by Penny Kline
On Saturday, Tisdall and Brake had spent a fruitless evening touring the pubs and clubs in the city centre then on Monday, when Julie had protested that Tisdall had left her on her own for the most of the previous week, Brake had offered to search farther afield. Presumably Brake’s wife was more concerned with her husband’s career than Julie was with his, but Tisdall’s fleeting resentment was quickly replaced by the usual feeling of guilt. What had happened to him? What was he doing?
Thinking back to when he and Julie first met, all he could remember was the sex. Had there been anything more? Not at the beginning, although they’d grown fond of each other before they grew apart. Maybe it was just a case of not appreciating what you’d got until you’d lost it. Lost it? He’d chucked it away, been flattered by the attention of a woman fifteen years younger, or worse, he’d used Julie as a way of getting back at Grace for trying to make something of her life. Was he really that shallow?
Before he met up with Brake, he had called round at the house, but Serena was out at the Sports Centre. Grace had reproached him for forgetting Thursday was one of Serena’s training afternoons but let him come inside for a couple of minutes. She'd been watching an old black and white movie. Anyone else would have started to explain, justify. I wasn’t actually watching it. I’ve been dusting or ironing. I just put it on to keep me company. Not Grace. ‘Joan Crawford and Jack Palance,’ she told him. ‘She knows someone’s trying to kill her –’
‘Don’t let me interrupt. If Serena’s not here…’
‘Coffee?’
‘If you’re having one.’
‘I wasn’t but I will.’
The ritual complete, they had moved to the kitchen where he sat on his old chair, except now there were two chairs instead of three. Grace was wearing jeans, something she had never done in the past, and she had lost a few pounds, not that she had ever been overweight. When she asked what he was working on he had told her more than he intended, mainly as a way of concealing how agitated he was.
Because what had happened was so appalling that for weeks, months he had denied it to himself. Then Julie had said something about going on holiday in the autumn and he had known a holiday with her was more than he could stand. Julie every minute of the day and night, the two of them trailing round gift shops, going on coach outings, and eating, forever eating. Not that Julie enjoyed her meals but, as with all finicky eaters, food was a constant topic of conversation. Once he had thought she might be suffering from anorexia but as far as he could tell she had never dropped below eight stone. Maybe you could have the psychology of an anorectic but it came out in faddiness rather than actually starving yourself.
‘How’s Julie?’ Grace handed him a mug.
‘All right.’
‘You look tired. Liz Cowie been overworking you? Incidentally, what does this dog man look like?’
He described the anorak and flat cap, and the grey and black scarf one of the pickpocket's victims had managed to catch hold of and pass on to the police. DI Cowie and Superintendent Reid had based their belief that the dog man was responsible for the murder on the remarkable similarity between previous victims’ reports of the man, and two descriptions of someone seen close to the scene of Frith’s murder. Height, weight, hair colour, type of clothing – they all matched up, and one of the witnesses actually claimed to have seen the dog man talking to Frith and pointing at the roots of a tree.
Grace pulled in her chair and her knee brushed his, but it was an accident, then the phone started ringing and when she found out who it was her tone of voice sent a blast of fear through his body. No name was mentioned but it was someone he didn’t know, someone who seemed to be paying her compliments, referring back to time spent together. When she returned she looked flushed.
‘Nina’s new boyfriend,’ she explained in answer to the question in his eyes. ‘You remember Nina, the friend I met at college. He wants to give her something special for her birthday, wondered if I had any ideas.’
She was lying.
10
‘You know the way?’
‘I’ll find it.’ Kristen remembered her last visit to Brigid’s had been in the dark, with William. ‘First left, second right, then down past the railway line?’
‘Number twenty. Blue front door. I’ll go on ahead of you and see to Rebecca. The childminder’s sweet with her but a bit sluttish when it comes to hygiene.’ Brigid gave a nervous laugh. ‘You have to be so careful with young babies.’
