Their Fatal Secrets

by JANICE FROST

  Disappointed, Jess made her way back downstairs. At this time of day, Magda would be at work so there was no point on knocking on her door either. Edgy, she stepped into the hallway of her own flat.

  “Pull yourself together, Jessica Stoke,” she said aloud. She had to overcome this uneasiness about being home alone. Funny, with Pam above her and Magda down the hallway, she hadn’t felt that she did live alone until now. It struck her that at this moment she was not just alone in her flat, but was the only person in the whole building.

  Jess tossed her handbag onto the floor, hung up her jacket and kicked off her ankle boots. She made for her bedroom, changed into a pair of boyfriend jeans and an oversized T shirt, and slipped on a pair of flip flops.

  “Right. Let’s put the kettle on.” She spoke aloud to break the silence. In the kitchen, she turned on the radio for company.

  The kitchen was at the back of the flat. It had a window looking out towards the garden, which was obscured from view by the brick wall of an unused garage just outside. Someone had tried to compensate for the view by painting the wall with a cheerful mural of a garden, complete with gnomes. Sometimes it worked for her, sometimes it didn’t. Today, it didn’t. She longed for a glimpse of a long, sunlit lawn, not gloomy brickwork dotted with dark green moss and half in shadow. She gave a sudden shiver and felt goose bumps tingle along the length of her bare arms. She caught sight of what seemed an uncharacteristically malevolent grin on the face of the nearest gnome. He’d never looked this creepy before.

  It was a small kitchen, with not much room to swing the proverbial cat, but it had a large, airy, old-fashioned pantry, and Jess could feel a draught through the half-open door leading two steps down to where she kept her fridge and the milk she needed for her coffee. She froze.

  It wasn’t the draught that bothered her.

  It was the fact that the door was weighted to self-close and it was standing open.

  A shadow moved, just visible through the gap between the door and the lintel.

  “Mitch?” she said, hesitantly. No reply. “This isn’t funny, Mitch. You’re scaring me.”

  The door jerked open. Someone who was not Mitch crossed to her in a single stride. Jess screamed, the man lunged, then everything went dark.

  * * *

  Pam Hollis was worried. She had been expecting Jess to pop up to see her the day after they’d found poor Bunty’s body in the hallway. Jess had messaged her first thing in the morning to ask how she was and how she was coping, saying that she’d call round after work. The kettle had been turned on in anticipation, but Pam had ended up drinking her coffee alone. Eventually she sat down with her laptop and tried to work, but she couldn’t concentrate. She kept thinking of Bunty, and now Jess too.

  Six o’clock came and went, and Jess still hadn’t turned up. Perhaps she had gone shopping, or was otherwise occupied. It wasn’t like her to be thoughtless, though. Magda had popped in between shifts and brought Pam a pretty bunch of flowers. Around ten, Pam nipped downstairs and knocked on Jess’s door. No answer. There was no light shining under the door. Nothing particularly odd about that, Jess could be having an early night. Maybe it was because of Bunty, but Pam couldn’t shake a feeling of unease.

  In the morning she messaged Jess and received no answer. Okay. Understandable. No need for panic. If she were at work, Jess wouldn’t be able to reply immediately. But when another afternoon and evening went by without her hearing from her friend, Pam really began to panic. She checked with Magda. Magda hadn’t seen Jess either, but then again, she had worked fifteen out of the last twenty-four hours. She’d seen no one but her clients and her bed.

  Pam also messaged Henry, but he hadn’t replied either. He didn’t check his mobile regularly, she knew, but it seemed odd that he hadn’t been in touch since Bunty’s death. She thought of going for a walk on the west common to see if he were out walking Boris, but couldn’t face it without Bunty. And besides, she didn’t want to seem desperate. She’d only known Henry for a few days and though he’d seemed interested, maybe the Bunty thing had scared him off.

  That night, Pam went to bed disappointed and increasingly worried about Jess’s failure to get in touch. She turned out her light, thinking she would contact that policewoman Jess had told her about. What was her name? Ah yes. Ava. Ava Merry.

