by Rebecca Tope
‘I could be a rambler, in need of a cup of tea. Don’t they live near the Quantock Way or whatever it’s called?’
‘They do, actually.’ He inspected her critically. ‘I suppose you could manage to look like a rambler. They do come in all shapes and sizes.’
‘Go on – say it. Too black for a gypsy and too fat for a rambler. I’ve gone off the idea, anyway. If Justine’s been found, there isn’t any more for us to do, is there? It’s just some messy family disagreement, and we should mind our own businesses.’
‘We probably should,’ he agreed. Then he met her eye, and they giggled like children. ‘But we don’t wanna do that, do we?’
Laurie continued to be solicitous towards Justine, fetching drinks and snacks for her, as she reclined with Lolita on the couch in the conservatory watching Roma working in the garden, playing with Lolita. The dog’s obvious pleasure in the visitor’s company had irritated Roma. When Lolly refused to go outside with her mistress, choosing instead to lie on Justine’s legs, Roma was more than irritated.
‘Don’t get in a state about it, Ma,’ Justine said tiredly. ‘She’ll soon get fed up with me. You know what dogs are like – all over people for a bit, but she knows where her best interests lie.’
Roma swallowed her resentment, and headed for the dahlias.
‘Feeling better today?’ Laurie enquired. ‘How’s the knee?’
‘I’m covered in bruises, and everything aches, but I’ll mend. I can’t stay here much longer, I know. Mum doesn’t want me here. She doesn’t feel any differently towards me now than she did five years ago.’
‘She’s immensely relieved that you’re all right,’ he confided. ‘She really did think you might be dead.’
‘And she cared?’
‘She definitely cared,’ he assured her. ‘I’ve never seen her so upset.’
‘Really? Well, she soon got over it.’
‘It’s a front. Quite a lot of what you see of Roma is a front.’
‘You like talking about her, don’t you? She’s lucky to have you. Luckier than she deserves.’
‘Pooh!’ he said dismissively. ‘I’m the lucky one. She doesn’t really need anybody; I’m just here on sufferance.’
‘She married you, Laurie. Surely that shows some degree of commitment?’
‘That was me. I insisted. She said it made no difference to her, either way, except it made it easier to get her hands on my money if I died without warning.’
‘Haven’t you made a will?’
‘I have now. I hadn’t then.’
‘Well, I still think she’s fallen on her feet. After the way she behaved with my dad, I didn’t think she’d ever make a go of marriage. She’s far too self-absorbed.’
‘The way I heard it, they were as bad as each other. Two people who should never have got together. Somebody should probably have stopped them.’
‘It was mad passionate love at first sight,’ Justine said. ‘Wild horses couldn’t have kept them apart. The surprising thing is that they only managed to have me. I gather everyone expected them to have about ten.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ said Laurie primly.
‘Except, of course, she never really took to motherhood. I was a very bad baby, who obviously hadn’t read the right books. Nothing I did fitted with the theories. I refused to be controlled by her.’
‘Dangerous,’ hissed Laurie, sucking his teeth.
Justine shrugged. ‘It felt like the only choice I had, at the time, if I wanted to survive. I wouldn’t do it any different, if it happened all over again.’
‘Well, now’s your chance to make your peace,’ Laurie suggested.
Justine pulled a face. ‘Haven’t you seen how she is with me, even now? That’s what I’ve been talking about. It’s hopeless. She’ll never change, and I can’t do it all on my own. I’m not staying here for longer than I can help. Maybe I could go to Daddy.’ She stared wistfully out of the window.
‘It’s up to you,’ said Laurie weakly. ‘You young girls, I can’t work you out at all. My boys seemed so much more straightforward.’ He sighed.
‘I’m not a young girl, Laurie. I’m twenty-six. Old enough to know what I want and where I’m going. I do too,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m a very talented potter. Funny, don’t you think, how nobody’s even mentioned that. As if it was some childish little hobby that I must have grown out of by now.’
She got up stiffly, and walked the length of the room and back. ‘I don’t feel so bad today. But it makes you realise how unreal those films and stories are where the hero gets beaten black and blue, and ten minutes later he’s racing down the street after somebody. And next day, he’s as good as new. It isn’t at all like that in real life.’
