Feeling Bad (Anna McColl Mystery Book 2)

by Penny Kline

  She turned to face me. ‘I know what happened,’ she said. ‘You know too, don’t you? I suppose when Luke was in hospital he told you all about it.’

  ‘About what?’ I had no wish to be cruel. It was just that I had to be certain we were both talking about the same thing.

  ‘Don’t make me go into details. Doug and Luke. Oh, I don’t blame the lad. I knew what was going to happen before he did. You only had to look at Doug’s face.’

  ‘You should have told me.’

  She pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘What good would that have done?’

  ‘I could have found Luke somewhere else to live.’

  ‘It’s never happened before. I’m sure of it. As sure as I can be. When you brought Luke round that first time … If I’d known — ’

  ‘How could you have done?’

  I reached out a hand but she stood up, then bent down to pick up a spoon that had fallen under the table. When she straightened up there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘I liked having him live with us. He was so considerate, so thoughtful.’

  Doug was back. I heard the key in the front door, then Doug whistling through his teeth, wiping his shoes on the mat.

  Elaine froze. ‘Don’t say anything.’ She was squeezing my arm so hard that I was afraid it might leave a bruise.

  Doug came into the kitchen. When he saw me his tongue flicked out and brushed his upper lip.

  ‘Anna! What a nice surprise. How are you? Any news of the boy?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Shame, but I’m sure he won’t come to any harm. Put it this way, he’s more resourceful than some people realize, that’s what I used to say, didn’t I, dear?’ The evening paper lay on top of the fridge-freezer. I wondered if they had seen the photo of Rhiannon Pascoe in yesterday’s edition. Even if they had, they would never have connected it with Paula’s death.

  The three of us sat in uneasy silence for what seemed a long time but was probably less than a minute. Elaine spoke first and her words were evenly spaced, deadpan.

  ‘What did the doctor say?’

  Doug jumped. ‘Dr Thornton? Wasn’t on duty. I had to see a trainee, no use at all.’

  ‘He told you there was nothing to worry about?’

  ‘Something like that, but the receptionist, that one with the blonde hair, she agreed it was always best to be on the safe side.’

  ‘That’s all right then.’

  The nervous tic had returned to the corner of Doug’s eye. He put up a hand to try and stop it.

  ‘I believe Detective Sergeant Whittle came to see you,’ I said.

  ‘Whittle? Yes, that could’ve been the name.’

  Elaine spoke slowly. Both her hands were clasping her neck as though it was an effort keeping her head up straight.

  ‘Doug doesn’t like the police, do you?’

  ‘Why d’you say that? Only doing their job.’

  For a few moments we sat in silence.

  Then I tried again. ‘Sergeant Whittle thought you might have a few ideas where Luke could have gone,’ I said, ‘but you didn’t want to say in case he wanted to be left in peace.’

  Doug licked his lips, then spoke with an effort as though there was very little air in his lungs.

  ‘The lad hasn’t done anything wrong. Just finds it hard to make a go of things. Put it in a nutshell, he wants a week or two on his own, time to sort things out in his mind.’

  I stared at him. He would have liked it if Luke had confided in him but in reality I doubted if he knew any more than the rest of us.

  He turned to face me and just for a moment I could see what he was going to look like when he was old.

  ‘Forgot to tell you, Anna,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Several job opportunities in the pipeline. One with a car hire place although I’ve a feeling they might want a younger man. Don’t have to pay so much. You know how it is. And another in security.’

  ‘Caretaker,’ said Elaine. ‘Anna doesn’t want to hear about that now.’

  He flinched. I felt sorry for him. ‘Something will turn up sooner or later,’ I said.

  ‘I doubt it.’ Elaine put a crisp in her mouth and crunched it between her teeth. ‘Wendy, she’s one of the other supervisors, she says the government wants the young people to get the jobs.’

