‘But I heard cigarettes make your voice gravelly. And I want a deep voice. So Diane Cooper might fancy me.’
‘Oh man,’ sighed Jonas.
I stared at these two children of mine. One on the threshold of puberty, the other a man-boy in a six foot body. Trying to impress girls. Smoking. Doing stupid things. It was all part of puberty and growing up.
I glared at them. ‘Promise me you won’t do it again.’
‘Promise.’ They nodded solemnly.
‘Okay, I won’t tell Jamie. This time.’ Crushing the box of cigarettes, I stalked out the room.
Back downstairs, I tossed the mashed cigarettes into the bin. And then fished them out again. If Jamie saw them languishing amongst the potato peelings, questions would be asked. I found a Tesco’s carrier bag and carefully wrapped them within. Only then did I put them back in the bin – right at the bottom and buried underneath household detritus.
Irked, I marched into the utility room. Opening the tall cupboard, I yanked out the vacuum cleaner. Bending down to plug the cable into a socket, I paused. My mobile phone was ringing. I straightened up and hastened to my baby holdall. Pulling out the mobile phone, I was amazed to see Stevie’s name flash up in the caller display. Hitting the green handset icon, I put the phone to my ear.
‘About flippin’ time!’ I said.
‘Cass,’ Stevie gasped. ‘Help me.’
Chapter Twenty Five
At some point in everybody’s lives there comes a defining moment. When, for whatever reason, time stands still. Clocks stop. Noises cease. All movement of objects and people in your feeling world come to a standstill. Even your heart feels like it skips a number of beats. Briefly you are aware of your existence, but not actually living life. Instead you’re stuck in a moment. And right now that was happening to me.
Stevie sounded so scared. Desperate. And...odd. Like he was – my blood ran cold – drugged. From the other end of the phone there was a sudden scuffling. A kerfuffle of sorts. And then the call disconnected. I stared at the mobile in horror. My heart gave a lurch and began beating again. Blood whooshed around my body, and my ears roared with the return of everyday noises.
‘Mum!’ Livvy was screeching down the stairs. ‘When are you going to take Eddie? He’s driving me nuts!’
I chucked the phone down and ran up the stairs two at a time. My daughter was standing on the landing holding Eddie out as far as her arms would extend. ‘And he’s done a number two. So his nappy needs–’ Livvy broke off and stared at me. ‘Whatever’s the matter?
‘Nothing.’ I took Eddie from her. Livvy was right. He stank.
‘But you’re as white as a sheet.’
‘I’m fine. Go and do your homework.’ I took Eddie and went into his nursery, my mind whirring. I’d ring Charlotte in a minute. I stripped Eddie off and whizzed some wipes over his bottom. And I’d have to tell Jamie now. Not about casing Selina’s flat, but about Stevie’s phone call. I reached for the Sudocrem. But I definitely wouldn’t be telling the twins. I didn’t want them upset and scared for their father. For once Eddie lay still while I strapped him into a clean nappy. In no time at all he was dressed in his romper suit. Swinging him onto one hip, I flew down the stairs and into the kitchen. Leaving Eddie in his playpen, I settled down at the table with my mobile phone.
‘Charlotte? It’s Cass. I’ve just heard from Stevie. Properly this time.’
‘Oh thank God,’ she squawked. I could hear a car engine in the background. She was clearly on the road. ‘Is he all right?’
‘No. Not as such anyway.’
‘What! Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ I cried. ‘He said–’ my brain struggled to remember Stevie’s exact words. ‘I think he said “Help”. Or “Help me”. Something like that. And then there was a scuffling noise in the background, as if somebody was trying to get the phone off him. And then the line went dead. And his speech was slow. Like he was disorientated or something.’
‘Cass, you’re going to have to tell the police about this. I’ve already phoned them and given them as much information as I possibly can. They’ve asked me to pop into the station with all Stevie’s bank and credit card details. They’re going to check if he’s made any cash withdrawals or spent money anywhere. I’ve also got to give them some photographs, along with his toothbrush.’
‘His toothbrush?’ I asked incredulously.
‘Yes.’ She stifled a sob. ‘It’s to provide a DNA sample for forensic examination.’
I blinked. And felt slightly sick. Stevie’s absence was taking a whole new turn. One that had fear curdling in the pit of my stomach.