‘I’m sure.’ Kristen and Brigid had never been friends, only acquaintances. Their relationship was a blank sheet but with the advantage that Brigid knew all about her and William. Kristen had decided to confide in her, tell her about Cameron Lyle, so she was not best pleased when she rang the bell ten minutes later and discovered Brigid’s husband, Alex, had decided to spend the day working at home.
‘Hello there.’ Alex let her into the house and told her to go through to the kitchen, Brigid was upstairs but would be down in a moment.
She remembered the house from her one previous visit, but the kitchen had been refitted with Shaker-style cupboards, a split hob, concealed lighting and a grey tiled floor.
Alex pulled out two chairs, adjusted a pot plant until it was dead centre on the table, and waited for her to sit down. He looked different too, but that might be a new pair of glasses, and as she watched, he took them off and held them up to the light, scratching at a mark on one of the lenses. His pale, rather coarse skin contrasted with the darkness of his eyes and hair. He was good looking but not in the way William had been. Alex’s nose was large and one of his eyebrows was fractionally higher than the other, giving him a slightly amused, quizzical look although for a brief moment, without his glasses, he had looked quite vulnerable.
‘How’s the teaching going?’ He opened a cupboard and took out a bottle. ‘Drink?’
‘No thanks. Yes, it’s not too bad.’
They sat in silence for a moment then Kristen asked if he knew Neville’s wife.
‘Vi?’ His voice was loud with relief that they had found a topic to discuss that had no connection with William’s death or Theo’s return to London. ‘Two of her pictures were reproduced in the local paper. Apparently she’s had some success with a London gallery.’
Kristen could tell he had no interest in Vi Pitt but she ploughed on just the same. ‘Neville said she had ideas that could be relevant to the thesis I’m writing.’
‘Ah, the thesis.’ He was back on safe ground. ‘Inherited ability, am I right?’
‘It’s about children with exceptional gifts.’
Alex laughed. ‘Same thing in my book.’
‘Vi wouldn’t agree with you.’
‘What wouldn’t Vi agree with?’ Brigid came through the door, holding the baby, still warm and sleepy from her cot, and Kristen jumped up to see her.
‘Oh, she’s lovely. Sweet. I like the name Rebecca.’
At the sound of a strange voice, the baby turned her head and stared at Kristen with wary brown eyes.
Alex was still sitting with his legs sprawled out in front of him. Brigid gave him a look of good-natured exasperation. ‘If you’re having lunch with us can you get some stuff out of the fridge? Pastrami and salad. Bread rolls on top of the microwave.’
‘Right you are.’ Alex held out a finger for the baby to grab. ‘Is that all we’re having? No, leave it to me.’
Kristen ignored the slight tension between them, pushing away memories of her own resentment when William had done less than his fair share of looking after Theo, and concentrated her attention on Rebecca. She had Brigid’s nose and her fair, fluffy hair, not that there was very much of it, and it would probably turn darker when she was older, just as Theo’s had done. She was fat and cuddly and Kristen longed to hold her, but she could be at an age when a stranger would make her cry.
‘You didn’t wake her, did you?’ Alex said. ‘Wouldn’t it have been better to leave her in her cot until after we’ve eaten?’
&
nbsp; Brigid fastened Rebecca into her bouncy chair. ‘Kristen wanted to see her.’
‘Yes, I did,’ Kristen said, a tone of apology in her voice. ‘She’s lovely. Beautiful.’
Were Alex and Brigid finding it hard to adjust to the responsibility of caring for a baby after all those years of freedom? For the last five years, Kristen’s own life had been governed to a great extent by Theo’s needs. Now she was “free”. Glancing at the digital wall clock, she tried to imagine what he was doing. Shopping in Knightsbridge, eating out in an expensive restaurant, or lying on his bed, crying as silently as possible for fear that Ros or the childminder would hear? Kristen had been expecting him to phone even though part of her dreaded it, knowing the conversation would be stilted, artificial.
‘So.’ Alex was holding a limp looking lettuce under the tap, ‘Neville wants you to teach the little brainboxes how to philosophize. The place pays peanuts but three mornings a week suits Brigid pretty well. Any chance of another job in a school? I suppose it’s getting late for the autumn term unless someone suddenly drops dead or gets retired on medical grounds.’
