Deadly Revenge

by Leigh Russell

  ‘That should help, a little, at least for a few days,’ Ella said, pocketing the cash. ‘I try not to change her nappy too often, so as to economise, but she has to be fed. Now, I’d better put her back in her cot before she falls asleep on you.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Jessica replied, with a quick smile.

  But Ella was already lifting the small bundle out of her arms.

  ‘Can’t I hold her for a bit longer?’ Jessica pleaded.

  ‘I need more money,’ Ella blurted out.

  Frowning, Jessica took another two twenty-pound notes from her purse.

  ‘That’s all I’ve got,’ she said, a trifle sharply.

  ‘Thank you. Really, you have no idea what a difference it makes. Babies cost such a lot.’ She broke off as Jessica began to sob.

  Pulling herself together with an effort, Jessica stood up. ‘I’d better be going, then. I’ll come back soon.’

  ‘Yes, come back, any time,’ Ella said, ‘but call first or I might be out. And don’t forget to bring more cash next time, will you? You know I hate to ask, but the baby needs toys to play with. I can’t be on hand to entertain her all the time, although God knows I do my best. And it won’t be long before she starts crawling and then she’ll need a playpen.’

  Jessica sighed. ‘I’ll bring you a few things from home,’ she said. ‘Just on loan, until Daisy’s back with me.’

  ‘No, no,’ Ella replied, sounding annoyed. ‘No, please don’t bring me anything from your house. That would make it seem as though you don’t believe Daisy’s ever coming back home. That’s a terrible idea. You have to stay positive, Jessica. Just bring me more money, and I can get whatever I need.’

  ‘All right, but I can’t keep handing over great wads of cash. There’s a limit to what I can afford.’

  ‘Of course, that’s understood, and there’s no way I’d want to carry on like this for much longer. It’s just that, while you’re not having to cough up for Daisy, you have the money going spare, so it’s not as if you can’t afford to help me out like this, temporarily of course. I thought it might comfort you, coming to see the baby, but if you’d rather not come here anymore –’

  ‘No, no, please, don’t misunderstand me,’ Jessica said quickly. ‘You’re right, you’re right, I can afford it at the moment, of course I can. I’ll bring you two hundred next time, all right?’

  Ella’s eyes narrowed. ‘Two fifty would be better,’ she said softly. ‘Three, if you can manage it?’

  30

  Every year since the death of their mother, Geraldine had visited her sister for tea on Celia’s birthday. It was an obligation she fulfilled willingly. Although Celia put no pressure on her to continue the custom, Geraldine knew that her sister would be disappointed if she broke the tradition. The death of their mother several years ago had hit Celia far harder than Geraldine. Only after their mother’s death had Geraldine learned the reason why Celia closely resembled their fair-haired mother, while Geraldine, with her black hair and very dark eyes, looked like the child of another mother. As it turned out, she was exactly that.

  The shock of discovering she had been adopted by Celia’s biological mother had been hard to deal with at first, but the passing years had softened her distress and Geraldine had come to terms, not only with her adoption, but with her adopted mother’s failure to share the truth with her. She understood that the situation must have been tricky for her adopted mother who was dead now, and beyond question or challenge. Geraldine had forgiven her. It seemed the most sensible way to deal with her disappointment. The only alternative was to harbour a resentment which would help no one, least of all Geraldine herself.

  Although she was involved in a murder investigation, the initial reports were in, a team were now questioning the Armstrongs’ neighbours, the dead man’s former work colleagues, and the other members of the council, and all the reports were being completed and cross referenced. That was a job for a huge team of constables who were working hard to get the records up to date.

  Celia was used to Geraldine calling at the last minute to cancel arrangements and no longer even remonstrated when that happened, but there was nothing urgent for Geraldine to do that day and the traffic promised to be relatively light as it was Sunday, so she decided to stick to the arrangement she had made earlier in the month.

