by Susan Lewis
He stared at nothing in silent despair. How many times must he have gone over this already, and he was still no closer to an answer than he’d been at the start. No one was. ‘People always think there are cameras everywhere,’ he said. ‘I’ve even heard that they can track mobile phones when they’re turned off . . .’
When he didn’t continue, Andee said, ‘There are a lot of mistaken beliefs out there, and it’s true to say that cameras often aren’t where we want them to be.’
He nodded absently. ‘If we had her phone,’ he said, ‘we might be able to find out more, like who was texting her, did she turn on her GPS, but I’m sure you already know that they’ve never found it. Or her laptop, or anything else she had with her that day.’
Yes, Andee did know that. It was largely why the search had proved so difficult. With no Internet search history to guide them, no emails in or out of an account that her friends and family hadn’t known about, no social media memberships she might have kept to herself . . .
‘A trace on the mystery number,’ Blake went on, ‘showed that it’s registered to a Kim Yoder, but no one’s ever been found with that name, so we have to assume it’s false.’
Deciding to change the subject slightly, Andee said very carefully, ‘The incident that forced you to leave Manchester, can you think of any reason why . . .’
‘It’s not connected,’ he assured her. His face was taut, his hands clenched tightly together. ‘Do you think it was?’ he asked, suddenly not seeming quite so sure.
From what she’d read she didn’t, and clearly the detectives who’d interviewed everyone associated with the incident didn’t think so either. Of course their reports would have influenced her thinking, but there really didn’t seem any logic to it. ‘Are you ever in contact with any former friends or colleagues from those days?’
‘No one. Jenny’s mum and dad had already moved to Devon by the time we left, both mine have already departed this world and neither of us has any brothers or sisters. So when we left we severed all ties.’
‘Did Jessica do the same?’
‘As far as I know. She’d have told Matt if she was still in touch with anyone.’ His eyes came bleakly to hers. ‘You think it’s hopeless, don’t you?’ he said, clearly making an effort to keep his voice steady.
The awful truth was, she did, but there was no way she could bring herself to admit it, so what she said was, ‘There are a few calls I still need to make.’ This was the truth, there were, but at this stage she didn’t want to go into detail just in case the police had already been there and she hadn’t yet found it in the files.
Rowzee’s eyes were taking a while to open. She knew where she was – on the floor next to her desk – but she didn’t know yet how long she’d been there, or how badly she’d hit her head in the fall. It was definitely hurting, but not unbearably. It was just making it difficult to get a full grip on her senses for the moment.
It didn’t matter. There was no rush. She was quite sure she wasn’t expecting anyone, so she could take her time getting up. She mustn’t go too fast or she’d end up making herself dizzy again.
When at last she was on her feet, she righted the chair that had tumbled with her and took several breaths as she brushed herself down. How very silly of her to go and black out like that without realising it was coming. She must have been concentrating so hard on the email she was sending to Victor’s agent about a rights issue that she hadn’t spotted any little black tadpoles swimming about in front of her eyes, or connected with the light-headedness that made her feel as though she was floating out to sea. Those were the usual signs of something untoward occurring, although they didn’t always come to anything. However, just in case, when she realised they were there, a bit like putting an umbrella in her bag on a stormy day, she could take precautions, such as sitting on a sofa, or going to lie on the bed. Today she’d gone and toppled right off her chair, clunk, bump, out for the count, straight on to the wooden floor.
Checking the clock she saw to her relief that she’d only been out for a couple of minutes, hardly any time at all. And she really didn’t feel any the worse for it. In fact, she was feeling absolutely fine, she decided, apart from the little headache that was already passing. She’d just get herself a drink of water, or maybe a nice cup of tea, check there were no visible injuries to her face or head then carry on with what she’d been doing.