‘Shall I meet you somewhere?’ I asked.
‘I’m on my way over to Stevie’s house,’ Charlotte said. ‘I need to collect the information the police want. And the toothbrush. Shall I meet you there? Perhaps you can have a look around with me. See if I’ve missed any clues to his whereabouts. And then we’ll drive to the police station together.’
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Okay. I’ll see you shortly.’
I disconnected the call just as the back door opened. Cold air blew into the kitchen as Edna came in, Arthur bringing up the rear. He smiled by way of greeting. I put up a hand in response.
‘Hello Cassandra dear,’ Edna said. ‘We’re calling it a day out there,’ she jerked her head in the direction of the boat. ‘Time for a cup of coffee while I get some dinner going. I thought I’d do shepherd’s pie tonight. Would that be all right?’
‘Lovely,’ I nodded.
‘Are you all right Cassandra? You look terribly pale.’
‘Um, no. Not really. The twins’ father has gone missing. The police are investigating. Charlotte is on the way to Stevie’s house to collect some bits and pieces for the police, including his toothbrush for DNA purposes.’ Edna and Arthur stared at me in horror. ‘And to cap it all, I’ve just had a peculiar telephone call from him. Stevie sounded dazed. He begged for help. And then the line disconnected. Something is very wrong Edna. I haven’t told the twins. I don’t want them to know.’
Arthur was the first to recover. ‘This is terrible Cass. Is there anything we can do to help?’
‘Can you possibly look after Eddie for me, until Jamie gets home? Charlotte wants me to go to the police station with her.’
‘Of course we will,’ said Edna. ‘Eddie’s no trouble at all. You go and do what you have to do Cass. Don’t worry about a thing. And if you’re not home by the time Jamie gets in, I’ll discreetly bring him up to date. Try not to fret. The police will find Stevie. You’ll see.’
An hour later, Charlotte and I were at the local nick. We were holed up with PC Thomson and PC Smith. The former looked like Humpty Dumpty’s brother. The latter was a woman with thin lips. For a moment I couldn’t think who she reminded me of. And then it came to me. Popeye’s girlfriend. Olive Oyl.
I couldn’t imagine PC Thomson pursuing criminals. He looked more like the sort of chap you’d find in a department store in December. Wearing a jolly Father Christmas outfit. On the other hand, PC Smith had a body that matched her lips. No doubt she would be extremely agile if chasing law-breaking offenders. However, I had a feeling PC Smith had never hitched up a hemline in order to pursue a felon. She didn’t need to. All she had to do was look at them. And then the offender would instantly drop down dead. Her eyes were hard. The colour of flint. I was pretty sure she’d taken every psychology course under the sun. That she could suss guilt in a nano second. Her eyes flicked from Charlotte to me. And eventually came to rest just on me. I met her gaze. And inwardly shook. She finally looked back at Charlotte.
‘So, Miss West. Let me confirm. You are Mr Cherry’s partner. But you don’t live at his house.’
‘That’s right.’
‘So how can you be his partner?’
‘Because I did live at his house, but currently I’m not. But I might go back. But then again I might not. So Mr Cherry might say I’m not his partner. But in actual fact I still am.’
PC Smith closed her eyes. For a moment she looked pained. ‘Miss West. You aren’t making this very easy for us. Why did you move out?’
‘Because Stevie won’t let me have a baby. We had a big row about it, and I stormed off.’
PC Thomson and PC Smith looked at each other. PC Smith wrote something down. ‘A big row,’ she repeated. ‘So was the row violent?’
‘Not as such. I didn’t throw crockery at him if that’s what you mean. Not this time.’
‘So you’ve had violent rows in the past?’
Charlotte screwed up her face. ‘Well, I suppose they have been a bit physical from time to time. But he’s never beaten me up, if that’s what you mean.’
PC Smith gave Charlotte a level look. ‘Miss West, have you ever beaten Mr Cherry up?’
‘No! I’ve chucked things about. And waved my arms like windmills. That sort of thing. Why?’
‘I’m just trying to get a handle on the situation, Miss West. Sometimes people disappear because they don’t want to be found. Other times they disappear because they’ve been murdered. You’d be surprised how many folk report their partners as missing. Some even make national television appeals for witnesses to come forward. Yet all the time the missing person has been languishing under the patio.’
