by Dawson, H A
‘It was Tyler. Something’s wrong. He never rings during the day.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He wants something from home. It’s strange that he didn’t ring during the evening.’
‘It must have been on his mind.’
She frowned. ‘His voice was wrong. He seemed a bit depressed.’
‘You might be imagining it.’
‘No, I’m not. I know my son.’
‘I didn’t mean-’
She steadied her nerves. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t like him staying with Darren. It’s not right. He should be with me.’
‘Then tell him.’
‘It has to be his choice. I’ll only drive him further away.’
‘But maybe he needs you to make it clear you want him back.’
She gawped. ‘You don’t think he feels I’m pushing him away, do you?’
He withheld his reply.
‘Oh no!’ she said. ‘He went quiet when I mentioned you. Maybe he thinks I am choosing you over him.’
He turned away and laid the towel over the radiator. ‘Try not to worry.’
He avoided eye contact and looked a little unsettled, as though he didn’t want to be dragged into her problems. Not willing taking the risk, and deciding nothing could be done during school hours, she forced her turmoil aside and asked about Tansy. Steven shared numerous stories about her life from the first time she visited the coast to and the destruction of a padded stool. It proved positive and his mood brightened.
‘How is your business plan going?’ Steven asked.
‘Great. This morning I booked stalls at craft exhibitions. The first one is in January. I was lucky, I got the last spot.’
A smile accompanied his approval.
‘I’ve made plans to include crafted products in the shop, done by locals. I’m hoping to incorporate a small stand somewhere. I hope there’s enough space.’
‘You’ve not seen it?’
She hesitated. ‘No. I’ve seen the floor plans.’
‘Why don’t you drive over?’
‘I . . . I suppose I could.’
‘I’d have thought Geoff would have wanted you to see your investment.’
‘He’s been fantastic. There’s been a little delay with the contracts, but he has kept me informed all the way.’
‘Did you have the contract checked by a lawyer?’
Her eyes flitted. She rubbed her hands.
‘My brother’s a lawyer. I could ask him to look it over if you like.’
‘I’ve already signed it,’ she said quietly.
‘He could still point out any grey areas . . . make you aware of any possible problems.’
‘I . . .’ she stopped and withdrew her negative reply. ‘Thanks.’
‘Do I sense a problem?’
‘We put it in a bank vault.’
‘Okay. When you get it, pass me a copy. How about we check out the business online?’
‘I don’t think there’s a website. I’m not connected so I haven’t checked.’
He jumped to his feet. ‘Follow me.’
They headed into his office and started a search for the craft business. There were numerous references with the same name, but none with the same address.
Her anxieties deepened, her heart thumping. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s definitely that address?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a telephone number?’
‘I . . . I can’t remember it. Geoff was dealing with the paperwork.’
Steven was staring, pondering. She felt such a fool.
‘There’s something I have to do. Can you get the number for Lloyds Bank?’
Moments later, he was pointing to the number on the screen.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, her voice quivering. ‘I need to access a company vault, but it has my partner’s name on it. Can you check if it’s been accessed?’
After reiterating the question numerous times, she was able to speak to someone at her branch. She waited whilst the assistant checked.
‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, ‘there was a vault in that name, but it was closed a few days ago.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who closed it?’
‘It can only be closed by the person who opened it.’
‘But it has my contract in it. It was mine.’
‘And you are?’
‘Leanne Stark, Geoff Shaw’s business partner. We were going to change the ownership of the vault into my name.’
‘I suggest you speak to him.’
‘Do you know what he did with the contract?’
Silence.
‘Sorry. Bye.’
She replaced the handset onto the charger and gawked at Steven. Her mind was swirling, her legs weakening.
‘There must be a reasonable explanation,’ he said.
She dialled Geoff’s number. It rang and rang. There was no answer.
Chapter 33
Queenie stuffed her washing attire and other small accessories into a small bag, and zipped it up and placed it onto the bed. Then she flung open the wardrobe, a two-door beech effect with plastic handles, and stared at her clothes. There were jeans and trousers, an assortment of tops, a tight-fitting black dress and a navy skirt. It was not a lot, but at least it meant moving was easy.
She perched on the edge of the bed and considered her options. She was too old to roam the streets, money was in short supply and friends were scarce. She could go to Kyle’s house, although the prospect of more arguments and an endless character assassination was unappealing. Queenie exhaled and groaned. Staying with Rusty had given her the mental time out she had needed. If only Leanne had not contacted Luke Adams.
The door creaked open. Rusty was standing on the landing, her red hair illuminated by the light. ‘You’re not leaving,’ she said.
She yanked a garment from a coat hanger and thrust it into the small case. ‘I can’t stay.’
‘I assume this is because of Leanne.’
She held a pained stare.
‘Just be honest! They’ll understand why you acted as you did.’
‘It’s not just that. I was out of control and everyone knew it.’
Rusty heaved a sigh. ‘It was an accident.’
‘It didn’t feel like an accident at the time.’
‘It wasn’t deliberate or planned. It just happened.’
Queenie opened a drawer, removed piles of underwear, and slung them into the case. Then she thrust it shut.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re always running. You’re not guilty, yet you act like you are.’
She gazed at her fingernails and smoothed down a hangnail.