To her delight, when she returned to her computer, she found four emails accepting the invitation to the party on Friday evening. She was especially thrilled to discover that Charles Stamfield, owner of Burlingford Hall and the whole of the estate, and their local MP until a spell of bad health had forced him to resign, was ‘happy to attend’. She frowned. Maybe he’d lost his seat in the last election and that was why he wasn’t in Parliament any more? Yes, she was sure that was it, but he’d been ill as well, so hopefully this acceptance meant he was on the mend. They hadn’t seen him in far too long, or his lovely wife Gina. It was such a shame that he was no longer representing their community; everyone was agreed that he’d done a splendid job as their champion. Well, clearly not everyone, or they’d have voted him back in again.
Disappointingly, there was no mention of Gina coming with him. She was one of Rowzee’s favourite people and not because she was such an accomplished actress, though Rowzee was naturally impressed by her talent, but because she was such good company and had always been so generous with her time. Over the years she’d often helped stage school drama productions, had even taken a cameo role in a few. She’d done the same for the local am-dram society, of which Rowzee was president; and on several memorable occasions she’d brought famous guest speakers to town for the WI to ooh and aah over.
Could it be true that she hadn’t seen Gina since the last election? Time flew by so quickly these days that it was hard to keep track of everything, but now she came to think of it she felt sure that the last time Gina had been in Kesterly was for Victor’s funeral. The election had been just after that, although Rowzee couldn’t remember much about it now, she’d been in such a fog of grief at the time. Oh, now it was coming back to her. Gina had called a while after the funeral to find out how she was, and to let her know that she was flying to the States to sort out some family business. Yes, that was right, so maybe she was still there. It seemed a very long time to be away; however Gina and Charles’s daughter, Lydia, was in New York, so maybe Gina was with her. She’d ask Pamela when she came home if she’d heard from Gina lately, then she’d patiently endure Pamela’s snipes about her Alzheimer’s setting in.
As if Pamela’s memory was any better.
It wasn’t, for she had to remind Pamela of things every bit as often as Pamela had to remind her. That was age for you: so depressing when even a look in the mirror showed two women who surely couldn’t be considered anywhere close to mid-sixties – or not in the way Rowzee thought of sixty-year-olds, all fusty dry skin, grizzled grey hair and frumpy clothes. She and Pamela had, in her opinion, still-youthful complexions, soft bouncy hair, and the fashionable clothes they wore often came from Zara and Next.
Where had Pamela said she was going, again?
Oh yes, that was right, she hadn’t said, but apparently she wouldn’t be home until late. That meant Rowzee still had plenty of time to sneak a little nap without Pamela knowing and accusing her of getting old, before applying herself to the secret research project she’d recently started online.
It was quite exciting in its way, although frightening too, and she couldn’t imagine for one minute that any of her family would approve if they were to find out about it. The point was not to let them find out.
And take upon ’s the mystery of things . . . That was from King Lear, Act 5, Scene 3 – proving that her memory wasn’t as rusty as she sometimes feared.
‘Andee, you’re still here,’ Graeme Ogilvie stated in cheerful surprise as she and Blake came through from the workshop. ‘I was hoping I wouldn’t miss you.’
Appr
eciating his friendliness, Andee smiled as she noticed that the blonde from earlier was nowhere to be seen. ‘It’s good to see you again,’ she said, glancing curiously at the bags that he was loading on to his desk, full of what looked like acres of foaming lace, ribbons, pink satin and – was that a sword sticking out of the top of one?
‘I can explain,’ he promised with a twinkle. To Blake, he said, ‘Is everything OK?’
Blake turned to Andee, apparently wanting her to answer.
‘I’m going to talk to some of Jessica’s friends again,’ Andee told them, keeping the plans for her next step to herself for now.
Evidently pleased with the reply, Graeme said, ‘It never does any harm to go over things with fresh eyes. You know how sometimes you can’t see for looking, so there’s a chance something might have been missed somewhere.’
Andee couldn’t deny his reasoning, nor could she feel quite comfortable with the way his dark eyes rested so easily, yet intently on hers. She knew he couldn’t help it, it was simply the way he looked at a person, but it was that look, combined with the proximity of him, that had made her realise, the last time she was here, that she was still attracted to him. She’d even been ready, at the time, to believe the feeling was mutual, but that was before she’d come across his new partner, assistant, whoever she was, who’d just appeared from a storeroom with a giant roll of bubble wrap.
