The Missing Witness

by Jo Smedley

  Irene hadn’t realised, but of the two individuals we were supposedly interviewing for the TV show, I had the more valuable witness. The question was… what should I ask him? I wasn’t as clever as Irene at throwing in asides to get me from A to B and the information I wanted.

  Instead I looked down at the list of questions in my lap.

  Something about my hesitation must have shone through as Joe suddenly said, “First time?”

  “Er… yes. How did you guess?”

  “You looked a bit, well, lost.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” I said. “Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  Joe nodded. “Well I won’t bite. Ask away. And it’s just the one response you need isn’t it?”

  “First knee jerk response. All the answers then get collated and if necessary categorised, so face and head might end up as “head”, or knee, shin, thigh, might all end up as “leg” depending on the question.” In fact I had no idea whether that was the case but I knew it just had to sound plausible. Credibility was what I was aiming for, and plausible explanations should do that.

  “So…Something we get from the sun?”

  “Sunburn.”

  “Something you do while you soak in the bath?”

  “Wash”

  “A sport that uses a net?”

  “Badminton.”

  “Something you do when you’re frightened?”

  “Shake.”

  “Somewhere you’d say goodbye.”

  “Funeral.”

  “Oh… that’s an unusual response,” I said, wondering if Irene had purposely seeded some relevant questions into the mix. “Have you lost someone recently?”

  “Mmmm,” Joe nodded. “Old-girlfriend.”

  “Oh dear,” I said. “I am sorry.” So he had dated Lesley. I made a mental note.

  “What were they expecting?” Joe asked. “Do you have a list of expected answers?”

  “No, not really. You’re just the first person I’ve heard say funeral. Most people say airport, train station, that sort of thing. Your other ones are typical. But we always need a few unusual ones or there would only be three answers on the survey board, not five. But don’t purposefully think up odd ones, will you? It skews the survey results and if they find someone has answered a majority of the questions differently to everyone else, the survey is automatically discounted.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes,” I nodded. Again I had no idea, but it sounded plausible, and I wanted him to give me honest responses. Not throw the survey on purpose, which was the sort of thing a uni student would do, even a second-time-arounder.

  “Something you close your eyes to do”

  “Sleep.”

  “Something that’s black and white”

  “Crime.” I looked at him. “A penguin,” he said. “Go for a penguin. I’m just thinking out loud.”

  “Thinking out loud?”

  “She was murdered.”

  “Who was?”

  “The ex-girlfriend.”

  “Oh…A reason people undress.”

  “To have sex.” I wouldn’t have expected any other response from a red-blooded male at his age.

  “Something that is soft.”

  “My girlfriend’s hair. The new one. Not the old one,” he clarified.

  “A word used in weather reports.”

  “Rainy.”

  “Are you going to be able to read all that afterwards?” He asked, glancing at my scrawls. I didn’t have the neatest hand. Then again, in the NHS I wasn’t the only one, the consultants were generally illegible. I could at least read what I’d written. Most of the time.

  “Yes,” I said. “Someone you lie to.”

  “Girlfriend.” He grinned. “Not all the time.”

  “Old or new one?”

  “The new one.”

  “I take it you weren’t going out with the old one when she, uh, died,” I asked, trying to sound as conversational as I could.

  “No. No. We’d been split for ages. She married someone else years ago. Actually, I’m going out with her sister at the moment, which sounds a little odd I know, but, well, it’s complicated.”

  “It does sound complicated,” I said, trying not to sound too eager for bits of gossip, but trying to leave it open ended so he could elaborate if he wanted to.

  “There’s been loads of girls between Lesley and Lou. Lou’s very recent,” he added. “We only got serious at Christmas.”

  So… he and Lou were a recent thing. I wondered where Lou’s Thailand trip fitted into it all. She might be on holiday, working abroad or on a year out. How old was she compared to Lesley? Where they two years apart? Three years? More? Had she seen what Lesley had seen? Did she remember it?