  She called early in the morning. PJ put the call through, rather confused. “It’s some woman claiming her neighbour knows you from the swimming pool.”

  Ava frowned. After her no show at the pool the previous morning, she’d been meaning to contact Jess to ask if she were alright. As soon as she picked up the phone the breathless caller bombarded her with a flood of bizarre and seemingly random words. Ava heard ‘dead dog’ and ‘bag of organs’ and ‘mugging’ and ‘punctured tyres,’ all repeated several times.

  “Slow down, Mrs . . .?”

  “Hollings. Pam Hollings. I live in the same block as Jess. I haven’t seen her for the best part of two days and it’s not like her to go off without telling me.”

  “Wait a minute.” Ava was beginning to grasp why this Pam was contacting her. “Are you telling me you think Jess is missing?” She thought of Jess’s broken appointment with her at the pool.

  “Yes. She wouldn’t just disappear without telling me. Especially not after what happened to poor Bunty.”

  Ava heard her sniffling. “Bunty?”

  “Yes. She was murdered two days ago. You know about it. A police officer came round and took all the details. They came and picked up her body so that the vet could do an autopsy.”

  “The vet?”

  “Look, would it be better if I came down to the station? I’m really concerned about Jess and we don’t seem to be getting anywhere on the phone.”

  The call was on speaker. PJ, listening in, stuck a finger to her temple. The woman must be crazy.

  Ava turned away. “She was supposed to meet me yesterday morning at the swimming pool. She didn’t show up.” Pam Hollings’s silence was telling. “How soon can you get here?” Ava asked. “I’ve got an appointment at eleven but I could fit you in for half an hour if you can come more or less immediately.”

  “I’ll be with you in ten minutes.”

  Pam Hollings was a minute early. She arrived, breathless and dishevelled, as though she had thrown on some clothes and run all the way to the station. Ava showed her into a small interview room, signalling for PJ to follow. Pam declined PJ’s offer of a drink.

  They sat down, with Ava facing her. “So, you last saw Jess, when?”

  “The night before last. It was Jess who found Bunty. On the floor in the entrance hall to our flats. We heard her screaming and came running down the stairs — except Magda of course — she lives on the ground floor, same as Jess. Jess knows what Bunty means to me. She promised to call round after work but she didn’t turn up. I heard nothing from her all day yesterday. It’s completely out of character for her to let a friend down. She’s a lovely girl, Jess.”

  “And you say that you reported the incident to the police?” PJ had already pulled up the attending officer’s report. He had logged Bunty’s death and her body had indeed been referred for animal autopsy.

  “Yes. It was the same man who came out the night Jess and Magda found the bag of offal. PC Slade.” Ava nodded. She knew him by sight. PJ had also found PC Slade’s report on the previous incident. He had sent the bag of offal to forensics and it had been confirmed to be animal in origin, probably pig. A nasty prank, he had concluded, but he had noted that a collar belonging to Pam Hollings’s dog had been found in the bag. He had made a note that Pam’s ex-husband might have been responsible and was intending to pay him a visit. It never happened. PJ pointed out that PC Slade had gone off on long term sick leave after injuring his back.

  Ava was inclined to agree with Slade about the ex-husband, but Jess’s disappearance was worrying. Was it just coincidence that she had a past connection with one of their victims? It was certainly worth following up, pa
rticularly if Jess didn’t turn up in the next twenty-four hours.

  In the meantime, Ava sought to reassure Pam. “We’ll contact Jess’s family and her workplace to see if she’s advised them of her whereabouts. In the meantime, try not to worry. I’m sure nothing sinister has happened to Jess.”

  Pam sighed. “I am really worried. You know that young woman who drowned in the Strom last week?”

  “Leanne Jackson?”

  “Jess knew her. She was very upset about it.”

  “Yes. I know Jess a little. She spoke with me about it at the swimming pool last week. I wasn’t able to tell her much as it’s an ongoing investigation and I can’t discuss details of the case. I hoped I’d managed to set her mind at rest.”

