by Chris Curran
Why were they asking about Natalie Grant? She couldn’t imagine Natalie’s mother going to the police.
She picked up the phone, put it down again, made a mug of coffee, took a sip then tipped it away, went into the garden and walked back and forth in the sunshine, deadheading flowering plants and pulling up a few weeds. Fay was pottering in and out of her play house, filling her little pram with an odd assortment of toys and books, and Rosie stood watching her for a moment. But in the end, she couldn’t avoid it and, back inside, she clicked onto her mother’s number.
When Marion started to speak, Rosie interrupted. ‘Did the police say they know I’ve talked to Natalie’s mum?’ The phone stayed silent. ‘Mum, are you there?’ It was almost a gasp.
Her mother’s voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear. ‘No, they didn’t say that.’
Rosie swallowed. ‘OK.’
‘Oh, Rosemary. What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s just … I know how they can twist things. I don’t know if I can stand this again and as for Dad … Oh, this is hopeless on the phone. Can you come round so we can talk properly?’
Rosie took a deep breath, walking back into the garden as she spoke. Wanting to tell her mother to leave her alone. Cursing herself for not leaving it all behind years ago. For not getting Fay away. But it was too late. ‘I’ll try to come over tomorrow, but, I don’t see what I can do.’ It was beginning to cloud over and she watched the breeze stirring the trees at the end of the garden, hardly listening to the voice on the phone anymore.
‘Rosemary? Did you hear me? I was saying how scared I am and how ill Dad looks. All he wants is to be left alone. Is that too much to ask after what he’s been through?’
Rosie breathed deeply again, glad of the cooler air. ‘I’ve said I’ll be over tomorrow, but I want to see you both this time. And I’m going to need some proper answers.’
When she put down the phone she went back to the piano, but this time she couldn’t play. Just slammed the lid shut and rested her head on it. Damn, damn them both.
Joe
It was peaceful sitting on the river bank. So peaceful Joe could almost pretend he was really here for a bit of fishing. He was dog tired, still shaken by the unbelievable things Hannah had said. But when he focused on casting the rod and watching for telltale ripples, there were moments when it all seemed very far away.
He needed time to get to grips with what had happened. And to think what to do.
A spark of colour just above the gleam of the water and another and another: dragonflies. Lily loved seeing them when she was little. Pond skaters too. She would lie on the bank and watch for them, counting as she spotted each one. But the little black water birds with their bobbing heads were her favourites. Coots and moorhens. She learned their names at school and always had to remind him which the ones were with white heads.
He reeled in the line. He hardly ever caught anything. He liked being in the country, but couldn’t bear sitting about doing nothing. Hannah used to laugh at him. ‘You’re doing nothing when you’re fishing.’
But he wasn’t here just to think and certainly not to fish. He wanted to be alone, where he wouldn’t be disturbed. He propped the rod on the plastic box that held his fishing gear and took out his wallet and phone. He accessed the Internet then opened his wallet. Tucked inside was a Post-it note in the shape of a pink heart – one of Lily’s. He’d found it on the bedroom floor this morning. It must have fallen from the envelope of the Natalie Grant stuff. It had Lily’s writing on it, a list of names obviously copied from the various documents and newspaper clippings about the swimming team and the youth orchestra. These would have been Natalie’s friends. Some of the names had ticks or question marks after them. Had Lily tried to locate these people, hoping to trace her real father?
She must have realized that Bernard Pritchard was the most likely candidate, but didn’t want to believe she might be the child of a convicted murderer. If only Hannah would say who it was. She was still holding back about that, claimed the father couldn’t be Lily’s murderer and that too many other people would be hurt if his identity came out. Of course, that made sense if it was Pritchard.
Joe knew he must give the list to the police, but he didn’t trust them to get onto it right away. Probably still focusing on him and Hannah. So, first, he wanted just a few minutes on his own to see if he could find out what Lily might have discovered.