  ‘She would!’ shouted Doug. ‘Wendy says this, Wendy says — ’

  ‘Anyway,’ I interrupted, ‘I must go. Oh, just before I leave. I expect the police told you, didn’t they? When Paula was killed she was wearing Luke’s blue and white sweater.’

  ‘Really?’ Doug leaned against the wall. ‘Of course they were about the same size. Same height, give or take an inch, same fair hair.’

  Elaine rested her chin on her hands. ‘What Anna means is if the accident wasn’t an accident someone could have thought Paula was Luke.’

  I turned to look at Doug. His body was shaking so much that he was having difficulty standing up.

  ‘Of course it was an accident,’ he muttered. ‘Who said it wasn’t an accident?’

  Elaine spoke slowly, quietly. ‘You were out at your framing class at the time, weren’t you.’

  ‘What? When? Yes, the class. Afterwards we went to the pub. Just a quick one. Maybe two. People like to buy their round. You have to let them or … I was back here — what time was it? You’d been watching the television, that programme about the people who — ’

  ‘I wouldn’t hurt Luke, Doug, you know that.’

  ‘What? Hurt Luke? Why would anyone want to hurt the lad?’ He slid to the floor. I noticed that his glasses had been repaired with sticky tape that was starting to unravel. The seam of his trousers just below the pocket had come unstitched. White underpants showed through the gap.

  ‘Up you get,’ said Elaine, taking hold of both his arms and yanking him to his feet. ‘You wouldn’t harm the boy and neither would I. We both know that and so does Anna.’

  She glared at me, daring me to insinuate otherwise, even by the smallest change of expression.

  Doug sat down, pulling his chair close to the table and resting his head on his hands.

  ‘Well,’ said Elaine, ‘what we ought to do now is have everything out in the open. That’s right, isn’t it, Anna, that’s what you’re supposed to do. But we won’t. Not today. Probably not ever. It’ll fester, won’t it, Anna. Fester away like it’s always done. But the way I see it, some things are best left festering.’

  She started laughing, then moved towards the sink and switched on both taps. Her shoulders moved up and down in short, jerky spasms. I couldn’t see her face.

  *

  I was watching the news when the phone rang.

  ‘Anna, it’s me again.’

  ‘Howard?’ I tried to sound relaxed, unconcerned that he was phoning so late in the evening.

  ‘Rhiannon Pascoe, the witness who came forward.’ He paused. ‘Is there anyone with you?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘She was found by a small boy riding his bike near the allotments. There’s a tunnel where the old railway line used to run. I expect you know it, can’t be more than fifteen minutes from where you live. She’d been dead about an hour.’

  16

  I was with Heather in Reception when a phone call came through. I hoped it was Michael. I had tried to get through to him the previous evening and several times this morning, but without any luck. It wasn’t Michael and whoever it was her voice was blasting my ear drum.

  ‘Thank Heavens. They keep your office a secret, do they, in case you’re overrun with all those poor wretched people who can’t take responsibility for their own lives.’

  I moved the receiver a couple of inches away from my ear. ‘Miss Gordon?’

  ‘Am I interrupting your work? Are you in the middle of sorting out somebody’s problems?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If you were I don’t suppose they’d have put me through. The reason I’m ringing. Luke. I’m worried about him.’

  ‘We all are.’


  ‘How much have you been told? Are you still there? You know Luke well, do you? He’s told you what happened?’

  I wished I was up in my room but it was too late to have the call switched through.

  ‘You mean about his sister?’

  ‘No, I don’t mean … ’ Her voice softened a little. ‘That was terrible, heartbreaking, but it was an accident. What happened later — that was a tragedy.’

  ‘Later?’

  ‘Michael hasn’t told you. No, I suppose not. Yes, I see. The thing is I’ve been thinking … ’ She hesitated, then cleared her throat and tried again. ‘I was worried. I … You’re a psychologist.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Used to dealing with disturbed people, people who … ’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Anyway, you must talk to Michael, ask him to explain. Oh and Anna?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Be careful.’

