Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1)

by Sue Nicholls

  They sat in their usual spots, deep in the plumped-up cushions, sipping from tumblers and staring at nothing, then Anwen put her glass on a coaster. ‘Cerys, there’s something I should have told you.’

  Cerys’s head snapped up. ‘What? What haven’t you told me?’

  ‘Kitty was investigating the deaths of her mum, Fiona - Fee, and Sam’s mum who had some strange name I can’t remember. They were both murdered.’ She eyed Cerys, who sat forward on the edge of the cushion with her legs parted to make room for her bump, ‘A man called Max something or other was charged with killing them, back in the early two thousands, and he’s recently finished serving his sentence.’

  ‘How did you find all this out?’

  ‘Kitty told me. Remember, I told you someone murdered her mum?’

  Cerys nodded.

  ‘You seemed upset, so I didn’t tell you the rest then, and I haven’t had much chance since. Anyway, surely Paul told you most of it once you raised it with him.’

  Cerys frowned. ‘No. He didn’t. Is there anything else?’

  ‘A bit.’ Anwen twisted her glass, grinding it on the surface of the coaster, then stopped at a look from Cerys. ‘Sam’s helping Kitty. The two of them are piecing together their memories and finding people from their childhood to create a spreadsheet and a time-line to prove that this Max must have done the murders and therefore Paul couldn’t have.’

  ‘And have they found anything?’

  Anwen shrugged.

  ‘Let’s talk to Sam.’ Cerys stood and grabbed the seat to steady herself.

