The White Shepherd
Page 8
Anna never knew which one of them moved first, just that next minute she and Tansy were standing face to face in the middle of the cafe. ‘It’s not just me, is it? They’ve got it wrong,’ Tansy said in an anxious whisper.
‘No, it’s not just you,’ Anna whispered back.
‘I mean, shit, there wasn’t any DNA.’
‘I know! That’s why I had to come.’ Anna felt dizzy with relief at being able to share her nightmare with someone at last.
‘Look, don’t go anywhere, Anna, OK?’ Tansy said.
Anna found an empty table and waited. Tansy finished serving her customers then slipped behind the counter to confer with the pink-haired woman. A few minutes later she came back carrying two tall foaming mugs and a plate of glossy little pastries. ‘It’s almost my lunch break. If we get a sudden rush, Brendan can pull his weight for a change.’ Tansy pushed a mug towards Anna, giving her a close-up of the dozen or so bangles around her wrist. One consisted of a tiny silver Buddha charm dangling from a knotted red thread. Around her neck, she wore at least five necklaces of different lengths and provenance. Her fingernails were bright turquoise. Looking at her, Anna felt as colourful as an old-style movie flashback.
‘These are soya lattes, by the way,’ Tansy added. ‘You knew this was a vegan cafe, right?’ She planted her elbows on the table, suddenly businesslike. ‘OK, so tell me how you’ve been?’
‘Actually, I have kind of a dilemma.’ She took a sip of her coffee, trying to hide her nerves. ‘After I got back from the police station I found a message on my mobile from Naomi.’
‘Fuck,’ said Tansy. ‘What did she say?’ Her eyes widened as Anna quickly filled her in. ‘Did you take it straight to the police?’
She nodded. ‘They made a copy. But by then they’d found the fourth body.’
‘What difference did that make?’
‘All four victims were young blondes. All stabbed several times in a public place.’
‘So they decided the same nut-job did all four,’ said Tansy.
‘You can see why that would be a really tempting theory,’ Anna said. ‘If you’re the police.’
‘A really lazy theory!’ Tansy sounded as frustrated as Anna felt. ‘I was doubtful when I read about the DNA, but that message – how can they not see that it brings up serious doubts! God, the police can be so – rigid! Their minds get set in a certain groove, and they can’t even entertain another possibility!’
Anna nodded. ‘I agree.’
‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, have you?’ said Tansy.
‘I think I’ve stopped,’ Anna admitted, ‘then I find it’s still kind of running along underneath.’
‘Same here,’ said Tansy. ‘It’s like feeling sick. It comes over you in waves.’
‘I can’t really eat either.’
Tansy gave her a rueful grin. ‘It hasn’t affected me that way. I’d have to be dead, myself, not to eat.’ She fiddled with her bracelets, distracted by a new thought. ‘I guess it isn’t fair to paint all police as lazy fuckers,’ she said, half to herself.
Anna couldn’t remember having had such an unguarded conversation with another woman for years. She and Jake had also got on well at first. Encouraged by her unexpected success as a social being, Anna risked a sisterly joke. ‘Your dreamy sergeant was really kind to me when I went in the other day.’ She was dismayed to see a flash of real annoyance in Tansy’s eyes. ‘Yeah?’ she snapped. ‘Well, let’s face it, with a name like Goodhart he was pretty much doomed from birth to be someone’s knight in shining armour.’
Anna had a too-familiar feeling of having lost a crucial page in the script. First Sergeant Goodhart was ‘annoyingly hot’, now he was ‘doomed’ to be a knight. She wondered what it was about him that pissed Tansy off and if she would ever find herself on the same wavelength as another human being for longer than five minutes.
‘Anyway,’ Tansy said a little too emphatically, letting Anna know that this subject was now closed, ‘since Thames Valley police have gone selectively deaf and blind, what are we going to do about it? We have to do something.’
Anna opened her mouth to agree just as Tansy added, ‘I think we need to talk to Isadora.’
Anna looked down at her latte. There was no point trying to explain. Tansy would never understand what it was like to be Anna, how many internal prohibitions she’d had to break to get here at all, the ridiculous amount of nervous energy it was costing her right at this moment.
