After Jessica: A mystery novella

by Bailey,Morgen

“No. It’s still early days, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, although it seems like forever, in a way. There’s been so much to do and so much has happened in the past week. I can’t believe that this time last week I’d only just found out and was going to the hospital.”

  “It must have been awful. And you had to tell your mum?”

  “That was the hardest thing ever. Horrible. Just awful.”

  Andy put his right hand over Simon’s left arm and let it linger. “If there’s anything I can do. I know I’m not local but if I can help.”

  Simon looked down at Andy’s hand then into his eyes. “Did you know that only two percent of the world’s population have green eyes?”

  Andy remained silent but remembered his hand and swiftly removed it. “I’m so sorry, Simon, that was inappropriate.”

  Simon burst out laughing.

  “That’s something that we say to our inmates.”

  “Sorry?”

  “How inappropriate something is.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Oh, no. It wasn’t a criticism.”

  “You work in a prison?”

  “No. Rossythe Rehabilitation Centre. Just the other side of Milton Keynes.”

  “Oh, OK.”

  “I work with people with severe learning difficulties and brain injuries. They’re residents but we call them inmates. Kind of cruel, and obviously not to their face.”

  “You have to have some patience for a job like that. What do you do?”

  “CBT mainly. Cognitive behavioural therapy. I read to them then we discuss it. We have group sessions and one-to-ones. It varies from patient to patient.”

  “Wow. Have you always done that?”

  “I knew I wanted to be a doctor and the brain appealed to me. I think it’s the sponginess of it.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Kind of. It always amazed me how much it can retain and what we can do with it. I thought of going into mainstream psychology but then a friend had a rugby accident and I veered into this.”

  They stood in silence for a moment then Simon said.

  “Have you always wanted to drive trains?”

  “Oh, yes. Sad as it may seem. My stepdad had a train set in our loft and we’d play on it for hours, especially at the weekends. Used to drive my mum mad. Now they’re both retired so she complains about him being under her feet all the time, although he potters around in his shed for hours instead, so nothing much changes.”

  “And you do the long distance runs?”

  “Usually but I’ve just come off a short commuter shuttle for the weekend. A few colleagues called in sick so I got last minute notice.”

  “That’s a bummer.”

  “Time and a half Saturdays and double-time Sundays so I can’t complain.”

  “But you get no weekend.”

  “True but I do weekday shifts normally so I’m luckier than most.”

  Marion tapped Simon on his arm. “Simon, your uncle’s disappeared. I think he’s chatting to someone in the garden. Would you mind taking some drinks round? Maybe this young man can help you.” She winked.

  “Sure. Mum, this is Andy. He was driving the train last Monday.”

  “Oh, Andy. I’m so sorry.”

  “Mrs Price, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “It must have been awful, knowing there was nothing you could do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you so much for coming. We’re so grateful.”

  Andy looked around the lounge. “Jessica knew a lot of people.”

  “So it seems.” Marion lowered her voice. “I don’t think everyone knew her but it’s nice to have lots of people to look after.”

  Andy smiled sympathetically and followed Simon to the kitchen for more supplies.

  ###

  Chapter 39: Rick

  “After one hundred yards, turn left and you’ve reached your destination… You’ve reached your destination.”

  Pulling up outside the 1930s semi, Rick put the car into neutral, switched off the engine and sat nav. He peered through the passenger window. The house looked ordinary; a dark green metal post box to the right of the front white uPVC door bore white plastic numbers five and one. Rick nodded to himself and flicked open the door handle. He looked around the u-shaped close, and apart from a woman walking her dog on the green, everyone else appeared to be at work. He smiled. It would make snooping easier.

  The black wrought iron gate squeaked as he swung it open. He walked to the top of the front garden and peered through the lounge bay window. The colours of lilac and pale blue looked girlie to him and not at all lurid as he’d expected. Maybe she was a different person at home to the one at ‘work’.

