by Penny Kline
Russell Donnelly was standing outside the record shop. He had his eyes closed and was jigging his foot in time to the music on his headphones. Karen went and stood beside him. She had never thanked him properly for finding her bag. If he had nothing better to do she might buy him a cup of coffee and let him in on some of her theories about the murder. Maybe she would tell him about her visit to the Stevens house, and how she had managed to strike up an acquaintance with Olive Pearce.
‘Russell?’
He spun round, pulling off his headset with one quick movement.
‘Karen. How are you? The very person I was thinking about.’
‘I thought you’d be on duty at the pool on a Saturday afternoon.’
‘Did the early shift. Place was packed out with screaming kids. I’m just listening to some soothing sounds, trying to get rid of a headache.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll leave you in peace.’
He stuffed the headphones in his pocket. ‘Listen, I want to show you something.’
‘What?’
‘Wait and see.’ He set off fast, weaving his way between the passers-by.
Karen was slightly irritated that he had just assumed she would tag along, but the last thing she wanted was that he should think she was just a little afraid of going off with him. At the end of Barling Road he waited for her to catch up.
‘We’d better use the crossing. The traffic’s bad at this time of day. People coming away from the football.’
They were going in the direction of Arkwright Way and for a moment she wondered if Russell wanted to show her where Olive and Liam Pearce lived. But just before the cemetery they turned off the road and started climbing a steep path that led up to a part of the town Karen had never visited before.
The path continued for about a quarter of a mile. On the way Russell asked about her family and she told him she was an only child and her parents had split up.
‘When you were a baby?’
‘No, only a few months ago.’
‘What does your father do?’
‘Well, he used to be in the police but–’
‘Really?’ Russell laughed. ‘You’re a cop’s daughter, who’d have thought?’
‘He works privately now,’ she said, interrupting before Russell launched into the usual remarks people seemed to like making about the police. ‘He has his own detective agency.’
‘Really? So that’s why you’re so interested in the murder. Must be hereditary – wanting to poke your nose into other people’s affairs.’
‘You can talk,’ she said crossly, but he laughed and told her not to be so silly, he was only joking. ‘Take no notice, there’s no-one nosier than me.’
They had reached an open space that was strewn with litter. Old coke cans, crisp bags, fast-food containers, anything that didn’t disintegrate in the rain. At the end of the rough grass Karen noticed a wooden hut with boarded-up windows, and beyond the hut a high wire fence with the railway line on the other side.
‘Used to be a signal box or something,’ said Russell. ‘Natalie came here with her friends. There’s a padlock on the door but they put it there themselves. Managed to break off the old one, then fitted another and made copies of the key.’
‘Why would they want to come here?’
He grinned. ‘The thing about Natalie was she was just a big kid. Hated the idea of sitting at home every evening in front of the telly.’
‘But she had a baby.’
‘Oh, come on.’ He frowned. ‘Anyone can make a mistake.’
Karen shrugged. She didn’t like the way he was talking to her but she wanted to see inside the hut. ‘You’ve got a key, have you?’
‘Me? No, I’ve only been here once before. Natalie told me about the place but I had to work out for myself where it was.’
‘And this is what you wanted to show me?’
He stood on a plank of rotting wood. ‘You want to find out who killed her, don’t you? All right, it’s a long shot but what else can we do? Just being here, soaking up the atmosphere, might give us some ideas.’
Karen hesitated, wondering whether to tell him about the new File on Natalie she had drawn up to replace the notes stolen from her bag. She had been wondering who on earth would have wanted to hang onto the original file. Perhaps her first guess had been correct and whoever it was had no interest in Natalie Stevens, just wanted the file itself, but a nagging doubt remained in her mind.
‘I met Liam’s mother,’ she said. ‘The baby’s called Justin, he’s really sweet.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Russell was interested but he wasn’t going to show it. ‘Well, what d’you think? By the look of the ground no-one’s been here for months. Grass growing thick right up to the door. If we forced the lock–’
‘Shh.’ She took hold of his arm. ‘Over there by those trees.’
Someone was watching them. A tall figure in a dark coat – or had she imagined it?
‘What is it?’ said Russell. ‘You heard something?’
‘No, I saw a man.’ She had a moment’s uncertainty. ‘Well, it looked like a man. I suppose it could’ve been a tree, moving in the wind.’
‘Want me to have a look?’
She shook her head. ‘If there was someone he’ll have disappeared by now.’
‘Come on.’ He started walking towards the hut and on the way he picked up a rusty metal rod that was lying in the long grass. ‘Don’t know if it’ll be strong enough but I’ll give it a try.’
He pushed the bar through the padlock on the hut door and started twisting it round. It was useless. The metal rod bent but the padlock stayed intact.
‘This any good?’ Karen picked up a short length of wood.
Russell looked doubtful, but he took it from her hand, forced the wood through the loop and gave it a couple of hard yanks. At the third attempt the padlock fell to the ground and the door swung open on squeaky hinges.
As their eyes adjusted to the dark Russell let out a sigh of disappointment. Apart from a heap of blue plastic bags the place was empty.
