by A J Waines
Instead, I think about what’s been under my pillow for the last few weeks and hop on a bus at Waterloo to make another visit to my special sanctuary. Sam doesn’t know I snatched them from her flat that first session, from the ledge by her front door. Or that I put them back in her bag that time I made myself at home in her office when she rushed off for a form. She doesn’t know I got duplicates made.
So that’s where I’m spending this afternoon. She’ll be at the hospital, so I’ve got the whole place to myself. What a treat!
Chapter 25
Rosie
It’s Wednesday and Sam isn’t answering her phone, so I call the Mental Health Unit and tell them it’s an emergency and finally someone puts me through to her. I tell her I’ve found something, but she tries to stop me halfway through. It’s the same old ‘you mustn’t call me’ plea, but I know she doesn’t really mean it. If I can’t ring her at home and I can’t call her at work, how am I supposed to get in touch with her? This can’t wait. It’s urgent.
I tell her I have no one else and we have to act on it. Dawn has sent me the latest round-up of items for auction this week and whilst there were no musical instruments, something else caught my eye. I don’t know why I was even looking in the accessories section, except I like Sam’s bracelet and I was thinking of getting one the same. A Christmas present to myself.
And there it was – on page seven. Listed as: ‘a gentleman’s platinum automatic chronometer Rolex wristwatch with a blue dial and raised Roman numerals’. I recognised it straight away; it belonged to Max. He’d bragged about it, of course, and we’d all been obliged to take a good look at it. The entry in the e-catalogue said there was a reserve price of £15,000 on it.
‘This is a matter for the police, Rosie. Won’t the auction house have procedures for this kind of thing?’ Sam says, but I know I’m sparking her interest.
‘It’s too late for that; the auction is today at two-fifteen. And besides, Dawn says we need more concrete evidence it’s stolen before they call in the police. It might not be his.’ I take a chance. ‘Will you come?’
‘Come with you? No, I can’t. Listen, Rosie…’
Here we go – another one of her issues with boundaries. ‘I can’t be a health professional one minute and your companion, the next,’ she goes on. ‘It corrupts the relationship if we get the roles mixed up. It means I can’t help you properly.’
What rubbish! Can’t help you properly – what’s she on about? It sounds like a threat.
‘You’ve decided I’m too much trouble…’
‘It’s not that. I’m a psychologist, not a private detective.’
‘Can’t you help me in both ways; with getting my memories back and helping unravel the mystery? It’s all part of the same thing, after all. It’s all about getting to the truth. I’ll pay you for your time.’
‘It’s not about the money, Rosie.’
‘Can’t therapists step outside the box, sometimes? I can’t do this without you.’ I know I’m starting to sound a bit pathetic, but I don’t know how else to plead with her. ‘You’re not going to abandon me, are you?’
‘If I helped you outside our sessions then our work together would have to end.’
It is a threat.
‘You know what this means don’t you?’ I tell her. ‘It means that someone was there at the crash. Someone who sabotaged the seat belts and tried to kill us all. This same person might have my viola. Or even Max’s violin. Don’t you want to know?’
‘Rosie. I’m sorry. You’ll have to ask someone else. I’ve got a patient now. We can talk about this in our next session.’
Then she’s gone. I can’t believe it. After all we’ve been through. I can’t describe how gutted I am.
But I don’t have much time to dwell on it. I call Dawn and arrange to meet her at the front entrance of Rothman’s at 1.30pm. She says the watch can be removed from sale if I recognise something conclusive that shows it belongs to Max, but I’m not interested in that part; I want to know who’s trying to sell it.
‘I need to see the records about it,’ I tell her.
‘I can’t take you behind the scenes,’ she says, ‘it’s against the regulations.’
‘But if I’m right and you don’t act on it, your manager will go bonkers.’
Reluctantly, she takes me to the dusty office in the basement where she works. She shows me the date and time the watch was received and valued, on her computer. The seller is a man called Teddy Spense.