  “Something you do in bed.”

  “Sleep,” he smirked. I didn’t pursue.

  “Something you save up for.”

  “Holidays.”

  “And here was me thinking you’d say ‘wedding’,” I joked.

  “Wedding? Me? Goodness. Not yet. Still early days.” Not that serious then.

  “Something parents do to punish their children.”

  “Spank.” Not exactly a politically correct question for a quiz show I thought. I wondered where Irene had come up with some of the ideas and what responses, if any, she was trying to illicit. I heard laughter from the living room. I wondered which question they had reached and whether Irene had got further along than I had.

  “Something red.”

  “A beetroot”

  Len came home when Joe and I were five questions off finishing. I rattled through them as quickly as I could while keeping half an ear on Hilary, who was explaining who we were and what we were doing. I arrived in the hallway to find Hilary and Len facing each other, Irene out of sight in the living room. Len looked exhausted.

  He had thin features, and what I would have described as a stereotypical accountant look. He was tall, not as tall as Joe, but easily Lucus’s height. He had a full head of white hair, glasses, and a slight frame. His suit was well cut and dark grey, the jacket was slung over his arm along with his tie, which had pink and grey stripes, very financial. Lucus never took his tie off until he got home, he was fastidious that way, but clearly Len was one of those who doffed his tie the moment he got out of work and into the car.

  Hilary was animated, smiling, clearly excited by the questionnaire. Len smiled at her; it would have been hard not to given her enthusiasm.

  “How many more have we got to do?” She called out to Irene.

  “Another ten I think.” Irene had remained in the living room judging by the volume, giving the distinct impression she wouldn’t be leaving until we were done.

  “Joe and I have just finished,” I said.

  “Join them in the kitchen,” Hilary told her husband. “Joe – make your father a cup of coffee and then come through. We should be done by then. I want to hear your answers. I can do that, can’t I?” she called through to Irene.

  “Yes,” Irene called back.

  Hilary scuttled back into the living room, leaving Len, Joe and I together, uncomfortably jostling around each other. I headed back into the kitchen and stood back, allowing Len free access to his own house and his own kitchen, feeling very much the interloper.

  Joe put the kettle on while Len dropped his briefcase on the table and arranged his jacket and tie over the chair.

  “Busy day?”

  “Yeah. Board meeting after hours.”

  Something about his tone of voice told me it was more “bored” than board. Joe rattled around in the kitchen and presented his father with a coffee.

  “Did you want another?” he asked.

  “No. I’m fine thanks.”

  “So. You’re here from the TV Company?”

  “No. Not quite. We work for a research bureau. The TV contract is just one of the ones that we do.”

  “Oh. Which one?”

  I hesitated. Irene hadn’t said. I wasn’
t sure I knew any.

  “TBR,” I said, making up an acronym on the spot. It seemed to satisfy him. I just hoped Irene wouldn’t contradict me later.

  He slurped on his coffee. Another asbestos mouth. Was it just me who couldn’t drink things immediately?

  It was uncomfortable standing facing each other in the kitchen. With just Joe and me there had been questions to work through. Now we were in a holding pattern. Strangers. Unsure of any common ground on which to base a discussion. Joe and Len couldn’t discuss the regular family things as I was there, and I couldn’t ask the questions we really wanted answers to as it would tip our hand. I plumped for a middle ground. Small talk.

  “Where do you work?”

  “Group Seafood. It’s up on the Pyewipe.”

  “He’s one of the bosses,” Joe said cheekily. “So don’t say anything bad.”

  “I won’t,” I smiled. “Is that the one that makes all the fish fingers?” I knew it was, as I’d seen all the glossy photos in the foyer, but he didn’t know that.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Joe tells me he’s studying to be a vet now.”

