The Quick and the Dead (A Sister Agnes Mystery)

by Alison Joseph

  ‘I don’t think your dad would forgive us that one,’ Agnes said, ignoring him.

  ‘Mike? Oh he can get stuffed,’ Sam said. ‘Oh God, look at it,’ she added, and burst into tears. Around them was strewn the wreckage of the camp, tarpaulins ripped and churned into the mud, sodden rags of clothes and bedding, the kitchen bender upended, broken china everywhere. The last few bits of fencing were being put into place, the bulldozer had already started to flatten the land. People were standing in a crowd outside the fence, some tearful, some shouting. There were television cameras, helicopters overhead, the angry buzz of chainsaws. In the trees the battle raged, and above the music Agnes could still hear the shouts of laughter from the walkways. Planks of wood dangled from the branches, all that was left of the platforms that had been home to the Ark people for weeks, for months. Sam’s face suddenly lit up. ‘There — look — Jeff — he’s still up there.’ Far away on the highest branches, Jeff sat. The crane was nudging against the tree, and a climber was struggling with the walkway ropes to reach him. Sam ran to the edge of the fence, to join the crowd, shouting encouragement, laughing to see him still free as a bird.

  Bill turned to Agnes. ‘Go on then,’ he said, ‘punch me on the nose.’

  Agnes looked at him. ‘I might just do that.’

  ‘I’ll turn the other cheek or something, following your good example.’ She didn’t smile. ‘I don’t know what you must think of me,’ he went on.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I think of you. People like you go walking on quicksand, telling the rest of us it’s solid ground.’ The climber was gaining ground on Jeff, who still sat peacefully. Agnes turned back to Bill. ‘If you won’t stop Emily Quislan, then at least stop protecting her. Tell the police, tell someone. There’s explosives at large now, though I’m sure you know that already, like you know why you’ve been allowed to dip in and out of this protest without the police harming a hair of your head. Whose side are you on, Bill?’

  Bill looked at her with something like sadness in his eyes. ‘I envy you,’ he said. ‘One day I’ll tell you why.’ He touched her arm, then looked up to where Jeff was now cornered by the climber. In one leap Jeff abseiled away from the climber, scuttled along a walkway to the next tree, grabbed the rope and whooshed down it to the ground. He grinned at Sam, as a group of policemen closed in on him. Agnes darted to the fence, grabbed Sam by the arm and walked her firmly away as Jeff was bundled forcefully into a van. When she looked back, Bill had gone.

  *

  Later, sitting at Sheila’s kitchen table, Agnes found she couldn’t stop shaking.

  ‘It’s the adrenaline,’ Sheila said. ‘Takes ages to wear off.’

  ‘Where did Lily go, then?’ Agnes asked her, surveying her trembling fingers with interest.

  ‘I found her with Amy, an old friend of hers. They left together, they went to Amy’s to lick their wounds and swap tales of their bravery.’

  Sam sat sipping tea from a mug. ‘What’s going to happen to the others, the ones that got taken away?’ she asked in a small voice.

  ‘They’ll be OK, love,’ Sheila said. ‘They’ll be down at the police station getting processed, and then they’ll be let out. They’ll probably end up here,’ she laughed.

  ‘Won’t they go to prison?’ Sam asked.

  Sheila sighed. ‘It depends. Maybe.’

  ‘Didn’t see Charlie anywhere,’ Agnes remarked.

  Sheila smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not Charlie.’

  It was dark when they left Sheila’s. Sam had had a shower and borrowed some of Lily’s clothes, and had eaten some toast, and then everyone waited for news of the others, and at nine thirty Rona, Jeff and Paz turned up and couldn’t stop talking and Sheila made more toast. At last Agnes had persuaded Sam it was time to get back.

  Now, sitting in the car outside Mike’s house, Sam looked at Agnes. ‘Here goes,’ she said. ‘You coming too?’

  Agnes unfastened her seat belt. ‘I might as well be the one to take the rap for this. After all, I haven’t got to live with him.’

  ‘Who says I have?’ Sam slammed the car door hard.

  As her key chinked in the lock, Mike opened the door. He was white-faced, his features pinched with rage. He grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled her into the house, then turned to Agnes. ‘Get out,’ he said.

