White Lilies

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Did you feel that?’ said Dylan, startled.

  ‘Mm … it makes it all seem rather real, doesn’t it?’ she laughed. ‘I wonder if Dawn has thought of trying herbal teas?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s worth suggesting,’ he said, leaning forward to pick up his drink. He took a gulp. ‘I’m going to enquire about getting her counselling. It might just unravel some of her issues and help her deal with what’s going on in her mind,’ he said, lying back on the sofa and pulling Jen towards him.

  ‘Can I do that for you?’ she asked.

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled as he drifted back off to sleep, his head on her bump. Jen knew these were the moments that needed to be cherished and would be few and far between once the baby blessed them with his presence.

  Chapter Eight

  Pam laid in her bed, wondering when she would hear from Danny. She stretched out lazily and yawned. The sound of doors slamming had woken her. Slipping out from under her duvet, she tiptoed across to the bedroom window and pulled back the curtains. Her bedroom overlooked the driveway and, seeing both her mum and dad’s cars gone, Pam ran on tiptoe into her mum’s room and sat at her dressing table. She opened her make-up case and took out her lipstick and mascara, slipping them carefully into her dressing gown pocket.

  A final check of her school clothes in the full-length mirror of her mum’s wardrobe, half an hour later, made her smile. She wondered if she needed a coat and walked to the window of the bedroom that overlooked the main road to check. ‘Is that Danny’s car?’ she said, confused but slightly excited too. Her heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be, could it?

  She ran onto the landing and flew down the stairs. Picking up her rucksack from the floor, she hurried out of the door, hearing it slam loudly behind her as she raced down the path. Standing at the bus stop, she scanned the road, desperate in her search to spot Danny’s car heading her way.

  Pam stood back quietly and let one bus go. She waited for the next. Oh, she could just imagine the other girl’s faces, green with envy if Danny Denton gave her a lift into school. She waited, giggling at her thoughts. The next bus drew up alongside her and, although she was at the front of the queue, she let the other passengers go ahead of her as she checked one last time. Pam looked at her watch. It told her in no uncertain terms that she’d better jump on board if she didn’t want to be late for registration. She slouched next to the window and took her mobile phone out of her pocket. The bus was noisy. She willed the phone to ring. As she got nearer to school she put it on vibrate, and slipped it back into her pocket. The last thing she wanted was to miss a call or text.

  DS Taylor Spiers was on her way into the office. Her first job today was to look into Donald Harvey’s complaint against Brian Stevenson to see if there was any weight behind Grace’s son’s allegations. Tomorrow was Grace’s funeral, and although the event would be sad, she would rather go there and avoid Mildred Sykes’ post-mortem if she had the choice. Perhaps she could persuade Dylan that her presence at the funeral was more important than at the mortuary.

  ‘Morning, boss. Can I get you a coffee?’ said Taylor as she hung up her coat on the stand just outside Dylan’s office door. ‘You’re in early today,’ she called.

  ‘White, half a sugar,’ Dylan shouted back.

  She tilted her head, trying to decipher by his tone if he was in a good mood as he chatted on the phone. No, she conceded she didn’t know him well enough yet, but she was confident she could wrap him round her little finger as she did with all men. It was only a matter of time until he succumbed to her charms.

  ‘I thought I’d go see the financial advisor today to see what he has to say about Grace’s finances,’ she said, as she walked into his office.

  Dylan nodded but didn’t look up from his work.

  ‘Her son was raging about him and his antics,’ she added, standing in front of his desk, steaming mug of coffee cupped in her beautifully manicured hands. Dylan’s head turned to his computer screen.

  She walked round his desk and leaned over his shoulder to set the cup carefully in front of him, purposely brushing up against him as she did so and he turned as if in slow motion to watch her walk away from him and settle herself on the corner of his desk. She crossed her beautiful, long legs in front of him so that he could see her long brown pins in her new high-heeled black patent shoes.

  To all intents and purposes, she looked as if she was about to go out for a night on the town, he thought. The bright orange, low-cut top clung to her voluptuous bosom as she leaned across him to pick up the printout of the chief’s log, a resume of the major events in the Force area in the past twenty-four hours.

  Dylan’s gaze never faltered as he caught the twinkle of her long, dangly earrings.

  ‘Yeah, who knows, Taylor? People might take advantage of an old lady living on her own,’ he said, taking the mug by the handle and putting it to his lips. He studied a sheet on his desk.

  ‘Don’t forget, Mildred Sykes’ post-mortem tomorrow,’ he said.

  Putting the chief’s log back down, Taylor slid off his desk and headed for the door without speaking. She stopped and turned, leaning heavily on the frame. He could sense her waiting for him to look at her.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, tomorrow. Grace Harvey’s funeral? I think I should go, don’t you, to see who turns up? But, of course, if you need me at the Mildred Sykes’ post-mortem?’

  ‘Blast. I definitely need you at the funeral,’ he said, thoughtfully.

  Taylor quietly closed his office door behind her. ‘Mission accomplished,’ she whispered, smiling to herself as she sunk back into the chair at her desk and started to type Brian Stevenson’s details into the intelligence systems.

