by Dawson, H A
‘What do you remember about Fiona?’
‘She died didn’t she?’
He nodded.
‘It was horrid, just horrid. She was quite a bit younger than I was so I didn’t know her, but from what folks said, the two of them were chalk and cheese. It’s hard to believe they were sisters.’
‘Did she ever hang around with Karen?’
‘Blimey, no. If Karen ever saw her, she’d poke fun at her in front of everyone. Fiona was such a timid thing. Folks said she was afraid of her.’
‘Afraid of Karen?’
‘Aye, that’s right. Karen wasn’t violent . . . no . . . but she had a hard exterior. I’d say it was put on.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Once, I saw her in the park late at night.’ She turned to face him. ‘She didn’t see me . . . no . . . she was with someone else. I don’t know who it was. Karen was crying. Full-blown blubbering.’
‘Did you know why?’
‘I heard her say something about never being listened to. I think it was family stuff. That’s all I know. It was heart-breaking. I never looked at her in the same way after that.’
‘How old was she?’
‘Seventeen, maybe eighteen. I don’t remember.’
Before her disappearance, Luke thought. ‘Can you remember the names of her closest friends?’
‘Now, let me see. There were four of them.’ She scratched her chin. ‘No, I can’t remember.’
‘Could you look through the photos? It might help.’
‘Of course.’
She bent over, grabbed a pile of photos from within the box and scattered them across the table. The images were of young people, presumably herself and her friends, and they brought a smile to her face.
Luke was searching the images for familiar sights and faces when his phone sounded. Seeing it was Leanne, he declined the call and returned it to his pocket. Moments later, a warble indicated an incoming text message. In the message, she mentioned three people, Mrs J Taylor, Queenie and Rusty. Leanne said they were friends of Karen.
‘Do you remember a J Taylor?’ Luke asked while showing the message to Imogen.
Maureen raised her head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Could it be June or Joyce?’
‘Or Julie or Joanne,’ Imogen added.
‘There was a Joanne, she was Karen’s best friend, but it wasn’t Taylor.’
‘What about Queenie or Rusty?’
‘No.’
‘Do you think they were nicknames?’ Imogen asked.
‘They did have some daft ideas, and they did toy around with nicknames for a while, but I wouldn’t have a clue what they were. From what I heard, they thought their names weren’t cool enough.’
Luke and Imogen’s eyes locked, then Maureen turned away and continued flicking through the photos and piling them up at the edge of the table. Occasionally she paused, smiling and reminiscing. He wanted to hurry her up and fought for patience.
‘This is her,’ she said, eventually. ‘I’m afraid it’s not very good.’
She passed it across. It was a bit hazy.
‘Karen and her friends are on the back table.’
‘Which one’s Karen?’
Maureen hesitated. ‘The red-haired one. Definitely.’
‘I didn’t know she had red hair.’
‘She didn’t . . . always. They would forever change their hairstyles and appearances. I doubt they looked the same two weeks running.’
‘Can I borrow this for a while?’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks for your time. I’m sorry, but we have to dash. You’ve been most useful.’
‘Nice to have the company.’
They headed outside and to the car.
‘We should visit Mrs Taylor,’ Luke said. ‘I want to surprise her.’
‘Do you have her address?’
‘No, can you get it from Leanne?
Luke stopped the car and looked to the house. Inside, just visible through the window, was a woman with red hair, and his expectations danced. He retrieved the photograph from his pocket, studied the facial structure, and looked back to the house. There was no obvious connection between the two women. He looked at the other three women on the photo and back again. There was still no obvious resemblance.
‘Can I have a look?’ Imogen said.
He gave it to her.
‘It could be her.’
‘It’s not a great likeness.’
‘No, I agree.’
‘She’s looking. Come on, we should go in.’
Imogen pressed the doorbell. A podgy woman with short dark-brown hair, and with a cigarette in her hand, appeared, scowling.
‘I’m Luke Adams. I’m wondering if you can help. I’m looking for Karen Jefferson. I believe you might know her.’
‘She’s not here.’ Queenie started to push the door closed. His foot was in the way.
‘Can we come in? It won’t take long.’
A red-haired woman appeared from behind. ‘What you want?’
‘Is one of you a Mrs J Taylor?’
They looked at each other. Queenie spoke first. ‘We’re Queenie and Rusty. That’s all you need to know.’
‘Do you know Karen Jefferson?’
She puffed on her cigarette. ‘Might do.’
‘Where can we find her?’
‘Not seen her for years.’
‘We know you were friends.’
‘So, it’s not a crime.’
‘She’s not in any trouble.’ He reached for a card. ‘I’m a private investigator. Her daughter wants to find her.’
‘She’ll never find her mother.’
He narrowed his gaze and studied the two women. Both were equally guarded. ‘Are you Joanne?’
‘I told you, I’m Queenie.’
‘We’re only here to help,’ Imogen said.
‘I don’t have time for this.’ Queenie ushered them backwards and pressed her hand onto the door.
‘Please,’ Luke said, ‘where can I find Karen?’
