The Anna McColl Mysteries Box Set 1

by Penny Kline

  I ordered half a pint and sat on a stool by the bar. With any luck the landlady would start a conversation. With a great deal of luck I might find the answer to some of my questions.

  ‘Live round here?’ she asked. She was thin, tired looking and had made only a token attempt to wear an outfit in keeping with her job. A white silk blouse held together at the top by a blue glass brooch. A paisley patterned skirt that hung loosely over her thin angular hips.

  ‘Quite near,’ I said. ‘Cliftonwood.’

  She nodded. ‘Traffic bad?’

  I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the traffic in Cliftonwood and Hotwells or the traffic in general.

  ‘Quite bad,’ I said. ‘Could be worse.’

  In a moment she was going to walk away, start tidying up, washing glasses.

  I stared at the back of her head and she sensed it and turned to face me.

  ‘I came up here looking for an evening class in picture framing,’ I said.

  She looked blank.

  ‘Photography,’ I added. ‘Someone told me there was a place round here — ’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was the kind of — ’ She broke off, fiddling with the blue brooch, then looked at me carefully. ‘Not a policewoman, are you? Don’t look much like it but these days you never know.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Just wondered.’ She paused, glancing at the four old men. ‘There’s a few of them come in here about nine thirty. No, not the police. A group of men, younger than that lot but not that young. Only see them on Saturday evenings. Talking and whispering. You can hear every word in a place this small. People don’t realize.’

  I waited patiently.

  ‘Nothing to do with me but I think it’s disgusting. Photography they call it. Just an excuse to gawp at naked women.’

  I nodded vigorously to indicate my whole-hearted agreement. ‘You don’t know where they come from, do you?’

  ‘Men like that — pathetic — most likely the only chance they get to stare at female parts.’

  ‘Yes, pathetic,’ I said, finishing my drink and sliding off the stool. Then I raised my hand, muttered something about how it had been nice talking to her, and left.

  Doug at a mock photographic session goggling at naked women? Somehow I had a feeling the sessions were rather different from the kind of thing the landlady had in mind.

  12

  It was four days since Luke had disappeared. There was no word from Howard Fry, and nothing from Michael since the weekend. Most of Sunday I had spent asleep or lying in bed listening to the radio. The Archers, Pick of the Week, The World at One all rolled by, interspersed with thinking about Luke, Paula, Doug Hargreaves … There were no phone calls, not even a silent one. Now I was back at the office.

  Declan, one of my angriest clients, was scratching at the sole of his boot with a bunch of keys. He had nowhere else to direct his anger. His wife was perfect, his home was perfect, when the building society account reached a good round number it would be time for them to start a perfect family.

  Earlier, while I was with my previous client, Brigid Jesty had phoned. She had left a message with Heather asking me not to ring back.

  ‘She’ll try again at twelve fifteen. I told her you should be free by then.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll make sure I am. She didn’t say what she wanted?’

  Heather had shaken her head. ‘I don’t think it was urgent. Although, come to think of it, she did sound a bit upset.’

  My thoughts returned to Declan. He had failed to notice that, for thirty seconds or so, I had stopped listening. In their self-obsession clients rarely noticed. Once, with toothache so excruciating that it seemed my jaw must be visibly throbbing, a client told me how helpful I had been, adding, ‘You’re always so relaxed. I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘It’s only an idea, Declan,’ I said cautiously, ‘but perhaps everything in your life is a bit too perfect.’

  He stared at me angrily but I refused to be put off.

  ‘There’s a theory,’ I said, ‘that we’re genetically programmed to be problem-solving creatures. If there aren’t any problems we create them.’

  ‘Load of rubbish,’ he muttered, but I could see he was interested. He had been referred by his GP because of a phobia about going up in the lift at the office block where he worked. Lifts, I had soon discovered, were the least of his worries.

  ‘Like Hansel and Gretel she wants us to be,’ he spat out. ‘If she could arrange it she’d have us living in a gingerbread house, just like a bloody fairy-story.’

  ‘And you want something rather different?’