  Pam shook her head. “She told me she was going to try to find out what happened to Leanne herself. I told her to leave it to the police, but I don’t think she was listening. Did she tell you about how Leanne helped her when she was bullied at school? About the times later on when she pretended not to know her?” Ava nodded. “I think she feels terribly guilty about that. Guilt is a strong motivator, Sergeant.”

  Ava was beginning to appreciate Pam’s anxiety. “Did Jess speak with you about this again? About whether she’d found anything out?”

  “No. We were all preoccupied over Bunty’s disappearance and then her death and, like I said, I haven’t seen Jess since it happened.”

  “Okay. I can understand your concern, Mrs Hollings. Jess works at the FE College, doesn’t she? I’ll give them a ring today and see if she’s turned up for work or taken some leave. And as I said, we’ll check with her family as well.”

  Pam nodded, looking relieved.

  “I’m so sorry about your dog,” Ava said. “I’ve got a cat. He, I mean, she — I’ve only just found out Camden’s a girl — means a lot to me. I’d be heartbroken if anything happened to her.”

  Pam smiled for the first time. “Bless you.”

  After she had gone, Ava tracked down the officer who was following up on PC Slade’s workload.

  “Funnily enough,” the PC said, “I’ve just been in touch with the vet and she’s confirmed that the poor dog was poisoned. Anti-freeze, she thinks. Most likely forced down its throat. Who would do that to a poor animal?”

  Plenty of people, Ava thought grimly. The PC must be new to the job and a bit unworldly. She’d need to toughen up.

  “Have you been in touch with Pam Hollings’s ex-husband?” Ava asked. “PC Slade’s initial report mentioned that he should be questioned as a likely suspect.” Silence.

  “And?”

  “Not yet. Would you like me to do that today?”

  Ava counted to three in her head before producing one of her sweetest smiles. Wasted, of course, on the phone.

  “That might be a good idea. Please let me know the result.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  PJ was surprised at how readily Michaela Howard’s mother agreed to a visit. Tom wasn’t answering his phone, so she left him a message and drove to the estate northeast of the city where Michaela’s mother lived. Patsy Howard was looking out of her kitchen window when PJ drew up, and by the by the time PJ got out of her car, she was waiting in her doorway, arms folded defensively rather than belligerently across her chest. PJ got an impression of someone emotionally frail and damaged.

  “I’m so sorry to have to be speaking to you about your daughter’s death, Mrs Howard,” PJ began. “I know the last thing you need is to be reminded of the tragedy.”

  Patsy Howard waved a hand. “It must be important or you wouldn’t be here, Detective. You said it was in connection with a current investigation?”

  “Yeees,” PJ was more truthful now that she had a foot in the door. “I’m helping with the investigation into Leanne Jackson’s murder.”

  “I read about that in the Courier. So sad. Of course it made me think of Michaela because of her being found in the river, but she didn’t drown, did she? It wasn’t really like Michaela. My daughter was a heroine. She gave her life trying to save that dog. It was a Labrador, I think. A retriever. Golden. Michaela loved animals.” She gave a shrill laugh. Her thoughts were all over the place, her words just trying to fit them, or so it seemed to PJ. Still, it didn’t take her long to catch on to the real reason for PJ’s visit.

  “Why are you asking about Leanne? Are you saying that my daughter might have been murdered too, Detective?”

  PJ sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was cause Patsy Howard more distress.

  “That’s not why I’m here, Mrs Howard. I’m just sort of . . . gathering information.” To PJ’s relief (and surprise) Patsy seemed to relax. Medication, PJ thought, something to keep her emotions in check. “Er, I’ve been researching a link between Leanne Jackson and another case that we’re investigating — that of Chantelle Clarke?”

  Patsy frowned. “Chantelle Clarke? The name sounds familiar. Maybe Michaela knew her at school. No, wait a minute, I think she was probably in a therapy group my daughter attended at CAMHS.”

  Hadn’t Ruby Kennedy’s mother said something about group therapy? But it had been a different sort of therapy. Anger management? Someone was supposed to be following up on that. It had to do with Leanne’s boyfriend at the time. Was this a possible connection between the women on Leanne’s list? Had they all attended some sort of therapy group?

