by Jane Adams
‘What are you drinking?’
She looked up, surprised and, oddly, guilty. ‘Orange juice. Why?’
‘Just orange juice . . . Anna, been a bit slow off the mark again, haven’t I?’
She nodded, slowly. ‘I don’t know for certain yet, but . . .’
‘Then it’s time we did know. Come on, eat up then we’ll get going.’
‘Going where?’
‘First, we find a chemist, got to be one locally big enough to sell one of those pregnancy test things. Then we go to Norwich, to police headquarters or whatever they call it. Find out what they’re doing to Cassie.’
She laughed, life suddenly feeling very good, her natural optimism coming to the fore once again. ‘I don’t suppose they’re doing anything to Cassie, but yes, we’ll do both of those things.’ She began to eat, suddenly relieved, then she said, shyly, ‘I’ve been so afraid, you know?’
‘What of? Telling me? No, I don’t want to know if it’s the postman’s . . .’
She laughed. ‘Fool.’ She shook her head. ‘No, not of telling you, at least, sort of that too but that’s just me being daft.’
‘I’ll say it is.’ He paused, looked at her, realizing suddenly that what she wanted to say was somehow, not easy.
‘It’s just that, all this happening, somehow, I keep feeling that the baby is all bound up with it too. I keep thinking that something bad’s going to happen.’ She looked at him, willing him to tell her that it was imagination, that it was quite common for pregnant women to have strange ideas.
‘Try turning it around.’ He spoke quietly. ‘See it as something positive.’
‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged, not sure how to put it into words. ‘I don’t know really. It’s just that so many bad things have happened, you’re almost bound to think only bad things can happen. But there’s no way this can be a bad thing. This baby. Our baby.’ He paused, smiled, repeated the words. ‘Our baby was like as not conceived here. It’s like a promise, a making right somehow, turning something good from all the dark things that have happened.’ He smiled at her, reached for her hand. ‘Hey! You’re crying again!’
‘Sorry.’
‘What for?’ He squeezed her hand warmly. ‘Now, eat. We’ve got a lot to do. We’ve got to find out if you’re telling me the truth or not.’
‘Fool,’ Anna told him once more, but she smiled, feeling better than she had in days.
* * *
‘Mr and Mrs Thomas are here, sir. They want to know about Mrs Maltham.’
Croft glanced up at the officer standing a little uncertainly in the doorway of Flint’s office.
‘Well,’ Flint commented, ‘since they’re here they can save us the trouble of taking the Malthams back to the van. Tell them DI Croft will be down shortly,’ he then turned his attention back to Mike. ‘The search revealed nothing?’
‘No, but then we’d little expectation that it would. Fergus Maltham didn’t object, neither did he take up his right to be there.’
‘Hardly likely to, was he?’ Flint said wryly. ‘Not when you had his wife here.’
‘Quite.’
‘So where does that leave us?’
‘Well, we’ve got the child back.’
‘Though God alone knows how. To say nothing of now having a murder on our hands. So what does this Lucas woman have to say? She willing to use hypnosis is she?’
Having Flint talk about Maria Lucas as this ‘Lucas woman’ seemed dreadfully inappropriate somehow, but Mike said nothing. ‘Yes, she’s agreed. Cassie Maltham’s willing to give it a try. The doctor’s persuaded her she may be hiding something from herself. Something she saw, maybe, that brought back memories of the childhood trauma and she buried it without being aware. Apparently it can happen that way, it can then go on to affect anything connected with that incident. Episodes of amnesia that seem unrelated but in fact have the same trigger.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s foreign ground to me, but if it gives us answers.’
‘Hmm.’ Flint sounded far from convinced. ‘Well, we must be seen to be doing all we can.’ He paused, his mind evidently shifting elsewhere. ‘What do you make of those phone calls?’ he asked, referring to surprise information from the two women that had earlier reported on the itinerant woman they’d looked for.
