by Alice Castle
Beth looked over at Katie, who’d angled herself away from them and couldn’t see her protégé’s latest transgression. The lady yanked the scarf good-naturedly away from the puppy, settling the soft folds back around her neck. With some difficulty, she inserted herself onto the wooden bench, at the other end from Beth and across from Katie, who was now pulling fruitlessly on Teddy’s lead. Colin waddled over and collapsed at her feet, and Beth, to her surprise, felt a little bereft.
‘Do you know Colin’s owner, then? Is he… called Mark?’ Beth said tentatively.
‘He isn’t here with you, then?’ Confused, the woman looked from Beth to Katie and back again. When neither enlightened her, her expression changed. ‘What’s going on here? Why have you got Mark’s dog?’
‘Look, we haven’t stolen him, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ said Beth, as Katie got up and pulled Teddy away from the woman. He whined a little. He was always being yanked away from new friends. Katie trudged back to her seat with Teddy on a very short lead.
Peering at her watch, then shifting restlessly on the bench, the woman seemed on edge. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘There isn’t an easy way to say this, but Mark – or a man who was with Colin yesterday, on Peckham Rye – has been found, um, dead.’ Beth’s voice, not loud at the best of times, tailed off towards the end. She’d never had to break bad news before, and she really wasn’t enjoying the responsibility.
‘Dead?’ The woman felt no such qualms about volume. She virtually shouted it, and everyone hardy enough to be sitting at the outside benches swivelled in their direction.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said the woman. ‘He was fine. It can’t be true. He was in perfect health…’
‘It wasn’t his, um, health,’ said Beth, while Katie, sitting across, shook her head silently at her friend. Beth realised she was right. There was no reason why they had to go into all the circumstances. ‘Look, I can give you a number you can ring, maybe they can explain more. If you’re a friend of Mark’s?’
‘Yes, of course I am,’ said the woman crossly, as though Beth should have been aware of that. ‘I’ve known him since he was a boy. Mark is – was – my son’s best friend… This is awful. How am I going to tell John?’ She looked wildly at the two women, who had no answers for her.
‘Did Mark often walk on the Rye? Was that his usual route with Colin?’ Beth couldn’t resist asking.
‘Every morning, they’d be out there, rain or shine. They’ve been best friends since school. Both with their dogs. John with Bubbles. His poodle, you know?’ The woman raised her eyebrows, as though she was expecting some sort of reaction. Beth and Katie exchanged blank glances.
‘Mark loves the Rye,’ said the woman absently. ‘More than John, probably. They’ve gone their separate ways a bit over the years – well, that’s inevitable, isn’t it? School was years ago now, after all. But they were so close. They had so much in common, with their art.’
‘It’s lovely when boys have hobbies they can share, isn’t it?’ Beth worried that this effort to keep the lady talking would seem too transparent. But what she’d said was true. Ben and Charlie’s hobby, gaming, might be a lot less creative than art, but they certainly loved doing it in tandem.
‘Yes, yes,’ said the lady, seemingly lost in a reverie. ‘But, of course, Mark went on with it… and John didn’t. Such a shame. He was so talented; he had more of a gift, as a boy. I really thought so. And I wasn’t biased.’ She looked up at Beth, seemingly expecting to meet opposition. But she wasn’t going to get any. Beth might have no clear idea what the lady was on about, but she knew it was vital to keep her talking. At this stage, they knew nothing about their victim, and every word that was being said expanded their knowledge exponentially. She nodded emphatically. It seemed to work, as the woman continued to talk, almost as though she’d forgotten Beth and Katie were listening.
‘Well, best friends do grow apart, don’t they? I’m not denying it was difficult for John. Particularly in view of the career he went into. But there we go. Some people have all the luck, don’t they?’
If the woman was still talking about Mark, this was rather odd. Beth certainly wouldn’t have put him in her top ten of fortunate folk this week, put it that way. She shuddered slightly as a vision rose, unbidden, of the man lying there prone, liberally covered with those red slashes. It had not been a pretty sight.
