The Anita Waller Collection

by Anita Waller

  She could see Ella’s light brown skin, glowing in the sunlight; her voice was soft and gentle, her manner the same. How could she live without her? She pulled Mr Grumps closer and wiped away yet more tears from her cheeks.

  She knew she had to smarten up – the appointment with the undertaker was for three o’clock, and she couldn’t go looking like this, although she guessed most people who had to visit an undertaker looked like she did.

  She felt truly grateful for the way Sally had looked after her and knew she couldn’t have done the afternoon’s traumatic activities without her. But sooner or later, she would have to return to the awful empty house. No more giggles, no more pleadings to be allowed to go down to Freya’s house, no more nights at the kitchen table, doing homework. Was a broken heart a genuine illness? She felt she had it.

  There was a gentle knock on the door, and Sally popped her head around. ‘Cup of tea, sweetie?’

  Cissie nodded and pulled herself up so that she was leaning against the bedhead. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t be waiting on me. Can you put up with me for one more night? I don’t think I’ll be up to going home after the undertakers, but tomorrow, I must make the effort.’

  ‘Cissie, you stay as long as you need to. This is our spare room, you’re not putting anybody out of their bed. Don’t rush home because you think you’re intruding, you’re not.’

  ‘It’s not that. You’ll think I’m crazy, but Ella isn’t here. I’ll be able to connect with her back at home. I know it will be quiet, but maybe that’s what I need. I’ll go home tomorrow. If I can’t handle it, I’ll come back to you. Does that sound sensible?’ She gave a huge sigh and pulled Mr Grumps towards her.

  ‘You do whatever you think is for the best. Our home will always be open to you. I’ll go and get that cup of tea.’

  Sally went downstairs, deeply troubled. She had no idea how Cissie was keeping going; children were so precious, and now, Cissie had none.

  She made a cup of tea for herself and Cissie, then carried them both upstairs. Cissie was still resting against the bedhead but, this time, staring at her phone.

  ‘I told him, Ella’s father. He’s emailed me.’ She handed the phone to Sally and waited.

  Sally read it, slowly and carefully. She lifted her head and stared at Cissie. ‘Do you need his money?’

  ‘No, not at all. It’s more him attending the funeral that’s bothering me. I thought he would say no. But he has the right, doesn’t he? Ella was his daughter. I’m not telling him my address, so he can forget the cheque. I’ve asked him for nothing for nine years, I don’t intend starting now.’

  ‘Then, forget about it. Send him a very brief email saying you don’t need help with the funeral costs, and you’ll see him on the day. We’ll have the date in a couple of hours. Email him after that, and you won’t need to be in contact again.’

  Chapter 14

  DI Roberts hated his job at times. He visited the Brownlow home first, where he explained about Megan Clarkson’s death and Daryl’s injuries. Fortunately for him, Cissie Johnston had also been there; it meant he only had two explanations to give, instead of three. The children, however, had been distraught.

  He couldn’t have chosen a worse time to go; the two mothers were getting ready to head off to the undertakers, and John Brownlow was left to deal with three very unhappy children.

  Roberts heard the little girl, Freya, speak in a whisper to her brothers. ‘Are we going to be next? They’ve got two of us now.’

  Mark placed a finger on his lips, and Freya stopped speaking. Roberts knew that these kids were hiding something. Perhaps through fear? Tomorrow, this would have to be sorted.

  He moved from the Brownlow’s to Janey Walker’s home, higher up the estate. He drove past Aileen Walmsley’s house and wondered if Carl Clarkson was still there, or if she had recognised him for the loser he really was.

  Janey Walker opened the door and ushered him through to the kitchen. She was baking buns with Sammy, his shiny black face covered with bits of flour.

  ‘I have some unwelcome news for both of you,’ he began.

  Sammy instinctively reached out for his mother’s hand. She pulled him towards her.

  ‘Mrs Clarkson, Megan, was killed in a traffic accident yesterday. Daryl was in the car with her, but he escaped with a broken collarbone. He’s in the Children’s Hospital.’

