by Bud Craig
“Oh, definitely.”
I nodded.
“I need to up-date you on some things, Gus,” she said.
“Right, what’s been happening?”
She picked up the bottle and twisted it round in her hands.
“The police have told the press and Elaine Anderson I’m not to be disturbed as I’m revising for my ‘A’ levels.”
She wrung her hands.
“What a time for this to happen,” she added.
We sat in silence for a while.
“Have you got anything else to tell me,” I asked.
“I take it you saw the press conference?”
“Yeah.”
“Brilliant performance, wasn’t it,” she said with a sneer of disgust.
“Suppose so.”
“I’m amazed she didn’t plug her new book.”
“What book?”
She looked at me with disbelief.
“Oh, there’ll be one, don’t you worry.”
She sipped water and did yoga deep breathing before continuing.
“You saw the coverage of the police digging in that garden?”
I nodded.
“That was where Mick Askey and Tracy lived at the time when, you know…”
“I guessed as much.”
“They found a baby’s body…”
She wrapped her arms around her chest.
“What about Tracy and Askey,” I said. “Have you heard anything?”
“They’ve arrested Tracy. They’ve charged Askey with the murder of Charlotte Stephens.”
“I see.”
She sighed and looked down at her feet.
“Sounds weird put like that.”
She shrugged, stifling a tear.
“Bastards,” she said, pulling at one of her plaits with her right hand. “Doing that to a little kid.”
She sipped more water.
“And what does Elaine Anderson do? Holds a press conference, that’s what.”
I wanted to speak but Charlotte went on.
“She didn’t waste any time,” she said, “anything to get her face on the telly.”
“I’m sure she’s glad you’re OK.”
“What, so we can write a book, go on a promotional tour? I bet she’s got a contract drawn up already.”
She sighed, her foot beating out a staccato rhythm on the floor.
“I’m not gonna meet her and that’s that.”
“It’s your choice,” I said.
“No way am I going to get caught up in that media frenzy. There’s no need for it.”
She shook her head.
“I’m going off to France in a few weeks. I’m gonna work over there for a year before Uni.”
“Great, but you still haven’t found your father,” I said.
Charlotte shrugged.
“To be honest I’m not that bothered about going on with it.”
She paused, flicking her fringe with her right hand.
“I think I’ll just get on with my life,” she said, chewing her bottom lip, “which is what I should have done in the first place.”
We exchanged glances.
“I’ve had three mothers. Only one’s been a real mother. One out of three ain’t bad.”
I smiled. “Suppose not.”
“Elaine left me outside a shop to be abducted; Tracy neglected me so badly I had to be taken away.”
She shook her head.
“Not to mention covering up the murder of another child.”
I could only admire Charlotte’s realistic assessment of her own life.
“Kate’s my real mum. She’s the one who’s been there through thick and thin. Even when I’ve been a right prat.”
“Some good has come of this,” I said. “By the way, I’ve had a word with my counsellor. She’s happy to see you. Here’s her card.”
“Great,” said Charlotte as I handed her the card.
“You need to see your GP and get her to refer you.”
A few minutes later I saw her out, still wondering how she would cope with all this.
I worked away at my desk, more to take my mind off things than to achieve anything constructive. It didn’t work: thoughts of both Charlottes wouldn’t go away. I was even less inclined to delve into Bill Copelaw’s death as that would mean I was trying to help Askey. That was the one thing I didn’t want to do. And yet, and yet. There was still something bugging me about it. I knew I wouldn’t rest until I had got to the bottom of it.
Marti being unavailable didn’t help. She’d been busy with urgent stuff at work and had gone to see her mam. I could have done with talking it over with someone sympathetic. She would have helped me see things more clearly with her lawyer’s way of looking at things. There was more to it than that. Course there was. Sex of course, but I wanted physical affection as well, some comfort. I’d got used to it in the short time we’d been together. It was a novelty to be missing someone. Well, she’d be back tomorrow.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Marti breezed into my flat the next morning, gave me a bear hug and kissed me.
“It’s good to see you,” I said.
We kissed again, for longer this time, before she could return the compliment. What a way to start a Saturday, I thought as I admired her white cotton trousers and stripy red top. She kicked off her open toed sandals, looking at me as she ran her fingers through my hair.
“You look tired,” she said, kissing my forehead.
I put my arms around her waist, slipping a hand under her t-shirt and stroking her back.
“I am a bit. I have a feeling that spending a bit of time in bed would do me the world of good.”
“You know,” she grinned, “I have the same feeling myself.”
Some time later I lay back on the bed with a silly grin on my face.
“What are you looking so pleased about?” Marti asked, leaning towards me and planting a kiss on the side of my neck.
“You, I suppose,” I replied. “I like you being here and…everything.”
“That’s nice. I like being here too.”
I let the words wash over me and stretched out, luxuriating in the sheer hedonism of it all.
