by KERRY BARNES
‘Mum, she isn’t your daughter-in-law.’ He clammed up, knowing he’d said the wrong thing.
‘Don’t you dare, Justin! Kara is my daughter-in-law. Goodness, you lived together long enough. You had your whole lives mapped out beautifully, what with a lovely home, holidays, a wedding to plan, and children …’ She stopped and swallowed down a lump in her throat. ‘So, as far as I’m concerned, Kara is my daughter-in-law until the day she marries someone else.’
Those words cut Justin. There was no doubt that his despicable behaviour had led to unforeseen consequences. Kara’s incarceration was testament to that. And how would he feel once she’d left prison? Would he still feel guilt, even be jealous if she had a new partner?
‘Mum, I have to go. Look, Kara is in Larkview Prison. The lawyer told me, and if you want to visit, you can contact the prison. You won’t need a visiting order.’
‘A visiting order? What’s that?’
Justin shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. Just call the prison and request a visit. They should explain how it all works, but be warned, Mum, she might not want a visit. And I’ll tell Lucy that you need more time.’
Mollie shot Justin a spiteful glare. ‘Well, then, I’ll write to Kara, and I don’t care what you tell Lucy. It’s not all about her, you know. There are far more important things to worry about right now, like Kara and her mother, who, in case you have forgotten, is very poorly. She must be in a right state, worrying about her daughter rotting away in prison, and I wouldn’t be surprised if all this has made the poor woman even more ill.’
Justin could feel his mother getting bitter and decided to make a swift exit. Leaving the house, angry with himself, he wondered if this day would get any worse. ‘Fuck!’ he said quietly, as he reached his car. Putting his seat belt on as he drove away, he felt more confused and guilty than ever. He’d heard his mum saying only recently what goes around comes around. He wondered anxiously if this was actually a prescient warning sent from on High. But he wasn’t particularly religious, and he wasn’t into all that psychic bullshit. ‘Fuck!’ he shouted. Life could be such a bitch.
* * *
Stuart was still pondering the issue regarding Kara’s mother. He’d tried several times to make contact, but the calls were being diverted to an answerphone. He tapped on the huge oak desk and sighed. This wasn’t his job, but, somehow, the look on the poor girl’s face had weighed heavily on his shoulders. It was the least he could do.
Opening his notebook, he looked at the address and decided to investigate. First he should call the Australian police. He looked at the details on his computer screen. There was a records and reports department. He looked at the time on his Raymond Weil watch, a twenty-first present from his mother. Although it would be well into the evening over in Melbourne, he decided to call them anyway. A quietly spoken woman answered. After explaining the predicament to her, the officer on the other end offered to contact the patrol officer in that vicinity and have them knock at the address on their night shift.
Reading through Kara’s notes in preparation for the case, it hit him she must have received a letter from Justin’s lawyer because she was so specific; and yet, how puzzling that it was a different letter. How he could spin that in court was more of a concern. There simply was no evidence.
His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing; it was the same woman with the quiet voice. ‘Hi, it’s Rachael Woodstock from Victoria Police. I’ve just had a call in from the officers out at the lady’s address and apparently her neighbour said Mrs Bannon died a month ago. I can get you more details, if you like, but I will need to go into the records.’
Stuart felt his body go cold.
‘Sir …? Are you still there?’
‘Oh, yes, sorry, I’m surprised because my client said she spoke with her mother’s carer a few days ago.’
‘Sir, she must have that wrong because the house has been empty for some time, but I will call back with more detailed information, if you would prefer?’
Stuart’s head was in a spin. ‘Oh, er … yes, please. Could you e-mail me with all the details? It may be more serious.’
‘No worries, sir. I am only too pleased to help.’
He gave her his e-mail address and his mobile number, and then sat back on his bespoke cream-coloured leather chair and stared up at the ceiling. Poor Kara doesn’t even know her mother is dead.
