by Penny Kline
Taking her mug of tea to a nearby table and choosing a chair that gave her a good view of the counter, Karen watched, hoping the girl would bring the slices of cake to a display cabinet containing an unappetising assortment of brown scones and slices of cold pizza.
The place was filling up. A fat man with a beer belly that hung over the belt on his jeans was holding forth on his life-drawing class, saying what a fascinating subject the human body was, especially an older woman with a face that showed all the experiences she had been through. Karen curled her lip, storing up his words to repeat to Alex as an example of the kind of people who frequented the Arts Centre. At least the class hadn’t been forced to gawp at the fat man’s body.
Just for a moment she had forgotten about Joanne Stevens. Then she noticed that the girl was now standing behind the counter. She looked about twenty-five, but she could have been anything between about twenty and thirty. Her skin was very pale and she had thin colourless lips. In fact she was about as unlike Natalie as it was possible to imagine and if it hadn’t been for the badge on her shirt Karen would have assumed she must be someone else.
JOANNE. The badge had been written in blue ink and was slightly smudged. It drooped, as did everything else about her, and as Karen watched, she felt a mixture of irritation and sympathy.
She stood up and placed her empty mug on the counter. ‘Thanks.’
‘Thank you.’ The girl’s voice was deep, husky, but perhaps she had a sore throat.
There were so many things Karen wanted to ask, but how could she? Hello, my name’s Karen. I’m interested in your sister’s murder. Do you think Liam Pearce did it and the police just can’t find enough evidence to charge him, or could the killer be someone entirely different?
Joanne took the mug and carried it to a draining board. She spoke briefly to the man with the shaved head, then started putting on her coat.
Karen hesitated. If Joanne was going home it might be possible to follow her, even catch up with her and introduce herself, perhaps pretending she thought they had once attended the same school. On the other hand Joanne could have a car. On her wages from the Arts Centre cafe? It seemed unlikely.
Karen hurried towards the swing doors and ran down the steps, crossing the street, then pausing by the row of shop windows that would provide her with an excuse for hanging about.
The first shop sold handmade shoes, the kind Karen loathed. Repulsive things, all colours of the rainbow. A notice said they were stock-clearing and many pairs were available with twenty percent off. Hardly surprising. Glancing over her shoulder she was just in time to see Joanne Stevens come out of the Arts Centre, walk quickly towards the car park and climb into a dark blue hatchback.
It wasn’t Joanne’s car. It belonged to a middle-aged man with a bald head and steel-framed glasses. The two of them exchanged a few words, then the car moved off, negotiating the exit from the car park much too fast, then passing within a few feet of Karen and almost mounting the pavement. Looking through the fingers of the hand she was holding up to her face Karen saw that the man was still talking. His mouth opened and closed, showing large uneven teeth, and his face looked red with anger – or may be it was always that colour.
Joanne was crying.
Chapter Four
In a couple of hours time Karen was meeting Simon at the swimming pool. Tessie and Glen would be there too. The pool was part of the Sports Centre and the tickets cost nearly twice as much as the ordinary baths. On the other hand the Sports Centre pool had a wave machine, glass walls that let in the sun – if there was any – and a collection of leafy plants that made the place feel like a jungle – well, almost.
First there was something else Karen needed to do. It was just before three. For once the Art class had ended early. It was one of those strokes of luck. Steve Whitrow had spilled a load of paint and some idiot had stepped in it and skidded halfway across the room. Mrs Eaton had kept a few volunteers behind to clear up the mess, and let the rest of them go.
If Karen cycled fast she could reach the park in about fifteen minutes. It was only a long shot but she had looked up the television programmes and the ones for little kids began at three-thirty: a cartoon about a spotty dog on BBC 1 and something with three dolls who lived in a cottage in the country on ITV.