The top name, of course, was Natalie Grant. It was followed by a note – ‘parents???’ Below this he read ‘Bernard Pritchard’. Then ‘Marion Pritchard’ followed by a tick. Then maybe fifteen other names covering both sides of the paper. He would have to do what he guessed Lily had done – look for any mention of these people online.
Like him she would have found out about the murder and Bernard Pritchard and, yes, Marion Pritchard was his wife. All that was in the information about the investigation and the trial.
Could Lily’s ticks refer to names that she had traced? He went first to Facebook and here was a Brian Kelly who lived in Hastings – surely the same person. Another, Sarah Monroe, mentioned Sussex and included a photo of herself that could have been one of the girls from the newspaper cutting fifteen years on. The next, Beverley Lamont, listed her interests as playing with St Leonards Ladies FC. Lily might have thought of sending an email through the team’s website, perhaps, to ask if Beverley recalled Natalie Grant.
Some of the other names with ticks didn’t come up on Facebook, but one – Martin Bradshaw – had his own website and seemed to be a professional violinist. No clue that he lived in Hastings, but Joe stared at the glossy studio picture of a good-looking man in evening dress, then studied his copy of the newspaper showing a picture of the school band. Yes, there was a boy who looked similar who could have grown up to be the violinist. There was a ‘Contact Me’ button and an agent’s name. Lily would have compared the pictures too. Had she used that contact button, he wondered.
He turned to the names followed by a question mark. They seemed to be listed on the website of their workplace – without a photo or any personal information. Lily might have guessed they were the same people as on her list because they still worked in Hastings. One, Stephen Bayles, was named as an architect for a firm in the town and could be contacted there via email or phone. Another – David Crawford – was listed as Head of Music on a school website – Gladedale, St Leonards-on-Sea.
Had Lily emailed or called any of these people? Surely not with the question: ‘are you my dad, or do you know him?’ Maybe she just asked for memories of Natalie Grant, hoping to find out about boyfriends. He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots till it hurt. What the hell was he doing? How could any of this help Lily? She was dead and gone and Hannah was as good as gone from him too. He hadn’t been there when they needed him and now it was too late.
He started packing his fishing gear, shoving the list into his pocket. For a while, this morning, he’d imagined the Post-it note was Lily’s way of letting him know what had happened. Her way of asking for his help, but that was just wishful thinking. He should give it to the police and let them do their job.
Sitting in the van with the door open to the breeze he turned on the radio, hoping it would help him feel calmer, but it was no good and he switched off again. He was going to have to do something himself. Otherwise he’d go mad.
Taking a deep breath, he made himself think slowly as he looked at the list. Why was there a tick beside Marion Pritchard? She certainly wasn’t on Facebook or anywhere else except in connection with her daughter’s murder. So, did the tick just mean that Lily knew she was Pritchard’s wife? Then he remembered something he’d seen in one of the articles about the TV documentary. He called up the Internet again and here it was:
Bernard’s wife, Marion, refused to be interviewed for the programme. She has moved from the family home and lives with her remaining daughter, Rosemary, a few miles away in the quiet sea
side town of Bexhill.
Bexhill was a small place; so, if she was still living there that would narrow down the search. He tried to make himself think like Lily. ‘It’s easy, Dad.’ That’s what she always said when she showed him something clever she’d done. And maybe now she would tell him he was making things too complicated.
He googled ‘find people UK’ and came to a site that gave access to data from the UK electoral rolls. A Marion Pritchard was listed as living in Bexhill and, apparently, he could get her full address for a fee. Of course, this might not be the same person, but it was worth a try. Heart thumping, he paid up – and there it was.
He swallowed, could almost hear Lily: ‘See, Dad, it’s easy.’
As he headed to the hospital he decided he would give the list to whichever FLO was there this evening, but there was no reason to share his research with the police. They wouldn’t have any trouble finding out everything he had and much more. But if they knew what he’d been doing they might guess he was planning to go down to Bexhill himself. And he didn’t want them to know that.
