by Jay Gill
After making some tea and bringing it through on a tray with biscuits, Ms Montgomery sat and joined us.
“Never mind him,” she said, indicating the canary. “That’s Bublé. I named him after Michael Bublé. He’s singing like that because he’s excited.” She went up to the cage and made kissing noises. “Are you showing off for the pretty lady? Are you? It’s time for a little nap. Beddy-byes, Bublé.” She took a cover from off the top of a low cabinet, unfolded it and placed it over the cage. “He’ll quieten down now.”
She pulled absently on a broken fingernail as she spoke. “How are the girls, Alice and Faith? Monica? And that poor, dear woman friend of yours. Her husband must be beside himself with worry. I’m so sorry. I sent a card and flowers to the hospital. I hope she got them?”
“That was very kind. Thank you. The flowers are a lovely thought. She’s not out of the woods yet, but she’s stable. Monica and the girls are okay. They’re with my mother.”
“Send them my love. They are dear, sweet girls, a credit to you. So how can I help? Does this mean you’re back out of retirement?”
“For the time being, yes,” I admitted.
“Well, I’ll do whatever I can to help you catch the scoundrels who did this to your family. Shame on them. I’ve hardly slept a wink since it happened. I know I’ll rest easier knowing you’re out looking for them yourself.”
Cotton produced some photographs. They included Fischer himself, as well as pictures of men similar in appearance. She laid them out on the table side by side. “We were wondering whether you’d be able to identify the man you saw on the day of the fire. We’re aware you’ve already made a statement, but it would be very helpful if you would spend just a moment to look at the photographs again.”
Ms Montgomery reached behind her and picked up a pair of reading glasses. She then lifted each picture one at a time. She immediately separated one and placed it down in front of Cotton. “Him,” she said. She pressed the photo with her finger. “He was skinnier, but it was definitely him. I have no doubt. None whatsoever.”
Ms Montgomery had identified Edward Fischer. Cotton then repeated the process with photographs of women. Just as quickly, Ms Montgomery identified Faye Moon.
“That’s her,” said Ms Montgomery, once again tapping the photograph with her finger. She removed her reading glasses. “I got an even better look at her. She went back and forth across the road once or twice before the blaze. The way she was dressed, she didn’t look like much of a lady, if you know what I mean. Slutty, I call it.” Ms Montgomery curled her lip. “Right little tramp.”
I had hoped Ms Montgomery would be unable to identify Edward Fischer and Faye Moon. This would have supported my personal theory that it wasn’t them who had destroyed my home, that it had in fact been two as-yet-unidentified men. The same men who had left fingerprints and footprints at the scene of Timothy Spicer’s murder. However, her positive identification now meant we were looking for Edward Fischer and Faye Moon as well as Spicer’s killers. I should have known better. Investigations rarely come gift-wrapped.
“Well, thank you for your time,” said Cotton.
“One moment,” said Ms Montgomery. “Before you go, I have a gift for Alice and Faith.” She disappeared for a moment and returned with two knitted dolls. “They’re only silly, but I thought the girls might enjoy them. I made one slightly taller than the other, like your daughters.”
“Oh, they’re lovely,” I said, genuinely touched. “The girls will be over the moon with them. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” We all got to our feet, and Ms Montgomery walked down the hall with us and opened the front door. She followed us to the front gate, where we all looked across the road at the ruin that was once my home.
“I’m sure you’ll catch them soon,” she said reassuringly. “With all the people I’ve spoken to – police, private investigators and journalists. At any rate, with so many eyes looking, those two in the pictures have nowhere to hide.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Cotton.
We climbed into Cotton’s car. I tried not to look at my home again; it was depressing. “I’d better get back,” I said. “Monica and I are visiting Rayner and Jenny this evening.”
“Send them my love.”
I put the keys in the ignition and started the car. I put it in gear and was about to release the handbrake when Ms Montgomery’s words fluttered through my mind again. I stared straight ahead as my brain processed the last part of our conversation.
“Are you okay?” asked Cotton.
I look around her at Ms Montgomery, who was still standing at the gate waiting to wave us off. I turned off the car and got out and walked back to Ms Montgomery. Cotton joined me.
Ms Montgomery had a look of concern and confusion on her face. “Everything all right?”
“You said you’d seen a few people about the house fire?”
“Did I?” Ms Montgomery frowned as she recalled our conversation. “Obviously, local police, a couple of times. A couple of private detectives, working alongside the police. A young man from the local paper, Daily Echo – pleasant young man. Looked about sixteen years old, of course.”
I looked at Cotton as Ms Montgomery repeated what I thought I’d heard her say earlier.
“And I’ve spoken to you. I did get a phone call from BBC South. They wanted to clear up a couple of points. I watched the evening news, but there was very little coverage.”
“About these two private investigators,” I said. “What sort of questions did they ask you?”
“They wanted to know about the couple who burned your house. One of them was very impolite. Said they were working alongside the police to investigate the escape from prison.”
“Did they show you any identification?” I asked.
“I didn’t think to ask,” admitted Ms Montgomery. “How foolish of me. You don’t think they were journalists, do you?” She put a hand to her chest. “Do you think I’ve been hoodwinked?”
