by Millie Vigor
Though computer literate, mobile phones were anathema to Ginny and she kept hers, a present from her father, only for emergencies. Where was it now, still in her bag? Could the police do what Curtis did? Would they know where she was and come and rescue her? She was tempted to smile.
Curtis gave a satisfied chuckle. ‘I wouldn’t want to raise your hopes. I’m afraid I threw your phone in the River Avon and now it’s lying in the silt at the bottom of it.’
There had been a glimmer of hope when he’d told her how he knew where she was. Now there was none. Who was this man to think he could entice her into his house and imprison her? What made him think he could persuade her to stay and that she would be happy to do so? He had always treated her with respect, but had he done that to make her feel safe in his company? What was she to expect from him now that she had seen his cruel side? Was he going to use her as a plaything? So far he had made no sexual advances towards her, had even appeared to be greatly shocked when she had suggested it, but it would be foolish to dismiss the possibility. Ginny was repulsed by the thought of being raped. She had to get out and if she was ever going to do that, she had to have a plan. Aggression and violence weren’t going to work; she had used that tactic, so perhaps now was the time for gentle persuasion.
‘You know a great deal about books,’ she said. ‘What interested you in them and where did you find the time to gain such an encyclopaedic knowledge?’
‘It goes back a long way, Virginia. My parents were both keen for me to have a good education. Books were discussed at breakfast, lunch and dinner. My father was a professor; he lectured in economics and was often away, my mother was in banking. When my father was away I was at home with Mother.’
Curtis stopped speaking. While she waited for him to go on, Ginny watched as he looked down at his hands. He was twisting his fingers together, rolling his hands. His breathing became rapid, and it was obvious that he was in distress. Oh dear, who was going to surface now? When he lifted his head and looked at her she saw that his eyes were wet with tears.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
Curtis turned away from her. ‘My mother said I was a mistake and a nuisance. She never played with me. She gave me books, all the time it was books. I was expected to read and study them because she would question me afterwards. But I loved her because I thought she was beautiful. And then she was ill and she died, and my sister was knocked down by a lorry and she died too. Then Father killed my pet cat. Albert the gardener died and Mrs Hopkins – our cook – went away. They all went away and I was left with my father.’
‘I’m so sorry, but at least you had him.’
Curtis jumped up and spun round. ‘I hated him. I hated him. He was cruel. I can’t talk about it.’
Aghast, Ginny watched as he jumped up from his chair, snatched the cellar door open then slammed it shut behind him. She heard the bolts shooting into place and the sound his feet made as he ran up the stairs. Then all was quiet.
ELEVEN
Hazel Thomas stood by the computer monitor at the library front desk. Her attention was not on it. Eyes blank and unseeing she gazed into the distance. Though it was still only November, families were bound up in preparations for Christmas; not many were looking for books to read and the morning was quiet.
‘Penny for them,’ said Curtis Brookes.
Hazel jumped and gasped. ‘Oh, Curtis, I was thinking about Ginny. I just can’t believe she would run off again without telling anyone. It’s not like her. She thinks the world of her cat so how could she leave it without making arrangements for it? I wonder what’s happened to her. She’s been gone eight weeks now.’
‘She’s all right,’ said Curtis. ‘One day she’ll walk through that door as though nothing has happened.’
‘I’d like to think you’re right, but you do hear of people being murdered all the time. I just hope nothing like that has happened to her.’
‘There’s got to be a motive for a killing,’ said Curtis. ‘Miss Harvey is well-liked and she hasn’t been murdered.’
‘Why are you always so formal when it comes to Ginny?’ said Hazel. ‘Everybody calls her Ginny but you always say Miss Harvey which makes her sound like a maiden aunt.’
‘Ah, no, Mrs Thomas. Miss Harvey, being an author, knows how long it takes to write a book, knows what a lot of work goes into it and expects, as I do, that the reader will take care of it. Sadly that often doesn’t happen. I just like to show my respect for her.’
