by Diana Finley
‘Aye, he’s a good lad, is Guy,’ said Shelley. ‘We like him a lot. And yes, we know about you being ill, and … well … for all you done a terrible thing … I’m sorry. Not for you – I’m sorry for Stacy’s sake, like.’
I smiled. My throat constricted and tears sprang to my eyes. I swallowed again and again, struggling to control my voice.
‘Thank you. I’m fond of Guy too, very fond. And I trust him to be there for Lucy, but she needs more than just him to restore her sense of who she is. She needs to know that the family she was born into, the family she came from, accept her and will always be there for her.’
‘There’s never been any doubt about that. Of course we’ll be there for her,’ said Ryan. ‘She’ll always be one of us. She’s our lass.’
‘Yeah. Even though you’ve brought her up sort of … posh,’ said Shelley, ‘I felt a bond the minute I set eyes on her. There was no distance, no strangeness. There’s no side to her … she’s not proud, our Stacy, our Lucy. You don’t need to have no worries about us being there for Lucy. Yes, and you know what? I’m going to call her Lucy from now on, for all it takes a bit of getting used to. I’m going to call her Lucy, not for you, but for her – ’cos the last thing I want is her getting herself all mixed up and upset about who she is. Of course she’s been thinking of herself as Lucy for all these years – she didn’t know no different. She’s going to have to stick with it, and so are we.’
She said these last words loudly and emphatically, glaring around at Ryan and Brenda, as if daring them to challenge her.
Ryan leaned forwards, shaking his head, and sighed. ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘mebbe.’
‘Thank you for that, Shelley, and Ryan too – I’m so grateful to all of you for your understanding, which I had no right to ask for or expect, no right at all.’
Shelley stood up and paced between the coffee table and the largest settee for a moment.
‘Never you mind being grateful – my understanding’s not for you! Let me tell you something … Alison. Although you took my precious child, my Stacy, who I’ve cried for all these years, even though you done that evil, wicked thing, even though it was like you stuck a dagger in me heart … in some ways, you done me a favour too …’
Ryan stared at her in puzzlement. I was confused too. Perhaps I had misheard her?
‘Yeah, I wouldn’t wish losing a child on my worst enemy. It nearly killed me. I didn’t want to go on living, and you never gave me, or us, a single thought. But I’ll tell you how, in one way, it done me a favour. Losing our Stacy, or Lucy, was what made me take a proper look at myself and change the path I took in me life. If I hadn’t have lost her at that point … I reckon I’d have … sunk. I might have ended up in prison, like your dad. I might have drunk meself to death. I might have – I’m almost sure I would have – lost all me children, including you, Ryan.’
Ryan, weeping freely now, walked around the back of the sofa and put his arms around his mother.
‘But …’ she continued, ‘let me tell you something else … Alison. You had Lucy – my baby – as she growed into a toddler and a little girl, and then a schoolgirl. You had her for all the years of her childhood. You had her as a teenager and a young woman – up to now in fact. You stole all those years from me and me family. But you know what? I feel sorry for you – ’cos you’re not going to have her much longer, are you? You’ll not see her and Guy married. You’ll not see Lucy have another baby. You’ll not see Milo go to school or get to be a teenager, or grow into a young man, nor any other children they have. You’ll not see Lucy become a mature woman. She’ll not keep you company when you’re a right old woman, because you’re not going to get much older. All that part of Lucy and her life is for me, and for us. It’s not for you. You’ll have none of it.’
I sat bleakly, unable to speak, as I absorbed all she had said, knowing it was true, knowing I deserved it. I nodded.
Brenda took this as a natural break in the difficult conversation. She began to gather the tea things and put them on the tray.
‘Shall I make us another cup, Shelley?’
‘Aye, go on, pet.’
‘Um … there is another reason I came to Riddlesfield today – and in fact, another favour I need to ask of you,’ I said.
Brenda stopped in her tracks, clutching the tray of used tea mugs. Everyone looked at me expectantly.
