A Question of Identity

by Anthea Fraser

  Rona hesitated. She didn’t want to burn her boats just as there seemed a glimmer of hope. On the other hand, she knew Esther Lytton required an honest answer.

  ‘Springfield Lodge,’ she said. ‘And particularly its final term.’

  There was a pause. Then Miss Lytton said quietly, ‘Incredible, after all this time! I must say I’d be most interested to learn how and why you came to hear of it, when I’ve spent most of my life trying to put it behind me.’ Rona heard her sigh. ‘Perhaps it’s time it came into the open; it might almost be a relief. I doubt there’s anyone left to be hurt by it, and from Catherine’s comments, you might be just the person to deal with it.’

  So there really was something behind Trish’s reaction! Rona held her breath, waiting while Miss Lytton considered her options.

  ‘Would you care to visit me?’ she said then. ‘I live in Buckford – quite a drive for you, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ Rona assured her, ‘I go there quite often. When . . . would be convenient for you?’

  ‘Friday would suit me best, if you could manage it?’ Esther was her brisk self again.

  ‘Friday would be fine,’ Rona confirmed.

  ‘How well do you know Buckford?’

  ‘Fairly well.’

  ‘I live on the west side of town, just past the college. You know where that is?’

  ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘Good. Mine is the first turning on the right past the college grounds – Blandford Drive. There’s a fairly new apartment block, and I’m on the third floor – number six, Eton House. I’ll expect you about eleven.’ And she rang off.

  Rona gave a low whistle. For a moment she considered phoning Lindsey and Glenda but decided against it. Better to wait till after her visit when, with luck, she would have something interesting to report.

  Gavin greeted them at the door.

  ‘Come in, come in! Good to see you both!’

  ‘Sorry we’re on the late side,’ Max apologized. ‘A student came up with a query at the end of class, which delayed things.’

  Magda emerged from the kitchen, and the bottle of wine and cyclamen plant were handed over and received with thanks. As they took their seats in the sitting room and Gavin poured the drinks, Rona surreptitiously studied her friend. Though Magda was determinedly smiling, she looked pale and there were lines round her eyes that she hadn’t noticed before. Not out of the woods yet, Rona thought worriedly.

  On the surface, the evening followed the long-established tradition of their visits to the Ridgeways. Over drinks, Magda informed Rona what colours would be ‘in’ next season and they discussed the ongoing biography, while the men talked about the painting Max was working on and a course Gavin would be attending the following week. When the time came to eat, the meal, Italianate as always, was delicious, the wine flowed, as did the conversation, and Rona wondered if she were the only one aware of underlying tension. The elephant in the room, she thought helplessly.

  As usual, they returned to the sitting room for coffee and amaretti, and it was then that Gavin said, ‘I meant to ask you, Rona: did you get any further with solving the puzzle about the school photo?’

  He turned to Magda. ‘Did you hear about this? It involves our neighbours down the road.’

  Briefly, Rona outlined her investigations. ‘It’s still not over,’ she ended, ‘because although we’ve confirmed the identity of the woman behind the blot, we still don’t know what happened to her.’

  ‘Odd, isn’t it?’ Magda said, her voice strained. ‘We’ve both been trying to establish an identity, you the woman in the photograph, I the person whose dreams I was having.’

  They all tensed, not knowing what to say, and her eyes, unfathomable, moved from one of them to another, awaiting their reaction. It was Gavin who found his voice.

  ‘Well,’ he said, in an unconvincingly light tone, ‘Rona now has a name at least, so I suppose—’

  ‘So have I,’ Magda said ringingly.

  ‘So have you what, sweetheart?’

  ‘The name of my fellow dreamer. I’ve known it for a week or two.’

  There was a moment’s stunned silence. Then Gavin said, ‘So – are you going to put us out of our suspense?’

  Magda straightened her shoulders, bracing herself. ‘It was the man who murdered his wife,’ she said. ‘Kevin Coombes.’

  Everyone was staring at her, their faces mirroring their shock. Gavin cleared his throat. ‘And how, might I ask, did you arrive at that conclusion?’