  “Once a tart, always a tart in my experience,” he mumbled to himself.

  There was an alcove next to the fireplace to the right of the room containing shelves of books, a large flat-screen TV, DVD video combi, and Sky+ box. All were on standby.

  Despite the lack of car and other signs of life, he rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing. He rang again but harder and therefore louder. Again no one came to the door. He turned and looked at the neighbouring houses. They were still as quiet and the woman and dog had gone. Rick fished in his jeans pocket for his ‘magic gadget’; which opened anything from a beer bottle top and petty cash tins to the trickiest of front doors and lunged it into the lock. With some twisting, the door clicked and he pushed down the handle, skipping over the threshold and closing the door deftly but silently.

  Rick frowned as he saw the book on the hallway floor. So maybe she left in a hurry. He loved spooking people so picked the book up and put it in the kitchen sink’s empty washing up bowl. She’d probably not remember leaving it in the hallway but certainly wouldn’t have left it in the kitchen. He walked through to the lounge and saw a flashing two on the answer machine. He pressed the ‘play’ button. Message one, received Sunday 9.43pm.

  “Alexis. This is getting beyond a joke. It’s Veronica again.”

  “Hi, blondie.”

  “Daniel’s on my back again and he’s getting to be a pain in the arse.”

  “He’ll be thrilled to know that,” Rick chuckled.

  “Think he’s got some guy asking for you.”

  “You’re sharper than you look, blondie.”

  “I don’t need this hassle Alexis. I know you’ve lost my mobile and Simon says that you’ve not been there since his sister died but you’ve got to come back at some stage. Damn it, Alexis, put me out of my misery. Are you still on my books or not?”

  “She won’t be when Daniel’s finished with her, Veronica. He’s really pissed.”

  “If I don’t hear from you by the end of the day Alexis, you’re off my books. I’d rather keep you because you’re a good worker and popular but I’m not going to be messed about like this. Ring me. Bye, Alexis.”

  “I bet you don’t keep your word Veronica. If she’s so good, you’d be mad to drop her. Still, I guess a woman scorned and all that.”

  He wrote down Veronica’s name on the back of the scrap of paper from his jeans pocket and pressed the red ‘delete’ button. The machine beeped again. Message two, received Monday 10.46am.

  “Mr Price, it’s John Frizzell here. Eversley Bank. I’m sorry to ring you like this but we have some news about that account your sister and Ms Starr had. Can you ring me back, please. I think you have our number but if you need it again it’s…”

  Rick wrote down his number, and pressed the ‘delete message’ button, grinning like Jack Nicholson’s Joker. “Gotcha.”

  He just needed to work out a plan.

  “Hey, Em, it’s Andy. Says he’s met someone!”

  Emily rushed from the lounge into the hall and grabbed the phone receiver from her husband. Although Frank liked technology, he’d not quite got round to upgrading the phone to a cordless. “Would be so useful when we’re in the garden,” she’d said. “But that’s the only time we get peace and quiet,” he�
��d replied so she’d let it go. So far.

  “Hey, darling. What’s this about a new special someone? Really? Nice. Ah, lovely. I’m so pleased for you. I know. It’s been a while. Where did you two meet? Oh dear. That’s awful. The two of you could come over for dinner... Oh, not that serious. The invitation’s there. What does your new ‘friend’ look like? Attractive, yes. Tall, yes. What colour eyes? Ah, that’s nice, dear. Did you want to speak to Frank again? He’s gone off to the shed but I can get him… When do you go back to work? That’s not fair. Couldn’t someone else do it? Yes, you did tell me before our weekend away. Yes, it was lovely. Quite cold and the coach smelled of beer and the driver didn’t seem to be wearing any deoder… what, dear? OK. Phone me will you and tell me all about… Don’t be nervous. I remember when Frank and I…, oh.”