“Can you describe them?”
“Goodness gracious, yes,” said Ms Montgomery. “One was pipe-cleaner thin and funny looking. Had a bandage on his ear. The other reminded me of the Marlboro Man, but mean looking, and not wearing the Stetson hat. He had different-coloured eyes: the left eye was blue and the right eye brown.”
“Why don’t we go back inside for a moment?” said Cotton. “It’ll be more private and I can take down a proper description.”
“Of course, of course. Anything to help,” said Ms Montgomery. “I’ll put the kettle on again, make a fresh brew. What a lot of excitement.”
Chapter Fifty
Moon rang the doorbell a second time. Trying to see inside, she peered through the colourful stained-glass panel in the front door. The chain rattled and the door opened as far as the security chain would allow.
Moon was shocked at how old Aunt Patti had gotten. She’d pictured seeing the sprightly old lady she’d stolen from all those years ago. “Hello, Aunt Patti. It’s me, Moon.”
Aunt Patti peered at Moon through the gap in the door, then without saying a word she closed it. Moon kicked the doorstep in frustration. She was about to curse the old bitch when she heard the chain rattle again and the door opened once more.
“Don’t just stand there, girl. If you’re coming in, come in. Wipe your feet on the mat. No smoking in the house. We no longer have a smoking room.” Aunt Patti moved slowly and with the aid of a cane. “If you steal from me again, I’ll cut your hands off.” She put out an arm and Moon helped her to her armchair. Aunt Patti settled herself by brushing out the creases in her skirt and making sure her Times newspaper and magnifying glass were within reach. “Put the kettle on, girl. You know where everything is. Then we can talk.”
Moon turned towards the kitchen.
“And there’s no need to slam the cupboard doors. I remember you always slam the cupboard doors.”
Moon returned a few minutes later with the china tea service on a silver
tray, everything laid out the way she had been taught as a child.
Aunt Patti leaned forward and examined the tray. “Mmm. Good. Did you warm the pot?”
“Yes, Aunt Patti.”
“Good girl. I hope you used the Earl Grey. Nothing else will do in the afternoon.”
Moon nodded. “I remembered.” She looked around the room. It hadn’t changed since her childhood. The familiarity was somehow comforting. For the first time, she wished she could stay and never leave.
“Sit there and let me look at you.”
Moon perched on the edge of the two-seater sofa. She straightened her t-shirt and tidied her hair with her fingers. She tried to smile.
“Mm, not much of you,” said Aunt Patti. “You always were a little flat-chested. You’re still prettier than your sister, though. Always were.” Aunt Patti took off her glasses and sat back. “I cannot abide strong tea, so pour mine, if you will. I don’t want to hear the teaspoon touch the sides of the cup. Remember, when you remove the teaspoon, to place it on the saucer behind the cup. I want to see the handle of the spoon and the handle of the cup pointing in the same direction.”
As Moon poured the tea, she could feel the old lady’s penetrating x-ray vision. She handed the cup to Aunt Patti, who took a sip and placed it on the antique French rosewood and mahogany table beside her.
Aunt Patti’s steely grey eyes looked Moon up and down. “You were always brighter than your sister, but I should have known your wilfulness would lead to trouble. I blame myself for what you have become.”
“Don’t sugarcoat what you’re thinking on my account. Say what you mean.”
“There it is. The backchat, lippy as ever. An unwillingness to listen to sense. What do you need this time? Money, is it? Don’t give me that look. You wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something.”
“I don’t need your money. I just need a place to stay for the night. Maybe two nights.”
“Are you still doing the drugs? I won’t have it my house.”
“No, I’m not on drugs. I kicked all that.”
“If I find anything missing after you’ve gone, like last time, I won’t hesitate to phone the police. Do you hear me?”
“You have my word.”
“Lot of good that’ll do me. But it’ll have to do.”
The pair sat in silence for a while, the grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the room like a time bomb.
Moon realised she was holding her breath. She needed a cigarette and a beer.
“You can stay; of course you can. The guest room is ready, as always. You know where it is. You can stay as long as you like.”
Moon let out a silent sigh of relief. “I have a bag in the car…”
“Let’s drink our tea. You can fetch your bag later; there’s no hurry. Tell me what you’ve been up to these past few years.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Fischer drove back along the road they’d travelled after escaping prison. He didn’t like the idea of deviating from his initial plan, but he needed to catch up with Moon. He didn’t just want his money back; he also needed to understand how Lyle had forced Moon to betray him. He knew Moon was scared, but he hoped he could persuade her she’d be safer with him than alone.
Seeing a pub up ahead, Fischer decided to pull over. He needed some hot food and a bathroom break. He parked the car in the far corner of the car park and went inside. He found a small table close to a window and ordered steak and chips. While he waited for his order to arrive, he called Jessica. He wanted to hear her voice again.
Fischer watched people at other tables while the phone rang. A businessman on his laptop, a retired couple holding hands and chatting, young parents watching their son playing with his action figures on the floor beside the table while also feeding a toddler in a high-chair. The toddler was more interested in watching her big brother than in the roast-chicken paste being spooned to her from a jar.