‘Try Northampton.’
He eased his foot away from the door. ‘Why Northampton?’
‘That’s where I last saw her, thirty odd years ago.’
The door pushed to. A bolt engaged. Curtains were drawn.
Bewildered, he looked at Imogen.
‘They hiding something,’ she said.
‘Do you think one of them is Karen?’
‘Could be, although they look nothing like they do in this photo. Having said that, it was taken decades ago.’
‘Well, they’re not going to talk. Maybe we should try Northampton.’ He sank into the seat of his car.
‘They could be sending us on a wild goose chase.’
He started the car, looked back at the house, and pulled away. ‘Let’s visit Leanne, she might know something.’
Moments later, they arrived and knocked on the door. There was no reply, yet her car was there. Following his instinctive curiosity, he strode along a flattened track to the rear, turned a corner, and looked at a barn. The beams were corroded, the hayloft was devastated, and part of the roof absent.
‘Tansy!’ a voice called. ‘Tansy.’
He turned around. A dog was racing towards him and his body stiffened. Her tongue was lolling, her legs at full stretch, and her determination written into her eyes. He leapt to one side. Tansy carried on, racing down the track and to the house.
‘I thought she might do this,’ Steven said. ‘That’s why I’ve been avoiding walking this way. Are you looking for Leanne?’
‘Yes, there was no answer at the door. I thought she might be down here.’
‘Are you the investigator?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I’m Steven . . . a friend. Have you got anywhere?’
‘We’re piecing bits together. It all takes time.’
‘I’m sure it does.’
They walked towards the house. Imogen was chatting
to Leanne, and the dog was next to them, wagging furiously. The instant they turned the corner, he noticed a plaintive glance pass between Leanne and Steven, and the closer they became, the more awkward the silence.
‘Tansy,’ Steven called.
The dog looked at him and then back at Leanne, but she would not move.
‘Tansy!’
She sat down at Leanne’s feet.
‘Damned dog,’ Steven mumbled and continued forward.
Imogen caught Luke’s eye and then turned to Leanne. ‘We’ve just visited Queenie and Rusty and they suggested we should try Northampton. Any ideas why?’
Leanne’s gaze was magnetised to Steven. ‘No.’
‘Have you ever lived there?’ Imogen asked.
‘I was born there.’
Imogen turned to Luke. ‘We could try the hospital?’
‘What did they say?’ Leanne asked.
‘They weren’t forthcoming I’m afraid,’ he said.
‘Did they say who Mrs J Taylor was?’
‘No. Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.’
Leanne was displaying a melancholy expression as she watched Steven hooking up the dog. She was more engrossed with him than the case. Luke saw it as his command to leave.
‘Thanks. It’s getting late and we should get back. We’ll be in touch.’ They headed away.
‘What’s with those two?’ Imogen whispered out of earshot.
‘No idea.’
‘I think they’ve had a lover’s tiff.’
Luke peered over his shoulder. Steven was dragging Tansy away. ‘I think you’re right.’
Chapter 30
Leanne felt as though she should make a hasty retreat, but she was frozen to the spot and stared at Steven as he dragged Tansy along the trodden path, urging her away from a place he had never intended to visit. The dog persisted in looking backwards, slowing their progress and knotting her master’s legs, but it made little impact and caused her needless discomfort as the leash jarred. After a decisive telling off, Tansy continued forward, although still at a sluggish pace, and gave Leanne a last plaintive glance.
Yearning for Steven to turn and apologise, Leanne edged forward, her agony tightening her heart, her focus all-absorbing. She traced the muscular tone of his legs and the broadness of his shoulders and watched his strands of golden brown hair lift up in the breeze. There was sadness within her eyes and regret within her mind as their previous disagreement persisted with its haunting ritual.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted.
He stopped and turned. ‘I’m sorry too.’
Cautiously, she stepped towards him, noting how he avoided locking eyes. ‘Can we talk?’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
Her tongue stilled; she held her silence.
‘I thought you were different,’ he said, ‘I can’t believe you’d think I would see Queenie. She’s . . . she’s . . .’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll keep on saying it if it helps.’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘What we have is worth fighting for, is it not?’
He looked to the ground, his eyes wandering, his lips stirring. ‘I should go.’
‘Please don’t.’
He strode away, faster this time, and headed to the field and progressed around the perimeter. Not once did he turn; not once, did his steps falter.
Despondent, she returned indoors, slumped onto a chair, and gazed at her business plans strewn across a low table, unable to generate interest or enthusiasm. Her anger was simmering. Steven must have been searching for an excuse to end their budding relationship, but he should have been honest rather than putting the blame on her. It was inconceivable to think he would still be annoyed at her for her accusation. Queenie had had her arm draped over Steven. It was not as if she had lied.
Drifting, she relived their argument in the town centre. Ever since their first encounter, they had had problems, yet with Phillip, it had been trouble-free. Was it a sign? Her relationship with Steven had barely started and it was continually stumbling. Perhaps she should forget him.
