by Helen Oliver
“I ought to trim th’edge.”
*
Mrs Worsnop had been quietly obliging about making an e-fit. When asked if she thought the result was a good likeness, she admitted she was pleased with it. Sitting at his desk, Hammond studied it. Worsnop appeared to have caught the look of a youngish woman. The composite gave the impression of a female who was probably attractive. No large nose, no beady eyes or straggly eyebrows to upset an even-featured oval face. He was still staring at it when Cally pushed open the door. Surprised, he said, “I didn’t think you were working.”
She leaned her case beside her chair. “I didn’t intend to, but I couldn’t settle until I’d looked in on Lucy. I needed to make sure she understood Harriet Bloom’s offer.”
“Everything all right?”
“Mmm. Though she wasn’t dancing in the aisles.”
Hammond leaned back. “It’s what she wanted, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.” She came closer, looked at Hammond’s screen. “What’s this?”
Hammond swung the screen to face her. “The e-fit you asked Lyn Worsnop to do.”
Cally bent over it. “Wow…”
Hammond looked up at her. “Mean something to you?”
Cally nodded slowly.” It’s very like Angie Marsh.” She continued to examine the face. “Very like.”
“Okay, then.” Hammond stood up. “My turn to pay her a visit.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No, best if I go, get a fresh take. I’ll tell you what could be useful. Possibly vital.” He nodded at the screen. “Scan a copy of this and call on Harriet Bloom. She was close to Parsons – see if it means anything to her.”
Cally asked, “Shall I drop into the hospital – see if it rings a bell with Lucy? ”
“Sure.”
She nodded. “Okey-doke.”
Hammond said, “After that, you ought to get home. Those kids’ll start to forget what you look like.” He hesitated. “How’s everyone?”
Cally sighed. “If you mean Greg: much the same.” A sudden smile brightened her face. “Might do him good if I get back in time to take the kids out. Give his mum a break.”
Hammond hung his jacket over one shoulder. “Where will you go?”
“Perhaps the river. Look for sticklebacks.”
*
With the window down and the smell of grass and blossom filling the car, Hammond let his mind wander to the idea of moving to the country. The dream generally faded around November, then peaked again in May. He thought briefly of Cally and imagined her down by the river with Greg and the kids. Family.
He parked up, and, while waiting for someone to come to the door, admired the exotic mauve blooms festooning the front of the cottage. Turning away to admire the front garden, he almost missed the door opening, and the faltering, “Hello?” of a voice he recognized.
“Good afternoon, Mr Marsh. Okay if we chat for a few minutes?”
“Come in.”
Hammond stepped onto the cool hall floor. “Is your wife at home?”
Marsh nodded. “She’s in the garden, putting up wigwams for French beans.”
“Looks like you’ve a fair amount of ground.”
Marsh said, “We can go out there, if you like.”
“Please. I wouldn’t want to drag Mrs Marsh indoors.”
Hammond followed Marsh into the kitchen, through an inner hall and into what might be called a boot room. By the number of boots and shoes, you’d imagine the Marshes were a large family. David Marsh’s scan of a nameless foetus came to mind, and he wondered what the next few minutes held.
As Hammond and Marsh crossed the grass and approached a wigwam, currently held together by Angie Marsh’s firm fingers, she turned with a smile, though let a ball of twine slip when Marsh made the introductions.
Hammond faced the living photofit. “Mrs Marsh, I –”
“I’ll stop you right there, Mr Hammond.” She bent to pick up the twine. “Maybe my husband hasn’t explained that we’re not prepared to talk about Mrs Parsons without our solicitor present. We informed DS Burns on this point.”
“She did tell me, yes. To be honest, I’m not expecting you to go into any detail. Just one thing I want to clear up.” Her pretty mouth narrowed and he said. “Did you call at Spring House shortly after 9 a.m. last Tuesday morning?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll let you get on.”
