by Penny Kline
Forget? How could anyone forget their daughter had been hit over the back of the head, then pushed into the reservoir and drowned?
Mrs Stevens replaced the framed photo on the mantelpiece. ‘I know it’s an awful thing to say but I always feared for her safety. She wanted so much. Everything. New clothes, money to spend, people round her all the time, admiring her. And not always the people we’d have liked.’
She looked Karen up and down, as if she was deciding whether or not she was a suitable friend for her remaining daughter. The cat was back, pawing at her leg, catching its claws in the thick wool of her navy blue tights. Karen bent down to stoke it but it rolled on its back, showing its teeth.
‘Joanne’s so different,’ said Mrs Stevens. ‘At least we thought she was. Natalie was easily influenced, never stopped to think what might . . . Her father worshipped her. Used to call her his little princess. Well, you can’t love all children the same . . .’
She broke off, listening to her husband’s footsteps in the passage outside, and lowering her voice to a whisper that Karen could barely hear. ‘Walter couldn’t take it,’ she said. ‘Something inside him just snapped.’ Her eyes blazed.
Karen nodded and took a few steps back. Saying a hasty goodbye she stepped into the corridor, squeezing past Walter Stevens, and pulling open the front door.
As she hurried down the path she could hear shouting and something that sounded like a heavy object thrown against a wall.
Chapter Eight
If she’d had any sense at all she would never have left her bag at the table. She’d been too hungry, or too greedy, attacking the burger and chips as if she hadn’t eaten for a fortnight, and failing to notice that her bag must have slipped off the seat beside her. Realising that she had left her drink on the counter she had jumped up, squeezing past a queue of kids, retrieved the cup and returned to her table.
Tessie had been going to join her for lunch but something had come up and she had only had time to rush into the burger bar, apologise three times over and rush out again. It had crossed Karen’s mind that Tessie might be going through one of her phases when she worried about rain forests. The fact that none of the beef in the burgers came from South America didn’t seem to affect what had become a fixed idea in her head. Next time they met Karen would show her the article in the newspaper. She stretched out her hand to feel inside her bag – but it had gone.
With a supreme effort she managed to control the panic rising within. It was a recurring nightmare, losing her bag and all the stuff she carried round inside it. She would wake in the night, pathetically relieved that it had only been a dream, then go to sleep and have the same nightmare all over again.
Down on all fours she peered between the table legs, praying someone had accidentally kicked the bag, that it was lying in a corner, or had been picked up by one of the boys who wiped the tables. But she knew the chances of ever seeing it again were virtually nil.
‘Nobody’s handed in a bag, have they? It’s blue with a kind of orange and white pattern.’
The tall blonde girl behind the counter shook her head. ‘Sorry, love.’
‘Oh, well, never mind.’ Karen tried to look as though she wasn’t all that bothered.
The place was crowded. A baby in a highchair was bawling its head off and two men at a nearby table were glaring at its mother and muttering something unpleasant. Karen walked up to one of them and asked if he had seen anyone carrying a large blue bag.
‘What kind of bag? Lost it have you? Why not sit down and tell us all about it.’ He winked at his friend, then stubbed out his cigarette.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Karen turned on her heel and made for the door.
What was the point of asking? Whoever had taken it could be miles away by now.
Outside in the street she looked quickly in each direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone running, then stood with her back to the window of the burger bar, trying to remember what she had lost. Her money was in the pocket of her jacket, along with her keys and the pen her father had given her for her last birthday. That meant all the bag contained was a book she had borrowed from the library, a comb, a tube of extra strong mints, some file paper, a bar of chocolate – and her notes on the Natalie Stevens case.
Someone was calling her name. It was odd how you could always pick out your own name even if there was a terrible noise going on all around.
‘Karen?’
It was Laura, from Karen’s tutor group. She was wearing a track suit and sweat was dripping off her forehead. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘You looked as though you’d seen a ghost.’
