The Anna McColl Mysteries Box Set 1

by Penny Kline

  It was a strange way of describing their relationship but when the children were young perhaps they had been happy together.

  ‘Peter says I was over-anxious when I was carrying Luke and it affected the foetus. That’s why he’s the way he is.’

  ‘That’s rubbish.’

  ‘You know that for a fact, do you? Of course, Peter’s a worrier too but in his case it means he’s been extremely successful.’

  She closed the photograph album. I wanted to see the baby book but it seemed like an intrusion to ask.

  ‘It’s a tragedy,’ she said. ‘Your children mean everything to you but to them you’re just their boring old mother. Perhaps when they have children of their own … ’

  I tried to picture her changing nappies, preparing bottles, measuring out small portions of sieved prunes and baby rice. It was difficult.

  She sighed. ‘You do your best — in my case that meant looking after children for over twenty years — then they’re gone and you’re expected to make a life for yourself, take up new interests you never had time for, except you don’t want any new interests. They all seem rather pointless.’

  Her voice was cold, angry. I glanced at her, expecting her to tell me it would be better if I left. Suddenly she buried her face in her hands and her body heaved with sobs.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not you.’ She searched in her pocket for a tissue. ‘I’m often like this.’

  I wondered why she had wanted to see me. To let me know she cared about Luke? To cover herself in some way in case I thought she had been a bad mother?

  I felt genuinely sorry for her, I really did. There was only a tiny part of me that wondered if she was making up for her lost career on the stage.

  *

  Quite late in the evening Michael phoned to ask if I was alone and, if so, could he call round.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing, I just wanted to see you.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’

  He laughed. ‘I was afraid you’d say that. What’s the problem? You disapprove of mixing business with pleasure?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘All right then, fair enough, but you won’t get rid of me that easily. No news your end?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  I heard him draw in breath then sigh deeply. ‘By the way, that girl who went to the police, how much did they tell you about her?’

  ‘Next to nothing. Why?’

  ‘Oh, no reason, I just wondered why someone would do a thing like that.’

  ‘Your mother,’ I said, ‘she doesn’t know about the witness, does she?’

  ‘Christ, no, you haven’t — ’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘That’s all right then.’ And he rang off leaving me with a twinge of regret that he wasn’t coming round.

  13

  My first client was not due until ten fifteen. I phoned Heather to say I had someone to see but would be in by ten at the latest.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Heather, how well d’you know the Hargreaves?’

  ‘Elaine and Doug?’ She was eating a sweet, or it might have been one of her indigestion tablets. ‘Hardly at all really.’ She spoke between chews. ‘Doug collects for Christian Aid, that’s how we met. They seem a very devoted couple.’

  ‘Yes. I just wondered. See you later.’

  I picked up an old raincoat and left the flat. The sky was overcast but there was no likelihood of even a shower. I was wearing the raincoat as a kind of disguise, a protection. Against the travellers? What did it matter to them how I was dressed?

  As I crossed the road that led up to the old railway bridge, I started rehearsing in my mind what I was going to ask. ‘D’you know a girl called Rhiannon? Rhiannon Pascoe. She’s about sixteen, quite small and thin.’ Was she small and thin? Howard Fry had said she seemed a bit pathetic, under-nourished, but he hadn’t actually described the way she looked.

  On the wall of one of the empty warehouses down by the river someone had sprayed a new set of messages to the world. Kill the Medics. Gimmee a Job. Stopping halfway across the bridge I leaned over the parapet to look at a pair of ducks. I noticed a man coming towards me, leading two dogs on lengths of rope. Filthy white trousers showed through the tears in his jeans. His denim jacket was so encrusted with dirt that it stood stiffly away from his body. He walked straight past, shouting at one of the dogs. I turned right on to the path that led across the rough grass beneath the underpass. With every step I felt less like talking to the travellers. It was extremely unlikely that Rhiannon would be living with this particular group and in any case the last thing I wanted was to come face to face with her. A few words, however innocuous the conversation, could be construed by Howard Fry as trying to influence a witness. All I wanted was to find someone who knew her, or knew of her. I suppose I hoped to hear she was ‘a bit of a nutcase’, ‘a born trouble-maker’, anything that would convince me she had made up the story about Luke and Paula.

  All the vans except one had their doors firmly closed. Just inside the open door a child, dressed in pale pink pyjamas, was sitting cross-legged, holding a doll with yellow hair and scarlet lips. I smiled at her and she stood up and disappeared back inside. A golden-brown lurcher that had been lying under the van crawled out, growling and wagging its tail. I put out my hand and it sniffed my fingers, then moved away as far as its tether would allow.

  My visit had been a mistake. It was too early in the morning. One look at me and they would think I was some official come to check up on their benefits or hand them a court order telling them to move to another site.

  A woman appeared, holding the child by the hand.

  ‘Did you want something?’ Her voice was quiet and she looked curious rather than hostile.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I said, ‘but I’m looking for someone called Rhiannon.’

  ‘Rhiannon who?’