‘What did you expect?’ said Karen. ‘If there were any clues they wouldn’t be staring us in the face.’
He stepped back, out into the daylight. ‘Useless without a torch.’
‘I don’t see why. We could pull the boards off the window.’
‘Right.’ His face brightened. ‘Good idea. Look, to be honest, Karen, I don’t expect to find anything, it’s just that I can’t bear to think of Natalie’s killer still on the loose.’
‘Nor me,’ she said quietly, aware that finding the murderer and proving his guilt had become more than just an interesting diversion, more than a way of proving to her father that she was capable of helping him with his work. She had never met Natalie, but discovering who was responsible for her death had become important in a way she hardly understood.
‘Have a look at this.’ Russell was crouching by the heap of blue polythene sheeting, pulling at an old cardboard box that was half covered by a piece of broken chipboard. ‘It’s soaking wet, covered in mud. I suppose the roof leaks.’ He glanced at the corrugated metal ceiling then returning to dragging at the box.
Feeling around inside he lifted out a soggy newspaper, then half a brick, a chocolate wrapper – and a small notebook with a light blue cover. ‘It’s a diary,’ he said, turning the pages carefully, for fear the damp paper might disintegrate before they could read the entries – if there were any.
‘Let’s have a look.’
He handed it to her. ‘Take it out into the light. This year’s, is it?’
She rubbed at the cover, then nodded. The first page had spaces to fill in the owner’s name, address, next of kin, blood group and several other details. It was empty.
‘Let’s see.’ Russell took the diary and opened it at random. ‘November,’ he said. ‘No entries. Or in December.’ He started working backwards, then whistled through his teeth. ‘Look, nothing after the middle of March. Hang on – March the tenth – ther
e’s something scribbled in ballpoint. Some initials.’
She moved closer and they studied the letters together. ‘The first one looks like a G,’ she said. ‘Then an E, or it could be an F.’
From the end of January, through most of March, the two letters had been filled in at intervals of four or five days. Now that they had other entries to go on it was clear that the initials were GF.
‘Glen Fortune,’ said Karen, laughing, then her expression changed. ‘Russell, you don’t think? If the entries stop at the end of March and Natalie was killed in April it could be . . . But that’s crazy, there must be dozens of people with the initials GF.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Look, you hang on to it. We won’t tell anyone, OK? I mean, we won’t tell anyone yet.’
Chapter Eleven
There were thirty-two pages in the telephone book. Thirty-two pages of people with names beginning with F. What was the point of checking to see how many had first names beginning with G? For all Karen knew the initials in the diary stood for something entirely different. Appointments at the hairdresser? Interviews for new jobs? If Karen had been meeting Simon would she have written SP in her diary? It seemed unlikely.
Russell had suggested that GF stood for Great Feeling. He had once known a girl who kept a record of how she felt each day. She had some theory about body rhythms that made people’s moods go up and down in particular patterns. Natalie was just the type to go for that kind of crazy idea. In any case, he had never heard her mention Glen and that pretty well let the guy off the hook. Karen was not so convinced.
She thought about it, trying to blot out the sound of Alex eating his third piece of toast, then gave up when he started telling her about a new movie that would be on at the Arts Centre for three nights the following week. ‘It’s set on a Greek Island. This group of people who try to set up an entirely different way of living.’
‘Sounds stupid,’ said Karen, ‘those things never work.’
‘What, the movie, or a new way of living?’
‘Both, and why d’you always call them movies? I suppose it’s because you want to sound like an American.’
Alex ran his fingers through his dark, wiry hair. ‘All right, well how’s this for a piece of news? Joanne Stevens has come back from her holiday and moved into a flat in Chatsworth Avenue.’
‘Really?’ Karen tried to sound only mildly interested.
So the man who had answered the door to Joanne – the man in the expensive suit – had been the landlord showing her round a flat. All that effort she had made, trying to work out if he was Joanne’s boyfriend, or even a hit-man hired to kill his sister, and all the time there had been a perfectly simple explanation.
‘All right,’ said Alex, ‘no need to scowl like that. I just thought you’d want to know.’
Karen smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Alex. Oh, and by the way, I like your new trousers. Did you have them made specially or were they selling off fancy dress costumes at that joke shop by the bridge?’
He made to chase her out of the room and she snatched her jacket off the hook by the front door, just in time to avoid her mother who was returning from the shops and would be so delighted to see her getting on well with Alex.
*
She had to stay on late at school, working on a project with Laura. On her way out of the building Glen caught up with her and asked if she could spare a minute.
Spare a minute? She had been looking for him all day, although now he was there she realised there was nothing she could say. Did you kill Natalie Stevens? Could the initials GF stand for Glen Fortune? He would tell her she was mad. Might even get angry, suggesting she was trying to stir up trouble. But in the split second that she watched his reaction wouldn’t he give himself away?
He was talking about Tessie, asking if she knew of something he could have done that had upset her.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Karen. ‘I haven’t seen Tessie for several days. In any case I wouldn’t tell her about the girl with you and Simon.’
