Silent Witness (A Dylan Scott Mystery)

by Wells, Shirley

  The words startled her. She’d never known Jamie to have a girlfriend and it shocked her to realise that Dylan was right and that he was having thoughts of giving her that title.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” She was surprised to hear herself sounding so calm. “I’m married, Jamie—”

  “I know that.” A nerve twitched at his temple. “I’m not stupid, Sue, and I wasn’t asking you to marry me. I was thinking of you, really. I’m just saying that as your husband is in prison for murder, locked up for God knows how many years, you should get out more. I was offering to take you out. I thought it might cheer you up.”

  He was smiling, but she had the feeling he was angry with her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It’s good of you to think of me, but I couldn’t. I’m married to Alek and the fact that he isn’t here at the moment doesn’t change that. I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I’m sorry, Jamie.”

  Jamie shrugged. “It’s your choice, of course. I just thought it would help take your mind off things. It can’t be good for you being stuck here with nothing to do but worry about Alek. And let’s face it, that’s all you will do until Dylan Scott gets him out of there.”

  He sounded so confident that Sue leapt on his words. “Do you think he will get him out? Has he said anything to you?”

  “He hasn’t said anything, no, but I’m sure he’s working on it. He always looks—confident.”

  The kettle switched itself off and Sue gave herself a few moments to think while she made their coffee. This was the first time anyone had shown any belief in Alek’s plight or Dylan’s ability.

  She handed him his coffee and wondered if perhaps some time spent with him would do her good. Perhaps some of his confidence would rub off on her.

  “I appreciate the offer, really I do, Jamie.”

  “It’s up to you, of course. I thought it might cheer you up to get out.” He blew across the surface of his coffee. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Someone said—” She didn’t want to drag Dylan into this. “Someone said they thought you might have feelings for me. They also thought you followed me when I went to put flowers on my dad’s grave.”

  “Who? Who said that? Who’s been telling tales behind my back?”

  He hadn’t denied following her, and an uneasy shiver ran down her spine. “Is it true?”

  She’d thought he was angry, but it all melted away and he smiled suddenly. “Who’s been saying that?”

  “The who doesn’t matter. I just wanted to tell you that you’re wasting your time, Jamie. You’re a really lovely man, and I appreciate everything you do here, for the animals and for me, but there’s only one man in my life.”

  He laughed softly. “I know that, Sue. Good grief, I don’t know who’s been saying such stupid things. Yes, I did follow you, as you put it, when you went to the cemetery.”

  “You did? But why?”

  “I was setting off on my rounds, on my way to Crags Farm, when I saw you. I was far too early and needed to kill some time, so I thought I’d have a chat with you. I waited in the car park until you’d attended to your father’s grave. Then, when you came out, I had a phone call and needed to get out to see a calf urgently.”

  And now she felt foolish.

  “Sue, I don’t know what sort of person you think I am, but I don’t chase after married women. Good grief.” He shook his head and chuckled.

  “Of course you don’t. I’m sorry.” She felt such an idiot and could feel herself blushing to the roots of her hair.

  “Don’t apologise.” He drank some coffee, smiling as he watched her try to recover from her embarrassment. “I thought you needed a friend, that’s all. Someone to talk to. I see you here, being all strong and brave, and I simply thought you might like to get away and relax a bit. I thought it might help if you could talk about things, about Alek, about how hard life is for you right now. I always think it helps to talk things over with someone who understands.”

  “I got it all wrong, didn’t I?”

  “You did.” He still wore that indulgent smile.

  It was Dylan who’d got it wrong, though. Not her. If he hadn’t said anything, such foolish ideas wouldn’t have crossed her mind.

  “No harm done,” he said. “Forget I ever said anything.”

  Sue wished it were that simple. It wasn’t. All she wanted now was to get away from here where her problems seemed to crowd her, and spend some time relaxing with someone who had faith in Dylan’s ability to get Alek freed. That sounded like heaven.

