by Jo Fenton
“Thanks. That’s really useful.”
“Are we done now?” He looks at his watch, and I check mine too. It’s just gone five. “Parents’ evening at school tonight. I said I’d be home in time.”
We finish with a few pleasantries about the joys or otherwise of meetings with teachers at school, as I get my coat back on. He passes me a business card.
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with. Poor bugger. I hope you catch his wife’s killer.”
“Thanks. We’ll do what we can. I’ll call you if I think of any other questions.”
***
Forty-five minutes later I’m sitting with Dan at his kitchen table, looking across at a pleasant park in North London. He and Gray have bought a lovely modern, ground-floor apartment in a convenient area, five minutes’ walk from Stanmore station. I make all the right noises about the flat, which (not surprisingly) is immaculate.
“We had to change the carpets last week. I’m sure you can imagine, Becks, bringing Tilly in after a muddy walk – well, we loved our cream carpets, but they had to go. And of course, toilet training is a challenge with a young puppy. We’re getting there now – she’s nearly four months old – but honestly, it’s been a nightmare. You know me well enough to know I can’t stand mess.”
“How on earth are you managing? It’s hard enough to toilet train with a house. I don’t know how you’d do it with a flat.”
“Gray and I are taking it in turns to work from home. It’s fine most of the time.” He leaps up from his chair and grabs the dog, just as she’s about to squat in the corner. “Open that door, Becks.” He nods towards a patio door, which leads on to a decent-sized enclosed terrace with a grassy patch. He puts Tilly on the grass just in time to prevent his suede shoes from getting wet. “Thanks. She’s learning. And I don’t think we could have managed without this little garden. We’re so lucky to be on the ground floor. The upper floor balconies are a bit titchy. The only other alternative is to be on the top floor, with a roof garden, but I hate heights. Even after all this time.”
A memory surfaces: a railway bridge, with Dan as a terrified student, clinging on for dear life until I pulled him to safety.
“Trauma leaves its mark. There are a lot of things I’m scared of these days too – all because of things that have happened in the past.” I follow him and the puppy back inside.
“Is that why you left the police?” He gives Tilly a doggy treat.
“Kind of. It’s complicated. But it’s liberating being a private detective. Obviously I still have contacts within the force, but I can leave all the procedure to them, and focus on actual detecting.”
Dan gives me a long hard look, then goes to the kitchen and starts washing his hands at the sink. “I’ll let you get away with it for now, but one day you’re going to have to tell me the full story.” He puts on a pair of spotlessly-clean oven gloves and removes two full plates from the oven. He places one in front of me, and the aroma turns my legs to jelly. Gray is a fantastic cook, and the coq-au-vin that has landed in front of me looks and smells divine. He opens a bottle of wine – a white that complements the main dish perfectly. I realise that my old friend has become highly educated since our last meeting.
“One day I will, I promise. But at the moment it’s still too raw. And life really has got complicated. I’d love the simplicity of a flat, a partner and a puppy.”
“Life’s never simple, love. You remember my sister, Sharon?”
“Sure. Is she okay?”
“No. She’s got leukaemia. Advanced. She’s on chemo, including some innovative trial drug. If we’re lucky it’ll give her another couple of years, but she’s unlikely to see fifty.”
“Oh God, Dan, that’s awful.” I do some quick sums in my head. I think she must be about forty-six now, or thereabouts. “Does she live near here? Do you get to see her much?” I think back to Dan and Gray’s wedding, a year ago. She’d looked thin, but otherwise well. I know, from my occasional catch-ups with Dan, that Sharon is married with three teenaged kids. My appetite recedes a few notches.
“She lives a couple of miles away. Pretty useful really, and Gray and I take the kids out sometimes if she needs a break.”
I’m silent for a moment. I always liked Sharon. I can’t imagine how awful it is for Dan, whose remaining family, ie his dad, is a waste of space.