‘Please stay. I need you around.’
‘You’ll manage, you always do.’
Rusty leaned into the doorframe. ‘It’s more fun when you’re here. Remember London and the nightclubs, the men, the wild parties? We didn’t see daylight for weeks.’
‘Northampton was better. Almost every day for the last thirty-five years, I’ve wished we stayed. I don’t know what we were thinking. God, I was so selfish.’
‘Hardly. We were young and wanted freedom. Having a kid around was hard work.’
‘You always were more for returning than me. You were anti-children back then.’
Rusty’s eyes narrowed. ‘I wanted a kid with a decent man and not some no-hoper I’d met on the streets.’
‘Is there such a thing?’
‘You’re very cynical.’
‘And I’ve every right to be.’ She thrust out her hands. ‘Look at me. I’m not exactly popular.’
‘Maybe not, but you do have a home.’ The doorbell sounded. Rusty gazed down the stairs. ‘For once, see something through. It’s what you should have done with many of your relationships, including Kyle. You never seem to learn.’
With the words echoing, she hurried d
own the stairs.
Luke and Imogen stared at the door, feet poised to jam the door and ready to force one of them to speak. He surmised it wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary, and he had his hand flat against the surface and his eyes on the handle. It opened. He caught a glimpse of Rusty. The weight of the door was upon him.
‘I just need a few minutes,’ he said, ‘it’s important.’
‘We’ve nothing to say,’ Rusty said.
‘Please. We won’t bother you again.’
‘We’ve already told you what we know.’
‘Then you won’t mind me asking a few questions.’
There were footsteps pounding the stairs and a mumble of voices. The door eased open and a stench of smoke wafted into him.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘We’re not doing this for you,’ Queenie said, scowling.
Rusty departed into a nearby room and Queenie sat on the staircase, two steps up, her face carved with hostility.
‘We went to the hospital and spoke to a woman who helped Karen with her birth. She said you were waiting in the corridor,’ Luke said.
‘So?’
‘Is Rusty Karen?’
Queenie removed a cigarette from a packet, placed it between her lips, and reached for a lighter. She lit it, inhaled, and puffed out. ‘You have it all worked out.’
‘Am I right?’
‘No.’
Luke glanced at Imogen. ‘It would make it much easier if you just told me where Karen is.’
‘And what if I don’t know.’
‘I think you do.’
She rested her hand on her knee and the smoke billowed.
‘Did Karen want her baby?’ Luke asked.
‘Doesn’t every mother?’
‘No, I don’t believe they do.’
‘Well Luke Adams, you know more than me.’
He was exasperated. ‘You were Karen’s friend. You know full well that she didn’t want her baby.’
‘Is that what you learned?’
Silence.
‘Whoever told you must have a good memory.’
He glared. ‘She abandoned Leanne. It fits.’
‘Strange logic. I can assure you, Karen was desperate to be a mother.’
Queenie refused to remove her gaze from him, causing a twitching unease. His eyes wandered, following the billowing circles of smoke rising to the ceiling. Out of his eye corner, he could feel her penetrating stare.
‘How did she feel having a baby out of wedlock?’
‘As I said, Karen was desperate for a baby.’
Puzzled, he glimpsed at Imogen; the entire situation was baffling. He gathered his thoughts and proceeded with his line of questioning.
‘Then we went to see a Mr Jenson.’ He noted a flicker of recognition in her eyes. ‘Karen had had a relationship with him.’
‘So?’
‘He said the baby died.’
Queenie reached for an ashtray, her expression deadpan. ‘Your point?’
‘Was Leanne born before or after this baby?’
‘Should I do your job for you?’ Her eyes darted between Luke and Imogen. ‘If Leanne was born first, Greg would have mentioned the child.’
‘So you did know him?’
Anxiety ripped into Queenie’s face.
‘I never said that his name was Greg,’ he added.
‘And I never said I didn’t know him.’
‘What’s even more interesting is that he said Karen’s sister, Fiona, stayed with her.’
‘And why is that interesting?’
‘Because rumour has it, Karen and Fiona didn’t get on.’
She grinned. ‘You surprise me, Luke Adams, believing in rumours.’
‘Did they live together?’
‘She was Karen’s sister. It probably happened on occasions.’
‘How did you feel about that?’
‘How should I feel?’
‘Fiona was . . . put it this way . . . disciplined and studious.’
‘Really?’
‘Was she working?’
‘It depends on who you ask.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘I’m asking you.’
‘Then no she wasn’t.’
‘So it was a holiday?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was a holiday.’ She jumped up and encouraged them backward. ‘I’ve had enough, time to go.’
‘Why was she having a holiday?’
‘Why does anyone have a holiday?’
Queenie persisted in forcing them out and Luke and Imogen shuffled backward. The door thudded closed. Imogen mirrored Luke’s bewilderment and frustration.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. Shall we go for a coffee and see if we can work it out.’
‘Good idea.’
The café had a historic feel. There were paintings of horses and carriages on the otherwise white walls and there were stone slabs on the floor. In the air, drifting in the diffused light was the gentle aroma of baking food. Having purchased the coffees, Luke and Imogen advanced to a table near the small window.
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.’
&n
bsp; ‘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.’