  Anwen bounced to her feet. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine, Lovely, just stood up too fast. Now, we need to find a solicitor. Where’s that computer of yours?’

  ~~~

  Without Sam’s number, the best way for Cerys and Anwen to catch him was to loiter in the hospital with Kitty until he turned up. This they did the following day. Having told Kitty that Paul was unwell, they pursued a stilted conversation until, to the relief of them all, Sam strode in. He nodded to Anwen and Cerys, saying nothing about Paul’s absence, instead declaring his pleasure at seeing them again so soon.

  Cerys gave him a look of relief. ‘We’re just leaving, actually. Anwen has homework to do.’

  ‘OK. Well, see you soon, I expect.’ Sam dropped each of them a quick kiss, and as he leaned in to Anwen he murmured, ‘Anwen, are you still going to Kitty’s flat to clean?’

  She shook her head. ‘I did it once, but it’s clean now. There didn’t seem much point.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Sam dipped his head. ‘But I wondered if you’d mind nipping in there every few days to collect the post for me. I don’t want Kitty worried, but there’s something we’ve been waiting for.’

  From her bed, Kitty frowned. ‘Hey you two. It’s rude to whisper.’

  Anwen nodded to Sam, and he patted her arm.

  In the corridor the sisters lingered among the human traffic. A lady, leaning on the arm of a nurse, hobble up and down in slippers. When she passed them, she said to Cerys, ‘I feel silly going for a walk in my dressing gown.’

  Cerys smiled. ‘We have to get our exercise while we can. I ought to join you.’

  The lady laughed. ‘You’d be welcome.’ She nodded at the nurse, ‘Stella is very lovely, but we’ve talked about everything we can. You could tell me all about your baby, and why you’re here.’

  Cerys declined with another smile. ‘Some other time perhaps.’

  They queued for insipid coffee, and muffins wrapped in squeaking cellophane, and sat on low seats beside a small, unmanned flower kiosk. Inside, on its floor, buckets of perky carnations, and other flowers that Anwen could not name, stood rim to rim. Cerys bit into her cake and grimaced. ‘I’m not sure why I bought these. Horrible, aren’t they?’

  ‘Not as good as yours,’ said Anwen and demolished hers.

  When they had finished, Anwen was dropping the remains of Cerys’s cake into a nearby bin when a hand touched her shoulder making her gasp. ‘Sam! You made me jump.’

  Beside the flower kiosk, Cerys was now slumped on the seat, eyes closed and mouth slack. Even from here, her gentle snores were audible.

  ‘We were waiting for you,’ Anwen said. ‘We want to ask you about everything. Paul’s arrest, I mean, and your investigation?’

  Sam nodded his understanding and checked the time on his phone. ‘I’ve got some things to do this afternoon, but I should be able to come over this evening if that’s OK.’ He made a note of Anwen’s number and promised to ring when he was on his way.

  When Anwen returned to her seat, a pale man in his thirties dressed in a paisley shirt and claret-coloured chinos, was opening the little shack. Soon, he was swinging in and out with the buckets and arranging them on the floor outside. He gave Anwen a grin, revealing a set of very white, very crooked teeth, and jerked his head at Cerys. Putting a finger to his lips he gave her a wink and she winked back and studied her sister. Cerys’s eyes were underscored by purple-grey smudges, and deep lines dragged down the corners of her mouth. Suddenly, Cerys looked older than her years, and a jolt of fear hit Anwen. Nobody but Cerys had ever cared about her. Without her sister, life would be empty. Anwen’s eyes filled, and avoiding the sympathetic gaze of the florist, she blew her nose with an emphatic toot.

  Cerys’s eyelids lifted, and she squinted at Anwen and croaked, ‘I think I dropped off.’

  Anwen shoved the tissue up her sleeve and forced a bright look. ‘You must have needed it. I’ve seen Sam, and he’s coming over this evening.’

  ‘That’s good. We can get going then.’ She held up her hand and Anwen gave her a helping tug.

  Back at home Anwen persuaded Cerys to lie down, partly because the shocked woman needed rest but mainly because it was cleaning day for Maurice.

  57 PAUL

  The paintwork was as he remembered, and Paul wondered whether the walls of the interview room had been refreshed at all in the intervening twenty or so years that had passed since he was last here. The metal chairs and scuffed Formica table were also reminiscent of that time. Alone in the room, Paul glared at the recording device beside him and then at a CCTV camera near the ceiling. He had seen enough police dramas to know that people might be watching him on a monitor somewhere. He sat up and stilled his fidgeting hands so that, although his stomach churned, his face and body gave the impression of confidence.

  After an eternity - twenty-two minutes in fact – laughing voices approached outside, and the door opened on a plain clothed, white, male officer, followed by a black female, also out of uniform and bearing three plastic cups of water. As though sharing a joke, they still wore the echoes of smiles on their faces while closing in on the table. The woman set down the cups and slid one to Paul, then, without a word, they faffed around, setting up the recording device. When all was prepared to their satisfaction, the two took their seats and the bloke nodded to the woman. She pressed a button and announced the date to the machine, then revealed their identities. ‘DI John Poulton and DS Jennifer Mann interviewing Paul Thomas.’