‘Fuckin’ hell … another favour? You mean as well as keeping our Stacy the last twenty-odd years? Never mind sodding tea then!’ Ryan said. ‘If you’ve got more to say, we’re going to need summat stronger than that before you start over. What have you got, Mam?’
‘There’s that vodka left over from Christmas – that do? Go on then, Brenda pet, take that lot out to the kitchen. Then go and look for the bottle in the bottom cupboard next to the fridge. And the glasses are at the top.’
Chapter Sixty-One
By the time Ryan had served everyone with a generous half-tumbler of vodka, the atmosphere in the room had shifted. He had ignored my tentative attempts to limit the amount poured into my glass. Nor did he react when I mumbled plaintively about never having tried vodka before.
‘There’s a first time for everything, Alison,’ he said with a grim smile.
I couldn’t read his tone. Was his remark meant ironically? I’d always had trouble with irony. His expression seemed not altogether unfriendly either. Was it possible his anger was now spent?
We sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping our drinks, perhaps fatigued by the strain of our previous engagement with one another. It didn’t take long for the vodka to course through my body. I pictured the alcohol as a hot, raging torrent, constricted by the confines of my arteries, forcing its way onwards to the furthest reaches of my brain and limbs; softening my muscles, releasing the words that swarmed through my mind. It gave me the courage to embark on my next announcement.
‘The thing is … I’m going to hand myself in to the police,’ I said.
All eyes turned to me.
‘Yeah, well, that’s not needing any favours then,’ said Ryan, in his previous hostile tone, ‘’cos if you weren’t gonna go to the police yerself, I’d ’a taken you there, an’ no mistake.’
‘Just think on,’ said Shelley. ‘Does Lucy know what you’re planning? ’Cos last time she talked to us, she still wanted to keep it all quiet, for now, like.’
‘Aye, and look where it’s got her – made her right ill, keeping it all inside,’ said Ryan.
‘It’s true, Shelley … you’re both right. Lucy couldn’t face the truth emerging. She couldn’t face the trouble that would follow … for me. But, as you say, Ryan, trying to protect me, while dealing with the emotions resulting from what I did – well, it’s torn her apart, poor girl. It’s led to her breakdown. Concealing the truth has caused a lot of problems. It’s gone on long enough.’
‘Aye, maybe, and at least she has Guy to support her.’
‘You going to the police – mightn’t that be very hard for Lucy, very upsetting for her, like?’ said Brenda, contributing for the first time.
‘It might, but I think it’s got to be done. I will continue to assure her it’s what I want.’
‘You do know, you’ll likely get put away, for a long time,’ said Ryan. ‘I mean, ’til you …’
‘Until I die? I realise that. I’m quite prepared for it.’
I glanced at my small case in the corner of the room. Everyone was quietly thoughtful for a few minutes. I was the first to break the silence.
‘Lucy has had some communication with Inspector Dempster. She wrote to him – anonymously – some years ago and again more recently. He’s the only one who has direct knowledge of the … of the situation as it occurred.’
‘He’s a good man, is Inspector Dempster, and his wife’s canny too. Barbara, they call her. But you know he retired a while back. He was a Chief Superintendent at the finish,’ Shelley said.
‘I guessed he would have retired, but I still thought I’d
prefer to give myself up to him, rather than to a complete stranger. I believe you’ve had some contact with him over the years, Shelley?’
‘Aye, I have.’
‘So, do you know where he lives?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Well, I would like to go to see him at his house.’
‘I’ve got his phone number. Shouldn’t you ring him first?’
‘I’d rather just turn up and let him respond naturally. Ryan, would you be prepared to drive me over there?’
‘I’d be happy as Larry to see you arrested …’
‘Ryan, that’s enough now,’ said Shelley.
‘When d’you want us to take yer?’
‘Now, please.’
* * *
Ryan parked his van in a tree-lined street of large semi-detached Edwardian houses. I hadn’t realised such an area existed in Riddlesfield. From our position, opposite the entrance, the house could only partly be seen, screened as it was by tall trees and shrubs, but an imposing front door was just visible at the end of a short, curving drive.
