by Rebecca Tope
‘What sort of van?’
‘Ford Transit. I’m a white van man. It’s a good little earner, I must say, especially since I’ve got in with the auction house up in Keswick. I can deliver the big stuff to anyone this side of the region. There’s always something.’
‘You mean the auction house where Chris Henderson works?’
‘That’s the one. You know him?’
Bonnie laughed, but at a gentle nudge from Ben, she bit back the explanation she’d been about to give. ‘Only a bit,’ she said. ‘I suppose it’s not such a coincidence, really.’
Meeting Ben’s eyes, she signalled a question and got a complicated response involving a wiggle of his eyebrows and a tiny shake of the head. He also waved the piece of ham sandwich in his hand. ‘Eat,’ he ordered her.
‘Okay.’ She picked up the smallest sandwich and nibbled at it.
‘You must be wondering why I’ve gone to all this trouble to bring you here,’ said Debbie. ‘It was Matt’s idea, really. He thinks we ought to show you something that might explain why we seem to be such unnatural children. Matt?’ she prompted. ‘I know we weren’t very forthcoming when we saw you the other evening. What day was that?’ She rubbed her temples as if trying to suppress a headache.
‘Wednesday,’ said Ben.
‘God, it seems ages ago. Well, we were being much too secretive about everything then. It’s gone too far for that now. You deserve to know the full story. Matt?’
Obediently, he produced a large book. ‘A photo album?’ said Ben.
‘Partly, yes, but with letters as well as photos.’ The man put the volume down flat on the table where they could all see it, and opened the front cover. ‘It’s a somewhat Victorian tale,’ he said, before talking them through an account of a childhood spent moving from one reluctant relative to another, not always with his sister, while their mother not only concentrated on her studies of the law, but also travelled abroad on a regular basis. ‘I think we did tell you that our father was in the army,’ he added. ‘We almost never saw him.’
‘But …’ Bonnie floundered. ‘That’s not so unusual. It’s not very different from how it was for me – and I don’t hate my mother.’
‘She hated us,’ said Debbie forcefully. ‘We were nothing more than a nuisance to her. And we were just normal kids, always trying to please her, to be good so she’d like us. It was pathetic, looking back on it now.’
‘But …’ Bonnie tried again. ‘What about day care, social services, childminders? Or something …’ she trailed off.
‘Oh no. Nothing like that for us. We were a proud middle-class family, not needing anything from the state. After all, it was only for the first seven years. Then we could go off to boarding school for army children, and everything worked out perfectly, as far as she was concerned.
It was horrible for us,’ said Debbie. ‘We went to different schools, and were both utterly miserable.’
‘Look at these photos and letters,’ Matthew invited. ‘Never the same faces or places. We were worse than nomads or Gypsies. They have their families with them everywhere they go. We were two bits of driftwood, barely even having each other most of the time. But we wrote to each other. Twice a week for years, we put it all down on paper, and kept every single word. These are just the special ones. There’s a filing cabinet drawer full of the others.’
‘But …’ Bonnie was not giving up. ‘How does that fit with your mother killing Declan?’
‘It just does,’ said Debbie flatly. ‘He must have gone too far with her somehow, said something that sent her over the edge.’
‘Are you saying you don’t really know exactly why you think she did it?’ Ben’s tone was challenging. ‘I assumed that was pretty clear, the way you’ve been talking.’
‘Declan must have made some kind of threat to her,’ said Bonnie. ‘Something that meant she wasn’t going to be safe or happy with him around. How about access to her grandchildren? Was Declan stopping her from seeing them?’
‘We both were,’ said Debbie. ‘Not that she seemed to care about that.’
‘Money?’ said Ben. ‘Who inherits her money?’
‘She’s only sixty-five. Nobody’s thinking about money.’
‘She probably is, being a solicitor.’
‘The first thing is that you have to find evidence against her,’ Matthew interrupted. ‘She’ll get away with it otherwise. From what you say, Gillian’s fighting back, big time, and she’s no fool. You need to find out what she thinks she’s unearthed. Your florist lady’s the key to that. You have to make her tell you.’
