by Jane Isaac
“Why do you think she told you?”
He stared at the table for a moment, lost in thought. “I think she was thinking of Ellie,” he said finally.
“Your daughter?”
“Yes. You see she’s an only child too. We couldn’t have any more. My wife’s parents passed away many years ago and she only has one brother who lives in Scotland. Mum used to worry about Ellie being lonely in her old age. I genuinely think that she meant us to look her up and try to establish a relationship, for Ellie’s sake.”
“What did you do?”
“At the time? Nothing.” He shook his head. “I told Jenny, of course, but Mum’s condition was deteriorating and we were back and forth to the hospice twice a day. We decided not to think about it again until after she’d gone.”
“How did it make you feel?”
He pushed his lips together, an expression which turned down the corners of his mouth, in thought. “Not sure really. I was a bit shocked I suppose.”
“Were you angry?”
He thought for a moment. “No, not angry. I just felt a bit . . .numb, and disappointed maybe. She’s not dead as well is she?”
Dark shook her head. “You were disappointed?” she said trying to steer him back round.
“Yeah. I mean it would have been great to have had a big sister to play with at home.”
“Would you say you felt agitated?”
“To be honest, I didn’t give it a lot of thought. Mum was really poorly, and I was working on a barn conversion that we had a penalty clause on if we didn’t finish it by the deadline. So, I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it. I must admit, when I found the photos in the loft I felt a bit . . . Well sad. Of what might have been . . .” He stared at the table again, mesmerized in thought. “I say,” he said looking up, “I’m sure her family wouldn’t be involved with anything like murder. They just don’t seem the type.”
“What happened after your mother died?” Dark said, determined to continue on track.
“Nothing at first. We were busy tying everything up, arranging the funeral, wake and all that. It wasn’t until afterwards when I was clearing the house that I found some old papers in the loft. There was a birth certificate, a picture – you know, those colorful, splodge ones that young children do that don’t look like anything in particular, and some baby photos. It wasn’t until then that I found out her name, Kathleen.”
“What did you do then?”
“We decided to try to trace her. Spoke to the Salvation Army at first. Someone at Jen’s work told her that they can help to trace long, lost relatives. But after a couple of months, when we didn’t hear anything, we decided to give it a shot ourselves.”
“How did you find her?”
“My wife has a friend who’s into genealogy. We used the internet mostly, then sent off for certificates and things. It was quite exciting actually. We felt a bit like detectives.”
“And what did you find?”
“That she is alive and married to an Edward Cottrell. They even live in Hamptonshire. Worthington to be specific. I can give you the address if you are interested? I think I still have it at home.”
“That would be helpful. Have you made contact with her?”
“I wrote to her but she didn’t reply. I was going to leave it at that, but Jenny insisted we try again, so we called around to her home one Sunday afternoon, a couple of months ago.”
“What happened?”
He exhaled a short, sharp breath through his nose, dismissively. “Once I introduced myself I was made to feel very unwelcome. Her husband was polite, but she was quite rude. Asked us to leave and never contact her again. Jenny was quite upset.”
“And did you?”
“What?”
“Leave?”
“Absolutely. There wasn’t any point hanging around.” They sat in silence. “Shame though,” he added.
“Why?”
“Well she has a daughter only slightly older than Ellie. They could have been great friends.”
* * *
Helen was in a stinking mood by the time she arrived home that evening. Aaron Gravell’s alibi was confirmed and, in the absence of any relevant evidence, they had been forced to release him. Just when she thought they were at the brink of a breakthrough, just when she thought they were getting somewhere, they were nowhere. And all the time the clock was ticking . . .
Finding Ross was a priority now and she had taken the unusual step of arranging an urgent press conference early that morning, with his family present, seeking out witnesses to record his last movements. But, as the public face of Operation Marlon she hadn’t been able to chair it. Helen decided not to release the removal of the tattoo, not to include Anna, not to give the public any indication that Ross’ disappearance and the murder inquiry were linked. The last thing that Helen wanted was to increase any press attention directed at Anna, or encourage speculation that she is involved in two potential murders. Such attention may frighten the killer away and do irreparable damage to Anna.
Instead, Superintendent Jenkins had stepped up and taken over. She had watched it remotely and he had done a good job. The parents had been tearful, Ross’ father appealing for witnesses, sightings, anything. But so far, apart from the odd crank call which often occurred when they set up public appeals, they had received nothing new to go on.
Helen had been so sure that the killer was someone close to the family. But what if they weren’t? What if she had been wrong all along? It was almost as if someone, somewhere was playing a game, but she wasn’t party to the rules. A week down the line and the investigation was going nowhere and, with Sawford looming on the horizon, it felt like the lowest point in her career.
As she unlocked the front door she was taken aback by the sound of a soft bark. She walked into the hallway and wrinkled her forehead. Was that was coming from her lounge? She stood still for a moment and listened quietly. Nothing. “Hello!” she called out. And there it was again, the unmistakable sound of a deep, gruff, bark, and scampering footsteps getting closer by the minute.