  Sammy’s lips quivered, and Janey hugged him tightly. ‘We’ll go see him tomorrow, okay?’ She turned to Roberts. ‘A traffic accident?’

  ‘Yes, hit and run.’

  ‘Like Ella? Was it the same car?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t the same car. It did have false number plates, though, like the car that hit Ella Johnston.’

  The questions were the same as the ones put to him at the Brownlow’s. Roberts stayed a few minutes longer, then left them to come to terms with what had happened.

  His next stop was at Aileen Walmsley’s house, but she was quick to tell him that Carl Clarkson had moved back to the home he had shared with Megan and Daryl, in preparation for Daryl coming home.

  The funeral arrangements were made with sympathy and care. The death of a child was never going to be easy to deal with, and they finally agreed that Wednesday of the following week would be the best time.

  Cissie felt as though her legs wouldn’t support her as she staggered through Sally’s front door.

  ‘Go and have a lie down,’ Sally insisted. ‘I’ll bring you a drink, but if you’re asleep, it doesn’t matter. You need to switch off for a time.’

  Cissie nodded and climbed the stairs, feeling as though the ascent was comparable to scaling Mount Everest.

  She collapsed onto the bed and closed her eyes. A couple of minutes, she told herself…

  Sally looked down at her and placed the fruit juice on the bedside table. She left her without disturbing her and went back to join the children, sitting at the garden table. They were subdued; two of their gang were out of the picture, and Sally sensed Freya was falling apart.

  They stopped talking as she approached. ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘Think he’s in his shed,’ Mark said. ‘He’s putting a new lock on that gate down the side of the house.’

  Sally hurried to the shed and stood watching him.

  ‘I’m fitting a new lock. We need to make sure it’s locked every night before we go to bed.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s good.’

  He turned and fixed his blue eyes on her, eyes that looked troubled. ‘You understand?’

  ‘Of course. And when the kids go back to school, one of us will take them and pick them up every day. We’ll sort out a rota with Carl and Janey. We can’t let these kids be alone at all until Roberts has caught whoever is targeting us.’

  ‘Have you thought this through?’ John spoke slowly, showing his worries.

  ‘I have. I don’t understand why our kids are being hounded simply because they found Vinnie Walmsley’s body. It doesn’t make sense. I’m going to have a walk up to Aileen’s later and talk to her. See if she can come up with anything.’

  ‘No, you’re not. Megan’s death shows it’s not only the kids who are being targeted, so none of us go out alone. Is that clear, Sally?’

  She blinked. She had never seen John put his foot down about anything before. ‘It’s clear. I’ll call her instead.’ She leaned into the shed and kissed him. ‘Thank you. Love you, boss.’

  He didn’t smile. ‘Love you too. Now let me try to make us a bit safer.’

  She walked back to the children, who once again stopped talking as she approached. ‘Time to talk, kids,’ she said, and they groaned.

  ‘Have we done something wrong?’ Dom asked.

  ‘Have you?’ his mother countered. Her eyes were on Freya. She would be the one to break first, she sensed.

  She reckoned without the iron will of her daughter. ‘I think we’ve been good,’ Freya said. ‘Ask Dad, he’ll tell you.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go b
ack to the day you found Vinnie.’

  ‘No,’ Mark said, sounding so like John, it almost made Sally cry.

  ‘What do you mean no?’

  ‘Mum, we’re struggling with it. You didn’t see him, we did, and it wasn’t a nice sight. Please don’t ask us to talk about it, because we can’t. It’s scary.’

  Four sentences, and he’d knocked everything from under her. Now, she had to back-pedal.

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that in view of this last episode, with Megan and Daryl, I reckon DI Roberts might want to talk to you again. Think about it, see if there’s anything you’ve forgotten to tell him, that’s all I ask. Now, does anybody want some ice cream?’

  They said no, and then she really knew something was troubling them. She hoped Roberts could get it out of them, because she was drawing a blank.

  Kenny had spent most of the day with Grausohn; Kenny had popped in hoping it would be a quick half hour of instructions, then he could disappear. That didn’t happen; he was introduced to the new Tommy – a tall, hefty guy called Fraser.

