The Philosophy of Disgrace

by Ann Troup

  ‘The murder of Roy Baxter. We’ve got DNA evidence.’ He said wearily, ‘do you want to talk to her again before we see her?’

  ‘You know I’m going to advise her to make no comment don’t you?’

  Ratcliffe sighed, of course, he was, they always did, and he would have to sit in a room going through the motions for hours on end because of it. ‘You do your job, I’ll do mine.’

  Latimer nodded. ‘OK Mike, just so as we know where we stand. By the way, I hope you’re going to change that suit before we go in, you smell like a barbeque.’

  Ratcliffe sniffed is jacket sleeve. It was rank with acrid smoke. ‘Yeah, you might like to inform Mr Haines there that his inheritance has just gone up in smoke.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The Limes, the family pile. They’re still trying to put it out.’

  Latimer rolled his eyes, this was all he needed. He’d known Peter Haines a long time, one of the penalties of being a member of the Rotary Club. Consequently, he knew that Haines would have a worse reaction to the knowledge that probate would be granting him power of attorney over a pile of ash than he had so far had to the knowledge that his wife was sitting in a police station about to be arrested for murder. He damned well hoped there would be enough money left to cover his fees.

  Angela was pissed off. She had done a lot of the donkey work on this case, and now Benton had breezed in at the last minute and insisted on doing the interview with Ratcliffe. Not that it would do her much good, Angela had seen clam’s with looser lips than Frances Haines had. Not that it mattered, since they could safely leave this one to the court to decide. All the evidence they needed for a conviction had been found clutched into the stiff, dead hand of Roy Baxter. There would be some back up work of course, that was no problem, and she enjoyed that part. Better than sitting in an interview room for hours on end listening to some dodgy scrote saying ‘No comment’. Nah, Sam Benton could carry on driving her desk. It would be Angela and Ratcliffe that got this one sorted, despite how it would look on paper.

  It was unfortunate that Stella was out of the picture, and given that a body had been found in the charred shell of The Limes, she was pretty sure that was the case. Not that Stella would have been much help in a courtroom; it would have been like throwing a pork chop to a bunch of hungry dogs. But she would have been useful for background. Not like Frances or the other one, Rachel. She didn’t relish having to talk to Rachel Porter again, not after the last time, all that thrashing about and foaming at the mouth. She felt like she would be better off approaching the woman with a first aid kit and a portable defibrillator, just in case. That was pending she could track her down. God this family were good at disappearing! If they weren’t missing, they were un-contactable. It was as if no one had told them they were living in the 21st Century, where normal people had mobile phones, e-mail, and addresses where they actually could be found in residence. Rachel Porter didn’t even have a landline. Angela was pretty sure they had told her to let them know what her movements would be. But all she had managed to do so far was to contact a particularly unhelpful neighbour, who spoke as if she had a gob full of plums, only to be told that Rachel Porter was ‘away’.

  Not only did she have all that on her plate, but there was also the prospect of Mike Ratcliffe taking up residence on her sofa. Finding Rachel Porter seemed like a much more appealing prospect than dealing with her boss and his midlife crisis. It was quite obvious that he was going to bail out on his wife, but why he had to choose Angela as the repository for his marital misery was beyond her. She was too nice for her own good and that was her problem.

  Amy was bouncing around like a Ping-Pong ball in a bingo machine. Since discovering that there might be a way to find Rachel she had become like a thing possessed, all of which was completely unnerving Charlie. He sat in the back of the taxi, arms folded, watching her as she harangued the driver to get a move on. Too much time spent with his mother he supposed, that and youth which was full of expectations and the need for instant gratification. He knew she meant well, she wanted to find Rachel and make everything better. So did he, but he had been around for a lot longer and had the certain knowledge that things were never as simple as they should be. Even if they did track her down, and there was no certainty that they would give that they only had her name on a piece of paper and there was a good chance that there was more than one R.L.Porter in London, there was every chance that they would just make things worse.