  ‘Mike —’

  ‘I said out. Out! I will not be disobeyed.’ The door slammed in Agnes’s face.

  Agnes put her mouth to the letterbox. ‘Mike, you carry on like that,’ she shouted, ‘you’re going to lose her.’ She peered in and saw Sam running up the stairs to her bedroom, Mike standing in the hallway, his arms hanging at his sides.

  And if you were her father, Agnes thought, straightening up, walking back to her car, you’d know better than to expect obedience.

  She drove home, let herself into her darkened flat and sat at her desk. Her clock flashed eleven fifty-four. She leaned her chin on her hands, deep in thought. When a minute later her phone rang, she didn’t even jump. She picked it up, glanced out of the window. She saw once again the man standing in the phone box, holding the receiver, looking up at her window. Only this time he spoke.

  ‘I wasn’t sure — your lights weren’t on.’ His voice was deep and hoarse.

  ‘I’m here,’ Agnes said softly.

  ‘It’s Tom Bevan,’ he said.

  ‘At last. You’d better come up.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  At nine o’clock on Saturday morning, Agnes rang the bell of Mike Reynolds’s house. Eventually it was answered by Sam in a huge crumpled T-shirt, rubbing her eyes.

  ‘He won’t let you in,’ Sam said.

  ‘He’s got to.’

  Sam leaned wearily against the door frame. ‘I’ve ’ad enough. Come back when he’s calmed down … ’

  ‘No, listen, he’s —’

  ‘What the hell is she doing back again?’ Mike shouted, appearing in the doorway next to Sam. ‘I thought I told you to fuck off —’ His voice faltered as he looked beyond Agnes.

  A man was limping the few steps up to the house. He was tall and upright, with rough brown hair and a tanned, weathered face. He was dressed in a clean white shirt, suit and tie, and his beard was trimmed. Agnes was gratified to see him looking so good in Julius’s clothes.

  His eyes, soft, grey, childlike, were fixed on Sam, and as he came near her he stretched his arms out awkwardly towards her, as if in that moment his whole being was drawn to her, consumed by her.

  As he approached, Sam shrank from him, from the hunger in his eyes. He blinked, stopped short. He glanced at Agnes, then at Mike.

  Mike sighed. He stepped to one side to make way for them. ‘Tom,’ he said wearily, leading them into the house.

  Sam went to put some clothes on. She seemed to take a long time. When she came into the living-room they were all sitting there, Agnes looking tired but determined, Mike perched uneasily on the edge of his chair, and the bearded man sitting calmly, his hands on his knees. He looked up as she came in, and again there was that expression of burning need. She avoided his gaze, choosing to sit on the chair nearest to Mike.

  ‘So?’ she said. ‘Here we go again.’

  Agnes spoke first. ‘Sam, it hasn’t been easy for anyone.’

  ‘What you want now, sympathy?’

  ‘This is Tom Bevan. He’s your father.’

  Sam looked at the floor.

  ‘Mike agreed to help him by pretending to be your father.’

  Sam glanced up, her eyes flashing. ‘Great.’

  Agnes went on, ‘Tom was dating your mother when they were in their teens, briefly. Then she finished with him and started going out with Mike. But she was already pregnant. With you. Only no one knew.’

  ‘Stupid cow,’ Sam said.

  ‘As she thought her future lay with Mike, she decided it was easier to pretend you were his. And she got away with it. Meanwhile, Mike was making money, working on building sites and doing rather well. In fact, he was the fo
reman when Tom, his mate, had an accident.’

  Tom looked across to Mike. Mike got up and left the room.

  Agnes went on, ‘Tom was in hospital for ages, with head and leg injuries. When he at last emerged, the recession had begun and he found it difficult to get work. He didn’t get compensation or anything. After a while it was easier just to drink. Just to forget. And then one day in a pub, he met a mate of your mother’s, one of the girls who’d hung around with them all on the estate. And she said that he ought to have got money for his accident, and it was Mike’s fault, and anyway, didn’t he know about the rumours about Linda’s baby girl, and he said, what rumours, and she said, that it was yours, Tom. Your baby.’

  Sam lifted her head briefly and glanced across at Tom. Tom was smoothing the velvety fabric of the arm of his chair, slowly, methodically.