She placed her briefcase on the floor, removed her coat. There was a strange smell in the air that she couldn’t identify. Helen rubbed the back of her neck as she crossed the hallway to the kitchen.
As soon as she opened the door she felt the blow to her face. Instinctively, she raised her hand to her lip in pain as a huge tongue lapped across her face.
“Boomer! No!” Matthew rushed into the room from the Conservatory, followed quickly by Jane Lavery. Helen sat up and stared at the cream Labrador which had turned to face her son and was now whacking its her tail against her head, a movement that seemed to make her whole back end waggle.
She looked up into the face of her mother. “What’s going on?”
* * *
He licked his lips as he sharpened his instruments, one by one, slowly does it. He was working up to his crescendo. Everything had to be just perfect. Last night he had been prowling around the field behind Anna’s parents’ house, watching the furor. He paused, closed his eyes and felt the blood still fizzing through his veins. Three months of meticulous planning, now coming together. And, after tomorrow, he would re-gain the respect he deserved. Nobody would dare cross him again.
It was like a game of chess and he was making all the vital moves. He had already annihilated the Pawns, defeated the Bishops, removed the Knights and Rooks. Tomorrow he would face his Queen. And everybody knows that once the Queen is lost, the game is inevitably over.
Chapter Nineteen
Anna stared at the digits on the bedside clock. It was six o’clock. She had barely slept a wink. It clearly wasn’t bad enough that she had discovered a murdered body in her flat, her boyfriend had disappeared and she had been forced to move back in with her parents. Now, with the presence of the police permanently fixed in her mother’s lounge downstairs, she felt that she was under house arrest.
Someone must hate me very much.
She pondered th
e extraordinary events of the last week. Bizarrely, in some ways things were starting to make sense for Anna. She had been cared for and supported during her upbringing. Her mother had always been controlling, but maybe, considering what she had learnt about her background, with the best possible intentions. During her teacher training she had read about children that experienced such abnormalities in their formative years. They either repeated them or fought against them. Her mother had fought against them, just fought a bit too hard.
But Anna never really felt like she had fitted in, she had never been able to put her finger on it, but something was not quite right. Now that the paradoxical life she had lived for so many years had been shattered in a matter of days, that part of her life was starting to make sense, whilst the other side – her relationship with Ross, her future – was falling apart at the seams.
She felt suffocated. She needed to get out of there. It was just a matter of how . . .
* * *
Helen opened the curtains and stared into the early morning darkness. The weatherman on the radio was promising a morning frost which would clear the skies to provide brilliant sunshine, the only kind of winter’s day that could be described as pleasant in her book. The case drifted into her mind. George Sawford was joining them today, on a sunny day, when they had no significant leads. The weather was probably the only good news she was going to get. She grabbed her bath robe and made her way downstairs. There was that same thick, musty smell, like clothes that haven’t dried properly. She could hear a noise – thump, thump, thump as she approached the kitchen and opened the door, gingerly this time.
The lapse in time had done nothing to curb the dog’s enthusiasm. It came rushing towards her, but this time she was ready. She stood firm and pushed it gently away. It responded by licking her fingers and she couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the happiness of the friendly creature.
“Boomy, that’s enough now,” warned Jane Lavery. She looked up at her daughter. “I think you’ve found a new friend.”
“How long is she here for?” Helen asked, as she sidestepped the animal, leaned over and flicked the switch for the kettle.
“Only a week. Susan flies back on Thursday.”
“Good.”
“Oh, don’t be such a spoil sport. She’s lovely really, just a little exuberant.” She leant down and stroked the animal’s soft head.
“Yes. I discovered that last night. I’m nursing a bruise on my thigh,” she raised a hand to her head and touched it lightly, “and I’ve got a lovely one on my forehead too. All in all, I think I did well to escape a black eye.”
“Well, she’s just a puppy really, only 14 months. She’ll calm down.”
“I’m sure,” Helen said.
“Anyway, I think it’ll be good for the boys.”
“So you said last night.”
“Don’t you think so?” Helen shrugged back at her mother in response. “It’ll give them a bit of a focus,” she continued, “just what Matty needs right now.”
“If you say so. How was he yesterday?”
“Oh, the same really.”
Helen sighed and pointed across at the side. “I’ve picked up a couple of leaflets on the Air Cadets.” The words Air Cadets caught in the back of her throat.
Jane Lavery’s face brightened. “I’m sure he’ll be really pleased.” They stood in silence for a moment. “You are doing the right thing you know,” her mother added softly.
“Yeah?” Helen’s voice broke as she said it. “Then why does it feel so wrong?”
Helen pressed her forehead again in an effort to relieve the ache that was rising in intensity. The dog was now chasing a ball around the kitchen, a ball which was clattering against the bottom of the cupboards. “Can’t she do that outside?”
Jane Lavery gave her daughter a disapproving glance. “Come on, Boomy. Somebody got out of bed the wrong side this morning. Come and have a treat in my lounge.”
