“Why would he lie about it?” Jade’s voice was scornful.
“Because people lie about sex all the time, that’s why.”
“Yeah. Okay. But her stepfather? That’s beyond gross.”
Maddie took a deep breath. Stepfather? The only stepfather in the picture was Linsey Benton’s.
“Sort of makes it more real,” Freya said. “Because nobody, like nobody, would make up a story about having sex with a total munter like him.”
“Ugly. Old. And sort of a father. Way past yuck.”
Later, the girls went off for a swim – in a rainstorm – in the heated outdoor pool in Hampton on the edge of Bushy Park. Once alone, Maddie searched the local equivalent of the yellow pages and found three gardening firms advertising their services. Old Mr McGurk’s small advertisement was there plus ‘Kingston Gardening Services, est. 1993’ and ‘Frederickson Lawns and Gardens’. She hesitated about ringing Ethan on a Sunday. Tomorrow would do. She concentrated on cleaning up the kitchen as she put on the roast and vegetables. They could have ice cream for a sweet. Easy.
Olivia and her family arrived in time and the girls followed shortly. Maddie looked at her watch. No sign of Wayne. She briefly considered texting him that everyone was already there, but dismissed the thought. He’d only rant about her smothering him. One of his favourite complaints over the years.
She had just called everyone to the table when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” yelled Olivia’s older child, Bonita, who saw herself as a four-year-old society hostess.
“Come on in,” she said loudly at the front door. “We’re going to have Sunday lunch. You can have some too. We have loads.”
The Dymocks came in with apologies for their awkward timing but Maddie insisted Bonita was right – they had a big Sunday lunch with plenty for two more. After a bit of social fiddle-faddle, Donald and Sharon joined the overflowing table.
As she was clearing the lunch things from the table before bringing out the sweet, Wayne sauntered in with charming – to the others, at least – apologies. Ice cream was served with a spoonful or two of Drambuie for the adults and chocolate sauce for the children including an unprotesting Freya and a protesting Jade. The meal became even noisier than before with children’s squeals dominating, egged on by the teenagers. Still, Wayne managed to hold forth about his new sound to Donald and Brian while Maddie, Olivia and Sharon had a constantly interrupted conversation about New York. By three-thirty, Freya and her parents had left, with an invitation to their house next weekend for an ‘Aussie Barbie’.
A barbecue at the Dymocks. Nice to be invited. Very nice.
Chapter Twelve
Monday dawned with Wayne going back to the studio to clean up after their weekend’s work, slightly surprising, but pleasing nonetheless. Maddie knew fast food containers would litter the place, ashtrays would be full and paper would be strewn everywhere as the musicians wrote down ideas, abandoned them and wrote more. Although years before Wayne had asked Maddie to clean up there, she’d refused as part of her acknowledgment the studio was his space. Also, given Wayne was loath to do any housework at home, fair’s fair.
She was just emptying the dishwasher from the clean-up after the Sunday lunch when her telephone rang. Ethan.
“We picked up the boyfriend yesterday.”
Maddie felt relieved he’d found the lad without her grassing on him. “How did you find out where he was?”
“A little birdie. A man, actually, voice heavily disguised. Said the lad was working for his brother as a gardener.”
Maddie was startled. Exactly the same information she would have given Ethan if she’d called. “Anything come from it?”
“He was questioned for several hours; the lads will be checking his story. We’ve let him go but he’s still a person of interest.”
“Four hours on a Sunday? That’s dedication to duty.”
“It was important. Damn those kids hiding him from us.”
“Yeah. Well, if you lived with a teenager, you wouldn’t be surprised. Better get used to not knowing what your kids are up to.”
“I’ll bribe them. No television before they spill all.”
“Television? You must be kidding,” Maddie said. “Hey, what can I do for you this fine Monday morning?”
“Just warning you I’m dropping in. Have the kettle on.”
“Will do.”
“See you in ten.”
It was only after clicking off she realised he knew she was not at work.
