by Dawson, H A
A group of men gazed across at Imogen and Luke’s pride swelled. Projecting elegance and sophistication, she smoothed out the flimsy fabric of her skirt as she sat, and held a delightful self-assured pose. Her fawn hair framed her face, her lips gently pressed together, and her small upturned nose crinkled as she leaned towards her coffee. She was beautiful. Smugly, he glimpsed at the men.
‘How’s it going with Mark?’
Her face sank. ‘Oh, okay I guess. Although I must say it was more exciting when we lived apart.’
‘You should try doing what Sarah and I did, and do it for a few days at a time.’
‘Are you still hung up on her?’
He lowered his gaze and pondered his recent attempt at contact. ‘No.’
‘You’ve mentioned her a few times recently.’
‘I did the right thing.’
‘You so did! She should have consulted you about the pregnancy.’
His eyes drifted. ‘It doesn’t matter now . . . ending the relationship was the best thing I’ve done.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I’m not saying I don’t wish things were different, but you can’t make someone love you, can you?’
‘You can’t.’
There was sadness in her eyes and a quiet understanding in her voice. Was she having more severe problems with Mark than she admitted? He tried to ignore the tingling sensation in the pit of his stomach, but it was difficult to do.
‘About this case . . .’
He jolted from his ponderings.
‘. . . we should go through what we know.’
‘Okay, you start.’
‘Right.’ She took a breath. ‘Karen had problems with Janet, and she had a sister a few years younger who was the apple of their mother’s eye. Because of this, Karen formed a relationship with Patrick, her uncle.’
‘That in itself would have wound Janet up.’
‘Yes, that could have been the only reason Karen did it, although I suspect not. The difficulties probably carried on well beyond Karen’s teenage years. Eventually, she left, presumably with Jo Taylor.’
He scratched the side of his face. ‘Who is . . .?’
‘Queenie?’
‘Why not Rusty?’
‘Because when Karen was giving birth, Queenie was in the corridor.’
‘Which means Rusty could be Karen.’
‘Although Queenie says not,’ Imogen said.
‘So Karen is someone else . . . another friend.’ He reached for his coffee, inhaled the aroma, and sipped.
‘What do you think about the hospital administrator’s account of Karen?’
‘You mean her attitude to her birth?’
She nodded.
‘I think she’s wrong. It sounded like she was so desperate for her friend to have the baby that she imagined that Karen didn’t want it.’
‘She heard what she wanted to hear.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But she was so sure.’
He leaned back into the chair and spread his legs. ‘We should be careful what we believe. It happened a long time ago. The mind can play tricks.’
Imogen was thoughtful. ‘Does Fiona play a part in this?’
Luke shook his head. ‘I think she stayed with Karen for a while, maybe as a support, or maybe even just for a break.’
‘And Jo?’
‘There’s a lot we still don’t know.’
‘I think there’s a clue here somewhere. We should interrogate Ted again. He did say he knew the family.’
‘Good idea.’
They parked the car on a track at the edge of the field and watched the tractor heading towards them, driving in a straight line a little distance to their right. It stopped at the perimeter and Ted climbed out. Luke exited the car and walked towards him. Imogen, wearing heels, opted to stay in the car.
‘Have you found her yet?’ Ted asked.
‘No. We’ve been following Karen’s last known movements. She lived in Northampton for a while, we think with Joanne.’
‘Aye, that’s it. They were best friends.’
‘Do you know if they had nicknames?’
Ted looked at the ground. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘We’ve been speaking to two women in the village, Queenie and Rusty. They are connected to Karen . . . good friends I think.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘In the new estate.’
He nodded.
‘I’m here because we also found out that Fiona stayed with them for a while. Do you know anything about that?’
‘When was this?’
‘Early to mid-nineteen-seventies.’
‘I didn’t see much of them by then. I’d met the wife.’
‘Any ideas what Fiona did when she left school?’
