by Susan Lewis
‘But if you found her all those times, how come you didn’t the last time?’ Andee asked.
‘Because she wasn’t at the house when we got there, and everyone swore they hadn’t seen her. I’ve got no idea where she went, all I can tell you is what happened during our interviews with John Victor.’
‘So there were interviews? Why aren’t they on record?’
‘Because your father and I decided to deal with him ourselves, in the hope that if we guaranteed to keep him and his friends out of it he could be persuaded to tell us where she was. He swore he didn’t know, but we could tell he was lying. He knew all right, but we didn’t even manage to get the cuffs on him before he said that if we even attempted to implicate him he would expose the sexual abuse she’d been suffering for years at home.’
Andee drew back in shock. She hadn’t heard right, surely. Somehow she’d misunderstood, but she could see from the expression on Trowbridge’s face that she hadn’t. ‘It isn’t true,’ she told him.
‘I never thought it was, but we could see Victor was serious. She’d told him, or so he said, that her father and grandfather had been molesting and raping her since she was six years old. I’m sure I don’t have to describe how that affected your father … I can tell you this much, Victor was lucky to come out of that interview alive.’
Andee sat back in her chair, so appalled she hardly knew what to say.
‘Did you see her at that time?’ Graeme stepped in. ‘She claimed recently that her father saw her once and turned around and walked away.’
Trowbridge shook his head. ‘I don’t remember that,’ he replied. ‘As far as I’m aware, after the last time she disappeared none of us ever saw her again.’
‘So how did you know that she’d back Victor in his claims?’
‘Because she called your father and told him she would. I didn’t hear the conversation; I only know that he didn’t doubt she meant it. If he made her come home she’d tell the world what he’d been doing to her.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Andee murmured, unable to imagine just how devastated and afraid her father must have felt at that time.
‘You know what it would have done to your father’s career,’ Trowbridge went on, ‘never mind to your family, if even a whisper of an accusation like that came out. You’ll have seen it plenty of times. Innocent men’s lives ruined by false accusations of child abuse. Even if he could prove himself innocent you’d always be the daughter of the child-molester cop, because that sort of mud sticks. People would look at you and wonder if you’d been molested too. He couldn’t even be certain that you and your mother would believe in his innocence. Penny didn’t want to be a part of the family any more, she’d given that as the reason, so maybe in your hearts you’d always wonder …’
‘We never would have,’ Andee told him forcefully. ‘Not my father, or my grandfather …’
‘I believe you, but it was hard to convince your father, especially when we still had no idea where Penny was or what she was doing. We couldn’t even be sure, after the phone call, that she was still alive. And I guess he wasn’t thinking too straight; the stress, the fear was tearing him apart … I tried to advise him, but I barely knew what to do myself.’
Andee tried to imagine what she’d have done faced with such a harrowing dilemma, but there were no easy answers.
‘A lot of rules were broken after that,’ Trowbridge admitted. ‘The higher-ups knew what was happening, we had to tell them and I’m glad we did, because it turned out they were no keener for one of their senior officers to be embroiled in a child abuse scandal than your father was to be at the centre of one. So he was given time to carry on playing things his way with Victor. Then the note turned up, and he decided it would be easier on you, and your mother in particular, to believe in the possibility of suicide rather than to have to deal with what he’d learned about Penny.’
Stunned, Andee cried, ‘It was the wrong decision.’
Trowbridge didn’t argue.
‘So you stopped looking?’ Graeme prompted.
‘No, of course not, but in the backs of our minds there was always the fear that the letter was for real. There were never any sightings of her, and surveillance on Victor never got us anywhere apart from up a garden path. So perhaps she was dead. We know now that she wasn’t, but where she went and what she’s been doing for all these years, I’m afraid only she can tell you.’
Andee looked at Graeme, knowing there was more she needed to ask, but for the moment she seemed unable to unravel her thoughts or emotions.
