by Helen Oliver
Cally said, “Anne Morris is Russell Sykes’s mother. Second marriage.”
“Oh, I see.”
Hammond said, “Russell Sykes was once engaged to Judi Fox.”
“I knew that.”
Hammond sat down again. “This morning DS Burns had to break it to Mrs Morris that Judi Fox is dead.” At Bloom’s sharp intake of breath, he said, “I’m so sorry. You didn’t know?”
“My God.” Bloom closed her eyes for a moment. “A colleague at work said he’d seen activity in the wood at Little Brampton. Was that…?”
Cally said, “You knew Judi Fox lived at Little Brampton?”
“Yes” Her hand went to her throat. “This is dreadful.”
Hammond said, “I believe you were going into business with Mrs Parsons and Miss Fox?”
“Oh, you’ve heard. Not as part of the business exactly, more in an advisory capacity.” She took a packet of tissues from her bag. “I didn’t actually know Judi” She swallowed. “I was looking forward to meeting her.”
Cally said, “I understand she was a Reiki healer.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever had a Reiki session, Miss Bloom?”
“I haven’t. I’m lucky, I suppose. My health is pretty sound.”
Hammond leaned back. “How much do you know about complementary therapies in general?”
Bloom wiped her upper lip with a tissue. “April and I were friends for decades.” She turned to Cally, “as you know, I’m Lucy’s godmother. A lot of it rubbed off on me. I wouldn’t like to say how many aromatherapy massages I’ve had. …I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
A pause, and Hammond said, “That Monday evening. You had a meal with Mrs Parsons.”
Bloom frowned. “I think I must have said that already.”
Cally said, “You did, but you know what it’s like. I admit you seemed very clear when I came to Wychwood, but might something have slipped your mind?”
Bloom’s high heel scraped under the table. “I know why I’m here. It’s because of my idiotic fib when you came to the hospital.”
“Which,” Cally said, catching the lift of Hammond’s eyebrows, “may have been your way of dealing with the shock.” She paused. “Or perhaps you have a particularly creative bent.”
“Essay-writing was my strong suit at school.”
Hammond ignored this titbit. “Our intention is to go over every single piece of information we’ve received, however small. It will come, that light-bulb moment. And we’ll be ready for it.”
There was a pause until Cally said, “Don’t take it the wrong way, Miss Bloom, if it looks like we’re going over old ground.”
“I’ll tell you everything I can. Absolutely everything.”
Hammond had Cally’s notes in front of him. He turned a page. “Take us back to that evening, Miss Bloom. We know, from the post-mortem, that Mrs Parsons hadn’t eaten a great deal.”
“She was upset.”
Hammond nodded. “About anything in particular?”
Bloom said quietly, “I haven’t mentioned this before…”
Cally said, “Ok-ay?”
“It wasn’t something I thought Lucy needed to know, or that would throw any light on the question as to who killed April.” She took her time, drew breath. “April had been having a fling with Russell Sykes, and at the end of the previous week she’d let him go; something she didn’t tell me until that Monday evening. Though I’m not surprised,” she added, “after the awful row they had.” She looked down at the desk. “Part of which I overheard in a bit too much detail.”
Cally said, “It might help if you tell us about it.”
Bloom nodded to herself. “I’d come into April’s sitting room from the garden. With hindsight, I suppose I should have gone straight out again, but I stopped dead when I heard April say, ‘You don’t mean that!’ and Russell shout back, ‘I do – I’d rather see you dead than with anyone else!’”
Hammond said, “You heard a fair bit, then.”
“I was rooted to the spot.”
Cally asked, “Did it end there?”
“I suppose it did. Russell rushed past me into the garden, and I walked into the kitchen and started rabbiting on about the roses.”
Cally said. “Mrs Parsons didn’t realize you’d heard anything?”
“She couldn’t have done. She put the kettle on and opened a tin of biscuits.”
Hammond asked, “What sort of biscuits?”
Bloom gave a nervous laugh. “I think they were shortbread.”