  Poulton took the lead. ‘Mr Thomas, do you understand why you are here?’

  Paul maintained his passive exterior. ‘You said something about me murdering my ex-wife.’

  ‘Exactly, Sir, and do you understand that you have a right to a solicitor?’

  ‘Yeah. I hope one’s on his way, but I want you to tell me what’s going on before he gets here.’ Paul poked out his jaw then realising how belligerent it looked, pulled it back again.

  ‘That is your prerogative, Mr Thomas. Shall we get down to business then?’

  Paul nodded, and DI Poulton took a sip of water before saying, ‘I’d like to talk about when Mrs Owen met her death. You said in your statement that you saw Mr Owen push her. Can you tell me how far away you were when you allege that happened?’

  ‘Allege? Are you calling me a liar now?’ Paul’s heart thumped.

  ‘Please answer the question, Mr Thomas.’
/>   Paul stared Poulton in the eye and said, ‘I’m guessing it would have been about twenty metres. I was running towards them, trying to stop him.’ His voice wavered, and he clamped his teeth together for strength.

  The D.I. said, ‘You were running towards Mr and Mrs Owen, trying to stop Mr Owen from pushing Mrs Owen off the cliff?’

  ‘Course I bloody was.’

  ‘And why would Mr Owen want to do that?’

  ‘I think that’s clear from his trial. He wanted the money, didn’t he?’

  ‘So, just to be clear. You were twenty metres away, at the bottom of the rise, and Mr Owen was at the top, where his wife was… standing?’

  ‘Sitting. She was sitting on the top with her feet hanging over the edge.’

  ‘I see.’ DI Poulton paused then said, ‘So how do you explain, Mr Thomas, the fact that a fisherman in the bay, witnessed you pushing your ex-wife over the edge, while Max Rutherford, or Will Owen as he was known, was nowhere in his sight?’

  The tape recorder whirred in the silent room and Paul gaped at the two officers. Then his jaw snapped closed. Between gritted teeth, he said, ‘No comment.’

  ‘Very well.’ Poulton nodded at Jennifer Mann, and she ended the recording.

  58 ANWEN

  In her hurry, Anwen did not stop to admire the dearth of cobwebs in Maurice’s porch or the glossy black paint on the front door. She let herself in, and the smell of fried eggs and bacon assaulted her senses. ‘Hello-o-o-o,’ she sang.

  ‘Hello, Dear,’ Maurice said when he saw her. His knife scraped on a plate, and Anwen could not stop her mouth from watering. She had eaten nothing since the muffin.

  ‘Are you having a late breakfast?’ she asked, taking off her coat and hanging it on a kitchen chair.

  ‘No. This is lunch. I had cereal for breakfast.’

  In her old life bacon and eggs were a breakfast dish, prepared by her and eaten by her father to give him energy for his work on the farm. Here, mealtimes had no rules. Pizza for breakfast or salad for dinner it did not seem to matter, and she tried not to judge.

  Maurice wiped his plate with his last piece of bread and pushed it into his mouth, then he wiped his lips with his palm, and used the same hand to push out his chair. No wonder the kitchen got so disgusting. Anwen watched him rinse his hands in the sink and dry them, still greasy, on a clean tea towel. She grabbed the cloth from his fingers and threw it into the washing machine, then she wiped the table and chair while Maurice stood and watched, oblivious to her irritation. Rinsing the cloth at the sink, she asked, ‘How was your week?’

  ‘’Oh, you know. Not too bad. Did you see I painted the front door?’

  She had not noticed but replied, ‘It looks much better.’

  ‘How about you?’ Maurice said. ‘Have you had a nice week?’

  ‘Interesting,’ she glanced over her shoulder. ‘Paul, Cerys and I went to see Kitty.’

  ‘Oh?’ Maurice’s smile morphed into an expression of concern. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Improving.’ Anwen pulled out dusters and polish and turned to watch him. ‘Paul’s been arrested. The police say he murdered Fiona.’

  Maurice looked blank for a heartbeat then said, calmly, ‘You mean Fee.’

  ‘Yes. Fee. Kitty’s mother.’

  Maurice sat back down with a bump, muttering, ‘Why would they do that? They must have found something new?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Anwen pounced on his words, ‘What do you mean, Maurice? What could they have found?’

  Maurice stared at her for a moment, then snapped, ‘Who knows what they found out? I meant something must have emerged to make them suspect Paul again. I can’t imagine what. That’s all.’ He glared at Anwen. ‘I thought you were here to clean.’

  She scuttled out and began her work, keeping well out of Maurice’s way. While she buffed glass and polished woodwork, she tried to imagine Kitty as a child. She’d had a dog, Topsy, and rode in a sidecar with her dad driving his bike. That sounded fun… but she lost her mum, whom she loved. After Anwen’s experience in the hospital, imagining she might lose Cerys, she felt some empathy in that respect.

  An hour later, Anwen noticed Maurice from the bedroom window. He was pacing back and forth over the tufted lawn with his phone pressed to one ear and his free arm doing semaphore. She stood for a while, watching him and wiping her duster from side to side on the windowsill, wondering who was on the other end of the call.