Without warning, Roma strode into the conservatory, making her husband and daughter both jump. ‘We have to do something about Penn,’ she announced. ‘Where is she? What does she think is going on?’
Justine went pale. ‘You’re not going to tell her I’m here, are you?’
‘I won’t if you insist, but I can’t see the harm. Surely she’s more likely to be afraid of you, now. If your story’s true, you can report her to the police, get her charged with holding you against your will. If she knows you’ve got away, she’ll be shivering in her shoes.’
‘I need to know why she did it,’ Justine said doggedly. ‘I asked her, over and over, and she kept saying it was all for my own good. I think she might be in trouble of some sort, and kidnapping me was a diversionary tactic. If that’s right, then I might cause even more problems for her by going to the police.’
‘I thought you hated her. I thought you’d be delighted to land her in as much trouble as you possibly can?’ said Roma.
‘It’s difficult to like somebody who nearly killed you,’ Justine said, ‘but until I know what’s going on, I suppose I should reserve judgment.’
‘Very noble,’ Roma said sourly. ‘And very confusing. We can’t go on like this, you know.’
‘Like what?’ scowled Justine. ‘What exactly is it you can’t stomach?’
Roma clenched her fists dramatically. ‘All this bad feeling, for one thing. And putting yourself between me and Laurie. You’d only been here two minutes before you’d managed to set us against each other.’
Justine laughed caustically. ‘Then it must be a very flimsy sort of marriage, that’s all I can say.’
Roma closed her eyes as if praying for patience. ‘As I said,’ she repeated, ‘we can’t go on like this.’
Drew took the call from DS Cooper, leaning forward eagerly to wave at Maggs in the cool room, as he realised who it was. He listened to Cooper’s story with growing amazement. ‘Penn did mention a little girl,’ he remembered. ‘Justine looked after her sometimes. But—’ he stopped, not sure he should reveal his knowledge of Justine’s whereabouts. ‘But she didn’t say anything about them being together,’ he finished lamely.
Maggs had come to his elbow, eyebrows raised interrogatively. Drew winked at her, while jotting down the detective’s mobile number. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll keep you posted if we hear anything. But we’re going to be busy today and tomorrow. We’ve got two funerals.’ He couldn’t keep the note of pride out of his voice, despite knowing it was unlikely to impress. Most funeral directors could comfortably manage five or six funerals in a day.
‘What was all that about?’ Maggs demanded, as soon as he’d replaced the phone.
‘Our tall policeman, calling to say they’ve had a report of the Rentons’ child going missing. He’s on his way there now.’
‘And you never told him that Justine’s turned up?’ she accused. ‘Why on earth not? He’s sure to find out and then he won’t trust us any more.’
‘There was something about Mr Renton claiming the child is with Justine, when it obviously isn’t. I thought I should tread carefully for the time being.’
She sighed melodramatically. ‘I don’t get it,’ she grumbled. ‘Aren’t you worried about the kid?’
He rubbed the back of his neck consideringly. ‘I’m not sure. It’s a very peculiar business. The whole thing’s peculiar. You can’t really believe anything anyone says. Justine’s story is like something out of James Bond; Penn’s a mass of inconsistencies; the Renton bloke struck me as definitely shifty. And now the woman can’t keep track of her own daughter.’
‘Not to mention Roma Millan, who sounds as if she’s got some dark secret rotting away in a corner somewhere,’ Maggs reminded him. ‘We still don’t know what it was that made Justine and her mum such enemies.’
‘Well this won’t get the graves dug,’ he said, suddenly weary of it all. ‘First things first. Even if we did have something to suggest there’s been a real crime, we haven’t got time to do anything about it until after tomorrow. And somehow I get the feeling that neither Penn nor Roma really want us to be involved from here on.’
‘They’ve gone off you, have they?’ she teased. ‘Poor old Drew.’
He gave her a lofty look. ‘To work, woman!’ he ordered. ‘I want Mr French all sealed and odourless by lunchtime. Mrs Jennings said she wanted to dress him this afternoon.’
