by Vicky Jones
“No, we’re still conducting enquiries, Mrs.?” Rachel replied.
“Beckett. Philippa Beckett. I live next door to Diana. But Amanda’s probably already told you that.” She smiled at Amanda. “I’ve been calling, dear. Leaving messages. I didn’t want to bother you at this time, but I was worried about your mother. She’s not returning my calls either.” Philippa wrung her hands as she looked earnestly at Amanda.
“Sorry. My head’s been everywhere. I would have called you if there had been any news.”
“Nothing?” Mrs. Beckett replied.
“Not yet,” Rachel replied, stepping forward. “I’m Detective Inspector Morrison, Mrs. Beckett.” She shook Philippa’s hand and gestured to the open back door. “I wonder, could we have a little chat? I’d like to ask you some questions if that would be OK?”
The elderly lady nodded and followed Rachel into the back garden. It was gorgeously appointed, with bright yellow laburnum trees bordering the far fence line, and palm trees filling the corners, providing well needed shade on that bright, sunny morning. The lawn, bordered on all sides by shrubs and flower beds, was as green as an emerald, and wafting in the air was the unmistakable scent of rosemary. Michelle stayed in the kitchen with Poppy and Amanda.
“How long have you lived next door to Mrs. Walker?”
“Oh, I was here when they first moved in over ten years ago now. I brought Diana some biscuits I’d baked as a housewarming present. Ginger they were.” The old lady smiled. “Since then we’ve been good friends. We used to meet for coffee at least once a week. Sometimes she’d even treat us to afternoon tea.”
“That’s lovely.” Rachel’s smile hardened. “Mrs. Beckett, can you remember anything significant about the night before Diana disappeared?”
Philippa looked blank. “No. Nothing, dear. But that would be because I wasn’t here. I was on my way to see my daughter in Brighton. I got back a few days ago, then found out about Diana vanishing. I have my train ticket still if you’d like to see it? I watch Murder She Wrote every afternoon. 2 p.m. it’s on. Never miss it. So, I know how these things work.”
Rachel stifled a laugh. Philippa Beckett was every bit the amateur Miss Marple. With her tight hair bun, small mouth and keen eyes, she even looked strikingly similar to Joan Hickson. Nothing more helpful when it comes to investigating a questionable family than a nosey neighbour next door, Rachel thought.
“Thank you, Mrs. Beckett. That would be very helpful to our enquiries.”
“I’ll go and get it now,” Philippa said. She shuffled off in the direction of the side gate into her back garden.
Rachel hadn’t been back in the kitchen for five minutes before Philippa’s white hair bun bobbled into view through the glass in the back door.
“Here it is, inspector,” she trilled, handing the train ticket to Rachel.
“Thank you.” Rachel looked down at the ticket which clearly showed the date and time of Philippa’s journey to Brighton. “I appreciate this.”
“No problem.” Philippa turned to Amanda. “Now, let me check your cupboards, dear. I’m popping to the shops this afternoon so I can get you anything you need. And have you had time to put on any washing? You’ve probably not even thought of that, have you?”
Amanda raked a hand through her long brown hair. “No, I haven’t, to be honest. But it’s fine. I haven’t really got much in the basket.” She rolled her eyes at Rachel, then turned back to Philippa. “But thank you, Mrs. Beckett. You’re very kind.”
“Well, I know your mother would do the same for my Jenny, if something had happened to me.” Realising what she’d said, Philippa recoiled. “Oh, I don’t mean I think something’s happened to your mother. It was just a figure of speech… Oh, dear, have I upset you?”
Amanda’s eyes hardly twitched. “Not at all. But if it’s OK with everyone, I think I’d like to be alone now? Have some quiet time.”
“Yes, of course,” Rachel said, turning to walk down the hallway to the front door. “Oh, by the way, Amanda, your uncle didn’t know the combination to the safe either. Looks like the contents will have to remain a mystery. For now.”
Amanda smiled and waved them off as Poppy walked them to the door. Just as Rachel and Michelle were saying their goodbyes, Philippa’s head popped round the kitchen doorway.