His name doesn’t mean anything to me.
I ask Dawn if we can look at CCTV footage from the day he brought it in and she leads me back to the foyer, then disappears to chat up Nick, the security guy. My phone buzzes as I hover by the lift, and she invites me upstairs to pore over footage that shows the watch seller entering the building minutes before the watch was logged in. But, there’s not enough to go on: he’s nondescript – tallish, mostly dressed in black, with skinny legs, wearing a beanie that covers his hair.
At five past two, I’m loitering in the foyer again looking out for someone who fits his vague description and Dawn is at the back waiting for the item before his to be called. We make a good team, but not as good as me and Sam would have been.
Seconds later I text Dawn to get her back into the foyer.
‘The security guard is talking to a guy who’s the same height and build as the one caught on camera,’ I whisper to her. ‘He’s wearing the same style of black bomber jacket, gloves and beanie too.’
I watch from a distance to see if he seems familiar, but he has his back to me, so I can’t see his face. He hitches his foot up nervously and keeps putting his hands in and out of his pockets, stooping awkwardly to hear what the security guy is saying. From his body language, it’s clearly no one from the quartet and no one I’ve seen with the Hinds’ family or their entourage. They all walk tall with airs and graces.
There are only a few minutes left before the item is due to come up for sale. Dawn approaches him, pointing to sections in the catalogue and gives me a discrete nod. It looks like he’s our man. He shakes his head, puts his hands up in a gesture that indicates he doesn’t want any trouble, turns and starts walking briskly towards the exit.
The security guys are on him in seconds, tugging his arms behind his back. The man in black looks defeated and compliant.
Dawn is saying something to the guards, then she rushes towards me.
‘Quick!’ she urges, her eyelashes dancing around. ‘It’s him – Teddy Spense. I told him someone was going to talk to him.’
‘Someone?’
‘Yeah – you! Go and find out what he’s up to, fast, before my manager arrives. I’ve told security you’re coming over – Nick and Rocky, they’ll hold him tight. He can’t hurt you.’
She speaks into her walkie-talkie, no doubt telling her manager that there’s an issue with Lot 27. She jerks her head as she speaks, instructing me to go over to him.
‘No – you talk to him, Dawn.’
She lowers her handset.
‘What if he recognises me?’ I say. ‘He could come after me. He might have killed people. He might not know I got out alive…’
My body is rocked by its own mini-earthquake at the thought that this man might have ripped the Rolex from Max’s dead corpse, and has quite probably done far worse.
Dawn flicks her tongue around and finally agrees. I think she quite likes the idea. I’ve given her enough information about the crash for her to ask the right questions. I loiter within earshot, but take cover behind a noticeboard, just in case.
Dawn is impressive. It won’t be long, no doubt, before her manager takes him somewhere secure to wait for the police, so she fires questions at him, accusing him right away of stealing the watch from the scene of the accident at Ullswater. A squeaky male voice begs her not to take matters further.
‘I’ll withdraw it,’ he says.
‘That’s already happening,’ says Dawn. ‘You were in the Lake District whe
n the crash happened, weren’t you?’
I take the chance to move a few steps closer; I want to know how he answers this question. The guy is startled, his eyes jumping all over the place, looking for an escape no doubt. I get my phone out and switch it to video, keeping him in the frame. He tries to pull free, but Nick and Rocky hold him tight. A cluster of rubberneckers are gathering around the commotion.
‘Did you plan it? Did you make the van go off the road?’ says Dawn.
He looks about my age and wriggles frantically. ‘What? No, man – no way! I didn’t see nuffin’,’ he says. ‘I heard a crash, then I saw the busted fence and stopped.’
Dawn asks him exactly how he came by the watch. She sounds like a real detective.
‘One minute the van was ahead of me, the next it had disappeared. I left my motorbike in the bushes and went to the edge of the water, but the van was in way too deep to reach. I’d never have been able to get down and back up again in one breath.’