Apparently understanding, Graeme said to Trowbridge, ‘I take it you know John Victor’s dead?’
Trowbridge nodded.
‘Can you tell us anything about that? Do you think Penny might have been involved?’
Trowbridge’s eyes remained focused on the middle distance as he said, ‘It happened a long time after she disappeared, but anything’s possible, and I certainly don’t think his death was an accident. No one did.’
‘Did you go to the inquest?’ Andee asked.
‘Yes, because your father asked me to. He’d retired by then, as you know, and taken you and your mother to Kesterly … In fact, you must have been in the force yourself by that time …’
‘I was at detective school,’ she confirmed. ‘I remember the death. I didn’t go to the funeral, or the inquest, but I’ve read the report. The neighbour, girlfriend, Alison Brown had an interesting story to tell.’
Trowbridge agreed. ‘I expect you’re wondering if the woman Alison Brown referred to, the one Victor kept seeing, or feeling was stalking him, was your sister. I wondered the same, so I spoke to Alison after the hearing but she was certain he’d never mentioned a name.’
‘She said he mentioned children. Kids.’
‘Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about that.’
Andee said, ‘My mother’s been approached by a young man claiming to be Penny’s son. Apparently his name is John Victor Jr.’
Trowbridge’s eyes closed. He seemed to be struggling mentally with something deeply unpleasant. ‘Have you spoken to him?’ he asked in the end.
‘No, but he says he wants to speak to me. I just don’t know how to get hold of him.’
Seeming more upset than he had throughout the entire time they’d been talking, Trowbridge said, ‘I wish I could be of more help to you, but I suppose the question of whether or not Penny’s alive is no longer in doubt. Maybe that’s something.’
‘Maybe,’ Andee murmured.
Graeme went to help as Trowbridge rose unsteadily to his feet.
‘See if you can track down Alison Brown,’ Trowbridge advised as he walked ahead of them to the front door. ‘As I recall she found something in Victor’s apartment that didn’t get mentioned at the inquest, probably because no importance was attached to it. When she showed it to me … I remember it rang some bells. It was like something I’d read before, or heard someone say … I’m sorry, I can’t remember the words now, but maybe she does, and you never know, they might mean something to you.’
Andee and Graeme were back at the Bell, sitting at a table in the bar with drinks and lunch menus between them. There was so much to think about, to try to understand and know how to process, that neither of them gave a thought to the fact that their stalker seemed to have disappeared.
‘It’s hard to imagine the kind of hell my father went through,’ Andee said, staring into her wine. ‘I don’t blame him for making some wrong decisions. When you’re in the thick of something like that, especially where family’s concerned, it’s impossible to know what to do for the best. I just wish he’d trusted us.’
‘I don’t think it was a question of trust,’ Graeme responded. ‘It was the burden you and your mother would have to carry that clearly worried him the most. The scandal, the heartache, the unforgiving memories some people have … You know how these things work. The world never seems to forget the sordid details of other people’s tragedies, even if
those details turn out to be lies.’
Yes, Andee did know, particularly where accusations of child abuse were concerned. She’d seen too many lives ruined by the malicious claims of others who had no care for anyone but themselves – no conscience or morals.
‘And let’s not forget,’ Graeme continued, ‘he would have been trying to protect Penny so that she wouldn’t have to live with what she’d done, if she’d carried out the threat. She was very young, he would’ve believed her capable of change. He probably even expected it.’
Sighing sadly as she considered her father’s terrible dilemma, Andee said, ‘All those years we spent turning her into a saint in our minds, deliberately forgetting the bad things, only focusing on happy times, wishing she was still with us to share in a world that should have been hers. We had no idea she’d completely and deliberately rejected it. How is it possible for someone to be so cruel to her own family? Of course, people can, I know that, but I’m having a hard time accepting that it’s happened to mine.’
Graeme was reading a text on his mobile, but looked up when she stopped speaking.
‘Are you going to call her?’ he asked, indicating to the waiter that they needed more time.
