Forgive Me

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘But what about Patterson?’

  Salway shrugged. ‘We haven’t got anything to hold him with, much less charge him. The daughter Sophie is on her way now. But if she confirms her dad was home in bed that night, we’ll have to let him go.’

  WPC Markham’s most vivid memory of the night of Flora Patterson’s suicide had been the coldness Andrew Patterson had shown towards Eva. It had played on her mind for some time afterwards.

  On hearing the news that Eva had been the victim of an arson attack in London, that Andrew Patterson wasn’t her father, and that he was the prime suspect, she felt justified in many of the thoughts she’d had about the man.

  When she was asked to interview Sophie Patterson, she just wished she had studied the younger daughter more closely that night, because all she really remembered about the girl was her hysterics. As she walked into the interview room, where Sophie was waiting with PC Holderness who had brought her in, she was surprised to find the girl had changed a great deal.

  Six months ago Sophie had been an innocent, pretty schoolgirl with a clear complexion and shining hair. Now she looked plain tarty: she was wearing far too much make-up, her jeans were so tight she could have been poured into them, and her T-shirt was very low cut, revealing impressive cleavage which Markham felt could only have been achieved with a substantially padded bra. Even her hair was spoiled. She’d had a perm, but it was frizzy rather than the kind of Botticelli curls she’d clearly been aiming for.

  She was chewing gum – something Markham hated – and her surly expression and the way she had her arms crossed suggested she no longer had any respect for authority.

  ‘What do you want to talk to me for?’ she asked, tossing her hair. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘No one suggested you had,’ Markham said. ‘We just need to know where you were on the evening of last Thursday, the 20th of September.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just answer the question, please.’

  ‘I went to my mate’s house,’ she said, folding her arms and looking up at the ceiling.

  ‘And her name and address?’ Markham asked.

  ‘Louise Randal, 47 Fortworth Road.’

  ‘What time did you go there, and what time was it when you left?’

  ‘’Bout seven. Don’t know when I left, I never looked at the clock.’

  ‘Roughly will do.

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Might have been around eleven thirty.’

  ‘And how did you get home?’

  ‘I walked.’

  Fortworth Road was some half an hour’s walk from The Beeches, and it was unlikely a girl of her age would walk that far so late at night.

  ‘And you were alone?’

  ‘Yes, what of it?’

  ‘Does your father approve of you walking back home so late at night alone?’

  Again Sophie shrugged. ‘What am I supposed to do, stay in on my own? He doesn’t care, he’s always out with his bird.’

  Despite the girl’s belligerent attitude, Markham felt some sympathy for her. She’d lost her mother at a very crucial time. She was neither a child nor yet an adult, and if she was being left to her own devices for long periods, it was hardly surprising she was getting in with bad company.

  ‘So was Louise’s mother at home while you were there? We’ll need to contact her to verify you were with her daughter.’

  Sophie looked panicked then. ‘I can’t remember,’ she said.

  Markham knew the houses in Fortworth Road were very ordinary houses – too small for a visitor not to know who else was there.

  ‘You do realize that telling lies to police officers is a serious crime?’ Markham pointed out. ‘If you weren’t really at that address, or you didn’t get home until much later than twelve, then it would be far better for you to tell me the truth now, as we’ll be checking. So let me ask you again. Where were you that evening?’

  Sophie picked at her fingernails. Markham could almost see her weighing up whether the consequences of telling the truth to the police would be greater than the trouble she’d be in with her father when he found out she hadn’t been where she’d said she was.

  ‘I was with my boyfriend,’ she finally admitted. ‘Round at his place in Gloucester Road. Please don’t tell my dad, he’ll go mad with me. He doesn’t approve of Jake.’

  PC Holderness smirked at Markham.

  ‘What time did you get home?’ Markham couldn’t promise Sophie anything, but she hoped to get at the whole truth before she was forced to admit this to the girl.

  Sophie hesitated.

  ‘Tell me the truth, Sophie,’ Markham insisted.

