The Anna McColl Mysteries Box Set 1

by Penny Kline

  He stared at the drawer as though I had asked the impossible. He seemed preoccupied, miles away.

  ‘Michael runs his own business,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I know. Maybe you could work for him for a couple of months. That way you’d have some cash in the bank to supplement your student grant.’

  He made no comment.

  ‘You and Michael,’ I said, trying to encourage him to talk. ‘You get on all right, do you?’

  ‘What?’ His hands rested on the table, the fingers clenched, the knuckles shiny white. ‘Michael’s older than me.’ His voice shook as though he was having trouble controlling some strong emotion.

  ‘Luke,’ I said softly, ‘I wish you’d told me about your sister. If I’d known … the accident … Paula’s accident … It would’ve made it so much easier to understand.’

  He stood up and placed a fork at each end of the table. Then he looked through the window and for the first time his face became animated. ‘Aaron’s in the front garden. He’s walking on the flowers.’

  I joined him at the window. ‘Oh, God, could you go down and shoo him off? That border’s Ernest’s pride and joy.’

  He hesitated for a moment, then left the room and ran down the outside steps. I watched him pulling at the dog’s collar, dragging him to the other side of the road. When he let go Aaron rolled over on his back on the pavement, writhing and waving his legs in the air. Luke smiled, then glanced up at the window to see if I was watching.

  ‘Go and see Janos,’ I called, but he shook his head and came back across the road.

  The spaghetti was good enough but neither of us felt very hungry. We did our best but a fair proportion of it had to be scraped into the bin.

  ‘I was going to offer you a drink,’ I said, ‘but if you’re taking tablets … ’

  ‘I’m not.’ He searched in his jeans and produced a small white container. ‘They gave me these but I don’t need them.’

  ‘I’ll leave it up to you,’ I said, pulling open the fridge door and taking out two cans of beer.

  I had made a decision not to talk about the ‘schizophrenic’ behaviour any more. If Luke wanted to explain that was his decision. If not, it was best forgotten.

  ‘The funeral’s on Friday,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know if you’ll want to — ’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘No, of course not. Funerals are for the sake of the living, not the dead.’

  It sounded trite but he nodded in agreement and seemed enormously relieved. Then he sighed deeply.

  ‘Paula thought the world was a horrible place. People killing each other. Millions of people with nothing to eat. She couldn’t see the point of going on.’

  ‘Luke, you don’t mean … ’ Why on earth hadn’t I thought of it before? Because I had seen Paula as someone who was helping Luke. Someone strong, down-to-earth.

  ‘What?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Oh, she wouldn’t kill herself. That would’ve been against her religion.’

  I pictured them working together in the shop, going for walks on the Downs or by the river. Two people whose experience of life so far had left them depressed, disillusioned.

  ‘You’ll miss her,’ I said, ‘it’s going to be hard.’

  He stared at the wall behind my head, then down at the table. Lifting the beer to his mouth he emptied the can in great noisy gulps.

  *

  Up on the Downs a boy was flying a kite with a dragon’s face. The sky was blue and the air still very warm but there was enough breeze coming up from the Gorge to lift the kite above the trees. The boy, who was only about five or six, ran forward, then stumbled and fell. His father called to him and he stood up, laughing, pointing proudly at the hand still holding the string.

  I had left Luke watching television, explaining that I had to see a friend but not telling him I intended to visit Doug and Elaine. The programme was about gene therapy. Before it came on he had brightened a little and started talking about what he planned to do after his degree course. He would need a higher degree, then he hoped to find a research post. Genetics had always been his real interest. Genes were the answer to everything, not just physical characteristics but intelligence, personality, predispositions to particular diseases. Once they were properly understood it would be the end of psychology, sociology, all the social sciences. A sample of DNA would explain everything about a particular individual, or even a particular cultural group. I had argued with him briefly, enjoying the discussion, pleased to hear him sounding so enthusiastic.

  Then something I said, I had no idea what, had caused him to lapse into silence again, curling up his legs on the armchair and closing his eyes.

  I wondered what he would do when the programme ended. Read the paper? Poke about round the flat? Do the washing up?

  My car was parked a short distance away from the wall above the Gorge. Before I drove off I stood for a moment staring at the river two hundred feet below. The tide was up and most of the thick mud was covered in murky brown water. Across the other side, in Leigh Woods, three tiny figures leaned against another wall. One of them lifted an arm and I waved back although I wasn’t even sure they were looking at me. Suddenly my knees felt weak and my head swam. How long would it take to fall all the way to the bottom? Long enough to know what was happening surely, or would you lose consciousness? I had read about one or two people who had jumped from the Suspension Bridge and landed in the mud, surviving with only minor injuries. More than likely the stories were apocryphal. Normally the jump proved fatal.