‘She worked for . . . now, let me see . . . that’s it, Parry Foodstuffs. They act as a go-between for the farmers and suppliers. They’re based a couple of miles up the road.’
‘Trevor Parry! He killed the Coombs.’
Ted was bemused.
‘Was Fiona having a relationship with Trevor?’
Ted’s jowls shook and saliva slid down his chin. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. She wasn’t his type. I tell you who did, though, although few people knew about it. It was a massive secret. See, I saw them together once, parked up on a dirt track.’ He grinned. ‘It was rocking like nobody’s business. I’ll never know how they saw me, but they did and next day Trevor threatened me. She was married, see.’
‘Who was?’
‘Teresa Shaw.’
Chapter 34
Luke rapped on the door and strained to listen for movement. He glanced at the closed blinds obscuring his view into the adjacent rooms, he peered through the frosted glass into the hallway, and he stepped back and craned his neck to search for life upstairs. There was nothing, no sounds, and no passing shadows. He knocked again.
The drive was empty of vehicles, a small patch of fine grass was in need of a trim, and the wheelie bin, unlike the others, which were on the street, was by the garage. He followed a path around the side of the house.
It was a large dwelling of an irregular shape. There was an extension and a conservatory at the rear, and at the far side, almost out of view, a small rectangular brick building. He stood back, his hands resting on his hips, and scanned each window in turn.
A flicker of movement caught his eye.
Luke hurried to the window draped in a blind and knocked on the glass.
‘Hello, can I have a moment of your time. I’m Luke Adams, a private investigator. I’m looking for Karen Jefferson.’
There was a gap between two slats. Shadows moved. A nearby door opened.
Her eyes flitted up and down the road and into the garden. He peered over his shoulder, looking at the stillness and stepped inside to the warmth. Imogen followed on behind. Then the house telephone started to ring.
Teresa jolted and looked towards the sound. She appeared to have no intention of answering.
‘What do you want?’ she asked in a hurried voice.
‘Did you know Karen Jefferson?’
Her eyes darted. She did not reply.
‘I assume that’s a yes. Have you seen her recently?’
‘She left . . . abandoned her baby.’ She slumped onto a seat. ‘How could she do such a thing?’
‘Were you there when it happened?’
The telephone stopped ringing. Grateful to be freed of the distraction, he watched her, as one by one she extracted building bricks from a box on the floor and stacked them into four separate piles on the table.
‘Mrs Shaw?’
Vacant and ashen, she glanced up.
‘Were you there when Karen left without Leanne?’
She ran her fingers through her hair, her mouth was ajar, her face twisted in agony. ‘She abandoned her baby.’ Her eyes darted between Luke and Imogen. ‘Her little baby girl.’
Teresa straightened each pile of bricks and th
en reached into the box, this time extracting a small picture book. As she lifted it to the table, her arm caught and she knocked over the bricks. The book slipped free. Agony etched onto her face and she released a high-pitched moan.
‘I’m sorry, I can see this is difficult,’ he said. ‘But it is important that you share what you know. What is your connection to Karen?’
Teresa was frowning. ‘I was there. I saw it happen.’
‘What did you see?’
‘She left . . . abandoned her baby.’
‘Do you know why Karen left?’
‘She was selfish, said she was a free spirit. A child is a gift.’ Tears dampened her eyes. ‘She didn’t deserve her. She ranted on and on, said she didn’t want to be tied down. She was heartless. How could she do that?’
‘Did Karen return so she could leave Leanne with Janet?’
‘She said she didn’t love her. How’s that possible? Teresa rubbed her hands and cracked her fingers. ‘That poor little girl . . .’
‘So she just walked away?’
She reached for a teddy bear in the box, pressed it to her chest and released plaintive moans. ‘Poor baby. Poor, poor baby.’
‘Mrs Shaw, what happened when she left?’
‘There was screaming and shouting. She said, “I don’t love her, she’s not my responsibility”. She wanted rid.’
