She took another drink. She was all sepia tones, her clothing and scarf, her skin, her hair. Her voice was muted, her movements sluggish. Everything about her spoke of a subservient, downtrodden woman. Yet he sensed an adversary in her. Now and again antagonism flashed across her face. She gripped her glass so tightly he thought it might break.
‘I was going to. My daughter was always more questioning than Joshua and harder to talk to. She was wilful. I had to build up my resolve through prayer. Then she came home and said that the boy had been attacked.’
‘A handy solution to all your problems.’
‘I prayed for the boy. His sin had found him out but I prayed that God would guide him.’ She nibbled at a ragged thumb nail.
‘Did you tell anyone else about this, at any time?’
‘Never. I spoke only to the Lord. He answered my prayers by raising Joshua to pastor some years later.’ Her voice had grown stronger, her son’s status evidently gave her satisfaction. ‘You’ve spoken again to my daughter?’
‘Yes. I told her that you know she’s back in the UK and has a baby.’
She blinked and shook her head. ‘I tried to steer her on the right path but she chose the road to damnation. I don’t want you troubling my son again. He has fought his demons. He has won the battle with my help and redeemed himself in the Lord’s eyes. Leave us alone now. There’s nothing more we can tell you.’ She looked at him and her eyes were suddenly lit up with animosity. ‘He was wearing a pink lacy dress with bows. My son, my son. That sight was an outrage. I burned those dresses, all four of them. They were like something a fallen woman of the streets might wear. Thankfully the Lord called Joshua back.’ She lifted her bag. ‘I have to go back to work. I hope you too can find the Lord, Mr Swift.’
‘How do you know I haven’t?’
She made no reply but walked away, checking the street from the café door before slipping out to the pavement.
He felt frustrated at the blank wall she had presented to him. He was convinced she knew more, he could sense it. Back in 2000, she must have felt desperate. She had believed that she had failed in her responsibilities as a mother. She had let down her children and had to make amends, restore her family. If they had been exposed, Joshua’s and Judith’s exploits would have brought terrible shame within the closed world of The Select Flock. Steven Saltby’s position in the church would have been undermined and he would have turned his anger on her. She had favoured her son, loved him the most, and invested the most in him. Had she resorted to violence to shield him? Had she attacked Teddy to protect her family? He turned over the theory. She was a tall woman, she could have, especially armed with anger and an element of surprise. Then maybe she had paid twenty thousand in guilty-conscience money from her husband’s compensation. But how did she get Teddy to Epping Forest or know that he would be there? Teddy would hardly have agreed to meet Dorcas. He thought he was going to join someone who shared his beliefs. Swift tapped his spoon on the table in annoyance, trying to think of another lever to use on her. He wrapped his scarf around his neck. As he stood, he saw Graham Manchester outside, seated on an old-fashioned bike. He was wearing the same dark grey suit, with a quilted body warmer and bicycle clips. He was turning to look at the traffic before he pedalled away. It was hard to tell if he had been out there, observing the meeting inside. Perhaps it was just coincidence that Dorcas’s cousin had materialised, but Swift didn’t believe in coincidence.
* * *
Rowan Bartlett phoned Swift later in the day. He was on his way with Cedric to Saffron House, the wedding venue in Kew, for a run-through. Cedric was driving in the erratic fashion of a motorist who rarely takes to the road. He seemed to have forgotten that he should give way to the right at roundabouts. Swift was gripping the edge of his seat with his left hand.
‘The police have spoken to Sheila,’ Bartlett told him. ‘She’s recovering now. A psychiatrist saw her and said the police could conduct a brief interview. They allowed me to sit in.’ He sounded exhausted.
‘I’m glad she’s going to be all right.’
‘Depends on what “all right” means. I’m going to talk to her about booking into a private clinic for further psychiatric help when she has recovered physically. I’ll be happy to pay. I hope you don’t mind me phoning you about this. I know it isn’t strictly to do with Teddy but I have no one else to talk to. Annabelle’s not answering my calls.’