Karen wasn’t sure whether to tell her what happened. There was something stupid about having your bag stolen. It made you seem helpless, defenceless. ‘I’ve just come out of there,’ she said, jerking her head in the direction of the burger bar. ‘Somebody nicked my bag.’
‘Stole it? How awful. Did you tell the manageress?’ She waved to someone coming up the street.
Karen recognised Russell Donnelly, his hair damp, sleeked back, as though he must have jumped into the pool for a swim before he came off duty for his lunch break.
‘What’s the problem?’ Then he noticed Karen and smiled. ‘Hey, I didn’t know you two knew each other. What’s happened?’
‘Karen’s had her bag stolen,’ said Laura, ‘while she was in the burger bar.’
‘What’s it like?’ Russell glanced at his watch. ‘Any cash in it? No? The reason I ask, people only snatch bags for the cash and credit cards. When they’ve got what they want they throw away the rest.’ He looked up and down the street. ‘I tell you what, you two go that way and I’ll go back towards the pedestrian area. Look in all the litter bins, down alleyways, anywhere it could’ve been got rid of in a hurry. If I’m right it won’t be too far away. What’s it like?’
‘It’s a sort of sack thing,’ said Karen. ‘Blue, with an orange and white pattern.’
‘Should be easy to spot.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ What else could she say? He was trying to help. There was no hope of getting the bag back but she would have to make a token effort, peering into the rubbish bins, looking in the gutter.
‘Meet me here in about fifteen minutes,’ he said. ‘OK?’
A group of visitors were being shown the houses that surrounded the cathedral green. A guide in a red jacket droned on about Mediaeval merchants or Elizabethan monks.
Laura pointed at a large cardboard box that had been left under a tree, and Karen joined her, peering inside at an old pink jumper, a pair of black trousers spotted with mould, and a pair of high-heeled shoes.
‘Someone must be walking around with nothing on!’ said Laura.
Karen managed a feeble smile. ‘I’d rather be seen naked than dressed in that lot.’ She was wondering how her father would have gone about looking for stolen goods? The truth was he wouldn’t have bothered. It wasn’t worth the effort. All the same, she couldn’t help noticing how things that normally wouldn’t have received a second glance suddenly seemed worth investigating. In the same way, quite ordinary people became potential suspects: an old woman wheeling a battered pram full of carrier bags stuffed to the brim. A man with a bulging brief case and shifty-looking eyes. Only, on second thoughts, his eyes looked perfectly normal.
The bag was a write-off but thinking about her father had reminded her of why she had become interested in the Natalie Stevens case in the first place. Finding out who had killed Natalie was the only way of convincing him he needed an assistant to help him run the agency.
‘You’re a friend of Glen Fortune, aren’t you?’ said Laura, lifting the edge of an old newspaper with her foot. ‘I see him at the Sports Centre most Wednesday evenings. He works out in the gym.’
‘Glen does?’ In spite of being so fed up about the bag she couldn’t help grinning.
‘Better not tell him I said so,’ said Laura. ‘Some people are sensitive about that sort of thing. Building up their muscl
es.’
They passed under the archway that led back to the High Street.
‘Look, don’t bother searching anymore,’ said Karen. ‘Thanks, but I’m sure it’s a waste of time.’
‘Yes, I suppose. Perhaps Russell’s had better luck. I didn’t realise you knew him.’
‘I don’t, not really. I go swimming occasionally with Glen and his girlfriend.’
‘Right.’ Laura took a comb from her pocket and ran it through her short straw-coloured hair. ‘I’m going in for a diving competition. I practise four or five times a week. It’s hell.’
When they returned to the burger bar there was no sign of Russell. Most likely he had given up the search and gone home. Then Karen saw him, on the opposite side of the road, forcing his way through a group of gossiping women.
‘Any luck?’ he called.
They shook their heads and he crossed the road and joined them. ‘Oh, well, I reckon that’s it then.’
Inside the burger bar someone was waving her arms. The woman Karen had spoken to, the one who had served behind the counter.