There were days when Helen loathed her mother’s intrusion into her adult life. Days when she resented the ridiculous notion that a thirty something women still lived with mother, and it wasn’t as if she was caring for her in her old age: she was actually looking after her. Days when she wanted her independence, to look after her own family, her own way – bring back a partner and have mad, passionate impromptu sex on the dining room table when the boys were in bed, drink bottles of wine and stay in bed until lunchtime the following day. This was one of those days. And the guilt sucked away at her, draining her of emotion, oxygen, life itself.
* * *
Helen arrived at the station just before eight. Pemberton followed her into her office.
“Morning, ma’am.”
“Morning, Sean. What’s up?”
“Rab McCafferty is downstairs. He’s been here for over half an hour. Says he won’t leave until he’s spoken to you.”
Helen dropped her bag and briefcase on her desk and turned to face him. She pushed her tongue against the teeth at the side of her mouth and thought for a moment.
“OK. Can you get me the CCTV stills and the e-fit of the suspect?”
“Sure.” He disappeared and left her pondering as she unpacked her briefcase. What could Rab McCafferty want to see me about so urgently? She was just pulling the last file out when Pemberton returned with the pictures covered in a buff file. He had read her mind.
“Shall I come with you?”
“Not for the moment, Sergeant.” She hesitated and looked over his shoulder into the incident room. “No news on the Inspector?”
Pemberton followed her gaze. “I saw him first thing.”
Very diplomatic. Her patience with Townsend was now running very thin. “What is his problem?” she asked.
“Same as it’s always been. He’s got some inflated opinion of himself.”
This outburst from Pemberton took her back. “Clearly, you’ve worked together before.”
“Not together, as such. I don’t think he works with anyone. We were on an Auto-theft Operation about two years before he left Hampton. He was just the same then.”
Helen shook her head in disbelief. It was amazing how, in such a large organization, this sort of behavior still got swept under the carpet. Not this time . . .
She looked up at Pemberton. “Thank you, Sean. I appreciate your frankness.”
“No problem.”
“If you see the Acting Inspector, could you tell him I would like a word?”
“OK.”
Helen sighed. Right now, she had more important matters to attend to. “In the meantime, can you do the briefing for me?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. Do interrupt me if anything of interest comes to light, please?”
“Of course.”
Helen picked up the stills and moved out of the office. As she made her way into the back of the main station to the interview rooms, she thought of her family. A twinge of guilt jabbed at her. Perhaps she had been a bit hard on her mother this morning? After all, she was only helping out a friend. And maybe the dog would be good for the boys? Perhaps she should make an effort and take the dog for a walk with them all later? Rab had lost his father. He couldn’t spend quality time with him anymore: open a birthday card, share a beer, laugh, have fun. She could and she resolved to do something with her own family at the earliest opportunity, even if it had to include the dog.
* * *
“Good Morning, Rab.” She shook his hand and settled herself opposite him. “What brings you here so early in the morning?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He scratched his right temple.
“Must be catching.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing,” she replied, shaking her head. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I’m not sure. I keep going over everything again and again in my mind. Why would anyone want to hurt Anna? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“We’re doing everything we can to try and find out. Are you sure there isn’t a
nything else you can tell us? Your dad was killed and Anna’s boyfriend has disappeared. It seems to me that you two are linked together in this case somehow.”
He sighed. “I’ve been racking my brains, gone through all Dad’s friends, acquaintances. I’d say enemies but he didn’t really have any. As long as he had his beer and his fags he was happy.”
Helen tilted her head to one side. “And if he didn’t?”
“He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Might have stolen a few things, but he would never have rubbed anyone up the wrong way like this. He didn’t have it in him.”
“What about you?”
“Me?” He looked up at her, surprised by the change in conversation. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have checked my prison records. I was clean, kept my head down. I just wanted to get out and get a life. I never wanted to end up like my dad.”
“What about outside of prison?”
“I don’t have those sorts of friends.”
“What about the guys you did the robbery with? Maybe someone has a grudge against you?” She shook her head and shrugged a single shoulder. “Or your family?”
“They’re all still inside. And they were only friends of a friend. I did my time. I only got out before them because I wasn’t linked to a gun. I was just the driver.” He twisted his head to one side. “But I never shopped anyone. I’m not a snitch.”
“Maybe they don’t know that. Maybe they’ve organized something on the outside?”
Rab shook his head determinedly. “Don’t think that I haven’t considered that. No . . . They might rough you up a bit if you pissed them off, but murder? No, that’s not their thing. They’re just thieves . . .”
“Thieves that shot someone . . .”
“It was a mistake. The gun went off. It was never meant to happen.”
Helen slowly opened the file of photo stills and e-fits of their potential suspect and laid them out on the table one by one. There was a still of the man with Jim McCafferty in the newsagents at Weston on the day of the murder, a side profile of the same man and another of their backs as they left. It was surprising how the digital imaging company had managed to enhance them, sharpen up the blurred edges.