  I wanted to ask why she was phoning me, not Michael. I wanted to ask why she had contacted me today, six days after the visit to Keynsham. But the line had gone dead and it would be no use trying to phone back. She had said as much as she was prepared to say.

  ‘Problems?’ Heather was sitting on her desk, peeling a banana. She had watched some of the top players at Wimbledon eating bananas between games and was convinced they would give her more energy.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘If she rings again make sure you put it through even if I’ve got a client with me.’

  ‘It’s that important?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Back in my room I sat down and closed my eyes. What could have happened that was worse than Diana’s death? It was almost impossible to imagine. Perhaps Faith Gordon had a strange notion of what constituted a tragedy. At school they had told us that your mother falling off a cliff was an accident but the fate of King Lear was a tragedy. It was a definition I had never been able to accept.

  Outside, the drilling seemed to have moved closer. I stood up and crossed to the window. Something was being unloaded from a truck that had blocked off most of the road. The driver was leaning out of his cab, offering a cigarette to another man who was laughing and pulling silly faces. I wished I had an outdoor job, something physical, clear-cut, where someone told you what to do and you did it. I needed to talk to Michael.

  *

  Later, as I was about to go home, Howard Fry phoned.

  ‘Anna? We won’t be absolutely certain until after the postmortem but it appears Rhiannon Pascoe died from inhaling lighter fuel.’

  ‘Lighter fuel,’ I repeated stupidly.

  ‘Sprayed directly into the mouth it can cause sudden death from vagal stimulation by the freezing gas. Anyway I thought you’d like to know.’

  ‘Yes. Thanks.’

  It was obvious that he expected me to be heartily relieved. Why? Because the means of her death added credibility to his belief that the poor girl had been an unreliable witness?

  He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had time to visit the Hargreaves.’

  ‘I saw them yesterday but they’ve no idea where Luke could have gone.’

  He paused. ‘Just one more question.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The pulse in my neck was starting to throb.

  ‘Carl Redfern, Paula Redfern’s ex-husband, I believe you two have met. Can you tell me — at the time of the accident — were he and Paula in touch with each other?’

  ‘They used to see each other occasionally but not recently — as far as I know.’

  ‘He’s made a statement but I thought there might be something you could add.’ I made a decision. ‘Look, I’m not sure what’s going on in your head. I mean, I know you’ve been trying to find Luke, but the accident … After the witness came forward … ’

  ‘I keep an open mind, Anna, but there are one or two things that don’t tie up.’

  I wanted to ask what things, but he would have come up with some ambiguous answer and I would have been none the wiser.

  ‘Right then,’ he said, ‘I expect you’re waiting to go home. I’ll let you know the result of the full post-mortem.’ Bye for now.’

  On the way back to the flat I took a route that passed close to the Coach House. Howard Fry had made me nervous, and also rather angry. He was using me to try and extract information from people connected with Luke but he wasn’t prepared to tell me what he wanted to know. The police don’t search for adult missing persons unless they believe they are a danger to themselves or other people. In Fry’s mind, which of these categories did Luke fall into?

  I turned in to Carl Redfern’s road and pulled up fifty yards from his house. It was just after six. Most likely Liz would be home from work. If not, Carl would be pacing up and down, imagining her out drinking with her colleagues — or worse.

  How had Liz found out about my visit to the Coach House? I pictured Carl telling her a bit more, then a bit more, trying to gain her reassurance but without ever voicing his real anxieties.

  I wondered if the two of them had seen the story about Rhiannon Pascoe? But even if they had they would never have connected it with Paula’s death. Perhaps Rhiannon and Paula had known each other. Carl had said Paula liked helping lame dogs and by the sound of it Rhiannon had needed all the help she could get. Might Paula even have told her about Carl’s spell in prison? My imagination was running riot. It was time for a show-down with Carl and Liz, not to extract information for Howard Fry, but for my own peace of mind and because it just might lead me to Luke.