‘I’d say they make a kind of sense. Both women saw the itinerant clearly, even spoke to her. If they believe that the picture of Mrs Maltham’s dream woman is a picture of the itinerant we’ve been looking for then I say we should accept it as far as it goes. One thing though, sir, I’d rather we didn’t leak that to the press until after Doctor Lucas’s session with Cassie tomorrow. I’d like to see if she can dig up any link first.’
‘Agreed. We’ll do what we can to keep the hat on until then.’ Flint dropped the ever-present pen down onto the redundant blotter, rubbed his face with his hands and screwed his fists in an almost childlike gesture into tired eyes. ‘Hospital and Path reports aren’t all in yet. The kiddie’s been found and the body isn’t going anywhere. I suggest you make an early day of it.’
Mike rose. ‘Yes, sir.’ Early? He was hardly doing short time, though compared to the fourteen- or fifteen-hour stretches, minimum, he’d been putting in, he supposed it qualified. He’d arranged to meet Bill and Tynan later anyway.
He took his leave of Flint, and went down to his office to collect the latest batch of telephone calls the case had generated. There were two more callers connecting the woman drawn from Cassie’s dream with an ‘old tramp’ as one called her, ‘a gypsy’ another said. Both sightings were within a ten-mile radius of the village. There were two ‘psychics’ proclaiming that they had messages from the woman in the picture; messages from beyond the grave. ‘More right than they know,’ Mike muttered to himself. Others, more innocent, from people who thought they’d seen something relevant and a couple telling of legends, smugglers’ tunnels leading from the cliffs inland to Tan’s hill and the local church.
Mike dropped the messages back on his desk, and made his way down to the station office. To his surprise, Maria Lucas was there, perched contentedly on one of the desks, drinking coffee and chatting to the duty officer.
‘Doctor Lucas, I thought you’d be long gone. The Malthams, have they left with their friends?’
‘They did.’ She still sounded somewhat irritated. Then she smiled, ‘I wanted a word before you left. Got a minute?’
He nodded. ‘Look I was just leaving . . .’
‘Then we’ll talk over dinner, if it’s not too early for you?’
Mike gave her a surprised look. Her direct, confident manner took him aback, made him feel like some inept schoolboy, a feeling not helped by seeing the duty officer smirking at him. He held the door for her, watching appreciatively as she slid off the desk and picked up her coat and bag.
‘Thank you. A gentleman as well.’
He winced at the sarcasm, then scowled at the loud guffaw of the duty sergeant and shut the door, firmly.
‘Are you always this forthright?’ he asked.
She raised her eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. ‘Detective Inspector Croft, I’m asking you to discuss business with me over dinner, not book a double room at the local hotel. Now let’s go to my car.’
He paused with his hand on the car door handle. ‘There’s something I have to clear up before we go anywhere,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about it. Cassie tells me you’ve been very understanding under the circumstances. Believe me, she wants this sorted as much as you do. If there’s a chance she’s guilty of something then the sooner we know the sooner she can be helped.’
‘And if I ask you questions about her?’
‘I’ll answer what I can. We’ve agreed that, Inspector Croft.’
‘Mike.’
‘Mike. It’s hard to explain what it’s like for someone like Cassie. She thought she was getting better, living a so-called normal life. Then something like this comes along and the rug
is well and truly pulled from under her feet. Now, she could take it one of two ways. She could either opt out in some way, maybe even full retreat, she’s done it before. Or she could take the option she’s chosen this time. Face whatever comes and deal with it. It’s a very courageous stance to take. A year ago, I don’t think she’d have had any choices. She’d have just overloaded and sunk back again into some form of psychosis. She’s come a long way. I want to make sure she’s vindicated. You understand that?’
He nodded. ‘Essentially we want the same thing. To get to the bottom of what has affected Cassie so badly.’
‘Right,’ she acknowledged. ‘Now let’s go eat.’
* * *
Mike drove the winding route to Tynan’s cottage feeling more relaxed than he had done in months. As it happened, they had discussed almost everything but the ‘Cassie dilemma’ as Maria called it. They had agreed on almost nothing, argued vociferously and laughed too loudly. Mike felt that a whole lifetime of grief and mourning had begun to lift. Not that it was a lifetime, of course, he thought. Just that sometimes it felt that way.