‘People have to take on other, well, responsibilities, don’t they?’ the lady continued, now twisting her pashmina nervously between long, mobile fingers. On them glittered several of what Beth thought of as Dulwich diamonds – gem-encrusted eternity bands of the type that her poor James used to refer to, laughingly, as ‘maternity rings’. Lots of the yummy mummies had them; the mothers of earlier generations, too. She liked to think James would have got her one, eventually, to celebrate the birth of her beloved Ben. Particularly if she’d nagged him enough. But then, time and fate had got between them and all their plans. It happened. All too often. And James was just another man who had not been so lucky, she supposed.
But she brought herself back to the park and the bench with a bump. The lady was still trying to explain away something that made sense only to herself, and it was vital that Beth paid proper attention. So far, this was the only person they’d found with a real connection to the victim. She could be an absolute gold mine of information. Thankfully, she didn’t seem at all bothered by the inattention of her audience, with Katie apparently trying to merge into the bench in case any Teddy-haters spotted her, and with Beth herself wandering away on her usual flights of fancy. Beth kicked herself and resolved to concentrate. The woman was still talking, her beautifully modulated voice rippling on like silk, only snagging sometimes on emotion.
‘But the one thing Mark and John still always agree on is their morning walkies. Despite everything. They both say it’s so important to them. Bubbles and Colin absolutely love it. And so do the boys. Did. Oh. Oh, this is too much…’ the woman tailed off, searching through her pockets for a tissue. Beth found her one from her handbag, mercifully clean and fluff-free. Katie was still sitting a little aloof, clutching at Teddy’s collar, but Beth could tell she was in bits just hearing the woman’s story.
‘Then Mark always comes – came – here to Dulwich Park in the afternoon, but just for a quick saunter. Mark always says, said, that Colin needed his post-prandial stroll… I’d often bump into them here; we’d have a catch-up. Not every day, of course, but I usually walk my poodles here, you know.’ Again, there was a little pause here and, despite her grief, the lady seemed to be looking for a response from Beth and Katie which, unfortunately, they just couldn’t provide.
Katie was keeping a profile so low that even the wooden bench itself seemed more animated. And the only thing that Beth herself really knew about poodles was that, nowadays in Dulwich, they always seemed to be mixed with something else – labradoodles, cockapoos, and so on. Even Teddy was part-poodle. The psycho part, thought Beth a little sourly, as the puppy made an unprovoked assault on her pixie boots. She whipped her feet back under her seat quickly. But the lady was still talking.
‘Mark was such a good soul, such a thoughtful boy. Are you sure? Really sure that he’s dead? How do you even know?’
Beth shifted uncomfortably on the bench, and Katie darted a glance at her under her hoody. Beth spoke a little reluctantly. ‘We’re pretty sure.’
That was a bit of a white lie. There was no doubt about it. Unless Mark was taking part in some sort of over-realistic Crimewatch reconstruction which involved being dead for real, or he was such an outstanding actor that he’d managed to subdue his pulse and all other bodily functions, and splatter himself with blood, then he was definitely dead. But Beth didn’t want to keep rubbing it in. And she definitely felt it was outside her remit to give away too many details. Didn’t the police always err on the side of vagueness, in case of copycat killings? She didn’t think that this lad
y was the sort to rush out and commit an equally horrific crime, but she might well tell the story to someone else… Dulwich being what it was, within a few hours everyone would know. And Harry York was bound to suspect that Beth had something to do with the dissemination of the information. Was it fair to keep this poor lady and her son, a friend of the victim, in the dark, though? Beth thought for a moment.
‘Look, call that number I gave you if you want to know more about the, er, circumstances,’ she said gently. ‘But anything you can tell us about, er, Mark in the meantime would be really useful, though.’
‘Why would it be useful? I don’t understand. Why should I tell you anything? And what on earth could I tell you anyway?’ The woman looked wildly from Beth to Katie and back, her voice rising again. Though there weren’t many people having their coffee outside, those that were appeared glued to their conversation.