  Jamie drank his coffee and put the empty mug on the table. “It’s time I was going.”

  “Jamie.” She didn’t know what to say. “If the offer is still open—”

  “What offer?”

  Her skin was burning with embarrassment. “If you wanted to go out for an hour one evening…” Her voice trailed away. She expected him to leap in and say yes, but all he did was gaze at her.

  “Perhaps it’s not such a good idea,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you getting silly ideas. Or anyone else getting them, come to that.”

  “I certainly won’t. But if you’d rather not—”

  “It’s up to you. It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.”

  Of course it didn’t, and she’d have words with Dylan when she next saw him. It was his fault that she was stuttering and stammering like an idiot. Jamie was too polite to say so, of course, but he probably thought she had a very high opinion of herself if she thought he was attracted to her.

  She didn’t know what to do, but she did know she didn’t want to leave things like this. If she did, they would be forever awkward in each other’s company and that would be awful.

  “Tell you what,” she said, sounding a lot braver than she felt, “why don’t we drive out to that new pub on Top Road. We both have to eat and it would save us cooking.”

  “If you like.”

  “Tomorrow night? Seven o’clock?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t make it tomorrow.”

  “Oh, right. How about, um, Saturday or Sunday? Monday?”

  “I can do Sunday.”

  She’d thought he was trying to put her off and was relieved to hear him suggest a day. “Good. I’ll look forward to it.”

  “But only as friends,” he said. “I don’t want anyone getting any stupid ideas.”

  “I’m sure they won’t.”

  “Okay.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be late if I don’t get a move on. Thanks for the coffee, Sue. Be seeing you.”

  The wind must have caught the front door when he went out, because it slammed so hard she expected the glass to shatter.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dylan was tempted to believe that spring had chosen this Sunday morning to arrive in Shepherd’s Bush. It was just possible to feel some warmth from the sun. He guessed it would be a few weeks before the improvement was noticed as far north as Dawson’s Clough. But he was forgetting northern towns, for today at least.

  The unexpected sunshine had brought people out to enjoy the common. Dogs pulled owners along, couples kissed, and children pretended they were planes or trains.

  He’d had to phone Pikey and cancel yesterday’s planned get-together, but perhaps they could arrange something for next weekend. If the weather stayed like this, they could have a few pints at the local pub and then throw something on the barbecue.

  “I hope she’s warm enough,” Bev said, adjusting Freya’s covers.

  “Of course she is.” Freya was wrapped in enough clothes to undertake a trek across Antarctica.

  “The doctor said she’d benefit from fresh air.”

  “We’ll all benefit.”

  “Yes. It makes you feel glad to be alive, doesn’t it? So what are you going to do next? Are you driving north tomorrow?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  His son was “chilling at Tom’s,” his daughter was fit and well and content to be pushed acr
oss the common with nothing to do but watch a couple of clouds drift across a blue sky, and his wife was relaxed, or fairly relaxed, and smiling. There was no need for him to be in Shepherd’s Bush tomorrow. If Bev wanted him to stay, though, he would.

  “You go,” she said. “We’re fine now. Besides, I have plenty to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “People to see,” she said. “There are dozens of people I promised to see after Freya was born and they’ll start thinking I’ve turned into a hermit. I have a lot of catching up to do. Besides, I want to show off our daughter.”

  Dylan wasn’t sure what had happened, but he was pleased with the end result. As soon as the doctors had managed to reassure Bev that they were keeping Freya in hospital overnight as nothing more than a precaution, she’d calmed down. The near hysterical outpourings of self-blame for Freya’s sudden illness had ceased. Happy that her daughter was well, Bev had undergone a transformation. She was back to her old self.

  He’d thought, as had his mother, that Bev was suffering from post-natal depression. She couldn’t have been, though. Or, if she had, it had vanished along with Freya’s temperature.