Cally asked, “What did you infer from Sykes’s remark about ‘anyone else'.”
“I didn’t infer anything. I couldn’t think why Russell thought April was seeing anyone else.”
Cally said, “But you’d known about her ‘fling’ with Russell Sykes?”
“Yes, and I partly understood. Russ is very attractive. Apparently, he was a fantastic lover. But he was younger than April, much younger. She knew how I felt – that I dreaded she’d make a fool of herself.”
Cally said, “You didn’t give any hint of your feelings in the message you left.”
“About the recipe for the starter? I wanted her to know, when she listened, that nothing between us had changed.”
Hammond tapped his pen on the desk. “Did you part on good terms?”
She nodded. “We hugged, kissed goodnight. She was still waving when I drove off.”
Hammond made a quick note. “Did you go straight home?”
“Where else would I go?”
Cally smiled. “Was your mother awake, or had an evening of bridge worn her out?”
Bloom smiled in return. “The latter.”
Hammond said. “You went to work next day.”
“I had no reason not to.” Bloom frowned. “As you know, at first I thought you’d come about the accident on Browbridge Hill.”
Hammond eased his shoulders. “You say you wanted April Parsons to know nothing had changed, though we don’t seem to have much idea of what you talked about during the meal.” He raised an eyebrow. “You must have felt relieved that Mrs Parsons had sent Sykes packing.”
“I don’t think it was like that exactly. She’d have been far kinder. It obviously upset her a lot.”
Hammond asked, “Was there much left to say on the subject?”
Bloom sighed. “Ridiculous, really. When you’re close to someone, you act like a dog with a bone, you can’t let it go.”
Cally nodded. “Bringing up stuff that’s best forgotten?”
Bloom said quickly, “You're so right.” She hesitated. “I told her she should have seen the warning signs where Russ was concerned: young guy besotted with an older woman.”
Hammond let a moment pass. “You saw enough of them together to get this impression?”
“I didn’t see a lot of them, but when I did it was crystal clear. The way things were heading.”
Cally said, “Did you give any indication of how you felt about it?”
“I did.” Pain crossed her face. “Such a stupid, stupid thing to say. I could’ve bitten my tongue out. … I said I’d thought, right from the start, that there’d be tears before bedtime.”
Hammond asked, “You said this during the meal?”
“You don’t know how much I regret it. April cried, said she couldn’t bear the thought of anything affecting our friendship.”
Hammond said, “I believe there was fruit salad for dessert.”
Bloom looked puzzled. “Yes, there was.”
“Did Mrs Parsons have any?”
“I think she must have done.”
“Only I’m wondering,” Hammond said, “at what stage of the meal you dragged your friendship over the coals.”
“Perhaps I’m making it sound worse than it was.”
Cally said, “I don’t doubt that imagining what April Parsons must have suffered in her final hours is causing you a great deal of pain.”
Miss Bloom rubbed both temples. “Pain I’l
l have to live with.”
Hammond said, “Did you know Judi Fox was pregnant?”
“No!”
Glancing at Hammond, then Bloom, Cally said, “Have you any idea who the father could be?”
“I didn’t know either of them well enough to–”
Hammond cut in. “Either of whom?”
Bloom shook her head. “I’m hazarding a guess at Russell Sykes.”
Cally said, “Though you never met Judi Fox.”
“I was close to April, very. But we didn’t live in each other’s pockets.”
A quick look at Cally, and Hammond stood up. “Let’s call it a day.”
Cally said, “Thank you, Miss Bloom. You’ve been a help, and I’m sorry if you feel we’ve put you through the mill.”
Bloom took hold of her clutch bag, pushed back her chair. “It’s all right. I know how hard this must be for you.”
Cally ushered her to the door, walked her through Reception to the front entrance. “How’s little Leo doing?”
“Fantastic. He’s the sweetest little guy.”
“And his mum?”
“Lucy’s better, I think. Mother’s really good with her.”
Cally said, “I look forward to seeing them both some time.”