‘Thank you so much, Ryan – I’m very grateful. There’s no need to wait. I’ve taken up quite enough of your time. You just go.’
‘I canna do that. What if naebody’s in?’
‘Well … then I’ll call a taxi – I’ve got a mobile phone – and … maybe I’ll come back a bit later.’
‘That makes no sense. Where would the taxi take you? Are you sure you want to do this?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I’m sure.’
‘Then, if there’s no one home, I’ll bring you back later. Go on and ring the bell, woman.’
‘Thank you …’ I hesitated, my hand shaking on the van door.
Ryan sighed, got out of his side and walked around to help me out. He lifted my small case down and handed it to me.
‘Come on, I’ll come with you far enough to see if they open the door.’
‘You’re a kind man, Ryan – I don’t deserve it,’ I said, my voice breaking into a sob.
‘No, you don’t. Let’s gerron with it.’
He took my arm and led me slowly to the open gates into the drive, from which there was a view of the front door.
‘OK, I’ll stay here. If someone comes to the door, I’ll be able to see, and I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Yes, thank you.’
He released my arm. I began to walk towards the house, leaning on the handle of my case as it bumped and growled through the reddish gravel in the drive, my feet crunching uncomfortably on the small stones. Once level with the front door, I could see a double garage, its doors closed. There was a dark blue car, which had been hidden by the foliage and the curve of the drive until this point, parked in front of the garage. My heart lurched; that meant someone was likely to be at home. I turned to look at Ryan. He nodded his head and made a “shooing” gesture with one hand.
I heaved myself up the three shallow steps at the front door. Suddenly I was overcome with exhaustion. The door had a large, tarnished knocker. It seemed too loud, too intrusive to use that. I noticed a doorbell to the left of the door and pressed it quickly, before I could change my mind. All was quiet for a few moments. Relief flooded through me; perhaps no one was home after all.
Then I heard muffled footsteps approaching and the sound of an inner door opening. The front door swung open and a woman in her mid- to late sixties stepped forwards and smiled at me. She had neatly cut grey hair with pale gold streaks, and a pleasant, round face.
‘Hello?’ she said.
‘Hello …’ I replied, suddenly at a loss to know what to do or say next.
The woman glanced past me in Ryan’s direction. I turned around and waved uncertainly at him. He raised his hand and withdrew.
The house suddenly appeared to sway at a strange angle. My case fell over on the step, and I struggled to remain upright. My thoughts retreated into a fog. The woman reached down and picked up my bag. She put it on the threshold and gave me a quizzical look.
‘Are you all right? You don’t look at all well …’
I swayed uncontrollably. She leaned forwards and grasped me.
‘I’m sorry … I …’
‘Come inside and sit down for a minute, dear.’ She called into the house, ‘Lawrence!’
A moment later a tall, grey-haired man appeared, a handsome man with white at his temples. I still recognised him after all these years.
‘Inspector Dempster …’ I said aloud.
The man and the woman looked at me, and then at one another. Then, one each side of me, they led me into a light, spacious sitting room and lowered me into a chair. Inspector Dempster pulled up a tall wooden chair and sat down in front of me, facing me.
‘Barbara, would you mind fetching a cup of tea for this lady, please.’
His wife – I remembered that Shelley had said his wife was called Barbara – nodded and disappeared through a door on the other side of the room.
He squinted at me, moving his head from one side to another, as if a more favourable angle might help to identify me.
‘Do I know you?’ he asked.
‘No, not exactly,’ I replied, ‘but I think you know of me.’
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chief Superintendent Lawrence Dempster
Barbara says it’s easy with hindsight – she’s not easily impressed – but I reckon I started to have suspicions as soon as I saw the woman stood on our front doorstep, before she’d even uttered a word. Certainly when she said my name – well, who else would call me “Inspector Dempster”? She had to be someone from the past, didn’t she? Now here she was, sat in front of me, in our house, in our sitting room.