‘Well, you could relax a bit, Curtis, but I guess if that’s the way you feel, that’s the way it is. Anyway, being well-liked wouldn’t stop a druggie or a rapist from attacking her. God, I hope nothing like that has happened. But sometimes people disappear and are never heard of again. Some evil person kills them and buries them in the back garden.’ Hazel shivered at the thought.
‘You’re getting morbid,’ said Curtis. ‘Ah, here comes Nancy Graham, she’ll cheer you up. She may even have some news.’
Hazel smiled as Nancy put a couple of books on the desk. ‘If you don’t have to rush off somewhere, Nancy, will you have a coffee with me? I need a bit of “me” time and you’re just the person to share it with.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Nancy.
When they were seated at a table, each with a steaming mug of coffee, Hazel said, ‘I wasn’t going to talk about Ginny, but I’ve got to ask. Do the police have any new leads as to why she disappeared? Seeing that your Bill’s a policeman I thought you might know.’
‘Sorry, Hazel, there’s not been even as much as a whisper. She seems to have been swallowed up by a black hole.’
‘It’s very strange, isn’t it? She was such a lovely person. I can’t imagine who would want to do her any harm.’
Nancy sipped her coffee. ‘My mother’s a people watcher. She says they’re like books and you know what they say about them – “you can never tell a book by its cover” – and she’s right. You don’t know what’s inside. People are the same, it’s impossible to tell what’s going on in someone’s head; a smile can sometimes hide wicked thoughts. Do we really know Ginny as well as we think we do?’
Hazel popped a couple of sugar lumps in her coffee and began to stir.
‘Perhaps we don’t. But it’s the fact that she’s disappeared without a trace. You’d think someone must know something. It’s almost as though she’s been abducted by aliens. Huh, that’s if you believe in them of course.’
‘You don’t take sugar,’ said Nancy as she watched Hazel stirring her coffee.
‘I do today,’ replied Hazel.
‘Anyway, what are aliens?’ said Nancy. ‘We think we know what they look like, but if anyone’s seen them why haven’t they taken photographs? And if they’re so blooming clever, how do we know they don’t look like us? I mean,’ she nodded in the direction of Curtis, ‘take him, he’s a weird one.’
Hazel laughed. ‘You can’t be serious; he’s as transparent as the day.’
Nancy shook her head. ‘No, he isn’t. I’ve often wondered what goes on under his shell. He never says very much, not to me anyway, doesn’t offer any conversation and doesn’t seem to be interested in anything but books. Don’t you think that’s strange for a fit young man?’
‘He’s the best assistant I’ve ever had,’ said Hazel. ‘Though I have to admit he does sometimes drift off into a world of his own and he can get moody. But lots of folk are like that. I’ve only ever seen him lose his temper once and that was when someone brought back a book that had been abused. Corners had been turned down and it looked as though a whole cup of coffee had been thrown over it. He was so mad I thought he was going to explode.’ She turned her head to watch Curtis. ‘I suppose he could be gay,’ she mused.
‘Ginny said that too.’
‘Are her parents still here? I saw them on the appeal they put out on television. Ginny’s their only child, you know. Her mother could hardly speak she was so choked up. Her father seemed nice and very protective of his wife. Po
or woman, what she must be going through.’
‘They came round to see us and asked a lot of questions. I expect they’ll be in to see you. It seems that they want to talk to as many people as possible to try to find out what Ginny’s life here was like. There’s nothing they can do, though, so I think they’ll be going home soon.’
‘How are things with you, Nancy?’ asked Hazel. ‘It’s obvious Ginny got it all wrong when she accused you, but … do you miss her?’
‘Of course I do. You may not realize it, but policemen’s wives don’t have many friends. People seem to think we’re waiting for them to put a foot wrong so we can report them.’
‘Surely not.’
‘Yes, they do. They don’t trust us.’ Nancy picked up a sugar lump, popped it into her mouth and crunched. ‘Ginny said I ought to give up sticky buns but I can’t resist sugar knobs and you don’t get them in many places now. Hey,’ she said and smiled, ‘only a few weeks to go and then it’s Christmas.’
