Still Death (A Lexie Wyatt murder mystery Book 1)

by Shauna Bickley

  18

  Max was the first to realise they were back and gave them a rapturous welcome. Tilly and the twins talked non-stop, all at the same time, showing off the new toys and clothes they’d acquired over the weekend.

  Once the initial excitement had worn off, Lexie gave Nathan a nudge. ‘Why don’t you and Dad take the girls to the park? Give them time to run off some excess energy before we head home.’

  Nathan gave her a quizzical look. ‘Sure. Probably a good idea.’

  ‘I’ve put together some treats for the girls to eat in the car,’ said Jean, once Alistair and Nathan had taken the girls and Max out to the park.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. Fingers crossed they’ll sleep part of the way as well.’

  ‘So what do you want to talk about?’

  Obviously she needed to hone her subtlety skills. Now her mother had gone straight to the subject, Lexie wasn’t sure how to begin. She was also aware she didn’t have more than half an hour before Nathan and her dad returned with the children.

  ‘I’ve met Dominique Santos a couple of times since the exhibition. Nathan’s boss and his wife know her and have two of her paintings. I hadn’t realised she was so famous, or that she was a painter as well as sculptor.’

  ‘Dominique’s very talented.’ Jean’s even tone didn’t change.

  ‘When did you first meet her, Mum?’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ So this was the first evasion tactic. But Jean started talking as she moved around the kitchen. ‘It happened so long ago it sometimes feels like another life.’

  Jean turned to put two glasses on the table. Lexie had never seen her mother look so distressed.

  ‘Mum, if it’s that bad you don’t have to say anything more. I’m sorry I hassled you about it.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you because it’s more about Dominique than me, and it’s bad enough we have those memories without giving them more life.’

  She stared at the wall and Lexie refrained from asking more questions.

  ‘You know I was in the Police Force when I was young.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lexie. ‘I know it’s how you met Dad, but other than that you’ve never talked about it. I didn’t think you were a policewoman for very long.’

  Jean nodded. ‘It was easier to imply that rather than talk about it.’

  She poured orange juice into the glasses, handed one to Lexie and then sat at the table. ‘I always wanted to help people. I wasn’t cut out for nursing and after trying a few jobs I joined the police. There were a lot of the older men who thought women shouldn’t be in the force. Some wanted us to do exactly the same as the men, thinking it would put us off, and others thought we weren’t fit for much more than typing up reports.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘A lot of boring stuff happened. They gave me plenty of reports once they knew I could actually type. But I also went out on some small jobs. I got to know your father as a colleague, a friend. We’d go out together in a group for a drink after work, that kind of thing. I guessed he wanted to take it further but he didn’t ask me out then. I was glad. I liked the camaraderie, the feeling of belonging. I didn’t want to spoil that.’

  She took a sip of orange. ‘I used to miss out on a lot of the jobs. I’d been in a couple of years by that time but there were still things they didn’t think women should be involved in. One morning the boss called me into his office. There were a couple of officers already there. They told me a little about a case they’d been working on, said there was a job that needed to be done, but that it was dangerous. The boss said taking part was up to me and if I said no it wouldn’t be detrimental to my career, such as it was back then.’ Jean looked at Lexie. ‘We’re more alike than you might think. What they said made me all the more determined.’

  ‘What the hell was it, Mum?’

  ‘Organised prostitution. Whatever you read in the papers or see on the news, it was every bit as bad then. I knew the red light areas existed, girls working on the streets because that was the only way to pay the bills, but this was like nothing I’d ever imagined.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m getting a bit ahead of myself.’

  Lexie looked at her mother, amazed at what she was saying. She couldn’t believe Jean was talking so calmly about this, and yet when Lexie studied her mother’s face a little closer, she noticed the tightness of her mouth. This wasn’t easy for Jean to talk about. Why had she badgered her mother? Of all the things she’d considered nothing came close to this.

  ‘What they’d discovered was a group who preyed on young girls, especially those just arriving in the city who’d probably run away from home. They had spotters at the bus and railway stations. The men would spin them some story, agents for a modelling agency, acting jobs or even pretending to have just arrived themselves.’

  ‘They wanted you to act as a decoy, or some sort of plant?’

  ‘They needed proof and they didn’t know where the girls were taken when they were picked up.’

  Lexie exhaled without realising she’d been holding her breath. She stared at her mother as if she hadn’t really seen her before. ‘That’s so dangerous.’

  ‘More dangerous than I first thought. They didn’t have the tracking and listening devices they have now, but I was young and headstrong, and I relied on the officers working on the case. When I went into the briefing, your father was there. He was horrified and objected to me taking part, but it didn’t stop the other officers, or me. I’d already made up my mind I was going through with it, whatever.’ She laughed a little self-consciously. ‘Do you know what worried me most?’

  Lexie shook her head. She’d be so anxious about everything that there wouldn’t be room for one specific.

  ‘I worried they wouldn’t pick me up. That they wouldn’t want me.’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’ Lexie had tears in her eyes as she squeezed her mother’s hand.