Loretta
Loretta was due to meet Will this morning to go to Dex’s school, but Philips had called the whole team together first thing and was pacing up and down in front of them. ‘What do we make of this list Joe Marsden seems to have found?’
Loretta said, ‘Joe is sure it’s Lily’s writing.’
‘We need to check that, but if it is then it does seem to be another link between our case and the Hastings murder.’ This was from Davis. ‘But what I don’t get is why Hannah has confessed to that when she doesn’t need to and keeps denying any involvement in her daughter’s death? And her description of the Hastings killing is so sketchy. She insists she did it, but says it was an accident. A push that made the girl bang her head. But according to the pathologist’s report, she was bashed several times.’
‘Did you confront her with that?’
‘Yes, and at first she said that must have been exaggerated. Then claimed the whole incident was a blur. Blamed her panic at the time and the medication she’s on now.’
‘Peterson, what do you think?’ Philips said.
Loretta sat up straight, forcing her eyes not to stray to the clock. ‘Is she confessing to the historical murder to muddy the water, somehow? Hoping it’ll deflect us from Lily? Make us think she’s nuts? That would fit with the suicide attempt.’
‘I don’t think so. She seemed genuine when she told me.’
‘Trouble is we have nothing to link her to Lily’s death apart from a few traces of DNA, which you would expect anyway. No alibi, of course, but the neighbour’s so unreliable she might even go on the stand and suddenly remember that she did see Hannah that day.’
‘I bet that lot at The Children know more than they’re saying. Especially the boyfriend,’ said Davis.
Philips slumped into his chair and rubbed his face. Then he slapped both hands on the desk. ‘OK. Peterson, you and Raj concentrate on talking to her about Lily. Keep coming at it from different angles. Get her to let something slip.’
Loretta put her hand on her bag just a fraction too quickly and Philips’s face turned even more yellow, his eyes slivers of grey. ‘I haven’t finished yet. We’ll check out that list, but I don’t want to spend too much time on it because it’s likely to lead nowhere. And, obviously, keep looking into all the other active leads, but these leaks had better stop right now. If any of you know the bastard who’s behind them, I expect you to come to me right away. Because, if I find out first and discover you had suspicions, you’ll be in the firing line too. OK?’
Joe
It took longer to drive from Swindon to Bexhill than Joe had expected. He’d given Lily’s note to Loretta at the hospital last night and if the police got to the bottom of it before him, so much the better, but he couldn’t wait for them. Hannah was still sedated or sleeping a lot of the time, so she probably wouldn’t notice he was away. In any case, whatever the psychiatrist said, she didn’t seem to care if he was there or not.
Perhaps because he was finally about to do something concrete he’d slept well for the first time since Lily went missing and he was later getting on the road than he’d planned. He was used to travelling for work, but never came this far south. The traffic was bad and the satnav prediction for his arrival time kept creeping upwards.
He’d told Loretta (and Hannah too, although he wasn’t sure she’d taken it in) that he had to start earning again, which, of course, was true. Being self-employed meant he had no paid leave and he’d begun to worry about keeping up with the mortgage, but he couldn’t focus on work the way he was feeling. He said that today he was doing a preliminary visit to a site he needed to survey. He didn’t say where it was and he saw no reason why anyone should suspect him of lying, but he couldn’t be back too late.
The road ahead shimmered in the sunshine and made Joe think of childhood visits to the seaside and how excited he and his brother always got as they watched for the first sight of the sea. Funny, it only dawned on him now that they never went to the seaside in England when Lily was little. Hannah always said it was too cold. For proper holidays, she preferred abroad. He’d swallowed that without a thought, of course. What an idiot he’d been all these years.
Still, there was no point in thinking about that now – all the ways he’d been deceived. Lily was the one who mattered. He’d let her down when she was alive, but not now; he couldn’t fail her now.
Loretta
Mrs Taylor stayed behind her desk and waved Loretta and Willard to sit in front; no cosy chat in the armchairs this time. Mr Henderson, the Key Stage leader, was standing to one side. Loretta had never liked him at parents’ evenings, although Dex seemed to think he was OK.