“You know,” she said, leaning over to kiss me, “after Rachel has had the baby, we should go away together. Somewhere nice.”
“Sounds good.”
It did too. It meant my life was moving on, a sign that there was more to it than all the shitty things that had been happening lately. And with luck the baby wouldn’t be too long in arriving.
“So, it was you who found Kylie then,” asked Marti later.
We had dragged ourselves out of bed. Marti had put her clothes back on and I was pulling on a pair of shorts.
“Yeah, I suppose it was.”
Marti peered into the wardrobe mirror as she touched up her make-up. We had reluctantly decided we’d better get out of bed and prepare ourselves for going out.
“And it was you who found out what happened to the real Charlotte.”
“How did you know about that?” I asked as I put my wallet, keys and phone in the pockets of my shorts.
She shrugged and applied her lipstick.
“I’m Askey’s solicitor, remember. I sat in while the police questioned him.”
Had I been thinking straight I would have realised that.
“I spent a fair bit of yesterday on that,” she continued. “Then I had to dash to Liverpool to see my mother – I’d been promising to take her out somewhere for ages.”
“What happened with Askey?” I asked as I put on a green t-shirt. Marti had told me I suit green and who am I to argue?
“He’s been charged with killing Charlotte Stephens. The good news is he’s pleading guilty to manslaughter.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Tracy has admitted her part in it. I suspect it was a relief.”
I nodded.
“Charlotte – the girl I know as Charlotte, I mean – has taken it pre
tty badly. I’m worried about her.”
She walked over to me and took my hand.
“You worry about yourself,” she ordered. “How are you coping with it all?”
“A lot better now you’re here.”
She smiled at me.
“This investigation you’re doing, you know, into Bill’s death. You can call it a day if you like.”
As we went from the bedroom to the living room, I thought about what she had said. We sat down on the settee.
“I think I’d like to go on with it,” I said. “I’m not getting anywhere but, oh, I don’t know, I still feel I’m missing something.”
She looked at me, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Like what?”
Good question, I thought. After a pause I went on.
“I’ve got the stupid idea that if I keep digging, I’ll find it.”
“Fine,” she said.
“And, well,” I added, “if someone else did do it they should be caught.”
“True. Now let’s talk about something more cheerful. Like this barbecue this afternoon.”
“That reminds me,” I said. “I’d better phone for a taxi.”
I took out my mobile.
We got in the taxi at one pm. I gave the address in Woodford to the driver and looked at Marti. In her hand she carried a tiny handbag and a white cardigan. Judging by the sun belting down from a clear blue sky, the cardy might be redundant. My t-shirt, shorts and flip flops were suitable for the weather though lacking something in glamour in comparison with my companion.
The taxi pulled away and we fell silent for a couple of minutes. The sun glinted through the window. Not a bad old life, I said to myself, in spite of all the nastiness. I’d retired, was earning money for work that wasn’t too taxing. A grandchild on the way. Even the weather was on my side it seemed. And going out with Marti made me feel young again. Now a day of fun in the sunshine.
“It’s usually a good do,” I said. “Looks like Pam’s gonna be lucky with the weather again.”
“So this Pam is, what, the Director of Children’s Services?”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s she doing inviting a humble social worker to her garden party?”
“I told you, she’s a friend from way back,” I explained. “We were social work students together.”
“And you’ve kept in touch all this time?”
“On and off,” I said. “Every now and again a few people from the course get together.”
“And she makes a point of inviting you to her annual barbecue.”
“She invites me, yes.”
She grinned at me.
“She’s just a ‘friend’,” she said.
I could almost hear the inverted commas round the last word as she went on.
“Not one of your exes?”
I wondered what she had been getting at.
“One of my exes? How many do you think I’ve had?”
She shrugged.
“To answer your question, no, she is not one of my exes.”
“So, you didn’t have a little dalliance with her?”
“For most of the time I’ve known Pam, I was married.”
Still am legally, I thought, but maybe it was best not to mention that.
“And that makes a difference?”
“Yes, it bloody does.”
“Your wife was lucky then. I could go through the deficiencies of my husbands in that regard, but life’s too short as they say.”
Not for the first time, I had to take account of how influential the sex drive was. I had never thought of myself as a naïve innocent but I was beginning to feel like one. At the back of my mind was the thought that that’s what Bill Copelaw’s murder was all about. Had I detected a hint of jealousy in Marti’s questions about Pam? Could jealousy be connected to Bill’s death as well?
Fifteen minutes later we were approaching the street where Pam lived. We passed a house with a monkey puzzle tree in the front garden that was a sort of marker which told me we were nearly there.
“Next left and it’s about the sixth house along on the right,” I said to the driver.
As the car took the turning I looked over to the right.
“What’s going on over there,” I said to Marti, pointing in the direction of Pam’s place.