‘I haven’t looked for one yet.’ Kristen was thinking about the anonymous letter while watching Brigid clench and unclench her jaw. Because Alex had used the phrase “drop dead”? William had once described him as tactless. Still, William was a fine one to talk. ‘I’m not sure I want to go back to what I was doing before,’ she said, ‘I expect I’ll do supply teaching for a while.’
Alex nodded, searching in a drawer for a knife then placing it on the draining board and taking a tissue from his pocket to wipe away the juice the baby had brought up. Looking up at Kristen, as if the subject could be avoided no longer, he asked if she had heard from Theo.
‘He wrote a letter but I think it had been dictated by Ros.’
‘What makes you think that?’
Brigid frowned. ‘For God’s sake, Alex, Kristen knows the kind of thing Theo would have written.’
Alex left the room and Kristen heard him running up the stairs. While he was away, she decided to raise the subject of Shannon. ‘She seems so tense. Her extra maths lessons … I wondered…’
Brigid frowned. ‘What about them?’
‘I thought she might be finding the work a strain, or …’ She broke off, unwilling to take the conversation any further. But Brigid had picked up on what she was thinking.
‘Neville admires her ability with figures and that’s as far as it goes.’
‘Yes, of course, I didn’t mean –’
‘I hope you haven’t been talking to anyone else?’
‘Of course not. I only mentioned it because…’
‘Lots of these children have problems. Bright kids nearly always do.’
Alex had returned, bringing with him a brochure that he left on one of the worktops. ‘Show it to you later, Kristen, might come in useful.’
During lunch, he returned to the subject of her thesis. ‘It’s impressive the way you’re carrying on with your research. If there’s anything I can do … William was a good friend, a valuable colleague, if he’d been prepared to knuckle down he’d have had a brilliant career ahead of him.’
‘Alex!’ The sharpness in Brigid’s voice made the baby’s mouth turn down and her lower lip tremble.
‘I simply meant if William had stayed in the States.’
‘But he didn’t, and I expect he was thinking of Kristen and Theo.’
‘No, it wasn’t that.’ Kristen was afraid both she and the baby were both going to cry. ‘The job didn’t turn out the way he hoped. There was too much teaching, not enough time for research.’
Alex rubbed his hands together. ‘You know, I don’t think I’ve met anyone with such an independent mind, who was still capable of carrying out instructions to the letter.’
‘You must have thought him very ungrateful.’ Kristen hated apologising on William’s behalf. ‘After all the trouble you’d gone to, fixing up the job. I tried to persuade him we ought to stay at least until the end of the year.’
‘But he didn’t take a blind bit of notice. No, well …’ His voice trailed away and he glanced at Brigid, as if to say he had only been trying to help and had no intention of upsetting anyone.
Brigid stood up and opened the fridge. ‘I’m going to feed Rebecca.’
Alex pushed back his chair. ‘The police are still sticking to the same theory, are they, this dog man character they keep talking about?’
Slipping her hand into her pocket, Kristen felt for Theo’s letter. ‘Yes, but they’re making some new inquiries too.’
‘I can’t think why we didn’t hear about him before. A pickpocket with the nasty habit of pretending his dog had gone missing.’
‘We did,’ said Brigid, ‘it was in the local paper after he’d carried out the first two thefts.’ She turned to Kristen, making it clear the subject was at an end. ‘It’s become easier since Rebecca’s been more settled. Or perhaps I’ve got more used to leaving her. Babies pick up on how you’re feeling, that’s why it’s stupid to get worked up when they won’t stop crying.’
Kristen smiled. ‘I’m sure all mothers are the same.’
‘With their first baby, you mean?’ Alex cut himself a wedge of blue cheese. ‘What’s Ros like? Typical actress type? I remember William mentioning how she can’t have any more children, a complication after Theo was born.’
Kristen stared at him. ‘William said that?’