‘Ah, have you met Lucie?’ Graeme asked, turning to hold out an arm to the younger woman. ‘She’s been holding the fort for me this afternoon. Lucie, I’d like you to meet Andee Lawrence.’
‘I recognised you the minute you came in,’ the gorgeous Lucie declared, coming to shake Andee’s hand. She looked so friendly and happy to be there – and clearly saw Andee as no threat to her position at all. ‘I think it’s wonderful that you’re going to help Blake,’ she ran on. ‘We all do. We’ve come to think of him as family now. We did, even before Jessica disappeared, but I think it’s true to say that this dreadful time has brought us closer together?’ She was looking at Blake for confirmation.
‘I sometimes wonder how I’d have got through it without you all,’ he admitted. ‘You’ve been so kind and supportive.’
Touching an affectionate hand to his cheek, Lucie went to investigate the bags Graeme had left on the desk and immediately began chuckling as she pulled out what looked like children’s party costumes.
‘They’re going to look so cute,’ she cried. ‘Two princesses and a little knight in shining armour. I’m guessing Katie chose them?’ she asked Graeme.
‘Of course. I just collected them.’ To Andee he said, ‘My sisters, one of whom is Lucie’s mother, are having a little get-together on Friday evening, and the children have decided they want to dress up for it.’
Instantly warming to Lucie, Andee smiled.
‘They’re seeing themselves as the stars of the show,’ Lucie confided, ‘and knowing Rowzee she’ll make them feel that they’re nothing less, in spite of it being an adult affair.’
‘Are we talking about Rowzee Cayne?’ Andee asked, feeling certain they must be. To Graeme she said, ‘I had no idea she was your sister.’
Before he could respond Lucie said, ‘The whole world knows Rowzee, or that’s how it seems at times. Were your children in her class – presuming you have children, which you might not, but if you do . . .’ She broke off as Graeme’s hand gently silenced her.
Laughing, Andee said, ‘Both my children were students of hers and they absolutely loved her. In fact, she’s the reason Alayna, my youngest, is studying English Lit. and Drama at Bristol. I believe it’s where Rowzee went.’
‘It is,’ Lucie cried excitedly. ‘Does Rowzee know that?’
‘Oh yes,’ Andee assured her. ‘She took Alayna out to celebrate when Alayna was accepted.’
‘That is so Rowzee,’ Lucie laughed. Rashly, she added, ‘I know, why don’t you come to the party on Friday? Rowzee would absolutely love it if you did.’
Stunned, Andee said, ‘I’m sure your aunt doesn’t even remember me . . .’
‘Of course she does. Rowzee never forgets anyone, and anyway, you’re quite famous around here. Please don’t say no. Your husband is invited too, of course. My mother will be beside herself to meet him, the old mayor’s son, but I have to warn you, she’ll probably get on his case about following in his father’s footsteps. I expect he gets that a lot?’
‘From time to time,’ Andee admitted, still feeling bedazzled by the invitation and wondering if she ought to be turning it down.
‘Lucie, you’re almost as bossy as your mother,’ Graeme chided. However, to Andee he said, ‘They really would love it if you came.’
Lucie was regarding her with such eagerness that Andee threw out her hands as she laughed. ‘It’s very kind of you, and if you’re sure Rowzee won’t mind, I’d love to come, but I don’t think my husband . . . He’ll have other . . .’ She was making a mess of this. ‘I’m not sure what he’s doing on Friday, but I guess . . . Speaking for myself, I’d love to come. Thank you.’
With a whoop of joy Lucie exclaimed, ‘They are going to be so pumped when I tell them. They’ll probably roll out the red carpet, knowing them.’
‘I hope not,’ Andee laughed. ‘Is it a special occasion?’ she thought to ask. ‘Someone’s birthday?’
‘My mother’s,’ Lucie replied, ‘but she’s pretending it’s Rowzee’s. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t have a clue. My mother’s just weird like that.’