Looking over at the photo of his own mother with her confident smile, he made up his mind to help Kara. Regardless of the fact that he had a tower of paperwork from more boring cases, he felt this situation was worthier of his time.
* * *
Jayne Williams, Stuart’s secretary, rapped twice before entering. She was always full of the joys of spring and Stuart admired her. Dressed in an emerald green dress, and with her thick raven hair piled high, she placed a steaming cup of coffee onto a coaster by his telephone. ‘Stuart, I have lined up three clients this morning. You have a lunch break at one o’clock and your dry cleaning is in reception. Shall I order up lunch or will you be working?’
With another heavy sigh, Stuart replied, ‘No, that’s fine. Um … Jayne, I know your father is a local detective. I was just wondering. Do you think he would meet me for a coffee, just to run something by him?’
Jayne frowned. ‘That sounds ominous.’
He shook his head. ‘No, it may be something and nothing.’
‘Well, actually, my dad has retired and he’s driving my mum up the wall with his OCD antics. He’s like that when he’s bored. I’ll call him and let you know.’
With a full smile, Stuart thanked her.
Literally two minutes later, she returned. ‘Stuart, my dad says he can meet you today for lunch. I told you he was bored.’
‘Perfect, so order in something special for two, please, Jayne.’
She smiled, winked, and then coyly giggled. He often wondered if she was flirting, but he wouldn’t like to assume so, not since he’d misread the last secretary’s toying and almost got himself disbarred for sexual harassment. That incident had been a right wake-up call; now, he kept his mind firmly on his work. Boring it may be, but better safe than sorry. The next woman he made advances to would have to be stripped naked and begging for it before he even brushed her lips.
The trouble was he was unhappy with his solitary life; he’d been married for all of five years when his wife decided that being a lawyer’s wife was no life for her, and so she ran off with a guitar player from Manchester and that was that. Fortunately, he and his wife had no children, so the settlement was a fair fifty-fifty split, at least in her eyes, anyway. His mind wandered back to Kara and her predicament. In the cold light of day, his problems seemed like a walk in the park. He read over the statements of her upcoming case and racked his brains to find a way to get a reduced sentence, but there was nothing there except for the fact she was hormonal.
Along the deep mahogany shelves was a vast array of books all neatly lined up in order of specialism: law, company, civil, and criminal. Pushing himself away from his chair, he headed to the bookshelf. Tilting his head to the side, he read the spines, before finding what he was looking for – a book referencing trials that set a precedent with pregnant women who had committed murder.
The weighty volume had to be carefully removed from the shelf before being placed on his desk. It was a long shot, but the fact that she was fired from her job because of her sickness and then feeling beside herself, vulnerable, and devastated, might well help the case. He hoped a female judge would be presiding, if he decided to go down the crime of passion route due to temporary insanity.
He kept the appointments with his three clients to a bare minimum, to spend more time on Kara’s case.
One o’clock arrived, and he was still reading through past verdicts and trying desperately to match a similar case, when Bruce Williams knocked on his door.
Stuart looked up at the clock and realised who it was. ‘Come in,’ he called.
‘Hi,
Stuart, Bruce Williams.’ Bruce’s hand was firm and cool as both men greeted each other. Ten seconds. That’s all it takes to appraise people and each man had made their initial assessment of the other by the time they had sat down. ‘Jayne told me to just knock. I think she’s going to fetch a sandwich.’ Right away, Stuart could see the resemblance to Jayne. Apart from the thick mop of grey hair and rotund middle, the two of them were uncannily alike.
Stuart realised that the former detective was unusually nervous, which was uncommon in his experience when meeting professionals of his ilk.
‘Thank you, Bruce. Like I said to Jayne, it’s probably something and nothing, but I thought you might be able to help me.’
Sitting comfortably on the chair that was offered, Bruce leaned forward. ‘A tricky case, then?’