Teresa scrutinised the bear, extending each leg, tracing its button eyes and smoothing down the fur upon its back.
‘What did she do next?’
The phone rang and Luke jolted. Teresa was oblivious, and rocked back and forth, back and forth.
‘Mrs Shaw?’
She looked up, expressionless.
‘What happened next?’
‘She left.’
Luke was just about to speak, when Imogen rose to her feet, asked to use the bathroom, and slipped away, creeping into the room where the telephone was sounding.
‘When did you see her again?’ he asked.
She clenched her hair within her fingers and scrunched her face. ‘She was a coward and a heartless bitch. She didn’t deserve that baby girl.’
‘Did she ever return?’
‘If she had, he’d have shot her.’
‘Trevor Parry?’
Teresa was shaking, her gaze roaming. The memories were obviously painful and contorting her face in agony and causing him to regret his questions. Nonetheless, he had no choice. The truth was within grasping distance and he wasn’t going to let it go.
‘Why would he have done that?’
Silence.
‘You had an affair with him, didn’t you?’
‘I knew him,’ she said.
‘And he killed Mr and Mrs Coombs. Why did he do it?’
‘He was mental, wrong in the head. He’d flipped.’
Luke stared at Teresa’s burn scars. ‘Did he do it for you?’
She rubbed her hands, her eyes fixated on the picture book spread open at an image of a train.
‘Mrs Shaw, please, it’s important.’
‘He killed them. He had a temper. Everyone knew he had a temper.’
‘What had they done?’
‘It’s just how he was. He’d flipped . . . yanked the gun from my hand. It was Dad’s. I should have never . . .’ she pressed her hand to her mouth.
‘Were you going to use the gun?’
Jolting, her eyes ripped open. ‘No! No! He’d taken it. I was putting it back. It was him. He shot them. I had an alibi.’
‘What was his motive?’
Her face scrunched and her arms tightened. She made fists, then, either in frustration or fury scattered the building bricks across the table. Her eyes were dark and hollow and smouldering with haunting memories.
Frustrated, he looked at Imogen who entered the room. She mouthed something to him, and whilst it was indecipherable, she was clearly pleased with herself.
‘He did it. It was him,’ Teresa blurted. ‘She looked between them, panic-stricken with tears streaking her face. Her scarred skin was patchy red, her eyes puffy. ‘They deserved to die. All of them.’
‘Were you there when he shot them?’
She frowned, agonisingly harsh. She chewed her finger. She rocked and moaned.
Luke focused on her tear-streaked face, unable to reach beyond the anguish to within. He questioned her further, rephrasing and hoping for a trigger, but despite his persistence she did not respond and remained mute and tormented. He could feel her agony, see her strained muscles jerk, and sense the build-up of distress bubble beneath her skin and in her throat. She had never dealt with whatever happened and it was eating her soul. Despite his better judgement, he opted to leave.
Once outside, he spoke in a soft voice. ‘She’s a mess. It’s a pity because she knows more than she lets on.’
‘Yes. I think she saw everything. Let’s have a coffee and try to make sense of all this.’
‘Hello, back again,’ the café assistant said.
‘You serve a lovely coffee. It’s too good to resist,’ Luke said.
‘Thank you. We like to use the best.’
He glimpsed at the cold floor and harsh walls. ‘It’s an unusual setting. I assume it hasn’t always been a café.’
‘It was a pub, one of the best for miles. The last owners tried to keep it going, but people don’t drink out like they used to.’
‘How is custom for you?’
‘Steady. We get tourists on the weekends and we’re popular with the bikers. They’re good sorts.’
He reached into his pocket for some coins, paid the bill, and carried his coffee to a table at the far side, away from the counter. An elderly woman was staring. She had a curved chin and pointed nose, and sat with her legs apart a little distance from her table.
‘I think it’s a bit dark and dingy,’ Imogen said quietly, ‘I feel like I’m in a dungeon.’
