by Penny Kline
‘I’ll have to get in touch with the Sealeys,’ I said. ‘They’re still in Cornwall.’
Lynsey jumped up, frightening the baby who was just dropping off to sleep. ‘Why? What for?’
‘Because they have a right to know what’s happened, because they may know something about Rona. We’ll go back to the house, then I’ll contact the police and ask if they can find out where they’re staying.’
‘No! They’ll think I stole her, they’ll arrest me, nobody’ll believe anything I say.’ Already she was halfway to the front door and a moment later she was out in the street, running in the direction of the main road. I ran after her, calling her name, but even before I reached the corner I knew there was no chance of catching up. There were too many routes she could take, too many alleyways and paths.
Deb stood in the doorway, holding Chloe in her arms as though she was newborn, rocking her backwards and forwards.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I’ll take her back to the Sealeys’ flat and stay there till they return.’
‘What about Lynsey?’
‘She’ll turn up sooner or later.’
‘You’ll tell the police, then?’
‘Yes, I’ll have to. Apart from anything else we still don’t know what’s happened to Rona Halliwell.’
‘You mean … Lynsey would never … ’
I ran upstairs and pushed all the baby stuff I could see into two crumpled supermarket bags. When I came down Deb had propped Chloe on a chair and was attempting to fold the buggy.
‘What are you going to do with her?’ She lit another cigarette. ‘She can’t go in the back of the car, it’s dangerous, against the law.’ She looked at her watch and I knew she was hoping to get shot of me and the baby as soon as possible. ‘I’ll go next door, borrow their seat thing,’ she said. ‘You can bring it back in the morning, they won’t mind, not when I explain.’
Explain what? That a friend had turned up with a baby she had given for adoption seven months ago, then run off leaving the baby behind? Chloe was starting to cry, not the usual sound that meant she was tired or hungry, but small unhappy sobs that jerked the whole of her body. I picked her up and she stared at my face with solemn tear-filled eyes.
‘It’s all right,’ I said, trying to make her smile, trying to reassure. But she was too tired, too bewildered.
Glancing round to make sure nothing vital had been left behind I collected the buggy and the plastic bags and went out into the street.
*
Arriving back at the house the first thing I noticed was that all the lights were off in the top flat. Unwilling to let myself in so late in the evening I pressed the intercom, expecting Sandy to answer, and was surprised to hear Geraldine’s voice.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s me, Anna.’
‘Anna,’ she repeated. She didn’t sound particularly surprised, nor did she release the lock.
‘Is Sandy there?’ I said. ‘I need to get into the Sealeys’ flat. The police are trying to contact them, it’s a long story but the baby’s quite safe. I’ve left her in the car so I’d better be quick.’
There was a slight pause then the lock clicked. I pushed open the door and started up the stairs, meeting Geraldine, who was on her way down, clutching the banister rail with one hand and holding up her nightdress with the other.
‘Sandy had a migraine,’ she said, ‘he’s asleep at last so I don’t want to disturb him.’
‘No, of course not, I just wondered if you had a spare key.’
She yawned, reaching up to move the green lead parrot and take a small wooden box off the shelf on the landing, tipping the contents into her hand and holding out five or six keys.
‘I should take them all,’ she said. ‘So the baby’s all right, well, that’s a relief.’ She didn’t ask what I was doing there, or what had happened to Rona and Lynsey.
*
DS Whittle sat opposite me with his elbows resting on the Sealeys’ kitchen table. ‘If you’d gone on holiday, Anna, you’d have spared yourself all this.’
‘She doesn’t like holidays,’ said Howard, ‘she’s like me, thinks they’re not worth the effort.’
It was just after ten. The baby, exhausted after being wheeled round Bristol for most of the day, had fallen asleep in the car and allowed herself to be lifted out of the seat and transferred to her cot, almost without opening her eyes. Later no doubt she would wake up, starving hungry, but by then I would have had a chance to work out how to prepare a bottle. Did seven-month old babies eat solid food at bedtime? I could ask Howard but he would be unlikely to remember that far back.