‘Not yet, but I will, unless she calls me first.’
‘And what are you going to tell your mother?’
‘I’m still undecided about that, but I think it probably has to be the truth. It’ll be too hard trying to hide it.’
Glancing at his phone as it rang, he grimaced an apology. ‘Nadia. She’s just texted so she’s clearly keen to get hold of me …’
‘Don’t mind me,’ Andee insisted, and reaching for the menu as he left the table she tried to concentrate on the appetising choices on offer, while her mind continued to whirl with everything she’d learned from Trowbridge that morning.
I’ve found something out that you don’t know, she recalled the teenage Penny boasting all those years ago. Don’t you want to know what it is? It’s about Mum’s brother, Uncle John.
What would Penny have told her if she’d bothered to listen, and if she had would it have made a difference?
Hearing Graeme laugh, she came back to the present.
‘Don’t worry, don’t worry, it’ll all be done,’ he was telling Nadia. ‘Yes, I promise. I’m not exactly sure when I’ll be back, but everything’s running to schedule … OK, ciao, ciao. Mm, same to you.’
As he rang off Andee almost asked what the ‘same to you’ meant, but managed not to. It was true that Nadia was an exceptionally beautiful woman, not to mention rich, charming and flirtatious, but now definitely wasn’t the time to start feeling worried when Graeme was here, with her, lending every bit of support he could to this bizarre and unnerving crisis that was consuming her world.
Had her father expected Penny to return one day? Had he even seen her before he died and never told anyone?
Chapter Ten
It was just after five that evening when Andee and Graeme drew up outside Briar Lodge, where they had to wait for a chauffeur-driven silver Mercedes to clear the drive so they could get in.
‘Why didn’t my mother let me know she was coming?’ Andee demanded, sounding angrier than she actually felt.
‘Maybe she turned up unexpectedly,’ Graeme suggested.
Accepting that could be true, Andee got out of the car, still annoyed because this was not how she’d wanted the next encounter with her sister to happen. She’d rather have seen her alone first, or at least have had a chance to speak to her mother so she could prepare her, but that clearly wasn’t going to be possible. ‘I think the way to handle this,’ she said as Graeme joined her, ‘is to let Penny do all the talking and see where it gets us.’
Agreeing, Graeme pushed open the kitchen door for her to go ahead, and almost collided with her as Penny’s greeting brought her to an abrupt stop.
‘Speak of the devil, and here she is,’ Penny gushed, arms wide as she came to Andee. ‘Tell me, how was dear old Gerry Trowbridge? As informative as you’d hoped? Or has the poor soul lost his marbles by now?’
Andee’s eyes shot to her mother, but the way Maureen quickly shook her head told her that Penny hadn’t got her information here. So this was a blatant admission that she’d had Andee followed. Coolly accepting the embrace, Andee said, ‘This is a surprise. Had you said you were coming?’ Again she looked at her mother.
‘I was in the garden,’ Maureen told her. ‘I didn’t even hear the door. She only just got here, less than ten minutes ago.’
Realising her mother was both flustered and relieved that she was no longer having to handle Penny alone, Andee briefly softened her expression before saying to Penny, ‘So when did you get back from Houston?’
With an airy wave Penny said, ‘This morning. Panic allayed, or at least delayed. I only wish I could say the same for here, but that’s another story. I’m going to guess that you’re Graeme,’ she said, treating him to an appreciative once-over as she reached for his hand.
‘It’s good to meet you,’ he told her.
‘Likewise. I hope we’re going to get to know one another much better.’
Was she flirting, Andee wondered with no little ire?
Appearing oblivious to it if she was, Graeme offered to make tea while Andee followed her mother and Penny to the sofas where they’d been before she came in.
‘So,’ Penny prompted chattily, ‘are you going to tell us how you got along with Gerry Trowbridge?’
Determined not to be rattled, or led, Andee said, ‘I’d rather hear about why you chose to come now, when you apparently knew I wasn’t here.’