  ‘I recognized the photos of his wife and children; they were the ones I’d been dreaming about.’ She looked round their incredulous faces. ‘No, I’m not out of my mind, though I have been sharing it for a while; and for that you can blame that bloody hypnotist.’

  After a minute Gavin said weakly, ‘Now you really have lost me.’

  Magda leant forward, dark eyes burning. ‘Didn’t you recognize him, when you saw his photograph? He was the one sitting next to me on stage.’

  Rona said, ‘Magda . . .’

  ‘Oh, I know it seems far-fetched and impossible, but remember the power that man had, making us fall asleep when we were safely back in our seats and thought it was over? All I can think is that when he did finally give us back our minds, there was a hiccup and Kevin’s and mine somehow fused.’

  She looked round at their sceptical faces, but no one spoke. ‘It affected us differently; I simply tuned in to his dreams and memories, but the effect on him was altogether more serious. I’ve been going over and over it, and I think I see what must have happened.’

  She waited for some comment or question, but none was forthcoming and after a moment she went on. ‘From what you told me, Bauer, or whatever his name was, made us indulge in some aggressive role play. Well, I believe Kevin never completely snapped out of it. From that evening on his aggression escalated; I could feel it, permeating his dreams.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Magda,’ Max interrupted, ‘I just can’t go along with this. The whole idea is preposterous.’

  She ignored him. ‘As Gavin knows, the dreams started almost at once and from the first there was something unsettling about them, even when they were just about children playing or washing the car. And it struck me as odd that they were all of the same people, whom I didn’t know. Later, there were flashes of “memories” that seemed incredibly real, but that I couldn’t possibly have. And some of them were . . . violent.’

  A shudder ran through her. ‘Then there was the last dream, which was so beyond bearing that I totally lost it and Gavin could do nothing with me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And that was about him strangling his wife.’

  Her hands twisted in her lap and she stared down at them, as though she wasn’t sure they belonged to her. ‘When news of the murder broke and I saw the photos of Lucy and the boys – and recognized them – I was convinced I was going mad. The only way I could cope was by totally blocking the dream, refusing to admit its existence, though God knows it’s haunted me ever since. But at least there haven’t been any more.’

  There was a long silence as they all fought with varying degrees of disbelief.

  Magda drew a deep breath. ‘I still had no idea how I’d become mixed up in all this, because although Lucy and the boys had featured in my dreams, Kevin never appeared – he was always the “I” figure, the spectator. It was only when I saw his photo a day or two later and realized who he was – that we’d actually met on stage – that it all finally made sense.’

  ‘Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?’ Gavin demanded hoarsely. ‘Why go through all that on your own?’

  She reached for his hands with both hers. ‘Because talking about it would have made it real! I was terrified, don’t you see? I still am! Gavin, I have psychic links with a murderer! Have you any idea how that feels? Believe me, it’s quite literally ­mind-blowing! I was convinced you’d all think I was mad – you probably do now – so I forced it out of my head, made myself go on as usual.’


  She paused, then continued more quietly, ‘But in the last few days I’ve had to accept that it’s not over. Yes, the dreams have stopped, thank God, but memory flashes still come during the day, and I realize now it won’t finally end till we meet face-to-face.’

  ‘Like that’s going to happen!’ Gavin said explosively.

  Rona leant forward. ‘Look, Magda, this could all be some huge misunderstanding. It’s weeks since you saw the hypnotist; your memory of the man next to you is sure to have blurred a bit, and it would be easy to mistake him—’

  ‘He was called Kevin,’ Magda interrupted, ‘the man next to me. We all had to give our names, didn’t we? Surely you remember him now?’

  Max said firmly, ‘Speaking personally, I’d be hard pressed to recognize anyone who went up on that stage, apart from you. Don’t forget we were several rows back; we never saw any of the contestants up close.’

  Magda lifted her shoulders. ‘Well, I was up close, all right.’

  ‘We don’t even know for a fact that Kevin Coombes went to the show that night,’ Rona said a little desperately. ‘It could still have been another Kevin sitting next to you.’