“How did you hear about my little problem with work?” she asked him as she ushered him into the living room.
“Some young lady from your office who looked barely out of her teens. She said someone else had taken over Henry Macgregor’s case. Seems she’s a junior Service Officer for the Probation Service. That means she’s an underling, right?”
“Right.” Maddie was busy pouring boiling water over teabags in the kitchen. “Did you get her name?”
“Something old fashioned. Agatha Somebody?”
“She’s young but bright,” Maddie said as she brought the mugs into the sitting room. “Maybe the best of the bunch. So she’s taking over Henry?”
“No. She had come to talk over one of her cases, not Macgregor, but she was told to inform me about another Probation Officer taking over Macgregor’s management. Her boss. Romania Somebody? Isn’t that the new supervisor who’s causing you grief?”
Maddie was stunned. So stunned, she just stared at Ethan.
“Bad news, presumably,” he said lightly. He sipped his too hot tea and put it down on the coffee table. “Spill all, Maddie. What’s going on?”
She brought him up to date with her problems with Romania.
He shook his head. “Someone of your stature and experience, that’s more than stupid,” he said. “Give the boss’s boss my name. Tell him we’ve been working together for a decade or more.”
“Her. Actually, it’s been thirteen years,” she said with a smile. “And thanks, I will. And I’d do the same if you had this sort of problem.”
He waved that suggestion away and changed the subject. “Brody Frederickson. Your daughter knows him. Maybe I could have a quiet word with her.”
Maddie sat still for a moment, pondering the pros and cons. “Probably not at the moment. She’s in the middle of her A Level exams. I can tell you she does know Frederickson, but only recently. She’s feeling sympathetic and protective.”
“Thought you’d say that.” He grabbed a digestive biscuit from the plate Maddie had brought out. “So far, he’s checking out, but we’re waiting for his shoes to be compared to some footprints we found at the scene.”
She needed to find a natural opening. “What are you going to do about the underage sex bit?”
“Let him sweat.” He paused. “For a while anyway.” He grinned, then it faded. Some of my guys are quite keen on young Frederickson for our perp. It does take some of the heat off Henry Macgregor, I suppose.”
Maddie looked at him keenly. “You’re not happy with either, are you?”
“Early days.”
“Not really, Ethan.”
“Stand corrected. Not so early days, which is why my guys are so interested in Frederickson.”
“Can we get Henry released?”
He shook his head slowly. “They are showing interest in Frederickson, maybe, but Macgregor is still numero uno, Maddie. Sorry.”
They sat drinking their tea, rain making rivulets down the front windows.
“I gather Frederickson says he never met Linsey’s family,” Maddie said.
“So the girl didn’t want him to meet them,” Ethan said. “I guess we know why.”
“Of course.”
Maddie paused. “I noticed when the parents were interviewed on telly, the stepfather was irate.” She spoke softly. “Over the top. Strange guy. And I have something I want to tell you about him.”
“Something other than expressing his anger at her murde
r? A displacement?” They both knew this was a frequent occurrence.
“Something the boy said. Brody. Something he told … told Jade. Maybe Jade and her friend. I overheard a discussion between the two of them.”
Ethan straightened. Looked straight into her eyes. “Go on….”
“Apparently Linsey told Brody she’d been sexually abused by her stepfather.” Too often, in Maddie’s experience, sexual abuse reared its ugly head and complicated the picture.
“Okaaay.” He drew out the word. “Did he say more? Any details we can use?”
“Just that Linsey was needy. Brody wanted to break off with her. She threw herself at him.”
“He’s not claiming he didn’t have a sexual relationship with her?”
Maddie sorted out the double negative and gave him a sad smile. “Sorry. Not the type of subject my contact would discuss with me.”
He smiled, stretching out his long arms. “Frederickson will come round to admitting it. I can see the signs. At the moment he’s claiming it was just platonic. And he’s not said a word to us about the stepfather.”