  Fraser Blake was only thirty-one but looked fifty. He had been working in London, but things had gone wrong, and he had been forced to disappear for a while. He didn’t go into details, and Kenny had enough on his plate without having the new guy’s woes piled on it as well.

  They went to the pub, and although Kenny tried to get him to try Yorkshire beer, he refused, explaining if he drank, he killed people.

  Kenny knew he wasn’t joking, so bought him Diet Coke.

  ‘You got rid of Tommy, then?’

  Kenny shrugged. He wasn’t admitting to anything to a stranger.

  They moved on to football, then Fraser steered the conversation back to the organisation. ‘What do you think to Grausohn? Bit unstable?’

  Again, Kenny shrugged. If you wanted to live, in his line of work, you didn’t slag off the boss. ‘He’s okay. Pays well. I don’t socialise, keep work and family separate.’

  ‘I’m looking to make this move long-term. Truth is, can’t really head back down to London, not for some time, anyway.’

  Kenny’s phone notified him he had an email, and he looked at the screen.

  Cissie.

  ‘Got to go,’ he said to a surprised Fraser, as if he had anticipated killing more time with Kenny, finding out anything he could about Grausohn.

  Kenny stood and shook Fraser’s hand. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Kenny walked casually out to the car, then drove a little way before pulling up. He took out his phone and opened the email. The funeral had been booked in for the following Wednesday, noon at the local church, one-thirty at the crematorium. Thank you, but she didn’t need or want financial help. Nothing else had been added, other than the bare details, and he knew he would be going.

  There were two reasons – the first was, whether he liked it or not, Ella had been his daughter. The second reason was that two of the children they were trying to find were now dead, but that left another four. They would probably be at that funeral, and if he turned on the charm with Cissie, she would give him all their names.

  He threw the phone onto the passenger seat and clicked on his indicator. The phone pinged again, and he pulled on the handbrake.

  Carl.

  Kenny stared at the screen, then opened the message from someone he had presumed to be a dead man.

  Wife dead. Son in hospital. Did Grausohn order it? No more names. He’s not killing anybody else I know.

  Carl had done some serious thinking. He knew Megan had died because of Grausohn, and that he’d probably done it as a warning to him to pull his finger out and hand over all the kids’ names. He put his bag in the boot and set off to spend a couple of nights in a nearby hotel. He needed to be out of the way ’til Daryl came out of hospital, and he thought he might ring Kenny that night, even though Kenny preferred texting.

  He pulled into the Travelodge car park, glanced around him to make sure nobody else was arriving at the same time and headed for reception. His room was adequate, and he drifted off to sleep while watching some inane travel show. He didn’t ring Kenny. He could have done, because Kenny wasn’t asleep.

  Kenny was worried. The plan had been for Carl Clarkson to die. Not his wife, not his son. He’d become too unreliable to live, and if the police picked him up, it could put them all in danger.

  It seemed he hadn’t even been in the fucking car. This wasn’t the way Kenny worked; if somebody had to die, they died. Substitutes didn’t die. And now, he’d probably have to tell the boss about the cock-up, because by tomorrow, Grausohn would be screaming at him to get Carl in, to find out who the kids were and exactly what they knew about his consignment.

  He tossed and turned for most of the night, and Billy, as awake as his partner, would know there was something bad going on inside Kenny’s head. Something really bad.

  Eventually, Kenny gave in and left the bedroom to head downstairs for a drink. He poured a whisky, then poured a second one as he sensed Billy coming up behind him.

  ‘Is it the little girl?’ Billy asked.

  ‘It’s all sorts of stuff,’ Kenny said. Billy was tolerant of most things connected with Kenny’s job, but the last few days might be a step too far.

  They moved to the table and sipped at their drinks. Billy remained quiet, waiting for Kenny to speak.

  ‘I’ve killed three people this week,’ he said, after some minutes of silence.

  ‘Only three?’ Billy asked with a smile, clearly thinking Kenny was being theoretical rather than truthful.

  ‘Billy… it wasn’t a joke.’

  Kenny watched Billy’s face change.

