by Dawson, H A
A gush of steam rose up to the ceiling. He waited for the kettle to switch off and then poured the boiling water into a mug. He could back out; it wasn’t too late. He looked to Imogen’s empty desk and searched for her beautiful scent and twinkling eyes, but then, as he imagined himself announcing his change of mind, he imagined her disappointment and the whining tone of her voice. Yesterday, her excitement had guided him through the day. He could not let her down.
He leaned into his swivel chair and placed the coffee on a stained mat on the desk, and tried to convince himself of the positives. When was the last time he had been out with anyone, bar his ex? It could be enjoyable, and Imogen and Mark would help lighten the mood. They might even get on, and if not he could make excuses to leave early. It was, after all, just one night. As Imogen had suggested, a bit of female company would do him good.
Having one-night-stands was not Luke’s scene, preferring instead to find a long-term companion and build up a lasting friendship. On occasions, when he had been younger and had been encouraged by his group of male friends, he had succumbed to one-night stands and had enjoyed the sexual experience. Afterward, his confidence had surged. Perhaps he could go there again, and remind himself he was a full-blooded male with needs and desires.
He opened the document on Leanne Stark, and his nervous ponderings started to evaporate. His meeting with Susie Holmes was hours away; there was plenty of time to consider what he would talk about and what questions he would ask. In the meantime, there was work to do.
He scanned the interview, reminding himself of the missing woman’s name, Karen Jefferson, and contemplated a starting point. A couple of days previous, Imogen had checked all the usual channels for such a person, but the trail dried and he wondered if she had either married or used another name to avoid being found. She definitely existed, though, as he’d managed to locate the birth certificate and there was no accompanying death certificate.
Leaning back into the chair and with his arms folded, Luke remembered how Leanne’s body language and expressions had been drenched with emotion. For her sake as much as for his own, he needed a satisfactory conclusion. He sensed her loss, and even though she had tried to come across as confident and self-assured, at times she had acted like a small child who had just lost her parents at a festival. Her voice, the giveaway, fluctuated between a forceful tone and plaintive squeak.
He scrolled down the document, scanning the notes searching for inspiration, and for a moment stared at the name, Janet Jefferson. His first task was to confirm her relationship with Mr and Mrs Coombs, whom he assumed had been her parents. He looked to the telephone, and remembering it was Saturday, he decided to call in a favour.
‘Hi Tony, it’s Luke Adams. How are you?’
‘Good. Nice to hear from you, it’s been a while.’
They chatted for a few minutes, reaffirming their friendship.
‘I need a favour,’ Luke said. ‘I need to know someone’s maiden name for a case I’m working on and the office is shut.’
‘Okay, since it’s you.’
‘Her name is Janet Jefferson. She was married to Roy and died recently. She was born around about 1930.’
‘Okay, hang on.’
Luke waited, absorbing the silence, his expectations aroused.
‘Right,’ Tony said, ‘I’ve found it. They married in 1948. Her maiden name was Smith.’
‘Smith?’
‘That’s right.’
‘It would be, wouldn’t it?’
Tony chuckled. ‘I assume you were hoping for something less common.’
‘I was.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No. Thanks. Cheers mate.’
‘Cheers.’
Luke puffed out. The case could prove to be tricky. He took a clean sheet of unlined paper and started drawing a family tree headed by Janet. Her childhood remained a mystery, and the link to Mr and Mrs Coombs equally so, and even though her past was unlikely to be relevant in the search for Karen, he felt that background information would provide a complete picture and assist in his quest. The more people he could name who had been connected with the two families back at the time when Karen disappeared, the more likely he was to be successful. He should start by searching for any Smiths in the villages surrounding Honeysuckle Cottage and make contact. He opted for scanning the telephone directory online.
As expected, the list was extensive. He printed if off, highlighted those within the village, and started to make calls. His exasperation mounted as the negative responses came. No one knew of a Janet Smith; it was going to be an endless task.
He searched his brain for possibilities: her male relatives could have moved away, her female relatives could have married, or Janet could have been adopted. Maybe she moved into Honeysuckle Cottage later in life, perhaps through Roy. Could he have introduced her to the Coombs family? Luke dismissed his idea; the will had named Janet specifically.
Was Roy’s family still around? How far should he extend his search? Should he be focusing more on his search for Karen? His questions were numerous and his brain was turning into mush. He leaned back, extended his arms above his head and stretched his muscles.
His mobile phone sounded. He lifted it from his pocket and saw it was Imogen.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Are you ready for tonight?’
‘It’s hours away yet.’
‘Susie’s looking forward to meeting you so make sure you spruce yourself up.’
‘Is that why you rang?’
‘Should I have another reason?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Don’t forget to blow dry your hair as I showed you, it’ll give it a bit of lift.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘No need for the sarcasm,’ Imogen said. ‘What you doing anyway?’
Luke hesitated, taking a quick breath. ‘I’m working.’
‘Working? It’s Saturday.’
‘I needed to make a start on Leanne Stark’s case. It’s been on my mind.’
‘Haven’t you got any hobbies?’
‘I’ve plenty. I just didn’t fancy doing them today.’