‘I’ve asked Mr Henderson to join us because he knows Dexter well and he actually dealt with the incident.’
Henderson hitched at his trousers, although his paunch meant they didn’t move far. ‘Well, folks, glad you could be here. Supportive parents make such a difference.’ He smiled and rubbed his balding head. ‘First, I should tell you, I think your Dex is a great lad. I’ve known him since year seven and we’ve got a pretty good relationship—’
‘But as I said last time we spoke, Dexter has become increasingly difficult in the last few months,’ said Mrs Taylor. ‘All the teachers have had trouble with him, but it’s his relationship with some of his peers that’s causing most of the problems. And this latest incident … Well, maybe you can supply the details, Mr Henderson.’
Loretta couldn’t keep quiet. ‘I gather the fact I’m in the police force has been part of the problem?’
Henderson and Mrs Taylor exchanged a glance and the head teacher said, ‘Yes, Dex has been teased about that by a certain group of boys. There’s apparently been a good deal of name-calling and so on. Nothing racist, if that’s what you’re worried about. These lads are also black.’
Loretta let that pass. ‘So what happened?’
Mr Henderson leaned forward. ‘They call themselves a gang, think they’re the bee’s knees, and, naturally, a lot of the black kids want to be a part of it.’ Loretta was aware of Willard’s hand tightening on the arm of his chair. ‘The gang’s not too keen on the police, as you can imagine, so Dexter’s been cold-shouldered. But of late it’s become more than that – taunting, verbal abuse, some pushing around. And it all came to a head this week.’
‘So why was nothing done before it got to this stage?’ Will’s voice was ultra-calm. ‘We weren’t informed Dexter was in any kind of trouble until recently.’
‘It’s the code with these gangs – “you don’t tell on your bloods, man”.’ He had the grace to look sheepish when Will shifted in his seat and looked hard at him.
Mrs Taylor coughed. ‘I’m sorry. We should have been more on the ball with this. But that doesn’t excuse the violence. One of the boys Dexter attacked could have been seriously hurt if Mr Henderson and another teacher hadn’t been on hand. Errol was on the ground and Dex was
kicking him. It could have been very nasty.’
‘Dex was completely out of control,’ Henderson said. ‘I’ve never seen him like that. It took two of us to stop him. And Mr Browning is a big fella, like me.’
Mrs Taylor glanced at her watch. ‘Luckily for Dexter, the mother doesn’t want to pursue the matter any further. Therefore, it’s a week’s suspension and we expect a full apology and a meeting of reconciliation with the other boy.’
Loretta couldn’t think what to say. Thank goodness Will was able to speak rationally.
‘Of course we support the school, and we’ll ground him during the suspension. I’ll talk to him very seriously about what happened – we both will.’
Mrs Taylor’s secretary knocked on the door to announce that the school governors were arriving for a meeting and, before Loretta could ask any of the questions jostling in her brain, she and Will were leaving the building.
Willard rubbed her back. ‘Come on. He’ll be all right. We’ll sort him out.’
‘It’s just … Oh, I don’t know. I deal with some really nasty kid-on-kid violence all the time, but never connected anything like that with Dex.’
‘Everyone’s capable of losing it, if they’re pushed to the limit, especially at that age. According to Dex they were calling you some very nasty names. But that doesn’t excuse what he did. He has to learn to let these things wash over him.’
Loretta’s work mobile rang. ‘Sorry.’ She pulled it from her bag. It was a number she didn’t know. She let it ring. ‘What now?’
‘He’s at my place and I’ve told him to stay put. Do you want to come and talk to him?’
Her mobile again. ‘I’m still meant to be working. And anyway, it might be better to start off low-key. Let’s talk to him separately then discuss it and see where we go from there.’
Will looked at her phone. ‘If that’s what you want.’ He turned without a goodbye and walked away.