  ‘But in a way,’ Agnes was saying, ‘this made matters worse. He’d gone too far, into drink and petty crime and the odd burglary. And then a prison sentence, and by the time he was out, Linda had moved away. So he tried to forget you, but he couldn’t. When you were about ten he tracked Linda down and confronted her with it, but she said he’d never be able to prove it. After that he went abroad, got by on casual work, and managed to dry out. A year ago he came back to this country, determined to find you. He knew that no one was going to take his claim seriously — no proof, no home, a dried-out alcoholic with a criminal record, living on the streets. So he sought out Mike and asked him to help. It was a crazy scheme, that Mike should pretend to be your father wanting you back — but it was the only one that was going to work. And Mike felt guilty about Tom, about the accident all those years ago, and he agreed to help.’

  Agnes looked at the two of them, Sam curled into the armchair, facing away from Tom, Tom staring at her as if his eyes would burn through her. In the silence, Sam slowly turned to meet his gaze. He smiled at her, and she looked away again.

  Mike came into the room carrying four mugs of tea which he distributed. As he offered one to Sam she said, ‘You lied to me. I knew all along. I knew you were never my dad, and you lied. You fucking lied.’

  Mike put her mug down on the table. ‘Sam, I was going to tell you. But it was difficult, we’d gone so far, me and Tom, I kept waiting for the right moment.’

  Tom’s voice was a bass rumble, and seemed to come from the depths of his being. ‘You were never going to tell her.’ They all turned to him.

  Mike said, ‘I was.’

  ‘You wanted to keep her for yourself.’ It was like the stirrings of a long-dormant volcano.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Mike said. ‘I had no intention of keeping her.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch,’ Sam said.

  Mike turned to her, grey and weary. ‘The thing is, love, he is your father. It’s the truth.’

  Sam looked at Mike. She looked at Agnes. Then she turned and looked at Tom. She saw his face, lined with pain and loss, she saw the pleading in his eyes; and a flash of recognition passed between them. He whispered, ‘Sam.’ She stood up and walked out of the room. Her footsteps thumped up the stairs.

  ‘This was just what I was trying to prevent,’ Mike said.

  ‘But you didn’t try to tell her, did you? You didn’t even try,’ Tom said.

  ‘I knew if it was sprung on her like this she’d take it badly.’

  ‘But if you’d at least tried to explain to her — that’s why I tracked down Sister Agnes here.’

  ‘And Col?’ Agnes said.

  Tom sucked on his teeth. ‘That was wrong of me. I was desperate about Sam then. I could see her settling into life with Mike, him buying her all she could ever want. I thought, how can I compete. And I followed them, and I arranged to meet Col, and I befriended him, tried to get him to understand that Mike was bad for her. But, poor boy, he was the wrong person to choose. He had something else on his mind, running scared from some girl or other —’

  There was the sound of footsteps dashing down the stairs, the front door opening, then a slam, and footsteps running down the drive, receding into the street, into the silence.

  Tom said, ‘Fuck.’

  ‘You see,’ Mike said, angrily. ‘I told you it would backfire this way. You just can’t trust me, can you, not even after all this time, not even when I’m trying to help. Dammit, Tom, I gave you my word. What more could I do? If I’d been left to choose my moment —’

  Tom got to his feet, and gazed at Mike, and his eyes were dark as he tried to find words, tried to convey all the years spent searching, hoping against hope; a hope now betrayed. His lips moved, and at last he spoke.

  ‘My God,’ he said, hoarsely, as the rage smouldering within him found voice. ‘I did trust you, Mike. I let go of the past and I gave you my trust. And where has it got me? I’ve lost my little girl. Again.’ He lumbered towards the door.

  ‘There’s no point —’ Agnes began.

  ‘Going after her? Because of my leg, you mean? Because she’s got three minutes’ start and by now she could be on a bus, or a train? Sure, she could be anywhere. But I’ve spent my whole life looking for her. What difference is another few years going to make?’

  Mike and Agnes sat helpless as he limped from the room and the front door closed behind him. At last Agnes murmured to Mike, ‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head, began to speak, but she said, ‘No, it’s my fault. Both of them back on the streets now. How clever of me.’

  ‘We could drive out looking for them,’ Mike said.

  ‘And then what? Just repeat the scene again?’