  He spread out his legs, nearly kicking me in the process. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘Perhaps next time you come you could bring Wendy with you.’

  He pushed up his sleeve in an exaggerated gesture and looked at his watch. ‘If you insist. She’ll come if I tell her you need her help. Always ready to help, she is, if it suits her. Just like all you bloody women.’

  After he left I wrote up some notes then sat waiting for Brigid Jesty’s call. It came through dead on a quarter past.

  ‘Is that Anna McColl? This is Brigid Jesty, Luke’s mother.’

  ‘Mrs Jesty, how can I help?’

  ‘A policeman came round and told us Luke had disappeared. Peter couldn’t see what all the fuss was about but … Well, I wanted to know how you felt about it. I assume he hasn’t been in touch.’

  ‘No, but I’m sure he’s all right. I expect he felt he needed some time on his own.’ I didn’t sound very convincing. How much did she know? Had whoever called at the White Cottage told them about the witness? I thought it unlikely.

  There was a moment’s silence. I thought I heard her put the phone down on the table. Perhaps she was lighting a cigarette. When she spoke her voice sounded unnaturally cheerful.

  ‘So you’re not worried. The policeman said it was only a routine check — because of Luke having been in hospital. I was wondering. I’ve no idea where you live but if you were driving anywhere in this direction … ’

  ‘You want me to come and see you.’

  ‘Would that be possible?’

  ‘Just after five?’

  ‘I beg your pardon? Oh, you can come today. Yes, five o’clock would be all right. I’ll see you then.’

  *

  On the way out of Bristol I started speculating about why Brigid Jesty wanted to see me. She had some information to pass on? She wanted some information from me? The visit to Keynsham had made me uneasy. Something didn’t add up. Why had Faith Gordon said it was easier for her, being single and unattached? What was easier? Michael had explained how she had moved to Keynsham when her cottage needed expensive repairs. Also, she wanted to be nearer to Bath, where she had several friends. Did she and Brigid Jesty still see each other? Now and again, Michael was vague, and when I asked if there had been some kind of disagreement he said not as far as he knew, it was just that his mother stayed at home most of the time and Faith’s car had packed up and she hadn’t bothered to buy another.

  The grass verges on the main road were yellow from lack of rain. I watched the driver of the car in front wind down his window and toss out a cigarette end. Supposing the lighted end blew back into my face. I could write down his registration number, sue him for grievous bodily harm. The cigarette fell harmlessly to the road but the adrenalin in my body remained, whipped up by a silly fantasy that had nothing to do with the man in the car in front. I needed an outlet for my frustration and anxiety. Wasn’t I doing exactly the same as Luke? Except that Luke was incapable of expressing any negative emotion at all so the build-up inside his head led to imaginings far more violent than my own.

  Brigid Jesty was waiting for me in the garden.

  ‘How nice of you to come. I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient.’

  I had expected her to ask if there was any news of Luke. But it seemed to be the last thing on her mind.

&nbs
p; ‘I wasn’t sure what hours you worked,’ she said. ‘Not nine to five, I imagine. Do you have to see people in the evenings and at weekends? I expect it’s the kind of job that’s difficult to leave behind at the office.’

  ‘Yes, it can be.’ I followed her across the lawn. She was wearing flat Italian shoes, made of soft white leather, and this time she was dressed in trousers, loose-fitting ones in some soft pinkish-brown material, and a pale shirt that hung in a straight line from shoulder to hip.

  She turned round, shading her eyes from the sun.

  ‘Would you prefer to sit in the house?’

  ‘No, the garden’s fine.’

  ‘Can I get you some tea or a soft drink?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  She sat down with her back to the tree. Her dark glasses lay on the table, along with a gardening magazine and a can of insect repellent.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ she said, ‘but I get bitten to pieces. Peter says it’s the same for everyone but some people have a stronger allergic reaction. Is that right, d’you suppose?’

  ‘It sounds a reasonable explanation,’ I said. How much longer would it be before she got round to telling me the point of my visit?