  It was just after eight. Late enough for Doug and Elaine to have finished their meal, and for Elaine’s evening soap opera to have ended. I drove slowly past Durdham Down, turning right at the roundabout and approaching Elaine and Doug’s road from a different angle. Paula had lived close by — in a room above a shoe repair shop. It was about the only thing Luke had told me about her. That and the fact that she was vegetarian but not because she believed it was wrong to kill animals. Remembering Carl Redfern’s description I tried to picture her, alone in her room preparing her lentils and nuts. Tall, with fair hair and ethnic clothes. Perhaps she had changed since Carl last saw her. The police report said she had been wearing jeans — and Luke’s blue and white sweater. Standing on the pavement, laughing and talking, unaware that only a moment later …

  I parked outside the house and switched off the engine. For the first time for ages I longed for a cigarette. Just one or two good long drags would have been enough.

  Elaine answered the door. She must have seen me coming. Under her arm was a cardboard box that appeared to hold the sum total of Luke’s belongings. Socks, pyjamas, a few books and papers, a clock, an old radio.

  ‘Thanks.’ I took the box, then waited on the path, expecting her to justify her decision, apologize, ask how Luke was getting on.

  I could see Doug hovering at an upstairs window. When he realized I had seen him he moved out of sight. Inside the house a television game show was in full swing.

  ‘When I say now,’ squeaked a high-pitched man’s voice. ‘When I say now you have exactly thirty seconds to … ’

  ‘Well,’ I said, trying to sound more friendly than I felt, ‘thank you for everything you’ve done. Am I right in thinking you don’t want Luke to come back here, even when he’s quite better?’

  ‘I think that’s best,’ said Elaine. She wasn’t going to invite me in. She just wanted me to go away as quickly as possible.

  ‘Is there a particular reason, Elaine?’

  ‘As I said, I think it’s for the best. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

  We stared at each other for a moment, then she turned and went back into the house, closing the front door with a quiet, controlled click. I thought I heard her calling to Doug to come downstairs but it could have been the noise from the television.

  Back in the car I pulled out from the kerb, switched on the radio, then filled my lungs with air and shouted at the top of my voice. Anger, rage — the best way to prevent you
rself from crying. For Luke? For myself? What difference did it make? Even though I had only known Elaine and Doug since May I had come to think of them as friends, allies. Now it was clear that they would be heartily relieved if they never saw me or Luke again. Had something happened while he was living there? Had he spent too much time with them — or too little? Had they hoped, as Doug had suggested, that he would be like the son they had never had? They’d had high hopes for him but he had let them down.

  Turning into Coldharbour Road I steadied Luke’s box of belongings with my left hand as it threatened to slide off the passenger seat. I thought about my phone call to Neil, the mysterious picture framer, whose classes had never really got started. Perhaps Doug really did have something to hide.

  A car shot out from a side road. I slammed on the brakes and stopped a fraction of an inch from the driver’s door.

  ‘Bloody idiot!’ I yelled. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re … ’

  The old man in the driving seat glanced at me, then looked away, lifting a hand in what would have to do as an apology. He was so low down in his seat I doubted he could see very much at all. Stupid bugger, he was too old to drive, should have had his licence taken away. Ashamed at my aggressive response, I attempted a feeble smile. It was wasted. He was looking straight ahead, fiddling with the gears. A moment later he drove off with screeching tyres and black smoke pouring out of the exhaust.

  I pulled over to the side of the road.

  The cardboard box had fallen off the seat and was lying on its side. Some of the contents had spilled out over my foot. As I reached down to pick up a book about apes a folded sheet of paper fell out. About to stuff it back in the box, I hesitated. The paper was stiff and looked like a letter. I opened it out and saw that it was handwritten. Large looping letters in bright blue ink. It was private property, nothing to do with me. I started reading.

  Darling, I think about you all the time. If only we could talk properly or would that make things worse? I blame myself entirely. But you know that. Take care. Be happy. Please be happy.

  ‘Please’ was underlined twice. There was no signature, just a small, smudged kiss.

  9

  It was the first meeting of a group for compulsive eaters that Martin had persuaded me to arrange. He hoped it would turn into a self-help group but I had my doubts. Perhaps I had illusions about how important my role in the group would be. On the other hand I had run other therapeutic groups and knew how easily difficulties could arise.

  Because the group was new I was not expecting a high attendance but in fact seven people, all women, had turned up. Four I knew already. They had seen me individually and I had suggested that the group might be more helpful for their particular problem. The other three had been referred by a local doctor who had tired of handing out diet sheets and was prepared to give the Psychology Service a try.

  We had introduced ourselves to each other and the women were taking it in turns to describe the situations that led them to raid the kitchen cupboard or fridge. ‘When my husband’s mother’s coming to stay. She’s as thin as a stick and could eat a horse without putting on weight.’

  ‘When I’m bored, back from my job at the leisure centre but it’s not yet time to collect the kids from school.’

  I was finding it difficult to concentrate. I thought about Luke, alone in the flat. I had told him to read whatever he could find, watch television, listen to the radio, or just sleep. He had opened one eye — he was still in bed when I left for work — and mumbled something about going for a walk. I wanted to tell him not to go down to the city centre, to take things easy and avoid brooding about what had happened. But if he wanted to return to the ‘scene of the crime’ he would. And how could he not think about the events of the last few days?