He was leaning against the fridge-freezer, fiddling with a row of magnets, each in the shape of an exotic tropical fruit. ‘You should have contacted us sooner,’ he said, ‘before you went round to Deborah Cavendish’s house. Taking a baby is a serious offence.’
‘She didn’t take the baby. She was left with her, had no choice.’
‘She could have contacted Social Services.’
‘Oh, come on, she thinks it’s her baby. Anyway you’re not interested in the baby, just the fact that Lynsey knew Dean Koenig.’
‘I’m not jumping to any conclusions.’
‘No, just putting two and two together and finishing up with about fifteen.’
He smiled. ‘Sounds more like your style, Anna. Evidence — that’s all I’m interested in.’
‘What evidence? As far as I can tell you’re no further on than you were a month ago. Just a hammer that might or might not be the murder weapon. If you want my opinion you’ve been wasting your time. How many people in the area have you interviewed? How many properties have you searched?’
Howard pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Look, if you have something to tell us just get on with it. D’you know how many people live within a couple of miles of the scene of the crime? Even if we had enough men what would be the point of talking to people who were nowhere near Leigh Woods on that particular evening? In any case the killer’s just as likely to be someone from the other end of the city — or anywhere else for that matter.’
He hadn’t finished, just run out of breath, but Graham Whittle jumped in fast to explain how one of the electricians at the theatre had heard Bryan mention he would be staying with a television director who had a cottage near the Cornish coast. The electrician couldn’t remember the director’s name but he thought he’d worked on a series about bent coppers. Graham had spent over an hour tracing the name and address. Now the St Austell police were on their way to tell the Sealeys what had happened.
‘Colin Elliot,’ I said, ‘did you know he’d been knocked down by a hit-and-run driver?’
‘What about it?’ said Howard suspiciously. ‘He wasn’t badly hurt, just a few cuts and bruises. Who told you?’
‘Oh, just a neighbour.’
‘I thought you’d never heard of Elliot.’
‘I hadn’t,’ I said, realizing too late that I had given myself away. ‘You said he lived in Clifton Vale so I just asked a couple of people if they knew him.’
He nodded. ‘Any particular reason why? Something you’ve been keeping to yourself? Something you ought to have told us?’
The baby was starting to cry. I stood up. ‘So you’re not seeing Colin Elliot’s accident as connected in any way with — ’
‘He was drunk, wandering all over the road. If anyone had wanted to dispose of him nothing could’ve been easier. In fact the driver was a retired teacher in her seventies, not exactly hired-killer material.’ He put his hands over his ears. ‘I should pick up the baby or it’ll work itself into a frenzy. Once they get going there’s no stopping them.’
He was smiling. So was Graham Whittle.
‘You two are both experts in child care, are you?’ I said. ‘Well perhaps you’d like to give me a hand.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you can manage beautifully,’ said Howard, ‘but I suppose we ought to have a look at her, make sure she’s all in one piece.’
&
nbsp; Chapter Seventeen
The Sealeys returned just before one in the morning. I was watching an old Joan Crawford film about a woman who kept receiving silent phone calls and threatening tapes. The man who she thought had come to her rescue was just about to run her down with his car when I heard Bryan’s jeep pull up outside the window.
‘Anna, what can I say?’ He strode into the flat, dropping two suitcases in the hall, then continued on into the kitchen where he opened a cupboard containing a large collection of wine glasses and whisky tumblers. ‘I don’t know about you but I need something strong.’
‘Chloe’s asleep,’ I said. ‘I gave her a bottle.’
‘Bless you.’ I had expected him to dash down the passage to the nursery to check she was all right — but it seemed the last thing on his mind. ‘Cornwall’s so much further away than you think. The roads were fairly clear, thank God, but by the time we reached Taunton I could hardly keep my eyes open.’
‘Where’s Helen?’