Surely anyone with a small baby breathed a sigh of relief when they could dump it in front of the television screen? But, if Karen was in luck, during the half hour or so before the programme began Liam Pearce’s mother might take the baby to the park for a breath of fresh air. Babies grizzled if they stayed at home all day. That’s what Tessie said and she ought to know since her younger brother, Robin, was still only six and Karen could remember what a pain in the neck he had been before he started school.
The gates to the park were open but the entrance was a sea of mud. Karen padlocked her bike to the iron railings, took a book of nineteenth century poets from her pocket, jumped two puddles and started walking towards the pond.
There was no-one in sight except a man with an Old English sheepdog on a lead. Dire warnings were written up at intervals, explaining what would happen to the owners if they allowed their pets to foul the grass. Karen sat on a wooden bench with some of its struts missing and turned the pages of her book. Tennyson, Browning, Gerald Manley Hopkins. Two or three of the poems were quite good, if you liked that kind of thing. Actually the course wasn’t turning out to be all that bad – not that she would let her mother and Alex know how she felt about it. Her father – she might tell him. As far as she knew he had no particular interest in English Literature. That meant he would listen without interrupting, without having to demonstrate his superior knowledge.
A woman was walking in Karen’s direction. She was wheeling a buggy with the transparent plastic hood pulled over where the baby was sitting, although it wasn’t raining, it wasn’t even cold. As she came closer Karen recognised the same hideous blue trousers and dark red sweater that Olive Pearce had been wearing on the previous occasion. On top of them, but left unbuttoned, was a grey padded anorak with white fur trim on the collar.
If Karen spoke to her would she recognise the person who had been spying on the house from the other side of the road? It seemed unlikely. She and Simon had been well away and Mrs Pearce had been busy with the washing, and then with the baby.
Karen stood up. ‘I’m sorry to bother you but d’you know what time it is?’
Hearing her voice the woman hesitated, then slowed down. ‘Sorry, were you talking to me?’
Karen smiled. ‘I was wondering if you knew the time.’
‘Twenty past.’ She seemed in no hurry to move on.
‘Thanks. I think there’s something wrong with my watch. It’s one of those ones with no numbers, just a picture of some skiers on a mountain and you have to guess where the hands have got to.’ She held out her wrist, expecting the woman to ignore it but Mrs Pearce seemed quite interested. Then to Karen’s amazement she sat down on the bench and bent over, puffing a little, to fix the brake on the baby’s buggy.
‘Live near here do you?’
Karen shook her head. ‘Came here on my bike.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the railings. ‘Supposed to be meeting a friend but she hasn’t turned up.’
‘I come every day – to give the baby an airing.’
Karen wanted to laugh. Giving him an airing made him sound like a pile of washing. She peered through the plastic cover, although the only part of him that was visible was his rosy-cheeked face. The rest of his body was enveloped in a bright blue snowsuit and his hands were covered with fluffy white mittens. ‘Is it a boy or a girl?’
‘Boy. His name’s Justin.’
‘Oh, I like that name. It’s one of my favourites.’
The woman pulled back the cover. ‘Not mine, I didn’t choose it. Well, I should think it’s fairly obvious I’m not his proper mother.’ She pulled back the cover and Karen held out a hand, as you might to an unpredictable dog. The baby pulled a face an
d looked as if he was going to cry.
‘He wants to get out,’ said Mrs Pearce, ‘but it’s too muddy and he’s grown out of his wellies. He lost his Mum, poor little blighter, not that he’ll remember her.’
‘His mother died? How awful.’ Meeting Liam Pearce’s mother at all was a miracle, getting into conversation with her was brilliant.
Mrs Pearce was staring into the distance. ‘I’m too old to start all over again with a kid this age. Still, what can you do? Wears me out, he does, and it won’t get any easier.’
‘Yes, I can imagine.’ She couldn’t, not really, but the more understanding she sounded the more likely it was that the woman would stay sitting on the bench. ‘He’s got a father has he? I suppose he goes to work.’
