Grace Smith Investigates

by Liz Evans

  ‘Is she still around?’ It seemed unlikely, otherwise O’Hara would have pointed me in her direction.

  Florrie confirmed my suspicions. ‘Left about six years before Leslie got himself killed. They never got on, the pair of them; she was the quiet sort, didn’t like to draw attention. Except at home. I could hear them through the walls. You wouldn’t have thought it was the same little mouse the way she’d go at Leslie. Mind, he gave as good as he got. Every time Leslie got caught, she’d be terrified there’d be a mob round here, breaking the windows and setting fire to the place, like they showed them doing on the telly to them paedo-filers.’

  ‘And did that ever happen?’ I asked.

  ‘No dear. But that didn’t matter. Winnie spent her life being scared of things that might happen.’

  O’Hara finally came to life to ask why she kept taking Leslie back in.

  ‘She had no choice. It was the lease. They’d had it from their parents. Both names on it. And there was still a few years left to run. Leslie insisted on his right to live there, and Winnie had nowhere else to go.’

  ‘But she found somewhere?’

  ‘Lake District.’ Florrie excavated the biscuit tin again, sending a cascade of old photos on to the floor. ‘She said to me, I can’t stand any more of this, Florrie. I’m sure he’s at it again. One of us has to go. And a couple of weeks later, she upped and went.’ She found what she was looking for and extended two postcards; one of Lake Buttermere, the other of Lake Windermere.

  Buttermere was postmarked 5 March 1984. It’s lovely here. Found a job keeping house. It’s cash in hand which suits. I’ve changed my name in case they read anything about you know who up here. Wish I’d done this years ago. Best wishes. Win.

  Windermere had been sent six weeks later. Fallen on my feet here. Got a man at last Bit older than me, but we’re both on our own so why not. Told him about L and he doesn’t mind. He’s talking about moving somewhere a bit warmer. Love Win.

  O’Hara swung the conversation back to the Walkinshaw case, by remarking that it was Florrie who’d told the police that Leslie had gone out in his van the morning Heidi disappeared. ‘Do you remember what you told them, Mrs Jennings?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my memory, young man. Though there plainly is with yours if you don’t remember my saying that. Went out at seven-thirty and came back at nine. That’s what I told the police then and that’s what I’m saying now.’ I asked her how she could be so sure of the time? ‘News. I always listen to the news on the radio. Like to know what’s going on. They tell you the time before they read the news.’

  She was so definite that I knew, even if it wasn’t true, the passage of time had imprinted those facts on her mind so indelibly that they were now indistinguishable from her real memories. Without much hope I asked about possible hiding places for a body.

  ‘I’d have told them back then if I’d have been able to think of anywhere. They dug up the garden you know, looking for that girl? And the floors in the house and garage. Had one of them big drills. Vibration came right through the walls. Never found anything that I know of.’ She looked at us with hope; had we got information she didn’t know about?

  Sadly we hadn’t. In fact, as I pointed out to O’Hara once we were seated in his car again, we weren’t any further forward than we had been on the day he’d first employed me.

  ‘Oh I don’t know. We’ve sipped drinks together on a moonlit beach, danced Salsa and made the earth move — albeit with a spade. I’d say we were definitely making progress.’

  His dark blue eyes moved closer to mine. So did his lips. Okay, I couldn’t expect him to stay celibate. But flaming hell, two hours after he’d been inspecting Clemency’s knickers!

  ‘I’ll walk home, thanks.’ I sprang out of the car.

  Chapter Twenty

  There are times that you just have to put your trust in a bloke. And when you do, you can just bet he’ll turn right round and kick you in the teeth.

  ‘I can’t believe you did it,’ I hissed.

  Shane looked hurt. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. Go with me other pictures.’

  Years ago Shane had changed his name from Hubert and gone into showbusiness. The café walls were covered with framed black and white publicity photos. Lean, mean and moody, Shane glowered at the customers from under a thickly greased quiff, showing off his muscular chest in a white vest and his taut stomach in denim jeans. He still wore the vest and jeans, but these days they were triple XXX sized, the quiff had disappeared, taking most of the rest of his hair with it, and his performances were limited to dueting with the jukebox. Now framed and stuck where you just couldn’t miss seeing it, was that damn rabbit rage picture. ‘Take it down.’