‘Nothing to tell.’ He laughed but it sounded unnatural. ‘You know Tessie. I’m really fond of her, but she wants us . . . Well, I don’t have to explain to you, Karen.’
‘Explain what?’
He sighed heavily. ‘If you could talk to her. I mean I can’t see you settling down with some bloke, when your life’s hardly begun.’
‘Talk to Tessie?’ she said. ‘There’s no way I’m going to act as a go-between, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘No, you’re right. By the way, how’s your work going? A-levels are much too much like hard work. Not that I’m going to let it get me down.’
‘No, I don’t blame you. It’s not as though you’ll have to send off thousands of job applications.’
He made a face. ‘Can I help it if my father runs his own company?’
‘No, of course not.’ She had no wish to antagonise him. ‘Look, there was something I wanted to ask you, Glen. Natalie Stevens – you never actually met her did you?’
He didn’t flinch. Just seemed glad to change the subject back to something that meant she would stop having a go at him. ‘I believe I saw her once, but we were never introduced. Very attractive. Dark hair, dark eyes. Why d’you ask?’
‘Oh, no reason in particular.’
He smiled. ‘Still trying to find something on that bastard Liam Pearce? I wish you luck, but I reckon it’s all too late. They say more than half of the murders that take place remain unsolved – or there’s insufficient evidence to bring the case to court.’
*
By the time Karen reached the Arts Centre the cafe was full of people who seemed to have been attending a dancing class. They were pushing three tables together, clattering their plates and cups, and making the kind of noise people always seem to make when they find themselves in a large group.
Joanne was wiping the remaining tables, collecting up crumbs and sweeping them onto a plastic tray.
‘Hello.’ Karen tried to sound as though they were friends, or at least acquaintances.
Joanne looked at her, trying to remember if they had met before, probably assuming Karen came into the cafe quite often and expected to be treated like a regular.
‘Hello.’ Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She was dressed in the same black skirt and white shirt – her working uniform – but there was something different about her. Her hair was shorter and had a reddish tinge, as though she had given it a colour rinse.
Following Karen’s eyes Joanne lifted her hand towards her head, then remembered the damp cloth she was holding and returned to her duties.
‘All right if I sit here?’ asked Karen. ‘You’ve done this table haven’t you?’
Joanne nodded. ‘Wherever you like.’
Desperate to stop her walking away Karen asked how long the cafe stayed open.
‘Till eleven-thirty. Later some nights.’
‘But you don’t work here in the evening.’
Joanne looked puzzled. ‘How d’you know that?’
Karen grinned. ‘Alex Hogben – he lives with my mother.’
‘Alex is your stepfather?’ Joanne looked as though it was the most astonishing thing she had ever heard.
‘Oh, they’re not married,’ said Karen firmly, realising as she spoke that divorces didn’t take long these days and, in a matter of months, her mother could be calling herself Mrs Hogben. ‘Anyway you can’t really acquire a stepfather at my age.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ To Karen’s surprise Joanne seemed in no hurry to move away.
‘Alex said you’d been away on holiday. Went somewhere nice, did you?’
Joanne stared at her but said nothing. It was unnerving but having got this far Karen decided she might as well plough on.
‘You’ve moved into a flat, haven’t you? Lucky thing, I envy you.’
The blank expression on Joanne’s face had changed. Her skin looked pale and there were beads of sweat on her upper lip. ‘You knew
Natalie, did you, that’s why you’ve been checking up. It’s always the same–’
‘No, no I never met your sister.’
But Joanne had picked up the tray and started walking away. Karen silently cursed herself for being so impatient. She should have taken things more slowly, talked about the weather, come to the cafe several times in succession, before assuming she had the right to mention anything personal.
On her way home she was convinced once again that someone was following her, but this time it was more of a feeling rather than anything she actually saw. The streets were busy with shoppers and it was only when she crossed the pedestrian bridge over the dual carriageway that she began to feel uneasy. Glancing over her shoulder she hurried down the steps, walked quickly down the main road, then doubled back towards the shopping centre, taking a small alleyway that ran between a church hall and the back of a block of flats.
‘Excuse me.’ The quiet voice was far more scary than a shout.
Karen spun round, just as a figure stepped out of a doorway. ‘Oh, it’s you. Did you have to give me such a fright?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Joanne had started walking. Karen hurried to catch up with her. ‘Were you following me before? No, it doesn’t matter.’
Joanne stared at her. ‘I was on my way to the launderette. I saw you in the distance, at least I thought it was you. You’re called Karen, aren’t you? After you’d gone I remembered Alex talking about you only I hadn’t realised . . .’
Karen looked at her pale, anxious face. ‘Look, shall we go somewhere where we can talk? If you like I could help you at the launderette.’
Joanne smiled a little, holding out her hands to show that she had no bags of washing. ‘I was only going to check how much it costs. I know it’s a bit of a walk but you could come back to the flat.’
‘Your flat? Yes, of course.’ It was almost too good to be true. What had she said that had made Joanne want to confide in her? Perhaps she had no-one to talk to and thought a stranger was better than nothing. But was that the real reason Joanne wanted her to go back to the flat? Perhaps she had something else in mind?