  Initially, she felt as though a weight was slowly lifting from her shoulders as she drove away from York. Usually, the physical distance helped her to think clearly. The key to Daisy’s disappearance lay with her father, although whether her biological father had known, or discovered the truth and returned to claim her or Jason had abducted her was unclear. Given Jason’s disappearance, the likelihood was that Daisy was with him. But it explained nothing, because a man could no more vanish without trace than a baby could. It made no sense. If Jason was responsible, he must have been planning to disappear with Daisy for a long time. But without his passport, and with no trace of him anywhere in the country, his whereabouts remained a mystery.

  For once, the long drive didn’t help Geraldine to gain any helpful mental distance from the case she was working on, and she arrived at her sister’s house feeling frustrated. Celia’s household seemed like a shining beacon of domestic happiness compared to the experience of many people Geraldine met in the course of her work.

  Celia’s face lit up with pleasure when she saw Geraldine on the doorstep. ‘You came.’

  ‘I said I would,’ Geraldine replied, returning Celia’s smile.

  ‘I know, but I was afraid something would turn up at the last minute to keep you in York. It so often does. I mean, I know you can’t help it, but… anyway, you’re here now so come on in. I’m so pleased you could make it, and Chloe’s going to be really excited to see you.’

  She flung her arms around Geraldine and gave her a hug. For an instant the warmth of human contact almost reduced Geraldine to tears. She had thought coming to see her family would take her mind off Ian, but Celia’s embrace reminded her how much she missed him.

  ‘How lucky you’re not tied up on a case this weekend,’ Celia went on.

  ‘Actually,’ Geraldine admitted, ‘there is an investigation at the moment, but it’s ongoing and it was no problem to get away for a day.’

  She didn’t add that she had been desperate to escape from York, and her work, and most of all from Ian. She hadn’t seen Celia for a few months and had been waiting to tell her face to face about her relationship with Ian. Only now it was all over with Ian before she had even blurted out the news. Although she longed to unburden herself to her sister, she was glad she had not yet mentioned her brief romance to her. Celia’s questions, and her sympathy, would probably have made Geraldine cry, and the last thing she wanted was to ruin her sister’s birthday by sharing her misery.

  ‘Geraldine, are you all right?’

  ‘Sure. I’m fine, maybe just a bit tired, that’s all.’

  Before Celia could press her the baby began to bleat, and at the same time Geraldine’s niece came out into the hall and let out a gleeful shriek on seeing her. Chloe was a teenager, and volatile in her moods. Sometimes she was sullen towards Geraldine, usually when her parents had refused to allow her to go out because her aunt was expected. But as long as she wasn’t missing seeing her friends, she was always pleased to see Geraldine.

  ‘It’s not as if you don’t get together with Abigail and Molly every day at school,’ Celia had protested, half angry, half laughing, the last time Chloe had remonstrated in front of Geraldine.

  ‘That’s not the same,’ Chloe had retorted furiously. ‘That’s school.’

  But on Celia’s birthday there was no clash of arrangements, and Chloe ran up to Geraldine and hugged her. Geraldine returned her niece’s embrace with a smile.

  ‘I’ve brought you a present,’ she said.

  ‘You shouldn’t,’ Celia scolded her.

&
nbsp; ‘Shouldn’t what?’

  ‘You shouldn’t spoil her.’

  ‘No,’ Chloe agreed earnestly, ‘you shouldn’t have brought anything for me. It’s mum’s birthday, not mine.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten her. I’ve brought a present for her as well,’ Geraldine smiled.

  Celia went off to change the baby’s nappy, and Chloe and Geraldine followed her into the kitchen. For the next couple of hours Geraldine was preoccupied with holding the baby, and hearing about her niece’s latest exploits and ambitions for the future. Chloe told Geraldine how she was aiming to be a professional footballer, while Celia listened, with an indulgent smile.

  ‘That’s this week’s fad,’ Celia whispered to Geraldine when Chloe left the room to try on the jeans Geraldine had bought her.

  ‘It’s a healthy sort of ambition,’ Geraldine muttered, calling out loudly enough for Chloe to hear, ‘I can change them if they don’t fit.’