‘So how did you get the watch?’
He sniffs. ‘A coin pouch came up to the surface and it was in there,’ he says.
‘It just floated up, did it?’ she snorts.
What he’s saying could be true, as it happens. Max always took his watch off in rehearsals and he could have forgotten to put it back on again.
‘Then I saw a woman break the surface, further in and I scarpered.’
That must have been me.
‘You didn’t stop to help her?’ Dawn asks.
‘She got out, she was okay.’
The little shit…! I’m tempted to storm over and give his face a hard slap, but I mustn’t let my emotions get the better of me. I need to keep myself in check and tune in to his voice. I need to listen meticulously to everything he’s saying. His accent is lazy East End and vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him and I can’t see enough of his face, either.
‘Did you call the police?’ Dawn asks. ‘Do they know you were there?’ He splutters a reply towards his trainers that means fat chance and shifts to the other foot. The security guys still hold him firm. I’m expecting Dawn to be shoved aside by her superior any moment. ‘What else did you salvage?’
‘A handbag and a woman’s shoe floated up. That’s all,’ he says.
‘What about the others?’ she persists.
‘There was no one else there. I was too late. There was no one to save or I would have done somefin’.’
‘You checked the van?’
‘What? No. It was down too deep. I told you. I didn’t hang around.’
A man in a suit is heading purposefully towards them. Dawn manages to ask her final questions before her manager takes over. ‘Did you see anything else? Musical instruments in cases?’
‘Na. Nuffin’. Can I go now?’
‘I’m afraid not…’ She’s sounding smug. ‘The police will be here any second.’
The man in the suit steps in front of her. ‘Thanks, Ms Fletcher, I’ll take it from here.’
Teddy drops his head and the manager has a quick word with him, before he and the guards lead him across the foyer for a private grilling.
Something isn’t quite right. It was all a little too easy. Teddy has just admitted his wrongdoing to Dawn without any pressure whatsoever, nor is he putting up any kind of fight. Then it becomes clear.
As they approach an office, several things happen at once. There is a loud pop and Nick falls to the floor. Rocky loses his balance as he tries to take a step backwards, the manager gets out of the way and Teddy Spense is free, making a bolt for the door. The manager kneels down by Nick’s side and people are screaming. Several bystanders and staff members are darting around; half of them run towards the man on the floor, the other half get in the way as I try to rush outside after Teddy.
By the time I get to the pavement, he’s completely disappeared.
I run back in, expecting to see a pool of blood on the floor beside Nick, but he’s sitting upright, straightening his hair.
I grab Dawn by the arm. ‘He’s gone! What the hell happened?’
At that moment two police officers come striding in.
‘He kneed Nick in the balls and legged it,’ says Dawn, wide-eyed.
‘But, what was that bang? I thought it was a gunshot.’
‘So did everyone else.’ She shakes her head.
Both policemen are hovering over what looks like a scrap of foil on the floor. ‘“Fun snaps”,’ one of them calls out. ‘You throw them hard at the ground and they make a loud bang.’ He glances around. ‘Nice diversion tactic. It’s all marble in here, so I guess it echoed…’
‘Didn’t the security guys search him?’ I groan in disbelief.
I stare at Rocky as he helps his colleague to his feet. ‘We thought they were sweets…’
We troop off to the police station after that to give statements. I tell them that the stolen watch is linked to the crash in the Lake District, but they only seem interested in what happened today.
Later that evening, I check the phone footage I took, but there’s no clear shot of the man-in-black’s face. As I eat leftover spaghetti, I run ‘Teddy Spense’ through various social networking sites. I try different spellings, but can’t find anyone who fits his description under Teddy, Ted, Ned, Edward, Eddie or Ed in the UK.
I tap on the door to Dawn’s flat, upstairs. I want to thank her for today. We go into her kitchen, but she doesn’t offer me a drink or even invite me to sit down. I stand awkwardly holding the back of a wooden chair.