“What about the mother? Is she strange too?” Maddie brought to mind the weeping woman from the television interview.
“The mother just shook her head when told about the boyfriend. Presumably in disappointment. Didn’t glance at the stepfather.”
She smiled sadly. “And, of course, we don’t know that Linsey and Brady did have sex.”
Ethan shrugged. “The coroner said ‘recent sexual activity’ but not immediately before death.”
“Could be yet another boyfriend?”
“That’s getting farfetched. Probably she was with Frederickson a day or so earlier. Of course, it might have been the stepfather.” He shook his head. “Complications.”
“I hate to think of a little girl like that in a sexual relationship with anybody. Losing her childhood.” Maddie finished her tea with a sigh. “So I take it Brody Frederickson has not been arrested. Damn. I’d hoped he would be of sufficient interest that Henry could be released.”
Ethan shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way. You know that.”
“I can hope.” She smiled.
Ethan smiled back, finished his tea and rose. “Let me know anything more you hear about young Frederickson.” He sat back down. “Sorry, Maddie, I’ve been so focussed on him, I didn’t ask you about what the next steps will be in your work situation.”
Maddie filled him in, pulling no punches. “I’ve got the union watching my back. Thank goodness for small mercies. Maybe I can even keep my job.”
“I’d hate to lose you,” he said as he again arose. “Keep in touch. And let me know if there’s any other way I can contribute.”
After school, Jade’s phone rang when she was half way home. “You doing anything?” Brody’s voice.
“On my way home. Why, what’s up?”
“Nothing.” He paused. “Well, something. I just got out of the police station.”
“No,” Jade said.
“Hours and bloody hours of questions – yesterday and again today.”
“But they let you go, right?”
“Yeah. For now.” He took a deep, audible breath. “They took my Nikes. Bloody pigs.”
“You can see why, Brody. Besides, maybe it’ll be your shoes that’ll prove your innocence.”
He took a deep shuddering breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Hadn’t thought of it that way. If they have footprints, they won’t be mine.” He paused again. “Don’t trust them, though.”
“Can I do anything?”
“Nah. But it’s good talking to you. Never thought about how my shoes could actually help. Hey, thanks for that.”
“Any time,” Jade said. As a pause deepened, she said, “Bye, Brody. Keep smiling, yeah?” She tucked her phone away, feeling distinctly uncomfortable about her role in Brody’s distress. Her bloody mother had rung her bloody cop friend. So much for discretion. It seemed it only went one way.
Chapter Thirteen
Maddie took advantage of a mild sunny day to get into the garden and do some much needed weeding. She had always done her most constructive thinking while her hands were busy – often in the kitchen or hanging out laundry, but weeding was high on the list as well. She drew on her gardening gloves, moved her kneeler into position and started pulling. What were weeds anyway? Just successful plants growing in the wrong place. She had a sneaking affection for them and merely wished they hadn’t settled in her garden rather than some bit of neglected land elsewhere.
She’d had a short conversation with Jade over breakfast, or what Jade liked to think was breakfast. Brody was complaining he had to give up his trainers for analysis. That was interesting. The only reason the police would want his trainers would be if they had a footprint, a partial one, at least.
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea to have much to do with Brody right now,” she suggested, keeping her eyes away from her daughter’s.
“I don’t have ‘much to do’ with him.” She mimed the quotation marks.
“The police are questioning him. Isn’t that enough?”
“Leave it,” Wayne said to Maddie. “Jade is old enough to pick and choose her own friends.”
“I know,” Maddie acknowledged, reluctant to have a row with him. “Sorry, Jade. Just being my usual over-protective self.”
She flashed her mother a half smile and used the opportunity to leave the kitchen, with most of her cereal uneaten.
“Glad you listened to me for once,” Wayne said.
Maddie bit back a reply. She hated, hated it when Wayne rubbed it in.