  Freya’s mild chest infection had probably been responsible for her cranky behaviour. Since her two nights in hospital, she’d been angelic. She hadn’t screamed through the night. In fact, she’d slept so long that Bev had panicked and prodded her awake.

  Bev, instead of not wanting to move, of being constantly tired and irritable, was full of energy. At seven o’clock this morning, she’d been cleaning out kitchen cupboards. Given that she was usually allergic to rising early, this was little short of a miracle.

  “If you’re sure you’ll be okay, I’d better get back to work then,” he said. “I’ll only be a phone call away.” A phone call and the best part of three hundred miles.

  “You’d better make your peace with that vet too. What’s his name?”

  “Jamie Tinsley. Yes, I had.”

  Amid the panic of getting to the hospital on Wednesday, Dylan had forgotten all about the meeting he’d arranged with Tinsley. He hadn’t remembered until Thursday morning and, when he’d phoned to apologise, Tinsley had been less than happy. He’d cut the call short in an icy, abrupt manner.

  Dylan wasn’t going to lose sleep over that. With or without Tinsley’s help, he’d solve this mystery.

  “I doubt if he has anything of interest to tell me,” he said. “If he had, he’d tell me over the phone. I expect he wants to convince me that Kaminski should rot in jail. That way, he might stand a chance of getting the lovely Sue to himself.”

  “Is she lovely?”

  “Tinsley thinks so.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked.”

  If Dylan didn’t know better, he’d think Bev was jealous. “She’s okay. All she seems to care about is Kaminski and her stray animals. I don’t know about lovely, but she’s quite a tragic figure.”

  “Tragic?”

  “Yes. She strikes me as one of those people who’d do anything for anyone. She takes in strays and would go without food herself rather than turn away a hungry dog. Rain or shine, she visits her great-aunt every week and takes treats for the nursing home staff at Christmas and on her great-aunt’s birthday. She’s the good Samaritan and yet life seems to have a habit of kicking her in the teeth. Her first husband was killed in a pileup on the motorway, then her dad died, and I gather they were close, and now her second husband has been locked up for God knows how long.”

  They moved off the path to let three youngsters on skateboards speed past them.

  Dylan set Freya’s buggy straight again and they carried on walking.

  “Some people are like that, aren’t they?” Bev said. “A lot of people glide through life without a problem yet others seem to have to deal with all sorts of horrors.”

  Dylan nodded at the truth of that.

  “Is this vet a suspect?” Bev asked. “Do you really think he could have killed Carly Walsingham?”

  For the first time since Freya was born, Bev was showing an interest in his work. He’d always enjoyed bouncing ideas off her. Her thought processes were totally different to his, probably because she was female, and she occasionally threw out suggestions that wouldn’t have occurred to him.

  “No, not really.” There was something about Tinsley that Dylan didn’t like. The geek impression he gave off was at odds with the dozens of emotions that flickered in his eyes every few seconds. He was kind to animals, but didn’t seem to like them much. “He’s an odd bugger, and I bet he is capable of murder, but I don’t think he killed Carly.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why would he?”

  “To get Kaminski out of the way.”

  That had been a recurring thought, but it was ridiculous.

  “It doesn’t add up, Bev. Assuming Tinsley is capable of murder, which he may or may not be, he would kill the person he wanted out of the way. That’s Kaminski. How could he know Kaminski was seeing Carly? Supposing he did, how could he possibly know that Kaminski would visit Carly that afternoon? Even Kaminski didn’t know until the night before. Assuming, by some miracle, that he did know, how could he possibly guess that Kaminski would take the rap for it?”

  “He couldn’t, could he?” she said. “Even if he had, he couldn’t know how long a sentence Kaminski would serve. These days, prisoners get out years early if they behave themselves. Your vet wouldn’t want that, would he? He’d get himself nicely settled with Sue and then have to hand her back to her husband.” She shrugged. “Okay, it looks like Tinsley isn’t your man. Who else have you got?”