Dan seems to read my mind, as his next comment is, “Dad can’t be bothered to come down and see Sharon or the kids. The old sod is still too wrapped up in his business to give a shit. If it was anyone else, I’d give them the benefit of the doubt, and think maybe they can’t handle the situation, but as it’s him…”
“I wish there was something I could do to help.” I take a few mouthfuls of food, and Dan does the same. The fun has gone though. I wish I hadn’t mentioned life being simple.
“You could investigate Dad’s finances and have him up for fraud. I’m sure it can’t all be kosher, what he does.”
“You wouldn’t, seriously, would you?”
“Only because it would upset Sharon. Anyway, we’ll see. Maybe one day he’ll be useful for something. God knows what, but stranger things have happened. He’s not really spoken to me since the wedding. He had enough trouble accepting that I’m gay. Having a son who’s married to a man is more than he could handle. The fact that I’m happy is totally irrelevant to him.”
“Are you happy with Gray?”
“Absolutely. I mean, he drives me crackers sometimes, but he’s my soulmate. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Not even Rick, all those years ago.” He pours me a second glass of wine.
“I’m pleased you found someone amazing. You deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks. But I defy anyone to be miserable living with a man who cooks like this. And you’ve not seen dessert yet.” He dextrously steers the conversation into happier waters, telling me about the cruise they went on for their honeymoon, and the time Gray spent in the galley having cookery lessons.
Dessert is as good as promised, with a light and fluffy sticky toffee pudding, but then we have to hurry to get back to Euston. On the station concourse, while my train is being prepared, Dan holds me tight, as if we were students again.
“I’ve missed this,” I murmur against his shoulder.
“Me too. I don’t have as many real friends as I’d like. Stay in touch, Becks. And next time you have to come down to London, stay over. You saw our fabulous spare room – with the purple carpet and king-size bed. You’re always welcome.”
“Thanks. Give my love and best wishes to Sharon. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“Sure.” He glances up at the departure board. “Hey, that’s your platform just popped up. Come on, I’ll walk you over.”
The train journey home is much less eventful than the outgoing trip, but I have such a lot to think about that it’s only when I get off the train at Piccadilly, and meet Will outside near the taxi rank, that I realise I’ve not checked in about Troy’s parents.
Will has no news for me, other than that he and his mum met with Roger today, and he’s under instruction to teach me hacking. Chatting about how he’ll do that takes up most of the journey, and it’s only after thanking him and going into my house that I check my phone and realise the battery’s dead.
The house is in darkness, and everyone seems to be asleep when I get in. I’m tempted to leave the phone until tomorrow, but a sense of responsibility prompts me to plug it in to the charger and turn it on.
A barrage of beeps greets me as soon as the phone finds its signal. Seven missed calls. Three from Finn, two from Troy, and two from Cheryl. There are also several texts from each of them.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cheryl’s texts are fairly straightforward:
‘What time are you home?’ and ‘It’s all happening tomorrow. Hope you can be around.’
Being around might be a challenge, but hopefully I can work something out. I type ba
ck, just in case she’s awake even though it’s nearly eleven o’clock. ‘We’ll sort it. See you at breakfast.’
Troy’s voice messages are barely coherent. His texts progress from ‘where r u’, through ‘call me’ and ‘where the f*** r u’ to ‘call me, ffs. U supposed 2 b helping’. Between the lack of punctuation, the text-speak, and my state of tiredness, I feel disinclined to respond, but force myself to tap out, ‘I’ve been working away today. Just got back, and found my phone battery had…’ I hesitate before typing the word ‘died’ – it seems insensitive. I finish the sentence as ‘my phone had turned itself off.’ After dithering for a moment, I hit Send, then add, ‘I’ll call you tomorrow. It’s late now. Sorry.’