They stood, the pair of them, as stiff as the canes. Hammond said, “Good luck with the beans,” and, making his way back to the car, noted the reg of the VW.
20
Heading for hospital Reception, Cally laughed when she caught Harriet Bloom on her way out. “We must stop meeting like this!” She paused. “Actually you’ve saved me a journey.”
Miss Bloom smiled. “Have you come to see Lucy and the baby?”
“I have, though running into you is a bonus. I didn’t think you’d be working today.”
“I came in to catch up on a few things.” She paused. “Was there something in particular?”
Cally said, “I’ve got an e-fit in my bag.” She brought it out, handed it to Miss Bloom. “Have a look and see if anyone springs to mind.”
Miss Bloom shook her head. “Sorry, no.”
“I imagine she could be attractive.”
“This has something to do with April?”
“We’re pretty sure this is the young woman who called at Spring House on the 17th.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help.”
“Thanks, anyway,” Cally said, “something to cross off my list.” She smiled. “How are preparations coming along for Lucy and Leo?”
“It’s very early days, but we’re looking forward to the grand arrival.”
*
Leo lay with arms back and fingers curled beside his ears. Cally smiled. Gosh, he was beautiful. Looking at Lucy snoozing on the bed, she wished she didn’t have to disturb her.
“Lucy?”
The girl stirred. “What?”
“I need you to look at something.”
“Look at what?”
Cally pulled up a chair beside the bed. “When you’re ready,” she said and held out the e-fit.
Lucy frowned. “Who is she?”
“We believe she might be a friend of your mum. Does she look familiar to you?”
“Not really.”
Cally touched her arm. “Not really, or not at all?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think so. I wasn’t always there.”
Cally waited a few moments. “So you wouldn’t be able to give this woman a name.”
Lucy shook her head. “Sorry.”
*
Cally sat in the car, dialled Hammond and left a message to say she’d drawn a blank.
Texting Greg, she said she’d soon be home, and how about a picnic?
21
Supper with the Rutters was a short-notice affair. Trish was the total opposite of Jan, who would have needed time to change her mind a dozen times, think about new napkins (even curtains) and decide on the colour of the candles.
The Rutter heirs, teenagers Ellie and Scott, were upstairs in Scott’s room with Mama Trish pizzas and iced coffee. A gentle pounding, minus recognizable tunes, permeated from above. Hammond cast his eyes to the ceiling. “Both well?”
Neil grinned. “Fighting fit.”
Trish’s head, preceded by flaxen curls, poked round the door. “You okay with crab, Steve?”
“Love it, thanks.”
Trish went back to the land of good smells, and Neil tilted a bottle of Pinot Grigio over Hammond’s glass. “Top up?”
“Go easy, mate.”
Neil started pouring. “Live dangerously. Take a taxi.”
Hammond nodded. “Yeah, why not?” He swirled his glass. “Cheers.”
Neil said. “I hate talking shop…”
“No, you don’t.”
“All right, I don’t.” He paused for a second. “Anymore on Parsons?”
&nbs
p; Hammond said, “There is, but it’s very bitty. Nothing to get my teeth into.”
“So what gives?”
“Did I tell you the grandson is mixed race?”
“You did.”
Hammond took a handful of Neil’s proffered nuts and talked him through the Parsons/Bloom liaison. He picked out a couple of cashews. “Turns out Bloom is Lucy Parsons’s godmother.”
Neil gave a wise-monkey nod. “Godmother, eh? Makes sense.”
Hammond frowned. “Well, sort of. Rather odd, though, because on Friday she seemed more horrified than keen.” He took a drink. “By the way, I had to arrest Jez Hemsworth’s ma.”
“Christ, what for?”
“Actual bodily harm on toy-boy boxer, Dylan Beck.”
Neil laughed quietly. “What the fuck?”
Hammond let the wine relax the muscles in his neck. “Hell knows no fury.” He grinned. “Goes with the territory.”