Bloom said, “You’ll be more than welcome.”
Cally waved her off, stopped at the water-cooler, filled two cups and went back to the office.
Hammond was transferring notes to his screen. Cally put a cup in front of him. “There you go, Big Bad Wolf.”
He took a drink. “She needed shaking up.”
Cally sat down. “What did you think, honestly?”
“She’s got some sort of axe to grind.” He shook his head. “Anyone’s guess as to what it is.” He paused. “Fox’s death genuinely shocked her.”
“I know.”
Hammond shifted two piles of papers into one. “Next on the list?”
“Check tonight’s TV news item, prior to tomorrow’s appeal.”
Hammond saved his screen. “Okay. Forensics have looked at Fox’s luggage. Nothing out of the way, except it picked up traces of grass.” He scrolled down. “Something else has come in.” He peered at the screen. “Old guy, not far from Thirsk – Cod Beck river – may have seen something the night of Fox’s death.”
“I’ll go, if you like? I can take Akpata.”
39
Hammond rang Harry Davies. No point in holding back on Fox’s murder, someone must know something.
If a certain Fred Watson hadn’t been waiting for cataract operations, he might have been able to paint a better picture. As it was, regardless of poor eyesight, he rang Ripon police station to say he might have seen something out of the ordinary on the night in question.
*
Cally and Akpata crossed the patchy lawn to where Irene Watson was pegging out a sheet on the line. Cally showed her ID and Akpata offered to hold the other end of the sheet. “No, you’re all right, love,” Mrs Watson said, and dropped the rest of the sheet into the wash basket at her feet. “It’s Fred you’ll be wanting.” She grinned. “He’ll have had a wash, I hope.”
Already at the door, Fred restrained a border collie. “I were earthing up me earlies.”
Akpata looked puzzled. “Potatoes,” explained his wife.
Cally smiled. “Thank you for getting in touch, Mr Watson.”
His wife said, “It were me read it in’t Post, about the murder.” She looked earnest. “I told him he must.” She turned to her husband. “Tell ’em, Fred.”
Akpata took out her notebook, and Cally looked into Fred Watson’s clouded eyes. Head tilted, she said, “Fire away, Mr Watkins.”
“I were turnin’ round to come home when I ’eard summat splash in river, like.”
Cally said, “Did you see the person you assumed had thrown something in the river?”
“Aye. Though me eyes being what they are, ‘see’ in’t best word. But I could see his shape, like, and me dog had a sniff at his jeans. I could tell he weren’t keen on Jess, though he didn’t run off or owt.” He paused. “I ’eard him drive away.”
“I suppose you didn’t get an idea of the car,” Akpata asked. “The make or colour?”
He shook his head. “It were a bit of a blur.”
She made a note. “Could you guess this man’s age?”
“Quite young.” he said. “He weren’t rheumaticky or owt.”
Cally said, “That’s really helpful, Mr Watson.” She paused. “I know your eyes aren’t good, but were you able to to get an idea of what the man was wearing?”
“Like I said, he were just a shape, but I’d say he had on one of them things with th’hood pulled forward.”
Mrs Watson said, “A hoodie. You said you thought it were a hoodie.”
“Aye, that’s what I thought.”
Cally said, “Could you take us to where you heard the splash?”
Mr Watson clicked his fingers at Jess. “C’mon, girl.”
His wife nudged his arm. “It’s not five minutes away. You go, I’ll finish hanging me washing.”
Cally – following Fred, his dog, and Akpata – let the late afternoon sun seep into her. The perfect time of year: scent of blossom, wild flowers low in the grass. And today, stillness.
“It were about ’ere,” said Fred, and while Jess sank onto her haunches, he and the two women peered over the straight drop into the river.
Cally turned to Mr Watson. “From what you heard, what would you guess was thrown into the water. Any idea of the size?”
“Hard to say, big stone or summat? It were quite a splash.”
Cally said, “I hope you take care, Mr Watson, when you’re walking your dog after dark.”