  ‘I wouldn’t speak too soon,’ said Dennis, who sat quietly at his desk.

  ‘What would you know?’ she said, casting a sly smile at the burly police officer who was on light duties with a hand injury.

  She hadn’t been at her workstation long when the phone rang.

  ‘Taylor, Dylan.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she cooed, a broad smile crossing her lovely face as she tinkered with her earrings and lifted her head above her computer screen to see him through his office doorway as he talked to her.

  ‘I’ve got them to put Mildred’s post-mortem back to three o’clock, so it won’t be a problem for you to attend both,’ he said matter-of-factly and promptly hung up.

  Dennis sniggered. Dylan was nobody’s fool.

  ‘Great,’ she said, her voice sounding flat even to her own ears as she flopped back down into her seat. She put the phone back on its cradle and laid her head in her hands on the desk, groaning.

  The CID office door slammed as someone came in and she sat up quickly. Tomorrow was another day, she sighed, smiling sweetly at Karen, the quiet young HOLMES indexer who had just clocked in to start her day. Taylor knew she had plenty of time to come up with something to avoid going to the mortuary. She didn’t want her hair or her clothes smelling like rotting cabbage. What on earth would people think? After all she was a sergeant now; she had the power to instruct other people to do the dirty work for her.

  Try as she might, Taylor could find nothing on any of the intelligence systems for a Brian Stevenson but, having found a telephone number for him, she made a call to see if he was available to speak to her and within the hour was sat in a plush office having fresh coffee and oatmeal biscuits served to her by him.

  He was tall and painfully thin with a hunched back, which made him look older than his years. His neck was long, reminding her of a swan’s. However, he had the smartest of haircuts, was clean-shaven and dressed in an expensive suit and silk tie. Most of all, he appeared polite and attentive.

  ‘I’ve called to see you about Grace Harvey, Mr Stevenson,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Call me Brian, dear, please.’

  Taylor nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Ah, poor Grace. What an absolute shock it was to hear the news. She was a lo
vely lady and a dear friend of mine. Do you know the person responsible?’

  ‘No not yet,’ she said, catching a mischievous glint in his eye.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be checking cars for damage?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said, taken aback by his question.

  ‘The old Porsche is in the garage at the moment – had a collision with a bollard. The bollard won unfortunately,’ he laughed, half-heartedly. ‘Ah, well, such is life,’ he shrugged. ‘Donald Harvey is concerned about his mother’s finances, I understand?’ he continued. ‘But believe me, dear, that’s nothing unusual,’ he said. ‘Grace always needed to release capital to support his lifestyle.’

  ‘And what lifestyle would that be, Mr Stevenson?’

  ‘He attended an American university, which was very expensive. Since then, I believe he has had a rather yuppie lifestyle, and has, of late, also been doing a little gambling, Ms Spiers,’ he replied quietly.

  ‘Is that why she had to release the equity in her home?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, I advised her against it,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I wasn’t family, Ms Spiers, just her friend and her financial advisor. Blood’s thicker than water, so they say, and when it came to money she made that quite clear. Even though I protested quite emphatically, Grace instructed me to release monies as soon as possible.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What sort of amounts are we talking about?’

  ‘One hundred thousand pounds,’ he said.

  Taylor pouted her lips and drew in a breath.

  ‘Indeed. So now you can see why I was concerned.’

  ‘That’s one hell of a lot of money. When did this take place and what happened to the money?’

  ‘Her finances have been slowly dwindling away for some time, but the equity-release money was only finalised a few weeks ago. Then Donald has the audacity to ring me to threaten me about it.’

  ‘Did you report the threat to the police?’

  ‘No, I appreciate that he was upset about his mother’s death and I expect he thought he would inherit more than he will now.’

  DS Taylor Spiers had a conundrum. Who was telling her the truth? Within thirty minutes of talking with Brian Stevenson she found herself travelling through Harrowfield town centre.

  She wondered about what Brian Stevenson had told her. No wonder Donald’s appearance didn’t appear to be ‘normal’ to her. He dressed intentionally like a vagrant, but a clean one. How bizarre. Was Donald Harvey disguising a gambling habit too? That did make sense. Grace sent him money and basically funded her grown-up son’s chosen lifestyle. But, what didn’t make sense was why Donald would then threaten Brian if Donald had had the money already.

  Dylan was right about one thing: you never knew what you’d find out once you started asking questions. The hit-and-run incident was looking and sounding more appealing by the hour. Who the hell was telling the truth? she wondered, as she stopped in a line of traffic in the high street and looked at herself in her rear-view mirror. Rubbing her lips together, she considered her main priority, which at the moment was getting out of the impending post-mortem.

  She liked the media side of her new posting. Her name and picture would be in the papers soon. Journalists would want to quote her. She would work on Dylan to let her get involved with that side of things more. Who knew, she might get on TV? She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, licked her lips and considered seriously what she might wear for TV interviews. Perhaps she should go shopping for a new outfit while she was in town, to that new little Italian designer shop, just in case.