‘Yes. I think so.’ A small degree of doubt had entered his voice but only because Brigid was glaring at him. ‘Maybe I got it wrong.’
‘I was thinking, Kristen,’ Brigid said, ‘why not give the Adult Education people a ring, see if they can fix you up with a couple of evening classes in October?’
‘Good idea,’ Alex joined in enthusiastically. ‘I could put in a word. No, you don’t need me. You’re sufficiently well qualified to teach in a number of areas, and make a very good job of it too. That’s why I brought the brochure downstairs. Give you an idea what kind of classes they hold.’
During the evening, Ros phoned. ‘Hi, Kristen, the reason I’m calling, I wondered if you could have Theo next weekend. Once he’s started at his new school it may be a difficult, although there’ll be half terms and so forth.’
‘Yes, of course. Will you be bringing him here?’
‘Either me or John.’ The voice, that had sounded a little desperate, suddenly changed to studied nonchalance. ‘Anyway, I’ll ring again nearer the time.’
Sinking into a chair, Kristen closed her eyes. Next weekend. Theo must have gone on at her, begged, and eventually she had become tired of arguing and given in. No, she was wrong. Theo had pestered her but Ros had only needed a small amount of coaxing. Already she was finding his presence in the flat a strain. Letting him return to Bristol was her way of saying it had been a mistake re-claiming him so soon.
Ros would buy him expensive presents, the kind of toys and games that had novelty value for a day or two. He would tell Kristen what he really wanted. But already she was spoiling it, dreading the moment when it was time for him to leave. Supposing Ros took him abroad: she was always hoping for a part in an American television series. His memory of her and William would fade with only a few vague recollections, visits to Leigh Woods, Blaise Castle … Kristen had looked after him since he was four, but how many people could remember much that happened before the age of seven or eight?
Struggling to her feet, she moved across to the mantelpiece and forced herself to look at the photographs properly, not just glimpse them and look away, as she usually did. William and Theo on the Downs. Theo on his sixth birthday. The three of them, taken a year ago by a man on the beach at Oxwich. They were starting to look like pictures from a long time ago.
She thought about the gifted children, then about Vi, and Cameron Lyle, the man who claimed to have known William but hardly at all. What did it matter who had killed him? But it did. Not for her sake, but for Theo's. Somehow she had to find out more, face u
p to the fact that there were people William had never told her about, people who had been important to him, part of a life he had kept secret, people – someone in particular – who had wanted to get rid of him.
11
‘We’ve passed it,’ Brake said, drawing up fifty yards beyond a lighted sign. ‘I suppose they got their licence because there were no houses close by. Used to be three tower blocks but they were knocked down and since then the land’s been derelict.’ Tisdall took his jacket from the back seat and started walking back towards the club. It was still stiflingly hot. A group of kids, who should have been in bed, were kicking a deflated ball on an area that was supposed to be grass but had been reduced long since to dry impacted earth.
‘See that one with ginger hair,’ said Brake, ‘can’t be more than nine.’
‘Unless the government comes up with new legislation, curfews on innocent kids are outside our remit.’
‘Until one goes missing,’ Brake said, ‘then there’s an outcry about how there ought to be more foot patrols, bobbies on the beat. Incidentally, the anonymous letter seems to have changed Liz Cowie’s mind. I mean, how many people would have known where Kristen Olsen worked?’
Up to last week, persuading Liz Cowie there was more to the case than met the eye had been a lost cause. Then, like an answer to Tisdall’s prayers, someone had sent the anonymous letter. Cowie had pretended it had all the hallmarks of an oddball but Tisdall knew her better than that, she was never as rock solid certain as she made out. All right, Ray, I know the trend as well as you do, less emphasis on bits of information fed into the computer and analysed – often not very effectively – and more on pairs of officers following up particular lines of inquiry.
When he left her office, he’d had a job not to laugh out loud. He’d be working more or less off his own bat and could fix it so on Mondays and Wednesdays, when Grace was home but Serena was still at the Sports Centre he could call round and …