  ‘But the customers like it. Gives them a good laugh. Enjoy the fame. What can I get you? Got some nice carrot cake in.’

  I had the full English breakfast with a large hot chocolate and extra cream. My diet had been seriously deficient in grease and sugar overload recently; my addictions needed feeding.

  I ate slowly, unsure what to do with the rest of my Saturday. I’d half-expected O’Hara to turn up at the flat yesterday evening so that we could run through where we were going next with the Heidi Walkinshaw case. At least that was my excuse as I sat on the floor at two a.m., finishing off a bottle of plonk and trying to work out whether the film I was watching was in black and white or the contrast control on the telly had gone. Okay, I’d blown him out in the car. And if he had come round to the flat, I’d have told him where to stick his collaboration. But damn it, the guy didn’t have to give up that easily!

  Eventually I decided to call round at Clemency’s. I’d left my chainsaw behind and I needed it for another job. At least that was going to be my excuse for Clemency. As it turned out I didn’t need it. Clemency was out on set, acting like a professional trollop rather than an amateur one presumably.

  ‘She doesn’t have any scenes today. But she’s invited a friend to watch the filming,’ Bianca explained. ‘So she has to be there to entertain him.’

  I’ll bet she did. ‘Has Jonathon gone out to the cove too?’

  ‘No. He’s upstairs working on his script. But they’re not at the cove. That was only for a couple of days. They’re at the caravan park today. I started the barbecue, do you want to see?’ Not really. But since she’d already opened the back door, I joined her. ‘I’m doing double burners and shelves to hold food and warm plates and everything. We’ll have a patio table out here, with a high chair for the baby. It’s all going to be so perfect.’ She smiled dreamily. I assumed she was seeing the happy family dining al fresco — like something out of a salad cream commercial. ‘Did you want coffee or lunch?’

  ‘Neither thanks. I’m not stopping. I just popped in to get the chainsaw. Another job. Sorry.’

  Her mouth drooped. I guess being stuck here with no company wasn’t much fun. I heard myself saying I could manage a quick coffee. While she busied herself brewing up, I glanced at the brochures littering the kitchen table. They were all for villa rentals in exotic locations. ‘Are you going on holiday?’

  ‘I hope so. We used to go in the winter. But Clemency will be too big to fly by then, so I thought we could go soon.’

  ‘You seem very sure she’ll get pregnant.’

  ‘Of course she will. She promised me. It’s what we’ve been planning for ages.’

  I had a sudden stomach-lurching picture of Clemency nursing a tot with O’Hara’s navy blue eyes and hair as dark as his must have been before it turned iron grey. To regain control, I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. ‘How did you know he was a courier?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The motorcyclist who delivered the newspaper to the Shoreline set? You said a courier gave it to you, but he could have just been a fan.’

  ‘He had one of those fluorescent vests on. It said Speedaway Couriers on the back. Anyway Security wouldn’t have let a fan through the barriers. Why?’

  ‘Jus
t one of those daft thoughts that popped into my head. Don’t you ever get those?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ She set two overflowing coffee mugs carefully on the table and added a packet of digestives. ‘Like yesterday I was wondering how to make Cappuccino understand he mustn’t jump on the baby’s cot.’

  So far there had been no sign of the long-eared stalker, although his tracking unit was sitting on the table. ‘Maybe you should rehouse him before the kid arrives?’

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t do that. He’s family. Families are important. Tell me some more about yours.’

  I did my best to chat while keeping the details vague. Bianca didn’t seem to notice the evasion, she was happy sucking coffee through the digestives and soaking up anecdotes about my family’s holiday trips.

  ‘I’d have liked to have brothers and sisters,’ she said wistfully. ‘But at least I’ve got Clemency and Jonathon now. I’m so lucky they’ve let me be part of their family.’

  Yep, kind-hearted was plainly Clemency’s middle name. ‘Listen, Bianca, I met someone the other day who needed a bit of decorating work. She’s an old lady, so I don’t suppose she can pay much, but if you’d like me to mention you …?’