  ‘Pascoe. Her other name’s Pascoe.’

  ‘Why d’you want her?’

  ‘You know her then?’

  The woman twisted her hair round her finger. ‘What made you think she’d be living here? Friend of yours, is she?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  She looked me up and down. ‘Rhiannon don’t live here. Don’t know where she is these days. There was someone else after her a day or two ago. You a social worker?’

  ‘No. This person, what did they look like?’

  She thought for a moment, looking over my shoulder at the build up of traffic on Rownham Hill. ‘Couldn’t tell you,’ she said, ‘didn’t look that closely.’

  ‘Well, was it a man or a woman?’

  But already she was disappearing back into the van, pulling the child in after her.

  *

  At ten past one Nick and I left the office and started walking to the pub. Martin was to join us later on. Nick chatted away as usual — about the hopelessness of being overworked and under-appreciated, starved of resources, forced to work in a run-down building which was enough to make the most optimistic person abandon hope, when the aim of our job was to make the clients feel better about the state of the world.

  We were waiting to cross the road. A delivery van came round the corner much too fast and I pulled Nick back on to the pavement.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, opening his large brown eyes as wide as possible to acknowledge the fact that he could have been flattened but here he still was, alive and well, ‘how are you? Tuesday lunch-time and you look like you’ve done a whole week’s work.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ I said.

  ‘Lived it up over the weekend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me neither. I had to visit my mother and let her stuff me full of unwanted food while she made unsubtle hints about how nice it would be to have grandchildren. She knows I’m gay. I told her when I was nineteen but she prefers to live in a fantasy world.’

  He
gave me a hug. He was wearing grey jeans and a red and grey shirt. He felt warm, comforting.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Why is it you have such a soothing effect? Must be something to do with your metabolism.’

  ‘Like leaning against a cow? They say it’s better than a whole bottle of tranquillizers.’

  I smiled.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘What is it — the Jesty boy? Old Stringer been giving you a hard time?’

  ‘No, he was really quite helpful.’

  Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘Must have mellowed in his old age. So what’s the verdict?’

  ‘Luke was only in a few days. Once he’d given up the schizoid babble they decided to discharge him.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘He’s disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared? Sounds a bit dramatic.’

  ‘He was staying in my flat. His landlord wouldn’t have him back and I couldn’t think where else he could go. You won’t tell Martin.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He pulled open the door of the pub.

  Coming in out of the bright sunlight made the place seem unnaturally dark. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust — and my ears to the loud beat of the music. Nick offered to buy the usual and I looked for a table as far away from the jukebox as possible.

  On the wall above me a large poster advertised the forthcoming Balloon Festival. It was something I looked forward to. I would be able to see most of the balloons just by leaning out of my bedroom window, and if I wanted to watch them taking off I could walk over to the other side of the river, near where the travellers had parked.

  ‘Balloons,’ said Nick, placing the drinks on the table and sitting down opposite me. ‘Ever been up in one?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m terrified of heights.’

  ‘Me too, but if you drink enough champagne I dare say it dampens the fear.’

  A man was standing at the bar. I might not have recognized him from the back of his head but when he spoke to the landlord I knew at once who it was. He turned round, still talking, then saw me and lifted an arm.

  ‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘I’ve just seen someone I know.’

  ‘A client?’

  ‘No. Well, not exactly. He’s an actor. Carl Redfern. He was in that series about a psychiatrist.’

  I expected Carl to join us. He would ask if we minded. We would say, no, of course not. Then he would monopolize the conversation, telling jokes and anecdotes, and referring to us as ‘shrinks’ or ‘trick-cyclists’. But I was wrong. He stayed leaning against the bar, glancing in our direction now and again but then I must have been watching him too or I wouldn’t have noticed.

  Then Martin came through the door. His eyes were shining and he was breathing hard. He could hardly wait to tell us how he had spent the morning with Social Services and how he and a woman called Fran had disputed the regulations about having clients admitted to psychiatric hospital.

  ‘I was right all along,’ he said, pulling his sweater over his head and tossing it on to a chair. ‘The silly cow had to admit she was totally wrong.’

  ‘That must have been gratifying,’ I said. ‘Getting the better of a woman always makes your day.’

  He grinned. ‘There’s a friend of yours at the bar. Either that or he’s a total stranger who just happens to fancy you like crazy.’

  I explained all over again.

  ‘Really?’ said Martin. ‘He doesn’t look much like your average doctor but I suppose they can do wonders with make-up and wigs.’

  ‘He played the senior consultant’s husband,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t a doctor.’

  ‘Sorry! My mistake.’ He walked over to the bar to order some food.

  Nick announced that he had to make a phone call and asked if I had any change. I searched in my pockets and found a couple of coins. I knew what would happen next. As soon as Martin and Nick were out of earshot Carl strolled across and pulled up a chair from the neighbouring table.

  ‘Look, this won’t take more than a couple of minutes.’

  ‘You can see me in my office if you like.’

  ‘No, there’s no need for that. You people aren’t easy to locate. I spent half the morning trying to find the right phone number, then bumped into you by chance in here.’