  ‘Peter’s a scientist.’ Her voice was high pitched, brittle. ‘Would like to have been. He comforts himself with his hobbies. Well, they’re more than hobbies, almost like a second job.’

  The metal chairs had round pink and blue cushions that matched the parasol. They were slightly too small and the edge was pressing into my leg.

  ‘So,’ she said, resting her fingers on the table and inspecting her nails, ‘Michael’s persuaded you to spend your Saturday searching for Luke.’

  ‘It was what I wanted to do.’

  ‘Of course.’ She adjusted a silver ring with a small opaque stone that had slipped round her finger. ‘Of course, we’re very grateful for all your help … ’ I looked at her and a shudder ran down my back. Was she trying to warn me off? In all my efforts to find out where Luke had gone, one possibility had never entered my mind — not until that moment. Had someone — his mother perhaps — known where he was all along? Worse. Did someone know he was already dead?

  ‘Of course, Michael has his business to run,’ she said. ‘He’s like Peter — a natural organizer — whereas Luke and I are dreamers.’

  She sounded flippant, superficial. I wanted to shake her. Instead I asked if Michael had told her about our visit to Keynsham.

  For a moment she seemed transfixed, then she came back to life with a small shake of the head.

  ‘No, no he didn’t. We only spoke to each other for a minute or two. He was in a hurry as usual.’ She stared at me, as though waiting for me to confirm that Michael never had enough time to spare for other people. ‘What did you think of Faith Gordon?’

  ‘She seemed very concerned about Luke.’

  ‘Really? She knew he was missing?’

  ‘Not until Michael told her.’

  ‘No, well I don’t know why he took you all the way to Keynsham. She’s an obstinate old woman, set in her ways, but I suppose we all end up like that.’

  She glanced at me intimating that there was nothing more to say about Faith Gordon. Then she stood up, lifted a pair of secateurs off the grass and began snipping dead heads off one of the rose bushes.

  Now that she had her back turned she could relax a little. After a short silence she tossed me a question in the kind of voice people use when they want you to believe the question itself is unimportant and they are simply making pleasant conversation.

  ‘Has Luke told you much about his childhood?’

  ‘Very little.’

  She thought about this. ‘So mostly you discussed what had been happening to him since he left Oxford.’

  ‘Yes. It was difficult to get him talking.’

  ‘I can imagine. His friend, Paula, what did you think of her?’

  ‘His friend, Paula.’ It was an odd way to describe someone who had been killed only nine days ago.

  ‘I never met her,’ I said.

  ‘Really? I saw her once — in the antique market in Clifton Mall. Luke introduced us but we only exchanged a few words. She was married to an actor, you know. Carl Redfern, he does mostly TV, tends to get typecast as a bad lot.’ She was gazing into the distance but not seeing anything. ‘I don’t think Paula was good for Luke,’ she said slowly. ‘She had problems of her own, I could tell, and of course she was years older. I don’t know about you but I got the feeling she was making demands on him he couldn’t possibly meet.’

  ‘What kind of demands? Is that what Luke told you?’

  ‘Not in so many words. I tried to talk to him but it only made things worse. Anyway, I just wanted you to know what a strain he was under. He couldn’t take it. It was all too much.’

  If I hadn’t been watching her closely I would have missed the vein that started throbbing in her neck. What was she afraid of? Perhaps she thought Luke had killed Paula and she was sounding me out to see if I thought the same. She could be working out some far-fetched scheme that involved the two of us covering up for him. But somehow I got the impression she was less concerned about Luke’s welfare than she was about finding out what I knew about Paula. It was strange.

  I was tired of talking to her back. I stood up and walked over to where she was attending to a deep pink rose, with a label that said its name was Jacques Cartier.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Luke?’ I asked.

  ‘I forget. Three weeks ago. Longer.’

  ‘Did you talk to him on the phone?’

  ‘No, never. He didn’t like the telephone. Nervous people don’t. If you can’t see someone’s face they could be trying to deceive you in some way.’

  ‘You said the police came to see you.’