Stuart scratched the back of his head. ‘Well, no, not exactly. This young lady I’m representing has a mother in Australia, and she asked if I would contact her because she has tried on various occasions and can’t get through. Now, this is where it’s very strange. My client says she spoke with her mother’s carer only days ago, and yet when I called the Australian police, they said the mother, Joan Bannon, died a month ago, the exact date not yet confirmed.’
It was obvious from the way Bruce’s hands shook that the probable reason for his nervousness was alcoholism; the rose-coloured cheeks confirmed it.
‘Was she a wealthy woman?’ His eyes told Stuart that Bruce was straining at the leash with interest.
‘To be totally frank, I have no idea about the situation other than what I’ve just told you. Like I said, it’s probably nothing.’
‘Yes, but your gut instinct tells you otherwise, and there’s a lot to be said for gut instinct. Look, Stuart, let me tell you where I’m coming from. As you know, I’m a retired detective. I left the force a year ago, and I’m thinking of becoming a private detective. I left because …’
He stopped and looked down at his hands. ‘I messed up a few cases, you know. I took my eye off the ball, shall we say, and, well, the choices were early retirement or get the boot. So, I retired with a good pension and all that, but I’m bored shitless, so this will be a good little project for me to see if being a private detective suits me. I’m happy to do it for free, and if I come up trumps, then perhaps you could be my first referee, and to be frank, I’ll need a professional one. Plus, it gives me the chance to test myself, you know, to see if I’m up to it.’
‘That’s brilliant, because to be honest, I hadn’t thought through the payment side of things. I guess I was acting on impulse. It’s a bad habit of mine. If it means a trip to Australia …’
Bruce waved his hands. ‘No worries, and if I do find something sinister, we can hand it straight over to the police, and they can take up the expense. Anyway, I’ve always wanted to visit Australia.’ He winked and chuckled. ‘Without the wife.’
Stuart warmed to Bruce. He appreciated his honesty; it was refreshing in his line of work. With a generous smile, Stuart held out his hand, a gesture that the deal was done, and over a sandwich, the two men went through Kara’s file.
Bruce felt alive and keen to get stuck in. Pottering around the garden pruning and weeding and collecting antique jewellery were not cutting the mustard.
They wrapped the discussion up, and Bruce was on his way out of the office when Stuart called him back. He had another thought.
‘There’s something else that’s not adding up. Kara received a letter asking her to vacate the property, and apparently, it was sent from Justin Fox’s solicitor. I contacted him, and he said he hadn’t sent any letter.’ Holding a copy, he went on, ‘He did have this letter drafted up, but he is adamant he never sent it. Perhaps you could do some digging around? Again, it may be nothing.’
Bruce walked back to the desk and took the letter. Reading it there and then, he frowned. ‘Maybe she has misunderstood, but again, your gut feeling can be very helpful in cases like this one.’ He laughed. ‘Women use it all the time, and I’ve never known one to be wrong.’
Stuart nodded and looked at the photo of his mother. Bruce was right. Women did usually get it right; his own mother was meticulous and very much spot-on with her instincts.
As the door closed behind the detective, Stuart sat back and sighed. Kara’s court case was fast approaching, and he would stay up all night, if necessary, trawling through the books to find anything he could use to help her. It was nine o’clock, as Stuart was about to leave the office, when the phone rang. Jayne had already left for the day, and so he answered it himself and was surprised to hear Rachael’s voice from Victoria Police.
‘It seems I made a mistake. I’ve been talking with your detective, Bruce Williams, and whilst I didn’t regard the situation as serious at the time, his line of questioning made me concerned. So, I looked into the death of Joan Bannon and requested her death certificate. I have it. The coroner’s office has staff on call throughout the night. It appears I was wrong. Mrs Bannon didn’t die a month ago, she’s been dead for five months. The neighbour is in her eighties, so that’s the reason for the mistake. I will e-mail over all the details we have, if it helps.’