  “Yes. Second time around. You wouldn’t know he was a mature student, though.” He ruffled Joe’s hair. Clearly they were a close, hands-on family, happy to show affection to each other. Lucus and I were a little more standoffish, we held hands in public, but that was as far as it went. No one would ever see us cuddling into each other outside the home.

  I suppose I just didn’t trust outward expressions of love, but then, we all had our preferred love languages. Words were also cheap in my eyes. For me deeds were the way to demonstrate love. Which was probably why I had embraced being a stay at home housewife full on, and although I was loathing it, I wasn’t going to quit. That was how I showed Lucus I loved him. I was going to bring up Lillian, his daughter, to the best of my abilities. Being there for all her milestones and keeping up with the cooking, cleaning, laundry, shopping and slowly losing my mind... but it was all born of love.

  “What is it this term? More dissection?” Len asked.

  “It’s the way we learn,” Joe told him, and I guessed from the tone of voice they were using this was a running joke in the family. “At least it’s not real bodies,” Joe pulled a face at me, “like mum had to do.”

  We’d not been required to work with cadavers at university. It was optional. I’d opted out. I didn’t think I’d survive the smell, let alone cutting into real people, even if they had been preserved. I was terribly squeamish when it came to that sort of thing.

  Medical training would have helped when it came to wanting someone dead. Surely it would help knowing exactly where to stab? Then again… it wasn’t rocket science to kill someone. I could have made a fair guess if I stabbed someone through the heart, or sliced their throat, they’d be dead. I shuddered involuntarily thinking about it.

  “We’re finished!” Hilary shouted from the living room. “You can come in now!” She was elated. You could tell by her voice she’d thoroughly enjoyed herself. I just hoped Irene had found out what she wanted to know. I wasn’t sure I’d discovered anything very useful. Though Joe was certainly in the frame now. I wondered if that knife in her back was just him practising some of his dissection skills.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  We didn’t find out anything more from Len. He was tired and Hilary was far too excited to let him get a word in edgewise.

  “Something that turns from green to yellow.”

  “A banana.”

  “I said that! I said that too! What did you say Joe?”

  Every one of the fifty questions was dissected and discussed and laughed over. After forty five minutes I felt sorry for Len. He was clearly tired, hungry and disinterested.

  Thanks to Hilary’s perpetual banter, Irene hadn’t been able to create any leading questions and the interview folded as it might have done had we really been working for a research bureau.

  We thanked them all and headed back to the car. We said nothing to each other until we’d got inside and shut both doors.

  “That was painful,” I said.

  “Yes,” she put the car into gear. “I really don’t think they’re suspects though.”

  “Len and Hilary might not be, but Joe… he’s dating Lou,” I said.

  “Lou? Lesley’s Lou?”

  “Yep. I recognised him instantly. We’d met at the cemetery remember?”

  “He didn’t remember you?”

  “Not a chance. No baby. No dog. No buggy.”

  “And men don’t look at faces.”

  “They don’t?”

  “Not as a general rule,” she grinned. Unconsciously I tugged at a bra strap.

  “So… Joe…?” Irene said.

  “Studying to be a vet. Knows a thing or two about anatomy, handy for a knife wielder. Mature student. Dated Lesley at school, started dating Lou at Christmas,” I summarised.

  “Hmmm.” Irene swung the car onto the A16 heading for home. Holton-le-clay wasn’t far out of Grimsby, and shared the same DN postcode, but it was far enough to be covered under Lincolnshire council, and not North East Lincs. There was a short stretch of green belt between Holton-le-clay and the nearest true Grimsby suburb of New Waltham. The road was straight. A leftover from the time when the railway lines travelled all the way south to Louth and beyond to Skegness.

  “We’ll be back in five minutes,” she said. “Look on the back seat. White carrier.”

  I leaned over and pulled the white carrier bag into the front.

  “Take a look.”

  I opened it up. Inside was a book.

  “Take a look in the front.”

  I did. She’d signed it. To Ruth, I hope you enjoy the book, Kerry .

  “Is this, I mean, you didn’t sign it did you?”