Beth thought fast. She could see that it was beginning to infuriate the woman that they knew so much more about the fate of her son’s friend than she did. A little bit of information, though well shy of the full quota, wouldn’t be wrong in these circumstances, would it? She instinctively leaned her head in and spoke quietly, and the woman followed suit.
‘Look, I know this is really difficult, but we are the ones who found Mark dead. And that means we have an interest in the whole business,’ Beth said.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Katie muttered from the other side of the table, but although the woman looked across at her sharply, she then turned to Beth.
‘I just don’t understand all this at all. Mark was young and fit. Well, I suppose he’s in his mid-thirties, like John, but that’s young these days, isn’t it?’
Beth, also in her mid-thirties, nodded her head emphatically. As far as she was concerned, it was a fine age and very definitely much too young to die. Even Katie, aloof as she was trying to be, gave a quick assent from her side of the bench.
‘Was it a heart attack or something? How odd. And how awful. His parents are dead, so that’s a mercy, I suppose. There’s nothing worse than having to bury a son. And he was an only child, too. But I don’t see how I can really help.’
‘But you knew Mark. You might know… why this happened.’
‘But that’s the thing I don’t know, and that you aren’t telling me. I haven’t got a clue; how could I have?’
Beth sighed inwardly. Without coming clean and revealing that Mark had been murdered, she wasn’t going to get much further. She really wanted to ask whether he’d had any sworn enemies or received any threats recently – a dead giveaway, if that wasn’t a too horribly apposite way of putting it. But she wasn’t at all sure how this poor lady would react to the full, brutal truth about what had happened on the Rye. Should she be inflicting that kind of a blow on a stranger? And would she be compromising Harry’s investigation if she did?
Usually, this wasn’t a consideration. She knew that, a pragmatist to his fingertips, Harry was only too happy to let cases drop into the great unsolved folder that seemed to lurk at the centre of the Metropolitan Police like a huge swirling vortex. Even though she’d successfully sorted out quite a few unpleasant incidents now (and she inwardly marvelled at herself for passing off so much murder and mayhem as merely ‘unpleasant’), she knew he’d still much prefer it if she didn’t get involved. She wasn’t entirely sure whether that was because he didn’t like her to put herself in the way of danger, or whether he was worried about her treading on his size elevens.
She’d done pretty well, so far, in tidying these situations up. It wouldn’t be ridiculous of her to worry that he saw her as something of a threat. He, of course, was convinced of his own chivalry, but that didn’t mean he was right. Most people had more than one reason for thinking most things, though often they weren’t comfortable admitting it.
All this windmilled through Beth’s mind. At the end of her thought processes, she mustered a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss, and for your son’s. If Colin is anything to go by, his master was a very nice man.’
It was too much. The woman’s eyes filled with tears, and to Beth’s horror, she began to cry in earnest. Beth looked mutely to Katie for support. Usually, when things got emotional, her sunny friend stepped in to comfort everyone and diffuse the situation. Today, for reasons of her own, Katie was being most unhelpful. She turned away a little further and seemed to be focussing on a tree at the other end of the park, as far away from Beth’s current crisis as she could get.
Beth took a breath and rooted in her bag for another tissue and handed it to the lady, who clutched it gratefully and blew her nose. Restored, she looked up tremulously. ‘I suppose I’d better take that number from you, and get on,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Beth cannily. ‘Give me yours and I’ll ping it over to you by replying. What’s your name?’
‘Um, I’m Rebecca Grey. Spelt like the colour,’ the woman said helpfully.
‘Thanks, Mrs Grey. It is Mrs?’ Beth asked, and got a nod of assent.
The woman seemed to hesitate, before saying, ‘Look, I suppose I should give you my son’s number, too, so you can send the contact to him as well. Just in case he needs it. John deals with a lot of stuff for me these days. He’s always saying I forget things, you know.’
Beth suppressed a little smile of satisfaction. The more the merrier – every contact was potentially useful in a murder investigation. It wasn’t until she’d sent Harry’s number over to Mrs Grey and her son that she realised: she’d made a decision. Whatever Harry – or Katie – thought, she’d have to look into this death. She felt a compulsion. Of all the people on the Rye that morning, it had been she who had stumbled across the corpse. She, who’d already sorted out several similar situations. It couldn’t be coincidence. Not again. There had to be a reason why death and disaster kept finding her. Why she’d been able to help clear up so much.
