Anna shrugged. “Tougher than some.”
Faith thought of what Mavis Granger had told her. The girl in front of her was already living on her own. Just like Lucas, she had to take care of things; no one else was going to do it for her. “Were there any signs that Lucas was having more trouble than usual recently?”
Anna’s guard flashed up again. “Meaning?”
“Was he worried about anything? Acting secretive? Any change from what you’d think of as normal? Making dates and not turning up; not discussing where he had been or why he was late… that sort of thing?”
Anna almost smiled. “Know many teenagers, do you?”
“Fair point.” Faith cast around for another angle. “Lucas’s body was found on land down by the river, the Markhams’ place. Do you know it?”
Anna shook her head.
“You haven’t come across the Markham girls? There are two of them – fourteen and sixteen, I think. Dark haired; both tall. They live with their parents in a big house down by the river. They go to the secondary Lucas was at.”
She didn’t want to hear that Lucas was seeing one of the Markham girls, but she had to ask. Her arms were getting cramped holding on to the sheaf of artwork. She leaned the pictures against the counter. Anna was standing on a crate. That’s why she looked taller. Flower stalks and bits of evergreen covered the floor around her.
“Taller one called Amy or something?” Anna sounded genuinely uninterested. “I’ve seen her about, but we don’t know her.” We. Was that just her and V, or was Lucas also part of her property?
“Did Lucas have a girlfriend?”
“No!” Anna smiled shyly.
“Did Lucas have feelings for you, then?”
“What do you mean?” Anna responded defiantly, but perhaps a little too fast. “There’s only ever been V that way with me. We all just got on, that’s all.”
It was probably the truth, Faith speculated. But then what red-blooded teenage girl wouldn’t have a soft spot in her heart for a little adulation on the side? Anna didn’t have to want it to go anywhere, but it might have been different for Lucas. And what would Vernon feel about that?
“How did the three of you get together? Were V and Lucas already friends when you met Vernon?”
Anna looked lost for a moment, as if she’d never asked herself the question.
“I’m not sure. I think V already knew him from somewhere. They are… they were both mad about bikes. V wants to compete,” she finished proudly.
“That’s an expensive hobby,” Faith said idly, watching Anna’s skilful fingers. “Where did Lucas get the money?”
She knew she’d gone too far before the words were out. She could see Anna stiffen with resentment just by watching her hands.
“Maybe he won the lottery,” Anna snapped, “or there was an insurance policy or something. His mother did die, you know.” Faith nodded slowly, admitting her fault. “You sound more like a copper than a vicar,” Anna said.
Faith let the comment sink. “When were you last in touch with Lucas?” she asked. Anna straightened, meeting her eyes dead on.
“Friday… well, Saturday; but I was at work.”
“Saturday afternoon?”
“V said we were going to meet at the pub but Luke cancelled. He said something came up.”
“Which pub?”
“Lion’s Heart, down on the river. The cider’s cheap.”
“V said…” repeated Faith. “You didn’t see Lucas yourself, then?” The girl’s expression was unreadable.
“No,” she said after a beat.
“Then how did you know he’d cancelled?”
“He texted.”
Of course he did. Faith sighed internally. Sometimes she felt rather old.
“Did you tell the police this, when they interviewed you at the cathedral?”
Anna shrugged sulkily.
“Might have done.”
“But did you? Did you tell them about the text?” Anna pouted and shrugged again.
Well, maybe it wouldn’t be important. And if it turned out to be, Ben and his colleagues could check the phone records.
“So, do you have any idea what it was that made Luke cancel?”
Anna shrugged yet again. It was an annoying habit.
“You can’t think of anything? Anything Lucas was doing that might have got him into trouble?” Faith pressed. “He didn’t seem distracted or worried…?”
“Luke was OK. You know, he could handle himself.”
Not well enough, thought Faith. She’d seen enough teenagers in both her lines of work to know their confidence was fragile and tragically unfounded. “Anna, is there any chance Lucas had started drinking or doing drugs?”
“He wouldn’t do that. He didn’t even have the odd pint.”