Instead she turned her back on her husband and her thoughts to Henry’s clothes. He favoured rather upmarket Ecco casual shoes; they’d had a discussion about them one day. Henry owned two pairs, apparently carefully preserved from before his incarceration, one pair dark brown and the other black and lovingly polished whenever Maddie noticed them, presumably to prolong their useful lives. The parcel of clothes she’d picked up from the day of Linsey’s murder contained no shoes. Ergo, either Henry wore his usual Eccos both to the charity shop and away from it now decked out in his new suit – would he do that? – the black pair would be marginally all right to wear with a suit, or he’d rid himself of incriminating trainers at the charity shop when he bought the outfit for his daughter’s lunch. It would have been possible. Just slip them in amongst the shoes for sale. But he’d have to buy shoes to wear with the suit. Nobody had mentioned shoes at all. Besides, she’d never seen him in trainers.
Brody, of course, did own at least one pair of trainers. But he was released after questioning by the police and his shoes confiscated. Still, something about his shoes was a possible fit with the forensics at the scene.
A particularly deeply rooted weed was resisting her efforts to get pull it up. She yanked several times at it using both hands and almost tipped herself over when it finally came free. She had little affection for this type of deep-rooted resistance – in weeds or in personalities.
So who wears trainers? Answer: everybody under about 50 and more than half the population older than that. Sigh. But many people who owned them didn’t wear trainers in the middle of a normal weekday. Office workers, retail sales assistants, nurses – most working people – wore shoes suitable for the job. No school children wore their trainers at that time of day either. Except for gym classes, of course. She tended to wear her own trainers at weekends. She had been wearing them before changing into her wellies for gardening, and she’d be wearing them again when back inside.
She glanced at her watch. She gathered the pile of weeds into her trug and hauled it to her garden waste bin for collection. No more avoiding what she had to do. She headed inside.
‘Hi Bettina’, she typed. Looked at it, decided it was too informal, suggesting she was using the fact they knew each other. She deleted it.
‘Dear Bettina.’ Not much better. Deleted it, too.
Maddie sat back in her office
chair. A comfy one with arm rests and a tall back, chosen with care. It had been her Christmas present to herself as a reaction when Wayne had given her a new big flat-screen television. Since he was the person who watched television in their family and had been agitating for a television like this, she felt she deserved a new office chair. In retrospect, there was a hint of retaliation in buying it.
She stared out over her back garden, the areas where she’d freshly weeded that morning standing out beautifully. Encouraging. Each day she wasn’t working, she vowed she’d do some work in the garden.
She wrenched her attention back to her laptop.
A CV. Yes, a lot of the information she wanted in this inquiry could be in the form of a Curriculum Vitae. She searched for the CV she’d submitted when applying for the job Romania eventually won. Not a comfortable memory. Her boss had ‘known’ Maddie would be given the job so had suggested Maddie need only construct a basic CV. Maddie cobbled it together one evening for submission the next day. In retrospect, it was an extremely foolish decision. But now was different. She figured it was best to start from scratch without the pall of what had happened that time tainting the present situation.
She typed, ‘CURRICULUM VITAE, Madeleine Joy Brooks’. Dated it. Next line, ‘A Report compiled for Bettina Rossmore on the occasion of a Human Relations Inquiry.’
She sat back. Yes. Totally formal.
Date and place of birth.
Early education.
University awards. That was fun to remember.
Bachelor’s degree and Master’s degree. First class honours. How amazing that had been at the time. Even now, it looked damned good in black and white all these years later. What did it mean? Just that she’d worked hard. Worked very hard for it.
She and Wayne were a couple by then, living in a grotty flat with two flatmates. Planning on marriage once she’d finished her degree. Subsisting on vegetables from her parents’ garden and noodles, with two meat meals a week. Wayne had been second guitar in a band that had a regular Thursday through Saturday gig as a warm-up act before a bigger name. They’d told themselves it was only until they were discovered. And it brought a small but regular income – on refection, the only time Wayne ever brought in a regular income.
Death in Cold Waters Page 8