“Oh, aye.”
Cally said, “We’ll walk back with you and say goodbye to Mrs Watson.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be more use.”
“You couldn’t have done any more. Thank you for coming forward. You’ve been extremely helpful.”
*
They belted up and Cally let in the clutch. “Youngish, no rheumatism, wore a hoodie. Chucked something into the river.”
Akpata said, “It’s fairly deep, right up to the bank. Will there be a search?”
“Too little to go on.”
“It might be connected with Judi Fox.”
“Or just as easily not.” Changing gear, Cally said, “Our murderer might have been on his way home, but we don’t know if his route took in Cod Beck at that spot.”
*
On the sofa, legs stretched out, wishing he had a larger living room, Hammond watched the local evening news. A tidy piece, that in the light of Judi Fox’s murder underlined the need to find Sykes.
He was about to order from the excellent pizza place, when his phone buzzed on the draining board. He sighed, pushed himself up and crossed the short distance to the kitchen.
“PC Haig, sir. Lady here in Reception, Miss Marian Hardy, lives near Spring House. Says she took a taxi to the airport early hours on the Tuesday.”
“The 17th?”
“Yes, sir. She saw a car. Could be important.”
“Make her comfortable. I’ll be across.”
*
Hammond held the door open for Miss Hardy. “Would you like another cup of coffee?”
“No thank you, that was quite nice but I don’t need another.”
He pulled a chair out for her, went to the other side of his desk and took a pad from a drawer. “Thank you for coming in, Miss Hardy.”
“It was no trouble.”
Opening his notebook, he said, “I understand that in the early hours of Tuesday the 17th May you noticed a car outside Spring House.” He paused. “You’ll know by now that Mrs April Parsons was found dead shortly after 9 o’clock that morning.”
“I heard about it, and saw an item on the local news earlier this evening.”
Hammond asked, “How well did you know Mrs Parsons?”
“Not very well. A drink a
t Christmas, that sort of thing. Our paths didn’t generally cross.”
He picked up a ballpoint. “I’ll jot things down, Miss Hardy, because I’ll kick myself later if I later think I’ve missed something.” He wrote: sixty-five (?) slight build, blue eyes, rimless specs, short grey hair. “What time did you see the car?”
“At two-forty-five.” She looked over her glasses at him. “I can be precise because that’s the time I needed the taxi.” She paused. “We flew from Manchester.”
Hammond looked interested. “You and a friend?”
“Friends, plural. We used to teach together. Now we’re retired we take ourselves on holiday. Portugal this time.”
“I’m sure you deserve it.” A moment passed. “Tell me about the car.”
“Small. Pale green.” She frowned. “Or light blue.” She shook her head. “No sign of the driver.”
“Can you remember the make?”
“I’m afraid not.” She paused. “But I’ve seen it there before… Who is this Russell Sykes you’re looking for?”
“He was Mrs Parsons’s gardener.”
“Very good, too. I could do with someone like him.”
“Which taxi firm did you use?”
“Select Cabs. You could ask them if my driver noticed the make.”
“You’re ahead of me, Miss Hardy.” Hammond stood up. “Thank you for your help.” Accompanying her to a silver Honda in the car park, Hammond listened to the potted highlights of her holiday.
Back in the office he ordered a Mega Caribbean to eat at his desk, and checked the number for Select Cabs. If Miss Hardy had provided a lead, it was a new one. His heart quickened. Was this a big leap, or just another baby step? Who did the car belong to and how long was it there? Two-forty-five was perfect timing. Almost too good to be true.
He dialled and a tired female voice answered. “Select Cabs, where d’you wanna to go?”
“Nowhere at the moment –”
“Right, so –”
“I’d like the name of the driver who picked up Miss Hardy from Chapel Lane, Browbridge at two-forty-five a.m. on Tuesday 17th May. Destination Manchester Airport.”
There was a pause. “Who wants to know?”
“DCI Hammond, North Yorkshire Police. It’s possible your driver could help with an enquiry.”