by Jan Newton
‘I haven’t seen anyone up here for months.’
‘How many months?’
The woman shrugged. ‘As I said, I’ve not been here very long. Nobody ever comes up here. It’s what I like about it.’
‘And you don’t mind being so alone?’ Julie glanced at the woman’s hands. ‘Could I just have your name for my records, just to say I’ve spoken to you, Mrs…?’
‘Jenkins.’
Julie wrote in her notebook. ‘And your first name, Mrs Jenkins?’
‘Vanessa.’
‘And do you live here on your own, Mrs Jenkins, or are there other members of the family here?’
‘I’m alone.’
Julie made a show of looking around her, slowly taking in the panorama, the near-vertical ground covered in fern, the flock of small mountain sheep and the tiny fenced-in garden.
‘How do you get in and out? You can’t possibly walk up that hill with shopping.’ She smiled ‘It’s nearly killed me even without bags. Do you have a car?’
Vanessa Jenkins shook her head. ‘I don’t drive, but there’s a sort of sheep track that runs down from the back of the house, towards the back lane between Rhayader and Llangurig, then it’s easy walking into town.’
Julie smiled at the definition of ‘town’ which was so different to her own. ‘So you don’t ever get any visitors up here?’
Vanessa smiled a private little smile. ‘No, Sergeant, fortunately not.’ She opened the door a crack, stepped backwards onto the step and said, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,’ slid back inside the house like a pickpocket melting into a crowd and closed the door behind her. Julie was left in the porch wondering what was so very wrong with the explanations she had been given. She stood for a moment or two and listened but apart from the odd bleat and the munching of grass behind her, there was total silence. Not even the sound of footsteps receding down the stone-flagged hallway.
*
When she got back to Mal’s, the teapot was being refilled and Swift, it seemed, had been busy, judging by the collection of crumbs on his tiny china plate.
‘Tea, Sergeant?’ Sarah was pouring tea the colour of leather into Mal’s cup.
‘I don’t suppose you have any coffee, do you? I could do with caffeine after that climb.’
Sarah laughed. ‘I do, but I can’t vouch for what it tastes like, it’s been here a while.’ She reached into a cupboard for a jar and dug a teaspoon into the contents. ‘It just needs a bit of persuading into the cup.’
‘You young ’uns,’ Mal said, spooning sugar into his tea. ‘No stamina have you?’
‘You don’t climb up there to the cottage do you?’ Julie took the cup and saucer from Sarah. ‘It’s vertical.’
‘I used to run up and down there twice a day to check on old Miss Davies,’ Sarah said. ‘And carry her shopping up there too. It’s only in the last year that I’ve slowed down.’
Julie shook her head. ‘Well, respect to you for that. You must be fitter than me.’ She sipped her coffee and put it down on the table. ‘Do you know anything about the woman who lives up there now?’
Mal slurped tea thoughtfully. ‘She’s not very friendly with us, really. We did try to chat to her when she first arrived, but we think she’s keeping out of our way.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Swift drained his cup.
‘Well she doesn’t come through the yard now. We think she must have a car parked on the old road, down the other side of the hill somewhere. Either that or she has her shopping delivered by helicopter.’ Mal laughed. ‘People can be a little bit strange, can’t they?’
‘There’s nowt so queer as folk, my dad says.’ Julie smiled. ‘But that’s not very politically correct these days.’
Mal laughed. ‘You’re right there, aren’t you.’
Swift stood up. ‘Thank you, Sarah for the tea, and you too, Mal, for the samples.’ Swift picked up a carrier bag and whatever was inside clinked. ‘I’ll be back if we need any more information.’
‘Or more scones, is it, Craig?’ Sarah grinned. ‘You’re welcome any time, you know that.’
They were almost back in Rhayader before there was a signal on Swift’s phone. He handed it to Julie.
‘It’s an e-mail from Goronwy, Sir. He says John Slaithwaite has sent a photo of Lizzie. Shall I open it now?’
‘If the signal’s strong enough, you can give it a bash.’
Julie pressed the pdf symbol and waited. They were past the clock tower and on their way out of Rhayader on South Street before the face of a woman appeared on the screen. Her long red hair was held away from her face by tortoiseshell combs.
‘Oh my God, it’s her!’ Julie showed Swift the screen. ‘It’s ‘Vanessa Jenkins’, the woman in Pwll Bach.’
Swift checked his mirror, stood on his brakes, pulled the Volvo into a tiny layby and twirled out onto the road, heading back towards Rhayader.
‘Which road do you think, Sir?’
‘From what she said to you, I’ve an idea about where she’s parking a vehicle. Let’s try the other route, just in case she’s decided to go out.’ Swift indicated left into West Street once again. ‘Besides,’ he glanced across at her and smiled, ‘from what I remember, that hill’s not as steep from the other side.’
The road was narrow and tree-lined where it flirted with the River Wye, and the valley rose like a wall from the flat land beside the river. Julie groaned.
