by Anita Waller
Nan gave a slight nod. ‘You have to sort out his funeral?’
‘No idea. That’s not cropped up yet. If it is down to me, and let’s face it, his parents aren’t here to do it, are they, it will be cremation and I’ll scatter his ashes in the Wye in Craig’s memory.’
‘Oh, Kat,’ Doris said, ‘don’t let him win by making you less than you are. You have beliefs, Christian beliefs. You owe yourself so much more than this, and Leon Rowe mustn’t hold you back from everything you can still give to this world. If you’re in chains, how can you fly?’
Kat placed a sleeping Martha back in her pram and walked across to Doris. She put her arms around her and hugged her. ‘You’re a wise old bird, Doris Lester. Want a cup of tea?’
Their evening was spent quietly, Kat reading and Doris and Mouse playing Scrabble. Nobody wanted the television to give them any more news on the Leon Rowe shootout.
At just after eight, the telephone interrupted them and Kat stood to answer it. It was Leon’s parents ringing from Canada.
She spoke to both of them, all three maintaining a measured tone of voice. They had received minimal information, and it was left to Kat to tell them as much as she knew.
She had last spoken to them the day after Martha’s birth, and they had been ecstatic to hear the news. Now the mood was much more sombre. Sue had difficulty holding back the tears, and asked Kat what would happen about Leon’s body. She had to admit she knew nothing about procedures, and Sue said they wanted him to go to them. They would be happy to pay all costs involved, and Kat said she would follow up on their request to see if it was feasible. Or allowed.
She said goodbye to them, and thoughtfully replaced the receiver. She sat down, and the two women paused for a moment to look at her.
‘Okay?’ Mouse asked.
‘It seems Leon will have his last resting place in Canada. If the authorities agree, of course. I don’t see why they should say no. And he should be where he is loved the most, and that’s with his mum and dad. There is no love in me for him now; there is regret, there are memories, there is anger, but he killed the love.’
She picked up her book. The other two looked at each other and returned to their game, and Martha snuffled in her sleep.
And peace came to the house in Eyam for the first time in a long time.
And Kat remembered Doris’s words of wisdom from the afternoon. If you’re in chains, how can you fly?
She was ready to fly.
Chapter 16
Keeley unloaded the luggage from the boot of the car and followed Henry down the path to the front door. ‘Glad to be home?’ she asked.
‘Kind of,’ the little boy answered. ‘I missed my friends. Can I go and see Mark?’
‘Tomorrow,’ she responded. ‘It’s too late tonight.’
‘But it’s still daylight,’ he protested.
She laughed. ‘It might still be daylight, but it’s seven o’clock. Now come on, let’s get you in the bath, then bed, and it will soon be morning.’
She could hear him grumbling with every stair he climbed; it was so funny that she stopped unpacking for a moment to listen to him. Tom would have enjoyed this child so much.
Keeley followed Henry upstairs, ran his bath and left him to play for a few minutes with his variety of bath toys. She moved into his bedroom and turned down his bedclothes before crossing to the window to close his curtains. Judy Carpenter was out in her back garden, dead-heading some flowers, pulling up the occasional weed, doing different things in different areas. Keeley felt the loss of Tom more deeply every time she saw Judy.
The woman had kept Tom from her. Keeley had pleaded with Tom to leave Judy when he had spoken of his diagnosis, but he had said he wouldn’t burden her, his only love, with his death. She had enough to cope with, as Henry was still very small.
And so Judy was the one who had shared his last moments, and as she stared down at the woman digging up a dandelion, Keeley felt murderous; she wished Judy Carpenter was dead.
Pamela Bird admitted that the postman had arrived and delivered the letter, and it took her all of thirty seconds to reach the decision to ring Connection. There was a tremble in her voice; Doris couldn’t tell if it was excitement, fear or nerves.
‘We’d like to come out to Buxton to see you, Mrs Bird, tell you something of the circumstances, and then leave you to decide what the next move should be. Are you available this afternoon?’
Martha was asleep in her pram, so Kat pushed her daughter through into Mouse’s office and set up the baby monitor. She figured if she needed anything from her own office, she would disturb the baby, so Mouse’s room was the logical choice.
Passing the investigator’s exam would give her further qualifications, and it had proved to be interesting and thought-provoking. She pulled the worksheet towards her and settled down to study. She became immersed in it, one ear tuned in to the monitor, one ear on the telephone, and her brain focussed on the highlighted problems she had to solve in less than five hundred words.
It came as something of a shock when the door opened and the shop bell pinged. No ears had been available for recognising that sound. She looked up, quickly closing the worksheet.
A middle-aged woman walked across to the reception desk, her hair slightly frizzy, and framing a face that bore definite signs of worry. She wore a long skirt, shades of blue giving it an almost ethereal appearance, and a strappy T-shirt under a short-sleeved cardigan completed the ensemble.
‘Can I help?’ Kat said.
‘Is this yours?’ the woman said, waving her arm around and encompassing the office space.
‘The business? Yes it is. I’m Katerina Rowe, co-owner of Connection.’
The woman held out her hand and Kat reached over the counter and took it.