  Magda wearily shook her head. ‘I knew I’d never convince you,’ she said.

  They were no sooner in their car than Max said forcefully, ‘Well, now I’ve heard it all! Gavin will have to do something, take her to see someone. She’s away with the fairies.’

  Rona shivered. ‘I’m frightened for her, Max. Why, in the name of heaven, did we ever go to that show? Paola was worried, you know, when she heard Magda had taken part. Said she was “susceptible” and as a child had had difficulty distinguishing what was real.’

  ‘So, no doubt, do most children. The difference is most of them grow out of it.’ He glanced at her. ‘I don’t like it, Rona, this identifying with a murderer. Of course it’s arrant nonsense, but for the moment I’d rather you kept your distance. If she’s really set on meeting this man – to “break the thread”, or whatever it is she imagines is between them – then it could become really dangerous.’

  ‘But she’s my friend, Max! I can’t just abandon her!’

  ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Believe me, the best way you can help her is by persuading her to see a psychiatrist.’

  The rest of the drive home passed in silence.

  ‘Sarah? It’s Rona.’

  ‘Hi, Rona! This is a surprise!’

  It would be, Rona thought; the two of them had met only a few times, and then in the company of their parents. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything. This is your lunch break?’

  ‘Yes, the bell’s just gone, but I’m on playground duty. I’m making my way there now. What can I do for you?’

  ‘This might seem a long shot, but I was wondering if Lucy Coombes ever mentioned going to see a hypnotist?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know it sounds mad; I’ll explain later, when you’ve more time, but it could be important.’

  ‘Well, she certainly didn’t in my hearing.’

  ‘Could you possibly ask around? See if she said anything to anyone else?’

  ‘Look, Rona, Lucy’s still a touchy subject here. Everyone’s very uptight over her death, and—’

  ‘I appreciate that, but this isn’t idle curiosity. It might even lead to her husband being caught.’

  There was a pause, and Rona could hear children’s voices in the background. Sarah had reached the playground. Then Sarah said, ‘I must say, I can’t see how.’

  ‘Trust me. Please.’

  ‘It’s really that important?’

  ‘It could be, yes.’

  ‘Well, there’s one person you could try asking, and that’s her next-door neighbour. They were fairly close, I think.’

  ‘That’s great! You know her?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say “know”, but she was with us when we . . . found the body.’

  ‘Oh Sarah, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—’

  ‘It’s all right. Look, I must go – someone’s just fallen over. Her name’s Frances Drew – she’ll be in the phone book – but go carefully with her. And if I get the chance, I’ll ask around here. Yes, Sammy, I’m coming!’ And she rang off.

  Frances Drew was indeed in the phone book and Rona sat staring at her name, undecided how best to approach her. Normally, she’d simply have phoned, but two things made her hesitate. The first was that it was a difficult subject to bring up over the phone, particularly if the women had been close friends, and the second was her experience with Esther Lytton, who, not wishing to speak to her, had simply hung up. There was no help for it; she’d have to go round in person.

  Rona had decided six o’clock was the best time for her visit. If Frances Drew had a job she’d be home by then, and hopefully it would be too early to interrupt a meal. That her husband might also be there was a risk she had to take; she could only hope he wouldn’t be too protective and forbid her entry.

  It was odd to be driving into Belmont and not turning in the direction of Maple Drive. Her mother, she knew, would be avidly awaiting the outcome of this visit; Rona had had to explain why she wanted Sarah’s mobile number, and Avril made her promise to call in before going home. Not that she’d any intention of revealing the real reason for her visit; it would only lay her open to ridicule.

  Finding the road she was looking for, she turned into it and began checking the house numbers, drawing in to the kerb just short of the one she wanted. The house she’d stopped by had a neglected air, she noted as she got out of the car; the plants in the garden were straggly, the grass overlong, and on this warm May evening all the windows were closed. Perhaps the owners were away. Then, as realization hit her, Rona stopped dead. Oh God – of course! This was the Coombeses’ house! Kevin would never mow that grass again, nor Lucy tend the plants.

