THE JAGGED LINE

by Carolyn Mahony

  ‘I won’t lie and say I didn’t feel a bit overwhelmed when they all arrived together like that, but they were all so easy, I think anyone would be hard pushed not to like them.’

  She smiled. ‘Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without them, but my previous partner found it a bit of a struggle. It’s why we finished.’

  ‘Ah, I wondered.’

  She shrugged. ‘It wasn’t just them. He didn’t like most of my friends either, and towards the end, it became a game he played. Leaving it to the last minute before telling me he wasn’t coming when we went out – or making it difficult fitting in with arrangements. He had two brothers himself but they weren’t close, and, even though I tried to initiate stuff, he wasn’t interested. It was never going to work.’

  She put some boiling water into the teapot and poured out two cups of tea.

  ‘When did it finish?’

  ‘Six months ago.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s life, isn’t it? Come on. Let’s take this through – you’ll need to make a move soon: your grandmother will be wondering where you are. How was she this morning?’

  Harry followed her through to the lounge and sat down opposite her. ‘Not brilliant. She seems quite a lot weaker – though she insisted I come here for lunch. She’s still bedridden. It’s difficult knowing what I can do to make things more comfortable for her.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s much you can do, except be there for her.’ She hesitated. ‘You realise … it may not be long now?’

  He nodded. ‘The doctor told us when she came off the meds that things would speed up if she stopped them. But what can I do? It’s what she wants.’

  He thought about the other thing she wanted and immediately felt the full weight of burden on his shoulders again. It would be such a relief to share it with someone, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing you could casually drop into conversation.

  ‘What?’ Claire said, seeing his expression.

  Harry shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I can see there is something, but if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.’

  ‘It’s not that. Well, I suppose it is really. It’s … sensitive.’

  Their eyes held for a long moment and something in her patient expression gave him courage to plough on.

  ‘Has she ever … discussed with you what she wants, when the time comes?’

  ‘The euthanasia, you mean?’

  It sounded shocking hearing it put in such blunt terms. But he felt relief at having it out in the open.

  ‘Yes. I’ll admit I can’t handle it when she starts on about it. It’s why I didn’t want to move in with her.’

  Claire hesitated. ‘I deal with quite a few people in your gran’s situation, Harry. There are more people than you realise wanting to end things themselves in the peace of their own homes, with their loved ones around them. I’ve tried to tell Jean that all that is possible without going to the lengths she wants to go to. The chances are you can keep her at home with palliative care and she’ll slip away peacefully.’

  ‘I know – but that’s not what happened with my grandfather. And unfortunately that’s what she remembers. It was a farce the way they dealt with him, and it wasn’t pleasant. She’s …’ He broke off, remembering her words, that it was only him she was telling how scared she was of dying like that.

  ‘I don’t want her to have to go through that,’ he finished lamely.

  ‘Then when the time comes, we’ll do our best to see she doesn’t,’ Claire said. ‘I don’t want to interfere – she’s your grandmother and I’m only the carer – but I’m very fond of Jean and if I can help in any way?’

  ‘Thanks, but she’s not your responsibility and I shouldn’t be putting this on you – shouldn’t even be discussing it with you.’

  ‘Whatever you say to me is in confidence. I mean that.’ She smiled. ‘And don’t worry … We’ll get her through this. And we’ll do it right.’

  Harry finished the dregs in his cup and stood up to go, thinking how quickly she seemed to have become a part of their lives. ‘You’re a godsend, you know that?’

  She flashed him that mischievous smile as she, too, rose from her chair. ‘I think that’s the good meal talking.’

  ‘What made you do this sort of work anyway?’

  Claire shrugged. ‘I like helping people, and older people in particular. I used to work for the local council, but the lack of continuity and organisation was so frustrating I decided I’d rather do my own thing privately. Then I saw Guiding Hands were starting up and looking for care workers, and thought I’d give them a try. It’s working out well: they make a real effort to match carers to patients and do their best to give us ‘regulars’ whom we can form decent relationships with. One day I’d like to form my own company and really tailor my services to people’s needs – but I’ve got a bit more learning to do yet.’ She laughed self-consciously. ‘We’ll see if that one ever happens.’

  Harry smiled at her as they moved into the hall. ‘I get the impression you’re very determined. If you want it to happen, it will.’

  At the door, he turned to say goodbye. She was standing close, the top of her head just about level with his nose. It made it such a small move to tilt her chin with his finger so he could lower his lips to hers in a thank-you gesture. But the bolt of excitement that shot through him at the contact was spectacular. He found his other hand coming up so he could cup both her cheeks in his palms, his mouth deepening that kiss as he felt her own surprising response.

  When finally they pulled apart, he gave her a lopsided smile and cleared his throat. ‘Well, thanks for the lunch. I’ll, uh, see you later, then, at Gran’s?’

  She smiled back. ‘Yeah, okay. And thanks for all your help. Don’t know how I’d have managed without you.’