Swift thought that Bartlett would be happy to palm off the problem of his daughter elsewhere. He would probably sell the house while she was out of the way. He put a hand on Cedric’s arm to stop him pulling out in front of a bus at a junction.
‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘At this stage, all information from Sheila might be relevant to what happened to Teddy.’
‘About the baby . . .’ Bartlett coughed drily. ‘He was born on August eighth. Initial results indicate that he died from sepsis. If he had been taken to hospital and treated with antibiotics, he might have survived. It’s hard to say.’
Swift felt deeply relieved that Sheila hadn’t killed the child. ‘That’s very sad. What did Sheila tell the police?’
‘Ahm, let me see . . . well, the main topic was the baby of course. They told her about the sepsis. She said that he died at two days old. She found him dead in her bed. She had noticed nothing untoward. He had been snuffling but not in a way to worry her. Sepsis can be very sudden and rapid, of course.’
‘Did she say who the father was?’
‘No. She wouldn’t speak about that and they didn’t press her. She’s very tearful and of course in pain from the wound, although that’s quite well controlled. She said that she told Teddy as soon as she knew she was pregnant and they agreed to keep it a secret. By the time she realised what was wrong with her, it was too late to have an abortion. She worried that she would be expelled from her nursing training. She managed to hide the pregnancy by talking about the weight she kept gaining, and luckily she was healthy throughout. Some larger women are able to conceal the fact that they’re expecting. She took the last weeks before the birth off work, saying she was anaemic. Teddy helped her with the birth. She had spent some time on a maternity ward and instructed him.’
‘But what was she planning to do with the baby? She could hardly keep him a secret for long once he was born.’
Bartlett heaved a heavy sigh. ‘She was going to leave him at a hospital during that first week, somewhere he would be found quickly. When he died, Teddy said they had to tell someone but Sheila refused. I think that Sheila has been unwell ever since then, very unwell.’
‘And Teddy? What did she tell the police about him?’
‘They called a halt then, as she was getting tired. They’re going to see her again when the doctors give permission. They want to ask her about that other child as well, the one who died at the party. However, when we spoke alone she assured me that what happened to Teddy was nothing to do with her. She swore on her dead child that she had no part in that and I believe her.’
Swift could imagine the drama of the scene at the hospital bed. ‘Has Tim seen Sheila?’
‘He came to the hospital, yes. He wouldn’t speak to me. I believe he didn’t stay long.’
‘Well, that’s something.’
‘I suppose.’
‘I’m following other enquiries about Teddy at the moment.’
‘Very well. Frankly, he’s the one child I’m not actively concerned about right now. I have to go, I have a doctor’s appointment myself. I need something to help me sleep.’
Cedric swerved into the car park of Saffron House as the conversation ended, narrowly avoiding a low wall.
‘That sounded interesting,’ he said. ‘Was it about the Druid boy who was attacked?’
‘It was. Interesting doesn’t start to cover it, my friend.’ He ticked off on his fingers. ‘Father leaves family for sister-in-law; abandoned wife sinks into medicated depression; eldest daughter rules house and conceals a pregnancy; brother Teddy is
coerced into assisting her with giving birth; baby dies and she keeps it in a box in the loft; sister and brother argue about revealing the death; the gender-uncertain, Druidically inclined Teddy ends up brain-damaged in Epping Forest; youngest son takes to anger and drugs; throw another bizarre family belonging to a strict religious sect into the mix and stir.’
Cedric scratched his head. ‘Do you ever wish you’d become a librarian, dear boy?’
Swift laughed. ‘Only occasionally, in the early hours. I believe I am about to find out who attacked Teddy. There’s a gut feeling a detective gets when a case is coming together, however slowly. Untying knots is a satisfying activity.’
‘Well, all I can say is that it makes my little difficulties with Oliver seem like small potatoes. Look, we’re early and Kris is already here!’
She was waving to them from inside the porch, a cup of coffee in her hand. She came out and greeted them on the steps.