  Chloe returned soon after, wearing the jeans. ‘They’re perfect!’ she enthused. ‘How did you know my size?’

  Geraldine smiled.

  ‘We do talk to each other, you know,’ Celia said, grinning.

  Just as they sat down to tea the baby began to whimper and Celia brought him to the table where he sat in his high chair, gurgling and curling and uncurling his tiny fingers. Watching Celia with her husband and children settled around her, Geraldine was struck by their contentment, which formed a stark contrast to Jessica’s wretched family life. She hadn’t thought about the case for a couple of hours and felt better for the break, and resolved to return to her work with renewed vigour the next morning.

  ‘You are looking tired,’ Celia said later, when she and Geraldine were finally alone together.

  Chloe had gone to her room, allegedly to do some homework for school, and Celia’s husband was putting the baby to bed.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Geraldine preempted her fussing. ‘Work’s been busy, and I haven’t had much time to sleep in the last few weeks.’

  ‘You could always call me in the night, as I’ll probably be up with the baby,’ Celia smiled. ‘But the case isn’t over?’

  Geraldine sighed and shook her head. ‘Not yet. I’m afraid this one’s going to take a while.’

  Celia gave her a shrewd look, her blue eyes troubled. ‘Are you sure it’s just work that’s bothering you?’

  Geraldine avoided meeting her sister’s gaze. ‘What else would it be?’

  ‘True, I suppose,’ Celia conceded. ‘You know, it’s high time you found yourself a decent man. There’s more to life than work.’

  Geraldine stifled a sigh. ‘Not for me,’ she muttered. ‘Not any more,’ she thought.

  31

  His dahlias had done well that year, but their colourful display at the back of the garden would soon be over. Lemon yellow, fuchsia and crimson, they flourished in front of the fence. In each of the far corners of the garden he had planted a tree, a fig and a small conifer, between which the dahlias were a riot of colour. They were, as his daughter said, his pride and joy.

  ‘You can laugh at me all you like,’ he had replied, ‘but you have to admit they make a glorious show in the summer, and that doesn’t happen by chance. It takes a lot of care and attention to produce a display like that.’

  ‘I’m sure it doesn’t happen by chance, and you’re right, dad, they are lovely.’

  More than a hobby to him after his wife died, maintaining his small patch of lawn and surrounding flower beds had become Roger’s passion in life. So when he stepped outside on Monday morning to carry out his daily inspection of the garden and saw someone lying down among the dahlias, he was horrified. Where he would have been cautious as a rule, he now became reckless with fury. Had the intruder been sprawling anywhere other than right on top of the dahlias, Roger might have been more circumspect, but he had been nurturing those flowers for months. And now, after all those months of careful tending, the dahlias had been vandalised. Having called the police to report an intruder on the premises, Roger could control his temper no longer. Seizing his garden fork he waved it at the back of the intruder’s head.

  ‘Get up!’ he roared. ‘Get up, you filthy swine! Off my flower bed! Get up!’

  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if the other man woke up before the police arrived, but he was momentarily too angry to worry about that. He shouted again, but the man on the ground did not stir.

  ‘I said, get up!’ Roger yelled.

  Feeling a rush of blood to his head, he raised his fork, determined to confront the hooligan who had trampled on his dahlias. Lowering the fork slowly, he tensed to leap backwards if the man sat up suddenly and grabbed the prongs, but the man did not move. Roger poked him, tentatively, on his back, but still the man did not stir. Trembling, Roger raised the fork again, clutching the handle tightly in case the man leapt to his feet and tried to attack him. If necessary, Roger was prepared to bring his weapon down with all the force he could muster, heedless of the consequences. He was not a young man, but he wasn’t old, and all the gardening he did kept him fit. Besides, his antagonist was trespassing. Roger had every right to defend himself from an intruder. He prodded the man’s back again, but still the intruder did not react. Only then did it occur to Roger that something was seriously wrong.