Neil pushed himself out of his chair. “I’ll see if Trish needs any help.” He wandered into the kitchen, but was soon back. “She’s laying the table.”
Hammond thought how Jan would have laid the table ages ago; and didn’t approve of kitchen suppers.
Neil sank back in his chair. “You said Marsh paid you a visit.”
“Wanted to confess about the scan.”
“Why did he send it?”
Hammond pushed aside the nuts. “No more, thanks. Don’t want to spoil my appetite.” He shut his eyes for a moment. “Why? He had a headful of reasons. Could be spite.”
“Because?”
Trish called, “It’s ready!” Ambling through, Hammond gave Neil a three-sentence synopsis of Marsh’s reasons.
The candle-lit kitchen and warm Aga filled Hammond with a feeling of wellbeing. He said yes please to everything: crab pate, chili con carne and lemon meringue pie.
The muted pounding from above didn’t spoil the atmosphere, and over coffee in the sitting room Trish asked about Dan.
Hammond accepted a slug of whisky and swirl of cream in his coffee. “He’s fine. About to play Ferdinand in ‘The Tempest’.
Trish nursed her peppermint tea. “Brilliant. Are we going to see his name in lights?”
When Neil asked, “Jan pleased, is she?” Hammond caught the look Trish threw him.
“Oh, you know, proud mum.”
Trish nodded. “Quite right too.”
At which point the sitting room door opened and Ellie announced, “We’ve come to say hello, and goodnight.” Hammond, shaken at how, since he last saw her, she had turned into a stunning young woman, made a move to stand up. “Please,” she said, “you look too comfy.”
Scott muttered, “Hi,” and Hammond quickly abandoned the idea of asking about their favourite subjects at school. He raised a hand, “Good to see you,” and they backed out: one with a smile to launch a thousand ships, the other with his mouth clamped over a pewter-coloured brace.
After Trish said no thanks to help with loading the dishwasher, Neil brought out a malt and poured them both a splash. They stretched contentedly, took deep breaths of the whisky and forgot the unwritten rule about not talking shop.
Although Hammond knew more about the Parsons’s family and immediate circle, Neil – present so soon after the death – went over the details: the victim’s apparent willingness to lie on her own treatment couch, no signs of a struggle. Then, at the PM, showing less food in the stomach than one would expect.
Neil said, “Why would anyone eat so little of a meal they’d prepared?”
Hammond reached for his glass. “Jan used to say that after spending ages cooking, she didn’t always feel like eating.”
Neil patted his stomach. “Yeah, but this was light stuff.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are we privy to the woman’s drinking habits?”
“No. Why?”
“Alcohol in the blood. Quite a lot.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why else might you not eat?” He called over his shoulder, “Trish!”
Hair pushed back from a moist forehead, she appeared in the doorway. “Something you want?”
Neil said, “Your opinion.”
She laughed. “Go on.”
“If, after a PM,” said Neil, “your stomach contained less food in it than would generally be expected, why d’you think that might be?”
“You’re the pathologist, Neil.”
“I know. Just play the game. Any ideas?”
Trish made play of thinking hard. “I could be ill; though I’m dead so I wouldn’t know.”
“Be sensible.”
“I’m a deal more sensible than you. You must have asked yourself something similar thousands of times.” She raised her eyebrows. “I could be slimming?”
“True.”
“If I was a performer – an actor perhaps, or pianist – I might be too nervous to eat. Or if I was taking an exam the next day…” She tailed off, then added a new thought, “Or if I had something life-changing on my mind? If I’d had a row with someone?”
Neil heaved himself up. “Thanks, love.” He took her in his arms, gave her a squeeze and smacked her bottom. Looking on, the only squeeze Hammond felt was somewhere beneath his ribs.
Neil disentangled himself, pointed to the whisky. “One for the road?”
“Better not.” Hammond glanced at his watch. “Ought to ring for that cab.” He took Trish by the shoulders. “Thank you for a lovely evening, and a cracking meal. Don’t know how you do it.”