Finn’s messages are more detailed and technical, but generally amounting to the fact that Troy’s parents had been stabbed multiple times, they’d died from their stab wounds, no weapon had been found, and the house had been sealed off for forensic examination. So far, there are no obvious clues. It’s clear from his texts and voice mails that he knows I’ve been in London today, and that Joanna had informed him of my meeting with Troy’s manager. His final text is, ‘Good job, Becky. We’ll catch up tomorrow x’
I take myself off to bed, trying not to feel slightly warm and fuzzy from the rare ‘x’ at the end of that last text. It’s totally inappropriate, but my head is spinning from everything that’s going on.
As I tiptoe past Cheryl’s room, she calls out softly. “Mum, is that you?”
I open her door. “It’s late. Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Nervous about tomorrow.”
“What’s the plan?” I resign myself to not getting to sleep for a while yet, and curl up on the red sofa-bed that matches the bedding and curtains. It’s placed on the other side of the bedside table, so it’s easy to chat to her without raising our voices.
“As you know, the meeting was supposed to be tomorrow night, but Joel got a nasty message from Elaine – threatening all sorts of stuff – so his mum said we’d better get started straight away. She picked me and Dad up after dinner, and we were round at her house for an hour and a half bashing everything out.”
“Was anyone else there?”
“Just Dan and a few girls from my class, who hate Elaine, plus all their mums. Anyway. We’ve arranged that after Assembly tomorrow, the six of us are going to the Head, and we’ll tell him what’s been happening. We’ve got a letter from Joel’s mum saying that if this isn’t appropriately dealt with, then she’ll be involving the school governors, the council, the press and the police. She showed us the letter, but it’s sealed now, so I can’t show you. But it lists all Elaine’s and Karen’s crimes, the evidence, and potential criminal charges that could be imposed.”
“That wasn’t quite what she was planning though, was it? I seem to recall she had other plans.”
“Yes, but the message to Joel made her really angry. He told me afterwards that he’s never seen her so furious. I reckon she wanted to stamp it out fully.”
“Can’t she just provide the letter to the school? Why do you all have to put your heads on the block first?”
“Dan’s mum asked the same thing. Apparently, it would come better from us initially. We’re reporting being bullied, and we’ve pooled our resources to help one another. If there’s any doubt, then we produce Joel’s mum’s letter. She’s a barrister, so there’s no reason to doubt her.”
“Elaine’s dad’s a barrister as well. But then it makes sense to get your side of events in first, before they have time to manufacture anything.”
“Exactly. Mum, will you be able to wait outside with Lesley, then we’ll contact you afterwards and let you know if we need extra support?”
“Sure. What time are you going to see the Head?”
“It’ll be about nine-thirty. You should be free for ten. I know you get busy with work.” There’s nothing in her tone to suggest she’s annoyed about this, so I take the comment at face value.
“That should be fine. I can make calls while I wait, and be available if you need me to come in.” I stand up. “And now, Chezz, it’s bedtime. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, so let’s try to get some sleep, okay?”
***
With all the thoughts spinning around my head, it was never going to be a restful night, and I wake from an uneasy doze at half past four, and fail to get any sleep from then onwards. I turn my alarm off before it gets into its stride, and head into the bathroom for a cool shower to try to wake myself up properly.
Cheryl looks slightly more awake than I do, but neither of us says much until two large mugs of coffee have been consumed – each. By the time the caffeine kicks in, it’s time to go. Matt arrives in the kitchen as we’re about to leave, and wishes our daughter good luck.
“You look knackered, Becks. You’d better come home after Cheryl’s finished and get some sleep.”
“Thanks. I will if I can, but I’ve got a lot to do. I’ll come round. I might grab another coffee from Costa or Starbucks if I can’t get back here for a while.”
Cheryl’s quiet in the car. The half-hour battle through the traffic is spent listening to the radio to avoid the silence.
I pull up at the kerb to drop her off. “Good luck. Let me know as soon as you can how it goes. I’ll be waiting at the end of the road. You know it’s impossible to park here for more than thirty seconds.”
“Sure. Thanks, Mum.”
I drive about a hundred yards, and pull in behind Lesley’s big car. She gets out and comes to my window.
“Hi Becky. Sorry for bring everything forward. Did Cheryl fill you in?”
