Vengeance Blind
Page 19
“I’m so glad to hear it.” Arthur rapped on the table with his knuckle. “About time you got back to work.”
“Arthur.” Joan looked shocked, but Belle could see a smile lifting the edges of her mouth. “That’s wonderful news. I can’t wait to read it.”
After the congratulations had finished, Joan started to rise. “I’ll just clear these things away.”
“No, Joanie, you’ve outdone yourself.” Arthur placed his hand on Joan’s wrist. “You relax. I’ll clear away.”
Belle noticed Joan’s already ruddy cheeks flush a darker shade of pink. For a second, the woman Belle thought was unflappable seemed flustered. “Oh. All right. Thank you.” Joan sat back and placed her hands in her lap.
“He’s right, Joan.” Belle had to work to cover her smile. “Next time lunch is at my house.” She raised her voice for Arthur’s benefit. “I promise no cockroaches in the food.”
As lunch wound up, Belle remembered something Joan said when she first arrived. “You said there was something on your mind, but it could wait until Arthur was here.”
“Oh?” Arthur finished stacking the dishes and returned to the table. “Is everything all right, Joanie?” There was real affection in his voice, making Belle wonder if Arthur was developing feelings for Joan that went deeper than friendship. She hoped so – if it made them both happy.
“Yes, everything’s fine.” She nodded to the empty chair and Arthur took his cue and sat beside her. When he placed his hands on the table, Belle noticed the slight tremor in his left hand.
“I didn’t want to bring this up until we’d finished lunch, but I spoke to the Victim’s Liaison Officer yesterday.”
No one commented, but they all understood what Joan was talking about and the mood shifted from light-hearted to sober. “I wanted to ask about the inquest into Lea Whitehead’s…” Joan hesitated as though gathering strength. “Into her murder.”
Belle wanted to close her eyes, but knew if she did she’d see the girl in the boot. Lea Whitehead, her body crumpled, a jagged stick protruding from her throat. Their lives were moving forward. Belle’s life was beginning to take shape again, but Lea would never realise her future. Of everything that happened, the violent death of the young carer was the hardest to bear.
Joan ran her hand over the placemat in front of her, swiping at unseen crumbs. “It seems the State Coroner is satisfied with the material produced from the investigation into Lea’s death and has decided not to hold an inquest. Well, not unless anything new presents itself.”
Belle wanted to say something, but all she could summon was relief. Relief at not having to relive the whole ordeal in the Coroner’s Court. Relief at not having the details rehashed in the media.
“I see.” Arthur seemed unsurprised by the news. “I must say, an inquest didn’t seem likely, but it might have helped her parents.”
At the mention of Lea’s parents, Belle realised how selfish she was being. Maybe an inquest would have been painful for her, but it might have given the girl’s parents some closure. She could only imagine how agonising it must be for them to try to come to terms with losing their daughter in such a violent and senseless way. She remembered their grief at the memorial service: raw and shocked. They moved through the ceremony like robots.
“Yes.” Joan was looking at Belle now, waiting for her to say something. But when Belle remained silent, Joan continued. “I didn’t want to do anything without talking to both of you, but I thought it might be nice to have a bench dedicated to Lea.” She shrugged. “Maybe at the walkway on the lake. Somewhere people can sit and enjoy the beauty of this place while still remembering a young woman lost her life. What do you think, Belle?”
For a second she couldn’t answer. “Yes. It’s a very nice idea.”
“Definitely,” Arthur added. “A very thoughtful way of remembering her.”
“I’ll speak to the Victim’s Liaison Officer, ask her to speak to Lea’s parents and make sure they’re happy for us to go ahead.” Joan rubbed her pinkie again. “It’s not much, but it might help them to know we remember her.”
* * *
The afternoon had turned chilly so Belle drove home with the window up. Talking about Lea Whitehead had stirred up memories and with them the familiar impulse to stuff down the painful feelings, to turn a blind eye to the things she didn’t want to face. As she rounded the bend and her house came into view, Belle knew she would have to face her demons or fall back into the bottle and drown in them.
The memorial bench was a good place to start. Pulling into the driveway, she decided she would call Joan tomorrow and suggest they pick out the bench and plaque together. After that, she knew there was a long road ahead. At some point she would have to see Guy, then make good on her promise to visit her mother. But for now she’d start with small steps and, as her mind and body healed, her steps would grow stronger.
The End
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