‘Actually, I can explain,’ Graeme stepped in. ‘Pamela – Lucie’s mother – always says it’s Rowzee’s birthday when they’re having a party, because she’s convinced that the sun only ever shines on Rowzee. If she owns up that it’s her big day she’s sure it’ll rain.’
Andee and Blake both laughed.
‘I swear my mother gets madder as she gets older, in all senses of the word,’ Lucie told them, checking her watch. ‘Oh my God, I have to pick Alfie up at five, so I need to go. I’ll take the costumes,’ she said to Graeme, scooping up the bags. ‘Katie’s got a free day tomorrow, she said, so if you need her to cover, just give her a call.’
As the door closed behind her Graeme turned back to Andee and Blake.
Andee was on the point of saying that she should go too when she realised Graeme was regarding Blake curiously. Turning, she found Blake staring hard at something outside in the square. Following his eyes she tried to spot what it might be, but everything seemed normal to her.
‘Excuse me,’ Blake muttered, and moving swiftly to the door he tugged it open and ran towards the Victoria fountain where a crowd of tourists were cooling hands and feet in the water.
Graeme said to Andee, ‘Do you think he spotted someone who looks like Jessica?’
Almost certain that was the case, Andee said, ‘It’s cruel, the way your eyes and ears can play tricks on you.’
His expression softened as he turned to her.
Realising he was remembering Penny, she gave a little shrug and changed the subject. ‘I feel I should have known that Rowzee Cayne was your sister. Did we never talk about her when we . . . were seeing each other?’
‘There was a lot going on back then,’ he reminded her. ‘In fact, you were heavily involved in another case of a missing girl, as I recall.’
Remembering only too well, Andee’s insides churned. Sophie Monroe, aged fourteen. The outcome hadn’t been good, in fact it had been nothing short of terrible, but at least they had found a body.
‘I’m sorry,’ Blake said, coming back into the shop. His face was pale, his voice rough with emotion. ‘I thought . . . It looked like someone . . .’
‘It’s OK,’ Graeme said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Blake looked at Andee. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, ‘I really appreciate you giving this your time, but we still haven’t talked about money. I don’t have much, I’m afraid . . .’
‘There’s no fee involved,’ Andee interrupted. ‘Helen, your lawyer, will explain
if you give her a call.’
Apparently overcome, Blake muttered a thank you and disappeared back to his workshop.
‘How well do you know Jessica’s mother?’ Andee asked quietly.
‘Jenny? Fairly well. She’s taken this very hard. I guess any mother would.’
He was certainly right about that. ‘I probably ought to talk to her at some stage. Do you think she’ll be willing?’
‘I don’t see why not, but you know she’s in Devon?’
Andee nodded, and glanced at her watch. ‘I should go,’ she said, remembering a call she wanted to make before five.
Walking her to the door Graeme said, ‘So it looks like I’ll see you on Friday.’
Feeling both embarrassed and pleased, she said, ‘It would seem so.’
‘I’m sorry your husband can’t make it.’
Not at all sure he meant that, she simply smiled and left, taking out her phone and turning it on as she reached the other side of the square.
Connecting to Leo Johnson at Kesterly CID, she said, ‘I know you can’t make this a priority, but I’d like more information from the Met if you can get it.’
‘Fire away,’ he invited.
After giving him the details, she said, ‘I couldn’t find the answers to this in the files they sent, but they should exist. If they don’t . . . Well, let’s find out first if they do.’
‘Mm, something smells good,’ Matt commented, coming into the kitchen and dropping his keys and mobile on the table.
Blake read from the recipe card he was using. ‘Chilli chicken with ginger and udon.’
Matt pulled a face. ‘What the heck’s udon when it’s at home?’
‘Japanese noodles. There was an offer on at the supermarket with free recipes thrown in, so I thought I’d give it a go.’ He could hear both Jenny and Jessica telling him that of course the recipes were free, they wanted to sell the product, so he wasn’t sure why he’d said it. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked, as Matt slumped at the table and stretched out his long legs. He wondered if the smoke he could smell was just plain cigarettes, or something a little more flavoursome.