‘Your bag, love,’ she stepped out onto the pavement and put her hand on Karen’s arm. ‘A lady handed it in, said she’d found it near the Ladies Room, lying on the floor.’
‘Really? Thanks.’ Karen followed her quickly into the shop. ‘I never expected to see it again. Thanks very much.’
‘Don’t thank me, love. Thank the lady who handed it in – only she’s left now.’ She looked round the tables. ‘Yes, must’ve gone.’
Russell and Laura were waiting for her.
‘That’s lucky,’ said Laura. ‘Look, I have to go now, I’m meeting my sister off the bus. See you tomorrow, Karen. Bye, Russell.’
Russell called after her. ‘You’ll need to work on that backward triple. Take off’s good but the entry into the water’s not quite there yet.’
Laura put her tongue out at him. ‘Like to see you do it.’ Then she crossed the road and set off at a run in the direction of the bus station.
‘You teach diving?’ asked Karen.
Russell laughed. ‘Not me. Just stand and watch. One day maybe, although I’m more interested in the management side of things.’ He smiled at her. ‘Going home now, are you? Where d’you live?’
‘Off Emmanuel Road.’ She swung her bag over her shoulder.
‘Really? Going that way myself – only if you’d rather I didn’t . . .’
‘No, of course not. I just can’t get over getting the bag back.’
‘Restores your faith in human nature? Yes, I know what you mean.’
As they walked through the town he started telling her about his job at the Sports Centre and his plans for the future.
‘If I play my cards right I reckon I can persuade Ken to let me do a sandwich course.’
‘Ken?’
‘The manager at the Centre. I’d work there three or four days a week, and the other two I’d study for a Diploma in Leisure Management. That way I’ll be qualified to apply for well-paid jobs. Jobs with more responsibility, not just strolling up and down the edge of the pool with a whistle in my mouth.’
‘Good,’ said Karen. ‘That sounds like a really good idea. The kind of course that actually teaches you something worth knowing.’
‘You don’t think much of your courses then?’
She shrugged. ‘They’re all right. Some of them are OK.’
‘But what’ll you do when you leave school? You want to think about that, make some plans, have a definite aim to work towards.’
‘Yes, I know.’
When they reached the house she wondered if she should invite him in. After all, he had helped to look for the bag. But he pointed in the direction of the recreation ground.
‘Have to call in at the health centre. Pick up a prescription for my dad.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, your father’s ill?’
‘Chronic bronchitis. Mind you, he’s seventy-one. My mum was nearly forty when I was born. She died two years ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Suddenly Karen’s problems seemed trivial. ‘You live with your father, do you?’
‘Used to. He’s in a warden-controlled bungalow now but I still do his shopping and that. After he sold the house I moved into a flat over the pet shop.’
‘Which one? The big one in Wellington Street?’
‘That’s the place.’ He turned and started walking up the hill, calling over his shoulder. ‘You know, we’ve got something in common, you and I, we both want Natalie Stevens’ killer brought to justice.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She wanted to run after him, suggest they exchange notes, share any information they had managed to discover. But there would be other chances. She was certain of that.
*
‘So,’ said Alex, ‘you had your bag pinched, then got it back with all your worldly goods still intact.’
‘That’s right.’ She wasn’t going to tell him that the pad of lined paper and the File on Natalie Stevens had gone. She hadn’t told Laura or Russell either.
Alex was still talking but she had stopped listening.
‘Hey!’ He snapped his fingers to get her attention. ‘I said Simon phoned. About twenty minutes ago. I said you’d call him back.’
‘Oh.’
‘Go on then.’ He pushed the telephone towards her.
‘I’ll do it later.’
Alex smiled. ‘Lovers’ tiff? Anyway, your mum wants to talk to you.’
He stood up, moving towards the living room door and shouting in the direction of the kitchen. ‘She’s back, Lynne.’
Karen should have seen it coming. You’re mum wants to talk to you.