And, this time, that was enough for her. She wouldn’t do her usual thing of worrying forever over the rights and wrongs of getting involved. She wouldn’t even be anxious about Harry’s anger levels. She’d just get on and look into things, in her own way. And try not to get hit on the head this time.
Just one more question to ask, for now.
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to take Colin home with you, would you?’
Colin perked up at the sound of his name, but Mrs Grey shook her head sadly. ‘I’d love to, Colin’s such a dear. But I can’t. We’ve got all the poodles, you see. And a cat.’
‘I’ve got a cat, too,’ Beth said glumly. But Colin already felt like a fait accompli, and she could see that the other woman wasn’t going to relent and take him off her hands. In fact, she was moving away pretty quickly now, as though concerned that Beth would run after her proffering an unwanted Labrador. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, and Colin had Beth firmly on the other end of his lead.
As soon as Rebecca Grey was out of earshot, Beth turned to Katie, who was still staring moodily into the far distance.
‘What was all that about?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Katie, not quite meeting her eyes.
‘What’s with you today? Is there something wrong?’ Beth was perplexed. Katie was her fixed point, the perpetual sunshine that enlivened her sometimes gloomy world view, and convinced her that things would always turn out right in the end. If Katie went all weird, then what hope was there for Beth? ‘Katie?’ she asked again, really worried now.
‘Oh, it’s just Teddy,’ said Katie, after a long and troubling pause. ‘I think I might have bitten off more than I can chew this time.’
‘Well, it definitely looks like Teddy has,’ said Beth, looking down to where Teddy had his jaws clamped round something that looked suspiciously like the sorry remains of Katie’s eye-wateringly expensive handbag.
‘Christ,’ said Katie, dragging it out of Teddy’s clutches and trying to brush off a couple of layers of dog slobber. ‘God, he’s chewed right through it. That’s it. I’ve just about
had enough. Bad dog.’ Katie gave Teddy a look which would have made Charlie wet himself, but which the puppy laughed up at, tongue lolling out of his mouth. She put her head in her hands. ‘Michael’s going to be furious. He bought me that bag for our anniversary two weeks ago.’
‘You’re not going to cry, too, are you?’ Beth asked nervously. She knew she should be offering support, but two weeping women in one morning was pushing it, as far as she was concerned.
Katie laughed ruefully and shook her head, but Beth came round and sat on her side of the bench, gingerly putting her hand on Katie’s shoulder just in case. ‘Look, it’s probably not too late to give him back to the breeder… stick him on eBay… auction him at the school gates,’ said Beth tentatively.
‘I can’t do that. What would Charlie do? What would he think? No, I’ve committed to this dog and I’m stuck with him. A dog is for life, and all that nonsense. Little bleeder,’ said Katie, jogging his lead. Teddy looked adoringly up at her out of eyes dark and sweet as molasses. ‘Look at that. You’d think butter wouldn’t melt.’
‘I thought you were really happy with him, even though he’s a bit, erm… energetic,’ said Beth tactfully. She didn’t want to get caught in the trap of bad-mouthing Teddy if Katie decided against getting rid of him and they both had to endure another ten years of his continual presence. It was a bit like her teenage years, when a friend had broken up with a boy. Beth consoled her by confessing she’d always loathed him, then the couple promptly got back together, and Beth was on the outside from that day forth.
‘Oh, I love him when he’s behaving… but that’s five minutes a day at the moment. And it’s just made it so difficult coming here. I mean, this is my park. My house is a stone’s throw away, we’ve always walked here, we love coming here for coffee. And now, well…’ Katie tailed off, darting a look left and right and re-adjusting her hoody. Beth peered around, too. She would have said Katie was being paranoid, but if she wasn’t mistaken, the owner of a spaniel sitting at the bench closest to the playground was giving her friend a filthy look.