He’d left her at her hotel and walked back to his car.
She’d called after him that she’d enjoyed the evening, that they must do it again.
‘Do you mean that?’ he’d asked her, ‘or are you just being polite.’
She’d grinned at him, then laughed aloud. ‘I’m never just polite.’
Tynan let him in to the familiar cottage, waved him through to the living room and followed shortly after with the tea. Bill was already sprawled comfortably, eyes half closed, in one of the ageing chintz-covered armchairs.
‘Evening, Mike.’
Croft lowered himself gingerly into what was fast becoming his chair, the one with the rockers that misbehaved at the slightest wrong move.
‘Pleasant meal?’ Bill opened his eyes, looked sideways at Mike, who snorted in amusement.
‘News certainly gets around. I take it you called at the office?’
Tynan handed him his tea.
‘How’s Sara?’ Mike asked them.
‘In a lot better shape than her mum and dad,’ Tynan told him. ‘They’re keeping her in overnight but she’s well enough to be starving and demanding chocolate. Shaky of course, but taking it all remarkably well.’
He sounded concerned about that, Mike thought. ‘It’s probably going to catch up with her later, once the excitement dies down.’
Bill nodded. ‘That’s what the doctors are saying. You know the Cassidys would like to go away for a few days. I’ve told them there would be no objections?’
Mike shook his head. ‘None. If the child’s told us all she can there’s no need for them to stay around needlessly. You’ve made sure they leave a contact address though?’
‘Sure, going to Mrs C’s mum’s. The address and number’s in the records.’
Mike sipped his tea, slowly. ‘She remembered anything more?’
Bill shook his head. ‘Nothing. The report I sent over earlier is about it really. The kid has no idea of what happened in the last five days. She remembers someone calling her name, went up the path and then began to climb the hill, then, nothing, apart from hearing a woman’s voice, but she’s no idea of what was said or even of how often or when she heard it. She said it was like being half-asleep.’
‘All of the time?’ Mike asked. ‘No, that doesn’t make sense. She didn’t starve for those five days, she must have eaten, must have drunk and no one goes five days without pissing. She remembers nothing like that?’
Tynan shook his head. ‘Nothing definite. The hospital’s been looking at the drugs angle. There are traces of something which could be narcotic. They don’t have the specialist knowledge here so they’ve sent samples off to the poisons unit, see what they turn up, but it could be a day or two longer.’
‘When are we likely to have the path reports on the body?’
‘Tomorrow, with luck. They’re giving it priority.’ Bill nodded thoughtfully. ‘Never seen such a bloody mess. It was as though someone set out to break every bone in the woman’s body.’
‘Not the face though,’ Mike said. It was something that had struck him at the time. The body had been beaten so badly that in places it resembled butcher’s meat; yet the face was virtually untouched, superficial bruising at the temples, but nothing more. It was as though whoever killed her was determined that she be identifiable still. It made about as much sense as anything else did.
‘They hazarded yet how long she’s been dead?’ Tynan asked.
Mike shrugged. ‘No time at all. They’re not willing to commit until the autopsy’s complete, but she was still warm when we got there.’ He frowned angrily. ‘We could have been not a hundred yards away when it happened.’
‘So,’ Tynan enquired, ‘why didn’t you hear anything? Didn’t she cry out?’
‘Who knows, but the hill itself would muffle sound, and if she was hit on the head first . . . I noticed bruising on the right temple, almost the only mark on the face though.’
Mike paused, went off on a different tack. ‘You say the child’s been eating?’
Bill nodded. ‘Yes, ravenous. The doctors don’t think she’s been given much, a little milk maybe.’ He paused, added by way of explanation, ‘She threw up all over the consultant.’ He smiled, vaguely approving and went on, ‘If she was drugged I suppose it would have suppressed her appetite as well as making her hard to feed.’
‘Near impossible, I’d have thought, though I suppose there would be times when the sedation was lighter and she’d have been able to swallow.’
‘So,’ Mike said, ‘the drugs could have suppressed her appetite?’
‘But not emptied her bladder for her,’ Bill added.