  ‘You’re serious?’

  Kenny nodded. ‘The first one I didn’t really kill, but I was there.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good to know,’ Billy responded with more than a touch of sarcasm.

  ‘I was in the car,’ Kenny tried to explain. ‘Tommy was driving. The kid came straight for us on her scooter, and he couldn’t stop in time.’

  ‘The little girl? That was you? But she’s the one who’s…’

  ‘My daughter? Yes, I know. I can’t get her face out of my head. She hit the windscreen, that’s what killed her, I’m sure. We drove away and left her, Billy. We drove away. And then, we had to go and tell the boss, because we were supposed to be snatching her, so she could tell us where the drugs had gone. Grausohn is convinced the kids who found the body in the woods know more than they’re letting on.’

  Billy stared at him. ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this. You intended handing over this little girl to that thug? What do you think he would have done to her to get the information?’

  ‘Don’t,’ Kenny groaned. ‘Why do you think I can’t sleep? I can’t let him get his hands on any of the other kids. But that’s not all. I had to get rid of Tommy. I knew Tommy was out of favour – he’d made too many cock-ups lately. As soon as he told the boss he’d been driving, Grausohn told me to terminate him. And then, he pushed and pushed to get Carl Clarkson, one of the other hangers-on, to come up with the names of the kids.’

  Billy’s tone was flat. ‘You’ve killed Carl Clarkson as well?’

  ‘No, I’ve fucking killed his wife and put his lad in hospital. I took it upon myself to cause an accident to Carl, put him out of the picture, but he wasn’t in the car. I want out, Billy, but if I say that, I’ll be next.’

  Billy was quiet, taking in everything pouring from Kenny’s lips. ‘I’m going back to bed,’ he said. ‘You take the spare room. I need to think. And try not to kill me and make it four.’

  He headed for the stairs, and Kenny’s head dropped, supported by his hands. He couldn’t lose Billy, he couldn’t.

  Cissie and Sally, accompanied by Mark and Dom, walked up the hill to Cissie’s home. She had decided it was time to be there. She wanted to feel Ella around her, experience her presence. John had insisted the boys go with them, so that Sally wouldn’t be walking back unaccompanied. Freya had said with a grin that she woul
d stay home and guard her dad. John was grateful that she could laugh about it; he couldn’t.

  As they neared Darwin Close, Cissie’s pace increased. She was almost running by the time they reached the front door.

  The steps and front of the house were covered in bouquets of flowers. Cissie stared at them and knelt to read the labels. Most of them were from children from Ella’s school, but some were from strangers who wanted to express their sympathy in the only way they could. Sally, Mark and Dom read the labels as well, and eventually, Dom took hold of his mother’s hand.

  ‘Can we bring some flowers for Ella, Mum?’

  ‘Of course we can. We’ll get some tomorrow and come and check that Cissie is okay.’

  Dom nodded. That was good. It would perhaps let Ella know they were all missing her.

  They cleared a path up to the door, and the four of them went inside. Cissie immediately switched on the kettle, made the boys a cold drink each and went around closing the curtains.

  ‘It won’t be dark for at least three hours.’ Sally smiled.

  ‘The curtains will stay closed now until after the funeral. It’s the way it is, the way it should be. It’s how I was taught by my mum.’

  Sally nodded. ‘Whatever you feel comfortable with, Cissie. Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own? We’re only a phone call away, if you need anything.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ Her tone of voice said otherwise. ‘You’ve been so good to me, Sally. I can’t thank you enough.’ The kettle clicked off, and Cissie poured the boiling water into the teapot.

  She reached up and took the biscuits down from the cupboard and put some on a plate. Carrying them across to the table, playing the perfect hostess, she set everything down, told them to help themselves and then burst into tears.

  Sally stood and moved to take her in her arms. ‘Hush,’ she said. ‘You’re doing so well.’

  ‘Ella would have loved having you all around for tea and biscuits. She thought the world of your family, Sally.’ Cissie dabbed at her eyes, trying to stem the torrent that threatened to flow. ‘How am I supposed to carry on without her?’