  ‘It was almost one,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Jake dropped me home on his motorbike.’

  ‘Was your father home then?’

  ‘Yes, he’d gone to bed. I crept in, so he wouldn’t hear me. He asked me the next morning what time I’d got in, and I said it was twelve. Please don’t tell him I lied or he’ll ground me for ever.’

  ‘Are you sure he was there? Was his car in the drive?’

  ‘It must’ve been or I wouldn’t have worried about him hearing me,’ Sophie said. Then she frowned and looked at the policewoman curiously. ‘What’s this about? Why would you care when I got in anyway?’

  ‘Because, Sophie, someone set fire to your sister Eva’s house in London that night. She could’ve died in the fire.’

  Sophie’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘She is now, but she has been very poorly,’ Markham said.

  All at once a flash of understanding passed over Sophie’s face. ‘You think my dad did it! You do, don’t you? That’s why the police were searching our house. Did she say he did it? The cow! She just wants to get some revenge because he chucked her out of our house.’

  ‘I don’t believe Eva has suggested your father was responsible,’ Markham said. ‘In cases like this we question everyone involved with the victim.’

  Markham left Sophie with Holderness and went to report what the girl had said to DI Salway.

  His face dropped when she told him. ‘Bugger. The chances are she was so drunk or stoned that she just assumed he was there and never thought about his car. And she’ll stick to her story no matter what, for fear of him finding out how late she was.’

  ‘She doesn’t appear to care much about her sister either. That girl needs to wake up and see where she’s heading. We can check on the boyfriend – Jake. But you can bet he cleared off from The Beeches so fast he wouldn’t have noticed if there was a double-decker bus parked in the drive.’

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt to do a little background check on Patterson, though,’ Salway said. ‘I’ve got a hunch he isn’t quite what he seems.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Eva stood at the bottom of the stairs in her house in Pottery Lane, her hand over her mouth in shock at the black walls and charred remains of her furniture and belongings. Everything was ruined; the red sofa was only recognizable because some springs were sticking out of the blackened heap. All that remained of her bookshelves, which she had put up so proudly, were the metal brackets on the wall, the books a soggy mound of ash beneath. The kitchen units were still in place but were burned and distorted, doors hanging open, the contents just so much rubble.

  Then there was the smell, as if a hundred people had smoked twenty cigarettes each and then sprayed the room with a toxic mixture of mould, rotting vegetation and some kind of pungent chemical. The floor was still wet from the firemen’s hoses, the French doors had buckled, and the glass was broken. There was absolutely nothing left to show that this had once been a bright and pretty room.

  Even the garden was a mess, because her tubs of flowers had been knocked over and charred timber and scorched carpet thrown out on top of them. She had told herself over and over again since the fire that everything she had lost could be replaced – and that much was true. But what she couldn’t get over was the fact that someone had deliberately set the f
ire, intending her to die in it.

  She was sure that it was Andrew, and she sensed the police were convinced too. But without some evidence to prove it, they had no choice but to release him without charge.

  It was a horrible feeling, knowing that he was walking around free, probably gloating that he’d been clever enough to cover his tracks. To add to her anxiety, so far the police hadn’t been able to confirm or disprove that she was the baby taken in Carlisle. It seemed they hadn’t as yet been able to find Sue Carling, or any record of where Flora gave birth to Eva.

  But then, as Phil kept pointing out, it was only ten days since Eva had left hospital. And there would be an awful lot of legwork involved in checking London hospitals and doctors’ practices, as nothing was on computers twenty-one years ago. As for Sue Carling, it was hardly surprising she’d left Carlisle – no woman would want to stay in a town where people thought she was a baby killer.

  Eva wished now she’d never found her mother’s diaries, because Dena’s prediction about waking the sleeping serpent did appear to have come true. She’d not only put herself in grave danger, but she’d alienated herself from Sophie and Ben too.

  She had rung Ben a few days after she got out of hospital, but Andrew had got to him first.