‘What about CCTV of him when he was in the foyer, today?’ I ask. ‘Can I come in tomorrow to take a look at it?
‘You can if you want, but there’s no point, the police said it was too fuzzy for a decent identification. I did a photofit for them, but it could be anyone.’ She picks up her keys from a dish. ‘They don’t hold out much hope of finding him.’
‘Bugger…’ I say. ‘I didn’t get a good look at his face.’
‘We should have made him take his hat off.’ Dawn looks sympathetic but she’s edging me towards the door. She must be about to go out.
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘to be honest, it did look a bit familiar…it’s really annoying.’ I drag my fingers through my hair. ‘I can’t think who, though…’
‘He looks a bit like that actor on Coronation Street,’ she says.
‘Oh, yeah…the one with the funny eyebrows...?’
Is that who I’m thinking of?
She checks her watch. ‘And Teddy Spense probably isn’t his real name,’ she says, her hand on the doorknob. ‘His address didn’t check out.’
‘Ah. Oh, well. You did a great job, by the way. Do you fancy going out for a drink later?’
Her face drops. ‘Sorry, my dad’s sick, in hospital, I’ve got to go over and see him.’
‘Oh, I hope he’s okay. Another time, maybe?’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ She presses the door shut behind me and I go back to my flat.
Later, before I go to bed, I shut the kitchen window and spot Dawn hurrying in through the front gate. She’s wearing a short skirt and stilettos, not exactly hospital visiting clothes. Ah. I get it. She lied; she didn’t want me cramping her style on her night out.
Well, see if I care – I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
As I lie in bed, I think of Sam. She doesn’t know she had a visitor late this afternoon. Once I’d finished with the police I didn’t feel like going straight home, so I went over to Clapham again.
I knew she’d still be at work, so once I’d made sure there was no one else around on the landing, I let myself in. If she won’t tell me anything about herself, I’m going to have to get to know her in a different way.
I hung my coat over one of hers in the hall and went into the bathroom. She’d left the basin in a bit of a mess, so I gave it a quick once round with the cloth on the edge of the bath and folded her towels. Then I went into her bedroom and opened her wardrobe.
I recognised a few of her suits and jackets, then slid out a
folded chunky jumper she’d worn last week and held it against me. Sam is thinner than me, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I eased it over my head and tugged the arms to make them reach my wrists. When I paraded in front of the mirror I could almost feel her wrapped around me, all soft and cosy. As I draped one of her silk scarves around my neck, a burst of her perfume gave me goosebumps and I buried my face in it. I tied it in a loose knot just the way she does.
I kicked off my trainers and tried on a pair of brown boots I’ve often seen her wear. They were too small, but with a bit of a shove, I managed to squash my feet into them. I stripped off and tried on a blouse and jacket but they were too small, so I unzipped the boots and laid down under the duvet, my head on her pillow.
I ran my fingers over the patterned paper behind the bed, wondering if she did this too, if my fingers were following the same fern design as hers. I could have stayed like that for hours, taking in the oily floral smell of her hair ingrained in the cotton pillowcase, knowing she spends so much time in this very same spot. The thought made my scalp tingle. I tried to see her face, think her thoughts, experience her feelings.
But there was something in the way as I lay there. I couldn’t get into the mood properly this time, so I got up and started idly opening more drawers, flicking through knickers and socks, having a jolly good snoop.
In one of the cupboards I found folders and documents: mortgage and insurance papers, financial records, old birthday cards, notes and letters. I read some of them; a few were from her sister and there were smoochy ones from Con, dated over a year ago, and a postcard from someone called Hannah. My card wasn’t there, I noticed.
My thoughts kept turning sour. No matter how much I wanted to feel good about things with Sam, she wasn’t there when I needed her. She let me down over the auction house and it’s spoilt something between us. It’s broken our trust and hurt me badly. I’m not sure our relationship can be the same now.