  He knew it was a load of bollocks, but he still found himself feeling pleased as Punch as he walked off down the path.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Monday morning Kirsty parked her car and crossed the road to the office, feeling that every meeting with her brother these days seemed destined to be fraught with tension. She’d done a lot of thinking over the weekend after her talk with Luke, and whilst she’d decided she wasn’t going to do anything that might cause problems for her mother and brother, she still wanted to know why Robbie wasn’t being straight with her.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked ten minutes later, as they sat sipping coffee in his office.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I tried to call you Friday night after your row with Mum – and Saturday. Lizzie said you didn’t come home.’

  ‘I wasn’t in the mood for company. I stayed over at the flat.’

  He didn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘That’s a bit hard on Liz, isn’t it?’

  ‘I didn’t want another family domestic.’

  ‘Rob … Lizzie deserves better than that.’

  ‘He was sitting there, Kirsty … in Dad’s chair … as if he belonged there. I just saw red. I wanted to smash every single thing in that room.’

  ‘I can imagine – I felt the same. But Mum’s known him for years. You can’t ban her from seeing him.’

  ‘I know I can’t. I just don’t get how she can’t see how that would upset us when we know the history. And you didn’t overhear what I did.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I heard him telling her that Dad hadn’t always appreciated her, that he’d taken her for granted sometimes.’

  ‘Bloody hell. What did she say to that?’

  ‘That she knew that. But that it was what long-term partners tended to do.’

  ‘Well, that’s true enough, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess so. It just made me angry. She should have been more loyal to Dad.’

  ‘She probably would have been if it was someone who didn’t know them so well. She was really upset about your row, Rob–’

  ‘Alright. I’ll go round at some point. But when I’ve cooled down. Otherwise I’ll just
say the wrong thing and we’ll be off again – and I’ve got enough on my own plate at the moment.’

  She stared at him helplessly, wanting to ask him What? What was on his plate that was making him so difficult these days? But she knew her brother well enough to know there was no point pushing him when he was in this sort of mood. Shelving the problem of their mother, she tackled him about the other thing that had been bothering her.

  ‘I’ve got something to ask you about Friday night – when we went to Paul Copeland’s flat. Why did you ring the wrong doorbell?’

  He blinked.

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘You rang Paul Copeland’s bell instead of Tim Burman’s – and then you came back to the car and lied to me.’

  She felt remarkably calm now it was out in the open. She saw the shock on his face – the embarrassment at being caught out – but he rallied quickly, his expression becoming defensive. ‘Well, if you knew that, why didn’t you say something at the time?’

  ‘Because I didn’t know what to think! My own brother deceiving me.’

  ‘That’s not how it was.’

  ‘Then how was it? Because that’s how it felt.’

  He glared at her in frustration. ‘I was trying to protect you. I know you’re upset about Dad, but you’re like a loose cannon at the moment. We can’t just go stumbling into someone’s flat accusing them of murder. I’m not a bloody policeman. What was I going to say after establishing the fact that Dad had been there? Ask him if he’d then followed Dad and run him over? We have no idea what we’re dealing with. It could be something or nothing. But if there’s any chance at all that it’s something, we need to remember that these people may have killed once and might well do so again. Now Dad’s gone it’s my duty to look out for you.’

  ‘And if he was involved in Dad’s death?’

  Robbie’s look was stubborn. ‘Then let the police handle it. Dad wouldn’t want us to do anything that might affect Mum in any way. You know that, and I’ve already told you how things stand – we don’t want the police poking around unless it becomes absolutely necessary.’

  ‘So you’re prepared to brush aside the fact that he might have murdered our father?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Kirsty, you haven’t got a scrap of evidence that the man had anything to do with Dad’s death. Just let it go. Leave it to the people who know what they’re doing. We’ve got a business that needs sorting out–’

  ‘Well, that’s something else I want to talk to you about because, judging by what you’ve told me so far, I’m not happy with the way this business is run.’

  ‘I think I’ve got that message.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to take a look at the accounts to see exactly what’s been going on. And I want to start with the sale of Grandma’s land.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that’s where it all began for me.’ She lowered her voice so that Sharon couldn’t hear. ‘I can’t work like this, Robbie – worrying about the taxman knocking on the door the whole time. I don’t know how you can live like that.’

  He shrugged. ‘We know what we’re doing, Kirsty – it’s no big deal.’

  ‘What planet are you living on? You can’t get away with that sort of stuff these days. How would you feel having to explain yourself to Lizzie and the kids if you got banged up for fraud or tax evasion?’

  ‘That’s not going to happen unless you drop us in it. You don’t get it, do you? We’ve got used to a certain standard of living. If we didn’t do the occasional cash deal or turn the odd property when we got the chance, we wouldn’t be able to maintain the lifestyle we’ve got.’

  ‘Well, tough shit. There’s such a thing as living within your means.’

  She calmed her voice with an effort. ‘Look, I don’t want to cause trouble and this isn’t how I pictured us being in the family business together. But don’t you see, it’s a chance to start over – in a business we can be proud of, rather than having to look over our shoulders the whole time. Would that really be such a bad thing?’

  Rob glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve got a viewing. We’ll talk about this another time.’

  ‘Okay. But just so you know … I’m going to have a word with that policeman that came to the funeral. Just to see if they’ve spoken to this Tim Burman, and if so, what he said. I’ll be discreet, I promise.’