  Ben’s voice grew harsh and cold as soon as she spoke. ‘If you’ve rung to try to convince me Dad started that fire, don’t bother. I can’t believe you’d try to destroy him, Sophie and me. You’re deranged, Eva. What possible motive would he have to kill you?’

  ‘He didn’t like the questions I asked when I stopped by The Beeches on my way home from Scotland,’ she said. ‘Did he tell you about that?’

  ‘He told me you were talking a load of rubbish, slandering Mum. And you had some lout with you who was backing you up,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Honestly, Eva, you’d better get a grip. You’re heading the same way as Mum – totally unhinged. Sophie and I don’t want anything more to do with you.’

  ‘And you, Ben, are heading the same way as your father – cruel and spiteful,’ she retorted before banging the phone down and bursting into tears.

  Phil had tried to comfort her, saying that the truth would come out eventually, and she must just be patient. But shaken up by her experience in the fire, with everything she owned gone, and still coughing a great deal at night, she found it hard not to sink into self-pity.

  There had been brief moments of comfort: she had received flowers and chocolates from Olive and all the staff at Oakley and Smithson; Gregor and Grace had sent a gift box of Scottish biscuits, toffee and cake with a card saying she was welcome to come and stay with them to recuperate. But Patrick was still away, and she wished so much that she could speak to him.

  It was Phil’s idea to come here today, on Saturday morning, because he felt seeing the damage for herself might help her to move on.

  ‘Your car seems fine. But I’ll get one of my mates to check it over and clean it up on Monday night,’ Phil said.

  Eva could only nod; at the moment she felt she would never laugh again, let alone drive. She wanted it sold. It was just another unwanted memory of Flora and Andrew.

  ‘Why don’t we go upstairs and see what we can salvage,’ he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘Or would you rather leave me to do it at another time?’

  ‘No, I’ll do it now. You were right, I needed to see it,’ she said, forcing a smile.

  The staircase was still intact. The first two steps were badly burned, the carpet almost welded into a solid mass, but they had been told by the Fire Department that they were safe to use.

  Phil opened the door to the big bedroom first. Although it was gloomy, because the windows had been boarded over, the damage here was only from smoke. Eva touched the duvet tentatively, and her fingers came away black. She tried not to think about how she had felt the last time she was in here.

  ‘There’s no point in trying to save things like that,’ Phil said. ‘It would take dozens of washes to get it clean. But your shoes and things in the drawers might be OK.’

  He had brought a large suitcase and some bin bags with him. He turned on a big torch, placing it on the dressing table so she could see better.

  ‘Everything smells horrible,’ Eva said. She didn’t really want to try to salvage anything, but common sense said she must, and as the clothes in the drawers didn’t look too bad she scooped them out and put them into a bin bag. A jewellery box that looked OK went into the suitcase, followed by shoes and clothes from the wardrobe.

  As she opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet, her spirits were suddenly lifted to find the book of sketches of herself as a baby. ‘I’d forgotten I’d put this in here,’ she exclaimed in delight. As it had been inside a large envelope, it wasn’t even sooty. ‘I just wish I’d brought Mum’s diaries up here too.’

  ‘This picture doesn’t look too bad either,’ Phil said, taking down from the wall the Cornish beach scene painted by Flora. ‘It will need cleaning by an expert, and the frame looks grotty, but we can always get a new one.’

  It was the only one of Flora’s paintings that Eva had hung upstairs, and that was purely because it looked right against the turquoise wall. All the others, some on the living-room walls and some still stacked in a box until she decided where to put them, were now just ash. She was thrilled that the beach one was relatively undamaged. If she’d been given a choice of saving just one of Flora’s pictures, she would have picked that one.

  ‘The dressing table will be fine with a good clean,’ she said. ‘I think the bedstead will be too. But where can we store them?’

  ‘I can find room for them in the shed,’ Phil said. ‘But let’s leave them for now. I’ll get one of my mates to help me get them out.’

  They moved on then to the small bedroom and found that it was just as badly smoke-damaged, but the bedside lamp and a few other items were worth saving.