‘Hi, I’m Roberta Outram. Please call me Bobby, I don’t think I’ve ever been Roberta except on my wedding day.’
‘So you’re Mrs Roberta Outram? What can I do for you?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ve come here on a bit of a whim, and now I’m not sure I should have. My husband Keith says he’s sick of hearing me go on about it, and I should either tell you or the police. I’m not convinced it’s a police matter, not yet anyway, so here I am.’
Kat was beginning to get the feeling this woman was going to walk out the door, talk herself out of whatever it was she had come to tell them. ‘Bobby, would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?’
Her defences visibly crumbled. ‘I’d love a coffee.’
‘Then come around here.’ Kat lifted the end section and led Bobby through to her own office. ‘I’ll just go and lock the front door. My two colleagues are going to be out for a couple of hours, so I’ll put the closed sign up and we won’t be disturbed.’
She set up the coffee machine, then walked into reception, found the Back in an hour sign, and locked the front door, hanging the smaller sign beneath the Closed one.
Bobby hadn’t moved. Her hands were clasped in her lap as she sat waiting patiently for Kat, who placed the baby monitor in the middle of her desk. ‘Baby in the next room but she shouldn’t disturb us. The coffee will only be a minute, and then we’ll talk.’
‘Your baby?’ Bobby asked.
‘She is. Martha May, born seven days ago. Fortunately she’s still at the sleeping most of the time stage.’
Kat stood and took down two cups from the cupboard. She placed a dish on the desk with small pots of milk and cream in it between the two of them. It killed another two minutes preparing the coffee ready for them to drink, and finally there was no escape for Bobby.
‘I don’t know if I’m doing right by coming here,’ she began hesitantly.
‘Then let me start by telling you that nothing leaves this office. Whatever you tell any one of the three of us is held in strictest confidence. We speak of it to no one without your permission to do so. Does that help? I’ll listen to everything you have to say, and then before we talk terms, I’ll tell you if we can help you. We aren
’t in the business of giving anyone false hopes.’
Bobby Outram gave a brief nod. ‘Okay. I understand. But I don’t think I’m here to hire you, I’m here to give you some information on a case you already have. First of all I need to tell you who I am, and then you’ll understand why I’m being so dithery. I’m not normally like this…’ Her voice faded.
Kat waited patiently.
‘I am Judy Carpenter’s sister.’
Kat tried to keep her face inscrutable. She wasn’t wholly successful.
‘You are obviously aware that Judy is our client. If there is a clash of interests…’
‘No, there will be no clash of interests. I’m here to clear my conscience and, as I said, to give you some information. I don’t agree with what Judy is doing; over the years she’s become a nasty scheming bitch of a woman, but now I believe she could be bordering on something that could be criminally wrong.’
‘And this is connected to the work we’re doing for her?’
‘It is. I don’t want to see Connection dragged down with her, because no good can come of what she’s planning.’
Kat felt that as Bobby had started talking, the rest would come easily. She opened her drawer and took out a notepad and a recorder. ‘Bobby, do you mind if I record our conversation. It will be easier than writing everything down, or trying to remember everything you tell me. I promise I will delete the conversation after I’ve transcribed it for my colleagues.’
‘No, of course I don’t mind if you record it. I came here to give you facts, so however you listen to me, I don’t care, as long as somebody listens.’
Kat switched on the recorder and left it on the desk. ‘Okay, whenever you’re ready.’
Bobby Outram took a long shuddering breath, stared at the recorder for a moment and spoke. ‘As I said, Judy is my sister. I wish she wasn’t. We used to be very close, but then she met Tom Carpenter and she became…’ Bobby hesitated for a moment, ‘…all about money. I think that’s the only way to describe her. Tom was quite well off, they had a very lavish wedding and he funded IVF when they found out they needed help to have children. But all the money in the world wouldn’t have been any good. Judy developed cancer of the uterus and had to have a full hysterectomy. That’s when she really changed.’
Kat saw that Bobby was sipping constantly at her coffee, almost as if was giving her strength, so she stood and picked up the coffee pot, refilling Bobby’s cup.
Bobby smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘She became hard. When adoption was mentioned, Tom was against it. He had been adopted and had had a wonderful life, but he felt that his birth mother had abandoned him, and he didn’t want a child coming into their lives who would feel like that in future years. It was Judy who suggested he try to find her, to find out the real truth behind why she gave him up for adoption. He eventually agreed, but then he became ill, and within four or five months he was dead.’
‘Judy has told us most of this,’ Kat said. ‘Not about her hysterectomy, we didn’t know that, but the rest we had gleaned from our chats with her. She told us they had decided not to have children.’
Bobby nodded. ‘I guessed as much. But did she tell you that Tom did apply for his adoption pack, his birth certificate, his mother’s birth certificate? And did she tell you that she saw everything that arrived? She got very clever at opening letters and resealing them. Tom went for an interview when he applied for his adoption pack, and he didn’t ask her to go with him. He didn’t want her to know he was going. He said he had a hospital appointment. He told me, because he wanted to show me his birth mother’s letter. It broke his heart.’