  He was inclined to think that his mother was right. Finding out the truth might make Rachel’s life much worse. But not knowing would leave it just the same, miserable, lonely, and irretrievable. She was in stasis, a perpetual state of suspended animation. He had been stuck too, but his existence at least had redeeming features. The lively girl next to him for one, though the way she was behaving was a mite embarrassing. Even if Rachel did fall apart at realising her life had been a mockery, at least she might have a chance of building a relationship with Amy. That had to be something on his side at least. He didn’t think there would be any going back for them, him and Rachel. How did two people move on from something like this? She was hardly going to welcome him with open arms and say, ‘Well that’s all right then.’ Besides, she had told Amy that their relationship had been founded on desperation. He had never seen it like that, but if she did, it had been wrong from the beginning.

  The beginning. He had first set eyes on her when she was a tiny bawling scrap, dumped on his mother because Valerie had a headache and couldn’t cope with her. Delia had made him hold her. He had been fifteen, and he would rather have boiled his own head than have to deal with a baby. He could remember looking at her tiny face and being fascinated at how perfect every feature was. A real human being in miniature. He could also remember being absolutely terrified that he would drop her, but most of all he had been overwhelmed at the amount of noise that she was making. Then Stella had come in and taken her away. She had always been closer to Stella than to any of the others. In fact Frances couldn’t have paid less attention to her if she tried, her only acknowledgement of Rachel’s presence having been ‘Can’t somebody shut that thing up.’

  He hadn’t spent much time there then, as little as possible if he could help it. Only when his mother demanded that he go to The Limes had he reluctantly gone there, and even then, he had stayed out of the way as much as possible. For some reason Valerie Porter particularly disliked him and only tolerated him at all because if she wanted Delia, then she had to accept Charlie too. How many times had he begged his mother to find another job over the years? However, she never would, doggedly staying loyal to a woman who treated her like dirt and paid her a pittance. He knew that she and Valerie had grown up together, had even been friends in childhood, but it wasn’t something that Delia ever talked about. Valerie had been a detestable woman, a bitter, twisted bitch. Whatever was at the root of his mother’s loyalty to her, it was beyond him.

  Visits to the house became more frequent when he had started to work for Roy, that had been down to his mother too, and he had just slipped into it, leaving school one minute, working for Roy Baxter the next. If he met the man now he would probably punch him as soon as look at him, but at sixteen he had thought Roy a god. Charlie Jones, a pathetic little sycophant. The first time he’d watched Roy bully both Rachel and Stella, he had soon learned his lesson. The man had taken pleasure in scaring women and children, had actually enjoyed it. Stella had been terrified of him anyway, and as far as Charlie saw it, she had only married Roy because she thought he would take her away from home, Roy had only married her because he wanted that home. Stella had been more entrenched in the microcosm of life that was The Limes than ever after the wedding. Roy had believed the family had money. After all, they lived in a big house, so it stood to reason. Valerie had believed that Roy had money, since he drove a flash car. Both had been disappointed, and Stella had borne the brunt, caught like a squash ball between two embittered people who thought they had been cheated.
Rachel had just been caught in the crossfire. Roy knew that Stella favoured her, so he went out of his way to terrify the child, just to intimidate his wife further. As a kid, Rachel would descend into a fit at the mere sight of him.

  Then Roy had taken Patsy from him, without a second thought. Maybe he had even killed her. Sure as eggs, someone had.

  Charlie shook his head, and ran his hand over his face, as if the cobwebs of the past could be so easily wiped away. These were maudlin thoughts about things that could not be undone. He had to focus on the present, work out what could be changed.

  ‘We’re here dad.’ Amy called, launching herself out of the cab and leaving him to pay the fare.

  ‘You do realise that this may be nothing to do with her, and I might have just spent twenty five quid on a wild goose chase.’ He said as they stood outside the Southwark Women’s Centre.

  ‘You can be wrong dad. Sometimes. Honest.’

  Diana was faced with a dilemma. Two people who she had never heard of were looking for Rachel. Unfortunately, one of the volunteers had already told them that Rachel had links to the centre, so denying all knowledge of her wasn’t an option. This reminded her that she must run another session on confidentiality, because the message clearly wasn’t getting through.