But when, at the Bagshaw home the other day, she’d asked Adam how he spent time with his nephew, he’d said they’d drunk together at his favourite pub – hadn’t he?
“He didn’t even drink with his uncle, to keep him company?” Faith insisted.
“They used to go to the pub,” said Anna, “but Luke hated booze – seeing what it did to that uncle, I guess. Like I said, Luke spent his life having to look out for him – his uncle got to be the kid and Luke had to be the grown-up.”
Faith thought of the guilt she’d seen in Adam Bagshaw’s wet eyes.
“Could his uncle have got Lucas into trouble?”
Anna looked back at her for a fraction of second before she answered. “I wouldn’t know.”
Did she know something? Was she holding back?
Tears pooled in Anna’s eyes. Rummaging in a drawer, she picked up a paper handkerchief and blew her nose.
“Luke didn’t deserve this.” She gave Faith a hard look and jerked her chin at the dog collar she wore. “How do you explain what happened to him? Luke was just a kid, and his mum, she worked so hard to keep it together; and she loved him, and now they’re both gone; not that waste of space uncle of his – but Luke and his mum. You can’t explain that, can you?” She shook her head angrily. “I don’t see how you can keep on pretending.”
“Believing in a loving God?” Faith’s voice was gentle. Anna dropped her head again, concentrating on the wreath beneath her hands.
“I know – it’s hard. All I can tell you honestly is that I have seen enough love – and God is love in essence – to believe that even tragedy like this doesn’t have the last word.” She wasn’t putting it very well, but Anna seemed to hear her sincerity. Her anger ebbed.
“Nice if you can believe it, I guess.”
“Shall I see you at Midnight Mass? We’re looking forward to hearing you sing.”
“Maybe.” They listened to the sound of a car pulling up in the alley that ran at the back of the shop. “That’ll be Her coming back,” Anna said. “I need to get on. I’m behind with this order.”
Faith didn’t feel up to facing Mavis Granger again so soon after last night’s service. She picked up one of the stripped-bark reindeer; it would do as a house gift for Sandy and Peter tonight. She paid Anna too much for it, gathered up her artwork and left.
CHAPTER
11
An illuminated Santa with a ruby-red belly and a drinker’s nose occupied next door’s front lawn. One of his bulbs was flickering. Faith found it quite distracting. Now they were here, walking up Peter’s front path, she had to admit she felt nervous. Should she have invited someone connected – however loosely – to a current murder investigation to join her at supper at the home of one of the investigating team? It really shouldn’t matter. This was just going to be a family supper with her and the Grays and now Jim. Sandy had told her to bring a plus one. They could talk church. Peter didn’t need to mention his job. She hugged the stripped-bark reindeer – wrapping it in red tissue paper had been a challenge. Too late now. They’d reached the doorstep. Jim Postlethwaite stood beside her, smelling of aftershave and clean linen and the damp wool of his peacoat. He looked down at her
beneath his lashes.
“Cold?”
“Mmm,” she smiled up at him, and rang the doorbell. She really should say something about Peter’s job. Peter and he had met at the cathedral. Jim surely already knew who Peter Gray was, but she should have checked. “I should have mentioned, about our hosts…” she began, but Jim’s attention was on next door’s decorations.
“I’ve got to say, I don’t get that,” he said. “Who wants a luminous giant Santa looming in at the window?” Jim grimaced. “When I was a kid, a weirdo like that would have given me nightmares.”
“At least it doesn’t play ‘Jingle Bells’,” Faith murmured. Then in a moment of resolution she turned to face him, saying hastily, “Just before we go in, I should mention…”
But rapid footsteps approached inside the house, the front door opened and she was illuminated in a flood of yellow light. There was Sandy dressed to the nines in a bold floral rockabilly dress, her fair hair held back in a wide Alice band. She looked very pretty, if a bit overdressed for a quiet family supper.
“Faith!” Sandy enveloped her in a warm-hearted embrace. “I was looking out for you. Welcome.” She smiled sunnily at Jim. “I am so glad you could bring your friend.”