Kat waited. She sensed there was more.
‘Last week she told me she had approached you for help. She had used the information on the documents and had tracked down where Tom’s birth mother was living now. She had done lots of research on her and realised that she was very wealthy. She didn’t want to see the woman just by turning up on her doorstep, she thought it would look as if she knew nothing about her vast wealth if the approach came from your company. It would look more… authentic. For Judy it was a case of slowly, slowly, catchee monkey. She’s in this for the long haul, she told me. All she could talk about was how rich this Pamela Bird is, and she intended being in the will.’
Bobby picked up her cup and drank deeply. ‘So that’s why I had to come to see you. She’s duping you. I can’t believe she’s turned out like this. When we were growing up she was brilliant as a sister. There’s only a year or so between us, I’m slightly older. But she always seemed more mature, more in control. Now it seems she’s more calculating.’
Kat was at a loss. Bobby was telling her what they had all guessed; this was confirmation. It threw up many questions and no solutions.
And right at that moment, Mouse and Nan were at Pamela Bird’s house giving her the good news that she had a daughter-in-law; no son, but a daughter-in-law who was really looking forward to meeting her.
Bobby took out her card from her bag and passed it across to Kat. ‘You can call anytime, and if I can help, I will. What Judy is doing is so damn wrong, and Pamela Bird needs to know. I’ve had sleepless nights worrying about this, about who to tell, and I decided it had to be you. I can’t go to the police, she hasn’t actually done anything wrong yet and there’s no proof anyway; I can’t go to Pamela Bird because I’ve no idea where she lives, so basically you’re my one hope that something can be done about Judy. Connection is my only hope, Kat.’
Chapter 17
Within seconds of getting out of the car, Pamela Bird was outside her home waiting to greet her guests. She was small, not much taller than five feet, with straight silvery hair that had clearly been well-looked after by a hairdresser with considerable skills. She wore minimal make-up, but what dominated her face were her beautiful startlingly blue eyes. Her smile reflected in them.
‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘Just leave your car where it is, I’m not expecting anyone else today.’
Mouse stepped forward with her hand outstretched. ‘Ms Bird? I’m Beth Walters and this is my colleague, Doris Lester.’
‘Please… come in, and call me Pam. I’ve never really been a Pamela,’ she laughed. ‘Occasionally maybe, when my husband bothered to inspect the credit card bill.’
Mouse grinned. She already liked this woman. She could, however, sense a tension in her. The sooner they told her their findings, the better.
Doris and Mouse followed Pam into the house. From the outside it had all the spine-tingling appearance of a large Victorian villa, and so it came as no surprise to them that the interior was totally in keeping with the exterior. The hall was magnificent, with sweeping stairs leading up to the upper levels, and Pam smiled as she saw their faces.
‘I’m very proud of this house. Oh, not of what its value is, but of what we put into it. We spent many years restoring it and my husband had all but finished when he was taken ill.’ She held out a hand to direct them. ‘Let’s go into the lounge.’
It was pale blue, accented with cream. The long velvet curtains were a darker shade of blue, and everything… toned.
Mouse stared around her. ‘Are you an interior designer?’
Pam laughed. ‘No, I have an eye for colour. I wouldn’t trust myself to do anyone else’s home, but this is mine and I was more than happy to let my imagination free on it. Please – sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Grace has made us tea and coffee.’
Mouse looked at Doris as if to say, She has a maid? But no words were exchanged. They sat side by side on a sofa, and Pam sat opposite in an armchair. Within seconds the door opened and a tall smartly dressed woman came into the room carrying a tray with crockery, cakes and biscuits.
‘I’ll get the tea and coffee pots, Pam,’ she said, and disappeared.
Seconds later she returned and placed another tray by the side of the first one on the coffee table.
‘Grace, thank you. Now will you go and get yourself a cup and saucer, I’d like y
ou to stay.’
Grace frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’
Grace gave a brief nod and left the room once more.
‘Grace Earle is my right-hand woman,’ Pam explained. ‘She’s invaluable. She arrived when my husband was first taken ill just over two years ago, and has stayed. I have a condition called ME, Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. It’s got several names but the doctors can’t agree whether it’s real or not. Trust me, it’s real. Some days I can’t get out of bed if I’m having a particularly bad attack of it, and then other days I am as you see me today, no major pain, and normality is the order of the day. Grace takes care of the bad days.’
The door opened and Grace re-joined them. She poured drinks for all of them, handed around cake, and finally they all settled back into their respective seats.
‘So,’ Pam began. ‘My son.’
Mouse nodded. ‘I need to start from the beginning. We had a visit from a client who lost her husband a year ago. As I explained in our letter, her husband was the child you gave up for adoption. Please stop us and ask questions as we go along, you may forget them by the end.’
Pam nodded.
‘It seems,’ Mouse continued, ‘that Tom had decided to try to track you down, but was then hit with a particularly aggressive form of cancer, and from diagnosis to him dying was only about eighteen weeks. He didn’t get the chance to do much more than request his adoption pack and apply for your birth certificate. He certainly didn’t have time to begin the search, he was too ill.’