And it had been worth it, she thought. It had been like healing balm to know that Tansy felt exactly as Anna did. But though Isadora seemed like a perfectly pleasant woman, Anna found it challenging enough even to be relating one to one. Involving a third person was totally out of the question.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she said, feeling that she was just about to be, ‘but I’m – an extremely private person. I don’t particularly see myself as part of a—’
‘A female detecting trio?’ Tansy shook her head. ‘No way!’ She pulled a face. ‘I would be like the world’s first ADHD detective! I have the attention span of a hyperactive five year old, seriously. But Isadora was there with us on Port Meadow. You haven’t seen her since the day we found Naomi, but I have, and I know this has badly shaken her up. Plus …’ Tansy left her sentence hanging.
‘Plus?’ Anna said, all her defences suddenly alert.
Tansy deliberately met her gaze. ‘We’ve both been wondering if you’re OK, because, please don’t take this the wrong way, Anna, but we couldn’t really see how you could be.’
Experience had taught Anna to dread certain expressions that came unbidden into people’s faces as soon as they found out who she was. But as she looked into Tansy’s eyes, Anna saw no trace of that terrible fascination, or – equally hateful – cloying sympathy; only friendly concern. Against all her instincts, she felt herself soften. It hadn’t occurred to her that Tansy and Isadora would continue to think about her, care about her, after how she’d behaved. She drew a sharp breath. Apparently, today was her day for making rash, ill-thought-out decisions. ‘Did you say you’re due for your lunch break? I’m just parked up on St Giles. I could drive us to Isadora’s if you know the address.’
Tansy’s directions took them to a rambling old house in Summertown. Anna left her Land Rover on the street, and they walked up Isadora’s weedy drive where two cars were already parked, a rusty old Volvo and a sleek, silver BMW.
As they got closer, they heard furious shouting punctuated by frantic barking. An irate man in a fabulously expensive-looking suit was yelling through the open front door. ‘You’re being childish and very unfair to Nicky. She only wants what’s best for you. We both do! You’re wilfully distorting our point of view!’
‘That’s Isadora’s son,’ Tansy said under her breath. ‘I don’t think they get along,’ she added superfluously.
‘And you’re wilfully distorting my point of view, Gabriel!’ Isadora roared from inside. ‘So I shall rephrase it in terms that even a soulless weasel like you can understand! I. Am. Not. Dead. Yet! Your gold-digging wife will have to wait!’
‘I’m leaving now!’ Isadora’s son bellowed back. ‘But this conversation is not finished!’ He turned to leave and looked comically horrified to see the two women awkwardly standing there. His doughy middle-aged face, pinched with fury, showed none of Isadora’s dramatic beauty. Mumbling something incoherent he stormed past them to his BMW.
A dishevelled Isadora stuck her head out of the door. ‘Do tell Nicky not to hold her breath, won’t you!’ she screamed at the top of her lungs as Gabriel tore off, spinning his wheels. ‘I might just leave it all to a bloody donkey sanctuary!’ Having delivered the parting insult, she disappeared back indoors, after shooting a fleeting glare in Anna and Tansy’s direction.
This was exactly why Anna tried to keep her involvement with her fellow humans to a minimum. ‘Let’s just drop this inside her door and go,’ she whispered. On their way back to Anna’s car, th
ey’d stopped off at Maison Blanc where they’d bought a box of mixed cream eclairs for Isadora.
‘She’s seen us,’ Tansy said. ‘We can’t just sneak off.’
‘She’s upset,’ Anna hissed. ‘She won’t want to see anyone now.’ And for the rest of her life she’ll hate us for witnessing such a sordid family row, she thought, face burning.
Isadora reappeared glowering in the doorway, with her obviously agitated little dog at her heels. ‘Well, come on, if you’re coming in!’ She wore an extraordinary trailing garment, made up of clashing colours and patterns. Without looking back, she marched off down a gloomy corridor, leaving swirls of perfume in her wake, a scent that Anna found she dimly remembered from their first stark encounter on Port Meadow.
Anna reluctantly followed, passing open doors into shadowy heavily-curtained rooms, catching indistinct glimpses of bulky old furniture and artworks inside. Isadora’s house smelled of dusty fabrics and damp plaster, mixed with her own foreign-smelling perfume and, increasingly, a powerful and deliciously garlicky smell of cooking.
