It was time for a change of appearance. Now he had to look professional; time to darken his hair, wear dark glasses maybe, small moustache. Time to track down Kenny Raines.
Life was stressful at Hillside. Having everyone under the same roof to keep safe was a good idea in theory but in practice, it had its flaws. There was a lot of people traffic. Brenda and Ken kept very much to their own wing, realising very early on that the fewer people in the main part of the house, the better. Their main visitor was Grace.
She had developed a real affinity with her great Nan and frequently popped in to show what she had been doing with Jess. Most of the stuff centred around Harry Potter, which left Brenda a little wrong-footed as she had never read the books but she loved to hear Grace fill her in on the stories.
‘I’m going to have to read these books,’ Brenda announced one day after admiring a picture that vaguely resembled a unicorn but was assured by Grace that it was something called a patronus. Never having come across such an animal before, she asked if she could borrow the first book.
‘I’ll get it now, Nan Brenda,’ the little girl said excitedly. ‘This is the one Sarah read to me in hospital. And don’t be scared when Harry is rescued
, will you?’
She ran from the room and Brenda looked at Ken for support. ‘What have I let myself in for? I read romance and classics,’ she said.
Ken laughed. ‘I don’t know, my love, but one thing’s for sure, this’ll be nothing like Jane Eyre.’
He didn’t care what it was like; this young child was working the miracle with Brenda that he hadn’t been able to do. She could bring a million patronuses (patronii?), if she wanted, as long as his Brenda was reverting to her normal happy self.
He really smiled two days later when Brenda asked this very precious great granddaughter for book number two.
‘Now don’t be scared by anything will you, Nan Brenda? You just call me if you are.’ And then she hesitated for a moment. ‘Or Granddad Ken. But he’s not read them, so he’ll not really understand...’
And so, at the age of seventy-seven, Ken Buckingham began to read Harry Potter, just one book behind his wife of eighty-seven. And they both began their recovery from the death of Freda in a way that Freda would have found hilarious and would have wholeheartedly agreed with.
The breakfast meeting a couple of days earlier had done nothing to help. Dunbar was still going through the vast amount of reports and interviews. Nothing made him stop and think that something was amiss.
He decided to take advantage of a fine February day and check on things at Hillside. He would once again take Sarah with him. She had said on the way back home from Wadebridge, how much she missed Grace.
They ran the gauntlet of the police car at the bottom of the drive. The young officer had checked his identification even though he had recognised him instantly but then had told him to open the boot, Sir.