She kissed him. “Don’t be a stranger.”
22
Philip Parsons took a leak and washed his hands. As he spread his fingers in the ferocious dryer, the events of the past few days crowded in on him. Up until a few weeks ago he’d been telling himself life wasn’t all bad. Then with one thing after another – culminating in April’s death – it was all change. Parsons Technology looked like it had bitten off more than it could chew; the bastard builder in Spain disappeared with £100K, and James’s catwalk girlfriend decided life in Milan with designer Christian Darmon held more excitement than waiting for James to win salesman of the month at PZ Motors in Headingly.
James wasn’t sure why his father had suggested they meet up on a Sunday night, let alone at Club Lautrec. “This a favourite place of yours, Dad?”
Philip shook his head. “I thought it might be one of your haunts. City centre, bit of life to it? There was a write-up in the Post. Can’t say I’m impressed.”
James said, “Would you like to move on?”
“No. Matter of fact, I’ve asked Harriet to join us.”
James looked startled. “Harriet?” He pushed his glass around. “You’re not – ?”
His father said quickly, “Definitely not. Though I have to say your mum’s death has knocked her for six. They were close. It’s the last thing she expected.”
“Last thing any of us expected. I hope Harriet’s not turning to you for comfort, Dad.”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
“You had me worried there.”
Philip took off his specs, rubbed the lenses with the hem of his shirt. “Would it worry you?”
“Too bloody right, it would.” James put his glass down. “Come on, Dad. Once bitten, twice shy. Though twice bitten in your case.”
“You can forget Gloria. Her name was the best thing about her.”
James persisted: “Regarding Harriet; watch out, Dad – now there’s no happy family for her to break up.”
“You don’t know the half of it, James. If we could’ve seen a way round it, things might not have been so hard on you and Lucy.”
“Who’s we? You and Harriet? You and Gloria?”
“For God’s sake! Your mum and I.”
“You’ve lost me, Dad.” James frowned. “So why are we expecting Harriet?”
“We need to talk. The three of us.” He paused. “And there’s something else.”
James frowned. “What?”
“Lucy and the baby are going to live with her and Diana.”
; James let this sink in. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Won’t that let you off the hook? Not that I think you wouldn’t want to do your bit. But wouldn’t it be a bit much for you? Disturbed nights, etc…” Looking at his father’s baggy eyes, he added, “As a matter of fact, you don’t look marvellous.”
“I’m feeling the cold a bit, financially speaking.” He drained his glass. “You’ll be all right, though, you and Lucy.”
“Well, good.”
“When your mum and I separated, she changed her will. …Everything changed.”
James held his expression in check. “Yeah? I suppose it would. But don’t you still own half the house?”
“No, I sold her my half in order to start the business. That was some time ago, of course.” He took a breath. “You and Lucy are the beneficiaries. You have a half share each.”
James’s girlish mouth sagged. “God, if only I’d known.”
Philip took his specs off, held the wine list closer to his face. “What difference would it have made?”
“If I could’ve told Melanie that –”
Philip gave a short laugh: “That you’d be owning half a period property within spitting distance of Harrogate?”
“I wouldn’t have put it that bluntly.”
“How would you have put it?”
“I’m not sure.” James looked across the room. “She’s here.”
Philip turned towards the black curtained door, adjusted his specs, peered through the growing group of clubbers, and saw Harriet. She looked out of place, smart in the wrong sort of way, and he wished he’d suggested somewhere else. She came across, put an arm on his shoulder. “See, I made it.”
He stood up. “I never doubted you.”
James stood up, “Hi, Harriet.”
“Hello, James. How are you?”
“Oh, you know.”
Philip asked what she’d like to drink. “Chardonnay, please.”
James said, “I’ll get them. Same again, Dad?”
Philip pulled out a chair for Harriet. “Yes. Thank you.”
Harriet watched James go to the bar. “Does he know Lucy and Leo are coming to live with Mother and me?”