We both craned our necks forward as the driver pulled up by the side of the road. Blue and white tape blocked off the entrance to the house and a uniformed policeman stood guard by the garden gate.
“It looks like a crime scene,” said Marti as we got out of the taxi.
While Marti paid the driver – my turn on the way back – I looked more closely at the scene in front of me. The white detached house with the red pan-tiled roof looked the same as ever. Only the surroundings jarred. It certainly did resemble a crime scene, I thought. There were even people walking about in those white suits I had only ever seen on telly before Bill’s murder. At that thought my stomach tensed. After paying off the driver, we approached the garden gate.
“I’m afraid you can’t go in there,” said the policeman.
“We’re friends of Pam Agnew,” I said. “She’s expecting us.”
Just then a woman parked her car on the other side of the street. She got out and locked it. Seeing us she crossed the road, a frown on her face.
“Mr Keane,” she said. “We meet again.”
“Inspector Ellerton.”
“And Marti. What are you doing here?”
“I’m with him,” she explained.
“Oh, you two are…”
She looked from one to the other of us, a smile sneaking onto her face. I decided I’d better say something.
“What’s going on?”
She bit her lip and looked around.
“I’m afraid I need to know why you’re here before I tell you anything.”
“We’re here for a party. Pam was having a barbecue.”
She tapped her foot a few times, disturbing the dust on the pavement.
“I see. We were hoping it was just neighbours. We’ve managed to contact most of them.”
She gritted her teeth and seemed to be deep in thought for perhaps half a minute. She breathed out through her mouth.
“It would be better to find somewhere private but you can’t come in the house. It’s a crime scene.”
Her foot tapped the ground again.
“If you could just wait by my car,” she said as though she were thinking out loud.
We waited, unsure what to do.
“It’s just across the road,” she said pointing as though we would have trouble finding the way. “I need to have a word with the constable.”
Obediently we went to the car and stood by it, watching the inspector speak to the young man. Then she took out her mobile and made a call. She walked briskly across the road, looking both ways, reminding me of those Green Cross Code TV ads they had years ago.
“I’m afraid it’s bad news,” she said. “Ms Agnew is dead.”
I gripped Marti’s hand and felt tears prick my eyes.
“Bloody hell, that’s terrible.”
The inspector nodded. I already had an inkling what all this must mean but decided to ask anyway.
“If you’re here does that mean…”
“We are treating her death as suspicious.”
“How did she die?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Marti and I shuffled from foot to foot and looked at one another. The inspector went relentlessly on.
“Look, I need to ask a few quick questions, if that’s OK.”
Marti and I looked at one another.
“Sure,” I said.
She asked us how long we’d known Pam. Marti had never met her so got off lightly.
“Were either of you around this area between seven and ten this morning?”
“We’ve only just got here,” said Marti.
I wondered if Inspector Ellerton were check
ing our alibis in a roundabout way. I thought of the questioning I’d endured after Bill’s death. All those years since my mam had died I’d had no experience of death. Now two deaths in a short space of time.
“We don’t know much about Pam,” Sarita said. “We’ve managed to contact her parents in Somerset. Someone has broken the bad news to them and her sister in Shropshire.”
She shook her head sadly.
“I wonder if you know much about Pam.”
“I can’t tell you too much,” I said. “I only saw her once or twice a year if that.
“What about Pam’s private life? We know she wasn’t married…”
“She was divorced years ago,” I said.
“Was she seeing anybody, do you know?”
I took a deep breath.
“She’d said something about a married man.”
“I see,” said the inspector, though what it was she could see she didn’t let on. “Do you know his name?”
“No, she didn’t tell me.”
“Would you like to hazard a guess?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“How old was Pam?” asked Marti a quarter of an hour later.
We had left the crime scene once DI Ellerton had finished with us. Neither of us had wanted to hang around. We walked along a tree lined street. We were heading to the Grey Horse, the pub DI Ellerton had recommended for lunch.
“Forty odd, I suppose.”
“No age,” she said.
“Yeah, depressing, isn’t it?”
I really didn’t want to think about it, but what else was there to think about? I could see we were going to have to talk about it too. I knew from Bill’s death that the police would delve into Pam’s life, talk to her family. Someone had been to see her parents to tell them their daughter was dead. Sarita would be thinking about the married man. They would go to great lengths to trace him so his privacy would be invaded. And what about his wife? Would she find out? And I’d have another funeral to go to.
“You’ve had a few shocks lately,” she said.
I nodded.
“It must be hard to take.”
We walked on for a while in silence.
“It is, but I’m trying to hang on to the positives. There are one or two of them.”
I squeezed her hand. She turned to me.
“Good.”
That holiday Marti had suggested was beginning to sound better and better.
“What do you think happened to Pam?” asked Marti as we tucked into fish and chips half an hour later. In spite of everything we were hungry.