‘Not as steep? You’re joking, aren’t you?’
‘If I remember rightly, it’s just round this bend. Ah, here we are.’ The road widened just enough to provide a passing place which, judging by the rutted surface of the grass, was also used as a permanent parking spot.
‘I think this is the place.’ Swift pulled the Volvo in close to the side and rocked himself out of the drivers’ seat. ‘It’s up there.’ He pointed at a lichened wooden footpath sign which marked the way up the hill. Julie gazed at the soil- and leaf-covered path which wound through slender pale green stems of bramble.
‘Do you think this path is used much by walkers, Sir?’
‘What are you thinking, Julie?’
‘Well, it’s definitely been used by someone recently, and on a regular basis, I’d have said.’
‘You’re thinking mud, are you?’
‘I am. And I’m also thinking I’m going to give up on shoes altogether and just live in hiking boots.’
‘Not a bad idea, Julie.’
She could never tell whether Swift was joking. His deadpan expression was a real asset to his chosen career. She grinned anyway, and pushed through fronds of bracken, some of which were still curled, like little green seahorses. The path curled its way through the tail end of a small wood and out onto the hill, in a vertical direction.
‘So much for your memory then, Sir.’ Julie laughed and turned back towards Swift. He was sixty feet behind her, only his broad navy-suited shoulders and the top of his head with its thinning crown visible from where she was. ‘You all right, Sir?’ she shouted down at him.
‘I’ll catch you up now,’ he said, his voice barely reaching her. She turned back and side-stepped down towards him.
‘It doesn’t need two of us up there, does it? Besides, if she does a runner you can catch her at the bottom.’ She grinned and he shook his head.
‘I really must do something about getting fitter.’
Julie nodded. ‘I can recommend a gym buddy, Sir. Relentless, he is.’ She set off up the hill again, casting surreptitious glances back at Swift. It took him a long time to move. Julie wondered for a second whether she should abandon the Lizzie Slaithwaite idea and make sure Swift was all right, but he began to clamber back down the hill and out of sight. There was nothing wrong with his memory, though. After that first initial lung-splitting pull, the hill levelled out and she could already see the back of the cottage ahead of her. From this side, the view was down to the Wye Valley and across the main road to two soaring peaks, either side of yet another deep-sided vall
ey. It was like being hundreds of miles from civilisation and yet she could see the little white Celtic Travel bus wending its way from Llangurig. Apart from the bus and the tiny cars behind it, that view must have been the same for… how long? Centuries, millennia? Since the rocks had been thrust upwards and contorted. She shivered. Talk about feeling like a dot on the landscape.
This time, when Julie knocked on the door of the cottage, ‘Vanessa Jenkins’ was much less timid.
‘Sergeant. Back again so soon?’ There was an air of triumph about the woman, as though, somehow, she’d won something important.
‘Yes, I’m so sorry, there was just one question I forgot to ask you.’ Julie looked down at her notebook and back up at the woman with a smile. ‘Is it true that your real name is Lizzie Slaithwaite?’
The small smile on the woman’s face disappeared instantly, along with all traces of colour. ‘I… it’s not what it –’ She pushed the door open. ‘You’d better come in.’
Julie followed Lizzie down the dark hall and into the small kitchen at the back of the cottage. Even on this bright July day, the lights were on. Lizzie leaned against the Belfast sink and gazed out of the window, her back to Julie.
‘How did you find me?’
‘You are Lizzie Slaithwaite?’
Lizzie nodded but still didn’t turn around.
‘And you lived until October last year with your husband in a house on Eighth Avenue in Blackpool?’
‘Yes.’
‘Lizzie, I need you to come to the police station with me and make a statement.’ Julie walked over to the sink and stood beside her. The view of the twin hills and their jagged valley was so stunning she was lost for words herself for a second.
‘Is this about Rosa?’ When Lizzie turned to Julie, her face was ashen.
Julie nodded. ‘It is. And about her little boy.’
‘It’s about Sean?’ Lizzie’s breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes tight. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Would it be all right if I have a quick look round the house?’
‘What are you looking for?’ Lizzie turned to face Julie and suspicion was etched onto her pale face.
‘It’s just routine. In a suspected murder case we have to be sure we cover every possibility.’
‘And you think I’m a possibility, do you?’ Lizzie’s green eyes were suddenly alive.
‘If you wouldn’t mind leading the way.’
Lizzie showed Julie the tiny parlour and the sitting room, which wasn’t much bigger. Both were furnished with what Julie thought were probably antique but fairly basic items.
‘Have you bought this place or is it rented?’
‘It belonged to a… relative.’
‘Oh I’m sorry, were you very close?’
‘Do you want to see upstairs?’ Lizzie paused with her hand on the bannister. ‘It’s pretty much like down here.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind, just for the record.’ Julie followed a reluctant Lizzie up the stairs and into what must have been the main bedroom. There was a double bed, two small tables, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. There wasn’t an item out of place. Not even a book beside the bed. The low window had the same glorious view as the kitchen.