  ‘I needn’t have worried about that. The one who approached me could only have been a year or so older than me. Good looking. I suppose that’s why they chose him for the job.’ She toyed with her glass of juice. ‘I joined the train a few stops down the line and then got off with a small suitcase as if I’d just arrived in London. He asked if I was visiting. I spun him a line about leaving home and not knowing anyone in London. He said there was an empty room where he lived and I could stay there for a while. They’d briefed me on the kind of approach and to go along with it. I knew it was a line, but those poor girls who believed him.’

  Jean’s words came slowly now, quietly. Lexie had to strain to hear.

  ‘It was an old building, rooms they’d turned into…’ She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the memories.

  ‘It’s okay, I can guess.’

  Jean looked into her eyes. ‘I hope in your worst nightmares you couldn’t guess the horror of it. The reality. I’d thought they would take it a bit slower, that when we got to his supposed flat he’d play the innocent game for a while, and there would be more time for the officers who were following to get there and surround the place.’

  Jean took a breath then carried on. ‘When we reached the building, he opened the door and stood to one side to let me go in. As soon as I walked in the door slammed shut behind me. There were no lights and I couldn’t see a thing. At least two men grabbed me. One twisted my arm behind me. I fought, or tried to, but they had the element of surprise at that moment. They dragged me into a room where there were several other men. I was more prepared than those other poor girls, but it all happened so quickly. They forced something down my throat. There was no chance of pretending to swallow. Whatever it was they gave me acted fast, my head was swimming.’

  Jean pulled a tissue out of a box and blew her nose. ‘They dragged me to another room, ripped off most of my clothes and shoved me towards a bed. I could barely stand and I felt sick and dizzy, as if I were in some lurid dream that swirled around me. There was a chain bolted to the floor. One of them put this shackle thing on my leg and locked it. They chain
ed me like some animal.’

  ‘Where were the police who were following you?’

  Jean ignored Lexie’s question and carried on. ‘There were handcuffs on the frame of the bed.’ She clenched her hands together. ‘The handcuffs gave me a moment of clarity. I screamed, kept on screaming. One of them punched me, just about knocked me out. I hit my head on the floor, but I’d made enough noise to alert the team to where I was. Your father found me. He wanted to get me straight off to hospital, but I wouldn’t go. I wasn’t sure how many women they had in the building, but I had to help them. I found Dominique there. She was barely conscious, naked and chained to a bed. She’d been raped and beaten so many times. I stayed with her until the medics arrived and took her to hospital.’

  Jean was crying now and Lexie hugged her, not sure how to help. ‘Mum, I’m so sorry. If I’d realised it was anything like this, I’d never have pushed you to tell me.’

  Jean tugged another tissue from the box. ‘Talking about it does bring it back so clearly, but you’re not the first person I’ve told. I had to make statements at the time and then later give evidence. Don’t blame yourself.’

  ‘Did you see Dominique while she was in hospital?’

  ‘Yes. She’d been so badly treated and never had any care for her injuries. For some time the doctors weren’t sure whether she had the will to survive. I visited her every day, took in fruit and magazines. At first she wouldn’t talk to anyone, but slowly she started talking to me, as a friend, someone who’d seen the place. She didn’t want to talk to any of the male police officers. It was early days in dealing with rape and abuse victims, but they had the sense not to force her to talk. Gradually she told me all that had happened to her.’

  Lexie wasn’t sure what to say and settled for the mundane. ‘I guess you left the police force after that.’

  Jean’s lips turned upwards a little and Lexie was relieved her mother’s hands had stopped shaking.

  ‘I continued with the job because I didn’t want that to be the reason I left, but after a while I realised it wasn’t the only way I could help people. I considered other, possibly better things I could do. Counselling was in its early stages, but I found some people who believed there were ways to help those who’d been through traumatic experiences and needed to deal with them. I studied, and much later I discovered the Samaritans and worked with them.’

  ‘What happened to the men running that place?’

  ‘They caught some of them, a few talked so they had other names. They went to prison, but they never found out who was really behind it, the people who bankrolled it.’ Jean sighed. ‘It saved the women in that place, but it still goes on.’

  ‘You saw Dominique after she left hospital?’

  ‘She moved out of the area, and I helped her find a flat and settle as much as she could. She has a huge talent, and I was happy to help her find people to nurture that.’

  ‘I saw a couple of her paintings this weekend. They are incredible.’

  ‘She’s a remarkable person.’

  ‘If you moved out of the area, what happened with you and Dad?’ Jean had only said that Dominique moved, and Lexie phrased her question carefully.

  ‘He kept in touch, always. Whatever mood I was in, and whether or not I was welcoming. He took things slowly, recognising that experience wasn’t something I’d get over quickly.’

  ‘Wearing you down.’

  ‘That’s not a very nice way to put it, but he was always there. And he always has been.’

  ‘Except when working.’

  ‘That might be how it looks, but I know I’ve always come first with your father.’

  ‘Have you kept in touch with Dominique all that time? Did Dad meet up with her much?’

  ‘It took Dominique a long, long time to trust any man, even someone she knew had her welfare at heart. For the first few years she and I were close, although it wasn’t always easy. You share a bond, but that bond brings back memories, bad as well as good. As much as you want to separate them, you can’t just keep the memories you want.’ Jean looked infinitely sad, and Lexie was sure her mother was talking as much about herself as Dominique.