  She looked at the two people who were sitting in her office and tried to weight them up. A young girl who looked like she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days, who was fidgety and eager, perched on the edge of her chair. And a man, who looked equally tired, who was the opposite. Self-contained, pensive, not willing to give anything away. Not the usual type of man that turned up at the centre, demanding his rights and shouting the odds. But she still didn’t trust him.

  Bracing herself, she walked into the office, ‘Hello, I’m Diana Lovell. How can I help?’

  She said, not offering to shake their hands, but sitting behind her desk and smiling helpfully.

  It was the girl who spoke first. ‘We’re looking for Rachel Porter. The woman out there said you would be able to help.’

  Diana kept smiling, and folded her hands on the desk. ‘Might I ask who you are?’

  The girl looked anxious, she glanced at the man, his expression still inscrutable ‘I’m Amy Jones, and this is my father Charlie.’ She said, as if it were supposed to mean something to Diana.

  Diana sighed and put her hands flat on the desk. ‘I get a lot of people here asking for the whereabouts of certain women, as you can imagine. Given the nature of what we do here, I’m not in the habit of disclosing much.’

  The man, Charlie, unfolded his arms and leaned forward. ‘We understand that, we’re concerned about Rachel, she had an accident and discharged herself from hospital, we just want to know if she’s safe.’

  ‘I’m sorry Mr Jones, but I don’t know you from Adam, even if I did know your Rachel, I wouldn’t be able to discuss anything with you.’

  ‘But the woman out there said that you did know her.’ The girl said, upset.

  ‘I’m sorry but I can’t really help you.’ Diana said, starting to rise.

  ‘You don’t understand, this is really important!’ the girl cried.

  Diana felt sorry for her, she seemed genuinely upset, but what could she do?

  The man put a hand on his daughters arm, ‘It’s Ok Amy, don’t get upset. We’re putting Ms Lovell in a very difficult situation here.’ He said, reasonably. ‘I realise that you might not be able to talk to us about this, but that doesn’t prevent you from listening does it? If I were to explain our situation, you might at least be able to take a message. Is that possible?’

  Diana settled back in her seat. ‘I’m happy to listen.’

  Charlie took a breath; his daughter reached out and held his hand, a brave little smile on her face. ‘Rachel porter is my wife, and Amy is our daughter. A few weeks ago, Rachel’s mother died, and certain events came to light as a result of the house being cleared. It appears that Rachel’s brother-in-law had been murdered and his remains were found in her old family home. As well as that, she also had to see me. We have been separated for a long time, and it was a bit of a shock to her, which resulted in her having an epileptic fit. I’m trying to cut a very long story short here, so please bear with me. Anyway, that fit resulted in quite severe injury, and landed Rachel in hospital, she discharged herself, has disappeared from her home, and is in no fit state to look after herself. We are both very concerned about her welfare and only want to know if she’s safe.’

  ‘And there is something really important we have to tell her.’ Amy added eagerly.

  Diana sat back in her chair and looked at the two people who sat in front of her. It had to be a bizarre coincidence that the Rachel Porter they were looking for had epilepsy and had been in hospital. Stranger things had happened. She felt sorry for them; they seemed genuinely concerned for this poor woman. ‘I’m very, very sorry, I can see how upset you both are, but I really don’t see how I can help. I think you have the wrong place. There is a Rachel Porter who is a patron of the charity, but I don’t think she is the same person you are looking for.’ She said apologetically.

  The girl looked crestfallen, the man just frowned. ‘This has to be the right place.’ The girl said.

  ‘Rachel Porter lives in Flat two, number twelve Glengarry Gardens, Bayswater.’ Charlie said, pulling out his wallet and extracting something from inside. ‘This is a photograph of her, it’s old, but she hasn’t changed much.’ He handed it to Diana.

  She took the picture and studied it, a young Rachel, holding a small baby, smiling. Rachel smiling was not a familiar sight. But it was definitely her.