The second bedroom was even smaller, with just one narrow bed and a chest of drawers. The lamp beside the bed was the only thing that brought any colour into this little sepia cottage. The base was tall and bright blue with a huge, smiley sun in glorious yellow and the shade was crimson. The bed with its brightly-patterned bedding also seemed to be new.
‘Do you have children, Lizzie?’
There was no response, and when Julie turned to look at Lizzie she was disconcerted to see that she was crying.
‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She sniffed. ‘It’s my fault. All my fault.’
Julie peeped round the bathroom door. There was only one toothbrush in the mug on the shelf above the sink. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s wander down to the car.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Day Six
Swift motioned for Lizzie to sit opposite him and busied himself with the recording equipment. Julie placed a small folder in front of her on the desk and sat down next to Swift.
‘You are not under arrest, Lizzie. You are free to leave at any time you wish.’ Julie smiled but Lizzie looked away. Once Swift had pressed record and introduced himself and Julie for the tape, it was Lizzie’s turn.
‘Could you tell us who you are – who you really are?’ Julie asked her.
Lizzie sighed. ‘I’m Elizabeth Slaithwaite.’
‘And you live at Pwll Bach, between the Elan and Wye valleys?’ Swift asked.
‘I do.’
‘But you lived at a house on Eighth Avenue in Blackpool with your husband, John Slaithwaite, until October of last year?’ Julie said.
Lizzie looked up at Julie. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s worried, Lizzie. He doesn’t know what he’s done and why you left.’
‘Did he send you to look for me?’
Julie couldn’t decide from Lizzie’s face whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing in her eyes. ‘He said you left him a note to say he shouldn’t look for you.’
She nodded. ‘I did say that.’
‘But you didn’t mean it?’ Swift asked. He sounded like a concerned relative, even in those few words.
‘I did. At the time, I did. It’s just too complicated to explain. I’ve made such a mess of everything, and I was only trying to do the right thing.’
‘We’ve got all day, Lizzie, just take your time.’ Swift smiled at her and Julie thought she could see Lizzie relax before her eyes. How did he do that?
‘It was Rosa. She begged me to help her. She was at her wits’ end. Quigley was getting more and more violent and she didn’t know what to do. I told her to go to her parents, to just take Sean and run, but she was too afraid.’
‘What was she afraid of?’ Swift asked.
‘Jason.’
‘Jason?’ Julie frowned. ‘Who’s Jason?’
‘Quigley. He’s such a nasty piece of work. He used to hit her, he was always hitting her. You could hear him shouting and her crying through the wall sometimes. He was careful though, just like a bully. They don’t leave any marks where anyone could see them. He never touched her face, so there was nothing to see, but you could tell that she was in pain just by the way she walked or when she couldn’t pick Sean up sometimes.’
‘Do you know why he hit her?’ Julie asked.
Lizzie shrugged. ‘There didn’t have to be a reason. He had a dog, a lovely bull terrier called Sam. Sean loved that dog to pieces. Then one day Quigley shot it through the head with a crossbow while Sean watched. Just because he could. That was when Rosa decided she had to do something, otherwise Sean could have been next.’ Lizzie stared up at the two of them. ‘I can’t begin to describe how brutal that man is.’
‘Did anyone think of reporting him to the police?’ Julie asked.
Lizzie shook her head. ‘We were all too stupid. Too scared.
Rosa’s desperate to keep on the right side of him, scared to do anything to upset him and I was the same. I didn’t want to make things any worse for her.’
‘What about your husband, what does he think about Quigley?’
‘They rarely saw each other. Quigley was out most nights when John was at home. Besides,’ she clenched her fist in her lap, ‘Quigley wouldn’t dare cross a man. He saves his temper for women and defenceless animals.’
‘So your husband wasn’t aware of any of this?’ Swift asked.
‘I once told him I thought Quigley was beating Rosa.’ She laughed a mirthless, brittle laugh. ‘John isn’t good at confrontation. That’s how I knew he wouldn’t try to find me. I might have caused a scene and that would never do.’ Lizzie looked up at them both. ‘He has a certain reputation to uphold within the community you see.’
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‘Did you not think he’d be worried about you though?’ Julie asked.
‘To be honest, I really don’t know any more. We’d been through what John referred to as a bit of a bad patch. Actually, we’d got to the point where we were arguing more than we were talking properly.’
‘Was this to do with Rosa’s situation?’ Julie asked.
Lizzie shook her head and looked down at her fists, balled in her lap. ‘It was to do with the fact that, according to him, I got obsessed about not being able to have a child. John said we had to move on, that we were lucky we had each other and that it wasn’t the end of the world.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Julie said. ‘That must be a horrible situation to be in.’
Lizzie nodded but said nothing.
‘Especially when you could see that little boy next door and were worried about what his father might do to him.’
‘If Rosa had just run away from him, everything would have been perfect. Her brother would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect her and his nephew. She knew that. They could have started again anywhere.’