‘You see, I made a very special effort not to be late because I know how much you don’t approve of tardiness. That’s a new word in my vocabulary by the way, and I like it.’
She wore a half cap, shaped like a crescent and made of black and white fabric and netting. Swift adjusted it and kissed her.
‘I appreciate the lack of tardiness and I admire the hat/cap/creation on your head.’
Mary and Simone arrived with the registrar who was to conduct the service, a woman called Debbie. Over coffee, they ran through the order of events. Debbie explained some of the phrases that had to be included in the ceremony to satisfy legal requirements. Mary had a copy of the service they had chosen. There was going to be a male pianist and female vocalist who would play the couple in with Your Song and finish with All You Need Is Love. For readings, Simone had chosen Love and Friendship by Emily Bronte and Mary had selected Scaffolding by Seamus Heaney. Harvey, Simone’s brother, emerged from the kitchen to confirm that the meal would be a mixture of canapes and crostini, followed by mustard-glazed roast beef or asparagus, lemon and ricotta tart with a cupcakes assortment to finish. Cedric had a long-standing acquaintance with a jazz quartet called The Mouldy Figs, who had played for his eightieth birthday. He explained that their name was a term used in some quarters to deride those who liked traditional jazz. They were going to do a set after the meal.
Simone sat shaking her hair out frequently. She double-checked everything that was said, or interrupted before the speaker had finished. Swift suppressed his irritation and smiled at Mary. She was looking excited and strained. She gave him a thumbs-up as Debbie confirmed that everything was satisfactory from her point of view.
‘Well,’ Mary said, relieved. ‘I think that’s everything. Have you written your very brief speech, Ty?’
‘Yes,’ he lied. ‘Just need to polish it up. No more than five minutes, as requested.’
‘You can practise it on me,’ Kris told him. ‘What are you wearing?’ she asked Mary and Simone.
Swift half listened as they spoke of their outfits, table decorations and their honeymoon in Siena. His thoughts had turned to Teddy Bartlett. The boy must have been hugely distressed by his sister’s secret pregnancy and then the baby’s death. A baby he had helped bring into the world, but who would have been abandoned if he had lived. The pressure of keeping that knowledge to himself for months on end would have weighed on him. No wonder he had felt as if he was living in a miserable world and wanted to escape it. Then there was Sheila, interring her baby in a box, making regular trips to the loft to grieve over the corpse, tending the bones. The disintegration of the Bartlett family was awful. Teddy’s note now made complete sense — almost. His mother had been using Tim as an emotional crutch and Sheila had used him. But who had he been seeking as his companion in his new, free life? Swift was now convinced, from what he knew of them, that neither Sheila nor Joshua had been responsible for Teddy’s attack. But he was sure that the answer lay somewhere with the Saltbys. The mother or the father, then, had found some way of luring Teddy to Low Copsley. He made a decision. He knew it would put the cat amongst the pigeons but he had to clear a path through their evasions. He would visit Steven Saltby.
Kris nudged him. ‘Where have you gone to?’
‘Sorry. I was thinking about this case I’m working on.’ He looked at her. ‘Maybe when the wedding is over and I’ve finished this piece of work, we could have a short break somewhere?’
‘That would be wonderful.’
‘Where would you like to go?’
‘Bath! There are some vintage shops there I’d love to look in.’
‘It’s a deal.’
He took her hand and kissed it. Her fingers were often chilly — because of all the sitting still and sewing, she said. He cupped both her hands in his and rubbed them, then tucked the nearest into his pocket, where she liked to nestle and warm it.
* * *
The morning was murky, the air thick and stagnant as he walked to the Saltby home. The temperature had dropped to freezing overnight and he had dug out his black wool cap with ear flaps. He hoped that Mary would have blue skies for her wedding in two days’ time, one of those cold but sunny winter days that cheered the spirits. He turned in at the gate of the small terraced house, betting that Steven Saltby would be at home on his own at this time of day. There was a ramp up to the front door and he stood by the side of it with his finger on the bell. After a long minute he heard a slam, a security chain being attached and the latch moving. The door opened a couple of inches. Steven Saltby was sideways on in his wheelchair, staring out at him.