  By the time she humped the hoover down the stairs and loaded it into the cupboard, the pleasant scent of ‘Sea Breeze’ overpowered the smell of Maurice’s greasy lunch. She re-entered the kitchen and peeked out of the window, but Maurice had disappeared. Outside, she scanned the hidden corners and went along the side path to the front. No sign here either, and his car was missing from the drive. Frustrated, she slouched back inside and gave the taps and kettle one last buff, before letting herself out.

  By now, construction across the road had finished, and people already lived in several of the flats. As she walked past on her way to Kitty’s to pick up the post for Sam, Anwen regarded the curtained windows of the smart building and wondered where Josh was now.

  59 LUCAS

  Lunchtime service had almost ended at Churchills, on the High Street. Mick lowered a poached egg onto a pile of Rosti potatoes and spooned over Hollandaise Sauce. ‘Service,’ he called, wiping round the rim of the plate with his cloth.

  ‘Is that the last?’ enquired Lucas from the other side of the kitchen, raising his voice to make himself heard above the clatter of a rickety fan.

  ‘For now. But I think I heard the door, so there might be more.’

  The weather had changed at last. The heavy, unseasonal rain of the past couple of weeks had given way to steaming sunshine. In the kitchen, the humidity made things even more uncomfortable than usual, and Lucas reached for a handful of paper towel to wipe his face. ‘Phew. We need a better fan.’

  ‘Air-con would be good,’ Mick said. ‘We could control the temperature whatever the weather.’ He ran a cloth over the stainless-steel surface beside the hob. ‘I think we might splash out. What do you…?’

  Adel, the head waitress, pushed open the door that led from the restaurant. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mick. I’ve got Maurice on the phone. He wants to talk to you.’

  Mick gave a little sigh. ‘Tell him I’ll call back after lunch service is over?’

  Adel nodded and disappeared.

  ‘What were we talking about? Oh yes, air conditioning. I suppose you could get some quotes. It’s not going to help productivity, but…’

  Adel was back. ‘Sorry Mick, he says it’s urgent.’

  Lucas threw Mick a grin. ‘I can manage here.’ He looked across at Adel. ‘Have we got more customers?’

  ‘Yes. Only two. They’ve got their drinks and are looking at the menu.’

  ‘Go on Dad. If you’re quick they won’t even have ordered.’

  Mick gave a sigh. ‘I doubt I’ll be quick. You know what Maurice is like.’

  ‘Whatever. I’ll be fine. Adel can help if necessary.’

  Lucas continued with his sterilising while he waited for the couple’s order. When Adel delivered the slip: one asparagus risotto and one salmon en croute, he gathered the prepared salmon parcel and the half-cooked risotto and set them going while he brought a pan to the boil for vegetables. It was when he called for service that he realised how long Mick had been. He followed the food into the restaurant to check on his father, but the phone sat, undisturbed in its cradle.

  ‘Adel?’ He beckoned the girl over and murmured, ‘Where did Dad go?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’ The girl whispered back. ‘He just left.’

  60 SAM

  Sam had arranged to see Anwen and Cerys that evening because he needed time to plan his words. The more they knew, the harder it would be to keep things from Kitty, and he did not want his girl upset.

  Anwen showed him into a living room that would have done justice to a show house. The last tim
e Sam was here was the evening of Paul and Cerys’s engagement party, when it had been anything but tidy. Glasses all over the furniture and crumbs on the floor, but now, the wooden surfaces glowed in the lamplight, cushions rose in inviting mounds, and magazines and books stood in a neat pile on a coffee table in the bay window. Sam dusted off the seat of his jeans before sinking into an armchair to face the two sisters sitting side by side on the sofa. He declined Anwen’s offer of refreshment, ‘No thanks. I have a piece of work to finish at home, so I won’t take too much of your time.’ He leaned his forearms on his thighs and said, ‘What a mess this all is, isn’t it?’

  Cerys ignored his sympathy and in a brisk tone, got to the point. ‘I understand from Anwen that you and Kitty have been investigating Kitty’s mam’s death - and your own mam’s too?’

  ‘That’s true. Max Rutherford came out of prison, recently, and he still insists he is innocent. He’s persuaded Kitty to re-investigate.’ Sam raised the corners of his lips in a brief smile. ‘You know Kitty - always up for a challenge. She wanted to prove for sure that Max was guilty.’

  ‘But she uncovered something that incriminated Paul?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. She wasn’t able to complete her investigations, I’m afraid.’

  ‘And you don’t understand why Paul’s been arrested?’ Cerys searched Sam’s face, and he looked as guileless as possible. ‘No idea, sorry, but I expect it’s a huge mistake.’

  ‘So, what have you discovered? You must have found something.’

  Sam told them as much as he considered sensible. He even included the pond weed to give them something to puzzle over. When he rose to leave, Anwen accompanied him and handed over the bundle of Kitty’s post. There were flyers, one advertising double glazing and the other from an Indian Restaurant offering free deliveries over twenty pounds. But here was the item for which Sam had been waiting - a fat, A4 sized manila envelope. He thanked Anwen and hurried out.

  At home he scrutinised the second court transcript, turning page after page until his growling stomach persuaded him to stop.