The Anna McColl Mysteries Box Set 1

by Penny Kline

  I shook my head. ‘Right, well, I’d better go.’ I was standing by the photo of the Balloon Festival I had noticed during my last visit to the house.

  Carl joined me. ‘Liz’s company made a promotional video. Oh, I told you before. The balloon that’s just about to take off is shaped like a can of dog food. Well, you can see that, I expect. Meaty chunks floating over Bristol and across towards the Cotswolds. Wonderful advertising. Makes sure the brand name stays with you for life.’

  He carried on talking, filling in details, describing how unorthodox-shaped balloons needed exactly the right weather conditions. I wasn’t listening. I had spotted a familiar figure, standing in the crowd, holding an ice-cream cone in his hand. It was Michael, dressed in a lightweight suit and a dark blue shirt. His free arm was wrapped round a small thin girl with a pale pixie-like face. It was Rhiannon Pascoe.

  17

  Janos was sweeping the pavement in front of his house. When I parked my car he crossed the road and asked if there was any news. I shook my head and he sighed, leaning his broom against the wall and putting his hands on my shoulders.

  ‘Anything I can do, Anna, anything at all.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Thanks.’

  I wanted to tell him everything. How I had just returned from Liz and Carl’s house, how I had seen a photo of last year’s Balloon Festival with Michael standing in the crowd and next to him …

  But not yet. First I needed time to think.

  Back in the flat I shook out the duvet and lay on my bed staring at my face in the long mirror on the wardrobe door. Now that I was home I wasn’t even certain that the girl in the photo had been Rhiannon Pascoe. The newspaper photograph had been blurred and looked as though it had been touched up where the features were indistinct. The city was home to hundreds of pale, undernourished teenagers — although the dogs that often accompanied them appeared lively and well fed. Dogs. Puppies. The girl standing in the lay-by the time I went to visit Brigid Jesty. The puppy tucked under her jacket had caught my eye but I had noticed the girl too, her face with its pale skin and pointed features. Why had I failed to connect the picture in the evening paper with the girl in the lay-by? But were they really the same? And the girl at the Balloon Festival? That must have been someone who looked like Rhiannon but …

  I rolled over on my stomach. When the doorbell rang I knew at once who it was going to be.

  *

  ‘So,’ said Michael, ‘you called in on Carl Redfern and his woman and they told you all their marital problems. There’s something about you, people can’t resist telling you their life history.’

  He sat next to me on the bed while I put on my shoes. Since letting him into the flat I had made a huge effort to appear natural, unconcerned, pleased to see him. I had even responded warmly when he kissed me on the mouth although I was almost certain he had sensed the tension in my body.

  Perhaps he had put it down to excitement, pleasure in his company. The dreadful part was that the physical attraction was still there, if anything it had increased. Fear, conflict, sexual arousal — were they all interlinked?

  I stood up and went to fetch a glass of water. I felt like someone who has decided to plunge into a freezing pool but in order to work up the courage walks a few paces from the edge, then returns and jumps.

  Michael had followed me into the kitchen.

  I turned away but watched him out of the corner of my eye. ‘You know the witness who went to the police?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘She can’t be.’

  I rinsed out the glass. ‘She died from inhaling lighter fuel.’

  ‘Oh God, no. What a waste. They’re sure that’s what happened?’

  ‘Her body was discovered yesterday. I tried to phone you but — ’

  ‘Sorry about that. I tried to ring you too but I kept getting the engaged signal.’ I wanted him to leave. But another part of me had to know the truth. There could be a simple explanation. He had met Rhiannon briefly but never even known her name. The photo had been taken nearly a year ago. He had forgotten all about it. Or perhaps she was one of the homeless teenagers his housing trust had tried to help. He must have met dozens of similar girls. How could he be expected to remember them all?

  He was staring at me. His teeth moved up and down, pressing into his lower lip; the rest of his face was perfectly still. Suddenly it broke into a smile.

  ‘Go on then, say what’s on your mind.’

  ‘Did you know Rhiannon Pascoe?’