She puffed out, the papers and plans catching her eye. She flicked through the various sheets, each a summary of the individual business areas, and scanned a list of the products to be sold. There were glass painting supplies, felt and foam, crepe and tissue paper, and much more. The list was endless, and the hope of including a range of exclusively designed finished products fading. Space would be limited and the room to support struggling artists probably not economical. Nevertheless, she looked to her partial list of ideas and decided that somehow, even if it were via photographic displays, she would exhibit some goods.
It was an exciting prospect, and her energies expanded. She drew images of the displays, she developed her list of expansion ideas, and she created a basic outline for an online site. Then she considered promotion ideas. She could run workshops, demonstrations and competitions, and she could get involved in the community. Her mind was buzzing and her ideas flowing from the pen.
After many hours of work, she slumped back into the chair and listened to the persistent cries from her aching body. Her head was thick, her arm like a lead weight, and her eyes blurring. Stretching, and taking a few moments to regain her focus, she reached to her telephone.
‘Hi Geoff, it’s Leanne. How’s it going?’
‘We have a little problem. There is a legal issue to sort out relating to Mrs Oakdale’s ex so we’ve had to put the brakes on, but it’s nothing to worry about.’
‘How long do you think it will delay us by?’
‘Not sure. Could be a few days . . . could be a couple of weeks.’
‘Okay.’
‘Don’t worry Leanne. These things happen all the time. Have you been making plans?
‘Yes. I’m working on it now. We must meet up some time to go through them . . . Tony too.’
‘Yes, sure, great idea. I’ll be in touch. I’m a bit busy at the moment.’
‘Before you go, we never changed the vault over into my name. When can we do it?’
‘I completely forgot about that! Now let me see. How does Friday sound? No, wait, I can’t. I’m likely to be in London. Tell you what, I’ll give you ring. It’s nothing for you to worry about, though. I hope you realise that.’
‘Yes, of course. I just like to be organised.’
‘I love your attitude. I can see we’ll make a fantastic team. This is all very exciting for me.’
‘Yes, me too. I can’t wait to get started.’
‘Great stuff. Look, I’m sorry to be rude, but someone’s waiting for me. I must go.’
‘Fine. Bye.’
She placed the phone onto the table, strode into the lounge, and slumped onto the sofa, happy but exhausted. Needing to relax her mind, she lifted her legs onto the soft fabric, placed a cushion under her head and shut her eyes.
Although she did not intend to meditate, Leanne followed the same routine and squeezed every muscle in her body in turn, releasing the tension, and breathing in a deep and slow manner. She inhaled, held her breath, and exhaled, each for five seconds. Then she increased the time to ten seconds, and soon the fuzziness inside her head started to fade.
After a while, dreamlike images appeared, rather like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and lacking the same cohesion. There was a digital clock displaying 15:37 hanging from a curved metal structure. There were a railway line and a bridge. There were mumbling voices. Leanne shuffled, her breathing laboured. There was a scream, screeching brakes, and a loud, crushing thud. She bolted upright, sweating profusely and with wild, frantic eyes, and searched the rapidly fading detail of the victim. The body was a silhouette, the blood an ever-growing pool.
Chapter 31
Luke and Imogen strode through the double doors to the hospital, scanned the reception and waiting area, and followed the signs to the lifts and staircase. The air was odourless and the atmosphere subdued as hospital workers, patients, and visitors wandered the corridors.
Two nurses with grave expressions hurried by, conversing in low voices and carrying an assortment of clean linen and a bedpan. They disappeared into a room and closed the door. Next, a distressed teenage girl exited the lift and ran by. Tears streamed down her reddened face, swelling and streaking her eyes as she released gasping moans. Luke’s gut tightened. He could feel death in the air.
He arrived at the lift and waited, shuffling his feet and trying not to stare at a sick man in a wheelchair. He looked about forty, was gaunt and pale and had his head resting at an angle at the top of the wheelchair. His eyes were a sickly yellow colour, his lips were near-white, and saliva dripped from his mouth. He groaned and the nurse leaned over and cleaned his chin. She did it with ease and showed no expression of fear or disgust, an admirable quality.
Luke and Imogen travelled to the third floor in silence. Once they had departed from the small space, he felt his guard loosen and his breathing relax.
‘I’d hate working here,’ he said.
‘Did you see that poor girl? I wonder what happened.’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anyone chasing after her.’
‘Didn’t you? Just after you entered the lift, the other one arrived, and a man and a boy rushed out. I heard the boy saying, “Can you see her?” They were quite frantic.’
‘I wonder if you ever get used to dealing with stuff like this.’
‘I have a friend who’s a nurse and she said it was horrible the first time someone died. She said she learned to become emotionally detached.’
‘You know a nurse?’
‘Luke! She’s married.’
‘Pity.’
‘I thought you were happy being single.’
‘I am. I’m waiting for the right woman.’
She had a glint in her eye. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time. I can’t imagine anyone putting up with your dirty mind.’
‘I don’t have a dirty mind.’
‘Really? What was your first thought when I said I knew a nurse?’
‘I was surprised.’