Lethal Ties

by Christmas, Helen

  ******

  Dozing lightly next day, I was drifting on a cloud of pleasant memories, dimly aware of the world awakening around me. Joe had left for work already, so it was doubtful I would see him again until teatime. Given his imminent move to Jess’s flat, our reunion had ended on a high note. Relaxing on her balcony, it was easy to forget our troubles, the late afternoon sun hazy, the swish of waves from the beach blending harmoniously with the cry of gulls wheeling in the sky.

  Not quite awake, I saw the first gleam of daylight creep around the edge of my curtains.

  Yet somewhere under this pleasurable resonance echoed the incessant ring of my landline.

  I sat bolt upright.

  Shaken from my reverie, I stumbled out of bed to the lounge, but didn’t quite make it before the answering machine kicked in.

  “Maisie! Have you checked your email?” Sam’s voice barked from the speaker. “Read the report from DI Fitzpatrick and ring me as soon as you can.”

  A chill shuddered from my neck to the base of my spine, the temptation to pick up overwhelming. But struck with a sense that this was unlikely to be good news, I backed away from the phone to switch my laptop on.

  The urgency in Sam’s voice had shocked me, and sure enough, the first item I saw in my inbox was a message from the police marked CONFIDENTIAL.

  I read it again and again until the words blurred into squiggles. No matter how hard I tried to absorb the information, though, I could barely take it in.

  ‘Yvonne Draper, Sam’s former social worker, has been found dead in her back garden. Her husband alerted the police at around 6pm yesterday evening after she wandered outside but failed to return...’

  I squeezed my eyes shut, fingertips pressed against my temples. A band of pain spread across my forehead, while at the forefront of my mind hung the threads of the conversation we had shared only yesterday.

  Sam had been so keen to text DI Fitzpatrick with a view to arranging an interview. I had been sat in the pub garden, watching him - and convinced no further action would be taken on a Sunday, I hadn’t given it any more thought.

  But what if I was wrong about the police?

  Was it possible they had been in contact but our enemies had got to her first?

  With shaking hands, I clumsily dialled Sam’s mobile.

  “I can’t believe this,” I spluttered. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I wish I knew,” he said, a choke in his voice, “and before you ask, I spoke to DI Fitzpatrick. He got my message yesterday and agreed to speak to her but regrettably, it’s too late now...”

  I listened in horrified silence as he relayed the conversation. The story of Yvonne’s unexplained death was scheduled to appear on Sussex News tonight but early speculation was pointing in the direction of suicide.

  According to her husband she was depressed, suffering terrible guilt over something that had happened in the past. Furthermore, she had been displaying signs of anxiety, paranoia even, convinced her deeds were about to catch up with her.

  “They haven’t overruled the possibility of murder,” he added, darkly. “He found her face down in the garden pond. Drowned. She might have slipped and hit her head on a rock, but it all sounds very suspect doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, “especially after what we were talking about. I wonder if Joe was right though, that maybe she was hiding something.”

  “Her husband was cross-examined but they’ve released him, so shaken up he’s under medical supervision. Now the police want to question me. I’m worried they’re thinking I had something to do with it, but obviously that’s not possible. I was with you guys all afternoon, and we went to Jess’s apartment... but is there any chance you’ll vouch for me?”

  “You know I will! But why are they questioning you? There’s only one possible person behind this and we both know who that is.”

  “What are you saying, Maisie?”

  “Mortimer.” The name fell from my lips with a shiver. “Whatever your social worker knew would have backed up your own story. So how do you imagine the police are going to handle our case now?”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  While Maisie spent the afternoon fretting over the devastating news, Joe kept himself busy. Anything to take his mind off it. Cleaning, tidying, whilst gathering a few possessions together, he was going to miss the ambience of her home. But within a couple of days, he would be relocating to Jess’s apartment, and he distracted himself by thinking about what to cook tonight to make their evening extra special.