  “Just my chief suspect, the Invisible Man.” Dylan took off his jacket and draped it over the buggy’s handle. The sun was bringing a lot of warmth now and, with no clouds to watch, Freya had fallen asleep.

  Bev nudged his arm. “Let’s get an ice cream.”

  It never failed to amaze him how Bev couldn’t walk past an ice-cream seller. A gale could be howling, snow could be falling, yet if an ice-cream seller was desperate enough for trade to be out, he was guaranteed a customer in Bev.

  Dylan didn’t want one, couldn’t see the point to ice cream really, but he found himself asking for two when he got to be served.

  They carried them to a nearby bench and sat to enjoy the peace and the warm sunshine.

  Given an ice cream, Bev turned into a three-year-old. She savoured every mouthful and usually ended up with the stuff plastered across her face.

  “It would be awful, wouldn’t it,” she said, “if after all this, Aleksander Kaminski was guilty?”

  “It would certainly be a waste of his parents’ money.”

  “You don’t think he could be, do you?”

  “No. I’m about ninety percent sure in my own mind that he’s innocent.”

  “Only ninety?”

  “Kaminski’s in that cell because he was having an affair with the victim, his fingerprints were all over the house, the victim’s husband claims his wife was being threatened by Kaminski, and a neighbour saw a man who looked like him leaving the scene.”

  Then again, Kaminski didn’t deny being at the property so of course his prints were there. As for those threats, either Kaminski was refusing to admit they’d had a row or Walsingham was lying. The neighbour may or may not have seen the killer leave, she may or may not have seen Kaminski leave…

  “I suppose Walsingham is chief suspect,” he said. “Perhaps he wanted his wife out of the picture for good. His mistress, Megan Cole, is another suspect. She probably has the best motive of all. Get rid of the wife and the grieving widower would presumably make her the second Mrs. Walsingham.”

  “What a mess.” Bev reached for a baby wipe to clean herself so Dylan wasn’t sure if her comment referred to the demise of Carly Walsingham or her own ice-cream-splattered face. Either way, she was right.

  They carried on walking. All around them, people laughed in the unexpected but welcome sunshine. Children raced around on bikes or rollerblades, adul
ts attached to iPhones jogged along the path, pigeons scavenged for crumbs.

  “You’ll get there in the end,” Bev said. “You always do.”

  Dylan basked in her confidence. He just wished he could share it.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Neil had been dreading this for weeks. Given the choice, he’d let today, Carly’s forty-fifth birthday, pass without comment. His sons, as young as they were, had other ideas so he’d been forced to fall in with their wishes. As such, he would shortly be embarking on a trip to Birmingham. That was, if Harry ever finished his breakfast.

  “Are you planning to eat that, Harry?” Neil asked, smiling to take the impatience from his words.

  “Yes. I was just saying we should take a present to Gran and Granddad as well.”

  “We’ll stop and get something on the way,” Neil promised. “Perhaps some flowers for your grandmother and a bottle of whisky for your grandfather. How does that sound?”

  “Cool,” William said. “We can buy Gran’s flowers when we get Mum’s.”

  “Yes, but only if you hurry up, Harry. The longer you delay, the less time you’ll have with your grandparents.”

  As far as Neil was concerned, five minutes with them would be five minutes too long, but Harry was spurred on enough to gobble down his slice of toast and race upstairs to wash his hands and clean his teeth.

  Neil drove them to the florist’s where it took far longer than necessary to choose flowers, a selection of white blooms for Carly and a suitably tasteless psychedelic concoction for her mother.

  William and Harry raced along the paths at the cemetery as if they were involved in a game. They were too young to understand the concept of death, or murder, and perhaps that was a good thing. Both boys missed Carly, but Harry was the more tearful of the two. William was more like Neil, more able to accept and move on. Harry needed answers to all his questions. He had to know where his mother was, what she was doing, if she had lots of friends, if she could see him. Endless questions.