  Chapter Nine

  The school day was drawing to a close. Pam was downhearted. She hadn’t heard from Danny all day. She must have blown it. Looking at her phone, she silently begged it to vibrate a message arriving, as she walked along the long driveway leading from the school to the main road. Head down, she dragged her feet lethargically.

  Suddenly she heard the distant, booming sound of loud music, but try as she might to see through the gaggle of pupils, staff and an array of backpacks in front of her, she couldn’t see the car. A broad grin of anticipation grew on her face.

  Pam turned to face the direction of the noise. Her pace quickened and her heart started to pump wildly. She stood on her tiptoes, eyes scouring the road above a sea of heads at the school gates. Friends shouted their goodbyes to her but she dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

  The music got louder and then suddenly the car was there. The red Ford Fiesta drew up on the opposite side of the road in front of her. Almost immediately a group of girls swarmed the car. Some bent down to the opening window and started chatting and laughing with the car’s occupants. Pam hurried across the road but, as she neared, the girls started walking away, laughing raucously, and her feelings of jealousy faded.

  ‘Hi gorgeous, thought we’d come to give you a lift home?’ Danny said, leaning out of the car window. ‘Jump in.’

  ‘Did you come past our house this morning?’ she said with a dazzling smile that showed off the whitest of white teeth. Billy stepped out of the car to let her in the back seat, and she walked around to the passenger door.

  ‘We did. We were looking for you,’ Danny said, his eyes glued to hers in the mirror. He smiled. Pam blushed.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet,’ Danny laughed. ‘I won’t drop you off outside. I know parents can be such a bore.’

  ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ she said, confidently. ‘My mum and dad work twenty-four seven. They won’t be home for ages yet.’

  The speed of the car pulling away from the kerb caused Pam to jolt backwards and roll over on the back seat.

  ‘I think your legs get longer,’ Billy said with a smirk as he put his head through the middle of the front seats and stared at them unashamedly.

  Danny turned to see what Billy was looking at. There was a screech of brakes.

  ‘Fucking idiot,’ he screamed at the driver of the oncoming car as he swerved to avoid a collision. ‘Fucking wanker,’ he shouted at the top of his voice. He turned and gave him the finger. ‘Just cos he’s got a fucking Porsche he thinks he owns the fucking road,’ he raged. Danny rammed the car into first gear and yanked off the handbrake; revving the engine, he swung the car around to follow the Porsche. The car had vanished.

  ‘I think I know that guy. He lives there,’ Pam said, pointing in the direction of a huge white house that stood in its own grounds at the bottom of the road where she lived.

  ‘Number 42,’ Danny remarked, nodding to Billy.

  ‘He must be fucking loaded,’ Billy said, giving a long low whistle.

  ‘Whoever he is, he doesn’t cut us up like that and get away with it,’ Danny muttered.

  Moments later they were outside Pam’s home and Danny revved the engine once again. Pam stared out of the window at the neighbouring houses to see if she could see anyone watching.

  ‘What’re ya doing at weekend?’ Danny asked.

  She thought hard for something interesting to say.

  ‘Nothing. I don’t think,’ she said instead.

  ‘Good, I’ll text you,’ he said.

  Pam got out of the car and stood on the pavement as Danny did a three-point turn. He didn’t look back at her and she watched his car crawl down the street and stop outside number 42. She turned and ran up the path to her house.

  Pam unlocked the front door and dropped her bag at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Yes!’ she yelled at the top of her voice. Punching the air, anyone watching would have thought she’d just scored the winning goal at Wembley. She’d got her first real date.

  She took the stairs two at a time and launched herself into her bedroom, flinging open her wardrobe door. What on earth was she going to wear? She picked out her clothes one by one and discarded them on the bed. Tops, skirts, jumpers flew out of her drawers. She could feel panic rising. There were only a few days to decide. She stood at th
e foot of the bed and flopped backwards, sighing. Dreaming of Danny, she thought she’d burst with joy as she pulled her teddy off her pillow and hugged him tight. ‘Teds,’ she said. ‘This is it. I’m all grown up now and I don’t need you anymore.’ Teds flew up in the air and landed in the waste bin.

  ‘We need to get Pam to invite us into her house,’ Billy said.

  ‘Not yet, we’re gonna do that twat over that cut us up first,’ said Danny, gazing at Number 42. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and Billy knew his friend was working out a plan of action. When Danny had his mind set, nothing Billy could say or do would change it.

  ‘Whatever,’ Billy said, nodding his head to the beat of the music.

  Chapter Ten

  The coffin bore a solitary arrangement of white lilies. Inside were the remains of Grace Harvey and Winston. Donald Harvey and her close friends inched their way up the slope towards All Saints’ Church, Merton, which stood on a hill near the heart of the village, just a short walk away from the river Heddle and the village green.

  Waiting for them at the top of the hill was a tight circle of Grace’s neighbours and villagers. Taylor stood outside the entrance of the church and watched the tear-drenched face of a little girl break out in a nervous giggle as she walked the path between the gravestones. Overcome, presumably by the stress of the funeral, she raised her trembling face, framed with a black Alice band, to an older lady at her side, as if in search of reassurance.