  Stepping out of the shower later, he rubbed the steam off the mirror. His reflection stared back through swirls of condensation, and pausing to take a look at himself, he wondered what Jess saw in him. His skin looked clear, stretched tautly over sharp cheek bones, his unruly dark hair in need of a cut. Jess insisted she liked it. Yet in the shadow of Sam’s radiance, he saw the same ugly little tearaway Mortimer had alluded to. His misshapen nose bulged on one side, unsightly as ever. Even though Maisie said she adored his smile, his teeth were still chipped and uneven.

  Backing away from the mirror, he tried hard not to cave in to such negative thoughts. It brought his mind back to Maisie, whose endeavours to rebuild his self-esteem had been the most precious gift a man could ask for.

  So what could he offer in return?

  Thirty minutes later, he heard her key turning in the door.

  “What are you cooking? It smells delicious...” Her head appeared around the kitchen partition, a smile lifting her lips.

  “I’m attempting one of your foster mum’s recipes,” he quipped, “the one you were drooling over on Pinterest.”

  She breathed in deeply, savouring the aroma; cod fillets, drizzled in lemon juice, olive oil and rosemary. After wrapping them carefully in parma ham slices, he had left them on the middle oven shelf to bake.

  As daytime drifted into evening, though, they could no longer avoid the inevitable. Joe joined her in the lounge where the first thing she did was switch the TV on.

  The 6:00 news was imminent but despite the uplifting mood he had created, there was no mistaking the darkness filling the atmosphere.

  ‘Police are investigating the unexplained death of Yvonne Draper, discovered drowned in her back garden on Sunday evening...’

  A photo of the deceased flashed briefly before the camera honed in on her house in East Grinstead. Maisie’s eyes widened. Tucked in a secluded cul-de-sac, the tangle of untamed shrubs and ivy suggested an air of neglect compared to its neighbours. Any passer-by might even imagine it was abandoned, thought Joe. These people clearly kept themselves to themselves.

  “It’s the house Sarah visited,” she said.

  ‘Her death has raised suspicion. Police cannot dismiss the possibility this may be connected to a wider investigation into historic child abuse that took place in a number of children’s homes in the mid-nineties…’

  “Shit,” Joe muttered under his breath, “she must have been one of the last people to hear Sam’s story before he was dragged up to Scotland.”

  He felt a shiver run deep inside his body. In the aftermath of Sam’s statement, it was obvious the police would question her, but what could have gone so wrong? According to Maisie, all she had confessed to Sarah was someone came forward to look after him. Yet even Sarah spoke of a deep underlying fear in the woman.

  With his thoughts bouncing crazily, the news commentary droned on in the background, until a statement from one of the officers seized his attention.

  ‘It has since emerged that the deceased harboured crucial evidence linked to a case being examined by officers of the Metropolitan Police. A national enquiry was launched in April. Mrs Draper, who had worked as a social worker during the years relevant to the investigation, was to be questioned over a series of allegations made by a witness, aged eleven, at the time the abuse took place...’

  “Sam,” they gulped in unison.

  ‘A verdict of accidental death has been recorded, but until we o
btain further evidence, Sussex police urge anyone who may have witnessed suspicious activity in the area to contact them as soon as possible.’

  “Whatever secrets she knew she’ll take to the grave,” Maisie shuddered.

  “Bit of a fucking coincidence though, isn’t it?” Joe snapped. “We were only talking about this in the pub yesterday.”

  “I know, but we were outside,” she pacified him, “whispering among ourselves. No one was paying attention and I only saw families on those other tables.”

  “What about Sam, then?” he added. “What time did he text the old bill?”

  “Not long after we finished lunch. You bought him another beer. Yvonne was found dead around six, so how could anyone have known?”

  “Apart from Sam,” Joe muttered. He spread his hands mid-air. “I dunno, but I can’t help thinking someone was out to put the gag on her. She was a vital witness...”