  ‘Sergeant something or other,’ she said irritably. ‘I forget his name. I gave him a photo, not a very good one, taken more than three years ago.’

  ‘You haven’t got another, have you?’

  She stiffened. ‘I don’t know. I suppose so.’

  ‘The reason I’m asking — Janos — he lives opposite me in the house where Luke once had a room — he’s been having a look round, asking people who might have seen anyone answering Luke’s description.’

  It was a lie. I wanted the photo myself. I’ve no idea why. Maybe it was because I was having trouble remembering Luke’s face. If someone had asked me to say how he looked my description would have been no use to anybody. Tall, thin, fair hair.

  Brigid Jesty put the secateurs on the table and started walking towards the house.

  ‘Come inside, I’ve an album in my desk. There may be a snapshot that would do you.’

  I followed her into the living-room and waited as she wrenched open the heavy bottom drawer of a large mahogany desk.

  ‘Luke’s done this before, you know,’ she said, ‘after he left Oxford.’

  ‘Disappeared?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it that strongly. But we thought he was still at his college and the college assumed he’d come back home.’

  ‘Where was he?’

  ‘He never told us. I suppose he went to stay with friends, or to a hotel. Ah, here we are.’ She sat on one of the green sofas and placed two leather-bound albums in front of me. ‘The first one won’t be much use to you. Pictures of the children as babies.’ She pushed it aside. ‘But this one goes up to three or four years ago.’

  Turning to the penultimate page, she pointed to a wedding photo in a white and silver mount.

  ‘Luke’s cousin,’ she explained. ‘She married a solicitor from Stratford-on-Avon.’

  I leaned forward to get a better view. It was the usual family group. A bride in cream satin, a groom in morning dress. In front of them, sitting on the grass, a couple of page boys in blue velvet knee breeches pulled silly faces, a solitary bridesmaid looked as though she wanted to go home.

  ‘There’s Luke,’ said Brigid. ‘They always make him stand at the back because he
’s so tall.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ My eyes travelled along the row of over-dressed guests. ‘He looks different.’

  ‘He was wearing a suit. You know how he hates dressing up. Michael’s just the opposite. He couldn’t go to the wedding. I forget why. He was up in London attending a meeting, I expect, something to do with his housing trust thing.’

  She lifted up the album and shook it. Two photos fell out on the table. One of a little girl. The other of Luke, aged about fifteen.

  ‘My daughter,’ she said, pushing the first photo in my direction. ‘She must have been five. That was her first school uniform.’

  ‘She’s sweet.’ My hand shook a little. I was talking about her as though she was still alive.

  ‘Yes.’ Brigid showed no emotion. ‘And this is Luke just before he went to university.’

  So he was eighteen in the photo, not fifteen. I lifted it up to the light.

  ‘Would it be all right if I borrowed this one? I’ll make sure you have it back when Luke … ’

  ‘If it’ll be any help,’ she said vaguely. ‘You think I’m hard-hearted, don’t you? Yes, you do, I can tell. Years ago I was on the stage. Actresses are supposed to be temperamental but in my case it taught me self-control. After all whatever else was happening in your life the show still had to go on.’

  She looked at me but her face remained expressionless.

  ‘Of course, I gave it all up when the children came along. It was what Peter wanted, a secure family life. That’s what children need, isn’t it? Do you have children?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I had Michael when I was only twenty-one. In those days you didn’t really plan your family, just waited to see what came along. Then after Michael nothing. I don’t know why. Peter said I drank too much coffee but the doctor said it was just one of those things. We’d more or less adjusted to having an only child, then along came Luke.’

  ‘That must have been wonderful.’

  ‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘I expected Michael to be jealous but he wasn’t at all.’ Her eyes widened. Beautiful, but oddly expressionless eyes. ‘I suppose with five years between … Luke cried all the time, especially during the evening, and Michael used to come downstairs bringing some of his toys for the baby. Peter said the crying was my fault. I wasn’t firm enough.’ She glanced at me. ‘Oh, don’t judge Peter too harshly. We’re a good combination, we balance each other out.’