‘Okay,’ Bonnie nodded uneasily. ‘But we don’t like this business of being on different sides from Simmy. We’re friends. I’m not doing anything to spoil that. She’ll be cross enough already if she finds out what I’ve told you.’
‘That’s sweet of you,’ said Debbie, on the brink of tears. ‘I wish it was all different. Honestly, I do. Without Declan, I can’t function. I feel as if I’m floating in a great dark cave. The only way out is to follow the hope that at least we’ll understand why. I don’t expect her to apologise, or ever be the least bit of use to me. All my life, I’ve vowed not to let her crush me, or stop me living a normal happy life. Declan gave me that. How could she take him away from me? How could she? I never did anything to her.’
‘Buck up, kid,’ said her brother. ‘You’ve got to drive these two home again, remember. Dry your eyes, and think positive. You’ve still got me, don’t forget.’
‘Um …’ said Ben portentously. ‘Don’t you think you ought to tell us about that row you had with Declan? It’s been niggling at me for days – I know it’s crossing a line, but it really might be important.’
Debbie’s eyes filled again. ‘You’re right, I know. It’s just that it’s the saddest part of the whole thing. The last words I said to him were “You’re such a selfish pig, Declan Kennedy. You know that, don’t you?” I hear them over and over in my head. I shouted them after him, when he went off on the bike.’
Nobody tried to console her. Bonnie gave a sympathetic grimace, but Ben leant forward, wanting more.
‘Oh well, I might as well tell you. I wanted another baby, and he didn’t. All perfectly simple and ordinary, in the usual way of things. I always wanted a boy, you see. But he said we didn’t have the space or the money and the gap would be too big, and then I’d be nagging for a fourth if the next was another girl. He was right, of course. It was me being hormonal and stupid that sent him off. I can’t ever forgive myself. How can I?’ Her face was grey with tragedy. ‘Even Barbara couldn’t find any way to make me feel better about it – and she did try.’
‘Mrs Percival? You told her about it, did you?’ Ben asked, not hiding his surprise.
‘I tell her most things. She’s like a second mother to me sometimes. To both of us,’ she added, looking at Matthew. ‘She’s a very warm and loving person. I think she’s a bit lonely sometimes.’
‘But isn’t she in the enemy’s camp? She’s Gillian Townsend’s mother, isn’t she? Have I got that right?’ The boy was still bewildered.
‘Yes, but she can think for herself. She lives just around the corner from here, and she’s lovely with my girls. I think she feels they need a proper granny figure, so she stands in for my useless mother.’
‘She must be very old,’ said Bonnie.
‘Maybe, but she’s still full of energy. She’s really taken to your florist friend, you know.’
‘People do,’ said Ben vaguely.
‘Time you were off,’ Matthew said again. ‘That’s enough for now.’
Ben and Bonnie said very little in the car, and very soon they were in Bowness, outside Ben’s house. ‘Keep in touch,’ Debbie told them. ‘We’re relying on you.’
Chapter Twenty
Simmy was still in the shop at half past two, tidying up and scanning the list of orders for flowers over the coming two weeks. It was a substantial workload by any standards, more than enough to keep he
r occupied without any additional efforts devoted to the Olsens and Kennedys. But she accepted that it was far too late for such thoughts. Gillian had seduced her, with the fatal combination of flattery, need and intrigue. Anita was in trouble, and Gillian would jeopardise her own health – and perhaps reputation – to rescue her. Simmy Brown did not have it in her to reject claims for help in such a situation.
So when the woman at the centre of the whole business walked into the shop, Simmy was only very mildly surprised. ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you,’ the woman said. ‘I know you must be busy. But I really did want to come and thank you for your support. Could we talk, just for a few minutes?’
Anita looked tired, but not excessively strained. Her light-coloured eyes had grown smaller, set more deeply in their sockets. She had clearly washed her hair and given it more bounce than before. But her movements were stiff, suggesting a tightness that was more mental than physical.
‘No problem,’ said Simmy. ‘You were lucky to catch me. I’ve usually gone by this time. Sit down.’