‘Yes?’
‘Good morning. Mr Steven Saltby?’
‘Yes. Who are you?’
‘My name is Tyrone Swift. I’m a private investigator looking into an attack that happened some years ago. I’ve spoken to your daughter, your son and your wife and now I’d like to talk to you. You’ll probably recall seeing me at your church a short time ago.’
There was a silence while Saltby frowned and looked him up and down. ‘I’ve never heard of you. Don’t remember seeing you.’ The voice was deep and flat. Uncompromising.
‘I believe your family haven’t mentioned me or the information they’ve given me because they thought you would be upset. I do think that as the head of the family, you should be involved or at least allowed to make your own decisions on the matter. It’s a complicated situation, you see, and I’d appreciate your views.’ Appealing to status usually helped in these situations.
A longer silence. ‘Have you got some kind of ID?’
‘Of course. I carry a card with my photo.’
‘Let’s see it then.’
Swift held it out as instructed, pleased that these security precautions indicated that Saltby was alone. Saltby raised a pair of glasses on a string around his neck and scrutinised it, then looked hard again at Swift.
‘You can come in.’
He reached up with a grunt to undo the chain and moved his wheelchair backwards and forwards until he could turn back into the house. The effort was obviously painful. Swift thought how much easier it would be for him if there was an intercom system with a door release, but he presumed that The Select Flock would abjure such technology. He followed Saltby along the hallway and into a combined sitting/dining room. Saltby positioned himself by a bay window and indicated a straight-backed chair with no arms.
The room was plainly furnished with dark cream walls. It was spotless, drab and also cold, with a boarded-in fireplace. There was one free-standing electric heater, unplugged. The floor was covered in a thin hessian carpet and the only decoration was a huge wooden cross on one wall. A chipped pine coffee table was beside Saltby’s wheelchair, with what looked like a well-used prayer book on top. A small crucifix lay across it. Swift couldn’t help thinking of Teddy and Judith upstairs in this joyless place, laughing and miming to songs and Joshua sneaking into his second-hand women’s finery, his mouth dry with self-hatred and longing.
Saltby was looking at him impassively. His deep-set, almost blac
k eyes were unreadable. Up close, his thick, greyish, heavily lined skin looked even more like an elephant’s hide. The grey ribbed fleece he was wearing added to the impression. His mouth was disconcertingly at odds with the rest of his face, a feminine-looking cupid’s bow. He seemed like a man who took no prisoners, so Swift decided to adopt the same approach. He stared back and told Saltby about Teddy and Judith’s friendship, Joshua’s involvement at Cyberia, the attack on Teddy and Dorcas Saltby’s knowledge of what had happened. He included the details about Joshua’s dressing up. The man barely blinked.
‘Teddy’s family want to know who attacked him. I believe that his attack is linked to your family. Both your son and your wife lied to me initially and I think that lies are still being told.’
Saltby shifted in his chair and adjusted the footrest. ‘That’s quite a story you’ve come here with.’
‘Facts. Those are facts.’
‘If you say so. You think I’m involved?’
‘You tell me.’
There was a silence. Saltby touched the crucifix. The faint drone of a vacuum cleaner sounded from next door. When Saltby spoke, his voice was stony with hostility.
‘So you think I would sit here in the knowledge that my son is a pernicious deviant and my wife a foul liar and perhaps they are also criminals? You think I wouldn’t have denounced them and had them expelled from our congregation and my home? You don’t know me, Mr Swift.’
Swift thought he was telling the truth. He was an extreme, merciless man who would give no quarter to weakness. He was a father who was capable of telling his daughter that she was no longer his child. Thank goodness, Judith had escaped and found another life.
‘Maybe you are telling the truth, Mr Saltby. All I know is that there is a web of deceit within your family.’
‘You are sure that these things you have told me about, these unspeakable, disgusting events are all true?’
BLOOD SECRETS a gripping crime thriller full of suspense Page 18