  Rob’s eyes were stony. ‘I’d much rather you didn’t, Kirsty, but when did anything I say ever stop you? Do what you want.’

  After he’d gone, Kirsty forced their disagreement to the back of her mind and got on with checking appointments and tackling the post. She’d just taken a new valuation request and was hanging up the phone, when the outer office door opened and D.S. Briscombe walked in.

  She had to smile when Sharon, never the most proactive of secretaries but always appreciative of a ‘fit’ bloke, leapt up from her desk with a beaming smile on her face and offered assistance.

  Harry’s eyes met Kirsty’s through the glass pane as she heard him say, ‘I was up at Paul Copeland’s flat on Friday and saw there was quite a bit of post. I meant to bring it down to you then, but I’m afraid my day rather ran away with me. I thought you might want to forward it on to his girlfriend if you’ve got her address?’

  Kirsty rose from her desk. ‘Do you want to come through?’ she called.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ Sharon asked brightly.

  ‘Neither, thanks, I’ve just had one.’ Harry gave her the benefit of his best smile as he walked into Kirsty’s office.

  He sat down in the chair Kirsty indicated and handed Paul Copeland’s post over to her. ‘I called at the flat hoping to speak to Susan Porter, but according to the chap upstairs, she’s moved out. Do you have a forwarding address?’

  ‘We’ve probably got it on file. I think she’s staying with her brother. I’ve got her mobile number, though, so I can give her a call and let her know her post is here.’

  She said the words without thinking and Harry was quick to pick up on them.

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew each other?’

  ‘Uh, we don’t. Not really. I bumped into her the other night and we got talking. We ended up swapping numbers.’

  ‘Ah, right … Would you mind giving it to me? I could do with asking her a few more questions about her boyfriend’s death.’

  ‘I’m not sure I feel comfortable handing over her number without her permission–’

  ‘Don’t worry. She doesn’t need to know it was you. I can easily track her number down, you know – it’s just quicker this way.’

  Kirsty hesitated, but she could hardly refuse. She picked up her mobile from the desk, looked up the number and handed him the phone.

  ‘How’s the investigation coming on?’ she asked, watching as he wrote it down.

  ‘Slowly. We’ve got a couple of leads but nothing concrete yet.’

  ‘Have you spoken to the guy in the upstairs flat, by any chance? Tim Burman?’

  ‘No … but I’m on my way to interview him now, as it happens. Why do you ask?’

  Kirsty shrugged. She had to be careful. She didn’t want to betray Susan’s confidence.

  ‘I’m just interested. Susan mentioned that Dad visited him the day he was killed and I wondered–’

  She broke off. It was beginning to sound ludicrous even to her.

  ‘If there might be some connection?’

  She nodded. ‘Robbie says I’m being ridiculous and he’s probably right, but the whole thing just feels so wrong. So unlikely that Dad should die like that.’

  ‘It happens, you know. I’m afraid I see it all the time.’

  There was genuine sympathy in Harry’s voice, and to her horror Kirsty could feel her eyes welling up. ‘I know.’

  ‘I don’t remember seeing anything in his statement about seeing your father, but I’ll ask him and if there’s anything relevant, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kirsty smiled. ‘I know I’ve pr
obably just got to let it go and accept that it was an accident, but it’s hard to do that when you haven’t got the facts.’

  ‘We’re doing our best to track the driver down. We’ve interviewed everyone in the road now, and put a sign up near where it joins the main road. We’ve had a couple of passers-by come forward, but all we’ve discovered so far is that it was a dark-coloured saloon car being driven by a dark-haired man. Not much to go on. We’re also checking local garages for bodywork repairs, but in the absence of eyewitnesses, it’s very difficult.’

  He stood up to take his leave. ‘Thanks for your time, Miss Cartwright.’

  ‘Call me Kirsty, please.’ She, too, rose. ‘You will keep us posted?’

  ‘Of course – and if anything should come to your attention?’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’

  After he’d gone she deliberated over whether she should phone Susan Porter about the post and warn her that Sgt. Briscombe was likely to call. Deciding that could be awkward, she took the coward’s way out by simply texting that the post was at the office if she wanted to pick it up – not for the first time grateful for the wonders of modern technology.

  ***

  ‘Thanks for seeing me, Mr Burman.’

  Harry smiled at the other man as he took the seat he was offered and pulled out his notebook. His quick glance took in the careless disorder of the flat, confirming evidence of someone who’d recently been away – passport and euros tipped out onto the coffee table, a discarded ferry crossing booking.

  ‘I’m only sorry I wasn’t around last week when you were trying to get hold of me.’

  ‘You were away in France, I believe?’

  ‘Yup, I’m an antiques dealer. Most of my stuff comes from France, or sometimes Italy.’

  The man was fairish-haired, well spoken and mid-thirties. He looked towards a communicating door as it opened and a very attractive, dark-haired young woman walked in. She halted abruptly at the sight of Harry sitting in his chair.

  ‘Ah, Tanya,’ Tim Burman said. ‘Just in time to make this gentleman and myself a cup of coffee. You don’t mind, darling, do you?’