Alex had returned to his chair near the window. Her mother seemed nervous. She was smiling too much, rubbing the palms of her hands together, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. ‘Sit down, love.’
‘What for?’
Her mother sighed. ‘Look, I just wanted to have a word – in case you went round to see Dad and . . .’
‘You’re getting divorced.’
‘What?’ The surprise in her mother’s voice was a pretence. ‘Dad told you?’
Karen shook her head.
Her mother sat on the arm of Alex’s chair. ‘The thing is, love, we thought it’d be best for everyone.’
‘Why?’ Karen wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily. ‘So you and Alex can get married? I’m not being a bridesmaid if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Alex started laughing. It was partly to relieve the tension. ‘You, a bridesmaid! What would you wear? Jeans and a denim jacket?’
‘Alex, for heaven’s sake!’ It was the first time she had heard her mother speak to him sharply.
The three of them sat in silence for what felt like several minutes, then Karen stood up. ‘Right, well, thanks for telling me.’
‘It won’t affect you, Nutkin. Won’t make any difference at all.’
‘I didn’t say it would and don’t call me by that ridiculous name. Got an engagement ring have you? Let’s have a look.’
Alex caught hold of her sleeve. ‘Oh, come on, Karen, don’t spoil things.’
‘How could I do that? Could you let go of me, please?’
Up in her room she tipped the contents of her bag onto her bed, picking out the comb and throwing it in the waste paper basket in case the thief had run it through his greasy hair. For a dreadful moment she had thought her mother might be pregnant, then she remembered she couldn’t have any more children. Something to do with her tubes. Having one had been a miracle. Well, that’s what her father had told her. Maybe her mother was afraid Alex would push off. After all he was four years younger and always dropping hints about his long list of previous girlfriends.
It didn’t take her long to calm down. Five minutes later she had forgotten about the divorce and was wondering why whoever had taken her bag had hung onto her notes about Natalie? Most of it wouldn’t make sense to a stranger. Just a few names, addresses, descriptions.
So what. The thief probably had no interest whatsoever in the actual material, just wanted the file paper and the file itself, which was brand new, and quite expensive, and had a picture of an alligator on the cover.
Downstairs her mother and Alex were talking in low voices, reassuring each other that she would soon adjust to the idea, that she was bound to react badly in the first instance but given time . . . Blah, blah, blah.
Opening her bedroom door she shouted down to them. ‘Hey, we should all go out and celebrate?’ And then, when her mother’s beaming face appeared at the bottom of the stairs. ‘No, not your engagement, me getting my bag back!’
Chapter Nine
This time she was certain of it. Someone was following her, keeping a good distance away and disappearing into doorways when she looked back. At the end of the road she paused for a moment, to make sure whoever it was had a good view of her, then turned left, ran about fifty yards, and hid behind some rhododendron bushes just inside the front garden of a house that seemed to have been converted into offices.
There was a brass plate on the front door but it was too far away for Karen to read the name of the company. If anyone came out of the building they would see her crouched by the bush, assume she was up to no good, shout out and ruin everything. Bright strip lights were on in the downstairs rooms, but all she could see were the backs of several large computers.
The sky was overcast, making the visibility poor, but when the man who was following her came round the corner it shouldn’t be too difficult to see his face. She had a feeling it was a man but it could just as easily be a woman. Someone tall, dressed in a long dark coat.
The minutes ticked by, but perhaps they were only seconds. If she looked at her watch the man might suddenly appear, then become suspicious and start moving away fast before she had a chance to see his face.
Nothing happened. No-one came round the corner. Five minutes later, annoyed and frustrated, Karen stepped back onto the pavement and continued on her way to the park. She had her camera slung over her shoulder. This time, if she was lucky enough to see Olive Pearce she was going to tell her she was doing a course in photography and needed some shots of the duck pond. It was risky. Mrs Pearce might begin to suspect she was a journalist, writing a follow-up story on Natalie Stevens’ baby. On the other hand, it might be a good way of getting into conversation, a conversation she hoped would last longer than their previous encounter.
