by Roberta Kray
Royston shifted on the hard wooden bench and pulled a face. He’d been sitting in the same place for hours now and his backside was killing him. Darkness had fallen, it was after seven, and he was growing colder by the minute. Earlier, in the morning, he’d thought he’d hit pay dirt when Mona came out of the Bold and made her way to Buckingham Road. He’d trailed behind at a safe distance, making sure he wasn’t spotted, but in the event it had all come to nothing. She had stood ringing the front doorbell at number 67 for over five minutes but no one had come down. Finally, he had seen her take an envelope from her bag and slip it through the letterbox.
Although he’d been disappointed in the outcome, the walk hadn’t been a complete waste of time. He had discovered two things: the first that Sadie wasn’t in (or wasn’t answering the door) and the second that she wasn’t expecting Mona Farrell. Which begged the question: why wouldn’t Mona have phoned ahead if she was coming to Haverlea? It was a long journey from London. There was only one answer that sprang instantly to mind and that was that she’d intended to take Sadie by surprise.
‘But a good surprise or a bad one?’ Royston murmured to himself.
He was still pondering on this when the door to the Bold opened and Mona Farrell stepped out. He could see her clearly in the light from the foyer but she wouldn’t be able to see him. Quickly he got to his feet and moved round to the side of the shelter, keeping to the shadows. Was she going to meet Sadie Wise? There was only one way to find out.
Royston followed her along the promenade. There were plenty of people around – no matter what the weather, the front was always busy on a Saturday night – and so, taking care to keep her in his sights, he mingled with the crowd. She was wearing the same outfit as this morning: jeans, a black suede jacket and gloves, but her short hair was spikier.
It didn’t take him long to realise that she was heading for the fairground. The average age of the crowd dropped by a decade as he walked up the path and through the turnstile. Instantly he was hit by the sweet smell of popcorn and candyfloss. The place was noisy, hectic, ringing with the mechanical sounds of the rides, screams and laughter and music.
He kept his gaze firmly fixed on Mona Farrell as she wandered between the stalls. She stopped occasionally to stare at this or that, but didn’t talk to anyone. She bought a hotdog from a vendor and ate it as she walked. He was tempted to buy one too – it was hours since he’d had anything to eat – but was too worried about losing her in the crowd. If she disappeared from view he might never find her again.
Royston reviewed everything he knew about Mona as he wound through the fairground, following in her footsteps. The girl had a troubled background, maybe even a psychological disorder. She was wild, anti-authoritarian and a possible arsonist. And then something else came back to him. Hadn’t she been talking about fairs at Emily Hunter’s party? Yes, she’d been going on about scenes in old films before Sadie Wise had shut her up. He bounced this around in his head but wasn’t sure if it had any relevance. He stored it away for future reference.
There was no connection, so far as he’d been able to discover, between Mona Farrell and Eddie Wise. And yet… well, it all seemed too much of a coincidence, this odd girl turning up, using an alias, shortly after the murder. And there had been something strained, even forced, about the way Sadie behaved towards her. Was it blackmail? Could Mona be… But no, that didn’t add up. She came from a wealthy family and her weekly allowance was probably more than Sadie Wise earned in a month.
So what the hell was going on?
Royston, with his journalist’s nose, knew instinctively that there was a story here, something tangled, something dark and sinister. Unfortunately, at the moment, he couldn’t see the wood for the trees. He couldn’t be certain, either, that Mona was actually meeting anyone tonight; she could have simply decided to come out for a stroll.
After half an hour, Royston’s patience was starting to wear thin. He’d been hanging around all day with nothing much to show for it and didn’t fancy another hour or two of the same. With no sign of Sadie Wise putting in an appearance, he decided to go ahead and make the move.
Mona was standing by the Big Wheel when he sidled up beside her. The ride was circling round slowly, the seats swaying, the bright lights blinking against the blackness of the sky.
‘Ah, back in Haverlea, I see.’
Mona turned her head, frowning, but almost instantly her forehead cleared. ‘Mr Royston! Hello. Fancy seeing you here.’
‘Peter, please. And you’re Anne…’ He made a pretence of groping through his mind for her surname. ‘I know it. Just give me a moment and it’ll come back to me.’
‘Faulkner,’ she said. ‘Anne Faulkner.’
He noted how easily the lie slid from her lips. ‘Well, it’s very nice to see you again. I didn’t realise you’d be back so soon.’
She gave a shrug. ‘You can get tired of the city. I didn’t know you liked fairgrounds.’