Mike gave him a wry look. ‘I figure these things probably don’t wait for a convenient moment. If the girl was drugged, she’d simply have wet herself.’
‘In which case, someone changed her clothes only a little while before she was found.’
‘Oh?’ Mike enquired.
‘The child’s clothes were dry and clean. I asked the lab to test, there was nothing.’
‘No smell either,’ Tynan said thoughtfully. ‘She’d have been pretty high by the time we’d got to her.’
Mike nodded. The same thoughts had passed through his own mind. ‘Any clue as to where she was kept?’
Bill shook his head. ‘The report, such as it is, you’ll find on your desk, but for what it’s worth there were fragments of dried leaves clinging to the shirt. Mud stains, wet ones, on the shorts, but those could have come from the hill.’ He sighed. ‘Again, we’re waiting on reports.’
Mike thought for a moment, then asked, ‘You heard about the phone calls connecting the dream woman to the itinerant we were looking for?’
Bill nodded. ‘I read the day book. There were two more after you left, came in just before I got back. Looks promising. By the way, how did you make out with the shrink?’
Mike frowned slightly. Spoke more curtly than he’d intended. ‘She’s being helpful.’ He frowned more deeply as he intercepted a knowing glance between Tynan and Bill. He put his cup down, stretched, decided it was time to leave. They could achieve little more tonight.
‘Want to stay over?’ Tynan asked. Mike shook his head.
‘Thanks, but I want to make an early start.’
Bill gave him a speculative look which Mike deliberately ignored. ‘I think we should all get some sleep,’ he said. ‘I don’t even know if this will still be my case tomorrow.’
Bill suddenly sobered, nodded slowly. It had been almost chance that Mike had been placed in charge of the enquiry so far. He’d been in the right place at the right time, but now they had a murder enquiry going it was unlikely the specialists would keep their noses out for much longer.
He rose slowly to his feet, suddenly feeling his age and joined Mike in bidding John Tynan good night. Tomorrow could bring a lot of changes.
Chapter 15
Mike st
ifled a yawn. He had in fact managed very little sleep. His head was stuffed too full of random thoughts and speculations for him to sink long into oblivion.
When, finally, he had managed to force his body into sleep his mind seemed determined to defy him. He’d dreamed. Dreamed of Tan’s hill and the Greenway, walked up the steep sides of the hill, grown more steep, more slippery than reality, as dream images do, fought his way to the top to be confronted by some scene from a maniac’s nightmare. Figures cavorting in some obscene dance, their naked bodies gleaming in the moonlight, blood dripping from deep cuts as they hacked and beat at their own bodies with long-handled knives. In his dream he had tried to run, but the figures saw him, tearing and cutting at his clothing, pulling him to the ground. He’d opened his mouth, tried to scream, but the figures cast him down with as little effort as they would have needed to lift a child. The knives came closer, he could feel the coldness of metal against his flesh, felt a sudden absurd remorse at all the paperwork his murder would leave Bill.
A long blade of shining steel lowered slowly towards his face. He looked up, knowing a moment of complete terror when he realized that the hand holding it was John Tynan’s. The knife moved closer, blade flicking lightly against his cheeks, a sudden and painful slicing of the flesh before it lifted again, this time dripping with his blood. Mike stared in horror at the steel gleaming gently in the soft moonlight. There was something inscribed on the blade, something he could just make out if he stared hard, forced his vision past its normal limits. He had the sudden overwhelming conviction that if he could only read the words, then these insane celebrants would have to set him free. That his magic would prove stronger than theirs. He peered harder, struggling to make out the strange, writhing symbols engraved deep in the blade of the knife.
‘Oh, my God.’ Stupid or what. Mike laughed aloud, fear suddenly dissipating as he read the ‘magical’ inscription. ‘Eversharp. Ten year guarantee’, with the company logo emblazoned proudly alongside. He woke then, bedclothes tangled around him and soaked with sweat. He lay back, laughing at himself, but, by the same token, reached out and turned on the bedside lamp, unable completely to eliminate the cold dread that had seemed ready to choke the life from him.