  “Or is it possible she couldn’t bear the thought of facing Sam?” Maisie butted in. “I mean, all things considered, she let him down badly! I read something in the report about guilt... she was anxious and getting paranoid.”

  Joe sighed. His imagination raced with a hundred different scenarios, but the timing could not be worse.

  “Talk to Sam, then,” he levelled at her. “Get his version of events. You seem to be getting on pretty well.”

  Maisie froze as an awkwardness loomed between them. He could no longer ignore the tension gathering but with all conversation suspended for now, it was time to rescue his fish from the oven.

  “Is there something going on between you two?” he challenged her over dinner.

  Maisie took a sip of wine. “What makes you say that?”

  “Aw, come on, Maisie, don’t go all coy on me. We’re mates aren’t we? I thought we could tell each other anything.”

  “I’m not sure really,” she sighed. “Ever since our meeting in London my head’s been all over the place. Sam was such a sweet boy and it traumatised me when he went missing. I talked about him in therapy but we’re adults now. Everything feels different.”

  “Yeah,” Joe nodded. “I get that. Though I definitely caught some vibe between you two on Sunday, and Jess picked up on it too. The little smiles, the hand touching... she’s very good at reading signals.”

  “I know,” Maisie nodded, meeting his eye at last. “So she said, except I’m not sure how to handle it. There’s nothing going on, apart from the investigation, but if anything is meant to happen, it will.”

  “But would you like it to?” Joe kept probing. “Sam worshipped you when we were kids and I doubt if anything’s changed.”

  Her eyes glittered in the candlelight as they clung to his stare. “I can’t answer that right now... but what about you and Jess? I mean living together!”

  “You wonder what she sees in me?” he joked.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Joe grinned. So she’d managed to turn the conversation around to him again but what was her problem? If she didn’t feel comfortable pouring her heart out, he wasn’t going to push it. She allowed him a moment to consider his own feelings.

  “As far as Jess is concerned, me moving in is the obvious next stage in her book. The last couple of weekends have been great, so I might as well give it a go.”

  “But do you love her?” she blurted.

  “Yeah,” he said in earnest. “Course I love her. What man wouldn’t? She’s pretty, she’s sexy and seems to really care about me. I mean, look at this vaping malarkey she’s got me into!” Delving into his pocket, he extracted a stainless steel vaporiser Jess had treated him to. “And all ‘cos I mentioned giving up smoking...” He let out a sigh, stroking it in his hands. “Fact is, Jess and I are two very insecure people who get on well. Don’t forget she’s had some shit relationships.”

  “I know,” Maisie nodded, “you both deserve some happiness and I said the same to her... but don’t go thinking she isn’t lucky, too.” Glancing at her empty plate, the glow in her eyes intensified. “That meal was yum! I really am going to miss you, Joe, and I hope you’ll pop round for a cuppa occasionally.”

  “I’d be honoured,” he chuckled and with those words, he felt a wrench in his heart. “I know we’ve spent most of our lives apart, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my best friend, Maisie, and you always will be.”

  ******

  I will never know how I managed to survive the rest of that week. The notion of Joe moving out hung darkly on the precipice, but it wasn’t until he was gone that the reality hit me like a sledgehammer. My flat felt huge, the silence crushing, and much as I made light of his smoking and swearing, the absence of his company tore a hole in my life.

  Sam, in the meantime, had contacted me twice since Yvonne’s death, initially to describe his police interview. His mood swung from overwhelming affection one minute, to unbearable remorse the next. Yet despite being exonerated of any blame, he could not suppress his belief that she lived in fear of the investigation after his statement, the courts and media hounding her.

  Perhaps her unaccountable death really was suicide.

  Except it shrouded our case in yet another layer of mystery.

  For how could we be sure it wasn’t Mortimer who’d sealed her fate?

  Whatever secrets she guarded would never see the light of day now, and as for Sam... I wished I could have done more to console him, the guilt gnawing at him like a cancer. Even if one accepted the possibility of foul-play, how could our enemies have acted so swiftly? Hanging on the phone, I hankered for some sign. Some hint he wanted to see me again and that maybe we could hook up...