‘And don’t I know it,’ said Hazel. ‘I try to hide stuff from the kids. They swear they don’t look for it, but I know they do. Have you got family coming?’
‘We have. We don’t have much room so it’ll be Bill’s parents on Christmas Day and mine on Boxing Day. Bill’s mum thinks I’m a failure because I didn’t have any kids. I tried to tell her it takes two but as far as she’s concerned, her boy can do no wrong.’
‘That’s in-laws for you, isn’t it?’ said Hazel. ‘Thank goodness mine live too far away to visit too often. With four growing kids in the house it’s always bedlam; it just gets worse when their grandparents arrive.’
Nancy laughed. ‘Best of luck then, I shall be thinking of you.’
Talk turned to family and friends, the ever mounting list of cards to write and presents to buy until, coffee finished, Hazel went back to her work and Nancy to browse the bookshelves and choose more books.
Bill Graham sat on a hard chair in DI Barker’s office.
‘I can’t make this one out, Bill,’ said Barker. ‘Ginny Harvey seems to have disappeared in a puff of smoke. You’d have thought we might have got a lead from the appeal the Harveys made. We’ve got nothing but the usual nutters trying to get in on the act. Why do they always have to muddy the water? Where the hell is that young woman?’
Bill scratched his head. ‘Last time she was seen was when she was at the library. The town’s been crowded for weeks now. It’s easy to get lost in the crush and if she’d been taken from there no one would have noticed. You could pass within a yard of your own mother and not see her.’
‘If someone had grabbed her and hauled her off in a car, she would have kicked up a fuss,’ said DI Barker. ‘And there’d be enough people about to notice and help her.’
‘Come on, Bob, you know what people are like, they don’t want to get involved. They’d say it was just a domestic and none of their business.’
DI Barker picked up a pencil and twirled it between his fingers.
‘No,’ he said at last. ‘She wasn’t taken from the town. Must have been somewhere quieter and by someone she knew. Apparently she didn’t have many friends, which ought to make it easier. House to house hasn’t turned up any clues, in fact, not many people seemed to be aware of her even though she lived in the middle of them. They know about her, know that she’s a writer, but otherwise, nothing.’
‘As far as I know she didn’t have any enemies,’ said Bill. ‘After that disastrous affair with the chap where she bought her computer stuff, she didn’t take up with anyone else. He wasn’t a very nice character and I suppose he could be still holding a grudge. Nancy and I thought the world of her. She was like the daughter we didn’t have.’
‘Your wife was great friends with her, wasn’t she?’ said Barker.
‘Yes, until Ginny accused her of being the stalker. When I said that it might be a woman Ginny jumped to the conclusion that it was Nancy.’ Bill shrugged his shoulders.
‘That was my fault. I’ve been paying for it ever since.’
Bob Barker began to doodle. Bill, well used to the man’s long silences, watched as the DI drew half a page of interlinking circles.
‘We’ve got to look under every stone, Bill,’ he said. ‘But at the moment I’m damned if I’ve got a clue which one to turn over.’
‘That Paul Turner, the photographer, was lying from the start,’ said Bill. ‘He told Ginny he was a visitor at the hotel when all the time his parents owned the place, and then it turns out that he lives here. So he could have left the flowers on Ginny’s doorstep and he was certainly in the right place when she found the one at the hotel.’
‘I know, looks bad, doesn’t it? But I have had a word with him and so far he’s got an alibi. We might put a tail on him, though; find out what he’s up to.’
‘And the bloke at the computer store?’
‘He’s a bullshitter, Bill, tries too hard to impress. Blokes like him are ten a penny. But he did make threats so we aren’t going to dismiss him. I’ll let him think he’s off the hook for a while then I’ll go and see him again and maybe bring him in. And when it comes to the one at the library, well … have you seen him? He’s as queer as a tuppenny watch. I think we can rule him out; a good woman would have him quaking in his shoes. No, I’ll have a tail put on Turner and I’ll keep tabs on the one at the computer store. Are you off duty now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Coming for a pint?’