  Emily’s hearing aid buzzed as the dialling tone warbled in her ear. His money must have run out, she thought. She then sighed as she pictured little grandchildren running around their house. What a shame, she thought before heading to the shed to relay every syllable of her conversation to Frank.

  “Nate?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  “Have you wondered why someone keeps ringing your mobile and who owned it before you?”

  “No, why?”

  “Oh, I thought there might be a mistake, that’s all.”

  “A mistake?”

  “Yes, that you shouldn’t have been sold the phone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That maybe it was stolen or something.”

  “You think I stole it?”

  “Of course not, it’s just that… that call the other night. The man seemed quite desperate.”

  “To get his phone back, is that what you’re thinking?”

  “Oh no, it wasn’t his phone but it belonged to someone called Alexis. She’s missing.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “That’s who he asked for.”

  “Then she’s the one that sold it to the guy on the market. Maybe he’s an old boyfriend and she was pissed off that he kept calling her.”

  “Isn’t that rather drastic? Couldn’t she have changed her number or bought a new card for it?”

  “Maybe she wanted an upgrade or a different model. You girls get tired of things easily.”

  “Maybe, but don’t you think that it’s…”

  “I don’t see how it’s my problem.”

  “You’re right. You bought it fair and square, only… The guy from the market might have records.”

  “What is this? Why are you playing Miss Marple? She’s nothing to you.”

  “I was just wondering.”

  “You think too much.”

  “Where’s the mobile now?”

  “In my jacket pocket, where it’s always been. No one has the number yet. I was going to swap my old sim card with the one in–”

  “I thought you said you lost your old phone.”

  “Er, yes, I thought I had but I found it.”

  “So you needn’t have bought this one. I needn’t be worrying about this woman, whether she’s gone missing or not.”

  “I still can’t understand why you’re worrying anyway.”

  “Maternal instincts, I suppose.”

  “Already?”

  “Someone’s in distress and…”

  “Oh come on, Beth, that’s so melodramatic. The hormones have gone to your head. Why don’t you have her phone and I keep my old one if you’re so…”

  “Oh could I?” Beth jumped off the sofa.

  “If I’d known you were that keen, I’d have given you the bloody thing when I first got it.”

  “Thanks, love!” Beth called from the hall as she rifled through his pockets.

  ###

  Chapter 40: Rick

  Not known for his patience, Rick sat crossed legged on Jessica’s lounge floor. He tapped his right index fingernail on the floorboards and chewed the inside of his right cheek. He frowned and stared at the ground. He’d not let Daniel down before and wasn’t going to this time.

  He looked around the room and took in his surroundings. The chances were that the bank would ask ‘Mr Price’ for some passwords or confidential information so Rick needed to do some digging and have everything at his fingertips. He’d got copies of the bank statements he’d accessed online but he’d not been able to get login paperwork and security details, so that meant looking for an office.

  Opening the connecting doors from the lounge into the dining room yielded no such place and there was only the kitchen yet to be explored downstairs so that meant a room upstairs had to be his key. He bolted up the stairs, missing every other step, and headed for the smallest room; the room usually converted into a study, leaving the bigger rooms for bedrooms. The house was a typical 1930s layout so likely that the box room would be above the hall.

  Rick frowned as he put his head round the door and saw nothing but a bed and two chests of drawers. The room didn’t look as if it had been used in months. The bed was made but there was nothing on top of the units, as if the room was for show and nothing else.

  Next door was the master bedroom and this was equally sparse although there was some evidence of a recent life. Three huge wardrobes dominated the main wall so Rick headed for these. With his mission for paperwork temporarily distracted, he opened the left door so slowly as if not to wake any moths that might be sleeping inside. A plethora of colour greeted him. There were evening dresses of every colour, bags neatly stacked into side shelving like soldiers on parade. A glut of shoes balanced on racks on the floor almost seemed to quake with excitement at seeing daylight. Yes, he was definitely in the right place; a tart’s wardrobe if ever he saw one, and he’d seen a few in his time.