  ‘All right. But I can’t do anything until I’ve finished this house.’

  ‘Couldn’t you take a week off? It’s not like Clemency is going to sack you. It would give you the chance to earn a bit of money.’

  ‘I don’t need money.’

  ‘Everybody needs money. I can see Clemency is providing bed and board, but there must be things you want to buy? Presents for the baby,’ I suggested. Having an unpaid servant might suit Clemency, but it was time somebody rained on her parade.

  ‘I mean, I get money.’ Bianca sucked soggy digestive. ‘From Gran’s house. It has four bedrooms and I let them all out. Usually to people from the hospital because they’re nice tenants and when one leaves they tell someone else about the room.’

  ‘Oh? Right.’ I hadn’t really thought of Bianca as having a life away from Clemency and Jonathon. Any further confidences were interrupted by that damn rabbit alarm. It was sitting between us and it suddenly blasted out a shriek that could have been heard in a deep space probe.

  ‘Switch it off,’ I screamed, putting my hands over my ears.

  ‘I need it to find Cappy,’ Bianca shouted back. She dashed out into the back garden, holding the device out like a divining rod. Maybe she expected the tip to bend downwards as it passed over a rabbit burrow.

  The thing started to decrease in volume. ‘Cappy. Cappy.’ She waved it around the pile of garden debris.

  I followed her. She plainly hadn’t got the hang of driving the thing. I took the alarm from her and moved back towards the house. The sound rose again. I held it above my head. The decibels howled. ‘Either you’ve got a rare tree-climbing rabbit here, Bianca, or he’s upstairs somewhere.’ I thumbed the control to ‘off’ and a beautiful silence descended.

  ‘Oh dear, I hope he’s not in the nursery.’ She ran back into the house.

  *

  I picked up my chainsaw. I’d intended to leave while she was rabbit-hunting, but at the foot of the stairs I changed my mind and trod quietly up to the second floor. Thumps and crashes from overhead indicated Cappuccino wasn’t coming quietly. Above the racket, the soft sounds of sobbing were barely distinguishable.

  I pushed open the door to the study. Jonathon was hunched in a corner, his knees drawn to his chest. He lifted a bleak face to me, not bothering to wipe away the tears streaming down his cheeks. There was a ripped brown envelope and a sheet of paper lying by his feet. He made no attempt to stop me when I picked it up and read: ‘YOU HAVE TO DIE. THERE IS NO OTHER WAY. THE PAIN WILL NEVER STOP.’

  I squatted beside him. ‘Do you know who wrote this?’

  ‘What does it matter? It’s true.’

  ‘Is it? Why?’

  ‘Jonathon! What’s the matter?’ She’d done it again. Come down the stairs so softly I hadn’t heard her. Cappuccino’s front half was draped over her crossed arms, the bottom half dangling over her stomach and thighs. ‘Is it your script?’

  ‘My script!’ Hysteria echoed in Jonathon’s voice. ‘Why should it be my frigging script! It’s not like there’s anything else in my life to worry about, is there, Bianca?’

  ‘Well …’ A puzzled frown puckered the broad forehead. ‘No. We’re very happy. Everything’s perfect.’

  Jonathon started laughing. Rocking on his butt, he began to bang the back of his skull into the wall. ‘You just don’t get it do you? You’re too bloody thick to see what’s right under your nose!’

  I pinned his head long enough to see his pupils. They weren’t dilated or contracted. ‘Have you taken something?’

  ‘I sure have, redeeming Grace. I’ve taken more than enough.’ Jerking free, he resumed his head banging. ‘Get out, get out, get out.’

  Bianca was looking bewildered. It was down to me or the rabbit. ‘I think you should call someone, Bianca. You won’t want to disturb Clemency on set. Didn’t you say Jonathon’s mother lived locally?’

  ‘No!’ Jonathon gripped my wrists. ‘I don’t want her here.’

  ‘Tough luck sunshine.’ I punched upwards to free myself. ‘Go ring her, Bianca.’