She snorted but made no comment. Then Karen had a sudden inspiration. ‘I don’t know if you ever need a baby-sitter. In the evenings. I have work I have to do – assignments and stuff – so I wouldn’t mind coming round. I wouldn’t charge.’
Mrs Pearce looked at her oddly and, just for a moment, Karen was afraid she had made her suspicious.
‘Thanks, love.’ She sighed, raising her huge bulk from the seat and releasing the brake on the buggy. ‘Nice of you to offer but I never go out, not these days.’
‘But you should. It would give you a break.’
‘Yes, I expect you’re right, but where would I go?’
‘Anywhere,’ said Karen desperately. ‘To a friend’s house?’
‘I can see them in the day time.’ She stood up and started walking towards the gates, quite briskly for someone her size. It was nearly half past, time for Justin’s programme, although Karen doubted if a baby that age would sit still for more than a few minutes at a time.
She walked beside her, but she knew she wouldn’t get any more out of her. Not today.
*
Tessie had a new swimming costume. Another? This one was pale blue with a white edging that showed off her suntanned legs. Karen never went brown, not with her colouring, but she’d read in a magazine that light skin was going to be the fashion this autumn. Some hope.
While the rest of them were in the water Tessie sat on the edge of the pool, dipping her toes in occasionally but making sure her costume stayed dry. The pool attendant seemed to have taken a fancy to her. He was called Russell and had worked at the Sports Centre for at least a year, but Karen couldn’t remember any of them talking to him before, apart from an occasional comment about the temperature of the water or the fact that too many noisy little kids had been allowed in the pool. His dark hair had started to recede a little although he only looked about twenty.
Karen swam past Tessie and splashed her. She took no notice. She was too busy making a good impression on Russell.
Later, in the changing rooms, Karen asked her what they had been talking about.
‘Oh, nothing in particular.’ Tessie was still in her cubicle. As usual Karen was ready long before her, standing in front of the mirror rubbing her hair with a damp towel while she waited for Tessie to emerge.
‘He was chatting you up, was he?’
Tessie let out a squawk. ‘No, of course not. Surely someone’s allowed to speak to you without being accused of–’
‘Come on,’ called Karen, ‘how can you be so slow when you didn’t even get wet?’
The door of the cubicle banged open and Tessie joined her in front of the mirror. ‘What’s the hurry? I don’t know what’s the matter with you these days, you never used to be so bad-tempered.’
‘Yes, I did.’ Karen gave her a shove in the back, trying to get back to the way they had been with each other a couple of months ago. It didn’t work.
‘How’s your History course?’ asked Tessie.
‘All right.’
‘I was never any good at History.’
‘Nor was I.’
They both laughed, but only for a moment. Then Karen changed the subject. ‘Listen, I met Joanne Stevens.’
‘Who?’ Tessie had taken a dryer from her bag and was feeling the ends of her hair.
‘Natalie Stevens’ sister. She works at the Arts Centre, in the cafe. She looks . . . Well, she’s not at all like Natalie.’
‘How d’you know what Natalie Stevens looked like?’
‘There was a picture in the paper. I went to the library and looked up some old copies. The first report of the murder, then a fuller description the next day, and later an account of the inquest.’
Tessie thought about this for a moment, then switched on the dryer and started smiling to herself. ‘D’you think Glen and I should get engaged?’ She had to shout above the noise. ‘He hasn’t said anything but I think it would be nice, more settled, more of a commitment.’
Karen gave up. She wanted to talk about Natalie Stevens’ murder but already Tessie had returned to the same old subject.
‘I didn’t know people got engaged any more,’ she yelled. ‘Actually I don’t see the point of getting married. The thought of living with the same person for the rest of your life . . . I can’t imagine anything more boring.’
‘But what about you and Simon?’ Tessie caught up with Karen who was halfway through the changing room door. ‘Don’t tell Glen what I said, will you? Promise.’
‘I promise.’
The coffee bar was packed but Glen and Simon had found a table for four. When Karen and Tessie joined them they were discussing Russell, the pool attendant.