‘Thanks, Bob, but no, I’d better get home.’
‘See you tomorrow, then.’
Nancy had taken the car and gone to visit a friend so, as no one was going his way, Bill got on the bus. He sat at the back and covertly studied the passengers. One of them might hold a clue to Ginny’s disappearance. At his stop, the one Ginny would have used, he was the only one to alight. She should have come home on that bus, but hadn’t. Had something happened to make her lose her mind so that she was now wandering around not knowing who she was or where she lived? Stranger things had happened. Bill shook his head, no, he couldn’t buy that one. Enough photographs had been circulated in newspapers and on TV for someone to have seen her and reported it. Even though no one said they had seen her on the bus, it didn’t mean that she had not been on it. Bill stood for a moment and looked around. Houses and gardens were well kept. No rowdies or drop outs here, it wasn’t the sort of area in which criminals lived. Or did they? Even if she had got this far on her journey home it wasn’t the place for a mugging, especially one that might have gone wrong. Who the devil had spirited Ginny away and where was she now?
TWELVE
Ginny put down the book she was reading; even for an avid reader the written word sometimes palls, more so when the book is chosen by someone else.
Uppermost in her mind was Curtis and his outbursts of aggressive behaviour. It was so out of character. She had always thought him to be such a kind and caring sort of person, never one who would physically abuse women. Perhaps being floored and christened with a hot dinner, being met with defiance and then being attacked a second time might be an excuse to fight back, but he had acted so violently she had feared for her life. What was even more frightening was the way he had abruptly become angry and then quietly back to his usual mild manner. There seemed to be no way to tell what caused the switch, which meant that she would have to be constantly alert when in his company. It was strange how he seemed not to remember his rage and then to have tears in his eyes when he spoke of his parents. A father who was a professor and mother a banker would explain the grand house, the antique furniture and rich furnishings. But there was something else, something that Curtis didn’t want to talk about or even remember. Whatever it was, it could be the reason for his strange ways and why he had locked her up.
Despite the fact that Curtis had thrown her mobile into the Avon, denying anyone the chance to put a trace on her, the police would surely be searching for her. Had they told her parents? What a worry it would be for her mother. She hoped they would not travel down to
Salisbury; there was nothing they could do. It was the job of the police to work out what had happened, to search for and find her. She could imagine them going from house to house; showing a photograph of her to the householder and asking if they had seen her. They would surely have gone to the library and talked to Hazel. Would they have questioned Curtis too? And if they had how would he have reacted? Cool, calm and collected if they didn’t provoke him, she guessed.
She got up off the bed and began to pace back and forth. If only she could get out. She’d had a taste of freedom when Curtis had taken her upstairs to the bathroom so that she could shower. And she wanted more. It had felt so good to be walking on a carpeted floor, to be in a place where light streamed through the windows, where there were pieces of lovely furniture and pretty pictures on the walls. He had cleared the bathroom of everything except the bare essentials, even the key to the door was missing, in his pocket she supposed as he stood outside. He didn’t trust her. But when soft warm water was running through her hair, cascading down her back and sluicing away her grubby feeling it felt so good, so luxurious, that she made her time there last as long as possible.
At the cellar window Ginny stopped and looked out. She was at eye level with the garden. A weak winter sun spread a pale light on it. There had been a frost and where the garden was in shadow, grass stood in silvery spikes, each one etched in sharp relief. Close to the house the ground had been dug to provide a border for flowers. Looking at it now, Ginny could see the green nose of some plant pushing itself up into the light. Oh God, she thought, I hope I’ll not be here to see it flower. She had to be free, to walk, to breathe fresh air again and be with other people. She wanted her cat on her lap while she watched TV, wanted Nancy to be her friend again and forgive her for the accusations she had thrown at her. How could she have blamed Nancy? Damn Bill for that idea. And most of all she wanted to see her mother and father, to be fussed over and hugged. Was it ever going to happen?
It was Friday and for supper Curtis had made a meat pie. When he brought Ginny’s meal to her he brought his own too. He also brought a small folding card table.