  The group had fallen silent, waiting for me to take the lead.

  ‘I want to try an experiment,’ I said. ‘I’m going to give each of you some paper and a pencil and I want you to draw yourself with no clothes on.’

  One or two of them giggled. Another said she couldn’t draw.

  ‘You must be fair on yourself,’ I said. ‘Draw your good points as well as the parts you don’t like. The reason behind this exercise is to help you to understand how you feel about your own body.’

  I passed round the paper and pencils and for five minutes we sat in comparative silence. At one point somebody asked if they were allowed to rub out. For the rest of the time, with a few anxious glances in my direction, they concentrated on the job in hand.

  There was not enough space in my office to accommodate eight people so we were using one of the downstairs rooms. I thought I could smell dry rot but perhaps I was imagining it, although the whole building could have done with some updating and a fresh coat of paint.

  Halfway through the drawing session Heather knocked on the door, apologized for interrupting, but could I take a telephone call.

  Outside in the passage she apologized again.

  ‘Sorry, Anna, but it sounded important. Detective Inspector Fry. He didn’t think it ought to wait.’

  I took the call in my room, listening for the click as Heather replaced her receiver.

  ‘Hallo?’

  ‘Anna, Howard Fry speaking. I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily but a witness has come forward.’

  ‘A witness?’

  ‘She’s thoroughly unreliable, someone you’d almost certainly describe as an attention-seeker. All the same, we’ll have to make the usual enquiries.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Hang on a moment. I have her statement on my desk.’

  I heard papers being shuffled, Fry clearing his throat before he came back on the line.

  ‘I won’t read it all. The gist of it is that she noticed a woman and a tall fair-haired man having a heated argument. Then moments later she saw the woman fall in front of the traffic.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. Who is this witness?’

  ‘As I said before. I’m extremely sceptical.’

  ‘Why didn’t she come forward before?’

  ‘Exactly. She claims to be afraid of the police but there’s nothing on file. No record. Anyway, she says now her conscience has got the better of her, she’s afraid the man might do it again. I’m really phoning on behalf of Sergeant Waters. He thought you should know about it and he also wanted to check that Luke Jesty’s still in hospital.’

  ‘He’s not.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘He’s in my flat. I’ll bring him round to the police station. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

  ‘If you could. Apart from anything else Sergeant Waters needs a statement about the accident.’

  ‘You’ve talked to other witnesses — people who were waiting on the … ’

  ‘Of course. The pavement seems to have been crowded with theatre-goers — and a coach party, the worse for wear, coming out of that pub behind the — ’

  ‘What did they see?’

  ‘Nothing that’s much use to us.’

  ‘Until this witness came forward.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  When I returned to the compulsive eaters they were talking about their children and one of the teachers at the local school. Their abandoned drawings lay face down on their laps. They picked them up, shielding them from view with their hands.

  ‘I don’t want to see the drawings,’ I said, my voice shaking a little, although nobody seemed to notice. ‘I’d just like each of you to describe how it felt when you were drawing yourself. Who’d like to start?’

  A small woman with a round worried-looking face raised her arm. ‘I don’t mind. I felt bloody awful, except when I got to my feet.’

  ‘You like your feet?’

  ‘They’re the least awful part.’

  Some of the others laughed nervously. I glanced at the clock, resisting the temptation to cut short the session with some excuse about not wanting to do too much since it was our first time together. I had forgotten that, as s
oon as he felt up to it, Luke was supposed to have made a statement about the accident. I should have reminded him, or taken him there myself. Now the visit to the police station was likely to throw him completely.

  ‘Right,’ I said, ‘who’s next?’

  There was a short pause, then someone else volunteered to talk about her drawing. I tried to listen carefully, understand how she felt, but my mind was on Luke, alone in the flat, starting to come to terms with what had happened, unaware that he had become a potential suspect in a murder case.

  The woman who was talking about her drawing was in her late thirties or early forties. Her black hair was scraped back from her face and tied with a red ribbon.

  ‘I hate everything about myself,’ she said fiercely. ‘Every morning on my way back from taking the kids to school I buy a cream doughnut. When I’ve tidied up I sit in front of the television, drinking coffee and eating. I suppose if I had to go to work I’d be better, but who’d give me a job, I’m no use to anyone.’

  Several of the other women made sympathetic noises. I tried to join in but Howard Fry’s ominous words were repeating themselves in my head. ‘A tall fair-haired man … a heated argument … the woman … fall in front of the traffic.’

  *

  My front door swung open before I had turned the key in the lock. Luke must have looked out to see if my car was coming down the road, then left the door on the latch.

  I called his name but there was no response. Then I checked each room but there was no sign of him. It was ten to six, only five minutes later than the time I had told him I would come back. I had promised Howard Fry I would take him to the police station by half-past.

  He must have gone for a walk in the park or slipped out to buy something from one of the local shops. I wasn’t worried, just annoyed with him for leaving the door open, especially since there had been a spate of break-ins in the area during the last month or so.