The Under Ground (Strong Women Book 4)

by Sarah Till

  The train hadn't moved far out of the station when it stopped abruptly. The lights were on but they flickered haphazardly as I stared at the tunnel wall. People began to stand and move towards the doors of the train and a guard came up the middle gangway and told everyone not to panic, there had been an alert and we may be here for a couple of minutes. Two women looked at each other and both paled. A mother with her child hugged him closer. The guard reassured everyone that it was probably just a piece of unattended baggage, that people were always leaving stray bags on the platform and that they all had to be checked for obvious reasons. He looked calm, but his fingers fiddled with a St Christopher that hung around his neck. I tried to remember if the St Christopher necklaces had been made obsolete. Someone had told me recently that they were no longer effective in protecting the traveller. I wondered who had decreed this? Who made decisions on the protection of Saints? I guessed it was the Vatican and wondered why on earth they would decide such a thing.

  Eventually, my stilled mind traced its familiar paranoid pathway and began to wonder if John Baxter was behind the train halting in the tunnel. Was it another tactic to prove that my mother's killing was a terrorist plot? How far would he go? Maybe he had planted a real bomb on the tube to make it look authentic. I looked around at the people panicking. Mothers soothing their children whilst keeping one eye on the window for any movement. The gentle shuffle towards the doorway which remained clamped shut. The watchfulness on the connecting door for the guard with more information. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled up as I realised John could be watching me. I looked at my feet and sighed. I felt a little anxious, but nothing more than I had become accustomed to. I wiggled my toes and played the what if game. What if this is a real terrorist attack? What if this is the last time I ever wiggle my toes? What if the train explodes into tiny pieces? Would anyone care?

  I had broken the spell. I was fully back in the carriage now as the guard re-entered and the majority of the passengers moved forward to hear what he had to say. As he spoke, the train began to move again. I just caught the latter end of the conversation.

  “...so, to be on the safe side, please leave the station as quickly as possible when you exit the train. No need for alarm.”

  The momentary panic was over and a carriage full of jittery people continued along the path. I reconciled myself with the fact that it probably was just engine failure and allowed my thoughts to drift off. My mind rested on Lynus. How had he known so much about me? I sniggered silently. Every person that I had ever employed I had checked out personally and insisted on references. Of course he would have spoken to Ted Brierly about me. My abilities, skills, focus, track record. Of course my personal life would raise its ugly head; my mother had been murdered. Having settled himself with that, he would then have read in the papers that I was involved in some kind of terror plot, swiftly followed by the announcement of my attempted suicide. I would have fired me before now.

  I leaned back into the warm laundry-scented breeze that filtered through the carriages. What had happened to me? All my underground musings about freedom, when all the time I was locked in my own personal battle, my crusade against my mother. I tried so hard to be different from her that I became very like her, opting out of my family life, refusing to accept people for what they were, never forgiving. My perception of my perfect life wasn’t so perfect after all. I claimed all along to be neutral, but in fact I was hiding behind the very axiom that I professed against. I wanted my personal freedom, but I denied my parents theirs, canonising my father and victimising my mother until I had, in fact, embedded my own version of what their morals should be in the whole scenario and judged them forthwith.

  Yet now I understood more about the transience of life. The immaterial facts and figures, the shoulds, the have to’s, all negotiable in the end. The ever -urning mobile of life, its bells tinkling enticingly, showing dazzling with the prettiness of seashells and bronze fish, all suspended by fishing wire. Beautiful to look at, but if the wind blows too hard, it turns into a mangled wreckage of crushed calcium and tangled cable enmeshed with bent metal. The question was, is it better to admire the aesthetics of it all, oblivious to the underlying fragility, or to examine life by thrusting a hand into the shimmering superficial beauty, only to puncture and rupture the seeming reality with an all-round relativity. Too late for me. My hand already gripped a crushed bell, with its tinny, off-tune ring, and a couple of calcium covered bronze shreds.

  I hung onto the rail above me as the train halted at the third station. I thrilled a little now, near to my goal.

  Chapter Ten

  I emerged from the station and strode onto the street. I saw Henry’s office across the road. I still felt tired and my head was slightly fuzzy, but I knew Henry would make tea while we chatted. He was an old friend and I felt comfortable with him. I swung through the doors and went to the reception area. The girl eyed me suspiciously and I remembered that I was rather more casual than my usual smart suit and neat bob. I pulled off my hat and peered in her face, hoping that she would recognise me. She didn’t.

  “Yes?”

  She looked a little put out that I had arrived and I sighed.

  “Could is see Henry, please? I don’t have an appointment but I expect that he will see me. Jinny. Munro.”

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall behind reception and I looked a lot like the type of woman who was slightly geeky and maybe hadn’t had a haircut for more than a year. The bruise above my eye didn’t help and she sighed as she roused Henry.

  “A Jenny Munro to see you.”

  I corrected her.

  “Jinny. Virginia.”

  “He says you can go through.”