  ‘She was a traveller, wasn’t she? I’ve met one or two of them. I never remember the names. Some of them get fed up with the life, want to find some permanent accommodation.’ He moved towards me. ‘Listen, I think I know where Luke is.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stupid. I should’ve thought of it ages ago.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Not far.’ He took me by the arm. ‘We’ll go in your car, shall we, then I can concentrate on the route.’

  We were standing just inside the front door.

  ‘Just tell me where he is.’

  He smiled to himself. ‘A place we used to go when we were kids. Of course I could be quite wrong, if you’d rather stay here.’

  ‘I’ll come.’

  Down in the street there was no sign of Ernest or Pam. Janos had returned to his basement.

  Michael walked round the car and waited for me to unlock his door. There was still time to change my mind. I could jump out of the car and run back to the flat, slamming the door behind me.

  Then what? Phone Howard Fry and tell him I’d seen a photo with two people in it who looked like Michael and Rhiannon Pascoe? By the time they had made a few checks Michael would have left hours ago and be on his way to find Luke.

  I flicked the lock and pushed open the passenger door.

  ‘Avonmouth,’ he said, climbing in beside me and humming to himself. ‘Fork left just before the fly-over. Sorry, you must have done it dozens of times.’

  ‘We’re going to the docks?’ My mouth felt dry and there were pains running up the back of my head. I negotiated the steep hill down to the main road, waited for a break in the traffic then moved into the right hand lane.

  Michael was enjoying himself, exhilarated.

  ‘Crazy, isn’t it,’ he said, ‘you rack your brains and all the time the most likely solution to the problem’s staring you in the face.’ He moved closer, twisting himself round till he could see my face. ‘Hey, don’t look so worried. Nothing’s as bad as it seems. When I’ve explained you’ll understand everything, I know you will.’

  We were passing beneath the Suspension Bridge. The tide was high and a small motor launch was coming up the river. I caught a glimpse of a black and white sheepdog running backwards and forwards on the deck.

  ‘I saw a photo,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘At Carl Redfern’s house. Last year’s Balloon Festival. Liz Cook was involved with a company that sponsored a balloon.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘In the shape of a tin of pet food.’

  He laughed. ‘So. You decided to play the amateur detective and now you’ve had a chat with your inspector friend.’

  ‘No.’ It was an involuntary response. I should have said ‘Yes’ and let him think the police were tailing us along the Gorge.

  ‘Why not?’ He touched my face, then ran his finger down my throat. I shivered. ‘You think I killed Rhiannon, don’t you.’

  ‘She died from inhaling lighter fuel.’

  ‘Oh yes, so she did.’

  I glanced at him, then back at the road. In front of us a truck of frozen meat jolted to a halt as it reached the queue of traffic waiting for the lights to turn green.

  ‘Luke killed Diana,’ said Michael.

  ‘Don’t be crazy. It was an accident. The dog ran — ’

  ‘Diana was only twelve. Luke was fifteen. If anyone was going to save the wretched dog … ’

&nbs
p; ‘So you don’t mean he killed her. What you mean — ’

  He pushed in the cigarette lighter. ‘The dog was OK, who’s to know it even ran into the road?’

  ‘Luke wouldn’t — ’

  ‘All right, it was an accident, but after I’d worked on Luke over the years he wasn’t even sure himself what had happened. Luke’s very susceptible, you know that, or you ought to except the stupid kid’s an invention in your head. One of your precious clients. And of course he has the looks to go with it. Christopher Robin, that’s what we used to call him.’

  He started singing in a child’s high-pitched voice.

  ‘If I open my fingers a little bit more I can see nanny’s dressing-gown on the door. It’s a beautiful blue but it hasn’t a hood. Oh God bless nanny and — ’

  ‘Faith Gordon phoned,’ I said. Anything to make him stop singing. I was shivering uncontrollably now and my hands felt clammy on the steering-wheel. I felt sick, dizzy, like the start of a migraine.

  ‘Really?’ said Michael. ‘Did she tell all?’

  The cigarette lighter clicked back into place. My shoulders jerked. I forced myself to turn and look at his face. ‘She said you’d explain.’