Bruce clearly hadn’t wasted any time and Stuart was impressed. The Melbourne police officer’s findings were troubling. He would have to break the news to his client, something he certainly didn’t relish the thought of. Kara had been in prison for more than two months now, but the mother had been dead for five months, so whoever this carer was, they’d obviously been stringing the daughter along. The thought sickened him and yet intrigued him. Who would do such a malicious thing, and more to the point, why?
He looked at his mother’s photo again. If he’d been in the same situation, he would have called out the whole army to track her down. He looked at the notes and realised that Kara had been in Papua New Guinea, and then, not long after she was home, she’d ended up in prison – with no one to help her.
* * *
Justin drove home from work, with the radio on low, listening to Will Young’s ‘All Time Love’. Was that fate again, telling him something? His head felt like it had been through a washing machine, with so many negative thoughts running through his mind. And he was now especially concerned about the atmosphere between his mother and himself. It was never that way, yet today, it was as if they were strangers.
He had a lot to think about and his mother’s words continued to whirl around inside his head. Then the image of Kara with another man churned his stomach. He felt overwhelmed by guilt that he didn’t have to worry because she was locked up inside. What a pitiless thought. However, there was Lucy and their baby, his son, and their new life, which wasn’t off to a good start.
So, racked with mixed emotions, he stopped the car at the end of the road and contemplated going to the pub. He debated whether to turn left or drive on and face the fact that Lucy would be upset that his mother didn’t want to meet her yet. He felt for Lucy, but on the other hand, he could see his mother’s point of view. She’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t think Kara was a nutjob, and, shockingly, his mother had said she would have burned the house down, had she been in Kara’s shoes. He took a deep breath and sighed loudly. ‘Oh, God, what do I do?’ he said, looking up at the darkened skies.
There was only one thing to do and that was to face the music. He’d fucked up and now he was living with the consequences. Gingerly, he inserted the key in the door and crept inside. It was quiet and dark. He flicked on the switch and called for Lucy, but there was no answer. Thinking this was strange as she was always in, he hurriedly climbed the stairs and went into their bedroom. Lucy was sprawled across the bed, with a dressing gown hardly covering her bare back. He switched on the light, but she didn’t move. Straightaway, he panicked and kneeled beside her, shaking her arm.
‘Lucy!’
She murmured and tried to tug her arm away.
‘Lucy, are you okay?’
She shrugged him off and mumbled incoherently. Then he smelled the a
lcohol. At first, he thought it was nail varnish remover. As he leaned closer to her face, he could smell the stench of stale alcohol and jumped back as if he’d discovered a rats’ nest. His eyes scanned the room for the bottle, but there wasn’t one, and then his gaze fell on her protruding stomach, and his anger raised its head. She was pissed and inflicting harm on their unborn son.
He spun on his heels, left the room, and headed for the kitchen. He would sober her up this minute, whether she liked it or not. In such a rage, he almost threw the nearest cup at the wall. He took a deep breath for a moment, before filling the kettle and pouring heaps of coffee into the cup, ignoring the fact that she shouldn’t be drinking strong coffee whilst pregnant. Then, with a sudden movement, the anger resurged, and he punched the cabinet door. How fucking dare she? Instantly regretting it, he now had a throbbing hand to match a throbbing head.
* * *
Lucy tried to focus her eyes, unsure whether or not Justin had woken her up. She heard someone in the kitchen and a wave of panic gripped her. Had he realised she’d been drinking? Still wobbly and pissed, she hurried to the bathroom to clean her teeth and slap cold water on her face. He mustn’t know she’d been drinking. She stared in the mirror and there was no denying it – she looked a wreck and was obviously drunk. Closing the bathroom door, she turned on the shower.
She had to straighten herself up or he would be livid; good old high morals mister perfection would be turning himself inside out. Buying all the vitamins and ensuring she was eating her vegetables seemed nice and sweet, but it was getting to be a right pain in the arse. Christ, if he knew she liked her daily drink, he would have her up at the hospital having her stomach pumped. She heard him climbing the staircase, and quickly she stepped into the shower, hoping he hadn’t sussed her.