“Did I hear you mention the safe upstairs? Something about the combination?” she said.
Rachel smiled back. “Yes. But unfortunately, neither Amanda nor her uncle know the combination, so…”
“I do,” Philippa replied.
Rachel and Michelle stopped and stared at her.
“You know it?” Amanda said, her mouth hanging open.
“Why yes. She told me it in case she forgot it.”
“But why was she so sure you wouldn’t forget it?” Rachel asked, walking back towards the kitchen.
“Oh, inspector. I’m hardly about to forget my own daughter’s date of birth, now, am I?”
Inside the safe there was nothing seemingly out of place. The copy of Diana Walker’s will sat on top of a few innocuous looking documents, the deeds to the house and some insurance paperwork.
“Just confirmed what we already thought,” Michelle said with a long exhale.
“Amanda gets the lot.” Rachel folded the will back up and placed it back in the safe.
As the group traipsed back downstairs, Poppy whispered to Amanda, “You need to tell them what you’ve been looking at online. These groups of people sound like not good people. I don’t want you getting involved in anything dangerous. Anyway, the police might already have them on their radar.”
Amanda looked at her and scowled. “I’m doing this my way. All I care about is finding Mum. And if I have to meet up with shady people to find answers, then that’s what I have to do. And I don’t want you blabbing to them cops, you hear?”
“And the prize for most helpful neighbour goes to Mrs. Philippa Beckett,” Michelle joked as they walked back into the police station that afternoon.
“I know. That was a stroke of luck,” Rachel concurred.
“However,” said Michelle.
“What now?”
“It all seemed a little, well, err, convenient. You know. Just happening to know the number to the safe and…well…who has a ticket to hand like that?”
“Yeah, but I think she was just trying to help.”
As they reached their desks, Hargreaves whipped open her door and beckoned them over.
“Shit. What now? I’m dying for a wee,” Michelle complained.
“It’s gonna have to wait. She looks pissed off. More so than usual.” Rachel raised her eyebrows and got back up out of her seat.
They walked over to Hargreaves’ office and stood in the doorway as Hargreaves returned behind her desk.
“We’ve had a call.” She stared at Rachel and Michelle’s blank faces. “From Diana Walker.” She reached over her desk to the telephone and pressed the voicemail button.
“Hi. It’s Diana. Walker. Look, I don’t want people wasting their time looking for me. I’m not missing. I’m on a train right now. I just need to get away for a while. Have a little holiday or something? I just don’t want to be found, OK?”
“Are we sure that’s actually her on the phone? She was almost whispering,” Michelle asked, her hands on her utility belt. “I mean, it could be any crank wanting to mess about with us.” Michelle looked at Rachel, who was also confused.
“So that’s that, then. No missing person to add to our long bloody caseload. Just a woman who wants the world to leave her the bloody hell alone. I sympathise. Wish people would leave me the fuck alone,” Hargreaves added with a long exhale.
“Bit weird, though, don’t you think, ma’am?” Michelle said to Hargreaves.
“Least she’s not dead. That’ll be a relief for the family,” Rachel added.
“So, where does that leave us? I was quite enjoying our wild goose chase together.” Michelle’s voice was tinged with sadness.
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“Was the call put through to you via the switchboard or is the answer phone a direct line?” Rachel asked.
Hargreaves eyed her. “A direct line. Why?”
“Because I need to get my phones man to send an urgent subscriber check off so we can confirm the number she called in from and, more importantly, find out the location of the cell that covers it.”
“What?” Hargreaves spluttered. “Why? This ties things up nicely.”
“And I also need to send the tape over to audio tech, ma’am. Just to rule out any chance it’s a crank. I will also get Amanda to listen to it,” Rachel said.
She didn’t add that, at some point, she might also want a voice stress analyst to listen, in case the call was being made under duress. From her time working kidnap cases in London, she knew this happened more frequently than people thought.