  ‘Good old Faith. I was just coming to that. Listen carefully, here’s one for your case notes. Oh, and don’t make a sudden turn when we reach the next junction. If you do I’ll pull the steering-wheel out of your hand and we’ll both be killed. OK? Ready? Once upon a time nice kind Faith thought she’d call round and see how Brigid was feeling. Poor Brigid, it was a year since Diana’s death but she couldn’t escape into her work like Peter had done. Brigid didn’t have any work. Nobody wants an old actress who’s been off the scene for over twenty years.’

  ‘Just get on with it,’ I said fiercely, using anger to try to control the fear, to keep my voice steady. What a fool I had been, believing all along that Michael wanted to help, ignoring any twinges of doubt I might have felt, not even considering that his wish to spend time with me was a way of keeping in touch with what was happening to Luke, a way of taunting, teasing … The traffic was building up and I was finding it difficult to keep my eyes on the road. I could feel drops of sweat trickling down between my breasts.

  ‘So,’ said Michael, ‘as I was saying, Faith went round to the house, as she often did in those days, although usually it was in the morning because she knew Brigid liked a little rest in the afternoon. It was three o’clock and she thought Brigid might like to go with her to pick strawberries from the Pick-Your-Own farm down the road. Only if Brigid was asleep it would be a shame to disturb her. Up the stairs she crept. One step, two steps. Then she peeped through the bedroom door and what did she see?’ His voice had become harsh. ‘My sodding brother in bed with our sodding mother having it off hammer and tongs.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘No? I didn’t think you’d be so easily shocked.’

  ‘I’m not. I just don’t believe you.’

  I was shaking. If Michael was telling the truth did Peter Jesty know what had happened? It would certainly explain his cold, detached attitude towards Luke. Perhaps he wanted to get even for what had happened. His daughter, his wife. He might have hated his own son enough to … I thought about Brigid Jesty’s secret meetings with Luke in the wine bar in Clifton Village. Had Peter Jesty known about them all along? And the day Brigid had asked me to visit the cottage. Had she intended to tell me about that afternoon six years ago? Or perhaps she’d been testing me out, trying to discover how much I knew.

  We were approaching the roundabout that led to the motorway. North to London and the Midlands, south to Devon and Cornwall. Another exit went to Avonmouth.

  ‘Straight on,’ said Michael, ‘we’ll go via Aust, then take the slip-road.’ He wound up his window. ‘Close yours too or the fumes from the factories will get inside the car.’

  ‘Why did you take me to meet Faith Gordon?’ I said, desperate to keep him talking so my brain was free to make some kind of plan.

  ‘I thought you’d like her,’ he said, switching on the car radio, then switching it off again as a voice started talking about the Common Market. ‘Besides, she knows what Luke’s really like. Next question?’ And when I kept quiet, ‘Surely you want to know about the accident?’

  We were passing the main gate to the docks. A row of advertising hoardings came into view. A blurred athlete leaping in the air in a well-known brand of training shoes. A boy, ten times larger than life, eating an iced lolly as he travelled to the seaside on a cheap day return. The accident. For a moment I had assumed he was talking about his sister’s death. But he meant Paula. Paula Redfern.

  He was opening and closing the glove compartment, fiddling with the empty ashtray. ‘Go on, tell me how you think it happened.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Have a guess?’

  ‘Rhiannon Pascoe. You gave her money to say Luke had pushed Paula.’

  ‘Oh, she didn’t want money, she wanted me.’

  I felt calm, icy cold, as though I was listening to my own voice from a long way away. ‘Where did you meet her?’

  ‘Rhiannon? As a matter of fact — that photo you saw — I’d only known her a couple of days. She hated being a traveller. She was sick of the dirt. Bored with just sitting around. Wanted a place she could call home.’

  ‘So you and your housing trust — ’

  ‘We got talking and she introduced me to some of her friends. What a pathetic set of idiots, but they had a kind of fascination. You know how most women are — blathering on about love, commitment. Not Rhiannon. Sex for its own sake. Pure, unadulterated fucking. It was like an addiction.’