‘No, well, not especially. I just came out for a walk.’ He nodded towards the wheel. ‘Thinking of taking a spin?’
‘I prefer to watch.’
‘Can’t say I blame you. I don’t have much of a head for heights.’ He paused and then said, ‘You’ve come back to give Sadie some support, I suppose.’
Mona narrowed her eyes. ‘Support?’
‘You need your friends at times like these. It must be hard for her. First of all her husband getting murdered and then all this business at the funeral… The police haven’t got the most vivid imaginations in the world. When it comes to suspects she’ll be up there at the top of the list.’
Mona gave a snort. ‘Nobody can think Sadie did it. That would be ridiculous.’
‘Nobody with a brain,’ he said. ‘So how did you two meet? Have you known each other for long?’
Mona’s cat-like eyes focused on him. She took a cigarette from a pack in her pocket, raised it to her lips, struck a match and lit it. There was nothing hurried in her movements, nothing to suggest that she was in any way anxious about this unexpected encounter. She exhaled the smoke in a long narrow stream. ‘If I didn’t know you better, Mr Royston, I might think you were squeezing me for information.’
He grinned amiably. ‘Not squeezing, just asking. I like to get my facts right.’
‘And what “facts” would those be?’
‘A small town like this runs on rumour and gossip. And poor Sadie is the main topic at the moment. You’d be surprised at how much speculation there is.’
Mona took one last glance at the Big Wheel and then started to walk away. ‘People shouldn’t listen to gossip.’
Royston stuck by her side, determined to get something out of her before they parted company. ‘Maybe not, but they do. It’s human nature. We like to think the worst of each other.’
‘So you’re trying to dig the dirt on Sadie.’
Royston feigned a look of horror. ‘Not at all. Why would I do that? No, you’ve got me all wrong. If anything, I think she’s the victim in all this. And it’s a shame, a crying shame.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘The truth, that’s what I’m after. That way we can stop all the wagging tongues.’
Mona gave him a quick sidelong glance. ‘Or get them wagging even faster.’
‘Ah, now, don’t be cynical.’
‘What do you expect? You’re a journalist, aren’t you? The only side you’re on is your own.’
‘Don’t you want to help Sadie?’
‘Sadie hasn’t done anything wrong. Why should she need help?’
‘It’s not always that simple.’
‘Not for you, maybe.’
Mona continued to manoeuvre her way through the crowd. The lights of the rides flashed brightly, and garish neon signs threw out invitations to shoot the ducks, throw some hoops or have their fortune told by the famous Madame Romany. The rumble of the roller coaster sounded like distant thunder.
Royston continued to stay close, trying to read her body language. She was confiden
t at the moment, sure of herself. She might not like him but nor did she see him as any kind of threat. He would need to change that if he was going to shake any useful information out of her.
‘Has Sadie told you not to speak to me?’ he asked. ‘Is that what’s going on here?’
Mona stopped and raised her eyes briefly to the sky before lowering her gaze to stare at him. ‘It’s been nice to see you again, Mr Royston, but I think we’re finished here.’ She dropped her cigarette butt on the ground and killed it with the heel of her boot. ‘Goodnight.’
Royston let her have the satisfaction of thinking he’d been dismissed. He gave a nod. ‘Goodnight then, Anne. Enjoy the fair.’
She gave a small triumphant smile before walking away. ‘I will.’
Royston kept his eyes fixed on the back of her head as he tagged along behind, taking care to keep out of sight. She glanced over her shoulder several times as if to reassure herself that he was really gone and then went over to a stall and bought a coffee. He waited a few minutes, giving her time to feel secure, before approaching her again. She was sipping from a paper cup when he called out from behind. ‘Mona?’
The girl spun round, her face instantly twisting as she saw who it was and realised her mistake. She glowered at him from over the rim of the cup, her eyes cold and angry.
‘Just one more thing,’ he said, strolling up to her. ‘I really couldn’t leave without asking. Why exactly are you calling yourself Anne Faulkner?’
‘Oh, my,’ she said sarcastically. ‘We have been doing our homework, haven’t we?’
‘It’s a reasonable question.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
Royston smiled thinly at her. ‘You think? Only it makes me curious, and when I’m curious my mind starts going off in all kinds of fascinating directions.’
‘Fascinating?’ she replied mockingly. ‘I doubt that very much.’