They emerged in a large light kitchen instantly recognizable as the real lived-in heart of the house. Saucepans bubbled on top of a range-style cooker. A row of graceful arched windows that could have been borrowed from an Oxford college overlooked a wild overgrown garden, where arthritic old apple trees were dropping their fruit among nettles and blowsy yellow daisies. Glancing around, Anna got the impression that Isadora’s kitchen was evolving in a similarly organic fashion. Apart from the cooking area, which was scrupulously clean and tidy, every available surface was buried under layers of fascinating clutter.
Seeing that a cupboard door had been left open, Isadora closed it with unnecessary force as she strode past to turn off the gas under the pans.
‘We should go,’ Anna said, beside herself with embarrassment. ‘We’re disturbing your lunch.’
‘That was for my son Gabriel, and he’s already disturbed it! Well, sit down!’ Isadora told them brusquely. ‘I need a drink. Does anyone else want one?’
‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ said Tansy. ‘Anna brought cakes,’ she added enticingly.
‘I was thinking more of spirits!’ With her back to them, Isadora was hunting through an impressive array of bottles. She selected one, pouring herself a stiff shot. ‘I’m sorry for my bad manners, but my son has put me in a rage!’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute. Please do sit down.’
Since all but one of Isadora’s kitchen chairs were doing double duty as storage for various notebooks, cardboard files and academic journals, Anna stayed where she was. Seemingly immune to social embarrassment, Tansy removed a pile of papers off a chair along with the small erotic carving that Isadora had apparently been using to weigh them down. ‘You have this chair, Anna.’ Temporarily at a loss, Tansy stood holding the stack of papers, before placing them carefully on the dresser top where someone had abandoned a lavishly wrapped bouquet of visibly drooping hothouse blooms.
‘We should go,’ Anna mouthed at her.
‘No, we need to tell her,’ Tansy mouthed back. In her normal voice she added, ‘I’m going to borrow that little wicker chair by the cooker, Isadora.’ She moved the chair to the table, picked up Isadora’s still wild-eyed little dog and sat fondling her ears while Isadora stomped about taking occasional swigs from her glass as she made tea for them.
‘Have you got a new admirer, Isadora?’ Tansy gestured at the flowers.
Isadora made an irritated face. ‘Oh, yes, I forget when those arrived. This silly man keeps sending me flowers. I don’t know why. I’ve never done anything to encourage him.’
‘It’s a shame to waste them though.’ Tansy gently put the dog back on the floor and took the bouquet over to the sink. Finding a suitable knife in the draining rack she hacked off several inches of woody stems as Anna watched, amazed to see Tansy making herself so at home in someone else’s space.
‘Can I use that gorgeous blue jug?’ Tansy asked.
‘Yes, of course, darling. Thank you for rescuing them. I know I’m terrible!’ Isadora said, not sounding remotely apologetic.
Tansy carried the flowers over in the jug. ‘Can you find me a bit of room for these, Anna?’ Anna hastily moved an antique sewing box and what she hoped was only a copy of a medieval manuscript, and Tansy carefully set the jug down.
Shunting more objects aside, including a black and silver handled paperknife so lethal-looking that it was possibly a real dagger, Isadora dumped down the mugs and a teapot together with a saucer on which she’d arranged freshly-cut slices of lemon. ‘Did someone mention cake?’
Anna belatedly presented her with the box, and Isadora tore it open, immediately seizing on a coffee eclair and taking a large bite. ‘Heaven!’ she pronounced, closing her eyes. ‘No, Hero, get down!’ she chided. ‘These delicious morsels are definitely not for doggies!’ She collapsed into Tansy’s wicker chair with a groan. ‘Fetch that stool if you need somewhere to sit,’ she told Tansy. ‘I’ve taken to writing in the kitchen. So much warmer and friendlier than my study – but I’m accumulating so many notes they’re rather overflowing, as you see.’
‘What are you writing?’ Anna asked shyly.