“This is Jim – Jim Postlethwaite,” Faith remembered her manners. “He runs the youth choir that’s coming to sing for us at Midnight Mass – you’ll be there, I hope? He’s new to the area. I thought it would be nice for him to meet some more of us St Jamesians. Jim – our hostess, Sandy Gray.” Jim reached out his hand.
“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Sandy’s eyelashes fluttered.
“Welcome to our home, Jim. Peter, darling, Faith and her friend are here!” She called out, as she ushered them in. “You must tell me all about him,” she hissed conspiratorially in Faith’s ear as she took her coat.
Peter appeared in the doorway to the living room holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. He too was looking disconcertingly spruce. His eyes met Faith’s, smiling and relaxed until they registered her companion. Faith’s heart sank. She had made a mistake. Peter recouped himself.
“Jim – isn’t it?” He greeted Faith’s plus one with a smile. “We met at the choir interviews on Tuesday.”
“You’re a policeman,” Jim stated.
“Sergeant Gray.”
“Right.”
Sandy gave her husband a puzzled looked.
“Sandy, this is for you.” Faith thrust the red tissue parcel at her.
“Oh, Faith! You shouldn’t have,” exclaimed Peter’s wife.
The reindeer was released from its packaging and admired. Faith hadn’t noticed it had quite such a fatalistic expression when she bought it.
“Shall we go in?” Sandy led the way. Faith felt Jim’s fingers dig into her arm.
“You might have warned me,” he whispered in her ear.
“I am so sorry! I thought you knew. They’re members of the congregation and it’s just a family…” The sentence faded on her lips. The table was set for a dinner party for six. Peter was staring at her with round-eyed significance.
“How are the boys?” she asked Sandy, hurriedly.
“Happy, healthy and a handful, as usual.” Sandy was endearingly proud of her boys. She was one of those women born to be a mother. “They’re upstairs, ready for bed. Faith, Daniel wanted me to ask you – you don’t know anything about Peter and the Wolf, do you? Dan went to see it with his school and now he’s got to write a piece about it…” Faith tried to recall anything pertinent about Peter and the Wolf and failed. It was a piece of music introducing different instruments in the orchestra, wasn’t it?
“I know a bit,” Jim volunteered.
“Can you draw an oboe?”
“I can try.”
“You are my salvation. Follow me.” Sandy led Jim up the stairs, chatting easily about her boys. Faith looked longingly after them. Perhaps Dan and Charlie wouldn’t mind if she camped in their room for the evening. She turned back to Peter reluctantly. The table looked lovely – very elegant with its candles, soft green china and real linen napkins. At least she had put on a dress.
“Who else is coming?” she asked, with a feeling of doom.
“The boss and a plus one.”
“Oh, good grief. Peter!” she exclaimed. “I thought this was just a family supper with us three – well, four.”
“It was supposed to be.” Peter was pink-cheeked with apology. “But Sandy was so pleased you were bringing a plus one… She called in at the office on her way back from some shopping today and Ben was with me, and before I knew it, she’d invited him. Work was crazy. I didn’t have time to warn you.”
Poor Peter looked almost as distressed as she felt. Faith’s heart melted. It wasn’t his fault; it was hers.
“Does Sandy know the background – I mean, our history, Ben and me?”
“I haven’t told her.”
“Really? That’s very discreet.”
“It’s your business, not mine. I don’t really know anything anyway…” Peter shuffled, embarrassed.
“This is terrible. What am I going to do?”
“Have a glass of wine?”
“Be serious!”
“Your face! It is kind of funny.” He giggled. Faith cuffed him on the shoulder.
“It is not! This is going to be a disaster. Ben is not going to take kindly to my bringing a civilian caught up in one of his murder investigations to a social engagement at your house.”
“I’m not so sure about it myself, Faith,” Peter said, suddenly serious. Faith looked at him helplessly. She really had messed up.
