Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  ‘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 then 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 Leanne’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.

  The high-pitched screams were fading, but they remained in the background, hiding in the shadows, following her everywhere - never vanishing, never sleeping, never stopping their torturous ritual. She wanted them gone, but at the same time craved the satisfaction of their presence. It was her only link to her daughter, the only one left. It was a perverse desire, an innate need for punishment.

  She scrambled to her feet, tears streaming down her face, and stepped into the hallway. There she caught sight of her hideous reflection, the lumpy surface - the scars, the reminders - and dropped to the floor and sobbed.

  The memories were vivid. Ash had spilled from the cigarette, dropping to the desiccated bales, and in an instant, there was an upsurge of flames, the crisp sound of crackling straw and intense, formidable heat. In the midst and driving her towards the fire, was her screaming baby girl. Without consideration, not even a moment’s hesitation, she scrambled up a ladder and flung herself into the blaze. She could not reach her daughter.

  Teresa curled up into foetal position. She had let her daughter die; her weakness had prevailed. She lay motionless on the carpeted floor. It was hard and unforgiving. It was all she deserved.

  Chapter 35

  Leanne stared at the business plans that were in a pile on the coffee table. Several hours of work, wasted. And the money too. Would she ever see it again? She picked up her phone, her heart heavy and her hopes quashed and dialled Steven’s number.

  ‘Have you managed to contact Teresa?’ Leanne asked.

  ‘Still no answer. I popped around last night. It was dark and Geoff’s car wasn’t in the drive. They could have gone away.’

  ‘But why not answer their mobiles?’

  ‘Some people don’t like to.’

  Leanne made a huffing sound.

  ‘Try not to worry,’ he replied, ‘I trust Teresa. I’ve known her a long time. There must be a simple explanation.’

  ‘I put a lot of money into this, but it’s not only that, I was excited Steven . . . for the first time in ages.’

  ‘I know. Look, I have to go, I’m in a traffic queue and it’s starting to move. I’ll pop over in a while.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  She had been such an idiot. How could she have handed Geoff forty thousand pounds and not got some kind of receipt? She had had initial reservations, yet because the idea of running a craft business appealed, she had ignored them. At last, something positive was going to happen in her life. She was moving away from her desolate life and fulfilling one of her last remaining dreams. She had the money and the time. Unfortunately, Geoff had realised that too.

  She must have had desperate and gullible written on her face. She had clung to every positive opportunity, never pausing to think, not processing other options. She had been an absolute fool. Thank goodness, she hadn’t told Tyler. The shame would have been unbearable.

  The woeful tone of her son’s voice replayed in her mind. Tyler was all that mattered, not the business, not the money, not even S
teven, and something was wrong. Why had he remained tight-lipped? What was he hiding? She glanced at the time. As soon as school finished, she promised herself she would ring him and demand an explanation. No more excuses. If he wouldn’t speak, she would go see him in person.

  She paced the downstairs rooms, stared into the barren expanse at the rear and wiped clean the dirty surfaces, her thoughts flitting. Time dragged. She glanced at her mobile, yearning to call Teresa and Geoff, and she headed to the front of the house to check the drive for vehicles. But they weren’t going to visit and tell her there had been a misunderstanding. Not now, not ever. She had been a gullible fool.

  Searching her mind for an occupation, she reminded herself of her initial plans for a jewellery making business. Choosing to act more positively, she decided it was still something she could still do, regardless of what happened with Geoff. She even had the added advantage of already having formulated some ideas. She headed to the barn.

  The small keys, bolts, and washers that were once central to her ideas were still in a pile on an old chest. They were grubbier than she remembered, and she fingered the roughened surface, coating her fingers in dust. Restoring them suddenly seemed an arduous task. Her motivation was lacking; her heart set on the craft shop. Her eyes drifted.

  A couple of boxes near her feet caught her attention. Leaning over, she peeled back the lid and looked at the newspapers were wrapped around small objects and stacked to the brim. She lifted one from the top, unravelled the paper, and looked to the small ceramic doll. It was a young girl with a bonnet and delicate features. She put it onto the chest and opened another. This was a boy wearing short trousers and braces. Both were unblemished; there were no cracks, no scratches, and no marks on the paintwork. Deciding it was a set and that for the moment served no purpose, she returned them both to their respective packaging and opened the second box.