‘He’s worked here for eighteen months,’ said Glen. ‘Doesn’t time fly? D’you remember the one they had before, that podgy bloke with bandy legs?’
‘What’s his name?’ said Karen. ‘Russell – what’s his second name?’
Glen grinned. ‘Why? Fancy him, do you? Russell Donnelly.’
‘How d’you know?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I forget. Just do. He was telling me about Natalie Stevens. Apparently she worked here up to the time of the murder. In the ticket office. Hadn’t had the job very long. Russell was pretty cut up about what happened.’
‘I should think he would be,’ said Simon. He had bought Karen a hot chocolate forgetting that she had gone off the taste and preferred coffee.
Glen leaned forward. ‘How about this, Karen. According to my mother it was Olive Pearce who provided Liam with an alibi. She told the police he was in all evening, watching TV.’
‘I didn’t think they’d take any notice of what someone’s mother told them,’ said Karen.
Glen laughed. ‘No, I don’t suppose they believed her for one minute. The trouble was there was no forensic evidence. No blood on his clothes, traces of skin under his finger nails.’
Tessie shuddered. ‘I don’t know why you all keep talking about it. It was six months ago, they’re not going to find the murderer now. I expect people get away with murders all the time. I expect it’s quite easy.’ She stood up and Glen followed suit.
‘Right, we’re off.’ He laid a hand on Karen’s shoulder. ‘See you.’
Simon stared gloomily into his empty cup. ‘Glen and Tessie are going to that club down by the river later on. Is that what you’d like to do?’
Karen shook her head. ‘Actually I’m rather tired and I’ve some coursework to finish.’
‘So you don’t want to go anywhere this evening?’
‘D’you mind?’
‘Would it make any difference if I did?’
‘Oh come on.’ She was losing patience. ‘If you sit there like a wet weekend you can hardly expect me to . . .’
‘So it’s just as I thought. You’re fed up with me.’
‘No! Only sometimes it seems like you won’t be satisfied till I say I am.’
Simon was on his feet. Half of Karen wanted to say something to make him feel better. The other half felt angry that he kept behaving like an unwanted dog. Over by the self-service counter she could see Russell Donnelly talking to a girl dressed in white trousers and a skimpy jumper that showed most of her stomach. ‘Look, I’ll do some of my work, then I’ll
give you a ring.’
Simon snorted through his nose, then started walking away. ‘If you remember,’ he said, angry with her but still wanting to make some kind of a date.
If he had told her not to bother to phone she would have felt a little anxious but liked him a whole lot better. Why? Because she was totally unreasonable or because . . . Sitting alone, stirring the cold dregs of her chocolate, she watched Russell Donnelly as she pretended to be oblivious of his presence. If he and Natalie Stevens had worked together he must have known her quite well. Was he still too upset to talk about what had happened? She could hardly walk up to him and ask him to tell her everything he knew. As she bent down to check that her bag of stuff was still lying on the floor beside her, she noticed that one of her files had slid under the table, along with a ballpoint pen and a grubby-looking comb.
‘Hello.’ Russell was standing a few feet away from the table. ‘All your friends deserted you?’
She smiled. ‘Not really. I was just thinking.’
‘No harm in that.’ He waited for her to invite him to join her. When she said nothing he sat down at an adjoining table. ‘Saw you in the water. You’re a good swimmer.’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose for a job like yours you have to pass a life-saving exam or something.’
‘That’s right.’ He turned his chair to face her. ‘Took me quite a time to convince the manager I was just what he was looking for. Used to work in the ticket office, then a pool attendant post became vacant and they let me do it for a trial period. If you play your cards right you can make a good career in leisure pursuits these days.’
‘D’you work here every day?’
He nodded. ‘More or less. Do different shifts, whatever Ken wants. Overtime whenever it’s on offer. Need the extra cash. If someone dies and you’re given their job d’you know what they call it?’