‘All right, then. Let’s call it a loose end – one of many when it comes to Sadie Wise. Now you can’t blame me for wondering why —’
‘You’re seeing mystery where there isn’t any,’ she interrupted sharply. ‘It’s quite straightforward really.’
Royston scratched at his chin while he scrutinised her. ‘Is it?’
‘Very,’ she said. Mona gave a sigh and lifted her eyes to the heavens again. ‘Haven’t you ever got tired of who you are, wanted a change? It’s just a bit of fun, a chance to escape and be someone different for a while.’
But Royston wasn’t buying it. ‘And Sadie’s happy to go along with this charade?’
‘Why not? It’s not harming anyone.’
‘A bit careless, though, signing into the hotel under your own name.’
Mona gave a snort of derision. ‘It would only be careless if I was trying to hide something.’
‘I just can’t see the point of it, that’s all.’
‘Okay, I’ll explain, but not here. Let’s go somewhere quieter.’
As she started to walk again, Royston fell in beside her. She was playing for time, he thought, trying to come up with a more convincing explanation. ‘So, you’re Paul Farrell’s daughter,’ he said as they veered away from the rides and headed towards the far end of the fair.
Mona said nothing.
‘I hear he might be expecting good news in the New Year.’
Again she said nothing.
‘So you and Sadie: how long have you —’
Mona finally broke her silence. ‘God, don’t you ever get tired of interfering in other people’s business?’
‘Not really. It’s only tiresome when other people lie to you.’
‘And you think that’s what I’m doing?’
‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘You haven’t really told me anything yet, at least nothing substantial. How can I draw any conclusions before I’ve got the facts?’
‘Somehow I can’t imagine a few facts getting in the way of a good story.’
‘Is it?’
‘Is it what?’
‘A good story,’ he said.
While she walked Mona raised the plastic cup to her lips and blew across the surface of the coffee before taking a few fast sips. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s a very boring one.’
Gradually they were leaving the crowds behind and moving into the less populated part of the fairground. The noise levels began to drop, distant rattles merging with the tinkling of the music. They left the bright lights and moved into the gloom. Eventually they reached a perimeter wall where there was nothing more than a few shabby caravans, a scattering of metal and some long coiling cables that snaked back towards the centre of the fair.
‘So,’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘What’s on your mind exactly?’
‘You were going to explain why you’re using a false name.’
‘Why not? If you were Paul Farrell’s daughter, you’d hardly want to advertise the fact. I like to be my own person. It’s easier that way.’
‘You don’t get on?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Does he know you’re here?’
Mona scowled at him again. ‘I’m twenty-three. It’s none of his business where I am or what I do.’
Royston decided to go for it. Some opportunities only came around once in a lifetime and you had to grab them with both hands. ‘Oh, come on. You might have fooled the rest of them but you don’t fool me.’
Her eyes widened a little. ‘I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘Sure you do. You’re up to your necks in it, you and Sadie. Why else are you in Haverlea?’ Royston had no real idea where he was going with this; he was just following his instincts and hoping she’d believe he was more in the loop than he actually was. ‘I know all about Eddie Wise.’
Mona visibly flinched, but then quickly shook her head. ‘Eddie? What about him? You’ve lost me.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘And how do you figure that out?’
Royston had Emily Hunter’s party in the back of his mind, where Mona had been talking about fairgrounds and films. There was something niggling, a possible connection he still couldn’t grasp. ‘It’s obvious,’ he said. ‘Do I need to spell it out for you?’
‘You don’t know anything,’ she said smugly.
‘Anne Faulkner,’ he retorted quickly. ‘Now where have I heard that name before?’
Mona’s expression showed that he’d hit home. The smile that had been playing on her lips immediately disappeared. ‘You’re just pathetic, a grubby little journalist with a sewer for brains.’
‘Sometimes you need a sewer when you’re dealing with shit.’
She came up close to him, her eyes blazing. ‘You’re disgusting. You know that?’
‘I might be disgusting but at least I’m not —’
Royston never got the chance to finish his retort. Although aware of the sudden action, of the girl drawing back her arm, it was too late to dodge out of the way. As the hot coffee splashed all over his face he squealed out in pain.
‘Bitch!’ he yelped. ‘Fuckin’ bitch!’
With his eyes tightly closed he reeled back and stumbled, falling to his knees. He bent his head and covered his face with his hands, clawing at the burning flesh. He couldn’t see, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The crazy bitch had blinded him! Frantically, he tried to rub off the hot liquid. He needed cold water. Where was the water? He needed…