Jessica answered in a whisper. “I can’t talk right now. The police are here. They’re saying you burned a house down. An inspector’s house. The one who put you in prison. Is it true? They have witnesses who saw you at the scene. Both you and Moon. Are you crazy?”
“It’s complicated.” Prickles of shame ran over his scalp and down his back.
“They’re saying I could be an accessory to attempted murder. If I know where you are, I must tell them.”
“Attempted murder?” His voice was a squeak.
“Yes. The woman nearly died.”
“What woman?” Fischer’s head dropped onto the table. His throat tightened and his breathing felt laboured. “What are you talking about?”
“There was a woman in the house.”
“There couldn’t have been. I watched the whole lot of them leave the house. The whole family. Is she okay?”
Jessica stopped talking to him for a moment. Fischer could hear mumbles as she told someone she was talking to a girlfriend. That she wanted to be left alone.
“No! They’re saying she might die,” said Jessica when she came back on the line.
“My God. What about the children?” asked Fischer.
“Apart from having their house burned down, you mean? How do you think they are? What kind of person does something like that?”
Fischer couldn’t answer that question. Hearing Jessica’s disappointment and disgust was breaking his heart. He had never planned for her to know about any of this. It was between him and Inspector Hardy. “Who was the woman?” was all he could think to say.
“She was the wife of another detective. Rayner, I think his name is. She was trapped inside while the house burned around her.”
“Moon rang the doorbell,” he said, almost to himself. “I saw her do it. She was supposed to check nobody was inside.”
Jessica was crying now, her voice breaking. “You’re blaming Moon? Mum was right – you’re an arsehole. I can’t have anything to do with you. Stay away from me. I never want to see you again. Never.” She hung up.
Fischer’s head was spinning. Jessica’s words felt like electric shocks through his body; they tore at his heart. How could everything have gone so wrong? He got up to leave.
The waitress arrived with his food. She placed it down on the table and looked at him.
“Change of plans, sweetheart. I won’t be eating.” Fischer threw a twenty-pound note down on the table.
“What about your food, sir?”
“Not hungry.”
Cursing and full of fury, Fischer stormed out of the pub. As he rounded the corner on his way to the car park, he bumped into a young man who was arm in arm with his girlfriend. The couple were full of laughter and young love. The young man looked up and smiled apologetically. He straightened his suit jacket and brushed the sleeve where Fischer had bumped into him. He looked Fischer up and down and kept walking.
“Watch where you’re going,” Fischer called after him.
“I’m sorry,” said the young man. He turned to look at Fischer and put out his hand in a way that said No harm done. The young woman stifled a giggle and pulled her man towards the pub.
Fischer turned and walked at speed towards the couple.
Seeing Fischer coming towards them, the young man stopped. He held his girlfriend behind him. “Look, I’m sorry. It was an accident. All right?”
“Is something funny? What’s the joke?” said Fischer.
“Nothing. There’s no joke. We’re just having a good time. We’re happy. All right?”
The young man stifled a guffaw, but his girlfriend’s laughter increased as she watched the grumpy man in front of them throw a wobbly.
“Then why the hell are you laughing?” yelled Fischer. “If there’s no joke, I can only assume you’re laughing at me. Are you laughing at me? Am I funny to you? Tell me. Am I some sort of fucking clown?”
The young man looked confused. “Just take it easy. We’re not laughing at you.”
“Why are you looking at your little slut? It’s a simple enough
question. Either tell me what the joke is, or I’ll assume you’re laughing at me.”
“Look, mate. We’re just here for a drink and a bite to eat. We’re not laughing at you. I didn’t even notice you until you bumped into me. I think maybe you’ve had one too many, so go on your way and let’s forget it.”
Fischer nodded and smiled politely. “I’ve not had a drink. But you’re right – let’s forget it.” He walked towards the couple and put out his right hand for the young man to shake. “I apologise. Let’s shake on it.”
Reluctantly, the young man reached for it. “No hard feelings.”
Fischer’s hand shot out and grabbed the young man’s throat, yanking him down. The young man crumpled onto his knees as he choked. Pain seared through his body. His girlfriend screamed and tried to push Fischer away.
“Don’t! Leave him. What’s wrong with you?”
Fischer brushed her aside. She fell back and toppled into a flowerbed. Fischer spoke into the young man’s ear. “You say you didn’t notice me. Do you notice me now, you little fucker?” Fischer’s grip hardened. The young man groaned. “You want me to go on my way, do you? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Let him go! You’re hurting him. He can’t breathe.” The young woman clambered to her feet and screamed at Fischer. She pounded her fists on Fischer’s back, but it had little effect. The young man’s eyes bulged, and his lips turned blue.
The young woman took off her shoe and hit Fischer with the heel. He looked up into her face and saw the fear in her eyes. He looked at the young man below him, then at his hand gripping his throat. The young man’s hand on his own hand. Fischer released his grip and the young man collapsed onto his back. The young woman wrapped her arms around her man.
“Look what you’ve done.”
Fischer looked at the young man grasping his throat and struggling for breath. “I’m sorry. I…”