  The man was lying face down on the flower bed, and could be suffocating as Roger stood there shouting at him. Concern overcame his curiosity and he crouched down and hesitated, noticing a putrid smell, like a foul drain. Reaching out with one hand, he took hold of the man’s arm. It felt soft and flabby under the sleeve of his jacket. With a grunt, Roger heaved the man on to his side, and drew back as the fetid stench intensified. The man’s face was bloated, the skin greenish and blistered. His swollen tongue stuck out and his eyes stared at Roger, glassy and clouded. Stumbling backwards, Roger nearly tripped over the handle of the fork which had fallen from his grasp.

  Afterwards Roger could not have said how long he stood staring down in shock, before he heard a siren. A moment later someone pounded on his front door. As though recalled from a nightmare, he turned and stumbled across the grass, yelling in a panic.

  ‘I’m here! I’m here! Don’t go away. For God’s sake, don’t leave! I’m coming!’

  Two uniformed police officers stood on the doorstep. It crossed Roger’s mind that they looked no older than his teenage grandchildren. He wished the police had sent someone more experienced to deal with the situation.

  ‘Good morning, sir. We received a report of an intruder on the premises here,’ one of the officers said pleasantly. ‘Is everything all right, sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that is no, no.’ Roger stopped, aware that he was babbling. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. ‘The fact is, there’s a dead body at the bottom of my garden,’ he blurted out.

  The two police officers exchanged a rapid glance.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ one of them said, with exaggerated patience.

  ‘Oh please, don’t take my word for it,’ Roger replied, miffed at their evident scepticism. ‘Come and see for yourselves.’

  As he led the two police officers round the back of the house and across the lawn to the back of the garden, Roger had a wild hope that he had imagined the body with its horribly decomposed face. Perhaps the man’s skin had been discoloured with grass and leaves and mud, and he had recovered consciousness and done a runner, escaping over the fence, while Roger had been at the front door speaking to the police. But as they approached the flower bed he saw the body was still there, lying on its side, just where Roger had left it. He screwed up his eyes to avoid looking directly at the hideous sight of a dead body rotting into his carefully treated soil.

  ‘Oh, heavens above,’ one of the police officers said, backing away. ‘What a sight!’

  The officer who had spoken turned pale, and Roger was af
raid he was going to throw up on the carefully manicured lawn. Meanwhile the other police officer was on his phone, talking snappily about what had happened. Roger paid little attention to what he was saying.

  Having finished on the phone, the policeman turned to Roger. ‘Now sir,’ he said. ‘Let’s go inside and you can tell us exactly what happened here.’

  Roger shook his head helplessly. ‘Nothing happened. That is, what I mean is, I just found him lying here, dead. I don’t know who he is – or was – or what he was doing here. How did the body even get here?’

  The police officer looked around, taking in the fig tree and the spindly conifer.

  ‘He must have climbed over the fence and then…’ He looked back down at the body and frowned. ‘And then… Mr Dexter, when was the last time you were in the garden?’

  Roger frowned too. ‘I came out about, I don’t know, about half an hour ago, I guess. Maybe longer. I phoned you as soon as I saw the body, as soon as I realised he was dead. I saw it – him – almost straight away.’

  ‘And before that? How long is it since you were out here before today?’

  ‘I’m out here most days.’

  ‘Were you out here yesterday?’

  ‘Yes,’ Roger replied. ‘Like I said, I’m out here almost every day. Weather permitting, that is. Although if it’s just drizzling I come out. There’s always something to do,’ he said, almost shamefaced about his dedication to his plants. Catching the drift of the constable’s questioning, he added, ‘The dead body wasn’t here yesterday. It only turned up today.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘I’m positive. He – it’s lying on my dahlias. There’s absolutely no way I could have missed it. I’d have spotted it – him – straight away.’

  Just then they heard knocking at the door, and the constable’s phone buzzed.

  ‘A team has arrived here to assess the site,’ he said. ‘We’ll take it from here, sir. If you’d like to step away.’