  I smiled and went through. Henry wasn’t in his usual position of sitting behind a desk. He stood by the bookcase, a sure sign that I was going to be read the riot act. I sat down automatically and clutched my bag. He stared at me.

  “Well, now, Virginia. What’s all this you’re mixed up in?” Henry looked at me and sighed heavily. “What’s going on, Virginia? Obviously, I know what happened up to the reading of your mother’s will. But look at you. And I saw the papers.”

  I looked at my knees. All of a sudden, I felt like a child who had been summoned to her father. The chair I was sitting on seemed to grow and I became smaller by hunching myself in. I managed to mumble through my half-closed mouth.

  “Well, I’m not a drug addict and I didn’t try to kill myself.”

  Henry sat down heavily.

  “You’d better start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

  I reached into my bag and drew out my neatly typed, double-spaced statement.

  “It’s all in here. I wrote it down for you. Instead of a statement. This is all I have to say.”

  He took the ream of paper and adjusted his glasses. He spoke into what seemed to be an antique speaker system.

  “Tea for two, Angela, please. Cancel my appointments for this morning.”

  He read the document quickly, pausing to underline some of the key points. Tea arrived and we drunk it silently, Henry giving his full attention to the documents as I stared at various photographs hung around the office. Henry as barrister. Henry as a university graduate. Henry shaking hands with an older man and smiling widely. I had known Henry years, perhaps his whole working life. He had been a great friend of my father, and now I began to feel a little uncomfortable about my change of perspective and what I had written in the statement about my father’s son.

  When he had finished reading, Henry removed his glasses and waited for a few moments. Then, he squared up to me.

  “Is this all true, Virginia?”

  He waved the papers at me and looked very angry. I gulped.

  “Yes. All of it. Every word.”

  He straightened the pages carefully and placed it in front of him.

  “Right. We need to contact the police. You say you have told them this? And what did they say they would do?”r />
  “I explained what had happened and how they were completely incredulous. They told me they would investigate but haven’t contacted me since. In fact, they made it sound like they were doing me a favour by not charging me for something I hadn’t done. Anyway, the reason I’m here is because Ellis and I want to go on holiday. Just for a couple of days. I wondered if I could leave it all in your hands.”

  Looking at Henry, it seemed a ludicrous suggestion that I could dump all this on him. He looked a little bit fragile and doddery, and I worried that he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Then all of a sudden, my confidence was restored. He brightened up.

  “Right then. If that’s the case, my first job is to find out what the police are up to. This Payne fellow, he’s in charge, is he?”

  I handed him Payne’s card.

  “He’s in charge locally but there has also been some input from someone called Mr Smith.”

  Henry chuckled and I wondered if he had actually seen the Matrix.

  “I bet there has! All the helicopters at the funeral and so forth. Quite. Sounds like this was up-scaled quite quickly.” He punched in Payne’s mobile number and pressed speakerphone. “Let’s see what Payne has to say.”

  I heard four rings then Payne’s familiar tones.

  “Hello. DI Payne.”

  Henry used his official voice here.

  “Ah, DI Payne. This is Henry Mills. Beesly’s Solicitors. I’m representing Virginia Munro and I’d like an update on any charges made and a general overview of the investigation. Please.”

  There was a short silence and I could imagine DI Payne raising his eyes heavenwards in desperation.

  “Morning, Mr Mills. I was going to be in touch today in any case. The situation is that we’ve made two arrests. The two people responsible are in custody as we speak.”

  Henry almost applauded.

  “Ah, excellent. So there will be no charges brought against Mrs Munro? She was thinking of going on holiday for a short while, to recover from her trauma. Would that be in order? Of course she would be contactable at all times.”

  Henry nodded at me and I nodded back. My mind raced. They had been arrested. John and Sandra were in custody. DI Payne coughed a little then answered.

  “I don’t see why not. If we need her, we will contact her.”

  I smiled and Henry nodded some more.

  “So, will the suspects be granted bail? I only ask as my client has mentioned that she is still fearful for her safety. Would you let me know the outcome of the preliminary hearing?”

  Payne snorted.

  “That’s not likely to be any time soon. We’ll be holding them on the 28-day clause.”

  The alarm in my eyes mirrored Henry’s look of confusion.

  “Hold on, Detective Inspector, we are talking about John Baxter and Sandra Reid, aren’t we? These are the two suspects that you are holding in custody?”

  Payne snorted again.

  “No, no, no. We interviewed Mr Baxter yesterday and he very helpfully took us to his place of work to show us the CCTV footage from the Underground station of the time Mrs Baxter was taken to the station, assaulted and left in the toilets. The CCTV footage clearly shows a man of Asian origin half dragging Mrs Munro into the station and taking her into the ladies’ toilets. Around half an hour later, he leaves. A number of significant events took place between one and four am on Saturday morning, with the suspect leaving then returning to the victim twice during the night. In fact, Mr Baxter was very helpful in this matter and we have eliminated him from our enquiries.”