  “Me? No. Kerry’s a neighbour of a friend. It was easy enough to arrange. It’s teen fiction. A quick read. You might enjoy it.”

  “Thanks,” I said. As a general rule I didn’t like people picking books for me. I preferred to peruse the spines myself. Pick up a book, check the cover. Yes… I know you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but I always did. Read the first few pages, read the last few pages, read a section in the middle. You could get a good feel for a book that way. Enough to work out if you’d enjoy reading it. Lucus had a nasty habit of buying me short stories, which I loathed. Just as soon as you got into it, the story was over. I had a preference for sci-fi as a rule, but I liked the touch. It would look like I’d met the author.

  “What does she look like? “

  “Look like?”

  “You know… if Lucus asks me to describe her.”

  “Picture’s on the inside back cover.”

  I looked. Black and white, but I could guess at dark hair, maybe black. Glasses. She looked friendly. Young. Not much older than me. I wondered what her own story was. If I’d been to the WI group, I probably would have found out.

  I folded the bag around the book and held it on my lap. Getting a book published felt like such an achievement. More than I had managed. This Kerry had left a mark on the world. This was something that she could look back on and say “This was me.”

  I wondered if I should take up writing. It wasn’t like I didn’t have the time now. But what would I write about? Babies weren’t exactly thrilling.

  I stared out of the window at the host of daffodils lining the road which were being spotlighted in the headlights. The oft quoted lines from Wordsworth filled my head. Even though I could hardly be said to be wandering at sixty miles an hour, nor was I feeling lonely or cloudlike, there was still a host of golden daffodils. I wondered if they turned to face the sun like sunflowers. If so, did they turn back to where they expected the sun to rise in the morning overnight, or did they turn at the first rays?

  “What?” Irene asked. “You look puzzled.”

  I asked her about the habits of the flowers. She laughed. “I have no idea. We could do a stake out with donuts and watch
if you like?”

  It was my turn to laugh. “Somehow I don’t think Lucus is quite ready for me to spend a night away from Lillian just yet.”

  “It would do you good. Get you some perspective.”

  “You think I’m lacking perspective?”

  “Not really. I just meant… you do an awful lot in that house. It wouldn’t do him harm to have some responsibility now and again.”

  I didn’t comment. It wasn’t the sort of observation that warranted one. We carried on in silence.

  When I got in it would only be a short time before we both drifted to bed. There would be some conversation, nothing heavy; some TV perhaps. Things would be different at Irene’s. For a start she was going home to an empty house and could please herself, but I expected her to spend a good thirty minutes or more contemplating the investigation boards, possibly adding on the details I’d discovered tonight, rearrange things, and seeing if she could make any new connections.

  I wondered how close our boards were to the official ones the police held. Whether Russ was still their primary suspect, and if the evidence was all being made to fit that premise.

  The police would have different information to us; fingerprints, splatter patterns, the coroner’s report. It would have been useful to know what they knew. Or maybe it was that reliance on physical evidence that was stalling their investigation. Russ’s prints were everywhere. That may have confirmed something that hadn’t actually happened. Their physical evidence may well have hidden the true facts of that case. Then again, it might be we who were barking up the wrong tree.

  Irene pulled up outside our house, the golden variegated leaves of our privet hedge glowing in the headlights.

  I looked to Irene, hands clutching the book which explained tonight’s absence.

  “We’re nearly there,” Irene said. “You won’t have to keep this up for much longer.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Things are dropping into place. Trust me.”

  I wasn’t so sure. Everything we’d found out so far just seemed to add a new layer to the case, not make it any clearer.

  “Come to mine for lunch. We can go over things before we go round to Fiona’s.”

  “OK.” I opened the door and stepped out into the cold of the evening. Cars were still zipping by the end of our road, but the night had brought with it a dampening silence. A thick calm that seemed to work like soundproofing and distanced our road from every other road in Grimsby.