Penny looked amazed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I needed to check with you first, but I promise I’ll be sure to do so next time. I hope I haven’t caused a problem.’
Since she didn’t appear to have done so, Andee let it drop and instead indulged in some wrong-footing of her own. ‘Why did you use my name when you booked a chauffeur to take you to France?’
Penny looked startled, then laughed. ‘Well, I suppose I was feeling ironic at the time,’ she countered with a playful glance towards Maureen.
Andee waited for more, but no more came. ‘That’s not an answer,’ she pointed out.
‘Isn’t it? I thought it was. Is it not permissible to feel ironic?’
‘Are we going to have a sensible conversation,’ Andee challenged, ‘or are you here to waste our time?’
‘Andee,’ her mother scolded.
‘It’s all right,’ Penny assured her. ‘I can see Andee’s cross with me, and I suppose I don’t blame her. It’s probably quite upsetting to discover that someone has been using your name, but it’s not as if it was identity theft, or anything serious like that. It’s just a little thing I do from time to time to keep us close.’
To keep us close! What the heck was that supposed to mean?
‘Do you have documents in my name?’ Andee demanded.
‘No.’
Hoping it was true, Andee continued. ‘And what about Michelle Cross? Is using her name something you do to keep yourself feeling close to her?’
Penny’s expression turned mournful as she said, ‘Poor, sweet Michelle. It was so tragic what happened to her. Losing her life before it had even properly begun. Yes, I use her name as a reminder, as a tribute almost, kind of letting her share in a life she missed out on. And before you ask, yes I do have documents in her name. She didn’t need it any more, and when I required a new one hers was the first that came to mind.’
Faintly repulsed by that, Andee looked at her mother as Maureen asked, ‘Why did you need a new name?’
Penny regarded her in a way that said surely you know the answer to that. To be clear, she replied, ‘Everyone was looking for Penny Lawrence. It was the only thing we could think of to help me hang on to my newfound freedom.’
‘Freedom?’ Maureen echoed faintly.
‘From all of you,’ Penny explained. ‘No one seemed to understand that I didn’t want to come back.
I was happy, for the first time in my life. I was living in John’s world, doing things I loved with people I loved and who loved me.’ Twinkling, she added to Andee, ‘I expect Gerry Trowbridge has already told you all about it.’
Wishing this wasn’t happening in front of her mother, Andee said, ‘Maybe you’d like to tell us yourself, in case he got it wrong.’
‘Oh, I don’t suppose he did.’
Maureen was watching them carefully, apparently trying to keep up.
‘I’m presuming you don’t want to spell it out in front of Mum,’ Andee stated, ‘so shall we …’
‘I will if you want me to,’ Penny interrupted.
Too stubborn to back off, Andee said, ‘Then perhaps you can begin by telling us how you made your initial connection with John Victor.’
Maureen flinched as Penny threw out her hands in amazement.
‘He was our uncle. You knew him as well as I did.’
Since that was patently untrue on the second count, Andee stared at her hard.
Apparently enjoying the silent treatment, Penny let it run for a while, before saying, ‘It was quite simple, really. I knew he was the black sheep of the family, which was exactly how I felt, so I found his number in Mum’s phone book and called to ask if I could go to see him. He said yes, we got along … Would you like the details of that particular part of it?’
Certain her mother wouldn’t, and nor did she, Andee said, ‘Whose idea was it for you to stay with him?’
‘Mine. And his. Actually, everyone’s. I fitted in. We were a happy-go-lucky commune living life to the full in a house on Glebe Place, in Chelsea. Do you know it?’ She was looking at Graeme.
‘The street,’ he confirmed. ‘Probably not the house.’
‘But I’m sure you’ve been there.’
‘I’m sure I haven’t.’
Penny’s eyebrows arched as she turned back to Andee.
Wondering what she was up to, Andee said, ‘How long did you stay in that house?’