  The second was similar so he moved on to the right wardrobe which was disappointingly monochrome by comparison; business suits and pencil skirts lined in order of shade from black to light grey like a minimalist’s paint chart. A tart with a day job, Rick thought.

  Shutting the doors, he went to the back bedroom. One wall was lined with bookcases, full of self-help and ‘airy fairy’ books in Rick’s opinion. He picked one at random. “‘You’ve quit your job, what’s next?’ Pah!” He shook his head. You wouldn’t catch me dead reading this…” On the top shelf he spotted a row of labelled ring binders. Two marked ‘bank statements’ caught his eye.

  He pulled them out and sat at the desk. The first one was the standard current account. Boring, Rick thought as he flicked through the statements looking for confirmation of pin codes or jottings by one of the girls in an attempt to remember their codes. With nothing of use in that file, he moved on to the other. At the back of the file was a copy of the account application form. It contained both signatures, dated differently, and by one, Alexis’, was ‘buttons51’ and ‘Underwood’ in red fountain pen. “Good girl,” Rick clenched his fists and thrust them in the air like a celebratory football player. All he had to do was to ring the bank, pretend to be this Mr Price and play it by ear. Rick supposed that finding out what ‘Mr Price’s’ first name was would be useful so he did a reckie round the room. People were predictable. They either had photos which they’d write on or leave note around the room reminding them to do things, with names of friends and family mentioned. It wouldn’t be too difficult to find. Before too long he’d found a letter addressed to Mr S Price c/o 51 Berry Avenue and a note to ‘ring Shaun’ so armed with the information he needed, he fished the piece of paper from his jeans pocket and dialled the number for the bank.

  “Good afternoon. Eversley Bank, Carol speaking, can I help you?”

  “Hi, Carol. It’s Shaun Price, can I speak to Mr Frizzell please.”

  “I’m sorry. You are?”

  “Shaun Price, Jessica Price’s brother?”

  Carol hesitated. “Err…”

  The old bag probably can’t remember her. You’d think with an account that healthy, she’d remember, Rick thought.

  “Certainly, Mr Price. I�
�ll just put you on hold.”

  ‘Christ, it’s bloody Greensleeves,’ Rick said as the music came on.

  It had almost played twice when Carol came back on the phone. “Sorry, to keep you Mr Price. I’m connecting you.”

  “Thanks.” The phone rang and was answered almost immediately.

  “Good morning… sorry, afternoon already. Good afternoon, Mr Price.”

  Rick pictured the manager’s plastic smile as he was asked, “And how are you today, Mr Price?”

  “Fine, thanks, Mr Frizzell.”

  “Please, call me John.”

  “Then you call me Shaun.” Rick smiled. He liked being someone else.

  “Shaun.”

  “Yes.”

  “OK. Mr Price… Shaun. I just need to ask you some security questions before I’m able to relay any information.”

  “Of course, I quite understand,” Shaun alias Simon alias Rick said.

  “Can I have your mother’s maiden name please?”

  “Certainly. It’s Underwood.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And the password on the account?”

  “buttons51.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And Jessica’s brother’s name?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Miss Price’s brother’s name?”

  “Errr…”

  “Who is this?”

  The line went dead.

  Rick slammed his fist on the top of Jessica’s desk. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He’d been careless and Rick Taylor didn’t do careless. “You prick, Rick.” He tapped his right middle fingernail against his bottom middle tooth. He winced as the finger slipped and his nail dug into his bottom lip. “Shit!”

  He turned the study upside down and looked through the rest of the house. Apart from the shared bank statement, which yielded little other than deposits of cash, there was nothing to give away who Alexis was or more importantly, where she was. The only personal documents; birth certificates etc. were of Jessica and he saw little point in taking those.

  In fact the only place he didn’t look was the lounge drawers, which was a pity as there was something in there that would have suited him nicely.