  ‘That’s everything,’ Eva said, after rescuing a few toiletries from the bathroom and the ash-covered towels from the airing cupboard. ‘I’d like to get the table and chairs from the garden, though, and any tubs that aren’t broken.’

  Once Phil’s van was loaded he locked the padlock on the front door and they drove away.

  ‘The smell has come with us,’ Eva said as they drove down Holland Park Avenue.

  ‘It won’t stay,’ Phil assured her. ‘We’ll put everything out in the garden, clean up the table and chairs, and wash the clothes. The fresh air and sunshine will make everything as good as new. Or do you mean you are afraid the bad vibes from the house have come too?’

  Eva was afraid of that, and once again she was astounded at how perceptive Phil could be. He’d been wonderful since she’d come out of hospital. He’d comforted her when she had nightmares, and sat her up and fetched her a drink when she had coughing fits. She had been very down, crying at nothing, yet he’d cooked her meals and listened patiently when she agonized about Andrew, Ben and Sophie. He hadn’t snapped at her once, or showed any irritation at her state of mind. But she couldn’t expect him to be so tolerant for much longer, and she knew she must pull herself together.

  ‘No, I don’t believe bad vibes can travel with possessions,’ she said. ‘You did the right thing taking me there, it had to be faced. I can move on now.’

  Around five o’clock that afternoon, as Eva was emptying the washing machine in the kitchen, there was a ring at the doorbell.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ she called out, because Phil was in the garden hosing down the table and chairs.

  She opened the door, fully expecting it to be one of Phil’s friends, only to find it was Patrick, with a huge bouquet of flowers.

  ‘Patrick! What a lovely surprise,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘I’m sorry to take so long in coming to see you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been in America, and I did try to phone you a couple of times but got no reply. The third time I tried, I got the message that the number was unobtainable. Of course, when I got back and found Phil’s message, I underst
ood why. So I’ve rushed over as soon as I could today, to say how sorry I am and to see how you are.’

  ‘I’m on the mend now,’ she said as she kissed him. ‘Do come in, Patrick. I’m sorry if Phil’s message gave you a shock.’

  Over coffee Eva explained everything: the things she’d discovered on the trip to Scotland, going to see Andrew on the way back, and then the fire.

  ‘I know it was Andrew, even if it can’t be proved. And why else would he do that unless he’d known all along that Flora had stolen me?’

  Patrick looked absolutely stunned. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish, and he shook his head too – as if finding it hard to believe.

  ‘But the police haven’t found Sue Carling yet to test her blood against mine. I kind of made a resolution today that I must put it all behind me. If I don’t, I’ll go crazy.’

  Patrick put his hand on her cheek and smoothed it tenderly, a gesture that said far more than mere words. ‘You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, and all this uncertainty must be a terrible strain on you. But I am cheered in that Phil is taking care of you. Last time I saw you he was just a friend, but it looks to me as if things have moved on there. Am I right?’

  Eva smiled, got up and went to the window to beckon Phil to come in. ‘Yes, they have. And he’s going to be so pleased to meet you. I’ve told him so much about you.’

  Phil came in, drying his hands on a towel. Eva introduced them.

  ‘Patrick!’ he exclaimed. ‘I glanced through the window but thought you were from the insurance company – that’s why I didn’t come in. I am so glad to meet you at last.’

  ‘Do I look like an insurance man?’ Patrick asked, grinning and shaking Phil’s hand. ‘I am so pleased that Eva had you to lean on through all this. What a shocking business!’

  ‘It certainly is.’ Phil looked grave. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget the night of the fire. I was afraid I was going to lose Eva. But she made it! We can replace a house and possessions, but we couldn’t have replaced her.’

  One of the things that Eva loved most about Phil was his ability to mix with all kinds of people. He didn’t try to impress them, or fawn round them; he just had a knack of asking the right questions to get people talking, and he listened. In fact he was a far better listener than a talker, and he made people feel special because he was genuinely interested in what they said.