  I was stunned. The police had, once again, arrested the wrong man. John Baxter had influenced them again. I scribbled the words ‘brother’ on a piece of paper. Henry, who seemed to also be struggling to come to terms with this development nodded quickly.

  “Mrs Munro has told me that it was disclosed that Mr Baxter is her brother and that he kept this fact from her until the day of the assault, allegedly to benefit from the estate. Surely this would be a motive, Detective Inspector.”

  Payne sighed.

  “Family business, Mr Mills, family business. My job is to find Sally Baxter’s killer and to find out who has assaulted Mrs Munro, not to delve into the private affairs of a man who had been dead for several years. Yes, it does appear that Mr Walton had a slightly chequered past in his relationships, but that is not a police matter. My opinion is that Mrs Munro has, quite understandably, confused the two and has simply pointed the finger at the wrong person. In any case, we have our suspects in custody. Mrs Munro is free to move around the UK but we would ask that she does not venture abroad in case we need to interview her again.”

  Henry intervened.

  “I have to inform you at this point that my client has issued a statement that contradicts your evidence and wishes to pursue this matter.”

  Payne was firm.

  “As I mentioned, we have our suspects. We have ruled out Mrs Reid and Mr Baxter from our enquiries and will seek to bring charges against the suspects in custody as soon as we have finished gathering our evidence. I will keep you informed. I have Mrs Munro’s contact numbers in case she is needed.”

  Henry shrugged.

  “Thank you, Detective Inspector. I will inform my client.”

  The phone clicked off and I gazed at Henry. He stared back at me for a moment.

  “Virginia, are you absolutely sure that what you say in your statement is true?”

  I nodded enthusiastically.

  “Yes. Yes. He’s obviously faked the CCTV. He could do that with working on security at the tube. He could easily do that.”

  Henry frowned.

  “I’m worried now. The police think they have their man. John Baxter is free to run around as he pleases. And where does that leave you?”

  I stood up and straightened my clothes.

  “The Norfolk Broads, if I have my way. Look Henry. I’m going away for a while. Can you put the cottage up for sale?”

  His face looked tired and it was still only nine forty-five.

  “I can try, but our Mr Baxter might claim squatters’ rights. I don’t think he’s going to make it easy for you. But I’ll do my best.”

  I smiled and took his hand.

  “Thanks, Henry. My father always said that you were a good man.”

  He smirked at the mention of my father.

  “I expect you hate him now? He wasn’t so bad, Virginia, just mixed up. He did the best job he knew how to do with the tools he had. I had no idea that he and Sandra had a son. By the time I got involved with any kind of will making and suchlike she was gone, and your mother was an invalid.”

  Again, I was shocked.

  “You know Sandra Reid?”

  “Oh, yes. In the early days, before you were born, I went to their home. Of course, I knew that he was courting Sally, but Sandra was different. She was sweet and quiet, always very demure. She never drank alcohol or smoked, and she always seemed slightly dim. A nice girl, but not a patch on Sally. But your father, well, he loved her. You could tell. They adored each other. But then Sally won. She had the inheritance, the property, the money, the lifestyle. He could have never provided for Sandra. And certainly not for a child. He never worked a day in his life, you know.”

  I gasped.

  “But he was always working, away on trips. He told me he was working.”

  “No, Virginia, he lived off the farm income. All that time he must have been with Sandra. He was actually living a double life.”

  I felt the tears brim out of my eyes.

  “But my mother. She must have known he didn’t have a job. She must have known he was taking money out of the farm. Did she know, Henry? Did she know where he was going?”

  Henry shook his head and took off his glasses.

  “I lost touch with them as friends after I married Marnie. As far as I know, Sally knew he had no job. She would have certainly known about the money, for she would have had to sign the cheques he took as farm income. As for where he wa
s going, I just don’t know how to explain it. They seemed to have some bizarre arrangement where he went off to ‘work’ and she accepted it. As far as I know, all this worked out fine until you came along. As soon as you were born, Sally became unstable and began to drink. It was as if suddenly she wanted it all to stop, for him to be at home, to have a real family.”

  I sat in his office and sobbed.

  “So, she did it for me? All the scenes and all the overdoses, all the drinking and insisting? The illness? It was all so that I could have a father?”

  Henry nodded.

  “It would seem that way. But on reflection, Sandra would have been in the same boat, as John was born within a month of you. You are the elder. So, your father was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Two babies to provide for, two women pulling at him. In the end the best woman won. Poor Sally.”

  I sniffed heavily and dried my eyes.

  “Poor Sally indeed. It must have been horrible for her.”

  He shook his head.

  “Terrible business. And then to find out that she was married to his son. One shudders to think what that poor woman must have gone through when she found out. And if Sandra killed her, that would be the... oh, I’m sorry, Virginia. I know you must be very upset. It’s just such a horrific business. And now all this with the police. I must say, I’m not used to this much excitement.”