  Quickening her footsteps, she hurried past and turned in the Drews’ gateway.

  It was indeed Frances’s husband who answered the bell. By the look of him, he’d just arrived home; his tie was loosened and his jacket still over his arm. Behind him was a wide-eyed little girl of about seven.

  Rona began her prepared opening. ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr Drew; my name is Rona Parish, and I’m a friend of Sarah Lacey.’ She paused, unwilling to go into the ramifications of their relationship, and was relieved when the name appeared to be familiar, if not particularly welcome.

  Drew was frowning. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wonder if I could have a word with your wife?’

  ‘Why?’

  Rona glanced past him at the little girl, now standing on one leg and staring at her curiously. ‘It’s about your neighbours.’

  His face hardened. ‘Press?’

  ‘No.’ She wouldn’t risk qualifying that, as she had with Esther. ‘It’s . . . important, and it’ll only take a minute.’

  A woman appeared in the hall behind him. ‘Who is it, Greg?’

  ‘Someone wanting to speak to you. A friend of Sarah Lacey.’

  ‘Please!’ Rona cut in quickly, before she could refuse. ‘I really do need your help. It won’t take long.’

  ‘I don’t see how I can help, and I really can’t face having to—’

  ‘I promise it’s not about . . . that evening.’

  Frances hesitated, and Rona saw the resistance go out of her. ‘All right, then, come in. Rosie, go back to the television, there’s a good girl.’

  Reluctantly the little girl obeyed, and Rona was shown into the dining room. The table, she saw, wasn’t laid; either it was too early, or, perhaps more likely, they’d be eating in the kitchen. As she’d expected, Greg Drew accompanied them, closing the door behind him.

  Rona turned to Frances. ‘I just have one question for you. It probably won’t make any sense to you, but all I can do is assure you it is important – perhaps vital — and might lead to Kevin being found.’

  Greg put his arm round his wife. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘A few weeks ago, a hypnotist was a
ppearing at the Darcy Hall. Do you by any chance know if Lucy and Kevin went to see him?’

  The Drews were both staring at her in total bewilderment.

  Greg said, ‘You’ve come here to ask that?’

  ‘I know it seems ridiculous, but yes.’ She looked at Frances, waiting with held breath for her answer.

  Frances said, ‘I can’t imagine why it matters, but yes, they did. I babysat for them.’

  Rona’s hands clenched at her sides. ‘Can you remember which day of the week it was?’

  ‘It must have been the Friday, because Rosie goes to Brownies and it was a bit of a rush getting next door on time.’

  Rona’s mind reeled. So the first part of Magda’s theory held; Kevin Coombes had been at the theatre that night.

  ‘So?’ Greg Drew prompted.

  Rona was wondering how to phrase her next question when Frances unwittingly answered it.

  ‘They told me about it when they got back,’ she added. ‘Kevin went up on stage and was hypnotized.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rona managed. ‘That’s all I need to know.’

  ‘That they saw a hypnotist?’ Greg said unbelievingly. ‘Look, you can’t leave it there! At least tell us why this is so important?’

  ‘I can’t explain now, but it might lead to finding Kevin. That’s honestly all I can say.’

  They weren’t satisfied, either of them, and Rona couldn’t blame them. But if she launched into an explanation they’d probably phone for the men in white coats. Somehow or other, fending off their questions as she went, she managed to extricate herself from the house and didn’t really draw breath until, finally, she heard the front door close behind her.

  She had just switched on the engine when her phone rang. Max.

  ‘Where are you?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve just tried the home number.’

  ‘I’m in Belmont,’ Rona said, steeling herself for his disapprobation. ‘And before you say anything, Kevin and Lucy Coombes were at the theatre the same night we were, and Kevin went up on stage.’

  There was a heavy silence. Then Max said, ‘And how did you glean that little gem?’

  ‘By speaking to their next-door neighbour, who babysat for them. So at least Magda was right that far; she did actually meet the murderer.’