  “We were told our daughter might have had something called ‘borderline personality disorder.’ It was a tentative diagnosis. They couldn’t seem to agree on what was wrong with her. She also suffered from depression, but only because it took so bloody long for us to get a diagnosis. A lot of people don’t believe mental health disorders like ADHD or autistic spectrum disorder are real illnesses. They think it’s just bad parenting. Huh. An earlier diagnosis might have helped us get support for Michaela. It might have helped her to understand her condition and deal with it better. Instead she ended up being socially isolated and feeling she was worthless. No wonder she got depressed.” She glared at PJ as though she, as part of the establishment, was somehow complicit in the treatment Michaela had received. Then she attempted a smile. “Sorry. I tend to get on my soapbox about the subject.”

  “I’m sorry too,” PJ said. “It’s shameful that kids like Michaela are so badly served by the system.”

  “Eventually Michaela started attending a group therapy session. Once a week at the CAMHS centre on Hope Street — apt location for a service like that, don’t you think?” Patsy gave an ironic laugh. “I wasn’t encouraged to attend with her. They said young people often feel freer to talk if their parents aren’t around. Understandable, I suppose. I used to drive Michaela there and go for a coffee while I waited for her to finish.”

  “Did you ever meet any of the other members of the group when you dropped her off or picked her up?”

  “Not really. There was nowhere to park outside the building so I’d drop her and park at the Tesco’s round the corner. Michaela phoned me when she finished and we’d meet at the car.”

  “Did she talk much about the group, or the other kids who attended?”

  “Not much.” Patsy began picking at her fingers. Her emotions were raw, even though it had been a year since her daughter drowned. PJ felt bad at having to bring it all up again. Particularly as she suspected Patsy’s own mental health was now in a brittle state. Ava was so much better at this, she could stick her heart up her sleeve when she needed to. PJ just wanted to give Patsy a hug.

  “Excuse me a moment.” Patsy left the room, and PJ heard the sound of a tap running in the kitchen, the clink of a glass, and one of those childproof caps being twisted off a bottle of pills.

  While she was out of the room, PJ had a look around. Her gaze was drawn to the windowsill where an array of family photographs partially blocked the view of the street outside. The Howards had two other children besides Michaela, a boy who looked older and a girl quite a bit younger. One picture in particular made her heart ache for Patsy. It showed a more recent How
ard family photograph, minus Michaela. PJ wanted children as soon as possible, but her partner, Steve, thought they should wait, have a few nice holidays and save for a mortgage first. We’ll have at least three, PJ decided. Just in case.

  Patsy returned and caught her looking. “I remembered something,” she said. “It’s probably not worth mentioning, but . . .” PJ waited. “Michaela had a crush on her therapist, well, not her therapist exactly. He was a trainee mental health nurse, I think. He sat in on some of her sessions. Observing, I suppose. She never stopped going on about him. I didn’t bother about it at first. Young girls have crushes, don’t they? But she got so obsessive about him that I got in touch with CAMHS behind her back and asked if she could be transferred to a different group. Not that I thought there was anything . . . you know . . . not that I thought he was doing anything to encourage her . . .” PJ sensed a ‘but’ coming. “But she did have a picture of him on her mobile phone . . . and I think she was sending him messages.”

  “What happened when you contacted CAMHS?”

  “They told me he’d finished his placement there and that it was unlikely Michaela would see him again as he was doing a placement in Nottinghamshire next.”

  “Can you remember his name?” PJ asked.

  “Seth something? Connors? No, wait, I think it was Conway. Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Oh!” PJ bent and fiddled with her pen to hide her surprise.

  Patsy’s mood suddenly changed again. “Something’s not right. Why are you asking me all these questions? I thought you were investigating this Leanne Jackson’s murder. What do Michaela and this other woman you mentioned, Chantelle Clarke, have to do with Leanne Jackson?”

  “I, er . . . It’s just something we’re pursuing as part of the investigation.” PJ hated being evasive.

  “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it? You think something else is going on. My God, you think someone killed all three of these young women, my Michaela included, don’t you? But Michaela drowned. I don’t understand.”