Anita took the seat, and began to talk. ‘It would appear that Gillian has succeeded in her quest for evidence of my innocence,’ she began. ‘Rather to my surprise, I have to say. But it isn’t all good news. If appearances can be believed, the person who killed my son-in-law was my son. Matthew did it. You’ll know, of course, that Gillian found the vehicle concerned, and it’s one he often uses.’
‘Oh,’ said Simmy, her head humming. ‘Matthew? The one who lives in Troutbeck? That’s definite then, is it?’
‘Apparently. She’s gone to the police with her findings and they’ll do all their forensic tests and so forth.’
Simmy was stuck on the man’s name, only very gradually grasping the implications of this revelation. Ben and Bonnie had been with him only a few days ago – had they shared a sofa with a heartless killer? Had they been in real danger? They’d gone off with Debbie again, probably meeting Matthew a second time. Panic gripped her before reason asserted itself. ‘So it was Matthew who kept the van at the farm. Gillian was very careful not to say his name this morning.’ She stared at the woman, sitting there so calm and unemotional, as she cast her own son into the ghastly role of murderer. But then, he’d done the same to her. It was a family that had moved beyond any recognisable bounds of normality, perhaps a long time ago.
Anita then began to speak warmly of her friend and saviour. ‘Gillian’s been absolutely amazing, digging out the whole story, and then tracking down the actual van. It was in a shed of some sort, down a farm track – I suppose you know that. I can’t think how she did it. It’s like a miracle.’
‘Is that all she’s told you?’
The woman nodded. ‘Just the basics. She hinted that things were coming to a head this morning. She’s been out most of the day – as well as on the phone most of yesterday. Her poor husband has had enough of the whole thing. He blames me, of course.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘Like practically everybody else does.’
‘But she told you about the van and the farm?’ Simmy was trying to channel Ben, following whatever flimsy logical thread might offer itself.
‘She sent a text that just said, “Vehicle found. Matthew’s van on a farm. Police contacted. Simmy B witness to it all.” Those are the exact words. I’ve had to construct everything I just told you, based on that. Now I’m here to see if you’ll tell me the rest.’
Simmy was thrown back on her customary resistance to being dragged into the matter, at the same time as knowing it was far too late for that. ‘I don’t think there’s any more I can add. I don’t understand why a man – your own son – who lives in Troutbeck would keep his van in Crook. I don’t know what he does for a living. I have no idea whatsoever why he would want to kill his sister’s husband. And I don’t actually think I’m the right person to be talking to you about it.’
A veiled look crossed Anita’s face. ‘There isn’t anyone else,’ said with a hint of tragedy. ‘I’ve never been one for friends, except for Gillian and an old schoolmate who lives in Aberdeen now. I’ve never felt much need for them before now. But all of a sudden, I feel horribly alone. Most people who know me are crossing the road to avoid me.’
‘That’ll be because of all that stuff Matthew put on Facebook,’ said Simmy. ‘You really ought to sue him for libel, you know.’ She stopped, letting her thoughts catch up. ‘Well, I suppose you won’t need to if he’s convicted of killing Declan. It’ll be obvious that he was just trying to shift the guilt on to you.’
Anita’s pale face grew even paler. ‘He’s my son,’ she whispered. ‘How could he be so full of hatred?’
You tell me, Simmy wanted to say. The woman must have done something pretty terrible to earn the vitriol emanating from the man. But instead of speaking, she merely patted Anita’s arm.
‘You’re thinking it has to be down to me,’ Anita accused her. ‘It’s always the mother’s fault, isn’t it? With Debbie feeling the same as Matthew does, the assumption gets all the stronger. They’ve depicted me to themselves and everybody they meet as the worst mother who ever lived, because I gave so much attention to my work when they were small. I’ve had so many years of it now, carrying it around like a malignant tumour inside me. Nobody understands what I’ve been through, except Gillian. I think she has literally saved my life.’