‘Except,’ I interrupted, ‘I heard from Stevie less than two hours ago begging for help. And I think your insinuation that Charlotte would be capable of such a thing is bang out of–’
‘Ah yes. Mrs Cherry.’ PC Smith’s eyes swivelled my way. They remained on me. Unblinking and cold. ‘Stevie’s wife?’
‘No! Ex-wife. I thought I’d made that clear at the start. My name is now Mackerel. I’m re-married.’
‘Ex-wife. Interesting.’ She exchanged another look with her colleague. PC Thomson was now leaning back in his chair, hands folded across his ample tummy. ‘And what sort of relationship do you have with your ex-husband, Mrs Mackerel?’
‘A very good one,’ I snapped.
‘So good that he sent you a series of extremely unpleasant text messages.’ Her mouth twisted into a thin smile as she consulted her notes. ‘Telling you to – and I quote – fuck off, and also get off his back’ I could have crowned Charlotte when she’d accidentally mentioned me receiving text messages from Stevie. I hadn’t wanted PC Smith to know about that. In my opinion, the only thing that was relevant was Stevie’s telephone call pleading for help. If these two plods started digging in other areas, it could open up a can of worms. ‘Mrs Mackerel, these text messages are not evidence of an amicable relationship. Are you sure you haven’t some sort of axe to grind with your ex-husband?’
My mouth dropped open. ‘This is preposterous! What exactly are you implying?’
‘I’m not implying anything Mrs Mackerel,’ PC Smith said evenly. She put her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers together. ‘I’m simply trying to piece events together. And how people fit into them. Which brings me to another person in this jigsaw. Who is Selina?’
I knew it! The can of worms was now in PC Smith’s hand, the relentless line of questioning acting as the tin opener. Soon the worms would be spilling all over her desk, no doubt influencing the warped report she was hell-bent on making. I wondered if Selina had already been in touch with the police about Morag’s car on her premises. Did PCs Thomson and Smith know all about two wigless women screeching away from Selina’s Blackheath apartment? And did they know that one of those women matched the description of Selina’s ex-boyfriend’s wife and just happened to be sitting right here, right now, on the other side of this desk? Were these two coppers playing some sort of cat and mouse game with me? I let out an involuntary whimper and stared at PC Thomson. Wasn’t it his turn to ask questions? Ideally some nice ones? But PC Thomson was staring at the ceiling, apparently fascinated with a patch above my head.
I cleared my throat. ‘Selina is – I believe – Stevie’s horse riding friend.’
I was aware of Charlotte, in my peripheral vision, looking amazed.
‘But in one of the text messages, Mrs Mackerel, you imply there is a relationship going on between this woman and Mr Cherry. A physical relationship.’
‘Well it would seem I got the wrong end of the stick. Stevie denied there was any such relationship. He insisted they were just good friends.’
‘And why, Mrs Mackerel, should it even bother you who Mr Cherry has relationships with?’ asked PC Smith.
‘It doesn’t bother me!’ I protested. ‘I just didn’t want him messing Charlotte about,’ I added lamely.
‘But Miss West had already left Mr Cherry,’ PC Smith pointed out. ‘It seems to me that Mr Cherry regards himself as a free agent. So much so, Mrs Mackerel, that he sent you a text. A text that said he was going away for a few days. And most definitely without you, Miss West.’ PC Smith’s eyes returned to Charlotte. She promptly burst into tears.
‘Stevie and I are always busting up,’ Charlotte said tearfully. ‘And then we get back together again. It makes no difference whether he went away on his own or with someone else. In the long run, we’ll get back together.’
‘I don’t agree. This time it strikes me your separation has a flavour of permanency. After all, you say you were due to meet him during your respective lunch hours. That you wanted to discuss legal action. Indeed, a claim for half his house. That doesn’t smack of reconciliation, Miss West. Not to me.’
Charlotte didn’t reply. But that was due to being engulfed in a spasm of sobbing. She sounded as though her heart was breaking. PC Thomson tore his gaze from the rafters. Leaning to one side of the desk, he picked up a box of tissues. Silently, he placed the box in front of Charlotte. I put an arm around Charlotte’s shoulders and patted her ineffectually. PC Thomson’s gaze was back on the ceiling, so I addressed PC Smith instead.