  Liz answered the door. She was wearing a grey sweater that matched her eyes and black trousers. When she saw me she let out a small involuntary cry. Then she spoke in a whisper.

  ‘Have you come to see Carl?’

  ‘Both of you,’ I said, ‘if that’s possible.’

  ‘Oh.’ She hovered in the hallway and for a moment I thought she was going to close the door in my face. Then Carl called out: ‘Who is it?’

  Liz sighed. ‘You’d better come in.’

  I followed her into the living-room. There was no sign of Carl but the French windows that led out to the conservatory were open and I could see bare feet sticking out from behind a large monstera plant.

  Liz walked over to speak to him and I waited, straining my ears to try and catch a few words here and there. A hastily arranged agreement about who would say what? The finishing touches to a cover story they had worked out between them several days ago?

  They came back into the room together. Carl held out his hand. He was dressed in white trousers, rolled up almost to the knee, and yet another eye-catching T-shirt, this time featuring the cast of Star Trek II. His face looked less distinguished than the last time I had seen him, but maybe I was habituating to the perfectly proportioned features, the thick grey hair and clear blue eyes.

  ‘I gather you two have already met,’ he said. ‘Liz didn’t tell me before but it seems there’s a fair bit she keeps to herself.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ She was standing by the mantelpiece, holding a pink alabaster egg in her hand, rolling it round and round, then pressing it against her cheek.

  ‘I’ve no wish to make trouble between the two of you,’ I said. ‘Just the opposite.’ I sat down, hoping they would follow suit. ‘The accident — Paula’s death — must have made things difficult.’

  Carl stopped rolling a cigarette. ‘Difficult? Paula’s been crushed to death and you’re worried in case it’s made things difficult for us.’

  Put like that, he had a point. I had come to see them because one or other or both of them might be responsible for a murder, and here I was, talking as though I thought they were in need of some marital therapy.

  Liz replaced the egg on the mantelpiece and sat down, glancing over her shoulder at Carl.

  She laughed nervously. ‘Let’s find out what she wants to know, darling.’ She turned to face me. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what to call you.’

  ‘Anna,’ I said. ‘Look, the reason I’m here, I though
t you might be able to help. A witness came forward and said she’d seen Paula and her friend arguing — just before the accident.’

  ‘The friend was your patient?’ Carl was sitting on the arm of a chair. The relief in his voice was impossible to disguise. ‘I knew it wasn’t an accident. Paula was always so cautious. She thought people ought to be prosecuted for jay-walking.’

  ‘The police haven’t taken the witness’s statement very seriously,’ I said. ‘She seems to have been a rather disturbed girl with a history of — ’

  ‘That doesn’t mean her story should be ignored.’ His cigarette had gone out. He flicked his lighter several times and managed to produce a tiny, flickering flame. ‘Who is she anyway, what’s her name?’

  ‘She’s dead,’ I said flatly.

  ‘Dead? When? What happened?’

  ‘They haven’t completed the post-mortem but it was almost certainly accidental.’

  Carl sat up straight. ‘Another road accident?’

  ‘No.’

  He slumped down in the chair, inhaling smoke and holding it in his lungs for several seconds. Then he started speaking, talking as though he was playing a part in a play.

  ‘I might as well tell you. Liz thought I killed Paula.’

  Liz snorted. ‘You mean you thought I did it. Yes, you did. You thought I was so insanely jealous I’d do anything to get rid of her. That’s how you’d like it to be, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’ He looked older. I noticed the deep lines on the side of his neck, the beginnings of a double chin.

  Once started Liz was in full flow. ‘Most men — men with weak egos — like nothing better than to have at least two women fighting over them. I’m not jealous, never have been, you’re the one who questions me all the time. Where have I been? Who have I spoken to? Who did I have lunch with? Why am I back from work five minutes later than usual, as though I had the kind of job where I can just clock off at half-past five.’