Phrases kept coming back to me from the investigation long ago: “an average sort of woman, neither tall nor short, of middle years, wearing a brown or blue coat, a bit mousey, ordinary, dull, unmemorable …” Yet there was no doubt in my mind that the woman about whom I’d built a detailed picture all those years ago was far from ordinary and dull. No, she was exceptionally clever – highly intelligent in fact – as well as ruthless, single-minded and determined.
Could this frail, slight, nervous, elderly woman trembling before me, clasping and unclasping her hands, her eyes flicking round the room – anywhere rather than making eye contact – could she really have carried out the crime that had haunted me since 1985?
The age would be about right. I reckoned she’d been about forty or a bit more when Stacy was abducted, so she’d be maybe about sixty-five now – about my age, in fact. I recalled the contents of Stacy Watts’ recent letter: “terminal illness”. This woman was clearly far from healthy. In fact, I was worried she might expire right there in front of me. I couldn’t let that happen, not before telling me her story anyway.
Barbara brought in a tray with the tea things.
‘I hope you don’t mind, it’s Earl Grey,’ she said. ‘We’ve run out of ordinary tea – I need to put it on the shopping list.’
The mysterious woman looked up. She looked directly at Barbara, animated for the first time, and beamed.
‘Oh, I love Earl Grey – it’s my absolute favourite tea,’ she said.
Barbara looked a bit taken aback for a moment, but she quickly recovered herself.
‘Well, that was a lucky choice then,’ she said, in her effortlessly friendly, warm way. ‘Now, I’m going to pour you both a nice cup of tea, and then let you two have a talk. It is Lawrence you wanted to talk to, isn’t it? I’ll just be sitting over there, out of the way.’
Barbara sat herself in an armchair in the far corner of the room next to a window. I realised she was acting in the role of chaperone, protecting me, in case of any possible subsequent allegations on the part of this stranger – a potentially unhinged stranger.
I let the woman have a few sips of her tea. She seemed to almost breathe it in like a drug. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes for a moment. She looked exhausted.
‘Now then,’ I began, ‘it’s clear
to me that you know who I am, so that puts me at a bit of a disadvantage, doesn’t it? I’m just guessing you’ve known about me for some time, some years in fact. Am I right?’
‘Yes, Inspector Dempster, you are right.’
‘It’s Chief Superintendent now … or at least it was when I retired, but no matter. Inspector will do just fine …’
I finished with a gabble. She gazed impassively at me. Why on earth had I started on this? What did it matter what she called me, for Christ’s sake? Was I just trying to establish my authority in the situation? I straightened my back and cleared my throat.
‘I would also guess that your visit is in connection with the disappearance of Stacy Watts?’
She nodded.
‘Well then, rather than ask a lot of questions, or put words in your mouth, I’ll leave you to say whatever you want to me, in your own words. However, you must understand that depending on what you say to me, I may be obliged to take further action. I may need you to accompany me to police headquarters to make a full statement.’
She nodded again.
I spread my hands in a gesture meant to indicate that the ball was in her court. She sipped her tea again and put the cup down shakily on the table.
‘My name is Alison Brown,’ she began. ‘About quarter of a century ago I decided to take a child. I planned it all carefully in advance. I was living in Nottingham at the time. I was all alone. My mother had just died and left me her house and all her money. I had a great longing for a child …’
The woman spoke for twenty minutes or so, scarcely drawing breath, describing in minute detail how she had planned and executed Stacy Watts’s abduction. She was gasping and shaking, her voice growing weaker. After the words: ‘So we took the train from Riddlesfield to Newcastle. I named the child Lucy … Lucy Brown. Sorry … excuse me …’ she was unable to continue.
She took a deep breath and reached for her tea. I watched as she lifted the cup with a trembling hand and took some gulps before dabbing her mouth with a paper serviette Barbara had left for her. I waited silently for her to continue her account, which she did after a while.