  He waited for me to speak. When I said nothing he continued in a high excited voice. ‘Out in the open air where somebody might come past at any minute. Or in some squalid abandoned warehouse. Of course, when it came to the crunch she was just like the rest of you. Wanted exclusive rights, my undying devotion. When I wouldn’t reciprocate she threatened to go to the police and tell them I’d forced her to say she’d witnessed the accident.’

  ‘So you killed her.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have lasted long, those kids never do. Abusing their bodies day after day. I just hastened the process a little.’

  On our right were the huge pipes and chimneys of the ICI plant. On our left a large flat field stretched out towards the Severn Estuary. A herring gull had alighted on a wooden post by the side of the road. Michael was singing under his breath. A song from Carousel. ‘If I love you, time and again I would try to say … ’ He was enjoying himself in the style of the classic psychopath. Callous, totally lacking in shame, with no capacity for love and attachment. But it was the other ‘symptoms’ that had been my undoing. Superior intelligence, and charm — irresistible charm.

  ‘Have you noticed,’ he said, ‘how Bristol’s overrun with schizoid-looking characters and winos?’

  ‘It’s the same in all cities,’ I said. I sounded quite calm, as though we were having a pleasant conversation. Everything was unreal, like dreaming I was having a dream. How could I have allowed physical attraction to make me so blind? Taking an immediate liking to Michael that first evening in the pub. Allowing myself to lean on him for support. Ignoring the danger signals, brushing aside the warning from Faith Gordon — someone who knew the two brothers so well.

  ‘I modelled myself on that bloke who hangs about at the top of Park Street,’ said Michael. ‘The one who hopes the students will feel guilty and give him a few coppers.’

  ‘Did you,’ I said mechanically.

  ‘My hair was the best part. Caked with filth and oil. And my face was so mucky I reckon my own mother wouldn’t have recognized me.’ He paused, running his finger along the scratch on the side of his neck. ‘Have you ever looked into the eyes of a wino? No? Nobody ever does. That’s why it’s the perfect disguise. Of course, normally people keep their distance, but in a crowd waiting to cross the road … I followed Luke and Paula quite often, sometimes two
or three times a week. Waiting my chance, waiting for the perfect moment.’

  ‘But someone might have seen you.’ I needed to know everything. So I could tell Howard Fry. Later — if there was a later.

  Michael laughed. ‘Who could prove anything? I was pushed from behind, fell against Paula. Quick shove in the back and over she goes. Silly cow, she was another who fell for Luke’s hardluck stories.’

  My stomach felt lined with acid as though I had eaten nothing for days. ‘I thought you’d never met Paula.’

  ‘Oh, two can play private detective. I told you, I followed the pair of them, checked up on their habits. They were just good friends, nothing more, I could tell. Mind you, I should think that’s all my little brother could manage.’

  The wholesale tyre distributors, flower importers, commercial truck dealers and warehouses to let had given way to fields of long, yellowing grass surrounded by dusty trees. On our left the outline of the Welsh coast was visible across the other side of the estuary. The road swung right over a railway bridge and we passed a sign advertising teas and burgers from a boarded-up van. I felt the bile rise in my throat.

  ‘Why, Michael?’

  ‘Because I detest the little bastard.’

  ‘But Luke and your mother, you don’t know if anything actually happened?’

  I felt him tense. ‘Oh, you think they were clinging together for comfort.’ His voice was cold, sneering. ‘You’ve seen my mother. Does she look the homely type? Mrs Rabbit taking baby bunny into her bed to keep him warm. Like hell she was. Those two, they were always the same. Mummy’s pet. Luke the sensitive, delicate little baby boy. Michael, the tough self-sufficient — ’

  I swerved to avoid the body of a stoat lying in the middle of the road. Michael put his hand on my seat to steady himself.

  ‘You and your brother,’ he said. ‘You told me you had a brother — just the two of you, are there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There you are then. Two’s company, three’s a crowd. My father had Diana, my mother had Luke. Where did that leave me?’

  I breathed in deeply. ‘It can’t have been that simple.’