He jerked his head towards the door. ‘She dropped off to sleep. She’ll be here in a moment, when she gets her bearings.’ He went to the living-room and returned with a bottle. ‘I don’t know what on earth’s happened to Rona but I suppose it’s her way of telling us looking after the baby was getting too much. God knows, I’ve asked her often enough.’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t just go off like that,’ I said.
‘Well, where is she, then?’ It didn’t seem to occur to him that she might have come to some harm.
Helen stood in the doorway with an expression on her face that implied she had resented being woken up.
‘The baby’s fine,’ said Bryan. ‘You two sit yourselves down and I’ll make us some drinks.’
‘No thanks,’ I said, ‘I have to drive home.’
‘No you don’t, not at this late hour. Sleep in Rona’s room. By the time you’ve told us all your adventures … ’
Adventures? It seemed to amuse him defining the day’s events as a welcome diversion from my usual humdrum life. But when he turned to face me I could see that was a million miles from how he really felt.
Helen stared at me, almost as though she had forgotten who I was. Then she murmured something that could have been ‘thanks’ and said she was going to bed.
‘Right, then,’ said Bryan, pouring two glasses of brandy and placing one on the table in front of me. ‘Tell me the whole sorry story.’
I recounted it as best I could, starting with how I had come to see Geraldine and found the flat unlocked, and finishing up with a description of Deb and I trying to work out how to do up the impossibly complicated fastening on the borrowed car seat.
‘And you say Lynsey just ran off?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘I’m not sure.’ I had stopped short of telling him how Lynsey thought Chloe was the baby she had given birth to seven months ago. ‘I think she just felt a bit upset. I’ll explain another time — or she will.’
He looked at me curiously, then decided not to put any pressure. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you. Sorry to change the subject, but since you’re here … Anxiety, fear, can it turn into depression?’
He sounded keyed up, light headed, the way people sometimes do after a long drive through the night.
‘It depends,’ I said.
‘I wondered if something — maybe an event that took place months ago, years … Could you push it out of your head but — ’
‘It’s more likely that anxiety would result from the effort involved in trying to fight off the underlying depression.’
‘Yes, I see. So the two states can go together, they’re not two separate illnesses.’
‘They’re not precise diagnoses,’ I said, ‘not like physical disease.’
‘No, of course not.’ He stood up, then sat on the edge of the table. ‘And if there was something preying on your mind, something you couldn’t talk about to anyone, that could have all kind of effects. Psychosomatic symptoms, nightmares, rapid mood changes and so forth?’
I was fed up with all the hypothetical questions. ‘Who are you talking about? Lynsey? Rona? Yourself?’
‘Oh, heavens above, not me, I’m boringly easy-going.’
Helen was coming down the passage. She was moaning, as though she had a very bad headache or stomach pains.
‘Me!’ She shouted so loudly I felt certain the baby would wake. ‘He’s talking about me. He thinks I’m a freak. I haven’t bonded. Isn’t that what they call it? Go on, you might as well tell her. I couldn’t give birth to my own and I can’t make a go of taking on somebody else’s.’
Bryan’s hand was shaking. He placed his glass on the table, then fetched the bottle and topped it up. ‘I thought you were going to bed.’
‘Hoped I was, you mean, then you and the psychologist could sit here discussing me behind my back. How I’m no good with Chloe — that’s what you said. Yes, you did! How I’m not the maternal kind and never will be. How Chloe hates me. Yes, she does, I’ve seen it in her eyes.’
‘Oh, don’t talk such rubbish.’ Bryan had her by the shoulders. When she struggled to get free he tightened his grip.
‘I’d better go,’ I said.
‘No!’ Bryan said, letting go of Helen and banging his fist on the table. ‘She never tells me a bloody thing. Expects me to guess what’s going on in her crazy head as if I was some kind of mind reader. Please stay, just for a bit, with you here we might actually find out what it’s all about.’
I looked at Helen but she had her back turned. ‘Would you rather I left, Helen?’