  It seemed improbable. He just preferred to keep the encounter informal, play down the importance of what he wanted to say.

  ‘It’s about Paula,’ he said. ‘When I told you I never saw her it wasn’t strictly true. Only I thought after you came to the house, I expect your patient told you Paula and I meet now and again — used to. It’s just that if Liz found out God knows what’d happen. Christ, life’s so bloody impossible. I only wanted to make sure Paula was OK but of course Liz would never see it that way.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Yes, of course you do. You see I felt so guilty — about me and Liz and the two of us getting together just at a time when the money had started rolling in.’

  ‘Paula resented that?’

  ‘Heavens, no, not the money. But the thing was, we’d lived in this God-awful hole off the Gloucester Road, then suddenly I had enough to put a fairly large deposit on the Coach House. It didn’t seem right.’

  He paused, glancing at Martin still standing waiting for his sandwiches.

  ‘You must come across this kind of thing all the time,’ he said, opening a tin of tobacco and lifting out a packet of cigarette papers. ‘Anyway, another reason I wanted to see you, I was afraid you might’ve got the wrong idea. About me and Liz. Well, Liz really. The night of the accident we were in Bath — at the Theatre Royal. This new play — a pre-London tour — hopeless production but I suppose if they tightened up the second act — ’

  He broke off, waiting for me to say something. I gave him my full attention but made no comment.

  ‘Anyway, you’re wondering what all this is about. I suppose I was worried in case you … Anyway, it was an accident, wasn’t it. Poor old Paula, but she was never really happy. One of those restless insecure people, you know the type, must come across them all the time.’

  He stood up. Now that he had provided Liz with an alibi he could light his cigarette. I watched him puff at it, trying to draw the flame against the tobacco.

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘there was something I wanted to ask you.’

  He blinked several times. ‘Me? Really? Fire away.’

  ‘As far as you can remember did Paula have a blue and white sweater?’

  He looked puzzled.

  ‘At the time of the accident she was wearing one of Luke’s sweaters,’ I said. ‘At least, I think it was his.’

  ‘Let me get this straight. What you’re saying is someone could have mistaken Paula for Luke. But that means … ’ His face lit up, then he became aware that I had noticed his relief when he realized Luke might have been the intended victim. ‘No, as far as I know she never wore a blue and white sweater. What was it — stripes or a pattern?’

  It seemed an odd question. ‘More of a pattern,’ I said. ‘The two colours almost merged.’

  ‘Sure. I know the type of thing. They sell them in that shop up Blackboys Hill.’ He began strolling back towards the bar.

  I called after him. ‘Presumably it’s possible to check if people actually attend the theatre or if their seats remain empty.’ He frowned, then a grin spread over his face. ‘For a moment I thought you were serious. Anyway, nice to see you. Hope we bump into each other again some time.’

  *

  When I returned to the office Heather told me someone had phoned. Liz Cook. Had she got the name right?

  ‘Cook?’ I couldn’t think of anyone I knew called Cook.

  ‘Did she leave a number to call her back?’

  Heather handed me a scrap of paper with a Bristol number and an office extension.

  ‘Thanks.’ I ran upstairs.

  I got through to the switchboard, then waited some time while the extension number rang. Just as I was about to replace the receiver a
brisk, efficient voice came on the line.

  ‘Yes’

  ‘Liz Cook?’

  ‘Yes.’ Suddenly the voice changed. ‘Oh, sorry, is that — ’

  ‘Anna McColl.’

  ‘Thanks for phoning back. Look, I wondered if we could meet.’ She paused. ‘This evening if possible. What about the Watershed at six o’clock?’

  First Carl, now Liz. I was curious to meet her but disliked being steamrollered into falling in with her schedule.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘is that difficult? It’s just that — ’

  ‘Six would be all right. How shall I recognize you?’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought. I’ll wait in the foyer. I’ll be carrying a black portfolio and I’m wearing a suit. Red and black check.’

  *

  Apart from the woman behind the ticket counter there were only two other people in the foyer. An elderly man — dressed in wide pin-stripe trousers, a linen jacket and a battered straw hat — and a woman.

  I smiled at her and she held out her hand. ‘Thanks. I’m really grateful.’

  Her telephone manner had done her an injustice. I had expected her to be aloof, but she was warm and friendly.

  She looked rather as I had imagined she would. Slim, smartly dressed, with short dark hair and a thin, slightly bony face.

  ‘We’ll go up to the cafe, shall we?’ I said.

  ‘This won’t take long. It’s just — ’ She broke off, looking over her shoulder as though she thought someone might have followed her. ‘Carl doesn’t know I phoned. You won’t tell him, will you?’

  I made a non-committal sound. It all depended on why she wanted to see me.

  We ordered two fruit juices and chose a table by the window. Across the other side of the floating harbour one of the ferry boats was filling up with passengers. From where we were sitting the water looked cool and inviting. In reality it was grey and murky with large quantities of empty drinks cans and fast-food containers bobbing about in front of the bridge.