‘You are such a bad liar.’
‘I’d rather be working than be like you and spend all day worrying about my appearance.’
‘I have to make myself beautiful for you,’ she said.
‘Yes, right!’
‘Don’t forget to wear that shirt you bought, and add a bit of aftershave too.’
‘Do you treat Mark this way?’
‘No, just you. You’re such a challenge. Got to go. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
He cradled the phone in his hand and a smile slipped to his face. She was a strange woman and not at all his type, yet he could not help but feel lifted by her call. He was looking forward to the evening, or was it just Imogen he was looking forward to seeing? Would Susie be anything like her? Did he even hope she was? He wasn’t sure, and blanked his mind and stared at the name ‘Honeysuckle Cottage’ scribbled on a sheet of paper.
Having pressed a few keys, he accessed the Internet and uploaded a map of the area. The house and buildings were extensive, and there were other farms close by. He should make contact with the locals. Maybe the younger generations would be carrying on with the business. Someone must know something about its history and occupants, surely.
An idea leapt to the forefront of his mind, and after a little bit of investigating, he found a telephone number of a local historian. The man’s name was Mr Bernard Dixon. He made contact and introduced himself.
‘I’m trying to find out about Honeysuckle Cottage and its occupants. Can you help?’
‘It’s been empty for years. Well-maintained though.’
‘Do you know anything about Mr and Mrs Coombs? They lived there years ago.’
‘They farmed the land. People say they were a nice couple - couldn’t have kids. They took in evacuees.’
‘Evacuees?’
‘Yes, wo
rld war two evacuees. They were quite attached to one of the girls.’
‘Janet?’
Bernard hesitated. ‘Could have been. I’d have to check.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘They were shot. Killed outright.’
Luke’s jaw dropped. ‘Shot?’
‘Aye. It must be thirty years ago now. I can’t remember the name of the person. I think it was a man, but I could be wrong.’
‘Was he connected to them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you remember what his motives were?’
‘No. I don’t know if I ever knew.’
Stunned, he remained motionless and silent.
‘I’ll get back to you,’ Bernard said, ‘see if I can find out anything more.’
‘Yes . . . yes please. And can you check if one of the evacuees was a Janet Smith? I’m trying to find out as much about her as I can. In fact, I’m trying to track down her daughter, Karen.’
‘Will do.’
‘Have you got my number?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thanks for your time.’
Blimey! Luke was buzzing with excitement. Janet was a world war two evacuee, and someone shot and killed her guardians. It was starting to make sense. Karen could have killed them, or maybe it was someone connected to her. It would explain her disappearance and her disassociation from the family. But what reason could she have for doing such a thing? Even though Luke sensed he was delving into a past best forgotten, the intrigue it created caused his juices to flow.
The door into the bar swung open and he stepped inside, his nerves jangling and his eyes darting. As soon as he realised that Mark, Imogen, and Susie had not arrived, relief swept through him, and he progressed to the bar, weaving past groups of men. The bartender, a young brunette woman with pleasant facial features and a slender figure took his order and passed him his drink before progressing to the next customer. He moved away and stood at the edge of the group.
Most of the clientele were under the age of forty, although there were a few exceptions: there was a middle-aged couple leaning into seats placed against a wall, and four older men surrounding a table in a corner. There was a modern feel about the place, with a glitter ball in the centre of the room and flashing lights around the edge. Each stool set alongside the round top tables had a chrome base with a footrest and a moulded plastic seat.
He glanced to the door, both urging and fearing Susie’s arrival and felt the throbbing beat of drums pound his body, matching the pounding rhythm of his heart. He could not recall feeling as nervous since his mid-teens and gulped down his beer seeking calmness.
Then she arrived. Imogen was the first to enter the room and she wore a short snug-fitting blouse and pink- cropped trousers, and her hair splashed with colour. She looked stunning, and his skin rippled and he held his breath as he waited for Susie to appear from her rear. She was slim, not quite as tall as Imogen or as curvaceous, but she had a pleasant face and even skin tone. Uncertainly, he wandered to greet them.
His tight breaths were drying his throat, and when he moved his mouth to speak, he was voiceless and little more than a grunt came out. Thankfully, a sudden surge in music prevented his embarrassment, and they all laughed at the timely interruption. Luke purchased the first round of drinks and joined them at a table near the centre of the room.
Susie was quietly spoken and since she appeared unable to make eye contact, he assumed her nervousness. Although agreeable, she clung to Imogen’s every word, drawing her on subjects and opinions. After a while, Luke realised she was doing it to avoid having to make conversation with him, and his self-confidence sank. He could make more of an effort but felt awkward in Imogen and Mark’s presence. He was the outsider, the stranger in the group, and he was the hopeless case. Irritated by the setup and feeling a need to assert his dominance, he made eye contact with a woman on the next table. She smiled at him and lifted her wine glass. He smiled back.
Imogen noticed and glared. Sheepishly, he looked to the centre of their table, avoiding her penetrating gaze, and willed her to join in the group conversation. When she did, he reaffirmed his gaze on the stranger. The woman, with short neat auburn hair, smiled again, and his blood rippled throughout his body and his skin flushed. He could still pull. It was a huge boost to his confidence.