‘Charlotte and I have absolutely nothing to hide about my ex-husband’s apparent disappearance. Stevie telephoned begging for help! And we’re here trying to see that he gets some! Now are you going to get out there and find him, or not?’ I was aware my voice had gone up several octaves. One might even say I was shouting.
Suddenly PC Thomson leant forward. His bulk seemed to fill the entire space in front of me. How had I ever thought of him as unassuming? He no longer looked like Humpty Dumpty? More like Hagrid. And he was giving off all the rancour of Professor Snape.
‘My colleague is asking the very questions that will enable us to find your ex-husband Mrs Mackerel. So I’d ask you to co-operate. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ I said in a small voice.
‘Mrs Mackerel.’ PC Smith took up the reins of the conversation again. ‘I find it somewhat odd that Mr Cherry telephoned you in his apparent request for help. Most people would call the police, don’t you agree?’
‘I suppose.’
‘There’s no suppose about it,’ PC Smith snapped. ‘I also find it strange that a man who has categorically told you to leave him alone and clear off – and that’s putting it politely – telephones, allegedly distressed, imploring you to help him. Do you have any comment to make about that Mrs Mackerel?’
‘Yes,’ I cleared my throat. Ah! That had her attention didn’t it! ‘I don’t think my ex-husband was the author of those previous texts.’
Humpty and Olive did another eye meet. I tried to work out what they were conveying to each other. They were obviously communicating in some sort of secret code:
We’ve got a right one here Humpty.
You’re not kidding Olive. Guilty as hell in my opinion.
I agree. Not sure about the other one though. What do you think?
She’s innocent Olive.
Any other thoughts Humpty?
Yes. The ceiling needs painting.
‘Look,’ I implored, ‘my ex-husband and I have had our difficulties in the past, but we have two children together. We maintain civility for our kids’ sake. I do not believe for one moment Stevie would cancel his weekend with the children without proper explanatio
n, and certainly without the unpleasantries. It’s completely out of character.’
PC Smith gave me an assessing look. ‘So any thoughts on who else might be behind the texts, Mrs Mackerel?’
This was my opportunity to spill the Selina beans. That Selina was in fact Selina Hadley, once PC Hadley and very probably a former colleague of Humpty and Olive’s. But if I did that, I’d have to justify why I had initially suspected her involvement. And bearing in mind that Selina was no longer off sick from work – indeed had answered Jamie’s mobile earlier on – I had no evidence for such an accusation. I’d found nothing untoward at her apartment block. Heard nothing from within. Nobody had answered her door. Indeed, the place had appeared empty when peering through a window. Telling PC Smith that Stevie and Selina had been out horse riding one Sunday afternoon, or gone shopping at Fairview, was not hard evidence of abduction and bizarre text messages.
‘I don’t know who sent those texts PC Smith,’ I said quietly. ‘However, I can prove it wasn’t my ex-husband. I deliberately asked Stevie about a choice of restaurant for the twins’ impending birthday. He texted me back suggesting I let the children choose the venue. The fact is, their birthday is months away.’
This time it was my turn to gaze at PC Smith levelly. Put that in your Sherlock Holmes pipe and smoke it! But instead PC Smith gave a sardonic smile.
‘Mrs Mackerel, I think there are a goodly proportion of fathers out there that make the same error as Mr Cherry. And they do it year in, year out. Men are notoriously bad at remembering dates – be it birthdays, anniversaries, or family events. You are not the first woman to experience this male phenomenon. And you certainly won’t be the last.’
‘I can assure you that’s not the case with–’
‘Meanwhile,’ PC Smith cut across me, ‘I have enough details to let us get started on an investigation. You’ve both given me names of friends and relatives, places Mr Cherry is known to frequent, and of course bank details. We will be checking to see if any sums of money have been withdrawn from his account and, if so, what area. We also have photographs and,’ she picked up a plastic bag containing Stevie’s toothbrush, ‘this. What I would ask,’ PC Smith turned to Charlotte, ‘is that we have permission to search Mr Cherry’s home. This is normal procedure and nothing to be unduly alarmed about. Is this okay with you, Miss West?’
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