‘It’s got character.’
‘It would do so much better with a makeover . . . bright lighting, aluminium seats, and colour.’
‘I don’t know. I quite like it.’
‘That would be right. It suits your personality, solemn and cheerless.’
He gawked. ‘I’m not solemn and cheerless.’
‘You don’t smile often.’
‘I do, just not at you.’
‘No, you ogle me.’
Flushing, he lowered his head.
‘Don’t worry, I rather like it.’
She raised herself from her seat. He peered out of his eye corner, caught her winking. ‘I’m off to the bathroom.’
Luke breathed a sigh of relief. His colour normalised and his breathing regulated.
‘Are you local?’
The voice caused him to jolt. It was the woman with the pointed chin.
‘Passing through.’
She nodded.
‘Nice girlfriend. Very pretty.’
He took a split second decision and decided to offer his thanks, believing it was better than explaining her true role. However, before he knew it he had admitted to being her partner for the last six months, a comment he regretted. Ashamed of his lies, he looked to his coffee, urging the conversation to end. She didn’t desist and asked him where they had been.
He stared at the bathroom door, grateful, at least, for the change of subject. ‘Nowhere special.’
‘Not much of a talker, are you?’
‘No, not much.’
The bathroom door opened and Imogen strode towards him. He scanned her long legs, looked to her nipped in waist, and glimpsed at her breasts.
‘You know what,’ she said taking her seat, ‘it was Leanne on the phone at Teresa Shaw’s. She had called several times.’
The woman was listening, her eyes fixated.
‘Did you speak to her?’
‘No, I checked the caller id.’
‘I wasn’t aware they knew each other. We should get back. We’ve got a lot of research to do.’
She frowned. ‘Let’s go to Le
anne’s first. She’ll be able to tell us what she knows about Teresa.’
‘I wonder if Leanne knows they’re connected.’
‘Wouldn’t she have said?’
‘Probably.’
She smoothed a floating strand of hair from her face. ‘I don’t know how she copes with those scars. They’re hideous. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her.’
‘She was in the fire.’
‘Doh! Isn’t that obvious?’
‘I mean at Leanne’s. There was a fire in the barn. It’s never been rebuilt. I think the day Karen returned there was an incident – perhaps a dispute - and a fire started. Teresa was caught up in it. We know that she was having an affair with Trevor Parry. He couldn’t handle what had happened to her and took his gun to them.’
‘Maybe Mr or Mrs Coombs started it.’
‘Unlikely.’
‘Of course by accident.’
‘I still don’t think so.’
‘So why shoot them?’
‘Maybe they just happened to be there.’ Luke said.
‘I thought Teresa was a little too upset by Karen abandoning Leanne. I think there’s something there too.’
Their eyes connected then drifted, each sipping coffee and pondering the case.
Luke broke the silence. ‘We need the details of the fire. Do you think you could ring Adam or Jean, pull a favour?’
‘Cool.’ She reached into her pocket. ‘I’ll get straight onto it.’
The elderly woman caught his attention. Their eyes locked. She averted her gaze.
‘Let’s do this back in the car.’
Imogen reached for her bag. They headed to the door.
‘One way or another,’ he said stepping outside, ‘we’re going to find Karen Jefferson.’
Teresa pressed her hand to the familiar ripples of her skin and fought the haunting memories that persisted with their daily ritual. A gunshot sounded in her mind. She shuddered and pressed her hands against her ears, craving silence, and rocked, back and forth, back and forth. The image of her baby girl cradled in the maternal arm of the flames twisted her gut, her high-pitched screams unforgettable and spine chilling.
Her life had barely started. It was cruel. It was undeserved.
Sickness rose in Teresa’s throat. Doubling-over and with her hand to her mouth, she scampered to the downstairs bathroom, leaned over the toilet, inhaled the sulphurous aroma and retched. She sank to the floor, her skin burning and her eyes shut and pleaded with her demons to go.