‘No problem. He’s not as bad as I thought he’d be.’
‘She’s probably got a fairly strong stomach after all that hospice visiting.’ Accommodating the wishes of relatives, while at the same time trying to protect them from some of the grimmer realities, was all part of the job. He and Maggs were both inclined to let people have their way, where other undertakers would make difficulties. As a matter of principle, they saw no reason to shield people from the essential facts of death. But there was always a dilemma when it came to smell. Death was inescapably smelly, a fact which seemed to escape almost everybody until confronted by it. At most funeral parlours, synthetic sprays were used, as well as scented flowers and embalming, plus cool temperature control. Peaceful Repose managed little in the way of such emollients. But they did worry about it, especially in August.
The Rentons greeted Den Cooper rather more anxiously than he’d expected. It had taken him almost an hour to reach them and they clearly regarded this as inferior service. ‘Isn’t a missing child serious enough for you?’ demanded the woman shrilly.
‘I’m sorry, madam,’ he placated her. ‘According to the report I received, you aren’t unduly afraid that any harm has come to her.’
‘We don’t know that. How can we possibly know?’ Sheena looked from her husband to the detective and back again. Den thought she seemed bewildered, as if something definitely didn’t add up. He knew how she felt. He turned his attention to the farmer.
‘Could we take it from the beginning, sir?’ he appealed. ‘When did you last see the little girl?’
Philip Renton folded his arms across his chest. ‘Last Thursday morning,’ he said firmly. ‘She was in Justine Pereira’s car, waving to me as they drove away.’
‘And where were you?’ Den asked Sheena.
‘At work, of course,’ she said scathingly. ‘I have a very challenging job. I thought my husband was taking Georgia to stay with his mother on the Isle of Wight. That’s what he told me.’ She glared angrily at Philip.
‘But instead the plan changed and she went away with Miss Pereira, without your knowledge?’ Den was adept at reflecting back at people the unlikeliness of their stories. This one was more unlikely than most.
‘He says he and Justine were planning to go away together, taking Georgia, and this must have been some sort of trial run,’ she explained through gritted teeth.
Den looked at Philip Renton. He had an elbow on the table, his brow leaning on his hand, the picture of a shame-faced husband caught in the act.
Den decided to skip the side issues. ‘So neither of you has heard anything from or about your three-year-old child for six days?’ There was no need to lace his words with reproach; the flat summary was enough.
‘I was certain she was with her grandmother on the Isle of Wight,’ Sheena said loudly. ‘I only found out last night that I was lied to, and that Philip hasn’t any idea where Justine has taken my daughter.’
‘Last night?’ Den queried. ‘You knew last night that she’d gone, and you only phoned the police this morning?’
‘Yes.’ She glared again at her husband. ‘He persuaded me that it would do no harm to leave it until this morning to call you. But I lay awake all night, worrying.’
‘Right,’ said Den. ‘Mr Renton, where did Miss Pereira say she was going?’
‘She didn’t name an exact place. She took a tent and said they’d find a nice spot for camping, and then she’d phone me in a few days to say how they were getting on. Look, officer—’ he glanced at Sheena, including her in his assurances ‘I’m sure there’s no need to worry. Justine and I … well, we’re very fond of each other. She won’t do anything to hurt Georgia. You know how complicated it can be to get to a phone if there’s no mobile signal. She’ll turn up again any day now.’
Den tapped a fingernail against his teeth. ‘There is, of course, the other matter of Miss Pereira having been reported missing. You told Mr Slocombe on Monday evening that Miss Pereira had gone camping, didn’t you?’
Renton nodded, with a look of self-assurance. ‘That’s right.’
‘But you didn’t say she’d taken your daughter with her?’
‘Why should I? That had nothing to do with it. They weren’t looking for Georgia.’
‘And you were worried that it might get back to your wife?’
Renton flushed faintly and looked again at Sheena. ‘Something like that. At that stage, you see, I was still hoping Justine would come back with Georgia and we could all carry on as normal for a while.’
‘He’s not telling the whole story. You can see he isn’t,’ Sheena burst out.