“Yes. It’s fine.” I smile, and inwardly resign myself to not getting any work done just yet.
“Come and sit in my car. I’ve brought cookies and I really don’t want to scoff the lot. Please, help me!”
I laugh, but my conscience tears at me. “Can you just give me five minutes, Lesley? I got back late last night, and there are a couple of calls I need to make to reduce some stress levels. If I make appointments with people later today, they’re less likely to bombard me with frantic calls in the next hour.”
“Sure. Totally get it. Make your calls, but don’t take too long, or all the cookies will be gone.” She chuckles, and heads back to her own car.
I breathe a sigh of relief, mixed with some trepidation, and get my phone out of my handbag. Who to call first? I flick back through my messages. Finn seems pretty chilled, so I send him a quick message.
‘All okay? Delayed at school. Can I call you about 11?’
Two blue ticks appear within seconds, then the app tells me someone’s typing – hopefully Finn.
‘No probs. Make it 12. And I’ll call you when I pop out for a butty. You know what it’s like here.’
I send back a quick Okay, and turn my attention to Troy. Only a phone call will do here. I look around me and the streets are pretty empty, apart from the odd late drop-off further back along the road. No one seems to be paying me any attention. In the car in front, I can just see Lesley looking at her own phone. I locate Troy’s number, and hit the green Connect button.
“Becky?”
“Hi. So sorry about last night.”
“Not your fault; these things happen. Sorry for my stroppy texts. I got into a bit of state.”
“I’m not surprised, Troy. Is anyone looking after you?”
“Yeah, Gaz invited me to stay at his flat. Otherwise…” He doesn’t fill in the gaps. It’s not really necessary. This poor guy has just lost his wife and his parents.
“Where’s your daughter?”
“She’s still with… Linda’s parents. They’re great with her. I’m a fucking wreck. I don’t want her to see me like this. I managed to hold it together for ten minutes yesterday to speak to her and ask her about school.”
“Is the family liaison lady helping at all?”
“She tries.” There’s a brittle laugh. “I just don’t get it. Why would someone want to kill Linda, let alone Mum and
Dad? You know, they’ve always been so great with me. Supporting me when school was shit, and when the careers people were saying music wasn’t a real job.” He breaks off.
“Do you want me to come round? I’ve got some things to do this morning, but I could come to you for about two-thirty if that would work?”
“Yeah, I guess. Maybe you can help more than the police. They’re all very official, but I don’t think they give a shit about me. You and your friend have a better… I dunno, maybe a better bedside manner.”
“I’ve got to check Joanna’s free, but assuming she is, we’ll see you this afternoon. Please just drop me a message with Gaz’s address.”
He agrees, and a minute after ringing off, the phone pings as the address is sent through.
I finish with a quick message to Joanna to say I’ll call her later this morning, and to check she’s free this afternoon.
‘Sure. Come round here when you’re free. Maybe we can get some lunch and fill each other in?’
With that sorted, I turn my phone to vibrate, go out in the now torrential rain, and knock on Lesley’s window. She directs me to the passenger side, and I rush round and open the passenger door.
“Get in, sweetie. You’re just in time. Four cookies left. Two each.” She offers the luxury triple-chocolate-chip treats from M&S, and I take one. They look delicious, but I don’t want to seem greedy. I’m also exhausted, as the caffeine rush is beginning to ease off. I nibble at the biscuit, wanting to make it last. “You’re looking a bit tired, Becky. What time did you get back yesterday? Your husband said you were in London.”
I’m a bit surprised Matt gave away my location, but as I’d made it a multi-purpose visit, I don’t suppose it matters.
“Yes, I had some work meetings, and took the opportunity to meet up with an old friend from uni.”
She picks up on this, and we have a chat about the challenges of keeping up with old friends, even in these days of social media.
“Strangely, it was easier in the past, where you made the effort to correspond by email or phone at least a couple of times a year, but nowadays… I don’t know, even New Year greetings are sent over Facebook,” Lesley says.