  Mike sighed. ‘I should have brought him in sooner. But what the hell was I supposed to do? The kid’s an out-and-out consumer, everything was measured in terms of what I spent on her. He’d have been lost with no cable telly to give her, no new clothes and Blur CDs and disco tickets, no cruising Tesco’s for the slimline passion fruit yoghurt …’ Mike looked up at Agnes. ‘I always knew she wasn’t mine. Those early months with Linda, with the baby on the way, it felt wrong. And I thought, I’ll be OK when it’s born, but I remember the first time I looked at Sam, I knew — I knew … I suppose it’s easy to say in retrospect. But I think that’s why I ended up drifting away from them. When Tom came to me last year, when he told me, I was relieved. It was like this burden lifted that had been there for fifteen years.’ Agnes looked across at Mike. She took a sip of cold tea and realised that something in him had changed.

  ‘What now?’ he said.

  ‘Firstly, you don’t have to feel responsible. Tom’s met Sam again, and Sam knows who he is.’ She shrugged. ‘No one was asking you to guarantee a happy ending. You’ve done all you could.’

  ‘What’ll you do?’

  ‘I suppose I’ll go and look for them. One day. But right at this moment, I’ve got rather a lot on.’

  In Mike’s hallway she paused, and offered him her hand. ‘I misjudged you,’ she said. ‘I knew you were lying, but I didn’t know why. I’m sorry.’

  He shook her hand. ‘I thought it must be something like that. Listen, you tell me if there’s anything I can do — let me know what happens, eh?’

  Agnes smiled. ‘Yes. Though, like you, I can’t guarantee any happy endings either. You see, I’ve stopped believing in fairy-tales — particularly where fathers and daughters are concerned.’

  Back at home she made herself a tuna fish sandwich and listened to her answering machine. There was a message from Madeleine, saying, please get in touch. Then Richard Witham, wanting her to ring him back. The next message was a nervous, female voice. ‘Hello, it’s Elizabeth Murphy here. Oh, I hate talking on these things. I just thought you should know, Morris has confessed. About, you know, um, Becky. Roger told me. Apparently, Ross is, um, working with him now. I just wanted you to know. Goodbye.’

  Agnes stopped the machine. She stared at it Morris. Yes. Although … She switched the machine back on. The last message was from Sheila.

  ‘Agnes, have you heard from Lily? She’s vanished. I’m worried sick, she’s never just gone off before
. Phone me, please.’

  Agnes dialled her number.

  ‘Sheila,’ she said, her mouth full of tuna fish.

  ‘Oh, God, Agnes, thank God. Any news?’

  ‘None at all. What happened?’

  ‘She left the eviction with Amy, you know, like I said. But it turns out, Amy was caught up with the crowd, trying to get out through the police cordon, and she thought Lily was with her. When she got to the village she waited, but Lily didn’t show up. I thought she was with Amy. I only heard this morning that she wasn’t. I’d arranged for them to stay there, so that I could be here for the others —’

  ‘Oh my God. Have you asked the police?’

  ‘Yes, that was my first thought, that they’d pulled her in too, but no sign. Charlie’s worried sick, he’s checked all the notifications, nothing. I went back to the woods. I thought she’d got some romantic notion of staying there, but zilch. No sign. Agnes, what shall I do?’

  Agnes stared at her sandwich, at the soggy white bread and the greasy flakes of fish inside. She recalled Steven praying loudly in the woods, tears pouring down his face while the distant battle raged. She felt suddenly sick. ‘Sheila,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be right there.’

  Sheila seemed to have aged ten years. She grabbed hold of Agnes at the door, and pushed her towards the phone.

  ‘There. Phone them. Charlie, anyone. They’ve got to find her.’

  ‘But you’ve already —’

  ‘But you know them, this so-called church. Tell them. Tell the police they’ve got her.’

  ‘You think —’

  ‘What else?’

  Agnes was put through to two other officers before she reached Charlie.

  ‘Sheila’s already told me,’ he said, shortly. ‘Here’s what I know so far. No one’s happy about this Ross Turner bloke, we’re going to be calling on him. Hang on —’ There was muttering in the background, then Charlie came back on. ‘There’s a shout, gotta go.’

  ‘And now that Morris —’ Agnes began.

  She heard more radio noise, then Charlie said, ‘What were you saying?’

  ‘Hasn’t Morris Stanton …?’ Agnes stopped herself.