  Yet it never came, leaving my world bleaker than ever.

  Approaching my home two days later, I couldn’t imagine things getting any worse. My footsteps dragged. Hands unsteady, I let myself in but in a moment I knew I was not alone. As Paula’s shadow loomed at the top of the stairs, I sensed an underlying wave of hostility. Bracing myself, I couldn’t help wondering if she had been waiting for me. For every step thudded with menacing intent as she marched down the stairs with her daughter in tow.

  Her eyes flickered over me, narrow with suspicion.

  “What is it, Paula?” I asked, my voice sapped of strength.

  “I wanna know who that weird kid was,” she snapped. “The one who was hanging round ‘ere the other week.”

  “His name is Connor,” I informed her quietly, “and he is not weird. He’s the foster son of one of my closest friends. Why, is there a problem?”

  “Got my Jade ‘ere to think about, ‘aven’t I?” she kept sniping. “Don’t ya think you should have told me? Saw him in the garden, didn’t we, love, ‘eadphones on, just staring up at our window...”

  My eyes fell to Jade, a subdued child whose doe eyes glanced up emptily as she clung to her mother’s legs.

  “I asked him what ‘e was doing out there but ‘e didn’t say nothing... Just kept staring and staring. You sure he ain’t some psycho?”

  Barbs of irritation pricked me but I had to keep my cool.

  “Would it help if I told you he’s autistic? Kids like Connor are poor at reading signals and maybe he thought you were angry. They tend to shut down when they feel threatened, but I assure you he’s completely harmless.”

  At last the woman appeared to deflate slightly, and ruffling her daughter’s hair, drew back a step. I held her gaze, feeling the mood lighten.

  “Yeah, well, you still should have told me,” she sniffed.

  “Yes, maybe I should,” I conceded, “but at least you know now, because he might be staying again in a couple of weeks’ time.”

  “Really?” she muttered, “well in that case I got something else to tell ya. D’you remember ‘im upstairs?” Her thumb jabbed towards the stairs.

  “Mr Lacey. What about him?”

  Yet again her eyes narrowed. “He’s coming back. Some occupational therapy lot came round to check his flat over...”

  Frozen in the hallway,
only now did I clam up, a lump forming in my throat. It seemed like an eternity since Joe had reported the ambulance outside, but with everything else unravelling, I had hardly given it any thought.

  “You don’t look too pleased,” Paula smirked. “Can’t say I am neither.”

  I tried to swallow but the lump wouldn’t shift.

  “Best keep a close eye on that lad you mentioned,” she kept taunting, “specially with creepy old dick heads like ‘im hanging around.”

  “Right, well, thanks for letting me know,” I said before shutting myself in my flat.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Gazing up in my innocence, I absorbed the darkness I was immersed in, oblivious to its hidden dangers. The bare branches of trees hovered above, a network of black capillaries. The chill of night bit into me, my ribbon flapping in the breeze. But only as I tried to move, did the horror strike me. Trapped in the forest, I started to shiver, and that was when I heard them...

  Closer they came, an army of whispers.

  Resonating in rhythm, the tone changed. Louder, deeper, it came from the trees, a chorus that turned gradually into chants. I felt another tug of resistance, the cool red satin cutting into me. But as my head twisted sideways, my breath was cut short. Their torches splintered the darkness, a ring of hooded figures illuminated.

  Then something changed, a face I had never before spotted.

  “Sam?”

  Lingering outside the circle, there was just enough light to unmask his tiny face, his eyes stretched wide in terror. I tried to scream, desperate to warn him.

  “Run! Whatever you do, get away from them!”

  Too late... He was gone before I had a chance to convey my warning, those creepy robed figures converging on him before he was swallowed into the shadows.

  “Mandy!” I spluttered over the phone. “Sorry to call like this, but is there any chance I could come home and live with you again? I can’t stand it here!”