  ‘I never knew about your counselling work.’

  ‘You don’t need to feel guilty. I don’t talk about it to people. If someone goes to a counsellor or rings the Samaritans they need to know it’s confidential.’

  ‘But I’m family.’

  Jean patted Lexie’s hand. ‘It wasn’t easy for me to get pregnant. I had several miscarriages before having you, so you were very precious to us and I didn’t work for a long time. As you got older I did more studying and worked evenings and the occasional night shifts with the Samaritans, but they prefer we don’t tell many people. Things moved on and counselling gradually became accepted into the mainstream. I didn’t start working officially as a counsellor until you were at university, and by that time I was used to not talking about it. You know, Lexie, it’s not what you do, or what people think of you that makes you a better person. You do what you need to do for yourself. For me it’s been about helping people.’

  Was that the answer to the question she couldn’t ask? Ultimately, it wasn’t her business. Lexie thought back to the days when she first realised she was in love with Nathan. For a while she floated in that dream world of happiness where you want everyone to feel as deeply as you do. She’d watched her parents and knew with a deep certainly there was no one in her father’s life that meant as much as her mother.

  ‘So you’ve got a job with Veronica Hardcastle.’ It was an abrupt change of subject, but Lexie went with the new topic.

  She told her mother about some of the research work she needed to do. ‘I could do with a few tips from Dad about…’

  ‘Being nosy.’

  Lexie laughed. ‘I guess that’s one way of putting it. I think I’d prefer it phrased as official information gathering.’

  ‘I’m sure your dad will be only to be pleased to help. This stuff you’re doing, it’s not going to be dangerous, is it?’ She picked up the glasses and put them in sink, her back towards Lexie.

  ‘No, Mum, nothing like the stuff you did.’

  19

  Lexie pushed her laptop to the middle of the dining table and wandered around the house again. She’d been so sure Alec would tell them what had worried Caroline, but he didn’t know anything.

  She picked up the business card Alec had given Nathan and went back to her laptop. If she sent him an email he would have her email address. There was always the faint chance that he might remember something. She attempted a few drafts before settling on a brief paragraph thanking him for dinner and for talking about Caroline.

  The Women in Business research was interesting, but she couldn’t settle to anything. She hadn’t had time to clean before they went away for the weekend and the untidy rooms irritated her. She wasn’t the tidiest of people herself, but the obstacle course of toys and tiny pieces of plastic was beyond even her limits. Tilly must have been cutting and gluing again as the carpet was covered in magazine confetti.

  Lexie picked up the copy of Icon she’d bought from the supermarket. More bits of paper fell onto the floor. Lexie flicked through what was left, slowing down as she came to the pages about Dominique and the exhibition. Lexie read through the article, surprised again at the contrast with Veronica’s usual style. She stared at the photos of the exhibits at Longcross House and the one photo of Dominique. It was an indoor shot. Lexie frowned. There was something about the photo; what was it? Dominique obviously didn’t enjoy having her photo taken and looked stiff and formal in her pose, one hand placed on an antique table.

  Lexie stared at the photo until she felt she would go cross-eyed. Eventually she ripped out the pages and put them on the corkboard in the kitchen and threw away the magazine. In a sudden spurt of conscience she put all the toys away and vacuumed the house. When she finished, she made herself continue with the magazine research, but she still felt a niggling sense of anno
yance, and behind that, doubt.

  She had upset Nathan with visit to Alec and for not keeping her word. Perhaps there was no mystery. Patrick could have been the driver that night and everything else simply a story he’d concocted?

  Everything led to the puzzle that was Patrick. She’d only known him for such a short time, but she had believed him when he said Caroline’s death wasn’t an accident, and he wasn’t the driver.

  Her head hurt, she was going round in circles, unable to decide whether Patrick had told her the truth. Everyone who knew Patrick said he was honest and believed in fighting exploitation and corruption. If she couldn’t decide whether she believed him or not, how could she possibly help him?

  Once again, she was trying to impose her will on the cooker when Nathan arrived home. He kissed the back of her neck as she vainly stirred a congealing mass that was supposed to be gravy.

  ‘How’s your day been?’ he asked.

  She felt like answering truthfully but managed a smile. ‘Not quite as productive as other days.’

  Nathan looked at the corkboard. ‘What’s this? Not something we have to attend, I hope?’

  ‘No, just a piece from the magazine about Dominique’s exhibition.’

  ‘That’s interesting.’ Nathan pointed at the photo of Dominique. ‘We saw that painting at Alec’s.’

  Lexie put the saucepan of lumpy gravy on the draining board and joined him. ‘You’re right, it is the same. I can’t remember the artist’s name now, although I’m sure Alec told us. He said he bought it because it reminded him of somewhere he’d been.’

  She stared at the painting. It was definitely the same one. The pale muted sky and autumn colours, which could have been so vibrant.

  She turned and kissed Nathan. ‘Clever you, pointing it out. I knew there was something niggling me about that magazine photo, but I couldn’t figure what it was.’