‘Well, it sounds as if she’s saved you from being charged with murder, anyway. That’s a pretty good start.’ The look Anita gave her made her realise how flippant she sounded. ‘Sorry – that came out wrong. But let’s hope it’ll all be settled quickly. I know it’s never going to be okay for you where Debbie and Matthew are concerned, but perhaps you can … I don’t know … start again somewhere else? Make some new friends.’ She remembered that Moxon had mentioned Anita selling her share of the business. Perhaps that would see her rich enough to set up in a handsome house in a different area – or go on lots of cruises. Her imagination stalled at the potential opportunities for the woman.
‘Perhaps I can,’ said Anita. ‘We can always hope, can’t we? Meanwhile, I did want to thank you for being so supportive and co-operative. It has been much appreciated.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ said Simmy, in all sincerity. ‘I can’t honestly say I felt much like co-operating. I just couldn’t think of a decent reason to refuse when Gillian asked me to go along with her this morning.’
It was still barely three o’clock. She had plenty of time until Christopher was due to arrive for the evening. And she needed to talk to someone.
‘It looks as if my side won,’ she said to Ben, when he picked up his phone. ‘Gillian Townsend has found the vehicle that killed Declan, and seems to think she can prove it was being driven by Matthew Olsen. Anita came just now to tell me. She’s a very sad woman, as you can imagine. Her son killed her son-in-law. There’s no consolation for her in that, is there? It sounds as if she’ll move away from here, where nobody knows the story, and try to start again.’
‘Wow! Look, can you come over for a bit, and tell us the whole thing? We’ve not long got back from Troutbeck. We ought to pool our findings.’
‘I’ve got half an hour,’ she agreed, and was in Helm Road ten minutes later. She already knew the line Ben would take: demanding hard evidence and exact timings, hypothesising over how the truth could be quite other than the obvious. Asking questions that she could not hope to answer. It might not be fair to accuse the youngsters of playing a game, but neither were they wasting any energy on considering the painful feelings of the people involved. And since they had no access to the details of the police investigation, everything they said would be theoretical. And Simmy was by nature impatient with theories.
The twosome absorbed the latest information quickly and thoroughly. Bonnie was incredulous. ‘That van at the farm belongs to Matthew? That’s where you went this morning, and got your shoes mucky? But … we told Debbie and Matthew about that and he immediately started talking about his van. He was perfectly relaxed about it, chatting on
. He couldn’t have done that if he’d used it to kill Declan. Nobody could act as well as that.’ She fixed Simmy with a fierce glare. ‘He didn’t do it. No way was it him. Oh – and did you know he works for your Christopher?’
‘What?’
‘Yes, he uses the van to deliver big stuff that people buy at the auctions. You’d think Christopher would have made the connection with Troutbeck and said something.’
‘He never did. Maybe he doesn’t like him. I still haven’t met him – or if I have, I don’t know which man he is. I expect I’ve seen him.’ She felt unfocused and unsettled. ‘I don’t like this sort of coincidence.’
‘It’s not so unusual. I keep telling you that everybody knows everybody around here.’
‘Yes. Well, I don’t like thinking there’s a murderer living near me. And Christopher won’t like it, either.’
Ben gave her a stern look. ‘We’re telling you, Simmy. Matthew didn’t do it. The police will find someone else’s fingerprints and DNA in the van, you see. Until they do, I don’t think we can say anything for certain about who’s won.’
‘Gillian doesn’t agree with you. She’s planned every step meticulously, to maintain the integrity of the evidence, if that’s the right phrase. And everyone in the whole area seems to be rooting for her. They all like her and want to please her. She’s a good person. And Anita knows it.’
‘Hang on,’ said Bonnie, waving a finger, as she arranged her thoughts. ‘Hasn’t she just interfered with that integrity, by telling you who owns the van? Now, when the police question you as Gillian’s witness, you’ll be influenced by knowing that. Because you didn’t know before, did you? You’d never have let me go off with Debbie if you had. You’d have been scared that Matthew might kill me and Ben as well.’
‘As if I could have stopped you. I was very worried this afternoon, for a minute or two. If I’d known what I know now I might have insisted on coming as well.’
‘Or called Moxon. Except … well, I wouldn’t have been in any danger, would I? All he’d want would be information.’