Her shoulders moved a little. ‘Suit yourself. You’re supposed to sort out people’s problems, aren’t you? Isn’t that what they pay you for?’ She twisted round to face Bryan. ‘I tell you what, we could enrol for some family therapy — you, me, and the sprog.’ She held up her hand as though she expected him to slap her across the face. ‘Go on, then, tell her everything. How you never touch me, how you’re having it off with that tart who can’t even act. Sandy knows how you’ve made me feel. Sandy understands.’
Suddenly she went limp. Bryan caught her and placed her on a chair where she sat with her head on the table and her hands over her ears.
‘It’s late,’ I said, glancing at the drink I had left virtually untouched. ‘Thanks for the offer of a bed but I think I’d prefer to go home.’ I felt in my pocket for my car keys.
‘Don’t go.’ Helen stretched out an arm. ‘If you go Bryan will make me take one of my knock-out pills, then tomorrow he’ll say it’s best to forget all about it.’
I hesitated. ‘Well, the night’s pretty much of a write-off … ’
‘And tomorrow’s Sunday,’ she said, ‘so we can all have a lie in.’
She seemed to have forgotten the baby and the fact that it wouldn’t be Rona who had to get up early and prepare a bottle. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, then Helen asked Bryan to make her a drink.
‘He only married me as a fashion accessory,’ she said. ‘Now I’m fat and past it he’s trading me in for a newer model.’ She laughed. ‘A newer model, get it?’
Bryan sighed. ‘What nonsense you talk. If anything you’re the one who’ll do a bunk — with some unendingly patient guy like that nice Sandy Haran.’
They wouldn’t look at one another. I thought about the woman on the escalator at the shopping centre and the discussion I had overheard in my hiding place behind the ivy-covered pillar.
‘We don’t communicate very well, do we?’ said Bryan, standing up, then sitting down again. ‘Isn’t that what they call it — a “failure to connect”?’
‘Perhaps you’re not very good at listening to each other.’
‘Fair enough. All right, you can start.’ He moved his head in the direction of Helen. ‘Go on, say what’s on your mind and I promise I won’t interrupt, not till the bitter end.’
Helen sighed heavily, made a couple of false starts, opening and closing her mouth, then be
gan. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I feel completely useless. Is that the kind of thing you want to hear? There’s no modelling work and — ’
Bryan’s head jerked up. ‘You said you didn’t want to — Sorry, carry on.’
‘I don’t know what to do with Chloe. There’s so much you’re supposed to know and if you make a mistake the baby can’t even tell you what you’ve done wrong.’ She looked at Bryan and me in turn, waiting for us to point out that she hadn’t made much effort to learn, that Rona had taken over from the start while Helen spent her time touring the countryside looking for suitable scenes to photograph. Neither of us said a word.
‘When we got her she looked so tiny.’ She paused, to give her next statement greater effect. ‘And anyway you never really wanted a baby.’
‘Not true,’ whispered Bryan. ‘No, carry on.’
‘You only agreed to adopt so that when you left me at least I wouldn’t be completely on my own. Yes, you did, I could tell.’
Bryan was pulling faces. ‘You’d better answer that,’ I said.
‘Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
‘Since we’ve been together … ’ He was talking to me, not Helen. ‘Since we’ve been married I’ve tried everything I can think of to make her feel more secure. Rona says her mother was the same, over-anxious, wracked with self-doubt. D’you s’pose it’s genetic, something to do with the nervous system? Her mother was good looking too. Maybe beautiful women become too dependent on their looks, assume that’s the only reason people are paying them attention. I thought when we got Chloe it would be better, convince Helen how I felt, how I wanted the relationship to last, but it seems to have had the opposite effect.’
‘You talk about me as though I’m a spoilt child,’ said Helen sulkily. ‘You always have.’
Bryan ignored this comment. ‘And all this business about not wanting to drive so you’re either stuck at home or have to find someone who’ll act as your chauffeur. Why? What happened? If something happened why didn’t you tell me? We could have discussed it, sorted it all out.’