Imogen leaned towards him. ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.
‘Nothing.’
‘You could at least look as though you are interested. Susie’s made a big effort for you.’
He looked to his date, whose chatter with Mark looked comfortable. ‘She’s not interested.’
‘You’ve not given her a chance!’
He hadn’t, she was right. He edged forward on the chair, leaned onto the table, and attempted to join in the conversation. It was one night, that was all. He should be pleased that she cared enough to consider his needs.
The chatter evolved from mindless reality shows on television, which were not his thing, to witchcraft and the paranormal. He had expected as much, but rather than grasping the opportunity to talk about his childhood passion, he tried to change the subject, fearing a mocking. His ex-girlfriend had often chastised him for talking about such nonsense, and the memories held a potent sting. Rarely did he introduce himself as an investigator who took on paranormal cases, preferring the guise of private investigator. However, he wasn’t going to be able to circumvent the subject with Imogen in command.
‘We’ve just worked on a fantastic case,’ she said, ‘you might have heard about it. A woman had memories relating to a dead person.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear about it,’ Luke said.
She gave him a fleeting glimpse. ‘Sure she does. The woman knew all sorts about people, things she shouldn’t know. It was so cool.’
‘So things just dropped into her head.’
‘Kind of.’
‘Weird.’
‘Weird but exciting. It was as though she was acting on behalf of the dead woman. Just think what it would be like if you could do that. You could correct your mistakes a second time around.’
‘Or get revenge.’
Imogen was pensive. ‘Talking of mistakes . . .’ Imogen looked to Mark and winked. ‘We’re moving in together.’
‘Really, that’s fantastic.’
Susie’s enthusiasm faded as Imogen’s announcement danced around in Luke’s head. His thoughts dominated; there was no sound in the room and no heated bodies shuffling past. After a few moments, Mark caught his eye, offering a curious stare.
‘Congratulations,’ Luke mumbled.
Mark nodded.
‘She’s quite a catch,’ he added.
Luke stood up, exhibited the most enthusiastic expression he could muster, and sauntered off to the bathroom. He needed to be away from the oppressive atmosphere, and Imogen’s jovial mood and Susie’s try-hard attitude, and stepped through the door and into the cooler air. There was a faint smell of disinfectant, and he scanned the floor and the urinals and progressed about his business.
The evening was not working, and the more he pondered the set-up, the more annoyed with Imogen he became. He should not have agreed to the blind date; he had already proven he wasn’t a helpless case. If it weren’t for Imogen and her daft ideas about what he needed and liked, he would have already pulled the auburn-haired woman. He did not need any assistance.
With a frown upon his face and his lips nearing a pout, he headed back to the table. The women were still chatting about Imogen’s news and the imminent move, and he yearned for a male companion, preferring instead to talk about something that had more of a male focus, such as football or jet aircraft. Not that he was into either, but it would be a start and might alleviate his sour mood.
However, his attempts to talk about the afternoon match on television did nothing to blank out Imogen and Susie. He kept his gaze fixed on Mark or else the other clientele, yet their scent still wafted towards him, distractin
g alongside their lively banter. His focus was lacking, his beer ever more engrossing. His moment of relief came with the vibration of his mobile phone. He glanced at the little screen. It was Bernard Dixon.
Luke pointed to his phone and rushed outside, stepping into the chilling damp air and hurried to a wall, away from the bustling individuals and spirited car drivers.
‘Mr Dixon,’
‘Hello. The man who killed Mr and Mrs Coombs was a Trevor Parry. It was a random attack. There was no apparent motive. He went to prison and died thirteen years ago.’
‘He didn’t have a connection with them then?’
‘Apparently not, but don’t quote me on that. Also, my father was a headmaster of a local school, and before he died, he gave me some essays that were written during the war years. I’ve had a look through – Janet Smith wrote a couple. I thought you might like to see them.’
‘That’s great news. So Janet was one of the evacuees.’
‘Yes. They are well-written, given her age. I’d say she was talented.’
‘I’ll be over in a couple of days to see them if that’s okay.’
‘It is.’
With a smile lingering, he was returning the phone to his pocket when Imogen appeared, irritation coating her face.
‘You’re in a mood tonight,’ she said, ‘what’s up?’
‘Nothing, I’ve just got a lead on a case.’
‘Can’t you forget about work for just one night?’
Grinning, he shadowed her back to the doorway. ‘Nope.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to. We’ve decided to go back to my Mark’s place to do some proper celebrating.’
‘Is Susie going?’
‘No, it’s going to be a threesome . . . of course she is.’
Swiftly, he headed inside, passing into the dimmed light to hide his blushes. ‘Pity.’
Imogen nudged him in the ribs. ‘Cheeky.’
Chapter 9
1940-41
Her legs were swinging and her pencil was rotating between her fingers, her focus lacking. She glanced around the classroom, looking at her friends and the other children; some had glazed expressions, others were keen to learn. Then she caught Alice’s eye and mouthed that the lesson was boring. Her best friend feigned a yawn.