Hargreaves’ expression darkened. “Rachel…”
“I know, ma’am, but we need to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. Otherwise the papers will have a field day if it’s a hoax call, right? The last thing we want is to announce that we are no longer pursuing the case and then have her turn up dead.”
Throwing her arms up in the air in defeat, Hargreaves agreed. “Let me know as soon as you get a result. Then I can finally tick this one off the fuck tonne of other shit I’ve got to defend our force against.” Hargreaves gestured for them to get out of her office. But it doesn’t explain the other missing people, she thought.
Chapter 11
“Detective. And PC Barlow. What a surprise. What are you doing back here so soon?” Poppy said, opening the front door of Amanda’s house.
“Hello, Miss. Lovell. Is Amanda home?” Rachel replied.
“Erm, no. She must have popped out. I’ve only just come back over myself.”
Michelle eyed Poppy. “You have a key?”
Poppy swept a lock of hair from her eyes. “No. I just know where the spare is kept. I thought I’d come round and tidy up for her a bit. You saw this morning, it was a bit of a mess. Poor thing, she must really be worrying. No time for all the housework, dishes mounting up. All that. I did it before once. On her birthday. Put loads of balloons up, did the whole ‘surprise’ thing when she walked in. Diana wasn’t too happy like. She didn’t like all that fuss.”
“Hmm. Do you know where she is?” Rachel asked. Poppy’s eyes flashed something Rachel couldn’t put her finger on at that moment.
“Amanda?” Poppy asked.
“Yes.”
“I think she might have gone to the shops. I noticed there was no milk in the fridge. I would have brought some over if I’d known…” Poppy said, looking disappointed.
“I’ll call her,” Michelle said, turning away from the door and taking her phone out. A few seconds later she returned, shaking her head to Rachel. “Voicemail.”
Turning back to Poppy, Rachel flashed a smile. “I wonder if you could help us with something. Could we come in?”
“Sure,” Poppy replied, stepping out of their way as they entered the house.
“The reason we wanted to speak with Amanda is that we have some news. About her mother.”
Poppy’s eyes widened. “Oh no, she’s not…” She clamped a hand over her mouth.
“No, it’s good news, we think. Diana has made contact.” Rachel reassured.
“Really? How? I mean, when?”
“She called the station. Left a message. I just need to take a recording of her answer machine message for official comparison. Would that be OK?”
“Sure,” Poppy replied, showing her to the house phone.
After Rachel had completed her recording on her phone, she turned to Poppy. “I wonder, if I played to you the recording of the call we got, could you unofficially confirm it’s Diana’s voice?”
“Sure. Anything to help.” Poppy shrugged.
Rachel clicked on the file on her phone that held Diana Walker’s message and played it loud and clear, with Poppy nodding towards the end.
“That’s definitely her. I’m sure of it,” Poppy confirmed. “She doesn’t sound herself like, but Amanda will be made up. But… Oh no.”
“What? What is it?” Rachel asked, taking a step closer.
“Oh shit. I’m not supposed to tell you. But I’m worried now.” Poppy put her hand over her mouth. Rachel and Michelle stared at Poppy. “Well, Amanda was getting impatient with you lot. Not finding any leads and that. So…”
“Where is Amanda, Poppy?” Rachel demanded.
“I genuinely don’t know where she is. She made me swear I wouldn’t tell you. But she was looking online for records of dodgy people and anybody released from prison recently. Anyone in the newspapers who’d done time for kidnapping or assault. Or even murder.” Poppy gulped. “She’s been following them for a while to see where they go. Most of them end up in pubs on the outskirts of town, so Amanda just watches them to see where they go, in case it leads her to her mother. But now her mother’s alive. Oh Christ, Amanda needs to know.”
“Right, you tell her we called when she gets back, OK?” Rachel ordered before turning back to the door and leaving, closely followed by Michelle.