Renton’s face reassumed its practised blandness at this accusation. Den was reminded of an habitual criminal he’d frequently had cause to interview, who adopted just such an expression under interrogation. It was a knack that many young boys acquired, but generally seemed to lose as they grew up. It shrieked Liar! to those on the receiving end, but frustratingly succeeded in obscuring the truth. There were times when torture seemed the only effective option, Den had often thought, grimly.
‘So what went wrong with your plan?’ he asked, staring hard at the man.
Renton’s composure faltered for a second. ‘N-nothing,’ he said. ‘There wasn’t a plan. Not really. It’s true that we’ve been “having an affair”.’ He mouthed the phrase as if it offended him. ‘Nobody claims to think that this is the perfect marriage, after all.’ An intake of breath made him glance at Sheena, his expression giving the lie to his words. Den thought he glimpsed a yearning pain underneath the studied blandness. He nodded for the man to go on. ‘But it was all still at the talking stage, as far as taking anything further was concerned. It’s not something to be undertaken lightly.’
‘Not when there’s a little girl involved,’ Den agreed.
‘Oh, she wouldn’t have been a problem,’ Renton said unpleasantly. ‘I don’t suppose she even knows that Sheena’s her mother. She saw much more of Justine and the day nursery women than she ever saw of her own mother.’
A dramatic hiss warned the men that Sheena had had enough. She launched herself at Philip, fingers curved rigidly like claws, and before Den could stop her had raked four long scratches down both of Philip’s cheeks. Immediately, she fell back, Den belatedly clutching her shoulders, and stared at her handiwork. Blood slowly welled through the broken skin, surrounded by white weals. Her victim cautiously put a hand first to one side, then the other. ‘Shit!’ he breathed.
‘You asked for that,’ she panted. ‘It bloody well serves you right.’ Den silently agreed with her, but was duty-bound to react otherwise.
‘Mrs Renton, I must warn you that violence is unlawful. Please give me your assurance that there’ll be no repetition of what just happened,’ he said formally.
After a moment she nodded and muttered, ‘You needn’t worry
. It won’t happen again.’
An awkward silence followed, while Den tried to make sense of everything they’d told him. He spoke slowly. ‘It still isn’t altogether clear whether or not we are dealing with a missing child. It doesn’t appear that she was abducted, since her father willingly allowed her to go. There’s no suggestion that she’s been taken abroad or that she’s come to any harm. As far as I can understand it, there was no firm date for her return. Essentially, the only cause for concern is that Miss Strabinski has been worried about her cousin and thinks she left home very abruptly, possibly under some coercion. She doesn’t seem to be aware that the little girl is with Miss Pereira. And when she heard that you’d claimed that her cousin had gone camping, she was very surprised – and somewhat annoyed.’ He eyed them both carefully. ‘Have I missed anything?’
‘Only that I want my daughter back – now,’ insisted Sheena.
‘Penn got it wrong,’ Renton added. ‘She’s making a fuss about nothing. It isn’t any of her business, anyway.’
Den was reminded of something Drew Slocombe had observed, about Renton seeming to monitor everything he said before letting the words emerge. It was rather like someone speaking a foreign language, that tiny hesitation before every phrase. Or someone overcoming a stutter. Maybe, he conceded, that’s all it was. Or just an odd mannerism.
‘But Penn was here on Thursday, too, wasn’t she?’ Sheena remembered. ‘I met her as I was driving out. It was early, just after eight.’
This time, the silence was full of tension. Watched by his wife and the police detective, Renton was obviously at a loss for a reply, for the first time. But he recovered quickly. ‘No,’ he said, bewilderment plain on his face. ‘Or if she was, I never saw her. She must have come and gone again in a couple of minutes.’
Den looked out of the window onto the yard. ‘Would you notice a car going to the cottage?’ he wondered. ‘Where exactly is the track?’
‘They do have to come into our yard for a very short way,’ Renton explained, pointing out the route. ‘In through the gateway where you came in and then sharp left down the track to the cottage. We don’t sit here all day watching out for vehicles. You can’t see the yard from the living room or my office.’