“I am so sorry to do this to you, Peter. I was thinking church life – not police life. You and Sandy have become such a part of our congregation. Jim is bringing his choir to sing for us for free. He is a newcomer to the area; I was thinking hospitality. And anyway,” she added, her tone shifting to defensive, “Ben is always stressing how I am not in the police. I’m just a vicar – well, I was thinking like one.” Peter wrinkled his nose at her. “Do you think we should leave?” she asked anxiously. If she texted Sue, she might agree to ring her with a made-up disaster that could give her an exit.
Peter went over to the window. He lifted the edge of the curtain to look out.
“They’re here.”
Faith joined him to peer out. Ben was opening the car door for his date. Whoever it was, she had long legs. And she had red hair…
“That’s the pathologist… Harriet Sims.” Could this get any worse?
“Maybe it’s just work-related,” Peter suggested soothingly. Faith gave him a dark look. He backed away from her. “I’ll go and open the door,” he said.
Ben had obviously come forewarned and didn’t bat an eyelid when he saw Faith. “Faith – good to see you.” He was in a good mood. “You’ve met Harriet.” The two women shook hands. Ben slapped Peter on the back, passing over a bottle of red wine. He glanced at the dinner table, noting the setting. “Very nice. Where’s your date?” he threw at Faith.
She wouldn’t rise to it. “Upstairs; he and Sandy are discussing Peter and the Wolf with the boys.”
“O-K,” Ben said slowly. His eyes narrowed fractionally.
“So, how’s the investigation going?” Faith asked, before he could start interrogating her. She might as well take advantage of Jim’s absence upstairs. They wouldn’t be able to say anything once he came down.
“Some tests have just come back.” Harriet seemed happy to talk. “Analysis on the water in the boy’s lungs…”
“What?” Peter was eager to hear the latest news.
“Traces of decayed watercress,” Harriet said.
“Wild?” queried Faith. That wouldn’t help much. Wild watercress grew all along the river where Lucas Bagshaw’s body was found. Why, then, were Ben and Harriet so energized? She could feel the excitement of discovery running between them.
“No. A cultivated strain. One used commercially.” Harriet was a head taller than
her; much more Ben’s height, Faith thought; but angular, and that skirt is at least an inch too short. Faith straightened her shoulders, wondering fleetingly if her own burgundy wrap-around jersey dress qualified as dowdy.
“We know that the victim went into the river breathing – if not for long. So when he took the water in, it looks as if he must have been pretty close to a commercial watercress bed,” Ben elaborated. “We knew we were looking for an attack site upriver, but this narrows it down.”
“Doesn’t the heavy rain over the weekend complicate things?” Faith asked Harriet.
“Yes and no.” Harriet was all confidence talking about her work. “The concentration of particles suggests the water he fell in was passing through a dense area of watercress cultivation.”
“We’ve been looking at maps,” Ben locked in on Harriet’s eyes. The pathologist was mesmerized. Faith knew that look. It made you feel as if you were the only person of significance in the whole wide world. “There are a couple of big commercial watercress farms within a mile upriver from the Markham place.”
“That’s still quite a stretch to cover,” Faith commented. She thought of what Anna had told her earlier in the shop about the plans to meet Lucas on the afternoon of his death, and how Lucas had texted to cancel. “Did you manage to get anything off the smashed phone in the boy’s pocket?”
Harriet turned from her contemplation of Ben reluctantly. She blinked.
“Sorry?”
“It was too damaged,” intervened Peter, as he leaned between them to pass a glass of wine to Harriet and Ben.
Harriet thanked him, but Ben held up a hand. “Just water for me,” he said. “Driving.”
Peter withdrew the second glass. “We’ve got the account details,” he continued. “We’re still waiting on the records from the provider.”
“Christmas!” Ben said. “Gets in the way of everything; all the keyboard tappers off getting drunk and disorderly at the office party – we could be waiting for weeks.”
“Faith, what can I get you?” Peter asked. ‘We’ve got cranberry or orange juice, or water – or a mug of tea?” She felt as if her smile was made of cardboard.
The Advent of Murder (A Faith Morgan Mystery) Page 11