Amanda pushed open the door of the Anchor Pub and was immediately hit by a wall of noise. The bar was crowded with men all wearing football shirts and yelling abuse at the referee, who had clearly made a poor decision. In the far corner was a small group, having a quiet drink together. A middle-aged woman wearing a navy blue parka sat drinking an orange juice. Next to her sat a younger man wearing blue stonewashed jeans, a dark blue hooded jacket and black steel toe-capped boots. The third man at their table was a few years older than the first man. He had lighter coloured brown hair and looked as if he’d come straight from work, in his pale blue shirt and a navy and white striped tie. The two men had untouched pints in front of them. Amanda watched them for a few minutes, and in that time they said absolutely nothing to each other.
“What can I get for you, love?” a middle-aged, portly looking barman with dark curly blond greasy hair asked.
Amanda looked up at him. “Oh, I’m just waiting for someone.”
The barman huffed. “Suit yourself.” He walked back over to the other end of the bar, wiping his hands on a tea towel. The group of football supporters broke ranks as the half time whistle sounded, with a couple of them heading to the toilets and the others dissipating among the other patrons in the bar.
Amanda sat on a bar stool and absorbed the surroundings of the bar. That afternoon she’d read online that the Anchor was a known breeding ground of various dregs of society and, with its remote location half a mile from Lizard Point, it rarely suffered from any police intrusion. Even the hardest of officers knew better than to take on swarthy locals so close to a 200 foot cliff edge. She looked up at the TV screen now showing the news.
“Sad, isn’t it? All those people going missing?” The barman from before said as he wrapped his tea towel around the rim of a glass. He nodded up to the news broadcast now showing the pictures of the missing people from the area.
“Did they come in here?” Amanda replied, not really listening to him but keeping her eyes fixed on the screen.
“No. But if you ask me, that group over there must have known them.” He pointed to the group in the corner that had caught Amanda’s eye when she walked in. Amanda turned to look at them.
“Why?”
The barman laughed. “Because the people who went missing were a doctor, a teacher and a businesswoman’s wife. That group over there?” He leaned over the bar, close enough for Amanda to catch a whiff of his sour breath. “I got chatting to the woman one night a few weeks back. Found out she’s a nurse at the same hospital as the doctor was at. The older man is a teacher—at the same school my daughter goes to—and the same school the teacher that went missing taught at.”
“And the pretty boy?” Amanda asked.
“Not sure about him. Must just be friends with the bloke maybe. I thought he might be a gardener, what with all the
grass he traipses in here.” The barman grinned. “I watch a lot of Columbo. He’d notice stuff like that, you know? Anyway, that lot over there meet here once every month, then go off for a walk somewhere. Bit suspicious if you ask me.”
“Hmmm,” Amanda remarked. “I’ll have a rum and coke,” she said, smiling at the barman, who obliged. As she took a sip, Amanda watched the group more closely. When they drained their drinks and got up, she did the same. Trying not to be noticed, she slipped out of the pub twenty seconds after they did.
The wind up on the cliffs of Lizard Point was stronger than usual that evening. Amanda didn’t care. Leaving her car at the Anchor Pub car park, she had walked in the twilight, along the southwest coastal path, with the group from the pub just far enough in front for them not to notice her following them. About half a mile ahead, overlooking Hounsel Bay, was a rugged looking whitewashed stone lighthouse, dominating the landscape in front of her. The shrubs she’d stopped to hide behind provided just enough cover for her to watch and wait to see what the group did next. No one had lived in the lighthouse for fifty years or more, the only official key holder being a local fisherman who acted as the custodian.
But now it would seem there was at least one unofficial key holder.
Amanda watched with keen eyes as a figure wearing a dark hoodie pulled tight around their face, black jeans and heavy looking boots approached the door of the lighthouse where the three people from the pub were waiting. They all looked around cautiously before the first figure pulled out a key and they all disappeared inside.
“What’s going on in there?” Amanda muttered to herself as she watched.
“Morrison,” Rachel said after pressing the answer button on her hands free.
“Boss, it’s Andy. I’ve finished running that tape.”
“And?” Rachel snapped.
“Well, we’ve isolated all the frequencies away from the vocals, and picked up a few strange sounds in the background.”