Isadora’s mouth tightened. ‘Just a little academic book on courtly love. My son doesn’t believe I’ll finish it. He thinks it’s like Casaubon’s Key to all Mythologies in Middlemarch.’
Now that Anna was sitting close to Isadora, she saw that her strange trailing garment, which from a distance had resembled some crazy patchwork tapestry, was in fact elaborately hand-knitted. Anna could see a long scarlet thread that had started to unravel from her sleeve. An ornate silver comb jutted out from her wild cloud of hair. She was beautiful, if in a slightly bonkers way, Anna thought. She found herself starting to reconcile the screaming fishwife Isadora with the authoritative woman who had taken charge the morning of Naomi’s murder.
‘I still feel like we’re intruding,’ she said.
For the first time Isadora properly looked at Anna. Her aura of smouldering resentment instantly vanished. She patted Anna’s hand. ‘I’m relieved and delighted to see you, Anna, and I’m charmed that you’ve brought me these delicious pastries.’ She shot Anna the kind of penetrating look that must have sent generations of students diving for cover. ‘But I have the feeling this is not just a social visit.’
Anna shook her head. ‘We’re here because of Naomi.’
‘Anna found a message from Naomi on her phone,’ Tansy said. ‘The police don’t think it’s significant.’
Isadora gave a strained laugh. ‘My dear, you’re not proposing we turn—?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Anna said firmly. ‘Look, would it be all right to play you the message? Tansy hasn’t heard it yet, and it will make it easier to explain.’ She took out her phone and saw Isadora and Tansy trying to prepare themselves to listen to a voice from the dead.
As the message played, a new expression stole over Isadora’s face: sorrow mixed with a deep thoughtfulness. Afterwards, she sat in silence, her fingers laced together.
Tansy immediately started hunting in her bag. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pulling out a tissue, ‘but that woman should not be dead. It’s just – it’s just wrong!’
Isadora stirred at last. ‘Thank you, Anna,’ she said quietly. ‘Yes, I perfectly see why you can’t just let this go. The girl who left that message was not an anonymous victim. She had a life, a life filled with passion and meaning. So much passion,’ she added, closing her eyes.
‘A life we know almost nothing about,’ Anna said. ‘I didn’t know her very well, but I feel like I owe it to her to find out more about her. At the moment she’s like—’
‘—a lovely enigma,’ Isadora finished. ‘The girl with the charm bracelet.’
Tansy nodded. ‘It’s not like we think we can do a better job than the police. Like we’re going to find out Naomi was killed by some opera-loving monk because she’d unearthed some dark secret!’
Tansy and Anna exchanged stricken looks.
‘That would seem to be the obvious place to start,’ Isadora added rather sternly. She gave a weary sigh. ‘Then I suggest we do that now.’ She rummaged under a pile of academic journals, in the process uncovering a battered spectacles case. ‘So that’s where my driving glasses got to!’ she said, amazed. Additional rummaging revealed a laptop.
It took a while to get Isadora’s computer functioning. Then Isadora, possibly the world’s worst typist, needed several attempts before she’d successfully entered Naomi’s name into the search engine.
Anna had to fight a growing urge to snatch the laptop out of the older woman’s hands as Isadora laboriously scrolled through lists of websites, grumpily rejecting them, until her face suddenly brightened. ‘Oh, thank goodness, I’ve found her website.’ Isadora did some more clicking and scrolling. ‘Now that is fortunate! I think I may have spotted our opportunity!’ She looked up, her eyes gleaming behind her reading glasses. ‘You girls probably don’t remember me mentioning that a former student of mine had published a rather important biography?’
Anna nodded. ‘Actually, I do. It’s about Owen Traherne.’
Isadora blinked at her. ‘Anna, I’m amazed you retained that information, given the harrowing circumstances in which you were told.’
‘I probably wouldn’t have,’ Anna admitted, ‘but someone at work had just bought it.’
‘Sorry, but how is this “an opportunity”?’ Tansy asked.
‘Because, according to an entry in Naomi’s blog, Kit employed her to do his research,’ Isadora said. With a creak of wicker, she extracted herself from her chair and went over to her fridge, which served a dual function as her message board. Scattering fridge magnets, she hunted through flyers and invitations. ‘Now where did I put it?’ she murmured.