  I stayed with him until Della arrived. We exchanged the polite nods of those who’d never met in front of the others. And a more urgent exchange out of their earshot.

  ‘Is he writing them to himself?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’ll find out, I promise.’

  *

  Speedaway Couriers promised a fast service 24/7. Which meant their offices had to be open at the weekends. It didn’t, however, mean that they were going to give out information relating to clients. I’d brought cash from my bribery stash (it would go on Della’s bill) but it wasn’t needed. The reception clerk was Fur-Fetish. And he recognised me. Possibly because he had that flaming photo pinned up behind the desk.

  ‘Don’t we look fabulous?’ he cooed, stroking the newsprint. ‘I’ve bought dozens of copies. I’m sending them to all my friends.’

  ‘No hard feelings about me whacking you?’

  ‘Oh no! You’ve made me famous. They’ve posted a copy on the web site. Everyone wants to talk to me in the chat room.’

  ‘What web site?’

  ‘Fureverstroking.com. It’s got some fabulous pictures. And gorgeous things to buy. I’ve just got this …’ He pulled a picture frame from under the counter. It was covered in fake fur the shade of Cappuccino’s coat. ‘I’m going to put our picture in it. I would have made my own, but I’m out of fur at present. Now what can I do for you?’

  ‘I need some information. And I can’t tell you why.’

  ‘Fair enough. We stars must stick together.’ I explained about the delivery to the Shoreline location. ‘Yes, we did that one. See.’ He turned the screen so I could see the form on the computer. ‘It was a walk-in.’ The newspaper package had been handed in at the offices on Monday at 11.30. The sender was a Mr White, address 605 St John’s Road. He’d paid cash.

  ‘Were you here when he brought it in?’

  ‘I was. I’m doing a lot of overtime at the moment. I’ve got my eye on a replica black panther-skin bedspread. It’s to die for.’

  ‘What did Mr White look like?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you. He was in motorbiker’s leathers with one of those blacked-out helmets. It had red wings painted on it, with gold highlights, I remember that. I hate leather, don’t you? It’s so cold.’

  ‘How about his height? Weight? Accent?’

  ‘Very average I’d say. It’s hard to tell what’s under those leathers. I didn’t really hear the voice. He just passed over the package and the money.’

  ‘How did you know where to find Clemency Courtney?’

  ‘Mr White gave very detailed instructions on place and time on the address sheet, see?’ He scrolled down the pro-forma sheet. Mr White had even provided the map grid reference for the cove where t
he film company was shooting. And he’d specified the time of delivery. Which meant he must have access to the Shoreline shooting schedule. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks. I appreciate the help.’

  ‘No problem. You couldn’t do me a little favour, could you? Only loads of my friends have asked to meet you. I could arrange a little rendezvous at my place? Wine? Nibbles? And if you could wear the rabbit costume, that would be just fabulous.’

  ‘Let me get back to you on that.’ Some time after hell freezes over.

  I walked the length of St John’s Road before returning to the office. There was no number 605. But then I hadn’t expected there to be.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I started Sunday vegged out at the flat and wallowing in depression and peanut butter ice-cream.

  My two most important (i.e. profitable) cases were going nowhere fast. O’Hara had disappeared and was probably hanging out at the latest celeb watering hole with Ms pink knickers clamped to him; Annie wasn’t answering her phone, so I couldn’t go round and moan at her. The only bright spot in my miserable existence was walking into the convenience store near the flat just as their freezer cabinet headed for the white-goods graveyard in the sky.

  Everything frozen was on sale at ten pence an item. I bought as many ice-cream tubs as my fridge could take. Four tubs in, I felt motivated enough to ring Della and find out how Jonathon was doing.

  ‘We managed to calm him down a bit, then Clemency came home and took over. She as good as slung me out.’

  ‘How did Jonathon take that?’

  ‘He went along with it. He always goes along with whatever she wants. She asked me about you. Wanted your phone number. I had to make up a mobile number. You’ll have to remember to say you’ve changed it when you see her next.’

  ‘Why did she want it?’

  ‘She didn’t say. Do you think she suspects you aren’t really a gardener?’