  Diana’s mind was reeling with possible and impossible explanations. She handed the photograph back. ‘Would you mind giving me the long version of your story? I think I might need to hear it.’

  Charlie told her, everything except that Rachel thought he was her father. As the woman had said, they didn’t know each other from Adam.

  ‘Well’ Diana said when Charlie had finished. Then she paused. The tale he had told definitely filled in the blank that was Rachel’s history. It even explained her reticence, but only so far. There was more to this, Diana was certain of it. But whether she had a right to know was a different matter. ‘I can understand your predicament. But I am still not able to discuss Rachel with you. The fact that she has not made contact with you since Amy’s visit to the hospital suggests that she has made a conscious choice not to communicate. Much as it might be difficult, I think we have to respect her decision. The only thing I can do is to assure you that she is well and is being cared for.’

  Amy lurched forward in her chair, ‘So you know where she is?’

  Diana merely smiled.

  Charlie stood up and took Amy’s arm, ‘Come on Amy, we’ve done everything we can.’

  Amy pulled her arm away. ‘No. We have to see her, you have to tell her the truth!’ she turned to Diana, ‘You’ve got to tell us where she is!’

  ‘Ms Lovell doesn’t have to do anything Amy, now pull yourself together.’ Charlie said firmly.

  Amy’s eyes flashed, ‘Then she’ll have to tell her for us.’ She turned to Diana, mouth open to speak.

  Charlie’s voice stopped her in her tracks. ‘ENOUGH!’ he shouted, making both women jump. ‘It’s not yours to tell Amy.’ He said quietly, a heavy warning in his voice. Amy opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with just a look. He turned to Diana, ‘Thank you for your time, I appreciate it, even if my daughter doesn’t. I wonder if you see Rachel, could you please pass on a message. Just tell her it’s not true. If she wants to contact me, she knows how.’

  Diana nodded. ‘Of course.’

  With that, he led his daughter out of the office and through the building. After they had gone, Diana sat back in her chair and stared at the door for a long time. Whatever it was that wasn’t true, it was the one thing that was holding Rachel back.

  Finally, Diana gathered her things ready to go home. It might be a very long evening
. She sent up a little prayer as she left the building, just in case.

  Amy was fuming, how could he? They had been in a prime position to track Rachel down, and he had blown it! Bad enough that she had been denied her mother for twenty years already, now he had taken her away for a second time. In that moment she hated him, he was nothing but a selfish stubborn pig. Unable to vent at him she sat in silence as their cab made its way back to Bayswater through the heavy traffic. She would never forgive him for this! That woman wasn’t going to pass any message on to Rachel, and she had made that patently clear. Well, Rachel had to go back home sometime, didn’t she? And when she did, Amy would find her and sort this mess out once and for all.

  Charlie could sense Amy’s temper. It was coming off her in waves. Emanating, like some kind of sonar, showing him up as the tangible object of her gross displeasure. He knew that he was right, and she was wrong, he also knew that there was no point in trying to argue it. She would calm down soon enough. And Charlie was nothing if not a patient man. He settled himself into a state of tolerant calm, a condition he was well practised in achieving, having spent years practising the technique. Then his phone rang.

  Startled for a moment he answered it, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello Mr Jones, this is DC Angela Watson, I’m trying to track down Rachel Porter, is she still with you?’

  ‘No. No, she’s not. In fact I don’t know where she is.’

  ‘It’s crucial that we contact her, do you have any idea where we might find her?’

  ‘None I’m afraid. Has something happened?’ There was a pause.

  ‘Yes, look I don’t know if you’re telling me the truth or not, but I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. We need to speak to her, urgently. If she doesn’t contact me on this number in the next two hours, I’m going to have to report her as missing. It’s in her interests to contact us Mr Jones.’

  Charlie pondered for a moment, ‘OK, I hear you. I’ll do my best.’ He guessed the game had changed. DC Watson rang off. He turned to the taxi driver, ‘Change of plan mate, can you take us back to Southwark?’